#like even when I'm happy or having a good time there's a lingering shade of blue inside

[poor-boy-orpheus]

.

[eskymoos]

Captain Levi Ackerman after an argument with his teenage daughter

Based on a real story

No trigger warnings

A heavy rain painted the chilly night. The raindrops pattered on the windows of the small, compact houses in Trost. Levi's house was one of them. 

But he was nowhere to be seen. 

His daughter, on the other hand, was right where she wasn't supposed to be- leaned up against a wall outside the front door and watching the night sky turn white with each thunderbolt. The teenage Ackerman stood still, a cigarette squeezed in between her lips and her thoughts scattered all around.

Levi was far from a perfect father. He had many flaws and unreachable expectations. Sometimes he was too harsh and sharp when expressing his affection. He was a protective parent nonetheless. The kind that would always be there to speak up for their child and sacrifice everything for them.

That night Levi's daughter had gotten into an argument with him and left before things escalated. 

"Your head is always in the clouds," Levi snarled and she scoffed in disapproval.

"You know what? I can't have this conversation with you dad."

"That so?" He countered, a frail hue of anger lingering on his tongue. "Get out of my sight then."

The girl's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Out of my sight." He repeated. "Come back when you can talk like a normal person."

And that's how she took his words to heart and left the house to take a breath of air. He was suffocating at times. Perhaps that's why she had hid her habit of smoking. If Levi learned about her accidental addiction he'd actually lose his composure. 

The girl continued bringing the cigarette in and out of her mouth until she heard the wooden door crack open as a dark figure emerged from within.

"That's not what I meant when I told you to get out." The Captain rasped.

"Dad– this is not what it looks like." His daughter leapt on the spot.

It was the worst possible timing. She knew the health expert her father was and how furious he would be.

But he wasn't. In fact, he seemed more collected than ever before.

The girl was dumbfounded, not knowing how to decipher his attitude.

Meanwhile the rain doused both their clothes and left them dripping wet and cold to the bone.

Levi reached out and wrapped his arm under his daughter's, bringing her under the roof where the water couldn't reach and ruin her hair even more. Before she could speak over him, he reached out and tossed the cigarette onto the paved ground before trampling it under his boot.

"I don't understand." She stuttered through her confusion. "Aren't you mad?"

"Are you disappointed that I'm not?"

"No, but you're scaring me."

Levi sighed and then took off his coat, slinging it over her shoulders so she'd take in all the warmth from it.

"Don't want you to catch a cold, kiddo," he explained, refusing to admit how suddenly his heart softened for her. She was his offspring, his treasure. A side of him regretted ever raising his voice at her while the other side of him was desperately trying to craft a way of disciplining her without pushing her away.

"You scare me too sometimes." He whispered, coming to terms with reality. "If you're going to smoke, smoke inside the house where it's warm. If you're going to cry, cry to me. If you do something stupid, you come to *me*. No matter how bad it is. You hear me?"

He demanded in hushed tones and brushed her damp strands of hair back. The girl nodded slowly.

"Good. I don't want some other scumbag out there to hear the things only your dad is supposed to hear."

"But you can be so impulsive, dad."

"I can be, yes. And I am sorry. I try not to take things too far so I will do better for you.'' He conceived, grasping her disliking for some things he does. 

''Thank you dad.'' His daughter betrayed the tiniest shade of happiness in a half-smirk. 

''Sure. You know I'd do anything for you.'' 

''Anything?''

When she asked that, he abruptly let out a groan. ''What? What are you thinking now?''

''Can I please come to the next expediti–''

''Can I please forget you even asked that? Absolutely not.''

''It was worth a try,'' the girl shrugged her shoulders as the two walked into the kitchen for a warm, delicious cup of tea. Perhaps things were not so bad. That was just how Levi lived with a daughter just like him. Another human being he created who bothered him at times with how identical she was. The daughter who rarely listened to him and whose affection was always expressed with actions and not words.

[familyvideostevie]

First kiss with Steve happens in the rain 🌼

you got it baby! thank you for requesting and being patient <3 | first kiss, friends to lovers, 0.9k

The picnic goes off without a hitch. All of your friends come and bring an assortment of snacks and games and it's a lovely afternoon.

It's also a typical afternoon in your life of being in love with your best friend -- plenty of staring at Steve when he's not looking, feeling his eyes on you when you look away. His hand ghosting over your elbow, his fingers lighting up your entire body when he hands you a sandwich. It's stupid and everyone can see it and you know that one of these days you're going to have to do something about it.

But mostly it's a nice day. Being with Steve and your friends makes you happy.

It's only once they leave that the clouds roll in. Everyone else has wandered off, Eddie taking half of the kids to the Arcade and Nancy and Robin dropping the others off. Steve stays behind to help you gather the last of the items you'd brought and drive you home, because of course he does. It's always like this -- moments alone where you wonder if today will be the day that you fess up, that he asks you about the lingering glances, that you decide to kiss him. If today will be the day you ask for what you want so very badly.

Maybe the universe hears you because the clouds darken and then the sky opens, cold rain making you gasp and shocking you into stillness. "Holy shit," you call into the now empty park. You've only got the picnic blanket and a basket and bag of cups to bring to his car, but you can't move.

"Hey!" Steve calls. He's jogging back towards you on the grass. "C'mon, you're getting soaked," he urges, reaching for your elbow. You step away from him not in avoidance but because you're trying to at least shift the blanket to cover the things that really shouldn't get wet.

"It's just water, Steve," you say. Rain drips from the tip of you nose, your eyelashes, the ends of your hair. It's a little late to avoid being soaked at this point, so why try? You expect to turn around and find him back in his car, shaking his head at you. You're pretty sure he'll give you whatever spare clothes he can find in his trunk and drive you home to dry off, because Steve is just like that. A caretaker at heart, and just a little softer with you than everyone else.

But when you turn around he's still there, hands on his hips and his lips turned up at the edges. His shirt is already a shade darker and his hair is flopped over his forehead, water running in rivulets down his own face. "You're so weird," he says, but it sounds like a compliment. It sounds fond, affectionate even. The storm in your chest begins to rival the one in the sky above you.

"You're used to that by now." You take a step into his space and reach slowly, hand shaking just a little, to brush the soaked strands off of his forehead. It doesn't do much good since it's still raining, but you can hear how he inhales when your skin touches his. Nothing that hasn't happened before -- you've touched Steve thousands of times.

But here, in the rain, it's different somehow. It's electric. "I am," he says. He swallows and drops of water run down his throat, over his adam's apple. Your eyes follow and you realize your hand is still on his face, gently cupping his cheek.

"Sorry," you say, pulling it away but he catches your wrist, fingers warm and firm around your pulse point.

"What for?" Steve's eyes bore into yours. You shiver but it's nothing to do with the chill slowly seeping into your bones. He drags your palm back to his face and settles his jaw into it. "Are you cold?"

You shake your head but his small smile turns into a frown. "You're shivering," he says. No, you think, I'm shaking because this feels like something important.

"I'm fine," you say, so softly you're surprised he hears you. His hand slides from your wrist to cover your hand with his own, taking a step closer so that your toes touch in the wet grass beneath you.

"Bet the stuff is getting soaked," he rasps. His other hand settles on your neck, right above the hem of your t-shirt.

You try to remember to breath steadily. "We should get it in your car." Your own voice sounds about as wrecked as his. He nods and his nose brushes yours.

"We should," he says. You close your eyes. Steve's breath is hot on your lips and his thumb traces your bottom lip. "Can I--"

Before he can finish you surge forward blindly, missing his mouth and catching the corner of his smile before he gently adjusts you and slots your lips together properly. If you had any thoughts to spare you'd laugh about how cliche this is -- a first kiss between friends in the rain, like something out of a movie or a romance novel.

But as it is, every cell in your body is screaming Steve's name, relishing in his touch, his warmth, his kiss. His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips before he pulls back and tugs you into a hug. You're both breathless, wet, and laughing, giddy on the possibility that now dominates the air between you. You nose as his neck, wrapping an arm around his waist, and smile.

"Now we can get in the car," he says into your hair. You can feel his own grin as you nod.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[svngiem-remade]

Okay so I saw your prompts and I just had to ask- could you do prompt 6 with Jisung? I'm thinking like friends to lovers.. if you get where im going with this. Whatever spice tou out into it is fine with me!!

I get if yiu have other things to tend to, so please take your time!! וו

DISTRACTION | hjs

🧸 pairing. han jisung + afab!reader

synopsis. even feeling as exhausted as you were from the stressful, long shifts at your new job, missing your weekly barbecue with your friends was never an option— how would you be able to freely ogle at your best friend otherwise?

🌙 wc. 1.6k | au. idol!au; friends to lovers; smut

smut warning: public grinding and grabbing, semi-public foreplay, car sex/foreplay, oral (m & f receiving), han stares at readers' boobs a lot (sorry, I just love boobs lmao), deepthroating, palming.

6. "It's…really distracting when you do that."

The sound of your friends happy chatter and the smell of the sizzling meat, fish and vegetables being barbecued by Minho's skillful hands just a few feet away from you made you almost want to get up from the blanket youd laid on the grass earlier to cool down under the shade and join them, however, the gentle summer breeze hitting your fatigued body felt too nice for you to ponder about that too much, opting to close your eyes and relax instead.

And soon, you'd started dozing off with your face buried between your crossed arms, the loud music blasting from Changbin's speaker lulling you to sleep, when a loud thump and a subsequent chorus of laughter shook you awake. You frowned and turned your head to your left to see what all the fuss was about— and you immediately chuckled at the scene before you.

Jisung, who was playing football with the rest of the guys that were not helping with the barbecue and were free to do whatever they wanted, had apparently fallen to the ground while trying to steal the ball from Chan, and his light gray sweatpants and tight t-shirt were now full of dust, which he was frantically trying to clean off as he rambled on and on about how “Chan-hyung cheated” and “pushed him to gain advantage since he was just too good at playing football”— all with the cutest flushed cheeks and pout you'd seen in a while.

“Mhm, keep on believing that and maybe, one day, it’ll become true.” Hyunjin snickered and Jisung glared, throwing at him the football he remembered he was still holding, before stomping towards the wooden picnic table where Felix, Jeongin and Seungmin were having a heated discussion regarding which Cheetos flavor was the best of all time. Your best friend fondly smiled at them as he bent down to open the cooler that was under their seat, his doe eyes suddenly sending daggers at Hyunjin and Chan when he heard them clowning him once again.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, following Jisung’s every move, “He really can't handle losing in anything, huh?” you muttered, the fatigue you still felt in your bones from the previous night’s long and stressful shift slowly disappearing as your attention got completely monopolized by your long-time friend— who was now leaning on the table, one hand in his sweatpants front pocket and the other holding the can of beer he’d just taken out of the cooler and swiftly popped open, his sweaty skin and neck glistening under the warm noon sun as he dipped his head slightly back to take long gulps of the cold beverage.

“Fuck, why do you keep doing this to me?” you bit your bottom lip and rubbed your thighs against each other in need of friction— feeling so pathetic, because all it took for you to get that wet was just the sight of his sharp jawline that he could cut stones with if he wanted, and the lingering way he brushed his bottom lip with his thumb, making you wish those were your lips instead of his. And, lucky for you, he decided to wear a fucking skin tight white t-shirt to kick off the first barbecue of the summer, which was now almost completely see-through from all the sweat it absorbed, “How dare you look this hot. Asshole.” you clenched your teeth, feeling annoyed and aroused at the same time.

You had no idea how he managed to make you feel like that— you’d been best friends with him ever since you were children and in all those years, you’d never felt the slightest bit of attraction for him, until he decided to go on a two-month long trip to Latin America with a couple of friends and when he came back, looking too scrumptious and appetizing for his own good, all you could think about when around him was kissing his soft lips and licking every inch of his oh so buff body and choking on his big cock until you’d pass out. You’d dreamt that exact scenario in that order too many times now, it was becoming exhausting.

You huffed and pinned your elbows to the blanket below you to keep you up, reaching for your purse on your right, where you always kept a lollipop, “Better than nothing.” you said as you took off the wrapper and plopped it in your mouth.

You rolled on your back and closed your eyes, trying with all your might to not think about the growing wetness in your core, to stop the urge to slide your fingers between your folds and relieve your arousal right then and there, but when your ears picked up the sound of his footsteps coming towards you, you knew you were fucked. You held back a needy moan, sucking on the lollipop as hard as you could to distract yourself and not jump his bones.

He plopped down next to you, and you opened one eye to peer at him, just to see him staring down at you with a big grin on his face and an unopened canned beer dangling above your face, “Thought you might need one, it’s getting hot as fuck, jagi.” he sang, immediately pressing it on your neck to cool you down, making you shiver and bite down a whimper, both from the coldness of the drink and Jisung’s proximity.

“Hm, thanks Ji.” you tried to act nonchalant about his presence as you sat up, mindlessly sucking on your lollipop while focusing on opening the beer he brought you. You didn't notice the way he nervously gulped and squirmed at your action, trying to look as natural as possible when he moved his free hand in front of his growing bulge in an attempt to cover it. “I’m hungry, has Min almost finished grilling everything?” you asked, looking at him with a pout as you leaned forward, giving him just the perfect view of your cleavage which was only covered by a flimsy tank top.

“Ah…” he took in a shaky breath, forcing himself to look away from your tits and oh so perfect and kissable lips, “I think he told us that it should be ready in about thirty minutes.” Jisung said, bringing the can he’d placed down on the blanket to his lips, gulping as much as he could in one go— his throat suddenly felt dry.

You, on the other hand, had barely registered his words, focusing your attention to his heart-shaped Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down repeatedly as he spoke to you, then taking a peek at his prominent chest muscles, which were now completely visible along with his defined abs, the white t-shirt reduced to a second layer of skin— not that you minded, quite the opposite.

“Y-Y/N…” he whispered, his eyes opening wide when you unconsciously started rubbing your thighs against each other in front of him, one of your hands reaching for the white stick of the fruity lollipop in your mouth to slowly and shamelessly twirl your tongue around what was left of it, which was not much. He gulped as he stared at your skillful tongue playing with the candy, heat rising up his puffy cheeks, “Fucking hell— It’s… really distracting when you do that...” he almost moaned, whimpering when you adjusted the strap of your tank top, which made your soft boobs bounce deliciously, just a few inches above his hands.

“Do what, Hannie?” you teased, resting one of your hands on his thigh to squeeze it a couple of times, just to see his reaction. You smirked when his breath quickened and his muscles tensed up, your hand going further up his leg.

“This… I—” he stuttered, completely enthralled by your actions and forwardness, the bulge in his pants now completely visible and only a few centimeters away from your fingers, who were tracing patterns on his inner thigh, careful not to touch him where you knew he needed it most— the big stain right in front of his bulge spoke by itself.

You stared down at the outline of his cock— if your panties weren't stuck to your folds before, they surely were going to be now. Your breath quickened, “Ji? Can… Can I?” you leaned forward and whispered in his ear, worried any of your friends may hear you, even though the loud music and sizzling of food made that impossible, and the significant distance between you and the picnic table played in favor. He stayed silent for a while with a stunned expression, most likely still trying to process everything, but you were getting impatient, so you started lightly nipping at his earlobe, “If you want me to stop, just say the word anytime.” you mumbled, sneaking a hand behind his neck as you grazed his bulge with the other, moaning at how big and girthy it felt.

Jisung grunted, his eyes completely fixed on your erect nipples right in front of his face. He was just mere seconds away from ripping your tank top off to avidly start sucking on them, when he remembered where you both were, “Should we really have sex in a public park?” he asked, giggling, “Glad to know you feel as desperate as me then.”

You’d started palming him over his sweatpants in the meantime, leaving love bites all over his neck and upper chest, making him a moaning, stuttering self. But luckily, his words brought you back to reality right in time, since when you opened your eyes and looked straight in front of you, a very suspicious Changbin was eyeing the both of you from his spot in front of the grill, “You’re right. Bin already caught us. My car?” you suggested since your car was parked the farthest away from the ones of the rest of your friends.

—

“Holy fuck, how a-are you this good at giving head? Fuck, you’re t-the —ah— best.” Jisung moaned, thrusting up in your mouth harshly, successfully making your gag reflex activate— which you didn't really mind. You loved sloppy, messy oral, both giving and receiving, and in these couple of minutes since you sat on the backseat of your car and let free his red, angry, throbbing cock, you’d learned your best friend, whom you were currently jerking off, was a big fan of it too.

He was actively manspreading, you between his legs, sat down on the floor of your car, desperately grinding your clothed clit against its rough surface in search of your own relief— though seeing Jisung’s fucked out expression when you let the saliva you’d been accumulating on your tongue dribble down on his red tip, his whimpers when you spread it all over his length and balls to slick them up properly and his big hand entangled in your hair, keeping you in place, making you feel his— was more than enough for you.

And he was, as you had always assumed, big, so big and girthy you almost came untouched when you saw it spring up proudly in all its glory a few moments earlier— but you could barely take him, so you used your right hand to rapidly jerk off what you couldn't reach as your left played with his balls, all the while your head bobbed up and down his length, your tongue tracing every vein it encountered, slicking them further. And by his “please, don’t stop” and “don’t you dare fucking stop”, you assumed he was reaching his high.

You started fastening your pace, deep throating and swallowing around his tip for that extra clench, but as you felt he was about to bust his warm seed in your mouth, he pulled you away from his cock by your hair, tilting your head upwards to meet his eyes, a confused expression taking over your face, though before you could ask any questions, he brushed your bottom lip with his thumb slowly, catching a drop of pre-cum trying to run away from your mouth.

Jisung grinned, pushing his thumb between your lips and signaling you to suck it, which you happily did as you looked him deep in the eyes, “Your turn now, sit here. I wanna eat you out, jagi. Then we’ll finish together— you’ll come wrapped around me and then I’ll fill your pretty cunt up with my cum, how does that sound?” he proposed with a big smile, chuckling when you nodded eagerly and pointed to your pouty lips, waiting for a kiss— which he happily gave you, before sitting you on the backseat with your legs spread wide open. And by the harsh but passionate suck he gave your clit the second after, you knew that was going to be the best head you’ll ever receive.

please reblog, comment and like, feedback is very much appreciated, plus, I love reading your thoughts!

→ masterlist.

© SVNGIEM — do not copy, translate or claim as your own.

[lostinthewiind]

Hi! Hope you're having a good day! You are so right, the Generation Kill fics are very rare, it's a shame.

Could you please write something for Nate Fick where the reader is oblivious and doesn't realize that he loves them?

Thaaanks!

Atypical

Nathaniel "Nate" Fick - Generation Kill

Rating: All ages

It had been a long tour. Iraq was brutal from start to finish, and even now, when you knew you would be heading back to the States in a couple of days, it still didn't feel real.

Staring out at the vast Iraqi desert that surrounded the base camp, you exhaled long and deep—a last-ditch attempt to expel the weeks of dust that accumulated in your lungs.

