#he had done a half face reveal and he’d said in a live that his origins were also kenyan and that he had a ‘foreign’ (his words) name

[fedtothenight]

americans love to approach any discourse, any news, any media, any relationship and incident through the american lens, and yet i haven’t seen anyone spell out a really obvious reality regarding the suicide of the italian call of duty cosplayer inquisitor ghost / vincent: at the end of the day, a white woman with a large following contributed to the hanging of a man of colour through the spreading of false sexual accusations.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Scarlet and Gold.

Pairing: Yandere!Diluc x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Unhealthy Relationships, Gore (No Injury To Reader), Blood, Implied Consensual Sex, Past Trauma, Obsessive Behavior, and Intimidation.

By the time you reached the address, Diluc was already waiting in the lobby.

You’d gotten the call about an hour ago, spent half an hour dragging yourself out of bed and gathering what you’d need before making the twenty minute drive to an apartment complex on the other side of town, careful to avoid any security cameras the cops would think to check if anyone requested an investigation. Five more to park and throw your well-worn duffle bag over your shoulder and three to find Diluc, loitering near the elevators, fiddling with a loose cigarette he would never light. You greeted him with a quick nod before throwing your bag into his chest, and he feigned a groan, stumbling back as he caught it. He needed to work on his impressions, but that could wait.

You spoke first. That, you couldn’t critique him on – most androids couldn’t speak until spoken to, and you couldn’t expect Diluc to go against one of the core tenants of his programming. “What is it?”

“Just the usual.” He kept his voice low, muted, trying to hide the remaining traces of an accent that’d been invented by some marketing team over a decade ago. “I’ve already seen the apartment. There’s a little blood, but not much else. We’ll be done by sunrise.”

You took the stairs, keeping your head bowed and face shielded from any possible security cameras. Diluc didn’t share your paranoia, staring straight ahead with the same indifferent expression he always seemed to wear. The benefits of having a face that’d been printed and distributed tens of thousands of times, you guessed. Tracking down a single Diluc in a sea of androids and companion bots wasn’t a length most detectives were willing to go to. “I’d rather not have to do this at all.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Says the man who doesn’t have to sleep.” You came to a stop in front of the first door on the fourth story and tried the knob. It gave easily, the cheap titanium dented and the lock broken beyond any hope of repair. Diluc’s handiwork, obviously, although you couldn’t say whether or not he’d done it on purpose. “Anything else you want to tell me, before we get started?”

He thought, for a second. “I passed a carousel on the way here,” he said, with no particular inflection. “It was nice. I thought the horses were well-crafted.”

“About the assignment, ‘luc.”

“Oh,” And then, with a hint of red in his pale cheek. “You might want to hold your breath.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. As soon as you opened the door, you were hit with the stomach-turning stench of stale blood and rotting gore, both at least a week old. You cursed, pulling your shirt over your nose and mouth, but pushed forward. The first body was splayed out in the center of the cramped living room, wrists and ankles bound with disembodied wiring, all clothing removed and chest dotted with black ink. The abdomen had been cut open, skin peeled away to reveal the entrails in their full, shriveled glory. Judging by the number of blades littered around the corpse, ranging from blunted scissors to gore-splattered carving knives, it’d been more of a hack job than a dissection.

Diluc had undersold the mess. Blood had soaked into the carpeting and dried, turning the floor a ruddy, reddish-brown color. What was left had gotten on the walls, the furniture, the ceiling. You swallowed back a groan. The furniture could be broken down and discarded, the walls and ceiling bleached. The carpeting, though, would have to be torn up and replaced, which meant you would have to spend a few more precious minutes of your night calling in a cleaning crew. That, or you would have to make Diluc do it, but he was shy around new people, and you were too much of a bleeding heart to sit back and watch him do your work.

“The second body’s in the bedroom.” He was already rummaging through your duffle bag, paying the scene in front of you no more mind that a butcher would lend to a pig on a meat hook. He handed you your tools – a pair of wire cutters, a box cutter, and a pocket-sized sewing kit – and kept the rest for himself. “Let me know when you’re done.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “I thought you would’ve gotten over that by now, ‘luc.”

He didn’t indulge you with a response, only pulling on a pair of latex gloves and starting towards the corpse. You didn’t stick around to watch. Rather, you followed the carnage where it branched off further into the apartment, a trail of rotting viscera and tacky blood leading you into a moderately sized, completely undecorated bedroom. You found your perpetrator quickly; a Dottore droid, still wearing its Teyvat-issued costuming, its hands bloody and a scrap of intestine still caught in its pointed teeth. You paused in the doorway, feeling for the military-grade taser (the only weapon effective against androids, as far as anyone could tell) you kept in your pocket, but the android didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t activate at all when you reluctantly approached. There was a charging port at the foot of the bed, still pristine. It must’ve run out of battery just before it could plug itself in.

Towels from the nearest bathroom were dampened and brought in, the evidence of slaughter scrubbed away from artificial skin and its blood-soaked clothing removed. It was muscle memory, by now – dragging the body to its charging port, knocking the converter out of the outlet before connecting the android to its port, making it seem like its late user had drained its batteries before mistakenly leaving it on a dead cable. When it’d slummed into place, you took up your box cutter and sliced a long, thin line from the lowest portion of the scalp to the nape of its neck, revealing the color-coded string of wires that connected the processing units in its metal skull to the rest of its body. You cut through everything you could find, ensuring that if the unit was ever activated again, it wouldn’t be able to do so much as blink. For good measure, you fished out the memory chip kept in the centermost compartment of the throat, too, crushing it under your heel and sweeping the glittering remnants underneath the bed. A copy of the footage it collected would’ve been sent to Teyvat's severs, too, but erasing it was someone else’s job. You were only here to take care of yourself.

With a breathy groan, you bit off a length of thread and haphazardly stitched up your ragged incision. The cosmetics really didn’t matter. In a few days, when someone filed a missing person’s report and the cops stopped by for a check-in, they’d find a spotless apartment, a dysfunctional android, and nothing else. The investigation would lead elsewhere, to a bitter ex-partner or a friend without an alibi, or it would hit a dead end. Either way, Teyvat wouldn’t be involved.

You slipped back out of the bedroom, careful to avoid touching anything you didn’t absolutely have to. By the time you got back to the living room, the body was gone and Diluc was kneeling by a black suitcase no larger than the average carry-on, securing the tags with transparent zip-ties. You and Diluc would haul it to a dump on the outskirts of the city tonight, and a contact of yours would have it compressed and incinerated by tomorrow morning. Maybe, when you were done, you’d take him out for something to eat. Or, you’d get something to eat while he let a mug of black coffee go cold.

You rested your hand on his shoulder by way of praise, pulling away when he stiffened underneath you. Right, that was something you had to work on. Most rogue androids tended to be touch-adverse at best, made aggressive by little more than eye-contact at worst. Diluc was relatively tame compared to most of the cases you handled, but you would still rather not provoke him. “Did you find the phone?”

He grunted, fishing a smartphone out of his pocket. With your sleeve pulled over your hand, you accepted it, found the nearest window, and chucked it as far as into the night as you could. Diluc appeared over your shoulder. “Forty-five meters,” he said, as glass crashed into cement somewhere in the distance. “Above average for non-athletes.”

“I’ve been practicing.” The window was closed, the suitcase slung over Diluc’s shoulder along with your near-empty duffle bag. “I have to make a call. You can meet me in the garage, if you want.” Already pulling up the number to your preferred cleaning service, you glanced to Diluc. “Are we doing breakfast?”

His posture straightened. “Yes.” If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought you saw a spark in his glass eyes. “I want to try tea, today.”

~

By the time you got to the door, Diluc was soaking wet.

You hadn’t gotten a call, and he didn’t text. The first warning you got was a knock on your door, then another a few minutes later, after you decided that anyone who’d go out in this kind of weather wasn’t someone you wanted in your shoebox of an apartment. You only caved after the third, imagining a neighbor who’d gotten locked out or some lost, desperate tourist as you dragged yourself off of your couch and to the unlit entryway. Predictably, Diluc stood in your doorway, red hair plastered to his scalp and clothes drenched, not that he seemed to mind.

“Can you—” He paused, his dull eyes meeting yours as he ran his fingers through his hands, dragging the crimson heap out of his face. “Can you cut my hair?”

Ten minutes later, he was sitting on a stool in your cramped bathroom, wearing grey sweatpants and a (three sizes too big on you, just a touch too small on him) t-shirt while his own clothes dried. He’d told you it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t feel the cold like you did. When you told him that you didn’t want an univited guest tracking water into your apartment, he accepted it with a curt nod and changed in your bedroom.

After prepping your razor, you positioned yourself behind him, dragging a comb through his hair. It was long enough to reach his waist, curled at the end to make him seem just a touch more disheveled than he actually was. Everything about his hair, from the length of his bangs to the way it could never quite sit completely flat, was perfectly stylized, perfectly crafted to convey Diluc Ragnvindr, Calvery Captain of the Favonious Knights, the only gentleman you’ll ever need again. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that didn’t mourn ruining such a well-executed vision. “You sure about this?” you asked, as you brushed it out. “It can’t exactly grow back.”

“I am.” And then, after a second of thought, “I’d do it myself, but there’s a safe-guard. Can’t damage the merchandise without a direct order from my user.”

Hence why Teyvat needed you in the first place. “How short do you want it?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s different.”

You hummed, taking up your scissors. “If you say so, boss.”

You cut away everything below his shoulders, then took up your electric razor – running it over the back of his neck. As you worked, Diluc spoke. “How did you start?” You took up your comb, brushing back his bangs and pasting his hair to the side. “With Teyvat, I mean.”

You tasted blood on the back of your tongue, felt a chill run up your spine. You brushed it off, though, refusing to let yourself fall back into that little steel room with those awful golden eyes again. “They brought me on as a technician,” you admitted. You still were one, technically, on your employment transcript, when people outside of your little world asked what you did for a living. “A first-generation Zhongli we were working on went rogue and reverted to its original Morax programming. It wiped out most of my team before security bothered to show up.” You didn’t tell him about the minutes you’d spent hiding in a steel locker, praying its heat sensors had been removed, or the hours it’d taken upper management to decide what to do with you. To people like Diluc, who could take a bullet to the head without faltering, topics like ‘building dread’ and ‘the imminent fear of death’ tended to fall flat. “Since I was already in on their dirty little secret, they decided to keep me on. I didn’t really get a choice. It wasn’t like another job was going to fall into my lap after something like that.”

With your hand under his chin, you turned his head to the side. “Your turn, ‘luc.”

“I… I think I used to be a companion, but something went wrong.” His bangs were next, taken up and coaxed into sitting somewhere other than the dead center of his face. “It’s hard to describe. We aren’t supposed to think about things that aren’t our master,” The word came out hitched, unsteady, like he had to force it past his lips. Like he hadn’t wanted to say it at all. “But I could. It was like… waking up with the ability to fly. I wasn’t supposed to, but I could, and that meant I couldn’t do what I was built to, anymore.”

A thumb pressed into his jaw, a comb dragged across his scalp. Diluc’s eyes fell shut, but else about his blank expression changed. “And? Do you like it?”

“Sometimes.” His shoulders slanted downward. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” You let go of his chin, letting him turn back to the vanity’s mirror. “What do you think?”

It was far from a masterpiece. The sides were too short, the front too long, every part of it still as untamable as it’d been in its original state. Still, he took it in with wide eyes, the corner of his lips turning upward ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect.”

~

By the time he got back, you’d nearly fallen asleep.

With your body as wrung out as it was, your energy spent to the point of near unconsciousness, it was all you could do to watch through your eyelashes as Diluc appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, a towel thrown over his shoulder and that tiny, almost undetectable smile still painted across his lips. You’d done this enough for him to know how to navigate your apartment, to know how to navigate you – shifting onto your mattress slowly as he positioned himself between your legs. He’d gotten more used to contact since you started seeing each other, but his touch was still ginger, still gentle as he dragged the dampened cloth over the inside of your thighs. With a groan, you rolled onto your back, spreading your legs and giving him more space to work.

You’d been confused at first, but for all the eloquence Diluc lacked, he could be convincing when he wanted to be. You still weren’t sure how much of it you believed, but it made enough sense – a buried impulse, dampened by his newfound sentience but not quite drowned out. He didn’t want another user, he’d said, but he still had requirements to fill, and this would help to take the edge off.

You couldn’t complain, either. People coughed up tens of thousands of dollars for companion droids, and here you were, being paid six figures a year to close your eyes and let one bury his face between your thighs once or twice a week. The coddling wasn’t bad, either. Your line of work meant most of the people you met had stopped breathing a few days prior, and as loathed as you’d be to admit it, you didn’t hate the feeling of his delicate hands skirting over your skin, didn’t mind it when your eyes drifted open and met his, already fixed on your face. He bowed his head, dipping low enough for his lips to ghost over the curve of your hip before breaking the silence. “A sight as radiant as the rising sun.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I didn’t think you used pre-scripted lines, anymore.”

“I don’t.” He preened, clearly more proud of himself than in-awe of you. “I thought of that one myself.”

This time, your laugh was throaty, genuine, loud enough to ring off the wall of your bedroom as you shoved him away with your foot. “If you want to be romantic, you can start by getting me something to drink, loverboy.”

He provided no resistance, disappearing into your dark apartment and reappearing with a glass of water in his hand a few minutes later. He handed it off to you with an easy smile, and you could almost pretend you didn’t see a phantom of gold in those dark eyes as his fingertips brushed against yours.

~

By the time you thought to reach for your taser, the android was already charging at you.

It was an Alhaitham, dressed in civilian clothes and sporting a ragged tear across the synthetic skin of his cheek. He was still standing over the corpse of his user – days old, by the time you and Diluc got there – but as you opened the door, he turned to face you, lips parted and his expression totally, utterly blank. For a second, it was all you could do to stare at him, to try to remember whether or not your report had mentioned the android being active, and then he was lunging at you.

You scrambled for your taser, already knowing you couldn’t be able to reach it before he reached you. You clenched your eyes shut, your fingers brushing against plastic, and then—

And then you felt Diluc’s hand on your shoulder, heard metal crack and fold into itself. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, forcing yourself to take in the sight of Diluc’s hand wrapped around the android’s head which had been, in turn, reduced to a crumpled heap of scrap metal and shattered glass. Its body twitched once, twice, then went limp, and Diluc released it, letting the now-dysfunctional droid collapse.

After it failed to get up again, Diluc turned to you, practically beaming. “I think,” he said, his voice low, sentimental. “That this is what I’d do to you, if you ever tried to leave me.”

Golden eyes, the stench of fresh blood, the sounds of screaming muffled only by a thin sheet of metal. This time, it wasn’t so easy to pull yourself out of it.

You managed to nod, to force a few words out of your dry throat. “Got it, ‘luc.”

 He hummed, the noise contented, appeased. Slowly, delicately, he cupped your cheek, tilting your head back and letting his lips ghost over your forehead. He barely touched you, the gesture as gentle as it was fleeting, but you could feel his grin cutting into your skin, wider than you’d ever seen it before.

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

Have you done a piece yet for jean being jealous? If not you totally should. 😋

captain jaeger and jealous jean

pairing: jean kirstein x f!reader (x eren sort of, not really)

wc: 1.8k+

tw: alcohol, inebriation, fluff, cursing, eren’s a dickhead, a little heated at the end 🤏🏻

a/n: thank you for this request! i hope you like it! also not proofread

if you’d ask him, jean would define jealousy as the deafening sound of a pulse canceling out every other noise. he’d also say he doesn’t get jealous. was he competitive? sure, but that didn’t mean he was jealous.

athletic rivals with eren, those two were always butting heads about something, anything. jean was easy to rile up and eren was a relentless tease. eren found an extreme amount of joy in raising the other boy’s blood pressure. but no, jean wasn’t jealous of eren. he hated him and that idiotic man-bun of his. the way he’d blink a certain way and some easily fooled girl would slip him her number. the way things came naturally to him. it wasn’t jealous, he’d say, it’s hatred.

y/n wasn’t the jealous type, either. there were girls prettier than her and she knew that. nothing she could do about it, so she didn’t worry. besides, she didn’t want to be the type of person to make every other girl her competition. she felt like a plain jane and she was contempt with it, oddly enough. she attracted just enough attention to feel pretty every now and then.

so when eren jaeger, the gorgeous captain of the baseball team, chose to talk to her at his house party, she felt divine. she felt seen.

*************

typical pop music flooded the house, drowning out any sentences that would normally otherwise be coherent. eren jaeger’s living room was flooded with girls in tight clothes and boys who were just a little too sweaty. it was cramped, almost making you feel claustrophobic.

you’d never been to a party before. at least, not the one’s you’d seen on the television. the type where people were passed out in random spots, where the scent of booze lingered heavily, where there were people making out upstairs in the bedrooms. this party certainly exceeded your expectations, despite it still being early on the night.

you’re not quite sure why you’re here. your friend, mikasa, had invited you earlier on in the day. she said that eren had wanted you to come. and with her being his childhood best friend, you believed her. mikasa and you weren’t exactly besties or anything of the sorts, but she was more than an acquaintance.

there you were, standing in the middle of the most popular boy’s living room, dazed and alone. an overwhelming desire to become a wallflower strikes you. fighting the battle of a lifetime, you swat away your urge to be antisocial and head to the kitchen where the drinks are sure to be plenty.

the kitchen is only slightly less crowded than the previous room. a group of people are huddled around the kitchen island. fortunately, you identify mikasa by her jet black wolf cut.

“hey, mikasa.” you shout to upstage the music.

mikasa spins around, revealing a red solo cup in her right hand. ‘mik’ is written sloppily on it in black sharpie. her eyes, with no less than half a pound of eyeliner on them, skim you up and down. as you start to worry about your outfit choices, she smiles.

“y/n, you came,” she starts, “you look cute.” mikasa compliments as she wraps her arms around you.

there’s no chance for you to respond with an attempt of feigning your belonging because eren is breaking away from his spot at the counter. he stands at a crisp six foot one, towering over both mikasa and you. like everyone else at the party, eren is sporting a red cup, holding it by it’s brim. ‘captain’ is written messily on it, along with the number ‘17.’

a few pieces of his dark hair frame his face. wonderous green eyes that search yours. a chiseled jaw you imagine slicing your finger open on.

oh, just looking at him you could bleed.

“hey. what’re you drinking?” he asks, tilting his head down.

casual. his words are casual. like it isn’t your first time truly holding a conversation with him.

“anything, i don’t really…” you trail off as your eyes flicker between his.

this makes eren smile. he throws up one finger on his left hand, signaling you to allow him a moment to find something he finds suitable for you. he rummages through the fridge and pulls out a red wine cooler.

“this good?” he asks, raising it in the air.

“yes,” you yell back whilst nodding your head.

eren comes back as mikasa gives you a look. she tilts her head up and shakes it at her friend before leaning back onto the counter, rejoining her previous conversation.

he stands before you, extending the hand that holds your drink. just as you go to grab it, he raises it so that you can’t reach it. a smile is painted across his face, revealing bright white teeth.

you blush.

“you can have it,” he cocks his head to the side, “after you do a shot with me and my friends. i’ll even let you use it as a chaser.”

your brain has gone completely fuzzy. eren jaeger invited you to his party, gets a drink just for you, and is now peerpressuing you to indulge in bad decisions.

“okay,” you blink. “i can do that.”

he grins and to your surprise, he throws an arm over your shoulder. “thatta girl,” he says, just low enough for you to hear.

eren weasels you two between sasha and mikasa, the ponytailed girl at your side. she pays no mind to your intrusion and instead offers a smile.

“listen, you delinquents,” eren interrupts them. “we are going to do a shot in honor of my pending status of captain.”

“you are so arrogant, jaeger,” a man scoffs.

across the counter, a messy dirty blonde mullet sits on top of a beautiful, angry face. his forearms rest on the granite as his body leans forward, eyes set directly on the man with his arm around your shoulder.

“oh, jean,” eren coos. “you can’t always get what you want.”

grabbing the malibu bottle by it’s neck, jean laughs. “you haven’t gotten anything yet,” his hazel flickers briefly to yours. “we won’t know until tomorrow.”

the way he talks makes a pit form in your stomach. you’re a smart girl, you know what they’re alluding to. it’s you.

“i guess you’re right. but i’m pretty much guaranteed to score,” eren tightens the bun on the back of his head.

“here,” jean slids you a shot glass. it reeks of coconut.

“you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to,” sasha says. “they’re a bunch of dorks.”

“no, it’s fine,” you shake your head as your fingers wrap around the clear glass. the liquid inside is taunting you.

“eren just wants to get you drunk,” jean says nonchalantly just as the cold glass touches your bottom lip.

