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etheries1015 · 5 months

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We share the love language of biting. Now imagine TWST beatsfolk has that as an actual sign of courting. Like you're chilling with Leona, not dating or wooing him, and then you bite his cheek in affection. And all of Savanaclaw is shocked because among them, it's the same as i.e. proposing marriage. The utter chaos XD

OHH MY GOSSSHHH YOUR BRAIN >>> I LITERALLY LOVE THIS SO MUCH??? HAHAHA SODEFHSELKJD i'm gonna expand on that for a few characters...

Accidentally courting them

General warnings: Gender-neutral reader, not really proof read lol. Obvious Malleus and Lilia favoritism <3 I also decided that they ARE dating in this scenario, I think its cuter that way in my head heuheu

Featuring: Leona, Ruggie, Jack, Malleus, Lilia, ... and Rook HAHA.

TW: none! Just a bunch o' fluff of biting your non-human lover without realizing it was a sign of courtship <3

Leona

It was a typical day for Leona. You two were sitting in the lounge where most of the other students lingered, Leona becoming rather... possessive as of late. Instead of resting in his bedroom away from prying eyes as you had requested from your lover, he ignored all your feeble cries requesting privacy. Instead, he holds you in his lap without worrying what others are thinking. A form of showing others you were his, and his alone. You were conflicted in your feelings, staring at him. His eyes were closed, but he could feel your gaze burning into his head.

"How long are you-" Then it happened. You gave in. You gave his cheek a bit of a nibble. All of the sudden the chattering stopped, all eyes were on you, before they start patting Leonas back and giving him congrats while a few seemed to pull presents right out of their asses.

"Wha- what's going on?" Leona grumbled with a light blush before growling and pushing the face of someone who tried to hand him another gift.

"You all look like idiots! You know biting means something different to us. Don't be dumb." Okay, now you were extra confused. Seeing your utter ignorance, Leona sighed.

"Biting in our land is a sign of courtship, herbivore." ...Oh. You blush deeply and hide your face in his chest, Leona looking away flustered and ruffling your hair.

"Try again in a few years, and I just might bite you back."

Ruggie

You were walking down the halls with your boyfriend when suddenly you had the urge to just...bite him. an overwhelming sense of love and affection for the fact he had given you some of the bread he (probably legally) got ahold of. You smiled fondly at the bread and back at Ruggie before placing your mouth on the bulb of his shoulder, causing him to yelp in suprise and dropping his half of the bread.

"wha- huh?! What was that for?" He became flustered, bending over to pick up his bread and slowly move away from you with bright red cheeks. You furrowed your eyebrows and hugged yourself, almost embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I just...I dunno," Your cryptic and non specific response left him with his jaw open and eyes wide, spluttering out things like "We're still in school! I don't have the funds yet-" before a familiar fist came and knocked the back of Ruggies head. Leona stood there smiling in amusement and chuckling at you.

"I don't think they know what that means to us beastman, Ruggie." Even more confused then before, you asked for clarification.

"You just asked him to marry you with that bite of yours, herbivore." Now YOUR mouth was wide open, and Ruggie managed to get flee from the scene without much notice from you nor his senior.

Oh brother. You have a lot of communicating to do with that one.

Jack

You were sitting at the lunch table eating away at your food when you noticed...Jack's biceps. You marveled at the sight of his bulky arms- it's a wonder to you how he managed to become so strong and have the motivation to train all day. With a burst of admiration, instead of biting into your sandwich - you took a bite into his muscle. He yelped in suprise and just stared at you, face slowly turning red. Ace and Deuce laughed at his reaction, ready to ask you what was up before Jack took it upon himself to... well, flustered and rapidly spit-firing plans.

"W-we are still so young! Are you sure about this? I-i never knew our relationship was at this level!" He grabbed both of your hands and looked you in your (bewildered) eyes.

"If you're serious about this, I promise I will protect and love you for the rest of my life. But before we go ahead with the ceremony, I want you to meet my parents and get their blessings. Oh, and I need to get a stable job after we finish school first, too, so I can support you and our future. know we haven't talked about marriage before but-" You quickly cut him off in astonishment before crying out,

"MARRIAGE?! Jack, WHAT are you talking about?! I am absolutely not ready for marriage! What got into you?!"

...Queue Ruggie and Leona hysterically laughing at your utter confusion, reveling in the ignorance of it all for a few moments longer before explaining properly what you had just committed yourself unknowingly to.

Malleus

You were laying in the bed of Malleus Draconias's dorm, scrolling on your phone whilst his tail wrapped around your waist as he sat next to you reading a book. You sighed lightly and leaned your head back against the board of the mattress, turning slightly to look at your handsome fae lover. Your eyes then went down to his pale and perfect skin of his neck, the way it was free from all blemishes, smooth, and bright. Something about it made you want to taint it a light shade of red... He felt you shuffle slightly to adjust your body to be in just the right position where his neck was in full view. He glanced over to you feeling you wriggle free from his tails grasp, tilting his head seeing the look in your eyes crazed as you leaned over and just...chomped down on his collarbone.

You felt his tail twitch and his hands quickly throw the book he was reading aside to grasp your wrists, turning your body around and pinning you to the bed and carrassing your cheek with his tail.

"Biting..." He murmured, "Does this mean the same to humans as it does to Fae? You wish to be wed?" Your jaw dropped and cheeks took on a rosey hue, stuttering over yourself.

"W-wed?! I mean, I like to bite when I feel affectionate b-but marriage...I mean maybe one day b-but-"

"Biting in Fae culture is a sign of courtship and ownership. How brazen of you to mark me," he chuckled, "I shall take it you wish to own the next king of Briar Valley?" You could tell at this point Malleus was teasing you, something he picked up from the time you two have been dating.

Malleus could not help but return the favor by riddling your body with his own bite marks. Although he understood you perhaps did not have the intention of marrying him with your silly little form of affection, he knew in his mind with every bite that he was very serious about your future with him.

Lilia

Lilia already knew that biting in the human world did not mean marriage, yet was akin to something more of "cute aggression." So when you have the habit of biting him in the privacy of yours or his room, he knows you simply meant it as a form of affection, letting him know that you had an overwhelming sense of love for the old fae. He bit you back consistently on many occasions, it just seemed to be the perfect form of showing love for one another.

You didn't actually know it meant something much deeper, until you were in the diasomnia lounge and unable to control yourself as you grabbed Lilias hand and bit down gently on his wrist. You couldn't help it, he was being so entirely silly and loving towards you, that you couldn't help but show this public display of affection. Much to everyone else's dismay, however. Sebek stares at you with his mouth agape, sounds of disbelief escaping past his lips yet a sentence unable to form. Malleus as well seemed surprised at this.

"(y/n)," Malleus said, "You wish to marry Lilia?" You coughed at the sudden question and let out a feeble and awkward chuckle.

"I mean...I wouldn't mind one day, of course. We haven't really talked about it. Why the sudden question?"

"HOW DARE YOU," Sebek cried out after finally finding his words, "How dare you bite Lilia and be so insolent as to not move forward with your actions in dignity! YOU MUST TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR PROPOSAL-" Lilia started snickering, cutting Sebek off with a wave of his hand.

"It's quite alright, Sebek. Biting means something much different to humans than Fae, I suppose this is the first you had seen us put on a show of affection, hence your confusion." He turned to you, who had furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips at Sebeks sudden outburst.

"Biting, my dear, is a form of courtship to us fae. It is a sign of ownership," He chuckled.

"Why didn't you tell me that?!" You exasperated, "I mean, it wouldn't have changed anything I have done, but I would have been more careful about it... especially if it means something more to you," Lilia gracefully explained he understood it meant something slightly different to humans, before gently grabbing your hand and raising it to his mouth.

"Well, now that you understand what it means," He put your ring finger into his mouth and took a bite at the base,

"Would you like to bite me once more, my dear?"

Bonus:

Rook

You bit his arm and he immediately was on one knee.

"Was that a proposal? You know mon cheri, biting one affectionately is often a declaration of courtship-" You hit the top of his head and walked away from your interesting boyfriend.

"You're not a beastman or a fae! I'm never biting you again!" Your face red and folding your arms, turning away (ah, his cute tsundere lover.)

