#i love drawing ches's face

[winterboots]

scrunch

[myzticbean]

I love nothing in the world so well as you

Title: I love nothing in the world so well as you

Pairing: Qin Che | Sylus / MC (fem! reader) Tags: 18+ Explicit sexual content, PWP -- oral sex, fingering, shower sex, multiple orgasms. Basically, a lot of good sex :) Can also read at: AO3

Who would have thought? I mused, sitting propped up on a mountain of pillows in the extravagantly big bed in Sylus’ bedroom. The black silk sheets bunched around my waist (matching my black silk and lace negligee, courtesy of said man), the television a low hum of noise in the background while we both read our datapads.

Sylus had only been up for a few hours, while I was getting ready to crash - it was already way past my normal Linkon sleep schedule, and my body was telling me to give up the fight. But I just wanted a few more minutes…

Sighing, I threw away the datapad before noisily collapsing against his shoulder. “What are you reading?” I asked in belated interest, trying to peer down at the screen before he skillfully trapped me against his side with one arm.

He - much more calmly - put the datapad on the bedside table before he gathered me into his arms. I struggled to kick free of the sheets since he was laying on top of the bedding. 

“Are you pouting, kitten?” he asked, and the huskiness of his voice never failed to send a little shiver of delight down my spine. I pretended to be offended by the ridiculous nickname, nipping at his shoulder. 

“Why would I be pouting?” I asked, with what was definitely not a pout. 

“Why, indeed?” he countered, staring down at me. The fireplace was crackling (it didn’t matter that it was summer and the air conditioning needed to be turned way down, because Sylus said it was the ambiance that mattered more than the electric bill), and the flickering light made the red tint in his eyes shine like a cat’s gaze in the otherwise dark room. 

“I’ve fed you, watered you, played with you, what more could my kitten desire?” he questioned, his lip quirking in faint amusement at my very disgruntled expression. 

I wallowed unhappily in his arms, flipping around so that my face was turned away from his even as I sprawled across his lap and chest. “Hmph,” I grunt, nestling my face deeper into his shoulder before giving him another bite. When I released it, I could see a damp patch in the dark dress shirt from the press of my tongue and teeth. 

His breath stuttered, just a little, but I caught it and hid a pleased smile. I nuzzled into the firm muscles of his shoulder, drawing up my legs and hooking one knee over his, while the other slipped between his thighs. I slipped one hand behind his back in a loose embrace, my fingers smoothing along the crisp shirt at the base of his spine. The other hand I tucked underneath my chin, sighing. 

Sylus wrapped his arms a little tighter around me, lowering his head to press the softest kiss against the crown of my head. 

“What is it you need, sweetie?” he asked, his lips still buried in my hair and his warm breath puffing against my skin. His voice was almost painfully gentle. The heat, and the sweetness, made me squirm in pleasure. 

“I’ve missed you,” I finally admitted, my face still turned away. “And you’ve been so busy…”

I trailed off, reminded a little of my original unhappiness. I wanted to bite him for a third time, but managed to resist. 

“You were hurt,” he answered, and now his voice was firm and low. Deadly, even, for those who knew what to look for. “I’ve made sure it won’t happen a second time.”

I finally turned my head back towards his, peering up at his face from where I lay propped up on his chest. 

“That’s what you were worried about?” I asked, somewhat surprised. Sylus hadn’t seemed that affected, and the wounds weren’t any worse than a typical Wanderer battle. I had been unexpectedly caught in the crossfire of a subway dispute in the N109 zone while on my way back to him. 

When I helped citizens duck for cover, it was as I was sheltering a little kid that those losers took advantage of my distraction, a stray bullet zipping right over my shoulder. The shock and burn of the bullet took my breath away, but my muscle memory kicked in, and I turned, shooting the attacker in the chest. The fight had been quickly subdued after that.

“You could have been shot in the head if his aim had been just a little better,” Sylus said through gritted teeth. 

“Oh,” I said. I paused, before asking, “How did you know that?”

“I found the security footage.” His gaze was dark, his eyes lowered and watchful as he waited for my response. Mephisto had not been with me that day, so I figured there was a good chance my actions might have gone unnoticed (except for the exceptionally painful bullet graze). 

“Ah.” Eloquent as always, I knew. “I didn’t want to worry you,” I admitted. I stroked my palm down his back, as if soothing imaginary ruffled feathers. 

“That worries me even more.” His quiet voice was now even lower. “Does that mean something like this has happened before and you didn’t tell me?”

“Of course not!” I answered before my brain had even caught up with the question. “I mean, okay, I’ve gotten injured fighting Wanderers of course. But not when I’ve been with you.” 

It seemed to settle some of his frustration, though obviously the idea of any injuries were distasteful to him. “You really need to be more careful, sweetie,” he finally grumbled after a long-suffering sigh. I muffled a laugh in his chest, my hand creeping up to cover my mouth as I leaned into his embrace. 

“Why else have you been upset?” Sylus asked when my laughter settled, and I rested my forehead against his collar. I slipped both arms around his waist as he reclined back against the pillows propping us up. 

“No reason,” I answered slyly, hiding a shy grin. 

“I can feel you smiling, kitten,” he said with a smirk. “Don’t lie to me.” 

“I wanted you to know that I was feeling better ages ago,” I admitted. His shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, exposed his throat and the barest glimpse of his chest, so I ducked in to press my lips to his hot skin. He always ran so warm. 

“Oh?” he drawled. “How much better are you feeling now?”

“Very, very much better.” I didn’t even have bandages on my shoulder anymore. 

“And what would you like me to do now that you’re feeling very much better?” His voice was husky and he was practically purring in my ear. I shivered, the warm puff of his breath and his deep baritone igniting all of my senses. 

I drew back, withdrawing my arms from his waist to prop myself up on his chest. I shifted slightly, my leg now pressing up against his groin as I rode his thigh. 

“I would very much like it if you would fuck me,” I said ( ahem , demanded), though a blush I couldn’t control immediately made my cheeks warm. 

He swallowed thickly, his eyes heavy lidded and glowing in the firelight with dawning desire. “How?” he asked.

“What do you mean how?” I shot back, a little petulant. 

“How do you want me to fuck you?” He shifted to brace his foot more firmly on the bed and bent his knee, grinding me a little harder onto his thigh as he lifted me slightly off the mattress. I gasped, collapsing forward onto his chest as I arched to press back against his thigh. 

The thin black triangle of fabric between my legs did nothing to block the heat from his body, the smooth fabric of his pants adding a delicious friction as my thighs clenched around his. I wriggled a little, my hips shifting unconsciously to chase that sweet rub against my clit.

“Y-you know how I like it,” I finally answered, feeling a little dazed at how quickly my body was heating up. I was already getting damp, panties slick and tucked into the folds of my pussy. Without stopping to think (Sylus always said he preferred taking action, after all), I lowered one hand to shift my underwear to one side. With my negligee still tucked between us, he couldn’t quite see what I was doing, but I knew he could feel it as soon as I pressed my now bare pussy against the seam of his black slacks.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, licking his lips as his hands slid down to grip my hips. “Take what you want from me.” He adjusted his leg, adding a little more pressure as he rocked me harder against his thigh. I tried to stifle a moan, curling a little into his broad chest as my hands wandered down his stomach. I felt the muscles twitch and ripple even through his shirt. I was desperate to put my hands on his bare skin, but the teasing warmth while he was still fully dressed sent tingles of excitement through me. 

My nipples tightened, clearly visible through the silk, the neckline dipping in a gentle wave against the small curves of my breasts. His bright gaze dropped to the teasing shadow.

“Pull down the straps. Slowly,” he ordered. I didn’t want to move my hands away from him, and I hesitated, my hands already near his belt. 

“ Now , sweetie. Otherwise I’ll stop what I’m doing.” His hands tightened on my hips, a gentle warning. 

I pulled away from him and he lowered his leg a little, allowing me to kneel on the bed. Sliding my hands up my thighs, ghosting over his hands on my hips, and teasing over the soft curve of my belly, I wanted to draw it out and torment him just as much as he was doing to me. 

I smiled, a sultry, inviting curve of my lips that I knew he couldn’t resist. My fingers, pale against the midnight silk of my slip, teased every dip and hollow of my own body. My nail caught the edge of one nipple, tight and thrusting forward under his hot gaze, and I caught my bottom lip between my teeth.

It felt so good…and it had been so long since we had last played in bed thanks to my previous injury and his hectic travel schedule. 

“Like this?” I whispered, my other hand coming up to cup the other breast, plumping it up as the neckline dipped dangerously low, the pale pink of one nipple now peeking above the fabric. With the other hand, I tugged at one slender strap and it slipped off my shoulder, delicately resting in the crease of my elbow. Immediately one side of the gown dropped, exposing one breast completely. The palm still fondling the other breast shifted, now covering the nipple from his gaze. 

My nipple throbbed against my palm, and I imagined how hot and wet his mouth would feel, licking and sucking at my breasts. “If I take this off, I want you to use your mouth on me while I come on your thigh,” I tried to negotiate, my voice slightly strangled as I imagined it. 

He cursed low under his breath, tipping his head back as he swallowed heavily. He slid his hands around to cup my ass, but blocked me from any further movement. I whined in protest, trying to lift my hands to wrap around his neck. I leaned forward, peppering frantic kisses to his adams apple, his neck, his collarbone, any skin within reach. 

“How,” he started, swallowing again, “how do you want me to use my mouth?” His eyes speared me in place, and I shivered against him in response. 

“I need you,” I whispered. “So much.” 

“I know, baby. Tell me what you need,” he coaxed, his hands spasming against my bottom. 

“I want you to lick my nipples, suck on my breasts, bite my neck,” I tried to say, but my breath was coming in little pants. He shuddered beneath me. “I want to feel your mouth everywhere. Anywhere.” 

“Take it off,” he growled. “Right now.”

I immediately tugged at my nightgown, the delicate silk stretching and the seams crackling as I tried to whip it over my head. It got tangled briefly in my hair (embarrassing), but with a muffled chuckle, Sylus reached up with one hand to help tug me free. 

I threw it off the side of the bed, and now Sylus could see the tiny straps of my thong and the fabric pushed to the side. Slick patches appeared on his black slacks and the skin of my thighs, the puffy folds of my pussy appearing pink and swollen already. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. I had already made an absolute mess on his slacks. 

“I’m not going to last long,” I moaned. I caught a glimpse of the hard outline of his cock trapped against his leg, and I knew he was just as desperate for me. 

“Did you come when I wasn’t here?” I asked, picking up a smooth, gliding rhythm. “If you did, I won’t forgive you.” Between the heat and friction, I was already getting close, tingles of pleasure rushing through my veins. 

“What would you do to me if I did?” He shifted, tugging me closer and tighter on this thigh, and now I could feel his cock pressing up against me through his slacks. I shuddered, a gasp escaping as I squeezed myself against the heated length. 

“I…I would…not let you come tonight,” I grumbled, panting. “Now, you better kiss me, or I’m going to kick you out of bed and take care of it myself.”

“Oh?” he asked in disbelief, before tossing the question back to me, his tone mocking. “Did you come when I wasn’t there?”

“Twice every night,” I lied shamelessly before laughing at his twisted expression. 

He lunged forward, holding me almost painfully tight as he kissed me deeply. He sucked my tongue into his mouth, before chasing and following it back into my own. Slick, wet and hot, all I could feel was the glide of his tongue exploring my mouth. I moaned, tilting my head back so he could thrust himself even deeper inside. I could feel saliva pooling helplessly in my mouth. He was drinking me in, briefly pulling away to swallow, and a thin string connected our mouths. Seeing it in porn was never a turn on, but with his mouth swollen and slick, it made me want to bite his lips mercilessly. 

“Sy, darling, I’m going to die if I don’t come now,” I begged. 

“We haven’t even gotten started,” he said, laughing low and rough. “Don’t give up so soon.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks,” I reminded him. 

“I thought you said you’d been pleasuring yourself twice a night, sweetie. You don’t have any excuses,” he replied, his voice a little strained when I clamped tight around his thigh. 

Instead of arguing with him further, I reached out, carding my fingers through his hair before clenching my hands into fists lightly, and tugging him insistently down. “Your mouth,” I reminded him, before I arched my back, pressing my breasts closer to his face. 

Sylus bared his teeth in unspoken reprimand before he bowed his head, his heated mouth pressing against my skin. Darting out his tongue, he slicked a slow, meandering path along the top curve of one breast, before dragging his lips to the other. He lifted one hand to palm my flesh, cupping and plumping the weight. When he nipped at the delicate skin, a small red bloom was left behind as he moved slowly closer to my nipple. 

It was just the right amount of pressure and release, small little bites soothed by strokes of his tongue. I writhed on his lap, riding both the heated press of his cock still trapped in his slacks and the thickly muscled thigh that flexed and lifted in time with my motions. I could feel my hips start to buck, small at first and then more wildly the closer I edged to climax just from the stimulation to my clit. I finally released his hair and reached down, pulling back the puffy flesh to expose the pulsing little nub and my drenched core.

He groaned when he saw my pussy, and he suddenly cupped my breast more firmly, taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking strongly. The pull at my breast combined with the heated press to my clit sent me over the edge, sparks shooting up and down my body. I clung to his shoulders and cried out his name, riding out waves of my climax. 

I slumped, trembling, back into his embrace, the last shuddering flickers of my orgasm sending little licks of fire down my legs. “Oh my,” I sighed, nuzzling my face into his chest as I slid bonelessly down into his lap.

“Don’t quit on me now, sweetie,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he smoothed a palm down my back, soothing away the little aftershocks. 

I laughed breathlessly. “Just give me a second, and I’ll be ready for round two, I promise.”

Sylus lifted me off his lap, settling me back onto the bed and half-propped up in the mountain of pillows at the headboard. He slipped my panties down my legs as I sprawled into the comfortable nest.

I glanced down at his slacks, reaching out to rub a finger in the soaked patch on his thigh. I tickled my fingers upwards to the second spot directly over his still-hard cock.

“Did you have fun, kitten?” he asked playfully, watching my fingers trail along his length.

“Mmhm,” I hummed, pleased with myself when he groaned and climbed to his feet beside the bed. Without comment, he began unbuttoning his dress shirt, baring his chest. 

I licked my lower lip, eyes squinting in lazy admiration. He was so attractive, it should be illegal. I decided to tell him as such, which just made him laugh quietly. In moments, he had already shrugged off the shirt, unbuckled his belt and pushed down his slacks (he had apparently decided to go commando today), and his cock was finally freed, red and pulsing with need. The glimmering firelight shot streaks of orange and red glow across his skin. 

“Sylus,” I whispered, opening my arms in invitation. He slid on the bed, crawling up to kneel before me and shifting forward so that my legs parted on either side of his hips. He sat back on his heels, thighs flexing, and he reverently smoothed his hands down my legs to my ankles. 

His cock jutted up between us, thick and flushed. I couldn’t help but stare at the sight he made, looming over me, surrounding me with his muscled flesh and strong body. I felt so small, but protected, underneath him. 

I slid my hands over his shoulders, lightly scoring his flesh with my nails just like a kitten he always said I reminded him of. Sylus grunted, a pleased sound, and he shifted even closer. He lifted one of my legs up and looped it over the crook of one arm, anchoring me in place, while he wrapped the other leg around his waist. 

“Now sweetie,” he began as he positioned me gently. With my legs spread, I was completely exposed, knowing he could see just how wet and excited I was. He swallowed hard, looking me over as if he were a starving man suddenly presented with a banquet. 

“I’m going to fuck you, and it’s going to be raw and hard,” he said almost conversationally, but his eyes, glimmering with barely-banked desire in the low firelight, belied the casual tone. 

“Yes,” I whimpered, feeling another little pulse of liquid at my core. I knew he could see it, smell it, practically taste it in the sex-riddled air. 

He crouched over, covering me, holding his weight off of me as he gave me a long, deep kiss. He still held my legs captive, and I clenched my thighs, wanting to press even more tightly against his body. 

I settled more deeply into the pillows, and he released his hold on my leg wrapped around his waist to brace himself, hand near my ribs as we curled together. His other arm still held one of my legs up over it, keeping me spread wide and open to his hot gaze. 

“I need you,” I said softly, pleading. I could feel myself dripping, the sheets damp beneath my body. Sometimes our evenings were nothing but long, extended foreplay; sweet, drugging kisses and hours of exploration.

But it had been so long, and my body was so primed, I felt ready to explode if he wasn’t inside me soon. The earlier orgasm had only taken the edge off, but I yearned for him. I hummed a little, a small purr I know drove him crazy.

