#captive mac

[authorangelita]

17. “You don’t look so good.”

Thank you for the ask!

Jack kicked the door down and cautiously entered the room, sweeping his gun from left to right as he cleared the space.  It was empty except for a chair in the center occupied by his partner and a bare lightbulb hanging above Mac's head. 

Mac was tied to the chair at his wrists and ankles with rope and duct tape.  He was disheveled with torn, blood-stained clothes.  Jack had to push down his anger when Mac slowly raised his head and showed his bruised face with one eye swollen shut.

"Hey, hoss, long time no see," Jack joked as he put his gun away and pulled out his tactical knife to cut Mac free. 

"J'ck?" Mac mumbled through a busted lip. 

"You know it."  Jack sliced through the bindings around Mac's wrists.  "You don't look so good.  Where you hurt?"

"Be easier to," Mac groaned, "tell you what doesn't hurt."

Jack cursed and cut the ropes from around Mac's ankles.  "Can you move?"

"Mmhmm," Mac nodded, tried to stand, and cried out as he sank back down into the chair.

"What?"  Jack's hands fluttered around Mac's body, unsure of how to help.  "What is it?"

"Left ankle."

"Broken?"

"I don't think so, but it hurts like hell."

He hated to see Mac in pain.  It made every cell in Jack's body angry.  "The Tac team is clearing the floor, and then we'll get medics in here.  Just sit tight."

"No, I don't want to be in here anymore.  Just," he motioned for Jack to lean over and then threw his arm around Jack's neck, "help me up."

Jack put his arm around Mac's waist and gently tugged him to his feet.  Well, foot.  Mac didn't put any weight on his left side, choosing to hop out of the room with Jack as a human crutch. 

They were met halfway down the hall by the medic team, who had thoughtfully brought a collapsible stretcher.  It didn't take long to get Mac settled on the stretcher, and Jack stayed close as they carried him out of the place he'd been held captive for the last twenty-seven hours. 

Mac's hand snaked out from under the blanket the medics had draped over him to grasp Jack's wrist. 

"You're okay, bud," Jack said quietly.  "We're going home."

[macdennisnation]

this picture should be hung up in a museum, studied by scientists, and have its own chapter in the history books.

[rookamell]

I see your 'Anders did nothing wrong' and raise you 'Loghain did nothing wrong'

[primarch-victus]

I finished reading The Stolen Throne. Tell me, why am I giggling and kicking my feet about Loghain Mac Tir...girlies I get it now I really do

[lailuhhh]

okay but you got me thinking so much about how young Mac looks when they're in the Sandbox. Like. Mac looks like a kid, he's baby faced anyway (tell us your secrets Lucas Till, I'm begging you), but something about the long hair from the original 2016 pilot is just. Ingrained into my brain and is NOT letting my brain worms escape.

I need Jack half teetering on the edge when he realizes just how young his EOD is; yeah he's gonna have to be somewhat competant bc he isn't dead yet, y'know? But Jack had never thought he'd be partnered up with a baby faced know it all that looks even younger than he actually is, like is he old enough to drink? Old enough to drive?

Jack is about to actually have a fucking aneurysm everytime he looks at the damn kid and the big bruise on his face, spreading across his temple. Looks like a damn smacked puppy, Jack grumbles to himself, and has to resolutely shove thoughts of Riley out his mind, but then the worst happens.

Mac and Jack bond and Jack is just confronted with the fact that this baby faced know it all is his responsibility and Jack did that. Jack did that himself and he might as well through himself a baby shower with a sign yelling congratulations its a twenty plus year old baby and he just has to scream into his helmet for a few seconds every day to try and work on his PTSD and the absolute anxiety attack this damn kid gives him.

Meanwhile Mac is happily playing with bombs and thinks his overwatch is a weird weird man that desperately needs to fucking chill, and this is Mac thinking that so he definitely needs to.

Right???

Canonically, Mac’s around 21-22 when they actually meet, but with a face like that?? That screams 17-19. Like all my army days writing, it’s never really clicked that Mac is so much younger than what we see on the screen

Jack’s had younger guys as partners before, but they always looked their age. Last guy was early to mid twenties and he looked it, or more so, he looked aged. Everyone Jack had been partnered with either looked their age, or older than they were because of what war does to people

Mac was the first one that was young that looked young, despite him being captive for however long, and somehow that made it worse. Mac saw the horrors of war and had been living as a prisoner, yet he still looked his age

Ignoring canon though, Jack knows it’s a new guy messing with his stuff because he doesn’t recognize the back of his head and it just sets him off and he spins Mac around and just decks him

Then maybe later after everything happened and they go on their first outing, a good portion of Mac’s face his all bruised because of just how hard Jack got him, Jack does feel a bit guilty because maybe he did overreact and was having a bad day and he shouldn’t have taken out the anger on Mac, so it’s just—

“I’m sorry man; some shitbag up the ladder is ridin my ass and stressin me out. Ya didn’t deserve that and I’m sorry for takin my anger out on you. Looks like I messed up yer pretty boy face— how old are ya anyways?”

And when Mac says however old he is, that’s when it hits Jack of oh my god he’s a literal kid it’s not just a case of baby face

That’s when the panic sets in of Mac shouldn’t be there and shouldn’t be disarming bombs and should be at college and what the fuck was the military thinking of letting him enlist, and then Mac’s already been there two years, which makes him panic more because the realization of Mac enlisting at an even younger age was the aneurism inducing fact of he needs to get this fucking kid out of the army

And yeah Mac’s just over here like wow man I’ve never seen this kind of IED before and don’t know where to start. Let’s shake it and see what happens and Jack’s doing his best not to keel over from panic and heart attacks every time they go out

[sam-winchesters-gay-lover]

i’d do anything for jared lucifer. like actually

[tinkerbitch69]

Reading the stolen throne is fascinating because you play origins and all the npcs are like “Loghain Mac Tir is a war hero! One of the great warriors of the rebellion! How could he possibly do this?! Why?!” And then you read the book and it’s like “oh no he was always kinda like this” xD

[bitchkay]

I love reaction videos where they're just as hype or even morethan me

Cus it feels like were besties, I know people hate when people pause the video constantly but were having a parasocial conversation here

I'm watching it like RIGHT RIGHT! THATS WHAT IM SAYING AND LOOK LOOK THIS PART! RUN THAT BACK ONE MORE TIME WE NEED TO SEE IT AGAIN! YUP YUP THATS WHAT IM SAYING LIKE AND- EXACTLY! ITS SO BEAUTIFUL, SO GORGEOUS, JUST WAIT TIL THE END GIRL

Like we on ft and we're beste westies💖

My favorite kind of reaction videos tbh

[sailforvalinor]

How about Greensleeves for Mac and Rose?

EEEEEP that suits them SO WELL!!! Okay, here we go:

—

Snow fell thick and fast outside of Mac’s bedroom window, but so engrossed was he in his work that it was a credit to him that he had even noticed this fact at all. He was bent over his chemistry set on his desk, occasionally scribbling notes in a notebook in barely legible handwriting. As he worked, he idly hummed under his breath, and after a little while his humming subconsciously gave way to singing:

“Alas, my love, you do me wrong

To cast me off discourteously

And I have loved you oh so long

Delighting in your company…”

Mac, once again so focused on the task at hand that he was blind to his surroundings, didn’t hear the creak of the doorknob as it was turned.

“Greensleeves was all my joy,

Greensleeves was my delight,

Greensleeves, my heart of gold,

And who but my Lady Greensleeves”

“Why, Mac, I didn’t know you could sing so well!”

