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alvojake · 28 days

Note

i need tattoo artist jungwon and reader is his client, also his ex-girlfriend

「notes」 : thank you, anon, for blessing my inbox with this beautiful request because it left me thinking of tatted jungwon for days 😵‍💫

Inked Hearts | Y.JW

「paring」 : tattoartist!exbf!jungwon x fem!reader 「word count」 : 4.9k

「synopsis」 : it has been a few months since you and jungwon had a huge fight resulting in you breaking up; though things ended poorly, you still craved his touch. then you realize that you still have a tattoo appointment with him, dreading it. you just decide to push his buttons, not fully expecting it to end with you bending over the bed.

「genre」 : smut

「warning」 : cussing, biting/marking, fingering, begging, choking, slight hair pulling, size kink, dom!jungwon x sub!reader, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy), orgasm denial, edging, slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, manhandling, petnames (babydoll, baby...), the reader is a brat, clit play, teasing, rough sex, both the reader and jungwon are kinda toxic, public(ish) sex, bulge kink, lmk if I missed anything!

It had been almost a month and a half since you and Jungwon had broken up over a petty little argument that some jealous girl in the club started. All because she couldn’t get Jungwon to budge when hitting on him. So what does she do? She spills her drink all over your outfit, then gets one of her guy friends to ‘help’ clean it up. All while making sure Jungwon was watching the whole time, this guy not so discreetly put his hands all over your chest.

The whole thing resulted in Jungwon yanking you away from Mr. Handsey and blowing up right outside of the club. He didn’t give you even a chance to explain what had happened, which only pissed you off. So you ended up yelling right back at him, embarrassed and hurt that he didn’t even bother giving you a chance to explain then goes and starts shouting hurtful things right outside where prying ears could easily hear.

It was safe to say that you never returned to your shared apartment that night, or any night, really. You only showed up when he wasn’t home to gather the things you’d need to crash at a friend's house until further notice.

Everyone told you that it would all blow over, and you would be able to talk it out with him. However, you knew he was too stubborn and your pride too large for either of you to step up and apologize first. This brings you to your current situation, staying with friends and working part-time at the very club that started this whole mess.

You didn’t really want to be working in the same place that ended your four-year-long relationship, but it’s not like you had much of a choice. It helped pay bills and kept you from going hungry. Though you can’t say, you valued your job enough to not jump over the counter every time you saw the little wench that ruined everything. The only thing holding you back was sitting behind bars until someone could come and bail you out. If they did.

Jungwon was still a sore spot for you, especially when you would drive by his tattoo shop. The very shop where he gave you your very first tattoo. The same shop that you were sure he had you bent over or on top of about every surface he could. Fucking you so good you saw stars and leaving your legs shaking. It brought back memories you wished you could relive, but then you remembered everything, and you’d be damned if you were going to be the first to apologize.

But you never received a call nor a text of any kind from him, sure that he had blocked you. Thus leading you to believe that everything was actually over and you’d never see him again.

Or so you thought…

“Son of a fucking bitch!” You exclaimed, nearly flinging yourself off of your bed, phone clutched tightly in your hand.

“Y/n language!” your current roommate, Karina, shouted from down the hall. Rolling your eyes, you threw your phone on the bed and stood on your feet. Not even two seconds later, Karina was peeking into your room, fixing her septum. “What happened, though? Anything juicy?”

You couldn’t help but give her a deadpan stare, you loved her, but her incessant need for any gossip was one thing that damn near drove you up a wall.

However, you just let it slide this time because you needed someone to rant to. “I fucking forgot that I had a tattoo appointment with Jungwon today.” You groaned, flinging yourself backward onto your bed while Karina stifled a laugh.

“Damn, babe, looks like the world is really against you.” She smirked at you, her eyes scanning your face catching the conflicted emotions that swirled in your eyes.

Karina would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy seeing you like this; it was a taste of your own medicine, really. You were one of her closest friends, but anyone with a pair of eyes could tell that you sucked at communication and then blamed it on the other person. Was she rooting for you and Jungwon to get back together? Definitely. Was she also rooting for the possibility that Jungwon or someone would do something about the attitude you’ve had? Fuck yes.

“Are you still going to go?” Karina asked as she looked down at her nails, making a mental note to repolish them when she had the chance.

With a sigh, you brought your hand to your forehead, rubbing the crease between your eyebrows. “I’m gonna have to. Jungwon is the only one that I know that can ace this design.” Groaning you slapped the palm of your hand against your forehead, “fuck it, I’m going, worst comes to worst I’ll just let Jay do it.”

Karina hummed, looking up at you through her lashes, watching as you hastily searched your wardrobe for a suitable outfit. She had to bite back a smirk when you pulled out a black lace bra and matching underwear. As much as you say you’re dreading running into your ex, your actions tell a whole other story.

You made it to the tattoo studio well before your appointment was meant to start; you’d rather be super early than late.

Walking inside, you were greeted by the receptionist you’ve known since Jungwon hired her a year or so ago. Her lips were covered in a huge smile, showcasing her smiley piercing.

“Y/n, oh my god, it’s been forever! How have you been?” Belle greeted you as she stood from her seat, rushing over to engulf you in a hug.

“Hey Belle, I’ve been okay.” You patted her back softly before she moved away, her eyes shining brightly, “is Jungwon here?”

Belle’s eyebrows scrunched together, confused about your usage of Jungwon’s full name. She hadn’t been aware of the breakup, thinking that you had your own personal matters to attend to, which is why she hadn’t seen you.

“He went out to grab a few things, should be back soon.” The new voice caused your head to turn, catching sight of the tall, dark-haired male standing in the doorway, the light reflecting off of his eyebrow and lip rings. “How have you been holding up pipsqueak?”

“Oh, you know, another day in paradise.” You shrugged, and Jay chuckled at the sarcasm dripping from your words, “And what have I said about that damn nickname?”

“And I’ve told you countless times to get used to it; it’s not goin’ anywhere.” He shrugged with a smirk, causing you to glare at him. “I’m surprised Won didn’t cancel the whole appointment; he’s been huffing and puffing about it all week.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “of course he has.”

Jay laughed at the sour expression that had taken over your features, knowing that you weren’t much different from Jungwon with the whole ‘being the bigger person’ bit. Even if the two of you were locked in a room, he doubted you’d apologize to each other—at least not verbally.

Which is why Jay took it upon himself to clear out the studio as soon as you were back in Jungwon’s room. Giving you two the chance to ‘talk’ it out and saving everyone in the studio from the trauma of hearing it all happen. However, he needed something that he knew you’d use that would essentially set Jungwon off.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m free if you’d rather me do your tattoo,” he suggested, and he could see the hope gleam in your eyes. Too bad it was just a front. There was no way in hell that Jungwon would let anyone else do your tattoo, especially another guy, not with where it was placed.

“If he gives me too much hell, I might just take you up on that offer.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, unknowingly pushing your breast up.

The sound of the bell above the door caused him to avert his gaze, already knowing who had just walked in.

Jungwon walks in, and his eyes instantly fall on you before flickering over to Jay, who had been in mid-conversation with you. His face sours at the sight of you just standing there, more so when he notices the thin shirt you are wearing, as well as the skirt that sits just barely below your ass. Noticing his presence, you look over before rolling your eyes at the glare that harbored his face, already growing annoyed with his face.

You turn away, opening your mouth to talk to Jay once more. However, you are cut short when Jungwon walks in front of you, setting things down on the reception desk.

“Is your memory that bad that you forgot where my room was, or were you just waiting for an escort?” His tone was snarky as his eyes flickered over to you, eyebrow quirked up. He couldn’t help but smirk at the annoyed expression that painted your face beautifully. If there was one thing he loved almost just as much as fucking you, it was getting under your skin, riling you up.

“I do not ne-” “Hey Belle, put these in the back for me, will ya?” Jungwon just cut you off leaving you standing there looking at him with a flabbergasted look, jaw clenched tightly.

Jay stood off to the side, watching with an amused gleam in his eyes. If he wasn’t sure, then he’s definitely sure now. It wasn’t just any normal tension between the two of you. No, it was just straight sexual tension. He then looked over at Heeseung, who had just looked up from his phone, motioning towards the door. The purple-haired male nodded before motioning to the others discreetly.

“Come on, Dory, let me show you the way since you obviously don’t remember.” Jungwon’s words struck a cord, and it took everything in you not to blow up. Your dark eyes watched Jungwon’s back as he walked into the main room, taking a deep breath deciding that he wasn’t worth the humiliation. So you waved softly at Jay before following after your ex-boyfriend.

Walking into Jungwon’s room, you could easily tell that he was annoyed, especially when he shut the door with such force that it shook the walls a bit. Rolling your eyes once more, you walked over to the counter, leaning back on it.

“You know, if you’re so pissed about doing my tattoo, I’m sure Jay would love to do it for me.” You bit back a smirk as his jaw tightened, the veins in his neck starting to pop out. A sense of pride filled your chest, knowing that you were slowly getting under his skin.

“Shut up and take your shirt off.” He hissed through gritted teeth, turning his body to face you. His eyes bore into you, making a chill go down your spine. The same stare that he would give you moments before he pinned you to the next surface and ‘taught’ you a lesson. Normally you would have thought that it would disgust you after everything, but no. It left your body burning, sure that your panties were already getting soaked.

However, you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of winning. No, he was going to have to make you.

“You know that’s not how you would talk to a client, plus the least you could do is turn around.” You sassed him, crossing your arms over your chest once more, a smirk spreading across your glossed lips.

It took Jungwon two seconds flat to move in front of you, hands against the counter, caging your body in. His warm breath fanned your face as he inched closer. Your heart lept in your chest at the sudden proximity, and your stomach did flips as his scent filled your senses.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you in less. Take it off before I tear it off.” He growled, the sound sending a wave of heat right to your core.

Keeping your composure, you stood straight, brushing your nose right against his, finger poking his chest. “Last time I checked, you said you didn’t want to see my tainted goods.”

In the blink of an eye, Jungwon had his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to elicit a whimper from you.

“The only thing ‘tainted’ about you is that damn attitude.” His voice was low as he pulled you closer to him, his lips ghosting over yours. Your eyes stared up at him, pupils blown wide, and Jungwon wasn’t stupid; he knew you were doing this to get a rise out of him. A smirk then spread across his lips, sending a shiver throughout your body, “how about you listen and lose it, or…” he closed the gap between your bodies. Your heart lurched when you felt his bulge against your stomach. “Am I gonna have to fuck it out of you like old times?” The sinister gleam in his eyes was enough to tell you what the answer was.

“Won…” You breathed out, voice hoarse from his hold. Your body was becoming uncomfortably hot, and the ache between your legs only grew as the seconds passed.

Jungwon chuckled, “Oh, so it’s Won now? Not Jungwon or asshole?” His fingers tightened a bit more, causing a gasp to fall from your lips. Then his smirk faded, and his eyes darkened, “On the bed, give me any more attitude, and you won’t be cumming, babydoll.” His grip then fell from your throat, allowing you to breathe properly.

You bit your tongue to suppress the smirk on your lips as you walked over to the bed, climbing on top. Laying back on your elbows, your legs parted just enough to give him a peek at your black underwear.

“Are you sure you can restrain yourself? I mean, it has been a while.” Your lips quirked up as you stretched your foot out, brushing over his growing erection. Amusement gleamed in your eyes as his jaw tightened, his eyes darkening even more.

Jungwon grabbed your ankle, pulling it to his side before slotting himself between your legs. Your breath hitched in your throat as he grabbed your hip, pulling your body flush against his. Your body shivered at his touch, goosebumps littering your skin, and the arousal pooling in your panties grew even more.

“Missed my touch that much, huh?” That cocky smirk found its way back onto his lips, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, right.” You huffed, staring up at him, but Jungwon wasn’t stupid. He knew your body like the back of his hand—every little thing that made you tick, all the places that would have you like putty in his hands. He knew that you were craving him just by the look in your eyes when you walked in.

“Really?” He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours, eyes boring into yours. “Because your body is telling me otherwise.” His fingers found your clothed core, pressing down, feeling your slick soak through. Your jaw clenched shut trying to keep from letting any noises out, you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“How do you know it’s for you? I mean, Jay does loo-” Before you could even finish your sentence, Jungwon had his ring-clad fingers wrapped around your throat. Squeezing hard enough to elicit a squeak from your lips, eyes staring up at him with a glare.

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.” He growled, his eyes challenging you and normally you would have just kept your mouth shut, but right now? You wanted to push his buttons until he snapped, that little voice in the back of your head telling you that you didn’t have to obey him.

He wasn’t your boyfriend anymore, after all.

Your lips curled into a smirk, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips for a split second. “I was saying that Jay looks more than capable to fuck me stupid.”

Then, just like that switch flipped in Jungwon’s brain, his eyes darkened with a rage you’ve never seen before. His hand around your neck released its grip before he leaned back far enough to strip himself of his jacket, revealing his inked skin. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, hands itching to touch him. However, before your hands made contact with his skin, he had your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head.

Jungwon’s dick twitched in his pants as he took in how small your hands were in comparison to his. Really just how much smaller you were compared to him altogether. He loved it, loved how easy it was for him to trap you in place. Loved how easy he could maneuver your body to whatever position he wanted. He then realized just how much he missed having you pinned underneath him.

“Babydoll, we both know that no one can fuck you stupid like I can.” He chastised you before leaning down and pressing a kiss against your jaw. Your body squirmed under his, the heat making you feel lightheaded. The need for some kind of friction was almost overbearing.

Jungwon relished in the way your hips were moving against his, listening to the soft sounds that left your lips. His free hand then moved from your hip, finding your clothed clit, and pressing down harshly.

“Fuck!” You cried out, your nerves shooting shockwaves throughout your entire body. His hands were rough on your body, sending your mind reeling. “Won, wait- shit, please be gentle.” You whined out as his pace picked up, making your body jolt. Tears are already pricking at the corner of your eyes.

Jungwon chuckled darkly before he bit down on the junction of your neck, “You want gentle? Wrong fucking address.” he growled before moving your underwear to the side, sliding a finger into your tight hole with ease.

Your mouth fell agape as soundless moans fell from your lips, and your body shivered. It had been far too long since you’ve experienced anything like this, and it was turning your brain to mush.

“Look at you, I’ve barely done anything, and you’re already about to cum.” He berated you as he slipped another finger into your soaping cunt.

“Jungwon!” You cried out, nails digging into the palm of your hand. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and the knot in your stomach tightened unimaginably as his fingers brushed against your sweet spot.

Your eyes rolled back, legs twitching on either side of his hips as his fingers coaxed your climax closer. Jungwon smirked against your skin, knowing you were close to the way you were squeezing his fingers like a vice. Your moans of his name were music to his ears, though what he wanted was for your ability to make coherent sentences completely useless.

Just as your high was about to crash over you, Jungwon pulled his soaked fingers from your pulsating pussy, making a loud whine fall from your parted lips.

“Fuck! You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” You cried out, meeting his eyes as he pulled away from your neck.

“You didn’t think I’d let you cum that easy, did you?” He smirked, keeping his eyes on yours as he stuck his drenched digits in his mouth. You whined, wiggling under his grip as frustration bubbled up in your chest. “Be a good girl and beg, then I might let you cum.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, eyes glaring up at him. “In your dreams, pretty boy.” You spit out, jaw clenched tightly. Eyes watched as he just shook his head, a sinister smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry, baby, you’ll be begging for me by the time I’m through with you.” His fingers then slipped back into your slick cunt, his pace relentless. You bit down on your lip, trying to keep your noise down while he worked his slender fingers into you.

The pattern continued for what felt like hours. Jungwon would work you close to your climax before ripping it away. Tears were spilling from your eyes, smearing your makeup from the frustration of not being able to cum.

You had lost count of how many times he’d denied you, but you knew that you could only handle so much more. The underwear you had been wearing had been tossed off in the room somewhere, leaving your arousal to pool on the bed beneath you.

The skin of your neck and chest had been painted in deep red and purple blotches as well as bite marks. Your pupils were blown wide as you stared up at him. Your walls clenched around his fingers once again as another orgasm built up in your gut.

“Won-” You were cut off by a choked moan as he denied you yet another orgasm; sobs racked your lungs as you wiggled under his hold.

“Awww, is my poor baby getting frustrated?” He smirked, eyes studying your expressions as he slid his fingers back into your puffy cunt. His pace was quick, making sure he added extra pressure to your sweet spot, knowing that you would fold sooner rather than later.

As another orgasm built up, your eyes rolled back, and your will was slowly diminishing. Your chest was tight as you anticipated him to stop once again.

And he did.

You cried out, pleading with him with your eyes, but he wanted to hear you. You knew that you were going to have to swallow your pride if you were going to get what you wanted.

A gasp fell from your lips as he pressed against your clit, moving in tight circles. Your head fell back as you tried to form a coherent sentence.

“Won- fuck, please don’t stop. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You panted, eyes meeting his darker ones.

He leaned down, kissing the corner of your lips before trailing to your ear as he sunk his fingers back into you. "See, that wasn’t so hard, was it, baby?”

Pleas and whines fell from your lips as he continued to work into your core, tears blurring your vision. Hoping that he wouldn’t stop this time, that he would actually give you what you wanted.

But just like before he pulled away just as it was about to crash over you.

Before you could even whine about it, he let go of your hands, pulling your body off of the bed, flipping you over before bending you over. A choked moan fell from your lips when he landed a harsh smack on your ass before rubbing the red spot.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll let you cum babydoll.” He smirked, hands tracing up your thighs and under the skirt you were still wearing. His thumb pressed against your slit, watching as you clenched around it.