His hips snapped forward, his dick pressed against my pussy, and wetted the length of it with my sex. He gave another small thrust, the head sliding past my clit before he withdrew and thrust again. “Get me wet, baby.” His voice was a low rumble of lust. 

“Why are you teasing me?” I asked, the barest hint of a whine in my voice as I panted. He was so hot, his cock felt like a brand against my sensitive skin. I wanted to arch and wiggle to capture him inside of me, but with his vise-like grip holding me in place, I couldn’t move. 

“I thought my naughty little kitten wanted to play,” he murmured, eyes lowered as he watched his cock tease my pussy. Tingles swept through me with each stroke, little shudders wracking my body. I was almost embarrassed by how wet I was. I could feel his thighs, bracketed under my legs and hips, slick with my arousal. I tilted my head back into the pillows, my shoulders and back arching as I brought one hand up to tweak my nipples, roughly tugging at the tender bud swollen from his mouth earlier. 

With my free hand, I reached down between my legs, stroking the head of his cock as he pumped himself against me, coating the entire length with my fluid. He huffed, head dropping back as he briefly stilled, obviously trying to control himself. I swirled my fingertips over the spongy head, dipping briefly to the slit to swirl the beads of precum leaking from the tip.

He settled back on his heels, and using one hand, he slicked his fingers along the seam of my pussy. “So wet,” he murmured, sinking one finger inside of me. I cried out, the calloused pad of his finger igniting little flames as he pumped one finger, swirling it inside of me, stretching me gently but quickly. Without pausing, he added another finger, scissoring and thrusting them deeper. 

“That’s enough, do it,” I said. I shivered over and over, my toes curling. 

“No, sweetie, not just yet,” he said, his eyes locked on his fingers. He curled them, and I could feel another orgasm already building as he rubbed that perfect spot inside of me. I felt so full and empty at the same time.

“I don’t want to come like this, I want you inside of me,” I said, voice catching as I tried to swallow. 

“I won’t let you, kitten,” he answered, a smirk twisting his lips. “You’re only allowed to come around my dick.”

“Sylus,” I hissed, and without answering, he added one more finger. I felt so full, his fingers long and large, but I know his cock will still spread me even further. The walls of my pussy clenched around the digits, and I could hear the sucking sound as he pumped inside of me, his fingers curling and stroking me. The pleasure felt like white hot flames licking at my skin. 

Finally, I reached down and gripped his cock in my hand, leaving no room for him to pull away. “Fuck me, my love,” I demanded. I lined him up with my pussy. “No more waiting.”

I don’t know if it was the endearment (admitting my adoration for him always sent him into orbit, I thought fondly), or my handling, but he wasn’t playful anymore. 

Instead, he thrust into me, deep and slow and filling every inch of me he could reach. His length and size caused the most delicious stretch and burn, no matter how ready I was. He lifted a little on his knees, bracing more heavily above me, his hand tight on my thigh as he pressed into me so deep I could practically feel him in my womb. 

“Yes,” I hissed, the pleasant ache causing another rush of wetness to dampen between my thighs. He didn’t bother to answer, focused on my face and body and he continued to work his way into me, loosening my body with every rhythmic pump and withdrawal. 

I let loose a throaty moan, my spine arching again uncontrollably, trying to bear down on his cock. My internal muscles flexed and spasmed, wanting to suck him deeper, the wet sounds growing louder and louder. As he pulled out, I whimpered in loss before he flexed forward to fill me once more. 

“Are you ready, sweetie?” he asked, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead from his restraint. 

I propped myself up, curling forward a little to rest my hands on his shoulders. I could see him now, his cock red and angry, sliding into my body, and I felt full to bursting. The pleasure was almost unbearable, as I watched his cock, wet from my juices pull out of me before thrusting back into my stretched, pink pussy. I could feel my body trembling around his flesh.

“Yes, yes, more,” I begged, my eyes glued to where we were connected. I had wanted to give him a deep, lingering kiss, but I was so distracted by the erotic sight, I could hardly focus. I missed the tight grin twitch at the corner of his mouth before he bit his lip roughly. A hint of red appeared on his lip before he licked it away. 

He thrust forward, harder and faster than before, pistoning in and out of my body. I flopped back into the nest of pillows, eyes hazy from pleasure. I panted heavily through my mouth, my entire body jerking with each rough thrust he pounded into me. He bent over, curling me into a little ball since he still held one leg captive, his tongue fucking into my mouth in the same rhythm as his cock. Saliva dripped from the corner of my mouth as I moaned around his tongue, the sucking sounds of my pussy growing louder and louder. 

Every ridge, every vein, I felt like I could feel every curve of his cock, electricity sparking along my spine. My toes curled when he finally let go of my leg, and I wrapped it tightly around his hips and waist, leveraging myself up into his lap.

His thighs flexed with each pump, his body bracing mine off the bed so he could get an even deeper angle. His pubic bone bumped roughly against my clit each time he bottomed out, my pussy sucking him deeper as he curved against the perfect spot, igniting my body to a fever pitch. 

He reached down between my legs, thumbing my clit roughly. There was no gentle stimulation, and I was still so sensitive from my first orgasm, it was pleasure that edged into pain. I trembled, crying out tearfully.

“More, more,” I pleaded, sobbing. He strummed my clit again, thrusting into me even more deeply, little growls rumbling in his chest as he stared down at me. I writhed, almost violently, at the sharp sparks of electricity that shot through my body. My thighs tightened, ankles crossing behind his back as I tried to press back into his hips on each thrust. 

“I want you to come now,” he demanded, his voice husky and tight with pleasure, and without warning, two calloused fingers tightened on my clit, the pressure pushing me into another immediate orgasm. I could feel my clit pulsing between his fingertips, my cunt clamping down on his cock so hard I think we both saw stars. I screamed my pleasure, trembling and crying. I could feel his cock pulsing once, twice, pumping furiously into my spasming pussy, before a gush of hot fluid filled me inside. The pressure of his dick, the painful swelling of my clit, and the warmth of his release prolonged my orgasm, breathlessly crying out his name over and over at the stimulation. 

“That’s right kitten, let me hear you,” he purred, leaning down to lick at the tear tracks on my cheeks. He pulsed forward, plugging me so tight I felt like I was going to burst. He was still hard, cock twitching inside of me. 

I moaned, throat hoarse. “Darling, I…”

“One more time,” he coaxed, his voice a low rumble that sent a throb of pleasure through my core. I instinctively tightened again, and he muffled a groan. 

“I can’t,” I gasped. “I’m too sensitive.” 

“I know you can, sweetie,” and his voice was so guttural with need I couldn’t stop the shudders wracking my body. “Look, I won’t even move,” and as he stared hotly down at me under him, I could feel his still-hard cock flexing inside of me. 

“Oh, oh,” I moaned, my hands still clenching and releasing on his shoulders, kneading him unconsciously in time with each twitch. I wanted to twist my hips, but his hand had left my clit to return to my waist, holding me in place. 

“I thought you were too tender,” he tutted, his tone now a little playful in his post-orgasmic haze. “How about this instead?”

With one smooth motion, he flipped us both so that I now lay on my side, half-propped on the pillows while he lay curled behind me. He entered me again before I had time to catch my breath, this angle now deeper and more pointed inside of me.

I grunted, my body baring down on him again and there was a little gush of fluid between my legs, a mixture of his semen and my climax. The silk bedding was wet and a little warm under our bodies. 

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured in my ear, my head pressed back against his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. One of his hands cupped my breast, kneading the tingling flesh before giving the nipple a pinch. My hands smoothed along the arms bracketing me, and I lifted one leg to prop over his knee. He hummed in appreciation. “How does that feel?”

“Not bad,” I answered, hiding my grin as he gave a sharp little thrust behind me. As I stared down my body, all I could see was his cock disappearing inside of me, my pussy stretched tight around him. 

“Don’t lie to me, sweetie,” he said, nipping my ear in reprimand. He went still, but I could feel him flexing inside of me again, right against that sweet little spot that never failed to make sparks quiver along my nerves. 

I gasped quietly. “Really, really good,” I finally answered. I reached down, feeling the length of him against my thigh and rubbed my fingers where we connected. He shuddered this time, unable to help giving me an extra pump as my fingertips swirled along his cock.

“Don’t tempt me, kitten,” Sylus grumbled, his breath puffing along the sensitive curve of my ear. “I want to take my time.” He gave my ear a sweep of his tongue before he tugged at my earlobe with a light grip of his teeth.

I settled back more firmly into his embrace, my hips and back arching to press my backside into his groin. I wiggled with a tiny, breathless laugh. 

“I’ve missed you,” he said, his lips drifting in a light kiss over my ear, then my cheek and my temple. His heartbeat was thumping steadily against my back. 

“Mmm,” I hummed happily, closing my eyes. “Missed you, too.” I felt cocooned in his warmth, my hands resting against his forearms. 

He curled his thighs along the back of mine, snuggling me deeper into the curve of his lap as he propped himself up on one arm, leaning over me. He touched my chin, turning my face to meet his as he kissed me deeply, his teeth nipping at my lips until they parted, his tongue smoothly entering my mouth in a long, sultry caress. My tongue darted out shyly to meet his, my kitten-like swipes teasing him to enter further. All of my senses were drowning in him -- his fiery taste, that slightly smokey scent from his favorite brand of cigarettes, and the heat and strength of his body. 

When he finally released me, I was panting weakly for breath and my nerves were so sensitive, even the whisper of air from the fan above us sent a small jolt through my body. I licked my lips, damp and swollen from his kisses. 

“Sylus,” I whisper longingly. He gave a slow pulse inside of me, hardly moving, but I clenched as if he had pounded into me. My skin was tingling, small goosebumps prickling along my legs as he dropped one hand to flutter it over the soft skin of my belly. 

“What do you want, sweetie?” he asked again, but this time his voice was a deep, slow drawl of pleasure. 

I didn’t answer, rubbing my face back into the pillow, my body softening and a little tender now that the initial flush of arousal was spent. I flexed my muscles around his still-hard length inside of me, hearing the soft, wet sound. I flushed, faintly embarrassed by the noise. 

“Hmm, I know what you need,” Sylus answered himself, slowly withdrawing. I whined, not ready to stop just yet, but with the cooling moisture between our bodies, I was starting to get uncomfortable. He lifted me into his arms, cradling me as he slid smoothly off the bed. 

I peppered his face with soft kisses, brushing his lips, chin, and throat. “My kitten is always so cuddly after she’s been pleased,” he chuckled, catching my bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle nip as he shouldered open the bathroom door. 

“Meow,” I purred playfully, pretending to bat at his shoulder. He moved into the large bathroom, settling me on my feet by the walk-in shower, flipping the handle to warm up the water. I clenched my thighs, a sticky feeling between my legs. His gaze was deep and dark, his eyes drifting down to the glimmer of fluid staining my thighs.

He stepped away to fiddle with the lights, a softer illumination compared to the usual brightness. I stepped into the shower and he puttered around gathering towels, hiding a shy smile as he grabbed a washcloth to clean himself off. 

“Grab me a hair tie, darling?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard above the water. I didn’t want to have to dry my hair again before crashing into bed. I let the hot water sluice down my body, fingering the ache between my legs as I gently rubbed away the sticky fluids. I quickly cleaned myself up. 

When Sylus entered the shower behind me, he twisted my hair up into a bun, careful not to roughly tug the strands. 

“Let me do it,” he murmured gently, reaching over my head for the body soap settled on the ledge. I could hear him lathering the soap as I faced into the spray, and he tugged me out of the water to lean back against his chest, sliding his long, soapy fingers across my collarbones.

I let out a happy sigh as he kneaded my shoulders before slipping down my arms, rubbing in circles and long, smooth swipes of his hands. He tangled his fingers with mine, lifting them to press a quick kiss to the back of my hands before he let go and cleaned my fingers one by one. 

His palms and fingers, rough with callouses from boxing and weapon training, swept over my body, massaging my muscles and digging into sore spots I didn’t even know I had. He turned me around in the water spray, kneeling in front of me as he palmed the length of my legs before he whispered for me to spread my legs. 

Gently swiping his hand along the seam of my flesh, he gently petted and soaped my thighs before he traced his thumbs higher. My head nodded to the side, watching him as he glanced back up to meet my eyes.  I propped one foot up on the shower bench, reaching down to spread the tender, puffy lips of my pussy. I was flushed pink, a little sore, but still hungry for him.

He rinsed the suds away before he palmed my butt and tilted my hips forward towards his hungry mouth. He licked at my clit, lapping at it gently, before tracing his tongue down my pussy, sliding wetly between the lips. I could feel the slick, slightly rough pad of his tongue as he buried it further, pointed and hot and nimble. He swallowed, his tongue darting forward to lap at my shivering little hole, tracing the rim with warm strokes. He thrust it forward, surprisingly deeply, as I cried out, sliding my hands through his hair to grip his head. I cupped my hips forward, begging him wordlessly to dive even deeper inside of me. 

He slipped in two fingers next to his tongue, one hand still holding onto my butt to help rock me forward into his mouth. I slipped the foot that was on the bench over his shoulder as he crouched in front of me, wrapping my leg tightly over his back. He grunted in pleasure, his mouth busy sucking and licking at my pussy, his nose nudging at my clit as he finger and tongue-fucked me until I was dripping. I moaned, clenching my fingers tightly in his hair as I rubbed myself off on his tongue and fingers.

“I’m so close,” I said, my breath stuttering in time to my hips bucking against his face. 

“Not yet,” he commanded, pulling away despite my protest to pick me up in his arms. He stepped away from the spray, my back now against the tiles as I wrapped my legs around his hips and my arms around his shoulders. 

He didn’t even give me time to suck in a breath at the chilly tiles, thrusting into me deeply. I didn’t feel the burn this time, just a wonderful, aching fullness stretching me. He was diamond hard, rocking shallowly at first before bottoming out with one or two thrusts, buried all the way inside. He did it over and over, building my orgasm.

I cried out, calling his name, trying to stretch it out as long as possible. I could feel it hovering just within reach, so close, and I sobbed as my pussy clamped down. I went wild, my hips bucking as he pounded into me, his own groan muffled as he bit down on my shoulder hard. I could feel the imprint of his teeth and tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, so good, oh my god, I’m gonna-” I could feel it, the absolute shattering as I climaxed so hard I squirted, the fluid splashing on his belly as I writhed in his arms. He followed me a few thrusts later, his teeth still gripping my neck and shoulder as he fucked me hard through his own orgasm.

I went boneless in his arms, aftershocks quivering through me as I pulsed around his cock, his hot come filling me up so full, I could see my stomach getting tight. He thrust up, once again keeping it inside of me, plugging me so tight I could practically see the outline of his dick. 

“Sy, love, I’m so full,” I said, leaning my head back against the tiles in exhaustion. He twitched, still hard. 

“No, no more,” I said as he finally stood upright, admiring the deep bite on the curve of my neck and shoulder. 

“Are you positive?” he asked, not moving. I hung limply in his arms, my arms draped over his shoulders. “I can go all night long. It’s been so long, don’t you remember?”

“Absolutely not,” I groaned, pushing at his shoulder. The shower was still running, and I needed to clean myself off - again . 

He didn’t argue, slowly lowering me to my feet, and gently guiding me into the spray. He grabbed more soap, squirting some into my hand and his own, before he quickly wiped himself down. He angled himself into the spray, rinsing off before he stepped out, wiping himself roughly with a towel as he grabbed his robe and left to brush his teeth at the sink.

I quickly cleaned myself off, and then stepped out of the shower into the towel he had open for me, wrapping me up in the thick terry cloth and his extra warm embrace. I snuggled into his arms. My hair was a little damp from the stray water spray, but not enough to require me to dry it tonight. I nuzzled into his chest, the silk of his robe smooth and cool against my flushed cheeks. 

“Let me finish up, I’ll come help you change the sheets,” I murmured, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before I went to step up to the sink, still wrapped in my towel.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, voice low and untroubled. He didn’t give me a chance to argue, just slipping out of the bathroom. 

I finished getting ready for bed before tiredly walking back into the bedroom in a matching (albeit much smaller) couple robe and nightgown. He had already swapped out the bedding, the sheets now a soft red jersey and an extra blanket thrown over the foot of the bed on top of the silky comforter. I clambered back on the bed, settling in with a deep, comfortable sigh as he fluffed the pillows and tucked me under the covers. 

Sylus pulled me into his arms, bundled in the blankets, while he lay on top of the bedding. He hadn’t gotten dressed yet, but I knew he would duck into the closet for a new set once I had fallen asleep. 

I cuddled into his arms, my face pressed against his neck, breathing softly. I pressed a kiss against his warm skin, smiling sleepily.

“I love you,” he said, low and warm against my ear as he curled around me. He lifted my chin, giving me the sweetest, gentlest kiss I’ve ever received. I could feel tears prick my eyes, and I swallowed, trying to express everything I felt for him in my return kiss. 