So startled was Mac that he knocked over half of his chemistry apparatus and several tubes and beakers (miraculously, all of them empty), and whirled around to see Rose, wrapped in furs and her golden hair smothered by a woolen hat, peeking in at him from the hallway. Though half her face was hidden by the doorframe, he could plainly see the sparkling mirth in her bright blue eyes.

He felt his face go so hot, that he found himself with half a mind to stick the thermometer he’d just knocked over in his mouth to see if he’d achieved boiling point. He wanted nothing more than to go bury his face in a nearby cushion, or perhaps jump out the window, but he maintained a substantial enough grip on his composure to do neither. However, it wasn’t substantial enough to keep him from stammering, “Where did you come from?”

Rose, however, was too used to his bluntness to be offended. “From the front door,” she giggled. “I came to bring you to Aunt Plen’s—Christmas Eve dinner, remember? We had all gathered, the food was ready, and everyone was about to sit down when I pointed out you weren’t there.”

Mac, of course, hadn’t remembered—now that he thought about it, he hadn’t the vaguest idea what time it was. “Oh. Right.” He busied himself with cleaning up his mess.

Rose came further into the room. “But Mac, I have to ask, is this a newly developed interest of yours, or have you been holding out on us all this time?” she asked mischievously.

“I wasn’t singing. I mean—I was, but I just had the melody stuck in my head. I heard some carolers singing it the other day, and—“

“—to actually answer your question, Rose,” Steve’s voice came from the other room, “Mac sometimes sings when he’s got his head stuck in whatever project he’s taken up and he thinks the rest of us can’t hear him. It would be easier to stand if he got the words right.”

Mac hadn’t realized that Steve was present also, but somehow Rose hearing him sing was far more mortifying than Steve hearing him, even though his brother was far more likely to tease. “I didn’t get the words wrong,” Mac protested. “‘Greensleeves’ is to the same tune as ‘What Child Is This?’, but its lyrics predate it by—“

This argument lasted the amount of time it took Mac to clean up his chemistry set, equip himself with the appropriate gear to brave the cold, and lock up the house.

As Steve began to outpace them, Rose slipped her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. “You really do have a nice voice,” she said softly.

He chuckled. “I think I’ll leave the singing to you and Phebe.”

“To Phebe, maybe,” Rose said. “I sing well enough not to turn any offended heads on Sundays.”

“That’s not true,” Mac said automatically. He was brought back a couple of summers ago, to when her singing was one of the only things to soothe his fever-addled mind. “You sing very well.”

Rose picked at the finger of her glove. “Not like Phebe.”

“No,” he said, almost under his breath, “like Rose.”

Several years later, in a candlelit room in L— on Christmas Eve, a young man sat at his desk, chemistry apparatus exchanged for lines of poetry, smiling to himself at the recollection of winters past. He opened his window to listen to the carolers below:

“This, this is Christ the King,

Whom shepherds guard and angels sing,

Haste, haste to bring him praise,

The Babe, the Son of Mary”

He thought of that girl all those winters ago, of the snowflakes getting caught in her eyelashes and dusting the curls that escaped from her hat, of the soft flush on her cheeks from the cold and the excited sparkle in her eyes. He thought of that same girl, now a beautiful, gracious, self-sacrificing woman, bidding him goodbye in mid-November with a look in her eyes that—well, he didn’t quite know yet. A woman whose love was worth far more than all the riches of the world. A woman whose love was worth waiting for, worth working for. A woman whose love he did not deserve, and that he prayed to God that He would make him worthy of. Softly, he sang over the carolers:

“And I will pray to God on high

That thou my constancy may see

And that yet once before I die

Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight

Greensleeves, my heart of gold

And who but my Lady Greensleeves

Greensleeves, now farewell, adieu

To God I pray to prosper thee

For I am still thy lover true

Come once again and love me.”

—

Christmas Drabble Ask Game!

[lianatheowl]

APPLES TO DA CORE✨️

I bucked up with Pear Butter's proportions(._.)

But I am so proud of her design🥹

Enjoy!^³^💖🌺

Something tells me I already know who's gonna be chsen next🌚

But anyway

[dewedup]

20, 28, 42

💙😘

20 - what is your favourite song at the moment?

Cassandra by Cos Sylvan is my go to song to fall asleep to rn

28 - i’ll love you if…

you share things with me without prompting, like tiny little facts about your day or something cool that happened, or even a picture you took that you want to share - it just makes me feel special that you want to share something with me and i cherish that shit

42 - favourite book(s)

The Captive Prince trilogy - M/M fantasy romance, two kingdoms two princes ones sent to the other as a pleasure slave THIS SHIT IS SO GOOD IM GONNA REREAD IT

(i'm a huge fantasy ya reader if you ever want a rec or have a rec let me know!!!)

[authorchariot]

> ENTRY: ITS_ALWAYS_THE_QUIET_ONES

RATING: explicit

CATEGORY: top gun: maverick (2022)

PAIRING: bob floyd x afab!reader (mc's call sign is 'pez'.)

EST. READING TIME: 37m 0s

INDEX TAGS: (not actually) unrequited love, cock-warming, friends to lovers, love confessions, masturbation, not beta read, oral sex, pov second person, size difference, size kink, vaginal sex

SUMMARY: after the mission with mav, you find bob drunk at the resulting party at the hard deck. as a designated driver, you take it upon yourself to get him home and into bed safely but staying composed proves harder than expected

ACCESS MATERIAL ON AO3 OR BELOW

The Hard Deck is louder than it's been in weeks. Rooster and Hangman are fighting over the jukebox. Payback's halfway into a dramatic retelling of the mission to a captivated circle of admirers, punctuated with exaggerated hand gestures and Maverick's quiet chuckling. Fanboy's mixing questionable liquors together like he's auditioning for a bartending job no one asked for. It's celebration in full swing. The mission's done. Everyone's alive. Everyone made it home.

And Bob — quiet, dependable, sweet, baby-faced Bob Floyd — is drunk.

He doesn't look it at first. But you can see it in the tilt of his shoulders, the soft pink in his cheeks, the vague squint he gives the bottles behind the counter like he's trying to read through a fog.

You spot it from across the room. You've been watching him on and off all night. Not in a creepy way— At least, you hope not. Just in a way that's...careful. Curious. Quiet. Like you always are with Bob. Because if you let yourself feel it too hard — the pull, the fondness, the way he talks with his hands when he's excited — you might never stop.

You've had a drink; just the one. You're a designated driver tonight. That and watching Bob lose his balance trying to sit on a barstool has very effectively sobered you up. You finish your water, nod to Phoenix and move across the bar like the world isn't tilting just a little because he's looking at you now.

Why?

Because you've had a thing for Bob Floyd since the first day you saw him fiddling with the collar of his flight suit, too quiet for the room but, damn, if he didn't hold his own in the air. Because he always remembers how you like your coffee. Because he asked how your dog was doing after his surgery, even two weeks later. Because he makes you feel seen.

"Hey." You say gently, sliding into the space next to him. "You good?" He blinks at you. Then his face lights up; not like a flash but a slow dawn that warms everything it touches.

"Pez." He says, soft and too fond for how casual he tries to sound. "You're here." You smile.

"Been here the whole time, Bob." He looks at his drink like it's betrayed him.

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

You glance him over. His collar is a little crooked and his glasses are ever-so-slightly askew. His usually neat hair is slightly mussed and there's a half-moon mark on his palm where he's been gripping his glass too hard. He's not swaying. But he's definitely drifting. You rest a hand lightly on the edge of the bar.

"How many have you had?" He frowns.

"Three. No— Wait. Hangman said the one he gave me didn't count 'cause it was pink."

"That doesn't sound right." Bob leans closer and squints at you.

"You smell like mint."

