#i love them let me nudge them away from THAT and just like. give em a weighted blanket and a good nights rest jesus christ

[dip-the-stick]

great thing abt shows is there's characters in there!! sadly tho they are in situations

[bookshelf-dust]

kiss him with chocolate lips

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @biillys

word count: 1,837

warnings: swearing, some sexual references/themes, allusions to sexy adult things, play-fighting, reader and billy being in love and that love language is being little shits to each other (also acts of service), smooching and one use of the word saliva

synopsis: you decide to bake cookies, and billy decides he must be included, but you’d never let your cookies perish in return for an insatiable man.

a/n: hii!! i came up with a few lines of dialogue for billy a little bit ago, and then they just sat in my notes app because i couldn’t think of what to do with them. halfway through writing this, something i wanted to be sweet and silly, i felt lost and didn’t know how to end it or where to go with it, and started looking for inspiration. but then it came to me! and i’m very happy with how this turned out. i hope you like it! happy reading <33

————

Your hands are buried wrist deep in cookie dough, because you got sick of the shitty spatula not doing its job. 

You keep folding it in and over itself, trying to get all the chocolate chips and dry ingredients properly combined. You feel like the cookies just don’t turn out right if you don’t get in there and make sure it’s the way it’s meant to be. 

You reach over and grab a handful of mini chips to toss in your mouth. You have this mixture of regular size ones, minis, and chunks that you swear by. 

“You missed the bowl.”

A pair of large, warm hands slide over your waist, pinkies grazing over that spot where your pelvis dips because they know that’s your ticklish spot and just want to see you squirm. 

“Fuck off, prick.”

Billy smiles into the soft and slightly sweaty skin of your neck, peppering kisses in a trail from your collarbone to your earlobe. You nudge him with your shoulder, trying to ward him off. 

He licks a stripe up the back of your neck. And if you weren’t making an effort to look annoyed by his presence, your eyes might’ve just rolled back into your head. 

Instead you let out a sort of strangled howl to emphasize your agony. You are busy, after all. Making cookies you know he’ll eat before you can have any for yourself. You’ll have to hide some this time. 

You elbow Billy in the stomach, but his hands never leave your hips. He’s chuckling lightly, enjoying every minute of teasing you and being the biggest nuisance he can be.

“I should castrate you,” you say, rubbing your nose with your forearm to avoid spreading cookie dough all over your face. 

Billy laughs into your neck, the tip of his nose cold against your warm skin. “Oh, but you like that part of me too much, baby.”

You scoff. “Dick.”

He places a finger on your chin so that you’ll meet his gaze. “Exactly.” 

“I hate you,” you say, your eyes boring into his and saying anything but. They’re practically twinkling just looking at him. 

He hooks another finger under your chin and coaxes you closer, “I know,” he smiles, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that tastes like chocolate chips. 

The flavor being on his mouth makes you pull away in shock. You put your hands on your hips and feign being absolutely appalled and ashamed.

“You come in here, on my ass, when yours has been fillin’ up on chocolate for how long?” You raise up on your tippy toes, trying your best to get in his face. He bends slightly to make it easier for you. 

His gaze drags over each of your pretty features in that way he knows gives you goosebumps. “You think you just get to eat ‘em all or something?”

You press your hand to his chest. “I bought the damn things, Hargrove. And I think, as the woman making the cookies, I’m entitled to eat as many chocolate chips as I want.” 

Billy leans in again and kisses you, but this time it’s slow, too slow, and sensual. The kind that feels like it lasts forever but in reality was a few seconds. One that really should last forever. It makes your brain go all fuzzy.

He drags his hand up your spine and pulls back. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Your stomach flips, your blood rushing to all the important parts of your body because he knows just what buttons to push and you despise him for it. Cocky little shit. 

“Now look who can use his manners,” you say, your voice taking on a sing-songy lilt. Billy grins at you, biting his lip, and then returns to his place behind you. 

You both settle down, quieting and melting into each other's presence. Billy watches over your shoulder as you pour in more chocolate chips. He knows you always hate it when people cheat you out of your chocolate. 

“I need a tray, B, can you get one for me?”

He pats your ass and moves to the designated cabinet without answering. He rips out a sheet of parchment paper without you having to ask. You always say that the bottoms don’t burn as easily that way, or you quote something from a cooking show you watched on tv that morning. 

He brings the cookie sheet back to you and then pushes up so he’s sitting on the counter next to you, bare thighs pressing into the cold stone. 

You pass him the rest of the chocolate chips to snack on and bend to kiss his knee. He blushes. You’ve been together for a few years now, but each time you give him affection in small, uncommon ways, it makes him feel like teenage boy. 

Billy watches you separate the dough into even-ish chunks before sliding it all into the oven. He tilts his head back and tosses the rest of the chocolate chips into his mouth before hopping down from the counter. 

He grabs your hips when he sees you move toward the sink. “Uh, uh. Go sit, mama. I’ll take care of it.” He knows you’re going to push back, and before you can he picks you up and places you in the living room. 

You let out a small huff and walk right back to your starting point. There aren’t even that many dishes to wash anyway, but what’s the fun in cooperating with him?

“Billy.”

“Hm?” He’s squeezing soap all over the dishes you’d already pre-rinsed. 

“Go sit your pretty ass down and let me do this.” You hear him laugh over the sound of the tap running and roll your eyes. He feels it. And he ignores you, squeezing out a sponge. 

You wrap your arms around his waist and pull, trying to lift him up the way he had with you just moments before. You manage to heave him up just enough that his toes leave the tile and he cackles at your effort to be such an adorable irritant.

He looks at you over his shoulder, your brow creased in concentration, the tip of your tongue sticking out just slightly. “How’s that workin’ out for ya, princess?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so big and heavy and strong.”

His ego practically skyrockets, his brain picking out any bit of flattery you’ll offer him. 

“Big and strong, huh?”

You cross your arms and spin around, hiding your wide smile before he can catch a glimpse at it. At how pleased you are to have riled him up. You let out a little petulant “Hmph!” and start to pad away. You know what’s coming though, and you try to pick up speed before you can be captured. 

Billy’s arms are around your thighs in seconds. He’s managed to turn you around and lift you up, throwing you over your shoulder like it’s nothing, like this is a normal daily task. “I’ll show you big and strong, pretty baby.”

You beat playfully on his lower back, fighting off a fit of giggles. “Billy! Put me down motherfucker!” He’s laughing too, all too pleased with himself for being able to get you like this. 

He pulls you down so you’re hanging onto his front and starts maneuvering you onto the couch. Your every nerve ending lights up when you feel Billy’s hand at the crown of your head, cradling you as he sets you down. 

The gentle manner in which he handles you does not correlate to the way he kisses you. 

Billy settles between your legs, grabbing your arms and coaxing them around his neck. He’s giving you a job, giving you instructions, and it makes your brain go quiet. Honing in on him, and nothing else. He’s all you can see, all you can smell, all you’re capable of thinking about. 

One of his hands slips beneath your t-shirt and settles against the dip of your spine, allowing him to pull you upward, allowing him to mold your body to his without you even having to put in the effort to arch your back and meet him. 

The other slips into the hair at the base of your neck, fingernails scratching over your scalp to get the goosebumps going, the heel of his hand rubbing determinedly at your skin, massaging it and reveling in the heat radiating off of you. 

Each time you try to say something, Billy kisses you harder, laughing into your mouth. He’s getting sloppy, losing himself in the taste of chocolate and lip balm and you. 

He sucks on your bottom lip, nips at it with his teeth, and it makes you let out a small, quiet moan. Billy slaps your thigh and you pull his hair. He groans, loud and unashamed. He shoves his knee in between your legs, meets the hottest, softest part of you and—

The timer on the microwave goes off.

Your cookies are finished. 

You pull back from Billy’s warm mouth, because you can’t let your cookies burn. What kind of monster would you be, letting cookies perish for a man? Absolutely not. 

His lips are still in a pout and there’s a string of saliva connecting the both of you. 

Instead of laughing like you want, you groan, “Oh dear Christ, ew, Billy.”

While he’s processing that you just said “ew” to him, you slide out from underneath his arms and race to pull the finished cookies from the oven. 

You’re carefully picking each cookie up and setting them on a cooling rack so they’ll become edible—without burning the skin off the roof of your mouth—sooner rather than later. 

Billy finally appears in the kitchen and puts a hand against the counter. His brow creases like he’s just been told something very serious, though his mussed hair and flushed cheeks say otherwise. 

“Did you just say ew to me, baby?” An evil smirk starts to appear on his face and he closes in on you. “You definitely don’t think it’s gross when I spit on your—” 

You shove a warm cookie into his mouth before he can finish that sentence. His face takes on a comical expression of his surprise, but he happily chews on the melting chocolate chips you’ve provided him with. He does like the warm cookies the best. 

You reach for a towel to clean off his face, but he moves too fast. 

Billy is kissing you all over, your neck, your collarbones, your cheeks and forehead. He’s doing his damndest to get chocolate all over you as payback for your teasing little attitude. 

“Billy!” you squeal, giggling and shrieking with joy. 

“Take it back! Take back that fucking ew, princess, and you can go!” He’s cackling, tickling your sides. 

“Okay, okay! I love your nasty ass, I do! Let me go!”

He removes his fingers from your hips and starts to wipe off your face with a wet cloth while you both catch your breath. 

“Damn right you do.”

————

tagging: @clovermunson (i got you bestie)

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[artdcnaldson]

whoa imagine patrick and art teaching how you how to blow them next? and then they like take turns with you giving hands-on demonstrations of how they think you’d like to be touched and fucked and taken care of? it’s not exactly a competition but they both want to do better and make you feel better than the other so it kind of is

Yeah 😌🩷

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Patrick x Reader x Art throuple dynamics, blowjob lessons <3, guys being pervy little manipulating snakes (affectionately)

A/N: I’m obsessed. Everyone say hiiii sex lessons au. Unedited sozz

You get week of you jerking one or both of them off whenever you’re alone together until Patrick decides to test the waters.

“You can put your mouth on it,” he says, when you’ve taken him into your grasp, nice and slow while you kiss him the intense, hungry way he’d taught you.

Your eyes widen slightly, and he swears he can hear your pulse thrumming.

“Patrick,” Art says, a warning. He’s on the other end of the bed, trying his best to study for a midterm while his friend is getting jerked off three feet away. He’d sit on the floor… but he’s ready to hop off the bench the second you or Patrick invite him to play.

Patrick rolls his eyes in annoyance. Art was so fucking dense sometimes. He knew Art wanted it just as bad, probably more because he was so goddamn repressed. He knew Art always wanted the same things he wanted, no matter how depraved, or how embarrassed he was to admit it. “What? I think it’s about time she learns to suck cock.”

“Jesus Christ, Pat,” you say with a nervous laugh. His lips quirk slightly. He fucking loves how embarrassed you can get, how one dirty word makes you hide your face like a shy little virgin. You were shy, but he was working on that last part.

He grins, runs a thumb along your bottom lip. It’s slick with spit, swollen from kissing him. God, is it such a crime that he wants those lips wrapped around his dick? “C’mon, you’ll like it,” he says, brushing his lips along your jaw, right below your ear. “You like jerking us off, right? It’s even better.”

You nod, leaning back to meet his gaze. “Will you show me?”

Patrick glances over at Art, who has pushed his textbook and notes out of the way entirely. “You heard her, Art, come show her.”

“Jesus, you can ask,” Art says, face scrunched in annoyance. You know there’s know malice, though— he wants it just as bad. You shift off of Patrick’s lap and sit beside him, where you get the perfect view of Art between his thighs. He tugs the brunet’s boxers down his thighs, tosses them absently across the room.

“Pay attention, honey,” Patrick tells you. He runs a hand through shaggy blond curls, making sure you watch as Art places wet kisses to his tip. Patrick moans, impatient, but relishing in the way your mouth falls open slightly, how your eyes widen.

Art opens his mouth wider and slowly eases Patrick’s cock inside. It’s wet, messy. Drool spills from the sides of his mouth, down the length of Patrick’s cock. It gathers at his base, drips down his balls. You watch Art’s cheeks hollow as he takes him deeper, how his eyes fill with water.

Patrick’s fingers press against your lips, pointer and middle, seeking entrance. You open your mouth and let him push his fingers in— salty like skin and sweat. It isn’t until they’re in your mouth that you realized how long they are, as they slip towards the back of your tongue and your mouth fills with spit and you gag. Patrick withdraws his fingers, stringy with spit, and grins.

“Try again for me— try to take ‘em deeper.”

Patrick’s riding high— your lips wrapped around his fingers as he pushes them in and out of your mouth, Art sucking his dick like a champ— he can’t ask for much more.

“Are you paying attention to Art?” You gag slightly as his fingers nudge the back of your throat, eyes stinging with tears. You shake your head and redirect your attention. “Look how deep he can take me. You’ll be able to do that soon, won’t you?”

To demonstrate his point, he pushes Art down by the back of his head, makes Art gag and moan around the intrusion. “Use your tongue, baby.” Neither of you knows who he’s talking to, so you both follow the order.

He keeps both of you there for god knows how long— laving him with attention. Art looks right at home, lashes splayed against his cheeks, head bobbing as he works Patrick’s dick. And you, eyes wide and starry with the need to impress him, to take advantage of all he could possibly teach you. I mean, fuck, he could tell you to jump and you’d ask how high.

He lets his best friend bring him to the edge, feels so deliciously close that he loses himself in it.

“Fuck, Art—“ Patrick cries out, tangling his fist into the blond’s hair for purchase. “Your fuckin’ mouth is something else. C’mon, take me down your throat. That’s it—“

Patrick comes with a groan, spilling down Art’s throat. Art, to his credit, swallows down everything Patrick gives him before pulling back, lips swollen and slick.

Patrick slips his fingers from your mouth— strings of spit connecting the two. He wipes his fingers on your cheek, pats it twice before dropping his hand.

“Think you can handle Art?” He asks with a grin. “He’s smaller than me, it’ll be easier for your first time, huh?”

Art slaps his arm, hard enough to leave a mark. “By fucking half an inch you asshole.”

Patrick rolls his eyes with a knowing smile, but doesn’t dig. “Alright then, Donaldson, whip it out. Her mouth’s fucking watering for it over here.”

Art scowls, but the thought of you sucking his dick is enough to smooth over his mildly bruised ego. He makes quick work of shucking off his clothes and leans against the headboard beside Patrick.

God, someone should take a picture. You’re settled between his legs, on your knees so your ass is up when you bring your mouth to Art’s cock. Your tongue peeks between your lips and you give a few testing kitten licks to his tip.

He moans, soft and pretty. You feel hands in your hair, petting you almost. You blink lazily, peering up to look at Art as you place slow open mouthed kisses to his shaft.

When you take him into your mouth, you feel his grip on your hair tighten, just enough to make you gasp. He’s warm and heavy on your tongue, salty with precum.

Even going slow, you can’t manage to fit much of him in your mouth. You gag with each attempt to take him deeper, eyes watering before you pull off and gasp for air. They watch your valiant efforts, getting off on the fucking filthy sounds of you gagging on Art and the sight of spit spilling down his cock.

“Here—“ Art says, taking one of your hands to wrap around his base. “Just follow your mouth with that. You don’t have to take all of it if it’s too much.”

