#this is way too long to be a drabble but idk

[illbegottenfaith]

the one where theo keeps trying to kiss you

a/n - just a short drabble based on this post! i LOVE a red lip so so much it idk if it has to do with me being a swiftie from a very young age but it is my fav thing ever it is SO tragic that it ages me too much for me to wear it regularly (i did wear it for the eras tour tho heheh)

tropes/warnings - fluff fluff fluff, established relationship, eepy reader, theo beefing with a cat

word count - 673

taglist - @kandralice @justme989898 @iamheretoread1234 @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @user089167

“What?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not the one who did that to you.”

The cat continued looking up at Theo accusatorially, her typically pure white fur now dotted with messy smudges of red lipstick. The two of them were standing in the dim corridor of your home, Theo having just arrived home from work, the cat having just escaped your overly loving and stifling embrace. Theo put his keys down on a table and sighed.

"Come on."

Seraphina yowled pitifully as Theo scooped her up and walked towards the bedroom, whose golden light was spilling into the corridor through the door cracked open. Theo walked in and deposited her onto your lap. He leaned in for a kiss, but your high-pitched cooing and babying had once again resumed. He watched, mildly amused.

"Had a good time, I take it?"

Regretfully, you pulled away from Seraphina. You were in bed, still in the dress you wore for your night out with your friends. From what Theo could tell, most of your makeup had been washed off, save for the bold red lipstick smudged on your mouth. You grinned, still lightly flushed from the alcohol. "The best." You absentmindedly scratched Seraphina's chin, who was starting to look much more content settled on your lap. "How was work?"

Theo sat at the edge of the bed, tugging at his shoelaces. "Alright. Long." He pulled off a shoe. "At least it's over."

"Aw. How long has it been since I've given you a kiss?"

Theo bit back a smile as he pulled his other shoe off. "Well, it's been a while, b - and you're talking to the cat. Of course you're talking to the cat. Why did I think you weren't talking to the cat?"

"Hm?" You looked up cluelessly from the fresh kiss you had just placed on a mildly squirmy Seraphina. Despite himself, Theo's irritation softened at the sight.

"Nothing." He leaned in for a kiss again, but you were too busy holding Seraphina up to notice, placing chaste kisses all over her face. Theo rolled his eyes and stood, changing out of his work clothes. By the time he returned, you were already half-asleep, eyes lidded as you dozed. He tapped your face. You stirred briefly, sluggishly batting his hand away.

"Don't you want to change into something more comfortable?"

You made a disgruntled sound of disagreement. "I've never been more c..." you trailed off. "Tired," you finally mumbled, rolling over to bury yourself deeper into your pillow. Theo lifted the covers to join you, only to find Seraphina happily curled up on his side of the bed, like she had no intention of budging.

"Seraphina," he started, trying his best to be nice.

She gave no indication of having heard him.

"That's my spot."

She blinked her pretty, sapphire blue eyes up at him unhelpfully.

Theo sighed, annoyed, moving to pick her up. Seraphina immediately dug her claws into the bed, glaring daggers at him.

"Oh, come on, Seraphina. I'm exhausted. Can't we do this tomorrow?"

She looked the other way, refusing to relent.

"This is my house. I don't see your name on the lease." Theo leaned in, doubling down. "I'm the one who buys your treats. Are you sure you want to cross me?"

"Quit it," you mumbled sleepily. "Both of you."

Immediately, Seraphina walked down the bed to curl up at your feet, as if she had been perfectly agreeable the entire evening. Theo scowled at her.

"Go to sleep," he told you, part annoyed and part embarrassed over having been caught arguing with a cat, and losing.

"I'm trying."

Theo got into bed, muttering under his breath as he turned out the light. He closed his eyes, feeling himself unwind to the sound of your slowed, even breathing. He was just about to drop off as well when you rolled over to face him, your voice cutting through the dark, whispered and saddened.

"No goodnight kiss?"

[houseofhyde]

Omg maybe a soft moment w manchild Bucky and reader where they are in bed slow touches talking about their feelings and how buckys been after her for so long and how she felt it too and omg.

Maybe not tho bc I might literally die of love resding it

signs in the silence. a manchild drabble.

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader. synopsis. fighting off sleep to scrape a little more time together, you interrogate bucky and find out all the things sam told him about you. warnings. mentions of smut/prior sexual activity, bickering, unlabeled relationship, reader being a sore loser (uno is hell on earth when you're losing), fluff, a tiny bit of angst. reader inclusivity. like a single mention of bucky brushing away an invisible strand of hair. wordcount. 2.7k (okay so maybe idk how to only write a drabble, sue me!) hyde's input. bestie, i saw your ask enter my inbox this evening and immediately started writing it, i swear i was possessed into finishing this in one sitting. ik it's not exactly what you asked for but i hope you enjoy reading it! (unedited, we die like real men)

Curtains dance in the wind like billowing ballgowns, lifting and dipping in the arms of the night. Past the window pane, rain reigns the streets below, staining everything beneath the stormy sky. Despite the weather and the ungodly hour, the city is still wide awake and, alongside it, so are you.

“You’re cheating!”

“How am I cheating?” There’s something unfair about how jaw-dropping Bucky still looks like this: cross-legged on the bed, wearing nothing but boxers and tired eyes, and clutching a two-card hand of colourful cards. If he hadn’t just condemned you to pick up twelve, you would reach over and steal a kiss. “I don’t even know the rules to this stupid game.”

“If it’s so stupid, why do you keep beating me?” You’re begrudgingly picking up your dues and struggling to hold the stack of cards in one hand.

As he tries to help you pick up a card that slips off the edge, you swat metal fingers away.

“Begginers luck,” the soldier shrugs, placing down his second last card. “Uno.”

Yellow Seven. Fuck.

“I actually hate you,” you groan, collapsing back against feather pillows.

“You’re holding half the deck, doll,” the ill-will you feel towards him in this moment aside, you can’t help the way your heart gives a little leap at that silly name of endearment. If feelings make fools, you’re leading the pack. “There’s no way you don’t have a playable card.”

Fingertips — flesh, warm and tender with their touch — slide up the back of your calf, hooking under your knee before attempting to tug you closer, down the bed, to where he sits by the edge. Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick your legs, shaking off his touch.

“I don’t wanna play with you any more,” between the yawn you’re fighting off and the pout that’s taken capture of your lips, you truly are a pitiful sight. The knowledge of this doesn’t stop you from throwing down your cards and making a run for it off the mattress.

Unfortunately, your roommate has the reflex skills of a ninja and, no sooner than your feet touch the ground, his arms grab you from behind and drag you into his lap.

“God you’re such a sore loser,” he mouths against the skin of your neck, trailing his lips over the kisses he already tattooed into your skin hours ago, when the sun was barely setting and he had you pressed against the walls of the shower.

“I am not!” Two fingers pinch at his arm. You quietly delight in the way it only makes him squeeze them tighter around you, biceps straining deliciously on either side of you.

“Are too!” His teeth clamp down on your earlobe, and you have to physically hold yourself back from grinding back into his lap, the burning outline of his semi-hard cock straining against navy fabric heavy on your mind. “Sam even warned me about it.”

Glancing at him from over your shoulder, you find his eyes already on you. It’s something you’re coming to learn about him, quietly and unaddressed, just how attentive of a man he is. “You seriously shouldn’t trust a word that man says. He’s an agent of chaos!”

“Hey, that’s Captain America you’re talking about,” this time, he’s pinching you and, when you squirm, he takes the opportunity to scoop an arm beneath your knees and lifts you both off the bed. “And, according to him, you once bit his sister during a game of Twister.”

“One time,” You hold up a single finger and Bucky leans his head forward to bite it. “And it was only after she nearly choked me!”

After guiding both your hands to grab on behind his neck, your soldier takes away the hand supporting your back and uses it to dust off the sheets. Cards go flying and float onto the ground, and not once does the neurotic voice, that lives in your mind and berates any disorganisation, tell you to care about the mess.

In what world could a mess on the floor be more important than the way Bucky slides you both back down atop the mattress, card-free sheets pooling over your skin as the soldier pulls you into him.

He closes his eyes for all of four seconds before you’re whispering across the pillows.

“What else did Sam warn you about me?”

Blue irises reappear, one by one, and you can see how exhaustion has stitched itself across his face. You feel a twinge of guilt, keeping him awake on a night like this, but you’re selfish and you want every extra second with him you can get.

“He said you were the most intelligent yet incapable person he’s ever met,” his legs bump against yours beneath the sheets as he shuffles a little closer. You meet him halfway, intertwining your limbs in a tangle that’s slowly growing familiar. “Nearly didn’t believe him… Then I saw you for the first time.”

“You two are real mean, you know that?” There is not an ounce of grit behind your voice, just pure unadulterated adoration that a more awake version of yourself would be doubled over, gagging at the sight of it. Stand up, girl! You can almost hear her — you — say. He’s literally just a man! “What was so incapable about me opening the door of my home to the needy, huh?”

The soldier takes capture of the hand you poke against his chest, leading it up the path to meet the soft press of his lips. This is another thing you’re learning, how constant he craves contact, a hand always at your back, or a shoulder bumping against your own, or a head buried in your neck, he’s a fiend for the feel of flesh.

“Who said that’s the first time I saw you?” He challenges.

“Oh.”

“It was months before that. Sam and I, we were hiding out at a black-market art gallery in Madripoor because of… well, that’s not important,” as if he feels the tension bubbling beneath your skin, he dances over the dangerous part of his life, the parts you don’t get to see, the parts that turn him into a single phone call for days on end. “You called Sam, one of those face-clock calls-”

“It’s facetime, grandpa,” you tease him with a smile, reward him with a press of your mouth down into his right shoulder.

“Whatever. Point is, there was a mirror behind him and that’s where I saw you,” vibranium cups its palm around your face and you turn into its touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he soothes your cheek. “You were crying, begging for help after smashing your shower door whilst trying to kill a spider.”

“I stand-by the fact that could have happened to anyone.”

“Darling, no it couldn’t,” his laughter shakes his chest and you. It makes you want to dive deeper into his touch, feel his next laugh erupt in your own chest. “No one else would be silly enough to throw a baseball bat at a spider the size of raindrops.”

“It was jumping! And I didn’t have any spray!” You turn away from his touch, only to nestle your face in the crevices of his collarbone. Despite the chill in the air, Bucky’s a furnace against you, sheltering you from the cold. “Tell me something else Sam said.”

“Hmm,” he pauses to think, his flesh arm curling around your back and rolling you into him. He smells like Bucky but, also, you, traces of your citrus bodywash staining him hours after you lathered him in it beneath the flowing waters of the shower. Something curls in your loins, possessive and satisfied with the claim you’ve made on his skin. “That you have an insatiable sweet tooth. Backed it up with a story where he had to pry you out a bakery after failing to get some promotion at work.”

“I still can’t believe they gave it to fucking Frank,” you huff, the bitterness still present on your tongue after all these years. “They ended up firing him within a year after realising that, beneath all that manly testosterone, he was incompetent.”

“Just your type, then?” The bastard muses, effortlessly blocking the hand that’s reaching for his nipple and pressing it flat against his chest instead. You feel his heart, beating a little stronger with each pulse, there's a magnet in your palm commanding it to break free from its ribcage and fly right into your hand. “Sam said you always wanted to learn to bake, but were too lazy.”

“Too busy,” you roll your eyes, though deep down there’s a truth in Sam’s claims. “Luckily, you’re a whizz in the kitchen. And I’m not just talking about when you bend me over the counter and threaten to use the spatula to spank-”

“Why do you think I wanted to learn to bake?”

Reminiscing on your salacious adventures together quickly stops, the moment you take a second to actually think about what he’s saying, what he’s not saying. You’re both good at this game, tip-toeing around a subject you both keep bringing to light yet never fully revealing. There’s excitement in the unsaid, in the quiet touches and unmentioned actions that hint at something you’re both too stubborn to address.

Tonight will not be the night either of you give in and fold.

“Tell me something else,” oh god, there’s a yawn caught in your throat. With difficulty, you swallow it down before the soldier can point it out.

“He never warned me you were so demanding,” you whine in protest into his skin and feel the dance of his hand running up and down your back, an apology that seeps through skin and into your spine. “But he did mention you have awful taste in men.”

The hand on your back slips lower, pressing dimples into the skin at the base of your spine as you push yourself off his chest and come face to face with him. The moonlight is forgiving tonight, granting you the pretty view of his illuminated features. The fondness in his eyes, the curve of his lips, the wrinkles beginning to threaten stains upon his skin, the scars you’ve yet to ask about.

For every imperfection and every inch of adoration, he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

Something tugs at your heart.

“The worst taste,” you murmur, bringing your lips down to meet Bucky’s in a kiss that has him exhaling with relief and gripping at your skin tighter.

“Yeah?” He mumbles, stealing the air you exhale. “Tell me, what kind of man merits your attention?”

“The kind who works out every muscle but his brain,” you drag your lips over his jaw, relishing in the scrape of his stubble.

“Hey, I read!” Finally, it’s his turn to feel the sting of offense.

“Typical man, making everything about himself,” you settle back down against his chest, ear pressing close enough to where you can hear the thunder of his heart. “This is about my dream man, Buck, not you.”

“Didn’t you call me your dream man last time I ate your-”

“Anyway, I like the kind of man who listens to both my problems and my complaints, and then does whatever he can to fix things without pressuring me.” Flashback to last week, when you complained about the strap of your bag snapping half-way home only to awaken the next morning to it all stitched perfectly back together.

“You like the considerate kind then,” he whispers, and you swear you hear a twinge of nervousness on his tongue.

“And the kind who makes me feel beautiful with just a single glance at me,” exhibit A stares down at you right now, a shine in his eyes that makes you want to swoon.

“That must be any man,” he brushes a nonexistent hair off your forehead, “I mean, look at you.”

“I also like the kind of man that chases me, even when I’m too focused on what’s ahead to glance back and notice him,” there’s a strange squeeze in your throat as you swallow down a breath, thinking back on all the hints of longing he may have dropped that you’ll never know about.

“That man would still chase you, even if you never looked back,” the way he’s speaking to you and touching you, like you’re a rose petal threatening to fall off its stem, is not helping the lump in your throat. “In case you stumbled and needed someone to break your fall.”

That does you in, sends the first tear falling off your eyelash and landing on his naked chest, while you muster a quiet, “I like the kind of man who calls.”

His hands don’t freeze, and no part of him jumps with shock. Instead, his chest deflates with resignation.

“You know about the mission,” it’s not a question.

It doesn’t need to be, he already knows the answer.

“How?” This, however, is a question he needs to ask.

You shrug into him, refusing to give in to his search for your face as you focus on hiding it in the warmth of his skin, hidden from the look on his face you’re too afraid to confront. “Something just felt… different when I woke up.”

“Like what?” It’s not an accusatory thing, just a simple search for answers from a man who’s trying his best to keep you from falling apart against him.

“Well, you woke me up with your head between my legs-”

“What’s different about that? I did the same on Tuesday, too.

“And then brought me breakfast in bed.”

“You feed me, I feed you, that’s how a-” he doesn’t quite say the R word, but you feel it, in the way he seers a kiss onto the crown of your head, “Is supposed to work.”

“Then there was the three course meal waiting for me when I came home from work,” you still remember the way your heart was stuck between soaring at the sight of him setting the table as you walked into the apartment, and sinking with realisation that your suspicions were definitely true. “If all that wasn’t enough, I could tell from your touch.”

“My touch?”