Oh woe is Rook! He begs and begs you to bite him more, he wants to be covered in your marks. It means you were claiming him as your own, right? RIGHT??

~~~

This was so fun to write DFSEFDSFIHSLDKJF thank you for the brain rot heuheuheueheueh

Masterlist

#Twisted wonderland #Twst #Twisted wonderland x reader #Lilia vanrouge #lilia x reader #Malleus #Malleus draconia #Malleus x reader #rook x reader #rook hunt #Leona kingscholar #leona x reader #twst fanfictions #ruggie x reader #Jack howl #Jack howl x reader #Twisted wonderland fanfictions #twst fanfics #twst x reader

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nientedal · 5 months

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What progress at home has biden enacted? What policies of his show that he is making progress that prove he is actually different than trump?

I like to pretend I have faith in humanity, so I'll answer as if you're asking this in good faith.

Biden's DEA has lifted restrictions on telehealth prescriptions to make appointments and assistance more accessible.

He put a funding package into place to help unhoused people get access to mental and physical healthcare, as well as short-term and long-term housing.

He has attempted and is still attempting to get student debt relief through - this was blocked by Republican judges appointed by Trump, but he's still working on it.

Infrastructure repair - his administration has budgeted funds to actually fix some severely-damaged and frequently-traveled bridges.

Trying to expand access to healthcare to include undocumented immigrants who came to the USA as children (Dreamers) under the Affordable Care Act. Support for Navigator programs and outreach has also been increased.

He has vetoed Republican-led bills that were attempting to overturn environmental protections - one that would have forbidden investment fund managers to consider climate change in their portfolios (I have two degrees in accounting and this is actually huge), and another that would have overturned restrictions on agricultural runoff into our waterways.

He and his administration worked for ages to get rail workers paid sick days.

This is just some of what he's been doing. Meanwhile, Trump and other Republicans want to criminalize the lives of LGBT people like you and me. They want to eliminate no-fault divorce and force births that will kill parents or devastate them financially. They have stated flat out that they want to install a military dictatorship in the USA. They attempted to put that in motion on January 6th, 2021. They failed once. They will do better next time.

One party wants to house the homeless and expand social safety nets, while the other one wants to criminalize homelessness. One of them wants a future in which I might be able to vote to change how much of a war machine my country is, while the other one wants to eliminate my ability to vote entirely. Those are not the same. Those literally are opposites.

At the end of the day, all you and I can do is choose to do the least amount of harm possible. You and I cannot choose to do no harm. This is the USA, we sell war, you and I cannot choose to do no harm. I wish we could, my god do I wish we could, but that is not an option. So we grieve for the harm we couldn't eliminate and work to minimize the harm that is done. Despite all the crap they support, Democrats are the minimum amount of harm right now. Acting like they aren't is exactly what brought us to an election where our options are a future where we are either wading in blood or drowning in it.

Not voting for Biden will not help Palestine. Not voting for Biden will guarantee a Republican president who will make the situation in Palestine WORSE. AND it'll hurt a lot of other places as well, both at home and abroad, because Republicans are about business and the USA is in the business of war! And I would very much like that to change someday! I would very much like to someday be able to choose to do no harm! And I know what I have to do to try for that future, so what are YOU going to do? There is no standing off to the side in this. If you aren't helping pull, you're the dead weight we're pulling. Are you going to dig your feet into the mud and blood and drown us there? Or are you going to get the fuck off your ass, grit your teeth, and help us pull free?

#askbasket #iam-the-wild #us politics #israel #palestine #if you do not vote blue you do not get to call yourself an antifascist #i HATE that that's the case; don't mistake me #but that is the reality we're working with #there isn't any other #do nothing and kill five people or act and kill one.#so what are you gonna do? i can't choose for you. but i know what my choice is.#i'm part of this world. and as much as i hate it...turning away is not one of the options.#we fight on ALL fronts #we protest we donate we write we call #AND WE ALSO FUCKING VOTE FOR THE LEAST OF THE EVILS. BECAUSE NO EVIL IS NOT AN OPTION.

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onlyswan · 3 months

Text

summary: in which you sacrifice your strawberries and eyelash wishes for the boy knocking at your door.

idol!jungkook x reader, strangers to friends (?) to lovers / fluff and a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: allusions to death and grief / jungkook is a cutie patootie and a blushing hopeless romantic mess / he wants to kiss oc so bad (me too bro) / oc is a sunshine <3 / they do chores and watch movies together :((( / in one scene he was worried oc would think of him as a perv lmao / they’re dorks and i love them / seokjin cameo hehehe

> in which masterlist!

note: to make up for the pain i may have caused and will cause <3 LOL. i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing :D as always reblogs and feedback are appreciated! come chat w me. ily 🌼

—

“it’s so cold,” you mutter through chattering teeth.

the grocery bags sit on the hardwood table with a thud— the careless bringer too hasty. you shove your icy hands in the deep pockets of your jacket, breathing in and out with a sense of relief.

you are not granted the mundane euphoria for much longer, however. the doorbell rings and you are padding across the floor against your will. the cold air hits your face before it enters your apartment.

however, the happy smile that greets you blankets your heart with a type of warmth that is difficult to describe.

if you had to guess who was behind the door, you wouldn’t say the boy you’ve been fiercely pining over for the past month, but it is certainly who you’d be hoping for regardless.

“good morning!”

“oh! wait there for a moment!”

jungkook stands motionless by your open front door as you disappear into your apartment. confusion accompanied by curiosity, he tries poking his head inside, but then decides that he shouldn’t.

upon your return, his face lights up again.

“here you go!”

he accepts the jar of honey faster than he could think.

“w-why are you-?”

you tilt your head, lips forming a small pout. “isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“uh, actually-” he awkwardly pauses, hand that carries the heavy paper bag behind him suddenly feeling weak. “i came here to give you something.”

your eyes animatedly expand in surprise of the size of it, not at all expecting to receive a gift from him today. you do know that he’s fresh from japan, as you converse on the phone almost everyday… why would he come here almost immediately? and didn’t he say they weren’t given the chance to roam the city because of their work schedule?

“i just grabbed things i thought you might like. i hope i got most of them right?” he explains with a nervous chuckle as you take a look inside.

a diverse array of snacks; a beautiful journal painted with cherry blossoms; a hello kitty plushie; stickers, muji pens…

“oh my god, jungkook… these are too much. you didn’t have to.”

oh, curse the hopeless fluttering of your heart.

“wow, gifting your merch- that’s real idol behavior for you.” you tease him, referring to the hooded jacket that has their group logo on its plastic packaging. “thank you!”

“no but it seriously warms you up! i have one too!”

“jungkook, why are you so cute?!”

“ah, shut up! i’m getting embarrassed!” he whines, blushing. “just look at them later after i leave, how about that?”

“let go! it’s mine!” you glare at him, hugging the paper bag to your chest to deny his advances on snatching it away. “are you not leaving? don’t you have work?”

“i told you— it’s my rest day.”

“you did?”

“while we were texting last night.”

“oh,” you blink. “i don’t remember reading that.”

“you? what are you doing today?”

you bite back the smile threatening to give away the thoughts running in your mind a thousand miles per hour. why does he want to know?

“nothing special. just chores the entire day.”

jungkook puts his hand inside the pocket of his coat, an attempt to appear casual as he offers you his valiant effort. “do you want some help? i’m good at doing chores.”

you stare at him, perplexed, as if he just said the most ridiculous sentence you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“it’s your rest day and you want to do chores?”

“sure,” he grins playfully, not at all seeing how that could be wrong. “why not?”

“you know…” you pause— observing his expression, considering shutting your mouth, but that plan rarely ever works out. “you can just say that you want to spend time with me, right?”

your bluntness sends his heart racing. you’re a danger to his health.

he sinks his perfect teeth on his bottom lip, bringing his dimples into view. to be honest, you didn’t always have a thing about dimples. you didn’t consider them all that special. but why do they make him look cute and sexy at the same time?

his cheeks become tinted with a pale scarlet. you’re wearing that friendly beam again; he doesn’t know how to act. he never knows whether you are joking or not.

“well, now i know.”

—

jungkook sets down the jar of honey on the table as he settles in the living room, fascinated doe eyes darting around every inch of your place. it’s not his first time here, but somehow, it looks different each time. the two frames hanging above the sofa captures his attention all over again, colorful drawings against the plain white wall. gifted to you by your siblings, you said.

a tall castle with a happy family. a little boy slaying a dragon to protect a princess from its savage fire.

he is blissfully unaware of the knowledge that the drawings are the lone survivors of a school bus and a tragedy. you want it to stay that way. you want people to feel the opposite of the sadness you feel when you look at them. that is how you seek your peace.

“are you wearing toe socks?”

“huh?” he makes a sound of confusion, only processing your question upon seeing your gaze trained to his feet. “ah- toe socks- yes.”

“i’m only noticing them now. they look funny.” you scrunch your nose, chuckling.

“don’t laugh! they’re so comfortable!”

“really?” your eyes widen with genuine interest. “i should try them then.”

“yeah, you should!”

he whips his head around as he jokingly voices out an observation.

“but ____, your house kind of looks different today… it’s almost like it’s cleaner than the last time i was here.”

you bury your face in your hands with a high-pitched wine, hiding from him in humiliation. you did not plan on inviting someone over that night, and he had to watch you run around organizing and picking up things— the scattered books all over the table and the floor; the jackets that have created a big heap on the small couch; the jewelry box that ended up on the dining table for some reason.

he laughs in endearment, unable to take his eyes from you. even the way your hair bounces as you furiously shake your head is pretty. wait, does that sound weird?

“that’s right, it should look different! the first thing i did when winter break started was clean up my mess.”

“what’s the first chore on the list then?” he catches the grocery bags in the kitchen from his peripheral. “were you putting away your groceries?”

“you really want to do chores? you don’t want to watch a movie or something?”

“aigoo, it’s fine!” he waves off your reluctance. “stop worrying! i already said i’d help you.”

“but it’s embarrassing…”

it’s either jungkook is denying your advances or he is simply dense. but the fact that he showed up at your door unannounced on his day-off despite complaining about his exhaustion from their hectic work schedule, you want to lean towards the latter and believe that he is… as good at chores like he claims to be.

“you must like fruits a lot.” jungkook comments as he is squatted infront of your fridge, sheltering the freshly bought perishables one by one.

kimchi, lettuce, strawberries, tangerines, shine muscat, apples…

this is an entirely different world through your lens.

it feels strange to watch another person restock your fridge for you.

“they’re easy to eat and i’m lazy to cook.”

he chuckles as he looks back at you, who is sat on the dining table, airy and carefree as you snack on a bag of assorted chocolates from the paper bag he brought. almost all of the white chocolates are gone, he notes.

“not because they’re nutritious?”

“that’s the bonus!”

“what is this?”

“cranberry juice.”

“and this?”

“oyster sauce.”

you energetically hop off the table, an idea lighting up the bulb in your mind.

“i have another recipe for you. french toast with strawberries, then drizzle some of the honey. should i make it for you?”

“ah!” he gasps as if he is in pain, but the truth is his mouth is watering. he hasn’t eaten breakfast, and he wanted to eat more for dinner last night but sleep proved to be much more enticing than food. “that sounds so good! i’m starving!”

“stand up!” you begin pulling at the back of his sweater, forcing him to remove himself from the floor. “i’ll make it! just go relax in the living room, okay?”

“but you just said you’re lazy to cook.” he tilts back his head, meeting your gaze. “i’ll help you.”

“i’m not lazy when it becomes to being a host.”

you bend down with a sweet smile, merely inches away from him, and jungkook swears the earth has stopped spinning on its axis. your face is natural and bare, except for the sheen of lip balm across your lips— and dear heavens, having you this close, you are so breathtakingly beautiful.

“they’re playing christmas movies on channel 36.” you announce, giving him the bag of chocolates. “and the remote is… somewhere on the sofa… or maybe the floor.”

and as he gets practically kicked out of the kitchen, your hands roughly pushing his back, he daydreams of kissing you and tasting sugar on your lips.

—

the sweet, addicting smell of the french toast— strong hints of butter and cinnamon— invades every corner of your apartment. consequently, it also compels jungkook to break your rules and insert himself in the kitchen again.

“you never give up, do you?”

“i don’t,” he agrees, nodding eagerly. he has successfully stolen the task of washing the strawberries, and then slicing them after. he endures the freezing water rendering his hands numb. “it’s a known fact.”

“are you saying i should study harder?” you cross your arms, expression painted with faux vexation.

“yes! exactly!” he humors you, grinning of amusement. “what’s my favorite color?”

you sigh, looking at him from head to toe.

“anyone can guess that from a mile away, jungkook.”

“fuck, okay. that’s fair!”

the sound of his laughter reminds of you reasons to stay through the cycle of the seasons. you don’t understand why, but for some reason, it has finally begun to feel like christmas. the only comfort that comes along with the cruel winter that nips at your skin; the blanket over your heart that provides a type of warmth one can travel to seek but will never be able to find alone.

“what’s my height then?”

“aren’t you six feet?”

the silence that follows is an answer enough for you. the noise of the television emerges now that none of you is talking. he pretends to be too busy to speak, transferring the strawberries over to the chopping board.

“yes, you’re ri-”

“liar!” you point an accusatory finger at him.

and he winces, guilty as charged.

“you hesitated!”

“tsk, i should’ve said yes faster! i wanted to experience what it’s like to be tall!” he regretfully purses his lips, eyebrows knitted as if he just lost the lottery. “but haven’t you read it online? even my shoe size and weight are there.”

“what? why do people even need to know that…?” you exclaim, flabbergasted. “i mean- of course i’ve searched up your name, but it feels like cheating on a test. does that sound silly…? it’s just more fun learning about you from you.”

you briefly walk away to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and jungkook is left at the counter with fondness blossoming in his chest, bleeding into the chopped strawberries staining his hands red.

he calls out your name.

“mhmm?” you hum in question, muffled by the water in your mouth.

“want to hear a fact about me?”

you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, eyes expanding with fueled interest. “what?”

“i’m actually very good in the kitchen.” he boasts his skills with the kitchen knife, quick and precise, the blade against the wood creating the satisfying click you usually only hear from cooking shows. “are you seeing this? huh…? what do you think?”

“so i’ve noticed. i want something new!”

at that, his shoulder sags in disappointment. to his demise, there goes another failed attempt at making you acknowledge that he is boyfriend material.

“what do you want to know? ask me questions.”

“what’s your ideal type?”

being in your presence for the past hour has gotten jungkook re-adjusted to your personality— straight-forward, bold, smart— so vivacious that it’s dizzying. you make him nervous and comfortable at the same time, and he doesn’t quite know how to explain it either. but you’re a breath of fresh air, the change that he has been anticipating to disrupt his routine.

“why do you want to know that?”

you shrug coyly, smiling like the troublesome vixen that you are. you rather enjoy the tension that has hung in the air. if you’ve learned something from the past: men are easy to get, not easy to keep. because they relish in the chase, getting strung along like this. so, shouldn’t you have your fun too? but even if jungkook’s intentions were pure, you can only imagine that seeing someone whose life revolves around their career is… the perfect recipe for disaster.

“i think who you like also says a lot about who you are as a person.”

“i like someone who is kind and funny…” he hums in thought, unconsciously slotting a piece of strawberry in between his lips. “and passionate about the things they love… mhmm, someone who can be honest with me.”

his words form a constellation named after you, unbeknownst to you, and he wants to say more but anticipating what comes next after you connect the dots makes his stomach twist. he doesn’t feel like an adult yet. he’s still just a young boy with a gorgeous crush and high ambitions that coalesce in his dreams.

“i like someone who has a really pretty smile, too.”

and he should probably stop staring, erase the dumb lovesick smile on his face. for fuck’s sake, it would be easier for him if you would just do the same. behind the sparkles of your eyes, there is something he’s been dying to decipher.

“okay, why are you looking at me like that?”

because you are so pretty, especially when you smile.

“nothing,” he replies innocently. “you? what’s your ideal type? who do you like?”

“i don’t know… no one has captured my heart yet. they’re not trying hard enough!”

every romance you’ve had so far has been a letdown.

“but i’m still looking. i’m young, and hot, and the universe is vast.”

“mhm, i see… that’s true, but maybe… you don’t want to be looking too far.” jungkook suggests.

you smirk. “so you agree that i’m hot?”

“you know. you don’t need me to say it.” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“but i want to hear you say it.”

“you’re very beautiful, ____.”

“but that’s not-”

“the food is ready! let’s eat it before it gets cold!”

he runs to the living room without waiting for you, and you seize the opportunity to squeal without a sound, punching the counter without actually punching— releasing the giddiness threatening to spill from the seams of your heart.

you don’t know if this is heading somewhere, nor do you expect it to, but where you are right now is a good place to be.

—

the movie playing on the screen has become more of a white noise to you, a family comedy far less fascinating compared to jungkook drizzling honey over strawberries and bread from a spoon. you wonder if he is aware how often he creates sound effects while he is doing something.

beside you, his body quakes with cackles during the scenes that an editor would definitely insert the classic sound of an audience’s collective laughter and holler. you stumble upon the understanding that his happiness lies in a myriad of things, and you would envy him for it if not for the fact that he is currently sharing that happiness with you. you laugh when he laughs, and being becomes a little less heavier at that moment.

another commercial break rudely interrupts and jungkook turns towards you. the two of you sit cross-legged, knees knocking against each other as you occupy nearly the entire sofa.

“hi!”

“hi.”

“what are your plans for the holidays?”

“my best friend’s family invited me to stay with them for christmas until the new year. it’s kind of been a tradition since…”

the end of your sentence hangs suspended in the air. you still can’t say it out loud.