“I love you, too,” I answered, staring up at him in the dim firelight still flickering. 

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy,” he said, stroking my hair away from my face, his red gaze capturing mine. 

We lay like that, simply watching each other in the low light until my eyes grew so heavy, I could barely keep them open. I yawned, curling into the pillows, warm and comfortable and safe. 

“You already do,” I murmured, my voice slowly starting to fade. “So…much.”

[munivrse]

₊˚.༄ Water

gf! bada lee

cw: bath time with bada. aftercare but bada is h word on main still. fingering, praise, soft dom!bada.

"-fuck" you try and stretch out your legs but to no avail. you might die in this position.

"cmon baby, get up." bada retorts, snorting at your current predicament.

bada had been... indulging in what she calls her favorite meal. she was holding one leg down and the other up against your chest. in the moment you were thanking god for bada's mouth, ignoring the dull ache in your hips. now you were regretting not paying attention to your body's cry for help.

"You're gonna have to call an ambulance miss. i think i'm gonna die here."

bada looks at you in disbelief. you were so dramatic. she ignores your whining, fully knowing that if you wanted to, youd get up. she walks into the bathroom connected to yours and starts drawing a bath for the both of you. she knows how you require lots of attention after you two make love so she's used to this.

after her bath is to your liking, she enters the room. she finds you sprawled out, perfectly fine, scrolling through your phone. you don't notice her until she puts her arms around you to lift you up bridal style,

"put the phone down or i'm dropping it in the bath along with you."

you're not one to argue (a lie, i must note), so you drop your phone to the bed as you're carried into the bathroom and gently placed in the tub. you sink down so that the water is covering up to your shoulders.

"does that feel better love?" bada grins at you. she just thinks you're so adorable.

you let out a small hum, enjoying the warmth of the water for a bit until bada gets up to shimmy behind you. you lean back against her. her arms wrap around your waist and for a while, you two just enjoy eachothers presence in silence.

that is, until, bada decides she’s not finished with you. one hand slides lower down your stomach and she pushes her face into your neck, kissing along your shoulder.

“you were so good for me today…”

you crane your neck up to give her more access. her lips felt so good against your skin, pressing small kisses along your neck. bada’s hand travels lower, hand ghosting over your (still) aching cunt,

“can i?”

you spread you legs for her, humming and nodding. bada whispers a thank you against the shell of your ear.

“i promise i’ll be gentle this time.”

You snort, “be anything else and i’ll drown you.”

bada wiggles her eyebrows, “kinky.”

your hand guides bada’s between your legs, pressing two of her fingers aginst your clit. she takes the hint and rubs slow circles against it, fingers dipping down to ghost over your hole a coulple times.

finally, she inserts two fingers inside of you, curling them up. immediately, you throw your head back and you can feel bada smiling against your neck,

“feel good baby?”

you sigh out, “fuck yes-” bada angles her thumb so she’s able to apply light pressure to your clit.

you hiss, “thank god for your hands- they feel so fucking good.”

bada giggles, “y’know you can have them whenever you want, hmm? you never let me finger you.”

she speeds up her movements, fingers moving in and out at a quicker pace. Her thumb starts to rub circles on your clit again. the hand on your waist moves up to cup your breast, massaging it.

“i- oh my god- I forgot how good you are with them-” your back arches as she bites the juncture between your neck and shoulder. your legs shut instinctively and bada removes her hand from your pussy to swat at your thigh,

“be good for me angel. let me make you cum.”

you whine and open your legs a little bit. bada tsks,

“more.”

she presses at your thighs until your legs are leaning against her own. She starts fingering you again, making sure to grind against the spongey spot that makes you yelp every time she brushes up on it. Your hand grabs her wrist, urging her to go faster. she shakes her head behind you. you were so greedy. the hand fondling your breast moves up to the base of your neck,

“gonna cum sweetheart?” she kisses your cheek.

You nod, answering her question in a loud moan, squeezing at her wrist again. She knew your body so well. every spot that made you sigh out in content, every spot that made your jaw drop just a little, every spot that made your eyes roll to the back of your head. she knew you top to bottom and manipulated your pleasure in ways you didnt think possible.

your babbling out what bada can only make out as “please” and “feels good.” she smiles. she loved making you feel good. she couldn’t get enough of how your body reacted to her touch. with the hand on your neck travels up to your jaw, pushing it up so that your head is pulled far back enough for her to leave a wet kiss on your forehead.

“cum princess. cum all over my fingers. let me have it baby.”

your body feels as if its on fire as pleasure wracks up your body in waves. your thighs close around bada’s hand, not wanting her to remove it until you were finished. bada lets go of your jaw, your head returning to its place on her shoulder. she presses a kiss just below your ear,

“my good girl. so pretty like this.”

once she feels your body relax, she removes her fingers. without hesitation she brings them to her mouth and swirls her tongue around them.

she grins as she finishes cleaning off her fingers, “my favorite meal.”

[tervaneula]

u said leoichi drabble prompt request. consider. one injured and the other protecting them and then the injured one has to calm them down bc 'they're okay, really, promise, rest now'

OKAY SO this fused with a ghost of an idea I've had for a while and it ended up being a bit more serious than the prompt called for and a lot longer than just a drabble. (It's ~1120 words.) CW: blood and injury

Also I made a silly header thing I don't know what to do with, so I'm putting it here since this fic doesn't come with art of its own :'3

“Yui, I’m okay–” 

The rabbit turns his head to look at him, furious. 

“I heard your shell crack, Leonardo, and I'm not an idiot! Now stay down and let me handle this!” 

He falls quiet for a moment before redirecting his glare towards their adversary and then adds a muted, “Please.” 

There's no compromising with Yuichi in this state, apparently, and Leonardo stays right where he got crushed between metal claws and the concrete, splayed on the ground next to those very same claws which had gotten swiftly cut from the wrist for their transgressions.

He does roll onto his side to get his body weight off his shell, and yeah, alright, one or more of the old cracks that never healed properly must have split open again. It's tough to breathe and his back feels… His kimono is sticking to his shell and his back feels wet now that he's paying attention, and that. That is not good. 

Just his luck to run into a massive mecha wreaking havoc on an otherwise lovely day, huh. He wasn't even supposed to be on patrol and thus is embarrassingly swordless. 

Good thing that his date and their resident samurai always carries his. 

The slider watches as Yuichi does quick work of the metal hunk's wiring behind its knees, his frighteningly sharp katana slicing through the cables like butter. The mech falls with a ground-shaking rumble, unable to rise again, arm flailing as it tries to catch the rabbit. It's no use, Yuichi is much smaller and faster – and as soon as he reaches the mech's head, it's already rolling. The construct immediately loses power and Yuichi wrenches the windowed hatch in its chest open. Turns out there's no pilot, just a program-operated dashboard, and he makes sure that none of the controls are functional after he's done with them. 

Leonardo thinks he could watch Yuichi trash villains all day long, he's practically mesmerised by the strength hidden in that soft frame despite his shell throbbing unpleasantly in tandem with his heartbeat. He sighs, lovestruck. 

As his final move, Yuichi thrusts his katana into the heart of the mecha and Leonardo sees a spray of ink-black oil splash all over Yuichi's face and the front of his kimono. It makes him laugh and he realises his mistake too late, his lungs struggling to draw breath again as he finally gets hit with the pain, his body trying to stop him from moving; from causing any more damage. Shit, shit, shit. 

He had hoped he wouldn’t need to bother any of his brothers today since he was supposed to spend the whole day with Yuichi but he knows to pick his battles, now. He opens the comm link embedded in his prosthetic, contacting someone who he knows will pick up. 

“Che~ello!” comes the cheerful answer in just a few seconds, and Leonardo can't help but smile. 

“Mikeyyy, hermano, I'm in a bit of a pickle,” he wheezes, feeling the shift in his little brother's energy as soon as he hears the strain in his voice. 

“Leo? Are you okay?” 

“Not really, no,” Leonardo grunts. “Got into a scuffle with some big haywire robot– don’t worry, that’s taken care of. I suspect Donnie will want to scrap it for parts. Um. My shell’s– my shell’s cracked though.” 

Leonardo can vividly imagine the colour draining from Michelangelo's face and it would be funny if he wasn't acutely aware of a broken shell coming with the very real possibility of his innards turning into outnards. 

“I'm calling Draxy. Stay put, I'll get Lee to pick you up.” 

“Right,” Leonardo sighs, the line going out just when Yuichi is finally done with the mech and rushing to his side, face haphazardly wiped from oil. His gaze is sharp as he kneels next to him, sweaty and out of breath, and Leonardo thinks he looks like a knight. Or maybe like a samurai of the old, in this case. 

“There’s my hero,” he coos before Yuichi can get a word out and the rabbit’s brow furrows. 

“Don’t start,” he snaps but his tone softens almost immediately, “I saw you calling someone. It’s bad, isn’t it? It… it looks really bad.” 

“Yeeeah, this kimono is definitely ruined,” Leonardo laments, “unless you know how to, gh, get blood out of corduroy? No? Or the obi?” 

Yuichi stares. 

“A– a shame, really, I did like this one a lot–” 

“Leonardo!” Yuichi interrupts him and grabs his bicep, looking two seconds away from crying. Leonardo frowns. He knows he’s getting a little delirious but he was sincerely trying his best to lift his mate’s mood. 

“Leon, please, you’re rambling. Is someone coming? Can I do anything?” 

“‘m not rambling,” Leonardo grumbles, hissing when he fills his lungs again. “Leo’s coming to get us, Draxy– Draxum will treat the shell. And no, better keep the obi in place until we get to the medbay.” 

Yuichi’s shoulders slump and he sighs, most likely relieved that he’s not going to have to figure out how to deal with a cracked shell. Leonardo does not like the lingering worry in Yuichi’s gaze one bit, though, and he offers him a grin. It’s a little shaky but whatever. 

“Heeey, bunbun. Listen. This is nothing I haven’t been through before. I’ll be fine.” 

Yuichi gives him an honest-to-God kicked-puppy look and Leonardo thinks it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen in his life. He almost tells him so but Yuichi cups his cheek and his forced grin melts away into surprised silence. 

“I hate seeing you hurt,” Yuichi murmurs, leaning down to press his forehead against Leonardo’s. The slider’s eyes flutter shut and he lifts his hand to hold onto Yuichi’s wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I mean it. I should’ve been more careful.” 

Yuichi huffs and leans away to gently bump their foreheads together. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Maybe, but ’m still sorry. Didn’t want to worry you.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Yuichi says, exasperated. “You should know that at this point, I’ll always worry.” 

Leonardo grins and this time it’s genuine. Breathing in his partner’s scent is like a balm to him, even if it’s tinged with the bitterness of motor oil, even if his body currently thinks that breathing is overrated. Even if he just got called an idiot by none other than said partner. 

“Raincheck on the date?” he mumbles, and finally he gets a chuckle out of the rabbit. Yuichi straightens his back and flicks him on the nose. 

“Like you even needed to ask. Idiot.” 

Before Leonardo can express his displeasure of being called an idiot for a second time there’s the familiar electric hum of a portal opening behind him, and someone whistles. 

“Sheesh, old man. That kimono is definitely ruined.” 

[pokegalla]

Requested by @tryslogic

Enjoy yah lil sinner >:3

Warning: A little spicy up ahead. You were warned

How Touchy Can They Be In Public With Slightly Large Chested S/o! (Pt 2 with different characters✨)

Dream:

* He’s an adorable bean. Look at this boy. Would you really think he’s thinking lewd things?! ……lol well technically yes at least not at first. He just finds you beautiful in general and will be sure to compliment you! But he is an adult and not blind about his own curiosity…..

* You and him were just shopping together and you wanted to try some bras on. He didn’t mind tagging along but was a golden mess seeing all those bras. And when you asked him to help you take off a bra, his hands lingered on your chest before he pulls away suddenly, apologizing profusely for touching you in public-

* In private he is surprisingly teasing! Nothing too crazy because he doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable and doesn’t want to go too far without your permission! It would be rude after all! When he knows it’s ok, this guy will have the most delicate touch, making your heart flutter and mind fuzzy whether he’s just being romantic and appreciating your beauty or having you in the sheets~ definitely both sometimes~

* Don’t be fooled by that innocent look- you really think he won’t give you teases in public? Lol you’ve only fallen into a trap✨ “Wow that shirt looks stunning! I bet it would look even better on you starlight! …..especially when I take it off~” (lil shit says that last part very quietly-)

* You are just too adorable sometimes~✨

Blue:

* Ah yes. Baby Blue✨. He’s a big sweetheart and loves to be with you. He always knows what to say and makes you giggle. Now him being lewd? Could he truly be?! Yes. Yes absolutely-

* He’s a big hugger and you know this. It’s adorable and you can’t find any reason to complain. Look at him! 🥹 But he’s also DEFINITELY taking advantage of it by giving you a mischievous look while nuzzling in your chest. And he wouldn’t mind taking you to somewhere private (maybe a closet or someplace that keeps you two hidden from view~) to tease you and fully enjoy your glorious chest~ (only if you’re comfortable though!)

* In private he’s pretty adorable, laying his head in your chest, arms wrapped around your waist. It’s cute when he jiggles your chest only to giggle and apologize for being silly. Oh. Oh but you can drive this man crazy if you spoil him with booba. Booba in face, pressed on his body, oh man and a titjob?! He’ll be a hot mess✨

* He usually does sweet or romantic (though very cheesy) pick up lines. But oh he can say a few dirty lines that could catch you off guard- especially that one time you wore a shirt with extra cleavage- “Those seem like very expensive clothes, too bad I’ll be ripping through them tonight~” Shit was so out of the blue (Heh pun). Don’t be surprised if that line ends up becoming a promise for later~

* He just loves you and you just drive him nuts~

Ink:

* Honestly just look at him. This Smol Gremlin. With a big chested S/o. You best believe his true inner gremlin is gonna shine- your chest is now his fun bags-

* Now there are many things he could do in public. Drop pencils in your cleavage as an excuse to dig in and have a feel. Squirt gun to make your shirt cling onto your body (he did it ONCE for a joke and once he discovered this, he just carries around a squirt gun for this purpose-), or straight up take advantage of his shortness to stand right under your chest. Ah yes. Booba hat✨

* In private he’s always in your cleavage or under your booba. He can’t help it! It’s so soft🥹. If he wasn’t so busy, he’d be laying around all day with his skull nuzzled in your chest! And ah he loves to draw you in different outfits…..especially with lingerie~ and man he loves to paint on your chest during intimate moments. You just look so damn good….things get pretty messy after that~😏

* And oh he is such a fucking tease. Whether it’s from lil sneaky caresses and straight up poking your chest with a cheeky little smile. Or whispering romantic or sexy nothings into your ear~ then he’d just act like his goofy ol self like he didn’t say the most inappropriate thing- “C’mon! Stop getting your head in the clouds~!” Lil shit-

* He makes you wanna body slam him but you both know you still love him anyway✨

Killer:

* Ohohohohoho this is quite literally the MOST notorious guy in this category. He’s flirty, bold, and will say the most outrageous things. He will not hesitate to say “nice tits” in front of his group-

* A damn menace who will leave you all excited in the worst times. You two would try to meet up somewhere and he sneaks up behind you to grab your chest- you’d want to go somewhere and you end up making out in an alleyway, leaving with a LOT of hickies around your neck and chest. And he gives no damns. He would straight up poke your chest. Not like with Ink (who usually pokes the side or the top) he pokes RIGHT where the nipple is while looking you straight in the eyes- bastard-

* In private he is WORST. You have no one protecting you from his onslaught now~ He will be taking your bras so you walk around the house with no bra. No bra = less restrictions~ he absolutely loves to play with your nipples whether it’s with his hands or mouth. And nothing gets him more excited than covering your tits with his special sauce~ but at least he’s rather adorable when cuddling. Like a little kitten❤️

* Oh lord his teasing is just as bad. He would whisper downright the most LEWDEST and DIRTIEST flirts right in your ear, making you all hot and bothered only to give you the smuggest smirk cause he KNOWS it’s getting to you. “I wish you could just sit here on my lap and shove those tits in my face….but we both know we can’t do it with all these people here. Unless you’re into that~” Evil-

* He’s a lil shit but your lil shit. Be sure to tease back-

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Gentle Hands

Back on Kamino after successfully rescuing Echo and retaking Anaxes, you know just how to soothe Wrecker’s lingering back pain.

Pairing: Wrecker x f!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: established relationship, pet names, little bit of angst and comfort, flashback to how Wrecker got his scars, minor mentions of blood, fluff, soft love, light sprinkle of the hots for this giant mans size/strength, slight suggestiveness.