“First fucking time he’s ever had to say that,” Patrick says with a grin. Art punches his shoulder hard enough that the brunet yelps.

With your hand attending to what doesn’t fit in your mouth, it’s easier. Art’s so easy to get worked up— so easy to bring to the edge. Patrick’s mouthing at his throat, and Art tilts his head to grant him more access. He always complains after about the marks— Art always bruises easy, like a fucking peach. 

“Just like that,” Art praises. It doesn’t feel like you’re doing a great job, but he looks like he’s having a real fucking nice time. “Keep going, baby. Doing so good.”

“We’re teaching her, so teach her,” Patrick says after he grows bored of the slow, sweet head you’re giving the blond. Patrick’s hand moves to the back of your head, pushing you further down until your throat constricts instinctively and your eyes widen in surprise.

“I know you can take more. Just need some exposure therapy. Breathe through your nose— that’s it— good girl.” You will yourself to relax, to center yourself. He didn’t push you far, just enough that Art is brushing against the back of your tongue.

Your mouth fills with saliva, and you swallow around the intrusion, making Art practically whine. “F-fuck Patrick— let her up—“ he groans. It’s then that Patrick moves his hand, letting you pull up and get a large gulp of air. Your face feels hot, your jaw aches slightly.

Art brushes your hair from your face tenderly. “Keep your mouth open like that, okay?” You nod, let him rest the head of his cock on the center of your tongue. He replaces your hand with his own, jerking himself off quickly, methodically.

You nearly flinch as the first rope of cum hits your tongue— warm, salty, thick. You’re caught off guard by the sheer volume of it— you’d felt it coat your hand, but it’s different when it’s spilling directly onto your tongue. He’s panting as he finishes, and you’re left sitting with a mouthful of cum. You swallow it like bitter medicine, like you’d seen girls do in porn.

“How was it?” You ask Art.

“Good for a first try,” he says. “We’ll let you practice, get you ready for when you get boyfriend.”

A/N: Tashi incoming <3 imagine her reaction when she finds out these boys haven’t been making you cum 😵‍💫

[coqvttes]

carlos o. bend me over and play with me

୨୧˚ synopsis : carlos bending you over his lap to play with you, forcing all your cute little noises out even if you’re shy, he’ll find a way to get em out of you.

୨୧˚ warnings : fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!carlos, mean!carlos, spanking, fingering, teasing, pussy slapping, petnames, mentions of oral, lmk if i missed anything!

୨୧˚ wc : 800

୨୧˚ a/n : requested by anon! here <3

“is this all you needed, doll? just wanted your pretty little pussy slapped and played around with?” he coos, a menacing grin plastered across his handsome features as your face burns a bright red. he’s right, it’s just what you wanted. his sneaky fingers slip through your glistening folds, playing with the arousal that’s gathered around there like it’s a toy.

you let out a pitiful noise when he pulls his fingers away, which are still yet to stimulate you properly as the hunger for release builds up inside you, he’s not giving you what you really want. it’s as if he’s doing this for his pleasure.

he slaps your poor cunt repeatedly and you can practically hear the lewd squelching sounds that are almost masked by your pathetic whines as he chuckles down at you almost mockingly. his fingers continuing their relentless attack on your now puffy cunt, oh your poor thing.

“carlos! you’re being mean!” you wail, trying to crawl off of him but he holds you down over his thighs with his strong grip.

“you ain’t going anywhere, sweetheart, i’m not done with you yet.” his free hand rubs gentle circles on the plump of your arse before smacking it cruelly. you whimper pathetically as your body jolts forward from the sting.

he coos at you before doing it again on the other side, you cry out from the burning sensation but your body betrays you as your arousal spills out of your hole, your cunt clenching around nothing as you desperately yearn for stimulation. you hate to admit it feels good.

it was impossible to say you were humiliated considering how much essence was dripping out of your cunt onto his lap. you knew it and carlos knew it, you fucking loved this. and he’d definitely be lying if he said he didn’t love it too, if not, more.

“yeahh, you like that? hmm?” he mocks, a smug smile on his face as his thick fingers tenderly glide over the curve of your arse before dipping into the wetness of your cunt, again, slipping in and out of you slowly with ease as he whispers filthy little things into your ear.

you almost don’t hear his question because of the overwhelming pleasure taking over your senses but you mewl faintly before weakly nodding.

“talk to me, baby,” he demands, curling his fingers inside of you, nudging that spongey spot inside of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your toes curling.

“mmm! yess- ahh i lovee it, carlos!”

“fuck yeah, i know you do, baby,” he chuckles, before pulling his fingers out of you in a single motion, you cry out at the loss of pleasure and try to wiggle back into his hand but he stops you.

with his beefy arm, he firmly keeps you bent over his lap like a toy before he suddenly shoves his fingers inside of your warmth again, driving them in and out of you mercilessly, groaning at the wetness you’ve accumulated from his relentless teasing.

you practically scream out from the change in speed, taking you by surprise as you try to keep a grip on the bedsheets, but the force of his thrusts is too strong as you find yourself jolting forward, and all you can do is just take it.

his other hand which was holding your body down on the dip of your back, now slides up to your bouncing tits to grasp at them greedily. you whine out pathetically as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, he toys and tugs at them playfully eliciting a string of lewd noises from your mouth before returning his hand back to hold you down.

he picks up the pace of his fingers, now pumping his fingers in and out of you animalistically. you kick your legs up violently, whining from overwhelming sensations of pleasure and your hand flies up to cover your gaping mouth, muffling all the cute little noises you make as he viciously thrusts his fingers into your hole.

you rest your weight onto your elbow that digs into the bed before carlos pulls your hand away from your mouth, with nothing to rest on your head falls onto the duvet, your cheek pressing against the bed as you just lay there and accept the pleasure he gives you.

“don’t do that, wanna hear you, doll,” he growls, and you give in, letting all the noises of appreciation spill out of you, and he fucking loves it. the pleasure in your tummy builds up as his fingers curl perfectly inside you.

you let out a broken moan as your release hits you deliciously. his fingers don’t slow down as your body spasms uncontrollably, your cunt clenching around him tight as your arousal sticks to his fingers, practically spilling out of your all over his thighs.

but you know it’s not over yet, you just know that he’s gonna lay you down on the bed and spread your legs to lap up at your juices, because you’re his perfect little doll, and you’d let him play with you anytime he wants. <3

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ all works belong to © coqvettes 2024. i do not give permission to claim, translate or copy any of my works. reblogs are appreciated !

[grippingbeskar]

coming home - simon ‘ghost’ riley

— simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

— warnings - adult content minors dni (18+) mxf, ghost has a filthy mouth, praise kink (?), pretty soft compared to all the ghost s*** out there tbh, slight description of injury and mentions of death. kinda sad ghost but he fucks it out :)

a/n: i have fallen down the ghost hole. just wanted some domestic shit, also the shower description is just something i want in my dream home so it’s self indulgent as fuck! hope you enjoy. xx (also shout-out to @dinahmadanimybeloved for the lil nudge in the right direction!! i appreciate u. xx)

He’s quiet, and that’s how you know somethings off. Most people think it’s just the way he is, being able to count on one hand the amount of words he’s spoken to them over the years. Ghost doesn’t talk unless he has to, or unless he gives enough of a fuck about whoever’s talking to him, which is rare these days. He could go hours without talking when he was away, a fact that always broke your heart a little.

The truth is, you can never get him to shut up. When he’s home, he’ll talk your ear off about anything. The dog he ran past that morning, the way you should organise your socks, how good you looked wearing his shirt. He was talkative, which is how you knew that something was wrong when he came home this time.

Being the biggest guy you knew, it amazed you how he could walk with such stealth. Even the floorboards seemed scared to creak under his frame as he came through the door. You shot up, nearly flying over the back of the couch. He wasn’t due home for another two weeks— you knew because you were supposed to pick him up from the airport. He was home early, and of course you were ecstatic, but then you saw his face, still covered in that bone white mask, and you knew it wasn’t all good news.

“Simon.” You whisper as you walk towards him. He’d closed the door behind him, locking it, but hadn’t moved from there. Usually you were both bursting with energy when he came home, excitement and adrenaline pumping through your bodies at the long awaited reunion. He was looking down at you, and when you finally stood close enough, one of his hands came up, gingerly cupping your face. “You’re home!”

“Hey, baby.” He says slowly, eyes holding yours. The hand he had behind his back touched your side, and you looked down, seeing about a dozen roses in a bouquet, stalks fisted in his gloved hand. “Got ‘em for you.”

“They’re gorgeous. Here—“ You take them, letting the sweet smell fill your senses and move quickly to put them in a vase on the counter— a spot reserved for whenever Simon brought you flowers. It seemed to be a constant thing, and it never failed to have you feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. “I love them. Thank-you.”

“‘Course.” The tone of his voice only confirms your suspicions about something being off, and it has your heart dropping through the floor.

“You should of told me you were coming home. I would of come picked you up!” You smile up at him, trying to gage where his mood is.

“Finished early. Thought I’d surprise you.” His hands come back to your face, holding your head up at the perfect angle. There was a significant height difference between you, so you were in a constant state of looking up at him.

“Did everything go… good?” You ask tentatively. He’d told you some of the things he’s done over there with the 141, but you always try not to pry. You know it’s brutal, and he sees the worst of the world, so when he trusts you with something, you take it to the grave. When he doesn’t, you don’t ask.

“No. Nothing did.” He says, still holding your face up to his. You bend up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to the nose of his mask. “I just needed to see you.”

“I’m glad you’re home.” Your arms wrap around his back, pulling him closer. You press your face into his chest, sinking into the feeling of him being home. After so long, it never gets any easier. Watching him leave, never really knowing when he’d be back. If he was safe. “You want something to eat? I can make dinner.”

He shakes his head, gently pulling your face back from his chest. When your hands snake up his front, he just watches you. He hadn’t even changed out of his clothes— still had that black paint smudged across his eyes. He must of gotten straight on a plane after whatever he was doing had come to an abrupt end. Your fingertips brush his jaw, the bottom of his mask, and when you go to pull it up over his mouth and nose, he doesn’t stop you.

“Can I take it off?” You check, feeling how stiff he is under your hands. He nods once, and tilts his head, allowing you to pull it all the way off. “There you are.”

“I missed you.” He says simply, but the words pack such a punch when he looks like this. To an outsider he’s hard at nails, sharp and pointy and dangerous to get close to, but you see him under the paint and the body armour. “Missed you so fucking bad, baby.”

“Prove it.” You see a flash of his teeth, just the smallest hint of a smile, and your stomach does a backflip because it feels like a win. Then, he leans in, kissing you softly, with the care he would hold broken glass— hands guiding you forward and up, thumbs tracing gently along your cheek bones.

You sigh, nearly melting into his body. Your hands wrap around his neck, toying with the short hair that he’d cut while he was away. You always have to fix it for him when he comes home— he just hacks away at any hair hanging out of his mask, mostly getting frustrated and buzzing it off until he can get you to cut it again. When your fingertips scrape lightly along his skull, he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck.” He mutters as you catch his bottom lip between your teeth, careful to only apply a little bit of pressure. You were sure he was covered in enough painful marks as it was— you didn’t want to add to it. He leans down further, chasing your mouth, foreheads pressing together.

“You wanna talk about it?” He shakes his head then dips down, kissing your jaw, nose nudging you to the side to get better access to your neck. Your breathe hitches and you sigh his name, him smiling in response against your skin. You can feel the black smudge of his face paint slowly covering your own, like a trail of all the places he’s touched you.

“I only wanna hear you sayin’ my name like that. Don’t want to think about—“ You say his name again, drowning out the thoughts of whatever happened over there. That wasn’t now— he was here, and safe, and if he needed to be distracted, that’s exactly what you would give him.

“Need you to wash this paint off first.” You murmur, your voice a little lower than normal, making him almost shudder. You drop your hands from his neck, letting them fall slowly between your bodies before you loop your fingers in his belt buckle, walking backwards. “You’ll get me all dirty.”

“I would’a thought you’d like that.” He grabs a handful of your ass, nearly making you trip over as you step back, but he catches you easily and picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He presses his paint covered face to yours, kissing your nose and face wherever he can reach, and you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous you must look now, covered in smears of black.

“I do. Just want an excuse to see you naked.” You taunt in his ear as he finally reaches the shower and flicks it on, still fully clothed. “You buzzed your hair again.”

“You know I can’t do it right without you.” He puts you down, quickly ripping off his own shirt before reaching for the hem of yours.

He’s slower with it, the fabric brushing against your sides, giving you goosebumps. It doesn’t matter how many times you take your shirt off in front of him, he always looks just as dazed as he did the first time, and you always get just as nervous.

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby. Come ‘ere.”

He pulls you fully under the stream of the shower. It’s one of your favourite places in your shared house— a giant shower head that let the water fall as fine as rain, with enough space for his giant body not to have to bend at awkward angles to wash his hair (when he had some). It was also well big enough for the both of you, a feature you both utilised every morning and night you spent together.

He works at your shorts next, easily slipping you out of the now wet cotton, leaving you just in a set of underwear. They weren’t particularly cute— like you said, you would normally dress up for him to come home, but he wasn’t due for two weeks. Simon didn’t seem to mind, hands running wildly over your body, eyes on fire. You were starting to see him clearer now, the paint running off his face and down his bare chest in shadowed droplets.

“God, Simon…” You lean back just an inch, seeing the new marks on his chest and shoulder. A new bullet wound in the right arm. A gash that extends all the way up his left side. It still looked like it was healing— the stitches must of only come out a few days ago.

“I’m okay.” He says, kissing your collarbone.

“I don’t like when you get hurt.” You whimper, feeling his strong hands grab your hips, pushing your underwear down. “Are you sure—“

“Let me take your mind off it.” He leans down further, kissing your chest, and then drops completely, landing on his knees in front of you. He was so tall that he still needed to bend lower to kiss his way down, feeling his lips press softly on your hip bones, then your stomach. “Look at you. Such a pretty girl.”

He taps your inner thigh with two fingers, a silent command. You follow, spreading your legs slightly. He’s not satisfied, hooking one leg over his shoulder while the other is pinned between him and the wall. At this point you weren’t even holding yourself up— the display of brute strength making your head feel fuzzy.

“Dreamt about this.” He kisses closer, skin that hasn’t been touched in weeks nearly sparking under his manipulation. “Out on base. Couldn’t keep this pussy out of my head.”

“Simon, please.” You beg shamelessly. You have no pride when it comes to him, not when he’s holding you like this, reducing you to putty in his hands before he’s even really touched you.

“Never leaving this house again.” His words nearly get lost between your thighs. You arch your back to encourage him, but he holds you flat. “Gonna keep you here forever. Right here, just like this.”

“Simon.”

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d say my name all pretty like that and let me do whatever I wanted.” You were nodding furiously, hands finding little purchase in his short hair but it was all you could do to get him closer— “Want you to ride my face. Give me everything you’ve got.”

“Okay, please… please just—“

“What, baby?”

“Fucking touch me, Simon. Please.” You know he doesn’t respond to bad manners, so you throw as many around as you can. He smiles between your legs, kissing your thigh once more before you lose sight of his now clean face, burying himself in your pussy. “Fuck!”