jungkook knows they’re gone and you’re alone: only the plain and brutal truths.

the reminder that this is the third christmas you will not spend with your family; the thought that this would be the third christmas they would spend without you if the afterlife was real— they bring tears to your eyes at once, but you forcibly blink them away, shoving enthusiasm down your throat.

“how about you?” you take a bite from your toast, attempting to divert your thoughts to… anything else. “are you coming home?”

you hide so well behind a smile. it doesn’t occur to jungkook that his question rubbed salt on an open wound.

“i miss my mom but i can’t go home yet.” he pouts. “i have work on christmas day as usual. we’ve been preparing hard for it.”

“oh, that’s right! gayo daejeon?!”

he nods in confirmation.

the music festival has been an annual event for his group since they debuted, and he never feels the need to complain because not everyone is given this kind of opportunity. what’s extraordinary for most has become his ordinary, and what was once his ordinary like everybody else’s has simply become a thing of the past. nevertheless, he does not have regrets. he is living a good life, one that he believes is his fate. as long as he has a voice and it is being heard, then his existence has meaning.

“your family will surely watch you, so they’re still celebrating it with you in a way. making them proud is the best christmas gift you can give!”

and right now, in his life, you are the cherry on top. you were so cheerful and supportive about the final shows of their tour as well, raving about how amazing it is to perform three nights in a row at gocheok skydome.

“i’ll watch you too!”

he can’t help it— you’re driving him to be better at what he does. childishly, he wants show off and be the one to capture your heart.

“ah!” he groans. “that means i should work harder at practice tomorrow! i can’t mess up infront of you and my family!”

“why not me? you want to make me proud too?” you interrogate him jokingly.

“of course, it’s my job. it’s what i do best. i’ll make you see!”

“use me as motivation then. you can’t mess up, okay? you have to do well, jungkook! you better not make a mistake! my eyes will be focused on you only!”

his face is reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights— the headlights being your wide, threatening eyes.

he releases a shaky sigh in dramatic fashion. “i don’t feel motivated, though? i’m getting pressured?”

you wheeze; the plate over your lap tilts along with its contents.

“this is tough love!”

jungkook nearly staggers to his feet. “…love?”

you roll your eyes, small corners of your lips still cheekily lifted. “was the french toast good?”

jungkook is interrupted before he can form a response.

“but if it tastes like shit, just lie to me!”

“what are you talking about?!”

oh my god, you’re too fucking good at making him laugh.

“you’re eating it too! you know it’s delicious!”

“maybe you got a bad batch!”

—

“i’m going to the laundry shop across the street. i’ll just be a minute.” you announce, hauling a laundry basket to the living room.

your strained grunts prompt jungkook to look up from his phone, and eventually to stand up with urgency and relieve you of your heavy, heavy burden.

“shit, how heavy is this?”

you’re not given a chance to protest as the basket is immediately stolen from your grasp; your lips part open but no words come out.

“i’ll come with you!”

“well, hopefully not more than twelve kilos.”

it’s definitely heavier than usual; mainly comprised of the thick and layered clothes you’ve been wearing to shield yourself from the unforgiving cold.

“let’s go.”

jungkook wraps his hand around your wrist, gently tugging. the butterflies in your stomach wakes up earlier than spring’s arrival.

“this thing is bigger than you.”

an extremely obvious exaggeration.

“i’ll be the one to carry it.“

—

jungkook wears a cap and a face mask underneath his hoodie, eyes barely even visible in his all-black getup for the public to see; and somehow you also find yourself with a scarf around your neck, pulled up over the bridge of your nose.

when the year 2017 rolled in, you predicted that more crazy, life-altering stuff would happen. it has been an on-going theme, a relentless domino effect that has brought you to your knees time and time again. but you never would’ve fucking imagined that this is how you would be wrapping it up. how the hell did you cross paths with a famous idol, and why is he carrying your laundry basket right now?

“wait here for a bit.” you bring both hands to the basket’s handles, coaxing him to let go. “i’ll just bring it inside.”

“are you only dropping it off? that’s expensive!”

“what?” you stare at him in bewilderment, not expecting him to utter such statement at all. “you’re talking like you’re not rich!”

“i’m not! and still,” jungkook becomes flustered underneath his disguise. “it’s good to be practical. anyway, we have a lot of time.”

“you sound more like a mom than my mom did.”

“shhh!” he shushes you, putting a finger over his face mask. “let’s just do your laundry ourselves.”

“why would you do laundry right now? you’re supposed to be resting in the first place!”

a tug of war ensues infront of the laundry shop. strangers doesn’t know better. you look like a married couple bickering over who should take responsibility of the chore.

“____, just let me, mhm? i’m a pro at doing laundry too! we’ll be done before you know it!”

“how are you good at everything? honestly, it sounds like a scam!”

“how dare you doubt me?” he gasps in offense. “i do my own laundry!”

“seriously?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“i’m serious!”

“i don’t think i believe you, though…”

“if you search online, you-” your voice echoes in his mind, and subsequently, jungkook cuts himself off.

‘it feels like cheating on a test. it’s more fun learning about you from you.’

“oh, nevermind. let’s go inside already. i’m freezing!”

“jungkook!” you whine, stomping your feet on the ground as you refuse to let go of the basket despite jungkook beginning to head inside.

“why?” he copies the childishness of your tone, and although you can’t see his face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you enough.

“we can’t…”

the adorable sight of you appearing to be so shy is foreign to him. he can’t help but to chuckle. “why not?”

your lips form a pout.

“my panties…”

you bring a finger to point at the basket.

“they’re in there too… i was only going to drop them off today because you came with me…”

“ah…” jungkook awkwardly freezes, unblinking. “wait, you’re right?”

why didn’t he think of that? he’s a fucking idiot. of fucking course. what if you take things the wrong way and you’re creeped out by him now?!

“fuck, sorry. i’m sorry. i wasn’t- um, i swear i wasn’t trying to…”

his tongue becomes tied, struggling to search for the words that won’t make him sound like a damn pervert.

yeah, way to go, jungkook. you’re not the fucking boyfriend yet and you’re ruining your chances.

“did i make you uncomfortable? i’m sorry. it probably looked li-”

“hey, breathe, calm down. it’s alright, jungkook.”

you giggle in amusement, placing a hand over his chest— his heart. it’s meant to ease him, but the knowledge that you’re feeling his racing heartbeat only causes it to further intensify. he swallows the lump in his throat, dumbfounded by the turn of events. he wants the ground to swallow him whole, but he also wants to stay in this moment a little while longer.

“it’s alright. i’ll go bring this inside then i’ll treat you to lunch at the restaurant over there! don’t run away from me, okay?”

—

“the yukgaejang looks good.” you utter absentmindedly, admiring the spicy beef soup with plentiful vegetables from afar. “i’m jealous of you.”

the other tables are already having a feast while you and jungkook are waiting for your take-out to be prepared.

“then you should’ve ordered it too.” jungkook scolds you lightheartedly. “should i go?”

“no! i’m not good with spicy food. spice makes me cry.”

he smiles softly. once again, you complete the picture from his eyes. “what is there to frown so sadly about?”

“i feel like i’m missing out.” you complain, the pout on your face almost permanent. “spicy food is like one of the trademarks of korea, you know? but i can’t handle it!”

“so cute…” jungkook has decided to give in to his impulses, it seems— the evidence is him pinching your cheek for the very first time, and with the discovery of its delightsome softness, it will definitely not be the last.

“oh, oh, oh! an eyelash!”

his doe eyes glisten with pure wonder and excitement, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended when his hand moves to tenderly cup the side of your face. as he is absorbed in capturing the tiny eyelash that has fallen and glued itself on your cheek, your mind reels with the size of his hand, the sensation of his innocent touch against your neck.

“aaand-” jungkook takes your hand, passing on the eyelash to your index finger. “there you go. make a wish!”

your eyes flicker down, and none of you speaks for a moment or two.

a wish…?

what does one wish for when they have given up on wishing for miracles?

“did you do it?”

you peek at jungkook, nodding. at last, you blow the eyelash away, outside the window, where it becomes one with the snowflakes that came from the same sky where wishes are supposedly granted.

“what did you wish for?”

“i’ll tell you when it comes true.”

—

jungkook eats so well— you feel full just by watching him eat. so when he asked you, eyebrows knitted and legs bouncing, if he could have more rice, you were left with no choice but to plug in the rice cooker for the second time today. you cooked only enough for two meals today: brunch and dinner for one. you’re more than happy to have given him the dinner portion. you like that your apartment is providing warmth for another soul, despite the old times that it housed ones that ended up haunting you.

“are there any more chores to do? while we wait for the rice?”

you gaze switches from him to the living room.

the boy who was knocking at your door is now vacuuming your floors.

you sit on the couch with your legs hugged to your chest, chin propped on your knees. an unexplainable feeling swims in your chest, but your heart calls to welcome it. not to be delusional, but technically, isn’t this a marriage proposal?

it falls on dear ears— the infuriating sound of the cheap vacuum cleaner your landlord lended you and never came back for. underneath it is jungkook’s mellifluous voice, humming and singing, and it’s all you can hear.

the only use you knew of honey is the magic it does with tea for a sore throat. when you learned about his demanding occupation, he is all you can think of in relation to the elixir. since then, you’ve been taking the god awful amount of honey your pesky neighbor provides without any complaints.

this is nice… this is good. you are glad that you opened the door.

—

after a hearty and satisfying meal, you and jungkook retired to your previous spots infront of the television screen. more of the snacks he bought for you ended up being shared. near your stacks of books are colorful food wrappers and half-empty glasses of water. two mediocre yet entertaining movies later, you tell jungkook that you should pick up your laundry before the shop closes in an hour. however, after he has excused himself to the bathroom, he is greeted by the sight of you peacefully asleep on the sofa.

once more, a new side of you is laid bare, and his affection grows. he doesn’t know when he can admire your face this close again without melting from your stare.

heedful of disturbing your much deserved rest, he carefully places a pillow beneath your head, and he pulls down the blanket you’re wrapped in to cover your cold feet.

with one last stolen glimpse, he grabs your key and receipt from the bowl and leaves.

—

“is it time for you to leave?” you delicately rub at your eyes that are still half-closed; voice quiet, barely there.

you were awoken by the front door opening and closing, but nothing has quite registered to your fuzzy brain yet, except for the coat that you neatly kept and is already re-worn by its owner.

and he knows you’re most probably just sleepy, but the way you’re gazing at him as if you’re sad to see him go makes his heart clench.

“no, i picked up your laundry.” he enlightens you, consciously speaking with refined tenderness, as to preserve the serenity that has enveloped the atmosphere. “i can stay until eight. is that okay?”

you release a weary sigh, nodding. “of course… and you’re such a nice friend, thank you.”

he plops down on the sofa, filling the jungkook-shaped space beside you.

tired… you’re so tired… despite the given privilege to finally sleep to your heart’s content, you’re still so tired. your forehead lands softly on his shoulder, and unbeknownst to you due to your stupor, jungkook’s breath hitches— the polar opposite of the steady rise and fall of your chest. you make him swoon. he deliberately ignores the fact that you just called him a friend.

you peer down at the floor, past the curtain of your disheveled hair, slowly blinking. those ridiculous toe socks… you giggle in secret.

“jungkook?”

“yes?”

“are you cold?”

“freezing.”

you lift your head and he knows— you have to be playing games with his heart, bringing the temptation to kiss you so painfully close. “do you want some tea?”

—

the performance has commenced but the passionate screams of the audience still rings in jungkook’s ears as he runs backstage, chased by the staff attempting to wipe the sweat he is practically bathing in. he squeezes one eye shut as beads of sweat threaten to enter it. his chest heaves with exhaustion and his heart pumps with overwhelming adrenaline. most of the time, this job doesn’t feel real. he feels high. this is the textbook definition of a dream.

“where’s my phone? please? does anyone have it?” he yells in the midst of the chaos and clamor as he completely strips off his in-ears.

a hand reaches towards him with the device, and his expression of gratitude gets lost somewhere among the repetitive reminders of the remaining time before they should have returned to their designated seats.

he allows the hair and make-up stylists to do their jobs, him as their doll in need of a retouch. on the other hand, he impatiently waits for his phone to power on.

the tapping of jungkook’s foot ceases, and from his glowing reflection on the vanity mirror, the clueless people surrounding him witnesses love strike.

guess my eyelash wish worked like a charm. your performances went really well

and you looked so cool on stage ☺️

merry christmas jungkook ❤️

“jungkook-ah, what are you smiling at?!”

seokjin cackles. jungkook didn’t even notice him roll his chair so close. he then decides to play dumb to tease their youngest one.

“wow, who is this ____ you’re texting?”

“hyung!” jungkook panics, hissing underneath his breath. “lower your voice!”

“ouch!” seokjin yells, rubbing his arm that was hit as a punishment.

he allows a moment of silence.

his expression goes blank and he avenges himself.

“ah!” jungkook gasps as the slap on his thigh resonates, forced to be ripped away from overthinking a text message. “hyung! you better start running!”

Draft: i know it’s late.. but can i see you later?|

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut

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itsyaniwym · 3 months

Text

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Astrology Observations II ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

✺ Pisces Mars are experts at ghosting. You guys take action in such an elusive way because you hate confrontation, or just unnecessary drama. If y’all are annoyed or feeling a way about something you don’t say anything right away and you only react when things boil over into the point where you can’t control it anymore and you explode. Then you immediately bad for getting so angry. Just work on communicating how you feel, when you feel it, sometimes other people won’t know how you feel until you express it.

✺ Mars in the 1st house synastry isn’t always as sexy and hot as people think it is. The mars person’s attraction could be so strong for the house that they come off too strong which can completely turn off the house person. (If there isn’t any other compatible synastry)

✺ The sign in your second house is usually the sign, or ones with those placements, that you feel the most possessive over.

✺ Also, the second house can explain your appetite and how you like to eat. For example, Sag risings having Capricorn in the 2nd house prefer home cooked meals over fast food. They are very strict as to what they put in their body and they won't eat just anybody's food.

✺ As of the other hand, Scorpio risings having Sag in the 2nd house go from extremes where they are either eating really healthy or just absolutely terrible. They love fast food and can tend to over indulge in these pleasures.

✺ In my opinion, 4th house synastry feels more like family or a really close friend than anything romantic (mostly just Sun and Moon) It feels almost weird to cross that line, like if you do things would turn awkward. OR if it is a romantic connection the planet person may have more feelings than the house person does.

✺ I will stand by this but 6th house synastry is SOOOO underrated!!! If you are looking for a long-term relationship with someone having personal planets here will really help the relationship last. Especially when Sun is there it’s almost like there is a never a dull moment and each and every day you guys are never get bored of one another. Venus here it’s like you guys find pleasure doing the small things together the most. You would even be happy doing things like grocery shopping with them, stopping by at your job to give you flowers, and makes living together very easy. Mars in ones 6th house is sending them to do things, and them not minding at all, they love to make you happy by doing things for you.

I do feel like moon in 6th house synastry would be a bit aggravating. Feeling like the person would rather intellectualize and nitpick your emotions rather than being the one to help you feel them. Almost feels as if you are being judged for any emotion you show. It might be annoying feeling like someone is constantly questioning you about how they feel or feeling like you constantly have to take on the baggage of what the other person is going through.

✺ It’s not said enough but Capricorn placements, especially mercury and Sun, are the most hilarious people ever. Their dry sense of humor and how sarcastic they are is UNMATCHED. They will say the things that other people are scared to say and you can’t help but to laugh. They have that dark humor that no other sign can replicate. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea but they are so real!

✺ Pisces Mars and Pisces rising’s are the ones who are attracted to people that u would least expect them to be with. Or they are attracted to the “bad boy” or the one people tell them to stay away from

✺ Sag rising don’t age! No matter how old they are they have this glow about them and always look so youthful.

✺ Aquarius and Sag Venus’ really don’t have a type. They just love someone who makes them happy and they can go adventures with . These people are attracted to cerebral people and anyone who can really expand their mind. You often hear these people say “I like who I like” or “I just love, love”. This could change if there is some Capricorn energy in the chart which could make someone value a more traditional approach to this fun loving placement.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Thank you guys for making it to the end of my post! ♥️if you have any experience with any of these placements/synastry above please comment down below your experience! I would love to hear you guys’ feed back. Please keep in mind these are just my personal opinions take everything with a grain of salt. Love youusss💋 ♡

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tropes-and-tales · 5 months

Text

Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11: Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4096

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains. It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache. You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south. The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue.

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply. “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal.

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly. The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly. The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention. You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten. Maybe that’d be better. You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone. It means nothing.

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap. You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself: you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him. Turning him over and over in your mind.