"That'd be the gum I've been chewing instead of drinking." You reply, amused. "Come on. Let's get you out of here." He straightens. Sort of.

"I'm fine."

"You're adorable." You correct. "But also definitely tipsy and I'd rather you didn't fall asleep like last time."

"I didn't fall asleep, I—"

"You nodded off against the jukebox for twenty-three minutes." He considers this.

"It was playing Fleetwood Mac." You arch a brow.

"That's your excuse?" He almost looks offended.

"I like Fleetwood Mac." He mumbles. You can't help it; you laugh. And, across the bar, the other Dagger Squad pilots exhale in collective relief like finally. It goes unnoticed by you.

You help Bob off his stool, a drink forgotten in his hand, and he goes to steady himself on the edge of the bar but misjudges the distance. In trying to recover, the remnants of his last beer spill all over his uniform shirt, making it cling to him like a second skin.

"Woah!" You grab onto his shoulders. "You okay?" He stumbles slightly as he tries to catch himself, hands reflexively reaching out to hold onto your arms for support. His cheeks turn a bright shade of pink as he feels the cold beer seeping into his shirt, looking down at the mess with embarrassment.

"Sorry..." He murmurs and you haul him upright.

"Don't apologise." You glance across to see Phoenix chuckling and shaking her head. "I think I need to take you home though." He laughs nervously, pushes his hair out of his eyes and tries to straighten his glasses.

"Yeah... Yeah, that might be a good idea." He leans against you for support as you start helping him to the door. You yell over your shoulder that you're taking him home, wishing the rest of them a good night. Some of the Dagger Squad murmur something you don't quite hear as you reach the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the cool sea breeze.

He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head, as you help him out to the parking lot. You open the passenger-side door for him and he near-collapses onto the car seat. "Thanks for doing this." He says softly, looking up at you with those sweet, grateful eyes. You watch him fumble with his hands as he tries to buckle himself in.

"Stop being so damn polite." You smile, shutting the door and rounding the hood to get in the driver's seat.

The drive to his is short but pleasant. Well, if it wasn't for the scent of beer slowly sinking into his shirt and your car seat. The windows are rolled down and you can feel the wind on your face. Neither of you talk but it's a nice silence, like the two of you are just content in each other's company. You like it that way. Like you don't have to fill the silence to be comfortable; you can just co-exist.

You like the relationship you have with Bob; it's easy and natural. You just feel...at home with him, like you don't have to pretend to be social or talkative. But there's always that warmth that buzzes just below the surface when he catches your eye or when he smiles. Or when he laughs. Or when he fiddles with his glasses. Or when he does literally anything.

Safe to say, you like him a whole lot; pretty much since you were brought on board for the Dagger Squad.

But you don't want to say anything because what if it makes things weird between you? What if he's not into it and everything just gets awkward? What if you accidentally gush about how gorgeous he looks in his uniform and he thinks you're an absolute creep for admiring the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and the way his pants hug his ass perfectly? He probably already knows and just pretends not to for exactly the same reasons. He probably knows and has also made up his mind that you're not really the one for him. He would've said something by now if he was into you but he hasn't so he probably isn't. It's not something you like thinking about.

Finally, you pull up to his house and park outside. You get out, open his door and stand there, just in case he needs the support again.

"I'm fine. I'm good." He starts to protest before immediately losing his balance and grabbing onto your arm. "Actually..." Rolling your eyes, you hang onto him and close the door.

"C'mon, let's get you inside, mister." He leans against you as you walk up to his house. He's so warm and he smells good, despite the spilt beer. He's wearing that aftershave his mom got him for Christmas again. It's citrusy and sweet but still masculine and fresh. He smells amazing.

When you haul him up the short flight of stairs and reach the front door, he digs his hand into his pocket and struggles to get his keys out for a moment. He must try to insert the key into the lock a good three times, each time stabbing the door just shy of the lock.

"Can't seem to..." He mumbles and you gently place your hand over his, guiding the key into the lock with a satisfying click, turning it and opening the door.

"There we go." You smile warmly and he stares at you for a moment, swallowing hard, before grabbing onto the door frame and stepping inside.

Once inside, you turn the light on and close the door behind you. He kicks off his shoes and pats down his chest. His uniform shirt is still clinging to him, now sticky from the spilt beer. His nose crinkles as you unlace your shoes and place them on the rack.

"Gotta shower..." He slurs softly. By the time you stand up to look at him, he's already halfway done unbuttoning his shirt. Your eyes flick down over the angles of his collarbone and, before you can look further, you avert your eyes.

"Okay, which way's the bathroom?" You ask a little too quickly.

"Upstairs, first door on the left." He points vaguely towards the stairs before continuing to unbutton his shirt, shrugging it off and pulling off his undershirt. He's always so conservative with his clothes; never wearing anything too revealing. Hell, even at the beach, he wears a shirt when the rest of the squad is more than happy to run around half-naked. You look back from the stairs to find him shirtless and it's almost impossible to look away.

God, he's gorgeous, almost to the point where it's at odds with his sweet, boyish smile. Strong shoulders, perfect biceps, broad chest, narrow hips; he could be carved out of granite and you wouldn't even be able to tell the difference— You shake the thought from your head before it can take root.

He tosses his shirt on the floor and yawns. "You don't have to wait for me or anything." He says and you bring yourself back to the present, your eyes flicking back up to his face. You just pray, in his inebriated state, that he didn't just catch you eyeballing his bare chest.

"No, I don't need to go to the bathroom, Bob. I'm taking you up because I don't trust you on the stairs." You tell him and he protests weakly but you help him up anyway.

When you reach the bathroom, he leans against the sink for support and you have to look away as you notice the veins in his arms and hands become more pronounced from the pressure. Maybe that one drink you had was a little stronger than you thought. God, what would those fingers feel like in your mouth? Or in your— "You gonna be okay in the shower?" You ask him and he runs a hand through his hair.

"Mhm. I'm not that drunk." He assures you. "You can go watch TV or something." He reaches down to unbuckle his belt and you pin your gaze to the floor.

"I-I'll stand outside the door just in case, alright?" You manage and he gives you that wonderful, lopsided smile that makes the tips of your fingers tingle.

"Alright." He reaches down for his belt and you almost slam the door shut, stepping back to lean against the opposite wall. You let out a slow exhale. You're heart's going a mile a minute.

Distraction. You need a distraction; something — anything — to get your mind off what it would feel like to have your lips on his or your tongue on his neck or your hands on his chest... Heat pools in the pit of your stomach; a desperate, deep-seated ache. You pull out your phone and start flicking through your socials, trying to find something else to focus on but it's no use.

You hear the shower hiss to life and you can't help but think about what he'd look like if you poked your head in for just a moment; shiny from the water, dripping with soap suds and wreathed in steam. Goddamn... But you couldn't breach his privacy, betray his trust, like that, especially while he's drunk and vulnerable. Even thinking about it feels like a betrayal but you can't get the thought out of your head and the aching between your legs only grows stronger.

Maybe you should've let someone else bring him home.

Eventually, the shower turns off and the bathroom door opens, letting out a cloud of steam as Bob steps out, a towel wrapped around his waist as he uses another to dry his hair. His skin gleams in the low light of the hallway, flushed pink from the hot water, damp hair falling in front of his face. He's being unknowingly, impossibly cruel.

"Better?" You manage, somewhat breathless.

"Yeah. So much better." Thankfully, he doesn't seem capable of noticing your — very obvious — attraction to him right now. He positions his glasses back on the bridge of his nose as you push off the wall and onto your feet, your own knees slightly weak.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed, yeah?"

"You don't have to baby me, Pez. I'm sobering up now." He responds softly but lets you guide him anyway, his hand dwarfing your own. He's still a little unsteady on his feet as you reach his bedroom.