“It was like… you were trying to memorise me. Not just when we were in the shower, but each time you took my hand across the table and brushed over my shoulder before clearing our plates,” you feel him sinking his fingers over your flesh, a soft squeeze at your hip. “Even now, it’s like you’re trying to hold onto me because you know you have to let go.”

“I just…” He sighs with defeat, not helping his case when he lays another kiss against your head. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“That’s okay,” you lie, for both of your sakes. “It’s not like you’ve not left to go help Sam before.”

“This isn’t before,” you both hate and adore him for the firmness he puts into the statement. “Before was different, we weren’t us.”

As much as this aches, ripping your chest apart to carve out your heart with the bitter truth of Bucky’s life as a hero catching up to whatever safe haven you two have locked yourselves away in, you’ll happily take the pain, the lump in your throat, all of it. There’s no price too high to pay to have this moment, laying in Bucky’s arms and pretending there’s no one in the city but you two, fighting off sleep for a moment more of each other’s presence and leaving fingerprint evidence of one another on your skins.

“You’ll be gone by the time I wake up,” you could get mad at him for not telling you, for the chance he almost took at leaving you another measly note on the fridge. But all you feel is the mutual ache of wanting to put off the inevitable, just a little longer. “Won’t you?”

You feel him nod, feel him squeeze his arms around you tighter, feel your heartbeats start to sync as sleep slowly guides you away from his loving gaze.

“I promise I won’t miss a single call, doll.”

[sinsxo]

excuse me. —blue lock

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro.

synopsis. you were checking yourself out in the mirror, completely unaware that they were also waiting to use it.

note. idk guys i’m in a writing slump

cw. drabble, lighthearted fic.

wc. 0.7k words, not proofread.

context:

the fitting room at this clothing store was ridiculously far away, a long walk from the section with good clothes.

isagi yoichi ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

he spots the mirror from across the aisle and beelines for it, hoodie in hand, ready to see if the color suits him. but then, you’re already there.

you were checking yourself out, not even a single piece of clothing in hand. turning side to side. tugging your own shirt up slightly to see how it falls on your waist. he stops dead in his tracks like he just walked into a crime scene.

“oh, sorry. you go ahead!” he said, way too politely.

you glance at him through the mirror.

“it’s okay, you can use it.”

“no! it’s fine! take your time! you were here first!” he says, way too fast.

you pull him by the arm to the mirror.

“it’s big enough for us both,” you say, resuming your inspection like nothing happened.

he panics for half a second, but then holds up the hoodie to see how it fits on him. he looked unsure and awkward.

“that looks good!” you said, giving him a thumbs up. “the design suits you.”

“really? i’ll get this one then,” he smiles. “thank you!”

he leaves with the hoodie and a brain permanently engraved with the moment your hand touched his arm.

itoshi rin ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

you’re trying to figure out a million ways to style the piece of clothing you’re holding, too concentrated to notice anything else.

rin is already standing behind you. has been for like a full minute.

he’s holding a jacket, one hand in his pocket, and staring directly into the mirror like he’s trying to set it on fire. it’s not intentional. he just looks naturally pissed off at all times.

you finally catch his eyes through the mirror, and got a little surprised.

“...do you wanna use it?”

“not in a rush.”

“you’ve been standing there for a while. we can share.”

“it’s fine.” he said, politely gesturing for you to continue.

you move to the side, making space for him, but he doesn’t move.

“...you can use it now,” you say, maybe a little bit intimidated by his stare.

he exhales. “thank you.”

then steps forward exactly half an inch. still unintentionally glaring. still scowling. still terrifying. you eventually leave him there in front of the mirror like a mirror demon.

itoshi sae ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

you’re holding a pair of jeans up to your legs, trying to imagine the fit, when he appears beside you. not behind you. not waiting politely. just there.

he’s holding up a puffer jacket, already looking into the mirror like you don’t exist.

you pause. blink.

“…hello?” you say, eyebrow raised.

you knew it was a public mirror, but an “excuse me” would’ve been appreciated.

“you’re not using the top half,” he says casually.

“…what?”

he gestures lazily. “you’re looking at your pants. i’m looking at the jacket. we can share.”

you don’t even know how to argue with that level of entitlement.

you stare at him.

“...right. obviously.”

you both looked at your reflections for a while.

“those don’t look that good,” he says, nodding at the jeans.

“neither does that jacket,” you reply.

he huffs a dry response, “okay.”

you go back to comparing colours and he was right, it didn’t look that good. he frowns at the jacket again. it really didn’t look good either.

“do these mirrors make everyone look weird, or just me?” he mutters.

you shrug. “probably just you.”

he turns, finally catching your eye in the mirror.

“you done?” you ask.

“no.”

after a moment of silence, you both walked away at the same time. it’s not friendly. it’s not hostile. it’s something in between, and way more interesting than it should’ve been.

nagi seishiro ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

he’s behind you. not quietly. he’s leaning against a nearby rack, yawning loudly like he’s seconds away from falling asleep.

he’s holding a hoodie by the hanger, looking like he wandered into the store by accident.

you’re too focused on checking your reflection to notice. until…

“wonder how long this’ll take…” he mumbles.

you turn. he’s looking straight at you. or past you. hard to tell with half-lidded eyes.

“oh— were you waiting?”

“…mm. maybe.”

“you can use it.”

he yawns again. “nah. too far. i’ll just ask. does this look good?”

he holds up the hoodie, barely even lifting his arm.

you stare. “...it’s fine.”

“cool.” he tosses it over his shoulder like that’s all the confirmation he needs.

he doesn’t even try it on.

did he come here to shop or nap?

you’ll never know.

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[ghoulishhx]

i yeaaarnnn to be ‘used’ by frank whenever he wants to. he’d suddenly bend me over and just fuck me roughly while being degrading obvy😩

this. yes. absolutely yes. omg

also I'm so sorry for disappearing on you all, I'm gonna keep it real I completely crashed and burned with my mental health. a lot has happened in my personal life these past few weeks that have exhausted me to fuck so I needed some time to focus on myself. I'm gonna try get back to my regular posting. thank you for your patience ♡

in happier news though, tomorrow is my birthdayyyyyy :3 so enjoy this tiny lil drabble as a lil present

- MDNI below the cut :3 -

I believe frank is like a feral dog when it comes to his girl. watching you do anything domestic makes his monkey brain go crazy and he just needs you right there and then. the feeling is mutual of course, and you're more than happy to oblige.

maybe he watches you in the kitchen, hair up out of your face wearing nothing but a thin short summer dress because of the scorching heat (absolutely taking inspiration for that from the state of the UK rn in this godforsaken heatwave), you're just minding your business washing dishes and you feel frank coming up behind you, trailing his coarse hands along your front, grabbing and squeezing at your soft breasts deliciously peaking through the top of your dress as he trails his lips down your neck, nibbling the skin.

"frankie- what are you doing? aren't you too warm-"

"don't care, need ya now."

he flips you around and bends you over your kitchen table, hiking your dress up above your hips and exposing your dripping cunt to him. he hums appreciatively as he toys your throbbing clit with his calloused thumb between your legs, collecting your slick and coating his cock in your juice. you can't help but jolt into his touch, your body subconsciously opening yourself up to him.

your eyes roll to the back of your head as he pushes himself fully inside and begins a punishing pace. your eyes well with tears by the force of his hips, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room along with your strangled moans. the sting of him stretching you out only floods his cock more.

"feel so fuckin' good doll, always so perfect and tight f'me" he mutters to himself as he slaps your ass, the sting hurting so good as the tip of his cock touches your cervix. it's not long until you're creaming around his member, covering him with a ring of your arousal at the base before he fills you up with his own seed....

or maybe you're in the shower, humming the melody to your favourite song as you look up and notice him standing and staring at you from the doorway, his hand confidently resting on his large bulge in his jeans as he watches you intently. Frank can't help but practically lick his lips at the sight of your hard nipples, the way the water cascades down your figure, the soap coating your body with delicious bubbles. it's not long before hes stripping himself off and taking you up against the cool tile wall of your shower, wrapping your legs around his hips as he thrusts himself up into you.

"couldn't help m'self sweetheart, ya just looked too damn good..." he mumbles into your neck as he sucks purple bruises all over you, marking you. "you dunno what ya do t'me"

or finally, you're out together at a bar and he watches the bar tender look at you for too long, notices the way his eyes leer over your body as he hands you your vodka cranberry. the way his lips curl into a smile as your fingers graze his as he hands over your drink. Frank can't take it anymore, he slams a 50 dollar bill on the table and grabs your wrist, whisking you away to the nearest bathroom and fucks your brains out in earshot of the bartender, making sure he knows you belong to him and only him.

"that's it baby, let it all out. let everyone know who's making ya feel this good. let everyone know who ya belong to"

a/n: idk if this is any good, just something I cooked up while not being able to sleep. I'm sorry if it's mid </3

[blackjackkent]

what do you think wouldve happened in an alternate universe where hector let karlach become a mind flayer?

(A/N after writing this whole answer: whoops, this got out of hand, hope you're okay with an Unexpected Fic. XD Also maybe a smidge weird/dark at the end, although not a ton I hope? Certainly no more than the whole game is weird/dark. XD Anyway I hope you enjoy. <3 )

Ohhhhhhhhh.

Anon, I love you for asking me this question. <3 A very intriguing one!

And it is because I love you for asking me this question that I have braved looking up a video of Karlach actually becoming a mind flayer, which I had put off doing because I am a softheart and I knew it would hurt and also make Hector yell in my head. XD And when Hector yells in my head it's a whole thing because he does double Flurry of Blows against the inside of my skull for 140damage and it's rough enough in there already.

However! I have now watched it and done some thinks. (Hot damn, Lae'zel is MAD too, at least in the version of the scene I watched. The whole thing is very upsetting.)

Fundamentally it would be a tragedy, and not just for Karlach. Watching the way the scenes play out - there is just enough of Karlach in her speech that Hector would not want to disconnect from her. I think perhaps it touches on the same hope that kept him expecting a miracle for her heart right up until the end of the game - somehow, somehow we can make this work, somehow we will find a way...

But there is no way. This is who she is now, a creature of the Astral Sea with his love's voice and an empty place where her soul should be. And unlike the engine situation he can't even kiss her to make himself feel better because she looks like a squid.

-----

The one saving grace is, I suppose, she does seem happy enough. In the epilogue, she states that she has found a way to get brains to eat by consuming from terminally ill patients at a clinic in Baldur's Gate, people who have volunteered for the process because they are about to die anyway. And she talks about helping all of them live on by absorbing their memories and carrying them with her.

It's... sweet, in a way, Hector supposes.

He tries to keep busy. There's no battle in Avernus to occupy him in this timeline, so he primarily works with Jaheira and her kids on rebuilding. It's hard, physical work; it keeps his mind occupied. At first he sleeps at the Elfsong; later, after some nudging from Rion, Jaheira offers him lodging at her home, where he takes a hand in raising the latest crop of orphan children she is protecting. He sees Baldur's Gate start to bandage its wounds and begins to believe there was some purpose to all his struggle.

But his own wounds do not heal so easily.

He visits the clinic often. He and Karlach talk. Her voice is a slow near-monotone in her accent, unlike anything he ever heard from her before. Sometimes he can hear a twinge of her humor or a turn or phrase, and his heart leaps... but other times she speaks of things like destiny and infinite time in a way that reminds him more of the Emperor than the woman he loves.

She never laughs. She doesn't curse. There is never even the slightest mention of sex; though she still fully understands a double entendre when he makes one experimentally, she seems to take no interest in it. She seems to exist slightly beyond him, with a view of the world that is no longer of the Material Plane.

And yet... she does know him. She remembers everything - stories he told her of his childhood in the monastery, details of Selunite rituals she learned from him, quiet moments in camp he half-forgot himself. She still calls him Soldier, and sometimes Hec. She remembers her own parents; she remembers the city. There is just enough of her still in there... just enough for it to squeeze his heart.

----

One day she walks (well, floats) with him to the Singing Lute; she sits with him while he eats. They talk about the rebuilding; he points out from the balcony some of the new homes he has worked on. She is quiet for a long time. "It is good to see the place begin to live again," she says, in that strange cool slow voice that has replaced the old jocular drawl. "It's what it was all for."

He nods. "Do you regret it? Any of it?" Do you remember what we had? What we've lost?

"How could I, Soldier? The city still lives. You still live." A long pause. The old Karlach might have laughed sardonically, but there is no humor. "Even I still live, and I have grown beyond myself. What is there to regret?"

It sits like a rock in his stomach. If she is content, what more can he ask for? And yet it hurts... it hurts...

-----

Jaheira notices that he begins to withdraw back into himself, that he is quieter and more serious. She mentions it to Gale, on one of his visits to the city from Waterdeep.

"You're not wrong there," Gale agrees. "You weren't around yet, when we knew him fresh off the nautiloid. He was much more careful, then. Very controlled. The very picture of monastic stoicism - in between the panicked realization that we were all undergoing a supreme nightmare that never ended, of course. He lightened up, over the months - certainly by the time you knew him."

Jaheira purses her lips. "And this... he is returning to his old ways, you believe?"

"I don't think it would be unreasonable to assume," Gale says, with a sort of bleak humor, "that Karlach is no longer providing the same amount of compensatory levity that she used to."

-----

In the end, almost two years later, Lae'zel is the only one who speaks to him of it directly, and she is brutal - but effective.

"You have been hollowed out, she'lak," she says bluntly, on one of her rare visits from the Astral Plane. "It is a lessening of you. Do you still trail after your ghaik as if bound to her by a lead?"

"I have done much in the city since you left," Hector says, somewhat defensively.

"Chk. I do not speak of your body's business, k'chakhi. I speak of your mind. Your heart. You have lost yourself. You live only for others."

"As I was raised to do. As I have always done."

"Hector." She rarely speaks his name directly, but she does now, and it makes him jump. "You know of what I speak, and I will not have you ignore it. Your work in the city is admirable. You have cause for pride and contentment. Yet you pine after Karlach as if you hope to find her in the shell wearing her voice."

"She's still in there, Lae'zel."

"You mislead yourself," she spits. "Was it not you who taught me the strength to look beyond mindless devotion?"

That stings, and unconsciously he stands up a little straighter. "This is not mindless. It has been earned," he objects.

"Tas'ki. She is ghaik," Lae'zel says flatly. "What remains of her will dwindle, day by day. You know this as well as I." A pause. Then her eyes soften, and her voice with it. "You do not honor her sacrifice by this emptiness, Hector. Nor do you honor yourself."

He says nothing. His lips draw into a tight line. He hears her, and he does not want to.

"Think on what I tell you," she says - for all the world, now, as if she is the wise mentor and he the student in need of guidance. "You are no fool. You know I speak truth. Do not discount it."

-----

It takes a long time, but he does eventually start to come back to himself. Ten years. Twenty years. He grows old, though he loses none of his strength, his training too ingrained to allow him to weaken with age. The city reforms, stronger than ever, and he slowly begins to learn what life is, outside of both monastery and war.

He teaches self-defense to the children Jaheira rescues and others in the Lower City. He learns to (very badly) play a lute at Alfira's school. He tries his hand as a woodworker after so much carpentry work in the rebuilding of the Gate; one day, with some pride, he gifts Halsin a raggedly carved owl in return for the duck. He travels with Shadowheart several times to the House of the Moon in Waterdeep, reaffirming his faith in the light that has guided him through so much darkness.

And he reads voraciously. Everything he can get his hands on, from every library in the city. There is far more knowledge in the world, he comes to learn, than the particular cache with which he grew up.

He visits Karlach less, over time. And Lae'zel was right - there is less and less left of her each time he sees her. She is drifting away from him. And slowly he comes to terms with that - that what they had was a wonderful thing and a fleeting thing that will never come back to him. He learns to live for them both, for the life she would have had with him, had there been time.