A/N: saw a headcannon that Wrecker doesn’t have a cybernetic eye and is instead partially/fully blind in that eye, and now I can’t get that out of my head.

Translations: ner kar'ta – my heart

“Urgh.” Wrecker’s grunt echoes through the barracks as he flops face-first onto his bunk. You’d just arrived back on Kamino from Anaxes, another successful mission accomplished and a new squad member onboard.

Tech had disappeared off with Echo in search of better armour and weapons for the ARC Trooper. Crosshair had slunk off in the direction of the shooting range – not that he needed the practice - while Hunter had remained on the Marauder, needing the peace of the empty ship to finish his mission reports.

That had left you and Wrecker alone, and your man had wanted nothing more than to nap.

“At least take your armour off first.” You gently nudge Wrecker’s shoulder, earning a grumble of protest. He pushes himself up, big hands prying his armour off his body, depositing it with various clangs beside his bunk. You loved him, but Maker above, he could be messy.

Back on the bed, face pressed into the mattress, Wrecker winced, feeling a tweak in his lower back. “Babe…” He called for you, turning his head to watch you take your armour off, stacking it neatly on the large table in the middle of the room.

His gaze roved across your body, admiring the soft curves of your frame as you turned back to him, hands on your hips and an eyebrow arched. He couldn’t help but feel lucky to have you. You’d started as their civilian handler, feeding them missions and making sure they came back safely – the Kaminoans couldn’t have anything happen to their prized experimental unit, after all – but somewhere along the way, you’d stolen his heart, with your soft smile and easy nature. You laughed at his jokes, stayed up to watch holofilms with him, cooed over Lula the first time you saw her, and were always happy to hand over a detonator or two when he had the urge to blow something up. At times, you tempered the big kid in him, while other times, you let go of the reins and let him run wild.

“Yes, ner kar’ta?” You ask, taking a few steps over to his bunk. For the sake of appearances, you had your own bunk, though it was never used. The rest of the squad knew of your relationship, but it was a well-guarded secret, not wanting to risk the Kaminoans finding out.

As you draw closer, Wrecker drags an arm out from underneath him to gently snag your hand, tugging you in. He’d always been hyper-aware of his size and strength, but he was especially cautious with you. Hurting you was something he never wanted to do, even if it was an accident.

“Think I’ve tweaked my back,” Wrecker admits, offering you a sheepish smile.

You can’t help but smile in return, the corners of your lips curving as your loveable giant gives your hand a soft squeeze. For a moment, you admire him, still in awe that he’s yours. But as usual, a flicker of guilt passes through you as your traitorous eyes slink to the web of scars across half his face, his damaged ear, and the milkiness of his right eye. It was your fault he was partially blind.

You’d only been with the boys a handful of months when you’d missed a tripwire as you’d been pushing forward through a cave, setting off a nearby explosive. You’d been out in the open while the others could duck for cover. Wrecker had decided to protect you, turning you and pressing you to his chest, shielding you from the blast, taking the brunt of it himself. The memory of the dust settling, the blood as you pulled back from his chest and looked up, the panic and fear that had consumed you as you’d taken in the damage he’d sustained right before he passed out... all because you’d forgotten for one moment to look where you were stepping.

He’d been medevaced to a nearby Venator. You’d gone with him, his brothers insisting on it while they finished the mission, knowing it would upset Wrecker if they lost their 100% success rate. Washing his blood off your hands in a small fresher as you waited for news from the medics almost broke you. You’d been so close to handing in your resignation and retreating back to your quiet home planet.

But then he’d woken after surgery, after his brothers had successfully completed the mission and returned, and you’d all been briefed on his condition. His first questions to the medics had been about you – were you safe or hurt? Tears had rolled down your cheeks as the medics had relayed this to you all, Tech subtly pressing a tissue into your hand, and you’d known then in your heart that you could never leave.

“You’re doin’ that thing again,” Wrecker says, having watched a faraway look cross your face. He knew you still struggled with the guilt of his accident. “You’re thinkin’ too much.” He tacks on, gently bringing you down to sit sideways on the edge of his bunk, big arm sliding around your middle. “I don’t blame ya. It was my choice, and I’d do it all again.” He reiterates, pressing a kiss to your body. He said it every time he saw you slipping back into the memory, and he’d keep repeating it until you believed it. 

Pulled back to the present, you offer him a soft smile, one of your hands moving to rub across his broad shoulders. “Sorry, ner kar’ta.” You murmur, focussing instead on the quiet noise of delight falling from his lips as your hands stroke his tense muscles. “Those tri-droids are probably the cause of your back pain.” You comment, watching his eyes flutter shut at your touch, the peacefulness of his expression chasing away the lingering guilt.

“They were stronger than they looked, but I wasn’t gonna let ’em crush the locals.” He comments, feeling himself melt into the mattress the more you rub at his shoulders.

You loved seeing him work, the effortless way he shoved assault tanks around or pried blast doors open, lifting up gunships like they weighed nothing, and how his thick fingers somehow nimbly managed to disarm explosives. “It was hot.” You admit, feeling warmth in your cheeks.

A rumble of laughter leaves him, the deep noise setting off butterflies in your belly, but he winces again as it jostles his back.

“Here.” You shift, gently easing the top of his blacks up. He helps you remove the garment, settling back on the bed as your hands return to his body. Broad shoulders taper down to his narrow waist, scars crisscrossing his warm, tanned skin. Evidence of a lifetime of war.

You get up momentarily, moving silently to your bunk to snag your unscented lotion – constantly aware of Hunter’s senses – and return to Wrecker a moment later. He shifts over, and you sit at his side, squeezing some of the lotion onto your hands. Rubbing them together, you warm them up before you press your hands against his back, dragging them across his body in firm, even strokes.

Wrecker’s moans of appreciation fill the barracks, and you stifle a giggle. Your hands keep working across his body, feeling solid muscles give with every pass, the knots loosening. Pressing your thumbs into his lower back, he grunts, hips rutting against the mattress. “Not until your back is better.” You tease, giving his butt a playful swat.

He grumbles in protest but knows you’re right – he’s too tired for anything anyway. The ache in his back is easing exponentially under your soothing touch, and he smacks his lips together as sleep beckons him, shifting on the mattress into an even comfier position.

The first drag of your nails across his warm skin makes him shiver, the corners of his mouth curving upwards as you start lightly scratching, fingers drawing patterns across the vast expanse of skin. The patterns shift to words, Aurebesh spelling out how much you love him, how handsome he is, how strong he is.

“I love you. You’re so good to me.” He mumbles, feeling the weight of your adoration, his eyes heavy with sleep, his mind struggling to focus on the words you’re scrawling across his body.

A warm smile passes over your lips, and you dip down to kiss his cheek softly. “I love you too.” You whisper back, fingers still moving lightly over his back as you hear his breathing turn deep and heavy, face going slack as he falls asleep.

You scoot to lay beside him, drawing his arm over your body. A nap wouldn’t hurt you, either.

[peaches2217]

Perhaps some 🤒 for Luisley?