You stand by the door, leaning against the doorframe, looking over his bedroom. There are certificates lining the walls and pictures of him and his parents at birthdays and holidays. It makes your chest feel tight. He walks over to the dresser and pulls open a drawer, rifling through to pick out a pair of loose sweatpants. As he pulls out a pair, the towel comes undone from around his waist and pools on the floor. Your eyes go wide and you jerk your head away but not before getting a perfect view of his round, peachy ass. This is cruel and unusual punishment but you're too weak to complain.

Once he's pulled on the sweatpants and slid into bed, his hair still damp against the pillow, he takes off his glasses, folds them up and places them on the nightstand before looking at you as you linger in the doorway, looking awkward and out-of-place. "C'mon." He mumbles sleepily. "It's late and you're tired too." He weakly pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed; a silent invitation. One you want to jump at. But you can't.

He's drunk and not thinking straight and you don't trust yourself. Not that you'd touch him; never that. But you're devastatingly wet and you already know you need to take care of that and you can't do it next to him. To take your mind off that thought, you grab a glass and fill it with water from the bathroom sink before placing it on the nightstand.

"I'll sleep downstairs. Just yell if you need anything, okay?" You tell him and he nods, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his face.

"Okay... Thanks for taking care of me." A smile curves at your lips as you brush a couple of damp locks out of his face. It brings you some modicum of relief, just that little bit of tender skin-to-skin contact.

"No problem." You sigh longingly, almost ruefully. "Night, Bob." You turn on your heel to leave the room and he catches your wrist with a hand, making you stop in your tracks.

"Hey, could you stay?" He asks, voice small. You turn back to look at him over your shoulder. "Just until I fall asleep?" Your heart melts in your chest as you turn back toward him.

"Sure." You sit on the edge of the bed, holding his hand and brushing your thumb over his knuckles. He looks up at you, eyes lidded with exhaustion. His fingers tighten around yours slightly and you feel your pulse racing.

Finally, his fingers loosen on yours as his eyes drop shut. You let out a soft sigh, releasing his hand and rising from the bed. You watch him for a moment, considering, before leaning down to brush a kiss to his forehead. "Sleep tight, Bobby."

You turn off all the lights and head back downstairs. You set up a little bed for yourself on the couch and slip out of your uniform, laying back against the couch cushions in your t-shirt and underwear.

After a moment, you find your hand drifting down between your thighs, pressing your fingertips against the gusset of your panties. It's absolutely sodden. You sigh in defeat, sling one leg over the back of the sofa and push the gusset of your panties to one side, sliding your fingers inside yourself with a sigh, pressing your thumb to the hood of your clit and working in slow circles. With your free hand, you grab a pillow and press it over your mouth to muffle the soft moans that fall from your lips despite knowing that Bob is probably dead to the world right now.

You finish yourself off quickly; imagining it's his fingers buried inside you, his tongue drawing slow, languid circles around your clit. The only sound is the buzzing of the fridge in the kitchen and the soft whines you try to drown out behind the pillow pressed against your face.

As soon as you're done, you pull your underwear back on properly and collapse onto your side, huddling into the blankets, cheeks flaming with heat. You're a mess for him but he can't know that, even if the rest of the Dagger Squad does.

Finally, the sun rises and you pack up the blankets and pillows you'd used before pulling on your pants from the day before. You yawn and stretch before heading into the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot. Your stomach rumbles. After all, you haven't eaten since before the party last night.

Looking up, you check the clock above the fridge. About 10 am. Not too bad.

While rummaging around for the creamer, you stumble across a carton of eggs and a packet of bacon about to go out of date. Pulling them out, you grab a skillet from a nearby rack and set out to make some breakfast.

Upstairs, Bob rubs the sleep from his eyes and replaces his glasses, the glass of water from the night before thoroughly drained throughout the night. He pulls back the covers, swings his legs over the side and pulls on a t-shirt before heading to the bathroom. When he comes back out, he pads down the stairs, drawn toward the scent of bacon and eggs wafting from the kitchen.

You hum to yourself as you flip the bacon over, the eggs growing crispy around the edges but the centre staying soft and jammy. You notice Bob leaning against the doorframe out of the corner of your eye, staying quiet as he watches you work. It's domestic, comforting and you find yourself wishing you could do this for him every morning. Finally, you turn to face him and he smiles warmly. Thankfully, he doesn't seem hungover.

"Morning." He says softly, voice a little lower and scratchier from sleep.

"Morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Like a brick." He responds with a small smile, pushing away from the doorframe and walking further into the small kitchen. His voice drops to a more serious tone "Thanks for taking care of me last night. And for making breakfast." He pauses by the counter, looking at you appreciatively. "You didn't have to do all this."

"I know." You reply simply. He pauses before he quickly looks away, grabbing some plates and cutlery from the cupboards and drawers.

"Need any help?" He asks gruffly, setting the plates next to the stove.

"No, I'm nearly finished here." You turn off the heat and plate up the bacon and eggs before setting the empty skillet on the cool side of the stove. "Order up."

You carry the plates over to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. Bob digs in eagerly, making appreciative noises between bites. The food is simple but perfect; exactly what he needs after shifting a good amount of alcohol the night prior. You set a couple of mugs down on the table and pour the coffee before sitting down to tuck into your own breakfast, humming in satisfaction.

You eat in relative silence, stealing glances at each other over the rims of your coffee cups and between forkfuls of bacon and eggs. The morning light filtering through the window casts a warm glow over his features. He looks peaceful — content, even — sitting across from you, like this is something you do on the regular. You wish it was regular. You want these quiet mornings with him; sharing coffee in comforting silence, surrounded by the scent of fried eggs, the silence only broken by the soft chirping of birds outside.

"Thanks." He says again. "For everything."

"Really, it's fine." You laugh softly, clearing your plate and setting it to one side with your cutlery. He does the same, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip of coffee.

"Y'know, you're really good at this." He murmurs, the words half-muffled by his coffee cup. "Taking care of people, I mean."

"I try my best. Especially when I know it's someone who deserves it." You reply easily as if it's just common knowledge. Perhaps you said too much but it's early and the atmosphere is cloying; peaceful and almost romantic as it is. He stares at you for a moment before taking another sip of his coffee and sliding his plate under yours, putting his cutlery on top. "Bobby, you're a really good guy." You say, staring down into your coffee.

"You think so?" He asks and you nod. There's a pause before he clears his throat. "Would you— Can I— Can I tell you something?" You nod again, lifting your gaze to meet his as he mutters something under his breath. "Okay..." He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "I think you're amazing. And not just because of how you were on the mission or taking care of me last night or making breakfast..." He sets his coffee cup down, hands tapping restlessly on the side of the table. "I just think you're amazing. Just...as a person." You just stare at him for a moment before heat creeps along your cheeks and you smile widely.

"I think you're amazing too." He relaxes slightly, scrubbing a hand along his face, as you get up to take the dishes to the sink. When you cross the kitchen again, he's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"So... Hypothetically..." He starts, not daring to look up at you as he picks at a loose thread on his t-shirt. "If a guy hypothetically really liked you — like really, really liked you — what would he need to do?" You turn around to lean against the table, looking pensive.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "If he wanted to be with you, like, properly. Not just friends or whatever... What would he need to do to make you notice him? To make you...want him?" He asks, voice wavering slightly. There's a flutter in your chest as you stiffen slightly. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Don't fumble this—

"Well, he'd have to be smart and kind and compassionate and have a good sense of humour." You press your lips into a thin line as you think. "He'd have to be...a little awkward and be kind of bad at dancing but great at literally everything else." You pause and he moves forward slightly.