“Wonnie, please fuck me already.” You whined head turned to look back at him. Eyes glazed over with lust, the only thing on your mind was having him fucking you so good that you saw stars.

He unzipped his pants before tugging them down, letting his dick spring free. Your mouth watered at the sight, hips subconsciously wiggling in anticipation. He chuckled darkly before pumping himself a few times, then grabbing your hip in his other hand. He teased your entrance with his tip until you were a whining, begging mess.

“Well, if you want it so bad, then you better start taking it.” Without another word, he bottomed out in one go, causing a pitiful squeak to leave your lips.

“W-Won-” Your words caught in your throat as he started thrusting into you at a bruising pace, not giving you a chance to adjust. His hand gripped your hips so tightly that you were sure there would be bruises by the next day.

Another choke moan spilled from your lips as one of his hands snaked around your waist, fingers finding your sensitive clit. He circled the bundle of nerves harshly in time with his thrust causing your body to jolt and a cry to fall from your lips.

You buried your face into the hard cushions of the bed, hoping to muffle some of your noises, suddenly becoming acutely aware of where you were. You prayed that no one could hear anything that was going on right now. However, Jungwon didn’t care who heard. Actually, he did care because he wanted everyone to know who you belonged to, especially Jay.

He grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling your body up, your back flush against his chest as he continued to plow into you. Your moans grow louder as the position changes.

“Feels good, huh, babydoll?” He chuckled as his hand snaked around your hips, pressing down on the small bulge in your lower stomach. A choked cry fell from your lips as he pressed down, making you feel him even more, “You really wanna tell me that Jay can fuck you just as good as I can? Hmm?”

You shook your head frantically, knowing that no one would be able to get you like this but him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck Jungwon!” You screamed out the worry of other people hearing completely gone from your mind.

He continued to pound into your abused pussy, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. The pressure of his hand on your stomach was making your mind fuzz as moans and whines of his name fell from your lips.

“Gonna cum already baby?” He growled in your ear as he snapped his hips into yours, hitting spots that only he had claimed for himself. His grip tightened on your waist as he angled his hip a bit more.

“Holy shit!” You cursed loudly, your eyes rolling back as he hit your sweet spot dead on. Your mouth fell open as your head lolled back, drool spilling from the corner of your lips.

A high-pitched squeak left your mouth when he brought his hand from your stomach to your clit, rubbing harshly. All of the pleasure and your impending orgasm were causing your legs to start shaking and your mind to go blank.

“That’s it, babydoll, give it to me. Make a mess on my cock” Jungwon knew you were close, switching his position once more until you were crying over his dick, moments away from your orgasm. He pressed wet and hot kisses along your exposed neck before biting down in time with his fingers on your clit.

Silent moans fell from your lips, and your vision turned white as your orgasm tore through your body. Jungwon groaned into your skin as you clenched down tightly on him, but his pace didn’t slow, easily throwing you into overstimulation.

“W-Won- fuck!” Your whole body was trembling as continuous waves of pleasure washed through your body.

“Fuck. I’m almost there; just hold on.” His harsh and gruff tone had switched to soft and borderline whines, causing your mind to almost combust.

His once harsh pace was starting to become sloppy, erratic, and uneven, a telltale sign that he was close. His hips still snapped into yours harshly, which was bringing you closer to another orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” You whine out, nails digging into Jungwon’s forearms, trying to ground yourself as another climax washes over you, nearly taking your breath away. Tears were spilling from the corner of your eyes, falling down and drenching Jungwon’s shirt under your head.

“Fuck, I’m cumming. You’re gonna take all of it, babydoll, got it?” He growled in your ear but didn’t give you a chance to respond before he was pumping his load into your womb.

His hips jerk a few more times, fucking his cum back into you before falling to a complete stop.

Heavy breathing filled the room as you both stood there, trying to catch your breath. Jungwon pressed soft kisses over the swollen spots on your skin where he had bit down. Coaxing you back down from your high, fingers drawing shapes on your hips.

“Won…” You breathed out, blinking your eyes a few times to clear the tears before glancing up at him.

“There she is.” He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. The feeling made your heart flutter—you had missed this, you had missed him.

Then everything came flooding back, the hurt following. Swallowing thickly, you pulled yourself away from him before searching for your underwear with shaky legs.

“Y/n, what are you doing?” Jungwon asked, fixing himself before making his way towards you.

“This shouldn’t have happened, we’re not together anymore.” You told him, your eyes looking everywhere but him.

Jungwon could hear the hurt in your tone, and he knew you were right about the not being together part, at least. However, he wasn’t about to let you walk away from him again no matter how upset he was then, he knew now.

“Baby…” His hands found your waist, pulling you into his chest, causing your heart to lurch.

“Jungwon, let me-” “No, please listen to me. I’m sorry I was such a dickhead.” He breathed out, arms wrapping around your smaller frame, “I should have let you explain but instead I just let her words cloud my mind and I know that’s not any excuse, but I’m sorry I truly am.” His words sunk into your skin, and tears brimmed in your eyes once more. “Let me make it up to you. Give me a chance, please baby.”

You inhaled shakily before turning your head to look back at him, “Fine, but only if we go to that one restaurant I like.”

Jungwon couldn’t help but chuckle before peppering kisses all over your face, “Whatever you want, baby.”

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

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luveline · 7 months

Note

PLEASE IM BEGGING I WILL SELL MY FAMILY FIR THIS

More flirty bombshell reader but Spencer was just let out of prison and now instead of just getting all hot and bothered he flirts back 😼

Love you and your writing pooks 😏😚🫶🏾

love you! fem, 1.1k

This has been the longest eighty four days of your life. Not even three months apart and yet it's felt as long and arduous as three years, and so you do what you must on the day Spencer is released from Milburn; you take your time putting yourself back together, preening and polishing, as pretty as you've ever looked.

Penelope looks good too, JJ as well. The girls are here to represent, and that's without mentioning Luke's general unbelievable physique.

You're pissed at being left outside but you can manage. You can cope. You don't think Penelope, bless her huge heart, is going to fight you for Spencer's attention. Not for a good five seconds. What to say first? I miss you, I love you, I'm so fucking sorry I let this happen, that I couldn't do more.

He appears behind a grate door, Luke at his side. Then the grate is opening, JJ with tears in her eyes behind him, and every idea of what to do goes out the window.

Your breath catches before he's so much as touched you.

"Hey," you say. It starts well, ends weak, tears in your eyes as you choke, "hey, handsome."

"Hey," he says, hugging you with more care than you're expecting. "Oh my god, hey." He lets out a sigh of relief, his face dipping down to press against your shoulder. You feel the familiar curve of his nose and hold your breath to stop from crying.

You let him go a selfish ten seconds later, but Spencer keeps your hand as he hugs Penelope, one-armed. It's awful and selfish and you don't care, you go in for the second hug on tiptoes, arms behind his neck, your mouth pressed as high as you can reach on his face. A mess of lip gloss is left behind when they finally crowbar you off of him long enough to get in the car, and even then you're clinging to his hand, worried someone will take him again, that you won't be able to do a thing about it.

You wrap your arms around his and hug him on the drive back. You can't stop looking up into his face. Spencer, unflinching, meets you there, his eyes a little glassy, his face sallow but getting better.

"Missed me?" you ask quietly. You've only so much privacy.

"So much."

"Like a hole in the head?"

Spencer leans down an inch. "No, like, I really missed you."

"Of course you did, you–" Spencer leans down suddenly and disarms you, his breath warm against your cheek.

"I what?" he asks, kissing your cheek.

"You haven't been away from me that long in years," you breathe.

"It took getting used to," he says agreeably, speaking low, his breath hotter still as he kisses upward. Two kisses, that's all they are, but when he sits straight again you're thrown.

"But you got used to it?"

"No," he says, smiling at you like you've made a funny joke rather than thinly veiled insecurity spoken in a desperate attempt to garner some reassurance.

It was difficult coping with the hurt of his having left you in the dark. You knew he was doing something he shouldn't have been, but you never for a moment imagined this outcome. You worried (deep down, and not for his ears) that he'd met someone new, that he'd grown disinterested in your years of love and life. Of you. Especially as he's matured, which is to say he stopped looking like he was about to walk the stage at New York Fashion week and started dressing sharp as a tack. Your Spencer stayed yours, but he got older, and you did too —you look older. You're still yourself, high maintenance, prideful, sweet, but you're not the same.

Between the distance that bloomed with his secrecy and his growing maturity, you were caught off guard. And then not long after he was arrested in Mexico and you couldn't get him out no matter what you did, or who you begged for help.

Spencer brings his hand to your cheek, tilting your head one way slowly, and then the other. There's confidence in his touch that you've felt before, just never to this extent.

What happened to you? you think.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what, sweetheart?" you ask, meaning it implicitly. He's your sweetheart. He's everything. You're too high on his return to want an apology.

"For everything. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you."

There's something you can work with. "Oh, you will?"

"I promise."

Mindful of your friends in the front seats, you press your cheek into his hand, turning your head just enough to touch your lips to his palm. His eyes are dark brown where they meet yours, pupil and iris one and the same. "How?" you murmur.

Spencer brushes his thumb against your bottom lip. Something in his eyes speaks even as he stays quiet, a light, an amusement, as if to say, I know exactly what you're doing, but it won't work.

I'm not a saint, you say back with a sheepish smile. You close your eyes and let your head fall into his shoulder. He hugs you close despite the lack of room, his chin landing atop your head gently. "You'll have to try harder," he whispers.

"Don't know what you mean."

"Months of missing you and the first thing you do is try to torture me."

"That's our thing."

"No, our thing is me worshipping the ground you walk on," he says into your hair, hand squeezing as it roves up your arm, reassuring himself that you're there, that you're real.

"Like I wouldn't do the same if you'd let me. I would've done anything." He probably can't hear you anymore, your voice a suggestion of sound. "I would've done anything if I thought it would…" get you back to me.

Spencer does you a favour of ignoring you. Later, you know he'll bring it up again. You'll have time, because he's going home. For now he does his best to hold you together in the company of others, always thinking about what you need. "You look so pretty today. Is that for me?"

"I always look pretty." You haven't felt it lately.

"I know. Maybe it's because I didn't see you for so long… It's like seeing you again for the first time."

Your chest aches in a strangely nice way. "And how are you coping, handsome?"

He rests his cheek on your forehead. On paper, you're flirting. In actuality, you're being one hundred percent honest with each other. "I'm not. My blood pressure has gotta be 180 over 110 right now."

"I love it when you talk medical to me."

"I love you."

You nose at his suit sleeve ineffectually "I love you."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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avis-writeshq · 8 months

Text

carriage six – spencer reid

summary: Spencer Reid prides himself in his routine. Wake up at half-past six. Leave his apartment at a quarter past seven. Get onto the seven thirty train. Arrive at Quantico at eight forty five. He has a plentiful of reasons as to why he does it; it’s efficient, it gets him to the office early, it works. But the biggest reason is the girl that always sits in the seat a few rows across from him, headphones on and always reading a book.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).

warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!). i tried to write in Spencer’s pov, and with that comes a lot of rambling. i like to think that his mind is running 100 miles an hour, so i tried to write in a style that could implicate that <3

wc: 1.8k

part two: platform ten

Spencer tries not to look so excited when he enters the subway, clad in light grey slacks, a lavender dress shirt, a brown and purple argyle sweater vest and a mauve coloured tie. His signature leather bag is strapped across his chest and he has a light cardigan in his hand; the weather reports said it would be cold today. His head spins with the statistics on the accuracy of meteorology, considering the bright and sunny skies that blessed the citizens of D.C that morning. He’s donning a new haircut today as well. It was a lot shorter than he originally planned to get it, but he likes it. In fact, he likes it a lot, particularly the way it drapes across his forehead and the way it looks messy but still cool. That’s how he would describe it. Cool. He feels cool.

He hasn’t been able to get onto the subway for three days because of a case in Connecticut and his mind wanders. Will there be another case soon? How long would it take? He hopes it would be a local case. He feels guilty thinking that; he shouldn’t be hoping for a case at all. After all, that would only mean someone else has met their untimely death. He shakes his head to dismiss the thoughts.

He steps onto the train, onto the sixth carriage, and sits on his usual seat. In his mind, it’s the perfect seat. It avoids the sun so he doesn’t need to squint and he doesn’t have to turn the brightness level of his phone all the way up. It’s right next to the door in case he needs to make a quick exit. It’s right next to a handicapped seat, meaning that people tended to avoid it. But the best thing about this seat was the view.

He cringes when he thinks of it. ‘View’ sounds gross. Perverted. ‘View’ is the wrong word to describe it. His favourite thing about this particular seat is the company. Yes, he likes the company, although it technically doesn’t exactly count as company.

His gaze shifts to his company. Exactly four rows away, her eyes trained on the book in her hands. He recognises it to be ‘Pride and Prejudice’, the limited edition rose gold copy that was released eight months, three weeks and two days ago. He has the same copy sitting on his dresser.

She looks different today. Granted, it had been three days since he last saw her. He scans her figure to try to place his finger on the difference and he realises. She’s wearing a new lipgloss. Spencer’s cheeks burn when he realises. Why on earth— no, how on earth is he able to tell? He feels himself cringe and he shifts his gaze and scans the rest of carriage in an attempt to busy himself and his mind, but his eyes ultimately fall back on his company.

Spencer can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. What’s she listening to? Where is she up to in her book? Does she like Austen? Has she read any other books by her? What does she think of Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship? So many questions enter his mind and he wishes he had the guts to go over and strike up a conversation. But he’s not like Morgan. He doesn’t have that type of charisma or that type of confidence. If anything, he supposes, he’s self aware. He knows that the moment he starts a conversation, he would start rambling for twenty minutes about the relationship dynamics between the characters and why Austen was so incandescent and exceeded all beliefs as a writer in her world. He’d start to bring in authors like Virginia Woolf and why her admiration towards Jane Austen was warranted. Ultimately, Spencer thinks to himself as his eyes wander back to the girl, he’d scare her off.

He watches as she falters in her movements, her fingers pausing from flipping the page and Spencer frowns. From what he could tell, she was a little bit more than halfway through the book. Maybe up to page 260? But there’s nothing remotely difficult in that part of the book. If anything, that was the most simple and straightforward section of the entire text. And then he realises. His cheeks burn once more and he quickly busies himself with his phone, biting his lip and avoiding her amused gaze. Your amused gaze.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. You’ve seen him all the time, for the past three years in fact, when you first moved to D.C. He’s cute, really cute, and he’s even cuter when he looks like a deer caught in headlights. You raise a teasing eyebrow his way and you watch as he quickly avoids your gaze, looking into his phone. You can’t the soft laugh that leaves your lips, your fingers tracing against the pages of your book. Maybe you have a little more confidence in yourself than you thought.

***

The next day, Spencer feels a small sense of dread creeping into his heart. He feels embarrassed, so goddamn embarrassed, and he wonders how he could face you. His cheeks are burning and he tugs at his collar. He’s wearing a light blue shirt with a patterned purple tie, along with dark navy coloured pants. He teeters on his feet, waiting with anticipation for the train. The moment he enters the carriage, his eyes fall to the seat you would be seated at, only to see no one at all. He can’t help but frown, a little disappointed but a little relieved. He moves to his usual seat, and lo and behold, he sees you there, one leg crossed over the other and reading a different book.

He mutters a soft apology as he slides into the seat next to you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Wuthering Heights,” he says, surprising himself.

He watches as you look up from your pages, a small smile on your face. You’re wearing the same lip gloss as yesterday.

“Yeah.” You smile, taking your headphones off and letting them rest around your neck. “You’ve… have you read it before?”

He nods, and he curses himself for looking so eager. “Yes! Um, yes, I’ve read it. It’s really good.”

“Brönte is brilliant,” You respond, sliding a bookmark in between the pages. “I finished Pride and Prejudice last night. Jane Austen is still my favourite.”

You’re baiting him. He knows that. He takes it.

“I saw,” He says quietly, biting his lip. “Not– not in like a stalker way! I just… I just noticed you reading it on the train. Yesterday. I, um, I saw you reading it yesterday.”

He wants to kick himself. His face is flushed and he’s sure that his neck is just as red as his face. His ears are hot and his head spins when he hears you laugh.

“It’s okay. I saw you too.” You offer a smile, your own cheeks warm. “You were reading Edgar Allen Poe a few weeks ago. Is he any good?”

His eyes light up and he tucks an invisible strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a habit of his, since he’s had longer hair almost all of his life.

“He’s very good,” Spencer insists, pulling the little book out of his satchel. “His works range from short stories to poetry, his most famous works being The Tell-Tale Heart, and Annabel Lee. The former is a short story. It’s a little grim, but he writes in an incredibly eloquent way that presents the narrator’s descent into madness, despite the point of the text being to convince the reader that he isn’t mad. Annabel Lee is a poem about a man obsessed with a woman named Annabel Lee and-“

He purses his lips, realising how much he’s spoken. He coughs into his fist, setting his book down in his lap as he quickly glances at you.

“…and what?” You prompt, your head tilting the side in curiosity. “Go on, don’t let me stop you. You’re convincing me to actually get the book on his collection of works.”

His head practically snaps to look at you, a look of surprise on his face. He scans your face for any insincerity, from your eyes all the way down to your lips, before clearing his throat.

