#also they’re smooth and just wash over you

[matchamiko]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Lucky Undies

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: oral sex ( f -> receiving) m.masturbation, mentions height difference (reader implied shorter than Aizawa), reader implied big belly, thighs + ass (ie. not skinny), prev. established relationship, sooooo self-indulgent don’t look at me

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Note: disgusted with myself honestly.

“What are those?”

You stop in your tracks, toothbrush lodged in your cheek and foam threatening to drip down your chin.

Aizawa stands behind you in the bathroom doorway, eyes trained dark on the tug of your sleep shirt over your ass. Spitting into the skin, bending lower and offering more of a view, you finish washing your mouth with heat all over your face,

“I didn’t have anything else clean, s’all I got,” you explain yourself, eyes connecting with his in the mirror,

“And they’re your last resort because?” Arms folded over his broad chest sprayed with dark hair, Aizawa cocks his hip against the doorway, eyes never leaving the peak of your asscheek from beneath the t-shirt. It’s his and it’s soft and he offered it to you on your first sleepover years ago, a little tighter round the middle now but still long enough to pass as a nightie.

“They don’t fit!” You resort with embarrassment, “they pinch my hips and they go up my butt ‘nd roll down my belly if I bend down or even move,” you feel as though there’s steam hissing from your ears, suddenly regretting even putting on the offending underwear. You’d miscounted your laundry days and found yourself wearing either silky lingerie or old high legged cheeky style undies that were a very adorable baby pink and sported a little red rose at the front. Usually you wore comfortable high rise with a trusty band and often times sensible colours so to not show through your chosen trousers or skirts of the day. Maybe you’d wear a thong if you felt adventurous but comfort was key in your relationship with underwear, and being with Aizawa for so long helped you not only explore that a little bit but also enabled you to stay comfortable without judgement or ridicule.

And Aizawa liked your plain underwear, didn’t care much for it really because all he often wanted was them off or not even on in the first place. Complaining about his partners choice in underwear was beneath him; he’s a man, he’s mature and he’d much rather eat your pussy than muse over what’s covering it.

But these? He’s not seen these before.

“Cute,” he says with a gravelly voice, stalking forwards slowly, “you look cute,”

Biting your lip, you shake your head,

“I’ll just put some gym shorts on and do a quick wash, s’stupid to even try to do anything in these,” you grumble dejectedly, turning and even in your limited movements, the seam tugs over your cheek and makes you cringe.

But Aizawa is as sturdy as he is stubborn, a wall preventing you from leaving and a large hand sits heavy and inviting on your hip.

“I said you look cute,” he says pointedly, “not just the underwear, but you in general, seeing your skin makes me - desperate,”

That hand smoothes under your sleep shirt, fingering the thin, stretchy band of the panties with a heavy breath in his chest. The harder he pulls the band, the higher up your hip they go and the further up your -

“They’re just panties Shouta,” you blink up at him, leaning closer to ease his fondling, “stupid uncomfable panties that is,”

“Shh,” Aizawa kisses you quiet, a peck to keep you satisfied while his other hand drifts over to your ass, fisting the fat and spreading you meanly, “just - lemme look for a sec,”

His eyes catch the flash of your asshole in the mirror, panties caught taught and high over your ass and he groans low and deep from his belly. You clear your throat and whimper when he buries his face into your neck, teeth scraping the delicate skin there. Then - his hand rounds to your stomach, fiddling with the little silky rose before tickling the exposed skin of your belly from where the panties had dislodged and folded down.

He doesn’t often explore you this selfishly, having listened to your qualms and insecurities over your body, doing it to prove that no weight could distance him from desiring your body. But he touches you with a filthy selfish agenda and filthier moans.

Thick fingers tease you over the fabric, slippery with your arousal, sliding between your folds and circling your clit with loud little click. It’s shameful how turned on you are at his exploration of your underwear, but he’s no better; hard and heavy and leaking against your hip. ‘Nd when you look down, mewling at the thick forearm jammed between your cushiony thighs, you can see the flushed tip of his cock peaking from the sagging waistband of his underwear, black and tight and baring a hole just above the seam on his thigh.

And suddenly you understand exactly how Aizawa feels with you in underwear he’s never seen before. Because those are boxers you bought him three christmases ago and are also a result of not doing laundry often enough. And when you look up at him with your hand squeezing him through the thin fabric; your shameful desperation is reflected in his eyes.

All too suddenly, Aizawa is on his knees and your lower back is cradled uncomfortably against the bathroom counter, and he’s all up between your thighs with devastating groans and grunts.

“Taste’s fuckin’ divine,” his tongue is hot and so wet against the gusset of your underwear, pulled tight over your cunt and practically frothing with how aroused you are. One hand cups your ass and spreads you, the other is crude and sharply tugging on his cock. At the taste of you. At the smell of you. Nipping your clit through the fabric and sucking hard enough to send you shuddering and shaking right down to your toes.

“Shouta ! S’too much !” You grip the top of his head, hair tangled from sleep but the tugging of the knots seem to encourage him, groaning into your cunt and huffing deep agonising breaths against your pubis. You’re on your tiptoes, one leg lifting a little even to give him space and Aizawa shuffles closer on his knees, haphazardly throwing your leg over his broad, sinewy shoulder.

It’s almost like the sensations are muted, dulled through the thin fabric of your panties. But they’re still there and you fumble with your shirt for a moment before lifting it and tucking the hem beneath your chin so you can look down, down at your boyfriend so eagerly and so messily slurping at your pussy.

He’s feral like this, eyes fluttering and nose pressed hard into your clit, tongue trying to rip through into you but failing miserably. Or not, as it seems that wasn’t his goal, simply content with tasting you through the panties that had entrapped him so suddenly. You couldn’t even feel confused and weird at his random bout of arousal over your too-small panties, too thrummed with pleasure and the shivers of an orgasm to really deep dive it.

It rears its head slowly, but with a strength you’d yet to experience before. All suction and desperate licks, moans and grunts vibrating you just enough to send you jerking into his mouth. Hips moving on their own, tits falling from the grasp of your shirt and shuddering with your movements. Your underwear slips and tugs harshly as you grind through your orgasm, pulled taught only by Aizawa’s insistent tongue and fingers. He seemed to have given up on his own pleasure, or got enough from watching and tasting you, both hands clutching your thighs around his head.