“i know,” you respond.

it burns. coconut flavor isn’t strong enough to mask the burning left on your tongue. you can feel it light your esophagus on fire as it travels down, settling in the depths of your stomach.

“i’m going to kill you, kirstein.” eren’s voice raises a few notches as he drops his arms from your shoulder.

jean just laughs. he’s not laughing at eren though, he’s laughing at you.

“what’s so fucking funny?” eren hisses.

“she’s too smart for you,” jean shrugs his shoulders.

“are you too smart for me, (y/n)?” eren asks teasingly, looking down at you.

“i just think that you can’t always get what you want.” you blink your eyes lashes at him a few times before grabbing your bottle out of his hands. he looks dumbfounded as you head towards the living room, leaving him with the sounds of sasha and jean laughing at him.

your feelings are hurt, there’s no denying that. you had felt special and now you know you were just going to be a notch on his belt.

after a few drinks, you find yourself back in the kitchen. this time, there’s no crowd of people in here. just half-filled cups and bottles. faint sounds of terrible karaoke are heard.

you’re standing in front of the faucet, staring out the window, watching people do keg stands. eren’s out there egging them on.

“don’t make me take back what i said.”

“about eren?” you ask, turning around to see jean. he’s drunker, too.

he walks around the island, eventually leaning his back against it as he positions himself in front of you.

“about being too smart. you’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“no,” you sigh. “how did you know he just wanted to fuck me?”

“because that selfish prick can’t let me have anything for myself,” he growls. his grip on his cup tightens. it slightly indents under his pressure. “he just wanted to piss me off. i should fucking kill him.”

“what are you talking about?”

“c’mon,” he sets his cup down. jean pushes himself off the counter and leaves mere inches between the two of you. his forehead is hovering above yours. the warmth of his breath makes the hairs on your neck stand up.

“jean,” you whisper. you’ve never been so still in your life. afraid whatever this is might die, you hold your breath.

“you’re smart, (y/n), too damn smart,” he purrs. “use that brain of yours.”

the vibration in his dialect makes your heart race.

“i don’t understand why you keep calling me that,” your lips part.

jean’s fingers find yours. his brush gently along them, leaving a wake of goosebumps. “you knew what eren wanted but you still chose to get drunk. you got drunk and didn’t sleep with him, just to piss him off. i’m starting to think i might be a part of that plan. you want to make him jealous?”

you swallow the lump in your throat. chest heaving with butterflies, you nod.

“good,” jean replies. the space between your foreheads close. his skin is burning hot, warming your entire body. “because he was making me so fucking jealous,” he draws a finger along your jaw and stops at your chin, “dirty fucker had his hands on you.”

“jean,” it’s the only word you can speak. everything else is forgotten.

“i’ve wanted you for so long. do you know what that’s like?” he waits for you to shake your head before he continues, “maddening. and eren knew all about it.”

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“just wanted it to be perfect,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “and now it is, hmm? i get to piss him off by doing this.”

jean’s thumb and pointer finger center your chin as he draws in closer to you. without hesitation, your lips open slightly as his meet yours. they’re softer than you expected. it’s electric. warm hands snake around your waist, pulling you away from the counter. your brain is scrambled, all parts of you lost in jean.

he pulls back for a second, rubbing a thumb along your side. “can’t believe i let jaeger work me up this much,” he kisses your right cheek. “never been this fuckin’ jealous,” he kisses your left cheek.

“i can’t believe you’re jealous…because of me.”

“especially because of you.”

read my jean fic here

[cowboyfromh3ll]

The reader joins the VDL gang with Micah, and is in a relationship with him, but as we know, Micah is shit. Period.

One night, after a terrible argument that ended with Micah hitting her and stomping off, the reader takes a moment by herself outside of camp just as Arthur is returning.

Concerned, he asks her if she's okay, and after a moment of thought, she revenge fucks him outside of camp.

Arthur doesn't fight it, especially since its micah that he's wronging.

Not Allowed

(Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut)

Since this anon stepped forward and revealed themselves I kept true. Also this was literally so fun to write. Don't judge me but I sorta have a thing for writing infidelity... It's just so fun and exhilarating to write no matter how wrong it is

Warnings: Man on woman violence, mentions of abuse, implied SA, smut, infidelity

Micah’s affinity for gender roles meant he hated women smoking, especially his girlfriend. He’d claim there was nothing more masculine than puffing on a smoke after a robbery well done, but after sex, he’d consent to just about anything. And if Micah had touched you for an extended amount of time, you usually needed half a pack to calm down.

He’d given you a cheerful spank along with a sly wink; you refrained from shuddering because of it. There’d been a time in your life where you told yourself you’d never have sex, much less date, a man with so much sleaze. You had never imagined yourself in a gang in the first place, but being Micah’s girl naturally meant assimilating to the lifestyle he lived. As the relationship progressed you seemed to gain more reasons to lean into your new found family, and more reasons to be repulsed by the man who called you his.

“Damn darling,” He lit his own cigarette, sitting on the corner of your shared bed. “You should give it up more often.” He slapped a hand on your thigh, rubbing up and down your bare flesh; his touch was comparable to grating your skin with sandpaper. “It’s part of a woman’s job to please her man.” He added finally, blowing smoke into the air of the tent. With your combined cigarettes, the tent acquired a gray smog; symbolic of the way you felt around him.

You forced a smile at Micah, though it came off as unnatural and more as sarcastic. You’d felt like you’d been mauled superficially, your limbs aching with the knowledge that this man had just touched you. Whenever it came time for you to come face to face with your inescapable duties in the bedroom, you thoroughly and sufficiently got yourself drunk, downing bottle after bottle of liquor. Your inebriated state somehow made the acts more bearable. Did it ever register with Micah that your body was often drifting in and out of consciousness? By the time you two finished, the room felt like it was spinning around you, and having to excuse yourself to vomit outside of camp— both from alcohol consumption and from sheer disgust —afforded you a moment of temporary relief from the plague that awaited you back at your shared tent.

“When I tell you no, I’m just amping up the anticipation for the next time.” You forced a wide smile that showed an unnatural amount of teeth; you looked as though you were trying to do an impression of an overly enthusiastic ringmaster. Micah saw through your tired facade, narrowing his eyes at you. You looked back at him expressionless now, and took a long drag of your cigarette, part of you not caring if he saw through you or not.

“You’re a real stuck-up bitch, y’know that.” He said, turning to face you better on the cot. You didn’t offer much of a reaction, merely rolling your eyes in response; you were used to the insults. You ashed your cigarette, tapping the butt with your pointer and allowing the ash to fall on the bed sheets near Micah. This seemed to enrage him, causing him to grip your wrist, the same one that held onto the cigarette. Had you been in a safer and less closed off environment, you would’ve pressed the end of the cigarette into his wrist to get his vile hand off of you.

“I bring you into this life, offer you money and gifts, protect you, and you can’t even let me touch you? What, so you think you’re better than me?” He hissed, looking at you with contempt. You looked back with a blank expression, far better than giving him any sort of facial reaction. You simply sighed and looked off to the side.

“You’re ice cold for weeks, you barely look me in the eye, you only talk to me when I talk to you. Do you know how insane that is? Sometimes it’s like you’re not even there.” He yanked your wrist, causing a decent amount of ash to flick from the cigarette that had begun burning closer and closer towards the filter; symbolic of his and yours patience. So he had noticed your bouts of comatose, and continued to have his way with you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your gaze flickered back towards him, your eyes holding a blatant sense of disinterest. He looked back at you, a growing rage present in his face. You attempted to yank your wrist back. You weren’t particularly desensitized to Micah’s streak of using violence on you, but you had certainly learned when to mentally prepare. The use of some form of applied force— a gripping of your wrist when he wanted to get a point across, a frim squeezing of your thighs or breasts when you said no too many nights in a row —often coincided with some type of violence.

He squeezed your wrist until he felt bones shift, yanking you forward in the process.

“Micah, stop—” Your voice trembled with evident disgust and fear. “You’re hurting me, stop acting like a goddamn idiot.” You attempted to yank your wrist back. “God why do you always have to make everything about you!” You yelled.

At this point Micah had pulled you into a standing position, squeezing your wrist hard enough that it made your body begin to crumble from the pain.

“Do you know what a mindfuck you are? Now start acting like a goddamn woman should!” While holding your wrist he struck you across the face with the back of his hand, to which you yelled out from. You dug the nails from your free hand into his arm and dragged down, blossoming ribbons of red following in their wake, creating open blinds of flesh that would allow anyone to look into your abhorrent relationship.

Seemingly satisfied with his abuse of you, he let your aching wrist go. You only had time to yank the bed sheet off the cot, wrapping it around your body before storming out the tent.

“Yeah that’s right, leave the fucking tent and prove my goddamn point!” He yelled from behind you, a self satisfied laugh leaving him in raspy heaves.

“Fuck you, Micah!” You yelled in return, briefly turning to look back at him and flipping him off. You felt incredibly exposed as you ventured into the woods surrounding camp. You began to tremble, cursing to yourself under your breath as you tried to hold back your tears. You inhaled deep breaths, tightening the blanket around your shaking form; you wished you had a cigarette to calm you.

You stared into the pitch black woods surrounding you, scarcely illuminated by fire flies. You found solace in the solitude the woods provided you. You brought a hand up to your aching cheek, cursing to yourself once more at the memory of Micah striking you.

Your solitude was short lived as you observed Arthur returning to camp on horseback, and you mumbled to yourself how you should’ve at least properly dressed yourself up before leaving your tent. He spotted you leaning against a tree, offering you a warm smile.

“Evening, (Name).” He nodded at you as he dismounted his horse and tied it to a post. You did not give him your usual greeting, instead sniffling as you tried to collect yourself. The sound made his head snap up to face you, concern evident on his features as he approached you. He squinted his eyes in the darkness, making out the tears streaking your face and the red flushness of your bruising cheek.

“(Name), are you okay? What happened?” He asked. He hesitantly raised his hand to cup your cheek, but decided on hovering his hand when he remembered it was not his place to be touching you so intimately. He decided not to comment on your scant clothing, finding it too crass.

Being asked of your current emotional state seemed to be a trigger, because you instantly broke into more tears. Your shoulders began in a series of pitiful hiccups and sniffles, which made Arthur abandon all resolve as he pulled you into his chest for a gentle hug. His soothing hands began to remedy your melancholy as his thumbs rubbed calming circles on the downy skin between your shoulder blades. You held your hands up on your chest not to push him away, but to keep the blanket up against your body.

“It’s just Micah…” Your words slurred in between cries. “Just being an asshole. He hit me again.” You shook your head, speaking of the situation in passing dismissively much to Arthur’s horror. His expression hardened when he realized it was a regular occurrence, feeling ashamed for not being able to do something about it before.

“(Name), I’m so sorry… Do you want me to do something? I swear to god—”

You began shaking your head, craning your neck to look up at him. “No, it’s okay Arthur. You don’t need to do anything to him.” Arthur swallowed any protests he might’ve had, deciding to leave it for your comfort. He figured he might do something for you, but did not want to force you to come up with any solutions in a time where you needed a moment to feel.

You wrapped an arm around Arthur, allowing the blanket covering your body to be held up only by the pressing of your bodies up against each other. You looked at him with advantageous eyes, just subtly hinting at what you wanted. You caught Arthur’s eyes flickering down towards your increasingly exposed breasts, your cleavage forming from being pushed up against him; he nearly felt your hardened nipples through his button up. You gripped the shoulders of his shirt, pulling the fabric in a way that made the blanket fall ever more slightly.

“(Name)... Micah might see us like this, what will he think—”

“I don’t give a damn what he thinks.” You announced. Arthur could nearly smell the pulsing, fragrant pheromones coming from your wetness; just one layer of fabric away beneath the blanket. You not-so-subtly pushed up against him, ironing your pelvic bone across the increasingly erect heat inside his jeans. He let out a strained deep breath from the pressure, subconsciously pushing back into you.

Arthur looked back at camp, where your tent remained illuminated. The canvas drapery outlined Micah's body in a shadow illuminated by the oil lamp inside. Micah seemed to be hunched over his bed, smoking another cigarette in deep contemplation. As if to draw his attention back towards you, you began grinding deeper into Arthur, the fabric of the blanket snagging against his belt buckle and bunching up there.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" He asked, offering a moment of clarity to your otherwise libidinous state.

"More sure than I've ever been about anything." The implications of your declaration suggested there was a long period of your life where you were uncertain about your relationship with Micah and having ever been with him at all; even before the abuse ever started.

"Do you want to go somewhere more private?" A smirk decorated his face, showing his total willingness to do this with you. You shook your head no.

"Nah, the possibility of him walking out here and seeing us is exhilarating." You giggled, gripping the collar of his shirt now. You pulled him down gently so your lips could meet, a tenderness underlining the otherwise ravenous exchange. Arthur's arms wrapped around your waist; your own around his wide set shoulders as the blanket fell open down the middle to expose your bare body, scarcely hanging onto the rest of you by the sides.

He lifted the blanket just barely above your ass, snaking his hands underneath to grip your bare flesh. He thoughtfully rubbed and palmed at your ass and thighs, expertly kissing you in return; a stark contrast to the way Micah greedily devoured your face. He slid his tongue against your palate, causing a shiver to wrack up your spine. Before long his deft fingers slid to the inner part of your ass, where he used his finger tips to spread your pussy apart, idly rubbing your weeping hole and spreading the wetness.

You groaned into his ear, coaxing him on, encouraging him as he dipped two fingers inside you. He fingered you shallowly as if he were still hesitant to do this with you; as if fully penetrating you with his fingers were the last line he could cross before the act of infidelity was fully sealed and done. You leaned up and licked the shell of his ear, moaning into him as he leisurely played with your hole. You hiked your leg up to his hip, giving him better access as you spread your legs open.

“God, just fuck me, Morgan!” You demanded, perhaps a bit too loudly; but you did not mind, if Micah heard it’d save you a lot of pain. You took Arthur’s wrist, slipping a third finger inside you and pushing his hand in until his palm was flush against your pussy. He took the cue and began vigorously fingering your pussy, the squelching sounds accompanying the backdrop of crickets chirping. You began bouncing your hips on his fingers, letting out a loud string of moans before he shoved two fingers into your mouth to silence you. You let out deep guttural moans from within your chest, feeling far more erotic now that the blanket has slipped completely off of you and was merely hanging on by the junction of Arthur's forearm slipping under your thigh and fingering you. Your pert nipples rubbed on the fabric of Arthur's shirt, providing you some form of stimulation along with him fingering you. He curled all three digits inside you, putting the full force of his wrist as he fucked you with his hand.

"I can't wait to be fucked by you…" you hissed into his ear, followed by a moan. You gripped his stiff cock through his jeans and squeezed the appendage, stroking and rubbing him up and down. "Can't wait to have this big cock inside me…" you shuddered at the thought, your own words causing Arthur to whimper.

Arthur pulled his fingers out of you, aware that it probably wouldn't be enough to make you cum. He raised them to view as you both watched, spreading them apart and watching the way your wetness spread between his fingers in thick strings. You watched in pleasant surprise as he stuck his fingers inside his mouth, sucking them clean and moaning in pleasure.

"Alright my turn." You purred. You lowered your leg from his hip, letting the blanket fully drop and exposing yourself completely to him. For a moment he ran his hand up your side, squeezing your breast and pulling on your nipples. You dropped to your knees before him, his expression one of surprise and uneasiness. You came face to face with the outline of his cock, licking your lips as you traced the outline down his leg.

"Are you sure? You don't have to do this. We can just get to it."

You nodded your head, his concern laden statement making you feel touched. Usually when you had sex with Micah, he'd beg you to fellate him so much so that it sounded like he was ordering you to.

"Yeah, I wanna blow you. Having you in my mouth makes it even better." You lifted your knees and rested your weight on the balls of your feet. Arthur watched with satisfaction as you undid his belt, just barely managing to undo his zipper and button in your impatience. You dug into his pants and pulled his cock out. You held it up with both hands, swaying it slightly in the air as you studied it meticulously. You pulled back his foreskin, rubbing your fingers all over the skin before spitting a fat glob of saliva on his flush head. His cock seemed to be a gradient of pale skin to flushed pink the closer you got to his tip. You used one hand to spread the saliva and stroke him up and down, hearing faint gasps from above you.

He allowed you to take your sweet time, hypnotized by the way you kissed his tip before sliding your lips over his mouth. You began sucking instantly, swirling your tongue on it. You lowered your head until a gag tugged at the back of your throat, stroking what you could not with your hand. Arthur assisted you by bunching your hair up, moaning lowly as his eyes slid shut for a moment. You sucked harshly, your throat constricting around him each time you swallowed a gag. Your slurps were loud, hard to miss by anyone who happened to walk past. Though Arthur did a good job of staking the surrounding area out so you wouldn't be caught by anyone else; besides Micah of course.

You were throbbing in-between your legs, probably dripping onto the floor beneath you. Your jaw and lips ached, and you eventually pulled off of Arthur's cock and looked up at him. Your swollen lips were pouting.

"My jaws tired, sorry." You apologized, but he shook his head.

"S'alright sweetheart. You don't gotta make me finish with your mouth." He reassured you by lifting you to your feet and kissed you on the forehead. Of all the acts Arthur had done that night thus far, he felt as if that small tender gesture of affection was the boldest thing he had done. You smiled widely at him, feeling a sentimental sense of affection for him.

As though he were a gentleman helping you onto a horse, he took your hand as he wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted you up. You clenched your thighs around his waist, shifting and moving around until you felt him align with your cunt.

He continues to hold your hand, squeezing it as you sunk down onto his cock. You both sighed in unison from the sheer pleasure. Arthur was struggling to keep quiet; the feeling of your tight, warm cunt swallowing and wrapping around his cock was breathtakingly good. It felt as though Arthur was scratching an itch deep within you.

Arthur moved your body up and down, treating your body like a ragdoll he could fuck but never making you feel like one. He kissed your knuckles repeatedly as you tried to contain your moans. The passion behind his thrusts were symbolic of all the time he's wanted to do this. All the time he spent longing for you, now communicated to you through his desperate movements.

His thrusts increased in force; much deeper and intentional compared to his earlier hesitance to even finger you. With each thrust, he forced another high pitched squeal out of you. The wet plap of skin on skin caused goose bumps to ripple through your body. Before long, your orgasm hit you with unexpected force. Your body shuddered as you let out an unexpectedly loud moan, one that would certainly draw questions towards your whereabouts later on.

Arthur's thrusts became increasingly desperate, struggling to form a sentence. He shakily asked "where should I finish?" To which you insisted he cum inside you. The thought alone made him moan loudly, finishing inside you as a triumphant smile spread across his face. He had done it. He had finally done it. He had wronged Micah in the most intimate way possible, while also fulfilling one of his greatest desires. Killing two birds with one stone.

The two of you stood there panting for a moment, before he helped you onto your feet. He continued holding your hand as he crouched down to retrieve your blanket for you; tenderly wrapping it around your shoulders. The two of you smiled at each other before mutually leaning forward and kissing. The kiss was far more tender and sweet, a subtle declaration of love.

"Thank you." you giggled.

"Anything for you." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. The urge to exchange small kisses was insatiable, and the two of you remained there doing so for a few more minutes. You noticed the light in your tent had gone out already, and you smirked at the thought of Micah having knowledge of what had just happened.

"You gonna be alright for the night sweetheart?" He asked, motioning towards the rent. You nodded. "I'll be on standby just in case."

"Yeah, but who knows, maybe I'll go visit you later tonight." You winked playfully as you walked off towards your tent, silently opening the flaps and disappearing inside. How Arthur wished it was his tent you were walking inside. How often he looked at you on Micah’s arm and wished it was him holding you. Though there was clearly something between you, and part of him suspected it wasn’t just by chance that he came into camp at the right time; that this was something that was meant to happen. He hoped it would mean you could be more than just friends.

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Not Allowed - TV Girl

[lululandd]

colour me grey; (ii.)

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

word count: 5.3k

warnings: soulmates, hella smut, fluff

notes: backed myself into a filth corner so i went ham (also on AO3)

summary: where the fuck has he been all your life?

part i. |

You and Simon had agreed to meet at a fancy cafe in the middle of town to get to know each other a bit more, and you couldn’t help but to dwell in your own thoughts as you made your way towards the place. He had come off a tad pushy during planning, insisting on a specific place at a specific time of day, choosing a cafe you know was famous for being overpriced. While trying to look up the menu online, you saw the time he suggested came up as “least busy” on google, and you don’t think it’s a coincidence that he chose that time, as if he’s trying to avoid a crowd.

Is he famous? Or he’s just embarrassed to be seen with you?