"And...what else?" He asks and you turn your head to look at him. He looks so open and vulnerable but not in the way he was last night. This is open and honest and completely aware. Suddenly, it dawns on you; he wants this just as much as you do.

"He'd have to be a WSO, he'd have to wear the dorkiest glasses I've ever seen in my life and...he'd have to be called Bob Floyd." His breath catches. "And if he wanted me to notice him, to want him, he'd just have to be himself and I'd be all his." He just stares at you owlishly as if he's finally come to the same realisation that you did just a few seconds before. You reach out to brush a couple of stray hairs out of his face. When he doesn't pull away you turn to face him fully before leaning down to press your lips to his in a gentle kiss.

The second you kiss him, he's done. Finished. Over. His heart is completely yours and he never wants it back. Your lips are soft and warm, just like your smile, and he parts his lips slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You take it; slowly inching your tongue into his mouth and tasting the bitterness of the coffee, moaning softly. God. You can't make that sound. His brain short-circuits. That one small, needy sound from you against his mouth has blood rushing south and he stands up, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

He lifts you onto the dining table and you loop your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Bobby..."

"Shh..." He whispers against your mouth, warm hands roaming your body, touching you like he's dreamed of doing a million times. He pulls back just long enough to take off his glasses and set them aside. Then he's kissing you again, deeper this time. It takes you by surprise. You never thought he could be this...passionate. You always figured, if you ever got this far, you'd be coaxing it out of him, bit by bit, encouraging him with little kisses and your fingers in his hair.

Instead, his hands are firm on your waist, tugging up your shirt just a little to feel the warmth and softness of your skin, as he kisses you like it's all he's ever wanted to do. It steals the breath from your lungs and it has confessions falling from your lips between deep, hungry kisses.

"You don't know...what last night...did to me..." You murmur breathlessly against his mouth and he groans, hands sliding under your shirt.

"Tell me." He's pushing your shirt up further and further, exposing more and more of your body to the golden sunlight gliding in through the open blinds.

"When you took off your shirt and...when you cam out of the shower and... And I saw so much of you... And I wanted all of it..." You manage. He's panting hard and you swear you can hear his heart hammering against his ribs.

"You wanted me?" He asks and you nod, running your hand down the centre of his chest, feeling the quick rise and fall of his breath.

"Mhmm... Once you fell asleep I had to... Had to come downstairs and...take care of myself..." You admit, heat rushing up your neck to spread across your cheeks. He stops for a moment before tugging your shirt off completely and sliding a hand into your hair, kissing you fiercely. You mirror the movement, clinging to him, as you kiss him back with a familiar hunger that roots itself between your legs.

He's losing his mind, control slipping. He steps between your legs, pressing closer, and you can feel him through his sweatpants. He feels perfect; pressing against your thigh desperately. "Bobby..." You move to whisper in his ear. "I need my mouth on you."

"Jesus." It comes out as a soft hiss. "You want to..."

"Please."

You— You don't have to..." He breathes but he's already reaching for the tie of his sweatpants. He wants you to. He wants you to want to.

You push him back gently so you can push off the table, guiding him back into his chair.

"I know I don't have to." You kneel on the worn linoleum between his feet, rubbing your hands along his thighs. He's straining desperately against the front of his sweatpants. "I want to." You tug at the tie of his sweatpants before curling your fingers into the waistband and tugging them down. He lifts his hips and you pull them down and off but, when you sit back to look at him—

Holy Mother of God.

"Wh-What...?" You just stare at him owlishly because, God, if that isn't the biggest cock you've ever seen in your life. Thick, throbbing, leaking... And you thought his body was slightly at odds with the personality of sweet, shy, wallflower Bob Floyd but this? This takes the cake.

"You never told me you had a..." You trail off, reaching up, struggling to wrap your fingers around the girth of the thing. It twitches, precum beading at the slit at even the slightest touch and rolling down the shaft.

"A what?" He asks hoarsely. He looks self-conscious but he has no reason to be. Your mouth waters as you feel him pulsing against your palm.

"Just...big..." Words fail you. His cheeks heat up and he swallows hard.

"You like it?" He asks tentatively and you nod slowly before rising higher on your knees.

"God, yes." No more words. You need to taste him.

You run the flat of your tongue from root to tip and a sharp intake of breath stutters in his throat.

"Ohh, my God..." His hands instinctively grab onto your hair but he doesn't pull, just resting there, as you lick along the underside of his shaft. When you reach the top, you swirl your tongue languidly around the head before taking it into your mouth. "Sh-Shit..." His head falls back against the chair with a soft thud.

He can't believe this is happening. He's jerked off a hundred times to the thought of you doing this but the reality is so much better; you, knelt between his legs, in his kitchen, sucking him off like you were born to do it.

You take more of him into your mouth, tentatively testing how much you can take. He groans lowly at the sensation of your tongue sliding along the underside, watching you with lidded eyes as his thick cock disappears between your lips. You press your head down until you feel the tip touch the back of your throat and you gag slightly before pulling away. You're panting, lips wet with saliva, and just watching you sends a shiver down his spine, toes curling against the lino. "Do that again... Please..." It's almost a beg and you can't deny him or yourself.

You lean back in, sliding down until it hits the back of your throat. Now you know how far you can take him, you cover the rest of his shaft with your hand, easing the slide with more spit as you work him over. His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, only to keep him tethered to the moment. He can feel every inch being worshipped by your greedy mouth and talented hands and his hips start to thrust upward involuntarily. "God, just like that..."

You fall into a steady rhythm, peering up at him through your lashes, and you feel another spurt of pre hit your tongue as he meets your gaze, completely mesmerised. It's almost embarrassingly clear how much you love having him in your mouth; his cock hot and thick and pulsing on your tongue. The wet sounds of your mouth and the sight of his cock sliding between your lips are driving him wild and he can feel that familiar feeling deep in his core. He gives your hair a gentle tug. "Hey..." You pull away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Mhm?"

"I'm...getting real close." He warns you, his voice strained with effort. "If you don't want me to...finish in your mouth, you should probably stop now." Still, his hips are flexing, desperately trying to fuck your hand. You take a moment to decide before flicking your tongue over the head and his hands fly to curl around the seat of his chair, nails digging into the wood. "God...! I mean it... I'm...really close..." He gives you one last warning.

"Do it." You tell him, dragging your tongue along the cleft at the underside of the head, still stroking along his shaft, your fingers slick and shining with a mix of precum and saliva.

That's all it takes.

With a deep groan that rumbles from deep in his diaphragm, he cums hard, his hips jerking uncontrollably as his eyes roll. You lean back to watch with satisfaction as thick shots of white spurt from his cock, making your hand slicker as you stroke him through his climax. "That's it, Bobby." You encourage him softly as he unloads onto your hands and his stomach. He's panting heavily, his body shaking, as the last few shots of cum ooze down his shaft. Your gentle praise and the feeling of your spit-slick hand only intensify the pleasure.

When he opens his eyes, he sees your face pressed against his inner thigh as you gently squeeze the base of his cock, gazing up at him adoringly. He runs a shaky hand through your hair, still trying to blink away the white spots dancing in front of his eyes. "That was... Holy shit... I..." You smile and press a kiss to his hipbone, nuzzling his thigh, as he tries to find words in the jumbled mess of his orgasm-addled brain. "You... Bedroom... Yes, bedroom." He manages breathily and you nod, getting up from the floor and letting him tug on his sweatpants again before you eagerly pull him upstairs.