“Let up, oh my god, give me a sec Shouta,” you’re still panting hard, limbs boneless and belly throbbing with every aftershock, cunt fluttering against the sodden and stained panties, “you’re such a - now I really don’t have anything to wear today,”

Your words die from a telling off to a small sigh at the sight of him, drunk on the sight and taste of you. His eyes are heavy, mouth open and shining with your spend, cheeks flushed and chest heaving,

“Good news for me then,” he stands with a grunt, coming in close enough for you to smell the remnants of your orgasm on his lower face - but he doesn’t kiss you. Instead massaging your hips and the tangled band of your underwear, “I’m having you on my face next, ‘nd keep these on,”

He’s a pervert really, snapping the band and making you tut in disapproval. But as you follow him into the bedroom with a sheepish grin and nervous lust building in your chest; you realise you are too, for letting him indulge in this and letting him.

all rights reserved © matchamiko. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ my life with you (that’s way over now)

synopsis. some people get drunk calls from their exes, maybe even flowers with hand written apologies. you get a knock on your front door with two random kids and a murder case

length. 3.0k words (once more it was supposed to be short)

contents. exes to lovers, ex boyfriend! suguru, gn! reader, slightly deviated from canon (he doesn’t kill the entire village + doesn’t defect), slightly a fix-it fic, blood, murder, child abuse + neglect (canon events with suguru and the twins), angst to slight fluff with hopeful ending (pretty much happy tbh), mentions of family + kids, suguru pretty much being a broke and depressed lil guy lollll

notes. idk what this is but it was written for me i just wanted to write it so here. take it and look away

right before you graduate, you and suguru break up. you don’t want to, but he insists it’s only fair—he can hardly be there for you the way you need him to be, he says. something’s changed in him, it has since that day last year. but still—you don’t want to break up.

so you argue, he stays firm, you cry, he doesn’t change his mind, you break up, he leaves, and the world momentarily collapses.

it’s the way things work, you suppose. they don’t quite always go the way you planned. you graduate not long after that, leaving him behind to throw yourself into work while you toe into the baby steps of adulthood. real adulthood—the jujutsu world has a way of thrusting you into that faster than normal, anyway.

by the time it’s late summer, you get your first apartment. it’s a rundown place—the bathroom tiles look dirty no matter how much you scrub, the walls haven’t been repainted in what seems like decades, and the thermostat never works properly to feel like what the temperature indicates.

but it’s yours—you leave jujutsu high fresh into the real world, paying your taxes and buying your groceries all while you exorcise curses for a living. barely an adult, barely getting by, barely alive as you get up each day and live.

and then suguru comes knocking on your door half past midnight.

“hey,” he says nonchalantly, like there’s nothing wrong with standing there—but you know him better than that. you can hear that detachment in his voice as he stares between your eyes, but not quite in them.

“you—” you start, staring at him incredulously before you decide to give up. there are no surprises with suguru, not anymore you suppose. you don’t really know him anymore. “suguru, it’s midnight,” you sigh—and that’s when you see them: two small children that can’t be much older than five.

bruises are clear as day on their arms, even while standing in the darkness outside. there’s also the slight swollen curve of their eyes, and you can’t help but notice how they’re practically skin and bone. children who have probably not yet even lived for five winters, and you almost wonder if they’ve been through more than you have in you’re entire lifetime.

suguru clears his throat before you can stare at them any longer.

“this is nanako,” he gestures at the blonde, “and this is mimiko.” the brunette one seems more shy, curls behind his leg further as her name is uttered.

you don’t know what to say, so you settle for smiling—you’re not sure if it comes out too genuine, but you try. it’s all you can offer, really.

“hello,” you hum for a moment. and then you turn back to suguru, “it’s midnight.”

“i know.”

“you should be at school grounds.”

“i know.”

“suguru,” you sigh, eyeing the blood stained on his cheek. you don’t like where this is heading. there’s a sick feeling twisting in your gut, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

bile. you can taste it. something’s not right.

“where did you find these kids?”

“on a mission,” he says simply, “village heads were keepin’ em locked in a cage like animals. can you believe it?”

again, that casual tone. it almost as easy as humming your favorite tune, as smooth as your skin on freshly washed sheets, as quiet as the first day of snow when the world is still. but something about it is hollow—something’s not right.

“why’d you bring them here? instead of school? shoko should look at them—”

“i told them they’d be safe here.”

they’d be safe anywhere, you think. as long as suguru’s there too. as long they’re under his watchful gaze, nothing could hope to beat down on their youth like it already has their whole lives. but you don’t say that—something tells you he won’t believe you.

maybe not right now.

you don’t look at him. you can’t. something’s not right, but there are children present. so you throw on your best smile and open the door wider, offering them to come in.

your apartment is small, just one bedroom and one bath. there’s hardly enough food for yourself for tonight, you still have to go grocery shopping this week. the missions were lined up back to back to back—but that’s just life as a sorcerer, you suppose. most days you hardly have the energy to eat more than a few apple slices when you return home anyway.

you wave your hand at your place dramatically as you say, “come on in, ladies. your humble abode awaits.”

they giggle slightly at that—it’s the first time suguru hears them laugh. you have that effect, he knew you would. it’s why he brings them here and not there. and…well, there’s a more complicated issue at hand. but that’s for later.

right now…well, for right now, he lets you guide them to the bathroom.

“you have money on you right?” you ask. he blinks, staring at you for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

“spent the last of it on cigarettes this morning.”

great, you think, before sighing and trudging over to grab your wallet as you press a few crisp bills of cash in his hands.

“here.”

“what’s this for?” he raises a brow.

“go buy them clothes,” you look at him like he’s stupid. he might be, in all honesty. just a little. “i’m not putting them back in…those once they’re all cleaned.”

“wha—i’ve never shopped for children before,” he gapes, “and i don’t know what size they are, or—”

“figure it out, suguru,” you say tiredly. it’s half past midnight—by now, you’d be passed out from your mission. he seems to take the hint. “and bring some snacks too. should be enough.”

“fine,” he grumbles—and then he’s walking out the door.

for a second, it feels familiar watching him leave. but then you decide not to dwell on it—there are much more important matters at hand.

you turn to the two girls before crouching in front of them with a gentle smile, “who’s ready for bubbles?”

——————

nanako and mimiko have never had a bubble bath before. you decide to let them taste the first tendrils of youth by splashing in your tiny bathtub while you find suguru for some much needed answers.

he sits on your couch, shirt wrinkled and hair falling loose and blood still staining his cheek as he hunches over his legs, elbows resting on his thighs as he thinks. and thinks. and thinks and thinks and thinks.

you wonder about what—what could be plaguing his mind? a lot you’re sure, but this isn’t suguru. not the one you know, at least.

the one you knew, the voice in your mind hisses—do you really even know him at all anymore?

“so,” you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, curling your legs under yourself as you eye him from the side, “care to explain?”

“i killed them,” he mutters. you go still. “the village heads. i did it without hesitating. that’s bad, right?”

“well fuck, suguru,” you breathe, restless, “that’s certainly not good.”

“i had a reason,” he argues, “all i needed was one.”

“there’s nothing that excuses murder—”

“oh, but we can excuse locking kids in cages, is that right? why? cause they’re sorcerers? they’re not—they’re children.”