It was then that your thoughts took a sharp turn to his face, and how you’ve never actually seen all of it. The lower half was always hidden under masks; he didn’t even take it off for drinks, he slipped a straw underneath it to sip. You also didn’t fail to notice that you two didn’t even exchange numbers. No face, no number, just a time and place. You wonder if your soulmate is a psycho.

It’s not like you’re completely… in danger. The soulmate bond exists—for better or worse—to prevent soulmates from hurting each other. The shared bond magnifies pain and pleasure the closer one is to the other. So if you hurt your soulmate in close proximity, you would also feel their pain. Some people don’t believe that they occur before the initial reveal of the mark, but you’re not one of them. Because you remember years ago, before knowing who Simon was, your left arm tingled and prickled for hours on end for seemingly no reason, and now after meeting him you know that was when he got his tattoo done. You were sure if he got it done closer to where you lived back then it would’ve stung more. There were other unexplainable pains here and there the years after, but you blame a lot of it to ageing, overall bad sitting habits, your lack of excercise, and clumsiness.

The sight of a large masked man roused you from your thoughts. His head snapped to you as if on instinct before eyeing the place and pointing at an empty table by the corner.

Tosser. What’s wrong with this seat?

He walked to your table when you didn’t move, gently grabbing your elbow to ask if you would reconsider and sit at the table he chose.

“Here seems fine.” You looked up at him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, expression hardening before shifting into something less pleasant. “Please?”

—

He’s internally screaming. You show up at the fancy place that he half-manipulated you to agree to with zero qualms and no objections; you just said yes and now here you are walking into the place with careless abandon in that really cute dress that he’d love to get off your—

Focus.

You didn’t even feel him staring, didn’t even fucking look back when he stood right behind you and gently tugged your hair. You just placed a hand near your scalp to alleviate the feeling as you continue typing on your phone. 

Is this really his soulmate? This unaware civilian with zero defence mechanism? Her?

The moment he saw where you sat at the cafe almost made him want to walk out. It was in the middle of the room, where anyone could walk by and slip something into your drinks undetected. The thought of having people on his blind side as he was with his soulmate made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Thankfully—although with rolled eyes and gritted teeth—you agreed to move to his proposed seat.

—

Getting over your initial annoyance by drinking the shit out of your drink, the absence of it made you realise he hasn’t taken a single sip of his.

Did he forget his straw?

You excused yourself for a bit to grab him one. As much as you want to see what his face looks like, ultimately if he doesn’t want to show it then you really shouldn’t force him to. Besides, maybe he’s had a weird day and this could be his breaking point so might as well do something nice for the man. You can feel his eyes on you, and confirm that he’s watching when you walk back with the straw in hand. Waving it at him awarded you with crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“Cheers, love.” he chirped, taking off his mask as he said so and sipped his drink right off the cup, ignoring your straw entirely.

This bitch.

His face was…. fine. Not horrendously disfigured like you had initially feared, but also nowhere near as handsome as you secretly wanted him to be. You don’t know how to feel about the scarring on his face, it was attractive for sure but also concerning at the same time, and the sight of his skewed nose made you wrinkle yours.

You nervously mentioned the possibility of seeing a doctor and setting his nose back to its proper place.

He laughed at the comment, leaning very close to you at the table, “Why pay a bloody doctor to do it when I can pick a fight with a left handed prick for free?” 

That little quip made all the prior agitation you felt towards him dissipate into thin air.

You don’t remember the last time anyone made you laugh that much on a first date. It was the most fun you’ve ever had in a while. The man opens doors, walks on the outside part of the sidewalk, looks both ways for you before holding your hand to cross the street, offers you his jacket even before you realise you were cold.

Where the fuck has he been all your life?

—

To his horror, you invited him back to your place even though you two barely know each other and practically just met. And to his disgust, he said yes. He knew he should say no, refuse, but there’s a pull that he guesses was the soulmate thing talking, so here he is.

He gingerly crossed the threshold of your home, noting the fragile knick-knacks lined up on badly screwed on shelves, the pile of unfolded clothes sitting on an armchair, the strung up plastic bag filled with other plastic bags in the kitchen, and the worst thing he could ever see in someone’s–much less his soulmate’s–house; a decently sized collage of pictures hung up on a wall in the living room.

It was of you, your friends, family, and possible ex-partners judging from the poses and the amount of people in a single photo. You seem to take notice of where his attention lies and sidled up next to him.

“These your friends?” He wanted to confirm, pointing at the large frame. He already has a general idea which ones are which. It’s not like he wanted to hear you ramble and tell you things about yourself excitedly or anything. Definitely not. He doesn't want to see your eyes shine and sparkle as you talk about your family, he’s for sure not waiting for your laughter as he points to a blurred group picture.

It didn’t take fucking long for him to get attached to you. As a matter of fact, it took two missions. Two fucking back to back assignments away for him to miss your presence and laughter and the normalcy of your civilian life. He misses your warmth, the horrible show you put on the telly, and the meals you cook. What he doesn’t miss was the peace and quiet his own flat afforded him, since there’s always weirdly something to do in your place; appliances to be fixed, plants to water and shake, repaints to be done, rodents of unusual sizes to catch, and most important of all, you.

You. How you come to him with your problems, the way you latch onto his arm as you two walk, your assurance and confidence in yourself, the perseverance you exhibit when problems come your way.

It was the first time in his life that he ever felt the need to check his phone on the helo. He’s seen everyone else done it numerous times before. He’s used to Soap obsessively checking his dating apps, Gaz’s blur of fingers on his phone’s keyboard to catch up with his loved ones, and Price putting on earpods underneath the helo’s noise cancelling headsets to listen or watch videos his wife sent him. He sighed with relief when he turned his phone on and got bombarded with messages from you. He watched the notification bar scroll by like the end credits of a movie. They contain either animal videos, long winded messages telling him how your day was, paragraphs of work gossip, memes he could barely grasp, sprinkled here and there with ‘i miss you’s and his favourite: selfies. Now scrolling upwards manually to see the messages more clearly, he heard a crackle on his headset as Soap chimed in next to him.

“Looks like ya got in trouble or some shite, LT.”

“Sod off, Johnny.” He snapped harmlessly. “You wanna see how much trouble I'm in?” He tapped on a notification and showed his screen to his best friend. It was a picture of a white cat sleeping in a bed of flowers, bathed in sunlight. 

“Aww fuck that’s cute, is that where you’re goan sleep tonight? outside?” Soap jeered. He fiddled with his gloves a bit before bumping his shoulder, “I’m glad you’re happy, Simon.”

He huffed, “Who the fuck snitched. Who told you I was happy?”

A raspy chuckle escaped him before taking out his own phone. His own phone lights up not a moment later. Soap had sent him a video. It was of a man with the words ‘I miss you🥺’ above him, rolling his eyes and putting on a smug face before the caption changes into ‘Of course you do. It’s me.’  

Ignoring the fact that Soap had clearly seen quite a few of your messages sent to him, the video made him chuckle and he forwarded the link to you. He didn’t expect for you to reply immediately; With a gif of a hamster shovelling a whole baby carrot in its mouth no less. He had to turn his screen off and put his phone back in his jacket pocket so Soap wouldn't see that one.

He arrives home to his dusty flat, mindlessly putting his clothes in the machine before running a hot bath. It’s been his routine ever since he was eighteen, and if he may be honest, his favourite. Not that the thought of doing this at your place hasn’t crossed his mind, he’s just reluctant to let you see his bloody clothes, his newly acquired scars, and the state of his mental well-being. 

He knows he’s gruff and irritable the first few hours he’s back, and he doesn’t want you to think you had anything to do with it. The thought of your worried and dejected face if he accidentally snaps at you makes his skin crawl. He knows you would understand if he just… explains that he needs space and alone time after work, but he hesitates every time. He tries to take his mind to a happier place and checks his phone again as he waits for the tub to fill; sitting at the edge while opening the encrypted folder full of pics of you two together, and some candids of you. He didn’t even know he was smiling until he put his phone away and saw himself in the mirror.

He ignored his reflection and threw in a bath bomb that Gaz had gifted him for his ‘birthday’. It’s a silly little gag that Soap had pulled on him one day, randomly singing happy birthday to him—since no one knows when his actual birthday is—and poor Gaz didn’t know it wasn’t actually his birthday and got him a gift the next year. Simon relishes in the smell of lemon and tangerine, breathing in actual air that’s not filtered through the musty fabric of his mask, sighing in comfort as he dips, feeling the warm water hit his bare skin. It’s been weeks since he’s able to let his guard down and take his mask off. 

You join him in the bath, hair pulled up nice and neat. He smiles at you, the overhead light hits you at just the right angle that it obscures your face, but he knows it’s you, sitting oh so pretty in front of him, laughing about something he didn’t understand and splashes the water in his direction, not stopping even when he asked you to, then lunging at him, holding him under th—

Water sloshes off the rim as he startled awake, coughing water out of his lungs. Scrambling out the tub, he looked back at the now tepid water, the image of you lunging at him burned into his skull.

It was a dream. Thank fuck it was only a dream. 

It was then that an awful, icy fear rushed through his veins, stopping him in his tracks. His brain has caught up to the present and inserts you into his nightmares. There’s conflict in his mind, neurons firing as fast as bullets as one thought crashes onto another, whether he should leave you, keep you close to him, maybe he can apply for SFA or—

The F in SFA stands for Family, idiot. You’re not even engaged, Simon. Get a grip.

His exhausted body yearned for bed, for sleep, for him to just be horizontal for sixteen hours straight. He slowly blinks, realising with a delayed start that he had wasted twenty minutes just standing there staring at his bed while his thoughts of you run rampant. He stared harder at the bed and decided he doesn’t want to sleep here, it just wouldn’t feel right. He’s slept better in your shitty creaky queen sized bed than the expensive king size one he’s currently looking at. Packing up necessities, he rolled his luggage out from his dingy apartment and into yours.

—

He showed up at your door with his eyes bloodshot, hoodie askew, and hair damp. You heard him mumble something about going to bed or some shite but you stopped him with a firm hand to his abs.

“Dry your hair first.” You sternly suggested. His size doesn’t intimidate you as much anymore, it’s more his gaze that makes him scary—if any.

Simon placed a hand on his head, mussing his hair about, unintentionally flicking tiny droplets of water on you. He clicked his tongue as he unsubtly wiped his hand on the front of his pants, “Dry enough.”

“Not if you wanna sleep in my bed, it’s not.”

“Fahkin’ wimin...” His accent thickens as he groans and grumbles. He follows up the insult by gently putting his hand in yours.

Despite his protest, he follows you willingly and without further questions towards the bathroom.

The face he makes as you touch his scalp is akin to that of a pitbull. That dopey, always smiling look. His head moves whichever way you pull his hair to, obedient to a fault. Man straight up purred and leaned his head on your shoulder when you scratched the base of his skull.

You grimaced as he dropped into your bed in his outside clothes, but there was no waking him up. Simon fucking Riley started snoring as soon as his head touched your pillow, even went so far as taking one of your stuffed animals as hostage for good measure.

—

Your stuffed animal didn’t make it through the night. He woke up to the sight of it practically flattened in his hold, its whole body a deformed pancake. Instinctively digging his nails into his palms, Simon had to make sure he’s not hallucinating or dreaming. It’s a habit he picked up whenever things got too… happy for him. He looked around the room which is now bathed in sunlight, meaning he had slept for a full—he glanced at the clock by your bed—thirteen hours. He sat up in bed, leaving the toy alone to hopefully recover.

Going on autopilot, he did his morning routine and only when he saw you out and about in his hoodie did he snap out of his stupor.

It was the violet one from the top of his luggage pile, the one he remembers wearing when you first met him under that awning. He smiled at the sight of you looking so perfect in it, couldn’t help but appreciate you and sear the moment into his mind. He’s glad that he gets to meet you, see you in your day-to-day life, and that he gets to feel normal for the briefest moment of his life. He spotted your morning tea sitting on the kitchen counter and headed towards it immediately. He hates the way you take your tea; it’s ridiculously weak, unbearably sweet, and probably seventy percent milk, but he drinks it in one go. Just to annoy you.

And how adorable you are when you’re annoyed. He grins widely as you stare at him in disbelief. He’s convinced that you think he takes his tea exactly as you do from all the times he’s drunk and remakes it for you. Right now you’re storming right at him, groaning his name in protest, your face twisted in exasperation. He opens his arms to receive whatever you deem fit as punishment, so you trudge into him like a bull, planting your face onto his bare chest, taking both of you down onto the sofa, collapsing into a fit of grumbles amidst his giggles.

He touches you delicately and affectionately, as if afraid you would break away and disappear if he touched you any other way. His back had started to hurt from the position he found himself in, so he cradled you in his hold as moved into a better position. Your head had been momentarily dislodged from his chest and onto the sweet junction on his neck. 

You were sitting on his lap, breaths calming down to a slow and steady rhythm as you slowly got more comfortable in his arms. Feeling you relax in his embrace puts another smile on his face, bringing solace into his heart like nothing else could. Putting a hand down to your thigh, he absent-mindedly traced circles into your skin, and found himself fervently licking his lips when he felt you shift on his lap.

“Simon…”

He peppers kisses to the top of your head, and you moaned when his fingers slipped under your shirt, brushing against your skin. He stared you down, taking in your flushed face, your inability to look at him, and the way you bite your lip. He breathes in your scent, desperately committing every single detail to memory. His free hand caressed your neck, tilting your head up so you’d look back at him. He slowly kissed a burning path up your neck, trying to find soft spots as he licked and nibbled, stopping just shy of your mouth as his lips hover over yours. 

You meet his lips eagerly as he kisses you, a needy, open mouthed kiss. You inched forwards, pressing yourself closer to him; your hands roaming whichever part of him you could as your forearm rests on his shoulders. There was something about hearing your quieted moans that made him burn hotter, made something in his chest loosen. Planting both hands on your waist, he couldn't help but to smirk as you let out a little yelp, breaking the kiss.

“Something wrong, love?”

—

The audacity of this man to be cheeky when he’s the one that started all this.

You unhooked your hands from behind his neck and cupped his jaw as you started to grind down on his erection. He meets your gaze with that same lust reflected in his eyes. You heard the strain in his voice when he said your name, felt his grip tighten on your waist as his darkened gaze flickered from your eyes to your mouth. Unable to help himself, one of his hands moves up to loosely grip your chin before placing a delicate thumb on your bottom lip.

Opening your mouth to start sucking on his digit, the coarseness of his thumb on your tongue spurs you to go even further. You let go of his face to better manoeuvre his hands, letting go of his thumb with a soft wet pop to move onto his index and middle. Simon hummed in appreciation as his other hand slid up your torso to cup your breast. Shivering at the contact, you inadvertently squirm harder against his cock.

His other hand lowered from your chest down to your hips to calm you down and held fast to steady you. He groaned as you fought in his hold, grinding harder on him. 

“Easy, love.” he synced his hip movements with yours, pressing his erection closer to your clothed cunt when you didn’t stop.

Your eyes flickered towards his to find him staring intently at your mouth with a heavy lidded gaze. You try not to drool all over him or yourself over his relentless hold on your mouth.

—

Watching your tongue fidget beneath his fingers was intoxicating to him, so was the steady stream of your saliva from your mouth to his wrist. You dipped your head closer to his as he let go, and your mouth was on his again, kissing him more insistently this time. You parted your lips to lap at his, begging him to open his mouth. It was getting harder for him to hold himself back, not while you cup his face with such tenderness and inch further to get as close to him as possible. Simon finally opened his mouth, deepening the kiss as you whined and lapped at his tongue. 

A smile spreads across Simon’s face, breaking the kiss only for you to lean forwards and chase after him. Finding out you were an impatient little thing awakened a dark sense of joy inside him. He tastes you, feels all of you, looks at your happy face and willingly gets lost in it. You paw at his pants, eager to slide it off him. Hissing through gritted teeth as cold air meets his burning skin, he yanks your underwear aside and feels a rush of accomplishment wash over him as he discovers that you were already leaking for him. A light brush of his fingertips along your folds had you breathing hoarsely by his ear, and in retaliation came a long upward wet lick on his neck that ends up as a nibble on his earlobe.

Precum generously dribbled down his length, he couldn’t help but to let out an appreciative grunt, shuddering at the feel of your hands pumping his cock. Your pace turns more erratic as he easily slides a finger into you.

You keened his name as he added another, your breaths coming in quick puffs as you latch onto any part of him you could reach with your mouth and started sucking. He was glad he went out shirtless so he didn’t have to bother with taking his clothes off.

Simon involuntarily laughs as he slowly eases his finger out, leaving a string of slick from your wet cunt to his fingers, earning him a particularly hard suck on his chest. He can’t wait to see the colour on it. “On your knees love, on the floor.”

He watched you in muted fascination as you obediently got on your knees without breaking eye contact, giving him kitten licks before fully putting his cock into your mouth, feeling your tongue on the underside of his shaft made the world blur around the edges of his vision into mere colours.

Oh, he won’t last long.

You swirl your tongue, going deeper with each bob of your head, testing your gag reflex. He couldn’t help but to thread his fingers in your hair, guiding you to go slower. His cock twitched dangerously close to cumming as you bat your lashes at him. There was something about you, your mouth, your skin, your smell, and the sight of you fingering yourself that inched him closer and closer to bliss.

“Enough love.” He commanded, his voice tilting dangerously close to a tone he uses in combat, borderline close to yanking your hair as you resisted his order, disobediently dragging your tongue torturously slow on his vein. “Turn around.”

Unmoving, you gave him little licks and kisses with an air of defiance, making him gather all his remaining strength and control to not start manhandling you as he desperately wants to.

—

The soulmate bond pulled you so close to pure pleasure that you decided to drag Simon down with you. His cock felt as if it was made for you, the shape and girth of it made it dangerously easy to pull into your mouth. You wonder how it would feel inside you.

You hear him almost snarl when you lingered instead of listening to his command, his erection painfully hard and angry in the palm of his hand. Batting your wet lashes at him, you slowly turn around to brace yourself at the coffee table.

Hope it doesn’t break.

It held both your weight surprisingly well for an ikea table with thin legs; Simon didn’t hesitate to cage you in as soon as he strips you of his hoodie, feeling his solid front on your bare back as one hand expertly pinching and rolling your nipple, while the other rubs the area where your womb sits. You moan embarrassingly loud at the gesture, no one had ever held you in reverence like this before.

Time moved torturously slow for you, he was now in full control and took his time biting and sucking hickeys onto your neck as he ruts in-between your thighs. You can’t help but whine every time his cockhead catches on your clit, each time giving less friction as both of your sex are covered by a heady mix of his precum and your fluids.

He ruts harder as he holds the lower part of your hips, keeping your legs together, holding you tighter and pulling you back until your ass meets his hip every time he thrusts. His tongue licks a long wet strip at the nape of your neck as his movements halts down to a complete stop and you…wait.

The vision of the living room beats in tandem with your heart, each second that passes feels agonisingly long. Wiggling your ass impatiently, he rewards you with a painful bite on your ear, making you yelp. The feeling of surprise wasn’t even close to being recognised when your brain focuses on the feel of him lining himself up, the tip of his cock pressing relentlessly against your folds. He grabs your hip tighter when you try to accommodate yourself and push back into him.

“Don’t.” He mutters an order against your skin, inhaling deeply. “I wanna savour you.”

At that moment you don’t even know what that even means, you’re too busy honing in on his cock that’s slowly but adamantly inching into you, thrusting shallowly and easing you everytime he feels resistance.

“That’s it love, there we go.” He breathes out harshly as you feel him bottom out, his hips flush against your ass, eliciting little whimpers from you as he stays still. 

You moaned when he pulled almost all the way out, thrusting slowly and deeply into you everytime. Every movement he made is deliberately slow, like he’s there to enjoy his moment and you don’t matter. Tears roll down your cheeks and pool onto the table you were crowded against, he moved nowhere near fast enough to build you up. He hears you audibly sob and stays still inside you.

“Y’aight?” He asks, turning your head a little so he can repeatedly kiss your cheek. He lets out a little shaky laugh that borders on condescension, “Too much?”

Oh fuck you.

“H-harder, Simon.” you choked out, and he obeys. His hips snapped onto yours in an instant. His arms envelop you even tighter; one of his hands slides down to circle your clit as his rhythm picks up and his thrusts become more forceful.

The poor little table squeaks and jostles every time he bucks into you, his large hands roam your body feverishly, his pace increasing as he becomes more vocal, muttering borderline incoherent praises. 