He does not love again, though. He lived his whole life devoid of romance before he knew her, and he has little interest in trying to find it again in the years that remain to him.

For the most part, he moves on, and eventually finds himself relatively happy. But there is one last concession to sentimentality and to everything he has lost.

-----

On one bright, cold afternoon in mid-autumn, many years after the Netherbrain has faded into a bleak memory, he goes to the clinic. She is there, much as she always is; she has not seemed to age much in all these years, though the tentacles are slightly longer, a bit more nuanced in their movement.

He, though, is old; the grey dappling in his hair and beard has faded to white. His body acts as strong as ever, but time is implacable; he knows, as she once did, that he has very little left. It is a strange thing - a weakness of spirit rather than flesh, old age's deeper destruction that even the most disciplined monk cannot stave off forever. He is not dying, but he would be dead soon, likely within a few tendays.

"Hector," she says, flat and cool and almost unrecognizable, and inclines her head at him slightly. "You have settled everything?"

"Everything," he says quietly.

"You are still certain it is time?"

"Yes."

"Then we will begin." She gestures him to a secluded corner of the clinic, with a comfortable chair set up for the purpose. He settles himself there and looks up at the clinic's cracked stone ceiling and waits.

"It has been a good life," he comments, as much to himself as to her, as he waits for her to approach. "Lae'zel was right, that I had to move on. I have done much, seen much. I am proud of what we achieved - all of us."

There's a long, expectant silence. Then he leans his head back, closes his eyes. "I never stopped loving you, you know," he adds softly.

"I know," she answers, and her jaws sink into his skull.

[captainsweet]

Thinking about just dropping random drabbles here so I can put them somewhere because I don't think they're good enough to be official stories. They won't make much sense, but they'll be there.

[wiedzmacienia]

Would you rather give up your magic to live a normal life, or keep your magic and never hold any genuine human connections? (There's no anon option, so I guess I have to be called out lol.)

eyes narrow in the light of the campfire, wood crackling and heat meeting her skin that's made it crawl for centuries yet she can not move with the young boy who's head lays on her lap having fallen asleep (she imagined she'd have to carry him back to his tent at some point). maybe she shouldn't have come here, even if the knightley boys had asked her to when she'd been to see beth. they'd found a few soldiers they'd felt able to confide in about themselves, soldiers who seemed to accept them once one of them had used his powers to save the other, and it's from this that such a question has been brought forth. she knows it is not out of malice and yet, it still awakens something deep within her. a memory she's locked away for ages in the depths of her soul. maybe they think her standoffish because she is so much less open than the boys. but she can not afford to be like them when she must direct her forces by the day. these boys were young. too young and had yet to truly understand the world even if they were serving in an army now let alone understand magic or it's role in the world.

there was one day, no, a mere few hours within her life that katarzyna had wished she could have shed her magic from her body and lived a so called normal life. that she could have been as human as the rest of her village. the moment men who had been smiling at the children just the day before entered their home with violence and tore her and her brother from their beds, binding them and dragging them outside. when she had screamed for her brother as wooden posts had been erected. there had been no trial or recourse. no amount of pleading for their lives had halted them from being beaten for speaking the foul words of creatures they'd said. it had been them who had brought the plague upon them they believed. yet was it not the twins whom only sought to save an elderly woman from the pain of such plague? fires had been lit and pain seared their bodies and in those moments she wished they could have been anything but what they were. for to have been born as such had been their death sentence.

but then they had been reborn from the ashes and her whole world view had been shaken. her parents had given of themselves to bring them back and she no longer saw her power as something to shy away from. her parents had believed in magic. had believed in the worth of her and her brother and what they could bring to the world. and she vowed to never seek to be anything but what she was again.

to never be weak and powerless again.

greenish-blue hues move over the fire and meet the human speaking to her. was she not making a human connection now? perhaps once she believed being what she was separated her from the human world. perhaps in the respect that she lived longer than humans it did. but this war and the people she had begun to meet made her begin to question such. maybe making connections with humans wasn't about how long you knew them or preventing one's self from becoming close because of the eventual loss but the value of the time spent with them. no, she did not think having magic equated to a lack of forming human connections, genuine ones. not if she didn't allow it to.

after all, while it had never been the intention, she cared for-- no, she could acknowledge it was more than that now as she ran her hand through the young boy's curls, she held a motherly love for auggie in a way she had never believed she could possess before-- and tended to the human child more often than not these days. sometimes the intensity of which she believed she would protect the boy scared even her for if there was a choice between him and someone else, she held no doubt of what she would choose even if it could mean burning the world in the process. but did her love toward the boy not equate to a genuine connection? and was her magic not the very thing which could allow her to protect him? was such love not a normal part of life?

"why can i not have both?" she questions, gaze drifting over the man's shoulder to see the major approaching. ah, perhaps she would not have to carry auggie back to his tent herself after all. still, she continues, looking back at the questioning soldier without care for the major hearing her words, for they were truth and she would not deny her connection to the boy at this point even if she has no idea what it would look like once this war was done.

"is there some book of rules which state i can not have magic and hold connections with humans who i love? that i can not still have something of a normal life with them?" and with that she looks down upon auggie and begins to shift him gently without waking him, picking him up so that his head falls to her shoulder. strangely, the heat of the campfire seems to affect her less, a different kind of warmth washing over her as she raises from their perch on the log and moves to meet tallmadge. "come to collect the little terror? i think him, cora, and furgus just about defeated half the soldiers in camp charging them while wearing your helmet today."

@honorhearted

[idk-i-want-mcl-content]

lalisa can u teach me japanese i said hai hai

[starry-sophrosyne]

Referring to this post:

@crashingstar69 - just for you XD /j -- I had this rotting my inbox for WEEKS and now i've come back to it, just for my own purposes.. XD

1st post of this little rabbithole of mine, which is a spin off of my wotc timeskip au (spun off of pen's wotc fic) and is a three-parter, the intial post about it is here ( ´﹀` )

(also this became so fucking long bc i tried adding a little more analysis from Crashing's pov and it spiraled WAY out of control to become an entire/in-depth view of Cherie's experience and development after Mon Cheroi's marriage from Crashing's pov, I plan to reblog this post with it like I did for my TTOS King Of Soph drabble but I genuinely HATE the way I have the second "part" worded so idk when ill post it-)

Despite being one of the queen's personal maids, Crash found themself seeking regular work whenever they had nothing to do, rather than standing idle. They had simply been going through the unused rooms, to clean them up and lighten up the castle, when they noticed something special. This crystal blue glass, in particular, had always caught their eye, even from their previous rounds of cleaning in the past months. It was one of the only gifts the King Of Skill had kept from Cherie's family's extensive dowry after they had married. It sat in a display case of an unused study, collecting dust but still glimmering in the far-away light of the window.

After opening the cabinet to clean the contents inside, they paused, before setting the feather duster aside, and taking the glass out the case. Rotating the glass by it's stem, they stared at their reflection in it's triangular basin. The faint layer of grey dust upon it coated their fingertips, peeling off of the crystal. It was.. just as mocking as ever.

Crash's hands shook as their grip on the glass tightened, squeezing its base; but the durable crystal held steady despite feeling so delicate, digging the circular bottom into their palms. It was something so beautiful, left forgotten, cast out of memory rather than admired, left to rot out of sight; It's true beauty was unable to be seen by anyone. It was a painful parallel, to the king and queen's relationship. How could the king, who had everything given to him on a silver platter, disregard his wife, the queen, the way he did? No, how could he disregard Cherie like that?

They became enraged thinking about it again; Gritting their teeth together, they settled for barely nipping the flesh of their inner lip with their own teeth. Calm and collected, composure was such of the title that needed to be upheld as one of the queen's personal maids, no matter the personal grievances.

"Interested in that piece, I see?"

"!!" Crashing jumped at the sudden voice with a startled yelp. The fright was enough to make the glass slip from Crashing's grasp, causing them to panic as they then made various cartoonish grabs at it, practically falling over in the process, before finally catching it with a desperate final swipe.

Crashing let out a sigh of relief, steadying themselves as the sudden adrenaline began to fade away, heart still pounding in their chest. They slowly turned around, only to see Cherie, standing what would've been right over their shoulder. Despite having been there the whole time, they had only just now noticed her presence, and the suddenness of said realization along with their unsettled nerves caused them to panic again. Crash let out another screech, but just as quickly, cut themself off, managing to compose themselves once they had realized who it was past the sudden shock. Erratic heartbeat hammering in their ears, as they stammered:

"Ah, m-my lady!- You scared me!-"

Cherie barely held back a giggle from Crashing's reaction, a soft exhale coming from her nose instead as she tried to suppress the involuntary smile that spread across her face, reaching forward to take the glass from their hands: "This glass was the work of an artisan from the TCNation. Supposedly she lives far into the snowy mountains, in a place almost entirely unaccessible. It's said those mountains are carved peaks of crystal themselves, although, I doubt that."

As she continued, she twirled the glass around by it's stem. She didn't look up at Crash while doing so, seemingly fixated on her a specific part of appearance in the glass, and yet, her gaze seemed vacant: "And they say the carver was a lady too! Could you imagine that? A woman all alone way up in the mountains, working away at timeless crystal?"

The idea seemed to amuse her, her grin curling upwards as she let out a soft laugh. It's litheness made Crash's heart flutter, but they forced out a hesitant laugh in return, trying to act natural despite knowing that Cherie had indeed seem them make a fool of themself.

"It's said she stays up there in order to view the stars, but still.. It's almost a shame, to be that alone and isolated, wouldn't you think?"

The pause made Crashing stiffen, as did the shift in Cherie's tone. It was extremely subtle, barely detectable, but the soft amusement had faded from her voice within the last remark. It's somber contents were telling, knew knowing what she was thinking of. Her troubles, her ailments; His returned apathy for her love, and the mistrust of her son whom she had neglected for her own disillusion. All of this had been a result of the king, and it made a sort of vengeance burn through their blood. They could only mask it outwardly as apology, bbut Cherie noticed this anyways, having known them for so long and understanding what they truly thought behind their outwards manifestations.

Cherie looked at them with an almost somber look, if only for a split second, before a small apologetic smile graced her lips. She rested her hands over Crashing's, cradling her hands and the glass, staring into it as if it were a crystal ball once again. Crashing was almost entranced by her, her gentle gaze, and flustered by how close she was; her rosey perfume was intoxicating despite her wearing it in smaller amounts through out the years as it wafted into her nose. Cherie looked back up, an intent swirling in her eyes as her smile softened at the edges.

"Keep it, Crashing."

".. Huh?!"

Cherie giggled once more, her lips splitting into another genuine grin as Crashing stumbled over their words, an evident panic in their voice.

"M-my lady, I couldn't possibly!-"

But Cherie stilled them, holding a finger up to their face, dangeorusly close to their lips. It was enough to quell them, as they went silent almost immediately out of shock. Cherie tried to limit the grin that stretched across her face, pressing her lips together. Crashing had always been the one who could easily make her laugh.

"Think of it as a gift, for taking care of me after all this time.."

She paused, her eyes dimming in brightness once again as they filled with remorse; it almost made Crashing want to say something, but they didn't, holding their voice in fear of disturbing their mistress, waiting in high held anticipation for the next words that would come out of her mouth. It was almost laughable, they thought, how every word that came out of Cherie's mouth managed to make their heart leap. Cherie cradled Crashing's hands again, rubbing her thumb over their hand in some sort of contemplative manner, trying to find the right words. Cherie had come to understand, to not let too much of her and Brent's rocky relationship meet the ears of the servants. But Crashing was an exception, and this hinderance was more like her struggle to put the ideas lightly versus deciding if it made sense to tell them.

"Besides, Brent won't realize it's missing anyways. It's just another one of my family's gifts, nothing too important to him."

Her voice trailed off in the end, turning into silence as she exhaled, her shoulders dropped, and Crashing's heart fell. They had long since mastered a poker face, despite their crestfallen. It made them almost angry, once again, but for Cherie, they would do anything. Raising Cherie's hands up with their own, holding the glass between the two, they gave her a soft smile.

"Thank you, my lady."

And, maybe it was a figment of their imagination, but they swore they saw Cherie's face flush ever so slightly at their honest and given softness. No, they were being delusional. Sincerity was nothing but a given, and Cherie had always been suffering since.. Since. Every reminder was another flare up of anger that they struggled to keep down. However, Cherie didn't respond, and for a moment, it brought Crashing panic, as their smile morphed into a sheepish grin, anxiety starting to pound in their chest. It wasn't until Cherie smiled back, her gaze was soft but pure, a passion in her eyes. She truly was always grateful for Crashing, who had been by her side since they were little children.

"Of course, Crashing."

honestly i think we all need weight of the crown self inserts

[love13tter]

fav caleb xia fics bc im a lover girl ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

art is by 绝世西瓜 (xhs id 117998996) ˚ . ⊹ ⋆

im a certified baby apple girl Ok i know what i like & whats good so i will kindly share these to the world!! this is for my caleb lovers and pseudocest enjoyers

psa i refer to caleb w nicknames like colonel silly / silly / apple boy etc !! in case ur confused lol ,, ♡ are my absolute favs !! ,,

(,,>﹏<,,) ao3 fics

sugar pit by knightjpg

9.6k words, pseudo-incest, more sex leaning, angry angsty mc at caleb & colonel silly cant bring himself to get angry (i love him)

rotary devotion by kirketeer ♡

35.1k words, very poetry esque, my kind of devotion (aka kinda scary type!!! wanting to live in his skin, being near him/skin touching not being enough etc), sooo angsty from silly’s pov, dont read this if u dont want to be hit with an intense amount of sadness and worry (affectionately)

he ain’t heavy (he’s my—) by kirketeer ♡

8.3k, REALLY poetry esque (so my fav fic by default!), dunno how to explain but the metaphors towards caleb & reader being synonyms + antonyms is making my head spin, dynamic is sooo sweet! kirketeer is a rly good world builder so ure immediately in it all the way (which i love)

the taste of a forbidden fruit (i offer you my heart, bruised and bitten) series by luvl3ss ,, my favs below

> ikaw lang: 1k words, caleb is still caleb, reminds me of this one quote abt how loving someone is having to grieve every version of them :’)

> extra thin!: 0.5k words, apple slicing prefs, really short but its just as sweet as that first bite of a perfect apple slice :P

origin: sine qua non series by tinylethologica ,, favs below

> footprints underneath a pulse storm ♡ 11.111 words (i HAD TO !!! its perfect), based off his deceptive solitude card ^__^ aka the gun cleaning one w the towel barely hanging on around his waist and his v line showing mmmmfffppjhhhh, dynamic is so good they banter SO YUMMILY, caleb and reader being panty sniffers i know thats right!, the sex is a bit milder — it focuses more on dialogue and thats exactly my kind of smut i love it so bad, also um um gun play Nods head. sucking the gun … him fucking reader w the gun uh huh okay that says enough right

> calomel in libation: 4.1k words, caleb knows u better than anyone else (even urself), he eats u out, kinda crazy how he just knows that reader needs to be eaten out after all the stress…. ugh such husband material wheres the ring!!

drive you insane by soarinapple

10.4k words, IM SHAKING omgomgomg SPANKING fic!!!!!! oh hell yeah, he spanks her she counts and thanks him and it goes on sooo long u almost feel it on your bum too </3 oh i wish that was me, aftercare scenes included too ! its so good