🤒 - Needing to be looked after

Overstimulated

~~~

The click of the front door opening, muffled though it was through the walls of his bedroom, brought Luigi out of his self-induced trance. That would be Mario. Back so soon?

When there was no call of “Weegee, sono tornato!”, the dread fluttering within Luigi’s stomach beat its wings even harder, exacerbated by the perpetual overstimulation that buzzed throughout his limbs and core. A silent Mario was rarely a good thing. That usually meant he was angry or deeply saddened or so thoroughly baffled that he had to retreat into his thoughts to make any sense of his own feelings, and given the context under which he had left the house…

What did he say? Was he upset? Those thoughts tumbled through Luigi’s head in a maddening rush, and as terrified as he was of the answer, he needed to know. As unusually light footsteps padded towards his room, he cocooned himself beneath his blankets, as if their soft fabric could cushion the blow of whatever he was about to hear, and steeled himself.

“Ch-che ha detto?” he called out to his brother. “Era… arrabbiato?”

The voice that responded was not Mario’s.

“Ah! There you are!”

Luigi’s blood froze within his veins.

He tossed the blankets aside and sat up just as the door was thrown open, and the sudden slam of wood against wood sent a jolt through his body that made him clap his hands over his ears. The all too familiar figure in the doorway, his bold chartreuse and white and gold standing in stark contrast to the cottage’s cozy interior, jolted as well.

“Commoners’ abodes,” Peasley muttered beneath his breath, eyeing the door with a mix of contempt and bemusement. “Why must your doors be so ludicrously lightweight?”

The disdain in his eyes might normally draw a chuckle from Luigi — he could practically see Peasley storming into the office of Toad Town’s primary contractor and causing a scene, because how dare the great heroes of the Mushroom Kingdom be given a home constructed of anything less than marble and solid gold — but today he flinched away from it. 

This wasn’t happening. Surely this wasn’t happening.

Remembering all too suddenly the state that he was in, Luigi dove beneath the covers once more. Maybe he hadn’t been seen. Maybe he could still save face. Maybe the fabric could swallow him whole and put an end to this nightmare before it began. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing?” Peasley repeated, his tone thick with mock-offense. “My love, what wouldn’t I be doing here? Is it not one’s most sacred duty to tend to their loved ones in times of need?”

His voice came nearer as he spoke, and beneath his shroud of cotton and down, Luigi gulped. His pulse throbbed in his ears, his heart threatening to rip through bone and sinew right out of his chest. “Please don’t worry,” he said, though his voice shook far more than he would’ve liked. “I— I’m sorry I couldn’t make it today! It’s just, y’know—”

“‘Shroom fever’, correct?” Peasley drew the question out, his voice calm, but laced with something that sounded like amusement.

He didn’t buy it. Immediately Luigi’s throat tightened, and he inhaled sharply, willing himself not to start tearing up.

He expected his blankets to be pried away any moment now, for Peasley to expose his unkempt, lying face and see him for the great big mess that he truly was. The mattress dipped beside where he was curled into a pathetic heap, and his muscles tensed, preparing for the worst.

But it never came.

“Yes, that’s what the red one told me.” The amusement was still there, but now it sounded softer, more affectionate than accusatory. “I must say, he’s not too terribly convincing a liar. He would have held no qualms in seeing me to your bedside if you were ill, but he couldn’t give me a good answer for why this time was different.”

Luigi winced. He hasn’t considered that.

“You can’t tell him what’s going on,” he’d pleaded to his brother half an hour earlier, arms hugging his chest tightly in a futile attempt to stave off the effects of sensory overload. “Just, like… tell him I’m sick. Tell him I’ve got shroom fever or something!”

Mario, though sympathetic, had been disapproving. “He’s gonna have to know eventually. Come on, you know as well as I do that it won’t change anything.”

“But what if it does? What if he thinks I’m pathetic?” 

“Then he never deserved you in the first place,” was Mario’s response. 

Of course, that answer brought Luigi very little comfort. He felt bad enough when this happened, when his oddly-wired brain decided for no good reason that all sensory input was suddenly a thousand times more overwhelming than what he was used to, that getting out of bed was just too great a struggle as a result. For it to happen on a day he was supposed to meet up with the love of his life? The thought that he might lose said love for something so pathetic as this? Luigi couldn’t even begin to comprehend the ease with which Mario suggested that might be okay.

Peasley chuckled now, the sound resonating from deep within his chest. “Your fraternal devotion to one another will never cease to amaze me. No matter my insistence, I couldn’t drag an answer from him. He merely said that my right to know was entirely up to you.”

Frustration and gratitude grappled for superiority in Luigi’s mind. Of course Mario would never go spilling Luigi’s business. But he would have allowed it just this once, just to save himself some heartache.

If he was going to lose Peasley’s respect, he would have preferred it to happen from a distance. He didn’t want this front-row seat to his own undoing. The air beneath his flimsy fortress was hot and stale, and he felt sweat beading at his hairline.

“…It’s nothing,” he finally attempted, meekly.

“Hmm. Well, it’s something to you, and thus it’s something to me.” A rustling of fabric, and then the lightest of indents in the mattress next to his head. Peasley’s hand. “Do you mourn, my love? Might this be the anniversary of some tragedy? Or perhaps you’ve lost something dear to you?”

Not yet. Even thinking as much constricted Luigi’s airway once more, so he shook his head in response.

Peasley hummed again. “Might this have to do with your condition, then? Your anxiety, or your… awe-tee-sum, was it called?”

“Autism,” Luigi corrected automatically, and instantly he flinched at his own haste. “It’s… it’s nothing, I promise. It’s dumb.”

“Ah. So that’s a yes.”

Peasley still didn’t move. He sat perfectly still, his hand never once inching closer, an invitation that Luigi was welcome to accept or decline as he saw fit. He wanted nothing more than to reach out into the still air and take that hand, hold onto it with all his might, have some sort of solid proof that he wouldn’t be abandoned in spite of his brain telling him such an outcome was inevitable.

“…What else did Mario say?” he ventured instead, because Peasley had never been the sort to keep his hands to himself, and he had a sneaking suspicion his elder twin had something to do with that, too.

“He said I would do well to speak quietly and refrain from touching you without your permission,” Peasley confessed, “lest I would have scooped you into my arms the moment I heard your voice.” Another chuckle, and this time Luigi almost had the heart to join in. “I confess, I still don’t quite understand. But I would like to help. Will you acquaint me with your struggles, my dear?” 

Acquaint me with your struggles. Now this was the phrase that bounced about Luigi’s skull, because it made no sense whatsoever. They were supposed to be on a date together. They were supposed to be out and about, enjoying food and nature and being a normal couple (as normal a couple as a human nobody and a Beanish prince could be, anyway). But instead Luigi was cooped up at home, too overstimulated to function like a regular personal, and Peasley had every right to be upset with him for balking on their plans and being a waste of oxygen and organic matter.

And for some reason only the Star Spirits could attest to, he wasn’t. Literal royalty sat at Luigi’s side, addressing him with fondness and requesting understanding of his inadequacies. 

That was reason enough for Luigi to untangle himself from his blankets and pull them down, just enough to peek up and ensure the creature beside him was, in fact, not some fantastical fabrication from deep within his own fantasies.

“There you are.” Deep brown eyes beamed at him, revered him as a god among men, and for a moment Luigi felt that maybe he really was. “I feared I might not get to see that beautiful visage at all today.”

A swirl of conflicting emotions bubbled up within Luigi: confusion, joy, sadness, shame, filling every crevice of his body and compelling him to act. Hesitantly, he pulled the covers all the way down; the shedding of those protective layers made the buzzing in his limbs intensify, and the fresh air sent a chill through him, but breathing it in felt refreshing, even renewing. He filled his lungs, reached out, and accepted Peasley’s invitation at last.

The prince’s hand was pleasantly cool to the touch, and just as he had hoped, its stable presence calmed his racing heart. He tightened his grasp and tugged in order to pull himself up and scoot into an upright position. His head spun and his mouth was dry, but Peasley was here, and he would at least hear him out, and the loving gaze he fixed Luigi with gave him the courage to explain.

“Sometimes,” he began, “I… I mean, half the time, n-nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine, but for some reason the world is too loud and too bright a-and everything… hurts. It’s all just…” He balled his free hand into a fist and clenched as tightly as he could, and that at least lessened the buzz in the corresponding arm. “...too much.”

“Is that so?” Peasley said. There was genuine curiosity in his tone, sympathy in his eyes. “And today is such a day?”

Luigi nodded. “And I-I promise I tried fighting past it today. I didn’t wanna let you down, but…”

“Let me down? Luigi, I would never ask you to exceed your limitations for my sake.”

“But my limitations are—” He swallowed as well as he could, given his tongue felt woolen in his mouth. “Don’t you think it’s… don’t you think I’m kinda… kinda pathetic?”

The question gave Peasley pause, and where Luigi half-expected a denial, he was given only silence. But this silence wasn’t tense or uncertain; Peasley touched his index finger to his chin and cast his eyes aside, lips puckering and brows furrowing, the charmingly goofy expression of a Bean deep in thought.

He was… he was actually giving it serious consideration. And somehow that made his answer mean so much more than an immediate reassurance would have.

“…Not particularly, no,” he ultimately decided. “There are days where even I, skillful as I am, don’t feel quite up to par, and oftentimes there’s no good reason for it. Would you think less of me for such a thing?”

“Wha—? O-of course not!”

“And I think no less of you in turn.” Drawing Luigi’s hand to his lips, he pressed a tender kiss to his knuckles, his well-moisturized lips soft against the tight and dry skin.  “Thank you for teaching me more about yourself, Greenie. I loathe to see you struggle, but I’m grateful that you would share those struggles with me.”

Once more Luigi’s heart raced, but no longer with fearful anxiety. Was this really possible? He was so certain he’d ruined Peasley’s day, so certain the repercussions would haunt him for years to come, and yet here he was, showering him with love and accepting him at one of his lower lows.

This wasn’t happening. Surely it wasn’t happening. 

But it was, and the relief and gratitude and affection that flowed through his perpetually overstimulated body made Luigi want to slump forward, fall into Peasley’s arms, wait out the unpleasantness in the safety of his embrace.

At the same time, the thought of so much physical contact… he shuddered and relaxed his balled fist. Maybe holding hands was as much as he could manage today. But suddenly the thought of being alone again terrified him. “Will— will you stay? I-I don’t know where Mario’s at but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind—”

The smile Peasley flashed was both pleased and knowing. “Oh, rest assured, he’s not too far. He said he’d remain in the living room while we spoke.” Leaning in, he added beneath his breath: “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been listening in all this time. You know you have an excellent brother, do you not?”

At that, Luigi laughed, a mousey but authentic laugh. “You have an excellent brother” was Peasley Code for “Your brother has implicitly made threats against me that could have him declared a war criminal in the Beanbean Kingdom because he cares far more for your well being than his own.”  Mario trusted Peasley and the two were good friends, sure, but he could get… rather intense when it came to his beloved little brother’s heart.

“Sorry about him,” Luigi whispered back.

“Rest assured, I’m happy for it! The more people looking after you, the better.” Peasley leaned back once more and stood, but he didn’t let go of Luigi’s hand. “Would you like some water?” he asked at his original volume. “And perhaps some lip balm? You’ve been licking and smacking your lips this entire time, you know.”

Luigi’s tongue darted between his lips automatically at that statement, and he realized Peasley was correct; not only were his throat and mouth still dry, but his lips were cracked. A bad habit of his, admittedly, and one he was never conscious of until someone else pointed it out. “Please. But—” He paused then, because making requests of a prince still didn’t feel quite right.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to make the request. Peasley gave his hand one more tight squeeze before dropping it and answering the silent question aloud.

“I’ll be only a moment,” he promised as he backed out of the room. “Nothing in all the world could convince me to leave your side, my love. You have my word.”

And though he still trembled in discomfort as his boyfriend took his leave, Luigi relaxed against the headboard, closing his eyes and sighing softly, because he knew it was the truth. Come hell or high water, full-functioning days or overload days, he knew now more certainly than ever that Peasley had no intention of abandoning him.

And he had to admit, that was a nice feeling.

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 35: SAY MY NAME

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Pregnancy Loss, Infertility

In the soft light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Cillian stretched out luxuriously beside you, his naked form accentuated by the warm sunlight. The tangible sense of contentment between you both permeated the room.

"Good morning, babe," Cillian greeted you, his eyes twinkling with joy as he looked at you. He finally had you back, with him, and waking up next to you was one of his favourite moments of the day.

"Good morning," you replied, smiling and cuddling up to him.

The warmth of his body next to yours provided comfort and security. Gently, you wrapped your arm around his waist, pulling him closer to you. Cillian responded by threading his fingers through your hair, and you could feel the love and affection radiating from him.

"What do you think about breakfast in bed?" he asked, knowing that this was your favourite way to start the day. The thought of spending the morning together was invigorating, and the prospect of indulging in some intimate moments afterward excited you even more.

"Sounds perfect," you replied, kissing him gently on the lips. "But first..." you went on to say before running your hands through the hair on his chest. "Let me make love to you again," you went on to say, smiling playfully. "I need more of you." Cillian's face lit up with a smile, his eyes alight with joy. He drew you closer to him, pressing your naked bodies together.

"Anything for you, baby," he whispered, kissing you gently on the forehead. "We have plenty of time today. Nina won't get here until after school and I have nothing else planned," Cillian told you while you climbed on top of him and straddled him.

Your body quivered with anticipation, craving the feel of his touch. Cillian traced delicate patterns along your sides, eliciting gentle sighs from you. As his hand travelled downwards, it caressed your hip, slowly inching towards your core. When his fingers finally reached their destination, you gasped at the warmth they evoked. He teased you with the feather-like brush of his fingertips, causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin.

You leaned forward, eagerly seeking more contact, wanting to be consumed by him. Cillian took this as a sign, his hands grasping your hips possessively, pulling you closer to him. Your breasts grazed against his chest, sending sparks of electricity racing through both of you. You let out a moan, your entire body aching for him to take control.

As his fingers began to work their magic, you arched your back, throwing your head back in pure ecstasy. Cillian watched your reaction carefully, taking note of every tiny change in your expression.

He found immense satisfaction in seeing the look of absolute pleasure that crossed your face when he reached the most sensitive parts of your body.

You moaned loudly, unable to contain your growing arousal. Cillian smiled up at you, revelling in the power he held over you, using his skilful touch to draw out your deepest desires. 

"Sit on my cock, babe," he then told you huskily, his eyes burning with desire as he stared at you. You obeyed without hesitation, lowering yourself onto his hardness.

"God, you feel good Cillian," you moaned as he slid into you and, not losing any time, you began moving up and down on him right away.

With each thrust, Cillian's grip on your hips tightened, urging you on as you both reached new heights of passion.

The scent of your sweat mixed with his cologne filled the air, creating an atmosphere of intense arousal. Your moans and groans echoed throughout the room, heightening the sexual tension between you.

"I love watching you ride me like this," Cillian groaned, holding your hips in place as you continued to grind against him.

You glanced at him momentarily, your gaze full of desire. "And I love how much you enjoy this," you purred, your hands roaming across his chest. "It makes me feel so powerful," you moaned.

Cillian's eyes darkened with lust, his muscles tensed beneath your touch. "You are so damn sexy, babe," he replied, his voice thick with desire.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, encouraging you to keep riding him. Your body swayed rhythmically, meeting his movements with perfect syncopation. Every movement sent electric currents surging through your veins, making your heart race wildly.

You bit your lip, your eyes glazing over with arousal. You gripped Cillian's shoulders tightly, digging your nails into his skin, lost in the throes of passion until, suddenly, the doorbell rang.

It seemed as though someone was early, interrupting your erotic interlude at 8 o'clock, sharp.

"F**k!" Cillian cursed, his words laced with frustration as he hastily got dressed. The intrusion of an unexpected visitor had ruined the perfect momentum you both had been building, and now they were left dissatisfied and unfulfilled.

"I was so close to coming," you pouted while allowing yourself to fall back against the soft pillows on the bed. "It's such a shame we couldn't finish," you added regretfully.

Cillian moved closer to you, wrapping you in his arms and kissing your forehead tenderly.

"It's okay, baby. We can continue later," he consoled you, attempting to assuage your disappointment.

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. His strong arms held you securely, offering solace amidst the disappointment just as the doorbell rang for a second time, prompting Cillian to get the door.

With a sigh, you pulled the covers up to your chin, feeling a mixture of longing and frustration.

***

When Cillian returned, he explained that Kit, his assistant, had arrived to discuss the promotion schedule for his new movie Oppenheimer.

"At eight o'clock? With no heads up whatsoever?" you asked Cillian, knowing that Kit was still there, sitting in his kitchen, probably sipping some coffee.

"She's here for work stuff Y/N. It is important," Cillian reminded you, attempting to console you. 

"I know, but why did she have to come at this hour without first announcing herself?" you wondered aloud, still upset about the earlier interruption.

Cillian sighed, understanding your frustration. "Kit doesn't seem to understand personal boundaries," he admitted, running his fingers through his hair. "I'll talk to her about it later."

Feeling somewhat placated, you allowed Cillian to hold you close for a moment, kissing your forehead before offering you some coffee.

"Coffee sounds good, I will be out in a minute," you smiled, feeling grateful for small mercies.

Then, after quickly freshening up, you left the bedroom to join Cillian in the kitchen where his assistant, Kit, was already waiting.

Amidst the stark minimalism of the room, Kit sat casually, sipping from a large white ceramic mug. She didn't bother to rise or offer a greeting upon your entrance, which only served to irritate you further.

As you entered the kitchen, Cillian poured you a cup of steaming coffee and pulled you in for a quick kiss on the lips. You smiled gratefully, knowing that, despite the awkward situation, he would always try to make things better.

"So, tell me Y/N, how is school?" Kit asked in an attempt to break the ice, her tone sounding polite yet condescending. 

"You mean the Gaiety?" you asked before answering her question. "I am finished with it," you told her, rolling your eyes internally.

"Fantastic. Congratulations. It's quite an achievement at twenty-three," Kit commented, her tone edged with mockery.

"Thank you," you replied, trying to ignore her subtle disdain before she brought up Cillian's upcoming 46th birthday and thereby mocking the age difference between you.

"For Cillian's birthday, we will all be heading to Cork, and I assume that you are coming as well now that you are back together?" Kit asked, gauging whether the relationship between you and Cillian was serious. "There is a band playing, covering some of Zappas songs but, I doubt that you would have heard of them. You are a little young to know about music like this," she then pointed out cautiously, perhaps testing if she could push the envelope of Cillian's patience.