On the way up to his bedroom, you pull off your jeans and underwear before collapsing onto his bed with an excited giggle. Bob quickly joins you; pulling off his shirt and stained sweatpants, his body hovering over yours. You bite your lip, running your hands appreciatively over his body as you sit up slightly to kiss him, finding warm, firm muscle under your palms. He deepens the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue and exploring your mouth hungrily. But, before he can get too lost in the moment, he pulls back, heavy breaths making his chest heave.

"Wait—"

"Mhm...?" He looks sheepish.

"I don't do this often so I— I-I don't really have condoms?" Your heart melts. "Do you still want me to..."

"I still want you to." You glance down to find him already hard again, running a fingertip down his abdomen and watching his cock throb eagerly. "I trust you to pull out." You tell him and he nods quickly.

"I'll pull out." He tells you, kissing you again before leaning back on his toes. "I promise, I'll pull out."

Large hands find your thighs, lifting them until your toes touch the headboard, essentially folding you in half and leaving you completely exposed to him. "God, you're so perfect..." He whispers under his breath, holding you in place as he lines himself up, his cock sliding deliciously against your aching, swollen pussy. "Look at me. Look at me." He urges and you lay your head back against the pillows as he slowly pushes in. He feels absolutely massive but it's not painful; just this pleasant, warm ache that seeps through your body as you stretch around him. You grab onto his biceps for support as his fingers wrap around your ankles, holding your legs up. You're so tight around him, it's almost unbearable. He can feel every swell and curve of your inner walls squeezing around him. Your brows knit as he sinks in deeper, your fingers squeezing his arms.

"B-Bobby!"

"God, it's so good..." His eyes drift shut as he tosses his head back, starting to move slowly, deliberately rocking his hips against yours. The position is just perfect; hitting all the right spots all at once with every deep, purposeful stroke.

Strong fingers dig into your ankles as he slowly starts to pick up the pace. "You like this?" He asks, sweat beading on his brow as he looks down at you. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a breathless whine. "Fuck, you're so tight..." He huffs through his nose as he targets that sweet spot inside you over and over, drawing these adorable, breathy whimpers from you. Your back arches, hands moving to claw at his broad shoulders.

"Please... Feel good... Feels so fucking good..." You pant out and he nods, his hips snapping forward. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he pounds into you, rutting against you desperately.

"I... I didn't know you'd be into..." He murmurs.

"Wh-What...?" "I didn't know you'd...like my... My dick so much..." He leans down, spreading your legs a little wider, as he kisses along your neck. His skin is warm and damp with sweat as he presses against you., his breath hot on your skin. You grin lopsidedly as tears of pleasure prick the corners of your eyes.

"I-I like them big..." You manage and that draws a low, near-animalistic sound from him as he drives into you with renewed vigour. The headboard bangs against the wall with each thrust.

"You like them big..." He repeats and you nod, whining as he hammers your sweet spot with pinpoint accuracy.

"Mmhmmm... I didn't...think you'd be so...big... O-Ohhh... It's so fucking good, Bobby..." You manage and he wraps your legs around his waist, coiling his arms under the small of your back, hugging you against him. His thrusts turn shallow but stay deep, your bodies pushed together from shoulder to hip. You hook your arms over his shoulders, nails raking red lines up his back.

Who would've thought that Bob Floyd — sweet, kind, nerdy, adorable Bobby Floyd — would fuck like an animal? You never expected it but, Christ, does it feel right.

You nuzzle his hair, breathing in the scent of him; yesterday's aftershave lingering on his skin, sweat breaking out all across his body. "Love having you like this..." You murmur in his ear and he nods.

"Mhmm... I love it too..." His thrusts grow slower but no less deep; each movement designed to draw out the pleasure, make it last. He stretches you out and fills you up perfectly, holding you through all of it, eagerly soaking up every moan, plea and whimper you give him. He's rubbing up against the deepest part of you now, the crown of his cock sliding perfectly against the swell of your cervix.

"B-Bobby... You can't...cum inside... You'll...knock me up..." You remind him and his arms tighten around you but he doesn't stop.

"I know... I'll pull out, promise..." But, even as he says it, he feels the heat mounting and he desperately wants to finish inside you. His hips keep rolling against yours in a deep, steady rhythm. You drag your nails across his shoulder blades, your body clenching down around him, throbbing around him rhythmically because, deep down, you'd love if he could cum inside you, leave his mark. But you can't take that risk.

He gives you a few more slow deep thrusts before pulling back to look at you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, face flushed. "Gonna pull out now, okay?" He pants out and you nod as he pulls out just in time, sandwiching his cock into the crook of your thigh and grinding against it until he cums, decorating your body with slick, white ribbons that ooze across your skin. You run your fingers through his hair as his orgasm hits, his arms clenching around you, hanging onto you for dear life.

Finally, his body goes slack. He's panting heavily, tilting his head up to claim your lips again in a soft, slow, lazy kiss. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you with him so you're lying on top of him. He's still semi-hard against your thigh but he's given you all he can for now so you sit up and sink back down onto him before curling up on top of him, enjoying the feeling of having his huge, softening cock nestled inside you. He lets out a low groan, gathering you up in his arms, fingers drawing idle patterns along the small of your back. "Gonna keep it in?" He asks softly and you look up at him.

"Is that okay?"

"More than okay." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Makes me feel close to you... Comfortable?" You nod and rub your nose against his.

"Mhm. You?"

"Perfect."

A soft silence settles over the room, almost jarring after the slamming and slapping and moaning from just a few moments ago. But you aren't complaining.

You card your fingers through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it away from his face.

"You wanna talk about what just happened?" You laugh softly before sobering. "And where we go from here?"

"Mhm." He hums thoughtfully. "You mean like the 'was this a one-time thing' talk? Or the 'do you regret it' talk?" His thumbs rub the small of your back soothingly.

"Both." He takes a breath and you feel his chest rise beneath you.

"It wasn't just a one-time thing for me." He says softly, his eyes searching yours. "I don't do this kind of thing lightly, y'know? I wanted you and I still want you. But, if you're not on the same page, that okay too. We can still just be...friends, if you want." God, he's too sweet for his own good sometimes.

"And you don't regret it?"

"God, no." He answers, arms tightening around you possessively. "Best sex of my life. No regrets here." He lifts a hand to play with your hair nervously. "Can I be honest?" You nod and he sighs heavily. "I think about you a lot. More than I should. Like you're in my head, under my skin. And I... I want to do this again. With you. Only you." He swallows hard, finally meeting your eyes again. "So where does that leave us?"

"Like friends with benefits or...?" You trail off and he makes a noncommittal sound.

"I mean, we could do that." He says slowly. "But, if I'm being completely honest, I don't want it to be just that? Friends with benefits implies casual and what we just did? It didn't feel casual to me." You cup his face and run your thumb along his cheekbone. "I like you. A lot." He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm. "But if that scares you off, I understand." Without a word, you lean forward, licking your way into his mouth, kissing him slow and lazy. When you break apart, you're both breathless.

"Honey, I've been wanting to ask you out for months. I just didn't know where to start." You admit and his eyes widen.

"Really?" A huge grin spreads across his face. "Why didn't you?" He laughs softly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. You find yourself laughing with him.

"According to the rest of the squad, I've been dropping hints left, right and centre and not even subtle ones at that!"

"In my defence, I thought you were just being friendly." He replies and you laugh softly against his lips. "So... Can we date? Please say yes."

"I'd like that a lot."

"Thank God." His arms squeeze tight around you. "Should I take you out properly sometime? Coffee, dinner, all that stuff?" He traces your bottom lip with his thumb.

"It'd be nice, yeah." You reply and he gives you that sweet, beaming, boyish grin.

"Then it's a date. How about tomorrow night? We can grab some dinner and maybe catch a movie if you're up for it?" You nod and ruffle his hair lightly.