"Ready to head back home?" A familiar voice came from behind you.

You smiled to yourself as you scooted over, making room for your visitor in the back of the truck you had found refuge in. "And here I was thinking I had finally found a moment of peace and quiet in this damn war."

Nate smirked as he sat down next to you, his bright blue eyes practically sparkling in the sun. You had seen a lot of things you wouldn't ever forget while in Iraq, most of them bad—but Nate's eyes were one of the few good things that lingered in your mind.

"Sorry to disturb your personal oasis in the back of this Motor T rust bucket." The truck made a worrying sound as he shifted his weight and he quirked a brow. "Point made."

"Well maybe if you had whipped your men into shape more, I wouldn't have to feel as though Motor T is the only place I can go for some quality alone time," you told him as you tilted your head toward the sunset.

"Manimal trying to buy your underwear off of you again?"

You choked on your next breath. "How the hell do you know about that?"

Nate laughed. "I know about everything that goes on in my platoon."

"Either way, no, that wasn't happening ... not again, at least." You shook your head. "I was just trying to take some time to reflect. I thought going home would be a happy feeling."

"You're not happy?"

"I am. But I'm also not." You tried to explain your complex feelings. "I don't know, the possibility of never seeing any of you guys again isn't as much of a relief as I thought it might be. Don't tell anyone I said that."

"I won't," Nate assured you with a chuckle. "For someone coming into a group of guys who have been together since Afghanistan, you really held your own. It'll be weird if we ship out again and you're not there."

You watched as the night sky shifted from a brilliant shade of orange into a dark purple. "Give it some time and I'll be as ready as you are to be done with this war and go home."

"How do you know I'm ready to go home?" Nate asked.

"You're not the only observant one," you answered, earning a dubious look from Nate. "... and I overheard you and Brad talking."

Nate nodded when you confirmed his suspicions. "That sounds more like it."

"Hey, I am plenty observant!" You smacked him on the shoulder. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. It's a pretty important quality for a marine."

"True. But still."

"But still?"

Nate turned away from the sunset to look at you. His mouth opened to respond, but before he could get a word out, he decided against it and averted his gaze. "Nothing."

"No, no, no." You grabbed his face with your hand and forced him to look at you once more. In that moment, you didn't think about the fact that you were technically laying hands on your superior. "But still what?"

"I think it's a conversation better had at a later date," he told you as he gently pushed your hand away. "When there's less sand and less gunfire. When we're just normal people, not a Lieutenant and his Corporal."

"You know we could die tomorrow, right?" you reminded him. "Or right now. There could be a sniper lining up the head shot as we speak. What if I died right now and you never got to tell me whatever it is you're being so secretive about?"

Letting out a defeated sigh, Nate reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a ring. It wasn't just some class ring either; no, it was an honest-to-God gold banded ring with a diamond on the top.

"Lieutenant Fick?" Your eyes darted between his face and the ring.

"Please do not call me Lieutenant when I'm holding an engagement ring."

Your mouth fell open. You were at a loss for words. "What ... what the fuck, Nate?"

"I suppose that's better." He clasped his hand firmly around the ring so it was no longer in sight. "When I first met you, I wrote a letter home and mentioned you. Told my folks all about how we had this woman riding with us and how I didn't think she'd last a week."

You were too impatient to wait for the follow-up. "And?" you prompted.

"And my mother sent me back the family ring and told me to let her know when the wedding was."

You laughed. You were aware how incredibly insensitive it was but in that moment, it was the only outlet you could think of for your overwhelming emotions. "What the fuck, Nate?" you whispered.

"You already said that."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm a little shocked in a moment like this. Can you blame me for not exactly expecting a proposal when I didn't even know you had feelings for me?"

Nate rolled his eyes. "I never actually asked you to marry me, now did I?"

"Then what's the ring for?"

"Well obviously it's for engagement!"

"What is happening right now?" You couldn't believe what was going on. Surely, you must have been dreaming. "Did you hit your head when I wasn't looking? Do I need to call Doc Bryan?"

"Oh, my God. I've really fucked this." Nate stuffed the ring back into his pocket. "This is not how I meant to approach this topic."

"What topic?"

"That I'm in love with you!" Nate proclaimed before burying his face in his hands.

A beat of silence passed and you were suddenly very grateful that you had chosen an abandoned corner of the camp to watch the sunset from.

"Nate?" you whispered once more.

"Yes?" he whispered back, his voice even more muffled from his hands.

"Did you just tell me you're in love with me?"

"Yes."

"And that engagement ring in your pocket is for me?"

"Yes." He finally lifted his head to look at you. "Not right now, of course. But yes, theoretically, at some point."

You couldn't help but laugh again. "This is so weird."

Nate made a strangled, embarrassed sound. "You're killing me here." He stood up to leave. "I should just go. This was clearly a mistake."

"Oh, settle down." You grabbed him by his uniform and pulled him back down. "Yes, I had a bit of a strong reaction at first, but considering the circumstances, I think I'm allowed that much. I never said I didn't love you back."

Nate's blue eyes lit up. "Do you?"

"Well, I don't know. I hadn't thought about it until now," you answered. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" That same sound slipped past his lips. "That's romantic."

"Okay, it's not that I've never thought about. You're obviously very attractive and all that," you rephrased. "I've just never thought about it seriously. In case you haven't noticed, we are in the middle of a war."

"I noticed. Which is why the ring's been burning a hole in my pocket until now." He drew in a deep breath, and when you didn't share another thought, he spoke again. "Now what?"

Reaching into his pocket, you fished out the engagement ring and handed it to him. "Now you ask me to marry you."

"Really?" His fingers trembled slightly as they plucked the ring out of your grasp. "Here?"

"Right here." You nodded.

"Okay. Right. Yes." He cleared his throat and jumped down from the back of the truck. Then he offered you a hand down, and once you were both standing on solid ground, he dropped down onto one knee. "Y/N, I know we haven't known each other very long. I know the typical thing is to date for a while before asking this question; hell, the typical thing is to actually have feelings for one another before asking this question. However, as a fellow marine, you know that typical is merely a suggestion. Either way, meeting you has been the highlight of this war, which I know isn't saying much but still ... I'd like for you to be the highlight of the rest of my life as well. Will you marry me?"

Your heart swelled at the gentle words falling from the mouth of one of the toughest men you had ever met. The way Nate looked up at you, as if you had the answer to every question in the world, was beyond endearing. You could truly picture a long, happy life with him.

"No," you answered.

Nate's hopeful smile fell. "No?"

"That's what you get for springing a goddamn engagement ring on me like this." You plucked the ring from his hand before inspecting it. "It is a rather beautiful ring though. Ask me again in a couple months and I'll gladly take it off your hands."

Nate shook his head as he stood back up and dusted off his knee. "And until then?"

"We date," you said matter-of-factly. "As typical as it is, I've had enough atypical for one lifetime."

Nate smiled wide. "I can't wait to marry you."

[rendy-a]

👉️👈️ I miss the pet au, so I'm sending in another request for it~ XD How would Riddle, Azul, Vil, and Sebek act if their master surprised them with a picnic one day? They're always working so hard, so their master thought it'd be a nice way to treat them and let them relax. Please take as much time as you need! Thank you if you do this!

Well, it has certainly been a minute since we’ve visited the Pet Au!  I’m glad to return to it now.  Thank you so much for the request.  I hope you enjoy it!

Insists its unnecessary.  He is just doing his duty as a companion pet!  If you persist, he will surely join you.  The eagerness in which he asks about what you might be serving betrays his interest.

Tea?  How delightful.  Cake?  What a treat.  Sitting on the ground?  How…quaint.  He will try his best to hide his discomfort from you but the way he sits so perfectly straight on the picnic blanket betrays him.  Offer to move your picnic to a table and he will be most grateful.

Once seated properly, Riddle knows just how to have an enjoyable tea.  Please allow him to pour you a cup.  He’d love to add just the right amount of sugar cubes to it as well.  When the cake is served, Riddle enjoys his slice slowly, savoring each bite.

Riddle has teatime conversation covered as well.  He isn’t the best tutored pet at the shop for nothing!  He is more than prepared to talk at length on a number of topics such as history or current events.  Oh, you want to talk about how well he has been doing instead?  Please ignore his blushing and continue, Master.

Picnics were great fun, but Riddle was happy to be back at work.  It was comforting to have a routine, to know just what your day would hold and what was expected of you.  The memory of the afternoon was a pleasant one, so he doesn’t even mind all the extra work you’ve made him in the morning.  He happily washes the extra dishes, packs the picnic supplies away (exactly as recommended in the picnic guide!) and checks on the leftovers in the fridge.  Perhaps he can add them into today’s dinner without spoiling his carefully planned out menus.

Riddle opens the fridge to see what you’ve stored away and his eyes are drawn immediately to a lone slice of cake.  His mouth starts to water before he can stop himself.  But no!  That cake belongs to his beloved Master, it’s not for the likes of him!  He will resist!  Riddle gives his head a shake as though to clear any unsavory thoughts from his mind.  Then he nods firmly and pushes the cake aside to see what is hidden on the shelf behind it.  Only, when he moves the slice, he finds a small note attached to the container; ‘Riddle’s cake’ it says.

Riddle’s eyes widen and he is so startled, he almost drops the container of cake.  For him?  You saved this cake for…him?  Surely that is improper for a pet to have the last slice of cake.  He’ll just save that for you to have later.  Only, each time Riddle passes thought the kitchen, the cake calls to him like a sugar-coated siren.  Sometimes, he passes quickly by the fridge but other times, he lingers to open it and gaze longingly at the wonderful slice. 

Finally, the temptation is too much and Riddle pulls the cake from the shelf.  The note says it is for him, so it would be wrong of him not to have it…right?  So, he does, and the cake is sweet.  Only, it’s not as good as it was yesterday.  Yesterday, when he had it with you.  Sure, the flavor is the same but, without your company, the experience just falls flat.  He cleans the container quietly and places it back in the cupboard. 

When you open the door, you hear a sound of someone rushing from the back room.  Riddle quickly arrives at the door and, standing perfectly straight, welcomes you home.  You pat him tenderly on the head.  “You seem eager to see me today.  Did you miss me?”  Riddle turns a charming shade of red and exclaims, “Only a regular amount!”  You smile, pleased to have such a devoted pet as Riddle.

There are many land customs that seem to interest your pet mer.  Azul enjoys questioning you about them.  One in particular seems to draw his interest, a story about going to a street fair and trying a grilled sausage.  You decide to surprise him by taking him out on a picnic with a portable grill to try one for himself!

Azul insists on helping you set up the grill and learns all about how to cook sausage over an open flame.  He is very attentive to your demonstration.  When done, you must urge him to have one on a bun.  He does but not before mumbling about all those carbs under his breath. 

After your meal, you sit and chat with him about his day.  While you talk, you take a napkin and fold him an origami octopus!  You present your creation to your blushing pet tell him that it is a wish for luck!  Sure, cranes are supposed to be for luck but somehow, you think you’ve personally had more luck with an octopus.

The town festival would be soon and you were surprised that Azul asks for time away from the home to attend.  You hadn’t suspected that such an event would interest such a shy pet but gladly give your permission.  Of course, your hard-working companion deserves a day off!

So, you set off alone to visit the festival.  It was a small affair, with locals providing much of the entertainment and booths.  There were stands of handicrafts and food lining the main street.  You knew it was about time to have lunch when an irresistible scent reached your nose.  You hadn’t had a proper street fair sausage in ages. 

You had prepared yourself for a line and there was one, the expert display drawing a lively crowd.  However, nothing had prepared you to see your pet Azul running the booth.  Suddenly, you recall his interest in all things sausage preparation from your picnic; was this his intention all along?  He smiles at you sheepishly when you get to the front of the line.  This was supposed to be a surprise!  Look at all the money he is making for you.  He hopes he has impressed you, surely, you’ll praise him for this later.

In the end, you get a sizzling hot sausage on the house.  Not even Azul would charge his dear master for a snack!  Afterwards, you insist on stepping behind the counter to help out.  If this is making Azul happy, then you want to be there to support him.  You can’t deny that the way he smiles so genuinely when he manages to talk a customer into getting a larger size or adding on a dessert really brightens up his face.  So much so that you find yourself smiling along too.  “Can’t decide on a side?  You poor unfortunate soul, why not get both?” 

You finish out the rush and Azul insists you go home.  This is supposed to be his project and here he is, making his sweet Master work for him, how shameful!  No amount of reassuring him will change his mind, off you go!  You reluctantly go to place the last payment in the register when you notice something stuffed under a stack of bills; it’s the origami octopus you’d made him. 

You pull it out and show it to him.  He immediately starts stammering and flustering, “Wh..wha…where did you get that?”  He snatches back his precious memento and cradles it gently in his hands before stowing it back in the register, gently tucking it in beneath a blanket of cash.  “He gets lonely, so I have to take him with me.” Azul explains in an embarrassed tone as he adjusts his glasses. 

It’s a long wait until Azul arrives home, but you make sure you are awake when he does.  Now it’s your turn to insist he takes it easy.  No accounting for you, Azul!  Straight to bed!  You stand and wait for him to brush his teeth and change into some pajamas and then it is your turn to tuck your octopus in.  Just as gently as Azul tucked in his origami companion, you pull up the covers and rub his head as you sing him to sleep.  Don’t worry little octopus, you don’t have to be lonely anymore.

Vil is a fan of tradition, it rubbed off on him after being a part of the oldest and most traditional pet menagerie in the land.  You are sure to plan a picnic for him that keeps to the most beloved traditions of the event.  From the red and white checkerboard blanket to the wicker basket, its like a picnic from a fairytale.  Vil, of course, is appreciative of your efforts; details are in important part of setting the stage!

Preparing a menu that meets your demanding trophy pet’s strict standards is quite the task.  It must be nutritionally balanced, tasty, and meet the theme of the event.  You’d managed to find a sandwich and salad combination that Vil approved of.  For refreshment, you were drinking lemonade and Vil, water with lemon.   You’d tried to tempt him to join you in your sugary drink but he is surprisingly firm with what he wants.  Not even his beloved Master can tempt him to risk his smooth complexion with unapproved sweets!

The sound of Vil’s voice fills your afternoon.  He is remarkably talented, as a proper trophy pet should be, at keeping someone entertained.  He has engaging conversations prepared to thrill you with celebrity gossip, recitations of scripts or plays he’s preformed before and rather interesting observations.  All in all, you could spend a whole day just listening to Vil and not notice the passing of time.  Is this a treat for your pet or yourself?  You are never quite sure but he does seem to soak up your undivided attention.

You pour yourself a second glass of lemonade and Vil gives you a look like, ‘another one?  Are you sure?’  You avert your eyes and take a sip.  Vil gives you a resigned sigh and returns to his story about an upcoming show he will appear in.  Being a proper pet and a proper actor isn’t easy, but Vil puts in extraordinary effort to perform both tasks to a high degree.

He is telling you an anecdote about the director when his eyes get wide, and his sentence cuts off.  You are startled by the sudden silence and sit up to attention.  “What is it?” you ask nervously.  Had you waited a moment, you wouldn’t even need to ask as you feel the first drops of rain land upon your wrist.  Now you are the one wide eyed and gasping.  You jump up and start madly packing things back into your picnic basket. 

You shove the blanket in and lift the load.  Then you grab Vil’s hand and start a mad dash to the front of the park.  Why had you chosen such a distant corner of the park for your picnic?  The rain was beginning to come down heavier and you were still far from the entrance.  When you feel a tug on your hand, the one Vil holds.  You turn your gaze to him and see his own is on a gazebo gracing the park grounds.  Thank goodness, you are saved from becoming fully drenched!

When you step under the cover of the gabled roof, you pull out the picnic blanket and hand it to Vil.  He looks at you coldly, colder than the rain you just escaped.  “How much of a villain do you think I am to take the only blanket from my dear master?”  Then he wraps it tightly around you.  “How will you stay warm though?” you ask him worriedly.  He smiles a dashing smile at you.

The performance Vil began was a lively one, with enough action to keep your dear actor warm.  It’s the stage production Vil has been rehearsing for.  On the stage, Vil will play the part of a villainous noble who attempts to thwart the heroic prince.  In the private stage of the gazebo, Vil plays all the parts for you.  He switches back and forth from character to character with the ease of a skilled performer.  His differing voices and postures capture the essence of each one perfectly, as befits one so devoted to the fine details of acting. 

You reach the end of Vil’s part, when the villain is defeated and taken away to prison.  You are enthralled at the evil laugh he gives as he mocks being dragged away.  Then he stops.  You look at him curiously, “Its not over yet, is it?”  He smiles at you guardedly, “No but I see that the rain is stopped and my practice is finished.  I see no reason to continue.” 

You look out into the rain covered lawn leading away from the gazebo and then back at Vil.  “But I wanted to hear the end of the story?  Can’t we stay a bit longer?  I want to watch you preform until the story is finished!”  Vil looks at you evenly for a moment, then his face brakes out into a satisfied smile.  “As you wish, Master.”  Then he takes up the mantle of the hero and continues the story, remaining on your gazebo stage until the very end.

You’ve tried to explain to Sebek the purpose of this picnic but you aren’t sure he has truly understood.  For what feels like the hundredth time, you remind Sebek that this meal is a reward for him, not you.  He looks at you from the corner of his eye, where he stands stiffly at attention behind you.  He can’t be lulled into a trap!  He will stand guard over you and your meal faithfully, Master!

If you are persistent enough, you can convince him to join you.  Once he decides to partake, he has quite the feast!  Sebek has a large appetite and will eat with enthusiasm.  He will sample each dish you’ve brought along and finish off anything he enjoys.  It would be rude not to after Master had prepared this specially for him!

If you are looking for conversation after the meal, well, that’s not Sebek’s best skill.  He mostly knows how to talk about you, his wonderful Master!  If that isn’t what you are looking for (are you sure?), then he can perhaps read to you.  You may be surprised to find that a burley pet like Sebek is an avid reader.  He’ll gladly share some of his favorite passages with you.  Would you like a story about knights and valor?  Perhaps something about adventure and travel.  He can even read you a romance if you’d like.  He assures you that he only has that book for strictly academic reasons!

The sound of the wind whispering through the trees creates a gentle counterpoint to the deep and measured tone of Sebek reading aloud for you.  You’d chosen a tale of knights and kings, what you suspect is Sebek’s favorite topic.  After all, this is supposed to be a picnic reward for him; why not indulge him with a favorite story as well? 