“i didn’t say that,” you rub your forehead. this is all too much. too, too much.

being a sorcerer is too much. being in front of suguru is too much.

you finish your third year with a broken heart and graduate in spring—at one point you’d hoped graduating wouldn’t change anything between you and your friends, between you and the boy you loved. everything would be the same, even if you’d leave the place that held you all together—you’d still find a way back to each other, you liked to think. but then it all changes before you can even comprehend.

haibara is dead. nanami is hardly coping. gojo is everywhere but here. shoko is in high demand. suguru is hardly present even when he’s right in front of you. nothing is the same and you don’t think it ever will be. you lose the one thing you count on being yours forever, and now, he’s right here again. but not really here—not with you so much as near you.

suguru has killed people, sitting on your couch with you while the two children he finds are bathing happily in your bathtub.

there’s some irony in that—maybe in a perfect world, suguru and you would sit on the couch, much happier than right now, though. maybe you’d be tucked under his arm and curled into his side as you both chuckle at the happy squeals in the distance. maybe in a perfect world.

but this world is cruel. too cruel, in fact. it forces children to grow up too fast during some times and lets adults continue to be children during others. it’s sickening and all too much.

but this is the world you live in. there’s not much to change in that—not much you can change. maybe sitting on the couch with suguru is what you should be grateful for, whether it’s in this world or another.

“i came here because it’s safe,” he mumbles, quieter this time, “i don’t…i didn’t trust anywhere else.”

something tells you he’s not talking about the kids. you look at him for the first time that night—really look at him. you take in the lost weight, the sunken cheekbones and the bruised under eyes from the lack of sleep. the cracked lips from being chapped and the dry hair that’s lost its normal shine.

something’s not right—you won’t be able to mend it, but you think you can keep it from getting worse.

“it is safe here,” you murmur, nodding in assurance, “but you can’t…i can’t let you do that. not again.”

“what? kill people?” he snorts in dry amusement. it’s quiet for a bit—you open your mouth a few times like you want to say something, but nothing ever comes. he finally decides to fill the silence. “i don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. people shouldn’t kill. but some people shouldn’t live.”

“i think jujutsu is supposed to save people. not everyone will deserve it, but i suppose we wouldn’t be much better than them if we used it for anything other than that,” you whisper. he looks over at you at that, peers at you deep in thought as he contemplates your words.

“that’s funny,” he chuckles, “i used to think that too.”

“what changed?”

“everything.”

“then change it some more,” you shrug, “until you think it again.” he looks at you incredulously at that, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

“you’re an idiot,” he scoffs.

“says the killer,” you scoff back. you look at him this time, in the eyes and full of conviction, full of promises you couldn’t make before but fully intend to keep now. “don’t kill anyone else and i’ll help you. with those kids, i mean.”

“you want to co parent with me?” he chuckles.

co parent—the word makes your stomach twist. even after all this time, after all the hurt and pain, suguru is easy to imagine that with. he’s easy to imagine anything in the future with, really. he’s always been perfect like that, but you’re starting to realize there’s a lot more imperfections to him than you initially thought.

but it’s okay, you think. if you didn’t stop loving him before, you certainly don’t stop now. blood on his hands or not, he’s yours—even if he doesn’t want to be.

“don’t say it like that,” you murmur softly, hugging your arms around yourself, “please.”

you let yourself be vulnerable for just a moment—not because you want to, but because he needs to know. he needs to know how unfair he’s being and how patient you are with him despite it all. you deserve that much.

“sorry,” he mutters—he has the decency to look away and drop his smile.

“you don’t kill anyone, and i’ll look for a bigger place. deal?”

“for us…all?”

“yes. just until you figure it out, i’ll help you out with them. and then you’ll responsibly use your paycheck as a full time special grade sorcerer and maybe send a few checks my way to say thanks to my good will.”

he chuckles at that, shaking his head. “i’ll repay you,” he hums, tapping his foot. he does that when he’s nervous, you still remember—you could never forget anything about him. “i…i owe you, anyway.”

it’s quiet some more. you don’t know what to say, and quite frankly, you don’t want to say anything at all. but once more, he fills the silence for you after a while.

“what if…” he starts, “what if i want to co parent with you?”

“you dumped me,” you point out, unable to hide the bitterness any longer. it cracks from your tongue through your words like honey that went dry. “remember that? cause i sure remember.”

you’re an adult now, just barely, but an adult all the same. you should handle this the mature way—but you’re still young. still hurt. still blanketed in the fresh wave of nostalgia that leaves you aching with grief.

so you let yourself be bitter. suguru can handle that much after he left you to pick up your shattered pieces.

“i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i never wanted to.”

“but you did.”

“i didn’t…you didn’t deserve to see me unstable.”

“you’re not very stable right now either,” you pinch your nose tiredly, “you killed people, suguru. but somehow you can manage to have two kids now. but not me.”

“they need me,” he defends.

“i needed you too,” your voice cracks.

you did. you needed him—and you like to think he needed you too. maybe it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is, especially not when you fight curses and see their ugliness every day. but that’s the best part of having each other—having something pretty amidst the hideousness.

he left you with more ugly than you knew what to do with. it’s unfair, you think for a moment, unfair that two girls who hardly know him at all have more of him than you ever did. he’d never abandon them—that much you know for sure.

you’ve laughed with him, held him and wiped his tears and kissed him under the moon until it became the sun. you’ve seen him with his hair down and his guard lowered. you’ve seen him in every way possible but in the end, he walked away.

they’ve seen him for less than a day and somehow, he’ll be there forever. there’s something unfair about that and you hate that you’re bitter with children but the world in cruel like that.

suguru slowly inches over—it’s cautious at first, and then he fills the gap all at once. you pretend you don’t feel the way your thighs touch.

“i need you too,” he admits, voice small. there’s a small, shaky crack that eats away at your heart, trying to gnaw into the raw part. the easy to reach part. the part you shouldn’t let him see anymore. “i…i always needed you. i’m sorry.”

“we were supposed to need each other,” you sniffle.

“we do,” he slowly slumps his head onto your shoulder. you let him stay there—don’t dare move a muscle in case he pulls away. “you’re the only thing that keeps me stable. i don’t think that’s fair.”

“needing someone isn’t unfair, suguru,” you scoff.

“okay,” he grabs your hand, squeezing. for the first time, he lets it all go. lets tears slowly slip from the corners of his eyes as he slumps into your side. he cries for riko. for kuroi. for satoru and the time he lost him for a moment. for their youth. for haibara. for not being enough even when he shouldn’t have had to be. somewhere amidst all that, your arms wrap around him and he’s pulled into your chest—that familiar feeling of your fingers threading into his hair makes the world start spinning again. “i need you,” he chokes.

“okay,” you say shakily, nodding slowly as you let yourself hope, “as long as you don’t stop this time.”

he buries his face into your chest, and you kiss the crown of his head.

cruelty is an unstoppable force. your love for suguru is an immovable object. neither is going anywhere, but perhaps they can coexist.

“satoru’s gonna have a massive headache when he explains this one to the higher ups,” you snort after a while.

he laughs into your shirt, real for the first time in a long time. “i’ll buy him something sweet. should make up for it,” he hums. and then he looks up, smiles innocently as he asks, “wanna lend me some cash? i’ll pay you back when i’m a responsible handler of money.”

“you’re hopeless,” you chuckle, “but at least you’re here.”