"That sounds perfect. But first..." You roll your hips against his, a gentle reminder that he's been inside you for the better half of ten minutes. "Can we do that again?" He wets his lips and rolls you back over onto your back, leaning down to press kisses to your neck.

"Mhm. As many times as you want."

Bob's call sign may be just 'Bob' but, in your head, it's 'Tripod'. Sweet, shy Bobby 'Tripod' Floyd.

TAGLIST: @ingoldthewizard @judeval @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @starwarskawaii

[bambitek]

ALASTOR "DESKTOP BUDDY" SHIMEJI

I got beef with my boss (yes im roleplaying as a VoxTek employee rn) and Alastor stepped in to be the better man cough Shimeji cough out of the two uwaaa

Here is the DOWNLOAD LINK for the Radio Demon!!

Extract the file, make sure to read the "readme" file!

Only Windows, idk how mac or mobile works

The next basement captive I plan on releasing is..

this guy!!!

wait where did he go

buy me a ko-fi? perhamps?

[burningembers91]

Tennessee Whiskey - Kang Dae-Ho x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

A Voice Like Honey

Synopsis: When trouble breaks out at the bar, Kang Dae-Ho steps in to save you

A/N: I just want to give him a big hug 🥹

The bar was full to bursting tonight. There were so many people packed into the tiny space, you were having to turn people away. The sound of laughter, chatter and the ocassional smash as a patron dropped a glass on the tiled floor was almost deafening. But, as soon as you got up to sing, the whole room went silent. Every pair of eyes were trained on you, your golden honey voice, rich and warm, captivating your audience.

Kang Dae-Ho watched you from behind the bar as he polished a glass, mesmerised by your very essence. You were singing Fleetwood Mac covers tonight, and were halfway through his favourite song, Landslide when he noticed them. The group of tourists who had been steadily draining the bars supply of beer since early afternoon. They were pointing at you, making lewd gestures with their hands, sniggering to themselves as they watched you sing.

Dae-Ho gripped the glass in his hand tightly, so tightly he heard it crack. They’d been nothing but trouble since they turned up. Flirting with you, trying to get you to sit at their table with them. You took it in your stride though, never rising to the increasingly salacious comments. You were always so poised, so unfazed. Dae-Ho admired that about you.

Your set finished and you jumped down from the stage, heading back around the bar to join him.

“You sounded great,” his smiled, handing you a glass of water to soothe your parched throat. “You’ll be heard act to follow.”

“You’ll do great,” you reassured him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. Electricity shot through every atom of his body at your touch. He wondered if you knew just how crazy you drove him. “You have an incredible voice.”

Even in the dim light of the bar, you could see the heat rise through his cheeks. You loved making him blush; he always looked so handsome when he did.

As Dae-Ho mounted the stage, his eyes never left you. Each song he played was for you, every word dedicated to you. As his set progressed, the tourists got closer and closer to you. He could see them talking to you, could see you roll your eyes as they leaned on the bar, their eyes trained on your breast. He cut his set short, ignoring the girls who hung around the stage to wait for him. He made his way over to you, his anger rising, his fists balling. He’d learned enough English during his travels to know that nothing the men were saying to you was nice.

“I think you should leave,” Dae-Ho growled, hoping the shake in his voice wasn’t obvious. He hated confrontation, but he hated seeing you harassed even more.

“Why?” One of the tourists asked, his thick southern American accent slurred, evidence of just how inebriated he was. “I was simply offering to buy this beautiful lady a whiskey.”

“I don’t drink whiskey,” you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Dae-Ho could tell you were reaching the end of your tether with them.

“That’s probably cuz you ain’t never tried Tennessee whiskey,” the man winked, his beer scented breath hot on your face.

“Leave her alone.” Dae-Ho gritted his teeth, readying himself for a fight. He’d never fought anyone before, but for you he’d take on an entire army.

“Or what?” The man jabbed a thick finger into his chest, knocking him off balance.

“That’s enough!” You warned, but the men were too drunk to care. Without warning, his fist shot out, catching Dae-Ho square in the face. He stumbled back, falling into the crowd that had formed to watch the drama unfolding.

Dae-Ho tried to scramble to his feet, but there were too many people packed too closely together and he couldn’t move away fast enough. As a fist connected with his face again, he felt hands pulling him by the shoulders, dragging him away. Some of the crowd had clearly seen sense, breaking the fight up before it could escalate.

“Get out!” You snapped at the men, “get out before I call the police.”

You didn’t pay attention to their protestations, hurrying over to Dae-Ho.

“Let me have a look.” You checked his face over, his skin already red and swollen. “We need to ice your face. Can’t have you coming into work with a shiner.”

You took him into the back room, placing an ice pack his eye and jaw. He couldn’t look at you, too embarrassed to see your reaction. He couldn’t even save you from a bunch of drunks. He was nothing, a nobody.

“Those guys were pricks,” you told him, sensing his discomfort. You wished Dae-Ho could see himself the way you did. You wished he saw the funny, sensitive, talented and kind person he was. He always seemed to doubt himself, always seemed to be so unsure. But you could see how amazing he was, could see how much he cared for people, could see how much he cared for you.

“They were nothing more than jumped up cowboys,” you said, removing the ice pack to check his injuries. He’d definitely have a black eye tomorrow.

“Girls like cowboys though,” he mumbled, turning away from you. The shame was crushing, overwhelming.

“Not all girls,” you smiled. “I prefer musicians, who also double as a bartender.”

Dae-Ho looked up at you, momentarily forgetting the throbbing pain in his face.

“You do?” He asked, dumbstruck.

“Mhmm,” you smiled, pulling your stool a little closer to his. Brushing a stray lock of hair that had fallen from his bun, you traced a line down his check. “I like you, Dae-Ho. Very much.”

“Oh. Right.” He screamed at himself to think of something to say, something profound, maybe something sexy. But you always seemed to render him speechless. He’d spent a hundred nights imagining a hundred ways in which he’d tell you how you made him feel. But in this moment, he could only smile.

You’d said it yourself; you didn’t like cowboys, you liked him. Very much. As your lips met his, soft and slow, Dae-Ho was sure he’d never been happier. You tasted like you sang: like honey.

“Walk me home?” You asked, pressing another small kiss on his lips.

“Always,” he smiled. He would never tire of you. His beautiful bartender with a voice like golden honey.

[slvt4chrissturniolo]

NSFW bf!matt head cannons

authors note: I was wet writing these, now get to reading ! <3

no capitalization intended

<3 bf!matt whos... favorite thing to do to you is finger you till you feel overstimulated

matts fingers curled inside you, moving into you swiftly. he smirked when he saw your face, your eyes were shut, unable to open. matts other hand was circling your clit, abusing it. you were whining him to stop, it was too much.

"m- matt st- stop-"

"c'mon baby I know you can take it"

your juices were covering his arm, and soaking the sides of your thighs. you felt a knot in your stomach and a shift in your breathing. your head was pounding, and your pussy began to pulse around matts soaked fingers.

<3 bf!matt who... calls himself mattthemunch for a reason

you were laying on your back on the edge of the bed staring at matt, who was sucking on your throbbing clit on his knees. your juices were running down his chin, dripping, soaking into his face. his head moved right and left while flicking his tongue through your pussy. your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you yanked on his hair, so hard it hurt him, but that only drove him further. he wanted you to release all over his face, in his mouth, matt wanted your cum down his throat.