Soap MacTavish. Handsome, almost unbearably so. He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious. Friendly. He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile. He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply. You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.” He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber. “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.” You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.” You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter. “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong. Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains. You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap. But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another. You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission. Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all: Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever. Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke. He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price. He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured.

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you. You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match. When you walk past, he notices, sits up. Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes. He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff. “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own. “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.” You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you.

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing. “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree. You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission. You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing. “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.” You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal. It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re not sure what spurs your next move. You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger. You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move. But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought. Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess. Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise. His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it. His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you. You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?” His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink. Refuse to look away. “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.” You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm. “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back. He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters. Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke. You could still back out. Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him. It could change the tenor of the team. And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day? Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity? Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both? Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him. Sweet Johnny MacTavish. Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing. Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone. “If you do. If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name. “Wasn’t joking at all.” Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face. It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy).

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says. He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first. Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse. He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters. Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative. It’s uncharted territory. He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either. But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours. One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg. Everything about him is warm, really: the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you. And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed. You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless. He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking: when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on. Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy. He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks. He pats his upper chest. “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is. Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing. But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown. Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate. There’s a lot of trust on both ends: he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck. And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…” You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl. I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide. The accent is not fighting fair. Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair. It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed. But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own. His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him. Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him? Do you straddle him lower and scoot up? You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned. Any other man? It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too. He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are. His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all. There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core. “Tell me what is working for you, yeah? Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser. It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine. He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance. He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does.

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him. Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair. He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny. Just like t-that.”

“Good?” It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.” You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too.

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.” Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.” And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs. His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone. But there’s something about this position. You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you. You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out. “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks. Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway. He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless. You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days. You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment. You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh. “Yeah, that was good. Especially for someone who’s never done it before.” A beat. “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again. “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex. Coming makes you stupid. “Huh? When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head. “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him. He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated. “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.” He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him. He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders. “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation: the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed. Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees. “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms. You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

#john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap imagine #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish imagine #soap x reader #call of duty modern warfare #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Note

ooh im glad!!! so, expanding on that then..

how about price with a civvi wife/gf, and when they’re talking over the phone while he’s gone, she’s being kinda cagey and definitely omitting something, but he doesn’t know what. so when he gets back home she tells him she’s pregnant? really just a lot of fluff (and maybe angst? 👀 like about how his job is super dangerous and he might not come home, so he has fears about it?? bc your angst is so good it makes me sob violently /pos)

ive never sent a request before, so if this is too specific or something, feel free to whittle it down or toss it, i don’t wanna bug you lol

have a good day hal, love u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our Remains

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, allusions to breeding kink & unprotected seggsy time, morning sickness, angst, major fluff at the end

A/N: This was an adorable request, Anon!! Thanks so much for sending it in.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You disliked hiding things from John. It not only felt like a betrayal of his unlimited trust in you but also a slap in the face for what you had built with each other. The both of you were always honest to a fault when it came to your relationship—like how a bird was loyal to the sky. It was an unselfish principle; a promise of pure love and devotion that transcended touch or given gifts.

You told each other things. Everything. Down to how much you had spent on groceries that day just because it was something to talk about and share; something that made you closer to one another even when you were apart. You told the Brit what you planted in the back garden—what shirt you were wearing!

But now you hold the ringing phone in your hand and for the first time in your entire relationship, you consider lying.

Your eyes bore into the icon of John’s smiling face, head covered by a black beanie and beard tilted up softly. Affectionately, his name on the device had been changed to ‘Grumpy St. Bernard,’ but now the title made your lips go thin instead of the usual giggling reaction. No heat spreads over your cheeks; no excitement.

Just an overwhelming sense of dread.

The week had started just as the last three had. A special form of hell. At nearly six o’clock you would whip back the covers with all the fervor of a terrified rabbit being chased by a hawk; the taste of bile immediately snapping you to attention as the toilet acts as your commanding officer.

You imagined John would get a chuckle out of that comparison, but when you’re hurling up your guts in nothing more than a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers and a tank top it’s hard to think about all that. The taste of bile was still lickable from your lips as the bathroom tile digs into your knees, ringing phone still in your palm.

The idea of a pregnancy test slid into your subconscious in the first week of John’s two-month deployment, the tantalizing thought that was like a hook to a fish. You had pulled on the string, of course, and had instantly drowned in air. But you hadn’t taken one until now. Too nervous, perhaps. Hesitant.

In your other hand, opposite of the buzzing phone, you held three positive pregnancy tests in a shaking grip. Pink and white plastic mock you from the corner of your vision; two double lines.

John’s icon dims.

You press the green circle in your panic, mouth opening and closing yet no sounds escaping. Would you tell him now? Later? Was it right to tell him about this now—when he was halfway across the continent? Fear overtakes your heart for no apparent reason. You didn’t want him to act rashly, especially when John could act so stubborn when he wanted to.

He was always so concerned about you when he was away but you were concerned just the same. That man was the one who was getting shot at constantly, not you.

“Took you a while to answer. Trying to give me the slip, then, Sweetheart?” John’s gravelly voice helped slightly, making your heart still, even if for a short moment. You close your eyes and tilt your head down, lips quivering at the soft chuckle over the line.

God, you loved him so much.

Blue eyes furrowed in confusion at the silence on the line, the chilled Switzerland air sneaking inside John’s compression shirt as he stood on the hotel balcony. The sounds of gentle conversation twitch his ears from inside the room—the voices of the One-Four-One a dull mumble behind the half-closed sliding door. They had been playing cards before the Captain had easily slipped away to check up on you.

He tried to call as often as he could.

John’s hips shift, one arm crossed over his chest as the other presses the phone harder to his ear. Lips pull to a frown, beard bristles going with them, before the lines on the Brit’s forehead grow larger.

“...Love?” Naturally, a sliver of concern wedges itself into his ribs but it subsides when your calming voice spreads honey over the call. John’s shoulders fall back down.

You breathe deeply, hands dropping the tests onto the bathroom counter with a small clack of plastic.

“John,” forcing away the hitch to your words, you stare at yourself in the mirror, free hand sliding up to lightly rest over your collarbone as a soothing method. Your eyes are so filled with shock that it throws you off. “I…I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.”

“Hm, been up since 0500.” the man grunts, looking out over the city and seeing the rising sun before asking softly with a deep-set brow. There was something about your tone…lids narrow at nothing. “Did I wake you?”

“No, no,” You force a chuckle, having to take a deep breath before ripping your sights from your own reflection. The disgust was settling at you trying to avoid this. But if your own brain could barely process this right now, what gave you the right to tell John when he wasn’t here? “I’ve been up for a few hours.”

Licking your lips, you run a hand over your hair, glancing out of the ajar door into the master bedroom, pushing out bland answers for only the fact that you couldn’t think clearly right now.

Jesus, this was actually happening.

You study the thrown covers from your morning rush to the bathroom, seeing the pictures on the nightstand and feeling the delicate atmosphere that was sparking—electricity between atoms. A silent moment of realization that everything down to the bare bones of your relationship was about to change. Blinking back to the tests, you dwell in the strange fuzz that took residence in the back of your mind.

“What’s been going on?” Your voice isn’t right. Too tight. Too…nervous. Why were you nervous? “Everyone good?”

The Brit frowns stiffly, shifting his feet again and sending a look back into the hotel. Hunching forward, John’s large fingers fix the position of the phone as his voice lowers, ignoring your question entirely. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but there were pros and cons to his line of work.

Above all, he knew when something was up with you.

“Are you alright over there, Sweetheart?” Blue eyes rove the street below, “Feelin’ okay? You sound a bit stuffed up.”

Your heart lurches, quickly stuttering through an explanation of, “O-oh, I think I just came down with something.” The irony wasn’t lost on you. “A stomach bug,” you cringe, “I’m sorry, was it that obvious?”

The laugh that exits is less convincing than you thought it would be, but it does the trick. John sighs in relief, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize, Love…anything bad, then? I can bring some meds from Base when I’m back if you need me to.” He was still concerned for you, but knowing that you’d never lied or withheld the truth from him before there was really no reason to believe that anything else was going on. John trusted you to the end of the earth.

The Captain rubbed at the back of his neck, cracking his spine as he bent back. It was still early and waking up on a hotel bed without you beside him was torture. John longed for home. Longed for you.

Back at the house, your face scrunches together.

Bad? You wonder, saying absentmindedly that some medication would be lovely. Was this…bad?

John had always wanted to have a kid—or, at least, he’d told you as much when he was above you, filling you to the brim and then doing it again a second and third time. Thighs quivering and eyes fighting to stay open through layered bliss as sharp pants rung in your ears.

“Gonna get you pregnant…watch you swell up…c’mon sweet thing, you can handle another one, can’t you? Need to watch it take.”

…But was that a true feeling or just a kink? You blank and realize you’d never asked him. More than that, though, was this what you wanted?

“When do you think you’ll be home, John?” You speak softly, palm flattening over your stomach as you exit the bathroom and sit on the end of the bed, gut swirling but not in a nauseous sort of way. “I…I really miss you, y’know? It would all be better if you were home.”

The brunette blinks softly, lids peeling back in shock for a moment before a thin thread of guilt worms its way into him.

“Kate said two months, Love,” John speaks slowly, the grumble in his voice trying to convey his unease at your strange behavior, “You know that.”

He’d explained his job when you both had gotten serious, how he would be gone for long periods of time, and the somewhat uncomfortable situations you’d be put in because of it. You’d agreed and never brought it up when John would have to leave in the small hours of the morning and disappear for months on end. It shocked him, really, with how well you adjusted but that was just how you were. One of a kind.

There was no one else with whom John could see himself building a life—being buried beside in some nice meadow grave plot and turning to dust together. Growing a family with.

John cleared his throat, tilting his head down slightly before pulling himself back to the present.

“It’s bothering you that much, eh?” His brows furrow, “Are you sure you’re alright? I can call hospital and—”

“No!” You slap a hand to your mouth, halting your outburst as blue eyes go somewhat wide, jaw slackening. Taking a breath over the shocked silence over the line, you dig your fingers into your cheek before letting your limb drop. “No, John…I-I’m sorry I just…”

Your voice quivers.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

Eyes burning and nose twitching, you breathe heavily, mouth closing shut because you knew that if you say another word you’ll explode. You were shivering with cold sweat, scared and confused, and wanting John to hold you in his arms; whispering that it would all be okay into the shell of your ear.

You force through a sob, “I’m just really scared.”

John tenses, one hand going to grasp the balcony with white knuckles. His mind goes into overdrive. “Scared?” the Brit prods, muscles going stiff and mind running, “What in the hell is going on?”

Authority leaks into his tone, serious and deep. It made him nervous that he couldn’t see you right now—couldn’t stop the sounds coming from your mouth. Why were you crying? Has something horrible happened to you? Were you in trouble but were unable to tell him? John runs over your conversation again, every word and sound, as his heart races. He was wound up like a spring.

From behind him, the conversation in the hotel room halts.

You force your eyes closed, now up on your feet and pacing. Tears lightly patter to the floor.

“John, I can’t tell you over the phone,” you admit, shaking, “that wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be fair to you.” Swiping at your eyes, you spread the salty liquid away from your lashes, sniffling; praying that he would understand. “But I really need you home as soon as you’re able. I don’t want to break up what's going on over there, it’s just really important. I don’t think I can wait two months by myself. You know I would never ask this if I didn’t need to.”

John’s jaw clenches, legs unable to stay still as your anxiety leaks to him. He’s nodding before he realizes you can’t see him, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs.

“...I’ll see what I can do, then.” The brunette runs his hand over his beard pulling at the strands aggressively. What was so crucial that you can’t tell him over the phone? It was a secure line, John always made sure it was; yet, at the same time, that fact didn’t matter at all. If you needed him home so fervently—then he was coming home. That was that. “How long can you wait for me, Love?” He spares a glance inside. “There are a few loose ends that need to be taken care of here. Might complicate things.”

You blink around the bedroom, hand wrapped around your middle and trying to run soothing circles into your skin.

“I…I don’t…” John’s face softens, closing his eyes.

“Breathe, Sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m comin’ home to you. We’ll get whatever this is sorted, yeah? I need you to be brave for me until then.”

Listening, you let the words calm you down, sniffling one last time like a kid who had fallen off the monkey bars before you let out a chuckle. John instantly follows his own advice when that sound wafts over the line. His shoulders fall back once more, silent sigh exiting.

“You said that exact same thing to me when I ended up burning that loaf of bread I was making—two years ago, was it? ‘Breathe, Sweetheart.’” Blue glimmers with love, cheeky tone growing.

“Hm, nearly set the kitchen on fire, didn’t you? So much smoke I swore someone had set off a charge in the oven.” John doesn’t push you to answer him, though he’s more questions than anything else at this point. You’d said you would tell him when he’s home and he believes you. “Please, Love, at least promise me you didn’t burn the bloody house down, yeah?”