“Um… well, uh, in Annabel Lee, the narrator speaks about keeping her in a castle by the sea. It’s a classic case of isolation and some literature analysts even go as far as to say that the narrator was hoping that Annabel would fall in love with him through Stockholm Syndrome but died before the narrator was able to carry out his plan.”

You take in his words, nodding along to his explanation. “You seem to be an expert yourself.”

He laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “No, I uh, I’m not an expert on literature or anything. But I am a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like… a medical doctor or…? No offence, but you really don’t look like a medical doctor.”

He laughs again, nodding. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not. I have PhD’s in chemistry, mathematics and physics, as well as BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy.”

You let out a low whistle. “You a collector or something?”

He blushes, swallowing thickly. “No, I uh… no…?”

“You don’t sound too sure of yourself doctor…” You pause, realising that you really don’t know much about this man. You look up at him expectantly.

“Reid,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. “Spencer Reid. You, um, you don’t have to call me doctor.”

“Alright then, Spencer.” You smile, and he thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. You introduce yourself and he tells you that you have a pretty name.

Time passes, and the conversation continues. You could talk for hours with Spencer; about books, movies, anything. He can make anything sound interesting, it’s one of his charms. He smiles a boyish grin as he talks, gesticulating wildly as he rants about his favourite texts and why Austen is a genius. He asks you what you’re listening to and you almost scream at the thought of introducing him to Taylor Swift.

Before long, the train lurches to a stop at his station and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“It was nice meeting you. Officially,” He adds, gripping the strap of his leather bag.

“It was nice to officially meet you too,” You respond, smiling up at him as he gets up from his seat. “Tomorrow?”

His eyes practically light up. “Tomorrow.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

part two: platform ten

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff

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mournings-stars · 3 months

Text

doubt comes in

happy valentines day, here's my apology in advance for the angst. this is heavily based on the story of orpheus and eurydice specifically in the musical hadestown (my fav) with inspo from the lyrics so a lot of this is written with the intention to rhyme and be in a hadestown-esque song.. I probably wont write like this often, but i hope y'all like it there's one mention of pronouns (she/her) with lilith since i basically swapped the reader for orpheus and luci for eurydice but other than that i don't think there's much to indicate this is a fem!reader but this is an angel!reader if anyone would like a precursor with fluff, i'll compensate yall for the dramatic greek angst

part 2 (prelude) part 3 (prelude pt. 2) part 4 (prelude pt. 3) part 5/finale (semi-alt ending)

It was a long way down; winding, golden steps in a narrow hall that you didn’t know the depth of until you reached the bottom. Your legs ached with each step, and your wings fought not to fly the rest of the way. You could see it in the distance when you reached the ground, the red heat of the pride ring, and the home you were headed to.

It hadn’t been long since Lucifer fell, maybe a few months since he and his love were banished to the darkness he created with the worst of humankind, but you were given a blessing.

Sera, the oldest of the angels, allowed you to go down to Hell to retrieve him. There was a catch, however, one that made you wary as you now neared his home.

You could only retrieve Lucifer. He had to leave his love, and you had to trust that he would follow you. You had to lead the way back up the golden staircase she created for you, all the way to the very top where the golden gates you knew so well waited for you. Lucifer had to walk behind you without a sound; he couldn’t assure you that he was there. You just had to trust one another. To follow, and not to check.

You couldn’t turn around.

Finally, you reached his home, knocking on the door and waiting patiently before it was opened. “It’s you…” You knew his voice well, the sound of it making your heart swell as you wrapped your arms around him.

He was quick to return the embrace, the ache in your legs vanishing for a moment in his arms. “It’s me.” He sighed, hugging you tighter and shutting his eyes with his head on your chest. He could hear the drumming of your heart, and he knew if he held you long enough he’d be back in Heaven when he opened his eyes.

But he had to let go.

“How are you here?” He asked a question and it was like a melody, clear as day and symphonic as the winds that flowed beside you as you descended that steep staircase down to Hell. He stepped back, hands lingering until you stepped away.

“Sera allowed me to come down,” you said. “She said I could bring you back — that you could leave this place…” You looked around, shifting uncomfortably in the unnatural heat before you turned back to him with a gentle smile. “Come home with me.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s a trick. She’s never liked me—“

“No!” You grabbed his hands, forcing him to look at you. “It’s a trial — or a second chance at one.”

It had taken you days to get down. You hadn’t seen Lucifer in months. A few days without looking back at him would be nothing if that meant an eternity back home.

He squeezed your hands, looking down at them and suddenly feeling that it might just be possible. “How?”

“It took a while,” you said quietly. “She didn’t want to listen, but I knew you had the best intentions. I convinced her, and she’s letting you come home.”

“She’s letting me try.” He looked down, dropping your hands and frowning at the ground. “What’s the catch?”

“You have to follow me—“

“I can do that,” he said quickly.

“And you can’t touch me, or speak to me. You just have to trust that I’ll get us there and that I won’t look back—“

He cut you off with a dry laugh. “Just?” He laughed harder. “We both know how this will go.”

“I trust you to follow me. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” His hands went to your face, holding gently. You moved out of his grip, feeling the coolness of the band on his left hand. “We were always close; I trust you, I just… don’t trust her—“

“You should go, Lu,” a voice came from behind him, and the woman you recognized from Eden stood there. Her hair, long and blonde, flowed behind her in non-existent winds. Her smile made you understand why he fell — why he would for her. “Go home with her.”

It was decided then. Just one encouraging push from his love and he was prepared to leave. He looked back at her, giving a smile that made you look away as you turned.

As they said their goodbyes, you waited quietly, kicking at the ground absentmindedly until Lucifer put a hand on your shoulder. “Ready?” You nodded. “Alright.”

“We can walk together until we reach the stairs… Then, from there, we’re on our own.”

“I won’t leave you alone,” he assured. “I’ll make sure you get back home.”

You frowned at his wording, taking his hand. “We’ll both go home.”

He nodded, correcting himself and squeezing your hand, “I’ll make sure we both get home.”

You nodded. “Let’s go.”

The walk was quiet before it had to be, doubt already coming in and making its way between you. What would happen when you reached the stairs? Would he follow behind you? Who were you to think he would, when his love had to stay in a place like this?

“How bad was it?” Lucifer asked you. “Are you sure you want to go now?” You nodded. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I can rest when we’re home.” You gave him a smile that made him do the same. “You want to go back, don’t you?”

He had his doubts. He doubted that he could. He doubted he could make it all that way. He hadn’t seen you in months, and all he wanted was to talk to you — all he could do was touch you — but there was silence now. Didn’t that mean it’d be easy not to speak? Not to touch you… After all this time. After he found someone to love—

“Sera said if we make it, she’ll listen to you,” you tried, hoping he’d respond. He hadn’t even realized he didn’t answer you. “Maybe we can bring Lilith up soon.”

“I’d like that.”

The smile you gave him made him reach out his hand, the look on your face forced and sorrowful as you walked ahead of him. He wanted to take your hand for comfort — to both of you — but how was he supposed to go days without it if he couldn’t fight a simple urge now?

“We’re here…” You stopped some time later, silence blanketing the two of you a long time ago.

But now it was for a different reason.

Great golden steps stood before you, spiraling high up into thick clouds that shielded the true height of the stairs.

But even from here they looked endless.

“We can’t fly, can we?” Lucifer asked, half joking.

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” You laughed, but it died out quickly. “Are you sure you want to do this? You can turn back now…” You swallowed your pride. “Go home to her… It’ll be days of walking, and going back up is much harder than coming down.”

He took a moment to understand what you were telling him, but surely told you, “If you were down here, I’d come to find you, too.” That brought a smile to your face. There was another pause before he asked, “would you follow me?”

You nodded. “Anywhere.” Even here.

He smiled, taking your hand like he wanted to before. “Then show the way.”

You squeezed his hand before turning to the stairs and letting go, savoring that last touch until you could do it again; back home. You took a deep breath before taking the first step.

Immediately, a marble wall surrounded the staircase, and you could only imagine that the steps were shielded, a wall blocking off the first stair as you started to go back up.

You couldn’t hear a thing, not even your own footsteps as you climbed step after step.

Lucifer, on the other hand, could hear your footsteps echoing; one after the other, each of your steps right after the other, and sounding like the dull pounding of a drum. He couldn’t tell if it was comforting or foreboding, but he listened anyway. This was how he’d make it through, he decided. To the steady sounds of drumming.

But you were struggling. Coming down and back up so soon had made you tired already, but doubt weighing you down didn't help any. You let out a breath before beginning to hum as a way to ground yourself to these hellish stairs.

It was a song both of you knew well; there were no words or swells to make you know what came next, just an endless melody that the winds would sing as they carried the seasons through the Earth. Long before Lucifer went to see the world, this was how you knew it. Through the songs nature sang.

But now he knew the world much better than you did. He didn’t need this song anymore. You doubted he even remembered it,

but no, he was humming along, hoping you could hear that he remembered your song. He remembered how beautiful it was, and how when you sang it, the entirety of Heaven could feel your warmth — your love. It was why you were given the task to change the seasons, your song persuading nature into the most beautiful summers and captivating winters. But what else could he expect from an angel of Virtue? Could he expect that the love that he felt all throughout Heaven would ever be for him? How could he expect anything from you?

Pride does not deserve Humility.

And doubt comes in; he thought about turning back, letting you go alone, but even when he stopped for just a moment you kept walking. You trusted him to follow you, and as you hummed the song of nature, he felt that same love that he used to. The same warmth that was now pushing him up the endless stairs after you. The same winds that made him want to reach out and touch you, just to remind you that he was there. Just to see you look back at him.

But he knew what you were doing, using your gift of song to bring nature into this empty place so it could push you to keep going. You hoped the winds would push you up, but they weren’t strong enough.

You weren’t strong enough for this.

The song stopped after a while, but you continued to climb, up, and up, and further up to no avail. If it hadn’t been that there was only one path, you would’ve questioned whether or not you were going the right way.

It was harder going back.

But there was hope; a faint, golden light that led you back home. A faint, golden light that told you you were so close. A faint, golden light that made you want to turn, smile at him, and say, “we’re almost home,” but you stopped yourself and kept going.

You were much further than almost, but you were getting there. And this light pulled you to keep. Going.

You didn’t care for the exhaustion, or the pain, you didn’t think about the hunger, or the thirst. You kept in mind that you would sleep, rest, eat, and drink when you made it home with him.

When he made it home with you. He would worry about how tired you must’ve been. He would worry how much pain you were in — and he would worry about his own once he made it home with you. But he saw how you faltered, hand on the wall to keep yourself going, and he knew he couldn’t make it much longer like this.

But you trusted him, he had to try.

And doubt comes in.

He doubted how much longer he could take this. He doubted how much longer he could watch you fade into exhaustion and pain without doing anything about it.

He doubted that Sera didn’t expect this to happen.

He doubted, and doubted, until you were finally there. Until you were almost sure he hadn’t followed you. Until your legs gave out on the final step and you felt him rush to keep you from falling. You felt his hands keeping you up and his wings bringing you onto the pale clouds of your home.

And you turned back.

But he was happy that you did. He gave you that same smile he gave her and his hands held your face gently. You reached up to grip his wrists as your eyes pooled. Regret; regret for doubting, regret for tiring, for failing. For turning back. “Why would you?” You asked and it was like a broken melody. Clear as summer rain with no symphony to push away the doubt that just kept coming in.

And he spoke to you. He broke every rule.

“I couldn’t let you fall,” he said, and you knew how he meant it. You knew he never trusted Sera. She knew he’d fail. So did he. But not you. You were the fool that made him put his trust in you.

And now you knew he had to go. And he knew he could never return.

He tilted your head down, wings fluttering and lifting him off the clouds. He pressed a gentle kiss to your head and said, “Visit again if you can.”

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thesirenisles · 13 days

Text

Mars’ Warriors

𓃭 aries 𓃭

✨💥planet energy, mythology & astrology obsvs✨💥

Aries Sun, Aries Rising, Venus, Mars

mars dominant, mars in the 1st house

Mars ruled.

Mars- Ascendant aspects, Sun-Mars Aspects

Strong Mars placements, Aries Stellium

✨💥“Her enemies had fallen. Sanguine showers painted the Earth a ghastly ruby hue. Wailing cries of defeat created a victorious symphony of which she savored…. cackling up at the heavens.”𓃭✨💥

Do not steal any of my original work & writing. Photos are either from Pinterest or collaged by me.

✨Majestic Martian,

Ruled by the blood-red planet of Mars, you blaze a path on this Earth with an unwavering air of confidence.

✨💥Regal is the word that comes to mind.

Never needing reassurance, you literally believe you have already won before ever touching the battlefield.

Mars has blessed you with an innate, instinctual battlelust... an energy that inspires some, frightens others, but entrances ALL.

While everyone else contemplates... you act. You win the battle and even after you've won... you're still not satisfied.

✨💥You crave the next battlefield.. another King to slay.. another display of your hard-earned glory and greatness.

Even though January starts our calendar year, March begets Spring, the season symbolizing the beginning of life. Is it no surprise this month is named after your planetary ruler and the beginning of the zodiac?

Mars the planet is named after the Roman God of war and battlelust (Ares to the Greeks, Sekhmet to Ancient Egyptians) The Greeks deemed him the spirit of battle and child of Zeus and Hera.

With this energy, you have a natural, primal and intrinsic ability to tap into pure... red... RAGE. ✨💥 𓃭

While it sounds a bit frightening, this manifests as an incredibly useful gift in so many avenues of life. A Martian or Aries will always be ambitiously setting goals, achieving them, and writing more before they can catch a breath.

✨💥You have the spirit of a winner. You do not even fathom the thought of failure.

You move through life aware of the power of every single person in your immediate space, ready for someone to challenge the crown that you bled for.

This may be due to having literal experiences being attacked, bullied, and just… bothered. Your energy is akin to Plutonian/Scorpio, whose ancient ruler is Mars.

The element Fire clarifies and you are Cardinal Fire! You're literally blazing the trail. 🔥

A natural debater and concise communicator, you often find yourself defending yourself and others. (Always going to clear the room! Esp. to defend the ones you love. I love this for you all).

You have probably been admonished for your bold nature and aggressive style of communicating by adults, teachers, and maybe even... employers.

✨💥But, you are just being real. Your energy thrives in authenticity.

You hate being given orders and have probably fought hard to get into a career with relative freedom... this could manifest as entrepreneurism or content creating.

✨💥 She who mauls... 𓃭

The Mythology of Mars

While attempting to gain understanding of the energy of this sign and pIanet, I discovered the very simliar origin story in the Ancient Egyptian, Sekhmet, ("She who is powerful"). The goddess is depicted with the head of a female lion and ruled the desert sun, war, total chaos, and healing. I do want to clarify. This is not a male lion with the extravagant afro (symbol of Leo.)

Sekhmet manifests as a female lion because they are the fierce protector and huntress within the pack or pride, literally embodying primal female rage.

A female lion mauling is much like aftermath of a Martian or Aries temper explosion. It's not always a defensive energy, but a prowling one where the Martian sets its' sights on an easy mark.. or prey.

This could be a person or a task.

Egyptian mythology states she was created from the literal wrath of the sun God, Ra.

✨💥As the story goes:

Disappointed with the ungrateful treachery of men, Ra conspired with Set, God of Chaos to harness and manifest the wrath in which he felt... creating the embodiment of female rage, Sekhmet.

The stunning maiden possessing the spirit of war, is unleashed upon the people of Ancient Egypt, mauling anyone in her path until the waters of the great river ran...red.

Sekhmet was insatiable and her bloodlust lasted days.. She literally maniacally drank and gorged herself on the blood of the people. (Think: Akasha, Queen Mother of Vampires, in "Queen of the Damned")

Ra attempted to stop her, but being a daughter of the Sun... his powers had no effect. This drunken slaughter lasted until Thoth (Mercury to the Romans, Hermes to the Greeks) God of Trickery finally convinced her to drink wine under the guise of blood. The Goddess drank and fell asleep, calming the spirit.

✨💥I believe this is a valuable lesson anyone with dominant Mars energy has already learned quite a few times. You must utilize caution and strategy before rushing in.

✨💥THE ROMAN CIRCUS

On one hand, this is bad betch, rockstar, DIVA energy that can cosmically entrance the senses.

On the other... it can get a bit delusional…

✨💥 When I think of Aries energy, I think of the Roman Circus... (The Circus Maximus: Chariot Races, Gladiators, Live Animals, and Drunken Splendor.)

The event lured in many..under the guise of a celebration and glory. In reality, it was a grotesque sacrificial blood offering.

✨💥 To win the Roman Circus... was to suffer and harm many others. So, was it really a win at all?

This can be applied to the life struggles for some Martians or Aries who pursue a person or thing that is projecting a false but glorious image with everything they’ve got.

✨💥 I once knew an Aries sun who would always fall into silent competition with others girls because of just ONE Libra male in our social circle.

The Libra was a shameless flirt and seemingly a ladies man. However, he was very nonchalant towards the Aries sun... unresponsive to her direct energy. (Air sign men🙄)

She attempted numerous times, throwing very unsubtle hints sprinkled with arrogance. She knew that she was beautiful and wondered why he did not respect it.

✨💥 As beautiful as she was, she could not take the rejection. Aries HATES to lose. She needed to win.

Unbeknownst to the Aries sun, the guy was actually in the closet! Hiding his sexuality, he would only show his interest to women he knew weren’t interested... It was all a show and he was only projecting for societal benefits!