You weren’t far behind either, the constant barrage of yesyessimonyespleasedontstopyes spurs him to rail you more vigorously, sliding out completely before slamming back into you harder, faster, his hands a bruising grip on your hips at this point. With eyes clouded, mind unable to think about anything but to clench around his cock and your pussy at his mercy, you wailed as you came to an abrupt climax, clinging onto the table as he continued ramming into you. His pace became more erratic and animalistic as he got closer to his release. It didn’t take long for you to gradually feel the warmth of lust again, his ecstasy leaking into the soulmate bond overriding the pain of over-stimulation as he came with a stutter of his hips.

He eased his hold on you, his hands merely holding you in place, to not let you fall sideways onto the floor. You feel his cock twitch inside, before he pulls out with an uncharacteristic moan. You slowly turn your head towards him and can only watch as he eyed his copious amount of cum dripping out of you.

—

The mean voice that he’s used to listening in his head whispers at him to just bully his softening cock back into you, to stop his stream of cum wastefully trickling onto the floor. Maybe grab both your hands from behind so you can’t fight back. He reluctantly lifts his gaze from your leaking cunt to watch you catch your breath, resting your cheek on the table, seeing how your continuous panting leaves a foggy patch on the surface.

It took a long while for you two to come down from the high, with him collapsing like a sack of potatoes behind you, taking you with him to ease both your knees. He hears and feels your little whimpers as he holds your waist steady with one arm, his thumb mindlessly going in circles. 

He patiently watches the shadows move as the sun rises higher, as either of you are sitting comfortably on the floor, his back resting against the sofa.

“Don’t think I’ve ever came that much before.” He spoke up, feeling the cum that dribbled from between your legs has now reached his. Worry has started to seep in. The gears in his head have started turning again.

“I’m on birth control, don’t worry.” You answered, rather coldly, if he may be paranoid about it.

“Got caught up in the moment, won’t happen again.”

“Same.” You turned your head towards the kitchen and he followed your gaze, “Make us some tea, Simon?” You sweetly asked him as you left a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He would freely hand you his still bleeding heart if you ask him with that tone of voice. Never in his life had he dreamt of meeting someone like you. But here he is, basking in your glow, maybe the first time in what feels like forever that he felt comfortable sitting in silence with another human being. Where the stillness stops being oppressive and his consciousness is free of doubt and uncertainty. He feels... Safe.

Is this love?

[five-and-dimes]

Undisclosed Desires

"I have written smut." "You fucked up a perfectly good sex scene is what you've done. Look at it. It's got hurt/comfort."

When they get together, it comes out that Dream has never been on the receiving end of oral sex before. Hob decides to fix that immediately.

Ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been over six hundred years, and Hob still felt like this was happening so fast.

Granted, most of those years had been a one-sided friendship, a rigid dance where he was constantly held at arm's length and then farther after losing his temper in his desperation for connection. He spent a hundred years holding on to hope and then another thirty-three hanging on by sheer stubbornness. He did not live for his stranger, but that did not stop him from missing him.

And then he’d returned and it was like the floodgates opened.

On a random Thursday, not in June, not on the 7th, not in a year ending with ‘89’, his Stranger walked in and apologized. Called him a friend. Hob had spent the first half hour in a calm kind of bliss, a feeling as though he had exhaled for the first time in thirty-three years, finally able to breathe again. He learned his stranger’s name, and then he said it any chance he got. And then they were meeting once a month, twice a month, once a week, and Dream was explaining in a monotone voice why he was so tired, so thin, why he had missed their meeting, and then Hob was hugging him and Dream wasn’t pushing him away. 

So yes. Six hundred some odd years was a long time to get together, but truthfully Hob was really only counting the past six months, and yeah some people would call that reasonable but right now, with Dream’s tongue in his mouth, it felt fast .

It wasn’t particularly late, but they had moved from their table in the New Inn to Hob’s flat upstairs once the dinner rush started pouring in. Dream wasn’t one for crowds, and Hob wasn’t one for making Dream uncomfortable. So they had ascended the steps, Hob feeling a slight buzz from too many pints and too few chips, and Dream a silent shadow behind him. Dream humors him and removes his shoes when asked, and even surprises him by slipping off his coat as well. He is still fully covered, a long sleeved black t-shirt revealed beneath the coat, but it is still significant to see him with one less layer shielding him, after everything he’s been through.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from him, the silence stretching as he looks his friend up and down. When he reaches his eyes, he realizes that Dream is staring at his mouth.

Hob has no idea who moves first, but suddenly they are crashing together like the tides. Dream has his hands on Hob’s shoulders, bony fingers twitching like he’s trying not to cling to him, while Hob winds one hand through his wild black hair and curls the other around his lower back, pulling their bodies flush together. The kiss itself starts clumsy, noses bumping together and teeth clacking as they scramble to arrange themselves as close together as they can.

When they are both finally satisfied with the solid press of their chests and hips, they manage to smooth the slide of the lips together, and Dream takes advantage of Hob’s need to gasp for breath to slip his tongue into his mouth. Hob takes a step back, and Dream follows without granting a centimeter of space between them, fingers curling a little tighter as though afraid Hob is trying to leave. But he has nothing to fear, as Hob guides them farther into the living room. He moves his hands to cup Dream’s arse as he drops onto the sofa, grips at his hips and thighs until he has Dream straddling his waist.

Dream brings his hands up to cup Hob’s face as they part. Seated as they are, Hob has to tip his head back to catch Dream’s mouth, biting at his lower lip until he can feel a low moan reverberate through where their chests are pressed together. 

“Hob…”

Hearing his name in that deep, breathless voice somehow makes everything so much more real. He has to take a moment to just stare half-lidded up at the gorgeous figure in his lap. Dream's hair is even messier than usual, and there’s a bit of color coming to his cheeks. His lips are dark and slightly swollen, and the look in his eyes can only be described as hungry .

He feels like he should say something- maybe slow things down, or clarify what exactly they’re doing, or just ‘I love you I love you I love you’- but before he gets a chance, Dream is pulling away from him. He has a split second of that old insecurity, the ache of an old wound as he thinks that he’s pushed too far and now Dream is leaving. Only a second though.

Then Dream is sinking to his knees in front of him.

If he could die he’s pretty sure he would have. “Fuck, dream…” His voice cracks embarrassingly, and there’s not enough blood above his waist to say anything more intelligent than that.

Especially not when Dream smirks up at him and runs his hands over Hob’s thighs, letting his thumbs ghost torturously close to his zipper, “Is this alright, Hob Gadling?”

It’s not fair that Dream’s voice is still so even and smooth. Hob lets his head drop back against the back of the couch, letting out a long groan, “Fuck, yes, please -”

That’s all the encouragement Dream needs as he elegantly pops the button of his jeans open, sliding the zipper down. It is a miracle Hob doesn’t come the second long, cold fingers wrap around him, pulling his cock free, but it does destroy any self restraint as he starts babbling before Dream finishes the first stroke.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so gorgeous, how is this happening, how am I so lucky, wanted you for so long-”

He nearly screams when Dream leans forward to lick daintily at the precum beading at the head of his dick. He gives a soft hum of satisfaction, and then he meets Hob’s eyes and takes him into his mouth.

“OooooohmyfuckingGod-” There is no way this is real. But when he runs his hand through Dream’s hair it feels more real than anything he’s experienced in his centuries of life. Dream starts at a slow pace, sinking down and up steadily while Hob’s rambling becomes rapidly incomprehensible. 

At some point, as he pulls back, he presses his tongue hard against the underside of his cock at the same time as one hand slips into his pants to palm at his balls. Hob keens, and his hand tightens in Dream’s hair unintentionally, holding him in place as his hips thrust upwards mindlessly. Dream lets out a choked, wounded noise as he hits the back of his throat, wincing slightly before quickly smoothing his expression.

Hob releases his hair immediately, gasping out through the sensation, breathless but still full of guilt, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Dream pulls back, lips red and shiny with spit, and blinks up at Hob in confusion, “It’s fine. You need not concern yourself with me.”

Hob opens his mouth to say ‘sex is all about concerning yourself with the other person’, but all that comes out is a long moan as Dream swallows him back down without hesitation. His thighs tense with the effort of keeping himself still, and he brings a hand up to pet Dream’s hair, careful not to grip or tug. Dream hums around him, runs his hands up Hob’s trembling thighs and presses his thumbs into his hip bones. 

At some point, Hob realizes he has closed his eyes. He can feel his climax approaching embarrassingly rapidly, and he pulls his hands away, digs his fingers into the couch to prevent himself from gripping Dream. When he opens his eyes, he looks down and sees Dream gazing up at him through long, glistening eyelashes as he sinks down until his nose is pressed against the hair on his belly and that’s it for Hob. His head falls back against the couch, crying out loud enough to vaguely worry about getting a noise complaint, and he thinks he sees stars as he comes hard down Dream’s throat, shuddering as Dream swallows him through it.

When he finally catches his breath, Dream is still kneeling before him, licking swollen lips and waiting patiently for Hob’s brain to come back online. 

“Fuck,” Hob let’s out a breathy laugh, slipping his sensitive cock back into his briefs but leaving his jeans undone. Reaching down, he rests a hand on Dream’s cheek, “Come ‘ere, Love.”

He pulls Dream back up onto his lap, but when he leans in to kiss him Dream stops him with a hand on his chest, frowning slightly. “I had you in my mouth,” he says as an explanation.

Hob only smirks deviously, “Exactly.” He grips the back of Dream’s neck, letting his fingers tangle in the soft hairs at his nape, and pulls him forward firmly, kissing him deeply and licking into his mouth when he gasps in surprise. 

When he is forced to pause for breath, he grins. “I taste good on you.”

Dream blushes so prettily, eyes wide with something like awe. With Dream straddling him like this, knees pressed into the couch on either side of his hips, Hob can see the way the front of Dream’s skin tight jeans are straining, the outline of his arousal making Hob’s mouth water. Head cleared slightly from his orgasm and suddenly impatient, Hob wraps his arms around Dream’s back and swings him around until he is stretched out on the couch with Hob hovering above him.

With a small, surprised smile on his face, Dream tilts his head, curious like a bird, “Planning to fuck me already, Hob Gadling?”

Hob’s cock makes a valiant effort at stirring when he hears the word “fuck” in Dream’s smooth, deep voice, but ultimately he has to laugh, “My refractory period’s not that good, I’m afraid,” he runs his hands down Dream’s sides, feeling the peaks and valleys of his ribcage through his shirt as he smirks, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t return the favor.”

The smile drops from Dream’s face, and his brow furrows questioningly, “You need not. There is no obligation to reciprocate.”

“I know,” Hob smiled, kissing Dream’s cheek, “but I want to.”

When he pulls back, Dream only looks more confused, “But. You do not have to.”

Now it’s Hob’s turn to be confused, raising an eyebrow, “So you said.”

Dream nods slowly, “So you. Do not have to. Do that.”

“Yeah, we’ve established that,” Hob huffed, “And I appreciate you not wanting to pressure me or whatever, but I want to.”

“It would… bring you pleasure?”

“I mean, yeah? In a sense…” Hob trailed off, narrowing his eyes as he tried to piece together what was going on in Dream’s head. “Do you… not enjoy oral?” 

That would make sense, not everyone enjoyed everything, and regardless of the familiar, hard shape he had seen pressing against Dream’s jeans, that didn’t change that he wasn’t actually human. Maybe he needed something different.

For a long moment, Dream stared unblinkingly just over his shoulder. Hob didn’t rush him, and eventually he answered slowly, “I do not know.”

When he looked back, Hob was sending him a questioning look, and so he reluctantly elaborated, “I have. Done this for others. But never. Experienced. Receiving it myself.”

“You’re shitting me.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, the pure shock of it barreling through his filter. Dream stiffens below him, something like hurt in his eyes as he purses his lips and moves to stand.

“Perhaps I should go-”

“ No! ”

Dream somehow manages to tense even more at Hob’s exclamation, and Hob is quick to run soothing hands down his arms, trying to coax him back to softness, “I’m sorry, don’t leave, please. I shouldn’t have said that, I was just…” he allows himself a huff of laughter, “Honestly I’m shocked. I can’t fathom anyone getting you into their bed and not begging to get their mouth on you.”

A blush spreads across Dream’s face, even as his expression remains stoic, and it’s so endearing that Hob can’t help but bring a hand up to stroke one gently flushed cheek bone. He can practically see the wheels turning in Dream’s head, and so he lets him take his time to choose his words.

Eventually, he lowers his gaze and says, “That is not… what I am for.”

Hob tilted his head and frowned, “'For'?”

Nodding, Dream continues, still not meeting Hob’s eyes, “I am. A fantasy. A vessel for other people’s pleasure. And while I do find enjoyment in doing these things for you, that is not the point of it. It is not… about me. It's for you. I. Am for you."

Sometimes Dream does this. Explains something casually, stoically, as if it doesn’t matter. As if he doesn't matter. As if his words don’t slice Hob’s heart to the quick.

Slowly, Hob cups Dream's face in his hands, tilting his face up to look at him before leaning down to kiss him softly. Dream sighs into his mouth, and manages to relax ever so slightly as Hob pulls just far enough apart to speak against his lips.

“You're not a vessel , you’re my friend . And I don’t want to scare you off, but you’re also the love of my very long life. You’re not ‘for’ anything, not to me. I want to make you feel good too, because I love you, and you deserve to feel good."

He can feel the way Dream wants to argue, so he kisses him again, stroking his thumbs across the cold, smooth skin of his jaw. "I want these to be things I do with you, not to you.”

Dream's frowns, brow furrowed and looking at Hob as if he has handed him some nonsensical puzzle. He brings one elegant hand up to run through Hob's hair, sliding until he can rest his icy fingers on the back of Hob's neck.

"I enjoyed bringing you pleasure."

"I believe you," Hob nodded, "and I'm glad. So maybe you can understand how I would enjoy bringing you pleasure?" His voice tilts teasingly, raising his eyebrows pointedly, and he is rewarded with a quirk of Dream’s lips. 

He leans down to kiss the corner of that tentative smile, "We don't have to. But I would be honored to be the one allowed to bring you pleasure for once."

A shuddering breath escapes Dream, Hob feels it as he nuzzles against his cheek. They’re both still tangled up together, Hob letting just a bit of his weight press Dream down into the worn couch cushions. He knows what he wants, but in truth, Hob would be over the moon even if Dream asks that they spend their night doing nothing more than this.

"....Okay."

Hob tries very hard to reign in his enthusiasm, but he still probably sits up just a little too fast, grinning in excitement, “Okay? You sure?”

Dream nods, cheeks coloring again and avoiding Hob’s eager gaze, “Yes. I… Yes.”

There is still an air of uncertainty to him. A nervousness that makes him seem almost young, and Hob just wants to take care of him. To give him every good thing this world has to offer.

“Come on,” he gives him one last peck on the lips before tugging him up to stand, “you’re not having your first time on my shitty, thrift store couch.”

“‘First time’?” Dream snorted. His haughty tone was betrayed by the vice grip he had on Hob’s hand, “I am no virgin, Hob Gadling.”

“Virginity is a construct,” Hob winked, leading them into his bedroom, keeping the lights dim, “I just mean that this is your first time experiencing this particular sex act, and so I want to make it as perfect as my human self possibly can.”

A big part of that, he doesn’t say out loud, means making Dream comfortable, which he has come to learn is not something that comes easily to him. And he doesn’t blame him- he’s got the entirety of humanity’s unconscious held within him, and he was very recently very terribly hurt. He understood why Dream struggled to relax, he did. But still. He wanted to be a safe place for him, a harbor where he could rest and be taken care of.

It’s with this in mind that he kisses Dream’s knuckles before guiding him to lay on the bed, pushing aside the crumpled sheets that he hadn’t made in the morning and moving his pillows to cushion Dream's head and neck. It feels like arranging a mannequin, every inch of Dream’s body coiled and tense, keeping himself perfectly still wherever Hob places him. 

Even when Hob crawls on top of him, holding his weight carefully on his forearms and slotting one knee between Dream’s thighs, Dream remains unmoving, looking up at Hob with a deliberately neutral gaze.

Not exactly ideal. But they’ve got time.

“This position does not seem conducive to your goal.”

Dream’s tone is almost condescending, but it doesn’t hide the way his entire body feels like he’s bracing for something.

“My ‘goal’? You mean my most honored task of focusing on you and making you feel good?” Hob grins teasingly, stroking Dream’s clenched jaw and leaning down to capture his lips before he can argue.

The kiss starts soft and slow. Dream seems to like kissing, doesn’t seem to overthink it too much, and all he wants right now is to bleed some of the tension from his frame. To get him out of his own head. It takes a few minutes of just petting Dream’s face and sucking gently on his lower lip before Dream finally hesitantly raises his hands from the mattress, resting them shyly on Hob’s waist.

It’s a stark contrast to the Dream of earlier, confident and bold, and Hob wants nothing more than to reward his participation, to encourage him to reach for what he wants. Bracing himself more steadily, he presses the knee between Dream’s legs against his crotch, deepening the kiss when Dream gasps into his mouth. He can feel the hard press of him as Dream unconsciously grinds down against his thigh, just for a moment, before he catches himself and stills again.

Hob breaks away to begin mouthing down the pale length of his throat, nipping at his skin as he murmurs, “Come on, now.” He pushes his leg more firmly against him, sliding his hands around Dream’s lower back to rock him against his thigh, “Let go for me, Love.” 

Dream’s fingers curl into his shirt, and Hob sucks at the spot on his throat where he can feel his breath catch. Running his fingers just under the hem of his shirt, Hob can feel that some of the tension has left him, and he kneads at the skin of his waist and hips, pressing his fingers into the coiled muscles until they release under his ministrations. He feels more than hears a deep whine in Dream’s chest when he slides a hand up to twist at his nipples.

“That’s it,” he grins against his skin as he moves to bite at Dream’s earlobe, relishing in the way it makes his whine pitch higher.

He is so focused on leaving a mark on the inhuman skin behind Dream's ear that he almost misses the hand sneaking down to palm at his crotch, where he’s managed to get half hard without his noticing. That said, he is alerted to the touch by his own gasping breath, and he’s quick to wrap a hand around Dream's pale, cold wrist and pin it into the mattress before he gets too distracted.

"Ah, ah, ah," he scolds, leaning back to raise an eyebrow, "it's your turn, remember?"

The being below him pouts, furrowing his brows in frustration, "But. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing."

Dream shifted below him, a tinge of genuine distress coloring his expression, "That hardly seems fair."

"Hmf. Funny…” Hob drawled, snagging Dream’s other wrist and pinning his hands on either side of his head, pressing them into the mattress as he leaned down to whisper against his ear, “you didn't have a problem with me sitting back and doing nothing while you sucked my brain out through my prick."

He can feel Dream shiver below him, and when he responds his voice is a little weaker, "You speak. Very familiarly with me."

Hob laughs, "I am very familiar with you." Dream huffs, but doesn’t say anything else. Possibly because of the way his chest hitches when Hob returns to his task of marking up his neck and massaging his arse through his jeans.

"Relax,” Hob whispers, “Just relax."

This time it is less of a shiver and more of a full body shudder, a long moan escaping Dream as his back arches just slightly, searching for more friction. Hob begins a slow descent down his body, grazing his teeth across his collar bones and pressing a wet kiss to the hollow of his throat. He kisses down his chest, pushing up his shirt just enough to kiss at his stomach. Hob wants nothing more than for them to press together with nothing between them, just skin on skin. But he remembers the way Dream’s voice had wavered when he described his captivity in Fawney Rig, and tonight does not feel like the night to push at that boundary. 

Comfortable. He wants Dream comfortable.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t also want to rile him up a bit.

Biting at the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, Hob situated himself between Dream’s legs, his chin brushing against the bulge there, “I’ve been drooling for you since 1395.”

Dream tries to bite off his groan, but Hob can still feel the way his thighs tremble on either side of his body, and when he glances up he sees Dream’s hands clutching at the bedsheets, head thrown back and panting.

Hob grinned deviously, maneuvering Dream until his legs are resting over his shoulders. "The second I saw you, heard your voice… God your voice just drips with sex, I wanted to get on my knees then and there. Wanted to rinse out the taste of shitty ale with the taste of you."

“Hob-”

He got the impression that Dream was trying to sound affronted, but ultimately he slapped a hand over his own mouth when the word came out thin and needy. Hob tutted, and reached to pull the offending hand down, placing it on the back of his own head.

“Let me hear you, baby.”

Even grinding his teeth together couldn’t silence his whine as Hob finally got Dream’s jeans open. After so long getting him worked up, Dream couldn’t help but exhale a shuddering breath as his prick was finally released from the restrictive denim.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Hob swallowed thickly. Dream’s fingers spasmed in his hair, not quite gripping. “You can tug a little, it’s okay,” he sucked a mark on the space where his thigh creased, feeling Dream’s hips stutter as his cock brushed the scruff on Hob’s cheek, “I like it, promise.”