A laugh strikes his chest, and he’s chuckling slowly in retaliation.

“I promise, John.”

“Good.” You’re smiling for the first in what seems like ages, tears drying as the flood down your chin stops. You lick away the water stuck in the corner of your mouth when John grunts lowly, “I’ll tell the boys and inform Laswell. But I can’t say it’ll be less than two weeks.”

Nodding to yourself, you say, quietly, “Okay.” Your eyes fall to the framed picture on the nightstand—the image of John and you smiling brightly on your third anniversary. You’d gone hiking, both sweaty and dirt marks on your cheeks, but happy…always happy. Your veins pump blood faster. “I love you, John.”

The final comment is tender; the words are more silk and soft furs than vibrating vocal cords.

He blinks away the blush that lights his pale cheeks. John huffs, an infectious smile flickering over his face as his chest wells with affection. Acting like a bird preening itself, he smirks and says, “Well, you’re lucky then…I love you too, Sweetheart.” An exhalation echoes over the call as his tone drops, “Keep safe for me, eh? I’ll call to update tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

When the phone is set down on the bed, tossed down carefully, you try to think over this situation more rationally. You wouldn’t say you were against this—building a family with John. In fact, if not him, then you don’t believe it would be anyone else.

The Brit was the only man for you. You both knew the risks of having unprotected sex and in reality, you think neither one of you cared about the consequences.

Nodding to yourself, you wonder how to explain this to him when he comes home as you get to fixing the sheets, one hand always drifting back to your stomach with a growing appreciation.

—

John jogged to his car in the underground parking garage, unlocking it with his fob as his bags are slung over his shoulders. He wastes no time chucking his belongings into the back seat, swiftly sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut as the engine starts. His dog tags bounce on his chest, but he’s half convinced they move from the rate that his heart is going alone.

All through traffic his fingers are tapping against the wheel, grunting stiffly at red lights and shifting his hips.

It had been three and a half weeks of fixing loose ends.

“Fuckin’ hell, c’mon,” John huffs, one elbow on the car frame as his hand flattens over his lower jaw. The light slowly snaps back to green after a long minute.

Pressing on the gas, the vehicle moves forward and continues until the familiar home comes into view on that quiet street nearly twenty minutes later.

John barely parks the car before he hops out, leaving his bags in the back, and rushes to the door. Taking the key from under the doormat, his mind is focused on only you. He had been unable to stop his worry about you and your unnamed fear, watching the phone with every free instance he could. It had only grown as the days got longer, and no matter how much you assured him that you would be okay until he got back, deep-seated apprehension grew. He didn’t like living under a shroud, especially when it came to your health.

The key in his hand was inserted with a firm wrist and twisted, shoving open the door with a heavy shoulder like there was a cloud over his head.

“Love?!” He calls, not bothering to shuck off his boots before looking around the visible living room and foyer. “Where are you?”

Long legs move swiftly as an utterance calls from the kitchen, barely taking the time to close the door behind him in his anxiety, “John?”

The Brit immediately backtracks, skidding to a stop and turning with blinking eyes. His ears twitch at the sounds of dishes being dropped back into water, as his heart steadily slows at the sound of your beautiful voice calling his name.

He rushes around the doorframe, feet stomping and hand catching the wall as you come into view, staring wide-eyed.

Your digits are around the fabric of a dish towel, fingers dripping as John finally presents himself to you. You hadn’t heard him until he had called out, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to hear the lock click.

But now it was like every worry you had was wiped clean at the sight of that gruff face; the hitch in his large chest. A smile slashes your lips after a moment of shocked silence.

“John!” You laugh, rushing forward, and the man lets his face soften—bringing you close to him as you draw near and trapping you in his arms.

His breath spread out over the top of your head in a great sigh, grumbled chuckles accented by the way John’s great hands wrap around your shoulders. Fingers press you into a solid chest, digging through hair to let your ear twitch at the sound of his heartbeat.

John doesn't speak until he has held you in his arms for at least three minutes, just pressing his face into your scalp and feeling your warmth against him. You don’t pull away either, breathing in his musk as it instinctually leads to your muscles loosening.

Minutes later, the Brit pulls back slowly, gripping you by the shoulders and looking down into your eyes. His gaze filters over yours, taking you in before his lips meet yours in a brief yet deep kiss. You melt into it, hands going to grip his cheeks and spread throughout his beard hair, soft strands leaving you shivering when John’s thumbs rub circles into your flesh.

He pulls back and you fight the tears in your eyes as he connects his forehead with yours. His optics shine with love, bleeding out like trapped stars; silver flecks of devotion and a blue the color of sea storms.

“What’s going on, Love?” John whispers, concern alight and raving as his grip goes to your waist, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m here. Tell me.”

You blink slowly, lips going thin with tight brows. Swallowing through a tight throat, you nod.

“Can you go sit in the living room, please?” Speaking carefully, you tilt your head and watch John get confused—his nose scrunching and moving his lips together. You run your thumbs over his cheeks and smile slightly, obviously nervous again. “Trust me.”

Though it wasn’t a question, John replies under his breath, “Always.”

But still, he holds you, studying your expression and the whites of your eyes with stiff lungs. You were making him fear that something horrible was coming—something he couldn’t control. His heart begins to hurt, but he backs away from you, brows tight as he exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room.

Taking down a swift breath when he’s out of sight, you fiddle with your fingers above your abdomen, looking down at your still-flat stomach. You knew it was stupid to worry, but how could you not? It wasn’t every day you just told your Lover you were pregnant with his child…

“John loves me,” you mutter to yourself, nodding and getting ready to go through with the plan you’d formed over the three weeks you’d been alone. “And he’ll love the both of us. I know he will.”

Hand flattening over your stomach, you open a drawer with the other, pulling out a small cardboard box no bigger than a book. Fingers shaking, you lick your lips and feel the slight pull of a nervous, yet giddy, smile. Turning, you exit the kitchen and see John sitting with his nose resting above the clench of his fists, foot tapping. His head immediately snaps over when you come into view, hands falling to hang off his legs as the couch under him dips from his weight.

You steel yourself and raise the box.

“Here.” Placing it on the coffee table, you sit across from John in an armchair.

He blinks slowly, eyes going small with curiosity. The man sends you glances through his lashes as he stares down at the object but he says nothing. Rubbing his beard with one hand, he reaches and grabs it carefully.

Testing the weight, John is genuinely confused, clenching his jaw and feeling the material in his palm.

“...What’s this, then?” He asks lowly, glancing at you with a raised brow and lines on his forehead.

You put your intertwined hands in your lap, prompting with a tilt of your shoulders.

“Open it.” Off put by your cryptic answers, John nods firmly, grasping the top of the box and pulling lightly, careful not to disturb the contents. It was strange to think, but he was honestly quite perturbed.

What exactly was inside this box, and why had he been called home for it? He loved being here, no doubt, but the circumstances….

Blue eyes glimmer. You didn’t look overly afraid as you shifted in your seat, just plain timid—like the inside object would change something fundamental about his and yours relationship.

John pops the top off and looks as you start talking before your throat threatens to shut you up. “I…I know it’s not a life-threatening thing to call you home for,” the man stills as if he was made of stone; a statue as non-breathing and pulse-less as anything, “But I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because that seemed so—!”

Your voice is drowned out as John’s shaking fingers delve into the box, ears ringing. His fingers flinch off of three positive pregnancy tests and the soft fabric of the plain army green baby onesie that surrounds them; skimming slowly.

“I found out the day you called and I said I had come down with something.” Your laugh is strained when it exits you, and you stare at the Brit hard, seeing his features utterly halt all expression. Thumbs digging into your skin, your tone drops, speaking slowly, “...John? A-are you okay? Say something to me, Love.”

It’s only in that long minute of nothingness that you really start to get an all-consuming tenseness to your bones like a rabbit.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

John clears his stiff throat, blinking rapidly as he brings out one of the tests, dropping the box lightly to the coffee table with a dull thump. The twin red lines are ingrained into the softness of his retinas as the sun would be if you were to stare directly at it.

Pregnant.

His heart swells to an almost painful degree, blue eyes moving to look at you across the table and then dipping to your stomach. The Brit stands up slowly.

Your lungs are tight, lids moving quickly with wetness growing in your tear ducts.

“Please, John, what are you thinking—?” Large hands capture your arms, bringing you up as lips meet yours in a passionate and heart-stopping kiss.

John’s limbs wrap around your hips, bringing you up into the air as gently as a bird, face parting from yours with a series of loud and genuine laughs. You snap your arms around his neck, shocked but not at all complaining as he holds you up with ease, twirling you around in a firm but ever-gentle hold.

“You’re pregnant?” His whispers meet you, airy and deep with awe. It was like he was in his teens again, running around Herefordshire with his mates—his eyes shone with happiness; pure unabashed love. “Oh, truly, Sweetheart?”

Tears dribble down your cheeks at the sight of him glowing, beard peeled back in a large smile with wet eyes. Hiccuped giggles leave your lips as you nuzzle your face into his neck, the sight of him like this overwhelming. All stress leaves you in a millisecond when your feet hit the ground again.

“Yes, John,” you sob, overjoyed, pulling back so you both can stare into each other's teary eyes as the Brits’ fingers go to shakily wipe the waterworks from your under eyes. His orbs flicker quickly, looking you over in an entirely different light. “You’re going to be a father.”

He fights through a scratchy voice, “Me?” The tone is amused, but he can’t articulate how exalted he feels to hear that. A father…him? It was more than he could have ever asked for, and, even better—John whispers out, “You’re going to be a mum.”

You kiss him, multiple quick pecks that he returns through shared joyous chuckles.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” the confession meets the air as one of John’s hands travels to cup your flat abdomen, fingers flinching over the fabric of your shirt to sneak under. You laugh and shiver at his calluses, as his blue eyes are so soft they could be compared to butter. “And I couldn’t wait two months.”

“Christ, Love,” John lays a kiss on your forehead, needing to be as close to you as possible. You can feel his heart through his chest, and you know yours isn’t any better. This was far more than you could have hoped for. He mutters against your skin, “I’m so glad you didn’t. This is bloody amazing news—I want to be here for all of it.”

Sea storms lock onto your face with a grunt, “You’re so lovely. Perfect, yeah?”

His warm hand still rests under your shirt, and you doubt it’s going to leave anytime soon.

You feel your cheeks heat and you smile bashfully, heart about to explode.

“You are.” John reiterates. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Sweetheart. I’m so happy.”

The air is ripe with tenderness, a soft state of being that just keeps getting better. John had silent tears dripping down his face, blinking to clear them and not letting you leave his hold for a second.

“Oh, John,” you whisper, digging your fingers into the back of his shirt, looking up. “Me too, Love.”

While the glee is nearly physical enough to grab, there is a moment of hesitancy in the Brit. He was gone more times than not for work; put into situations that could leave him going through bodily harm. You didn’t deserve that stress—didn’t deserve to sit at home with a swelling stomach just watching the door and wondering if you’d have to become a single mother. You had a child in your womb. His child. Both of yours’ child.

A family that you both had made.

John swallows and says to you seriously, without an ounce of hesitation in his blood, “I’m telling Laswell to pull me out,” you blink up and listen, letting him continue as his press on your flesh gets even more prominent, nodding to you, “I’m not missing this—not putting you through that worry. Two years, then I’ll head back in. We have enough saved, I give you my word you’ll want for nothing.”

Blue eyes flicker down, and a small mumble so tiny it nearly disappears hits your ears. You almost start sobbing again. “This is more important. You both are more important.”

There were few moments in your life that you think you’ll remember when you are old, weathered and wrinkled, but this you tell yourself is one that you will carry to your grave. John and yours’ grave.

What remains behind, you ask? Simple.

White bones entangled with an eternity of deathless worship, and the generations that will come to lay flowers on the headstone.

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

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larluce · 3 months

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Merlin traveling back in time to save Arthur AU but with a twist!!

Merlin makes it to the sidhes, bringing a barely breathing Arthur with him. As expected, they ask for a price and Merlin offers his life, ignoring Arthur's protests.

Sidhe1: You're inmortal you can't die

Sidhe2: And even if you could, killing you would mean killing magic itself, therefore killing the earth itself.

Merlin: (crying desperate) I don't care! Take what you need! My blood, my magic, anything! Just save him!

Sidhe1: (smiling evily) I might know just the thing.

They never tell him what are they going to take from him, but he agrees. The sidhes start the ritual, while Arthur just keeps pleading weakely

Merlin: (smiling) If I somehow don't come back-

Arthur: (crying) Stop! Merlin don't do this. Please!

Merlin: I just want you to know that I love you.

Before Arthur can answer the ritual ends and Merlin blacks out.

When he wakes up he is in his way to Camelot in his old clothes and 10 years younger. He soon discovers he's been brought back to the very first day he met Arthur. He's confused. Have the Sidhes taken from him years of his life as a price? It doesn't make sense to him, but he decides to take advantage of this to prevent some things from happening.

Time goes by and while, in general, all events are repeating, not everything is happening as he remembers. Some people arrive in his live early, like Lancelot or Gawain. And Arthur treats him better? Like he says thank you to him more often and listens to him more. Merlin thinks it’s weird, but brushes it off thinking it’s due to the changes he's been making that some things are not quite the same.

Then the day comes when he finally reveals his magic to Arthur. He cries and Arthur hugs him telling everything its okey. Nothing its going to happen to him. Shortly after however Arthur also has a confession.

Arthur: I already knew.

Merlin: What?! Since when?

Arthur: the very start.

Merlin: How? I've been careful! More careful than before!

Arthur: Because you told me before. Well, not really before, but in the future. It’s complicated.

Merlin: Wait... you are from the future too?!

They are both surprised. They thought they were alone in this and it turns out they never were. Merlin cries all over again, apologazing for everything, for failing him, for not being able to save him, but-

Arthur: You did.

Merlin: ... What?

Arthur: You did save me.

Merlin: No, the sidhes tricked me. They sent us back in time-

Arthur: It was not them who did that. It was me.

Merlin: What... what are you saying?

Turns out what the ritual really did was turn Merlin into a small tree in exchange for saving Arthur’s life. A magic tree that would grow taller and taller and never die and whose ruts would expand making magic florish in the earth forever. Arthur of course was really upset after that. He demanded the sidhes to turn Merlin back but they only told him "what's done it's done" and that all he could do was pick the tree up before the roots growed if he wanted to move it elsewhere.

Arthur put the tree in a pot and brought it back to Camelot. Everyone was devasted with the news but they were also glad their king was alive and safe. No one blamed him, but Arthur always blamed himself. He repealed the ban as soon as he could and made sure everyone knew Merlin's involvement in the battle and later the other things he find out Merlin did for Camelot through Gaius. He made an anual event and a statue in Merlin's honor. Camelot slowly but surely welcomed magic again and became the most prosperous kingdom in the land.

Merlin: Oh...I don't remember being a tree.

Arthur: Yeah, I figured.

Merlin: But you repealed the ban! That's great! Magic was free again in the-wait... so why did you do all this if everything was fine? And how did you do it?

Arthur: Everything was NOT fine Merlin. You weren't there!

Merlin: (utterly confused) I was. As a tree.

Arthur: You know what I mean! You were there but you weren't. We mourned you but you were still alive. I kept you in that pot for longer that I should have because I wanted to keep you close all the time, yet looking at you was so painful... Gwen had to scold me into finally plant you in the garden so you could grow properly. I was broken inside, while trying to rule a kingdom. I kingdom we should have ruled together from the start!

Merlin: ...

Merlin: You're telling me you somehow traveled us back in time and throw away the golden age, your dream of uniting all Albion and all you worked hard for... just because you missed me?

Arthur: And because I couldn't say it back.

Merlin: What?

Arthur: That I love you too.

NEXT PART OF THIS AU HERE -> PART 2

#merlin bbc #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin fic #merlin fanfic #merthur fic #merlin prompt #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #merthur fanfic #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

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susiephone · 1 year

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wtf is dracula daily?

i’ve seen a couple people ask this question on my posts about it, so i thought i’d go ahead and clear it up here!

ok so, the classic horror novel “dracula” is an epistolary novel - that means it’s told via letters, diary entries, ship logs, and news articles. (technically the term “epistolary novel” refers to works told solely through letters or emails, but many have expanded it to mean any work that is told via in-universe documents, hence why diaries and logs often get included as well. “frankenstein” is another classic example; the whole framing device is robert walton is recounting the story he heard from victor to his sister via letter. a modern example would be “several people are typing,” which is told via slack messages, or “the perks of being a wallflower,” which is told via letters from charlie to his anonymous pen pal, which is functionally more like you’re reading his diary.)

because of the nature of the narrative, we actually know the exact day nearly everything in dracula happens - the letters, news articles, diary entries, etc. are all dated.

“dracula daily” is a substack project where the novel is broken up into parts, with people who are subscribed to the project getting emails every day something in dracula happens - for example, the novel opens with jonathan harker’s journal entry on may 3, so on may 3, subscribers are emailed that entry. the action of dracula takes place from may 3 - november 6, plus an epilogue set some years later. the project started in 2021 (i think), but fucking BLEW UP in 2022, and they’re doing it again this year! lots of us are very excited - especially people like me who fell behind last time.

why not just read the book?