"Well, I do listen to a variety of music," you retorted, slightly defensive. "And I most certainly have heard of Frank Zappa," you told her sternly just as Cillian intervened before the conversation could escalate any further. Cillian cleared his throat, visibly annoyed with Kit's tactless comments.

"Alright, let's talk about work Kit. I have things to do," he said firmly, redirecting the conversation back to business.

Kit nodded in agreement, turning her attention to the laptop open on the table, explaining the schedule to Cillian while scrolling through a document. Cillian agreed with her points and her suggestion when it came to engaging a wardrobe consultant. 

"There are also the BAFTAs in two weeks. I booked a unit for us," she told him with a smirk, revealing she hadn't forgotten about the upcoming award show and pointed out the fact that her and Cillian would be sharing an apartment in London for the weekend.

"Oh, well, thanks for getting that sorted, Kit," Cillian responded, hiding his irritation at the mention of the shared accommodation before turning to you, trying to gauge your reaction.

You maintained a neutral expression, choosing not to acknowledge the implications of the comment. Instead, you focused on sipping your coffee, occasionally glancing around the minimalist kitchen, taking in the details.

Cillian, sensing the unease in the room, suggested they continue their discussion outside, and motioned towards the large window overlooking the city. "Let's step out and have our chat on the balcony," he proposed calmly.

Kit stood up from her seat, collecting her things, and followed Cillian to the balcony.

Once outside, she immediately launched into a detailed explanation of her strategy for the promotional tour of Oppenheimer.

Cillian listened intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions to clarify certain aspects. However, the entire time, you could sense the tension simmering between the two of them, an undercurrent of resentment and competitiveness that threatened to boil over.

Kit's presence loomed heavily over the conversation, casting a shadow on the otherwise pleasant day.

Despite Cillian's best efforts to focus on work, Kit remained determined to take every opportunity to needle you and Cillian was nothing but oblivious about it and it wasn't until she left that you confronted Cillian about his assistant's behavior when he tried to continue where you had left off.

***

"Cillian, I don't want to complain, but I think it's important for you to see how Kit acts around me. How can you not see that she is in love with you?" you confided while pulling away from him, feeling a mix of anger and hurt.

Cillian looked deeply into your eyes, trying to comprehend your point. "Kit has worked for me for years Y/N. She is not in love with me," Cillian told you again while cupping your face. 

"You are being naive. Despite, you slept with her and how am I supposed to be certain that this won't happen again when you are in London with her, for the BAFTAs?" you asked, worrying about Cillian spending time with Kit alone as you didn't trust her intentions. 

Cillian took a deep breath, looking into your eyes as he struggled to find the right words. "Kit and I had sex once and it won't happen again. I felt broken and I was rather drunk, so drunk that, I didn't... never mind," he reassured you gently, not finishing his sentence.

"You didn't what?" you asked, genuinely confused by his incomplete statement.

"The entire time we had sex, I didn't think about her," Cillian repeated, shaking his head, avoiding eye contact. "I thought about you and I may have said your name too, which probably irritated her quite a bit," Cillian admitted with great embarrassment.

You leaned closer, gripping his hand tightly, your eyes searching his face. "Okay, so what you're saying is that it was a one-time thing, driven by loneliness and alcohol, because of you missing me?" you chuckled and Cillian nodded reluctantly.

"I fucking love you, Y/N and knowing that I can have you makes not want anyone else. Despite, I already asked Kit to book another flight for you as I really want you to come to the award ceremony with me. I hate events like this and you being there would make me feel much better," Cillian pleaded, his voice soft and tender.

"Hmm, okay...fine..." you smiled warmly, touched by his vulnerability and honesty.

"So, you are coming to the BAFTAs with me?" Cillian asked, unable to hide his excitement.

"Yes, if it means that much to you," you smiled, feeling the warmth of his smile spread across your face.

"It does," Cillian affirmed, reaching for your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"But now, should we continue where we had left off?" Cillian asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Definitely," you nodded, smiling at the prospect of exploring the passion that lay beneath the surface.

Tag List Insert

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie

[violetscharcoal]

Gregory Violet Modern au!!!

part 2: dating headcanons!

notes: I feel like I could add more but my head is so empty istg!!!

again, english isnt my first language!!!

((ALSO IF YOU HAVE MORE HEADCANONS OR SCENARIOS PLEASE SEND THEM IN!!! 👹))

✩ I feel like he would be a very private person, I mean yeah the occasional handholding over campus but never more than that.

✩ also the other prefects (or are they even prefects in this au??? idfk) definitely made some fun of him but he ignored it mostly. it was just comments of if you guys hooked up yet… (you did, I’m writing a fic on that 😘)

✩ anyways! hes not a overly romantic person, from the outside atleast! but in his dorm hes the sweetest boyfriend you could ask for!

✩ He often lays his head on your shoudler while he sketches, in the beginning he said that it gives him ‘inspiration’… bullshit, it just calms him down!

✩ also for dates, definitely hand holding through some gardens! or visiting museums? just anything relatively quiet where he can just stay close to you.

✩ If there would be any troubles or fights, he would go to cheslock! not that he would give the best advice… (hc: ches is the perfect example of, mentally a slut, in reality a loser.)

✩ but back to you and greg! I feel like he isnt that big on petnames. he probably just calls you a shorter version of your name, or occasionally ‘dear’ or ‘my love’.

✩ Also I feel I feel like hes good at baking, he just never does it? but he might just pick up the hobby for you! and occasionally bring you cookies or cakes and whatever just to see a smile on your face while you munch it up!

✩ To go back on dates, if you would go to dates in public (like go to the city to shop or just traveling to the place of the date), he’d hold your hand the whole time. hes nervous so having you there would comfort him helps a lot. (also as a bonus, if you where in a really crowded place, like a train for example! he’d move his hand to feel your heartbeat <3)

✩ but overall: he’s a sweet guy, maybe too sweet at times? but that makes up for how silent he can be, he really tries to be the perfect boyfriend for you! but ofcourse no one is perfect (he’s close tho)! so if you like emo twinks who will draw you to death, date him!

[cafemilk-tea]

Sleeping In

❒ pairing - evelyn x mingyu

❒ word count - 1.0K

❒ synopsis - sleepy mornings with mevie

❒ warnings ⚠️- slight suggestive content. read at your own risk. MINORS DNI.

❒ 🏷️ @justmochi @ateezjuliet @itzy-eve @billboard-singer @cosmicwintr @kimhyejin3108 @cixrosie @enhacolor @allthings-fandoms

The morning sun had just started to filter in through the curtains by the time Evelyn had worked up enough energy to peel her eyes open, squinting as the harsh lighting flooded her vision instantly. Her eyes adjusted to the room after several rounds of constant blinking, catching herself drifting in and out of sleep a few times.

Rolling onto her back slightly, she lifted her phone up from the nightstand to check the time before putting it back down quickly. It was just past eight in the morning, her typical wake up time. It didn’t matter if the group was on a rest period or not, she was almost always guaranteed to wake up around the same time. These days it was a little harder to stay awake simply from the fact that her body was just tired.

She turned back over onto her side, using this quiet time to herself to admire the man sleeping next to her. The way his lips stuck out in a pout like they always do. The way he looked so relaxed with his face pressed to the pillow and breathing heavily out of his nose.

Evelyn reached a hand out and placed it against the side of Mingyu’s face, rubbing her thumb gently over his cheekbones. He looked so content, so peaceful, so happy to finally have a moment of just rest after their busy schedules.

Just as her eyes started to flutter close again, his arm draped across her waist, pulling her in a little closer causing her eyes to shoot open in surprise. She wasn’t expecting him to wake up so suddenly.

“How long have you been awake? What time is it?��� Mingyu’s voice was deep in the morning, mumbling against the pillow. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet but she could tell he was soon to wake up.

“Not long, maybe five minutes ago and it’s almost eight-thirty,” She hummed, retracting her hand from his face, “You should go back to sleep, you need it.”

“I can’t when I have a pretty girl staring at me,” He smirked, finally cracking his eyes open to meet hers.

Evelyn’s face flushed at his comment, a smile forming on her lips. Mingyu’s hand moved up to her lower back, using his fingertips to draw circles on her skin. She shivered at the feeling, partly due to it being a little colder than when they had fallen asleep last night and the other being the fact that she was bare and his fingers were sending goosebumps all over her skin.

“How did you sleep last night?” He asked, using his palm to rub the rest of the sleep out of his eyes.

“Great. I won’t lie though, my ass is definitely still sore,” Evelyn snorted, turning her head into her pillow out of embarrassment, “I'd be surprised if there aren’t handprints.”

Mingyu barked out a laugh, tightening his hold on her waist and pulling her body flush against his. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before setting back down onto the pillow. Evelyn slipped her arms around his torso, snuggling into his neck.

“You were being naughty,” He trailed his hand down the curve of her spine, chills rushing through her body as he lightly grabbed at a cheek, “Teasing me while I was working out. Naughty girl.” He squeezed her cheek before bringing his hand down against her ass, only not as hard as the night before. Evelyn gasped at the sharp impact, the dull sting settling back in again.

“I couldn’t help it,” She smirked into his neck, nipping gently at the skin, “You were looking too good like that; all muscled up. The more I stood back and watched, the more I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Mingyu hummed at her words, smacking his hand down again before bringing it up to rest on her side, letting her work at his skin. She kissed at the newly formed bruise, loving how quickly she was able to do it in the first place.

“I’ll get you back, don’t worry,” She rested her cheek against his chest, his heartbeat keeping a steady rhythm.

“Oh yeah? How so,” He raised an eyebrow, curious for an answer. He tugged her up onto his chest, making space in between his legs for the rest of her body to slide in.

Evelyn giggled against her new position on his chest, drawing random shapes on his peck with her nail, “I guess you’re gonna have to find out one of these days.”

“Whatever you say,” He wrapped his arms around her, hugging their bodies together, pouting his lips at her when she lifted her head up from his chest, silently asking her for a kiss.

“We have morning breath, it’ll be gross.”

He continued to pout at her until she eventually caved and moved up his body, hovering over his face. She connected their lips quickly, pecking them a few times before she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You are so beautiful,” He smoothed his hands up and down her back. It’s almost been a full year since the two had gotten together, yet they make each other’s heart flutter every single time.

Her cheeks blushed at the compliment, moving to bury her head in the junction of his neck and shoulder. She was beginning to feel tired again and knew it was minutes before she would fall back into the world of dreamland. She shivered against his body, trapping her arms in between their bodies to keep them warm.

“Cold baby?” His voice was quiet, taking note of the shivering body against his own. A small hum left her mouth as she slipped in and out of consciousness, struggling to keep her eyes open.

With the awkward angle that he was in, Mingyu reached down for the comforter that had somehow fallen off of them and pulled it back over the both of them. His arms tightened around her body, locking in as much heat as possible. While he was naturally a warm body, Evelyn was the complete opposite and the slightest chill could make her teeth chatter.

He kissed the top of her head before resting his cheek in the same spot, “Sleep well Evie.” The two fell back into comfortable silence as they drifted back off to sleep in each other’s arms.

[eresia-catara]

All this talk about Dante made me want to draw Paolo and Francesca.

But of course I couldn't leave it at that.

So here, have Dante - Guido disagreements through Paolo and Francesca.

I have to say, medieval hungarian music helped a lot during this.

Also, let me explain a few things because I love symbolism and it's fun:

Of course, red symbolizes lust. Yellow symbolizes betrayment, thus the most socially important parts of their clothes are yellow. Green is nature and this refers to the profane nature of their love. White is purity and it's concentrated on the upper-parts of the bodies, where the gaze tends to fall, and therefore shows their distorted perception of their act in that moment (as it was sinful according to Dante, and is a death sentence according to Guido).

Francesca is pallid, which is a reference both to 'scolorocci il viso' (Inf. V, 131) and to the effects of love on the body according to Guido. Still referencing Guido, she also has an expressionless face because did he or did he not, in all his chewableness, compare the condition of a man in love to that of a puppet, an object??

The blood in the background is a reference to 'noi che tignemmo il mondo di sanguigno' (Inf. V, 90).

The sword and the blood on it are a reference to the couple's physical and spiritual death (the writing on it is the reasoning that brought them to the act, so in a way it's the inscription of their crime on the object that condemned them and at the same time, from a human point of view, delivered justice).

If you look carefully, the handle of the sword has a small red lily, symbolizing Florence. Now, hear me out. That recent post about Dante's 'homicidal' instincts towards Guido have haunted me, so I had to depict this deathly disagreement.

The fancy purple background, I'll be honest, was mostly because I found it pretty but you can also say it is an abstraction of an upperclass environment. While the floreal background with red-stained leaves and red berries indicate the violent nature of their story.

The general structure of the drawing vaguely resembles the page of a manuscript.

The extract from Donna me prega in the background has two functions: the most immediate one is giving Guido's point of view on the nature of Love, as this is essentially what this drawing's theme is, and it 'answers' Dante's quotations; however it's also there, in the background, because Guido is the invisible thread that runs throughout the canto and the whole commedia.

[ash-and-starlight]

Ciao Ash I’ve been following your work super closely for a few years and I now feel like I can ask you this, especially since you seem to be so kind with everyone and always explain yourself so well!

I work in illustration and I’ve been drawing for 10 years. For the kind of illustration I do, I rarely have to draw characters. I can draw people, in a very detailed manner too (portraits and studies and such) but when it comes to incorporating characters in my illustration style, I just can’t seem to get it right. Especially with characters who don’t exist so if I want to do fanart, I always have to do it in a way that is not very coherent to my illustration style. Which is unfortunate since I’m in a lot of fandoms and would really like to make fanart I like.

I rely on references a lot, so if I have to draw someone who exists in my style, I struggle and study and put a lot of work and time in but then I’m mostly able to. But characters from fiction? Absolutely not. I especially struggle with consistency: the character always looks different every time I draw them, no matter how many notes on their physiognomy I make…the fact that’s not a real person I can copy the features of on paper really hinders my practice. I also struggle with immediacy and synthesis: since they never look the same I always end up over - characterizing them and that is the opposite of how I illustrate.

How were you able to maintain such a consistent and stable look to these characters? Is there something I don’t know of or that I haven’t been doing and that I should? You really inspire me and I admire your work SO much! It’s remarkable how you built such a recognizable look.

Ti prego aiutami sto diventando pazzo in culo se non risolvo questa cosa voglio disegnare i miei blorbi !!!!

All the love,

Elio

Ciaooo aaa ty for the nice wordsss :’))

and ok i will try to answer as best as i can bc i’m not a professional in the slightest and also i basically have the diametrically opposite problem as you 😭 90% of my art is blorbo oriented i’m a blorbo artist first human being second. but it’s not like i have the charisma uniqueness nerve and talent to stray much from that.

ANYWAY that being said i’m sorry to give you the Very Hated answer of “u just gotta practice” but i think that’s true! i think drawing characters outside of studies (which are always nice and good etc) might not be something you’re used to, and u just need to stretch your drawing muscles a bit in that direction too!! style and consistency are something that develop organically, so i’m sure that if you keep trying you’ll look at your art one day and be like “oh shit this works!”

Usually when i draw characters i’ve never drawn before i make little studies/portraits to figure out how to draw them (evidence 1/2/3/4) which i think could be a pretty low stake way for you to practice? like maybe you can start off with one referenced portrait and then try to draw the same face from other angles but without looking at that reference and just try to figure out what are the important features that make that face recognizable? Expression sheets are another way u could do this, and then you’d have a nice self made reference board for next time.

or you could start smaller and draw different shapes of eyes/noses/mouths etc to get the hang of it, and once you’re satisfied start building your character with the features you’ve drawn

lastly i cannot stress this enough draw that blorbo NOW!! get fucking obsessed with that freak!!! let them fuel you with the brainrotting blazing passion of 28473 suns and you’ll manage to draw a hundred beautiful faces without even noticing

spero che tu riesca a cavar fuori qualcosa di utile da questo sfaso 😭 in ogni caso sono sicura che riuscirai a disegnare i tuoi blorbini devi solo smadonnare un po’ quando necessario e andare avanti 💕

grazie mille ancoraaaa mwah

[ladamedusoif]

Christmas Tree (Professor!Ben x OFC!Lydia)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 22

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist.

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up to date with my fics!

Pairing: Professor!Ben (Mr Ben AU) x OFC!Lydia 

Word count: 908

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Allusions to smut; mild swearing; established relationship; references to Christmas but secular.

A/N: A little imagine from the Visiting universe - this isn’t a flash forward, because Visiting is as-yet unfinished and still seeking a resolution, but I wanted to write for these two in a Christmas setting again. (And I couldn't resist that gif from The Bishop's Wife!)

MDNI banner by @cafekitsune

You draw the living room curtains and step back to survey your handiwork. Your first Christmas tree together, and you’d wanted it to be just right. 

Ben stands in the middle of the doors that divide the living room from the dining room and kitchen, oohing and aahing at the tall tree shining with hundreds of tiny lights that reflect off the many baubles you’ve hung from its branches.

“Hit the lights, baby,” you ask, “you can’t really see if the lights look right unless you have darkness.”

He does as he’s bid, and the living room is illuminated only by the cosy glow of the stove in the fireplace and the warm white of the Christmas tree. You screw up your eyes to assess the overall effect, using a trick your grandfather had taught you years before. 

“You think it’s okay, Ben?” You turn to face him, smiling at the way the gentle light of the tree picks out his handsome features and the twinkle in his eyes as he takes it in. 

“It’s…perfect. You are so talented, Lyddie.”

You beam at his praise. “It’s just a case of working out where everything needs to go. And we can add to the baubles over time - I know most of these are from my original collection, but soon there’ll be ones that are ours, with our memories attached to them.”

There’s no response. You turn back to see if he’s still there, and notice that he’s fiddling with the stereo system in the dining room, carefully placing a record on the turntable and setting the stylus to the right track.

The intro begins, and Ben spins to face you with a mischievous look on his face. He starts to dance in your direction as the familiar opening of the song plays from the speakers.

“Baby, what is going on?”

He wraps an arm around your waist and takes your hand, pulling you to him and leading you into the rhythm of the song. As the vocal begins, Ben joins in, mimicking Bruce Springsteen’s New Jersey rasp:

“Merry Christmas, baby

You sure did treat me nice

Merry Christmas, baby

You sure did treat me niiiiice

I feel just like I’m liviiin’

Livin’ in para- shit, Lyd, I can’t sustain that, sorry.”

You throw your head back and laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying your hips in time to the music. “Just dance with me, darling man.”