“You sound like you don’t agree,” you say to him when he reads out the next passage.  Sebek startles a bit before grimacing a little and placing a hand on his head.  “It’s not my place to say, Master.”  You reach over and pat his hand reassuringly, “Go on, tell me your opinion.”  He looks at your carefully before straightening up even taller and bracing himself.  Then he gains the courage to speak his mind to you, “I don’t see why such noble creatures as dragons always have to play the part of the beast.  Perhaps if the knight had attempted to talk to him…”

You smile up at your brash, green-haired pet.  “I think you are right.  The dragon is just misunderstood.  So what if he is a bit larger than the others or a bit noisier.  I think he is perfect, just he way he is.”  A relieved expression crosses Sebek’s face and he says, “Of course, I see you understand, Master!”  Then he gives you a great fang-toothed grin. 

You lay back down in the sun and close your eyes as Sebek continues with the story.  Now that the unpleasant anti-dragon chapter is passed, he reads the tale in a much calmer voice.  You listen to the tale and enjoy the warmth of the day.  The sound of his voice blending into the sounds of the park is so soothing…

You startle awake and sit up suddenly, alarmed at the darkness.  Where were you?  What had happened?  You fumble around, trying to urge your mind to catch up with the situation.  The lights click on.  “Master, are you alright?” Sebek asks.  You look over at your pet and clam down.  Ah, you were home and in bed. 

You give your pet a quizzical look and ask him, “What happened?  The last thing I remember is being at the park…”  He looks a tad embarrassed as he responds, “It appears you fell asleep, Master.”  You hold back an eye-roll.  “Yes, I guessed as much but how did I get home?”  At that, Sebek straightens up and gives you a prideful smile.  “I carried you home, of course!  It was excellent training.”  Sometimes, even you are surprised at the lengths your pet goes to in the name of training.  “You could have just given me a shake, you know.”  He gives you a shocked expression, “Me?  I wouldn’t dare, Master!” 

You smile at him with the sleep still in your eyes, “So then there are no acceptable ways to wake someone up?” He pouts a bit, “Well, it depends on the circumstances.  In this case, the tales are clear; a sleeping beauty must be left to sleep on.”  You smile at him mischievously.  “What if a prince came along to wake me like in the story from this afternoon?”  Sebek looks at you scandalized.  “Why Master!  I’d never have allowed it!  Some ne’re-do-well trying to kiss my Master!”  As Sebek continues to grumble about the imagined insults of unworthy princes, you observe him with a smile.  Who needs a dragon to guard your slumber when you have such a pet? 

[crimsonedquill]

Hey I love you're writing so much! If you are comfortable with it could you write a aged up f!Mc x Sebastian where they are busy having sexy times 👀 It is really rough and obviously Seb is in charge but then MC feels like it is getting to much and she rather wants soft, gentle Seb

Hope that makes sense! And if you don't feel comfortable with my request then obviously feel free to ignore it 😅💛 Anyways have a wonderful day!

In Heat (Sebastian Sallow x f!MC)

Sebastian ends up hurting MC in the heat of the moment, then needs to make it up to her...

Full disclosure, I don't have that much experience writing F/M smut so writing this had me 🥵 for more than one reason – though I'm still quite happy with how it turned out!

Also, I now seem to have a backlog of requests for the first time since ever (gee, how'd that happen) so I want to promise all of my lovely requestors that I'm getting to your asks, it might just take some time because I want to give you all the quality content you deserve 🖤

Content warning: NSFW (18+). Aged-up characters, obvious dom!seb, yadayadayada

“Fuck,” Sebastian growled.

He was propping himself up on his hands, looking down at his lover like a wolf regarding its prey. His eyes wandered over her exquisite body; her blouse, having been ripped open to reveal a pink lacy bra, which he ripped between his teeth so that her delightfully perky breasts spilt out. His eyes lingered just enough to induce a hot shade of crimson in her glowing skin, a wave of primal exhilaration surging through him. He let his gaze wander, to her neck, a pale canvas for him to utterly ravage; then to her beautiful features; her soft lips, half parted to allow her short, heavy breaths to escape; her cheeks, radiating with a feverish warmth he was able to feel even at a distance, and then her big doe eyes, staring up at him with an arousing mix of lust and fear. Merlin, she was beautiful, and she was entirely his for the taking.

“Look at what you do to me,” he snarled at her, grinding his hardness against her thigh, the thin barrier of clothing hardly doing anything to conceal his excitement. MC let out a high-pitched whimper at his touch, and he sensed that there was little holding her body back from giving in to his corruption. It left him hard and aching for the feeling of her tightness clamping down on his cock as he palmed her breasts and mashed them together, burying his face into her damp flesh, tasting the thin glaze of sweat coating her skin. MC’s head fell back against the pillow and she let out a strained cry as he feasted on her bosom, her legs convulsing at the sensation of his teeth grazing her nipples. Fuck, she was too good. Usually she was so calm, so collected in her emotions, the contrast with the complete mess underneath him so great that he had a hard time keeping himself under control, only briefly pulling back to rip off his shirt before diving back in.

He resumed kissing her breasts as his fingers slipped down into her skirt, dipping into the wetness waiting there for him.

“You depraved slut,” he whispered through grinding teeth, “you really thought I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t find out just how much of a cock-starved whore you are?”

MC blushed heavily at his brashness, the unseemly language causing her to involuntary twitch on his fingers. He had never been this forceful with her, never this… rough. It honestly frightened her a little, for she knew just how impulsive and carried away he could get even when he wasn’t pinning her down, eager to fuck her raw. She wondered if she should say something, anything to convey at least her uneasiness – but then his fingers curling inside of her drove the words from her lips as her back arched up from the bed, a whimper working itself out of her throat.

“That’s right,” Sebastian grimaced, “show me just how much of a needy little bitch you are –”

Without warning, his hand lashed out and struck the side of her face. Her eyes widened in surprise, a tear quickly beginning to run down her red cheek, the sight only seeming to fuel his desire. He withdrew his fingers to ram them right between her lips, cutting off her breath.

“Taste it,” he ordered, and she did as she was told, obediently sucking her sap off his digits as she looked up at him with teary eyes. She couldn’t exactly deny that the expression of primal lust on his face turned her on, but even so, she was slightly unsettled at her lack of control in the situation. They had never deemed it necessary to come to any sort of agreement about their boundaries in bed; heck, she’d gleefully taken an aggressive pounding from him on more than one occasion, though she sensed that something was different tonight. He seemed to be losing himself to his own urges, driven by nothing more than animalistic instinct – and she didn’t know just how far he was willing to go.

He finally pulled his fingers out, leaving her gasping; saliva dripping down her chin. She was barely able to draw another breath before his lips crashed into hers, a deep growl rising from his throat. He dragged his tongue along her jaw, a shiver running down her spine as he settled into the crook of her neck, teeth pressing against her flushed skin.

There was a sharp, stinging pain. Then a sudden shriek, and finally nothingness, as his mouth disappeared from her neck and his weight shifted off her body. She opened her eyes and looked up to see him staring back at her. There was no more lust in his eyes, only guilt.

“M-MC…” he stammered, “did I hurt you?”

“It’s all right,” MC said, hasting to prop herself up on her elbows even though she was still seeing stars, “things just… spiralled out of control a little –”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I – we should stop.”

“Don’t be silly, it just was –”

But he’d already slipped out of bed before she could finish her sentence, disappearing into the bathroom. MC was left more than a little perplexed as she sat alone in the remains of their short-lived rodeo, her naked chest still exposed to the cool night air. She sighed and shook her head, making a half-assed attempt to cover herself up as she went after Sebastian.

There was only the sound of running water as MC entered the bathroom. She saw him slightly hunched over the basin, his dark eyes staring down into the small whirlpool. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, softly kissing his nape. “Hey… stop torturing yourself so much. I know you didn’t mean to do it.”

“That’s not the point.” His voice was heavy, full of anguish. “I… I lost control of myself. Who knows what could have happened if I hadn’t come to my senses, I could have ended up harming you –”

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit. Do you really think that after an army of goblins and dark wizards, I couldn’t protect myself against one hormonal brat?”

She was relieved to see at least a hint of a smirk forming on his lips. Taking his hand, she turned him around and cupped his face in her hands, lovingly looking into his gentle brown eyes.

“Sebastian, I know you would never hurt me on purpose,” she assured him. “And really, my body having this effect on you is more of a compliment than anything, but… I think I would prefer for this to be more than just fucking, do you understand?”

Sebastian frowned at her. “You’d like me to dance and sing too?”

“No, you goof,” she giggled, moving her hands down to rub his bare chest, “what I’m saying is… I would like for you to make love to me.”

His gaze lingered a little longer, taking in her pretty features as he finally cracked a smile. “I think we can make that work,” he said, and then his lips brushed against hers, hungry but tender, and she parted them to allow him in, feeling his arms close around her waist as his warm breath tickled the roof of her mouth. He spent only a brief few moments caressing her lips before kissing the corner of her mouth, then proceeding along her jawline until he reached the sore spot on her neck, drawing a soft gasp from her as he used his lips to ease the pain.

“There there,” he whispered, the gentle tone in his voice doing more to get her dripping than his fingers ever did, “I’m going to make it all better, my love. Just relax, deep breaths, let it all go –”

“Y-yes…” she whimpered, closing her eyes as he moved further down, letting her blouse slip off her shoulders. He nipped at her collarbone, sending a hot pulse down her chest that immediately caused her nipples to harden again. Sebastian seemed to take note, teasing her with a mischievous smirk before kissing his way to one of the pink buds, closing his lips to suck on it. A moan left her lips as she looked down through hooded eyes at her lover, cradling his head in her arm as she nursed him; a muffled grunt signalling just how much he wanted her.

Yet, in spite of his own clear desire, he took his time to love her, to put her as much at ease as possible before he let his treat go with a wet ‘plop’. “My love, I need to taste you – can I…?”

His chivalry led a redness to blossom on her cheeks; she bit her lip as she nodded, watching him kiss down her abdomen until he reached the top of her skirt, which he slowly worked down her legs. He couldn’t help but smile as he noticed just how soaked her tights were, their brief intermezzo clearly having done nothing to abate her arousal.

“So wet,” he hummed to himself as he hooked his fingers into the band of her panties and pulled them down, a cool breeze of air meeting her heat. “So needy.”

She wined slightly as she felt his fingers near her core, so close but not quite near enough to offer her the release she craved the most. Sebastian grinned as he drew lines in her inner thigh. “I can tell someone’s excited.”

“You talk too much,” MC scoffed.

“But I thought you like it when I tell you unsavoury things?”

She blushed. “I do, but –”

“So,” Sebastian said, leaning forward to blow on her clit, the sensation quickly driving her to the very edge of her sanity, “tell me, my sweetheart, what do you need me to do?”

She barely managed to keep her voice under control as she looked at him kneeling on the floor, ready to rock her world with just one command. “I need you to eat my fucking pussy,” she said.

The instruction was all he needed. He offered her one last smile before he grabbed hold of her legs and forced them apart, his tongue shooting past his lips to drag agonisingly slow along her clammy folds. She let out a cry as she fell back against the basin, hands clamping around the edge. His nose nuzzled her sensitive bud while he lapped at her with broad strokes, the reward of her delicious honey leaving him throbbing hard against the fabric of his trousers. She could feel the wet muscle carefully exploring her hole, eliciting a content moan from her as he finally dipped inside and started fucking her properly. She made no effort to behave as he feasted on her cunt with the ferocity it deserved; riding his face until her juices were dripping from his chin, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. The added stimulation of one of his digits thrashing her to release was enough to break her resolve, and she came hard, crying out in quick hiccups as Sebastian tugged at her lips to suck out every last drop.

The Slytherin was quick to veer up to lift MC on top of the small drawer next to the basin before unbuckling his belt and dropping his trousers to his ankles. He was aching for the feeling of her walls on his cock, and he sensed his desire was shared. Still, he took care to make sure that MC was all right at first, wiping a pleasure tear from the corner of her eye as he lightly stroked her hand. “My love, I’m going to put it in now, all right?”

Armed with a soft nod, he stroked his length up and down a few times before placing the swollen head at her entrance. They moaned in unison as he pushed through her wetness, her walls stretching to accommodate him. He kept still for a few seconds to allow them both to relish the moment, his breath heavy as he throbbed inside of her.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he whispered to her, catching her whimper with his lips as he began thrusting. She wrapped her arms around his neck, observing the flush of determination only slightly hidden under the scattering of freckles. How he managed to be so kind and caring and – ah, she mewled at his prick hitting a particularly sweet spot – yet so utterly driven by passion was a mystery that kept eluding her, though she found herself in no position to complain.

The symphony of their combined gasps and breaths and his pelvis slapping against her bare ass was the only sound filling the room for a while, and she rested her head on his shoulder as she settled into his rhythm. He hooked his arms under her legs to pull her hips towards him, fucking her onto his cock with increasing fervour, dictating her pace perfectly to her release.

“Look at you, all nice and tight,” he grunted. “Come for me, princess, I want to hear you scream while you drench my prick –”

There was no disobeying his commands, and she even managed to coax a moan out of him as she crashed over the edge, squeezing down on him with a scream of his name. Sebastian had to fight the urge to unload in her right then and there, though he somehow managed, waiting for her to ride out her climax before picking her up and dragging her off the drawer. She let out a yelp of surprise, giggling as she tightly locked her legs around his ass, revelling in the feeling of bouncing up and down on his cock with every step as he carried her over to the bed. He threw her down on the sheets, quickly crawling on top of her.

“Look who’s excited now,” MC teased him with a smile, palming at his chest.

“I guess you should be flattered.” She gasped at the feeling of his hardness dragging along her folds, his head red and swollen and slick with her juices.

“Oh, I very much am,” She grabbed a hold of him, guiding him back into her tight hole. She moaned as he felt him filling her to the brim once more, locking her legs around his butt again to keep him close as he resumed pounding into her. Sebastian lost himself in the shared flow of their sex, looking down into her gleaming eyes, which were so filled with innocence and lust that he couldn’t help but softly moan her name as he loved her. She was so warm and snug, the way her walls perfectly hugged his cock leaving his balls swollen and tingling as they slapped against her damp skin, ready to be milked dry.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered to her, “I’m close. Where do you want me?”

“Inside,” she whimpered back, her eyes practically speaking the words. “I want you inside of me, Sebastian.”

He smiled before kissing her, tasting the longing on her lips as he sped up his movements, thrusting himself inside of her at a greater pace. With her arms enveloping his neck, she clung to him, yearning to be as close to him as possible as he claimed her as his own.

He came with a groan, burying himself into her neck as she milked him. She cried with joy at the feeling of being rewarded with his warm seed, the sensation bringing about a small orgasm of her own as she held on for dear life, never having felt more closer as she was then, full of him in every sense of the word.

They lay basking in each other’s release for a while before he withdrew, making himself comfortable against the pillows so she could settle against his chest. He lightly stroked her hair, sighing before looking down at her. “So, was that more to your satisfaction?”

“Hmm,” she purred. “I’d say it was certainly… adequate.”

“Adequate? Are you pulling my leg?”

“Maybe I am.” She turned to meet his gaze, chuckling as she saw the expression of disbelief on his face. “Would you start feeling insecure if I said I wasn’t?”

“Well no, it’s not that, it’s just – I merely wish the best for you, you know?”

She laughed, reaching up to touch his cheek. “See… this is why I love you. Now, let’s kiss and go to sleep.”

He finally smiled, hunching forward to meet her lips with his own. “Let’s.”

[lvochka]

jagged lines

—red string of fate au pairing: ivan/till wc: 610

warning: angst, no happy endings here, probably a cliffhanger, intentional lowercase writing a/n: this is Tills' POV of a similar drabble that is written in Ivans' POV with the same prompt, I wrote this POV to double the damage.

i hope you enjoy :3

Red threads.

Everyone knew what it was.

the thread that ties you and your fated partner together.

what a load of bullshit.

it was stupid to think that by the moment you open your eyes in this world you'd be paired with someone you might absolutely not know at all, and the worse thing? you can't do anything about it.

as i followed the trail of red string that wrapped around my finger, it led me to someone whom i could count how often i'd look at him with one hand.

it wasn't on purpose, i had my reasons.

i find myself looking elsewhere when i met his gaze as he also glanced at the thread that tied us to each other.

not now. i had other things to worry about.

it's not like it's some sort of prophecy to get together with the person on the other end of the stupid string.

i occassionally look at the tightly wrapped string around my finger, i sometimes admire how it seems caging to be fated to someone, but i don't see a difference when i found out, if anything—

i felt at ease. a warm feeling in my chest fluttered.

i still find this whole thing weird sometimes.

i could feel the things he's feeling. when he's down i sort of feel my chest tighten, when he's in a good mood the raging noise in my head disappears.

whenever we pass by each other, i could feel my heartstrings being tugged towards his direction, wanting to feel the connection further.

and i could hear his faint heartbeat when i close my eyes.

i guess counting it when i struggle sleeping helped a lot with my insomnia.

truthfully, in the absence of you, in a place where you aren't here—

i linger over the traces of you.

---

i could feel his stare from behind me, what is it that he wants to say? couldn't he just come and get it over with?

stealing glances, holding your breath, biting your lip, averting your gaze. what is it that holds you back from spilling out the words that make you look like i'm better off not knowing about it?

it's not like i hated it to be him, at some point deep in my chest i felt a sense of relief, it's not something i have properly figured out why.

all i knew it wasn't exactly that bad to be his partner. i felt like this seemed right somehow, even if it wasn't her.

i'm glad, i'll admit that.

but why do i feel you linger in places you haven't been, skin you haven't touched, and words you've never said.

do you hate me that much that you don't know what to say?

i would have probably asked you this question when i muster the courage to, and not when my heart felt like it's been dropped, thrown around and step on.

what's happening?

i feel sick.

my stomach churned. i felt like my insides have been torn apart.

what's with this hollow feeling in my chest? as if something very important has been taken away from me, what is it?

the hair on the back of my neck stood up, i suddenly feel cold.

the familiar rhythm inside my head has stopped.

you mean—

my eyes darted to the loose end of my string.

it started to lose its color into a dull shade of red.

i tried clasping the missing end of my string, pulling it to see the jagged cut done to it.

why?

i turned around—

—and this time, it was his back facing me.

"ivan,"

"what have you done?"

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ how did this hit 1000wd? i'm just so happy for him!!!!!

Hen & Buck celebrate Pride. with a side of Karen my wife

for a kiss on the cheek

also on AO3

-

Mara runs ahead of them in the crowd, with little mesh fairy wings bobbing around on her back matching Jee-Yun who runs along beside her.

“Mom says not too far!” Denny calls after them, then looks back at his moms. “Hey, can we get icecream?”

“Excuse me?”

He pulls a face, exasperated. “Can we get icecream, please?”

Hen and Karen share a look. A your son's fourteen years is showing. But they can't help but smile; he's still their son, and even if he slips up on his ps and qs he still wants to include his sister and baby cousin a good time and that's the more important thing.

“Of course, yes,” Hen agrees, and digs into her bag. “Let me just find the -”

“Icecream?” pipes a voice from behind. “Hey, Uncle Buck's got this one.”

He hands over some notes as he catches back up from where he was lingering at one of the stalls.