valid! due to some parts of dracula being told out of chronological order, dracula daily does reorder some things. for example, the first section of dracula is told entirely from jonathan harker’s pov, then the second section switches the pov to mina murray. their sections have some overlap in the timeline, so dracula daily jumps back and forth between their perspectives.

if you want to read the book as bram stoker intended, dracula daily may not be for you. but for a lot of people (myself included!), it breaks up a very long text into easily digestible chunks (....mostly. there is one entry that is 10k words), and the fact that it’s a big project means there are a lot of people reading along with you.

i think there’s also something valuable about experience the slow revelation of wtf is going on along with the characters. the book which you might otherwise get through in a few days is stretched out into months of suspense and agony as you wait for the other shoe to drop, and it’s great.

plus, the whiplash between “jonathan harker’s neverending horror” vs “lucy is basically on the bachelorette” that you get in dracula daily is very very funny.

how do i sign up?

right here! and if you sign up and fall behind in the emails, no worries - the dracula daily website posts past entries so you can catch up.

what if i prefer audiobooks?

have i got great news for you!

like i mentioned before, i couldn’t keep up with the emails last year. part of it is that it is much easier for me to focus on an audiobook or keep up with a podcast than it is for me to sit down and read, especially with longer entries.

this year, there is going to be a podcast titled “re: dracula” that was inspired by dracula daily. every episode will be a dracula daily entry, with a full voice cast! (seriously, if you listen to british podcasts, you will recognize some of these names. the magnus archives and wooden overcoats girlies are WINNING.) you can find that here.

there is also a podcast called “cryptic canticles” that has an already-completed audiodrama of dracula that i’m told is also extremely good, and was also broken up by date. you can find that here.

why do i keep hearing about paprika/the boyfriend squad/lizard fashion/cowboys?

you’ll see.

oh god am i gonna hear about this nerd shit for the rest of the year

yes. sorry.

#dracula #dracula daily #re: dracula #cryptic canticles

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cozage · 1 year

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FLUFF! SWEET! ADORABLE! Fem S/O x Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Ace, and Law hcs! Feeling lonely whenever their lover is busy, S/O sewed together a plushie version of her lover to keep her busy and confess secrets to her plushie like she was the one who are the last cake piece or something! And their lover has been feeling lonely bc S/O hasn’t been hanging with them that much!

A/N: :) this was so cute to make. I hope I had the right idea <3

Characters: F! reader x Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Ace, Law

Cw: just some fluff for your soul :) maybe a few brief moments of angst/sadness, but it's all happy endings, alcohol/drunk mention in Ace’s

Total word count: 4k (about 600-1k for each person)

A Plushie Substitute

Zoro

You hadn’t seen Zoro in a few hours, which wasn’t uncommon. He had been training extra hard here recently, and that resulted in you seeing your boyfriend even less than you normally did. You tried not to be too upset with the circumstances; you knew Zoro’s dream was to become the greatest swordsman in the world, and you would never get in the way of that. So instead, you created a small green-headed plushie with only one eye to take his place when you needed him while he was busy. You whispered your crew gossip to him that you got from Nami, and humorously found that the plushie Zoro spoke about as much as the real Zoro when you relayed the ship drama to him.

Zoro had done 1,000 push ups, 500 crunches, and 200 dumbbell squats. He had trained in all of the sword handling positions with his three swords and with weighted barbells until he had perfected each stance. He had worked all morning and all afternoon without stopping, and now all he wanted to do was see you. He wanted to sit in silence while you chatted about your day and filled him in on everything he had missed while he was training. A piece of him had hoped you would come up and interrupt his workout at some point, even if you just quietly existed together, but you hadn’t. So he set off to find you.

Zoro eyed around the ship, looking for you in your normal spots on the deck. “Oi, Nami,” he called to the navigator. “Do you know where y/n is?”

Nami glared at Zoro for a moment, and then rolled her eyes. “I saw her on the stern a few minutes ago, staring off into the sea. Might wanna check on her.”

He walked to the rear of the boat, keeping his eye out for you. He found you sitting on the railing staring out to sea, just like Nami said. You appeared to be mumbling softly to someone, but he didn’t see anyone around you who you could be talking to.

As he approached, you could hear someone coming up behind you, and you stopped speaking to plushie Zoro and quickly tucked him safely away.

Zoro came over, easily hoisting himself up over the railing to sit next to you. He wrapped his arm around you to hold your waist, and you leaned into him, resting your head against his muscular chest. He pulled you closer into him, chuckling softly. He always loved when you snuggled up into him, and you loved being so close to him in simple ways.

You remained quiet, enjoying the silence with him. He looked over at you curiously, waiting for you to start talking about your day like normal, but you didn’t speak up. Finally he decided to prompt you, wanting to hear your voice. “How was your day?”

“It was good! I hung out with Nami on the deck for a bit.” You attempt to keep your recap of the day brief, not wanting to bother him with all of the boring details. You had already gotten all of the chattiness and gossip out of your system by talking to his plushie replacement.

Zoro waits for you to expand, but you don’t, and he starts to grow concerned over your lack of conversation. He thought about how he heard you earlier when he approached, talking and laughing to some unseen person. He squeezed you lightly in an attempt to comfort you, though he wasn’t sure what he was comforting you from. “You okay? Who were you chatting with earlier when I arrived?”

You blush. “I’m okay. I was just talking to…well, you.” You pause, and you see a confused look pass over Zoro’s face. You reluctantly pull out the plushie you’ve created and show your boyfriend. You expect him to laugh at you or make some kind of joke, but he just silently takes the plushie from your hand and examines it for a few minutes.

“You made this?” He finally asks. You simply nod in response.

“It looks just like me. It even has a little haramaki and a bandana like mine.” He pauses for a moment to kiss your temple. “This looks really great. But why did you make it?”

Your eyes stay fixed on the plushie. “I just didn’t want to interrupt your workouts, and I know you don’t care much for the drama that I usually tell you about. I created him to help with that. That way I can still tell someone and you don’t have to listen to all my annoying rambling and-”

“Your rambling is not annoying,” Zoro says, cutting you off. “I like your voice. And I like your presence.” He hands the plushie back to you. “Keep this guy of course, but you can always talk to me about anything you want to, and you’re always welcome in the crow’s nest when I’m training. Actually, you should come up tomorrow. I can use you for some new workouts I’d like to try.”

You laugh at that sentiment, but you don’t continue the conversation anymore. You all stay quiet for a while before the moss-haired man speaks up again. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

His cheeks are tinted as you look his way. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me. I’m not always a good talker, but I do always listen to you.”

“No, Zoro. It’s not that at all! I just…I just thought you weren’t interested, and I didn’t want to bother you with the silly stuff.”

“You can bother me now, if you’d like.”

And so you all sit on the railing, watching the sun sink into the sea. You talk, he listens, and all is right with the world.

Luffy

It had been a long time since you had joined Luffy on an island adventure. He was always the type to run off and find trouble before the Sunny had even docked, whereas you preferred to take your time and do a check before you ventured to a new island. You didn’t mind the distance you two usually had on an island, but you did miss sharing an adventure with your boyfriend. Still, you refused to complain or stand in the way of his adventure, so you created a smaller version of him, working on as many small details as you could to make him as realistic as possible. And when you finished, you secured him onto your backpack, ready to set out on an adventure with a version of him.

Luffy had been wandering around for several hours now, looking for something to do. There were small adventures he had found, like herding a farmer’s cattle and exploring some random caves. He even found giant holes in the ground with random artifacts and cool shining crystals, but he didn’t have much use for any of those things, and found it all relatively boring. This island was mostly safe, unfortunately for him, and now he just wanted to find you and try to explore more or head off to the next island.

“Oh, cool!” You hear Luffy behind you, rapidly approaching. You brace yourself just in time, and you feel the strawhat man crash into you from behind. His momentum sends you both tumbling into the dirt.

“Luuuuufffffyyyy!” You’re now face down against the ground and Luffy is sitting on top of you, looking at your backpack with a deep interest. He seems to be completely unaware of the chaos his entrance just caused, or that you are struggling underneath him to get up.

“Oh man, this is so cool! It’s like a mini-me! The straw hat and the scars and even the sandals! It’s perfect!” He bends down to meet your face and grins. “Hey, y/n! Who made this? I want one of you too!”

You sigh, giving up hope of getting up anytime soon, and answer his question. “I made it, Luffy.”

“No way! It looks amazing! I knew you could make stuff, but I had no idea you were this talented. Can you make me one of you too? So we can match!” His eyes glisten with hope as he’s turning the little doll over in his fingers, examining the details you managed to incorporate.

“Sure, Luffy.” You’re being short with him, and he’s finally starting to notice.

His eyes break away from the doll and finally look at you. “Hm? You okay? Do you need me to get up?”

“No, Luffy. It’s fine. I just made Mini-Luffy and clipped him onto my backpack so we could keep going on adventures together.”

“But we always go on adventures,” He questions. “We’re on one right now, aren’t we?”

“I know, but we’re usually split up during the whole thing. And I just, I don’t know…” You had promised yourself you wouldn’t get mad at Luffy for being a captain, for wanting adventure, but you realize now it really did hurt to be separated from him during important moments. “I don’t want to be left behind.”

Luffy gets off your back and stands, silently reaching out a hand to help you to your feet. He readjusts his hat to hide his face, and then takes your hand. “I’m sorry, y/n,” and you can hear the shame in his voice. “I won’t leave you ever again.”

You laugh at that, and you feel a little better now that you’ve gotten that fear off your chest. “Don’t be silly, Luffy.” You give him a peck on his cheek, right under his scar. “I’m not asking you to do that. Just maybe in the future when you slingshot to an island, take me with you every now and then, okay?”

He grins his classic, wide smile,and he nods. “Deal!”

Relief rushes through you, and you relax a bit. Now that you’ve talked to him about your worries, you want to know what his adventures have been on this island. “So, what did you find here? Anything interesting?”

He talks your ear off the whole way back to the ship, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. When you get back, you start working on a plushie look-alike of you for Luffy, and hand it to him a few days later. He loops it around his belt, grinning widely. “Now we’ll never be apart!”

When the next island appears, he slingshots away without you, but you choose to laugh at his hastiness to get to the island. It doesn’t bother you as much now, now that you’ve talked to him about it. But he quickly returns, wraps a rubber arm around you, and takes off again, laughing the whole way. “Almost forgot, but I’ll always come back for you!”

Sanji

Sanji had been gone for a while now, beckoned away again by your hungry captain. It had probably been the tenth time today that he had gotten up to make food for someone on the ship, but that was the duty that came along with the title of being the Sunny’s chef. You were normally pretty good about being on your own while Sanji had to work, but today you wanted to be around him. You went to your room to find some scrap cloth to piece together a Sanji stand-in for the time being.

The stove was still hot as Sanji cleaned up from Luffy’s eleventh meal of the day. He wasn’t sure if it was the calm ocean that made Luffy so restless and hungry, but Sanji was starting to get nervous about food rations. He never minded cooking for people of course, but it felt like he was spending more time cooking for his captain than he was spending time with you. He wanted nothing more than to run out to you and cover you in a shower of kisses to make up for lost time, but he knew he couldn’t leave the kitchen such a mess. While he cleaned up, he whipped up your favorite drink and snacks to bring out to you, excited to see your face again.

Sanji strode towards you, thrilled to see you still sunning on the deck in your bathing suit. He had already taken Nami and Robin their own snacks, and left out other snacks for the boys if they got hungry. Hopefully that would give him a few hours of peace alone with you.

“Y/N-swannnn,” he cooed to you as he approached, but stopped when he saw something in his seat. He looked at it curiously as he got closer, and he realized it was a small replica of himself.

His sudden silence prompted you to open one of your eyes, and you saw him looking at the doll you had put in his seat. “Oh…” you stutter, starting to sit up to explain.

“Y/N-swannnn! Did you make this?!?!” Sanji sets down your refreshments and picks up the doll, pausing briefly to give it a thorough examination. “It’s perfect!” he gushes. “You’ve created such a beautiful piece of work! It’s so-”

“It’s just for when you’re busy!” You rush to explain. “I missed having you around, that’s all.”

Sanji clutches the doll to his chest, and his eyes turn to hearts at your sentimentality. He rushes to you, finally embracing you after hours of being apart. He litters your faces with kisses, which causes you to erupt into a fit of giggles. Once he’s pampered you enough, he pulls you in for a hug, your plushie squeezed between the two of you.

“Are you hungry, my love?” He pulls away from you, reaching back for the refreshments to serve you. He sneaks the plushie into his pocket while he displays the assortments of snacks and drinks for you to enjoy, which you happily oblige.

The food is so perfect, you let out a soft moan in delight. “You always make the best food dear,” you praise. “I’ll never eat food from anyone else.”

“Only the best for my queen,” He says, kissing your forehead and taking a seat next to you.

After a few minutes, you fell asleep surrounded by the smell of cigarette smoke. Sanji let you sleep, watching you endearingly until he was called away once again to make dinner.

When you awoke a few hours later, you reached out for Sanji before opening your eyes, but only found air in his place. Your eyes peeked open, searching for him, but instead you found his plushie, along with a note that said “He’s only here until I get back ♥”

Ace

You had lost your fiery boyfriend once again. He was off, running amok with the group of rowdy crew members on the new island. You had decided to stay on the ship, finishing up some minor projects instead of venturing out to the island. He was supposed to return before the sun set, but the moon was working its way through the night sky now, and you were too tired to stay up and wait for him longer. He had already missed your all’s afternoon nap, which made you skip it as well. You never slept well without him anyway. The next morning, he was still MIA, and you were painfully sleep deprived from missing a nap and not sleeping well. You put your crafting skills to work and created a smaller version of him, hoping that would help your sleeping problem temporarily. It ended up being successful, and you fell asleep easier than you expected, curling up with a small stuffed Ace in the absence of your normal sized one.

Ace had gotten hopelessly lost, both directionally and time wise. By the time he realized he was late getting back to the ship, he was too intoxicated to navigate back anyway, and opted to share a room with a bunch of his friends at the inn across the street. He slept horribly without you by his side, and as he shuffled back to the ship late the next morning, he prayed you’d be in the mood for an early nap along with him.

Ace stumbled onto the ship, exhausted and hungover. His eyes raked over the deck, searching desperately for you. He didn’t go out with the boys often, and these days he always seemed to regret his adventures whenever they were included. He would’ve much rather been with you last night, and he hoped you’d forgive him for his last minute change of plans.

He couldn’t find you on the deck, and he spent the next half an hour searching the ship for you, but he was unsuccessful. He finally gave up, returning to his room to nap with the hope that he would find you later.

He was shocked to find you curled up in his bed, already asleep. He’s even more surprised to see you holding a small stuffed animal, and a small tinge of jealousy rises up in him. You had told him before that you never needed a stuffed animal, since you had always had him to cuddle with at night.

He climbed into bed next to you, brushing your hair back from your face and pressing his lips to your forehead. You stir, familiar with his touch, and your eyes lazily open to meet his.

“Oh,” you smile, realizing Ace has finally returned back to you. “Hey, you.”

He smiles back to you, his worry melting away. “Hey you.”

You wipe the sleep from your eyes, and prop yourself up on your elbow. “How was your night?”

He fills you in on his evening briefly. “I wish I hadn’t been away for the whole night. I lost track of time. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s alright.” You’re happy to hear that he missed you as well. Your fingers trail absentmindedly along his bare chest, not saying anything more about the matter. You had already forgotten about the Ace plushie you had created, but he was still staring at it in the dark room, trying to figure out what it was.

He picked up the stuffed plushie between the two of you and examined it, quickly realizing that it was a replica of him. He caught your eye and held it up, smirking at you. “Miss me much?”

You gave a shy smile back to him, snatching the plushie from him quickly. “Maybe.”

He gave you a soft peck on the lips, grinning at your timidness. “It looks cute. Not as cute as me, but cute. I like it.”

He pulls you against him, and you settle into his warm skin. “Shall we nap? Make up for lost time?”

You hum in agreement, already drifting off into sleep, comforted in the routine you all have returned to.

Law

Trafalgar Law had always been a surgeon first and a human being second. You knew that, and you knew how much being a surgeon with the Ope-Ope fruit meant to him. So, when you started dating and his study habits didn’t change, you tried to manage without him. You didn’t want to be too clingy, especially at the beginning. And you had always been good at sewing, so you just created a smaller version of the man you loved, so you could keep him around even when he was busy. Now, whenever you felt the urge to tell Law something throughout the day, you had someone to share it with even when he was occupied.

Law stared at the ceiling fan that was lazily spinning in circles. He had been studying for hours, praying you would come in to distract him at some point. But you had started showing up less and less frequently now that the two of you were official. He wasn’t necessarily concerned about you getting cold feet; if something was wrong, he was certain you would talk to him rather than avoid him. Still, he missed you, your smile, the way you always ran into the room as if the most amazing thing in the world had just happened to you. These days, it felt like the only time he really saw you was during meals and island days.

He found you in the common room, reading a book on the couch. He approached you quietly from behind, and as he bent down, he reached around and grabbed your book with his tattooed fingers as he rested his chin atop your head.

You hummed pleasantly to his approach. “You’re out of your office early today.” You tilt your head up just enough to make contact with his golden eyes.