He’s no stranger to eating you out— he always tells you how much he loves it, like it’s a reward for him. He always makes you see stars, too, but right now, the way he’s practically taking you apart from the middle out, it wasn’t like anything you’ve felt before. He keeps one hand on your hip, pinning you under him, the other slipping a finger inside of you, working in perfect tandem with his mouth.

You can’t decide what it is, but fuck— maybe it’s the water, how soft it falls on the both of you, combined with the overwhelming feeling of having Simon back early and safe— it was having a physical affect on you. Weak knees that were taking none of your weight in them, choked gasps of his name— your eyes roll back in your head before long, hips bucking wildly against his hold as your whole body shudders with pleasure.

“God— so fucking good for me, princess.” He says, taking a second to pull back and admire how strung out you look before diving back into you. His gaze never leaves you then, watching as your face contorts with every glide of his tongue over your clit, or how every time he moves his hand just right your whole body jolts. He seeks it out again and again, and you can feel him smiling underneath you, watching you writhe as liquid heat spreads all the way through your veins, carrying pleasure to every nerve ending you had.

It was an entire body experience, and you couldn’t even keep your eyes open anymore. You let him get rougher, at some point hooking your other leg over his shoulder, so you were completely suspended in the air. Your thighs clamped around his head, trapping him in position as you neared your high, and Simon only gripped you tighter, his hands kneading the flesh of your ass. He held you hard, in a way that you knew would leave the good kind of bruise, and the image only sky rocketed your state.

“Don’t stop, Si. Fuck— you’re so good, so fucking good, I… ah—“ You cut yourself off when he groans— really groans into you, and you feel him switch gears at the praise. He must like hearing it, how good he is at this. How good he makes you feel. While you still have the ability to talk, you keep going— anything to get him not to stop. “You feel so good, Simon. Gonna make me c— oh fuck, right there.”

You feel the stretch of two of his thick fingers, easing you open, and you know it’s out of your control. There’s an electric feeling in your stomach you don’t recognise, bordering on too much of a good thing. You almost don’t want to fall into it, but Simon, with his talented hands and mouth that’s never satiated, you wouldn’t get much of a choice. Your brain couldn’t move your legs anymore, only able to blank out and take it— take all of what Simon was so desperate to give you, and who were you not to indulge your man?

“C’mon, princess. Let me see you… just let go. Want it so bad, pretty girl.” The pet names, his tongue lapping at your sensitive nerves, his fingers curling inside of you— there was no way to avoid the plummet into overwhelming pleasure, Simons hands being the only thing holding you to the real world.

You cum with a choke of his name, and a string of indiscernible words babble out of your mouth. You hear Simon saying something, but it sounds so far off, your only focus on that feeling. He doesn’t stop, still buried inside of you as close as he can, and he doesn’t let up until your physically clawing at him, flinching away from the lap of his tongue.

You feel wrung out— like you’d just been suffocated and were slowly coming back to consciousness. It was possible you really did pass out, if you were honest. Simon was still holding you up easily, hands now holding your thighs to his shoulders, eyes wide and staring at you in fascination.

“Holy fuck, baby. That was fucking… you are so hot.” Out of breath and energy you manage to burst out laughing at his compliment, feeling yourself slowly sliding down the wall of the shower. Everything felt like jelly, but as Simon bent down to kiss you, your hand brushed against his boxers, and you tugged at them. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you now, baby?”

“Mmm.” You hum, body still twitching from the aftershocks of the biggest orgasm of your life. You tug harder at the seam of his boxers, and he kisses your forehead.

“Shh. Take a minute.” Your eyebrows furrow together, feeling a little juvenile in your fuzzy state.

“Please, Si. I’ve waited so long for this. Please, just…” You slip the fabric over his cock, already hard and waiting, and duck your hand under to stroke him gently. He swears, shuddering under your soft touch. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Turn around, princess.” He breathes, and you smile victoriously, getting another laugh out of him. “Fuckin’ insatiable.”

“Only for you.” He helps you get onto all fours, rough palms of his hands smoothing over your ass and lower back.

“Mhmm. Mine, aren’t you?” You nod, feeling him lean down to kiss your shoulder blades before you feel his cock, sliding between your legs and settling at your entrance. He gives you a second or two— it always takes you a while to adjust to the pure size of him when he gets home. You’d never say it, but you hope you never get used to it. A bit of pain with the pleasure he rings from you seems a fair trade for all the dirty things he says when he finally enters you.

You push back against him, making him hiss as a little more of his length disappears into you. He lightly smacks your ass just once and you arch into the touch. He’s never been one to throw you around, not wanting to even think about the possibility of hurting the one good thing he has in this life— but he can’t help but be memorised by the way you react when he treats you a little tougher. He does it again, and hearing your moan is apparently the last thing he needs to bottom out behind you.

You both sigh— finally feeling each other this way. There was something to be said about the first fuck when he came home. It was so much more than that. It was like something from a movie, how they called it making ‘love’. You’d always thought it one and the same— until you met Simon. He starts slow, purposeful as he drove his hips back and forth in a pace that had you feeling dizzy after just a few thrusts. He was so strong without even knowing, you had to smack your hand to the wall to keep from sliding away every-time his hips collided with yours. He hit spots inside of you you never knew you had until you met him, and it was borderline embarrassing how quickly you felt that ball of pleasure in your stomach tighten— preparing for release.

“So tight. Always t-take me so fuckin’ good. Jesus Christ.” Hearing Simon Riley stumble over his words was the ego boost of the century.

“Just like that, Si. Fuck.” You feel one of his hands sliding up higher, touching any part of you he could reach— hands brushing over your side, your tits, reaching up to tangle in your hair. When he pulls slightly it has you squeezing your eyes shut, the combination of his touch all over you making you dizzy.

He starts to come back to himself, talking constantly as he drives his hips harder and faster. Constant praises come out in a low, raspy voice, only interrupted by you chorusing them back to him. It had always been like this with him, the filter between his brain and mouth broken as soon as he got inside you, leading to a string of compliments too dirty to repeat anywhere else— but it was the hottest fucking thing in the world to you.

“C-can’t last much longer, princess. S’feels too good.” He slurs, and you look over your shoulder. His shoulders are completely relaxed, jaw slack and eyes half open, and there’s none of that stiffness from before when he came home. Now, he was in his element, not thinking about whatever went wrong on the outside— he was just here with you.

“Fuck, gonna cum, Simon— just a little m-fuck.” You didn’t have to tell him, he knows your body better than you do, and when his hand slips under your hips so that he can circle your clit in soft, quick movements, your arms drop out from under you as pleasure overwhelms you. This time, you’re pretty sure you do pass out, the only thing you can hold onto in that in-between is Simons voice.

“There it is. Fuck—yes… yes. Fuck!” He swears the whole way through as he cums, and you feel him pull out at the last second, warmth spreading over your ass and lower back. You try to pick yourself up, giving him a pretty picture, but your body is so weak that you just stay right where he puts you. His free hand grips your waist, keeping the backs of your thighs pressed to the front of his.

The water was still running a warm stream over the both of you, and when Simon’s orgasm wrings out the last few jolts of pleasure, he’s just as fucked out as you are. All but collapsing over the top of you, he keeps himself up with one arm, the other wrapping underneath both your bodies. He kisses along the back of your shoulder blades, murmuring praise into your skin.

“Baby… baby. Missed you.” He repeats, and you turn your head, finding the strength to hold yourself up a little to kiss him. Once he knows your starting to come back, he switches positions, using the arm underneath you to hold you to him as he leans himself against the wall of the shower, your back tucked to his chest.

“Missed you more.” You look up, finding him staring down at you. He smiles then, and your still a little dazed but he just looks so good when he smiles— “I love you.”

“I love you.” He repeats.

It might just be the heat of what you just did mixed with the warm stream of water above you, but you swear he blushes. No matter how many times you say it to each other, he still reacts like that. You both sit in silence for a little, your body now tired and slumping against him, held up by his arms wrapped around your middle, holding you tightly.

“You scared me a little, when you came home.” You say softly, your hands tracing along his forearm. “I never know how to make it all okay— I can’t make it okay.”

“You just gotta be here. That’s all I need.” His head dips to lean down, leaning on your shoulder.

“I will be. Always.” You say, never meaning anything more. It’s been years of you knowing Simon, just a little less than that being his, but you know this is it for you. Even when you first met him, you knew you’d always be there when he came home— waiting for him.

“We… we lost some good people this time. Just makes me think.” He hugs you closer, feeling his hands splay out in your sides. “This guy got caught in the crossfire, I don’t know what happened, but I watched them tell his girlfriend. She just lost it.”

You swallow hard, hearing his voice crack.

“The boys said they found her photo in his wallet. A ring, too. Was gonna propose.”

“Jesus.” He nods, head still firmly tucked into the crook of your neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“I had to get out, come home for a bit after this one. I don’t want… there’s so much stuff I need to do, stuff I want to tell you about, and if I didn’t make it back—“

“Don’t think like that. You’ll always come home. You promised me you would.” Your throat tightens, trying your best not to cry at a time like this. You couldn’t help it when he spoke like that.

“I know, baby. I just mean…” He takes in a long breath, then looks up, tilting your head so he could look you in the eye. “I don’t wanna leave here without you knowing how much I— that I…”

“I know.” You let your fingertips drag softly along his jaw, but he shakes his head.

“No, I… fuck— I’m sorry.” You sit up, a little worried about where this is going. His hands leave your waist, holding your face in the same gentle way he did when he came home. “It just… you deserve so much, and I want to give it to you. The whole flight over— longer than that, I’ve been thinking about asking you something. I just don’t know how.”

“You can ask me anything.” Kneeling between his legs, your hands press to his chest, feeling the racing of his heart. You lean forward, kissing him, telling him all the words you can’t fit into the moment. Whatever he takes from it seems to be enough— because as well as he knew you, you knew him too. He pulls away, and when he does, you don’t see any traces of the man people seem to fear, or hate.

You just see him.

You nearly hold your breath in anticipation, watching as his eyes flit between your mouth and your eyes.

“Simon.” You say again, and his eyes flutter closed. Then he pulls you forward, and utters two words that shift your entire world on its axis.

“Marry me.”

[exactlymaximumgarden]

hi ;) i love your lc!schlatt writes can you write some fluff w him

hi anon! for sure i can. this is definitely a little self-indulgent so sorry abt that looool

the cacophony of voices echoing from inside the lunch club house is currently muffled as you and schlatt sit outside. it’s a rare occasion - a cool summer’s night in los angeles. you can pick out various members’ voices distinctly, although for the most part, they blend in with the thick aussie drawl from the misfits. as much fun as your boyfriend has filming with his friends and getting to collaborate with other content creator groups, sometimes he just needs a breather. tonight is one of those nights.

you peer out of your periphery to check on how he’s doing. he stands beside you, elbows propped on the balcony’s edge as he gazes wordlessly up at the stars. his chocolatey eyes glimmer as they fixate on the sky while the moonlight casts a pale glow on his skin. it’s almost hard to tear your eyes off him.

“i see you starin’.”

you nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice ringing out. you were so lost in your daze that you practically forgot he was a sentient being and not just a statue you could admire.

“is that so bad?” you reply teasingly, trying to cover for your being caught.

“nah.” he turns his head to fully face you, his signature grin adorning his lips. “i like when you do that.”

“yeah? why’s that?”

“gives me an ego boost to know someone as pretty as you thinks i’m worth starin’ at.” he playfully nudges you with his hip as you scoff.

“smooth.”

“how’d you guess my middle name?” you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes at his pathetic attempts at flirting as his arms snake around your waist. your height difference makes it so easy for him to rest his chin atop your head, but you don’t really mind. a cool night breeze dances through the air, lightly tickling both of your faces as you stand there wordlessly. the only sounds now are your soft breathing and the rowdy voices coming from inside the house, which are beginning to fade further and further away as you allow yourself to relish in this moment with schlatt.

this is what peace feels like.

it might be seconds, minutes, or hours before you speak next. you can’t tell. time doesn’t seem to function like it should when it’s just the two of you. “should we go back inside soon?” you whisper. “the others might be wondering where we went.”

“who cares?” he murmurs in response, his grip on your waist tightening as he tilts his head down to press a kiss to your cheek. “let ‘em wonder. i want a little more time with my baby.”

you can’t bite back your grin, relaxing into his lanky form behind you. “can’t argue with that one.”

“good.” his answer comes accompanied by a soft chuckle. you tilt your head back instinctively, wanting to catch the traces of his laughter on his face before they fade, only to meet his adoring gaze already glancing back down at you. “god, you’re so beautiful, you know that? so beautiful.”

“schlatt!” you whine his name, growing increasingly flustered at his compliments. he doesn’t frequently dole them out verbally simply due to his awkwardness, but when he does, they set your heart aflutter. 

“i mean it!” his hands slide down a short distance from your waist to your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze to catch your attention. “i love ya, baby. i really do.”

even in the dim night light, the both of your blushes are clearly visible to the other.

“and i love you.”

[chaosandmarigolds]

trzy!! Of EMS Au thingy! (Ok I might need to figure out a name)

summary: Simon Riley is going to find himself hopelessly in love with the newest Paramedic on base, but unfortunately he is just…horrible at showing it. Fem reader! “And what happened last night?”

you hum mindlessly as you look up from your computer, typing out a personal narrative for the files and you then lean back in the seat. A moment passed as you go through the events of the last twelve hours, trying to choose what would be best to give the day shift- Mary- so you shrug after a moment, “I dunno, pretty easy stuff. Mostly IFTs, and a slight car accident.”

she sets down her purse, “Why were you dispatched then?”

“Mary…” you frown to the question, “can’t exactly say.” Her eyebrows furrow and she pulls her hair up into a bun, walking over to the monitors and then pushes your chair away, reading the PCR, “OH MY GOD. I was literally talking to Sergeant Garrick about this ten seconds ago!!”

“Garrick?” “don’t worry, you’ll meet him soon, same team as MacTavish and Riley. I mean, your team,” she pats your shoulder, since you would be taking her position within the team and base (long story short she had been offered a better position)

with a little hum you look down at your hands and clear your throat, “Lieutenant Riley-“

“terrifying, stay away from him, I’ve had to clean up his messed on the field enough.” The woman grumbles as she unpacks her bag. with a spin of the chair you look to her, “I thought he was kind.”

that made her pause and look to you, a deep frown on her face, “Honey, trust me. He isn’t kind.”

-

“Oh the FUCK did you two get into a car accident?” Kyle practically yelled into the gymnasium, as if was relatively empty.

Johnny looked out from behind the boxing bag, that he was holding still for Simon and he smiles to the questions, “I let LT drive, tha’ why.”

Kyle faltered to that notion but gave into it, as it did make sense, and he nods, walking over to them, “An you had to the ambulance back-“

“eh didn’t have-“

“Truck was totaled.”

they both fall quiet when Simon spoke up, looking over to the man who was now taking off his hand wrappings. Johnny then nodded, nudging Kyle, “Was it? Or did ya like ya lil nurse?” “not a nurse. She’s a medic.”

“Difference is?”

“She’s gonna be on the field.”

Kyle slowly nodded, “Mary was telling me we’re gettin a new medic, since she’s goin to…somewhere can’t remember where.”