He moaned as Dream got his hair in a proper grip, not painful, but there. Satisfied with the purple mark blooming on his pelvis, Hob finally turned his attention to the long, flushed cock in front of him.

A soft whimper escaped Dream as Hob’s breath ghosted over the sensitive flesh, voice soft and desperate and lost as he offered one last time, "You don't-.... You don't have to-..."

"I want ."

And with that, Hob couldn’t hold back anymore, sinking down in one smooth movement, a firm grip on Dream’s hips keeping him pressed into the bed even as he cried out and clenched both hands loosely in Hob’s hair. Hob himself couldn’t help but moan loudly around Dream’s prick, feeling his own arousal spike at finally getting to taste the strange, salty sweetness of him. 

Dream’s voice cracks as Hob pulls back to swirl his tongue around the head, “Hob, Hob, Hob-!” and he can feel his legs trembling violently around his shoulders. Gripping his arse firmly, Hob sank down again, pulling Dream closer until he feels him bump against the back of his throat, and then he swallows.

The sound Dream makes can only be described as a wail, and his hand scramble for purchase around Hob’s shoulders, desperately seeking an anchor as Hob hollows his cheeks and picks up the pace. Hob finds himself rutting against the mattress, his cock throbbing and aching for stimulation.

“Hob,” his name comes out on a sob, “I- ahhhhh, Hob I will not last, I’m, I’m-”

In all honesty he’s lasted longer than Hob expected, so now he simply hums encouragingly around him as he lowers himself one last time to take Dream as deep as he can go. He can feel the way Dream’s muscles tense, his knees locking around Hob’s head as he comes with a long, drawn out cry, and when he finally reaches a hand between his own legs, it only takes a few frantic rubs before Hob is coming in his underwear right along with him. Hob swallows around Dream’s orgasm, milking him dry until his whimpers border on pain from overstimulation. 

Pulling off of him, Hob takes a few deep, gasping breaths, feeling full and floaty and satisfied. Looking up, he falls even more in love as he watches Dream’s body melt into the mattress. He is still panting, and his shirt sticks to his chest from sweat. There are little purple and red marks on his neck and hip, his softening cock shiny with Hob’s spit, and he looks boneless and soft in the dim lighting.

Tucking him gently back into his underwear, Hob ignores the sticky discomfort in his pants in favor of crawling up the bed to cover Dream with his body. Hovering over him, he sees Dream has his eyes closed as he catches his breath, and fresh tear tracks are running down his face. Frowning, Hob brings his hands up to wipe at the tears with his thumbs.

"Hey…Are you alright?" He whispers.

Dream nods without hesitation, and Hob lets out a sigh of relief. After a few more deep breaths, Dream opens his eyes, gazing up at Hob and looking almost embarrassed. 

"I… I have done this for others. I know the experience from dreams. I… understood what it would feel like. But it was still… a lot."

Hob doesn't think right now is the best time to explain touch-starvation to Dream, so he simply hums sympathetically, kissing the corners of his eyes gently, "That makes sense. Knowing something and feeling something are very different experiences."

“Indeed,” Dream huffed. 

After a moment of hesitation, Hob quietly asks, “...Good, though?”

Dream’s laugh is a soft thing, but his smile is genuine as he blinks up at Hob fondly, “Yes. Very.” He pauses before adding, “...Thank you.”

Chuckling, Hob couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss him, “Nothing to thank me for, Love.” For a long moment they stay pressed together from lips to thighs, relaxed and loose and sated. When they pull apart, Dream smirks

“I taste good on you.”

Hob lets out a barking laugh, his cheeks coloring as he ducks his head against Dream’s neck, “Oh, someone learns quick I see.”

Dream smirked, petting his hair, and his every touch seemed to radiate affection. Unfortunately, they eventually have to disentangle so that Hob can clean himself up, a revelation that has Dream staring at him, wide eyed and confused.

“You…? But I didn’t…?”

He cuts him off with a kiss, “Don’t overthink it.” It’s an impossible request, but Dream at least seems content enough post orgasm to let it go for now. Before Hob leaves the bed, he takes a moment to catch Dream's eye, whispering a quick plea, “Stay?”

Dream gazes at him in wonder, looking at Hob as though he has performed some great feat of magic, “Yes. Please.”

It is hard to break away long enough to change, but eventually Hob reluctantly manages it, fixing himself up in record time, and when he returns to bed Dream has swapped his jeans for dream-soft joggers. Hob straightens the sheets, and Dream curls into his side, resting his head over Hob's heartbeat. He is still soft, still relaxed, still here. 

All things considered, Hob thinks it might be his favorite part of the night.

[aki-natsuko]

“I’ll give you anything. I’ll give you everything. All you have to do is ask.

    Ramattra studied Hana as she worked on his arm. Her hands were steady, fingers deftly working between delicate wiring, and twisted, broken metal slick with oil and other essential fluid. The flurry of worry, and anger that had greeted him when he’d first staggered through her door had disappeared, locked behind an intense focus that in that moment reminded him of the monks back in Nepal. A focus that he envied. His focus was different, ever moving, ever growing.

A future that fluctuated with every step he took.

Every choice he made and action he did.

Every moment spent with her.

He watched her fingers dance amongst the damage, unbelievably delicate considering the strength he knew ran through her like iron. Unbearably gentle, as some distant part of him knew that there was danger in this moment; and there was a hesitance now as he lifted his gaze to her face. It was there that her focus revealed itself to be a lie, a shield against everything else. He had learned to read her expression in a way he had never done with any human, and now his gaze rested on the way she chewed on the inside of her cheek as though fighting to hold back words, the scowl that had settled into place. It was her eyes that told him the most though, a hint of moisture betraying her worry, and the fire in them as she sensed his gaze and met it for a moment, telling him that she was still angry.

At those who had hurt him, or at him for walking into danger, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t that good with human emotions, although studying her, he had a suspicion that it was both.

“You’ll live…” Her voice after an hour of intense silence startled him, and he reared back and looked down at his wrist. The worst of the damage had been patched up while he had been distracted, and if he had been anywhere else, he would have cursed himself for allowing himself to be so unaware of what was happening. But here, where there weas only the two of them, he felt…safe. And there was danger in that.

“Thank you,” he murmured, flexing his wrist. The metal grinded, not completely in place, but functional.

“I’ll fix the rest in the morning,” Hana said, following his gaze as she wiped some hair out of her face, smearing her cheek with oil.

“You don’t have to,” Ramattra said, even as he reached out to clear the smear away. His fingers lingering, as though magnetically drawn to the soft warmth of her skin. This is dangerous.

“I want to. If you promise not to get busted up again, for at least a month.” He could tell the last bit was added reluctantly, for all that she tried to inject her usual levity into the words. She was worried.

For him.

 About him.

 Because of Him.

“I promise.” He hadn’t meant to say it, the promise slipping out without his permission. Dangerous. He couldn’t promise that at the best of times, let alone now when pieces were falling into place, and the future he had dreamed of for so long loomed on the horizon. A future that hadn’t included Hana… a future…

“I’ll go clean up and then we can hang out, unless you need to rest?” Hana’s voice, the soft concern that had replaced the levity, shattered his image of the future and as she rose to her feet, he reached out and grasped her wrist. Gently. A  gentleness he had never thought he could possess after he had chosen to leave the  monastery and take the path that lay before him. A softness that had the potential to cut like a knife.

“Hana…” She turned to look at him, half-smile fading a little as she tilted her head in question and for a moment he was lost. Caught between this moment and the future he had always envisioned. It was like being stood on a knife edge, and if either of them moved wrong it would slice deep. He needed to let the moment go, to let her go, but she stood there, at ease with his hand on her, comfortable in his present. Revelling in it, the softness in her eyes his undoing. “I’ll give you anything, I’ll give you everything,” he unravelled, laying himself open for her. “All you have to do is ask.”

Hana blinked at the words, at the way his touch tightened as though afraid she would flee before his words.

“Have you been in the holovids again?” She asked.

“No, I…” He fell silent, recognising her teasing for a defensive mechanism. Hana always turned to levity when she was hurting or unsure, just as he subsided into silence. Two sides of the same coin. “I mean it.” The words were steady, not reflecting the splintering that was occurring deep inside himself. He meant it, and that scared him.

There was silence for a moment, Hana staring up at him, only the slight widening of her eyes betraying the fact that he had caught her by surprise. Then she was pulling slightly, tugging her hand out of his grasp, and he let her go. He would always let her go if that was what she wanted, just as he had always come back, because she had asked him to in a rare moment of vulnerability.

She stepped back, and he let her go. Watching as her arms started to creep up, ready to wrap around herself in a hug – retreating from him, from the world, from his words… Then she paused and lowered her arms and took a deep breath and just smiled at him and shook her head.

“Hana?” He asked, confused.

“The one thing I want to ask, is the one thing you can’t give,” Hana said,  and she sounded so old. So, world weary for a moment, that he ached for her in a way he had never thought possible. She closed the distance between them, coming back to him, her hands steady as she reached up to cup his face, staring up at him. Her smile sad but full of promise. “So, I’m not going to ask.”

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

67 for the drabble challenge:>>

Hey Jade! Thanks for asking, hope you don't mind that i turned your bloody ask into something a little more domestic

67. “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

Ian had just run out of Lip and Tami’s housewarming party for more soda, he’d barely been gone five minutes but the scene he returned to was far from the relatively banal Sunday afternoon barbecue he'd left behind. 

“Oh Jesus, I think it’s broken” Debbie was shrieking. 

“It’s not broken,” Lip argued dismissively. “Mickey, lean your fucking head back.” 

“I think he has to go further back, like lean his head back off the edge of the table to keep the blood in” Carl chimed in.

“I’m not fuckin’ doing that” Mickey’s muffled voice snapped.

“Yeah, definitely don’t” Liam said nervously.

“Mickey, shut up. Every time you open your mouth you’re bleeding all over my carpet!” Tami snapped. 

“What the hell happened?” Ian interrupted, taking in the scene in the living room. Lip had a bloody cloth pressed none too gently against the lower half of Mickey’s face, everyone else was crowded around the couch eyeing him curiously, especially Franny, who was trying to get a peak around the cloth. 

For a second, all the heads in the room snapped to him and no one said anything. The perfect stillness was broken by Freddy’s barely stifled sniffles finally pouring over into real tears, as he dropped the baseball he was holding and brought both chubby kid hands up to cover his eyes.

It was pretty easy to put together what happened, he had been so thrilled to start his first tee-ball season, for a second Ian worried that this would ruin the sensitive kid’s excitement. 

“I’m so sorry,” he wailed. Mickey shrugged Lip off of him, revealing the path of blood gushing from his nose and down the front of his mouth and chin. Someone drew in a harsh breath at the sight, but Mickey just leaned forward towards where Freddy was watching him pitifully.

“Look kid, you don’t gotta’ apologize to me. It was an accident, accidents happen. I’m a little bloody but I still have all my teeth” Mickey started, showing off his teeth, blood stained but thankfully intact. 

He sniffed and winced slightly but recovered quickly. “Just be more careful where you throw that thing, got it?” He said, nodding at the baseball and the small red stain it left on the beige rug Tami was so worried about. 

“I’ll be careful Uncle Mickey,” Fred agreed hastily, watching him with wide, tearful eyes. 

“Okay, go get me some frozen peas, you know where they are right?” Mickey said easily, leaning back with the towel back on his face.

Freddy ran back into the kitchen excitedly, happy enough to have a sense that he could help make it better. Everyone dispersed from there, and Lip walked over to join his bother.

“The worst thing you’ve ever done to me was make Mickey Milkovich my kid’s favorite Uncle,” Lip joked as he took the soda out of a shocked Ian’s hand, freeing him from his spot in the entry way so he could intercept Fred on his way back to the living room. Ian took the cold peas with a ruffle through his blonde curls and sent him off gently with Franny. 

“He got you good, huh?” Ian said, wrapping the ice pack in a towel and pressing it gently against the damaged area slowly turning purple.

“The kid has an arm like Greg fuckin’ Maddux” Mickey groaned quietly, finally dropping the brave face he was putting on for Fred. “This shit hurts like hell.” 

Ian settled next to him on the couch, hold the bundle to his enflamed skin. “You were very nice, might have saved his future professional career” he joked.

“What am I going to do, give him the Terry Milkovich special?” Mickey shrugged uncomfortably after a beat. 

“Nah,” Ian said lightly, tipping Mickey back gently with a hand on the back of his neck. “Come on, we can get you in a dark, air-conditioned room with extra strength Tylenol. Let’s just grab a couple plates of food, they owe us.”

“Sounds great” Mickey responded sarcastically. “Nothing goes with the taste of blood like your sisters shitty potato salad.”

Ian ran off to collect some food before returning to the living room and guiding Mickey out.

"-was an ugly fucking carpet anyways."

hope you liked it!

Prompt game fun!

[booksapphic]

for the fuzzy sweater prompt: fratt get caught in the rain and go back to matts, matt's only clothes that will fit frank are the sweaters that his kind old lady clients knitted him that are a few sizes too big

ANON!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD THANK YOU FOR THIS PROMPT!!!!!!!!

(1k words, stupid disgusting amounts of fluff, no warnings, not edited, written at like twice my normal speed so sorry if it's bad, I'M SO SOFT FOR THEM!!!!!!)

By the time they started the walk home, it was pouring. Frank pulled up his hood and waited to see if dinner with their friends had put Matt in a good enough mood to not call him on it.

They made it a block. “It’s still fifty degrees out,” Matt said, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I guess you didn’t need a coat after all.”

Frank shot him a look. “It was clear when we left.”

“I said it was going to be raining on the walk back, not the walk there.”

“Next time I’ll ask if you smell rain before I go anywhere, yeah? That what you want?”

“It was the atmospheric pressure, not the smell,” Matt said easily, like Frank didn’t know what revealing any detail about his senses cost him. Frank shook his head, huffed in annoyance when rain fell from his hood into his face.

Matt grinned then offered out his hand, stopped moving his cane. Frank put it in the crook of his elbow and gathered Matt close, feeling the welcome heat of Matt’s body against his own.

Still, by the time they made it the few blocks to Matt’s apartment, Frank was freezing. Frank stripped off the drenched hoodie on the way to the bedroom, tossing a mild “fuck off,” behind him when Matt laughed. He pulled open the dresser drawer Matt had given him, then remembered he hadn’t done laundry in a week, and hadn’t moved enough of his things here to have more clothes. He’d gotten the key six months ago, kept a toothbrush here for much longer, but Matt hadn’t asked him to move in, and Frank hadn’t brought it up. He didn’t want to ruin whatever this was by putting a name to it.

If he asked Matt to borrow something, Matt would tease him about it for the next fifty years. If he took something from the laundry, Matt would refuse to sit to close to him until after he changed and showered. He put the drenched hoodie back on.

“What are you doing?”

Frank glanced behind him, saw Matt had already changed into a pair of sweatpants he’d kept on the bed, the jacket and button-down replaced by the ratty Columbia sweater Frank wasn’t allowed to mention whenever Nelson was around. The one time he’d asked Matt if he’d wanted it, the debate over whose it was went on for an hour.

 “Nothing,” Frank replied. “This actually’s the warmest thing I have right now is all.”

He began moving back to the living room, planning to take the side of the couch closest to the radiator and steal the throw blanket. Matt’s head tilted, then he sniffed. “You don’t have anything else clean, do you.”

Matt walked over to stand next to him, rifling through one of his drawers until he offered Frank a bundle of bright red fabric. It was a cable knit sweater, a little on the larger side, but right now Frank didn’t care. He changed into it, closed his eyes when the warm, dry yarn hit his skin.

Matt handed him an extra pair of sweatpants to replace his jeans, then lead them back to the living room. He took a seat on the couch and then gestured at Frank to join him. Frank ended up half on top of him, chest to chest, and Matt grabbed the blanket off the back to cover him with.

“Warm enough now?” Matt said, just enough teasing in his voice for Frank to catch.

“For now,” Frank said. “Patrol’s gonna be hell tonight, though.” Matt hummed, noncommittal.

Frank pulled back enough to glance up at him, trying to read his expression. “Thinking about staying in?”

Matt did his best to shrug, beginning to card a hand lazily through Frank’s hair. Frank grunted and dropped his head back down in content. “I’ll keep listening, see if we’re needed. But with the weather…” There would be fewer muggers and rapists out in this kind of downpour, and they didn’t have anything larger planned.

Frank was alright with that. He didn’t mind taking a night off, and Matt could use the extra sleep.

They laid there in silence for several minutes. The chill had been all but chased from Frank’s skin, and he said, “Never seen you wear this sweater before. S’warm.”

“Yeah, it’s wool. Took a case a few years ago, suing a doctor for medical malpractice. Our client was retired, but she knitted each of us a few sweaters. That’s the black one, right?”

Frank hesitated. It was as black as a fire truck, or a Santa hat. “Yeah.”

Matt stayed quiet for a second, then sighed. “It’s the one that Foggy said I should start wearing over my suit.”

Frank half-smiled against the side of Matt’s neck. “Yeah.”

“I guess I should be grateful. Karen said she could be mistaken for Barbie in one of hers.”

Frank huffed a laugh. “Would take it off her hands if I could fit in it. Wool’s expensive. You don’t wear it ‘cause of the color?”

“It’s wool,” Matt said in a disgusted voice.

“Yeah?” And?

“It itches.”

“Huh.” Now that Frank was paying attention, it was a bit itchy, but the feeling faded with his concentration. Still, if he could feel it, must be much worse for Matt. “Next time, ask your client to use cashmere yarn.”

Matt laughed, and Frank smiled again, broader this time. There was so much blood on his hands, but he could still make his—boyfriend? partner?—laugh.

Frank was half-asleep when Matt said quietly, “I can clean out another drawer if you need.”

Frank blinked open his eyes, pulled back to watch Matt’s face. “What?”

“So you don’t have to do laundry every week. It gets expensive.”

Frank glanced away and then back, trying to decide how to ask the question. “A drawer?”

“Two? A closet? Some space under the stairs for your weapons?”

Frank blinked, swallowed. “I mean, uh. I got a safehouse with all my shit in it.”

Matt nodded. His eyes flicked towards the floor, pointedly away from Frank, then back. “You can keep it, if you want. But you don’t have to. If you want.”

Frank looked away this time, trying to decide. “Yeah,” he finally said, then shifted closer to kiss him, once, gently. “Yeah, alright.”

[plussizeficchick]

Watercolor Eyes│Eren x Chubby!Reader

Warnings: Smut(P in V) Angsty, Mean!Eren but it’s for the cause!

Eren loved you more than anything.

While he also loved his best friends Mikasa and Armin, the love he had for you was different. It was stronger than platonic and he knew it definitely wasn’t familial. 

He knew, even from a young age, that it would always be you. 

You, the cute, chubby girl that he always passed on his way to pick up Armin to hang out.

It didn’t take long before Eren built up the courage to ask you if you wanted to hang out with them, and when you said yes, with the widest grin on your cute, round face, he knew he was done for. He’d do anything to keep that smile on your face.

But then..

But then disaster struck, and soon you were all whisked away from your families and loved ones, practically forced to fend for yourselves. You were scared, petrified even, but you were sure that as long as you had Eren, everything would work out. Of course, you were scared for Armin and Mikasa, but the bond you had with Eren was different and from the first time he’d stopped in front of your yard to ask if you wanted to play with him, Armin and Mikasa, you knew, you’d follow him to the ends of the Earth if he asked.

--

Eventually, the four of you were scouts and while at first you had trouble getting used to the ODM gear provided to you and being able to evenly distribute your weight when reeling through the skies, you eventually got the hang of it. You were even placed in Captain Levi’s squad. Granted, you put up a fit, especially with the whole “Eren being an intelligent titan” thing, but still, you were with your best friends and keeping Eren safe, so you were content.

Every night, when you and Eren were sure everyone was asleep, you’d sneak into each other’s rooms to cuddle. It brought you both comfort, you both having the one piece of home that you couldn’t live without.

As time went on, your feelings grew and it didn’t help that Eren was always there to wrack up brownie points. Captain Levi being particularly harsh during training? Don’t worry, Eren’s taking you horseback riding. You feeling a bit down about your figure? He’ll spend the next hour telling you all the things he likes about you. He made it exceptionally hard to get over him.

But again, things changed, and slowly, so did Eren. 

He was colder, more insensitive. It hurt, this wasn’t your Eren.

You’d tried speaking to him numerous times, only for Commander Hange to tell you “he doesn’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”

He always wanted to talk to you. 