————— BONUS —————

“okay,” satoru starts, holding his hands up in surrender as he stands before the higher ups. damn old geezers, he thinks. “so he did kill a person or two…but—”

“there is no excuse,” a voice hisses.

“he didn’t mean it,” he huffs indignantly, “it was an accident. those can happen sometimes.”

“what—”

“he’s going through a phase, okay? let him work through it, he’ll be fine.”

“that’s not—”

“i’ll let him off the hook this time,” satoru grins, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shrugs, “he’s got a family now, y’know? kids and a spouse, and they’re looking for a home. can’t take that away from them.”

“he’s not even married—”

“it’ll happen eventually,” he insists, “so let’s all just calm down, yeah? great, thanks!”

“gojo—”

“see ya!”

he walks out, flashing an obnoxious peace sign at the higher ups as they hiss at him to return as he’s walking out. that takes care of that, he thinks, as long as suguru doesn’t make his life harder and kill more people, he can handle it—you did promise him kikufuku if he does.

satoru is babygirl defender no. 1 ain’t nobody doing it like my guy 🤞🏽 he would be loyal to you while you were in jail no doubts

[junicult]

!! the bachelors when they’re horny

contains ; much suggestive content. fem!farmer. established relationships (marriage). reader has hair that can be put into a ponytail. nsfw, no actual smut. sorta proofread.

note ; here’s another apology for disappearing :,,

harvey.

- the love of my life.

- he’s more of a romantic.

- so he tends to take a sweeter, gentler route into hinting at him being in the mood.

- it’s not a hard task, either.

- this man is so in love with you. when he’s in love, it can just be the sight of you to turn him on.

- some of the easiest, i’d say is anything that reminds him he’s married to you.

- like yeah, of course he knows that, but it always makes his day when he reminds himself of it.

- such as coming home to you, making dinner for you or when you make dinner for him.

- sitting in ur home together, eating and talking about your day. just reminds him of the fact that he gets to do this with you, and no one else does.

- since he knows how busy you are, he absolutely loves being a househusband. spoiling you by doing all the household chores while you work your ass off outside.

- and he genuinely enjoys doing that,

- but on the rarer occasion when you take most of the day off, and he’s out at work—that’s what really gets him.

- the smallest gesture of picking up his empty plate and washing the dishes.

- when you constantly say, “honey, i’ve got it,” as he tries to help…it does something to him.

- it’s a small act of love that shows him you care so much about him without saying it.

- now, maybe it wasn’t your intention to turn him on. i mean, it’s quite literally a regular, basic gesture—

- but here he is. throat aching, palms starting to sweat and his growing hard-on straining in his pants.

- all because you showed basic human decency.

- lol.

- also because it’s the love of his life doing it for him, but still. he can’t help it. he’s just so infatuated with you.

- as for getting the hint across to you? ofc he’s not gonna fucking say it.

- he overthinks everything. and the last thing he’d want is for you to feel obligated just because he wants to.

- but there’s an obvious tell when it comes to harvey, and it’s not just the fact that his cheeks get all red.

- it’s the way he starts to fumble over his sentences, mumbling and stuttering his words.

- he’s not very smooth i fear.

- but that’s what we love about him🫶

- it doesn’t take long to realize you’ve got him tense. feel free to tease him a bit.

- the minute you show you’re on the same page, however, he gets a pick up in his confidence.

- whenever he’s turned on like this, it’s always the best for you.

- his beautiful wife does something sweet for him? then you better believe he’s going to be even sweeter to you.

sam.

- i’ve said this before,

- but it’s not hard to get him in the mood.

- show him even the tiniest sign that you’re horny, and he is too.

- what can i say, he’s a simple man.

- now, don’t mistaken that as anybody that comes along, shows a little affection can turn him on. bc that’s not true. at all.

- in fact, he’s incredibly oblivious to that kinda stuff. if he gets hit on, he’ll just take it as a compliment.

- it’s you that turns him on. it’s your affection. it’s the fact that you want him.

- bc he’s just that in love with you, he gets all excited when he’s in those situations with you.

- SO!!

- he gets so cute when he’s needy.

- he’s always down hug and hold you, trust me. his love language is for sure physical touch.

- even just in general, he has to be holding your hand while you’re standing together, he’s latched onto you when you’re laying together. he’ll even hold onto you as you’re cooking dinner. he loves touching you.

- and when he’s horny it’s no different.

- it’s so random, but one of his major turn ons is watching tie your hair out of your face.

- super casually, too. can be mid-conversation, or he just catches a glimpse of you doing it across the room.

- “your mom wants a me to bring a largemouth bass for dinner tonight, can you feed the chickens please?” your explain as you secure your ponytail with a hairtie.

- he’s all sorts of distracted, obviously listening to your request but he can’t help but focus on the action.

- “yeah, for sure—totally,” he nods, and the minute u walk out the door he has to let out a large huff of breath.

- another thing that vvvv much turns him on is when u walk fresh out of the shower with only a towel on.

- like, i’m talking u can still see the droplets of water on your shoulders, and your hair is soaking to the touch.

- he’s a simple man i said.

- and what’s funny is, he always showers with you.

- so seeing you like that will happen 9/10 times after u shower.

- he looks pretty much identical to you, too. same sopping wet hair and towel around his waist.

- he’s cute with it though. like, ofc he stares at you, but he’s got the cutest smile & obvious flush across his cheeks.

- mumbles a soft, “you just look really pretty,” after you ask about it.

- …idk abt u but he’s getting it after that.

shane.

- there’s no hiding it.

- he’ll straight up tell you.

- honestly, i feel like every time he’s with you or he sees you, he’s always at least a little turned on.

- within reason of course.

- i mean, how can he not be?

- it’s just like, when you’re that in love, he’ll find you beautiful no matter what. and if you’re literally covered in dirt or soot from the mines head to toe, if you tell him ur horny he is not complaining 💀

- simply put, he’s always down.

- he’s very respectful, however. he knows if the time isn’t right.

- but anyways, when he’s rly horny, it’s not hard to figure it out.

- he makes so much more eye contact, and becomes like the most intense listener.

- i don’t want it to sound like he isn’t already a good listener, he’s not an asshole (for the most part <3)

- it’s not like he’s doing the bare minimum just to get in your pants. he becomes such an intent listener because he’s turned on from the way you talk.

- like he’s enchanted. he could listen to you forever. he genuinely wants you to continue.

- when ur lying in bed together before going to bed, casually recapping your day and he can’t help but think about how pretty you look while u innocently put lotion on.

- and then his thoughts wander. and then he’s thinking the other pretty sounds your voice makes.

- and once you finish, you ask a sweet, “so how was your day, handsome?”

- he’s all, “pretty boring. missed you a ton.”

- you’re too deep in your relationship to know his compliment is also a pickup line, and that his thumb rubbing your thigh isn’t him just showing affection.

- it’s only a matter of time before he’s looking over at you with the smallest smirk and glazed eyes.

- “you feeling okay? still got some energy left?”