If that didn’t catch his interest they supposed nothing ever would, because he had slowed his actions down and he paused to think.

well, fuck-

(teehee, as per usual, I like comments, they genuinely make my day. Hope you enjoyed! Toodles!)

[graves4girls]

☆ 18+ meddle about | hobie brown

✩ summary: he just loves everything about you, but he especially loves your thighs. ✮ word count: 1.2k ⚠︎ warning(s): 18+, unprotected, semi-public, fem!reader he <3s thick thighs argue with the wall also he def didn't pay for the pants either... ✧ be sure to check out my work on ao3 ⇢ gravesforgirls !!

It was nothing short of an infatuation. He couldn't help it. They were just so pretty and soft and perfect, and he was only so strong.

He absolutely loves when he can just lay his head in your lap and nearly fall asleep as you gently rake your fingers up and down his bare back, big hand palming at your thigh akin to a cat kneading a blanket, squeezing and massaging the soft plane of skin with his rough fingertips. He presses kisses into them, mumbling utter nonsense as he lays there, and he nibbles gentle marks into the inner parts of your thighs. It doesn't even have to be risqué, though he doesn't mind if it happens to end in you pinned beneath him, he just likes being nestled between them, soft skin pressing against his cheeks as he lays there, lazily kissing at the warm skin.

That said, he loves seeing you in tight pants, or mini skirts, or anything that really accentuates your thighs. Especially super skinny leather pants. The way the fabric hugs every curve so perfectly, not to mention so vividly, has him near drooling. He can't keep his hands off you when you step out of the small fitting room stall, eyeing you up and down.

"Give me a twirl. Gotta make sure it fits right."

You know what he's doing, and you roll your eyes with a small swat to his chest as he grins, but you spin anyway, biting back a laugh when you catch the way he stares.

"Look good?"

"Fuckin' peng. C'mere."

Before you can really even step closer,  he's already wrapping his lean arms around your waist, kissing you with a sudden fierceness that has you letting out an embarrassing noise when he presses you against the door, big hands sliding from your waist to grab at your ass, the shiny leather material squealing under the friction of his hands. You press a hand to his chest, a weak attempt at getting him to slow down.

"Not here, Hobie."

He grumbles against your lips, lifting a hand to push open the door and walking you back into the stall, reaching behind him to twist the lock, still latched onto you.

"Can't wait anymore. You been getting me all worked up since that first dress you tried. Lucky I held out for that long."

Your hands snake around his neck to keep him close, clutching at his vest when he lifts you against the thin wall, pressing against you to keep you upright. "Didn't realize you liked 'em that much." Your legs clamp around his hips to give you that little more stability.

He nods, lips leaving yours to eagerly trail down your throat. "These ones sent me over the edge. You look fuckin' amazing." One of his hands slips between you to toy with the button of the pants for a second before he's popping it open, tugging down the zipper and shoving the tight garment down your thighs, ogling a bit at the way the fabric constricts around the plump swell. 

He doesn't even bother to pull them down any further, too busy clambering to undo his ridiculous amount of studded belts to care about ridding you of it completely. He's rocking against you with a desperation that has you slinking a hand down between your thighs to press your fingertips against your barely concealed clit, heels digging into the back of his pelvic bone as he undoes his skinny jeans.

"So pretty." His hand nudges at your own to push you away, replacing your fingers with his own, and you hum when he pushes aside your panties to touch you properly. "Already so wet for me, babe. Bet you can't wait for me to fill you up, innit." His long fingers press against your warm walls, calloused thumb circling your clit.

You whine with a small nod, rolling your hips into his hand as best you can, what with the minimal stability you have at the moment. He's watching the way your thighs squeeze around his hand, movement extremely limited by the tight leather still clutching at your legs, pulled taut with the way your ankles lock behind his back. You bite down on your bottom lip to keep quiet, back arching off the wall when he curls his fingers, and you don't even have to look at him to know he has that shit-eating grin painted on his lips, warm breath fanning across your ear as he leans closer to drop kisses across your jaw bone.

"Gonna fuck these pretty thighs. Gonna come all over 'em." His words trail off into unintelligible groans, and you shake your head gently.

"Want you to fuck me. Please. S'all I want."

The slight break in your quiet voice has him sputtering, hand faltering against you as he registers your plea, huffing quietly. Who is he to decline your request when you've asked so nicely?

"Sure. Yeah, okay." He gives in almost immediately as he presses his warm forehead to your shoulder, one hand leaving you to push down the hem of his briefs, breath shuddering whenever the head of his cock presses against your slick folds.

You spit into his palm when he holds it up to your face, and he tugs at his –now painfully hard– cock a few times before he's stretching you open, stuffing his face into your neck to press hot kisses into your already searing skin, groaning against your throat when your walls close around him.

He's thumbing over your sensitive clit, rocking into you all the while muttering mindless praise into your ear, and your nails dig into the leather of his vest as you slowly tip over the edge, muffling your noises in his neck. He continues to mumble any and every compliment he can think of as you come down, and you nearly whimper when he's pulling out of you, lifting your knees from around his slim waist to clamp your legs together against your chest, the tip of his cock sinking into the tight crease where your thighs meet. He's so desperate now, accent so thick you can barely make out anything he's saying as he fucks up into the cramped space, and you can tell he's close whenever his hips stutter, sloppy as he tries to stay composed.

He paints your bare thighs in thick white stripes, watching the way it drips down as he slowly lowers your feet to the floor, and you hum when he leans closer to press kisses to your sticky skin.

"What am I supposed to do about this?" You gesture to the mess on your legs, and he follows your gaze, pouting a bit.

Before you can scold him though, he throws off his vest, tugging his tattered shirt over his head and leaning down to wipe you clean. You cringe at the action, scrunching your face as he grins.

"That's so gross."

"I'll toss it. I've loads more tops in far better condition."

You try to convince yourself the employees aren't staring at the two of you as you rush out of the store, only swiping at him once you're out of sight from the business, as if he was at any more fault than you were. You did allow him to fuck you senseless in the fitting room, after all. Who's keeping track, anyways?

He did in fact get you those leather pants while you were getting dressed. 

[beyondthesefourwalls]

Wildflowers & Wine

Summary: He hadn’t seen you coming, but you entered his life like you had always been there, in a burnt orange dress and high heels and champagne sipped away from the rest of the world. Bradley fell in love with you that first night and now he can’t imagine his life without you. He couldn’t bring himself to care that it had only been four months. 

Notes: Can be read as an independent one shot. This is part of The Forgotten Moments collection that will explore Pumpkin and Bradley's relationship before and coinciding with the events of Remember You Even When I Don't.

Written for @roosterforme's #love is in the air tgm challenge. Sorry for being so late, Em!

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n so can be read as unnamed OC)

Warnings: Fluff, proposals

Song Inspiration: Wildflowers & Wine by Marcus King.

-------

His palms are sweating. He’s not really sure why, but the cellophane covering the bouquet of wildflowers he’s holding is dangerously close to slipping out of his hand.  It’s summertime in DC and it’s been raining today, and he tells himself that’s the reason for the sudden clamminess, even though not a single other part of him is having the same issue. He clenches his fingers a little tighter as he jogs up the steps to your fifth floor walk up.

The look you give him when you open the door is a playful kind of exasperation, already rolling your eyes. Like it has for the last four months, his heart skips a beat when he sees you.

God, you’re so beautiful. 

“I told you it was open!” you exclaim, moving aside to let him in. He doesn’t step past you, instead crowding you against the open blue door. 

“And I told you that you need to keep your door locked. You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.” 

You smile into the kiss he gives you, chasing after his lips when he pulls away for one more. He happily lets you; he would never pass up the opportunity to kiss you. 

“I knew you were almost here,” you explain away, speaking the words directly against his mouth.

“Doesn’t matter, lock your door,” he mutters, one hand coming up to cup the side of your neck as he lets you deepen the kiss. You smell like lavender and vanilla and he steps a little bit closer, his body flush with yours against the door. He hasn’t seen you for a few days and it was amazing how even just a minute in your presence already has him relaxing in a way he can’t achieve on his own. He pecks your lips once, twice, three more times before he pulls away completely, grinning broadly. 

“Hi,” you smile up at him, arms wrapped around his midsection. 

“Hi, Pumpkin,” he returns. He wonders if you can see the fondness in his eyes, if not written all over his face. He gets lost in your gaze for a moment, but the opening of another apartment door down the hall snaps the both of you out of it. He nudges you further into your apartment, closing and making an exaggerated show of locking your door. You huff out a laugh, and he thinks maybe that same fondness is looking back at him right now. The cellophane crinkles in his hand and he holds the bouquet that had fallen to his side during his greeting out to you. 

You take them with a happy hum, bringing them up to your nose to inhale the scent of the multi-colored flowers. “Thank you, baby.” 

You’re still in the dress you wore today and he enjoys how it flares around you when you spin to take them into the kitchen. He follows behind you, wanting to be closer, even if he could easily throw something from one side of the room to the other with little effort and perfect accuracy; DC real estate didn’t afford for much in the area of square footage. 

“I ordered pizza - it should be here soon,” you tell him as you dig around one of your cabinets for a vase. You fill it with water and inhale the flowers once more before depositing them into it. You’re looking at them like they’re the best gift you’ve ever gotten, but that’s just how you were - appreciative and grateful for things that most would consider little. It was one of the many things he loved about you. 

You ask him about his day and he answers you somewhat absentmindedly, caught up in just how beautiful you look. The evening light is casting a golden glow through the window and the colors reflect off your face, making you look almost ethereal, not that it was hard to achieve for you. You always left him a little bit breathless. 

You grab a bottle of wine from the countertop and tell him about the interview that you conducted that day. Your face is so expressive, your excitement and passion about what you’re talking about evident as you pour two glasses. He takes one of them from you, clinking the glass with yours before taking a sip. It was something he learned that very first night he met you, sitting out on the terrace as a wedding reception raged inside - you don’t drink until you cheers. It was quirky, but oh so very you, and he hadn’t broken the rule since. 

The pizza arrives and he joins you on the floor, your old, well worn coffee table serving as your table, your backs against the couch. You steal the jalapenos off his slice and he takes some of the pepperoni from yours in retaliation. You laugh together as you eat and it’s everything Bradley has ever wanted. It’s so simple, so domestic, but he swears every dinner with you is better than the last. There’s music playing from the cheap record player you recently got off Amazon in the background and he reassures you that it doesn’t sound bad, but the old school one his mom always played when he was growing up definitely sounded better. 

“I don’t remember seeing it in your apartment,” you comment, shifting so that your body is facing his, legs draped over his thighs.

“It’s not,” he shrugs, his hand rubbing up and down your calves. He takes a sip out of his glass. He had never really liked wine before, but it was growing on him, the more time he spent with you. “It would never fit. I have it in my storage unit, though. With the rest of their things.” 

“Ah. Maybe we can go get it one day. You can show me what a real record player sounds like.”  

You’re teasing him, he knows, but he also knows you would in a heartbeat if he were to ask. It was something he marveled at; you so willingly talked about plans, his life intertwined with yours, like you could see the future together as easily as he could. 

And he could. Genuinely and fully. 

He’s standing before he really realizes he’s doing it. He holds a hand out to you from where you’re still sitting on the floor. “Dance with me.” 

Your happy giggle at his random request fills the room, but you don’t hesitate to place your hand in his and let him pull you up and directly into his chest. You fit against him perfectly, soft and warm. You dance around the room for several songs, some more upbeat than others. He spins you out a few times, loving the way you laugh and how your dress flutters with the movement, and you give a small shriek when he dips you unexpectedly. He kisses you before you can complain, bringing you back straight. 

When the music slows down, you wrap your arms around his neck while he does the same around your waist. You sway slowly, not really moving from the one area of carpet you had ended up in. The old scratchy record croons in the background, and the song is almost over when you finally break the silence the two of you had fallen into. 

“You know, I think I may have a solution to your issue with me locking my door.” 

He raises an eyebrow, looking down at you in curiosity. “Oh yeah?” 

You hum in response, bringing a hand between you to fiddle with one of the buttons on his Hawaiian shirt. You had complimented this one a little more than the others and he was intentional with putting it on today. “I could just give you a key,” you shrug, trying to appear more nonchalant than what he could tell you were feeling. “Save you some trouble.” 

Bradley swallows thickly. He wasn’t surprised by the suggestion, not really; the two of you had joked about it before. What he was surprised at, though, was how small and almost insignificant the notion made him feel. Not because he isn’t grateful or doesn’t want it, but because he realizes with a sudden clarity that he wants so, so much more.  

He hadn’t seen you coming, but you entered his life like you had always been there, in a burnt orange dress and high heels and champagne sipped away from the rest of the world. The last few months with you had been the best of his life, with no close comparison. He knew how quickly it seemed to everyone else. But he meant it when he said he loved you on your first date and everytime after that, too. You make him feel things he has never felt before and that he knows he’ll never feel with anyone else. You make him feel deserving, worthy of love, something he had always struggled with. But it was easy to believe when you offered yours so freely to him. 

He fell in love with you that first night and now he can’t imagine his life without you. He wants to buy you flowers and drink cheap red wine or champagne and dance with you for no reason for the rest of his life, and he knows that a key to the apartment he already stayed in most nights wouldn’t be enough. 

His heart races and his palms feel clammy again, and he wonders if in the back of his mind, this was always going to happen tonight. 

“I have another idea,” he finally manages to get out. You had been patiently waiting for his response, still swaying back and forth in his arms. 

“What’s that?” you ask quietly.

“You could marry me,” he whispers. He tightens his hold on you when you gasp in surprise. Your lips part and your eyes widen, but you never stop moving with him. 

“Marry me,” he says again, more confidence seeping into him the longer you go without saying no. It’s crazy, he knows, but he doesn’t care. 

“I-Bradley. Are you..are you serious?” 

He nods, feeling the emotion start to well in his eyes. Yours are starting to glass over as well, but you’re starting to smile, too, and his heart skips a beat. 

“You’re crazy,” your voice breaks on the words, the same ones you had said after he told you he loved you at the end of your first date, before you said the words back to him a few hours later. He shrugs, not denying what you’re saying. He catches the tear that slips down your cheek.

“Marry me.” 

When he looks into your eyes, he sees all that he feels for you staring right back at him. And it takes a moment, your gaze never leaving his, but he knows the exact moment you decide. Those beautiful eyes light up and your arms tighten around his body and he’s smiling before you even say the word. 

“Yes,” you whisper. The small scream you let out when he picks you up dissolves into laughter as he spins you around in circles, right there in the fading light filling your small living room.  The scratchy record plays in the background as his lips find yours and he knows, he knows, all the way down to his bones and ingrained in every single part of his brain, that he’s going to love you for the rest of his life.

-------

masterlist

Notes: I hope you all enjoyed it! If you have anything you want to see for these two, feel free to drop me an ask or visit my inbox!