Ben’s coffee-brown eyes shine, cheeks flushing a little. He brings his hands to your hips and moves with you, his body flush against yours. He can’t help join in again, in his usual voice, for the bridge:

“Santa came down the chimney

Half past three

With lots of nice little presents for

Lyddie and me”

You both giggle as he reaches again for your hands, twirling you around and under his arm before bringing you back into hold. He looks so beautiful in the soft light from the tree and the fire: like pure comfort and love distilled in human form. You can’t help but nuzzle in to his chest as the song enters the final bridge and chorus.

“How’d you get to be so good at dancing, Ben?”

He kisses your hair and you can hear him smile. “My parents. They always used to dance together in the house during the holidays, they’d go dancing at weekends sometimes - it was their thing.” You feel him pull you a little closer. “My dad had moves. And when I was a little kid, I asked him to teach me.”

You chuckle, humming happily against his broad chest, clad in a soft, dark blue plaid flannel shirt. “So you’ve been working on your moves since you were a little kid?”

He laughs in agreement. “Kinda. I think I just looked at them and thought I’d like to have that, someday. Someone to dance with you, no matter if it’s just at home.” He pulls away slightly and looks at you. “I dunno, it just seemed so…loving.”

As the E Street Band plays the final bars of the song, you lean in and caress Ben’s handsome face before kissing him. “It was loving. It is loving.” You can’t help but run your hands over his back and down to the waistband of his jeans, hooking your fingers against the denim so you can bring him tight to your body and walk him over to the couch.

His lips find yours again as you lie back on the sofa, Ben’s warm body between your legs and your fingers working to unbutton his shirt as he slips his hands under your oversized denim shirt and reaches for your breasts, pulling a whine of pleasure from you. You move one of his big hands to the waistband of your leggings, encouraging him to tug them down as you fumble to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans.

He pauses for a moment to take you in: the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, without question. If he said this now you’d roll your eyes and brush it off, pointing to your bare face and wrinkles and wobbles and greys and the slightly schlubby clothes you’re wearing for putting up the tree - but here, now, about to make love and with the lights from the Christmas tree sparkling in your eyes so full of love and affection, he thinks you might just be at your most beautiful.

[ali-r3n]

Kiss on the Forehead...With Tongue

Eddie Munson x Female!Reader Blurb

Based on this post

Fluff

In her boyfriend's arms, Y/N smiled. Her eyes slipped closed as her loving Metalhead leaned in. She tilted her head back, expecting the soft press of his lips on her forehead and not the wet swipe she got.

Her eyes snapped open and she blinked up at him. "Did you just lick me?"

He had a mischievous smile on his face. "No," he said, drawing out the word. "I gave you a kiss on the forehead...with tongue. Like this." Once again, he leaned in and 'kissed' her forehead.

Y/N jumped away. "Ugh, Eddie!" she exclaimed and wiped his saliva off her forehead with the sleeve of the black hoodie she 'borrowed' from him. "You're so gross!"

"Yeah." He grinned. "But you love me anyway."

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

Eddie Munson Taglist:

@meaganjm @sweetpeapod @eddiemunsonsfavbitch @fangirling-4-ever @zzokks @mattymurdocksbitch @fillechatoyante @luvbug4728 @doll-in-the-walls @ches-86 @shenevertricks1831 @urlocalhippie2029 @celestair @ruinedbythehobbit @purple-storm

@meaganjm @sweetpeapod @eddiemunsonsfavbitch @fangirling-4-ever @zzokks @mattymurdocksbitch @fillechatoyante @luvbug4728 @doll-in-the-walls @ches-86 @shenevertricks1831 @urlocalhippie2029 @celestair @ruinedbythehobbit @purple-storm

@sarai-ibn-la-ahad @livslifeonline

Stranger Things Taglist:

@valeriiecameron @maruushkka @rainbows-dreams @april-foolish

Stranger Things (Billy excluded) Taglist;

@sleepyhead1456

[golden--doodler]

"Milhouse! You speak fluent Italian? 😟"

"Sì, lo so! Non lo capirai, ma voglio anche dirti che ti amo. 🥰" ("I do! You won't understand it, but I also want to tell you that I love you. 🥰")

I love these two dorks (Milhouse and Bart from The Simpsons) so much I had to draw something based off the canon fact that Milhouse is fluent in Italian:

[ID]: Digital fanart of Milhouse and Bart from The Simpsons. Bart is shown with normal hair instead of his normal spiky hair, and it swoops in a similar way to Milhouse's (and is a striking brown color). He also has green eyes, a red shirt, and light blue pants. His arm is held in front of him, exposing a bracelet that says "Friends". He's staring at Milhouse with a shocked expression. Milhouse has his normal, swoopy blue hair and red glasses. He has blue eyes, a pink shirt, and dark red pants. He's looking at Bart with a huge grin on his face and his arms held at his sides in a casual pose. They're standing in front of an intricate background of a house in their neighborhood with a car in the driveway.

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fic] My Song Can But Borrow Your Grace

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Dream) Rated: E Word Count: 6867 Tags: Dragon AU, Top Dream, Bottom Hob, dragon sex, dragon x human sex, in appearance at least, they're both dragons but Hob is in his human form, anal sex, shapeshifting, size kink, kind of, does this count as macro/mini maybe?, self-lubricating dragon dick, rimming, oral sex, a brief moment of mild sounding, anal gaping, creampie, come eating, cuddling, protective Dream, needy Hob, inspired by fic, inspired by art

Notes: This is smutty fanfic for Flatter the Mountain Tops by @teejaystumbles , specifically inspired by this art and this art. Tashina, thank you so much for letting me play with them - they were a delight to write for and I hope I've done them justice.

***If you're somehow here without having read Flatter the Mountain Tops, please be aware there are spoilers herein and this will make better sense if you've read that first.***

Summary: Hob wants Dream in dragon form to fuck him while he stays in human form; Dream is beginning to see there's more to it than just a size kink

On AO3

It would be easy to grow frustrated that Hob so often comes to him like this, yes, but. Dream understands. He knows Hob's love for humans, Hob's love of his own human shape, and he is not so unyielding as to deny his sweet amber the right to these preferences.

And besides. It is undeniably pleasant, to stretch out on his back, to have Hob's small human body perched naked atop him like this, bedecked in treasures he has selected from Dream's hoard—gold and silver chains strung with glittering gems looping about his neck and nestling into the hair on his chest, bangles and bracelets lining his wrists and arms and ankles, bejeweled rings adorning his fingers. Hob's hands stroking and petting through the soft downy feathers of Dream's belly leave him purring; he enjoys the way Hob's small human prick ruts through those same feathers while Hob rubs the cleft of his buttocks up and down against the slick exposed shaft of Dream's sex, and the way he reaches behind to angle it down and then scoots forward, lifts himself to squirm back against the tip, as if a dragon cock could possibly fit within a human arse—this never fails to stoke the heat in Dream's blood.

But tonight, Hob is not drawing up and away to transform, that they might couple properly in dragon form. No, tonight, he is still reaching behind himself and stroking the tip of Dream's cock, eliciting a rumbling purr as pleasure cascades through Dream in waves—and then he is holding it firmly against himself, rising up on his knees and bearing down upon it where he has worked himself open, is straining to tuck it within him as he sometimes does.

Dream stills, allows the indulgence; it is a heady feeling, Hob's small and delicate body stretched tight about the narrow tip of his sex, and he is always careful not to move until Hob has transformed or pulled off again.

But Hob does neither, this time.

Instead, he spreads his legs a little wider, knees damp with sweat against Dream's feathers, and the shift pushes Dream a fraction further inside him. The sound Hob makes is not entirely one of pleasure, and his scent spikes with something that is not fear and not pain, but might become either one very easily.

Dream's talons are poised along Hob's thighs, where he has been idly stroking while Hob plays; now, he settles them lightly, barely pricking against Hob's skin, a hint of a warning. "Hob."

Hob makes no answer, but squirms another centimeter onto Dream's cock instead. He leans forward with a gasp, shifting Dream within him, bracing both hands on Dream's belly. His face is flushed and damp, more exertion than pleasure, and Dream curves the length of his neck up to flick his tongue against Hob's cheek, scenting and tasting in equal measure. He smells of want, of intent, of determination, and Dream's body answers with a growl that resonates deep in his chest, vibrating the ruby and the other adornments that Hob had fastened about him.

"Hob."

"I can take it." Hob's voice is taut and trembling, but his eyes are bright and his mouth wet and smiling when he meets Dream's gaze. "I want it. Like this."

And Dream. He can imagine it, for just an instant, the impossibly tight grip of Hob stretched all around him, the pleasure of sinking fully into him; he flexes, minutely, and Hob jolts with a moan at the movement.

Dream blinks away the fantasy, strokes his talons restlessly over Hob's thighs, wings fluttering up around them both like feathered privacy screens. Hob is physically incapable of what he says he wants, his human form far too small to accommodate Dream's length and girth, but he continues to try all the same. He is making beautiful little sounds of effort, the scent of his determination rising from him in waves. None of it ever quite crosses over into pain but it is a very near thing, and Dream's feathers rustle slightly in agitation. His mate risks harming himself, and every instinct clamors to intervene, to prevent, to protect.

Hob drops down to brace on his elbows, the jewelry hung about his neck swinging to brush Dream's belly, knees spreading wider as he pushes carefully back onto Dream's length a little more. His breath sucks in sharply, sweat beading on his brow.

"Enough." Dream cannot let this continue. "Just change, Hob. Stop being so stubborn."

"Ah—n-no!" Hob pants, face tightly drawn, continuing to flex around the minimal bit of Dream within him, intent on working it deeper. "I-I'm fine!" His own prick is rigid where it hangs beneath his belly, dripping intermittently into Dream's feathers.

Dream wants to believe him, that he can bend his body to his will, wants to let him have this when it clearly means a great deal to him. But he can feel how Hob is stretched dangerously around him, one sharp move away from tearing, can scent the anxiety of pain mounting underneath whatever pleasure Hob may still be feeling.

"Hob. Stop."

Hob's fingers clench in Dreams feathers, bracelets clinking as he forces a little more of Dream's length inside him, long hair swinging to obscure his face. Dream's talons clench in turn, grazing hard over Hob's trembling thighs, drawing tiny rivulets of blood.

"I said stop!" He is alarmed, at this point, worried for Hob's safety and aggravated by his stubbornness. Hob lifts his gaze to Dream's, face flushed and damp, teeth gritted and eyes feverish with lust and determination, and rocks another increment back on and down.

"Hob!" Panic seizes Dream. "Oh, for the love of—" He shifts beneath Hob, changing his own form, shrinking into his human skin to match his stubborn mate. "Just so you know," he gasps, talons that are not quite human hands sliding around Hob's hips, "I am very angry that you made me do this!" And as his transformation halts, leaving him mostly human yet unmistakably still Dragon, the reduced length and girth of his cock allow it to slide fully and swiftly into Hob's opened body with a jolt.

Hob throws his head back at the sudden shock of falling onto it, of having Dream abruptly buried to the hilt within him; he's frozen in place, trembling, eyes wide and mouth open, a thin sound warbling out of his throat. Fluid dribbles from his rigid prick to pool on Dream's belly and his scent flares with pleasure, sharp and immediate.

Dream snarls, his own lust flaring in response, and rolls them over in a flurry of displaced feathers. His clawed fingers grip Hob's buttocks tightly, keeping them pressed flush together as he comes up on top and surges over Hob. The ruby hung around his neck drags through Hob's chest hair, makes tinkling little noises against the gold and silver draped about Hob as Dream plants his semi-shifted talons into the furs on either side of Hob and thrusts.

Hob cries out, scrabbling for a grip on Dream's biceps, legs tangling behind him as Dream thrusts hard again and again, setting into a brutal rhythm. The rings on Hob's fingers are digging into his newly-human skin and Hob's voice is sweet in his ears, singing his pleasure in a desperate cadence. Hob's scent wafts about him, less potent to his human nose but still fragrant with arousal, with lust and needs-met and building anticipation; Hob is beautiful underneath him, the mahogany of his hair splayed over the dark furs that Dream keeps for his comfort, glinting auburn and gold as he tosses his head, treasures from Dream's hoard glittering at his ears and neck and limbs.

Dream loses himself for a moment, fucking wildly into Hob as his emotions churn from aggravation at Hob's stubbornness to relief that he hasn't harmed himself and then subsume into the inferno of his own desire, the joy and the pleasure of having Hob as his even if they're both in human form, even if Hob is infuriatingly reckless and stubborn. He slows as his ardor settles and his temper cools, lengthening his strokes, shifting to curl Hob's legs more closely about himself, leaning down to nuzzle his soft naked cheek against Hob's beard while he rocks into him. His human body cannot purr the same way his true form does, but there is a rumbling growl of contentment rising in his chest all the same.

Hob's sounds of pleasure soften and his scent blooms with adoration as Dream noses against his throat, nibbles gently, his teeth dragon-sharp in his human mouth. He glides up to Hob's ear, tugs lightly on the earring there and shifts his weight. He is deep within Hob and holds his movements slow and steady, lifts his head and brings a clawed hand to comb through Hob's hair while he gazes down into his face.

"Why are you so intent on taking my true size in your human shape?" He has calmed, yes, but he does not understand, and so he asks.

Hob slides both hands up into Dream's hair and combs through it in turn, the same as Dream has done to him, an intimate gesture of grooming that never fails to make Dream's insides melt, just a little.

"Well, part of it's just that…I like the stretch? Something big can feel nice, and I like to see how far I can go sometimes."

Dream suppresses a snort of irritation, does not roll his eyes; Hob is entitled to whatever kinks he likes without being judged for them, regardless of Dream's personal opinion of the wisdom involved. "So it is the challenge that appeals."

"Yes and no? Sometimes the challenge is fun, but really I just like—" He breaks off as Dream rolls softly into him again, takes a deep breath. "I like how it feels to be so filled up, but it's best when—I want to be all filled up, by you. As much as possible. I want to feel every bit of you, stretching tight inside me, to feel small and helpless and safe because you're so much bigger. I-I know you'll take care of me, that kind of thing?" He pauses, bites his lip, adorably flushed and endearingly earnest as he speaks his mind. "I want you to mount me in dragon form while I'm still in human shape," he finally blurts, the color on his face deepening, but now that it's said he pushes on. "I want to feel all of you, everywhere around me and in me, I want your touch and your smell all over me inside and out, I want to be so thoroughly claimed that no one can ever doubt that I belong to you—" He breaks off, and his beautiful amber eyes lower, cast to the side, away from Dream. "I want the human me to be as much yours as the dragon me. And I know it's kind of physically impossible, but that doesn't stop me wanting it. Sorry if that's too much."

Hob is not articulating it as such, but Dream thinks he is beginning to understand what is at the heart of this desire. Hob had been small and helpless and in need of protection, the very first time their paths crossed, and Dream had offered neither shelter nor succour; instead, out of his head in his own grief, he had chased the desperate fledgling back into the night to fend for himself. It was hundreds of years in the past but had torn a rift between them when it came to light in their current relationship; the rift has since been mended, certainly, and Hob has selflessly forgiven him, but it is not unthinkable that Hob still carries insecurities about it buried deep in his psyche. To be taken and mated, then, accepted, claimed in his smallest weakest form, by Dream at his mightiest—it stands to reason that old wounds might thus be soothed.

And Dream wishes, above all else, to bring happiness to his mate.

He growls softly and dips to kiss Hob, that very human gesture of passion and affection that he knows Hob so favors, and rolls them back over so that Hob is on top. "No desire of yours will ever be too much," he vows, reaching up and stroking through Hob's hair again, drawing gentle clawed fingers through his beard. "You need only ask." Carefully, slowly, he breathes deep and focuses, enacting a partial transformation centered on his sex.

Hob's eyes widen as he feels Dream swelling slightly within him and he clutches at Dream's shoulders, gazing down into his face, body trembling. "Dream—!"

Dream combs through his hair again, tender and gentle. "You must tell me if it becomes too much," he murmurs, and lets himself swell a little larger.

Hob's mouth falls open and a high, wanton sound comes out, his eyes rolling as Dream flexes up into him. He gasps, blunt human nails digging into Dream's shoulders, short sharp little moans spilling out of his throat as Dream continues. He is careful, tightly controlled, letting his body shift in other small ways—scattered lines of short feathers along his limbs, clawed toenails, color darkening his talons—while he focuses on maintaining a stable consistent size inside of Hob, letting it grow larger in only the smallest of increments, the slowest of intervals. He moves his hands from Hob's hair to his hips, holding him steady, and Hob drops against him, buries his face in Dream's throat, breath panting hot and damp against Dream's collarbone. Dream's ruby and the looping chains of jewels adorning Hob's chest are body-warm between them and Hob's beard is a soft bristle against Dream's breastbone, sensations that he only gets to experience when both of them are in human form like this. It is pleasant, and when Hob lifts his head and shifts to put their mouths together again, licks into him, caresses Dream's short blunt human tongue with his own, this is also undeniably pleasant.

Perhaps he could be more enthusiastic about sex in human form, with Hob, who has shown him it is not so unpalatable, who makes it feel like something important.

That is a thought for the future, however, for tonight Hob has expressed a very specific want, and Dream intends to fulfill it.

When Hob lifts away from kissing him, Dream strokes his taloned hands lightly up his mate's back, settles them there in a gentle grip. "Be still, Hob," he murmurs, holding that beautiful amber gaze with his own, and shifts back into his dragon form, keeping his sex at its tempered human-safe size and keeping it sheathed within Hob.

Hob's eyes widen and his hands clench in Dream's feathers; his body trembles, and his scent is strong again with excitement, with eager arousal as he squeezes tight around Dream.

"Really?" he gasps, shifting up marginally and sliding back down on Dream while still trembling with the attempt to hold still, and the bare movement has Dream purring, spreading his wings languidly across the floor beneath them.

"It is my wish to give you anything you desire," he rumbles, flexing softly within his mate, and the emotion brightening Hob's eyes has him curving his head in close, nuzzling his snout along Hob's cheek. "Take your pleasure, little amber," he breathes, lifting away again, letting his talons rest alongside Hob's pleasingly-furred thighs. "I exist for no other purpose tonight."

Hob whines, squirming on his length, breathless as he arranges himself for proper leverage; he raises up on his knees, sinks back down, and the sound that comes out of his throat is pure satisfaction. He leans forward, rocks his hips down and writhes, so clearly reveling in the feel of Dream within him; he draws up and sinks down again, and again, and again and again, setting into a steady rhythm. The chains and pendants draping his chest jingle merrily and his hair swings gently about his jaw with his bouncing movement; he is making the sweetest little noises, ah and hah and oh, and his scent is ripe with pleasure and arousal. The way his fingers twitch and clench in the downy feathers of Dream's belly have him purring, and his own arousal runs hot in his loins, no effort at all to stay hard for his mate despite the focus it takes to keep his cock small enough.

It is hours of this bliss, or perhaps mere minutes that pass before Hob straightens up and then leans back, arms bracing behind him; he grasps careful handfuls of soft feathers in the creases of Dream's hindlegs, arching his spine and undulating restlessly, his own cock jutting on display at this angle. Dream strokes the side of one claw smoothly down its length; it jumps to his touch and the sound that Hob makes in response has a warm growl rising in Dream's throat, pleased. He touches again and Hob moans outright, grinds down on him harder; Dream arcs his neck and swings his head low with a rumble, dips in close to flick his tongue along the length of Hob's sex.

"Ah—" Hob gasps, faltering in his rhythm, "ah, Dream—" He shudders as Dream licks him slowly again and sinks all the way down onto Dream, shifts his hips forward, offering himself eagerly to Dream's attentions.