- not subtle indeed.

sebastian.

- in the beginning of ur relationship, he was turned on by many things you did, but he’d wait until he had an actual excuse.

- let me explain,

- when you were getting ready for bed, and he was spending the night, he’d watch you delicately take off your jewelry and carefully put them away—instant turn on.

- but it wasn’t until u joined him in bed, gave him a couple kisses on the cheek, & hinted that u were in the mood yourself when he’d fold.

- like he’d wait until he had an “excuse” for some reason.

- as for now, when ur relationship is very committed and ur living under the same roof, he stopped overthinking as much.

- instead of watching your dainty fingers unclasp each necklace, it was his to help you.

- then a gentle press of his soft lips to the center of your neck, & all he had to do was listen to your soft laugh, before you turned around and kissed him deeper.

- when he’s horny, that’s absolutely what he does. it saves him from outright saying it, and from making you feel bad if you aren’t. a win win.

- for sebastian to blatantly tell you he wants to have sex right now—he’s gotta be DEPRIVED.

- even though he’s comfortable with you, and no matter how long he’s been with you, he’s just not that kind of person to outright ask.

- plus, he likes when you come onto him. it’s an ego booster.

- he just loves u in general, and the fact that he knows u love him.

- now just bc i stated he doesn’t like to ask, doesn’t mean he never will.

- it’s rare, but he’s been with you for years. he’s bound to suggest it at least once.

- and if that were the case, he’ll still be shy about it.

- he’s been thinking about you all day, even clingy enough to bring himself out to help you with work.

- he’s sorta like ur shadow the entire day, and for a guy that deeply appreciates his alone time, it definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

- “what’s up, sebby? you’ve been really clingy today.” you giggle, leaning into his touch that wraps around your waist.

- you’ll get nothing but a hum and a shrug for now.

- and by the time your chores are wrapped up, the sun is long since set, and you’re all cleaned and full from dinner—is when you finally pry it out of him.

- “you’re just usually not like this,” you giggle, running your fingers through his hair after kissing his cheek.

- “can i not show my wife affection?” he dryly jokes back, causing you to roll your eyes.

- “okay, i don’t need the attitude. of course you can.” you tease, smiling when he wraps his arms a little tighter around you and pulls you in for a kiss.

- “you just look extra beautiful today, and i wanna do something about it.” he all but shrugs, his voice low and quiet between his lips pressing against yours.

- “like what?”

- “why don’t you let me show you?”

alex.

- pfft.

- he’ll tell you.

- he’ll actually make it known to whoever’s near. he has zero shame.

- he always gets rly horny whenever ur out in public together, like at dinner w friends, or at town gatherings.

- it’s definitely because he gets to see you all dressed up, spritzed with perfume and makeup done.

- trust me, the sight of you in your loungewear still makes him a horny. a different kind of horny, tho. i’ll get to that in a minute.

- but there’s something so satisfying abt showing up to an event with a fucking goddess by his side. you’re dressed to the nines and you’ve got his hand in yours.

- it’s like a silent bragging right that you fell in love with him, not anyone else.

- he’s a little possessive in that sense.

- when you guys haven’t seen each other in a couple hours, he’ll always come find you after a bit to check in.

- it’s so cute cus ur a little buzzed, and so is he.

- he’ll easily slot himself by your side, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you close.

- just from the way your face immediately lights up, and a warm smile pulls at the corner of your cheeks is enough to turn him on.

- leans down to whisper in your ear, “when are you ready to head out? been dying to get this off of you,” while subtly tugging on the fabric hugging your hips.

- yeah, you’ll leave right after that😇

- and as for when he sees you in your loungewear,

- he tends to be a bit more loving.

- there’s definitely a side of him that only you bring out. he’s lowkey one of those guys that becomes such a softie when he’s alone with you.

- likes to hold u, or even be held if i may be so bold.

- so when he’s feeling particularly affectionate, mumbling abt how much he loves you and such, it tends to lead into a session or two.

elliott.

- he’s just beyond enamored by you and everything you do.

- he’s similar to shane in the sense that, no matter what he’ll always find you beautiful, and sexy.

- he’s the kind of guy who gets his own satisfaction by giving you what you want. so if ur horny, and you wanna have sex, well so is he.

- but for elliott, it’s different.

- it’s not so much as being horny and looking to just fuck,

- it’s him being in love with you, and wanting to make love to you, y’know?

- so when he’s horny, it’s usually when he gets his alone time with you.

- after you’ve finished work for the day, already showered, & he’s decided to wrap up his own work, is when you two can finally relax together.

- “you were out there for a while. busy day?” he asks curiously, silently patting his knee for you to prop your foot up.

- “ah, yeah, y’know, most of my crops needed to be harvested today and i had to run to pierre’s to plant some more.” you sigh, leaning back and indulging in his affection.

- it’s gonna sound a little weird, i know, but i feel like he silently loves when you’re a little sore.

- no, not because you’re in pain, but because he just loves the excuse to soothe you.

- he loves rubbing your shoulders and back, rubbing your feet when you’re tired while you tell him about your day.

- it’s usually then when he becomes infatuated, and all he wants to do is hold you and kiss you all over.

- so after some back and forth, talking about whatever news came up over the few hours you’ve been apart, is when he’s the most in love.

- there’s never really a verbal agreement, you two usually just feel it at the same time, which is when you lean in and it gets a bit heated.

- he can’t possibly pick one single thing you do that makes him hornier then another. it’s everything you do.

[stepbrorafe]

Movie Night - RC

summary : a sleepover w stepbro rafe takes a turn

warnings : swearing, stepcest, somnophilia(dubcon?), fingering, oral, idk idk

a/n : my first lil fic type deal on this acc :) feel free to send in reqs or comment opinions or just talk to me <3

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

“What?” Rafe’s deep voice called out from the other side of the door.

You slowly twist the knob, pushing the door open, eyes instantly meeting his bare back as he leaned over his bed.

“I said ‘what’, I didn’t say come-“ He starts, cutting himself off as he turns to you.

You sheepishly smile, “Sorry, I was just wondering if you wanted to maybe have a movie night?”

His eyebrows furrowed together, confusion plastering itself across his face. Your smile slightly falters as he doesn’t respond for a moment.

“Where’s Sarah and Wheezie?” He questions, as they’re who you usually hang out with.

“Wheezie’s sleeping, Sarah’s where she always sneaks off to anymore.” You mumble, “Just figured maybe me and you could have a sleepover or something. It’s okay though.”

He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t want to have a movie night with you. He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t want even more than that. He absolutely loves whenever you’re around, yet he hates it at the same time.

He can’t help but drink in the way you move, the way you speak, the way you seem so innocent yet so naughty. In all honesty, his believing you have a naughty side is purely delusional. You’ve done nothing of the sort to incline you’re anything but innocent. Maybe that’s what it is though. Maybe he just wants to prove that you can be a slut. A slut for him.

Just as you’re turning around to leave, his voice stops you, “What are we watching?”