Tagging those who may be interested, apologies if I left anyone out: @roosterforme - @mak-32 - @greatszu - @gretagerwigsmuse -@notroosterbradshaw - @sometimesanalice - @teacupsandtopgun - @roosterbruiser - @je-suis-prest-rachel - @cowboybarbie - @alilstressyandlotdepressy - @rosiahills22 - @ghost-s-mask - @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog - @bellaireland1981 - @justabigassnerd - @sarcasm-n-insomnia - @m00n-s-jinnis - @eli2447 - @ccbb2222 - @littlezee80 - @zalmael - @candid-confetti - @ijustwantedplums - @moondancediner - @shanimallina87 - @lt-spork - @wildxwidow - @thisiwhy-idontleavethehouse - @abovetheharddeck - @roosterscock - @jynxmirage - @too-fangirl-to-fuction - @indynerdgirl

[something-tofightfor]

Smutsgiving Feast 2023: Mashed Potatoes and Gravy / Frankie & Pope

Pairing: Frankie x Reader x Pope (Caught On)

Word Count: 1,061

Rating: M.

Author's Note: Thanks to @the-blind-assassin-12 for suggesting this pairing ... it was nice to get back to them. And it gives you some hints about where Caught On is going long-term.

Summary: Frankie and Santi keep things interesting at dinner.

It was hard for you to remember a time before you’d had both of them in your life, and as you looked around the bustling room, you realized that you didn’t want to ever go back to that. Who would? 

Locking eyes with Pope first, you watched his nose wrinkle before he grinned at you, lifting his fork before he took a bite of potatoes. “You’re eating dry ass potatoes, Santiago?” Frankie leaned closer from his seat next to you, his confusion apparent. “No butter? No gravy? That shit makes everything better. Who are you and what have you done with -”

“There’s plenty of butter in them, ‘Fish.” Pope swallowed, head moving back and forth. “And some of us like to taste what we’re eating, not drown it in something else entirely.” He shrugged. “Worry about what’s on your own plate, pendejo.” You snorted at that, lifting the glass to your lips to disguise the sound, but Pope continued. “I can think of a couple things that taste just fine without adding anything else to ‘em.” 

His eyes flicked to you briefly and when Pope winked, you nearly choked on your drink, spluttering as you covered your mouth with one hand. Oh, he didn’t. He didn’t just … Frankie’s hand was immediately on your back, the man patting it gently as you coughed and tried to swallow, refusing to look at either of them. 

It wasn’t exactly a secret to your friends that the three of you were together, but it was bold of Pope to mention it at Thanksgiving dinner, Will’s house filled with the entire extended Miller family along with some of Pope and Frankie’s family members. Benny and Will know what’s going on, but nobody else is … “You’re right.” Frankie’s patting turned into rubbing, the weight of his hand moving in slow circles soothing you. “Some things taste perfect as is.”

“Christ, you two are …” They’re going to kill me one of these days. One or both of them, and - 

“100% correct?” Pope raised a brow, sipping from his beer.  "Qualified enough to know what we’re talking about?”

“Experienced enough to be sure?” Frankie nudged you with his knee, leaning closer so that he could speak into your ear, though you didn’t - couldn’t - look away from Pope. “Maybe we need another chance to test out that theory, though.” Your eyes widened and so did Santi’s smile, the man obviously aware to some degree what his best friend was saying. They didn’t even plan this and they’re still… unbelievable. 

“If the two of you don’t quit it, the only thing you’ll be putting in your mouth for the foreseeable future is fucking microwave dinners, so …” Frankie laughed first and then Pope joined in, your mock annoyance gone moments later when you laughed with them, leaning over to rest your head on Frankie’s shoulder. “I love you, Francisco.” 

“Love you too.” He turned his head to kiss yours, exhaling when you straightened up and caught Pope’s eye again, giving him a soft smile. And you too, Santi. He nodded once, returning the smile. But three can play this game. 

You reached for the gravy boat, picking it up and then tipping it over your plate as your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I think I’m with Frankie on this one though. Sorry, Pope.” Purposely letting some of the liquid drip down the side of the container, you swiped at it with your thumb and then brought the digit to your mouth, licking it clean. “Big sauce fan over here. Especially white sauce. Gravy is good, but -”

“Cool it.” You stopped when you felt the weight of two hands on your shoulders. Your mouth fell open as you jerked your head back, looking up and at Will’s annoyed expression. Whoops. He bent down, lowering his voice. “Unless you want to explain to my extended family that you’re married to Frankie and sleepin’ with Pope, and the three of you are -”

“Sorry, Will.” Pressing your lips together, you winced. “But they started it.” 

“Oh, I know they did. No doubt.” He squeezed your shoulders and then stood back up, looking first at Frankie and then at Pope before  gesturing to the rest of the room. “And for the record, I agree with you, Santi. Some things just taste so goddamn good they don’t need -” 

That was as far as he got before all of you were laughing, the outburst loud enough to attract the attention of a few of the other people on the room. Alright well… that ends that. Picking up your fork you took a bite of your gravy-covered potatoes, focusing back on your plate. The two men were trouble on their own, but together they were a force - and it was something that you were fortunate enough to experience on  regular basis. I’m the luckiest person alive. 

Will wandered off to speak to his mother and you, Frankie and Pope returned to your dinner. The sounds of forks scraping against plates was all that you heard until Frankie finished, standing up and heading to the kitchen with his empty plate. You eyed Pope again, but he was focused on his food, chasing the last remnants of the meal around on his plate with his fork. 

But he reached for his phone at the same time yours vibrated, Pope’s eyes widening as he read what was on the screen before glancing up at you and smirking, the device still in one hand. Frankie, what the fuck are you doing? 

You checked your messages then, too, and were unable to hold back your laughter at the text message - to the point and so Frankie that it made you ache. 

You should probably come over later, Pope. We gotta settle this once and for all. 

“Sounds good to me.” Pope’s mumbled words were accompanied by a few taps on his screen and a thumbs up emoji, and when you replied with a message of your own a few seconds later, you heard Frankie laugh from the kitchen when he saw the message. 

I’m very full. Had a big dinner. You two are terrible influences. 

It only took a few moments, but you got replies from both men at just about the same time, Frankie’s message loading only seconds before Pope’s. 

There’s always room for dessert. 

You think you're full... but I know you've always got room for us. 

— 

[miyuhpapayuh]

Shame on me.

“It’s a shame for you,

It’s a shame for me..

Is the blame on you?

I could say the same for me!

After the wrong, is there a right?”

That’s exactly what she was wondering as she watches her boyfriend of one year, Lucky, sing to another random girl on stage.

It wasn’t even the fact that he was singing to them, because she understood the attraction that women had towards him, and she couldn’t blame them.

But, she didn’t think there was any real reason why he should be getting down on his knees and gripping them up and being all in their faces.

She’s expressed her slight frustration, once, and he chalked it up to her being paranoid. And of course, when that wasn’t enough to make her calm down, he fucked every doubt right out of her mind.

But, that only holds over for so long.

So, here they are again. Lucky out there on bended knee making some pretty brown girl squeal with joy, while his lover fumes behind the curtains.

After the show was over and the pair were on their way home, the unwanted conversation lingered in the air.

With her arms folded across her chest, she stared out of the window at the dark blue sky, while Lucky kept a tight grip on the steering wheel, already knowing that this was about to tear up his nerves.

“Wassup, baby?” He asks, briefly looking in her direction. “Why you facin’ the window?”

“Hm. I could think of a couple reasons, but I’ll keep ‘em to myself.”

He sucks his teeth. “Let’s not do this, tonight.”

“That’s why I said I’ll keep ‘em to myself.” She snaps, looking in his direction.

“Here we go.”

“David, please. If you’re not gonna be real, then just leave it alone.”

Taking offense, he pulls into an empty lot and parks the car.

She rolls her eyes, not moving her position. “It’s dark out here and you playin’.”

“I’m not playin’. I’m bein’ real. Wassup witchu?” He nudges her arm, pissing her off.

“You know exactly wassup with me. But, it ain’t no big deal to you, so whatever.”

“You sure? Cause, it’s whatever doesn’t sound like a very solid stance.”

She rolls her eyes. "Leave me alone."

He stares at her. “You gon tell me what's got you so angry or is it still whatever?"

“Fuck you, Lucky. Seriously.” She spats, fully facing him. "You know why I'm upset. It's why I'm always upset, with no good reason, according to you."

“You know what? I don’t know what it’s gonna take for you to understand. Why we gotta argue? You don’t see me blowin’ up at you for them lil stunts you be pullin’!” He responds.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Right. We got amnesia, now? You don’t be posting half naked all over Instagram, every week?”

“Are you serious, right now?” She asks.

“Dead serious.  You always trippin’ and goin’ on bout me and what I be doin’, like you ain’t out here lookin’ like you want some attention.”

“Well, I wonder why the fuck that is!” She huffs.

“So, that’s my fault too, huh?” He chuckles, resuming his driving to their destination.

“Fucking duh.” She grumbles, continuing to stare out of the window.

“I’m not looking for anybody’s attention, but yours. You stupid motherfucker. But, you’re too busy giving it to them heffas you call fans.”

“You act like I’m cheating on you.”

“You might as well be.” She quips.

“Just let me know when you’re ready to have a rational conversation.” He pats her knee, chuckling again as she jerks away from his touch.

Back at home, the pair’s annoyance with each other continued to fester.

“Aren’t you tired of walking back and forth, yet?” Lucky asks, growing tired of her pacing the expansive floor in front of their bed. “Come sit down, please.”

“Not if you’re not gonna listen to me. I might as well go downstairs.”

“I’m listening to you! I’ve been all ears, all night!” He grows defensive, his voice rising by the slightest.

“Lucky, fix your tone.” She warns.

Sighing to himself, he shakes his head. “Please, just come and sit down.”

Reluctantly sitting down beside him, she looks up at him. He’s already staring back at her.

“Talk.”

“I’m not cheating on you. I go out on stage and do my job. You know I love my fans. I just go out there and make ‘em happy. That’s it. I’m sorry that I made you feel disrespected and neglected, baby. That was never my intention.” He frowns, reaching out to grab her hands into his own.

“You know how I get.. it’s no excuse, but I just can’t handle someone being that close to you. Touching you and clinging onto you like I do. And, it makes it worse when you indulge, but I know that’s your job. I got it. I’m sorry, too.”

“That’s how I felt, when you was postin’ that shit on the gram.” He snorts, “had ya ass hangin’ out, muhfuckas lookin’ at my goods and shit.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” She pouts.

“I should bend you ova’ my knee,” his deep brown eyes glow in the dimly lit room. She fails to hide the smirk growing on her lips.

As the tension leaves the room, it’s quickly replaced by lust so thick, it clouds their minds.

“Come’ere.” She beckons him with a single finger, resulting in him tackling her into the sheets, pulling and yanking at her clothes, until she’s as naked as the day she was born.

She tugs on the bottom of his shirt, before his hands place hers on the bed. “Stay just like this.”

Kissing her rebuttal away, his lips touch every part of her skin as he sinks into her lap, guiding her long legs over his shoulders.

Her hands quickly thread into his coils, tugging as his tongue glides over her clit, down to her opening and back up.

Over and over.

“Oh fuuuuuuck!” She moans.

“Mmmmh,” he moans against her, driving her wild. His hands rubbing up and down her sides.

“Shit!,” she breathes. “Just like that!”

Adding his index and middle finger to the equation, she explodes in no time.

But, he didn’t cease, until he brought her to another climax so intense, she damn near pushed him away.

He chuckles, rising up from the bed to strip.

“I ain’t even gave you this dick yet, baby. Don’t tap out on me, yet.”

Sinking back into between her legs, his eyes lock on hers as they move in sync.

“I love you,” he mumbles over her parted lips, her breathing slowly picking up.

“I love you, too.”

Hips grinding against hers, poking at that spot that seizes her up.

“Yes, babyy… that’s the spot.” She whines, sinking her nails into his hips as he picks up speed with every thrust, til he’s damn near pounding into her.

“My god!” She whimpers, lifting her head up to look between them at the mess they’re making, not getting far as Lucky pushes her head back towards the pillows.

“So fuckin’ good… mmm!” He growls, hand cupping her face.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna—- oooh shit, baby!” Her legs open and close around his thighs, fighting off her release.

“Cum on this dick, baby,” was enough to drive her over the edge, her nails digging into his back.

Tossing her onto her stomach, he wastes no time sliding back into her. She bites down on her bottom lip.

“Don’t get all quiet now… talk yo shit, babe.” He taunts, easily locating one of her many spots.

“Unh… fuck you,” she moans, rolling her hips against him.

He deeply chuckles, smacking her ass. “Fuck me, huh.”

“Mmmhm.. I hate you.” She teases, smirking once he grabs the front of her neck and begins to drive into her, roughly.

Her mouth falls open, nothing but gasps escaping as his strokes actively take her breath away.

“You hate me… but, you love when I get up in this pussy, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

“You love when daddy make you cum, don’t you?”

“Yesss, yes! Deeper… deeper, baby!” She yells, drunk on his stroke.

Doing just that, he touches her soul with just a few thrusts, her eyes almost rolling out of her head.

“Fuck,” she gasps, gripping the sheets in her hands. “Right there, babyyyy… right there!”

“I’m where you need me, baby?”

“Yeah! I’m gonna cum— I’m gonna cum!” Her arch begins to falter as her orgasm shatters through her, pulling him down as well.

“Ah shitttt,” his grip on her neck tightens, before slowly loosening as he fills her with his warmth.

“Mmh,” he sighs, pressing kisses up her spine as she comes down from her high. “You still mad at me?”

They share a laugh.

Some toxic filth for y'all lmao enjoy!

@ghostfacekill-monger @sheabuttahwrites @honestpreference @harmshake @thegifstories @blackerthings @henneseyhoe @brwnsugababe @soufcakmistress @abeautifulmindexposed @twistedcharismaaa @headcannonxgalore @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @cecereads209 @nayaxwrites @planetblaque @starcrossedxwriter @megamindsecretlair

[cassiefromhell]

Unexpected (pt. 6)

Part One Part Five

Fanbase: acotar

Eris x Reader x Azriel

Summary: Eris, freshly mated to you and volatile as ever, has walked in on you and Azriel in a hostile position... what will he think? It's up to you to diffuse the situation.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: fingering, dirty talk, suggestion of oral

A/N: Requests are OPEN! Check my pinned message for details on what I'll write <3 (anything from hc's to drabbles to fully blown fics! ever had a great fic idea but cant write? send em over!!). Thank you so, so much for the notes on this lil series! I read all comments and reblogs.

In the split seconds that follow Eris’s arrival, things go down far too quickly for me to comprehend well. 

As Eris’s expression turns to rage, Azriel realizes the gravity of the situation before I can even react. He releases me from his death grip, gently nudging me away from himself and backing up.

But he was too slow; Eris saw the hold he had me in, and he’s descending on Azriel.

I step forward — honestly, involuntarily, for I did not tell my body to put myself between two very opposing males — and Eris collides with me. “Eris, Eris, love, look at me. Look at me. I’m okay.”

Eris doesn’t even spare me a glance, but he does place a protective hand on my lower back, which means I have his attention. But his whole body is tense and ready to pounce at Azriel.

I continue to soothe him, rubbing circles on his chest. “I’m okay. We were just having a little fun with sparring. Nobody got hurt—”

“That was not sparring,” Eris hisses, eyes narrowing further. “I could hear you down the hall—you were asking him to let you go—”

“You act as if I had her in a chokehold,” Azriel adds, his voice coming from behind me. “She can hold her own — unlike you. I could kill you in an instant.”

His comment causes an immediate growl from Eris, and the red-haired male gently pushes me aside, and then lunges for Azriel.