I share this story because I see this re-enacted amongst Martian and Aries women too often.

✨💥 In the spirit of battle, you set your sights upon who you deem as the most masculine man/woman or the one with the most options... because you want them to choose you above all.

You need to win. He becomes your Roman Circus. 𓃭✨💥

(Think: ariana grande & other people’s man; 1H mars 👀)

This happens to Martian men too… often rushing into a woman’s life before reading the fine print… only to have a cataclysmic collision of short-lived passion. 🫣

While I do applaud healthy competition, the female Martian complex often leads towards the Aries woman being trapped in a mothering role supporting a loser she only got because he used to be “the hottest guy in her area and everyone wanted him". (Giving major: Peaked in highschool mental vibes🤮)

✨💥You have a natural need to asess and rank a room according to power... or perceieved power. Badly aspected or unevolved Mars & even Pluto can make you exert force over those you deem weak.

However, those you perceive as powerful or heavily sought after seem to capture all of your romantic attention.

You want to conquer the most manly man and be the fierce queen at his side.

However, this desire comes from a need to feel glory. So people can become trophies… i.e. trophy wife or trophy husband.

HOWEVER, The problem with a "100% manly man… Toughest Hood Niiga… Greek God" archetype is that most men with these aesthetics did nothing to really gain them because they’re born handsome or are literally aware of the power of their own aesthetic!

Because your assertive energy is so direct and rivals that of a man at times… you can attract those pretty boys who are benefiting from male-pretty privilege & female sexual projection (i.e. the hottest and buffest guys girls assume will be the most sexual etc. NATE JACOBS CORE LOL)

✨💥Always remember… a less capable man is going to overcompensate!

He’ll be a knock-off designer... a fake… a fraud... and I am sorry to say, but I feel the biggest risks are (an unevolved Aries😭, Libra, Sags, GEMINI or Leo men...)

Not all of them, but they do have the tendency to exaggerate or be performative with their manhood. Pisces does this too, but they are not fooling an aries LOL.

✨💥This can become that gross Mommy and Son energy I mentioned. Eventually... if they are lucky.. the Martian can snap out of their bloodlust daze to realize this guy was just acting... Any additional mental manipulations is what can create a toxic bond which is draining over time.

This relationship dynamic will be fun at first but it fizzles out when you realize he has the maturity of a child!

✨💥Run away from the man who puts on the show, ladies! It's what I call.. the Roman Circus.

With this energy, you can definitely be a bit overbearing when you are trying to show that you care. This is never minded too much by those who know your fiercly loving heart.

✨💥 You are a queen! Remember that what’s meant for you does not always have to be won over. It can manifest organically!

You are multi-faceted. Embrace diplomacy and take time to contemplate decisions like your sister sign, Libra.

Your Martian sibling, Scorpio also teaches the lesson of patiently waiting and observing the situation before action.(No one is plotting like a Scorpio Mars 👀)

However, a Martian never stays down for long and always bounces back improved from life’s perils!✨💥

✨💥 Aries vs. Scorpio

Scorpio is a water sign, balancing out the fiery energy creating warm and inviting waves to lure you in.

Aries is a fire sign finding natural comfort in its sizzling Martian ruler and Solar energies... VA VA VOOM HOT..

✨💥The spirit of war lays waste to the lands and the God of the Underworld waits patiently to collect the souls.💥✨

𓃭

I believe Aries are our public leaders, change makers, warriors, and fierce inspiration. Their protective maternal energy is inherent and divine.

Sekhmet was equally feared and adored!

The likeness of the goddess can literally be found today in Egyptian art and architecture guarding the Pharoahs.

Much like Sekhmet and Ares, both Martian signs are an unstoppable force once in motion.

✨💥In the 1st house, Mars defines the personality and appearance. A perfect example is the feline-faced Nicki Minaj (Mars in the 1st house) on the left can be seen in what appears to be a Sekhmet inspired headress with lioness ears.

On the right… her Roman Circus🫣🙊😂(other 1H Mars women are Taylor Swift and Ariana Grande. Both have infamous love history!!)

✨💥I can literally hear Nicki’s iconic maniacal laughter… it legit sounds like what I’d imagine of blood-thirsty, Sekhmet after she’s slayed a Kingdom!

This can get a little egotistical… but she IS a queen. 🤷🏾‍♀️

I love my Martians though. You guys are so inspiring and honestly age like fine wine!! The youthful fire within you never really stops burning.

✨💥Be sure you are a productive force and not destroying all that lays in your path!

Thank you for reading! Wishing you blessings! ✨💥

Pluto Obsevation ♏️✨

Neptune Observation♓️✨

Mercury Observation♊️♍️✨

@thesirenisles

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bearsbeetsbeskar · 8 months

Text

Sick Days with Joel Miller

(Joel Miller x female! reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x female! reader (no outbreak) Word count: 4.5K of pure fluff and light smut Rating: 18+ MDNI, explicit descriptions of smut, swearing, age gap (reader is early 20s and Joel is late 40s) Summary: You're used to doing everything yourself, a facet of being single for so long, but when you start dating Joel Miller that all changes. Especially when you get sick during the first six months of your relationship, and Joel tries to take care of you. Main masterlist

A/N: This was so much fun to write y'all. I'm currently sitting in bed with a stuffy nose, sore throat, wicked headache, and hopped up on cold meds, wishing I had Joel Miller to take care of me 🥹. Also please excuse the fast and loose car mechanic jargon I used, I couldn't resist. The fast and furious series is also my guilty pleasure sick day movie choice, that and the OG star wars trilogy 🌚 An enormous thank you to my lifeline @iamasaddie for reading and giving me feedback and the most encouragement.

This is pure fluff with a bit of spice thrown in, I hope you enjoy! Please comment and reblog if you like it, and I might do more oneshots like this! - 🌹N

It’s the first time you’ve been sick since you and Joel started dating, and it’s different. Different from what you’re used to.

To preface, you rarely ever get sick. Rarely. And you pride yourself on that. You’re not entirely sure whether it's due to your ironclad immune system, or the fact that you’re a germaphobe who’s constantly washing their hands, but either way you manage to miraculously miss the seasonal bouts of illness that filter around when the weather gets colder.

So you’re not entirely sure how you manage to succumb to the throes of this particular cold, but the sore throat and stuffy nose that you woke up with were unmistakable. Other than crying, which wouldn’t help the pounding headache that you had also been blessed with, all you could do was groan and silently curse, rolling back over in bed and snuggling under the covers. You mindlessly stretch your arm out over the sheets, reaching over onto the other empty side of the bed. The cold, unmussed sheets, not filled with the broad, warm body that usually occupies the space make you groan internally once more.

You’re not a crybaby. Not one for milking the sick patient act, and after being single for so long you mostly run on autopilot. Your independence and resilience outweigh your desire to have anyone take care of you or do anything for you really. Well, that was the case up until now. Until you met Joel.

You’ve had partners before that have ‘taken care’ of you when you were sick. Or well, tried to. The key word being tried. Other than a measly backrub and cuddling with you for the appropriate amount of time until they deemed it was time to go cause they weren’t getting laid, you pretty much handled it yourself. And you liked it that way. You didn’t need anyone else to play martyr and attend to your every beck and call.

Joel on the other hand, he does things. His presence interrupted your stream of self reliance and knocked you on your ass when you didn’t know what to do with yourself. When you had nothing left to do for yourself, because he had already taken care of it all.

The light in the hood range above your oven went out? Joel fixed it. The bathroom sink began leaking underneath the cabinet? No less than a day later you come home and you already find him lying on his back, head underneath the vanity, toolbox beside him, twisting pipes this way and that.

Just last week you mentioned to him that you’ve been hearing a squeaking sound coming from the car every time you press on the brakes, next thing you know he’s out in the driveway, broad shoulders hunched over the hood as he tightens and loosens bearings, tinkering the way he knows best.

“Alright, you shouldn’t hear that noise anymore. The rotors on your front brakes needed tightening,” he mentions casually, wiping his hands off on a greasy rag as he comes into your kitchen from the garage. Looking up from the magazine you’re reading, you pause your chewing around a mouthful of toast.

“Huh?” you raise a brow at him quizzically. “I only told you about that yesterday though. I was just gonna take it to the mechanic.”

The corner of his lip lifts up slightly as he smirks. “And now you won’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day, or tomorrow, or the day after that. It was an easy fix, plus the mechanic woulda overcharged the hell outta you darlin’.”

You roll your eyes, “Gotta love that fucking misogyny,” you huff as you get up and head into the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee for you both.

“It’s the way of the car industry unfortunately. Most guys who own shops are just crooks out to get anyone’s money, and most people don’t really know any better.” He replies casually as he washes his hands at the sink beside you.

“And I suppose that makes me ‘most people,’” you grumble, packing the coffee grounds into the filter, before placing it into the machine.

Without missing a beat, Joel slides your mug under the dispenser first. It's a cute little white ceramic mug that says Pot Head, beneath it is a comical image of coffee pot with bloodshot googly eyes . It was his present to you after you started dating, and he first slept over at your place. He soon realized the depths of your monosyllabic crabbiness in the morning, when he tried to talk to you before your first cup of coffee.

Now, six months into your relationship, the coffee pot is usually the first appliance that gets turned on in the morning, usually by Joel, the early riser that he is, while you soak up a few more moments of sleep. It’s pretty futile though, because once he gets out of bed, you can’t get comfortable under the covers, your personal space heater leaving a massive dent in the comforter.

“You ain’t most people to me,” his voice deepens with that Southern drawl as he moves to stand behind you, drying off his hands. God, he’s so fucking big. His presence crowds you, feeling his broad chest against your back as he places his hands on either side of you, pinning you to the counter.

You hum with a knowing smile as you hit the button to start dispensing the coffee. “Is that so?”

He leans in, brushing your hair off of your shoulder, leaning in to nuzzle your neck. “You’re my person. Mine. That’s about all that matters.” Pressing featherlight kisses into your neck, you sigh and let your head fall back against his broad shoulder, giving him more access.

“Well,” you try to collect your thoughts but the logical, words forming, part of your brain shuts down, turning to mush as he begins to nibble and bite at your neck. “Thank you for fixing the squeaky sound,” you barely get the words out between shallow breaths.

“No problem at all darlin.’” He grinds his hips into the plush of your ass and starts sucking on your pulse point. You whimper pathetically, grabbing a hold of his hands on the counter bracketing you, pushing your ass back against his crotch, reveling in how hard he is. Your pussy throbs with want, as you feel it clench around nothing, wetness seeping out of it.

“Should be silent as a whistle now.” His voice is gravelly deep now, and you snake a hand around the back of his neck, clutching his body closer to yours as you continue to let out small mewls. “Your noises on the other hand, are driving me fuckin’ insane. Wanna get more than just a squeak out of you.”

He reaches down, palm skimming over the curve of your hips, down to your ass before he squeezes, while biting down on the junction between your shoulder and your neck. At that, you squeak.

“Joel…” your last two brain cells firing off weakly as you try to form a coherent thought. “What- What about the c-coffee?”

“You had one cup already this morning,” he murmurs into your skin, “it’ll keep.” His left hand moves to grip your hip, the other one squeezing your asscheek again, not before he gives it a firm smack. You jolt forward in his grip and moan, bending your upper half over the counter, your body already responding so easily to his touch.

“Bedroom.” He says gruffly, releasing your hips and stepping back with a smirk on his face. You blink your eyes open, not realizing you had them closed in the first place and turn around with a glare.

Joel lazily tilts his head in the direction of your bedroom, his hand grabbing the obvious bulge in his pants. “C’mon my little pot head.”

So yeah, needless to say you really didn’t have to worry about being reliant on yourself for many things anymore. Joel was happy to do those things for you, and you were more than happy to show him your appreciation in return.

Being sick however, that seemed to stump him. There wasn’t anything to physically fix aside from your ailments, although he wishes that could be the case. That he could just snap his fingers and your nose would be cleared, sore throat gone, headache disappeared. But it wasn’t that easy.

Normally, you’d try to ride it out for a day or two as best you could, without making a fuss over it, but today the buzzing in your head was too intense to ignore. You yanked the top drawer of your nightstand open, bemoaning as you fruitlessly rummaged through the empty box of Nyquil pills, empty Advil bottles, and one lonely tub of Vicks shoved towards the back.

“For fuck’s sake. Of course,” you gritted. Closing the drawer, you roll back into the sheets, throwing an arm over your eyes and letting out the deepest sigh ever. Just then your phone vibrates on the nightstand. You pick it up and squint with bleary eyes as you focus on the text. It’s from Joel

[Joel]: Mornin’ darlin.’ Still up for the 7pm showing tonight?

You furrow your brows for a moment before you roll your eyes, back into your skull it feels like.

“Shit. The movies.”

It was Tuesday. You guys had made plans to see a cheap show after Joel got off work tonight. Some new crappy instalment of the Fast and Furious movies, hence the cheap night choice.

You sniffle as you fumble to type out a reply. The rhythmic pounding in your head distorts your concentration.

[You]: Morning babe. I don’t think so. Sorry. I came down with something last night and I feel like shit.

You add in multiple variations of the sad crying emoji, and the water gun to be dramatic.

[Joel]: No worries hun. I’m sorry you’re not feelin’ well.

[Joel]: Wanna do something else?

You wish. You love any plans and dates you have with Joel, and you’re more than happy to cancel those plans to stay in with him on any day of week. Today shouldn’t feel like an exception but you don’t want to inconvenience him, and you also don’t want him to see you when you practically look like an extra off the set of The Walking Dead.

You sigh again harshly and sniffle.

[You]: I don’t think so. I feel like shit. Just wanna stay in bed and rot, plus I don’t wanna get you sick.

He’ll probably think you’re being overdramatic. The productive storm that you are getting bested by a measly cold, it’s stupid. Unheard of.

[Joel]: I think you’ll survive. Can’t have you dying on me so soon into our relationship, we still gotta hit the one year anniversary.

Biting your lip, you shake your head. How this man remains to be flirty and cute even when you’re feeling low and incredibly not cute is beyond you. Your phone buzzes again.

[Joel]: Plus if you’re sick now, then chances are I woulda already caught whatever bug you have cause I saw ya two days ago.

Well, he’s not wrong when you think about it. Your cheeks heat up when you think back to Sunday night, when he had stayed over. You were straddling his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as he licked into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip and gripping your hips while you lazily bounced up and down his thick cock.

Ironically, it was supposed to be a Fast and Furious marathon night in preparation for the cheap movie you would see in theaters tonight. You barely made it through the first 20 minutes of the first movie in the series before Joel’s thick fingers started aimlessly tracing the inside of your thigh as you sat beside him. Your pussy throbbed at the memory, the phantom stretch of his cock, almost matching the throbbing residing in the front of your head.

Yeah, so maybe he was past the point of contagion. You’re so lost in reminiscing, he must realize it’s taking you a minute to respond, fully well knowing the effect that his words have on you. So he texts again.

[Joel]: Was a pretty fucking good Sunday night 😈

The devil emoji causes a chuckle to sputter up through your chest, but it’s pretty short-lived when you realize you can’t chuckle and breathe in through your congested nose at the same time. You recently taught him how to use emojis in his texts, so you’re surprised when he actually puts it to the test.

[You]: That it was babe. But I don’t wanna burden you, plus we can’t really do anything. 🙄

You add on the eye roll emoji, sure that he’s feeling the same way too. What guy wouldn’t? Surely not any of the guys you dated in the past. They tried, but deemed it wasn’t worth it when you couldn’t even suck their dicks without needing to pause every few seconds to breathe through your mouth and cough. Your sore throat feeling like it was wrapped in barbed wire.

[Joel]: Who said we had to do anything? I’d still wanna spend time with you. I just like being with ya.

Damn this fucking man for being such a sweetheart. You didn’t deserve him.

[Joel]: I’ll be over in 30. Want me to bring anything in particular?

[You]: You’re in the middle of the workday Joel, you don’t need to come over.

Of course you want him to come over. His presence is the only thing that would lift your mood if you’re being honest, despite feeling like your body’s been hit by a semi. But you don’t want him to leave work. That’s too much, and you’re not that whiny girlfriend.

Seemingly unimpressed by your response, he replies again.

[Joel]: 👀. 🍔 🍦 🍿?

[You]: I’m not terribly hungry right now. Just bring yourself. And maybe a bottle of nyquil plus some advil 💊? Also, look at you with all your emojis, I’m impressed 😉

[Joel]: 👍🏻sounds good. See you soon 🛻

Tossing your phone into the comforter, you slowly roll out of bed. Like a slug, you slide out from under the covers, over the side of the mattress, planting your feet on the ground before you keel over.

You pad into the kitchen, glancing at the coffee maker forlorn. Probably not the best option with how your throat feels right now. Frowning, you grab a mug from the cabinet, not your pot head mug, but a plain one with simple red flowers painted on it, and flick the switch for the kettle on. Your options for tea weren’t endless as a coffee drinker, but you only really drank the muddied flavored water when you felt sick. Settling for a package of stale peppermint, you place the tea bag in the cup of boiled water and go to plop yourself back down onto the living room couch.

No less than 25 minutes later, you’re curled up on the couch, mug of tea in hand, and your head resting on a pillow as you start the first Fast and Furious movie. Might as well, since you didn’t technically watch it with Joel the first time. Plus, Paul Walker was easy enough on the eyes that you didn’t really mind watching it over again.