<3 bf!matt who... loves to fuck you slow and Intimately with music on

you and matt were in bed, entwined. the light from the TV playing music on it projected the most beautiful lighting, it hit matts jawline and hair just right. your arms and legs were wrapped him, and his hands from under you came in to caress your sides. it was all mindless affection, until you felt a need for him. matts playlist consisted of Mac Miller, Drake, Lil Skies, Malcom Todd, Frank Ocean, and many more. it was a playlist he'd put on while gaming or hanging out with you, you never thought it'd be playing while matts on top of you.

matts veiny cock was balls deep inside of you. he would pump in and out of your sloppy pussy slowly, taking his time, making sure you feel every inch of him. he leaned down and drew kisses all over your neck and shoulder, he wanted to be as close to you as he could. whimpers and low moans would escape from your mouth as his member twitched inside you, you stared into matts enchanted eyes while your bottom lip was stuffed between your teeth. through the sounds leaving your mouth, you could hear ivy by frank ocean playing softly. pleasure shot throughout you two while released all over his throbbing penis. the sight of the white, warm and wet ring left on him let him come crashing down. your mouth flew open as you felt cum shoot through you. your brain was fuzzy, it felt like the music stopped, like time itself stopped.

<3 bf!matt who... stops in empty parking lots because he couldn't keep his eyes on the road

matt was staring at you the whole drive home, or the so much he was able to drive. every red light and stop sign, matts eyes would drift over to you. it didn't take long before he turned the wheel into an empty, poorly lit parking lot. the two of you were scrambling for the button on your jeans, unzipping them and then pulling them down. after your undergarments were off you immediately straddled him, bouncing on his hard cock. your knees were red from all the movement, matts hands covers your ass, forcing you up and down his member. your mouth was right next to his ear, he was flooded with arousal from hearing your mouth rip out load moans.

<3 bf!matt who... teases you under tables in public

you were sitting next to matt at a small, busy dinner. you two were sitting across from nick and chris, but that wouldn't stop matt from keeping his hands off you. you were all in the middle of a captivating conversation, nick was expressing his hatred for a minor inconvenience while doing hand movements and crazy gestures, and you and Chris were red, wheezing, and falling from how hard you were laughing. meanwhile matt was zoned out staring at you, thinking of everything he'd wanna do to you. impulsively, matt brought his hand to your thigh. he warmed your thigh with his hand, tracing circles with his thumb. you didn't think anything of it, since this is normal for matt, until his fingers began to find them selves near your heat. you felt yourself turn red, and your hips squirm. he brought two fingers onto your clit, rubbing it through your clothes. your thighs clenched and a pool formed in your panties, and a smile formed on matts face when he found out. he loved being able to hold this power above you, he loved how his touch got you so worked up.

<3 bf!matt who... will do anything to make your cramps go away

you were straddled on matt, moving your hips back and forth with glossy eyes. your head was in his neck with his hand rubbing your back softly for comfort. you've always have gotten bad cramps on your period, but it was different this time. whimpers and sniffling was all matt could hear, he felt horrible. he really wished he could do more, he just wanted to end your pain. you found yourself dry humping him for pleasure. even through layers of clothes, you adored the feeling. you choked out words, trying your best not to break down.

"i- it hurts so b- bad matt"

"I know sweetheart, just relax f'me"

<3 bf!matt who... has a finger sucking kink

matt was pounding into your wet and sloppy pussy. your legs were digging into his hips, and your fingers clutched onto the bed sheets for support. you eyebrows were glued together and your mind was all fuzzy, your mouth was wide open, producing loud, pornagraphic moans. matt placed a hand to the right of your head and shoved the other hand in your mouth. you immediately shut your mouth when you felt his index and middle finger roam, and explore your mouth. he brushed his fingers throughout your teeth, cheeks, and the roof of your mouth. it turned him on so much, being able to control your volume. he loved how he can make you scream and beg, and then zip your lip to only let out whimpers. feeling your soft lips around his fingers drove him to insanity. feeling your spit coat his fingers as he wet further down your throat, making you gag brought him to his breaking point.

<3 bf!matt who... loves getting choked

matt was a dom, until it came to getting pinned under you. the room was poorly lit, and the two of you were practically glued to the bed. your hips were grinding back and forth while you stared into matts fucked out eyes. he was clenching his muscles, fingers gripping onto the bed sheets. pathetic. matt was acting pathetic, the way he was admiring you, obeying to your every word, and fully letting your dominate him. his hair was sticking to his forehead, his mouth was wide open, releasing little whimpers and moans without any guilt. his cock twitched inside you when you latched your fingers around his neck. you could see in his face, and you could feel it, he loved being your little toy. you gripped his neck tighter, feeling him swallow spit and his adams apple bob up and down. you released your harness, seeing a red hand print. you moved your hand to his hand, letting your fingers get lost in his messy brown locks.

<3 bf!matt who... enjoys his quiet time

you were sitting naked on matts lap, bitting you lip to not let out a noise. he was knuckles deep fingering your pussy. although matt was still fully dressed, he wanted to make you feel good. his left hand was circling your clit, while his left was shoving curled fingers in and out your pussy. he loved loud sex, pounding into you, hearing your screams, he wants everyone to know how good he makes you feel. but once in a while he enjoys nothing more than being curled up with his favorite girl, pleasing you as best as he could. he'd use his fingers, tounge, even toys to see that look on your face. your hands grip onto your tits, toying with your hardened, sensitive nipples. you're sitting there watching him work while he gives you little praises, the rooms never felt more comfortable. the only noise in the room his fingers driving through your wet pussy, and the occasional moan.

<3 bf!matt who... likes getting his balls played with

your glistening lips were puckered around matts big red tip with your right hand was pumping his hard cock. your left hand was kneading his balls, your fingers were working on his balls while you began to flick your tounge on his tip. you could feel how close he was, his balls were full of cum, you needed down your throat, you were aching for it to cover your mouth. you moved both your hands to pump his member up and down, focusing on placing pressure around his base. your plump lips latched onto his left ball, you swallowed it, your tounge lapping his soft skin. you sucked, putting on some tension. each time a hand comes up to his tip you swip your thumb around his slit, begging for his cum. you drooled, and let your spit drip all on his balls, coating them in your wet saliva.

taglist: @sophand4n4 @cherryjjam @iloveduckssm @megameatymatt

dividers by: @toastray

[hamzahsbiggestfan]

my favorite part

-lil morning sex blurb

warnings : fluff, established relationship, suggestive smut

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ

you were sat on the chair of your vanity, getting ready for the day until you felt a pair of hands rest on your shoulders. “so pretty” hamzah hums, adoration lacing his tone before placing gentle kisses all over your neck.

after you finished brushing your hair, you turn around, facing him. he traced your features with his gaze, a smirk playing on his lips, desire flickering in his eyes. “dont do that” you murmur, heat rising to your cheeks. “do what?” he knew exactly what he was doing.

he lifted you with ease, pulling you effortlessly from your chair, carrying you to your shared bed. your eyes locked as you lay on the bed, hamzah hovering above you, captivated by the delicate features of your face. “so…so fuckin’ beautiful” he teases, leaning down to close the distance between your lips.

he made his way to your neck, marking the sensitive spot beneath your ear which caused a soft noise to escape your mouth. his lips trailed slowly down your skin, the warmth of his breath sending shivers across your body. every gentle press of his mouth seemed to spark a new wave of heat as he continued to explore the curve of your neck, each kiss more deliberate than the last.

“h-hamzah” you softly gasp “yes, sweetheart?” he replies. “please..” you whisper, your voice full of desperation. “please what, baby?” he murmurs. “please fuck me” he wastes no time discarding his sweatpants, reaching towards the fabric of yours.

a/n: ok guys i have no idea how to write smut and i’m too embarrassed to so i’m gonna have to leave y’all on a cliffhanger here. my deepest apologies but i haven’t wrote a fic in a while so i hope u enjoyed this one