The movement is too fast for me to react in time, and Eris knocks Azriel to the ground, sending the two sprawling across the floor.

Groaning, I pinch the bridge of my nose, one phrase on loop in my brain: Stupid, aggressive males. Stupid, aggressive males.

I let them brawl for around twenty seconds, wincing when Azriel lands a solid punch to Eris’s nose, but wincing harder when Eris swiftly kicks Azriel’s groin. The sharp cry of pain from that, quite literally, low blow makes me decide that enough is enough.

I stride over to them, then wait until Azriel is on top of their little rolling spree, knowing that he’s more likely to listen to me. When that happens, I speak, my voice demanding and echoing throughout the room. “Enough.”

That word in my signature ‘listen up buckaroo’ tone is enough to make both males pause and look over to me.

“I said, enough. Get off, Azriel, before I drag you by your scruff like a mangy dog — because that’s what you’re both acting like.”

Azriel, with his tail between his legs, gives Eris one last sharp glare before standing, shuffling away.

Eris is on his feet immediately, not looking quite ready to let him go.

“Eris!” I shout, stepping in front of him and grabbing his shoulders. “Look at me. Eris!”

It takes a moment, but he does relent, my first mate’s eyes shifting down to my own. 

“He’s hurting more than I am now. You’ve gotten your petty revenge. Now sit down, and listen,” I scold him, pushing on his shoulders.

Obediently, he sits on the ground. He knows my rage, and he’s learned that a happy mate keeps your life straight.

I whirl, putting my hands on my hips. Azriel is standing there, silent as ever, his shadows angrily swirling. His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, concealing his burnt—and likely now bloodied—hands. His attention is trained on Eris, seeming moderately amused that I have him on the floor like a scolded puppy.

“You too. Sit. Now.”

He too sits, but after more hesitation and a skeptical look towards me. The faint amusement on his features vanishes.

I stride to be standing directly between the two. “I will not tolerate any more anger-fed, impulsive, and frankly violent tendencies between you two. If you’re fighting for me, then do it better — I don’t know, buy me flowers or something. If you’re angry about our whole double-mate predicament, take it out on someone else. Yell at a council member, Eris. Spar with a particularly annoying Illyrian, Azriel. You know what? If you reaaaally need to get out the urge to punch each other’s teeth out, go ahead. But not in my presence. If that’s what you need, then you get a licensed sparring referee to watch you two and make sure no-one dies. But don’t go complaining to me.

“Eris,” I turn to face the male in question, flashing my teeth as I speak. “You will learn to accept that Azriel is also my mate. We’re bound to spend time together, and I understand that we’re freshly mated and you encountered us in an irregular position, but you need to leash your anger towards him.”

I hadn’t planned much of a lecture for Azriel, but a quiet, mocking “leash it, like your hounds” from behind me has me turning to face him once more.

“And Azriel,” I continue, raising my voice an octave. “You will behave. You will watch your mouth. You know better than to egg on a volatile, freshly mated male, especially in front of his female. Do you understand?”

Azriel bites his tongue like he’s refraining from insulting Eris one last time… but he nods.

“Eris. Do you understand?” I ask, crossing my arms.

The red headed male nods, more eagerly than Azriel had.

“Good. Now, both of you up.”

Equally obediently this time, they each rise. 

“Shake hands.”

Eris scowls, giving me a sidelong glance. “Love, you know how I feel about this. I will be civil, but—”

“Don’t make me force you to promise each other eternal pacifism and harmony.”

Eris immediately holds out his hand.

And, thank the Mother, Azriel shakes it.

“Good,” I sigh, running a hand down my face. “Eris, put away my harp. Azriel, I will visit Velaris in four days’ time. I expect you to be here to pick me up.”

Azriel blinks for a moment, then grins. “I’ll be there.”

Eris makes a pouty face, but I manage to brush it off for now. I’m not very good at resisting a clingy Eris, however, so I know that I need to take my leave.

I turn to the exit and leave, slamming the door shut behind me. I have to trust that those two will either talk it out or disperse on their own terms, because I am desperate to get out of the palace after the deadly combination of this encounter and so many days spent in our chambers. Not that I haven’t immensely enjoyed them.

But, honestly, my hips need a break.

An hour later, I sit high up in a tree, deep in the luscious forest surrounding the Autumn Court treehouse-style castle. 

My horse, a disagreeable andalusian mare with a stunning dapple gray coat, is tied to the trunk of a nearby tree. I’m sure she’s happily eating apples or picking the bark off of a stump.

I find these woods incredibly calming. The rustle of leaves, the crunching of pebbles under the hooves of animals — it creates a soothing atmosphere. 

Eris has graciously left me this time on my own. I’m sure he could sense through the bond how upset I was about all of the fighting — I have enough on my plate as it is. However, he won’t be able to stay away for much longer, not with being freshly mated and all.

Right on cue, a soft tugging comes from Eris’s end of the bond. I hesitate, but then match his little tug.

Not thirty seconds later, Eris winnows to a branch above me. First I feel his eyes on me, then hear a soft sigh, and then the shuffling of leaves as he climbs down to my level. He is wordless the whole time, slipping into my branch and sitting behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He tucks his head against my neck.

Equally silently, I reach back and stroke his hair.

We sit there, straddling this tree branch, for an incalculable period of time. It could have been two minutes, or two hours, I find myself genuinely unsure. 

Eris is the one to break the silence. “I’m sorry for causing you unneeded and unwarranted stress,” he mumbles against my skin. “I love you. So much. And I just want you safe… and happy. Even if that means that you accept Azriel, too.”

Sighing softly, I tilt my head to kiss his forehead. “I love you, too. And I know you do. I accept your apology wholeheartedly.”

He grins against my neck, gently biting my skin. “That’s good, because I wasn’t going to last the night without dragging you back to me by your hair.”

“By my hair?”

“Did I stutter?”

I laugh softly, gently taking his jaw in my hand. I tilt his head up to face me, then give him a long kiss.

Eris leans into it, pulling me closer. When we finally part, he murmurs against my cheek, “Four days, hm?”

“I came up with it on the spot… but yeah. Scores us four more days alone, and then I go to visit Azriel in an environment where you won’t be shooting him glares and scowls and rude little quips—”

“I was not the one making the rude little—”

“Eris.”

“Sorry, love.”

I turn to face him, my legs laying over his. We stare at each other for a very long time, before he smiles and kisses me softly. 

“You know, a lot can be done in four days,” he croons, rubbing my lower back, and then slipping his hand around to my front, over the seam of my trousers.

Whimpering, my head rests against his shoulder. “Eris… As much as I want it, my hips need a break,” I whine, though my body betrays me as heat pools under his touch.

“We don’t need to move your hips at all,” he soothes me, leaving gentle kisses along my neck as he palms me. “Let me take care of you, little flame.”

I open my mouth to, I don’t even know, object? But how could I say no to this, to the delicious sensation his hand is bringing me even through fabric? So instead, I nod, whimpering softly. “Please.”

With Eris and I temporarily gaining a break from the mating frenzy this morning, I had nearly forgotten the intense pull that builds in my abdomen now, the sharp need seeming to stem from my very soul, pulling me towards him — and dampening my underwear.

And so when his hand works its way into my trousers and breaches my folds, I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. Eris tugs me a little closer, so that our bodies are flush against each other, only his hand between us. His touch is gentle right now, thumb dancing circles around my clit and his pinky finger tentatively dipping inside of me. Even the light contact has my heart racing, blood thrumming in my ears.

“So wet for me, already,” he purrs, pushing in his ring finger as well, slowly thrusting in me out. His other hand holds me close as he speaks into my ear. “Such a good girl. My perfect little mate.”

My hips involuntarily buck forward as his thumb presses against that sensitive bundle of nerves, but his other hand grips my thigh tightly.

“Ah,” he growls, shaking his head. “You said your hips needed a break. So keep them still.”

He switches his pinky out for his middle and pointer fingers, slowly thrusting in and out, in and out.

My whimpers shift into moans, and I find myself biting his shoulder to muffle them. His fingers continue to work magic on me — indescribable, fiery magic. And soon, my abdomen begins to tense and flutter, and I murmur a quick, “please.”

“I know, love,” Eris whispers against my ear, quickening his pace. “I’ve got you. Let go.”

With a sharp cry, my release comes. Pleasure and pressure wash over me and up my spine, making me instinctually close my legs around the overstimulation at my apex. Panting, the sensation seems endless, until I manage to float back down to reality, immediately registering Eris’s voice.

“You look so pretty when you cum on my fingers,” he croons, kissing the shell of my ear. “So innocent.”

“Innocent?” I ask, raising a brow. “When I’m orgasmic and moaning, I look innocent?”

Eris grins, sneaking in a few kisses at my pulse point. “It’s hard to explain… but yes.”

I reach down, seizing his wrist and pulling his hand out of my panties. His fingers glisten with my slick, and without hesitation, I bring them into my mouth… and suck.

“Still innocent?” I speak around his fingers, allowing a soft moan to slip from my throat, gagging a little as my lips meet his palm. 

It’s hard to miss the tent that pops up under the fabric over his crotch.

He opens his mouth to speak, but the crunching of footsteps over leaves interrupts our peace.

Eris sighs heavily, retracting his fingers and fixing my trousers for me. I watch his deft fingers button and straighten my pants with lust-filled, hooded eyes, tongue flicking across my lips. He gives me a ‘wait a moment’ look, and then shifts his attention to the ground.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” He calls down.

My hand reaches for the button of his own slacks, but his fingers capture my wrist without even sparing me a glance.

Damn Fae instincts.

“Apologies, my lord,” a voice calls up — he has quite the regal tone, so perhaps a guard or even a low-ranking, attention-seeking courtier. “But Lord Lucien was looking for you — something about a starry mate matter? He was rather cryptic, my lord.”

Eris groans, leaning his head down to rest on my shoulder. He whispers, “It’s always him. Always.”

It takes me half a second longer to realize what that message means. It’s an Azriel matter. Of course it is. Azriel being my other mate has yet to be exactly… announced… so far, so Eris’s brothers and very few servants or guards know of the situation. It’s no surprise that Lucien is trying to be discreet.

“Tell him I’ll meet with him in just a moment,” Eris calls down, then looks at me and speaks in a hushed tone. “I’m sure he just wants to speak of your departure in four days — I informed him earlier. I’ll meet you in our rooms later.”

“Eris,” I whine, nipping his nose with a graze of my teeth. “Can’t you feel it? The bond is—”

“I know, my love,” he murmurs, capturing my chin between his forefinger and thumb. “And I will make it up to you tonight. I’ll even bring you those smutty little romance books you like and let you recreate a scene with me.”

That satiates me. “Really?” A smile spread across my lips, my posture straightening.

“Yes, really,” he grins, pecking each of my cheeks and then giving me a quick kiss on the lips. “Look forward to that.”

And with that, he leaps from the tree and disappears down the path.

“I’m bringing a hound?”

“Yes.”

“A hound? This is a stake of dominance if I’ve ever seen one.”

“It’s not just any hound,” Eris whines, gesturing to the blonde bitch at my feet, sitting at attention with her ears in the air. “She’s your favorite hound. You love her. You even sneak her extra treats.”

I roll my eyes, kneeling to stroke the dog. She leans into my touch only slightly, but remains at attention, ready to take orders. “Yeah, because look at her. She has the prettiest blue eyes. How could I say no to that face? Hmmmm? How could I say no to this sweet baby?” I nuzzle the hound’s ear, cooing to her. 

When I look back up, Eris is giving me his best puppy dog face. 

“Oh, come now,” I groan, giving his leg a light push. “I’m sure Azriel would not appreciate me bringing Kelpie, whether she’s your dog or mine — she’s still an Autumn Court hound.”

Eris shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “First of all, I’ll never get over you naming a bitch Kelpie. Secondly, I’m sure if you bat your eyelashes and ask nicely, you can bring her,” he raises a brow, “and I want you to please bring her.”

“Why?” I groan, standing once more and bracing my hands on my hips. “So that you know that I’m safe? I am perfectly capable of protecting myself better than a dog can.”

“It’s for my peace of mind,” he begs, stepping forward and tipping my chin up to look at him. “Please, little flame?”

“No.”

“……Please? For me?” Eris juts his bottom lip out, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

The four days left in Autumn have flown by, and Azriel will be here to pick me up any moment. Which perhaps, maybe, has me questioning my resolve on this matter. I know Azriel will let me bring Kelpie, but honestly it might end up feeling like Eris is watching me.

However, the face he’s making…

I groan heavily, eyes shuttering. “I really hate you, you know that?”

I can feel his grin as he kisses me, one hand sneaking around my waist. “That sounds like a concession, because you know you love me.”

Opening my eyes once more, I give his chest a gentle nudge. “I’ll bring the hound. But if I sense any funny business, and I mean any—”

“Yes, yes,” Eris smirks, patting my head, “you’ll have my ass. I know.”

“Damn right she will.”

I whirl around to find Azriel standing there, arms crossed across his leathered chest. 

“Right on time,” I say, with a glance to the clock. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wish to bring a dog from home. Just for comfort, you know?”

Azriel nods, striding to my side and kneeling to stroke the hound’s side. “That won’t be an issue. What’s her name?”

“Kelpie,” I say, patting her head.

Azriel pauses, and glances at Eris. “Did you…”

“She did,” the High Lord responds, gesturing to me. “And I will never understand why.”

“It’s a perfectly capable name!” I huff, crossing my arms. “You males are just too ridiculous to see the creativity in it.”

Azriel stands with a shrug, and then holds his arm out to me. “Are you ready to go?”

I give Eris a small smile as he hands me my bag, and I take it and Kelpie’s collar in one hand, taking Azriel’s arm with the other. Eris and I had said our goodbyes before Azriel had arrived, and before our hound discussion, so there’s no need for that now.

“Yes,” I reply.

And with that, we are enveloped in shadows.

Velaris is a beautiful city, and the place we are staying in is even more beautiful — they call it the House of Wind. 

However, on the topic of wind, I would have appreciated it more at first had someone, anyone, warned me that in winnowing in you have to either fly or drop the last few yards. 

When our winnow ended and I found myself midair and then suddenly in Azriel’s arms, shooting down onto the balcony, I was not pleased. Luckily, the Illyrian had the foresight to grab Kelpie, so she’s fine, but the whole experience was very jarring. 

“I would have appreciated a warning,” I had told him once we landed, holding a hand over my mouth to ease my queasiness.

“I didn’t think you’d be afraid of heights — I’m sorry, it’s so normal to me that I failed to even consider it,” he apologized over and over, placing a protective hand over my lower back.

“I am not afraid of heights, I am afraid of falling.”

That ended the conversation.

Which is why now I sit in the room they prepared for me, resting. Azriel thought it’d be best for me to be able to settle in a little bit before lunch, after which he’ll take me on a formal tour of the city, and then there will be a dinner at a dwelling known as The River House — Rhys has sent me paintings and descriptions of it times before, so that one isn’t new to me. I do still find it a tad bit curious that I was never informed of the existence of the Wind house, but I decided earlier not to ask.

There are a few extra tidbits I’ve learned about the building I sit in now: it can hear you and will do essentially anything you want, and it houses Cassian and a female named Nesta. I’ve been informed in past letters that she’s one of Feyre’s two elder sisters, along with Elain. I’ll be meeting her tonight, at dinner.