Your lips twist up in a smile, one that he has to purse his lips from mirroring. You close the door, sauntering over to his bed in your short little bottoms and thin tank top.

“We can watch whatever.” You say, crawling into his bed.

His eyes bore into the way you make yourself comfortable on his blankets, your smooth legs crossing along his bed. He swallows the accumulating saliva, flicking the light off and joining you.

He grabs the remote from his nightstand, passing it to you to choose a movie, stating, “Anything but a chick flick.”

The giggle falls from your lips so effortlessly, causing him to clear his throat and avert his eyes from you.

The night progresses with several movies before you find yourself sound asleep beside Rafe. He isn’t so lucky as sleep refuses to wash over him.

Instead, he’s left staring at you while you snooze. Your cheeks are slightly squished, causing your lips to form into a pout. Your long lashes rest on your cheeks, casting shadows along your skin. Your hair falls into your face, and he can’t help but brush it behind your ear, letting his fingers linger momentarily.

His eyes lower, taking in the way your cleavage is on show as your tank top is bunched below your tits. Your collarbones so prominent, the soft moonlight, shining through from the window, hitting them with a cool glow.

His gaze continues down your body, boring into the skin of your stomach showing as your shirt rides up. It also reveals the waistband of your small shorts. The shorts that barely cover the curve of your ass. In fact, he can see it clear as day. His eyes rake down the rest of you, soaking in the way your plump thighs damn near swallow your bottoms. Your smooth legs resting atop of one another, begging to be spread.

He can’t help the growing of his cock, now straining against his boxers, aching to be released. He lets out a breath, his eyes closing as he revels in the dirty fantasies he’s having.

He so badly wants to pull your legs apart and kiss you through the fabric of your shorts. He wants to squeeze your tits as he buries himself in you, swallowing all the pretty little sounds you make.

He lets out a hiss as his hand rests on his covered cock, adding just the slightest bit of pressure, seeking relief.

Before he can stop himself, he’s scooting closer to you. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back into him. He has to hold back a groan as your ass presses into his bulge.

Completely oblivious the state he’s in, you push back ever further, enjoying the cuddles from your stepbrother.

His hand slides down to your exposed stomach, rubbing small patterns into the skin, taking notice in the way goosebumps form beneath his touch. He can’t help but smirk at that.

You let out a soft hum, still in a deep unconscious state. His hand slowly trails higher, traveling up your torso. His hand halts when he feels your boob. You’re not wearing a bra.

He almost groans at the thought, convincing himself that you did it on purpose. That you want him to touch you. And so he does.

His hand fully engulfs your bare tit, squeezing it so firmly. You stir in your sleep, rolling onto your back. His eyes glimmer at the access you’re unknowingly giving him.

He pinches your hard nipple before removing his hand, and sliding it to the waistband of your shorts. Without hassle, his fingers poke into your bottoms, trailing further down. He tosses his head back at the notion of you not wearing any panties either. You’re practically begging to be fucked.

Taking in your sleeping figure, he lets his fingers go lower, sliding over your bare lips, groaning when he feels your arousal seeping through.

“I knew you were a slut.” He mumbles into your shoulder.

His fingers prod at your slit, pushing your lips open as he rubs you up and down. You let out a small, almost inaudible, moan from the feeling.

Rafe licks his lips, slowly circling your clit with two fingers. He can feel your body slightly tremble against him. Without a second thought, his fingers slide down to your entrance, pushing into you.

The action makes your body jump, instantly pulling you from your dreamy state. Your eyes flutter a few times, taking in what’s happening. Your heart rate picks up and your eyes widen, acknowledging the fact that your stepbrother has his fingers slowly pumping in and out of you.

“Rafe!” You gasp, attempting to push his hand away.

“Shh, you’re okay.” He whispers into your ear, his opposite hand holding you in place.

“W-what are you doing?” You panic, your body tensing as he continues to fuck his digits into you.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He quips, curling his fingers into your spongy walls.

It pulls a moan from you, one that you try to hide away as your cheeks burn bright with embarrassment.

You shake your head, “Stop. This is wrong, you’re my brother.”

“Stepbrother.” He corrects through gritted teeth.

His pace speeds up, the squelching sound filling in the room. Your brows knit together as you bite back your moans, the feeling being all too pleasurable.

“Do you really want me to stop?” He breathes against you. “Just tell me to stop and I will.”

Your mind races with a million thoughts a second, yet you feel blank at the same time. There’s no denying how good you feel right now, and how attracted you’ve felt towards Rafe. You always swallowed those feelings down, knowing it’s not right. But right here, right now, you don’t seem to care about anything else other than the feeling of his fingers working you.

“No, no.” You moan, your back arching. “Please don’t stop.”

He smirks, “That’s my girl.”

Next thing you know, he’s in between your legs, tongue lapping at your wetness as his fingers thrust in and out of you. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging at the strands as you buck your hips into his face while soft moans fall from your lips. You can practically feel his smirk as he pulls you closer.

“Taste so good, sound so pretty.” He coos, sucking up your juices. “Always knew you’d be a mess for me.”

You whine at his words, feeling your orgasm sneaking up on you. It doesn’t take long. His lips puckering around your clit and sucking harshly brings you over the edge. The guilt you have for letting him touch you dissipates as euphoria floods your veins. Your body convulses, legs shaking as you let go. He moans against your pussy, devouring everything you have to give him.

You’re left panting, coming down from the delicious high he gave you. He sits up, licking your remaining arousal from his lips. Scooting back up next to you, he pulls you into him once more, burying his face in your hair.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, still breathless.

“Thought you wanted to have a sleepover.” He mumbles, leaving you in a state of shock at what just took place.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

tags : @sunkissedrafe @wickedtactics @bunnycvnts @butterflyoceandreams

[1980shorrorfilm]

every road i know

click here. resources for palestine, congo, sudan, and other countries.

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…ellie thought it was time to solidify your relationship. she might have been wrong.

before you read…inspired by the strangers, minus the killing n stuff. modern day fic. angst with comfort <3

the autumn night is silent, save for the occasional creak of the old miller’s cabin settling into its nighttime routine. you listen to the wind whistling outside, through the tall pines surrounding the small wooden home. 

it’s a lonely town, the nearest house a few miles down the road, something vastly different from your shared apartment in the city. 

ellie started bringing you here after joel had let it collect endless dust and cobwebs, the woman cleaning it all up for you. whenever life got too busy, chaotic, or hard, this way your getaway. peace. just you and her and the nature that surrounded you.

now, it feels as though it’s purgatory. 

the fireplace flickers softly, its glow dancing on the wooden walls, but the warmth couldn’t seem to comfort you. not right now. ellie sits in front of the flames, her silhouette outlined by the orange gentle light.

she has yet to utter a single word to you. the car ride here was silent. even the radio on mute, because ellie couldn’t find the simple strength to turn it up.

the moment is replaying in her mind, over and over, the sad smile you had given her burned into her memory. the thing she’s had anxiety about for the past month. proposing, to you.