“Hey now,” Hen warns, once Denny has said his thank yous and bounded out of ear shot, “they don't dip the stuff in gold, you know.”

“Uncle Buck better slow down now that he's got four kids hitting up his wallet,” Karen adds.

“Eh. Uncle Buck's feeling festive.” He can't wipe the smile off his face. It's like his heart is beating out of his chest with it and he can't stand still. “You know, I've been to Fair Day before, but I haven't been before. It's a lot. It's kinda crazy. All the different names and flags and stuff – how did you guys pick one?”

Hen isn't dressed particularly flag-y today; just dark shorts and a grey tank top with GIRLS printed across it in varying shades of pink. Karen on the other hand, has decked herself out in a brown blouse and a maxi skirt with varying pink rings that scream walking lesbian pride flag. It looks so natural for them, and fun, and well, if Buck's going to be doing this every year as a card carrying Member Of The Community, he'd like to dress the part. So far he's found a button up in thick vertical rainbow stripes that hangs open over his white tee shirt. It's a fun selection. But there's so much here and so many people having fun with it – they're on stilts! they're on enamel pins! they're everywhere! - it makes him want to cover his house and his car and everything he owns in the stuff.

Hen and Karen smile. They remember what it was like and for Buck, finding out older, and when there's more options with more visibility behind them than ever, and especially being Buck, king of the 4am wiki rabbit hole, the feeling must be even more intense.

“Don't overthink it, Buckaroo,” Hen advises. She pulls him over to a nearby stall, advertising face painting to raise money for rural queer mental health outreach. There's a big board of an array of flags, and little buckets with enamel pins and temporary pun-heavy tattoos. “The big secret is: everyone will try and argue about it forever. That's the double edged sword of community. You know what all these mean, right?”

“Most of them, yeah.”

“Yeah. And you know you've always got old reliable.” She gestures toward the top row of the board, which feature the classic Pride flag, the Philidelphia and the Progress flags. “But if you want to get more specific – what does your gut tell you?”

“That one.”

It's the one he has saved at the top of his tabs list. The one his eye has been drawn back to all day. He's been reading definitions on definitions on definitions and each one only seems to fit better than the last. Of course, it's that one.

“But what if it's wrong? What if it changes?”

“Then... you're out ten dollars, some kid in Alturas gets some help, and you know yourself better.”

“It's that easy, huh?”

“Hey.” Hen shrugs. “You're the one who invited your first gay kiss to your sisters wedding. Seems like you're rolling with the punches pretty well. Wanna do it?”

“Okay!” The irrepressible smile is back, and Hen finds herself beaming back at him.

“Okay!” she cheers, and turns to the attendant. “Andrea, hey! Can we get some bi flag paint for my friend here, please?”

“And you owe her for some lesbian hearts for your beautiful wife,” Karen points out, batting her eyelids to show off the trail painted up her cheek.

“Good choice,” Andrea says. She flicks her hair back over her shoulder and it's painfully flirtatious, the way she drags her eyes over him. Andrea has a bi flag of her own painted on one cheek, and gems in the colours of the rainbow on the other, highlighting her wicked cheekbones. She's got long, beautiful mahogany hair and she's tall and toned and yeah, he's most definitely still into women. Buck preens a little as she sets to work – he can't help it; he doesn't maintain this not to show it off just a little. Even if he can feel Hen and Karen rolling their eyes at him just out of sight.

When she's finished, Andrea holds a little mirror up for him to see and yeah, it just feels right. Then she turns him around to present him back to them and they look so goddamn happy for him he might cry. They might cry. Somebody might cry.

They grab each others' hands fiercely instead.

“Can we take a photo?”

Yes, please yes! He nods. Karen pulls out her phone but Hen beats her to it, and at the same time slings her free arm around him and pulls his face down to kiss his empty cheek. She snaps a selfie of the both of them.

She sends it to him later, a link to her Instagram post. It's captioned: Welcome to the family. PROUD of you Buck. And three hearts – pink, purple, blue.

[ryehouses]

Hi! Do you have any Jedi POVs that you could share? I really liked your take on them.

OK I'm sure I'm missing a few of the requests for various Jedi POVs, but here's a handful of different folks looking at Din and going "wow, we wonder what's up with THAT guy."

Bon appétit!

in which din djarin is an intergalactic man of mystery, and several people are confused about it. 

quinlan vos. 

“How have you been feeling?” Quinlan asked, pressing three fingers to the side of Din Djarin’s head. Djarin let him do it without any fuss. The first time Quinlan had reached out to Djarin to help him heal, Djarin had been warier than a Wayland wood-hopper. Trying to take off the edge of Djarin’s concussion had been like trying to dodge lightning during an electrical storm on Jabiim.

But now Djarin trusted Quinlan fine and he hardly flinched at all when Quinlan reached for him through the Force, and Quinlan was able to brush carefully against Djarin’s mind without needing to warn the other man first. 

Djarin’s mind met Quinlan’s easily. Quinlan had always thought of the Force as wind, sometimes a breeze and sometimes a hurricane, but he’d been told that his presence in the Force felt more like an ocean than the wind. A warm sea, Aayla’d once called him. 

Din Djarin, in the Force, was not an ocean. He wasn’t the wind, either. He wasn’t the star-bright of a Jedi or the cold black hole feeling of a Sith. But he was there, in the Force, and he recognized Quinlan. Djarin’s mind flickered. Not quite a proper Jedi’s greeting, clear and coherent, but at least an impression of welcome.  

“Better,” Djarin said, relaxed even as Quinlan put a little bit of the Force into his fingertips and started to map out Djarin’s head, feeling around for any lingering pain, for swelling or damage or darkness that would lead Quinlan to a wound that hadn’t yet healed. The Mandalorian had taken a few good hits on Tatooine. He’d had a few weeks to recover from that now, but still. 

I want to make sure that he’s okay, Quinlan thought. He liked Djarin. Most of the Jedi liked Djarin. He was a good sort underneath his armor, and Quinlan knew that as soon as the man’d finished cleaning up the Hutts’ mess on Tatooine and joined Quinlan on a freedom run or two, Quinlan would be happy to call Djarin his friend. 

Djarin was still some weeks out from being able to help with a freedom run, though. Tatooine was still a mess. Djarin and his friends had started to put things back together, but still. 

At least the palace was in better shape than it’d been when Quinlan and the rest of the Jedi had landed on Tatooine. Most of the debris had been cleared away, the great jagged holes in the ceiling patched with canvas. When Quinlan had landed this time, Djarin had brought Quinlan to a small courtyard that hadn’t fared too badly. A small, hardy tree grew in the middle of the courtyard, its narrow blue-green leaves turned up towards the suns, and the shape of the palace cast the courtyard into a deep, comfortable shade. 

There was still plenty of work that needed to be done. Quinlan hadn’t ever spent much time on Tatooine but he knew that ferocious sandstorms often tore through its deserts, and he was sure that Djarin and Fett both would want to patch over the holes in the roofs and cracks in the walls with something a little more sturdy than canvas before the next howler came through. 

“Not too much pain?” Quinlan asked, feeling his way carefully through Djarin’s head. He’d never been a great healer, Quinlan. War had taught him a bit, twenty years on the run a bit more, but he wasn’t anywhere close to the level of skill a Temple healer’d had back in the old days. 

Djarin’s mind flickered around Quinlan’s. Here and there Quinlan found a spot of pain, spitting sparks like a broken circuit, and Quinlan did his best to soothe what old injuries that he found. 

A few days in a bacta tank had done Djarin more good than Quinlan’s fumbling had, though. Quinlan’d put him into a healing trance – or what he’d hoped was a healing trance, anyway – at the sarlacc pit, but the other Mandalorians had spirited both Djarin and Boba Fett off pretty quickly after that. 

None of the old, dim hurts that Quinlan found felt life-threatening. Instead, he found a steady well of strength. Conviction. Djarin had shored up the inside of his mind with beskar, Mandalorian iron. 

“Since the fight?” Djarin asked. It was strange to hear his voice and feel his presence at the same time. Djarin wasn’t especially Force-sensitive. He was old enough to have been picked up by the old Order, which meant that he’d probably been tested as a child and had come in under the Order’s threshold, or Djarin was an Outer Rim kid who hadn’t ever been tested but who also hadn’t shown enough sensitivity to be caught later by the Empire. Who had learned how to hide it. 

Quinlan wasn’t sure how it was for Mandalorians, now that he thought about it. He didn’t know what Mandalorians had taught their Force-sensitive children. He rifled around in a few of his old memories, trying to remember if Obi-Wan had ever said much about Mandalorians and the Force, but couldn’t come up with anything distinct.

Mandalorians are weird about Jedi, I remember that. Maybe they’re weird about the Force, too. They’d hardly be the only ones. Djarin could just be a little odd in general. War did that to people.  

Djarin was sensitive enough to the Force to feel Quinlan moving around in his head, though. Even though he was welcoming enough of Quinlan now, the first time Quinlan had reached for his mind, Djarin had thrown him out. Quinlan had learned then that the trick with Djarin was to move carefully, like holding a very sharp sword. 

Quinlan found another frayed flicker of pain and quieted it, encouraging old hurts to heal. Djarin – Din, it was hard to think of the man only by his surname when he was so easy with Quinlan poking around in his head – relaxed even further. 

“Sure,” said Quinlan, rolling his eyes. Din was avoiding the question, which meant that he did have frequent headaches, but didn’t want to complain about it. 

Maybe he should have been a Jedi, Quinlan thought, amused, remembering several of his friends who’d used the same conversational trick to avoid talking about their physical or emotional well-being. “Since the fight.” 

Din shrugged. Amusement flickered through him too. He knew that Quinlan knew what he was doing, but was grateful that Quinlan was playing along anyway. 

“My head’s been fine,” Din said. “Thanks for your help, by the way.” 

Sincerity sank through the Force like a stone in the sea. Quinlan smiled and pulled back, retreating into himself, though he didn’t slide his shields all the way into place. Quinlan wasn’t afraid of Din poking around in his head, looking for secrets. Din was too polite. 

Din was going to be fine, most likely. He’d healed past Quinlan’s ability to help him, anyway, and that beskar strength ran all the way through him. Din would be fine.   

As he pulled back, Quinlan felt Din’s mind brush against his curiously. The air crackled with faint static, a strange feeling in a place like this. The touch made Quinlan think of rain. 

“Happy to help,” said Quinlan, matching Din’s sincerity. Din was a good sort. Many Mandalorians played the part of the ruthless hunter, as cold and unfeeling as the armor that they wore, but Din couldn’t fool Quinlan. 

Aside from the fact that the kid, Grogu, loudly and openly adored him, Din had been just as outraged by the slaving operation in Mos Eisley as Quinlan had. He’d let the kids at the temple climb all over him. He ran freedom runs for the ahra of Mos Eisley and, Quinlan thought, would’ve done the same for Force-sensitive younglings moving down the secret paths in the days of the Empire. Din was a good man. 

He fights like Obi-Wan, Quinlan thought. He’d seen Din use his strange Mandalorian lightsaber in that cantina, facing the Zygerrian and her crew. When Din’d pulled the blade up into the familiar opening stance of Soresu, Quinlan had been so surprised that he’d nearly taken a blaster bolt to the face. 

“Can all Jedi do that?” Din asked, tapping his own temple. Din had quick, dark eyes. He was sharp and observant. He leaned back against his sandstone seat, turning his face up towards the sky. The shadows were too deep in the courtyard for much sunlight to break through, but the stones were still warm.

“What?” Quinlan asked, mirroring Din and tapping a finger against his own temple. “Heal?” 

Din nodded. “Grogu can,” he said. “Never thought about using him to clear up headaches, though.” 

Gorgu could do just about anything that he wanted to do. Kids were like that. “Most of us can heal a little, at least,” Quinlan said, thinking Din’s question over. “It’s been pretty necessary, the last few years.” 

Really, Quinlan probably should’ve spent more time with Gungi and Chase, picking up healing, but Quinlan was a venerable Master now, and he didn’t pick up new skills as well as he used to. 

Din’s a quick learner, though, Quinlan realized. K’Kruhk’d said that Din had taught himself Makashi using a Padawan’s old lineage holocron. Din might not be particularly strong in the Force, might be a little strange, a wrinkle in the Force that was hard to smooth over, but he’d probably be able to manage a little bit of healing. 

“You get headaches?” Quinlan asked. “Regularly?” 

Din snorted again and pressed his knuckles against his temple. “Hazard of the job,” he said, which was enough of an answer. Despite the helmets that they always wore, Mandalorians did seem to get hit in the head pretty often. Din hadn’t been the only Mandalorian that Quinlan’d put in a healing trace after the fight by the sarlacc pit. 

Quinlan hesitated for a moment. 

The new Jedi Council, the one that Luke had painstakingly put together on Yavin-4, head-hunting Jedi survivors from all over the Outer Rim, hadn’t actually ever sat down to build a code of conduct. To lay out just who could learn which techniques, and when, and why. 

Din wasn’t a Jedi. He could touch the Force, but that only meant that he could touch the Force; it didn’t make Din a Jedi Knight. In the old days, the Jedi had kept the secrets of their techniques among themselves. The Force was dangerous, sometimes. A fire that could burn. A sea that could drown. A sword that could cut or slip from the hand, biting the one who’d lost control of it. Quinlan knew that better than most. 

But Din is a good man, Quinlan thought again. A Mandalorian, but not an enemy. 

Kark it, Quinlan said to himself, smiling a little, leaning forward to catch Din’s attention. It caught quickly; Din focused on Quinlan, the faint brush of his mind against Quinlan’s own still curious. 

Din’s an ally. He wasn’t strong enough in the Force to heal another, Quinlan didn’t think, though maybe Din was hiding the Force deeper inside his mind than he realized. As far as Quinlan knew, Din hadn’t approached any of the Jedi Masters at the temple to talk about it. He probably didn’t trust the Jedi like that yet. Connecting to the Force had been a dangerous secret for a long time. 

But the Force was there in him. 

“I know a few tricks that you don’t have to be a Jedi to use for that,” Quinlan said, propping his elbows up on his knees. “Luke – Master Skywalker – he had you meditating a few weeks ago, didn’t he? When you came by to pick up Grogu for the Mandalorian thing?” 

Calling whatever Din had been doing with the other Mandalorians – a rowdy lot, Quinlan’d learned, though they’d all been willing to join forces with the Jedi in the ruins of Boba Fett’s palace to go off and help Din defeat a Hutt – a ‘Mandalorian thing’ made Din laugh. He had a bright one, when he was out of his armor. 

“I don’t know if you could call it meditating,” Din admitted, grimacing. “I didn’t, uh, do it very well. Took a good nap, though.” 

Quinlan grinned. “I wasn’t very good at it when I first started either,” he said. “My head was too loud.” 

“Mine too,” Din said, wry. He tapped his knuckles against the side of his head almost absently. “It takes a lot to get it quiet, sometimes.”

Quinlan could relate. “Still,” Quinlan pressed. “Meditation – it’s good for taking care of small hurts. Anyone can do it, as long as they’re patient enough. It’s not gonna help you if you’ve got a concussion or a brain injury – you’d need a proper Jedi healer for that – but a headache – ”

Din hesitated, but Quinlan had him now. He could feel it. Din leaned forward. “Alright,” he said. “Show me.” 

k’kruhk. 

“You’ve been practicing,” K’Kruhk said, studying the new lightsaber burn scored into the sleeve of his robes. 

Djarin colored, looking strangely sheepish for a man who could hold his own against a temple-trained Jedi, at least for a few minutes. K’Kruhk hadn’t been keeping time in his head, but he knew that one of the younglings must have been. They were all crowded around the edge of the platform, watching K’Kruhk and Djarin with bated breath. 

It had taken K’Kruhk at least five minutes to disarm Djarin this time. Djarin was getting better and better with his strange Mandalorian lightsaber. He’d been good enough the first time K’Kruhk had ordered the Mandalorian to demonstrate his lightsaber skills, but now Djarin moved with the darksaber like he’d been born with it lit in his hand. 

“Sorry,” Djarin said, looking at the burn in K’Kruhk’s robes, and he sounded sincerely apologetic. 

K’Kruhk just shrugged. Djarin’d been careful enough. He had only singed K’Kruhk’s robes, not K’Kruhk himself. Djarin had good control; K’Kruhk had never seen him cut or burn something that he didn’t want to cut or burn. 

“I’ll live,” said K’Kruhk, dryly. He reached out with the Force and tugged Djarin’s lightsaber back from where it had fallen when K’Kruhk had disarmed him. He caught the strange hilt in his hand, then offered it back to the Mandalorian. 

Djarin hesitated, still clearly apologetic, but took the weapon back. 

“You’ve been practicing,” K’Kruhk repeated. “You opened the holocron I gave you, then?” 

He’d given Djarin one of the Makashi training holocrons the last time Djarin had visited the Jedi Academy. He came by fairly often now, stopping in at least once or twice a month to visit with young Grogu or help Master Kestis and Master Vos on one of their missions. 

The holocron that Djarin had started to learn with – a lineal record, an assignment that Jedi Padawans had once done as part of their training, before the Clone Wars and the Purges – had taught Djarin well enough, but those sorts of holocrons weren’t really proper training tools. Padawans had built lineal records to learn more about the Jedi in their line. To learn about their Master’s Master, and to see how the Force and the techniques for touching the Force had been passed down from teacher to student. They were not comprehensive records of lightsaber forms. 

The holocron that K’Kruhk had given Djarin last month was a proper training tool. Makashi had not been commonly practiced in the last days of the Jedi Order, but K’Kruhk still remembered watching the duels at the Mid-Year Fete, impressed by how gracefully – how cleanly, with no movement wasted – the Makashi duelists had fought. 

So he’d gone digging into the archives that Master Skywalker and some of the other Jedi had been cobbling together, and K’Kruhk had found a holocron that held all of Form II’s katas, and he’d given it to Djarin mostly just to see what would happen. 

Djarin nodded, guilt and embarrassment fading now that he realized that K’Kruhk was alright. 

“I did,” he said. He said it easily, too. K’Kruhk tried not to twitch, triumphant. 

So he is Force-sensitive, he thought. 

It had been hard to tell, with Djarin, and the matter had been one of some debate among the Jedi of the temple since Djarin had first shown up. One Jedi could usually feel out another, even one who wasn’t particularly strong in the Force. Usually, finding someone else who could touch the Force was just a matter of focus. The Force was in all things, after all. 

But trying to focus on Djarin enough to feel the Force moving through him – in him, around him, binding Djarin to the galaxy – was like trying to touch sunlight or trying to hold water in a cupped palm. Possible, but tricky. K’Kruhk didn’t know if it was because Djarin was Mandalorian or if he was just not particularly strong in the Force or if he’d had some rudimentary training in how to shield himself. The Force was easy to feel in a youngster. The young were born open to the Force, and only closed themselves off from it to shield themselves from pain. With an adult – a warrior, who had known his share of pain and more, if what K’Kruhk knew of the Mandalorian purges was anything to go by – finding the Force could be trickier. 