One thing I do know is that I like this place. I was told that the House itself arranged my room based on paintings and descriptions of me, and it’s done a fine job. A bookshelf lines an entire wall, filled with literature that, at a glance, seems to be precisely my type. It placed a knife under my pillow and on my nightstand, which is very typical ‘me’ behavior. When I first stepped in, a steaming cup of my favorite tea was placed on a desk, next to a book titled ‘Velaris: Myths and Lore of the City of Starlight.’

The house likes history.

Currently, I sit in a comfortable lounge chair, that book in my lap and tea in hand, reading up on my historical and mythological events.

I’ve been here for around an hour when the door swings open, revealing Azriel.

“Hi,” I say, closing my book. “Come to collect me?”

He gives me a quick once over, nodding. “If you’re feeling up to it.”

“Of course,” I reply, taking the final sip of my tea — but when I shift to put the items on a table, they vanish. “I must admit, that’s a tad unnerving.”

“You get used to it,” Azriel responds with a shrug, extending his arm. “Now, let me show you Velaris.”

“This time, I hope you’ll warn me before plummeting us to a certain doom,” I grin, taking his bicep gently.

He returns my grin with a wry smile of his own. “Only if I feel like it.”

Azriel’s tour of Velaris was exquisite. He showed me each quarter of the city, the squares for creative people, especially the musicians one — where I walked away a happy customer with a new, magic infused, harp cleaning cloth. Azriel carries it for me in a small paper box as we walk along the Sidra to our next destination: dinner.

“I hope you’re not too nervous,” Azriel starts, tensing a little at my side.

I raise a brow, a piece of hair falling over my temple. “Why would I be? I already know Rhys and Mor, and I’ve met Feyre and Cassian.”

He remains rigid, so I slow to a stop, tugging his elbow to turn him towards me. He says nothing, but does make eye contact.

He’s not exactly lying. But I do have the feeling that he’s omitting information. And as a spy, he must be rather good at it.

“What do I need to know, Azriel?”

A pause. The calculations passing through his mind are visible in his eyes, which sets me in an uneasy state. I find myself gripping his arm tightly now.

But the moment has been stretched out in my mind, because not even two seconds later, he replies. “There will be a couple extra people at the dinner. Their names are Gwyn and Emerie — Nesta’s friends.”

“Good. An imbalance leaning the female way is never a bad thing. Offsets you males and your volatile behaviors,” I laugh, my voice ringing through the air with the sound.

I’ve almost forgotten the way that he paused before he told me that. Like he was deciding what, exactly, to tell me.

Almost.

But when I open my mouth to inquire more, I find that we’re already on the gravel path leading up to the river house, so I snap my jaw shut and resolve that going in half-blind will be my fate.

The door swings open, and out comes Mor, who rushes over and sweeps me out of Azriel’s hold, ushering me into the house and buzzing like a bee. “Ah! I’m so glad you’re here — happy to have you back in the Night Court. Is this your first time in Velaris? Oooh, has Az shown you the city? I hope that—”

“Mor—” I cut in, to no avail.

“—he’s given a good tour; he misses all the great places. Did he show you Rita’s? We love that place! I heard you officially mated with Eris — uhm, good for you. What exactly are you doing here anyway? I thought you and the oh-so-mighty High Lord would still be in a little bubble, so I have to wonder— oh, hey, are you hungry? Since we made a—”

“Mor,” I successfully cut in, and she stops, looking over to be with a raised brow. “I’m happy to see you too. And I’m starving. So, lead the way to the food.”

A snort comes from behind me, undoubtedly Azriel. Mor nods and agrees however, placing a hand on my back and shepherding me towards the source of the food smell. 

I know that Cassian has joined Azriel behind me when the sound of wings colliding occurs, followed by hushed whispers.

But I’m distracted rather quickly as I’m led into the dining room, which is full and bustling with people, some that I recognize and some that I don’t.

I immediately spot Rhysand and Feyre, although they’ve spotted me first, judging by the dinner roll that’s hurtling towards my head. The first time I met Rhys, I defended myself by throwing a sandwich at him, so this has sort of become our tradition. My hand snaps out in front of me, catching the bread. I examine it, then take a bite. 

“First of all, are you ever going to get over this joke? Second of all, this is really good bread. Who made this?” I scarf down the food, walking over and taking a seat to Rhys’s left, Feyre already on his right. Azriel quickly takes the seat next to me.

A petite female across the table warily raises her hand. “Oh, I did. I baked the bread,” she explains. Her voice sounds like falling rose petals on a warm autumn day, and gives off the scent of lavender and honey.

“Hi,” I smile to ease her obvious nerves, holding my hand out. I introduce myself, and she shakes my hand.

“Oh, this is Elain, my sister,” Feyre cuts in, gesturing to the brunette across from us. 

“Ah, yes — I’ve heard from the letters.”

“Lovely to meet you, then,” Elain adds, smiling softly. Then her eyes flick to Azriel, her cheeks color, and she looks back to me. “You must be… Azriel’s.. friend? I was told you were visiting.”

My eyebrows draw together, and I glance at Azriel, and then back to Elain. I open my mouth to ask why she’s being so weird about the fact that I’m his mate, but then I realize the way she’s openly biting her cheek and stealing glances at the Illyrian by my side. It’s suddenly abundantly clear; either she has a thing for Azriel, or they have some sort of past.

Don’t let it bother you.

But it does. Just a little. Tiny bit. I shut my mouth, as the table fills in, every seat being filled.

Introductions go around, and I memorize each face and name. It goes: Elain, three females named Gwyneth, Emerie, and Nesta, and then Cassian. On the far end of my side of the table sits Amren, who gives me a slightly frightening grin.

I note that Gwyneth, or as everyone calls her, Gwyn, is charming and witty, paired with a wall-shaking enthusiasm. I quickly learn that she works in the library, so this must be an important form of socialization.

Emerie is nice, as far as I can tell, definitely headstrong and bold. She has an obviously strong form, but I don’t miss the way that her wings seem to sag a little behind her.

I’m halfway through my assessment of Nesta (sharp-tongued, sarcastic, and moderately unapproachable) when a macaron lands on the edge of my plate. I glance over to find Azriel watching me. 

“Oh, thank you,” I murmur, starting to pile food onto my plate. “Sorry, I was a little distracted.”

Azriel leans over, speaking into my ear, his breath tickling my skin and rustling my hair. “You weren’t distracted. You were analyzing.”

“Perhaps,” I shrug, a little smirk curling on my lips.

“I do it too. It’s just easier when you have shadows that are whispering all that you need or want to know,” he murmurs back, then leans away and starts piling food onto his own plate.

Five minutes pass easily of good food and easy conversation… and not one, but two females making eyes at Azriel. 

Elain is the most obvious about it — blushing and batting her eyelashes and aiming to brush her hand against Azriel’s by reaching for a dish at the same time as him. Thank the Mother, Azriel is mainly unaffected. In fact, his end of the bond shows affection for her, but no romantic feelings whatsoever… at least not right now.

Gwyn is the other, but she’s sneaky. More just making jokes and smiling at him than anything else, though I caught her staring at him a couple times.

Am I a little tiny bit uncomfortable? Yes.

But mostly shocked at how bold these females are. After all, his mate is sitting right next to him, right at their table.

I recite to myself: Don’t let it bother you. You and Azriel are hardly anything anyway.

Hardly anything.

“So,” Amren starts, leaning forward to bore her angular silver eyes into me. “Is someone else going to say it, or am I?”

Elain looks over at the female through her lashes, blinking in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Nesta rolls her eyes, immediately jumping on Amren’s train of thought. But then she points at me, and my heart falters. “This. Her,” Nesta says, smirking. “Why, exactly, is Eris’s mate in Velaris, with Azriel?”

Rhys raises a brow. “You two are so strange. Mor and I have known her for centuries — she’s always welcome to visit.”

Cassian gives Azriel an amused look, like he’s thoroughly enjoying the situation. He raises his wine glass in a ‘good luck’ fashion. But I’m just confused.

All of the people at the table are looking at us, with a range of expressions. Some are questioning, or confused, others looking to us for confirmation on Rhys’s claim.

And then it hits me.

Oh, shit.

They don’t know.

No one here except for Azriel, Cassian, and me knows.

They don’t know that I am Azriel’s mate.

Oh, shit.

Tags: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @5moremin @azriels-mate123 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @nightless @the-sweet-psycho @mali22 @bubybubsters @hannzoaks @menagerofmischief @theviewfromtheotherside

To be added to the tag list, comment and ask! If I missed you in the tags, please let me know.

[matchadobo]

Hot sexy welder here!

Could i get uuuuh headcannons kid or killer with a fem reader trying to woo them with her crafting skills? Like bringing them little handmade trinkets or stabby doodads?

Please and thank you 🙏,

A very down bad welder

KIDD & KILLER; gifts

wc: 1264 warning/s: suggestive in the end but completely sfw! fluff?? steamin?? this is my first time writing for a 2 person x reader kinda thing so forgive me if it sucks </3

"have you seen captain? killer-san too?"

you had gone around the victoria to look for kidd and his vice captain, frantically asking each face you see for the two. even the rookies who were too scared of you and the boys were in daze as you held a crate of overflowing contraptions you made over the week.

"why? gonna court 'em with that?" heat teased with a bastardly smile on his face, reaching over to touch the trinkets in the heavy crate.

it had been a known FACT around the ship that you have a MASSIVE crush on the two of them. though kidd and killer know it too, they never shut your feelings down nor ignore it. it's not the first time you've brought over some trinkets you made.

you pulled them away with a raised brow, "don't touch it! i didn't make 'em for you!" you stuck your tongue out. "and yes, i plan to give it to 'em. got any problem?"

heat surrendered with his hands leveled above his chest. "absolutely not, ma'am." he cleared his throat before finally answering your question. "but i think they're in kidd's workshop, they're planning shit for the next island."

"thanks! now, answering properly isn't so hard, right?!" you nudged him goodbye and strolled to the last room in the hallway.

you knocked a few times, waited for a while before the bickering stopped, and saw these two towering men welcome you. except that kidd has a scowl and killer has his mask on.

kidd placed his human arm at the top part of the door frame (that's how tall he is ☹️) and leaned down at your height. "what's so important, buttercup?" there was a hint of irritation in his tone, but you're used to it. you knew he wasn't annoyed, in fact the shift in his gaze from you to the shit you're carrying proved his curiosity.

killer peeked over kidd's shoulder, giving you a wave to which you smiled back at him since your hands are full.

"i brought gifts!" you beamed, trying to lift the heavy crate you're carrying. killer saw you struggling so he stepped over to carry them for you.

"gifts? last i check christmas was in the 25th, name." killer skimmed through the crate, one hand carrying the bottom of the crate, to which you were absolutely struggling on with two hands, while the other shuffled through the pile of metalworks.

"it doesn't have to be christmas to give gifts, okay? i was just..." you fiddled with your fingers. "working on something for a long time and i wanna give it to you guys."

"you love givin' shit to us that much, yeah?" kidd reached over to ruffle your hair as you looked down to try and hide your blush. "come on now 'ere inside, shortcake. let's see what you got."

as you three get settled inside, the two have began to rummage through the crate of your handiworks. "so, love it, huh?" you broke out, anticipating their reaction.

"you really wanna fill up my shelves with your shit, aye?" kidd lifted a ballerina you made from nuts and screws, it spun with the lever attached on its base when it was pulled by him.

killer played with the cars you made, wheels spinning with oiled up nuts. "don't keep them all to yourself, kidd. i'd want some of the cars too."

you were between them as they examined each trinket you made, you held stuff up for them as you showed how each of them works. they've selected those they want to keep for themselves, praising the way each piece was constructed.

"you really amaze me with these, name." kidd started, taking the miniature globe you fiddled with. "tell me somethin', why do you keep making this for us?"

both of their eyes were fixed on you, earnestly anticipating your answer. your cheeks felt hot and you felt so little under their gaze. as a member of the kidd pirates, you're used to feeling little around towering men in the crew. your crushes are two meters for fuck's sake! but you never felt so overwhelmed by them at this moment.

"don't get us wrong, name. i personally love these!" killer exclaimed, giving you a nudge. "it's just that... you do these things for someone more than once and it starts to mean something else." killer shifted in his feet, the blue in his eyes peeking through the holes of the helmet.

"like what?" you raised a brow. alternating gazes between the two men. "what kind of message does it give?" you crossed your arms, getting closer.

"name," kidd responded, getting one step closer to you. "i know you and how you don't give a fuck about anything else that you don't care about. these consistent things, these gifts and baubles, you take time in them, cooped up in your room. and don't get me started on your lingering gazes, alright? we're not fuckin' blind, sweetheart." he finished with a grin.

"so tell us," killer started, now both of them were too fucking close to you, you can smell their colognes that fucked with your brain too hard. "is this your way of confessing and saying i love you, princess?"

there was silence. and for a moment, you thought the world had stopped spinning. you cleared your throat because it felt like shit got stuck on it. "what if i said yes? what if i said i do love the living shit outta the both of you it drives me fucking insane and the only way i know how to say it is by flooding the both of you with stuff i make when i think about the you two and i can't do anything about it because making these bullshits is the only way i know how to express myself, okay? then what will happen, huh?" you frantically monologued, word-vomiting everything. once you realized what you had done, you felt all the heat in your body rise in your head and you suddenly felt lightheaded.

"i'll tell you what'll happen, i'll pull you close like this." kidd grabbed your wrist as you crashed in his embrace. "have you in my arms. tell you that i feel the exact-fucking-way. and this, is the part where i kiss you." he leaned in close pressing his lips to yours, that's where your heart fucking stopped and your breathing became irregular. his lips tasted like rum and raspberry, the latter taste must be from the lipstick you gifted him back then.

"come on now captain, you're not the only one she confessed to, right?" killer interrupted. "give me a chance to say i love you too."

kidd smiled through the kiss, pulling away. "you okay with being shared?" he joked as you got even redder before he handed you to killer. "make it fast, i might not contain myself and make out with the both of you."

killer first removed his helmet, you've seen him before without it but god was he like a goddamn greek god with those eyes and cheekbones. killer held you by your waist while his other hand was at the back of your head under your hair, "i'm gonna kiss you now, that okay?" he asked, searching for any denial in your eyes but all he saw was utter anticipation and need. you nodded, closing your eyes. his lips tasted like peach and whiskey.

it was sublime. you didn't sleep in your bed that night and let's also say you three did other things than sleep.

hellooooo thank you for introducing yourself 🌷 hope this is okay for you?? i realized why not both?? both is good?? LMAO I LOVE THIS SM THANKS FOR THE REQ 🥰

[friendly-neighborhood-mushroom]

authors note: heheh, lets hope this actually works this time. this is my first oneshot, inspired by an anon ( @pingledoofus ) on @the-kr8tor 's blog! im hoping to turn this into a series and give it a backstory if people like it. yes, @pinksugarscrub, i know you want more prowler!hobie stuff, its on its way <3

Tags: farmer!hobie brown x reader, set in yorkshire (yes im showing off my homeland), pure tooth-rotting fluff, happy happy stuff, no use of y/n, sheep mentioned!

anyways, enjoy!