(..◜ᴗ◝..) tumblr fics

quick psa i read more incestuous things / heavy topics here so be warned! pls ignore or dont interact if u dont like <3

my love, my alibi by prettyboykatsuki

23.3k words, pseudocest (HEAVY. if u dont like it dont interact!!), im gonna be so real rn and just say this has to be my fav fic w the incestuous theme cause this is just ALL about that dynamic between them. growing up together but the lines blur as you grow up and suddenly someone youve always seen as ur brother is hot and u realise he takes care of you more than a brother should, caleb knows u but also. not? idk all i remember is that him cumming in you felt more romantic than it should be

spilled sweetness by piroulinewafers

2k words, pseucocest (heavy), watersports!!!!!!! this is piss focused lol!!! he checks ur bladder thru ur meow meow..... (yummy), kinda crazy kinda not . its kinky for sure esp w the pseudocest theme ...

drabbles by piroulinewafers

> married reader & caleb + jealousy (from reader) 2.4k words

> vv submissive reader & the sweeeeeetest dom caleb ever. he takes care of u when u cant do it urself 1.5k words

drabble (1) by yukinohiko

0.3k words, caleb faking his amnesia (hes so silly), reader/mc being a freak ofcourse and immediately taking advantage of it LOL but the dialogue is the most important part of this fic!!!, analogies of their love bla bla bla, gege & meimei use <3

drabble (2) by yukinohiko ♡

0.5k words, apple boy just loves you so much. it doesnt matter if u hate him or get angry hes so patient sobs, baby (reader) doesnt mean it!!!! she gets so sad when she realises what she did, gege usage, very sweet reader shes so cute in this...

the colonel's saint (part 2 of the colonel's keeper) by saintobio

9.8k words, im not even gonna sugarcoat it part one made me so uncomfy after reading it cause it was GUTWRENCHING in the best way possible!!!!!, the writing was superb but the entire situation made me feel so icky... i cant reread it like i usually do but i could w the second part!!! reader kinda gets her redemption, the last bits were so bittersweet im happy but also not

so fucking domestic by kutepik

1.2k words, hes so cuuuuteeee!!!!! theyre both cute icl, sex whenever and wherever in the house is soo domestic, just very adorbs im gonna eat them Both

[youngheejay]

Stubbles and Kisses

A little drabble for my starving readers—It’s been a while since I posted because I’ve been focusing too much on writing long and detailed fics. Enjoy this little snack ❤️

Yes I’ve gone feral ever since I saw these pictures. Why is he so hot when he’s being a normal dude? Idk his manliness is driving me insane (I need him so bad pls)

Sunghoon x fem!reader [established relationship]

You were making yourself a snack when all of the sudden your boyfriend had caged you in a tight back hug.

“Where were you…” he mumbled sleepily into your skin as he had just woken up from a nap. He closed his tired eyes and buried his face into the depth of the crook of your neck.

“I’m just making some snack,” you quickly patted his head before focusing on your sandwich again, weighing between sweet-chilli sauce and teriyaki sauce.

“When did I allow you to leave the bed without my permission?” He slapped your butt, his face still buried in your neck. You yelped at the stinging feeling, “you were sleeping, what was I supposed to do?”

His arms tightened around your waist as he began to sway your bodies in a soft rhythm, “hmmm…” he began, thinking about a response.

“Hmmm…” you mimicked, cutting some pickles. You felt his smile form against your skin, “I don’t know… just don’t leave me again like this. Ever.” He threatened lightheartedly, but you knew deep down he was being serious.

“Ok, you big baby~” You replied as if you were talking to a child.

Contented, he rubbed his face against your skin, his chin now planted on your exposed shoulder as the stubbles on his neck began to scratch against your skin. “Gosh~ you’re so soft,” he sighed as rubbed himself against you like a cat.

You pushed your finger against his forehead, putting a distance between your skin and his stubbles, “and you’re scratching me with your unshaven beard stubbles.”

He gasped dramatically, “oh no! What are we going to do?” He attached his chin and neck on your skin again, scratching you now with determination.

“Hoonie~” you began to laugh, “what are you doing?” You tried to pull your head away but he followed you. “Punishing my girl for leaving me all cold and alone in the bed.”

Your laughter echoed through the kitchen, “you’re so annoying.”

He then began to rub the unshaven stubble of his chin against your cheek, you squeezed your eyes at the discomforting scratchy feeling. “I’m not annoying, I’m just a man who believes in a fair world where everyone is punished for their wrong doings,” his attacks didn’t seem to stop, he enjoyed the close proximity between you two. His arms never loosened around your waist, one hand firmly placed underneath your shirt right under your bellybutton.

“And what can I do for a reduced sentence? Because your girlfriend here wants to eat her sandwich,” you squealed as he now started to gently bite into your cheek, trailing down your neck with his love-bites, his stubbles continued to scratch along the way.

“A kiss will do it,” he now peppered your cheek with tiny pecks.

You turned around in his embrace. His eyes softened at the sight of your angelic face, “hi,” he whispered, love-dazed.

“Hi,” you chuckled, caging your arms around his neck to pull him down.

His soft lips met yours, putting all of his love and affection into the kiss. Just as he put his hand on your cheek to tilt your head towards him, you pulled away, “your hair is tickling me…” you giggled as you pulled at the beard hair on his chin. He groaned dramatically, “yeah right. I’m a man. Of course I have hair there.”

“But you usually shave and now it feels rough and weird,” your eyes glistened with childish-like enthusiasm as your fingers now pulled at the hair on his adam apple.

After a couple moments of comforting silence, you made an announcement: “Okey, payment’s done. I wanna eat my sandwich now.” You turned around quickly before he could react.

“Nooo~!” He whined in protest. His cheek rested on your head, pouting, when he suddenly had an idea. He swiftly grasped your face in his hand to turn it to him and rubbed his rough, scratchy jaw and chin all over it.

“Babe!” You gasped at his attack, “what are you doingggg~” you complaint as you tried to pull away, “I already completed my sentence.”

“No, you didn’t kiss me properly.” He continued to scratch his stubble on your face.

You giggled, “Sunghoon, stop…”

“What did you just call me?” He asked, scandalised, and carried on with his assault.

“I- I meant babe,” you bursted out in laughter.

Suddenly, he pulled away and pouted his lips, indicating his need for a proper kiss. You closed your eyes with a dumb smile as you turned to him completely again, hand on his rough cheek, to pull him in for a kiss. He sighed softly into the kiss, eyes fluttering at the butterflies in his stomach. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured against your lips, almost forgetting his initial plan.

When you finally pulled away, you pecked his lips to satisfy his needs, “good?”

He smiled at you dumbly, eyes twinkling, “yes.”

“Can I eat my sandwich now, you needy baby?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, his smile never faltering. You pecked his lips once again cutely—he almost felt bad at what he was going to do.

Almost.

And when you turned around to finally devour the sandwich which you had perfected to your liking, you quickly realised that it was gone.

Eyes widened, you whipped your head back to your boyfriend, only to see him standing a few steps away—distancing himself from you. One hand holding half of your sandwich as he had already shoved the other half into his mouth.

“Sunghoon!” You screeched.

He laughed loudly, though the food in his mouth muffled the sound, as he stuffed the rest of the sandwich in one go. Chewing and swallowing everything in a matter of seconds.

You sprinted towards him. His eyebrows shot up in panic, he quickly began to flee.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT I SWEAR TO GOD-“

Did you land on his back and clung onto him like a monkey while you hit him repeatedly?

Yes.

Did he take you to your favourite burger place to make it up to you?

Yes.

Did he steal most of your fries there?

Also yes.

Did he shave off his stubble?

Well, you kind of liked it so you didn’t let him until he had to shave it off for some shooting again.

Did you develop a habit of burying your face into his unshaven face and neck and scratching yourself like cat whenever you two cuddled?

Yeah.

And he loved every second of it.

—————————————————————————

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Comment, like, reblog, feedback, requests always appreciated very much!

All works are copyrighted ©youngheejay 2025 . Do not repost or re-write without the permission of author.

[myownwholewildworld]

gif by @\pedrospascaled

“for emergencies only” — an oldman!joel miller drabble

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel has a lil' accident, but you know exactly how to help. or joel cums in his boxers a bit too early and you feed him a blue pill for endurance. a/n: uhm... yeah, hi? i promise you this fic wrote itself, i almost had nothing to do with it. i am so fucking feral over this man, can't flush him out of my system. lord have mercy... 🙇‍♀️ tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. pwp. filthy smut. joel cums in his boxers like the old man he is. mortified!joel but you make him feel good i promise <3 use of viagra. kneading the bulge, kissing the bulge, worshipping the bulge. pussy eating. face/nose riding. squirting. fingering. your slick is his hair gel (scent marking? idk). blowjob. you go cowgirl on him because the poor man can't do extraneous exercise, protect his bones. unprotected piv. creampie. age gap, no age gap, your choice. petnames. no description of reader other than afab. w/c: ~4.2k

Joel let go of a big sigh, knees cracking as he sat down on the couch. Even taking a shower was damn exhausting at his age—he preferred it when you scrubbed his back in the bath, massaged his biceps and forearms, gently squeezed his dick while the movement created rippling waves in the water.

He’d only managed to comb through his dry, silvery curls, to throw a worn shirt and some loose boxers on, before he needed to take a break. He was getting too old to go on long, extenuating patrols. Perhaps Joel should take up Tommy’s offer and solely focus on managing the construction in Jackson. He’d have more time with you that way too.

His mind was drifting away, thinking about all the things he would do to you in his free time, when his most delicious desire materialised in front of him. His precious little thing—you.

“Why are you so lonely over here, handsome?” you teased, lips curling into a sinful smile.

You lost no time, sitting beside him, snuggling up to his side. Joel’s arm draped around your shoulders instinctively, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on your collarbone.

“I dunno, someone didn’t want to join me in the shower…” he pouted slightly, a laugh tearing up your throat as you poked his ribs with one finger.

“I told you to wait for me, but you’re a grumpy old man who has no patience,” you reproached jokingly.

His eyes rolled back in exasperation, but you were right. He’d just wanted to hop in the shower as soon as he got home, ready to dust off the fatigue of the day.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, shrugging.

His hand slowly moved away from your collarbone up to your neck. Carefully, his fingers dug around your throat, just enough for you to look up at him and gape for air—the sweet pressure on your trachea making you gasp like a little fish out of the water.

“Give your old man a kiss, will ya?” he husked, bowing down his head.

You reached up to him, mouth agape, almost touching his lips. You froze there, your sight simmering with need, awaiting his permission… and when his eyes flicked with lust, you closed the distance and pressed your lips on his.

The kiss quickly became sloppy, your spit coating the stubble around his mouth. Muted, needy moans bubbled up your windpipe—an irresistible call of nature, silently begging him to give you what you wanted, what you needed.

How could he resist you? Joel simply couldn’t, especially when your hand landed on his knee and the making out session came to an end, the tip of your nose tracing his jawline before you pressed a kiss to his beating jugular and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your palm squeezed the back of his hairy knee, slowly sliding it up his thigh whilst he manspread on the couch. His brown eyes tracked your every move, his legs’ muscles tensing as you playfully approached his groin. A pull in his soft tummy made him flinch when you reached the dip between his crotch and thigh, his cock hardening at the seductive tease.

A throaty moan rumbled through his chest when you tightly gripped the flesh of his inner thigh, thumb lazily stroking the outline of his shaft over the boxers.

“You’re a bit starved for touch today, aren’tcha?” you nudged him, lips pressed against the shell of his ear.

His cock twitched.

“And whose fault is that?” he snapped back, nerves on edge.

You simply giggled, shaking your head as your hand finally cupped his growing bulge. Gently kneaded him, massaging his aching balls over the fabric. Joel could feel the warmth of your touch seeping through the boxers, compelling him to grow bigger, harder, thicker.

Your palm rubbed against the covered length of him, then dropped to his sacks again—and, irremediably, his hips bucked up, bare heels dug in the wooden floor. He thoroughly enjoyed it when you cupped his balls like that—lovingly, languidly, exquisitely, taking the weight off him so he could find some bliss.

Seeing you so locked in on his pleasure, your tongue darting out to wet your lips… It just added to your appeal, another reason to love you. Because he did—fuck, yes he did, with all his fucking heart.

Suddenly, you squeezed his balls a bit too harsh, holding your grip as if your life depended on him, kissing his jawline. The unexpected squash on his testicles forced a moan out of him—and something else.

A firing pulse took a hold of him, surging down from his spine directly into his balls, and inevitably his cock throbbed with releasing strength. Joel couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He first felt the sticky warmth soaking his boxers, and his eyes quickly shot down to his lap.

There was a wet, growing spot on his underwear. He’d fucking cummed in his boxers like an inexperienced teenager—or the old man he was, despite how adamant he was to deny it—and he wasn’t even fully hard yet.

Embarrassed wouldn’t even start to cover it. Joel was fucking mortified.

His mouth ran dry, heartrate throbbing in his eardrums like a shameful cacophony. This had never occurred before—cumming way too early in his loose boxers, the proof right there for you to see, staining the grey fabric. It happened so fast, so intensely, Joel hadn’t had the time to rein in his own orgasm.

His face flushed with abasement; the tips of his ears hot as embers. Unwrapping his arm from around your shoulders, Joel leaned back, his head slacking back and resting on top of the couch. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his free hand tight in a fist, before a trembling sigh escaped his lips.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to look at you.

“Oh, it’s okay, baby,” you replied reassuringly, your tone too sweet for the circumstances you both were in. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, forcing his hand out of his face. “This just proves how much you love me, so much you can’t even resist me. It’s hot.”

Joel finally had the courage to look you in the eye, a cocked brow showing his disbelief.

“Hot? You think it’s hot I just came in my boxers with a lil’ tugging?” he repeated out loud, unable to believe what you just had said. “I’m not even hard, sweetheart. It’s… humiliating.”

You nodded to his question, your top teeth sinking in your plump bottom lip. Your eyes locked in on his as your hand travelled down his frame, your thumb stroking the obvious wet spot in his underwear.

“Mhm,” you cooed with a playful grin. “Very hot, not humiliating. And I can fix that. Fix him so we can have a good cuddle.”

“I don’t think I can…” you silenced him with a kiss before you got up from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen without another word.

A minute later you were back, towering above him with a sinful little smirk, one hand hidden behind your back.

“Open your mouth,” you requested.

“Huh?”

“Just open it for me, please?” you dragged the last word, blinking rather exaggeratedly.

Joel huffed his disagreement, but ended up obeying. His tongue slid out, patiently waiting for whatever you had in mind. With a flourish, you opened your fist to reveal a blue pill. His eyes lighted up in understanding—he thought he had run out of viagra.

“I always keep a secret stock,” you confessed, reading his mind. “For emergencies only.”

Slowly, you set the pill down on his tongue, your thumb caressing the tip of his wet muscle before you retreated to let him close his mouth. Before Joel could swallow, you bowed down to kiss him, your tongue pushing the pill down his throat with a little needy moan.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, the pill secure in his belly now. It was just a matter of time, but meanwhile…

“Let me make it up to you, sweetheart,” he growled, the taste of your sweet cunt haunting him. “You deserve to be eaten out—so thoughtful of your old man. It’s what you enjoy most, right? Having your swollen pussy drooling all over my face, leaking into my mouth…”

His words had an immediate effect on you. Joel knew exactly how to get you off—not that you needed any more encouragement. Your clit was already palpitating, your hole gushing for his attention. The promise of a good pussy eating was everything you’d hoped for after feeding him that viagra pill.

You straightened your back, ready to get started, and Joel slithered off the couch until he was sat on the floor, his achy back leaned against the bottom part of the sofa. He sat back a little, his head resting on the edge of the couch while your pants and underwear dropped to the floor.