But if Djarin had opened a holocron – one that K’Kruhk knew hadn’t been tampered with, either, one that only opened to Jedi who asked it to open through the Force – then Djarin was Force-sensitive. 

“It took me a little while,” Djarin added, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d left his armor off today and was even faster without it weighing him down. He held his lightsaber comfortably in his hand. “And I might have, uh, whacked it a few times, but I didn’t break it or anything. The demonstrations were good.” 

K’Kruhk did twitch then, just a little. A few of the Initiates who’d been watching the bout saw him twitch and edged away. “You didn’t – you didn’t meditate with the holocron?” K’Kruhk asked. 

Djarin looked at him, puzzled. “Meditate with it? No,” he said. “Was I supposed to? They’re just puzzle boxes, right?”

Puzzle boxes, K’Kruhk thought. The most precious artifacts that were still left to the Jedi. The repositories of thousands of years of knowledge. The tools that helped a Jedi grow in the Force, that taught patience, and focus, and clarity. 

“A puzzle box,” K’Kruhk repeated out loud, to see if the words sounded less absurd when spoken. 

They did not.  

Djarin winced.  

Communing with a holocron was one of the many and myriad tests that the Order of old had used to assess sensitivity to the Force in a youngster. Jedi holocrons were not always gentle teachers, but they could be, especially when approached with respect. 

However, sometimes holocrons followed their own wishes, or bowed to the will of another. Sometimes holocrons opened because they wanted to. Other times, they stayed shut. 

Another test – this one somewhat more reliable, and easier to apply in a time-sensitive situation – was to gently lob an object, usually something small, at the child, and see if the child would instinctively catch it. 

Din Djarin was not a child. The rock that K’Kruhk pitched at his head was not small. 

Djarin didn’t catch it with the Force, either. He swept his black lightsaber up, neat as Yan Dooku had ever been, and slashed through the rock like it was made of water instead of good Yavin stone. 

He narrowed his eyes at K’Kruhk. K’Kruhk narrowed his eyes back. All of the Initiates pressed closer to the edge of the platform again, eager to see what would happen. 

Maybe Djarin wasn’t Force-sensitive. Maybe he was just stubborn. 

One way to find out, K’Kruhk thought, and lit his lightsaber. 

bo-katan kryze. 

In general, Lady Bo-Katan Kryze, second-to-last scion of House Kryze, soldier, general and sometime-leader of what was left of the Mandalorians, was too busy to wonder about just what was wrong with Din Djarin. There was plenty wrong with him, and she had too much to do: Fenn Rau had managed to coax Djarin into acting as he ought and except the responsibility that he’d so thoughtlessly picked up off the floor of Moff Gideon’s light cruiser, and that meant that Bo-Katan’s days had quickly fallen into a breathless rhythm of traveling and hunting and politicking, spreading word of Mandalore’s new king to even the most far-flung, secretive clans. She was more than happy to leave the day-to-day minutiae of king-wrangling to Rau. He’d volunteered himself for the job, as far as she was concerned, and Rau liked strangeness anyway. 

It was easy to forget Djarin’s strangeness while she was out in the galaxy. The mand’alor that the people needed was strong and honorable and cunning, loyal to his allies and unsparing with his enemies. Djarin was all of those things – or at least most of those things – and it was easy for Bo-Katan to forget that Djarin was often annoyingly stubborn too, that he was wary, that he thought that Boba karking Fett had personally strung all of the stars in the sky. 

None of that fit the shape of the mand’alor that Mandalore needed, so Bo-Katan bundled all of Djarin’s strangeness away at the back of her head and went about the business of trying to unite a bunch of blaster-happy, nervous, grudge-carrying or’diniise under one banner. 

She was pretty good at it, if she did say so herself. Most of the clans Bo-Katan’d sought out had eventually agreed to at least meet Djarin and judge for themselves whether or not he was a mand’alor they wanted to follow, which was how Bo-Katan found herself leaning against a rock in the middle of the desert on karking Tatooine, clinging to the only bit of shade she could see for miles around, watching Djarin spar politely with the best fighter of Clan Orar and trying to figure out what Djarin was doing that was bothering Bo-Katan this time. 

It wasn’t the darksaber. 

Well, she thought grudgingly, watching Djarin parry one of the Orar fighter’s gauntleted fists with a neat, economical flick of black light, it’s not just the darksaber. 

Seeing the darksaber in Djarin’s hand had stopped making Bo-Katan want to rip Djarin’s throat out with her teeth, mostly. She’d gotten over that on Krownest. It wouldn’t be very satisfying to kill Djarin if he didn’t try to fight back, and Bo-Katan had believed him when he’d told her that he wouldn’t fight her for the darksaber. 

Since he wouldn’t fight and Bo-Katan wouldn’t let go of the last few scraps of honor she’d managed to salvage since the Fall of Mandalore, Bo-Katan had resigned herself to the fact that Djarin carried the darksaber now. It belonged to Din. Bo-Katan would never carry it again. It was disappointing, but haar oya’la taab’e. The living kept marching. 

The Orar warrior – a truly massive man in piecemeal yellow and green armor – swung at Djarin again, a vibro-knife crackling in one hand. Djarin slid out of his way, graceful as a Dashta eel, and punched the hard durasteel hilt of the darksaber into a gap in the Orar’s armor. 

The Orar stumbled back, wheezing. 

Bo-Katan narrowed her eyes. 

There, she thought, looking at Djarin as he took a few steps back too, his stance loose and open. Someone had finally gotten around to forging him a new helmet and it gleamed in the suns. Djarin hadn’t painted his armor yet. The only color on him was one green vambrace. Bo-Katan was sure that Fett had a silver gauntlet around his own wrist, and grimaced at the thought. 

She fixed her attention back on Djarin. Something about the way he was moving prickled underneath of Bo-Katan’s armor like an itch she couldn’t reach, and she didn’t know why. 

The Orar fighter recovered, rubbing at the sore spot underneath the edge of his cuirass. The vibro-knife in his hand snapped and sparked. The spectators – more Orar warriors, a handful of robed and masked Tuskens, Rau himself and a small coterie of Mandalorians already won over to Djarin’s cause – whooped and jeered, depending on who they were supporting. 

Djarin’d refused to accept any formal challenges, but he could still be persuaded to spar. He liked to fight well enough. That, at least, wasn’t strange. Djarin had plenty of proper Mandalorian feeling. Mandokar. 

The Orar lunged a third time, trying to use his size against Djarin. Djarin eeled away again, armor glinting in the suns, and lashed out with a quick horizontal strike that scored across the Orar’s chestplate, spitting sparks. 

Bo-Katan and Djarin both knew that the darksaber couldn’t cut straight through pure beskar. Djarin hardly would’ve moved like that if it would have – he was very careful with the darksaber, in control of it all of the time, as graceful as a Jedi. 

But the Orar didn’t know that the darksaber wouldn’t cut, and he flailed back with a shout of surprise, breaking his form and nearly falling on his shebs to get away. 

His flailing gave Djarin the opening he needed to finish the spar. Djarin pounced, lunging forward too fast for the Orar to dodge, and with a flick of his wrist Djarin disarmed the other fighter and brought the snapping, snarling edge of the darksaber up to the Orar’s throat in the same move. 

Impressive, Bo-Katan thought, a little smugly. The Orars had been a little too proud of their own skill. Watching Djarin manage this one so neatly was satisfying. Proof that Bo-Katan had backed the right warrior for the throne. Even if Djarin was a little odd, he was – 

Wait, Bo-Katan thought, her mind skipping backwards several seconds, catching on a stray observation. 

As graceful as a Jedi? That can’t be right. 

Bo-Katan had watched Pre Vizsla fight with the darksaber. He hadn’t fought like a Jedi at all. He’d fought like a Mandalorian. Forward and direct, not ungraceful but certainly not as light on his feet as a Jedi was. As Djarin was. 

Bo-Katan had never stopped to ask herself where it was that Djarin’d learned to handle the darksaber. She hadn’t seen him use it on the light cruiser, but she had seen him hold it. He’d held it out from his body. He’d held it like any Mandalorian held a weapon they didn’t know much about – carefully, so they didn’t kill themselves with something that they didn’t understand. 

But he’s not fighting like a Mandalorian. He’s fighting like a Jedi. 

Bo-Katan knew quite a bit about the Jedi. Aside from Satine’s unfortunate attachment to one, the Jedi had been Mandalore’s ancient enemies. Any self-respecting clan heir had learned about them. 

The Jedi had been such dangerous enemies because they had been able to touch something that most Mandalorians couldn’t. The Jedi could feel things, sense things, move things, influence them; they were one with their lightsabers, Bo-Katan had learned, because using a lightsaber well required a Jedi to tap into the Force. Lightsabers weren’t proper kad’e. They had no weight to them. To direct one with skill, real skill – 

Several explanations for Din Djarin’s strangeness fell into place all at once. Bo-Katan’s eyes widened. 

Oh, she thought, no. 

arza.

Arza bounced on the balls of her feet, nearly shaking out of her skin with impatience. Master Chase’s shuttle groaned as it descended out of space, a red, dusty planet growing in the viewport just past Arza’s nose. 

Beside her, Huzin and Valka, the other two Initiates who’d gotten permission from Master Skywalker to come and visit Tatooine, watched the planet grow bigger and bigger with wide eyes, though they weren’t as obviously as excited as Arza. 

Their loss, Arza thought. She squinted out of the viewport, trying to see where they were going before they got there. Master Skywalker said that Master Djarin, who the Initiates were visiting, lived in a place called Mos Eisley. He didn't live in a temple, like the Jedi, or in a house, like Arza’d lived in with her parents before she’d gone off to train, but in a palace. Arza’d never seen a palace before. 

“Arza,” Huzin said, rolling his eyes. “Relax. We’re gonna be there in a minute.” 

Arza ignored him. Huzin didn’t get it – he’d been on what Master Chase called ‘research trips before,’ but Arza hadn’t. This was her first time out of the temple since she’d arrived there three years ago, and she was going to see Master Djarin, who was wizard. He wasn’t a Jedi Knight, but he could fight with a lightsaber and fly with a jetpack. He traveled all over the galaxy. Even though he wasn’t a proper Knight, Arza still wanted Master Djarin to be her teacher. She bet that if he was, she’d learn all kinds of things that the other Initiates could only dream of. 

“Look!” Arza said, pointing. The mass of red and yellow dust had turned into huge, towering cliffs, deep canyons, miles and miles of sand. And there in the sand, getting bigger and bigger as Master Chase steered the shuttle towards a landing pad, was a funny-looking building, round and stony, with three or four tall, round towers rising up into the air. “That has to be the palace!” 

All of Huzin’s studied calm went out the viewport. He and Valka both rushed to join Arza there, pressing their noses to the thick glass as they dropped from the sky.

“Woah,” Huzin breathed, his eyes huge and round. “Wizard.”

Master Chase was a pretty good pilot. She brought the shuttle down in between a green and red ship and the battered, sleek ship that Master Djarin visited the temple in.

“There’s Master Djarin!” Valka added, pointing. 

Sure enough, Master Djarin was waiting for them at the edge of the landing pad, his silver armor bright and glittering in the suns. 

There was another man beside him, too. A Mandalorian. He was shorter than Master Djarin, but just as broad and strong, and his armor was painted green. He had something in his hand, a datapad, maybe, and was looking at it while Master Djarin looked at the shuttle. Arza wondered who he was. No other Mandalorians had ever visited Yavin-4 with Master Djarin. 

Master Chase docked the shuttle and Arza was out and bounding down the ramp almost before it had fully dropped to the sandy ground. The heat of Tatooine hit her all at once, but Arza didn’t mind. Yavin-4 was hot too, sometimes, and she’d gotten used to it. 

Valka and Huzin were skidding behind Arza close on her heels. Master Chase followed at a calmer pace, shaking her head. 

Arza remembered her manners, though, and when she reached the bottom of the ramp, she bobbed a quick bow and said, “Hi, Master Djarin!” 

“Hello,” Valka and Huzin chorused, bobbing their own bows too. 

“Hello, Arza,” said Master Djarin, warmly. Some of the Initiates had been a little scared of Master Djarin at first, because he wore a helmet a lot and it could be hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling, but Arza could hear the smile in his voice. She grinned back. 

“Initiates,” said Master Chase, catching up to the trio of young Jedi. “Manners, please. Djarin, hello.” 

“Hello,” said Djarin, still sounding warm. He tilted his helmet in the direction of the green Mandalorian. “This is Boba Fett. He’s in charge of the palace. Boba, these are some of the young Jedi, and this is Master Chase Piru.” 

“Knight Chase Piru,” Master Chase corrected, cheerfully. “I’m not ready to be a boring old master yet, right, kids?” 

Huzin rolled his eyes again, but Arza and Valka smiled. Arza peered closer at the green Mandalorian. 

Boba Fett, she thought. She’d heard of him. Master Skywalker had told Arza and the other two Initiates to be very nice and very respectful around him. He was a Lord of Tatooine, a powerful man, and he’d once been a famous and very dangerous bounty hunter. Arza’d gotten the impression that Master Skywalker hadn’t liked the idea of the kids going to see Lord Boba Fett, but Master Djarin was Lord Boba Fett’s friend, and spent most of his time around Lord Boba Fett on Tatooine. 

If Master Djarin liked Lord Boba Fett and didn’t think he was dangerous, Arza wasn’t too worried. Everyone at the temple knew, through Grogu, that Master Djarin wouldn’t let anything hurt a child of the temple. 

“Hello, Lord Fett,” said Arza politely. 

Lord Boba Fett twitched a little, like he was surprised that Arza would say hello.

“Hey, kid,” he said, gruffly. His voice wasn’t quite as warm as Master Djarin’s, but he didn’t sound mean or frightening. “You can – you don’t have to call me Lord Fett. Just Fett’s fine.”

Arza, Valka and Huzin exchanged glances. It was important, Master Skywalker often said, for a Jedi to be polite. In the old days before the Empire – however long ago that had been – the Jedi Knights had been dip-low-matts. They’d spent a lot of their time talking to people who had problems, and helping to fix those problems. Being rude made more problems than it fixed. 

“....Mister Fett?” Arza ventured. 

Mister Lord Fett shifted a little, but nodded shortly. “You’re – welcome here,” he said, still gruff. Master Djarin was looking down at Mister Lord Fett, and Arza could feel Master Djarin in the Force. It was harder than feeling Master Skywalker or Master Chase, but Arza could do it if she concentrated. Master Djarin felt – light. Happy.

“This is Mister Fett’s palace,” Master Djarin explained. “You’ll be seeing him around while you stay here. You guys want to take a look around?” 

Arza, Valka and Huzin all looked at each other again, their eyes wide, and nodded rapidly. Huzin and Valka hadn’t been inside of a palace either. Arza bet that the palace of the Lord of Tatooine had all kinds of interesting things in it. 

“C’mon, then,” said Master Djarin, tilting his head towards a cool hallway that branched off of the landing pad. “I’ll show you around before lastmeal’s ready. Master Chase?” 

Master Chase waved Master Djarin off. “They’re yours for the week,” she said. “I’ve got a thing over on Arkanis to look into.” She said it lightly enough, but both Mister Lord Fett and Master Djarin’s focus sharpened. 

“Comm me if you need anything,” said Master Djarin, tone firm. “We’ve got a few extra hands around this week.” 

“Will do,” said Master Chase. She looked down at the Initiates, fixing all three of them with a no-nonsense look. 

“You’re Master Djarin’s – and Mister Fett’s – guests for the week,” she said. “And you’re here to learn about different cultures and peoples. Be on your best behavior, yeah? No Force food fights.” 

That had only happened a few times. Arza nodded anyway.

“Good,” said Master Chase, ruffling Huzin’s already-untidy hair. “Then I’ll see you in a week!” 

Arza and the others turned their attention back to Master Djarin. Master Chase went back up the ramp. Master Djarin held out a hand, gesturing the three students into the palace, and Arza went. Master Djarin led the way, with Mister Lord Fett taking up the rear. 

Inside, the palace was cool and fascinating. Arza looked everywhere, still nearly vibrating with excitement. She couldn’t wait to learn something new. 

“You guys have a good trip over?” Master Djarin asked, peering down at Arza. Arza shrugged. She hadn’t been in hyperspace enough to tell what was a good trip or not. 

“It took a while,” Arza admitted, nearly skipping down the hall. She could smell something warm and spicy in the air, and she could hear noise further down the hall. The walls were all stone, like the temple’s walls, and light spilled in through windows cut deep out of the rock. “We – hey!” 

Something – someone – small and sturdy darted across the hallway in front of Arza, dodging Master Djarin nimbly but crashing into Arza like a pouncing tooka. Arza fell sideways with a startled “oof!” 

“Mirda!” Master Djarin called, but the shape – which had also toppled over, and revealed itself to be a small girl a few years younger than Arza, who had a Mandalorian helmet over her face – was already moving, scrambling back up to her feet. 

The other little girl was a Jedi. 

No, Arza corrected, looking up from the floor. Not a Jedi. Jedi lived at the temple. They trained with Master K’Kruhk and Master Chase, Master Cal, Master Luke. This was Tatooine. There were no Jedi here. 

But the other girl – she was bright in the Force. Arza could feel her. The other girl was unguarded and happy, bright as a star, and was already up and hurtling off down another hallway that sat cross-ways to the one that Master Djarin’s been bringing them down.

OUCH, Arza said into the Force anyway, aiming it at the girl. 

Hibyeseeyoulater! Then the smaller Mandalorian girl rounded a corner down the other hallway and disappeared, though Arza could still feel her in the Force like an echo bouncing off the hallways of the temple. 

Master Djarin sighed. “Sorry,” he said, helping Arza climb back up to her feet. Arza and Huzin were peering after the Mandalorian girl too. Mister Lord Fett was studying his datapad, but Arza thought that he was probably paying attention. “Are you okay?” 

Arza dusted herself off, more surprised than hurt. Master Djarin’s concern brushed against her face like a gloved hand. “I’m okay,” she said. She grinned. “We get knocked over in the temple all of the time.” 

Master Djarin snorted. Arza’d seen him wrestling with some of the younglings before. He knew how rowdy they could get. 

“Still,” he said. “That was Mirda. She’s – she doesn’t always pay attention to where she’s going. I’ll make her apologize later.”

“I’m okay, really,” Arza said. She reached out through the Force and poked at the small Mandalorian girl. It was hard to do now that there were a bunch of walls in between Arda and the girl – Mirda – but Arza managed it. Arza felt a flash of surprise, and then a cautious, wary poke back. “She didn’t mean it.”   

Master Djarin looked Arza up and down. Huzin and Valka looked between Master Djarin and Arza, their confusion unfurling like a leaf in the sun. Arza wondered if they’d felt Mirda in the Force too. 