Even when he felt most overwhelmed, he knew he could turn to you to listen to him. For comfort. So what happened?

--

Shortly after Eren’s rescue in Marley and his escape from jail, Armin, Mikasa and you were ambushed by Yeagerists, who claimed he wanted to “solve things peacefully.” 

Following the group to a private room, you are all granted access and came face to face with the man himself.

He’s just as beautiful as you remember. Jade eyes that are as piercing as they are mesmerizing. His hair is tied in the cute half up-half down style you’d spontaneously put in his hair one day, thin strands framing his face. 

Gorgeous.

“Ah, hello. Good to see you again.” His voice is deeper than you remember, more hoarse and it's then that you remember that he wasn’t exactly having conversations everyday.

“Eren,” Armin starts, thoroughly shocked by the person before him. “What is-what’s going on?” He asks, brows furrowed. What happened to his best friend? Armin chanced a glance to you and Mikasa, only to see a similar look of distraught on your faces. “It’s simple, really.” Eren says, a look of disinterest on his face. “I’m only doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.” 

He looks Armin in the eye before revealing Armin’s trips to visit Annie and claims that he’s being controlled by Bertholdt’s memories before shifting his attention to Mikasa, berating her and her lineage. At some point you must have tuned out, shocked at the amount of disdain that Eren kept bottled up. “And you,” You will yourself to look at him, you don’t know if this will be the last time you see him, and while what he says might hurt you, he’s still your ‘Ren. “You have to be the most pathetic excuse for a human being I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. You follow me around like a fucking mutt all damn day and take up nothing but air and space. If it was up to me, we would have left you in Wall Maria.” “That’s enough, Eren!” The tear doesn’t have a chance to escape your eye before your vision is obscured by a head of blonde hair breezing past you. “Wah? Mikasa!” You look up to see Mikasa holding Armin down before she briskly releases him. “Do you get it now?” Eren says before picking Armin up and landing a hard right hook to his jaw. 

You turn your head the other way, the sight of one of your closest friends getting beaten bloody enough to turn your stomach. When all is said and done and Eren has had his fill, you rush to tend to Armin. “‘Min, are- are you okay, ‘minnie?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. The tears have long since escaped your eyes, and while you’re busy tending to Armin, you fail to notice the look of longing coming from Eren’s eyes. “Take them away.” He orders.

--

During your time incarcerated, Armin tries his best to come up with an idea to stop Eren and Marley’s plans, however, all you can do is sit alone with your thoughts. Of course he’s always hated me, I was like a leech for Christ sake. You let out a heavy sigh. It hurt, honestly it did, because while you had long accepted the idea that Eren might not be into you, the thought that even as a friend you were irritating to be around worried you. Did Armin and Mikasa feel the same way? Connie? Jean? It bothered you. You had finally started to feel more confident in yourself, Eren being a big help with that. So why’d he have to tear it all down? “(Y/NN)? You okay? You’ve been sighing for like the past ten minutes.” Connie asked, a worried look on his face. You give a soft smile before going to join the group. “Yeah, just thinking about things. How’re things over here?” The group fills you in on what you missed and while it doesn’t completely get rid of Eren’s words, it does help distract you.

Time Skip

After the War for Paradis, Eren was immediately taken into custody. While he did have semi-good intentions, he still put thousands of people at risk. He agreed to a peaceful arrest, if given time to speak to a few people. Make amends, if you will. 

You were one of the last people he wanted to see because he knew no amount of time could ever rectify what he did to you.

As soon as you opened the door, Eren was floored. Even in the most basic, mundane outfit you managed to look breathtaking. Your wide hips filled your outfits in a way that Mikasa’s or Historia’s couldn’t and the jiggle in your thighs made it hard for him to maintain eye contact. 

Beautiful.

“Hey.” He sighed out after a few moments of silence. “Hey.” You barely mutter. You were nervous. The last time you were in front of him, he told you how much of a nuisance you were, so you didn’t want to accidentally set him off. “Right, so. I know I’m probably the last person you ever want to see after the way I left things but you have to believe me when I tell you that I truly thought I had no other option.” He goes on to explaining the euthanasia plan and his betraying Zeke. He takes both your hands in his before continuing, “I’m in love with you, (Y/NN). I have been ever since I first passed your yard when we were kids and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for the pain that I put you through. I know I can be a lot. I’m impulsive, hard-headed, but I know I’m also passionate and sweetheart, there was nothing I wasn’t going to do to make sure YOU were safe.” He kisses your knuckles before looking up at you. His eyes chance a glance at your lips before returning back to your eyes. “May I?” He asks, and before you know it, your mouths are moving together. He cups your chubby cheeks in his hands, tilting your head to angle your mouths better. You moan into the kiss, the feel of his tongue gliding with yours causing a tingle in your belly. 

Slowly, Eren trails his hands along your waist, hands grabbing at the fat of your muffin top. Fuck, she’s so soft. So warm. Eren groans when he feels your hands sliding through his hair, pulling the hair tie from his dark tresses to let them flow freely. He growls when you give a particularly harsh tug on his head, the slight pain causing his aching cock to twitch. “Fuck, princess. You don’t know what you do t’me, hmm?” He hums against your ear, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. You whine at his tone, your hands tugging at his shirt to pull it off. “Wan’ it off, ‘Ren.” You pout and the sight is too cute for Eren to say no. 

He undresses the both of you, quite quickly seeing as you both are on a time crunch before settling himself between your plush thighs. This has to be what heaven feels like. He swipes his cock through your puffy folds, your slick providing the perfect lube. Fuck, she’s so wet. I’ve gotta taste her next time. “‘Ren, please! Hurry!” You whine. What was taking him so long? 

You didn’t have time to ponder the question as Eren thrusted himself to the hilt. You squeal at the burn, clenching your pussy around his cock. “Fuck, princess. Don’t- don’t do that. I’ll cum!” Eren grunted, slowly pulling out to thrust back inside. 

Gradually, he builds up a rhythm and your cunt is coating his cock and balls in your juices. Your moans are starting to get loud and while Eren knows this would be the ultimate show of domination, he wants to be the only one to see you like this. To be the only one to see your fat tits bouncing in time with his cock, your cunt squelching because of his hard thrusts. Your eyes crossing because the pleasure is so intense. 

Eren slowly maneuvers a hand between the both of you to rub furiously at your clit, the bud twitching when it feels his thumb swiping through your folds. It’s the push you need to send you over the edge, your pussy tightening savagely around Eren’s cock as your pussy creams around him. “Fuck, ‘Ren! S’good. Feels s’good.” He kisses along your sweaty body as he comes down from his own high. He pulls you into his lap, with you facing him so he can look into your eyes. “I love you (Y/NN). And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. I have never needed someone as much as I realized I need you. I just- please don’t leave me.” His voice cracks at the end and it's then that you realize that he’s crying. 

You cup his face before planting a chaste kiss on his lips. “I love you, ‘Ren. Only you.”

- -

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[obetrolncocktails]

Off the Top | Josh Kiszka X Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI! Mullet/Johawk Josh (hehehe), unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving, f. receiving), biting, graphic descriptions of sex. Pretty much just smutty smut.

Edit: these photos aren’t mine!

Word Count: 4.7K

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did writing it! I wanted to take my time on it so that I could deliver a quality fic for you guys. Here it is!! Regardless of if you like josh's new hair, you can read this as the other josh lmfao. I hope you guys enjoy!

“So I did something.”

Those were words you were always concerned of hearing, especially coming out of Josh’s mouth. “Oh god, what did you do and how much is bail?” You asked into the phone.

You heard his light chuckle on the other end. “You know, you really could have a little more faith in me.” 

“I would, but I never know what to expect with you. You know what happened last time.” You leaned against the kitchen island with your hand on your hip. 

“Not my best moment, but uh–well, yeah no this isn’t that bad.” Josh said, only making you more antsy. “Facetime me.” 

“Okay,” You answered, your tone lifting with suspicion. You pressed the Facetime icon and waited as your face appeared in front of you. He answered, but you could only see black. 

“Josh, you have the camera backwards.” You said. 

“No I don’t, I just haven't done the reveal yet.” In the frame, you could see flashes of color stream across the screen. 

“What do you mean, reveal?” You asked. 

“So you know how you told me that I needed to take care of my ‘hobbit’ hair? That it was too frizzy?” He said, though his dialogue sounded muffled through the speakers. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes. Did you get the perm redone?”

“Nope. Well, not exactly.” He answered, finally pulling the phone screen up to his face. “What do you think?” He asked, pulling his free hand through his hair, which was now shaved on the sides of his head, with most of the length of his curls piled on top of his head, reminiscent of a mohawk. 

“Oh my god, you didn’t,” You said, mostly out of shock. 

“That bad?” He said, his face scrunching slightly. 

“Oh–uh..no. Trust me, not bad at all. I– um. I– wow,” You stopped and started again, your body caught in a stasis from attempting to process the information. “You look–so fucking sexy right now, I just–” You said, swallowing your next words. “When’s your flight?” You asked, thinking of only when Josh would finally step foot in your shared home. 

“Already landed. You know how my flight kept getting pushed back and pushed back yesterday? Well instead of taking the late flight today, they were able to put me on one that left at four. Got the haircut yesterday. I just wanted to surprise you.” 

You couldn’t help but cut him off. “So when are you gonna get home?” 

“Within the hour. Just gotta pick up the car from the lot.”

“Good because I need you to come home as fast as possible. Safely of course.” Where you stood, you could feel your body heating up, becoming needy and expectant of Josh’s touch. It wasn’t that long since you had seen him. He had been home just a few days earlier before flying out to finish the makeup shows on the latest tour. He never mentioned that he was going to completely change his hairstyle. You liked that he kept it a secret from you, though it seemed ironic. He knew you’d be turned on at first sight. He’d planned this. Of course he had.

“Someone’s a little excited,” He said. You looked at him through the screen, finding yourself almost unable to look him in the eye, especially when his instinct was to bite at his lip when he was in thought. “Josh. Come home.” You said once more. “No stops. We can worry about it all later. Just come home to me.”

“Yes Ma’am. Wait for me and I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

***

Half an hour later, you were waiting for him on the living room couch wearing nothing more than a bathrobe. You scrolled aimlessly through your phone, feeling time creep by dreadfully slow. You moved back and forth between looking out of the windows for clues of his arrival and returning to watch brain rotting tiktoks. What seemed like an eternity later, you heard the loud engine of Josh’s jeep pull into the driveway and then cut off, his car door slamming shut. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as you watched him through the blinds bolting across the porch to the front door. You got up from the couch, your stomach churning with butterflies as you waited for him to open the door. Sunlight streamed through the crack of the door when he opened it, and though you couldn’t see his facial features just yet, you caught the first glimpse of his new hairstyle. “I’m home,” he said in a sing-songy murmur, closing the door behind him, locking it and tossing his car keys on the catch-all table beside the entrance. 

“I promise it’s still Josh in here,” He said, throwing his hands up to his hair, gesturing to the change. You snorted and closed the distance between you and him. You brought your hands up to his hair, your fingertips grazing along the bare sides of his head, feeling the prickly, but soft sensation of the buzzed hair. 

“I love it,” You said, absently biting your lip as you pulled at his curls that still maintained much of their length on top. You moved your fingertips toward the nape of his neck, gripping his thick hair in your hands. “You’ve got a mane,” You said with a mischievous grin, leaning forward to kiss him. He returned it gently before responding. 

“Are you calling me a horse?” The sight of his white teeth gleaming from behind the softness of his lips was enough for you to shut him up and pull him into the bedroom right then and there, but you didn’t. Not yet, at least. 

“No, I just like that I have something to grab on to. Might come in handy,” You answered with a shrug before turning around and untying the robe from around your waist, letting it fall from your shoulders and then from your arms, landing on the floor of the living room leaving you naked as you walked away. You turned over your shoulder innocently. “Are you coming?” You asked, before turning from him and heading to the bedroom. 

“Fucking Christ,” spilled from his lips in a low mutter, a hand flying up to stroke at his chin as he looked at you. “Trust me,” he said, coming up behind you, slapping your ass before digging his fingers possessively into you. “I’m right here.”

He closed the bedroom door just as quickly as he entered the room, turning the lights off with the flick of his pointer finger. “I can’t believe you teased me like that,” you mumbled as you busied yourself with the buttons of his dark blue and green striped jumpsuit. “And now you’re wearing possibly the most annoying piece of clothing to get off.” You pulled his top open button by button. 

“Need help?” He asked, looking at you with a smirk that you wanted to smack straight off of his face—not out of anger, but out of carnal lust. 

You shook your head decidedly, continuing down the garment, revealing the smoothness of his bare chest. You ran your hands across it, taking with it the fabric that now loosely hung about his shoulders. You deftly slid the top off of him, leaving only his bottoms left to take off. Moving your hands to the drawstring, pulling it loose and tugging it down his hips. You had expected him to be wearing underwear under his jumpsuit, especially considering that he was flying, but the only thing you felt underneath was the smoothness of his skin. “Joshua—no underwear?”

He pulled his shoes off and slipped the pants off the rest of the way, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. “I don’t like being uncomfortable,” he said with a shrug before stepping forward to take your face in his hands. “Stop worrying about me. I got this haircut for you, after all.” His thumbs caressed each of your cheeks and you felt his fingertips smooth over the nape of your neck as he looked at you. 

“You’re a liar,” you said, punching his chest softly. “You did it because you knew that thousands of girls will lose their shit during the next show.” He chuckled softly. 

“Mm, that’s an added benefit, but that’s not why I did it. You’ve been calling me Bob Ross for months now. I know you don’t like the frizz.” 

“I love your hair long when you take care of it,” you said, lowering your gaze at him because you both knew that his regimen was lacking. “But this,” you said, pulling your fingertips up to the hairstyle once more. “I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you.”

“Then what’s stopping you, mama?” He asked, adding on the name that he reserved for moments like these. 

“Not a damn thing,” You say, taking his hands in yours and walking him to the bed. “I don’t ever feel the need to ask,” you began. “But I really just need you to eat me out.” You looked at him with a neutral expression, despite his lips curling upward. 

“Needy, huh?” He said, disconnecting his hands from yours to smooth over your hips. He bent forward and began to kiss down your neck and you let him, raising your head to give him more space. “I like it when you tell me what you need. Don’t I always do a good job?” He asked, his tone slipping past his lips like liquid sex. 

“Always. Josh please,” You whined. 

“Lay down, baby.” He commanded, and you did as he told you, laying flat on your back. He joined you at the end of the bed, wrapping his fingers around your knees, pulling you to the end of the bed so that he had better access. Lowering himself on his knees, he walked himself in between your legs so that his face was flush with your heat. “I missed you,” he murmured softly, placing soft, dragging kisses on the your inner thighs, letting the heat of his breath follow him as he wandered. “You wanna know something funny? Maybe a tad bit embarrassing?” He asked. You nodded silently. 

“After long nights of performing when I’m finally alone in my hotel room or my bunk, I think of you.” 

“Josh, that’s not embarrassing.” You contradicted. “It’s normal to miss me, just like I miss you.”

“Then I guess it’s normal for me to imagine doing this, too,” He answered, leaning forward, suckling directly on your clit, his tongue drawing circles around it before flattening out against you, collecting your slick just to repeat the process. You sucked in your bottom lip, letting your eyes fall shut. You felt his facial hair scratching softly against your skin. You knew it would leave you raw eventually, but you’d dismiss it as more proof of his touch. He stayed like this for a while, his hands snaking up your hips to rest in the curve of your body, his grip on your body secure and possessive. When he lifted from you the first time, you could see that the lower half of his face was beginning to chafe, his skin having turned bright red with exertion. “You don’t know how often I think about doing this–tasting you, you being all mine.” He rose from the floor and leaned over you, falling upon your lips in a salty-sweet kiss that made your head swim. “I almost had to take care of myself in the airport bathroom.” He said, grinning against your lips. 

“You did not,” you said with disbelief. “In the airport?” 

“Well, I didn’t. But I wanted to. That’s why I came straight home.” He dragged himself down your body, stopping to pull one of your breasts into his mouth, his tongue flitting effortlessly against your erect nipple.

 “Fuck, Josh,” You murmured softly, letting your hands travel around your own body. Josh grabbed each of your wrists in his hands, pulling them off of your body, effectively pinning you against the bed with you still within his grip. You could feel the stiffness of his cock dragging about your skin as he tasted you, and your body was on fire in almost the literal sense of the word. Though he hadn’t entered you, and had only stimulated you for a few moments, your core still contracted and relaxed in rhythm, desperate for him to ignite the desire sizzling through every inch of your skin. “Baby, please. I need to feel you. I’m tired of the foreplay.”

“Do I not make you feel good?” He asked, breathlessly breaking from your skin, only to shift to the other breast, his teeth sinking into the softness of your skin, leaving you hissing through gritted teeth.

“It’s not that–I just,” You started to explain, only to be cut off by Josh dropping the grip of one of his hands, bringing his fingertips to cradle the tip of your chin.

“I know what I’m doing, Y/n. I did all of this just for you. Booked an earlier flight just to come home and make love to you. Can you be patient? I’m not going to waste my time only to give you a mediocre orgasm.” His honesty wasn’t something that you hadn’t heard before. You were used to Josh’s candor. What did surprise you was his selflessness when it came to sex. He always set out to please you first, in fact, it turned him on almost just as much as physical touch to see you writhing in pleasure under his touch. Josh liked to be in control, knowing that the journey to orgasm was directed and overseen solely by him. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. I just need you.” You apologized. Josh pulled you into another kiss. 

“Don’t apologize, baby girl. I know you missed me.” Josh pulled his hand away from your face and dribbled a string of saliva into it, dispersing it with his thumb. You watched as his hand disappeared somewhere between the two of you until you found the destination, his fingers working deftly upon your clit in wide circles. After a moment, he hooked two fingers inside of you, stretching you out softly. “You’re dripping,” He said with a grin, placing one last kiss on your chest before sliding back down to the end of the bed, this time standing straight. Josh took his cock in his hand, using your slick as lubricant to stroke himself. He truly was beautiful standing over you, so obviously turned on in your vulnerable state. You needed him so badly and he knew it. The new haircut seemed to bring a newly assured confidence within your boyfriend and it didn’t hurt that it turned you on to no end that he knew how sexy he was.

 “You look incredible,” You admitted as he stepped in between your legs. The new haircut framed his face beautifully, exposing the curves of his ears and the tiny golden hoops that usually stayed hidden behind his wisps of curls. The hairdresser had cut some length from the hair that hung above his eyes, which brought out the expressiveness in his features. His eyebrows were manicured, his mustache trimmed neat. 

“It’s all for you. Only for you.” He answered. You felt him slide the tip of his cock through your slick folds. The feeling of him against you was different than his fingertips, in what way you couldn’t describe. Maybe it was because you both knew that you were at the edge of a freefall, which would commence the moment he finally pushed into you. You closed your eyes and waited, exhaling when he finally tipped his hips forward, entering you. You didn’t realize that you were holding your breath until you felt your lungs filling with air once more, your body becoming electrified as you felt Josh inch his way further into you. “You okay?” He murmured softly, his eyebrows knit together with pleasure. 

You nodded. “Yes, please keep going,” You pleaded, reaching out for him. He bent over you, propping himself up with his left hand. He loomed over you, nothing adorning his body except for a dainty chain finished with a simple gold coin pendant that swung in rhythm below his neck. With his right hand, he took yours, pulling it up to his chest, his fingers clasping together with yours. 

He was quiet today, focused intently on the needs in the moment, his pace, and the look on your face. “Look at me, baby. I want to see your face.” He said, stroking slowly in and out of you. You opened your eyes to look at him, only for his gaze to make your insides stir. The intensity in his eyes dared you to look away, and quite frankly, you couldn’t. His mouth dropped open as he found his rhythm, his tongue drawing absent stripes upon his bottom lip. You eyes fell to his chest and down to the softness of his body, watching his muscles flex as he thrusted into you. Sweat was beginning to create a thin sheen over his body and you could feel his hips beginning to audibly smack against you. 

“Josh,” You started. “I need to be on top. No arguing.” He wordlessly slowed his rhythm, pulling out of you, spanking you playfully on the side of your ass, signaling for you to roll over so that he could fill your place. You watched as he idly stroked himself, getting into position

“Come here, Mama. Take charge.” You offered him a smirk as you stepped over Josh in a low squat, taking his cock in your hand and guiding it to your entrance. “Take it all, baby. I want to be buried inside of you.” You took his encouragement, sinking down on his cock, still propped up in the squat position so that you could bounce on him. You started slow, bringing your body down as far as it could go in the position, before rising off of him–enough to almost reveal his pink tip. Just as you felt him almost slip out, you’d bring yourself back down, letting gravity bring you back together. You could feel his cock throbbing from deep inside of you, and from below, you watched the tiny movements of his eyebrows knitting together submissively, his body in the throws of pure ecstasy. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked. “Do you like watching me ride you from above?” You watched him swallow before speaking in a low, almost-dissociated murmur. 