“Someone’s eager,” he taunted when you kicked off your clothing to one side.

“Oh, that’s an understatement,” you exhaled sharply.

Joel curled one long, thick finger at you to invite you to sit on his face, and that was exactly what you did.

You knelt on the sofa, his head right between your thighs, and you anchored your hands to the back of the furniture. His warm breath fanned your pussy, a shiver running up your spine. His broad, calloused hands ran up the back of your legs, coaxing your ass cheeks apart so your slit would crack open for him.

“My sweet girl… You’re already so wet,” he tutted at you, pecking your perineum, the tip of his aquiline nose tickling your entrance. “You really like your old man, don’tcha?”

You were about to answer when Joel lapped your entire seam in one smooth motion before his mouth latched onto your pulsing clit. You sobbed audibly, head lolled back, fingers curling tightly around the cushion of the backrest. Only managing a hushed “mhm,” Joel suckled on your throbbing nub again, pulling the hood back with his tongue.

A myriad of stars danced behind your eyelids when Joel gently nibbled at your bud, his middle finger sliding in your tight hole to rub that precise spot inside your cunt. He ate you out diligently—sucked, licked, bit, flicked your clit… rinse and repeat. Your pussy fluttered around his finger, your moans louder than they should have been considering the thin walls of the house. Sensing your desperation, Joel’s finger slipped out with a pop, to quickly fill your drooling entrance with his tongue.

It was too much—deliciously so. When you thought you’d had the best head ever, Joel always outdid himself. His wet muscle thrusted in and your pussy reciprocated with stuttering squeezes on his tongue. He didn’t falter, not even for a breather—as if he was trying to pull something out of your cunt.

“Jo-Joel…” you mewled, half whimper, half prayer.

You were so drenched, you could feel a flood forming in your womb—a heap of your arousal waiting to drip into his mouth. A tight coil low in your belly with a strangling force, so intense your shut eyes were tearing up, the drops of your silent cries sliding off your temples. Joel didn’t leave a spot unattended, worshipping your puffy pussy lips, your gushing hole, your thudding clit with his tongue and teeth.

Unable to rein in your own lust anymore, you dropped one hand and fisted his hair, forcing him to stay put, still between your trembling thighs. Your body was asking to take control, to let go of the tethers of decency—not that you had much left anyway.

“Wanna ride my face, hm?” Joel muttered with a shaky laugh.

“Mhmmm,” you moaned, shaking your head yes, your bottom lip twitching.

“Go on, baby, use me,” and then he rolled your bundle of nerves between his teeth.

That was the last straw—his words, your undoing. So you did exactly that. Still anchoring his head to the couch, you rocked your hips on his face, just once. His nose traced the entirety of your slit, catching on your clit, and you whined. A second later you were completely sat on his face, almost smothering him, while you rode not only his face, but specifically his nose.

Looking down, you saw his forehead reappear when your hips moved back. Every time you glided over him, the coil tightened and the flood dropped further down in your uterus. Stilling, you circled your waist on his mouth, and then resumed the riding.

It happened too quickly. Suddenly, the dam in your pussy just gave way, and you squirted all over his face while the most wanton moan tore up your throat, your vocal chords feeling raw from so much screaming. The biggest wave—no, tsunami—of your life washed over you, your thighs quivering like crazy while you locked them shut around his head.

Joel eagerly drank everything you offered him, groaning below you like a thirsty man who had not tasted water in days. For a long minute you couldn’t control the spasms of your cunt, dripping onto his nose, mouth and chin, your slick running down his neck and wetting the neck of his shirt.

Heaving, all your muscles finally relaxed, and you dropped to one side to release Joel from the imprisonment of your thighs. A side glance at Joel told you that he was licking off your juices from anywhere his tongue could reach, and that vision made you whimper again.

“I… Uh…” you mumbled, incapable of finding the words to describe what had just happened. “That was… the best head you’ve ever given me, you handsome old man.”

“You mean the best head you’ve ever had, full stop. Right?” he joked while he planted his hands on the edge of the couch to push himself up and sit besides you, his knees loudly cracking.

You laughed, nodding vehemently as you curled up to his side. His face was still wet from your cum, so you swept off some of it for him, kissing it away. The curls freely hanging over his forehead were damp with your slick too, and just that sight made your clit throb again. Raking your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, you combed it back with the product of your arousal.

“You don’t need hair gel if you’ve got me,” you said with a smile, and Joel tsked before letting go of a hearty chuckle.

“My personal hairdresser,” Joel quipped.

His laugh died in his mouth when your taunting hand flew to his bulge again. This time, he was extremely hard. Balls loaded and heavy, cock drumming.

“How’s my toy doing? Ready?” It was a rhetoric question, you could feel how ready he was.

“All… yours,” his words hitched, eyes darkening with a burning desire.

Without wasting another second, you knelt before him on the floor, his thighs spread open to house your frame. You couldn’t resist to lean forward and kiss the wet spot on his underwear, stealing a quick taste. Licking off the stain, you gazed up at him.

Joel was watching your every move with predatory attention, his tight fists resting to either side of him. Trying to convey calmness, but you could feel the eagerness simmering under the surface.

You buried your face in his bulge again, rubbing him over the fabric with your mouth, lips and cheeks. Kneaded him with worshipping heed, pulling the textile between your teeth, drunk with the crispy, sticky sound the wet boxers made when they unglued from his damp cock. Feeling his heartbeat, you inhaled keenly—his scent swarming your senses.

You could spend hours like this, with your face tucked away in his groin, feeling the length of him hardening against your cheek. But you were anxious to shove him down your throat.

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his old man’s loose boxers, and Joel lifted his hips off the pillows just enough for you to pull them down his legs, tangled around his ankles. His dick sprung free, swaying in front of you like a tasty lollypop. Cockhead flushed and painfully red, the vein on his underside visibly pulsing, his heavy, full balls tightened up into the base of his dick. And then the cum he’d been so embarrassed about, topping his mushroom head and sliding off his shaft.

It really was a beautiful sight. You pushed his girthy length against his soft tummy and lapped at his balls first, to then find your way up his shaft until your lips sealed shut around his angry cockhead, cleaning off all his nutty spent.

Joel groaned above you, shifting his position ever so slightly, and was gentle enough to caress your cheek with his thumb before he gave you a soft smack.

“Careful not to choke, sweetheart. Take it easy,” he growled, words dying off when you pushed him down your mouth, the hoarse curls at the base tingling your nose. “Easy does it.”

With your mouth full, you gave free rein to your instincts. Took him out completely, a bridge of saliva linking your lips to the tip of his cock, and then shoved him down your throat again. You gagged and whimpered at the same time, precum and spit overflowing from the corners of your mouth. How the end of him hit your uvula, breaching past it… it was the most elated you had ever felt.

Your pace quickly picked up, and soon enough you were bobbing your head on his lap to the point that tomorrow you’d have a stiff neck. But it would be completely worth it. Sucking him off, your tongue swirled around his leaky cockhead to then nip at it. Closing your mouth, you slid his tip over your clenched teeth and lips, making a mess of your face.

“Eaaaasy… Fuck, stop,” Joel tugged at your hair.

You had been so lost in the moment, you looked up at him bewildered. You didn’t want to stop, you could never have enough of him. But realisation quickly hit. His balls were twitching against your chin, a sign that Joel was about to lose it.

“I could have my dick in your mouth all day and night, sweetheart, but I need your pussy now,” he husked, half plea, half threat.

Joel relaxed against the couch when you got up to your feet and straddled him, your knees sunk in the pillows to either side of his legs. Reaching behind you, you grabbed at his throbbing cock, gliding it over your entire slit until it hitched in your entrance.

Biting your lip down to stop a slutty moan from coming out, you locked eyes with him. Watching his façade tumble down every time you descended on his lap was one of the most beautiful sights. So slowly you impaled yourself, taking in how Joel’s face loosened up, his hands firm on your hips—how the crows’ feet kissing the corners of his chocolate eyes would smooth out, how his cheeks would flush, how his nose would do a cute little scrunch, or how his lips would part, letting out a heavy sigh.

Joel tried to fuck up into you when you lifted your hips and you tutted at him, pinning him down so he wouldn’t move.

“Nuh-uh. I’m doing all the work tonight, baby. You just lean back and relax, let me fuck you,” you warned him, an edge to your tone advising him to refrain from complaining.

He’d been on patrol out all day—you knew how tired he was, how his old man’s bones would crack with the gentlest of moves.

“But—”

“No, no buts. If you stay still and behave, I’ll let you come inside. Be good for me, please,” you cooed, your mouth moving against his with every suggestive word.

Joel finally grunted in agreement, and the smile on your face couldn’t be wider—even your cheeks hurt. Despite how badly you wanted to say “good boy,” you didn’t press your luck. Joel was quite dominant, but you enjoyed these subtle shifts in your relationship when he was very tired. So tired you could boss him around with no reprimands.

Once he had settled down, you began riding him, his reassuring hands kneading your hips for encouragement. At first it was slow-paced, his cock lazily swallowed by your labia only half-way through. With every pump, you let him slide a little bit deeper, sweet desperation building up behind his adoring eyes.

And after a few minutes, you were bouncing up and down on his throbbing shaft with heavy, quick dives. You laced your hands behind his neck for support, your forehead resting on his, your sweats mixing. Every time he exhaled, you inhaled his needy groans, high with the passion burning between you two.

His cock filled you up to the brim, especially when he was fully seated in your crying cunt. His tip would kiss your cervix, sending firing signals up your spine, numbing your mind. He was so girthy, your inner walls parted like the Red Sea to greet him, to house him. Every time he pulsed inside, your pussy squeezed him hard—as if they were talking to each other. Joel was the perfect fit to you, in every fucking sense.

His cockhead dragged along your anterior wall, putting pressure on the exact spot that always had you gushing. You were so close to nirvana, you could almost touch the sky with your fingertips. Understanding how close you were—probably because your pussy was uncontrollably fluttering around him—Joel took it upon himself to tip you over the cliff of your pleasure. One of his hands flew to your clit, pressing tight circles on your nub as you, quite literally, jumped on him like a demon possessed—and your whole brain short-circuited right there and then.

“Come for you old man, sweetheart. Squirt all over my cock, drench my lap. Wanna feel her sing around me, milk me fucking dry until my balls are completely empty,” Joel husked against your lips, his thumb quicker on your clit now, pushing back the hood to expose your bundle of nerves to his incessant touch even more. “Can you do that for me, hm?”

You did exactly that the moment Joel stopped petting your clit and, instead, he gently tapped at it with four fingers, the squelching sound driving you crazy. The clapping of skin on skin driving you wild. You finally came, screaming at the top of your lungs, while your hips stuttered above him. Incapable of maintaining any pace now, you sat on his lap—his thudding cock buried down to the hilt in your quivering pussy, the best orgasm of your life hitting you at once.

Your entire body was quaking, your pussy flitting arrhythmically as the last squirts left your insides. Joel was throbbing inside you, grown to a point you thought he might explode. And with the last bit of energy, you clamped down on him as strongly as you could, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart,” Joel moaned loudly, head tilting back against the couch.

He pulsed one last time, and then finally filled you up. His cum flooded your pussy with long, thick ropes—so much that it was soon gushing out, mixed with your own arousal. It was warm and comforting, knowing that his seed was safe in your cunt. You squeezed once more to completely drain his balls, and he gifted you with some more drops.

You hummed in approval, so satisfied you almost felt sleepy. Joel smacked your right buttock and then hugged you around the waist, feeling your weight on him like a blanket. Neither of you moved, his cock still snug inside your pussy, your breathings loud and heavy.

“We still have a couple of hours before they serve dinner in the community hall. Can’t go anywhere in this… state,” Joel snickered, kissing your cheek.

“Gonna have to take care of this for you, ain’t I?” you whispered, batting your eyelashes at him before you grinded your hips on his lap. Your clit twitched in response, overstimulated. “I need a minute though, I feel like my whole nervous system is on fire right now.”

“Take as long as you need, sweetheart. I could be here all day right until the last minute,” he muttered, his hands gliding over the sweaty skin on your back.

“You’ll need to at least take a shower before we leave. I made a mess of your hair,” you laughed, nudging the vein on his neck with the tip of your nose.

“No, I like this hair gel better. I ain’t washing my hair.”

Your eyes shot up to him. The mere idea of him leaving the house with your slick dampening his hair, him being in public bathed in your pussy scent… while talking to others, fully claiming him as yours… Right then, you brain chemistry was changed forever.

Your clit throbbed, and you purposefully clutched around his still hard shaft.

“I’m ready again.”

[livingdxadwriter]

A Touch of Madness

Logan Howlett X girlfriend!reader

Summary: Logan comes to you after being away, and all he wants is your touch, and he knows just how to get on your good side. This is just porn without plot.

Takes place in the same universe as Too Sweet but can be read as standalone

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), fingering, couch sex, soft rough sex, Logan talks you through it, the claws make an appearance (I have a thing for his claws okay), Logan is obsessed with his girl, fluffy relationship, established relationship

WC: 3.9k

A/N: how did I make this longer than too sweet when it was supposed to be a Drabble. Hello idk how to write short shit. But like hello yall are so awesome? I appreciate all the love yall have given my first Logan fic. I also have an older Logan fic in the works but that one has plot so it’ll be a minute before its out. For now here this <3

He couldn’t take it anymore. You were driving him mad. It’s not like he deserved your anger. Not fully anyway. It wasn’t his fault he was gone this long. He had been thinking about you all week, about your soft lips, about the warmth of your thighs, about your sweet moans only for his ears to hear. And all he wanted was to pull you into his arms and take you, over and over, until you begged him to stop. 

But no. 

You were being childish. That’s what he called it anyway. 

“Sweet girl,” he called after you, like a puppy following close behind you as you strided around your apartment. He knew you were doing it on purpose, the excuse of having to do chores so you could elongate his torture. The way you so innocently looked back at him made him clench his jaw. “C’mon.” 

“Don’t sweet girl me, Logan. I told you, I’m busy.” You sassed him, huffing as you kept walking, finding the most insignificant of chores to waste your time with. He rolled his eyes at you, eyebrows furrowed into this perpetual gaze of annoyance. 

The truth was, you were aching for him, your thighs warm and your skin tingling solely at the thought of him taking you to do as he pleased. But, if there was something in this world you could be, it was petty. And if you had to suffer a whole week without him, he could suffer for an hour, even if it was also at your expense. Truly, you almost enjoyed the annoyance in his face, the sharpness in his voice, him damn near groaning behind you every time you evaded him under the excuse of needing to get some dumb chore done. 

“You’re killin’ me here, sugar.” He actually groaned this time, his jaw set. You stopped in your tracks and turned your head to look at him, shooting him a pointed look. “I said I was sorry.”

“Serves you right. And I don’t care if you’re sorry. You haven’t called me in a week.” Your words were sharp with bitterness and it dawned on him. That was why you were upset. A slight bit of humor tugged at the corner of his lips and he breathed out a laugh. You stared at him with blank eyes, you weren’t laughing. 

“C’mon, is that seriously why you’re upset? You know I was out of the state.” He tried to reason with you. Charles had entrusted him and Storm with finding a certain mutant that was causing havoc, three states over. And Logan had very much underestimated how long this would take them. So here he was, after a whole week away, damn near begging you to let him touch you. “It wasn’t like I wanted to go anyway.”

No, he would much rather be with his sweet girl, one that was being particularly difficult and making him suffer when all he wanted to do was hold you, to feel the warmth of your soft skin. 