“Still,” Master Djarin repeated, slowly, “you’re our guest. Your teachers wouldn’t let one of the younglings knock over a guest without saying ‘sorry,’ would they?” 

Behind them, Mister Lord Fett made an approving noise. He still hadn’t looked up and most of his attention was on his datapad and the Force around Mister Lord Fett felt – scattered, like his attention was being pulled in half a dozen places. 

He didn’t say anything, though, and Master Djarin was looking down at Arza patiently, like he expected an answer to his question. 

Arza thought for a moment. Master K’Kruhk would make Arza run laps up and down the side of the Academy’s tallest pyramid, without the Force, and he’d make her apologize. But that was because a Jedi had to be careful; a Jedi could hurt someone by accident very easily. Arza could feel and touch and pull on the Force, but she had to be responsible with it too. 

Maybe Mandalorians are the same, Arza thought. Everyone at the Academy said that Master Djarin was a fighter. Maybe it was easy for him to hurt someone too, even by accident, so he had to be extra careful, and extra responsible. 

“Is Mirda your youngling too, like Grogu?” Valka piped up, her head cocked to the side. She must’ve felt Mirda in the Force, then. Valka was also trying to figure out why Mirda felt like Master Djarin. 

Master Djarin shook his head, then paused. “Well – she’s not my youngling,” he said. “We – Mandalorians – call our children foundlings. Grogu is my foundling, but Mirda’s my brother’s.” 

“Oh,” said Arza, nodding. She poked Mirda through the Force again, helloi’marzajedifriend, pushing an image of the gardens of Yavin-4, warm sunlight, dappled leaves, laughter bubbling up from the creche, and Mirda got the idea. She prodded Arza right back, clumsier and somehow sharper, a prickle of whohowi’mmirda, a flash of a safe dark bunker underground, a big man in blue armor, the suns scorching the sand dunes of Tatooine. 

Arza wrinkled her nose. Mandalorians were weird. 

“We’re part of the same clan,” Master Djarin added, like he remembered all at once that he’d agreed to teach the Initiates about Tatooine and Mandalorians while they were here. 

That made sense. Master Chase’d talked about children inheriting Force-sensitivity from their parents, sometimes. Arza’s mother had been able to touch the Force, and Master Luke’s father had even been a famous Jedi. 

Wizard, Arza thought. 

“So are all Mandalorian clans Force-sensitive?” Arza asked, looking up at Master Djarin. “Or just yours?” 

Behind them, Mister Lord Fett dropped his datapad. 

[radioactivesweet]

I'm gonna request for Qin because your requests are open for Qin 😃.

So here are the details-

Needy modern Qin x Modern female artist reader

Qin and reader go on a date.

But reader keeps on focusing on her drawings and doesn't pay attention to Qin and Qin gets needy that's all for my request bye bye 😃👋!

aaa I like modern aus a lot! Sorry it took me so much to write it^^

Qin Shi Huang is flustered to say the least, despite his attempt to mantain a fiery facade. He had been confident enough to ask you out on a date - he had a feeling you might like him back, which was confirmed by Alvitr too - yet, now that you're sitting in front of him entirely focused on your sketchbook insetead of him, he feels like his beliefs may have been wrong.

Still, Qin Shi Huang isn't going to waste this chance. He plays with the pencils you've left on the table, trying to build something, only to let them fall immediately after - since you don't seem to notice his actions.

He can't help but feeling like an ignored child who's trying tirelessly to be acknowledged. He also sulks like one, you notice, hiding an amused smile behind the piece of paper you're holding.

He yawns and then pretends to have fallen asleep, his head resting on the table. One eye open, he tries to see if your expression had changed. Then he sits straight again.

"Why don't we go somewhere else?" he asks, hoping that your disinterest was caused by the café you were in - and not because of him.

Even when you are outside, walking, you keep looking at your sketchbook, focusing entirely on your work. He tries to take a look at what you're are drawing, but you're faster, turning the page before he could see it. You smile in victory and he's happy because, for once, he has had a reply, he managed to catch your attention - but it's still not enough. And now, he also want to know why you'd need to hide what you were doing.

As his hand brushes against yours, he isn't feeling anymore like a child, but like a teenager in love, straight out from high school. I am too old for that, he tells himself, but he knows too well how he'd love to grab your hand. That hand, though, is still holding the sketchbook, even if your not drawing in it anymore.

"I think I should go. It's getting late." eventually says Qin Shi Huang, who wants to put an end to this never ending embarassment. He'll think about your drawings another time, first he needs to ask Alvitr for some advice. They'll sort things out together.

"Oh... I thought you wanted to take a look..." you reply, pretending to be surprised "But maybe we could do it some other time." as you say this, you slowly pull the sketchbook inside your bag, Qin Shi Huang's eyes lingering on it.

"Maybe it's not that late." he adds, smiling smugly.

And when he starts going through your drawings he realizes that you had been focused on him all along. The pages are covered in sketches of him made throughout your date. You laugh loudly as a shade of red covers his cheecks.

"Next time you should teach me how to draw like this, these are really good." he declares, "But I bet the model played a huge part in it too."

[intheorangebedroom]

Pleased to meet you, a drabble

Summary: you and Benny have been dating for a little over three months when you finally agree to go hiking with him.

Pairing: Ben Miller x French fem!Reader.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: @nicolethered, this is a very humble gift for you, my dearest, dearest friend. I know smut is not my strong suit (unfortunately), and I wish I could present you with a much better gift, because you deserve the absolute fucking best, but I did do my very very best to give you the Benny I think you might like. You've given me and this fandom so much. Happy birthday season, ily ♥

I'm tagging every one, I hope no one will mind, because I managed to sneak in a little bit of plot, and, of course, subliminal mentions of Frankie 😜 (I can't help myself)

Count: 2.8k

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

A drabble: Proud Mary

You’ve got to give it to this country, it really knows how to do autumn. And autumn is the one thing you love but could never fully enjoy in Paris. A city with a dense urban fabric, there’s not enough space for nature to perform its flamboyant swan song in crimson and golden gradient, the parks and public gardens too tidy, too tamed to your taste. 

In your late 20s, you would rent a car and spend the last week of October by the Normand or Picard shores, on your own, and revel in the colours you’d find along the road. Until you met Éric and, a couple of years into your relationship, he started demanding you stay by his side and accompany him as he attended the many parties and diners of the rentrée littéraire, the most important time of year for French publishers. 

That memory belongs to another life, however. Almost to another girl, it seems. 

Comfortably sitting on the leather seat on the passenger’s side of Will’s truck, your forehead pressed against the window, you take in all the shapes and shades of trees and bushes you can’t name in any of the languages you know. Your new boyfriend’s solid presence next to you, driving under the fiery canopy of an undergrowth country road. A little too fast for your liking, but that’s just how he does everything and, to be honest, you don’t mind, really.

Benny likes the outdoor. He thrives amidst nature. As soon as you two started dating, back in July, he began asking you to come with him on hiking trips upstate, exploring national parks the size of your hometown. You can spend entire afternoons picking pebbles and shells underneath the chalk cliffs of Picardie’s coast, silently observing the rising tides of the Channel, but you’ve never gone hiking, so to speak. You didn’t even own a good pair of walking shoes until you had to gear up for this trip.

This time you said yes, your heart wrapped in an unknown, warm embrace at his enthusiastic and spontaneous reaction. A wolfish howl and a little jump, before he grabbed his phone to text his brother that he needed to borrow his truck, the Mustang far too precious to drive on graveled and dusty country roads. 

What convinced you to come is precisely this: the undeterred fondness with which he steadily reacts, every time you try and push back. The space and time he never fails to give you to be you and do your things. 

And, of course, the prospect of a real North-American autumn. You don’t care what everybody says, you just like autumn. It is, hands down, your favourite season. You’ve debated it over countless times with Rosie, who, of course, only loves summer, laughing at her perennial final and closing argument, “you can’t prefer fall because it’s basic, and you’re not.” 

She says fall, you say autumn. Inches and centimetres, flat and apartment… 

Besides, autumn has Halloween. And that’s the one holiday your gothic heart not only tolerates, but love. The hypothesis -the hope- of being visited by the dead, once a year. You were never good with closure, goodbyes or mourning. The concept of the departed lingering about you keeps you going. 

In an essay about death and its perceptions throughout history, you once read that the idea exists, in one form or another, in many different cultures throughout the world. That it’s about the living convoking the dead to help them prepare as they enter winter. 

Winter sure is bleak. Christmas’s supposed to be fun, you suppose, if you have a functioning family. Which you seldom ever had. No, winter is not your thing.

No light, no hope. 

You wonder what this winter is going to be like. Probably the best you’ve had in a long, long while. 

You’ve got pure sunshine sitting next to you in the truck.

A khaki cap worn backward over his overgrown blond strands, his last haircut a distant memory, he’s wearing his usual worn-out dirty blue jeans that have you questioning whether he owns a second pair, and a faded blue shirt over a camouflage t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, his strong forearms on display. His massive frame dwarfs the spacious cab of the truck. 

He hooked up his phone to the car’s stereo and Johnny Cash’s Live at Folsom is blasting through the old speakers, his own baritone resounding in the cab and sinking into your chest as he sings along to The Long Black Veil. It’s one of your favourite songs from this album, and you can’t get over how fond of this man’s voice you’ve become in only three months. It’s warm and comfortable and when you try to describe his laughter, the only word you can come up with is “luminous”. 

He sings more and more often when you’re around, and you wonder if you can consider it a tangible proof of your fast-growing intimacy. Or perhaps he’s always singing, and the only reason why you get to hear it more often is because of the increasing amount of time you two spend together. It doesn’t cross your mind you might be the reason why he constantly sings. 

Forgetting about the landscape for a moment, you set your gaze on your boyfriend, his tall figure and his soft face. His brow furrowed over his dark eyes, mirroring the lyrics’ somber melancholy as he joins in the chorus. 

She walks these hills in a long black veil 

She visits my grave when the night winds wail

You found a common ground in music with blues, folk, old country and vintage rock. Old habits die hard and at first, you feared he would impose on you the music plastered in loud album covers on his band t-shirts, Kiss, Metallica, Iron Maiden. You’d been agreeably proven wrong. For that’s not Benny. Benny makes everything easy. Benny adjusts. 

You reach out for his thigh and give it a little squeeze, affection expanding your chest. His expression shifts immediately as he takes his eyes off the road to look your way, flashing you a flirty wink and a toothy grin. Oh, he’s a performer, alright.

You can’t help but laugh and skate your hand a little higher along his leg. 

Hank William’s Alone and Forsaken is next in queue on his playlist, but Benny’s mind is not on the music anymore. 

Every so often, his eyes leave the open road as he throws sideways glances at your thighs with about as much subtlety as a kid trying to nick candy from the kitchen cupboard, and you observe this little choreography with a bemused smile. 

“You know I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing leggings in the city,” you say halfway through the song.

“That’s a shame because your legs look damn good in it. And your ass–” he trails off, narrowing his eyes with an explicit humming sound. 

“But what’s the difference with my black jeans, for instance, the skinny ones?” you ask casually, as if he just didn’t light up a small fire in your core. 

“I don’t know. It’s just— it’s not the same,” his voice drags and dips lower on the last words.

It sounds like he’s still singing even when he talks. You start to blush like a bashful teenager, so you immediately counter, opening your legs wider and propping your left knee on the bench. 

His eyes return to the road, with a shake of his head and a chuckle that says you’re not playing fair.

Ike and Tina’s Proud Mary come up on the stereo and momentarily interrupt the game. 

“Oh I love this song!” you exclaim as you lean forward to turn up the volume, “sorry, but I’m gonna sing.”

“Why you’re sorry? You got a nice voice.”

“How would you know that?” you whip your head towards him with an accusatory look. 

“Heard you sing under the shower. I love the smell of your shampoo,” he provides with an apologetic, endearing smile.

“Well I’m singing to this, anyway,” you reply, now downright flustered. 

The song still at its spoken preamble, your voice is a little shaky as you tune in to the first Nice and easy. 

You flick your eyes up to Benny’s and find him already staring you down with a hungry look.

But there's just one thing…

Pulling on the safety belt to give it some slack, you slide on the bench to get closer to him, his eyes flicking rapidly between the road and your lips.

You see we never do nothing nice and easy… 

You rest your right hand on his inner thigh and bite down a victorious smile when he sharply inhales, straining his gaze straight ahead.

We always do it nice and rough…

Your voice turns husky on the last word, a smile lifting the corner of your lips. Head tilted upward, you softly speak into his neck, letting your breath fan the thin blond hair on his nape, and rear back just enough to see them stand up. 

So we're gonna take the beginning of this song…

You scoot closer still, pointedly pressing your breast against his side, his hands gripping the steering wheel, a growing bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans. 

And do it easy…

You poke out your tongue, tracing the shell of his ear, nipping at his earlobe, as he draws in a sharp breath with a hissing sound, his grip on the wheel turning his knuckles white.

But then we're gonna do the finish rough… 

The last word comes out of your throat in a rumble, your hand quickly sliding over to his throbbing erection as you cup him through his pants, pressing down with the flat of your palm.

This is the way we do–

“Ok, that’s it!” he barks, and your laughter tinkles.

—

The truck is parked on a light slope where Benny steered it precipitously, on the side of the road, coming to a halt in the middle of nowhere, barely deep enough into the woods to hide it from view. You slide on the leather bench when you move your leg to straddle him where he came to meet you on the passenger’s side. Your leggings lie on the car floor in a rumpled heap next to your new hiking shoes, and you grasp the headrest to regain your balance. 

“You’re a fucking menace,” he pants, unbuckling his belt before raising his hips to slide down jeans and briefs in one hurried motion. He’s fully erect now and his smooth cock bobs against his clothed belly.

“I was only singing,” you object, giving the blond curls at his base an innocent little scratch before taking him in your hand.

He feels heavy and warm between your fingers, and you want to play with it a little, but he already ripped open the condom’s wrapping in his haste. You take it from him, with a breathless whisper of “lemmedoit”, and you push him against the seat back, pinning him under your gaze to make sure he looks at you when you lick a broad stripe into the flat of your palm, and give him a couple of hard, long strokes. 

“Fuck, woman, just let me inside you, already,” he exhales, his head lolling backward against the headrest. “When you gonna let me fuck you without a rubber, baby?”

You’ve only ever let one man do that, and it’s not something you want to be thinking about right now, so you shut him up, plunging forward and moulding your lips onto his, fisting him harder. He deepens the kiss immediately, licking inside you like a starved man, fucking your mouth with his tongue as he sits up straight and grips your ass, kneading your soft flesh. 

He pulls out to ask, “You wet for me, baby?”

“Huh huh,” you answer, nodding, chasing his lips, but he’s not done talking. Benny likes to talk. 

“Good girl,” he says through another cocky smile, “gonna fuck you fast and good.”

You’d have slapped Éric for calling you a “good girl”, instead you feel another rush of slick pooling down your core, trickling down your spread thighs, as he slides you back on his lap by the flesh of your bottom.

“Been wanting to rip them leggings off your ass since I picked you up this morning, you won’t be able to walk when I’m finished with you.”

You want to shoot back that it defeats the purpose, but he doesn’t let you, skating through your folds and sliding his rough fingers over your entrance, rewarding you for what he finds there with a broad smile. You jump lightly at the exquisite breach when he slides two digits inside you, a hand still loosely wrapped around his length, the one holding the condom lying limply on the car bench. 

“Fuck, listen to that,” he says at the squelching sounds of your wet pussy, as he roughly thrusts his fingers in and out, thinning your clit, his eyes darted down onto where he’s opening you for him. All you can manage is a lewd moan and a hooded look.

“Come on, baby, wrap me up and put me in,” he orders in his musical voice.

He’s still fucking you on his fingers, and you chase his hand a little longer, rocking shamelessly into it, before you finally comply and unroll the condom down on his length.

“Don’t tell my brother what we did in his truck.”

“Jesus fucking– what exactly do you think we talk about when we–”

You can’t finish your sentence, for he just knocked the air out of your lungs, shoving his cock inside your warmth all the way down, after swiftly withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, seizing your waist with one hand and lining himself up with the other. Benny moves surprisingly fast for a man of his size and his strength. Must be all that training for the fights.  

Your forehead drops against his, your head heavy and weak with the sudden spearing sensation. There’s been no nice, straight to rough, his feet are planted firmly on the car floor and he fucks up into you at a dizzying pace, holding you down on his cock with both hands around your waist, a nearly bruising grip, and for a moment there’s nothing you can do but take it. Thinking about how much you like that he’s always in such a hurry to give it to you. 

“Shit, that sweet pussy of yours,” he groans into your mouth, before kissing you again, and he makes it messy, bestial, licking into your mouth with unbridled hunger, it’s absolutely delicious, the way he devours you, always. Somehow your brain resurfaces and you brace a hand on his chest, tugging his hair harshly with the other. You know he likes it, when you pull, and scratch, and bite, and he groans with delight at the sting.

Fisting the fabric of his t-shirt, you shuffle your knees closer to him and start meeting him, rolling your hips in rhythm, fucking him right back, earning yourself a low and strained “fuck yeah” that reverberates in your stomach, the friction of the leather burning your skin.

His right hand skates around your curves to the cleft of your ass, and he tentatively presses there, but you shake your head no, and his voice is like sandpaper on wood when he asks, 

“When you gonna let me fuck that gorgeous ass, baby?”

You tug on his hair harder, then let go, cupping his chin and sliding two fingers in his mouth to silence him. When he responds with an unexpectedly soft suckle, your cunt clenches around him, and his eyes flutter shut, his head rolling back as he groans.

You bear down on him and grip him again, as tightly as you can, and his hips fall out of their rhythm, his fingers clutching your ass in a twitch. You make a mental note of it, so you can give it to him again, later, before biting his jaw for good measure. 

He puts all his strength into the following thrusts and a loud moan escapes you. You might not be able to walk once he’s done, after all. 

“Make me come, Benjamin, I don’t want anyone to walk on us.”

He gives your fingers a hard suck and releases them with the popping sound you’ve come to associate with him.

“Ok but I’m fucking you again as soon as we get there, from behind. And I’m coming on your ass.”

He slides down over the edge of the seat and place both his large hands back on your hips, grinding you back and forth on his cock, ruthlessly, like you weight nothing, your clit rubbing against his pelvis. He’s stroking deeper, harder, brushing against that spot that makes you lose it, the angle is mind-bending, your vision turns white and you brace your hand on the car’s window, your whining voice desperate when you try to warn him,

“Oh shit Benny, I’m gonna come, shit, gonna be loud, can’t hold it–”

“That’s right, baby, sing for me.”