“I needed a break.” He kissed your hair lightly and broke away from you, taking the book out of your hands and he stood back up. He closed it gently and sat it on the table behind him. He returned back to you again, this time reaching down to grab your now empty hands. “Do you want to make dinner with me?”

You had to tilt your head back further now to look him in the eye, and you saw him staring down at you with a smirk.

That stupid smirk always made words more difficult than they were meant to be, and you take a second to find them all before you speak. “I didn’t think Bepo put you on the schedule for dinner this week, did he?”

His golden eyes pierce into yours, and you feel a blush enter your cheeks when he answers.“I was thinking just the two of us tonight. Pasta?”

You stir the sauce as Law begins to work on a side dish for the two of you. “Did anything interesting happen today?”

You hum back, trying to recall exactly what the crew got into today while your captain was locked away. “Oh! Clementine died. The crew gave him a burial at sea. It was very touching.”

You can hear Law stop whatever he was doing behind you. “Y/n-ya,” he starts slowly, gears turning in his head. “Who the hell is Clementine?”

You abandon the sauce momentarily to turn and face him. “You know, the fish Penguin caught the other day?”

“The fish?” His brows furrow at you, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not you’re playing a prank on him. “What fish?”

“The fish! The orange fish that Penguin caught and thought was too pretty to kill! I definitely told you about it.” He’s still staring at you with a confounded look spread across his face.

“You definitely did not tell me about that.” The look on his face tells you that he’s being truthful, and you realize that you didn’t tell him. You told plushie Law about that day, not actual Law. You turn back to the saucepot, not wanting Law to see your face reddening over your mistake. “Oh, I must’ve been confused. Sorry.”

But your captain knows you well, and he walks over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. “Y/n-ya,” he speaks softly, his head now resting on your shoulder. “What are you hiding from me?”

Your blush deepens from pink to red, and you try your best to focus on the task in front of you. “Oh, uh, nothing.” You stutter over your words, not helping your case.

“Y/n-yaaaa…” He presses his lips against your cheek for a long while. He always knows the best way to get you to cave to him, and you curse yourself for being so readable.

“I just…” You pause for a moment, and he hums against your skin to urge you on. “I have this mini-you that I sometimes hang out with when you’re busy and tell stuff too. I guess I told Mini-Law about the fish…”

You feel Law pull away from you, examining your face. He’s trying to catch your eye, but you are intensely staring at the sauce in front of you.

“A mini-me?” He asks, confused. You finally look up at him, and you can see a twinge of sadness in his eye.

“I just didn’t want to interrupt your studying!” You race to explain. “I know how important it is for you to be a surgeon and I didn’t want to get in the way-”

He pulls you close against his chest, stunning you into silence. You can feel his soft lips pressing into the crown of your head, and he inhales deeply against you. “You can always interrupt me to talk to me, no matter how small you think it is.” He pulls you back from him so he can look into your eyes again. “I’ve missed seeing you in my office. I’ve missed your stories and your voice. I want to hear everything, I want to know it all. So come bother me anytime, okay y/n-ya?”

“I promise.” He bends down to kiss you, and you find yourself smiling against his lips. You can smell the faint scent of tomato burning, but the two of you will figure that out later.

4K notes · View notes

nanaslutt · 7 months

Note

YOUR DRABBLES GIVE ME LIFE AHAGDJSH if you ever write about virgin gojo somehow being really good even on his first time i might lose it !!!!!!!

THANK YEEWWW NONNIE<3333

virgin gojo is very special to me i will HAPPILY expand on this idea, ty sm for the ask~

contains: fem reader, dirty talk<3, virgin!gojo, established relationship, choking, size kink if you squint, two seconds of plot for context

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

before getting into a relationship with gojo you thought he was arrogant, albeit for good reason but he was always so confident and snarky, it drove you insane

the way he would flirt with the cashier at the coffee shop when he took his students out for a break, never failing to fluster them

you’ve seen the way he teases his opponents and coworkers alike

there’s no way that a man with no sexual experience who speaks like he’s trying to seduce you constantly, has never got his dick wet

even hearing yaga say something about how he wears his glasses when he meets with women, so of course you thought he had some experience under his belt (literally)

so it’s safe to say you were a little shocked when you were straddling gojos hips, steadily rocking back and forth on his growing bulge, reaching between the two of you for his belt when one of his hands left your hip and gripped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks mumbling against your lips “slow down baby, never done this before”

it’s not like he consciously tried to stay a virgin for most of his life,

being the strongest he doesn’t exactly have time to relax all that often, so before he knew it he was twenty seven and still, had never had sex

you two have been together for a couple months, you’ve had your fair share of partners, but working at jujutsu tech yourself, you and gojo didn’t have a ton of private time for things like this

sure he’s pulled you into a janitors closet once or twice to slide his knee between your legs and sloppily make out with you till you lost your breath (only adding to the illusion that he’s done this before)

coming to the realization one day that you two haven’t gone much further than that, and wanting to feel closer to him you invited him over to your place after work,

so here you currently were

pulling back from kissing him you looked into his crystalline eyes with an unreadable expression, the gears turning in your mind

memories of him saying sentences straight out of porn when he was kissing you, the way he always knew the spots on your body to caress to make you melt into him

and what did he just say? 𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦???

“did i break you baby? heh, sorry i never told you it’s a little embarrassing” he looks away for a second, rubbing his big hand over the back of his head before placing both hands back on your hips, caressing the skin there, “jus saw were things are headin n thought i would let you know.”

this didn’t make any sense to you, you couldn’t wrap your mind around it but you had to say something, “that’s- but you’re- you- how-“ okay, not exactly what you wanted to say but it made him giggle

“‘s that a problem princess?,” caressing your legs up up up, sliding his lithe fingers under the hem of your shirt and teasing the soft skin of your tummy, he snapped you out of your daze,

“sorry, ‘s not a problem, really satoru, jus had my own assumptions about you, but this doesn’t make me want you any less” you succeeded in forming a coherent sentence, squirming and squeezing around his legs as he stimulates your body, “good to hear baby, ur gonna have to show me what to do right? how to fuck you n make you feel good?,” his teasing voice returns

it was the truth, gojo being a virgin weirdly make you feel hotter, being the first one the worlds strongest sourcerer will be inside of filled you with a sense of pride, “jus sit back baby, let me do all the work.” a wave of confidence filled your chest and he returns his own sinister looking smile

“𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬” you said. so how did you end up here? currently face down, ass up with gojo’s girthy cock splitting you in two as he gives you the most devious backshots, his long middle and index fingers rubbing your own juices all over your clit, adding to the already intense stimulation you were feeling

“fu-ck ‘s-toru-uuu” words getting cut in half as he gives you deep, heavy thrusts, “cant believe ive been missing out on 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴” he punctuates with a hard thrust, knocking the wind out of your chest

“though you d-didnt kn-ow what to d-ooo,” you were trying and failing to speak in an intelligible way, “am i doin a good job?,” he giggles, biting his lip at he looks down at the thick ring of cum you’re leaving at the base of his cock

“so good ‘toru, fuckin me s-so so good.” you turned your head to look at him to the best of your ability, feeling slight better as his words might’ve seen composed but his face and chest were flushed the prettiest shade of red, his chest heaving like he just ran a marathon

“yeah? fuckin ur pussy that good? tell me more baby, tell me how good ‘m makin you feel,” not suprised gojos love of praise transferred into the bedroom, you indulged him

“dick ‘s so big toru,” you cried out, “feel you in my tummy,” your jaw dropped as his cockhead kissed your cervix, making your eyes roll back in your head

“fucckkk,” he clenched his teeth together, leaning over you and pressing his sweaty chest to your back, reaching his big palm for your face as he crashes your lips together, a kiss full of need

how the fuck was he a virgin? no one has ever gotten you this close, this fast

he pushes his tongue into your mouth, fingers spelling his name messily on your clit, cock fucking your gspot like he has a personal vendetta against you

“‘m gunna cum pretty, u close? huh? tell me ur close, gotta feel you cum on me first.” his filthy words has the coil in ur belly tightening steadily, “wan u to choke me ‘toru please.” you manage to get out, right on the edge of your orgasm

“i got you baby,” he wraps his massive hand over your throat, almost completely enveloping it, and he squeezes at the perfect strength, coil in ur tummy snapping as your pussy pulses and swueezed round his pretty cock

“oh god, he pulls back from the kiss and whines, thrusts becoming erratic, loosing his pace, “squeezin so tight, haaa-“ his jaw is completely slack, eyes screwed shut before his orgasm follows, right behind you

“yesss give it to me toru,” you smile against his slack jaw, and he’s never sounded as pretty as he does right now, cumming so hard, fucking his come as deep as he can into you, some spilling out around his dick as his large figure collapses onto your back

“toru…ur fuckin heavy.” strength in your arms completely gone as you try and fail to wiggle him off you, realizing that the strength in the rest of your body has completely abandoned you as well

“js… jus- gimmie a second, please,” all teasing in his voice completely gone, he’s still inside you and you feel his cock twitch every so often as his breath hitches against your neck

you let his weight press down on you for a couple seconds, letting him regain his own strength

“never cum that hard in my life, think i just died for a second.” he says, lifting himself off of you and sliding his softening cock covered in your combined cum, out of you

you wince at how sensitive you are, groaning as he wipes you down with his discarded shirt, “sorry heh, got a little carried away,” he giggles at your protests

coming up on your side and wrapping his arms around your figure, burring his face into your neck, peppering kisses there

“soo,” he purses his lips, lifting his head a bit to get a good view of your face, “any feedback?”

“cant feel my body, you virgin freak.” you sigh, wrapping your arms around the ones encasing yourself, “how did you just fuck me an inch from my life and you’ve really never had sex before??” you ask your boyfriend in disbelief

“porn :p” he cheeses into ur neck

“i’m gonna forget you said that.”

2K notes · View notes

luminoustarlight · 7 months

Text

Saccharine | Modern!Anakin Skywalker

What do you get when you mix a college Halloween party with beer and a pretty girl wearing a pirate costume?

A jealous Anakin Skywalker.

rating: explicit | pairing: anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 5.3k | read on ao3 warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, drinking, jealousy/possessiveness, SMUT [fingering, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v, come eating/swallowing, mild degradation, like a really brief moment of lactation kink(???)]

the lovely @queenie-official asked for someone to write anakin and reader at a halloween party and anakin gets jealous. i have no idea where 5.3k words came from but y'all i love this one!

and i dedicate this to @hanasnx because we were talking about how we would suck anakin's dick every day if we could.

Here’s the thing about Halloween parties— or rather, Halloween and parties.

Anakin hates both of them. Halloween is a stupid holiday where girls wear short skirts, low-cut tank tops, and a pair of generic animal ears and call it a “costume”. Then they complain about being cold and ask for your jacket. It’s fucking October in New York, what do they expect?

As for parties, Anakin has never liked them. He’s not a particularly social person. Hell, he’s not even that pleasant of a person but he somehow wound up with you as his best friend in college. He’s the grumpy to your sunshine. He’s a pessimist, you’re an optimist. He drinks black coffee, you like it full of syrupy caramel. He hates everything you like and you don’t understand any of the things he finds fascinating.

The logistics of your friendship is complicated. You don’t know why Anakin is the easiest person for you to talk to even though you have just about nothing in common. You don’t know why Anakin chooses to spend all of his time with you, even though there are other girls in his engineering classes who would kill to talk to him about their shared major.

You don’t know why he holds your hand when you walk through Central Park while telling you about his hookups. (You wish he wouldn’t talk about other girls with you but you just like the sound of his voice so you do your best at drowning out the meaning of the words).

If only he knew how miserable it makes you feel to hear about his dating life. If only you knew how difficult it is for you to do the same because every single guy is lack-luster compared to Anakin.

“I hate parties,” Anakin states. He’s tossing a baseball— the foul ball he caught for you at a Yankees game— in the air to keep his hands busy.

“Yeah, but you love me,” you reply while taking a cream flowy blouse out of your closet.

“Not if you make me go to this stupid Halloween party with you.”

You roll your eyes and rest your shirt hanger on one of the knobs on your dresser. You catch the baseball midair and flop beside Anakin on your bed. He props up on an elbow and you just want to soothe the crease between his eyebrows. “Pleaaaase, Ani?”

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon! When’s the last time you did something for me?”

“Look around, sweetheart,” Anakin gestures his arm out lazily. “I helped you move into this place.”

You huff. “Okay, fine. But you offered. And if I recall correctly, I supplied you with all of the coffee and bagels your heart desired.”

“There’s only one thing my heart desires.” A lopsided grin forms on Anakin’s lips as his fingers brush against your elbow. It’s a barely there type of touch, one you might not even notice if it weren’t for the sparks you feel every time you and Anakin make contact.

You fail to mask the sharp intake of air that passes through your teeth. “Wh-what’s that?”

Anakin runs his tongue over his bottom lip and you think maybe, maybe he just might say what you want him to say. Your heart expands with hope as you await his answer with a bated breath. “To not go to a fucking Halloween party.”

And just like that, your hope deflates. Of course he wasn’t being serious. Why does his blatant disinterest in you make tears threaten behind your eyes? Is your affectionate friendship really so common that it doesn’t mean anything to him?

You quickly stand up from your bed and distract yourself by finding the skirt you want to wear in your pile of clothes on the floor. You clear your throat and rapidly blink back any tears before they fall down your cheeks. “Fine,” you say as you find your skirt. “I don’t want you there anyway. It’s the senior Halloween party and I’m not going to miss it because of you.”

“Fine,” Anakin says back. “Go. I don’t care.”

You gather your clothes in your arms and stand at the foot of your bed. “I have to get dressed first.”

“So?” Anakin is back to throwing the baseball in the air. Oh, you hate him so much sometimes. You swat the ball out of the air so it lands on Anakin’s stomach, making him groan and his legs curl up to his chest. “Ow.”

“So, get out,” you instruct.

“Jeez. Alright, alright.” Anakin slowly gets up from your bed, being the overly dramatic douche you had to fall in love with. “What, they didn’t put enough sugar in your coffee this morning?”

“Out!” you point to your door. You’re fuming with him. Why does he have to be so fucking difficult? At this point, you don’t even want to go to the party but you’ll go anywhere to get away from him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You take a good thirty minutes to get ready for the party. Inspired by a recent rewatch of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, you decided to dress up as a pirate. You didn’t have to buy a shirt or skirt, which helped keep the cost down. You did purchase a corset, hat, and knee high boots from a thrift store in Brooklyn. With the crimson scarf you’ve had since freshman year wrapped around your waist, you’re set.

Anakin waits for you on your aubergine couch in your living room. Why he’s waiting, you’re unsure. He’s stretched across the entire length of the couch, his long legs hanging over the armrest. Upon hearing your boots scuff across the floor, he quickly locks his phone and stands from the couch.

“What are you still doing here?” you brush past him and into the kitchen.

“I changed my mind,” Anakin replies, following you. You don’t notice the way he looks you up and down, soaking in the entire image of you. The scoopy neckline of your shirt, the flounce of your brown skirt, and the tightness of the corset. The only thing he’s disappointed by is the length of your skirt. It’s not short enough.

Still, there’s no way he’s letting you go to the party alone. Somebody has to pretend to be your protective boyfriend to keep the college douchebags away. “I’m going with you.”

You turn around without realizing how close Anakin is to you. You practically step on his toes. He looms over you and you fear he might actually hear your heart racing with how close he is. You back away, straightening your skirt for no other reason than to not look at Anakin. “Are you, now?”

“Yes.” Anakin crosses his arms. “Are you ready?”

“You’re going like that?” You counter. “In a zip-up Yankees hoodie?”

“Take it or leave it, sweetheart.”

You hate him. You love him. You hate that you love him because you know he doesn’t feel the same way. At least not in a romantic way. You grab a banana off of the counter and march toward the door. “I’d rather leave you here.”

“Not an option.” Anakin closes your door and uses his key to lock it. The act of him using the key you gave him for emergencies makes your insides twist. It’s on a ring with his own apartment key, as if he’d need yours as frequently as he needs his own.

You walk down the hallway with a quick pace and make a point to stomp down the stairs, even if it annoys your neighbors more than Anakin. “You’re being exceptionally annoying today.”

“Thank you,” Anakin accepts the insult as if it’s a compliment. He holds the lobby door open for you and a rush of late October air attacks your skin. You have to hold your hat on your head so it doesn’t blow away. You make an effort not to shudder in front of Anakin, knowing how much he hates girls being unprepared for the weather. At least you’re wearing long sleeves. But it’s not not like the fabric was made to keep the Autumn chill out.

The party is only a couple of blocks away in Hell’s Kitchen and you’re determined to stay silent all the way there. You’ll just eat your banana and pray Anakin isn’t in a rare talking mood.

“Why are you walking so fucking fast? I have longer legs than you and I’m practically running.”

You ignore him. You just want to go to the party, have a couple of drinks, maybe flirt with some guys you have no intentions of screwing, and then go home. Preferably without the puppy dog currently following you.

“So. Pirate. Interesting choice. You got a thing for Jack Sparrow or something?” Why does he never have anything interesting to say when you actually want to talk to him? Now he can’t seem to shut up.

Just one more block. Why did he change his mind? Why couldn’t he just be content with going back to his apartment and finding someone to hook up with? You’re sure that’s what he was doing while you were getting ready. The way he locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket when he heard you come out of your room. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like you two are dating or anything. He doesn’t have to hide his booty calls from you.

“I see what you’re doing,” Anakin jogs in front of you and starts walking backwards. “You’re ignoring me.”

You give him a look that has “No shit, Sherlock” written all over it.

“Y’know I don’t like being ignored. I’m too sensitive.”

You have to laugh. “You? Sensitive?”