He stepped into your personal space, his intoxicating scent almost making you give in. You counted to five in your head, eyes closed to remind yourself that you were, indeed, angry at him. 

“So? You got a phone, don’t you? You could’ve called me.” You huffed, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled into a small pout, Logan had to hold back the urge to laugh at you. “You can’t disappear for a week and expect to come here and do as you please.” 

You shot him a sharp glare, he just stared at you, eyebrows raised in surprise at your sudden shot of confidence. His sweet girl was talking back to him? Giving him attitude? He tilted his head at you, almost as if to dare you to walk away from him.  

There was a bit of malice in your eyes as you gave him one last look before you walked away, thinking of what other useless chore you could add to continue his torture. But Logan had other thoughts in his head. If you weren’t going to behave, he would happily put you in your place. 

“Hey, c’mere or I’m gonna bring you here myself.” He called after you, the strings of his sanity hanging on by a thread, just waiting for you to tug at the last strand. He knew you too well. You turned your head, eyes big in feign innocence and you tilted your head at him in defiance. 

“Make me then.” The words left your mouth before you could think them through. In hindsight you should have known better, but you also wanted to see just what could happen if you pushed him hard enough. You saw the way his eyes flashed with malice, he stared you down, and in that moment you remembered just how small you were compared to him. “Oh fuck.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest as adrenaline rushed through you, but it wasn’t like you could go outrun him, especially not in your tiny apartment. He caught you, though he did purposely chase you into your living room, simply because he wanted to get you going, pumped with adrenaline. You squealed as he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you against his chest. His sharp canines nipped at that one spot on your neck that had you whimpering. 

“You goin’ somewhere, sugar?” He husked, his lips hot on your cheek. You couldn’t help but sigh in contentment, eyes closed. God, you missed him. 

“Mhm, still mad at you.” You mumbled, barely hanging on to your silly grudge. A chuckle rumbled in Logan’s chest. 

“That’s alright. I don’t need you to be happy with me to do what I want to do.” He inhaled, breathing your sweet scent, and he spoke as he threw you over his shoulder. “Just need you to look pretty while I do it.” 

You weren’t complaining about your position, you were in fact, bursting into giggles as he effortlessly carried you to the couch, though your giggles turned into another squeal when he smacked his hand flat against your ass. Logan had a grin on his lips as he tossed you on the couch, wasting no time in spreading your legs apart to settle between them.

He leaned down, gripping the armrest above your head, caging you in as he leaned down. He brushed his nose against yours, sighing softly.

“Don’t be such a brat. Kiss me.” The words rumbled in his chest with a groan, his primal needs overcoming his senses. He didn’t have to tell you twice. You laced your fingers in his hair, pulling into a hard and heated kiss.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth as he shrugged off his flannel, tossing it somewhere on the floor, his belt soon following the same fate. You tried to sit up against the armrest, but you quickly realized Logan had other plans deep in his perverted mind. With a hold of your ankle he dragged you down on the couch, your back flat on the surface as you looked up at him with big eyes.

“Stay just like that, pretty.” He spoke, pressing another heated kiss to your mouth before tugging off your sweatpants, followed by your panties. He tossed them somewhere over his shoulder, somewhere you would have to run around searching for later. But you couldn’t give a fuck about that. All you could focus on was the heat forming between your legs as Logan settled between them.

His eyes met with yours one last time before he was diving in between your warm thighs. His tongue licked long stripes from your hole up to your clit, circling around the sensitive nerve before going back down. Over and over until your soft gasps and sighs of pleasure turned into moans. His large hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open to do as he pleased. One leg hung over the back of the couch and the other was thrown over his shoulder, and he effortlessly held you down as he shoved his tongue into your cunt. He was like an animal, insatiable as he took you on his tongue.

“Oh fuck. Shit—Logan—” Your eyes rolled back, lips parted as you whined. You gripped the back of the couch, soft twitches taking over you each time his nose brushed your clit.

It was no secret that Logan found pleasure in giving you yours, and he ate you like it. Grunts and hums rumbled in his chest as his tongue found your clit again, and he reveled in the particularly high pitched cry you let out when he slipped two fingers into your wet core. 

“Needed to taste you so fuckin’ bad. I thought about it all week.” He spat into your clit, groaning at the way your tight walls squeezed his fingers. He could only imagine what you would do when it was his cock stretching your walls. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chanted, fingers lacing in his hair as he lapped at your clit. You wished you could hold your pleasure, rivet in it for just a little bit longer, but the way he curled his fingers against your most sensitive spot, the way his tongue was so relentless on your swollen clit, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh my—”

Your words never left your throat, chest pounding with sheer adrenaline as your release coated his face and fingers. It was sudden, it left you breathless as your thighs twitched with aftershock. Your eyes were wide and glossy in shock as you shuddered with the remnants of your orgasm. It wasn’t until you pathetically attempted to drag yourself away that Logan stopped. You were shaking, gasping softly when he pulled his fingers from you, but you all but cried when he licked at your wet pussy, getting a taste of you.

“Logan, please I can’t—” Your voice was shaky as you tried to move away from his face, he chuckled at you, pressing his face against your inner thigh before he crawled up to your face.

“‘Is okay. You did good.” He kissed your lips, his large hands holding your face as he let you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned, clenching around nothing already in anticipation of him filling you. “You wanna stop?”

“No, no, no! Need you, please!” You were quick to protest, wrapping your legs around his waist to prevent him from going anywhere. You couldn’t really stop him from doing anything, but he found it endearing that you tried. He bumped his nose against yours, lips pulled up into a tiny smile.

“Need me where, hm?” He opened his eyes to look at you, and truly how he didn’t bend you over the nearest flat surface the second he saw you was beyond his comprehension. You looked so perfect like this, underneath him, clinging to him. His sweet girl. He didn’t know what it was about you, but from the moment he met you he was done for. You drove him absolutely mad and now he just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Inside me, Logan. Please.” You sighed out, face flushed with embarrassment. He smoothed out the frown lines on your forehead with a tiny kiss. A sweet gesture in comparison to what he was about to do to you.

In one swift motion he had you bent over the armrest, with your ass to him and your chest flat against the armrest. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip as you glanced over your shoulder to watch as he pulled off his white tank top. Your glazed eyes fawned over each perfect muscle in his body, taking particular interest in the veins that popped in his arm when he flexed them as he ridded himself of his jeans. How you ended up with a man so incredibly hot, you had no idea, but you were thanking the Gods for that.

“I need to be inside you, too.” He rasped into your ear, groaning in ecstasy as he sank himself into your needy cunt. Your jaw fell open he filled you, inch by inch. He pulled your t-shirt over your head, instantly attaching his lips to your shoulder as he rutted his hips against your ass. 

His pace was grueling from the start, grip tight on your hips, sure to leave bruises in the morning. A little reminder of his intoxicating presence. You braced yourself on the armrest, sounds of pleasure leaving your lips almost instantly. He pressed his forehead against your cheek, the thick hairs on his chest leaving a tingling sensation across your back as he held you flush against his chest. Heavy breaths filled your ears as you so desperately reached to touch him, any of him. Your trembling fingers found the sound of his face and he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“This what you needed, hm? Maybe I should fuck sweet pussy more often? Give it more attention?” He grunted the words in your ears, lips pressed against your cheek as a sheen layer of sweat began to coat your soft skin. You whimpered and nodded weakly, your cunt clenching him with excitement. He smirked softly, his hand coming up to lace through your hair. “Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweet girl?”

Logan held your face down as his hips drilled into you, each delicious drag of his cock bringing you closer and closer to your sweet release. God, you needed it. All you could do was moan in response.

“Y-yes! God, yes. Please Logan.” You whined out shamelessly, eyes rolled back into your head. Logan hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pressed his lips to your temple, the gentle gesture ironic considering just what he was doing to you. He said nothing as he sneaked his free hand to the front of your body, rough fingers rubbing harsh circles on your sensitive clit. Your jaw fell open, your hand flying to grip his wrist. Your thighs clenched around his hand, whining as his cock  brushed that one spot that had you seeing white. “Logan—”

Your voice was a warning, but he welcomed it. He flicked his wrist without mercy as he rolled his hips, his words only encouraging you to fall apart for him.

“Come for me, pretty girl. You can do that, can’t you? I know you want to.” He let go of your hair to turn your head to meet his eager lips. He happily swallowed the pathetic sounds that left your mouth as he flicked at your clit, his cock hitting so impossibly deep you were left trembling as your release seeped around him. 

Logan held you down on his cock, his thumb playing with your clit until you were gasping and your nails dug into the skin of his wrist. He kissed along your jaw as his hips stilled for just a second, your body still shaking underneath him.

“You okay?” He asked softly, grabbing your face to look at him. You looked at him with hooded eyes and nodded weakly, barely lifting yourself off the couch.

“Yeah. ‘m okay.” 

Logan tilted his head at you, an eyebrow raised with amusement as he leaned down to leave a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“Perfect.”

He grabbed your hips, pulling out his cock to manhandle you onto your back before he was sinking himself into you again. Your slick walls welcomed him perfectly, like this was the only place he belonged, but he wasn’t complaining. If he could die, he would die happily buried deep in your cunt.

“Oh, God, Logan.” You gasped, thighs twitching as you looked down to find where his thick cock is filling you, splitting you open over and over. Your jaw fell open as you watched him grab one of your ankles and he held it up by his shoulder, spreading you open for him to dig himself deeper and deeper within you tight walls. 

“Look at me, baby.” He groaned, chest heavy as a thin layer of sweat covered his muscled body. You did your best to comply, you looked up, eyes blurry with tears of pleasure as he damn near folded your body in half. Your knees were pressed against your chest as he leaned down to brush his nose against yours. “Yes, there she is. My pretty girl. I missed you.” 

You couldn’t help but moan at his words, and also at the sting of his cock rapidly bringing you to your third release. The way he brought your legs to his shoulders, he sunk himself so deep within your walls you swore you felt him in your stomach. It felt so good you wanted to cry.

“Missed you too, Logan.” You brought your lips up to his, eyebrows furrowed into an expression of pure arousal as you gripped his hair, clinging to him for dear life.

Your release was quick and sudden, hitting you without a warning the second Logan pressed his thumb to your swollen clit. You were just so sensitive, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed. You clutched on to his large bicep as you spilled around his cock. The way your tight walls squeeze him made him groan, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on chasing his own release while fucking you through your own.

“Look at you, you’re just so good for me. Fuck it, I’ll just take you with me next time.” Groans fell freely from his soft lips as he braced himself on the back of the couch with one hand, and the other held the armrest above your head. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours as your sweet praises and chants of his name filled his ears. 

The sound that rumbled in Logan’s chest was animalistic, a deep growl as he coated your insides with his hot release. The metallic sound of sharp claws filled your ears once more as his claws unsheathed themselves from his knuckles, one on the back of the couch and the other just above your head, again. You gasped his name with a soft laugh, though you would be lying if you said it didn’t drive you feral when his claws accidentally came out. You brought a hand to his face as he pulled his claws out of your couch, the sharp metal once again hiding themselves within his knuckles with a sound. He held himself up on his forearm as his head fell to your neck.

“I’ll pay for it.” He muttered a chuckle into your neck, leaving a soft kiss to your jaw. You laughed, draping a hand over your forehead, breathing in deeply as you felt your mixed releases seep around his cock and drip onto the couch. He should just buy you a new couch, he thought.

“Wanna buy me a new body while you’re at it?” You teased him, already sensing you would have bruises and your thighs would ache for days.

“Did I hurt you?” Concern filled his voice as he lifted his head to scan your face for any discomfort as his hand came up to graze the thigh draped over his waist. You scrunched up your nose at him and shook your head.

“Of course not hun. Don’t be silly.” You traced your fingers over his face and gave him a lopsided smile.

“I did miss you, for the record.” 

You pressed a kiss to his lips. “I missed you too Logan.”

“Lemme clean you up sugar.” He sneaked a kiss to your cheek as he untangled himself from you, much to your protest.

You whined at the emptiness he left you as he stood up. Though you did quite enjoy the sight of his perfect ass he walked off to find something to clean his mess with. When he came back, he had a small towel and he cleaned you without protest, he left warm kisses on your face as you talked to him about your day. He ultimately tossed the towel aside and slipped on his boxers, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his still hard cock, but you needed a break. You didn’t let him leave though, reaching to grab his wrist with soft eyes

“Wanna watch a movie? I miss watching movies with you.” You mumbled, voice soft as you looked at him with pleading eyes. He laughed softly at you, you made it sound like you hadn’t seen him in a month.

But, how could he ever say no to his sweet girl?

“Mhm, put on somethin’ .” He gently moved you so that he was lying behind you on the couch, his big arms wrapped around you as he held you against his chest. Though you were still completely naked, you paid no mind to it. It actually felt kinda nice to be so close to him and feel the warmth of his body in such an intimate way.

He covered you both with the throw blanket you always kept over the couch for days exactly like this, for those days you wanted to feel warm and close with him on the couch. He ignored the three holes where stuffing was coming out of the ripped fabric as he pulled the soft blanket up to your chest and as you happily settled in his arms, clicking away at the TV. He would buy you a new couch, just as he bought you new pillows, and new blankets. And anything you asked him to, really.

Logan wasn’t used to domestic, the soft touches, cuddling, but he liked doing it with you. He craved it actually, probably just as much as he craved the sex.

“Next time you’re away that long, just give me a call? Please? So that I’m not worried sick thinking you died.” You finally said, the whole reason for such intense feelings merely an hour ago finally surfacing. He laughed softly at how ridiculous you sounded. He technically can’t die, he thought.

“I wouldn’t.. I can’t…Y’know what? You’re right. I’m still getting used to this whole having a girl thing. But I'll do better, yeah? Don’t need you to be mad, sugar.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, settling his face on your neck as he attempted to pay attention to whatever horror movie you decided to watch today. “But if you’re gonna let me fuck you like that when you’re mad, get mad more often.” 

“Logan.” You scolded him, nudging his ribs softly as a warm blush coated your cheeks, knowing you wouldn’t hurt him, but it still made him chuckle. 

He had to admit, he lasted way longer than he did last time. He lasted almost halfway through the movie before the feeling of his cock sitting hot and heavy in his boxers became apparent to him again. He inhaled your scent softly, his lips ghosting over your neck as he rolled his hips softly against your ass. And while you did try to protest, whining that you wanted to get through one movie with him, the sting of his cock was better than any movie in this world. The credits rolled, the soundtrack now drowned out by the sound of your sweet moans. Logan would be damned if he let you leave the warmth of his body for even just one second tonight. Or maybe ever. 

[bejeweledinterludes]

still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL OVER DEAN WINCHESTER CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tune it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy. which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding. you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

…but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly?

it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they’re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i’m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

oh.

and dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was.

jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina + i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[oatmealthighs]

-`♡´- plug!eren x blackfem!reader

ᯓᰔ contents: nsfw 18+, MDNI. reader indulges 🍃, eren is overprotective, public sex, maybe semi public? idk. daddy/mama usage. might be some slightly toxic dynamics. but nothing too serious. rushed ending cus i suck at endings 💔 a sequel full of fluff will be coming soon out of this.