****

Taglist (thank you 💕): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin

[ikemenomegas]

In a Doll's House

Choso x Reader || Birthday Candles

a/n: Last "Make a Wish" prompt completed, so so long after the list has been put up... I learned a lot about my own stamina and availability so thank you for your patience!

cw: spoilers for the death-womb painting arc, but if you haven't made it that far, I'm not sure why you're here... otherwise, no major warnings as far as I know

The long table was set. Ribbons and lanterns were strung between tree branches.

Vibrant bursts of flowers brightened the setting and added to the festive feel of the little party.

Choso was lingering uncomfortably in the shade between two trees. His family was somewhere beyond the other side of the clearing that was being used to host the party. He could hear them. They sounded happy and that lifted some of the tension from his shoulders.

He should go to them. You'd told him it would be fine. You were happily humming as you straightened utensils and brought food to the table.

Your expression was so bright when you looked at him every once in a while. Checking in.

It sent butterflies alight in his belly. It made it hard to go.

This would be his brothers' first birthday party, and their first one together. He supposed it was technically his too, that was what you reminded him every time he had tried to insert himself into the planning process. At the same time you reminded him that he should not be responsible for his own party.

Choso had been an observer to the world ever since he was created. Confined as he was, he had done his best to watch over his siblings. As time had gone on, his world had shrunk smaller and smaller. Every thought was about his family. The rest of the world had begun to slip by in rain blurred colors.

Being incarnated and alive was new and wonderful and terrifying. The world was filled with beauty and cruelty. It was also so very loud.

There was so much of it. It still felt like things slid by a window through which he could see but not grasp hold of any of the chaos long enough to touch it, to feel it.

This quiet little place with all the people who were most important to him close at hand was so real.

You finally took some pity on him and held up a blue and a purple bit of ribbon for him and indicated that he should choose between the two.

When he chose purple, you tied the ribbon around the wide body of one of the vases.

The point was, doing things for others was his purpose, what he was good at. Having things done for him made him slightly nervous. Even this had started off as Eso tattling to you when he realized he had never planned a party before. The surprise had thankfully been ruined and Choso had been able to insist the others be celebrated with him.

You carefully straightened the cake stand, the cake inside hidden under its porcelain dome, and then stepped back with hands on your hips.

It appeared you were satisfied as you retreated to his side.

"It looks good," he said.

"It does, doesn't it?"

It did make a pretty picture, a few late spring flowers already drifting down to settle elegantly among the table settings and making it seem as though the whole thing had sprung up from the forest floor.

"Let's collect the others and then I'll let you all enjoy it." Your voice was achingly fond.

He still startled somewhat from his curled position. "You're not staying?"

"It's a family party," you replied, tilting your head at him.

Light slanted through your eyes and Choso tightened his arms against his chest.

He missed the way your attention briefly went to the ripple of muscle in his biceps.

"If there's anything Yuuji's taught me, it's that family isn't only about blood," he murmured.

"Maybe it is," you said, gripping your elbows. "At least you only use your blood for the people that matter."

He knew you meant him, but you were the same, weren’t you?

"Stay," he said. He unbent himself with some effort. "You worked so hard, you should at least get to enjoy it."

"I really couldn't intrude-"

"It's my birthday," he said. He couldn't help but smile just a little at your slightly flustered expression.

You blew out a breath. "Only if you let me sing for you."

"I think everyone sings together, but I can let you do a solo if you like.”

“Ah—“

He said things with such a straight face. Even when he smiled at your uncomfortable expression and wandered off into the woods to call his brothers, you weren’t entirely sure if he was joking.

“Oh—” Yuuji looked at you with wide eyes “— I didn’t know you could sing!”

“Well, anyone can sing happy birthday…” you laughed awkwardly.

“We’ve never done it before,” Eso said, leaning on his hand and peering between you and Choso.

Choso just looked at you with amusement.

“Do we each get a song?” Kechizu asked curiously.

“Yes,” Choso leaned close to Eso, mimicking his posture, “don’t we all get a song?”

“I don’t think that’s how-“ Yuuji started.

Only to get cut off by Eso’s sly chiding. “It’s our birthday. And we all share with each other.”

“Right, but usually you just add more names to the right part…” You sighed and scrubbed your hands across your face. “Okay.” You took a deep breath and patted your cheeks as though to wake yourself up. “Should we start with the youngest?” you asked.

The Kusozu were good sports about the whole thing, cheering as each song was finished with their names and quickly joining in to spare you some embarrassment. Choso was last, his name sweet on your tongue.

The final notes faded into a toast, your laughter at Yuuji and Kechizu’s insistence on toasting in every possible conformation rising above the hiss of a match lighting.

You had lifted the lid from the cake, holding it it one hand while you carefully lit each candle. Finishing four renditions of the song would have seen each one burnt down to a stub and the cake flooded with wax.

The sun had long set and the glimmer of the lights in the trees and the new flames wreathed everything in a soft, warm glow.

Over his protests that the younger ones should be the ones to blow out the candles, they hooked their arms around each other. All four of them leaned in, pulling one another close.

Choso glanced once more at you, the soft, warm smile on your face and the crinkling in the corner of your eyes. Then together, he and his brothers blew out the candles.

All light whisked out, and he kept blowing, his breath leaving his lungs endlessly until a rushing wind took all sound too.

He woke up. Clarity jolted through him on a sudden rushing inhale. His heart battered against his sternum, as though his breath really had been sucked out of his lungs on a wind that had suddenly ceased.

It felt real. Another reality painted on the other side of a glass window, moving slowly, shadows on the other side of a veil. Another world where they were still alive.

Choso blew a thin sigh through his pursed lips and threw his arm over his eyes. He tried to recall the feeling of that dream, the anticipation of it, the warmth, those familiar faces. He wanted to wrap the thin dream around his fingers like a silk scarf.

Just for a little while.

But dreams, he had found, drifted away so quickly in the world of humans.

Almost mindlessly, he shuffled from the room and into the kitchen for a glass of water and then a few more steps down the hall to peak in on Yuuji.

The boy was sprawled across his bed, tangled up among the bedclothes, hugging onto a pillow.

Choso leaned against the wall just outside the door, sipping from the glass and listening to Yuuji’s snuffling snores. Then he closed his eyes and felt that compass-like sense of the remaining suspended Kusozu, the last of his other siblings, pointing him in the direction of their storage.

He placed the glass carefully into the sink and padded back to his own room.

It felt like the place of a stranger, even with his own sheets just recently tossed aside and warmth still lingering between the layers. Faint starlight striped oddly through the window and tree branches. Irrationally, he wished that some of those lanterns you’d strung up for the party were here. A little of that golden glow would have been welcome. He didn’t even have a candle which he could light.

Yuuji had been trying to get Choso to add a more personal touch to his own room. Maybe he should listen.

With a faint sigh, he rummaged around in his bed until he found his phone tucked under a pillow. He had adjusted to the comfort of this modern distraction a little too well.

The time - late or very early depending on perspective - and the date glowed coldly on the black screen. Maybe he should pick a picture too. He had a lot of pictures of Yuuji from going around to the Tokyo sights.

He looked at the date dully, suddenly exhausted even though he doesn’t want to go back to sleep, not with the taste of that dream still on his tongue. A second waking would dilute it further. He had many pictures of Yuuji, and none of his other siblings.

When he had first been created, photography had not been invented yet. He hadn’t thought to use such a technology back then, and now he had nothing but memory.

He called you, fingers stirring listlessly across the screen before he could think too much about it.

It occurred to him too late that you would probably be asleep.

He pulled the phone away from his ear, thumb hovered over the “end call” button when the screen changed.

Your voice, sleep muffled, immediately called his name.

Choso was the eldest. It was up to him to understand his own emotions so that they didn’t get in others’ way. He knew that, objectively speaking, what he was feeling was grief and shock. Going from that bright, loving place to his own empty room and the true reality in which he lived, at an hour like this, was understandable but inexcusable. He would apologize and-

His silence had stretched on, but squinting at your own phone, it seemed you were still connected. You closed your eyes and nestled the phone near your ear.

“If you don’t want to talk…” you mumbled, “do you want me to talk? Just stay on the line until you’re sick of it I guess. Or until my phone dies. I don’t know where I put the charger— I think it’s in my room but I fell asleep on the couch and don’t want to get up—”

There was an odd security in hearing you murmuring mindlessly on the end of the line. Choso listened to every word, feeling an odd stab at his heart every time you said his name.

Choso, you’d never believe it they were out of my favorite at the convenience store and I had to walk all the way to the one fifteen minutes away. It was worth it though.

And.

Hey, Choso have you been to Kita yet? I got called out there the other day and the water was really pretty. We should take you there, even if you’ve gone before.

And.

Hmmm. What’s Choso’s favorite snack? I never see you eat. Isn’t that funny? We’ve never eaten together. You only drink when we go out, that’s not good for your health, you know…

"It's my brothers' birthday," he said suddenly, heavily, as you trailed off.

"Oh."

He heard the rustling shift of a body among cushions.

"Happy birthday to Kechizu and Eso then."

He was startled to hear their names. They were seldom spoken. They had died on the side of curses and sorcerers didn’t typically consider curses worth mourning. He was surprised you remembered them at all.

You laid in silence for a time. You’d been awake for a little while now, although you didn’t open your eyes to check how long. "Happy birthday to you too." It took you a minute to get there and the words were a little thick on your tongue, but if it was Kechizu and Eso’s day of incarnation, it must be Choso’s too.

In your hazy state, this seemed a profoundly intelligent bit of deduction and you congratulated yourself on it.

"How old are you?"

"One year older," he replied. He'd stopped counting as the years stretched on. He thought he would have counted though, for his brothers.

You still huffed a tired laugh. "Yeah. That is how that works, isn't it?" Even for people who had technically existed since a long long time ago.

“Hey, Choso?”

“Hm?” At some point he’d sat down on his bed and now he laid across it, thinking of you laying among your own nest of blankets somewhere far from here.

“If I brought you and Yuuji a cake tomorrow, would you eat it?”

The night pressed down on him. That was the heaviness over his chest, and nothing else.

“Yeah.”

“You have to try some.”

“Okay.” This body had of course eaten such things, but he hadn’t been in this body then. He struggled for something clever to say, but he hadn’t been meant for clever.

He had, however, been able to manage honest.

“If I tell you about Eso and Kechizu…”

“I’d listen.” I’ll always listen to what you want to tell me.

You weren’t quite awake enough to tell if you said that part out loud.

end note: "Kita" is a running trail by the water somewhere in the greater Tokyo area. As far as I know, I never went there. It's a bit distasteful, but I was thinking of a place with a lot of water for them to meet and apparently this is the kind of spot that is both popular with joggers and somewhere a lot of curses would gather in the jujutsu world. If you imagine the oc as a sorcerer, they probably would have been there for work but it is pretty in pictures, lots of sun and it is a certified historical site.

[straightupsickfics]

Teacher Anon💛💛💛💛 i mean if your offering with Ed and Stede using this prompt: 🤒flushed for the Valentine's day prompt, i would love that. If you can of course.

Edward 💜: I have good news and bad news

Stede: Oh no.

Edward 💜: Nothing too bad, love, but which would you like first?

Stede: Let’s go with bad news first, shall we? Get it out of the way 

Edward 💜: I think I caught the cold that’s been going around 

Stede shifts in his desk chair and rereads Ed’s message. Is that… 

It can’t be bad news because Ed knows that —

Before Stede can think about it any further, his phone lights up with another follow up text from Ed.

Edward 💜: Don’t think I’m fit for a restaurant :/ Can’t go ten minutes without sneezing 

Edward 💜: 😇

Stede’s whole body seems to warm as he reads the messages, smiling only a bit self-consciously into his phone. 

Stede: And that’s… the bad news? 

Edward 💜: Well, I am ruining our Valentine’s plans, so, yes

Edward 💜: But it is the good news, too 🙂

Stede: Your being sick is never good news, you know that, right? I would never want that Edward 💜: I know, sweetheart. It really was bound to happen, though. Good/bad timing, depending on how you’re feeling, alright? I’ll make it up to you, take you out to the fanciest fucking place we can find next weekend?

Stede promises that he doesn't mind the delay, stomach fluttering as he suggests takeout on his couch so he can look after Ed, make sure he's well-hydrated and taking medicine, and... curled in as close to Stede as possible, ideally.

When he gets home that evening, Ed's already there, and he really does look sick, his handsome face more pale than usual, his salt and pepper hair pulled back and away from his face in a bun, and his nose is flushed, rubbed an irritated shade of pink. He gives Stede a quick, haphazard wave over the back of the couch, turning away just as fast, his face crumpling into a battered handful of tissues.

"Hdt'ngshh! Uh'dshh! ih'SSSCHH!"

"Well," Stede says, face flushing its own shade of pink. "Hello, and god bless you!" He puts his work bag down by the door, shucks off his coat, and wastes no time making his way over to Ed on the couch, pulling him into a hug. Ed's wearing one of Stede's sweaters, which makes his heart give a little squeeze the way it always does when Ed borrows his clothes. He never imagined he'd find someone who could appreciate his eclectic taste in clothes, let alone share it, and yet...

Edward.

"You really do sound sick, my love," Stede murmurs into the soft spot between Ed's neck and shoulder, hesitant, still, to look up at him.

"Mm, don't feel too hot," Ed admits, though Stede can feel him smiling softly as he says it.

"Beg to differ," Stede mutters, looking up again before kissing him. It's soft and sweet, just a press of lips, but Ed leans into it, melting into the affection.

"Missed you all day," Ed sighs, his voice just starting to take on that tired, congested sound it gets when he's coming down with something. He nuzzles himself in close to Stede, presses his face into the soft crook of his neck and sniffles a few times against him, just enough to make Stede flush all over again.

"Edward," Stede breathes, voice catching.

"Stede," Ed murmurs, sighing happily as Stede kisses him again, a little longer this time, lingering until Ed pulls away to rub his nose against another set of sniffles. "S-ihh-sorry..."

Ed doesn't make an attempt to pull away as his breath continues to catch, coming in quick, short gasps before he finally tucks his face against Stede's shoulder and sneezes three more times in quick succession.

"Hh'IITSHH! Hdt'tshhh! hhD’TTschH’iu! Ngh..."

"Goodness, bless you!" Stede says, kissing him again and wondering how it is he got so lucky. "Always three," he points out, offering Ed a handful of tissues from the box he keeps on the end table.

Ed nods, blowing his nose a good few times in a row before looking up at Stede. "Happy Valentine's Day," he smiles. "I'm sorry about... all this," he says, pointing to his face, the tissues scattered over the coffee table and couch.

"Mm, don't be," Stede says. He presses a kiss to the bridge of Ed's nose, then his cheeks, then his lips, long and slow, this time, because he really and truly does not mind in the slightest. By the time they pull apart, Ed's all but in his lap, both of them just a little breathless, dinner plans essentially forgotten.

[neverforpickles]

Hello. Happy 28th. This month is my first time doing this. I am excited to make a list of the works I have enjoyed this month alone. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did. Thank you for writing these amazing works, writers.

Do We Have A Chance (At Redemption)?

themoviesinourdreams | NR | 4.3K

“He finds himself at the overpass, the hairpin turn on Kentucky Road, and he’s getting out of his car and folding himself onto the frozen ground. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he’s being pulled into a warm, strong chest.

Alpha, his stupid, stupid, brain thinks, drinking in as much as Harry’s scent as he can. He’s known Harry for less than two days, and he’s already broken down twice in front of him. Louis needs to get out of this fucking town. “This is where that boy died,” Harry says after they’ve been sitting so long Louis’s legs have begun to ache. “When you were in school here.”

“No,” Louis says, something he should not say, a topic he should not be broaching, a memory better left alone, “this is where I killed him.”

OR the one where louis comes home for thanksgiving and has to confront the everything that happened in his hometown the with help of the hot hottie harry”

gallery of us

@levelofcharm | E | 55.7K

“In spite of wanting to sound lucid and coherent for his own big jump, Harry wants to be near and touch, wants to listen to whatever the omega’s saying because he loves that voice, and he's always hated talking unless he has to. They're a good pair, the two of them, a perfect balance. Louis’ all sunshine, good vibes and healthy eating, lingering hugs and sticky cheek kisses, and Harry's the complete opposite without explanation, but fuck, it feels good to be around someone like that. To have someone like that in his life at all.

Harry wants to protect his affectionate ball of light from the world's ignorance, wants to help add to the glow like starting a snowball, rolling it around until it can’t get off the ground because it’s so heavy from all the effort, patience and commitment.

Harry knew what he was doing in life, everything laid out in black-and-white, each day pleasantly predictable. Cue lively art student, Louis, trying to find his place. An almost insufferably happy person who sometimes forgets to hide the way they feel meets the person who is diligent enough to notice and determined to make a difference.”

Dark Paradise

orphan_account | M | 953

“At least be clean about it! These suits weren't cheap!”

“Shut up.”

“I will not! You're not the one who does the laundry, Harold!”

“Dry clean 'em”

“Yes Harry. I'm going to send two suits drenched in blood to the dry cleaners. That's not suspicious at all!"

OrHarry's a serial killer and Louis puts up with him.”

How Many Times Will It Take (To Get This Right)

LilyBlue28 | E | 150K

“Harry was watching her go, unable to meet Louis’ eyes again now that they were alone, and that’s how he saw him when the young boy leaned around Jay to peer at his mum and Harry. Harry’s jaw went slack, his mouth falling open in disbelief when two green orbs identical to his own found him and stared unwaveringly calm into Harry’s sunglasses-covered face. His small features were undeniably close to Louis’. Their noses, their lips, even their brow line was the same, but the pup’s eyes were an eerily familiar shade of emerald, and much rounder than Louis’. His hair fell in dark ringlets around his small face, which was also much too round to really say the child looked like Louis, despite the similar features. Harry sputtered when his alpha roared in his chest that Harry should follow the kid--should protect his pup.But there was no fucking way.

OR the one where Louis and Harry used to be good friends (and casual fuck buddies), until Harry's music career took off and he left for a world tour. Louis disappeared from his life after that and for the next four years Harry mourns the loss of[…]”

the corpse in the closet

@orchidsbyjune | M | 4.7K

“Harry fell in love with someone that should be out of his grasp.

-For the love that came, and the pleasure and it’s misery. ”

Rapture

@allwaswell16 | E | 3.2K

“It was New Year's Eve in Victorian London, and a lonely vampire could no longer resist the stunning lamplighter he watched night after night.

Or, a vampire Harry fic because what says the holidays like Victorian vampires?”

I’m insatiable, it’s all your fault

@larrydoinglaundry | E | 21.7K

“Harry has met many, many attractive people during his heats before, some of whom have been on the brink of their ruts, and he has never wanted to spread his legs open as much as he wants to do it right now.

All Louis has to do is sit right there on the chair, and Harry is ready to present.

Louis' scent wraps around him like a tender hug, intoxicating in the best possible way. It smells so much like a picnic in a forest; something sweet yet sophisticated like dark chocolate, sprinkled with a touch of pine and rain. It’s everything Harry is addicted to.  