Dream carefully hooks a claw about Hob's shaft to hold it steady and winds his tongue around the tip, then flexes inside Hob, drawing another little moan from his throat; Hob pushes up from his backwards lean, thighs spreading wide for Dream's tongue. He reaches for Dream's face, strokes the short feathers above his eyes, combs lightly through the longer plumage of his cheek; Dream welcomes the touches, butts gently against Hob's beautifully-furred chest strung with his treasures and licks tenderly up and down the length of him in a steady rhythm. There is fluid welling from Hob at the tip and Dream laps it up like the precious nectar it is, delves into the pushed-back crown of his foreskin to claim the excess gathered there, chases it back to the source. Hob's slit is wet and welcoming as the narrow forks of his tongue slide carefully into it, first one and then the other, tasting down the inside of the shaft while his claw holds it steady.

Hob's breath hitches and his voice is full of wonder, body tensing delightedly at this new sensation. "What—ahh—" He shivers, fingers stroking through the feathers along Dream's jaw now, trembling as Dream's tongue squirms delicately within the channel of his prick. "What—nnnhh—whatever you're doing just—oh pleasedon'tstop—"

Hob approves, clearly, and so Dream continues, lamenting briefly that the forks of his tongue are not longer; he glides his free talon up Hob's thigh and around his back, steadying him, keeping him close. Hob curls both hands around Dream's horns and rubs gently, low down at the base where they're sensitive; presses his lips to the white feathers of the star between Dream's eyes in soft fervent kisses and exhales his devotion there, voice barely a murmur. "My Dream, my love, my mate—ahh—please, please take what's yours—"

Carefully, Dream rocks up into him and is rewarded by the way Hob tenses and then melts against him, the hitch in Hob's voice as he sighs yes, yes yes, the sweet rise of Hob's pre-spend to his questing tongue. Dream rocks gently upward again, setting a languid rolling rhythm complemented by his attentions to Hob's cock and Hob shudders, rocks back in tandem, clinging to Dream's horns and panting his little moans into Dream's forehead.

It is not long before Hob is moving harder, arousal rising high again in his scent and Dream leaves off from his cock, draws his head up and back, horns slipping from Hob's grasp. Hob takes hold of Dream's snout as he goes, cradling it between both hands and planting a warm kiss to the end of it before letting go. He drops forward again with a whine, buries his bejeweled fingers in Dream's downy feathers and works his hips feverishly while Dream combs gentle talons through the sweat-damp fall of his hair.

"Do you wish me larger inside you?" he asks after a moment, watching raptly the way that Hob rises and falls on his sex, the beautiful open shape of his soft human mouth around his pleasured sounds. His own pleasure is warm in his belly, heated and insistent but not yet so urgent as to demand he give it heed.

Hob pauses, seated fully down on Dream's cock. "Can you?" His voice is a bit breathless, amber eyes gleaming under drooping lids, excitement flickering in his scent—it is answer enough but Dream will still have a proper reply.

"I can," he purrs, flexing his cock purely for the satisfaction of the shiver that runs through Hob in response, the gooseflesh that pimples his delicate vulnerable skin beneath the adorning bracelets, the way his nipples tighten and peak in the glorious sea of his chest hair. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes—Dream, please, yes—"

Dream focuses again on where he's holding his sex in a partial transformation and slowly, slowly, allows it to transform further, until it is fully halfway between its human- and dragon-form sizes. Hob moans as it gently swells within him, lifting him higher on his knees. His body accepts Dream's girth so easily now that he is already inside, now that care has been taken to open Hob slowly—but the length of him has increased such that Hob cannot sit all the way down on it anymore and Hob whines, jewel-clad fingers clenching and unclenching in Dream's feathers as he tries all the same.

"I can't—ahh—ohhh, you're so big—" It is definitely praise, spoken with breathless eager reverence, but Dream can see that a limit has been reached. Hob is squirming, careful, trying in vain to reestablish his riding rhythm, physically unable to lift himself high enough; his thighs are trembling with the effort of keeping himself aloft and Dream is snugly nestled all the way inside him. He's beautifully stretched but there is little to be done about the length, and frustration is seeping into Hob's scent.

Dream purrs, soothing; he will not have his mate's desires thwarted so easily. Carefully, he slides a claw beneath Hob's bearded chin to tip it up. Hob's face is flushed, his eyes bright and wet at the corners when they meet Dream's, mouth parted on his panting breaths, and Dream's heart stutters in his chest that this beautiful creature has consented to be his. "Will you trust me?" he asks, bringing his other talon to carefully draw through Hob's hair.

Hob's eyelids droop at the grooming and he lets out a soft breath. "Of course. Yes."

"Then. Allow me, to—" He does not articulate the rest; it is easier to simply do, and trust that Hob will let him.

He moves both talons until he is carefully gripping Hob's body, claws hooked beneath his thighs and around his buttocks, his back, his waist. Hob grabs Dream's thumbs where they cross over his stomach, clinging as Dream carefully draws him up, up, not quite all the way off his cock, just the tip still tucked inside him. Hob's mouth drops open and his eyes roll back in his head, a low moan of pleasure rising in his throat at the long slide. And then Dream brings him back down, just as slowly, and Hob's head falls back, his moan rising into a sharp cry as he is filled again. Dream can feel how very tight Hob is around him, how fully and completely he has stretched his mate open, and it sends heat singing through his blood.

"Good?" he growls, unwilling to continue without confirming, and Hob shivers in his grasp.

"Good," he moans, chest heaving, "so good, Dream—" His hands scrabble briefly at Dream's talons around him, seeking a firmer grip, his rings making tiny little clicking sounds against the gleaming curve of Dream's claws. "Again. Please—"

And so Dream lifts him again, and draws him down again, and Hob tosses his head on a breathless whine. "Again!"

"As you wish," Dream rumbles, and sets into a smooth steady rhythm, sliding Hob up and down on his slick length, which only grows slicker with each pass. It feels exquisite, the stretched-tight glide of Hob's body upon him, and pleasure heats in Dream's belly, urging him faster-deeper-harder; he pushes it aside. Time enough for that in a moment; now, he wishes to revel in the sight and the sound and the smell of Hob curling into his grasp, hands braced on Dream's forelimbs, head tipped forward and mouth hanging open, saliva drooling from his slack lips. His eyes are glassy and his face aglow when he lifts it to meet Dream's gaze, and his scent is ripe with both lust and joy; he is completely lost in the pleasure of Dream's attentions and Dream purrs, swings his head in to flicker his tongue across the damp of Hob's flushed cheek. Hob is making those musical sounds again, longer and drawn out with each slide down and back up; Dream keeps his grip careful, moves Hob more quickly upon his own length, riveted by the way Hob's eyes roll back in his head and the sharpening pitch of his singing moans.

He continues on and on until Hob has gone boneless and insensate in his grasp, until his voice is one continuous note of pleasure sung in waves every time he is moved down on Dream's cock and back up, until Dream's own pleasure is no longer simmering in his loins but blazing; then, at last, he lifts Hob completely off and free, shifts his talons to carefully cradle Hob to his chest, hushing his whine of loss. With a grunt, he rolls onto his belly and places Hob on the furs before him, positioning his mate on all fours and facing away.

Hob's arms collapse and he drops his chest to the ground, presenting his backside in the most appealing manner. He is gaping open beautifully, slick and puffy-pink around the rim, copious amounts of Dream's natural lubricant visible within him and dribbling in shiny little rivulets down into the hair on his testicles and the insides of his thighs. Dream purrs, terribly pleased with the sight and the smell of his mate thus arrayed; he dips his head in close, nuzzling into the cleft of Hob's body and eliciting a needy whimper from Hob. He takes in the scent of his own fluids and Hob's untempered arousal, savoring the heady blend, rubbing it into the short feathers of his snout. His tongue snakes out and into Hob, the way wide and welcoming, almost cavernous around him; he delves deep, seeking out the wondrous spot inside Hob that brings him such pleasure and flicking his forked tip against it.

Hob makes a loud, delirious sound of encouragement and his knees splay a little further; Dream moves with him, lingers a long moment licking deep inside until Hob is squirming on his tongue, breathless and wrung out and pleading for more. His pre-spend is leaking from him in steady drips, fragrant and arousing, and Dream feels his own need raging behind his restraint as Hob begs.

"Dream—please, please Dream—I need it, I need you—take me, fill me up, mount me, make me yours—"

Hob is already his. They have both performed courting and mating rituals to express and accept intent; they have shared their lairs and hoards, they have coupled many times, they have flown together and spiraled down out of the sky in the age-old dance of dragon pairs since time immemorial, they have made love while both in human form more than once but Dream understands—this is something very specific, very meaningful to Hob, and it feels. Momentous.

He withdraws his tongue, pulls back to watch as Hob wriggles, gets his knees further under him to lift his rear higher; Hob's hole remains open and messy, more than ready to receive him, and Dream will have him, now.

With a rumbling growl, he rises up and flows forward to crouch over Hob, wings arcing to spread on either side. His sex is still held halfway between his human and dragon sizes, smaller than he is used to in this form but yet more than enough to harm Hob if he is not careful. He leans forward, braces himself on one fore-talon, splays the other heavily across Hob's shoulders to pin him down; he flexes his cock to line himself up, and then—slowly, carefully, inexorably—he pushes himself in.

Hob is slurring out a litany of 'please please please', face pressed into the furs, voice rising higher as Dream mounts him until he is as deep as he can go, two thirds or so of his length taken in. Hob groans loudly as the motion of entry ceases and Dream can feel the way Hob tries to squeeze around him, stretched too wide for it to have any sort of force at all. Dream rumbles his pleasure, draws out and pushes back in carefully, then again, and again, Hob's voice rising in approval with every slow thrust.

"Yes—aah—more—Dream—" Hob shudders as Dream sinks into him again. "Harder, please—harder—!"

Dream growls, wings rustling, tail switching; his body says 'take', his instincts say 'claim', his mate says 'more' and he cannot help but hear them clearly. He heeds all three, heeds the harmony they play within him; he braces himself and thrusts hard, heat and satisfaction flaring through him as Hob takes a sharp breath, and so he does it again.

The sound Hob makes then is gasping and wet and beautifully strained; his scent is ripe with arousal, does not stink of pain or distress and Dream is confident that this is precisely what Hob wants as he thrusts hard again and Hob cries out in delight. His own body clamors for satiation, for the thrill and the relief of rutting full bore into his willing mate but Dream still has presence of mind enough to realize he will never forgive himself if he fails to confirm and Hob winds up hurt.

He holds himself still, eases his weight from the talon pressing Hob down. "Hob. Are you—"

"Please," Hob interrupts, voice wet, raw desperation in his tone as he writhes, "please don't stop, Dream, I need I want—I can't—please!"

Dream snarls, permission given, and bears back down on his restraining talon, rolls his hips with force, shoving into Hob again and again and Hob wails his pleasure, tiny human hands scrabbling at the furs beneath him, whatever noise his bracelets make lost under the sound of his voice. Dream has positioned them so that his thrusts will not reach further than Hob's body can accommodate, but still he is hitting hard and deep and Hob is jolting, slipping from the force despite Dream pinning him down.

Dream's tail lashes, a few feathers fluttering loose, and he growls deep in his throat. Hob whimpers and then, impossibly, he is pushing back, seeking more, and Dream cannot allow any damage to come to his reckless mate in this frenzied ardor between them. He lifts his talon from Hob's shoulders and wraps it beneath his ribs and his abdomen instead, gripping gently but implacably and lifting him just enough to deprive him of any bracing leverage at the knees.

"Be still, little amber," he instructs, his voice a whip-taut growl, "and let me claim you—"

Hob makes a noise that can only be described as a sob of pleasure and goes lax in Dream's grip. Dream moves the talon nearest Hob's cock to hook beneath it, so that each thrust rocks Hob against it, ensuring another layer of stimulation, and then he is lost to the need to take, and take, and take.

Hob's voice lilts and falls and soars beautifully as Dream unleashes his want, clinging to just enough mindfulness of Hob's delicate size to keep his partial transformation unchanged. His own body sings with pleasure and need, heat coiling through him as he moves, lightning in his blood, building higher and higher in answer to Hob's cries.

He is seized, quite suddenly, with the urge to clamp his teeth in Hob's nape as he would with Hob's dragon form; the rational part of his brain thinks it terribly unwise but he is arching his neck and snaking his head down regardless, mouth open, stopping just short of his goal. He is clutching Hob close beneath his body, pounding into him relentlessly and his mind is alight with the litany of do-not-harm do-not-harm do-not-harm but instinct has his jaws yawning, aching to sink into the mating hold as he nears his finish.

"Oh fuck," Hob swears thickly, trembling and breathless as Dream looms close with such intent, "ohfuckyes Dream please yesyesyes—" His scent is ripe with desperate want; he rolls his head and tilts it down, forward, offering his neck and Dream. Cannot—

He snorts, need and frustration exhaling in a great blast of hot breath that hits Hob precisely where he wishes to set his teeth, blowing Hob's sweat-damp hair to either side, leaving the way dangerously clear. Dream's tongue slithers over the exposed vulnerability, tasting the salt of Hob's skin and the precious metal of his own treasures adorning it and a great voiceless growl shakes out of him; Hob whimpers sharply, a sweet rising note of abject need, his scent spiking with impending climax—and Dream falls upon him, helpless in the face of it.

His teeth close on the back of Hob's neck, a shallow grip intended only to hold and Hob cries out, goes rigid as he spends abruptly. It is a sudden wet warmth over Dream's talon; the smell of it blooms hot in the air around them and Dream snarls, his own peak near to cresting as Hob's body tries to bear down on the pistoning thickness of Dream within him, to little avail. He tries to gentle his teeth when he tastes blood, desperate to keep his mate from serious harm, but the tides of his own pleasure rush inexorably onward, carrying him up and up in a glorious crescendo, in harmony with the gasping notes of Hob's climax until he crashes over the edge himself, spilling into his mewling mate with a ferocious roar.

It is a great deal of fluid for a human-sized body to receive, and he means to pull back, to pull out, that Hob need not take it all. But instinct is stronger than intent, yet again, and he is only halfway withdrawn before the sheer pulsing pleasure of his release has him pushing back in. Hob moans as he is filled again, as Dream's spend is forced out of the stretched confines of his body, overflowing viscous and wet between them; Dream's body gives another miniscule thrust, just for the heady thrill of the sheer mess of it and the wet squelching sound that accompanies it.

Hob is still making little noises as Dream's climax subsides, and the sound of them is either waning pleasure or the rising of discomfort in its aftermath; his scent is free of distress, so more likely the former. Still, Dream is careful when he finally draws Hob off his length and sets him down, careful when he licks the trickling blood from the back of Hob's neck, gentle when he lays himself beside Hob, who has collapsed with a soft groan. Hob is sprawled on his belly in the furs, head turned toward Dream, eyes gleaming warmly beneath the fall of hair scattered over his face. He is disheveled and debauched and beautiful, and Dream loves him. Fiercely.

"I'm a mess, aren't I," Hob says presently, an endearing blend of exhausted, sated, and smugly pleased. The bracelets on his wrist jangle softly as he rakes a hand through his sweat-damp hair, smiles warmly up at Dream, not bothering to lift his head at all.

"Perhaps," Dream allows, idly licking Hob's spend from his talon, letting his body cool. He has released the partial transformation of his sex and allowed it to return to its full size; it is softening, drawing back within its hidden sheath, and he turns his attention fully to the state Hob is in. "Allow me to clean you up."

Hob makes a soft noise of assent and Dream rearranges himself, looming up and over, taking stock of his mate. The small wounds made by his teeth have already stopped bleeding; there are little pinpricks here and there on Hob's torso and thighs from the tips of his claws and Dream licks over each of them, making certain they're no more than superficial. Purring, he nudges his face between Hob's legs, pushing them gently further apart, applying his tongue to the spend that bedecks them. There is a great deal of it all over the backs and insides of Hob's thighs, sticky and clinging in the thick hair and Dream takes his time, thorough in his attentions. It is both grooming and aftercare, an intimately soothing ablution that Dream has always enjoyed and one he takes particular joy in sharing with Hob, wherever the mess, whatever their forms.

When he is satisfied with his work, he draws back, licks clean the disheveled short feathers of his snout, and turns his attention to Hob's arse. With careful claws he parts Hob's cheeks, gentle, delicate, and surveys the state of him.

Hob's hole is still quite open, swollen and red and laced with the remains of Dream's spend. He is not torn, is not bleeding, is gradually shrinking to close again as he should, but Dream's heart still sinks at the sight; when he gently tongues the angry flesh Hob hisses in pain, squirms a little.

"I have hurt you," Dream laments, drawing back, careful—so careful—as he lets go of Hob.

"I'll be a bit sore, I suppose," Hob says, as though it is no consequence. "Absolutely worth it, though."

"Still," Dream counters, unbalanced by Hob's nonchalance at the fact that Dream has hurt him. "I should have kept it smaller; I should have been gentler at the end. I am sor—"

"Don't you dare apologize," Hob warns, rolling over and sitting up abruptly, barely wincing, and his vehemence draws Dream up short. "I wanted it. You didn't do anything I hadn't asked for. Begged for. You gave me everything—" His voice hitches, trembling with emotion, and he swallows thickly. "Don't apologize, when it meant—it meant so much—"

Ah. Dream is focusing, he realizes, on the wrong details. Hob is near to tears, Dream can hear, and so he pulls him close, gently nestles Hob against his chest, purring. He wraps his head and tail in close, curling around Hob's small human shape protectively. "No apologies, then, my sweet amber," he assures, nuzzling at the crown of Hob's head, huffing warm breath into the still-damp mahogany of his hair. "It was. My pleasure, to give what you sought, to claim you so thoroughly."

Hob burrows into him, rubs his bearded face reverently against Dream's feathers. "Thank you," he says, soft and quiet, into the down of Dream's chest near the ruby. "I know you prefer it when we're both dragons—"

"I prefer to have my mate in whatever form he feels like sharing with me," Dream interrupts, and is mildly surprised to realise that it is true.

Hob makes an inarticulate little noise, burrowing closer. "Dream, my Dream," he murmurs, stroking his small human fingers through the soft feathers of Dream's belly, pressing his lips behind his words. "My mate, my everything. I love you."

"And I, you," Dream sighs, sated, content, sleepy. He stretches his hind legs out, switches his tail, settles comfortably and cradles Hob close to his heart with one careful talon, spreads his wing like a blanket over his mate. Hob makes a happy little noise and Dream can envision the soft smile on his face, the way his beard shapes around it and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes; he purrs, curves his head in nearer to Hob and lets his eyelids droop.

He is always pleased to sleep with Hob when Hob is in dragon form, Hob's radiant heat and golden glow cuddled up next to him, tucked against his side; likewise he is pleased, on the rare occasions it occurs, when he himself is in human form and kept warm and protected beneath the curve of Hob's wing. He is pleased enough to share Hob's bed when staying in Hob's lair, both of them in human form, comfortably cocooned in blankets and each other's arms. But ultimately, he thinks, there is something utterly irreplaceable about sleeping like this, with Hob tucked small and safe against him, held tenderly against the heart he has so thoroughly won.

=== Started: 8/9/23 Drafted: 9/3/23 Posted: 9/22/23

I very nearly titled this thing Chuck Tingle style, except 'Pounded in the Butt By My Dragon Boyfriend While I'm in Human Form (But I'm a Dragon Too)' just doesn't set the right tone, alas. Actual title I finally settled on is from Ever Dream by Nightwish.