ᯓᰔ author's note: omg i haven't posted in like months. but anyways what would i be without dropping the token plug!eren drabble. nothing too crazy, just some bathroom sex. also there are instances where there are texts but i got too lazy and didn't bother making texts out of them mwahahahaaa sorry in advance. this is barely proofread and not my best so if there are mistakes i am sorry. requests are open! also look out for a tengen x reader x wives fic coming really soon. like this week soon

the feeling of your phone buzzing in the back pocket of your true religion jeans whisked your attention away from the pearled blunt you had pinched between your fingers.

your glossy lips curled into a little smirk, your acrylics clicking at the keyboard of your screen.

you've been pushing eren's cute lil buttons all night. honestly all day... but you didn't feel bad for making him sweat. he's been trying you as of late.

you and eren were supposed to be spending some quality time together last night, and he was specifically supposed to be over your place by no later than 8:00. you had the whole shabang... bath and body works candle burning out, led lights on and set to the color purple, some of his favorite snacks and some dinner and dessert you had wrapped up for him that you had made earlier. you were planning on watching a show with him, giving him a scalp massage while he played his playstation that he always brought whenever he came over, and give him the best head he's ever received that night before riding him into the sunset, but all those plans went soiled. 8:00 came, and on the dot he had sent a text message about him having to go make a few more drop offs, then he'd come to you. 8 turned to 9, then 10:30, then 1... fucking... AM.

was it fucked up you didn't answer the door when he came knocking finally? kinda, but the guilt didn't last long when you thought about how he practically stood you up.

eren was a popular plug on the university you attended. you knew friday is usually the day that people were trying to cop, given it was majority people's payday and the weekend, but you were hoping that he would close up shop early just this one time for you. his clientele would live-- there were plugs by the dozen on campus. but eren knew wasn't none of them fucking with his shit. you weren't sure what other outcome you were expecting. he never turned his head away from possible income.

eren already knew he fucked up, but he knew ultimately in the end it was going to be worth it. the extra money was going to go into play towards his proposal to ask you to be his girlfriend, and no amount of your anger was going to get that out of him. he was prepared to keep his mouth shut, throw away the key, and take his lashings like a man. so when he was met with radio silence, he was flabbergasted.

when he pulled up to your crib and didn't get an answer from him knocking on your door and calling your phone, he figured you fell asleep and resulted in retreating to his abode. the next morning, when he woke up to find that you didn't respond to his apology texts from last night, it made him sit up in his bed and squint at his phone with crust-ridden eyes.

no response? it was so unlike you. usually you would respond with a barrage of text messages stating your feelings, or at the very least he'd get a passive-aggressive dry text from you. but to be met with nothing at all made his gut twist in a disgustingly vexing way.

he rubs at his temples, sending you a "good morning baby" text before opening the safari app and going to the local floral shop's delivery site.

later that afternoon, eren's sitting in his blacked out durango when he receives email confirmation that the flowers have been delivered, the low hum of the strong engine the only thing somewhat soothing his frazzled nerves. he made sure to get your favorite, and tried to ask them to incorporate your favorite color as much as possible.

he checks your location as he hits his blunt, releasing the smoke from his mouth and inhaling it through his nostrils. he already knows your home, having your schedule downpack. and you were. so why didn't you say anything about the flowers? did you not like them? he sends you a text, saying, "i sent you some flowers," staring at the screen and awaiting your response.

yess, you know he sent you flowers, and you loved them. you had gasped when you found them on your porch, bright and vibrant in color and smelling so freshly sweet. you had already cut the stems and put them in some warm water in a lovely vase. you almost wanted to text eren, to tell him how much you loved them and thank you, but the strong annoyance you had from last night still lingered. with a twist of your lips you disregarded your phone on the kitchen counter, humming a tune as you moved about the kitchen to prepare you a nice lunch.

eren releases a defeated sigh as he puts his jay out, not even in the mood to smoke anymore. mopily, he clicks off his phone, shifting his gear to drive to make more plays.

he spends the rest of the day pondering ways to possibly pull a conversation from you, and a lightbulb flickers in his head when he recalls you saying you were running low on weed. eren always gives you gas free of charge, one of the special privileges that comes with being his favorite girl. he opens his phone to text you again.

doechii's expressive voice flows through your speaker at a volume level most would call excessive. but you didn't care. anything to drown out the annoying pensive thoughts of eren's sexy little face. "i ain't a killer but don't push me, don't wanna have to turn a nigga guts into SOUP BEANS!" no, really, doechii.

your phone vibrates on your vanity as you rummage through your closet for a cute outfit to wear tonight, striding over to your phone with nimbleness. you figured it'd be hitch, since you and her were accompanying each other to the kickback tonight and she was asking either what time you wanted to go or what you were wearing. your hypothesis was proven incorrect when you saw eren's name on your notification wall instead. just him asking if you wanted to him to drop off some more weed for you.

your heart twinged ever-so-softly at the thought of you ignoring your baby. you missed him. it was embarrassing to say this was the longest you went without talking to him. but how would he know you were serious if you just gave in now?

you wanted to respond and tell him you were cool. hitch was bringing the weed tonight. but you refrained, if anything that would get him all the more riled up. eren doesn't like you smoking others weed, his reasoning being he doesn't "trust their product." he was so sexy when he was protective. you remember when you told him you copped from someone else when he had to go off campus for a little bit to see his family, and he spent a half hour inspecting it on the scale with his phone flashlight.

eren let out an irritated growl after constantly checking his phone for 10 minutes, still no reply from you in his notifications. he wanted to tell you you were dragging it, but he knew you weren't. you had every right to be pissed with him given he had promised you this quality time and swore he would make time for you. you were never a stickler for too much attention, but with eren always on the run it was easy for him to neglect you. he's been getting better at it though. until last night.

connie's name flashes across eren's phone screen. he slides the answer button right and lets his car sync the call to the radio. "yo."

"what's good, man. you coming to the kickback tonight? it's gonna be at jean's place." eren rolls his neck until he hears it pop. he knows you'll be there.

"yeah, i might come. today's been slow. don't got nothin' else to do."

"damn, i know that voice. what'd you do this time?"

eren weakly chuckles at connie's intuition. "what can i say, business was booming like crazy last night. we were supposed to hang out but my phone just kept ringing."

connie let out a long sigh over the line. "typical eren, never knows when to close shop." he pauses. "you know you're the asshole, right?"

"yeah," eren groans, shutting his car off and putting his phone on speaker. "i know. i plan on making it up to her."

"yeah, how? surely not with some weed and dick." connie snorts. "[name]'s a nice girl, you plan on locking it down with her anytime soon? i see the way floch be looking at her."

"he wouldn't dare," eren denies, the simple thought of it just making his eye twitch. while you and eren weren't official, basically everyone in the friend group and the vicinity knew y'all were on each other bad. but some assholes just didn't respect boundaries. he noticed floch's gaze would linger on you a little longer than he deemed appropriate. how they would trail your body. he noticed the way his cheeks would blush when you would speak to him in passing or make small talk.

"i dunno, man," connie instigated, smugness in his voice. "but, bring a quarter with you. it's on me, i'm gonna zelle you."

"just send me $50." eren and connie exchange a few last words before they end the call, leaving eren in silence as he stares at the gray wall of the parking garage he was parked in. he didn't know what he was gonna do about you.

eren always tended to look the sexiest when you were mad at him, or he was upset with you. he always would wear his hair down, taupe tresses brushing his broad shoulders. he'd always wear a black tee and some baggy sweatpants that always had you imagining what it was he had underneath. it was nothing you haven't seen, but it was always a pleasant surprise.

you felt your defiance wavering when he and all is glory walked in to jean's house, high as fuck. you swore you could smell his ysl cologne from across the room.

"you okay girl?" sasha questions, her eyebrows pinching in concern as she leans into your eyesight. you blink your mascara coated lashes, giving her a smile.

"yeah, my man just walked in. he always looks so good when im pissed at him."

"it's a trap. don't fall for it." hitch scoffs, her hazel eyes trained on the blunt she was busy rolling. her thighs were squeezed together to keep her carebear rolling tray in place. "don't even look his direction."

"i forget hitch is such a hard-ass. how does marlo manage," ymir jokes. historia chuckles, her head resting against her girlfriend's broad shoulder.

as their conversation goes on, your eyes can't help but find eren again through the decent amount of people crowding the bottom floor of the house, watching him interact with connie and hand him a bag of what you assumed to be cannabis. his turquoise eyes cut across the room, and you know he's looking for you. you look away before any eye contact can happen. when you feel eyes burn into your skin, you know he spots you.

the night involves you acting as if he doesn't exist, keeping your back turned and acting like you're too busy to acknowledge your phone notifications. when you finally light the blunt hitch pearled, you know eren texts you asking where did you get that. you chuckle to yourself as your thoughts were confirmed when you snuck a peek at your phone.

eren feels anger welling in his body as he watches you from a safe distance, lounging against the wall and his eyes never leaving you. you knew what you were doing at this point. wearing them jeans that made your ass sit so perfect and a crop top that teased at your skin and your belly button piercing. your hair was in curls, and your glittery lip gloss shone in the low light of the room. he knew you probably had on his favorite perfume too. that vanilla one he loved so much.

"just go talk to her dude," connie yells over the aggravatingly loud jersey mixed song that was booming through the surround sound, his words slightly slurred from the drink he's been sipping on. eren furrows his thick brows as he hits his spliff, watching the tip burn bright orange as he shuts his eyes for a moment. "and you better hurry. i think tonight's the night floch makes his move."

"connie, shut the fuck up." eren's tone is firm and warning as he feels the vein in his neck rising to the surface of his skin. he finally opens his eyes, glancing at you, and what he sees makes his stomach cave and everything around him turn red.

floch, with his ugly fucking haircut and that ugly dangling earring had the audacity to be all up in your glory, smiling sheepishly as you were saying something to him. he doesn't know what you were saying, your back was to him, but the way your head swayed and your hands were moving he knew you were talking.

honestly eren was never this defensive of someone before. maybe it was your constant insistence of you being fine on your own. "boy, i'm grown," you'd say to him. it only made his instinct to protect you grow stronger.

he knew well you could handle your own. but how fucking dare him?! it's like floch was begging for an ass whooping!

he wasn't actually. he was begging for you to send him the homework answers for your chem class. "not gonna lie floch, i haven't even looked at that shit yet," you admit with a shrug, your lips pulled into a friendly smile.

floch groans as he rubs the back of his neck. "i'm for sure gonna flunk that class. i might just say fuck it and retake it next year."

"not if i can help it," you interject, furrowing your brows. "we pass together, we fail together. i'll send you the answers on groupme tomorrow when i finish."

floch pumps his fist. "man, you're the fucking best, [name]. if you weren't in there i dunno what i'd–"

a hard body brushes past floch, harshly and intentionally slamming his shoulder into theirs. "hey, man, what the–"

you smell eren before you see him, wearing that delicious cologne that's stained into your bed sheets. you look up to find him looking down at you, fire in his sea green irises as he glares at you.

you feign oblivion, lifting an eyebrow at him. "hey," you speak first.

"why haven't you been responding to my texts." his voice is curt, but still soft nonetheless. you feel your girls looking at you intently to see how you were going to play this.

"been busy, sorry," you respond, not sounding much too apologetic.

eren cuts his eyes to the right to see floch still standing there, much to his distaste, a look of confusion plastered across his face. "you need somethin'?" he asks him, a foreign, cutting edge to his question.

"i was just trying to ask her about the homework, dude," floch bites back defensively, taking the smallest step back.

your dainty hand trails up to grab eren's forearm, your soft, irreplicable touch quelling his aggravation. you swear you could feel his taut muscles relax at your contact, knowing he was probably deprived. so dramatic.

"eren, calm down," you reprimand him gently, but sternly. you gave floch an apologetic glance. "sorry, floch. see you tuesday."

floch nods, his auburn eyebrows creased in the middle as he glanced at eren, then back at you, before departing. in tandem, you let go.

"what's your problem," you seethe, but not loud enough for your friends to hear. "you damn near made that boy shit his pants."

eren sucked his teeth, closing his eyes to roll them as he clenched his jaw. "why are you ignoring me, [name]," his low voice is strained, constricting his internal anger to the best of his ability. his high was blown, the music was too loud, you smelled and looked too good, it was all too much.

you place a hand on your hip, your beautiful eyes passive, but holding a glint of hurt behind them. "just collect your breath. i don't wanna talk about it here... even though you know what the problem is-"

"yo, [name], wanna hit this again?" saved by the bell.

"yes, pleaseeee," you drawl. you turn on heels, but not before telling eren, "i'll see you later."

shortly after eren departed to god knows where, and you got high as hell, was when you received that text. and you don't know if it was the marijuana making you fuzzy and horny, the growing urge to just be in his arms, or what, but you complied.

as you brushed and weaved between drunken bodies, you couldn't subdue the underlying feelings of anxiety that swelled in your chest. you didn't know what to expect. but you knew one thing for certain, you were gonna give eren a piece of your mind tonight.

when you finally made it to the bathroom door, you released a breath you didn't even realize you were holding, shaking yourself of your jittery nerves before your knuckles rapped against the hollow wood of the door.

it wasn't even three seconds before eren cracked the door, and before you could say anything, you were yanked in.

you squealed at his presentation of strength, the butterflies in your stomach downward-diving straight to your core. "well, damn! what happened to hello? how are you?!"

eren ignored your playful reprimanding, instead using the time to soak and drink you in. you were so pretty, fussing at him like that. the way your glossy lips twisted as you spoke on about nothing relevant, the way your hair swayed with every movement you made. every muscle in his body urged him to kiss you, breathe you in.

"whatcha call me in here for? it's hot as hell..." you murmured, leaning against the cool wood of the door in attempt to catch your breath.

eren was quiet as he loomed on the opposite side of the bathroom, half-lidded cyan eyes carefully trained on you. you lifted your eyebrows with a shake of your head, prompting him to go on, your arms crossed against your glittery chest. "you're so pretty," he hums, a side smirk playing at his lips, showing his pretty white teeth that you wish you were nibbling on you just about right now.

"can't smooth-talk your way out of everything, eren," you resisted with a strain in your voice, turning to face the mirror to the left of you instead of him. "i'm still upset with you."

"rightfully so," eren agrees, slowly closing the distance between the two of you, backing you against the cool oak wood of the bathroom door. "'m sorry baby, you know i love spending time with you more than anything in this world–"

"i beg to differ," you interject. eren rests his eyes as he clenches his jaw, withholding a sigh. "all i asked was that you put me first for one night... and you couldn't even do that."

"baby, listen to me." eren's large hand engulfs yours, the warmth of his palm spreading through your limbs like wildfire. "words can't even begin to express how deeply sorry i am. i know i fucked up... i know. but, i had reason i've been wanting to work a lot more often as of late." he pauses. he couldn’t possibly pop his question in a bathroom at connie’s party. you’d hate him ten times more than you already do in his moment.

you cock your brow, looking up at him through those pretty lashes that framed your eyes so well. “i’m waiting, eren.”

he sucks in a deep breath, making the sound he usually makes when he’s about to say something you don’t like. “just… trust me. okay?”

that was enough to make you head for the door, reaching out to twist at the knob before he grabs at your wrist. “man, move,” you mutter, over the bullshit. you were over it all: the lies, the empty promises. and you were especially over being crowded in this bathroom with him, because you felt your resolve faltering with each passing second you remained in his presence. you felt like an animal resisting every primal instinct and bone in your body, begging you to let him touch you. it was borderline pathetic.

“you aren’t going anywhere, [name].” he meant that in more ways than one.

“how much you wanna bet?”

the frustrated glint in his aquamarine eyes and the knit in his thick brows made your knees give.