OR  The last thing Harry expected when he started a new job was to meet his truebond. The only problem is, his truebond happens to be one of his students, and he's never been the man to dismiss his morals.”

Carolina

@orchidsbyjune | Teen | 1.5K

“The young man’s laugh ricocheted like a bullet in the dark. Full of hope and courage. And in their minds, they’d wonder of the reasons that made them so happy, so in love.”

Heat Wave

@wildwinters | M | 64.1K

“Italy, 2018. Summer in Italy is sticky, especially in Marina di Pietrasanta. Louis Tomlinson, a soft and independent omega, goes to spend his holidays there with his daughter Alice. He has rented a vacation home built on a large estate owned by one Harry Styles, a kind-hearted alpha who is not very fond of children, but he tries.A lot can happen in fifteen days.”

I would wait forever (and ever)

anditsonlyforthebrave | NR | 10K

“Louis is brave and has the worst timing in the world, Harry doesn't want to lose his best friend and they just don't communicate enough.”

you pop when we get intimate

DaddyAlphaLouisBabyOmegaHarry | E | 7.4K

“Harry has never been eaten out before. His pack leader offers to show him what it's like. A lot of orgasms ensue.”

Breathe me in, Breathe me out

@lunarheslwt | GA | 14.2K

“Louis was just passing the autumn collection, when an unfamiliar but addicting scent tickled his nose. Cinnamon. He turned as he realised something.He felt calm. Relaxed.The permanent agitation that he carried was melting away the more he breathed in the scent, as faint as it was. Consumed by the crazed desire to seek out the specific candle, Louis began picking up candles and sniffing them madly, when a deep voice piped up, startling him.

“Uh, sir, we don’t allow candle fetishists in here.”

Louis froze mid sniff in mortification. Willing himself to not blush, he turned, a retort at the tip of his tongue. Except, it died in his throat as he took in the man before him.

“I uh,” Louis blurted out accidentally, temporarily rendered speechless by the frankly unfairly beautiful man before him. Only at the man’s grin widening did he regain his wits.

“You’re gonna kink shame me?”

Or, Louis is drawn into a quaint candle shop in his desire to find ways to soothe himself while struggling with touch depri. It takes him two more run-ins and with the lovely alpha sales assistant, and a drop, to figure out the source of the scent[…]”

Vice: Nesting is weird, but it’s okay

@littleohs | M | 9.4K

“Harry has all the pressure on his shoulders, but resorting to his instincts is not the best option for him. He doesn't want to risk his relationship with Louis by being a flawed omega.

Or, Harry nests for the first time and he doesn't know how to behave.”

The Lesser King

HelenaAzure | NR | 8.5K

“Louis goes off to war leaving Harry on the throne. But Harry has a dangerous secret of his own. With time running out and his health on the line, will Harry break and tell Louis, or will he consume the dangerous poison of insecurity destroying everything they have.

Or A sweet little tale of finding one's own worth told through the eyes of our favorite people, sprinkled with humor, a dash of angst and a side of fluffy, lovey-dovey stuff.”

dived head in first to the intricacies of you

@orchidsbyjune | GA | 2.1K

“Harry’s personal ode to Louis’ bravery.”

lucky me, lucky you

@everysingleday | E | 7.1K

“There’s something about him, Louis Tomlinson. Of course, he’s beautiful in a god-like way, tan and leanly muscled everywhere Harry’s seen and so effortlessly gorgeous even with his ruined quiff and wrinkled shirt that it makes Harry ache. Harry’s not going to deny, either, that he’s got a bit of a hero worship thing to sort through—that he can’t believe he, Harry Styles, in all the slightly nerdy, gangly-limbed, eighteen-year-old awkwardness he knows he is, has caught Louis Tomlinson’s attention.

Louis’ gorgeous and a minor school celebrity and—Harry doesn’t think that’s all it is. After all, Louis’d said be a good boy and it had hit Harry in the backs of his knees, softened all the tendons and muscles until it was an immense effort just to keep his feet. 

He wants to let Louis have that—have him, on his knees, easy and good and willing—badly.”

serve me up a little hope on the rocks

we_are_the_same | M | 10.2K

“He’s just finished making a drink for another customer when a literal angel walks towards him. It’s not an exaggeration to say that the crowd almost seems to part for him, and for a moment Louis wonders if there’s a literal halo around him or if it’s just the lights in the bar, and then he notices the way the man trips over nothing, and the illusion wanes somewhat.

He’s still fucking gorgeous though, even on bambi legs, and Louis resists the urge to paste on his tried-and-ever-undefeated flirty smile. Instead he just grins, appraising this newest customer and trying to remain professional. He might be demiromantic, or whatever the fuck Zayn had called it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate this man’s good looks. After all, his romantic identity had nothing to do with his sexual identity, much as people assumed it did. For a brief moment Louis laments his decision to stop sleeping with people, especially when the boy pops a dimple when he smiles back at him.

Or: Louis is a bartender who doesn't take drink orders, but just makes drinks based on what he thinks his customers will like. Harry is[…]”

Twenty- Eight

@beardyboyzx | M | 1.4K

“Can't believe you finally caught him," Niall says, clapping him on the back. He's been there with him on his very first mission, when Twenty-Eight was just the first criminal Harry encountered in his spy career to them.

or: Agent Harry Styles has finally caught his nemesis, but there's a knot in the plot he's not ready to detangle.”

Feeling It Now

@crimsontheory | E | 7K

“When Louis hooked up with a hot guy in the bathroom at a music festival, the last thing he was expecting was for that guy to be one of the headlining acts at the festival.”

Woken Up From My Sleep

therougeskimo | NR | 7.8K

“Louis Tomlinson ropes the rest of One Direction into his notorious pranking on their security.

Harry Styles just wants to sleep after his flight gets canceled. He wakes up drowning - kind of.

Or the one where Louis pranks the wrong room by accident.”

L’amour de ma vie

lovesicklarry | GA | 8.8K

“Louis stands there as Harry walks out of the room, He scratches the back of his neck near his mating gland as he speaks “Uhm, I should leave…” He says, tapping his foot on the floor.

Harry’s eyebrows furrow and he stands there for a moment “Do you have to?”

“Uhm— well, I wouldn’t want to intrude any longer, you must have plans of your own,” Louis speaks slowly.

“I am off this week — if you don’t have a specific itinerary, I can show you around in an amazingly custom french manner… show you some amazing places and restaurants.” Harry says in a breath, his hands behind his back, itching — hoping that the omega in front of his eyes would accept the offer and stay for longer.

“Do you mean that?” Louis asks in confirmation.“

Every single word.” Harry nods along with a serious face.

OR One where they meet at an impromptu ball in Paris during pre valentine’s week and things that happen after that are unplanned but meant to be.”

A Sprintime’s Wilt, an Autum’s Bloom

snowcaplou | E | 2.5K

“What about you Harry? Maybe you should apply for the position,” she teases.

“Oi! You better not be trying to get rid of my best driver-- I can’t go looking for a replacement, I’m too busy!” Louis says with a playful slap to Savannah’s shoulder. It's jestful, like the rest of their conversation, but there is a possessive bite to his words-- my best driver-- the words bounce through Harry’s ears until he can just hear the words my and mine. It falls deaf on Savannah’s beta senses, but for a minute Harry thinks he can sense the same words zooming through Louis’ thoughts.

My, mine.

My alpha.

And woah, Harry’s taking it too far. At least, he thinks he’s taking it too far, but when he looks back up from his plate, Louis’ eyes are heavy on his, and for a fleeting second, Harry can pretend he heard Louis say it.

ORHarry is Louis' personal chauffeur, and although he hides his feelings for his boss behind a wall of rigid professionalism, Louis still manages to squeeze through the cracks.”

a rose surrounded by thorns

star_k | E | 3.3K

“There were nine levels of hell in Dante’s vision. Distantly, Louis wondered in which one you’d go for getting off on rimming the demon who ate your soul.”

Blackberries and Cherries

lilliandherself | E | 13.9K

“The look on Harry’s face is what causes him to waver. He looks desperate, and Louis knows he is. A potion like this could help Harry with the one thing he’s always struggled with; school. But Louis’ not a certified witch and has never practiced this potion before. Anything could go wrong.

Hesitantly, he says, “I will try to make this potion for you, but—”

He’s interrupted by Harry’s cheering. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, you are the best friend I could ever have, you mean so fucking much to me,” Harry says, the words falling out of his mouth on impulse. Louis closes his eyes and scrunches his nose when Harry begins pressing kisses all over his face.

Nothing about this can end well. Louis knows that for a fact.

Louis is a witch and Harry is his human friend. When Harry needs help focusing on his schoolwork, the obvious solution is to ask Louis for a potion. You could say things don’t go quite right.”

heaven sends ( a little death)

ressurectdead | E | 5.1K

“And then, the girl opposite her smiles. She smiles, and it’s not even because of the little devil horns on her headband and the red tail stuck through her belt loop, but it’s still absolutely devilish, and Harry’s heart absolutely does backflips into outer space and back.

or: harry experiences a ghastly surprise of ghoulish delights when louis, the girl she’s been looking at during the halloween party, turns out to be not just a regular girl. well, thing is, she’s not even human.”

Nebula

docklands | E | 2.5K

“Louis is alone at home. When he sees a shooting star, he makes a wish for his life to change. What he doesn't expect is the visit of some kind of alien incubus to service him.”

i swear i could give you everything

alwaysxlarrie | teen | 5.5K

“Louis Tomlinson was not a morning person, so he really should have known better than to start leaving secret notes on coworker Harry Styles' desk before he arrived at the office at 7:30 in the morning. But he had to admit that hearing Harry's reaction everyday was definitely worth it. Not being a morning person might be his downfall in this situation, though.”

i can feel your blood pressure rise

cinnamons | E | 9.2K

“Hello, your Highness," Harry heard a familiar voice coming from behind him. Chills ran down his body as he felt the coldness of something sharp poke the back of his neck, "Turn around slowly or I'll hurt you,” the voice said in a teasing tone. Where Louis is some sort of Robin Hood and sneaks into the King's castle, only to be fucked hard.”

Climbing over me while I crawl in the backseat

cuddlebugharry | NR | 3.5K

“Just because you eat organic bullshit every day and probably do hot yoga to indie music doesn’t mean you’re better than everyone else. You walk around like you’re all high and mighty just because you can choke down green sludge and touch your toes.” Louis spits.

“First of all, kale isn’t the only thing I can choke down, being flexible in many different positions has proven very useful, and you’re even hotter when you’re all worked up.” Kale Asshole chuckles as he brushes Louis’ fringe out of his squinted, angry eyes.”

in every sense of authenticity

orchidsbyjune | GA | 1.2K

“It’s that collective feeling of belonging, of strength, safety and home that’s enough to make Louis be a little braver day by day, more courageous and be trustful in every leaf of faith that he takes. ”

this love is ours

loulicate | M | 21.K

“I told you to call me Harry.” Harry looks amused. It’s not funny. Louis throwing up because of him isn’t funny.“But I’ve been calling you Mr. Styles for so long.”“And now you’re carrying my baby.”

or Farmer Harry got village girl Louis pregnant without mating.”

The Compulsion to Find Love

Toomanytears | E | 140K

“The most prestigious English third-level institution, Candling University, accepts omega students for the first time and Louis Tomlinson applies with bright eyes and brighter ambitions. There he encounters personal obstacles, traditional mindsets and a beautiful boy who inverts every prejudice Louis has ever known.”

a night with you next to me is never truly dark

platinumlies | M | 22.6K

“This feels like a date.” Harry said as he finished his chocolate bar.

“It is a date.” Louis confirmed as he finished his own piece of candy, “A chocolate bar date.” “A chocolate bar date.” Harry hummed, “With meteors.” he added.

With meteors. 

…and that was just the beginning.”

On Thin Ice

@neondiamond | E | 16.4K

“As the goaltender for one of the best hockey teams in the world, Harry never expected participating in his second winter Olympics would be so eventful. His hidden long-term relationship with the captain of their biggest rival team may have something to do with it.”

My Only Angel

LaLaUnicornz | E | 7.3K

“Harry wakes up in the hospital and thinks he's met his guardian angel.”

Enjoy! See you next month’s 28th edition. x

[i-feel-strange]

ATTENTION! In this... Fanfiction? There will be pronouns for leading she/her. Joseph/Jack will be pushy and those who don't like being molested should not read. The action takes place in 1980, before Joseph's death. And there may also be errors in the text, I still use the translator.

(I am a big fan of Leo Tolstoy, so there will be a lot of water here, stock up on life jacket)

Date

As far as you remember, you were friends with Joseph for a little over five months, but this charming gentleman has already asked you on a date several times. You gently and tactfully refused. The actor did not lose his resolve. And now you are already standing at the mirror and picking up a dress for the evening. Red, too bright, this dress is like your grandmother's, this is old, she's been wearing this for a week. You chose a modest, black dress, with gloves, all the same, we are going to a restaurant. I wonder what Joseph will wear?

My God! I didn’t think that sunshine was so easy to agree, she refused me for so long. I already thought about leaving it behind and stop bothering her. I'm about to burst with happiness! That's enough, pull yourself together Joseph Haberday! This date should go well, I've planned everything down to the smallest detail. We go to a restaurant, I hope my sun will not be embarrassed, I want her to remember this evening for a long time. A cozy room, with walls hung with paintings, spacious and bright, without insane prices, but true products. I would like to pay the bill in full, but if my ray of light wants, she can pay herself. I booked a table away from everyone, in the corner of the room so that no one would disturb us. Should I send flowers? Or a gift? No, it will be too much. Where are the cigarettes? Better smoke now, I hope I still have perfume left. I often smell of smoke, but the sunshine always smells perfect. When I arrive in the dressing room after rehearsal, my sun is already there and waiting for me. I sit down on a chair, and her light and gentle hands correct my makeup. I try not to stare at her body, but it's pretty hard.Once I was already caught red-handed, it was pretty embarrassing. We can talk for hours non-stop, somehow we started talking about films, we have the same taste, she told me about the recently released thriller, but I didn’t really listen to her. It was more interesting to watch her facial expressions, hands with which she "explained" the film in parallel, how she moves from side to side, captured by the story about maniacs. The most attractive thing was to look at her lips. Damn, when will I ever get a chance to get her a kiss. Each time she uses different lipsticks, mostly delicate and pearlescent shades. I wonder if she will choose a smoky rose or burgundy for a date? What time is it now?

Fuck, it's almost eight o'clock!

I hastily selected a plain white shirt and a black vest, with slightly visible vertical stripes. Black tie, black trousers, everything is strictly and ironed.

20:00. Restaurant "Parlaur"

Surprisingly, I was not late, but the sun lingers. Maybe something happened? Or is she... No, no. She can't do that, my sunshine wouldn't do that, right?

Ha ha ha, shit. Joseph has probably been waiting for you for a fucking hour. How could you fall asleep before such an exciting event, and Joseph told you to rest more. It's all from lack of sleep. That bucket of bolts can't move faster?! Finally! Are you here. And he's here too. Phew, thank God. It stands alone, like a beaten puppy. Damn, how do you go now? Okay, good boobs knead, you need to approach confidently and apologize for being late.

- Hey... Hey...I'm sorry I'm late, I-

- Sun, finally! Are you all right? Nothing happened? I was so worried! What happened?

He, like a caring folder, took your face in his hands and began to examine me. You took his wrists and tried to stop the flow of his incoherent words.

- Calm down Joseph! Everything is fine with me! We still have time to go to the restaurant, right?

He shook his head positively. He smiled softly and held out his hand to you. Your hand looked like a puppet in comparison to his. The gentle giant gently squeezed your hand in his and directed your duet to the restaurant. The place was amazing! You sat down at a table away from everyone, a little strange, but not important. You made an order and discussed all possible topics. The conversation did not last too long, your order was submitted. The dishes were wonderful, they recaptured their cost. Joseph, of course, offered to pay for everything, but you chose to split the bill in half. Time seemed to fly by and you both lacked some two hours! The young actor suggested that you go to the park, where there is a bridge that crosses a small river. The square was full of trees of different varieties. The moon shone through the branches, but the main source of light was the lanterns. Appearing at the bridge, both of you leaned on the stone indent and watched the river flow quietly. Your conversation has subsided a bit. You moved on to a more soulful discussion, which was accompanied by whispers.

- Actually, I'm very selfish. I've been climbing to you with this date for so long. I want to say I'm sorry you had to come with me...

-What are you, Joseph? This evening was wonderful! I'm glad you invited me, thank you very much. I wouldn't even mind going again.

You said the last sentence a little quieter, but he still caught your sweet words.

-Truth!? Is this an invitation?

-I think yes. I invite you on a date Joseph.

-Hmm. I don’t even know, I have so many things to do, all in worries.

He said it jokingly. You pushed him on the shoulder. Your laughter echoed throughout the garden. As the chuckles began to fade, you noticed him approaching you. Quietly and timidly, trying to test the waters, trying not to scare you. You did not resist and gave it to big, but such native hands to embrace you. You felt how his heart beats, how his chest rises and falls, how his perfume smells, and how tightly he presses you to his body, afraid to let go. You pulled away, Joseph was scared and pressed you harder, but you were not going to leave. Holding out your hands, you brought the clown's face closer to yours. He doesn't seem to be moving away, but you asked him before.

-May I..

-Of course sunshine, I beg you... Kiss me.

You immediately merged into a soft kiss.

-I love you Joseph...

-I love you too (Y/N)

You had to stand on your toes. Joseph did you a favor and lifted you up. His lips devoured yours and asked for more. You gave permission and the kiss got a little hungry and desperate? Kissing became more passionate and aggressive. Joseph moved from your lips to your neck. The kisses were frequent and with some pressure.In interruptions, he asked you. His hands wandered along your body. You were like prey in the hands of a predator.

-(Y/N), please, I've dreamed about this for so long.

He breathed loudly into your neck.

You pulled back a little, but you wanted the same thing.

-Joseph, someone can see us! Not here.

His low, needy moan was drowned out by your chest.

- There should be a hotel not far away, let's go there.

- As you wish sun.

Before leaving, he poured his lips into yours, as if to say that this will not end there.

The night was long and very passionate. Joseph impatiently hid clothes from you and casually threw them anywhere. He didn't want to let you go for so long. Called you the love of my life, promised never to leave you and take care of you. He seemed so insatiable, but you even liked it.

When you woke up in the morning, you went home and met again at work.

There was a 20-minute break and Joseph, as usual, went into the dressing room. It was surprisingly quiet. But when you finished with makeup, he asked:

- So... Umm.. Are we together now?

- I would like to continue, I would like to be with you together.

-I also want this.

He quietly approached your lips and gave a short kiss.

I hope our next date will be very soon.

- And you won't have time to blink an eye, as you will be in my bed.

He laughed slightly.

- Can't wait like that anymore?