Joel arrives minutes later, letting himself in, a bag from the pharmacy in one hand, and a plain plastic bag filled with containers in the other. Before you can question it, the savory fragrant smell of Chinese food wafts through the living room, infiltrating your senses and overpowering your congested nose.

At that you raise your head off the couch cushion, sitting upright with your legs crossed.

“Hey babe.” He drops the food off in the kitchen and comes over to the couch, pulling out the Nyquil and Advil, placing them on the coffee table.

“How you feelin’ ?” He kisses the top of your head and you grunt in response.

“Like absolute garbage,” you croak with the smallest smile you can muster, as you look up at him. He huffs in response and gives you a placating smile, not before peering down into your mug to see the transparent brown water. “Tea? Jeez you weren’t kidding”

“It tastes like garbage too.” You wrinkle your nose after taking a small sip. The smell of the takeout slowly brings you back as you perk up and look at him. “You brought Chinese?” The hopeful smile in your face grows exponentially as he nods.

Joel hums. “I know when you say you’re not hungry, that’s a lie. I also know that you have the biggest appetite of any woman I know.” At that your eyes narrow and your mouth drops open.

“And-” he cuts you off before you can respond, “I know that if there’s any kinda food that could convince you to eat when you don’t have an appetite, it’s greasy Lo Mein, General Tso chicken and fried rice.”

Sighing with contentment you smile and slouch back in your seat. Whatever words were on the tip of your tongue soon disintegrate as gaze up at him with utter awe and adoration.

“Thanks Joel, really. You didn’t have to do all this.”

He frowns at you, confusion clouding his features. He's so adorable when he looks confused.

“It wasn’t a lot. You asked me to bring the cold medicine.” Flashing you a smirk, he brushes your hair out of your face and tucks it behind your ear. “I was just thinking one step ahead of you, and this way you can have leftovers. Also if I could, I woulda tried to cook you something, but we both know that woulda been a disaster.”

You snort in response. “Well, still. I really appreciate it.” You nuzzle your face into his hand, as his thumb strokes across your cheek gently. You can feel your stomach twinging with hunger now, now that you’ve smelled the food. It almost matches your hunger for Joel.

He must have changed at home before he came over. The faint scent of his sandalwood body wash floods your brain as you take in his dark flannel shirt, stretched over his broad shoulders, dark wash jeans hugging his strong thighs. His curls peek out at the back of his neck as they dry soft and fluffy while his molten brown eyes look at you with a mix of adoration and concern.

Meeting his gaze, you look up at him through your lashes as you turn your face to kiss the tip of his thumb. Before he can stop you, you curl your tongue out, swirling it around the tip and closing your lips around it as you suck his thumb into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks out, you suckle harder, feeling heat slowly flood your body.

Joel exhales sharply, as he grinds his jaw, clenching his other hand into a fist.

“Christ baby. You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?” He presses his thumb down on your tongue, forcing your mouth open as he pulls it out, letting it catch on your bottom teeth as you bite down playfully.

It was just as easy to rile him up as he did with you, and you fucking loved it. You give him a saccharine smile. “Good. We can die together, seeing as I feel like death already”

He shakes his head and chuckles. “Why don’t you take two of these,” he opens the Advil bottle and places two tablets in your hand, “finish your tea, as much as you can,” he adds when you scrunch up your face at the mug, “and go take a hot shower. I’ll put the food out for us.”

You pop the pills in your mouth, chug the rest of the tea, grimacing as you taste it and stand up to face him. Joel grabs your face with both hands, that look of pure warmth emanating through his big rounded eyes as he plants a soft kiss your forehead, before kissing you on the mouth. In a feeble attempt to protest, you weakly pull back but his mouth continues to seeks yours out. "Joel," you murmur against his mouth, "my germs.”

“I love you, and I love your fuckin’ germs. They’re my germs too.” He pulls you into a big bear hug, you feel all the pent up tension from this morning dissipating from your body. Burying your face in his chest you inhale and make a small noise of contentment. You love his scent. It’s so inherently Joel. It’s home.

“Now go on.” He swats you on the butt playfully and you giggle, sashaying past him.

By the time you finish and get dressed, he’s already got the takeout containers organized strategically on the coffee table with plates, cutlery, and glasses set out. The lo mein and General Tso chicken dishes are closest to your side of the couch, while his dishes, the black pepper beef and spicy Singapore noodles, remain closer to his side, separated by the fried rice in the middle. Your heart warms and expands in your chest at the sight.

“I didn’t even wash my hair and it felt like that took fucking forever. The water pressure in that shower head used to be good,” you grumble as you take your hair out of the messy bun on top of your head, shaking it out for good measure.

“How long’s it been actin’ up?” He asks while pouring some soy sauce over his noodles.

Already, you can see the wheels turning in his head. Always the contractor.

“For the last couple months but it’s really bad now.” You fix him with a knowing look and speak up again before he can say what you’re already anticipating. “And before you say you can fix it, I’ve already had repairmen over before you who tried and failed. Saying something about a part that needs to be ordered and it’s super fucking expensive.”

He says nothing in response, just raises a brow at you. “Whatever you say darlin.’”

“C’mon let’s eat.” You change the subject and bounce over to the couch, shimmying by him and dropping down onto the couch.

“Seems like the Advil kicked in,” he surmises with a smiles. Your energy is evidently higher now that the headache has gone away.

Humming, you lean in to kiss him. You press your lips into his, feeling his tongue glide against the seam of your mouth as you open up and let him in. Moaning quietly, you break off the kiss before it gets heated, and before you have to breathe through your mouth again - although your congestion has gone down significantly, the hot shower definitely helped. “That, and your presence helps too.”

He grins at you, a twinkle dancing across his big brown eyes. “Good. I’m glad. Nowhere else I’d rather be.” You look away bashfully, and begin piling stuff onto your plate.

“You started watching this again?” He nods at the TV with an unimpressed expression as Vin Diesel broods over the hood of an old muscle car.

“Yeah,” you mumble around a mouthful of chicken, “we barely watched 20 minutes of it before you had your fingers buried in my pussy.” You look at him pointedly with your mouth full and he bites the inside of his cheek.

Licking his lips, he leans down till his mouth is right next to your ear.

“I’d rather hear that tight little pussy purring around my fingers, than the hear the engine of a 1970 Dodge Charger baby," he says lowly, stretching his arm over the back of the couch as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck. "Even if it is one of my favorite cars.”

Slowly, he runs his fingers up and down the sides of your throat with a featherlight touch, careful to not squeeze as you finish swallowing your mouthful of food.

You groan and let your head fall back, submitting to his touch. Joel knows all your buttons to push, he learned them pretty quickly on into your relationship, and it made him all the more attractive to you. Every touch of his that made your breathing get shallow, every perfect press of his body against yours.

He knows you like being choked. Knows how sensitive your neck is, how you melt under his hands, turning to putty as soon as he wraps his large palms around the slender column of your throat. He makes it so fucking easy, your body so hyperactively attuned to his, no matter how crappy you may feel apparently.

“Joel,” you warn him but it comes out more as a breathless whine. Chuckling in response, he concedes and releases your neck.

“Not fair.” You glare at him and poke him in the chest with the opposite end of your fork.

He shrugs and gives you that shit eating grin again. “Fair is fair darlin.’”

Shaking your head, you resume the movie and both dig into the food. As delicious as the takeout is, you recognize that you don’t have as big of an appetite as you usually do, given how run down you feel, and you get full pretty quickly. An hour into the movie you’re curled up against Joel’s side with your feet tucked under you, a thick blanket pulled over you both, and a beer in his left hand.

“As if that would ever happen,” he grumbles out loud as he watches Paul Walker and Vin Diesel ramble on about fuel pump injectors and supercharged turbo's.

Secretly, you love how invested Joel gets in these shitty movies, it's partly why you put them on to begin with. Well, that, and because it usually ends with both of you getting distracted, and him railing you into the cushions of the couch. Still, it’s endearing to see him get annoyed and worked up over the mechanical and technical inaccuracies in the movies. It's also fascinating and super fucking attractive to see how his brain works. The competency kink in you preens at his humble flexing of mechanical knowledge.

You hum in question, too tired to formulate a better response.

“You put that much nos (nitrous oxide) in a car, and you’ll be blown to fuckin’ pieces at the smallest bump in the road. Jesus,” he shakes his head and gestures with his beer bottle at the screen. His right hand is curled around your shoulder, thumb brushing against your cheek, back and forth. The soothing movement coupled with your full belly is quickly lulling you into sleep.

“Well, Paul Walker seems to know what he’s doing, seeing as they made like 7 more movies after this one. Plus it’s just a movie babe. ” You nuzzle further into his shoulder, struggling to keep one eye on the movie as you hear Joel make more unenthused comments.

“Movie or not, they coulda done their research. Half the shit they’re describing under the hood of a car sounds made up. And there's 7 fucking more of these films?”

He huffs in disbelief, taking another sip of his beer. "Yeah we wouldn't have made it through the rest of em.'"

“Okay Mr. Mechanic, we get it. It’s not 100% accurate, but you gotta admit the racing is pretty cool.”

He looks down at you from the corner of his eye, the corner of his lips pulling up slightly. “It’s alright I guess. More importantly, how are you feelin’ now?”

He rubs small circles into your back, as you practically fold over into his lap now, eyes refusing to stay open.

“Mmmm, much better,” you stretch your legs out, arching your back like a cat, making a small sound of relief. “Thank you babe. For the food, the meds, for coming over and taking care of me.” Giving him a dopey smile, you peak one eye open at him.

“Anytime darlin,’ you don’t have to thank me, s’my job. And I’ll gladly do it any time, sick or not.”

The warm depth of his voice seeps into your bones, as you soon doze off in his lap. He waits a little while till your breathing evens out, then kisses your head again as he slides out from underneath you to use the washroom.

You perk up and blink your eyes open to see the credits rolling across the screen, just as you hear the toilet flush. It's soon followed by the sound of the shower turning on and off, and then muffled sounds of clinking and clanking as Joel starts to take apart your shower head.

Smiling to yourself, you close your eyes again and curl up on the warm spot he left behind. Maybe sick days aren’t so bad after all.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fic

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hindahoney · 6 months

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It has been one month since this war started. One month since I have slept peacefully, managed to take care of myself, or avoid looking at the news for more than five minutes. It has been one month of people telling me they're happy my people are dead, that they wished more would have died, that they and diaspora Jews deserve it. It has been one month since every moment hasn't felt like the world was upside down. One month since people I thought were my friends have came out in support of my murderers.

Words cannot describe my grief. I watch jews being attacked all over the world as thousands more cheer and call for even more Jewish death. Each attack, each murder, feels as if I've lost a sibling. I am not even allowed to express my mourning without someone shouting "what about the palestinians" as if me being sad about 1400 of my people being brutally slaughtered and another 240 taken hostage is somehow a political stance. I am keenly aware that any expression of my sadness or fear makes them happy.

Despite all of this, we continue. Jews have been more united than I have ever seen them. Hillel and Chabad are coming together for unified events, I have seen Jews decide to wear kippot and tzitzit wherever they go. I have seen Jews who are celebrating the first shabbat of their life and learning the blessings. I have seen Jews who decided to put up mezuzot and menorah in their window. Never before have I seen synagogue attendance so high except on high holidays. Yes, I am sad, I am scared. But my pride for how Jews have come together outweighs every negative feeling I have. They wanted to hurt us, to divide us, to make us weak. But I have never seen Jews stronger than we are right now.

#jumblr #judaism #jewish #frumblr #jewblr #j tag #oct 7th

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readychilledwine · 7 months

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Daddy!Azriel x Pregnant!Reader Drabble

Summary - after being placed on house arrest toward the end of your pregnancy, you have lost some control on your husband, Azriel's, baby spending habits.

Warnings - mentions of pregnancy

Word count - a teeny tiny 800. Hence the choice to call it a drabble without a title 💙

Being pregnant was not easy.

You were constantly sore, tired, and had begun eating yourself and Azriel out of house and home, but you two would not change this miracle, this absolute blessing, for a single reason.

Madja had put you on house arrest this past month, asking Azriel to ensure you weren't lifting, weren't straining yourself, and were sleeping plenty. You were told by Rhysand and Feyre that your emissary duties could resume after your leave.

Despite Nesta's sacrifice, carrying a child with wings when you were wingless was still challenging. You ran out of room for the little one quickly, and being so much smaller than the average Illyrian female did not help either. The discomfort was the biggest issue, but Madja did not want to risk it. The plus side was constantly being home, relaxing, and your mate making meals, feeding you like the queen he believed you were.

The downside? Azriel had no self-control when it came to buying things for the life you two created, and you were no longer there to stop him from buying the mutual cravings you two seemed to have, countless baby supplies, and of course, the baby's first set of Illyrian Leathers. In the form of a onesie. How that even worked, you didn't ask, he was too thrilled as he held it up for you to question him.

From stuffies, to onesies, to excessive blankets from different courts, Azriel had begun purchasing everything in anticipation of his first baby's birth. All while you sat at home. Just silently watching him carry in bag after bag.

Today was a cold winter lazy day. Azriel had asked a favor of Eris, ensuring the hearths in your home burned a little brighter and warmer this year, and the Autumn High Lord was more than happy to ensure you were always warm due to the close friendship you three had formed. You snuggled further into the couch with your hot chocolate, tossing the plush blanket Kallias had sent for you over your legs, and sighed in joy. You had been thinking about this hot chocolate for hours and were practically salivating over the mountain of marshmallows you placed on top had toasted to perfection.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and Azriel gently knocking the snow off his boots before entering.

While his shadows greeted you immediately with soft caresses on your swollen belly, Azriel had not even noticed you were there. His cheeks lightly flushed from the cool winter air, his hair ruffled from the wind.

He was looking down at a large bag in his hands, peeping in it every often before walking to the kitchen and setting it down.

Azriel was smiling to himself, an occasional almost giggle falling from his mouth.

"Az, what's so funny, baby?"

Azriel looked at you wide-eyed in getting caught and threw the bag behind his back. "NOTHING!" He said loudly. "Nothing, nothing at all." He corrected, deepening his voice. "Just got our baby bat a present."

You giggled at his admiration, love, and pride he already felt toward your child. He loved them more than anything already. "Well, show me! Please!"

His cheeks flushed, and he quickly shook his head. "You wouldn't understand. It's something we get to bond over, not you."

You felt your lip tremble, and his eyes went wide. "I don't mean it like that, my love. I just mean it's something I-" his eyes softened when the first tear fell. "Angel, don't cry." Azriel walked to you with the bag, placing it on the coffee table and then taking your hot chocolate. He paused as he studied the mug. "Did you want some hot chocolate with your marshmallows, y/n?"

You broke a small smile, tears still falling. His scarred hands gently brushed the tears away. "Y/n, please do not cry. It's a special baby daddy gift. That's all."

You knew you were being ridiculous, but hormones were winning. "But-"

Azriel silenced you with a kiss, one of his hands going to your stomach. "I can't wait until you're here and mommy stops crying all the time." He held his hand there, waiting. "Angel, there's no reason to cry."

You nodded, sniffling. "I just want to know what you got them."

Azriel sighed, "You cannot laugh." He was hesitant to remove his hand, but grabbed the bag still.

Azriel opened it, pulling out a few knitted sets of something that had your brow raised. "Are those?"

"Wing warmers." Azriel confirmed. A soft smile had come back to his face, his dimples showing. "My wings get cold in the winter, and so do Cassian and Rhysand's, so I had these made for them to ensure their little wings would never get cold. I also got Rhys, Cassian, Nyx, and I a matching set for Solstice."

You nodded slowly. Trying not to laugh. "I see." He took in your tight lipped express, the way your eyes were shining, the way your lip twitched.

"You're laughing." He rolled his eyes and shook his head, a small smile still on his face. "They get really cold, y/n."

"I'm not laughing," you said quickly, hands touching the soft knitted covers, fingers circling the little buttons. "I just didn't realize this was an issue."

Azriel made an insulted face. "It is an issue!" His tone was playful and sarcastic. "Don't you want our baby bat to have the best things? Warm wings are the best things! My little star will not have cold wings. Not on my watch."

His forehead found yourself as you two fell into laughter. His hand back on your belly. "They match the booties and little hats we had made. The same seamstress made them."

"I noticed. I love her work," you whispered softly to him, hands coming to his face. "You're going to be the best daddy, Azriel. We don't deserve you."

He smiled as a soft kick finally landed on his hand. "No, angel, I don't deserve you." He pushed you back gently, adjusting you so he was laid between your legs on the couch, his head resting near where that last kick was.

"Just keep growing, little one. You gotta grow grow grow." His thumb made small circles on your tummy as he continued to talk to your baby. "Daddy loves you and mommy so much. Even if she doesn't understand cold wings. Which you will never have."

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #daddy!azxreader

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biographydivider · 1 year

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Urgent Brother Business

A little gift for @somerandomdudelmao in return for their delightful Future AU, and for blessing us with Tiny Tello. I couldn’t get the image of him bossing gigantic, adult Leo around out of my head!

“So the Krang dogs were last spotted here,” April was saying, tapping at a map she’d laid out across the War Room table. “If we come around the perimeter this way, we should be able to use these ruins as cover to...”

She looked up from the carefully plotted attack plans at the ten recruits she’d assembled to go over strategy; none of which were even looking at the map. “Seriously, guys?” April huffed. “I don’t even have to turn around to see what y’all are gawking at...”