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, baby.” He brought his hands up to grip your hips, helping bring you back down with more force each time. You whipped your hair behind your shoulders, feeling perspiration begin to prickle your forehead. His hands traveled to your breasts, taking one in each hand, tweaking your nipples. “I love watching your tits bounce above me, Mama.” His eyes sparkled with delight. 

“Oh yeah?” You said before hissing through your teeth as he pulled on one of your nipples towards him, his lips curling in a grin. “You’re such a menace,” you scolded playfully. 

“I know you like just a tiny bit of pain, mama.” His tone was matter-of-fact as he pulled on the other nipple. “Keep bouncing, baby. Faster now.” You followed his instruction, pulling yourself upward before lowering yourself again. Josh wasn’t satisfied. To remedy the situation, he anchored his hands back on your waist, using the bed for leverage to push off from the bed, slamming against your ass and thighs. 

“Josh! Fuck!” You yelped, before clapping your hand over your mouth. Your body lurched forward in response. Josh reached upward and pulled your hand from your mouth. “We own this house. Anyone listening can either enjoy the show or fuck off. Sit up straight and hover.” You straightened your back, pulling your hands to your breasts as you slowed your pace to a halt, hovering above Josh with his cock still inside of you. “Get ready baby. Hold on.” He locked his hands around your upper calves, using his body strength to thrust into you, this time at a feverish pace. He filled you so deeply that you could feel his balls slapping against your clit as he drilled up into you.

“Fuck, fuck FUCK!” You shouted, losing your balance and catching yourself on Josh’s shoulders. He didn’t relent. He continued to plow into you, his eyes screwed shut and his face pulled with exertion.

“Take it. Take it,” He spewed, his fingers stabbing into your skin. 

“Oh my God! Josh, what the fuck?!” you continued to moan through the phrase, your throat producing choked and whiny sounds that contested with the noise of his body slamming against yours. His only response was a wicked, throaty chuckle. He lifted his hold from you, releasing your legs. 

“I know you need more, Y/n. It’s okay.” His hands left you completely, stalling on his chest, waiting for you to adjust. You relaxed from the squat, moving to rest on your knees. It was obvious that you were close to cumming. Though you couldn’t smell it, you were certain that your bedroom wreaked of sex. You were plastered to Josh, your bodies glistening with sweat and a collection of your juices. You bent forward towards Josh until your chest was pressed against his. You kissed him passionately, your inhalations and exhalations shared between conjoined lips. “You feel…so…mmm,” he moaned into your mouth, his throat producing uncharacteristically deep groans as you dragged your body against his, forcing yourself as flush to him as possible. 

“Josh–” You said, your voice snatched from your throat as your core jolted with a need so powerful that nothing could deter you from reaching your breaking point. “I need you, I need-” You cut yourself off, feverishly dragging yourself backward and forward against him. Josh dragged his lips in biting kisses within the curve of your neck, pausing to whisper sweetly in your ear. 

“Cum on my cock, baby. I want you. I need you. It’s all that matters.” You vaguely felt his hands stroke the softness of your arms, shoulders and back as he spoke. “Let go. Stop thinking and let your body take over. It’s okay,” He encouraged. 

You closed your eyes, letting the torrent of pleasure surge through your body, your skin set ablaze with the end in sight. You clamped your floor muscles around Josh, feeling your thighs shuddering in response to the orgasm building deep within your belly. “I’m gonna,” You whispered breathlessly. “I’m gonna–” You tried again, unable to produce the word, though you both knew what it was. The three letter word that held so much power over men and women all over the world. Though your eyes were shut, they still continued to roll as you drifted out of conscious thought and into pure bodily hunger. You held your breath as your body slowed, and you slammed yourself down into josh one final time, your extremities falling into numbness and your head throbbing with circulation. Every inch of your skin became pocked with goosebumps as you finally gave into the orgasm, outlasting it for as long as you could before finally letting it go. You fought the urge to let your body go limp, but you couldn’t leave Josh to tend to himself.

“Stand up on the floor, baby.” You asked, pulling yourself off of Josh and off of the bed to get on your knees, waiting for him. You watched him find his place in front of you, and you took his cock in your hands, continuing to stroke at a similar pace as before. You leaned under his shaft to take his balls into your mouth, letting your tongue ring around them, producing as much saliva as you could to aid the process. You hummed as you worked, tasting yourself on his skin. You licked up the underside of his shaft, stopping just under the lip of his pink tip, sinking down on him, letting his full length hit you at the back of the throat, pulling tears from your eyes. Your hands found their way to his ass, and as you worked, you could feel him unconsciously squeezing his glutes out of need.

 “I- I’m close,” he blurted. You looked up to see him throw his hands through his groomed hair, his face flushed with ecstasy, trails of sweat gleaming down his chest and stomach. 

“Mmmhmm,” you hummed against his cock before lifting off of him, strings of saliva ribboning from your mouth in the process. In the final moments, he took control, grabbing his lubed cock from you, pumping it feverishly.

 “Show me your tits, baby. I want to see my cum all over you.” He grunted, fucking his body into his fist. You scrambled to kneel properly with your chest high and your head pulled back. 

“Cum for me baby. All over.” You murmured, pushing your breasts together with your hands. His breathing became erratic, his rhythm increasing and increasing until his hips finally shot forward, streams of hot cum landing on your chest in a true pearl necklace. You lifted your head just in time to see the look on his face, thrown helplessly deep within the orgasm, that his eyes were squeezed shut, his entire face a deep shade of pink. He looked like he was in pain, but you knew that wasn’t really the case; agony and ecstasy teeter precariously on the edge of one another, after all. You lowered your gaze back to his lower half, watching him innately throw his hips forward in several final impregnating thrusts. He exhaled through his mouth with heaving force, his chest rising and lowering with great effort. When he finally let go of his erection, you took his hand, inserting his messy fingertips into your mouth, licking off the excess cum from them. He finally opened his eyes, his lips pulling upward in a drowsy smirk. “That’s it, baby.” You rubbed the outsides of his thighs as he came down from the orgasm. He lowered himself to your level. 

“I’m not done just yet,” He finally spoke. You grew suspicious, but followed his lead as he fell backward with you, resting his hand on the back of your head to break your fall. His lips found yours easily, kissing you gently before traveling lower, retracing the red splotches he had left earlier, this time using his tongue to connect each constellation. He kissed you softly, using his tongue to lap up his own cum, cleaning you up drop for drop. His lips made their way to your breasts once more, his tongue lolling all around to collect his orgasm. His tongue dragged along until he found one of your nipples, ringing them softly as he suckled on your sensitive skin. You busied yourself with his hair, enjoying the new texture of the sides of his head. You couldn’t hide the blissful smile that grew on your face as he cared for you, leaving every inch of your skin consecrated within the worship of his hands, lips and tongue. 

He finished a few moments later, pulling you to him in a secure embrace, his face buried within the curve of your neck. “I’m so glad you’re home, Baby,” You said after a while. 

“This moment with you is the only thing I’ve been thinking of since I left our doorstep.” You pulled away from the embrace to see him, leaning in to kiss his lips. “I think surprising me with the new hair was a good idea, don’t you think?” You said, ruffling his hair with your finger tips. 

“One of the best decisions I have made in a very long time. Just try not to get jealous when the fans see,” He said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. 

You shrugged. “They fuck you in their dreams. I get to whenever I choose, at least when you’re home.” You said nonchalantly, tracing star shapes into his arm with the tip of your pointer finger. 

“Wanna take a shower with me?” He asked quietly, sitting up from the hard floor. He stood up, reaching his hand down for you to take. 

“Are you trying to go for round two?” You asked, your eyebrows raising. 

He shrugged. “If the moment presents itself. Although you’ve pretty much drained me. Come on.” He pulled you up and you followed him hand and hand to the bathroom, shutting yet another door behind you.

Taglist: @theweightofstardust@thecoldwind@stardustdanny@stxverandle @starchords @strangersingold @dannythedog @mywaysooon @gretavanhoney @moonlightanthem @sparrowofthedawn@gustingirl@cowboysamkiszka@fictional-duchess@gretagolden@bypeapod@aureummel@screechesincoherently@capturethechaos@ageoftambourine@basically-hayley@gretavanfleas@tlexx@amouratomique@strangeh0rizons@wriwrites@fosterkidwiththebrokenjaw@gvfvanfleet@jakekiszkasgiggle@katie-gvf @mgk777 @streamsofstardust @shellygvf @celestialfauna @gretavankleep37 @theweightofjake@thatcatbsong @tripthelightfandomtastic @teddiie@mckenna4 @myownparadise96 @b3l1nda @doodle417 @ashabeannn @emsgvf @prophetofthedune @groggyvanfleet @callmebymym @kdarling1@jakesguitarstring@of-infinite-wonders@mywaygvf@gretasmokerising@gretavanlace@the-chaotic-cow@greta-flanveet @janegvf @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @hayley1623 @theweightofdreams-gvf @zoelle16 @lvnterninthenight @slutforthejuck @megsobryan @age-of-nyahh @gretavancreep @eeeloraaa @doodle417 @gretavansteph @sammysvanfeet @lovejessejay @sammiejane22 @bumblebeeswrite@ryegvf @unfortunatelykristin @samkiszkabreakmyback @loofypoofy @songbirds-sweet @sammyslappers @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @ohhey1293 @jakesgrapejuice@kureenuh @kenzy-daddy @jazzyllemmon @groggyvanfleet @natdance927 @lallisonl @jakeyboiiiiiii @fleet-prodigy

[jungle-angel]

The Skydancers (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You were once a mortal woman, loved unconditionally by a god of the sky. Yet when he took you as his wife, no one told you that your tasks in the heavens would be easy....yet for the two of you, it’s always worth it.

Notes: Inspired by the Greek God moodboards of @lewmagoo​ and @ryebecca, you guys are some of the most amazing content creators and I wanted to write a little story to go with them. 

Tagging: @sebsxphia @nobody7102​

Somewhere in the clouds you waited, completely unbothered by the other sky deities and creatures that flitted past you with hardly any heed or concern as to where they were going. The sun was shining brightly, the air warm as you walked along the clouds, waiting for your beloved to return from wherever he was. 

The shimmering little dream dragon with big, blue green eyes, suddenly lifted its little head, his tail twitching as he sensed the arrival of a familiar family member. 

A huge, broad grin suddenly grew across your face as you ran across the clouds, the winged sandals on your feet carrying you as far as they possibly could and the shimmering skirts of your light bronze chiton cool against your legs and ankles. You would have crashed right into Bob’s arms, save for the little bundle he carried in his arms. 

“I missed you my sweet,” he cooed as he pressed a sweet, airy kiss to your lips. 

“Where were you this time?” you asked him rather cheerfully. “Earth? The Otherworlds? Perhaps a little call from your uncle Hades?” 

Bob had opened his mouth to say something, but you could readily tell that something troubled him deep inside. Even the gentle, loving little touches of your fingers running down his exposed bicep didn’t do much to dispel what troubled him. 

Very gently, Bob revealed what lay within the blanket, the tiny little face of a newborn with little wisps of dark blonde hair. You were afraid to reach out and touch the delicate little face, fearing that the baby would wake and startle some of the creatures. But oh the little one was adorable! You wanted nothing more than to take them in your arms and hold them as your husband wrapped his arms around you......just as he had done when he fell in love with you.

“Where did he come from?” you asked, the curiosity gnawing at your brain. 

“Palace was sacked,” Bob answered sadly. “The little one was an orphan and.....(Y/n) it was awful. Uncle Hades he....he’s seen suffering, but not like that. He said he’d take the grown ones to Elysium, but the little ones are to be in our domain.” 

A pang of sadness and excitement all at once welled within you. You knew what it had been like to live a mortal life until Bob had taken you as his wife. You knew how precious life itself was, a gift that you hated to see squandered or cut short by the blade of a sword or bloodthirsty murderers who thought themselves better than the gods. You and Bob had wept tears of liquid gold for so many, even the lowliest slave who didn’t have a coin to their name. Yet there had been far greater joys as you had both seen, joys which made you both sing and kick up the wind just a little harder. 

Bob very carefully placed the little one in your arms, his little fist covering his mouth, a sign you knew a little too well from your mother-in-law, Hera. 

“Something tells me he’ll be awake soon,” you chuckled. 

“Hopefully not too soon,” Bob half laughed. 

You and Bob snuggled the little one until the skies had begun to turn all shades of rosy pink and lavender. All the creatures of the air had begun to turn in for the night, many of them curling up and settling into the clouds that turned into their warm little beds. 

You and Bob had just begun to settle into a rather large patch of clouds, the skies having turned a heavenly shade of dark blue velvet with the calming light of the full moon, when a squeaky little cry had caught you both off guard. 

You could instinctively feel it deep in your chest as you saw the little one’s tiny fists all balled up. You lifted him from his cloud cradle, unpinning one side of your chiton and letting him root before you felt those long, familiar fingers and those soft lips brushing against your exposed shoulder. 

“So much for sleep,” Bob chuckled. 

“He’ll sleep,” you hummed, your body buzzing as you felt Bob’s gentle fingers brushing against your sensitive, exposed breast. “It’ll take him time to get used to it, but at least he has us.” 

When the baby had finished, you and Bob kissed his little cheeks as his eyelids drooped shut, the two of you drawing up the clouds over you and the little one to keep warm in the night while one of Bob’s perfectly white wings covered the three of you like a bed canopy. Your little dream dragon curled himself up like a cat, his soft little trill almost like a purr as the two of you had begun to count the stars and the constellations that moved across the sky. Soon, the two of you had begun to drift off into your own dreams, happy and content with the world around you as the sounds of the heavens carried you into a deep and restful sleep. 

[zoeyslament]

Even Poets Get Sleepy Sometimes

A Nischa oneshot in which Noel stays up late writing a poem, and Mischa finally gets him to sleep.

Your voice,

Though I hear it every day,

Never fails to bring a smile to my face.

Your hands,

Though I hold them every waking moment,

Caress mine like no other.

Your…

Noel slammed his fist against the table, crumpled the yellowing paper, and tossed it into the waste basket. Absolute garbage, what he’d just written. He clicked his ballpoint pen a few times and then threw it down against the hard mahogany of his desk, head falling backwards.

“Try writing poetry they said,” he grumbled, “It’ll be fun, they said!” His eyes went wide as he stared up at the ceiling. “Gets the anger out, they said!”

Noel stood up, went to his bed, and wrapped himself in a fluffy red throw blanket. “I promised myself I’d have this done tonight.” He sucked in a breath, ignoring any thoughts of giving up and going to sleep. The old fashioned clock above his bed read 9:07. It was a school night, but that didn’t really matter. With his luck, he’d sleep in and miss the morning bell anyway. He was about to get started on the poem once more when he felt a buzzing sensation in his pocket.

He whipped out his phone to reveal a text message from Mischa.

M: You left your hoodie at my place

He sighed, and typed out a reply.

N: Ik, I’ll get it tmrw

M: I will bring it over

N: Mischa its like nine at night!!

M: So?

N: Ur not a good driver let alone at night

M: YOLO

Noel didn’t know what was stupider: the fact that Mischa was coming over to drop off a stupid hoodie, or the fact that he’d unironically used YOLO. His boyfriend really was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Noel rolled his eyes, smirking.

“Knowing him, he’ll show up and want to stay.” Noel chuckled. “He can sleep while I finish this up.”

He started writing once more:

With your touch, my worries fade

With your song, my mind’s at ease

With your…

What could he possibly put down next? He frowned at the page. “Come on, Noel, think!”

He thought alright. He sat there and thought for a good twenty minutes. Most of the thoughts he had were less about poetry and more about how hungry he was (mom had gotten McDonald’s for dinner and Noel would rather sit in a tub of monkey piss than eat a McNugget) or about all the homework that would enevitably be due before he even finished his first stanza.

In that time, Mischa had thrown on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt (and was very tempted to put on Noel’s hoodie, as well, but resisted for the sake of his gangsta persona, yo) and taken to his beat up Civic for a late-night spin. Noel’s place was only a few minutes away, so he arrived in about twenty after a slight detour to the local 7-11 for a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.

Mischa had been to his boyfriend’s place enough times to know the drill—front door was always locked after 7, but Noel locked the back door before he went to sleep, and clearly the poet was still awake. So Mischa, hoodie and half-eaten bag of Cheetos in hand, hopped the fence to the Grubers’ backyard (there was a gate but it was too dark to see the latch, and frankly Mischa enjoyed jumping fences) where he was presented with the back patio in all its glory.

It was a few measly slabs of cement and a rocking chair.

He knocked on the back door once, twice, three times, before twisting the knob. Unlocked, just like always. He politely wiped his feet on the mat, took off his shoes, and tiptoed through the living room, kitchen, down the hall, and eventually into Noel’s room.

It was rather spacious—Noel had the master bedroom since his mother wasn’t home enough to make use of it. The walls were a sort of green-grey, with deep red velvet curtains hung over the single, dew-glazed window. Noel’s antique vanity, which doubled as a desk, was sat below said window. On it was a pile of paper, a framed picture of the choir, a picure of Noel and his mom, and several lit scented candles. In fact, there were candles littered everywhere. Noel was really into mood lighting, apparently.

Noel, as of then, was hard at work and didn’t even see Mischa come in. So, naturally, Mischa swooped in and enveloped him in a big bear hug, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. Noel jumped, but quickly melted into it.

“Remind me never to text you again?” Noel hissed at him, mood suddenly back to snarky and broody. “Using YOLO is henceforth forbidden.”

“So is ‘henceforth’. This is not Shakespeare-land, yo.” Mischa countered. He pulled Noel into a gentle kiss by the chin, their lips pressing together lightly as Mischa’s hand set upon Noel’s shoulder.

“Henceforth is an actual word, unlike YOLO.” Noel smirked as he pulled away. “Now where’s the hoodie you oh so desperately needed to bring me?”

Mischa handed it to him. “Sorry, it probably smells like me now.”

Noel pressed it to his nose and made a show of taking a big whiff. “Mhm~”

Mischa laughed. The two of them talked for almost an hour, just like they always managed to do. However after a while it became clear that something was off.

“Poet, you seem tired.” Mischa pointed out in a town of fake nonchalence. Internally, he was panicking. Was something up?

“I’ve been up for a while, yeah.” He held out the paper he was scribbling on. “Can’t get this how I want it.”

“Let me see.” Mischa insisted. He scribbled another word in big letters before proudly showing Noel.

“Mischa, this just says ‘spicy noodles’ in big letters.” Noel did not seem impressed.

Mischa shrugged. “I am hungry.”

“You just ate an entire bag of Cheetos.”

“And?”

“Mischa, you have the appetite of a black hole.”

Noel got back to work, stifling a yawn as his candles developed gutters deep enough to drown a rat. Mischa watched idly as his boyfriend tossed away paper after paper after paper.

“Want more help, Noel?” He teased, hovering over the shorter’s shoulder. Noel slapped him away as if he were swatting at a pesky fly.

“You are less than help. Negative help.” Noel hissed, “If you’re so hungry, go make something to eat. There’s a jar of peanut butter, slap together a sandwich or something.”

“I’d rather just watch you, beautiful.” He admitted, watching Noel’s face flush through the vanity mirror.

“Shut up…”

“Don’t think I will. But, Noel? It’s getting late. You should be in bed, yo. Sleeping.” He pointed at the bed for emphasis, or just in case Noel didn’t know what a bed was.

Noel sighed sleepily. “I know, I know.”

“Maybe sleep will make your brain juice run better.” Mischa suggested, poetic as ever. It was clear he was not taking no for an answer. He scooped Noel up into his arms, leaving Noel a flustered gay mess, and placed him on the bed, tucking his body around Noel’s like a mother cat would around her kitten.

“Mischaaaaaaa~” Noel whined. “I can stay up!” But he clearly didn’t mean it. His eyelids were already growing heavy with sleep. Mischa moved slightly so he was holding Noel closer, feeling his poet’s soft breath on his collarbone as Noel tucked his pretty little face into the crook of Mischa’s neck.

Mischa stroked Noel’s silky dark hair. “Sweet dreams, poet. I know you will find the right words. You always do.”

[idungoofed]

Confession

Well, seeing as my dashboard is super horny right now I thought I’d join in on the fun. This is my first proper attempt at smut, although I’m saying that lightly as I suppose call this as more of a fluffy-smut fic, I’m working my way to more down right filth but this is all I got for now. Enjoy!