“ummm, have you guys seen [name]?” hitch asks after a good thirty minutes fly by since you first departed the group, skating her eyes around the living room with a quizzical glance.

ymir snorts. “you already know she ran off with that boy,” she exhaled the smoke she was holding in her chest out towards the ceiling, running her long fingers through historia’s golden locks. “wouldn’t be surprised if she already dipped off with him.”

not quite. instead, you and eren were still in the bathroom, your ass on the bathroom counter and your head resting against the mirror as eren was crouched before you, low to the ground as he slurped at your pussy like a man starved. he looks up at you from his place between your thighs, tongue flicking at your swollen clit before taking it into his mouth to suck on it whole. you let out a breathy, high pitched moan, your eyes rolling behind your closed eyelids as eren gazed up at you with hearts in his eyes. you were always so fucking beautiful, whether you were mad at him, grinning at him, or cumming for him.

“fuuuck, i think i’m bouta cum again,” you whimper, your eyebrows pinched as your orgasm brewed at a slow boil within the pit of your stomach. you already left your mark all over the marble sink, leaking down your thighs, and all over eren’s chin. but when was that ever enough to satiate his thirst?

“do it, baby,” he breathes, french kissing your pussy before speaking again. “you know i want it.”

“get it outta me, then,” you retort, a sexy simper pulling at your lips, and the darkened glare he have you through heavy eyelids made your pussy squeeze.

his big hands grip your thighs, blunt nails digging in your skin as he begins rocking your lower body up and down, sliding his long tongue from between your pussy lips to your ass with each bounce. you let out a squeal of surprise, your pink toes wriggling as he just kept doing it, over and over and over. you hear him, moaning with each stride, reveling in the saccharine taste of you. his dick felt like it was bouta break, restricted to his boxer briefs, and he felt the sticky precum leaking on his thigh. he needed to fuck you. but he always prioritizes you over all.

your orgasm bust inside you, your pussy profusely contracting as your juices coated eren’s face. “fuck, yeah,” he encourages in you, his voice in a low growl of satisfaction. he didn’t stop, cleaning you up and slurping your pussy clean. you flinched as he left a final loving kiss to your aching clit, and he chuckled as he stood to his feet. your eyes couldn’t help but look at his crotch, you couldn’t help but smirk at the prominent tent of his stiff dick being held hostage in his sweatpants. “turn around for me. i want you to see me fuck you.”

you slid off off the counter, ringing your panties off the ankle they were hanging on to, before turning around, leaning against the sink and arching your back. you looked back at him, gazing at him tauntingly. “whatchu waiting for?”

“cool it,” he warns you playfully, his thumbs hooking into the bands of his sweats. "don't bite off more than you can chew."

"i've had mouthfuls of you. i promise you i can chew."

"look at the mirror."

you turn back forward, looking at eren in the reflection. he was so pretty, his hickory locks tousled around yet still framing his face beautifully. his bottom lip was pinched between his teeth as he shifts his pants to fall below his knees before rolling his briefs down his thighs. he lifts his tshirt up, showcasing his tan abs that had a slight shimmer of perspiration as he readies the head of his dick at your opening. then, with steady hips and a deep breath, he pushes forward.

him putting his cock inside of you was such an irreplicable feeling, you don't know how to explain it. to feel his girth stretching you, giving you a burn that was so deliciously good, always made your head spin. you whine, pushing your ass back just a little bit to help eren bottom out in you. he cusses under his breath, grounding himself with a hand on your ass cheek as his pelvis met flush against your tailbone.

you felt his dick twitching inside you, and you couldn't help but let out a satisfied moan as you let your head drop against your arms folded over the sink. eren grit his teeth, his jaw clenching as he tries to regain his composure. you were so warm, so wet, so greedy judging by the way your pussy squeezed him like a vice. any sudden movements and he was bound to nut in you.

suddenly, the bathroom knob jiggles, followed by pounding against the door. you jump, your muscles stiffening as fear tickled at your tummy. eren hisses, his nails digging crescents in your cocoa buttered skin at you tightening around him. "uh, anyone in there? i gotta piss!" connie. what are the fucking odds.

"uhh, give me a few minutes!" you yell, your voice uncharacteristically shrill from your newborn anxiety as you looked back at eren with wide eyes. "maybe we should-"

you were shut up with one, heavy stroke, eren almost completely unsheathing himself before bottoming out in you again. your words died in your throat, replaced with a gasp.

"uh, okay...?" the end of connie's okay drawls up in the end. "wait, [name], is that you? are you straight in there?"

"yes... fuck, yes!" you sputter out, squeezing your eyes shut as eren picks up his speed a bit, but not his power. he was gonna do you a favor and not fuck you too dumb in here. he wants you to at least have some chance of walking out of here on your own two feet. "i'm fine!"

"okay, okay! i'll just go upstairs." after a few seconds, you hear connie shifting away, but that genuinely wasn't your main focus. eren was rolling his hips, making sure the tip of his dick hit that sweet spot that made you sing with every. single. thrust. your head was down, resting against the counter, your eyes stuck in the back of your head as you took every inch of him with grace. your moans were mere whimpers, trying your best to muffle them with the inside of your arm.

eren sees his phone vibrate from his place on the hanging shelf beside him, and he smirks to himself when he takes a brisk glance at the banner:

convict: [name]'s in the bathroom. she didnt sound too great so u should prolly check in on her

eren groans under his breath, leaning forward to mold his abdomen against the curvature of your spine. that motion was enough to make him feel like he was touching your stomach. "what are you doing?" he purrs, flicking his tongue out to lick at the shell of your ear. he feels you shiver, your shoulders shuddering as a sex-soaked cry escaped your lips. "i said i want you to watch me fuck you. why are you hiding that pretty face?"

you had nothing but a pathetic moan to offer as a response, and he scoffed to himself, a smirk curling at his lips. he stands straight, both of his hands settling at your lovehandles as he begins sending you to poundtown. the impact of his hips against your ass was loud, and there was no doubt that if anyone came to the door they would hear you getting the shit fucked out of you. "be a big girl, mama," he muses. his hand reaches for your curls, gripping your tresses to pull your head up and back. you squealed, your eyebrows pinching at the burning sensation. you mustered up the courage to flutter your eyes open to be met with the godly sight of your man, looking down at you throw those thick eyelashes, his cheeks tinting pink from the overwhelming heat of the small, crammed space. " watch me while i fuck you."

his wish is your command as you watch him through teary eyes, licking your lips at the feeling his hand snaking up the arch of your spine to come around and grip your chin. the pads of his fingers rest on your cheeks, slightly squeezing as he snaps his hips against you from behind. his eyes are boring into you, clouded by lust with a hint of adoration, watching the way your face contorts into pleasure-ridden expressions. he's watching the way your plump lips wrap around his thumb, the way your titties bounce with every deep thrust and threaten to spill out your victoria's secret bra and tank top, the way that fat ass jiggled and made waves every time he drilled his dick in you. you were perfect. from your pretty face, to your loving heart that had a padlock with his initial on it, to your gushing pussy that would squirt all over him just for him.

"this pussy is so perfect," eren hums, looking down in awe as he watches the way you cream and squeeze on his shaft. "it's like it was made just for me. was it, baby? this is just my pussy, right?"

"you know that, daddy," you slur, feeling your orgasm coming to a head. you were so ready to release, your pussy just aching to cum. you hear him give a chuckle, his hips speeding up in tandem.

"i think you're ready to cum now. i want it all on my dick. can you do that for me, princess? or is that too much to ask of you?"

but before you could even muster a response, it was as if a tsunami hit your pussy, because the way your juices sprayed against his upper thighs was a damn shame. eren lets out a moan of appreciation, biting his lip as he lets your orgasm ride out and coat his dick. he gives your ass a few appreciative cracks, making you tighten around his cock until you managed to collect your breath.

eren slowly begins unsheathing himself from you, his dick still solid as concrete but he honestly wasn't concerned with getting his own nut off right now. after all, this wasn't going to be the last time he was to be in you tonight. as soon as he takes you back to his place, he was gonna fuck you through the mattress and the bedframe.

"girl, there you are! you've been missing for like, an hour!" you bumped into hitch on your way towards the front door, eren being your guide but you squeezed his hand to let him know to stop. she shifts her eyes to him, then looks back at you with an "oh-i-see" look. "you headed home?"

"yeah, eren's gonna take me."

"okay, be safe," hitch adjusts your shirt, tugging the top hem over the shadows of your peeking bra. "call me when you get in."

"she will." eren assures hitch, and she nods, the two of you slipping away from the crowd and going off into the night.

[glamourscat]

May i please request headcanons, maybe a drabble of the batboys where reader is trying so hard to pretend that they don't know anything about their partner being a vigilante because they want to be told with trust and the boys are growing increasingly concerned about their s/o's obliviousness bcs like?? and the their s/o keeps saying things like "haha yeah!! red robin's super underground but that costume is pretty good timmy!" and "oh? i do have a thing for morally gray men, lovely red hood costume" whenever they accidentally see parts of the costume and can't pretend they didn't see it

idk i just think it would be funny af, ty in advance!!

i decided to go for drabbles. they are quite long so i only did jason and tim. should i do dick, maybe steph too, in the near future? let me know!

"You can't be serious," Jason thought. It's not that you're blind, and he’s not exactly being subtle. He knew from day one that being involved with a civilian meant the topic of his nightlife would eventually come to light. Before getting together you two had been friends for a long time, but he never quite managed to outright say, "Hey, by the way, I’m Red Hood." How do you even drop something like that into a conversation? 

Yet, as your relationship grew, more milestones came along and suddenly, you two were approaching your 2 year anniversary. Now, more than ever, as you found yourselves living together, Jason knew it was going to be harder to explain his secret. How many lies could he keep telling about going to help Roy or some emergency with Dick? How many nights could he still sneak out after you’d fallen asleep, only to return aching from a patrol?

So, he started leaving subtle hints. From his domino mask to his gloves… but hell, at this point, he might as well leave his whole costume out, because how in the hell are you not picking up on the clues?

“You know, Jay, that vigilante... What's his name? The one in red? Oh right, Red Hood. He’s pretty cool, right? I mean, he has a different approach than the others, i think some would say morally gray. I mean, hot.. Anyway, but—oh, wait, this is a lovely Red Hood costume! I didn’t know you were a fan too?!”

At that moment, Jason didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or do both at the same time. Maybe by accident—maybe not—he had left his entire costume out. And it wasn’t exactly cheap. The fabric was thick, heavy, it was definitely not something you’d find at a Spirit Halloween. Yet, you just folded it, didn’t ask any questions, and continued with your little chat.

“Doll, you got a moment?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible because he was seconds away from laughing his lungs out.

“Yeah, Jay?” You looked at him, internally sweating. Did you give anything away? Did he suspect that you knew?

“You know, doll… that… the costume. I mean, it’s not fake, right? I…” He sighed, trying to find the right words.

“It’s real. Because I’m the Red Hood.” There. He’d said it. A relieved sigh left his lips as the words came out. Now comes the hardest part: your reaction. Would you laugh? Be shocked?

“Oh, yeah. I knew.”

What?

“What—? I beg your pardon?” Jason asked, his voice laced with disbelief, eyes scanning you to figure out if you were lying.

“I mean, you’re not exactly the most subtle, love, are you?” You said, amusement dancing in your eyes as you tried to hold back a smile. “Besides, I found out a while ago. I was just waiting, I suppose. It wasn’t my place to ask or say anything. I figured when you were ready, you’d say something.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Wait… when did you find out?” Jason raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Well, you see… It wasn’t that hard. At the beginning of our relationship when I’d tell you, ‘Hey, I’m going out with my friends tonight,’ and then coincidentally, when something happened—because it’s Gotham, let's be honest—there you were, Red Hood, swooping in to save the day. Always fleeting, never lingering too long. But what was really odd was that both Red Hood and my new boyfriend had the exact same walk style. Not to mention, Jay, mask or no mask, costume or no costume, I could still recognize you. Even in a crowded room.”

Jason just stood there, stunned. How had he missed all the signs? A part of him was relieved, he didn’t have to keep lying, but another part of him couldn’t believe he had been so obvious. You were too sharp for him to pull anything past you. And to think he was under the impression he had you fooled…

As he looked at you, he realized there was more to your patience than just waiting for him to confess. You’d known, but you’d never pushed him. It made him wonder how long you had really been aware. But now that it was out in the open, Jason found himself surprised by how easy the weight of the secret seemed to fall away. He’d been carrying it for so long, and yet, with you, there was no judgment, no shock. Just acceptance.

"You've always been patient with me," he murmured, his voice soft but grateful.

You gave him a warm, knowing smile, stepping closer. "Because I know you, Jason. And I know what you're doing matters. It’s a part of who you are, just like everything else."

Tim was stressed, but to be fair, Tim was always stressed. You two had been dating for a good while now and had been friends for much longer. However, somehow, he still hadn’t brought up the whole vigilante thing. Maybe it was because he was scared, or maybe it was due to his own selfishness. For once, he just wanted someone to see him as Tim and only Tim. But the truth was, he couldn’t exist without Red Robin. He knew that. And it had been too long. He knew he had to say something. But… does he?

Still, something didn’t sit right with him. It was the way you weren’t questioning him anymore on why he was always so tired, why sometimes he had to be gone for an entire week or why he trained so intensely. His physique, though not the most built, was still incredibly fit for a “simple rich kid.” And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand if you were just pretending not to notice or if you honestly hadn’t put it together. But when you suggested what costumes to wear for Halloween, he almost passed out on the spot.

“Yeah, I mean, we can do a couple’s costumes or… I don’t know, Tim. We can always go as… hmm? What about we go as vigilantes? I can be Wonder Woman and you can be Red Robin. It’s pretty underground. I’m sure the costume will look great; besides, you already have a good replica in your wardrobe. Fits like a glove, no?”

Like, this had to be a joke, right? Sometimes Tim wondered if his life was some kind of reality show, secretly followed by cameras just to capture his reaction to these weird, questionable moments.

He froze for a moment, staring at you, trying to piece everything together. Was this your way of telling him you knew? Was this a test?

“Uh... you... know?” he asked, his voice betraying a mix of confusion and disbelief.

You look at him confused. “Know what?” You shrugged, casually leaning back in your chair.

Tim blinked, his mind racing. He was smart, very so, but at this very moment he felt like the most ignorant being on planet Earth. He looks at you and you look at him and for a moment there is this unspoken, silent battle.

“You know, that I am Red Robin.” he says, quietly. Eyes searching yours for an answer.

“And what if I do?” you reply back equally quietly.

He had expected a lot of things. Shock, anger, even confusion, but not this calm, almost nonchalant acknowledgment. And yet, a wave of relief washed over him. You weren’t angry or disappointed. You weren’t even all that surprised.

“I’ve always known, Tim,” you continued, your tone softening. “You’ve been dropping clues left and right. The late nights, the cryptic phone calls, the strange bruises... And don’t even get me started on your ‘training’ routines. I never pushed because I knew you’d tell me when you were ready. And now, here we are. Although… I certainly did not imagine it to happen in such a way” you say, letting out a small soft laugh. 

Tim let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging in a way that felt like he’d been carrying a weight for far too long. "I didn’t want to burden you with it. I didn’t want to be Red Robin to you. I just wanted to be... just Tim."

You smiled softly, walking over to hug him. “And you are. You’re Red Robin, sure, but you’re not just that; are you? You’re Tim. My Tim. Two things can coexist at the same exact time, this is just what makes you.. You, ya know?” 

Tim stared at you for a moment, hands around your waist, his mind still processing. It was as if the entire weight of the secret identity he’d been carrying all this time suddenly evaporated. He had been so worried about how you would react, but now that it was out in the open, there was nothing left to hide.

"Thanks," he whispered, his head dropping to your neck. Hiding, but not really. It was more or so a way to feel you even closer. 

Your head gently resting against his, brushing a kiss against his hair. “Always, Tim. You’re still the same guy I fell for. I love you.”

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