Behind her in the hallway, the Leader of the Resistance, The Greatest Ninja of All Time and the turtle who was meant to be leading this damn meeting was crawling across the floor, barely holding in a laugh as a tiny, furious green pancake led him about by the tails of his mask.

“Well,” April deadpanned, arms folded, “I’ve turned around, and I see. Master Leonardo, you wanna get involved, here?”

“Can’t, April,” Leo said, pointing down at the turtle tot, who was scowling through his custom, handmade glasses at the world around him. “I’m double-booked. Take it up with Donnie.”

Donnie - the recent victim of a severe bout of anti-aging that seemed to be going around the base of late - growled reedily and tugged on Leo’s mask tails.

“Oop, we’re off again. See you next time, Commander. Recruits.”

“The sooner Mikey works out how to change him back,” April sighed, turning back to her map, “the better. Okay, can we at least try to focus, please?”

Leo had been basically useless to the resistance since Donnie got babified; following him around and basically doing whatever his little brother (emphasis on little) wanted him to do. That or picking Donnie up and gently squeezing him around the middle, just to hear him squeak. It was so darn cute!

“Where are we going, bud?” Leo asked, as Donnie led him through the base, his face a mask of adorable determination. “You wanna go bath? S’at it? You wanna swim? Oh, we’re going to the kitchen? I can getcha a cookie, just don’t tell Raph...oh.”

They’d stopped just in front of the counter that held the battered, dinged but somehow miraculously still functional coffee machine. It was Donnie’s pride and joy - he’d rescued it from a decimated Starbucks a month or two back, painted a Genius Brand logo on it and had made it work on salvaged coffee beans, evaporated milk and a dream.

Tiny Donnie looked up at it expectantly.

“Uh, bud?” Leo said, getting to his feet and rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. “I don’t think I can get you a coffee right now. You’re just a little guy, and I don’t know what all that caffeine will do to your sensitive lil’ tum-tum.”

Donnie looked from the machine to Leo and, assuming he simply hadn’t made himself understood, jabbed a tiny finger in the direction of the machine.

“D. Coffee’s not a good idea right now.”

Donnie grumbled and pointed all the harder.

“Nuh-uh. No way.”

The turtle tot’s eyes widened in scandalised betrayal - then narrowed as he hissed out something that was obviously a very bad word in Baby-ese.

“Woah, woah, you watch your mouth, mister.” Leo bent down to scoop up his brother. “You need a time out, buddy. Away from all this --”

An entire arsenal of purple nimpo weaponry materialised around Donnie.

“...temptation,” Leo finished weakly. “Eeuough boy.”

“Okay,” April was saying back in the War Room, having finally - finally! - wrangled back the recruits’ attention. “So this next part’s important. Escape plan; this back alley is vital, everyone memorise the co-ordinates --”

BOOM BOOM BANG POW SCREECH POP BOOM BANG BANG BANG BANG

As one, the recruits snapped their attention to the doorway, just as Leo sprinted past, shrieking in terrified laughter as Donnie - somewhere in the haze of purple light and firepower that surrounded him - followed in hot pursuit.

“Donnie no, Donnie stop it I’m sorry, Donatello stand down I’m still your commanding officer--AAAAAGH!!!”

A soft, resonant boom, followed by a cloud of purple smoke. April deflated, finally admitting defeat and rolling up her map.

“Doesn’t matter. Just...don’t worry about it, guys.”

#cass apocalyptic series #rottmnt #rise leo #rise april #rise donnie #tiny tello

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adore-laur · 2 months

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WINDS OF CHANGE

— my writing is a bit rusty, but here’s an update on dad harry & the fam <3 please reblog/comment, or i will haunt you

——

You've been dreading this day since March began.

Every time you passed the calendar on the refrigerator, you averted your eyes so you didn't see the specific date circled with the words "Lovebug's First Day" written inside it.

Time ticked by in an unyielding manner. Like an apex predator lying in wait, it crept up on you and pounced, leaving you disoriented, helpless, and wounded. You couldn't mentally process the breakneck speed of reality sprinting straight at you. When you merely blinked in a daze, another month unfurled, leaving no chance to recover.

The day arrived with a strong western wind and a brilliantly bright sunrise that mocked your low spirits. You're awake before anyone else, which is rare. Sleep evaded you last night, your eyes rejecting the heaviness that always comes with sleeping in Harry's warm embrace. The restlessness was paired with a fierce ache clutching your heart and holding on tight until the early morning.

At almost four years old, your eldest daughter is attending preschool today. After being a stay-at-home mom since she was born, you're finally setting her free to grow somewhere new. It was always in the cards, considering you would like to get back to working part-time to help provide for the family. You loved bonding with and nurturing both your girls, but you're eager to put your brain to use in a different environment. It's time to return to other identities besides being a mother and a wife.

You start brewing coffee, then open the kitchen curtains to allow the sun to pour in. For some odd reason, the atmosphere feels different. It feels like your first day of school all over again, where there's that nostalgic zest in the air fused with an underlying fear of the unknown. It's impossible to describe lucidly, but its presence is strongly felt nonetheless.

Today will forever change your family's routine, and it will make you want to rip your hair out and also burst with pride. There's a tug-of-war match taking place in your heart right now. Your nerves feel frayed—anxiety's merciless hands are harshly plucking at the threads. It's like fighting a biological battle with no shield. Your brain is futile against all the attacks.

The sound of the stairs creaking dissolves your whirlwind thoughts. Harry appears, wearing a snug black sweater and athletic shorts. He yawns, the sparkling sunlight accentuating his face gorgeously. The neatly trimmed scruff on his jaw he kept throughout winter. The tired shape of his eyes. The wispy way his hair curls after his morning shower. It's a blessing to be able to see the serene side of him that just woke up and isn't burdened by stress.

"Hi, sweetheart," he says, taking the mug of black coffee you prepared for him and sipping with an appreciative hum. "Both kids are still asleep."

You simply nod, afraid that if you speak, your poise will crumble instantaneously. Your hands distract themselves by lighting the wick of a sandalwood-scented candle. A part of you falsely hopes the comforting aroma will calm you down, but you know nothing will break through the full-body anxiety you're currently experiencing.

"No cuddles in bed this morning?" Harry asks curiously, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He smells like his sage and citrus body wash. "I missed you. Thought we'd have a little cry session before leaving."

Did he really have to mention the elephant in the room? You force your tears to save their arrival for later and say, "Sorry. I'm just trying to avoid crying as much as possible today."

His sigh is weighted with emotion as he sets his mug down and begins massaging your shoulders. "I'm losing my composure already," he admits, laughing weakly.

At least he's in the same boat as you. Being a father has cracked him open in the best way possible—he's more softened than ever, and these parenting milestones always make him tenderhearted.

You rest your head against his chest and say, "This is harder than I thought it'd be." Every outcome you predicted involved an aching heart. Now, in the thick of it, you're defenseless.

"Remember our first night at home with her?" Harry asks, applying pressure with his thumbs to get rid of the muscle knots in your shoulder blades.

"Yeah. You woke me up because she had the hiccups."

He groans into your neck, almost like he's reliving the panicked moment. "I was so scared something was wrong."

You recall opening your eyes in the dead of night, the mellow lamplight illuminating Harry's troubled expression. Your baby, so small and precious in his arms, had harmless hiccups leaving her mouth. While half asleep, you reassured him by saying it was probably because she fed for too long. He agreed yet still brought her to bed and gently rubbed her tummy until they were gone. You two were learning and tag-teaming through pure exhaustion. It was tough, but the rewards came in refreshing waves.

"Then she threw up on me," Harry adds, shaking his head fondly.

You turn around and slide your palms under his sweater, feeling the gloriously warm skin of his sculpted stomach. "Remember when she said her first word?"

He smiles reminiscently. "Mama."

"You started crying, if I'm not mistaken."

"Because she recognized you. It was special."

"Are you surprised she didn't say Dada first?"

"No, considering I talked about Mama all the time around her." His knuckle strokes under your chin. "Still do."

You hum thoughtfully, welcoming the pleasant memories that replay behind your closed eyelids. "Our girl is all grown up now. What are we going to do?"

Harry tilts your head to kiss the sensitive spot behind your ear. "You and I will be okay. It'll take time, but we'll eventually sink into this new normal."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Our love is steadfast, and nothing will ever change that." He hugs you in an all-consuming way—it's intimate and infuses you with safety, warmth, and a hopeful spark that everything will patch together the way it's supposed to.

——

When the preschool comes into view, you get slammed with immediate sadness.

You toured it with Harry months ago, ensuring it was where you wanted your daughter to be during the weekdays. The curriculum focuses on outdoor learning and is nestled in a safe neighborhood only ten minutes from the beach house. The teachers, classrooms, and overall energy of the place made you less anxious, but now it's back with a vengeance, eating away at your calm facade.

Kids linger outside the building, the sun shining on the blacktop that's scribbled with chalk drawings. A few participate in supervised hopscotch, while others twist their bodies nervously. A gated playground area is off to the left, with colorful swings, slides, and seesaws. To the right is a woodsy area with a large sandbox and flower beds. The stone pathway is decorated with little handprints that must have been dipped in paint. It's darling.

In the rearview mirror, you watch your daughter kick her legs in excitement and hug her tiny ladybug backpack, all ready to go. She woke up happy as a clam and impatiently scarfed down the big breakfast Harry had made her. After that, Harry did her hair while sitting on the front porch, the March winds and briny air bringing the spring season with them. Pictures were taken, hearts were broken a bit more, and then you all were off to part ways.

Harry to the restaurant; you to your part-time job. No babies to look after, just an empty house waiting to be filled with love again.

Your youngest daughter, who's ten months old now, sleeps peacefully in the car seat. She's getting bigger every day, and it's a double whammy to see both your children becoming more cognizant. You want to curse time for being such a thief.

She'll be dropped off at the nearby daycare center next, which will further twist the knife. It's possible for separation anxiety to occur, and while you can handle it, your baby girl's reaction will be a mystery. You sincerely hope the transition from home to somewhere unfamiliar will be smooth sailing.

Harry parks the car and looks over at you unwaveringly. "It's now or never," he whispers.

You draw in a deep breath, then exhale slowly. "Let's go."

Stepping out of the car, you open the back door and let your daughter hop out. You'd walk her to the door, but you want to stay near your youngest.

As she bounces with anticipation, you open her backpack and double-check that she has everything—her lunch box, a change of clothes, sunscreen, and the comfort blanket she's had since she was born. You zip it back up and then unhurriedly help her arms into the straps, trying to stall what happens next.

Harry, never the one to procrastinate, kicks things into gear by crouching and cradling her head. "You have the best day, all right? Be kind, make friends, and have fun. I'll be picking you up later."

"Can we eat ice cream after?" she asks, clasping her hands and standing on her tiptoes. "And play on the beach?"

He kisses her forehead. "We can do whatever you want, lovebug."

You can envision it now. Harry will bring the girls home, exhausted from work. He'll make dinner and wait for you, then you'll all sit at the kitchen table and attentively listen to her talk about her day in great detail. Then, as the sun sets, he'll entertain her by the shore until he insists on bedtime. Come tomorrow, he'll do it again with the same steadfast devotion because that's what good fathers do.

"We love you so much," you say, petting her braided hair.

"Love you," she replies distractedly, eagerly glancing at the front door. "I gotta go now, Mommy. Bye, Daddy."

She turns, ready to break free, but Harry stops her and says, "Not so fast, little lady. Give us some love to get through the day."

She shyly hugs him. She's growing out of her clingy tendencies and becoming more independent, and you can tell by Harry's sad smile that he recognizes it too. She briefly hugs your leg before running to the front door, where teachers are waiting with enthusiastic expressions and name tag stickers.

Harry slowly stands, never taking his eyes off her. He's more adjusted to not seeing her as much during the week than you, but you know the sentiment of her starting school still weighs heavy on his heart. After watching her disappear, he slings his arm around your shoulders and guides you to the car.

Inside is where you fall apart. The first cry that escapes has Harry blowing out an unsteady breath and embracing you. Against your neck, he sniffles, letting his piled-up emotions finally fall to pieces. He's not much of a crier, but when he does, it's a raw sight to see.

"Reservation for a cry session? Table for two?" he says humorously, rubbing your back and lightly scratching it.

"We're so lame," you whisper, gripping his sweater like a vice.

"God, I know. I even packed tissues." Harry takes an on-the-go pack out of his pocket, plucks two tissues out, and wipes both his and your tears with them.

"Eventually, we're going to have to do this again," you say. From the passenger seat, you peek at your baby girl and shoo away the thought—you still have more than enough time with her before she starts school.

Harry kisses your cheek. "One day at a time, honey."

Undoubtedly, this routine will get easier. It will become second nature, and you'll discover the exquisite simplicity of watching your children grow before leaving the nest and soaring through the sky.

They came into this world like a soft spring breeze, carrying seeds and dispersing them into your life. The roots emerged from under your home and flourished into a bountiful garden. Each day, there are new blossoms to admire and appreciate. And each day, you aim to help them thrive with support from Harry's sunshine.

Try as they might, the winds of change won't cause harm. Your family's roots are firm in the ground.

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #dad harry #dad!harry #dadrry #adore-laur #harry styles

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uyuartik · 3 months

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bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader)

tags: slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT, mentions of oral sex (fem and male receiving), mentions of fingering, piv sex, dom!obi?, i really don't know what to write here it is just filth and it is gonna get filthier

a/n: HII! so i became haunted by historical!obi au's and spent six months writing a short series... this is the first chapter out of three, so i hope you stay tuned for the upcoming one (it is FILTHIER than this and about 19k words)

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

enjoy!!!

word count: 5.4K

chapter one: see you tonight?

“…Fuck, just like that-“

That voice. Yes, that’s how you ended up here, you think, as you roll your hips, feeling the exquisite contours of Obi Wan’s cock stretching your walls and pulling pleasure out of every cell in your body, and possibly from your soul too.

Ehem. Lord Kenobi.

And truth be told, that’s not exactly how things led here. Of course, his rich voice and the manner in which he used it were notable factors. The way he camouflaged his remarks under sweet quips never failed to make you giggle into the next day, and regardless of the topic (ashamedly, it was mostly about the other people in the room, and their rather obscene behaviors), the comments he made always reflected the intelligence behind it. He played the serious bit perfectly too, even though his reverent sentences carried some poetry, never pompous, yet deep enough to convey its origin and the realness of his sincerity… That’s why you started spending hours with him at balls in the first place. Ten minutes alone with him, undoing all the prejudice you had against the man. All the rumors about him were proven wrong, or at least, half true. And you liked that remaining part of the truth.

Only after that, came the subject of his charms. Not quite surprising, considering that there was no lack of handsome faces around, but a lack of brains in them. Or a true heart. You hated the hypocrisy of it all, and it was a blessing to find someone who shared that sentiment. Not to mention the benefit of him deflecting any unwanted company.

Likewise, he must've thought the same about you, thus your current position. It was obvious that both of you two had similar standards, even in these lewd matters. People didn’t call him a heartbreaker because he pursued a lot of women, but when he did and it came to an inevitable end, they were the shell of whom they used to be, like a person could be mummified by the absence of the joy he charmed people with it. And you, you weren’t the type to have somebody just because you could. No, you looked for a special connection, a click, and when you got lucky and found one among the countless candidates, you treasured it. Now, even the word click sounded wanting, there were sparks present between the two of you, a considerable, good dynamic you two had built, and that made everything just better.

You were almost sad thinking this was a one-time event, already knowing this is a moment you'll remember your entire life. (You weren't gonna push your luck on getting caught.) If there were such deals, two of you keeping it to each other forever in this aspect of life, you’d have signed that contract in a blink.

“Thought you said you were tired.” He breathes out, clearly an effort, yet the smug grin on his face leaves no room for doubt or pity.

“I’ve been sitting all day.” That’s how travel works in carriages, after all. “I think stretching my legs, is what I need.” You emphasize by raising yourself higher and slowly sink back down a few times, a motion that pulls moans from both of your mouths.

Travel. It took you half a day to reach your aunt’s estate, and you were fairly certain you wouldn’t attend the ball that is currently taking place. Then, you realized there was no way your gracious hostesses would see you tonight, you were forced to enter the saloon. It would be a quick in and out, maybe greeting a few more people, no dance, with the very valid excuse of I’ve been on the road all day and I am quite exhausted ready on your lips at any interaction. This was why you didn’t even bother to put much effort into your looks, opting for a change of dress, and nothing more. No jewelry, no retouches to your hair. After all, it would just add to your part if you seemed slightly off.

Somehow, it turned out to be a regrettable decision, when numerous eyes turned to you as you took a step into the room, and even longer after that. Maybe not every head turned or the music came to an abrupt stop, the sprouting silence broken by collective whispers, but it happened, subtle yet enough to make itself known. You were given the same treatment for years at this point, but there was no getting used to it. Color that had been settling in your cheeks seemed to be permanent, at least for the night, not leaving your side as you took your place among your relatives. The expensive fan you were gifted by- God knows who, you were in no mood to remember it now, did nothing to relieve your suffering.

And, countless other greetings don't help either. You fastened the movement of your hand, curling your lips into a forced smile. You could truly get tired from all these repeated words and gestures.

"I'm afraid I forgot to bring my dance card." You said again, to the third man who came with the same offer, Duke Caldo, all true except the part "forgot". You left it, willingly, just in front of your vanity mirror. The mirror which you desperately wanted to see yourself in right now, away from the ball.

"A great pity." The exclamation didn't come from him, though.