They had told you that a day in the life of a farmer couldn't be easy. There was much to do and not much time to do it in, but you had still pursued your dream, and here you were. Each season brough new things to take care of, and new tasks to complete, which is why you find yourself keeping track of each movement you complete.

You awoke every morning at seven exactly, two hours after your husband- merely saying those words made you giddy- and begin with the allotment to the left of your farmhouse, no matter the weather. By the time you had watered every plant, and taken care that each tomato and apple and pear were in tip top shape, Hobie had tended to the sheep, cleaning out the pens and bathing them and feeding them, before allowing them to graze in the grass.

In this fine morning of spring, there were the baby sheep to tend to, checking their health and tagging their ears to protect them from predators, which he always took care of before you, claiming he knew you’d develop an attachment to them and he wouldn't be able to sell them in the coming winter. You knew he was just as fond of them. 

“Done wi’ plants, love?” He asks, not looking up from the baby sheep he was currently tagging, who was sitting surprisingly calmly on his lap. 

“Mhm, and I baked some bread.” You sit beside him, tearing off a piece. He opens his mouth, expecting you to feed him. You roll your eyes, obliging with a grin. The baby sheep on his lap lets out a sharp bleat, head snapping towards the bread. 

“Nuh uh, missy,” Hobie chides the sheep, “You’ve already been fed.”

You giggle, reaching to stroke the sheep as Hobie sets it down to run off towards its mother. 

“Was that the last of ‘em?” You ask, unable to stop the smile forming on your face as you straighten his chequered shirt collar. 

“Hmmm. Just gotta figure out who’ll buy ‘em in’ winter.” 

“Have you not named ‘em all, already”

“‘Course I ‘ave” 

“You big softie,” You tease, nudging him. He pretends to be mad, biting at the bread in your hand.

“Oi, oi,” you exclaim, “You're becoming one of ‘em!” 

He tackles you, triumphantly grabbing the bread with a loud whoop. You laugh as he falls forward, resting his head on your lap. 

“Honeybee, I’ve got to harvest the carrots-” 

“Carrots can wait,” He sighs, shutting his eyes, ignoring your sickly sweet nickname for him.

“I have four vegetables on my list today, Bee.” 

He ignores you, pretending to snore. You roll your eyes, flicking his ear lightly. He doesn't budge. 

“Robyn needs tending to.”

At the mention of his favourite horse, he stirred slightly, before falling still again. 

“The vegetables-” 

He interrupts you with a loud fake snore. You resist the urge to giggle. An idea strikes, and you place your hands on his face, pretending to give up, before you attack his neck with tickles. He splutters, sitting up immediately and attacking you back, reaching for your waist. He pulls you close and you swat his hands away, expecting more tickles, and melting when he kisses you instead. 

“Love,” He says softly.

“Hobie,” You reply.

“I hope you baked more bread.” He smirks, and you realise he’d stolen it right out of your lap when he’d kissed you. 

“Hobart!”

this also made me realize how similar the yorkshire and south london dialets are when writing, despite them sounding nothing alike!

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Only Just The Beginning

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: implied smut

Request by anon: Could you write a jjx fem reader where they can’t take their hands off each other on a night out so they have to excuse themselves to handle it 🫣🤭

Summary: This girls night is the opportunity you take to show JJ just how much you like her.

Square Filled: free space (2020) for @cm-kinkbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

This girl’s night out is supposed to get you out of your shell with JJ. Everyone knows you have a major crush on her, and they tell you she has a crush on you. However, she’s never told you herself so this night is supposed to bring you two closer so you can find out for sure if she does.

JJ is in the corner of the bar playing darts, Penelope grabs a nice booth for everyone, and Emily is getting the drinks. You grab your drink when Emily comes and down half of it immediately.

“Whoa, pace yourself there,” Penelope chuckles. She notices you staring at JJ and she nudges Emily with a smile. “Whatchu looking at there?”

“I’m going to do something about it. Watch my drink.”

Emily and Penelope watch you head over to JJ with smiles on their faces. JJ looks at you and gives you a flirty smile as she picks up another dart.

“You’re really good at darts. Teach me to play?” you ask even though you’re pretty good at it.

“Sure.” She hands you the dart and moves behind you so she can position you the right way. She runs her hand down your arm to your hand so she can position it the right way, and her other hand rests on your waist. She is so close that you can feel the heat through your clothes. “Right there. Perfect. You’re doing really well.”

“I have a good teacher,” you smile.

She pulls your hand back and the both of you throw the dart at the board. It’s not a bulls-eye but it’s very close to it.

“See? You’ll get the hang of it. You’re a natural.”

“I think I only do good when you’re holding me like that.”

“Come on, let’s get drunk,” she laughs.

She moves away from you but her hand brushes against your ass. Whether it was on accident or not, you’re not sure but you’re going with on purpose. You two walk back to the other girls who have ordered some food for the table.

“Fries. My favorite.” You and JJ reach for it at the same time so your hands brush against each other. “Sorry, you take some.”

“No, you go.”

You grab some fries and you hold one out for her to taste. She looks at Em and Pen to see them not doing a very good job at not watching, and she leans forward to bite the fry. She bites it so close to your fingers that her lips touch your skin. If the other girls weren't here, you’d be her out back and give her something to blush about.

“Here’s to us,” Penelope toasts. All four of you grab your drinks and raise them. “Here’s to all women just out looking to have a good time with their friends. I love you guys.”

“To us!”

Your glass meets the others in the middle before all four of you take a drink. You turn to scan the dancefloor when you end up knocking into JJ. Her drink is spilled all over her shirt, and she gasps from how cold it is.

“Shit. JJ, I am so sorry.”

You grab some napkins and dab the shirt so the stain doesn’t set. She grabs some more napkins to wipe her skin, and you move up to her chest where most of the damage is. You dab over her breasts, and she locks eyes with you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t worry about it. I can do this,” she chuckles. “You just wanted an excuse to touch my boobs.”

“Maybe,” you shrug and pull away from her. There is clear chemistry between the two of you and as confident as you have been tonight, you’re kind of nervous about it. If you do something about it, it becomes real. If it becomes real… You glance at her lips and completely pull away from her. “Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom.”

You’re not even gone for ten seconds when JJ turns to the group.

“I have to use the bathroom as well.”

It takes Emily and Penelope five seconds to realize what’s really going on here.

“They’re fucking, aren’t they?”

“With their chemistry? Obviously,” Pen giggles. “Want to make a bet to see how long it takes them to come out?”

“Yes. Twenty bucks say they last ten minutes.”

“Ten? That’s generous. I say they’re out in five.”

You and JJ don’t come out until thirty minutes later with messed up hair, makeup that looks like it’s been cleaned up, and a very thin layer of sweat on both your skin.

“I was closer,” Emily says.

“Fine,” Pen laughs and hands over a twenty.

“You made a bet on us?” you ask.

“Did you wash your hands? I don’t want pussy juice on the table.”

“Emily!” JJ gasps and blushes hard.

“You know what? I think I’m going to call it a night. Yeah, I have a pet at home I need to feed,” you say and grab your things.

“Aren’t you allergic to all animals?”

“JJ is the pet,” Emily giggles.

“Goodbye, ladies. JJ, would you like to come and help me?”

“Oh, she’ll love to come,” Pen smirks.

Both girls’ laughter follows you outside as JJ calls for an Uber. You didn’t have a lot to drink but Penelope is the one who drove so you’ll have to catch your own ride home. Once the Uber comes, you two slip in the back and enjoy the quiet ride home. You’re not for giving the driver a free show so you’ll compose yourself until you get to your place.

However, JJ’s hand slides over your thigh and grips your inner part. She rubs your skin to let you know that what she did to you in the bathroom is only just the beginning.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[fairyboygenius]

everywhere, everything

simon “ghost” riley x original female character

a/n: hi guys! i’m so excited to start this fic. allie is so??? one of my favorite ocs i’ve ever made, to be honest. she’s just perfect to me i fear. her and simon are gonna be so hhhhh anyways enjoy the fic!

no warnings for this chapter except for simon acknowledging he’s a little weirdo and implications to the fact that graves fucking sucks

fic under the cut love u mwah

Time isn’t real anymore, Allie’s decided. How could it be? After a transatlantic flight, plus a train ride through the English countryside, the world seemed fuzzier, cool breeze almost soothing her to sleep.

“Look alive, Bishop,” Kate Laswell gently chided, bumping Allie’s elbow with her own. “We’re almost there.”

Allie bit her lip, the words “are we there yet?” on the tip of her tongue. It’s nowhere near professional to whine to your soon-to-be boss about the journey she took for you. No matter if you’ve known that boss for seven years and been through absolute hell together. After a certain point, professionalism dissipates.

“You said that after the plane. And after we got lost in the Underground. And after King’s Cross. ‘Almost’ implies a degree of soonness.” Allie knew she was being unnecessarily literal. Jet lag wore away any pretense and spoons to mask.

Kate shook her head, a smile creeping at her features. “Eat your dinner.”

“Yes, mom.” Allie sipped her water, putting her headphones back on to try to enjoy the train food. Kate huffed, a fond-yet-annoyed expression on her face.

“Lola doesn’t seem to mind the long ride.” Kate laughed as the black lab nudged her hand, tail thumping restlessly against Allie’s leg. “You’re being a good girl, aren’t you?”

Allie ran an absentminded hand over Lola’s head, giving her a quick scratch between the ears. “You sure they’ll be okay having her on base?”

“She’s your service dog. Not like they can say no.”

“They can, actually. I looked it up. Even though I’m in a non-combat role, she can be removed-“

“-If there’s reasonable threat to your or her life,” Kate finished, giving her a comforting smile. “No one’s gonna take her away from you when you’re doing your medic duties. You need Lo to do your job and do your job well. Everyone’s getting briefed about it right now. If anyone gives you hell about it, you come to me.”

Allie nodded. “You know I’m not good with confrontation.”

“But I am.” Kate smiled. “Those boys shouldn’t give you hell- half of ‘em would probably meet the criteria for a diagnosis themselves. If you need space, unless you are actively doing surgery or in a literal war zone, you have permission to go to your room and take a breather. Anyone fights you on this, you can come to me. Got it?”

Allie nodded again, leaning her head against the train window. Lola rested her head on her human’s thigh, and Allie stroked her head absentmindedly. Letting the feeling of Lola’s fur between her fingers ground her.

Kate sighed, taking her other hand. “I know things didn’t go well for you with the Shadow Company, and everything with Philip…”

“Can we not bring him up?” Allie winced, sipping more water. “He’s dead. It’s in the past for me now. And I don’t really want to talk anymore, if that’s alright.”

Kate nodded, content as Allie put her headphones on and closed her eyes. The twinge of maternal concern on her face disappeared soon after, and she turned back to her book as they inched closer and closer to base.

“Captain, a fifth member o’ the team? We’re not enough of a headache for ye?”

Price shook his head, rolling his eyes fondly. The three of them sat in front of him, on the overstuffed common room couch. Johnny was twirling a pen between his fingers, Kyle couldn’t really keep his eyes off his phone, and Simon… well, Simon was just staring into space.

It had been an okay day for him, so far. A good workout, above average meals. Paperwork seemed less burdensome, or maybe his brain was finally embracing the distraction it provided. The scars from his recent mission in Russia were healing well.

Then Price had called them in.

“Lads… calm down.” Price was massaging his temples. Clearly, Johnny had forgotten to take his meds that morning. “She’s gonna be our resident medic- and yes, it’s a bird, the fraternization rules still apply.” He took a drag from his cigar. “Laswell sent over a whole presentation on ‘er. They’ve known each other for a while, apparently.”

“We’ve got a whole medbay, can’t we pluck one of them to be a 141 specialist?” Kyle leaned back on his elbows. “No offense to her.”

“Laswell would like to introduce a new person. The hope is for you to bond with her because she’ll be living on the 141 floor, participating in workouts and team bonding and she’ll be going on missions with us. We’ve noticed that you lot tend to put off medic visits or not go to the medbay when you need to, so having an on-team medic will hopefully reduce the amount of bigger health problems that spiral from you lot ignoring smaller ones.”

“You’re just as bad as the rest of us about that,” Simon scoffed.

Price grumbled. “Guess this is for me too, then.”

“So tell us about ‘er.” Soap leaned forward slightly, looking up at the screen. “What’s her name?”

Price clicked to the next slide. A picture popped up- a redhead, body luxurious and full, a black labrador puppy on her lap. Her smile was a bit shy, brown eyes shining as the puppy licks the side of her face. Simon’s eyes traced over her features, across her broad shoulders and collarbone, down over her breasts- the black tank top she’s wearing in the picture has a low neckline- and to where the photo ends, her bare thighs crossed as she sits. He swallowed. Shit.

“This is Lieutenant Allison Bishop- she goes by Allie,” Price said. “Laswell’s known her since she was 19, when she graduated basic. She is autistic and struggles with loud noises, so she likely will have some form of hearing protection on when we’re in the field. The puppy is Lola, who’s now Allie’s service dog- she’ll travel with us, and has her own hearing protection. Allie’s getting her own room, obviously, and bathroom, but she’ll share schedules and meal times. When we’re in mission-specific training, she’ll be working in the medbay and helping out where they need it. We can’t hog her forever.”

Like hell we can’t, Simon thought.

“Can we pet the dog?” Gaz looked so excited, Simon could almost sense the mood shift. Price sighed.

“Afraid that’s a negative,” their captain said. “Lola is working when she’s with Allie, and unless Allie gives you explicit permission to, you can’t pet her.”

“Pet Allie or Lola?” Simon can’t resist asking.

Price groaned. “Neither without the explicit permission of Allie.”

“So when’s she gettin’ here?”

“She’s on the train from London to Hereford with Laswell as we speak. She’ll be probably be all moved in and ready to work by tomorrow morning.” Price sighed. “From what Laswell said, she’s not exactly the most outgoing person around new people, so she may get overwhelmed and be kind of closed off at first. It may take her a bit to really warm up to us besides just simple kind professionalism.”

“Oi, Cap’n, dinnae worry about tha’.” Soap grinned. “We can be whatever she needs.” He winked, and Gaz faked a gag. Simon just groaned, reaching up to rub his own temples.

“Oh, real mature,” he grumbled. “We dismissed?”

Price nods. “Behave, lads. I’ll see you muppets at breakfast.”

They walked out of the common room together, headed towards the hallway that stored all their rooms. It would be an early night- a luxury, Simon was well aware, not often afforded on the field. He was fully ready to settle in with a book and a glass of bourbon when he saw the sign on the door next to his.

Welcome, Lieutenant Bishop!

Fuck. He was gonna stay away from her, give her some space to accommodate to the new environment first before making his move. It’d be the nice thing to do, after all- let ‘er settle in, get into a routine, hopefully not scare her off with his whole… thing. (He’s nothing if not self aware.)

But if she was right there… they’d be running into each other in the hallways. He could probably walk her back and forth from their rooms, seeing as she wouldn’t know her way around the base. Maybe even invite her in for a cuppa, or a drink if they clicked… not that Simon was any more competent at social interactions. Especially not with beautiful women.

Beautiful women who he couldn’t be with, no matter how much he wanted to be.

He flopped back onto his bed, letting out a long huff. Fine, he’d be civil. Not necessarily nice, but civil. He’d just have to hope that she’d be charmed by his unsettling gazes and grunts… somehow.

Fuck.