the dark velvet box holding the special ring, now lying on the coffee table beside her. a stark reminder of the event.

you’re sat on the couch, chewing your lip, a rose petal in your hand. it’s soft, you find yourself stroking the smooth flower. they cover, nearly, the whole cabin. ellie had thrown the petals around before you had arrived together, trying to make it appear as romantic as possible. 

it’s not her strong suit, her appreciation toward you shown in much different ways than typical lovey-dovey things you see on television, but tonight it felt right. long candles garnish whatever surface she could put them on, yellow and smelling like vanilla. they’re not lit. 

she assumed she’d spark them when you came back from the long day you had. one that started with your favorite breakfast, ellie waking up extra early to make it as perfect as she could. and she did, you made sure to compliment her repeatedly.

then she took you downtown, viewing places you rarely visited, spending more time admiring you than the other pretty views. what occupied most of your time, was going to a museum she took you to on your first date, reminiscing on how awkward you two were compared to now.

she swears that’s her favorite place, and not just because she’s a nerd, because she now associates it with you. 

ellie had took you out to dinner, to your favorite restaurant, hardly eating and claiming she just wasn’t hungry. that was a lie, she just didn’t think she could keep food down. her nerves were washing over her, multiplying when you had finished, and you took a walk near the river, beneath the red trees that blew softly above you.

you had felt her pause in place, holding her warm hand, and you thought maybe the tie had come undone on her sneakers. she had washed them the day prior until her fingers pruned, you found it odd for ellie but didn’t say anything. but that wasn’t the problem. she stared at you like she saw a ghost, and it worried you.

you almost thought this was the end, she was about to tell you those four dreaded words. we need to break up. oh, the idea terrorizes you. that, however, also wasn’t it.

she had whispered inaudible words to herself, then mumbling ‘okay, okay, okay.’

you thought the woman was breaking before you, concern in your eyes, holding her hand tight. then she gulped, trying to get out the rehearsed words that seemed to vanish the longer she stood in your presence. 

how much you mean to her. from the very moment you two got paired up for a project that she insisted she’d do all the work for, but you fought back, finding yourself in her bedroom the entire week, the girl studying you more than the work laid out before her.

she found herself by your side all the time afterward.

she needed to be by your side. 

she doesn’t know how she lived before you, and if she could live without you— no, insisting she could not live with you. she simply wouldn’t have the will. waking up to a bed you didn’t occupy, not hearing your genuine laughter to her most idiotic jokes, not being able to hold you when you experienced the hardest day of your life.

she couldn’t have that. she needs this…you and her, to last forever. so, she asked those four words that you weren’t prepared for. will you marry me?

to which, you didn’t say yes.

you couldn’t. you love ellie, more than you could ever put into words, you swear on your life that you do, and it didn’t at all reflect your feelings for her. you were just…paralyzed. by fear, uncertainty, and the weight of expectations that you couldn’t hold up to for her. every single insecurity, hitting you at once, in the worst moment it possibly could.

you had said her name in a weak whisper, and ellie gulped, realizing what was happening. a tear slipped from your eye, that she quickly wiped away, reassuring you it was okay. that you’re okay. putting you before her, a habit of hers. bits of her broken heart being blown away in the cool wind that hits you, while she cradles yours. 

you walked to the car together in silence, a suffocating fog. a silence that seemed to last forever.

the tension between you two is almost palpable, both of your minds are currently a whirlwind of heavy emotions. a gentle crackle of the fire and ellie shifting in place, makes you finally turn your attention to her. “ellie,” you say her name softly, voice strained as you finally break the unbearable quiet. “can we talk?”

her gaze remains on the fiery flames, her shoulders tense. “we don’t have to,” she replies quietly, “i get it.”

“i don’t think you do,” you lowly say, heart aching at the mere thought of all the negativity running through her precious head, doubts about herself and your relationship. that’s the last thing you could ever want.

ellie swallows thickly, “it doesn’t matter.”

you watch her get up, turning her back to you as she leaves the room. your eyes trail her to the kitchen before you follow her. she doesn’t glance at you as you lean against the nearby counter, watching her grab an expensive champagne bottle. 

you assume she bought it just for tonight, she wouldn’t drink it any other time. she won’t even touch a glass of wine. she pops it open, pouring it into one of the two glasses beside it. “i don’t…” you begin to say as she hovers over the other glass, ellie nodding in response. you’re afraid if you drink it you’ll throw up all the nerves inside your system. 

“i got your favorite ice cream…if you want that instead,” ellie mentions, tapping her finger on the glass, “went to like…3 different stores. couldn’t find the brand you like.”

she ends the sentence with an attempt at a laugh, finding it so silly now. all the effort, for what? humiliation? pity? she sips on the disgusting drink like it would make her feel better. the only other thing that helps her in trying times, is you; and that’s not exactly possible in this scenario.

“do you…” she pauses, staring at the liquid as she swirls it around, “do you want this…us?”

“of course i do,” you answer her without hesitation, taking a step closer to her, but still out of reach. “it’s not that, ellie,” you tell her, trying to figure out how to inform her it’s you and not her, without sounding like a poor cliche overused excuse. 

“it’s just…we’re young…im scared you’re making a mistake,” your voice wavers near the end, ashamed to admit such a thing, that you are her mistake. ellie looks at you like you just spit in her face. she doesn’t know how to interpret the comment, she slightly feels insulted that you would think that she’s making a ‘mistake.’ 

this isn’t putting a shirt on inside out. this isn’t forgetting to turn the light off when you leave a room. it’s not tripping over your step. it’s her committing herself to you, after five beautiful years attached to you, something she wants hundreds more years of, if that were possible. nothing about that is a mistake.

you’re the love of her life. cementing that is not a fucking mistake. 

“is that how you feel?” she flips the script, putting the spotlight on you, feeling like you’re burning beneath it at the accusation. “what?” you whisper, “n-no…no ellie.”

you can’t read her expression, she’s swallowing the rest of her drink, blankly staring ahead. 

she ignores your response, “i’ll drive us home in the morning. you should get some sleep.”

she turns away, placing her glass carefully in the sink, resting there for a moment. your eyes are boring into the back of her head as if you could read the thoughts inside it. so many bad thoughts. 

you push yourself forward, taking a few quiet steps to her. you plant your feet behind her, wrapping your arms around her body. her breathing is slow, her figure painfully stiff, hugging a tree and not your person. so solid despite the endless embraces where she would melt into you.

you murmur her name, holding her tighter. 

ellie can’t resist you.

her hands reach for yours, resting against the center of her torso. her fingers brush against you softly, her breath hitching slightly, before letting out a sigh she’s held in for hours. 

just for this moment, the tension settles beneath the old floorboards of the cabin, giving you air to breathe instead of holding in. your hug is so tender, ellie could be lured to sleep by it. and her body is so warm, you’d rather die than pull away.

you wish it could last forever, and the hours prior could be forgotten. 

then her phone rings from her back pocket, vibrating against you, and she shifts. you let go, biting your lip, watching her fish the device out. joel. assumingly calling to congratulate her. ellie wishes she never told him, because fuck, this is going to be awkward. 