Your fan dropped from your hand and closed itself when it hit your wrist, dangling from the loop around your forearm as you heard that voice, no introduction ever needed. Perhaps, not even his voice was required, for there was always that unexplainable change in the quality of air in the rooms he occupied, like he was casting a spell on those around him, trickling magic dust with every step, a rare perfume. You wouldn’t use such metaphors if it wasn’t for the simple fact that your body always figured out his presence before your mind, catching a sense of that hypnotic essence. You often realized all the hairs on your arm standing up, or a tingling sensation in the back of your neck, breathing getting a bit harder, only to quickly locate him in your eyesight.

"Lord Kenobi." It is said in a contemptful respect, a greeting and a goodbye. “Goodnight, my Lady.”

You didn’t even bother to mutter a proper response, and frankly, the Duke didn’t wait for one either. So, all your focus can be reserved on the man in front of you.

You raised your arm as if intending to extend it so he could complete his small tradition of placing a kiss on the back of your hand, like he has done every time your paths crossed, even multiple times a day (that’s exactly how you noticed it was more than a simple salutation), (honestly, you liked it, his daring movement revealing a lot about his nature), only to flick it to reopen your fan. The gentlest gust of it licking your skin was more than enough now, making it all too pleasing to watch him save himself with a deep bow of his head, the annoyance quickly turning into a satisfied grin, like he didn’t expect anything less from you.

“That looks even more beautiful in your hand.” He pointed at it, but his eyes wandered all over your body. You did the same, though there was little notice, his usual beige suit far too familiar. Your focus was always on the fact that he looked so good in it, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, or his defined arms exquisitely pronounced over the fabric.

Right. So it was his gift. Why did you ever entertain other possibilities?

You weren’t going to disappoint him by mentioning it is only here because your panicked maid accidentally packed the first item she saw, for you never took anonymous gifts. You didn’t need the attention they brought.

"And I couldn't thank you enough for it. I can practically name it my savior tonight." You answered, making a show of lavishing yourself in the stream it creates.

"My only source of pride is the fact that it perfectly blends with the rest of your attire. Now, I can proudly say I know your taste."

Classic Obi Wan. Even his compliments, far from usual, borderline scandalous. He's been peppering you with them ever since the start of your friendship and you were never immune to them. You outright enjoyed them. Especially now, they didn’t help the simmering tingles forming at the depths of your belly, amplified by weeks of solitude. “Only a part of it I’m afraid, but you’ll learn the rest in no time, don’t worry.”

“Can’t wait.” He grinned and scanned the room for prying eyes. Finding none, he made himself more comfortable by your side, hoping to spend the rest of his night with you.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” You admitted, somehow managing not to sound like you’re overly joyous of that not happening.

“I could say the same about you.” Was that excitement, or disappointment in his voice? Was he planning of politely ravishing other women, when you were not present to entertain him? Something told you those were not among his intentions, the smile on his face too honest, his twinkling gaze focused solely on you.

You tilted your head and curled your lips. Touché. “It is nice to attend the ball your acquaintances are throwing, even if you arrive late. But for you, sir, I'm afraid people will actually think you're looking for a wife."

He rolled his eyes. There was a hint of offense in them just at the mentioning of the subject, but the playful type, not the exasperated type he uses for others.

"Curious. The diamond of the season is also here. Isn't it strange that she still hasn't found someone, it's nearly the end of the season?" You inhaled sharply, dramatizing further. "Do you have something to do with it, Lord Kenobi?"

He scoffed, the impossibility of it reflected in his voice. "The diamond of the season?-"

"I thought you deserve nothing less." You explained, but he interjected.

"I'm only interested in one diamond." He said, initiating intense eye contact.

It was your turn to scoff, and run away from his gaze. "I was never the diamond."

"Only because you saw how better you were than the rest, and fled just before the start of the season." His eyebrows were raised, begging for a denial.

"I had planned that trip months ago." You simply stated. "And I came back halfway through summer, didn't I?"

"Just like now."

"Do I need to remind you who you have been spending time with since June?"

"And where were you coming from tonight, ending your visit of- how long was it?"

"I am fond of traveling. Balls and banquets can entertain someone so far. " You shrugged, "Lord Kenobi, are you trying to say that you missed me?"

"I could never claim otherwise."

That was true from your perspective as well. All these years of constant traveling, and this year was the first time you missed what you left behind at home, even during the buzzing, pretense-filled months. None of it seemed that intolerable, and somewhat fun, if you dare to admit. You knew this impression was his doing, and now after your while spent apart, the feeling came back tenfold, almost making you squirm over such loose confessions.

That was it. That was the turning point of the night.

“Truth be told, the night is going much better than I dreamed of, and I almost regret forgetting my dance card.” You raised your chin, and sent him a look. “Would you be so kind to help me find it?”

You could basically see the gears turning, a fire behind his eyes, fueling the desire growing in the depths of your belly. His gaze was piercing, even after he’d long decided, the truth known to both of you. Your heartbeats must’ve been visible, you imagined, and felt it skip a beat as he licked his lip. “Lead the way.”

Now that’s, how you ended up here.

However, as you look down at his face, the story gets blurry, perhaps outright loses its importance, abandoning your mind. His hair is tousled, a rebel strand in front of his eyes, and moves with every bounce. Your hands are too busy to hold onto his sweaty chest, slightly tugging on the auburn fuzz. You wanted to do that ever since he took his shirt off.

(Then again, you’re not sorry for the amount of time you couldn’t, drowning in him. The moment you felt his expert lips on yours, all your will to protest anything had died. Later, as his fingers joined the show, you quickly realized you were fine with what he gave, but he, ever the gentleman, let you prevail.)

It is a sight. And the moans that fall from his lips surpass the delicate melody the musicians are playing downstairs in every way, which can still faintly be heard. (You never thought an orchestra would accompany you during this, but here you were. It is a detail you’ll remember with a smile while looking back at it, but now, you couldn’t care any less.)

“You’re taking me so well.” He starts to thrust his hips up slightly, meeting your rhythm, but never overtaking it.

“I know.” You giggle, but the reaction he’s taken notice of is your fingertips digging in further, and your walls fluttering around his cock.

When you start to falter a bit, perhaps due to the fatigue settling on your muscles embarrassingly not long after his words, or his mere presence clouding your brain, his fingers that have been resting on your thighs slowly ascend to your hips. The fingers drenched in your juices, another element that has the coil in your belly tighter. The next few strokes, with his guiding hand, touch something deep inside you, and your jaw hangs open.

“Fuck…” is the only word you can mutter, and he chuckles at it.

“Is that so?” He mocks, but brushes your loose ringlets with a single hand, and caresses your nipple on its way down. The latter shows his true disposition, and that drives you to be more vocal, if you weren’t already.

“You feel… so… good.” You can hardly say, as your puffy clit drag against his skin all so deliciously like this.

He twitches inside you at the compliment, and you throw your head back with a whine. Despite the fact that he would kill to see your face, he doesn’t push, enjoying the state he’s putting you in with his voice. Every praise that falls from his lips earns him a melodic moan, along with the feeling of you tensing and relaxing, always responding to his call in one way or another.

You’re one step away from being a doll at his bend, though you couldn’t care any less, not when you are this close.

He likes it, very very much. Yet, not enough to silence his wishes of how to ruin you, in the best way.

In a blink, you find yourself on your back, and him on top of you. That’s not the first thing you see, though. It is his hand, lifted from wherever it fell, catching your chin to turn your head to him. Sounds of panting are all there is, no movement, no words, not even your rapid heartbeats drumming in your ears seconds ago as if the world stopped for a second.

His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you let it slip in. God, you can still taste yourself. The revelation has your objections at the change dead, your face twisting, yet he tsks thrice, capturing your attention.

“Let me see those eyes.” Obi Wan commands, and you have no choice but to oblige. “You look so good beneath me.”

Somehow, his words have you flushing and squirming as if that was the most inappropriate thing happening in this room. Funny, how he breaks your will, and you let it. Against all the talk of your friendship, until an hour ago, you’d have lashed out at an equivalent demeanor, even said in affectionate terms. (Any other way is simply impossible, anyway.) But, that hour proved itself to be much precious, and now with that glossy gaze, snatched right from the brink of climax, you focus on the doting aspect, how he cannot get enough of the image of you.

You start to writhe, the new emptiness inside you unbearable. “Touch me, Obi Wan…”

He's not proud of the way your begging has his cock leaking, though that hardly stops him. He lives for mutual pleasure, even just yours at the moment, yet you look so pretty like this, grasping the sheets.

"Like this?" He slides his thumb further into your mouth, relishing the feeling of your tongue swirling around it immediately. Or course he wasn't expecting you to suck him off if you didn't want to, nor would he ever ask for it, he can't help but imagine the feeling, his hips rolling in seek of stimulation.

You shake your head, and his finger is freed with a pop. You frown as the sole contact you have with him is lost. It is a warning sign for him, the fragility of your dream-like state, a reminder of how he has to do better, if he wants to take control. As a gentleman, he wanted to give you everything you desired, but since it was your first time together, a terra incognita, he had to be sure of your limits, so he followed your wishes gladly. The wishes which were masterfully balanced versions of both of your needs. The same problem troubled you too of course, but you were a quick learner, a connoisseur of his taste in no time. The fact that it was very similar to yours was an exciting discovery, certainly a pleasant one, and was a great help, so great that it almost felt like cheating. While he took no issue with your tricks; the urge to take you on his terms, the compulsion to show you how he wants to cherish you couldn’t be suppressed any longer. He had to let you know.

He leans in closer, his arms bend as yours find his shoulders like a habit, “Like this?” He murmurs, right before brushing his lips against yours, effectively swallowing your whine. Though it was a sound of protest, all complementary sentiments die when he nips at your lower lip, and you open your mouth, lost in the sensation of his tongue licking yours, and his sweet essence. In contrast to his other needs taken good care of, he hadn’t taken enough of the feeling of our mouths joining. God, he spent hours imagining your mouth, curling into every shape as smart words spilled from it, enhancing his fascination with you. It fires the flames of haze further, even if he’s not actually properly touching you. Your hand roams his neck, then etches itself into his silky hair. You’ve done that a few times now (and found his response most addicting), but it is hardly satisfactory compared to the amounts you dreamed of doing during these last couple of months. You saw him prim and proper mostly, not a strand out of place, making you marvel at its excellence, and the itch to mess it up growing stronger each instance, a stark contrast to your surroundings. Also, there were times the infamous piece fell in front of his eyes, and sometimes even more disheveled than that, riding a horse, enjoying sports with his friends, and once after a bath, when your family visit started a little earlier than planned. You were always admiring the way it reflected light, creating almost a halo around his head, especially in sunlight. It is the first thing your eye is drawn to whenever you’re in the same place, a beacon of sorts. You never thought you’d be this amazed by hair, yet the moans he produces when you tug on it, add to your astonishment, and you’re not sure if you can look at it again, without being reminded of this moment.

He breaks the kiss as for you to catch your breath, for he has long kept you away from it. Still, he continues to pepper you with tons of them, scattered all across your jaw and neck, in search of that sweet spot that has you cursing. It is not a serious journey, in fact, he does more than press his lips against your skin properly, tease you with his open mouth, drag his tongue along the taut muscle, nip and outright bite, once.

“No marks-“ You protest. Futile. You should’ve warned before he started to nibble, way before he sank his teeth, but it has happened after all, and you can already feel blood settling on the sites of his attack. “What I am going to tell my maid now?”

“The truth.” He retorts. “Of how you led Lord Kenobi into our bed, and did dirty, unspeakable things with him.”

That earns him a harsh pull at his scalp, and a pat on his shoulder. He meets with your glaring gaze, and cheeks redder than a minute ago. So, he’s still on your good side. Barely.

“Apologies, my dear.” He takes the hand that smacked him, and places a peck onto your palm before placing it back. You can’t break the eye contact as he does so, something about his appearance, perhaps his position, or the charming contours of his face, or the way he deals with your anger keeps you from kicking him out. Caressing your open legs, he massages them ‘til they relax afresh, squeezing at the soft flesh. You hiss when his movement nears your inner thighs, thanks to his beard, and the climax it brought you. The gesture hints, still, there’s the matter of fire burning in your belly. “Couldn’t resist, you know me. Let me make it up to you.”

He wastes one more second to carve this image inside his head, then fulfills his promise. He likes the way you tremble while you wait, a whimper leaving your mouth at him taking his cock into his hand and stroking it a few times. God, how you wish that was your hand. Damn your stubbornness, and demand for compensation. You put extreme effort into staying still, releasing a shaky breath when he places the tip at your entrance.

Remember when he said “ruin”?

He doesn’t push it in, instead letting it slide up your slick folds, and tap against your clit. You nearly jolt at the touch, yet again tasting bliss, even if it is in mere drops. He repeats the action, and you sob, digging your nails into his shoulders. Maybe you’re the one leaving marks now, but you don’t care. Eye for an eye you can say, in retrospect.

“You’re so wet.” He can’t stop looking into your glistening core. He also can hear it, the squelching sounds echoing at his every movement. He knows you can too, that it calms your nerves, though they act up for different reasons. “All this for me?”

Unfortunately, you are late to realize he doesn’t take your moans for an answer. You can’t help it, you are unable to form words. Even if you gather the strength, they die out at your throat, especially under his piercing look. Fuck, he loves how cockdumb you’ve become for him.

He takes pity on you then, dropping his cock to briefly rest on your opening, and forces his fat tip in.

Your back arches, a throaty sound filling the room. He shushes right next to your ear, in an effort to calm you down as he slips the rest in. It is as if you’re taking him the first time, like you weren’t riding him moments ago.

“Fuck-“ That’s the only reaction, the only answer he needs. You fall back into the sheets, the first time he rolls his hips, and sets a new rhythm, a slow one to kindle the flame once more. Your hair probably getting tangled from the way it’s rubbing against the sheets, and your legs are split wide open. You feel every vein and ridge moving against your walls, the slight resistance disappearing in no time. His chest brushes against yours, and combined with the warmth of his breath, so close to yours, it’s easy to let go of your worries.

This is why you ended up here.

“Faster!” While he already feels great, it’s not the exact pattern to provide that sweet release, not in the timeframe you hoped.

“I want this to last, dear.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. A part of it due to irritation. Being subjected to that response before, he snickers to see you’re still you, even when you’re literally fucked out of your mind. As he does so, his lips skim yours. You take it, greedily, one hand first on his neck to ensure he stays, then to his unruly tress, aspiring to compel him into the middle ground. That earns you a few groans, yes, but his will doesn’t seem to falter even a little bit.

Perseverance, is a mutual quality, as you already know.

You slowly release the grip you have on his head, emphasis on slowly. It goes unnoticed, thanks to your timely bite, the same assault he once carried out. You don’t waste the access to his tongue, sucking on it. You’re not sure if his moans are increased in number, or if it feels more because you swallow every single one of them, but the fact that his beard starts to prick your cheeks harder gives you an idea.

Your free hand falls into sheets and slithers across the length of your body. Just a little more- you’re almost about to touch your –

His fingers wrap around your wrist instantly, dragging it up, a little further away from your face. You twist your neck, a wail coming out as you reject his kiss.

Only to be met by the sight of that said fingers running up your palm, and interlock themselves among yours.

Your breath hitches, for reasons unknown to you.

“Ah- ah -ah.” He tuts, though there’s not a hint of disappointment in his voice. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you do all the work?”

You can’t believe one physical contact, and his words, are enough to carry you to that previous peak. Your pussy contracts around him, beyond your control, an indication of your closeness, nothing compared to before.

“Ngh- that’s it.” He encourages, “Just relax and take it.” That’s more sincerity than you’ve ever heard from him.

It goes on and on for a while, him doing exactly what he promised to do, and fulfilling his wishes in the process. He already knows this could go on ‘til morning, and he still wouldn’t be completely satisfied, longing for your presence the second he leaves the bed. Still, he continues, pushing himself to his limit, and that’s getting quite harder when you clamp on him that hard. He feels his cock leaking, begging for that sweet end.

When his arm that’s not supporting his weight travels down, caressing your hip before pressing his thumb to your clit, finally, you reward it with a whisper of his name, a sound he won’t dare to forget. Your back arches impossibly higher, and he has to lean back, abandoning his other hold.

Your limb stays in the spot he left it.

He curses at the realization, perhaps its effect mirroring yours when he first initiated the contact. Fuck, how are you so perfect? He snaps his hips harder, and circles his thumb, feeling it throb.

“Obi Wan-I’m c-“

He loves how your words are cut with the need to scream that you gulp down, only resigned to breathing as your face contorts with pleasure. “Cum for me, love.”

Your moans blend into each other, as he cannot stay still at the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight. He holds your trembling thigh, fondling the soft flesh, adoring the way it spills from his grip. He doesn’t stop ‘til they settle again once more, and even a little longer than that, pulling out in the last minute to cover your belly with his spend.

That act keeps you from turning to your side, and feeds the desire to hug the sheets, a soft but firm ground for your senses to return. You're not complainant of it anyways, you have a far better view in front of you, defined muscles undulating with each heavy breath, glistening due to the light coat of sweat covering them, lips puffy and slightly flushed with blood, as well as his cheeks. You always thought he was devilishly handsome, but this, this is something else. The world should consider itself lucky, or it would bend to his will just from his looks. Or unlucky, for the honor is bestowed upon a handful of people.