“Ha!” Anakin points at you. “Gotcha.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “We’re here, anyway. I know you’re just gonna find a corner and sulk in it so please, just let me have a good time tonight.”

“Alright,” Anakin surrenders. You walk into the brick building together, the heavy bass of the music thrumming through your bones. “But just one thing.”

You raise your brows, waiting for him to continue. “You look beautiful tonight.”

Your heart skips a beat and you hate how easily he makes you swoon. How easily your feelings of irritation disappear after one compliment. “Just tonight?”

“Ah- what?” Anakin looks at you quizzically. Perhaps he didn’t hear you over the booming music and chatter.

“Never mind!” you shout. “I’m gonna get a drink. You want a beer?”

“Sure,” Anakin shrugs. You nod and skip off without another word. When you don’t come back after twenty minutes, Anakin starts to worry. It doesn’t matter how many girls have come up to him and batted their lashes at him. It doesn’t matter that he has 11 unread messages from several past hookups waiting for him on his phone. What matters is that you’re alone at a college party with booze and guys who get a little too handsy when they’re drunk.

He pushes himself through the crowd, not an ounce of care that he’s severely undressed and out of place. Actually, he’s overdressed. He didn’t know the fire marshal could allow so many shirtless ‘Gladiators’ in one building. And here he thought only girls used Halloween as an excuse not to wear anything. He bumps into several people on his quest for you.

“Hey, man! Watch it!”

“Yo, dickhead, you made me spill my beer!”

“What are you supposed to be? A sad Yankees fan?”

Anakin hardly hears any of it. Actually, everything seems to fall silent when he spots you. Every other body blurs as he focuses on you and your hand on the forearm of some guy dressed as Captain Kirk from Star Trek. At least he has a goddamn shirt on. It doesn't make the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach disappear, though. You know why? It’s because you’re throwing your head back with laughter. Real, genuine laughter. What is this guy saying to you? And why hasn’t Anakin made you laugh like that recently?

When the familiar figure of Anakin approaches you, you instantly feel bad. You forgot to bring him his beer! And then you realize that you actually handed it to the guy you’re talking to. Oops?

“Ani! I never brought you your beer! I am so sorry. I got distracted talking to- oh my God, I don’t even know your name!”

“Oh, uh, Jeff,” the guy tilts his beer bottle toward you and smiles. You smile back and tell him your name. You also introduce Anakin, but he’s not feeling very friendly right now. He’s too busy criticizing the way Captain Kirk introduced himself.

Oh, uh, Jeff? He had to think about his name? He couldn’t just say Jeff?

“Jeff and I were talking about baseball. He’s a Mets fan, though,” you fake gag. “I told him about the foul ball you practically saved me from. Whew, my life flashed before my eyes.”

“Yeah, they come out of nowhere when you’re not paying attention.”

Anakin hates this guy. He fucking hates him. His fists clench by his side before sidling up next to you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist. You stumble when he pulls you toward him. “She was paying attention. Are you implying that she wasn’t watching the game?”

“Anakin, it’s fine,” you place your hand on Anakin’s chest to calm him. “I’m sure that’s not what Jeff meant.”

“Yeah, man, not at all. I’ve had a couple of close calls myself.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been hit in the head a couple of times with the way you introduced yourself,” Anakin spits. “Who has to think about their name? ‘Oh, um, I can’t remember. I think my name is Jeff,’” Anakin mocks.

“Anakin, stop,” you try pushing away from him. “You’re being incredibly rude.”

“I don’t care,” he replies. He begins ushering you away from Walmart Captain Kirk. “We’re leaving.”

“Seriously, Anakin,” you manage to slither out of Anakin’s grasp. “Stop it.”

“Hey, is this guy bothering you?” Jeff puffs out his chest.

Anakin steps in front of you and squares himself in front of the guy with no chance with you. “Funny, I was going to ask her the same thing about you.”

“Are you her boyfriend or something?”

“He’s not-” you begin, standing on your toes to talk over Anakin’s shoulder.

“Something like that,” Anakin answers. Huh?

“Whatever,” Jeff scoffs. “Thanks for wasting my time.”

“Wait, Jeff!” you call. “It’s not like that-”

“Let him go,” Anakin grits. “He’s not worth it.”

You had almost forgotten about the frustration Anakin made you feel in your apartment. Now it’s all coming to the surface again. Yes, you feel bad for abandoning him and not bringing him his beer but he had no right to ruin your conversation like that. “Oh, and you are?”

“We’re not talking about this here.” Anakin turns and expects you to follow. You have half a mind not to scream at him in the middle of the party but it would be a waste of breath. He’s already nearing the door. You down the rest of your beer and follow Anakin out of the party and onto the street.

It feels drastically colder outside but perhaps it’s all coming from Anakin’s stare. You stuff your hands beneath your arms in an attempt to keep them warm. “What the hell, Anakin? What was that all about?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘nothing’? That was not nothing, Anakin. That was… that was…” you search for the word but your toes are starting to freeze. You don’t know how frozen toes correlate to not being able to think, but it does. The wind is biting at your legs and your teeth are chattering.

“Jealousy?” Anakin fills in the blank.

“Yes! Jealousy! Are you fucking jealous, Anakin?”

“So what if I am?”

You’re both shouting unnecessarily but you’re fucking pissed. This cannot be the way you admit your feelings for each other. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. It’s supposed to be romantic. It’s supposed to happen when you’re strolling through the park and the leaves are falling around you and you kiss and everything falls into place. It’s not supposed to happen during a screaming match on the sidewalk while you’re dressed like a historically inaccurate pirate.

“So what if I feel like punching every single guy who talks to you? Or even look at you? Hm?” Anakin is backing you into the wall and you have no choice but to retreat. “I am jealous every fucking day. I feel possessive over you and I know I shouldn’t. You’re mine, even though you’re not.” Anakin has caged you in with his arms pressed against the wall above your head. His leg is nudged between yours and if you just lower yourself a tiny bit, you might feel a bit of friction where it’s needed.

Anakin drops his head down so his nose brushes against your cheek. Your lips are so close, you can feel the warmth of his breath. “You never asked me,” you whisper.

“What?”

“You never asked me to be yours,” you unzip Anakin’s sweatshirt and slide your arms into the warmth of his jacket. You press yourself against his chest and you think perhaps everything is falling into place.

“Then I’m asking you now,” Anakin cradles your face in his hands. He runs his thumbs over your cheekbones and wonders why it took so damn long to finally get to this point. “Will you be mine?”

“I already am.” You pull Anakin down to your lips by the collar of his sweatshirt. He tastes like Altoids and you taste like beer, which isn’t necessarily a pleasant combination but it doesn’t matter. Anakin’s lips are so plush and soft, everything you dreamed they’d be but better. They work against yours like it’s the only thing they’re made for. He’s groaning against you, slipping his tongue carefully past your lips. He’s not overzealous with it like some people are. It’s just perfect. He’s perfect.

The heat in your core continues to grow and spread throughout your body, suddenly warming you up. “Anakin,” you murmur.

“Hmm?” He replies, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. He pays attention to your neck—which smells of vanilla and everything nice— and is nibbling gently but kissing harshly. His hands have found their way to your breasts, massaging you through your bra and you just fucking wish he’d stop for a second because it’s all too distracting.

“Anakin, stop,” you breathe out.

“What? What, are you okay?” Anakin withdraws himself from you completely and you damn near whine at the loss of contact.

“I’m fine, Ani. More than fine.”

Anakin relaxes at your assurance and takes a moment to admire you. Your hat is askew on your head and your shirt is crooked from him cupping with your boobs. He hopes the corset isn’t difficult to take off…

“Anakin?” you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“Huh?”

“What are you thinkin’ about, pretty boy?”

“So many things,” Anakin smirks.

“Care to enlighten me at my apartment?”

“Way ahead of you, babe.” Anakin whips out his phone and orders an Uber. He’s not walking five blocks back to your apartment with a hard-on.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You have no clue how either of you manage to keep your hands to yourself in the Uber, but you do. You hardly make it through your door before Anakin’s lips are back on yours with a heavy desperation. He throws your hat off, letting it land who knows where. His hand is on the back of your neck and you’re doing a clumsy dance around your living room. You’re tugging at the roots of his wavy hair, which he’s been growing out since last semester.

You and Anakin are a mess of hands as you’re both trying to get the other’s clothes off with your mouths still attached to each other. He’s fumbling with the laces of your corset and you wonder how long it will take him to realize there’s a zipper in the back.

You shrug off his sweatshirt, leaving him in a basic white tee. Anakin reluctantly breaks away from you when he accepts he’s getting nowhere with your corset. “This thing is fucking impossible,” he groans.

You giggle as you draw the zipper down your back and remove the black corset from your body. You let it drop to the floor as you drape your arms around Anakin’s neck. “You were saying?”

“I hate you,” Anakin says with a smile.

“You love me.”

“So much,” he replies, lips trailing down your neck once again. “I love you so much it consumes me. I’ve tried to fill this void inside of me with other women but it’s never enough. It’s not enough because they’re not you.”

You’re smiling so widely your cheeks hurt. You consume him. He loves you. You’ve never been happier. “I love you too, Anakin. You have no idea.”

“I have some idea,” he smiles. He grabs a fistful of your skirt and slips his hands beneath the hem to find your panties. “Are you going to let me take care of you tonight?”

“Anything,” you nod, giving him the permission to remove your panties. You take off your boots and blouse and while it’s by no means a show, Anakin is enjoying every second of it.

“I’ll let you do anything, Anakin.” You unclip your bra so all that you’re left in is your skirt. Anakin is still wearing a shirt and jeans, which is only mildly infuriating since his golden tan skin looks so radiant against the bright white of his shirt.

As Anakin admires you, he can’t possibly be filled with any more lust than he is right now. Three years of pining after you is surging through his veins and his cock is insanely hard. He’s imagined this so many times. Would he fuck you slowly? Or maybe you’d rather have it fast and hard. Do you like to be called sweet things? Would you be his good girl? Or would you rather be his little slut?

He’s overwhelmed with the incessant need to taste your cunt. “Get on the couch,” he instructs. “Take your skirt off, too. I want to see all of you.”

You nod and once you’ve stepped out of the fabric, you situate yourself on your couch. Anakin kneels down in front of you and resists the urge to spread your legs open so he can see your pussy. “You have to take something off, too,” you say sweetly.

Anakin swiftly tears his shirt over his head and you knew he was fit, but you just didn’t realize how fit. “Oh my God,” you practically drool.

“Yeah?” Anakin smirks whilst hooking his arms beneath your thighs, pulling your ass to the edge of the couch. His cock strains against his jeans even more now that he can see your glistening pussy. “You like what you see, sweetheart?”

You shrug. “Mm, yeah. It’s alright, I guess.”

“You’re a little brat,” Anakin says before kissing up your thigh. The feather-light touch of his warm lips makes you wiggle. Your hand rests atop of Anakin’s head, fingers massaging his scalp in an effort to keep him traveling up to your core. “You’re lucky I can’t resist a pretty pussy like yours.”

“Is it the prettiest?”

Anakin lays a kiss on the inside of your other thigh. His nose brushes against your clit as he places a chaste kiss over your folds while running two fingers down your slit. “No doubt about it, babe,” Anakin praises. Fuck, you smell divine. He wants to spend all day between your thighs. “The absolute prettiest. Bet you taste the sweetest, too.”

With that, Anakin dips a finger inside of you, making you gasp. “Fuck, sweetheart,” Anakin sucks in a breath. He lays his head on your thigh to watch his finger disappear inside of you and then reappear glistening with your juices. “How can you be this wet already? I’ve barely gotten started.”

You roll your head along the couch cushions, impossibly worked up and craving more than just one of Anakin’s fingers. “Then show me what you’re made of, Skywalker.”

Oh, that sends a jolt straight through Anakin’s cock. He wastes no more time teasing you and slips another finger into your hole while attaching his lips to your clit. He flicks the tip of his tongue over your bundle of nerves, two long fingers are curling against your walls, and Anakin can’t get enough. Pussy just tastes better when you love the person you’re eating out. It’s pure saccharine to him. He needs it pumped into his blood to survive.

Anakin finesses his cock out of his pants and strokes himself several times to alleviate the terrible pain that has come over him. Your strangled cries of pleasure and hand on his head pushing him further into your cunt encourages Anakin to add a third finger. “Anakin! Fuck!”

“You like that, baby?” Anakin is breathless, lips coated with your nectar. “You like being stretched by my fingers?”

“Mm,” you hum, fisting his hair, “yes.”

“Bet you do.” Anakin bites the inside of your thigh and pumps his three digits agonizingly slowly so he can really admire the stretch. It’s a toe curling sensation and a bit foreign more than anything. You had no idea fingers could feel so good. Maybe it’s just Anakin’s. He places the pad of his thumb on your clit, applying even pressured circles and yeah, it’s totally just Anakin who makes you feel this good. “Good little whores love to be stretched out.”

“Oh my God!” you exclaim, pussy clenching at Anakin calling you a whore. Your bodily response doesn’t go unnoticed by Anakin. No, he’s storing all of this in his memory, creating a file of all the things that make you go wild. “Fuck me, Anakin. Please.”

“Currently doing that with fingers, sweetheart.” He pumps his fingers faster but rolls over your nub with a more delicate touch. By now you’re squirming off of the couch, heels digging into the cushion and all you can do is chant Anakin’s name. You’re caught in a dichotomy of wanting to cum while also wanting Anakin’s cock. “C’mon, angel, let it go. I want you to cum on my fingers before you take my cock.”

“But I- hngh…” your words are mangled as it’s no longer an option to stave off your orgasm. Your clit is overly sensitive and the tightness in your tummy begins to unravel as your walls pulse around Anakin’s three fingers. “Mm— oh, fuck! Ani-”

“That’s it, baby,” Anakin coos. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you cum.” He draws his fingers from you one by one, each time making you cry from emptiness. Anakin sits beside you on the couch, bringing his fingers soaked in your goodness up to your mouth. You open obediently, only taking in two of them. Your tangy sweetness coats your tongue and you’re looking straight into Anakin’s ocean eyes. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel seasick.

When Anakin takes his fingers out of your mouth, you maneuver yourself on top of Anakin. The rough denim of his jeans creates a rough contrast to the silky tip of his cock poking your thigh. He manages to get his jeans down his legs and around his ankles. Kicking his feet out of them impatiently, his large hands find a home on your breasts while you grab the base of him and position him under your cunt. He’s kneading your mounds gently, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You slot your lips between his as you lower yourself onto his lap.

“F-fuck, Ani,” you rest your forehead on Anakin’s as your breathing becomes one. He runs his hands down your tummy, landing on your waist and gives you an encouraging squeeze. “So big, so full,” you murmur. Anakin guides your hips forward and backward, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. He’s sucking down hard, no other thought other than claiming you as his.

It’s fucking magnificent having his cock nestled deep inside of you while you’re moaning in his ear, and soft hands roaming his upper body. His hands drop down to your ass, grabbing a handful of your peachy cheeks. You start bouncing on his cock, each time you drop down you feel like he’s in your stomach. “Cunt’s so fuckin’ greedy,” Anakin groans. “You just can’t get enough of my cock, can you?”

“Mmh, nuh uh,” you babble mindlessly. Your legs are starting to ache but the pain goes in tandem with the pleasure. Anakin presses your chest to his with his arms around your back. You kiss along his jaw lazily, feeling your energy deplete with each landing on Anakin’s thick length. “Need you to…mmm-”

“Say no more.” Anakin flips you over seamlessly with his cock still anchored inside of you. He hikes your leg over his shoulder and he drills into you at a delicious new angle. His fingers fall to your clit and it sends you soaring. “Fuck,” Anakin breathes. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this tight cunt from me for three years.”

“Y-yours now,” you have some brain cells left to respond. He’s fucking you hard, tits bouncing with each thrust and Anakin just has to have one in his mouth. While he encloses his lips over one of your nipples, he cups your other breast in his hand. He flicks his tongue across your bud and suckles, as if there’s something in there to nourish him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant. It’s all getting to be too much. The bulge you feel in your belly, the pressure on your clit, Anakin’s warm mouth on your breast. How is he so good at doing so many things? “Ani, I’m close.”

“I feel it, angel,” Anakin drags his lips across your chest and up your neck until he reaches his final destination. With his lips slotted between yours once more, the roll of his hips is languid and methodical. He’s bringing you along gradually, until your second orgasm washes over you and your limbs are convulsing. You moan into Anakin’s mouth and he swallows it happily. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

“Mouth!” you manage to say. Anakin loses every single semblance of control he had when you utter that one word. He pulls out of you just as he begins to cum, hot ropes landing on your chest before he’s propped his foot by your head and shoves his cock between your lips.

Your warm mouth welcomes him greedily as his seed coats your tongue. “Shit,” Anakin grumbles. “Such a little cum slut.”

You nod submissively, wrapping your hands around the rest of his length, all slippery from your juices. You look so fucking sexy with his dick in your mouth, he can’t even think straight. You on the other hand, you could suck his cock all damn day. You don’t even have to think while you’re doing it, you’ll just let your hands, mouth, and tongue do whatever they want. It isn’t until you feel his dick start to soften do you realize he’s finished releasing his load.

Anakin breathlessly slumps down on the other side of your couch. You scoop up his cum from your chest and bring it to your mouth. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do that,” Anakin says rather firmly.

“Why not?” you blink innocently.

“You know exactly why.”

You don’t reply. Instead, you crawl over to him, pulling the blanket that’s draped over the back of your couch and lay on top of Anakin’s chest. He lets you get comfortable as you’re sandwiched between his body and the back cushions of your couch. Once you’ve settled, his strong arm holds you against him protectively. He kisses the top of your head gently and mumbles something you can’t understand.

Neither of you say anything the rest of the night. Anakin isn’t a man of many words, anyway. But when he has something to say, he’ll make sure he gets his point across. The point he made tonight was very clear.

He loves you.

remember to reblog and leave comments to support authors!

(ps i'm not a yankees or mets fan. hayden's sweatshirt just kinda looks like the yankees logo even though i know it's not. okay that's it.)

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#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x f!reader #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker fan fiction #anakin skywalker one shot #modern!anakin skywalker #modern anakin skywalker #modern!au #college au #modern au

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