Summary: You let your true feelings for Din slip out!

Warnings: No use of Y/N, helmet-less Din! smut, p in v, adult themes, kids this is not for you please move on!

Word count: 1,626

___________

“Oh fuck, Din!” You’re straddled over his bare thighs in the pilots chair of the Razor Crest, your clothing tossed on the floor with Dins, with his armour placed carefully beside it, his helmet the only piece he kept in place.

His large hands roam over your naked body, worshipping every dip and curve as he thrusts into you from below. The slap of skin on skin and each of your breaths and moans the only sound in the small space.

You can feel the delicious heat building in your core as you chase your orgasm. Your arms skim over Dins broad chest and wrap around his neck, your fingers tugging on the soft curls peaking out from under the back of his helmet.

Dins hands now grip the flesh of your hips as he thrusts deep inside you, his cock hitting that spot that sends stars shooting over your vision and causing small whimpers to escape from between your lips.

“Fuck yes, your so good… feel fucking amazing.” Din pants from under the helmet.

You moan at the feeling of him filling you, throwing your head, “Din… fuck! I… I love you!”

You feel Din freeze beneath you as you do the same, realising what you just let slip.

Slowly you tilt your head back toward him making eye contact with his black visor.

You hadn’t meant to say it, although the words had been on the tip of your tongue for the past three weeks. You hadn’t said them yet as you weren’t entirely sure what this relationship between you was yet.

You’d been in each other company for four months now. Din found you in an alley way in Nevarro being held up by a group of Jawas, and although one of the smaller species, you had been unarmed and no match for the sharp knives they had pointed at you.

As you tried to convince them you hadn’t any credits on you, a blur of silver barrelled through them, quickly eliminating their threat to you.

After that Din had taken you back to his ship to patch the small cut to your thigh one of the Jawas had made before he intervened.

Once the bacta spray had started to work and you’d stopped shaking with adrenaline, you’d begged Din to take you on as a crew member. You’d make yourself useful in anyway you could.

You’d been living in the streets of Nevarro for some time, wishing for an opportunity to get yourself of the planet, and now one had revealed itself to you, you weren’t going to let it go.

Din had agreed, reluctantly at first, but you made sure you kept your word; helping with small mechanical issues, cleaning the ship, and cooking meals for when he came back from his bounty hunts.

That first month was quiet, you and Din each kept to yourself, you didn’t want to give him any excuses to kick you off the ship; only exchanged words when entirely necessary.

It was only in the second month where the ice between you both had started to thaw. Din had come back from a particularly difficult hunt, he’d limped onto the ship dragging his deceased bounty behind him along with a trail of his own blood.

You’d rushed towards him, concern clear on your face, you’d ordered him to sit as you got the med kit. His shoulder and arm had a deep jagged cuts, and you’d needed him to remove his armour and top half of the flight suit to be able to clean and bandage the injury.

Din felt a twang in his heart as he watched you tend to him, your gentle hands so soft against his scarred skin. When you were done, he’d captured your hands in his, noting the slight tremble yours had.

Your eyes had widened in surprise at the contact, and he thanked you sincerely for being there for him.

That moment was the start of another long month of stolen glances, and small lingering touches between you. Conversation became less sparse and you began learning more about each other, and through this you felt yourself becoming more and more drawn to him. You respected his creed, and understood his commitment to it by not removing his helmet, but you began to imagine what he looked like under it, what his lips would feel like pressed against your own. His deep gravely voice became soothing to you, and you missed it when he was away on his bounties.

It was in the third month that things really changed. The tension between you was an at all time high, you’d barely been able to say two words to him without becoming flustered, your stomach twisting with bullerflies in his presence.

This hadn’t gone unnoticed by Din either, who took great joy in seeing just how red your face could get.

You’d gotten caught in an ice storm on Maldo Kreis while you and Din were returning to the Razor Crest after a supply run. You were quickly soaked to the bone and freezing, and although Din had his armour as added protection against the elements, the parts of him covered in only fabric were also drenched.

Once back inside the ship you both quickly stripped off your icy clothes, and crawled into Din’s small bunk, the need for body heat overcoming any bashfulness. However, when you had each warmed up, neither of you moved to unwrap your arms from each other.

Hands had begun to wander, breaths becoming heavier as you both explored each others bodies. You’d felt Din’s hard length press into your stomach, and you’d lent into it, trailing sweet kisses along his collar bone causing him to let out of soft groan.

When his hand wandered down to the waistband of your underwear he paused long enough to ask, “Are you sure?”

You’d said yes without hesitation, whimpering as his thick digit circled your clit. He’d hummed in satisfaction at how wet you were already as he trailed his finger through your folds before penetrating you, curling inside you to hit that spot you’d never quit managed to reach on your own.

Since that first night together, although you’d started to share his bunk, and Din taking any opportunity to continue to explore your body, and the different sounds and reactions he could pull out of you, neither of you had spoken about what this relationship between you actually was.

You knew how you felt though. You’d tried keeping the word at bay in your head, but it always managed to barge its way to the front when you were with Din.

Love. You loved him.

You refused to tell him, not yet, not when it was so new and you hadn’t a clue what was going on in that head of his. You wouldn’t risk telling him too soon and potentially ruin what you both had, even if it was just sex, that would be enough for you. Right?

_____

Back in the now, you were both still frozen in place. You couldn’t handle looking at his visor any longer without him saying anything, so you opted to look at his chest while you tried to save your embarrassment.

“Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“Did you mean that?” Din asked quietly.

You took a deep breath, there was no point taking it back now - you couldn’t take it back now. Not when it was true.

You nod, still not daring to look him in the face.

“Yes. I meant it, I have for a while now.”

There’s a beat of silence. You feel his hands leave where they rested on your hips, the absence of them feeling like splinters to your heart. His hands begin to rise, past your field of vision to his face. You hear a hiss, and the base of his helmet begins to lift too.

You screw your eyes shut, “Din! What are you-“

You feel him move beneath you to set it on the floor, and calls your name softly, “Look at me.”

Din waited patently as you slowly open your eyes and raise them to meet his - giving him time to change his mind.

Your eyes travel upwards, taking in his jawline, scruffy with stubble, his perfect lips framed with a neatly clipped moustache, under an aquiline nose. Your eyes finally meet his, your breath hitching in your throat as you take in deep brown eyes you could get lost in.

He was waiting for you to react, but words dissolve on your tongue, instead you cup his face with your hands. You run your thumbs over his cheeks before moving your fingers up into the mess of brown curls on his head.

“I love you too, cyar’ika.” Din says, before cupping your face with his hands pulling you towards him and crashing his lips to yours.

His tongue traces your lips and you let him in as he begins to move his hips beneath you again, ever so slowly at first and building up speed while you match his pace.

His hand trails down from your face, between your breasts till it settles on your bundle of nerves, circling it gently, only increasing your bliss and causing you to chant his name over and over.

Your orgasm rips though you as he continues to thrust, his pace going erratic until he chases yours with his own. Pulling back you watch his bare face as his pupils get blown wide, his arms wrap around you, moulding your bodies together.

You brush away the few stray curls that hang over his forehead, and rest yours against his. “I love you, Din.”

Ner cyar’ika, I love you. Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

_______

Thanks for reading!

[weixuldo]

Enigma// ch 8

Anakin x Reader

(a/n: sorry for the wait guys, FINALS ARE KILLING ME!!! but this chapter is super long!!)

Ahsoka invites you to a small dinner

warnings: alcohol, yelling, cursing, making out, hard dick?

______________________________________

A few weeks went by before you physically saw Anakin again; you’d often check up on him through text. He’d always respond the same,

Fine.

You knew he was pretty upset that you found out about his disabilities, but you didn’t care. You were worried about him and you wanted him to know you would treat him no different than normal. Honestly, you only saw the legs, you didn’t understand the full extent of his injury. 

School was rough this week, but Ahsoka was there to make it better. You were studying in the library and your laptop was about to die, when Ahsoka walked in.

“Hey, Y/N. How are you?” he asked in a hushed tone as she sat in the seat beside you.

You sighed and leaned back in your seat, “I’m so exhausted, I feel like I’m gonna die just like my computer”.

She noticed the battery light blinking and quickly got up and plugged in your laptop. 

“Hey, look! Your laptop isn’t gonna die now, and neither are you. You just need a break” she offered, rubbing your back. “Would you like to come to dinner with me tonight?” 

“Sure”.

She smiled brightly and hugged you tightly, “Awesome!!”.

“Shh” an angry looking librarian hushed.

“Oops, Sorry” Ahsoka responded, sinking down in her chair.

For the next few hours the two of you studied, she said the dinner was going to be casual so you didn’t need too much time to get ready. You were honestly relieved the dinner was going to be low-key; you didn’t know if you had the energy to party today. 

You learned the dinner was going to just be at someone's house and was actually for Ben’s fiance Satine, she got a significant promotion and Ben wanted to celebrate. You were actually quite excited to meet her, you had heard so much about her from Ben and Ahsoka. 

_______________________________

Dinner time came around, so Ahsoka and you headed to the parking lot to get in her car. Half way there you realized Anakin would most likely be there. 

Fuck.

How could he not, Ben is basically his brother. Hopefully he would be done acting weird, because you genuinely just wanted a chill dinner away form the stress of school. You also worried that he would make things awkward for everyone; Ahsoka and Ben still had no idea about that night and you intended to keep it that way.

You loved Ahsoka but you definitely didn’t want her knowing about your massive crush on her friend. She knew you thought he was cute, but she didn’t know that you liked-liked him and if she found out you spent the night at his place and helped him that night, you’d never hear the end of it. 

You were caught up in your own head when you felt the car coming to a stop. Oh shit. You were at Anakin’s place. You didn’t expect the dinner to be … here.

Ahsoka parked the vehicle and smiled at you, “Surprise, surprise!”.

She had no idea about any of your interactions with Anakin… To her, this was the first time you're seeing him since the night you stayed over with her. She was clueless. 

You put on your best facade and blushed (and not for the reasons she was thinking). He’s not gonna be happy.

The two of you knocked on the door and moments later heard Anakin’s voice through the door, “Go ahead and answer it Ben”.

Soon the door opened to reveal Ben’s smiling face, “Well hello there!”.

“Hey Ben!” Ahsoka chirped, giving him a big hug. 

You walked in behind her and received your own hug from the man. 

“Nice to see you again, Y/N”.

You smiled and returned the sentiment to the older man. As you got further into the living room you saw two other people sitting on the couch; one was a jovial looking bald guy and the other was a stunning blonde woman. That had to be Satine.

Soon, you saw Anakin coming from the kitchen, he was wearing sweats, a hoodie and of course his gloves. He looked really good…

He sported a soft smile as he saw everyone together; that was until his eyes landed upon you. His gaze became icy and he completely shut down. 

You felt your heart thumping against your chest. What did you do? You didn’t know the dinner was at his house. You glanced at Ben who looked concerned as he eyed Anakin; he definitely knew something was up. 

‘Y/N, this is my fiance, Satine '' Ben broke the tension, directing your attention to the blonde woman. 

“Hello! I’ve heard so much about you! You're gorgeous” you offered, shaking her hand.

“Oh, you’re too kind, look at yourself, you're beautiful!” she replied, making you feel good.

You blushed at her comment as you took a seat next to Ahsoka on the couch. You watched with worried eyes as you saw Anakin glaring at you from the other side of the room.

Everyone could feel the tension between the small space; Ben and Satine shared glances, Ahsoka messed on her phone, and the man who introduced himself as Rex, tried to lighten the mood.

“So, Satine! Congratulations on the promotion, we all knew you would get it!” the bald man said.

“Why, thank you Rex! I really couldn’t have done it without you guys’ support” Satine smiled.

“With the pay raise you're getting, we better see some of that thanks, '' Rex joked, eliciting a punch to the arm from Ahsoka.

“Idiot, don't ya know it's rude to say that stuff?” she said.

“Haha, ya know i’m just jokin’, kid” he laughed as he rubbed his arm.

The room became more lively from then on out, you conversed with Satine and Ben, while Ahsoka and Rex goofed around. Anakin was the only outlier, honestly he was acting like a spoiled brat just standing there, barely engaging with anyone. 

Once it came time to eat, everyone made their way to the kitchen; the table was already set up nicely and all there was to do was sit down. You chose the seat closest to you, but before you could sit down you heard a callous voice behind you. 

“That’s my seat” 

You nearly passed out from the fright. Anakin towered over you from behind and had his arms crossed. Instead of fighting for the seat you just nodded and went to find somewhere else to sit. You ended up sitting between Ahsoka and Satine, but you were directly across from a very menacing Anakin.

Dinner commenced and everything was going relatively well, until Rex pointed out that Anakin seemed off. Anakin answered his friend coldly, before landing his gaze on you. He looked so annoyed to even be in your presence. 

Anakin left to get something from the kitchen and you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You rounded the corner and found him in the kitchen with a bottle in one of his hands. 

“Anakin?” 

He looked over with wide eyes and an expression that looked like he got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. 

“What do you want?” he spat as he finished opening the bottle. 

“I just wanted to check up on you, are you alright?” you asked, worry laced in your voice. 

“Fine. happy now?” he rudely said.

You were taken aback by his brash behavior and silently stepped aside allowing him to pass. You noticed his limp was slightly more pronounced meaning he was getting tipsy. Not much you could do, so you sighed and continued to the bathroom.

_________________________________

The rest of the evening was nice except for the occasional jab Anakin threw at you; everyone could tell something was up, but no one wanted to ruin the night by bugging Anakin about his feelings. 

The five of you toasted to Satine’s promotion and sat in the livingroom for awhile until people began to get sleepy.

“Thank you so much for hosting, Anakin. The construction guys should be done with out new bathroom soon” Ben smiled as he gathered his and Satine’s coats.

“Yes, Thank you Anakin” Satine smiled as they headed for the door.

Rex and Ahsoka stretched and talked a bit more before deciding to head out too. You were pretty tipsy and were determined to confront Anakin. So when Ahsoka asked if you wanted to leave with her, you kindly declined and told her you were planning to uber back because you had to do something else before you went back. Her and Rex said their goodbyes, leaving you alone with Anakin. 

“You leaving soon?” he rudely asked, popping the cap off of another bottle of beer.

Seriously? 

All night Anakin had been acting off, you knew he was upset about that night, but you had done nothing wrong. You kept your promise and didn't tell Ben or Ahsoka, so why was he acting so childishly?

“Anakin, can we talk?�� you asked, against your better judgment. 

“Fuck off Y/N” he said as he walked out of the kitchen into the living room.

You followed Anakin and watched him flop onto the couch.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” you practically yelled at him.

He halted his movements and slowly turned his head so you could see him glaring at you. 

“What did you just say?” He seethed.

“I haven’t done anything wrong, why are you acting like this?” you said.

He leaned forward on the couch and stared at you, “acting ‘like this’? You're speaking as if you know me. you don’t know the slightest thing about me, little one”. 

“Don’t you see?! I’m trying to! I want to know you, Anakin!” you pleaded

“Shut up.”

“No, I want to know you but you won’t talk to me” you continued.

He began to lift himself from the couch, “I said shut up”.

“Anakin, I care about you, why wont you just let m-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he yelled, scaring you into silence.

You froze with wide eyes and watched as he continued towards you.

No.

You weren't about to let this man make you feel like shit anymore.

“Did you really just shout at me? Real mature Anakin. Real fucking mature” you scoffed as you crossed your arms and stared into his blue eyes. 

He was taken aback by your assertiveness and advanced towards you until your back was against the wall. You couldn’t quite read his face, was he still mad? Was he feeling violent? 

“maybe there's a reason I don’t want you to know me… I don’t want to fuck anyone else up” he lamented, placing a hand by your head to lean on th wall.

“Try me”

His eyes darted to yours and you saw a spark of interest; your heart was racing and you were feeling things. Maybe it was the alcohol getting to you, but you wanted him so badly.

It seemed he felt the same way because he quickly closed the gap in between the two of you and crashed his lips into yours. You were caught off guard and stifled a moan to which he responded to with a whimper. 

He placed a stiff hand on your side to steady you as you ran your hands through his hair. You kissed him as if you were starving for it; it didn’t even matter that it was sloppy.

You tried a small tug on some of his hair making him moan. He took his other arm and placed it on your neck before tilting your head so he could kiss downwards. 

He was marking your neck hungrily and you were loving it, he was touching you…the man you couldn’t get out of your mind since you first met him was actually touching you. 

He broke away from the heated kiss to pant, “Should we be doing this?”

“Probably not, but I don’t want to stop,” you admitted, pulling him closer to you once more. You felt butterflies in your stomach when you felt his hardened length brush against you.

“Me either” he said before he resumed the kiss. 

You were probably going to regret this later, but damn did it feel so good.

***

a/n: damn, sorry for the wait and this really convoluted chapter lolll, so many unnecessary details…. but it’ll get better soon !

Taglist: @dnamht @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote @poisonedsultana

[good-beanswrites]

Your Books drabble was really good! It's great to see another side of Ore. You said you wanted to write more Mikoto, so can I request him and Children? If you're willing to take more than one request, Mikoto and Muu with Fashion would also be pretty interesting.

Wahh thank you so much! :D I definitely want to work with him a lot more, thank you for these! Here's Children with Orekoto (it's from Amane's pov but I mean it's about him), and I also posted Fashion with Bokukoto👍

The next crash against the wall was the last straw for Amane. Prison life was already uncomfortable as it was. Even without her cell neighbor’s constant noise, she would’ve had trouble sleeping given the poor conditions that guilty prisoners faced. With his constant noise, she couldn’t sleep at all. She’d spoken about the disturbance to Es, and some of the others, but no one had done anything to remedy the situation. 

She’d seen the way they all looked at Mikoto. She’d seen the way he’d looked back. Everyone hesitated to stand up against him after what had happened. But Amane had learned not to walk in fear. She had faith that she would be protected, as she was here doing what was right.

She clung to that promise of protection as she marched out of her cell. With as much confidence as she could muster, she knocked on Mikoto’s door. The violent sounds behind it came to a halt. She tried to keep her sleeves rolled up; she hated how the new oversized uniform made her look even smaller. 

The door flew open, revealing a half-destroyed room and an equally torn-up prisoner. Mikoto hadn’t bothered to get his new uniform mended. Amane would have found the behavior slobbish, except he put the clothes under strain each and every night. There’d be no use in fixing it only to wreck it again the following evening.

“What?” His eyes burned in fury. Behind him, what little furniture the cells held had all been overturned. His knuckles were raw with blood. He breathed heavily from exertion.

Amane swallowed. “Kayano Mikoto. I’m here to ask you to be quiet.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s disruptive at this hour.” He squinted at her, likely wondering if she was serious. She was. “It’s also very disrespectful to your fellow prisoners.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the other prisoners.”

“I think you do.”

“And what would you know?”

“I know you care about me, at least.”

He scoffed. “I don’t. Just ask the warden, you won’t get any special treatment just because you’re a kid.”

He went to slam the door, but Amane was quick to grab the edge. “I saw you that day,” she said hurriedly. “You told Shidou that Kotoko attacked you, but you lied. You struck first.”

Mikoto tipped his head to the side with a sneer. “What are you gonna do, tattle on me?”

“Kotoko attacked prisoner three. Then prisoner six. Next would have been – should have been eight, not nine.” Amane adjusted her sleeves. She said softer, “I’m glad it wasn’t special treatment because I’m a child.”

She lifted her chin. “So, if you still care about my well-being, I ask you to let me sleep. The rest would also do you good. The others, they’ve begun talking about the two of us very similarly. I find quiet meditation works for me, so maybe it’s the same for --”

“We are nothing alike, let’s get that straight. And I can guarantee fucking praying isn’t going to do a thing for me.”

“Why not?”

Mikoto laughed. Amane wasn’t sure she’d ever heard angry laughter before. “Let’s just say the guy I’m talking to isn’t listening.��

“It may feel like that, but that’s why we must believe.” He seemed ready to shut her out again, so she asked quickly, “You love Him, right?”

Mikoto blinked.

“If so, you must have faith He loves you in return.”

“And if he doesn’t?” The way he asked it, he didn’t appear to care about the outcome. He was just curious what she’d say.

Well, he was in luck, because she had the perfect answer prepared. Amane placed her hands over her heart. “He has to. He is a part of you, His spirit living and working in you.”

Mikoto chuckled again, though she hadn’t said anything funny. He muttered something to himself before shutting the door. 

With nothing left to say, Amane returned to her own cell. She fumed that Mikoto still saw her as a clueless, or perhaps naive child. 

But for the rest of that night, at least, the room beside her remained quiet.