He believes he's blessed with the sight upon him, too. Still holding onto your thigh, he delights in spontaneous tremors that possess it. If he looks closely, he's sure he can see the faint mark he left. Your hair is sprawled around, much in contrast to the delicate up-dos you and every noblewoman fashioned, its most natural form, and the intimacy of it definitely causes a small breakdown. You belong in a painting, depicting goddesses and nymphs, a grace outside the limits of time and culture. Your droopy lids and tired pull at the corners of your mouth fill his chest with pride and more adoration, like after his every successful attempt to elicit a reaction from you. It happens often, thanks to the understanding that grows between the two of you, but every example is still treasured in in his mind.

“Well, I don’t know any better way to spend the night.”

You giggle. “I agree.”

“We should’ve done this before.”

Your lifted brows are the perfect answer. Like it’s that easy.

But he has a point, too.

In the comfortable silence, he gets up from bed, a sigh at the roar coming from downstairs, drowning the music. That’s still going, huh? You watch as he wets the nearest towel, and returns, cleaning the mess with unexpected gentleness that it almost tickles. There’s no aim to steal one more touch at his movements, no personal gain except an easy conscience, and even that is a stretch because it’s most natural to him, his understanding of tenderness.

“Well, thank you, sir.” You sit up, with a yawn, and scooch backward to your pillows as he retreats to give himself the same treatment. “And my nightgown, please.” You point to it, and amusingly follow his subtle headshake, and efforts to hand it over. He hesitates for a second at the last minute, considering rebellion, a last joke. You see it, and snatch the fabric from his grip before he can tighten it. He can feel it sliding over his skin, the light material flying. You slip it on, aware of his voyeur. with a victorious smile cut too short as exhaustion creeps into your bones. You’re no different, in any case, settling into the fluffy pillows, curiously examining each piece of clothing he puts on from afar, the unwritten rule of his habits, his hidden glances at your mirror in a feeble pursuit to tame his messy hair. You’re willing to be charged guilty for that.

He stalls, though, you can feel it after a while, around the time sleep clouds your vision. How could anyone blame him for not wanting to leave, carve your picture to his mind, and calm his yet again straining cock at it?

“You should be going. Servants are going to be wandering these corridors for orders, soon.” Your heart winces at the warning, because he's not the type to need it, or disregard you to put you at any risk. But your cognation runs thin, and he needs to know the dangers he might face.

"True. Right. You're correct." Is that a stutter? "Good night, my lady."

"Good night, Lord Kenobi.

"Glad to be of help in stretching your legs."

The cushion falls short to exactly hit him, but the sentiment is clear.

In the morning, you uncover the reasons behind his diversion.

Bastard signed every slot in your dance card.

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jd07201990 · 4 months

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The next time you’re at a Grecian Resort, enjoying the food, the pool, and the breeze from the ocean, be sure not to insult a God, hiding in plain sight as a gym Trainer; Unless you want to be, “Blessed” with Herculean strength, and everything the movie didn’t mention comes with that! I wasn’t an athlete at all. This was supposed to be a vacation before college, where I was majoring in Physics. Then, one afternoon while I was passing by the Resort’s gym, I saw a hoard of sweating, grunting behemoths, lifting, running, and posing, while a beast of a man with Silver-Blonde hair and a thick beard, pushed them hard. I snorted, remembering the meatheads at school who’d gotten free-ride scholarships for sports, while I’d worked hard to keep my GPA flawless. The man locked eyes with me, glared, and suddenly I found myself walking toward him, my feet doing the work as I struggled to try to stop. This is why I should have kept my mouth shut. But when he made me explain why I thought Athletics wasn’t important, I decided to be snide, insulting anyone wasting time with sports and weights. Then, emboldened by his relative silence, his arms crossing over his titanic chest, I went in for him as well, his age mostly, but also that he worked as a trainer at a Resort, not something to brag about. Well, turns out that was Zeus, this is his resort, and every one of those beefed up, thick-built lumbering brutes currently filling the gym with a humid funk, were snotty rich boys who’d been stuck here for weeks, as the Zeus forced them to grow. I was then pushed onto a bench, and began helplessly lifting, as Zeus pushed me through the first workout of my life, and many, many more. I was there 3 months and did nothing but eat, sleep, workout, and sometimes we were allowed to talk with the others. Over that time, with the help of a cursed metabolism, I had to stuff myself at every meal, often snacking in between. We were all like this, constantly shoving food into our mouths to fuel the endless bulk. The whole place seemed to ring out with grunting, groaning, the sound of protein shakes being chugged, and helpless belching, as our bodies burned the calories into pounds. We had no choice, and Zeus only made it worse when you complained. By the time my vacation was finished, I was 6’, 205lbs of thick, padded bulk. Just a pile of muscle, lumbering around on huge, sweaty size 14s. Everything about me had gotten big. Even my hair grew, wild and curly, although it was also more often than not, plastered to my forehead as I grunted out another 50 reps. No matter how much I showered, there was always the lingering scent of testosterone pouring from under my arms. My pecs were Zeus’s pride, and he finally let me go when he said I’d gotten far too big to ever hide the muscle and warned me that I’d never lose the bulk, that I’d always be starving for food, and would get fat if I didn’t work out. That’s how I started college as a Big, sweaty Physics Major, with a skinny little roommate who complains about my mountain of dirty laundry, my sweaty shoes, and has no idea there’s nothing I can do about it! I can’t fight it, I eat, I sleep, I work out, and sometimes I even get to study, when I’m not getting crumbs all over my textbooks.

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pulisicsgirl · 1 year

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his girls - christian pulisic

summary: pregnancy is doing everything it can to make Y/N's life miserable, but with Christian's help, it's a little more bearable

pairing: Christian Pulisic x pregnant!reader

word count: 2.7k

warning/tags: pure, unadulterated fluff, pregnancy, descriptions of vomiting

requested: yes!!

notes: there will be a part two to this one because there was more to this request than I could fit in here! plus, that video after the USMNT game on Monday has me (and everyone else) feeling broody, so I figured I should finish this fic! As always, requests are open, and let me know what you think! <3 (also, this picture has me so soft for him)

read part two here

All your life, you heard women describing pregnancy as the miracle of life. A wonderful time, when you felt more connected and bonded to your baby than any other point in your life. A time where your body prepared for all of the blessings of motherhood as you baby grew and developed within you.

What no one prepared you for was everything else that came with it.

The morning sickness, the back pain, the mood swings, the sleepless nights—you seemed to have gotten the worst of all of these things.

In the early hours of the morning, the sun not yet peeking over the horizon outside of your home, you found yourself sitting miserably in front of the toilet. The nauseous feeling seemed to infect every part of you, your head swimming, your stomach churning. You felt as if the slightest movement of your head or arms would send you hurling in that particular moment. Your elbow rested on the toilet seat, forehead in your hand. Your eyes remained closed as you tried to breathe deeply through your nose, willing the nausea to pass.

“You didn’t wake me up,” you heard Christian whisper from beside you. You had been so distracted by the sick feeling in your stomach that you hadn’t heard the opening and closing of the bathroom door. You blinked your eyes open slowly to see him sitting on the floor beside you. His eyes were soft, and you could tell he was worried for you, despite this becoming a routine for you throughout your pregnancy thus far.

“It’s so early, and you have training later,” you tried to justify yourself. In your defense, you had also rushed out of bed pretty quickly, only having a few moments warning yourself.

His lips turned downward in a slight frown. “I want to help you, though. If I can’t take away the morning sickness, the least I can do is sit here with you.” He reaches out, placing a hand on your bare thigh, stroking his thumb over the exposed skin. His presence was already beginning to calm you. Your heart, that had been racing before he arrived at your side, now felt like it was finally slowing.

“I know,” you sighed, casting your eyes downward.

Christian had been nothing short of perfect throughout the last five months. He would do anything and everything for you, from grabbing something in another room so that you didn’t have to get up, to frequent massages to relieve your tense muscles. And he never complained about it once.

You knew he felt guilty for everything you were going through. You wouldn’t dare, even in the midst of a particularly bad bout of morning sickness, point an accusatory finger toward him, muttering that “you did this to me” as you so often heard about other pregnant mothers doing. Christian frequently expressed to you that he wished he could share the burden, seeing as you had made this baby together. But since that wasn’t possible, he made it his mission to help you be as comfortable as possible.

You ran a hand over your slightly round belly, sighing as you switched to lay your arm on the edge of the toilet seat and laid your head on your forearm so that you were looking down at the bathroom floor.

You were wearing one of Christian’s shirts—you had quickly gotten to the point where your own no longer fit after you had begun showing. Plus, you knew Christian’s heart swelled with pride each time he saw you, carrying his child and wearing his clothes. The longer your pregnancy went on, the more items of his clothing you would steal. It had started with T-shirts, progressing to his shorts and sweatpants, until the two of you were sharing much of his casual wardrobe.

“Did you get much sleep last night?” Christian asked softly. You only responded by shaking your head ‘no’ while it remained resting on your arm, closing your eyes as another wave of nausea began to build up. “Kicking too much?” You nodded, and Christian squeezed the hand that was on your thigh gently.

The nausea washed over you again, and you quickly raised up onto your knees, leaning over the toilet as you spilled the remaining contents of your stomach into the bowl. You immediately felt Christian’s hands gathering your hair into a ponytail, pulling the strands out of your face. He held the ponytail with one hand and slipped the other under the bottom of your shirt, using his fingers to rub your lower back, applying light pressure there.

Once the nausea had passed, you sat back on your feet and wiped your mouth with the toilet paper that Christian handed you. The morning sickness seemed to have drained you of any energy you had left, and you slumped over into his side, resting your head on his bare shoulder as he wrapped his arms securely around you. He placed a kiss on the top of your head, and the two of you sat there in silence for a few moments, with his hands slowly running up and down your arm.

Christian broke the silence several minutes later, whispering a short, “you okay for a minute?” and once you had nodded, he briefly let your side, returning with a bottle of cold water and a couple pieces of buttered toast. He handed them to you, sitting on the edge of the bathtub next to you while you ate the toast, holding the cold bottle against your cheek before taking a couple sips from it.

After you finished, you were feeling considerably better, so you decided to go back to bed before Christian had to leave for training. The light of the sunrise had just begun peeking through between shutters over your bedroom window, casting the room in a slight orange glow.

You and Christian crawled back under the covers, and he pulled you to his chest, lying on his side so he could use his hand to trail slow lines up and down your spine under your shirt. You sighed in content, tucking your face into his warm neck and pressing a kiss to his collarbone as a show of thanks for everything he was doing for you.

You were beginning to drift off when you felt a sharp pain in your belly, feeling your baby’s foot pressing against the surface. You groaned, being drawn from the sleepy state you were just slipping into. Due to your position against him, Christian felt the press of the baby’s foot softly against his own stomach.

“She really won’t give you a break this morning, will she?” he asked with a short chuckle. You pulled your head from his chest, pouting at his amusement. He reacted by placing a gentle kiss to your lips, a wide grin spreading across his cheeks. “Just think: a few months from now, she’ll be here, in our arms, and all of this will be totally worth it.”

“It doesn’t feel worth it right now,” you grumbled, nuzzling your face back into his neck to hide away like a grumpy child.

“I know, baby. I know,” Christian was unable to wipe the smile from his face at the thought of your little family of three coming home from the hospital in just a short while, a mix of both excitement and nervousness running through his body at the idea.

He slipped his hand from your back, resting his palm over your belly and rubbing it in circles to try to soothe your little baby with soft whispers.

It felt like mere moments before Christian’s alarm was going off for him to get out of bed, startling you out of sleep. He kissed your forehead, shuffling out of the bed while trying to disturb you as little as possible. After spending a few minutes in the bathroom, he emerged, collecting his things from the closet. He pranced to your side of the bed, sneakers in hand, and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before he left to head to training for the day.

Your day following Christian’s departure proved to be fairly uneventful—something you were thankful for after a long, sleepless night and a rough morning in the bathroom. Once you finally emerged from the blanket cocoon you wrapped yourself in after Christian wasn’t there to keep you warm, you maneuvered through the house, feeling well enough to catch up on a few chores and things you hadn’t been able to do over the last couple of days.

Your productive afternoon was briefly interrupted by a short nap on the couch, something you found yourself doing more and more as your pregnancy wore on. The task of growing a child seemed to zap you of your energy if you tried to do too much on one single day.

In the early evening, you found yourself tidying up the kitchen—washing and putting away the few dishes that had accumulated and clearing the countertops of various items that had been left behind while music played softly from your phone.

As you were bent slightly over the counter, wiping it down with a cloth, you felt two strong hands slipping around your waist, causing you to jolt in surprise, a soft gasp escaping from your lips.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Christian spoke softly, pulling your body back into his chest. With his arms wrapped around you firmly, you melted into his embrace, leaning into his warm body.

“ ‘s okay,” you mumbled, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. Instantly, you felt at ease in his embrace.

“How are my girls?” he pressed a kiss to the side of your head and warmth flooded over you at his words.

His girls.

“We’re good. Better than this morning,” you smiled at him, and short laugh escaped his lips.

For a moment, he just stared down at your face, laying on his shoulder. He tried to study your features, committing them to memory. He swore every day that the sight of you that he came home to every night was the most heavenly thing he’d ever seen. You were wearing one of his T-shirts and a pair of his sweats—ones that he knew, without even checking, that you had rolled the waistband up so that they wouldn’t be falling past your ankles.

A slow song was playing on your phone that you had left sitting on the countertop as you had been cleaning, and Christian began swaying side to side, slowly dancing to the music. One of his hands smoothed over your belly, thumb rubbing soothing circles through the thin material of the large T-shirt you were wearing.

Your eyes remained closed as you took in the moment: the gentle tones of the song ringing out into the evening air, Christian’s warm body holding you securely, a hand resting over the bump that held the growing baby you had made together.

You felt completely and totally at peace, swaying there in his arms.

A soft smile played over your lips, one that Christian noticed and wished he could snap a photo of to save forever.

As the song that was playing came to an end, he pressed his nose into your cheek before placing a soft kiss there. “As much as I would love to do this all night,” he whispered, trying not to startle you from the peaceful moment. “I brought home your favorite, and I don’t want it to get cold.”

Your head snapped up quickly, turning to look at the countertop. Just as he had said, there was a large, brown, paper bag sitting there, with the logo of your favorite local restaurant adorning the side. You immediately knew what the contents of the bag would be, as Christian had made it his personal mission to know all of your orders.

You turned back to look at him, hormones getting the best of you as you felt your eyes moisten. “Christian, you didn’t,” you whispered.

“Babe, it’s just dinner,” he beamed at you, knowing that it still meant the world to you. Little day-to-day gestures in relationships were massively important to you, and Christian knew that.

You hugged his torso tightly, pressing your face into his firm chest, whispering a soft “thank you.”

That warm feeling didn’t leave you for the rest of the night. You felt overcome with gratitude, not knowing what you had done to deserve the life you had.

Later in the evening, you found yourself sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard. You were playing with your rings, running your finger over the wedding band as you stared at it, lost in thought.

“Thinking about taking it all back?” Christian chuckled, crawling into the bed next to you.

“Never,” you smiled at him. He came to sit beside you and leaned across your body gently, resting his hand on the other side of the mattress next to your waist to support himself as he looked at you.

“Good, because you’re stuck with me.” He leaned forward to kiss you, pressing his lips to yours slowly and sweetly, letting it linger for a moment. “Forever.” He nudged your nose with his, forcing a giggle from your lips.

“How did you feel the rest of today?” he asked, bringing his free hand up to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. After your bout of morning sickness, worry for you had remained in the back of his mind the entire afternoon until he was able to come home and wrap you in his arms.

“I honestly felt okay today. I was able to get a lot of chores and cleaning done, so it was a good day.”

A satisfied smile took over his features as he looked over your face for a moment more. Then he shifted, pressing a kiss quickly to your nose before he shuffled down the bed, laying on top of your outstretched legs. He rests one of his arms across your thighs and sets his chin on his forearm. He lifts the hem of your shirt, raising it so that your bump is exposed. Christian poked your belly button, which he had loving dubbed “the microphone” and would talk to your baby through.

He swore up and down that she could hear him better when he used the “microphone,” which always caused you to roll your eyes at his antics. Secretly, he did it because he knew it would always get you to laugh.

“Hey, there, baby girl,” he cooed to your belly. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you felt a limb press into your stomach from inside. You saw the slight distention in your belly as a hand or foot pressed into the surface, reacting to her daddy’s voice. Christian beamed with pride and rested a hand over the same spot, hoping to feel the baby’s movement. “You gave mommy a pretty rough time last night, didn’t you? I need you to give her a break tonight, okay? Let her rest a little bit.”

He glanced up at you with an amused look, and you could see a twinkle in his eye. His eyes became a little teary as he placed a soft kiss to the surface of your belly. “We already can’t wait to meet you, baby girl,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your stomach.

Christian was going to be an incredible father—you already knew it. She hadn’t even arrived yet, and already Christian loved his little girl so fiercely and completely. You could see it, years from now, how he would do anything for his daughter. Whether it be tea parties and princess dresses or football and rough-housing in the backyard, he would be there for every moment. He would do anything for her and would protect her until his last breath.

You had to wipe a tear that slipped down your cheek at the thought, not wanting to ruin the perfect moment before you.

Moments like these reassured you of why you had never once doubted the man before you—the man you chose to marry, the man who would now be the father of your child. You already couldn’t wait to start your journey as parents, as a small family of three. It would be a hard road, sure, but it would be a road you could take with the support of Christian at your side, and there was nothing you could possibly want more.

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