“i uh…should take this,” she whispers, not sparing you a glance when she walks away. you hear the front door open, then shut. you can’t help but walk back into the living room, standing before the window and peeking at ellie, who sat on the porch steps. 

you can’t see her face, her head down, a glow from a cigarette, and grey smoke surrounding her figure. it’s clearly not a happy conversation, there was no sugarcoating what had happened. it pains you. 

you turn back around, following the rose petals that scattered the floor, all the way down the hall, and stopping at the bathroom. you open the door, turning the light on, eyes falling on the several small candles on the edges of the bathtub. red, grey, and purple, they decorated the space. 

ellie really tried to make tonight special.

you stand idly, taking a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, staring at yourself with shame. a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, knowing it did something so drastic, that the only person they love, finds it hard to look at them. 

you quickly turn away. 

you run the bath and wait, tugging your top and pants off, kicking them to the side. you strip naked when it fills up completely, steam radiating from the water. you step in, adjusting to the high temperature, before sinking into it. it almost burns you, but not in a way that you mind. you just don’t care right now. 

ellie is the only thing on your mind. you wonder if she’s talking about you, openly questioning where your relationship lies, if she thinks it’s even going to last after today. 

before you know it, a single tear is falling down your face.

you hug your knees, turning your head and laying your cheek against them. you stare out the open bathroom door, to the wood paneled wall, a framed photo of a deer hung on it.

you forget to blink, spacing out, not noticing the creaking of the front door or the floor. not until ellie is within your view, pausing in the doorway, looking down at you. you’re crying to yourself.

her expression softens, not saying anything when she joins you, kneeling beside the bathtub and touching your face. her thumbs wipe the salty tears from beneath your eyes, but they don’t stop. 

“i’m scared, ellie,” you say just above a whisper, ellie only hears you because of how quiet the cabin is. besides the repetitive dripping from the sink. “i’m gonna fail you…” you continue, your voice now giving up on you, “scared’m gonna ruin this…ruin us…you’re so good, ellie— i just —i couldn’t say yes.”

you choke into a sob, her green eyes now glistening with unshed tears. “oh baby,” she says so softly, giving you the time to process your emotions, to let the tears fall while she holds you. 

“i can’t…” she stops, gulping and sighing, “i can’t change what you think…but i can promise you that nothing could ever change my mind about you.”

her grip on you is firm, reaffirming, as she continues to speak, “we can wait…i’m willing to wait forever for you. i will show you no matter what happens, i will still love you— i will always love you. i just needed…need you to know that.”

very faintly, your lips twitch upwards slightly, ellie mirroring you the moment she notices. “you’re enough for me,” she says, “just you. that’s all i want.”

ellie is, unfortunately, right; it doesn’t change the tainted mindset you have. that, however, has nothing to do with her. you don’t doubt the things she tells you, you’ve never felt more love from someone in your whole life, and you know for a fact that you never will.

and that’s why it brings you relief, to listen to her, understanding her point of view rather than your own, and the cruel demon on your shoulder whispering harsh words into your ear. 

ellie williams is the angel. 

it’s not the first time she’s eased the anxiety taunting you, and it will not be the last. she will always be there, rain or shine, you pushing her away or letting her in. she truly means what she says. you’re enough for her. and soon, you will accept that for yourself.

“i really want to hug you right now.”

ellie chuckles, a lightness in the air as she gets up, grabbing a beige towel. you stand, letting her wrap it around you, shivering at the coolness in the air. not caring about the water droplets still coating your body, ellie’s arms are quickly around you, her palm on the back of your head, cradling it gently.

you instantly feel warm again, at peace.

after the moment of serenity ends, ellie is leading you to the bedroom. she grabs your pajamas from your still-packed bag, letting you put them on while she does the same. your eyes fall on her pale back, watching her throw a white tee on, looking away when she turns her head at you. 

“was thinking about leaving at 8…wanna beat the traffic,” she says, hoping the statement doesn’t go back to making things awkward. just in case, she adds, “can stop at that pancake place you love.”

you can’t ignore the glum undertones of the suggestion, but you still give her a smile, barely modding your head.

you sit in bed, ellie exiting the room to turn off every light in the lonely cabin, leaving you with your thoughts. you hate it. thinking about how happy the two of you were coming here, compared to you leaving. you don’t even want to leave. you want to shut out the rest of the world, but more importantly, your mind.

how differently things would be right now, if you could just do that.

your eyes meet hers when she enters the room again, and you debate what you’re about to ask her. you can’t help it. “can i see it?”

“hm?” “the ring.”

ellie looks at you, freezing for a moment, stuttering, “y-yea…sure.”

again, she exits the room, grabbing the velvet small box on the table, the one she avoided even sparing a glance at just a minute ago. then she jogs back, scratching the back of her neck. she’s nervous as she approaches you, placing it in your open hands, like it’s a baby. 

it’s the first time you’re getting a decent look at it, having been unable to observe it during the moment, and it’s beautiful. it’s simple, yet the green sapphire is so elegant, resembling the way ellie’s eyes look beneath the sun. you smile at it. 

“i…can’t return it…if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“i’m not,” you tell her, “it’s gorgeous, ellie.”

you don’t want to give it back to her. it feels…so right, in your possession, that you can’t help but nervously slide it down your finger. there’s a bittersweet smile on your face at how perfect it is. how when you look at it, ellie is the first thing to come to your mind. 

your lover, for eternity. your lover that swears to you, that your need for her is as mutual as her need for you, no matter the circumstances, it is permanent. that your worries are just that. worries— self-doubt, and bitter thoughts about yourself, that are only present in the moment. they won't last forever. not like you and her.

with hesitance, you take it off, avoiding her gaze when you give it back to her. “i’ll be ready,” you promise, your finger oddly feeling so lonely despite only wearing it for a minute. “i will…i will be,” you find yourself mumbling, ellie getting closer and grabbing your hands.

“hey, i meant what i said,” her thumbs stroke your skin, reminding you once more, “i can wait forever for you.”

and she means it.

[tojisun]

participating on WIP Wednesday because this fic has been sitting in my drafts for months now

!! poly!141 x reader; established john price x reader; f!reader

Their Captain introduces you to them, cinnamon in his eyes and his words honeyed. Your name settles on the tip of their tongues, waiting to be digested. To be sounded out by their own voices.

Simon murmurs it to himself, feels the word sliding between the cracks of his teeth like milk, and gulps it down, starving. It fuels him, this little piece he now has of you, and sets him ablaze as you flutter between them with gentle questions and quiet giggles.

You are soft—too soft for any of them, in fact—but they can see why their Captain is enamoured, his own desire greater than their own. It is intense as it scalds down their spines and jagged because their Captain isn’t a good man, they all aren’t, but there is something disconcerting in the way their Captain had claimed you. 

It was rushed, sweet to a fault, but done so rapidly it felt like a beast pouncing on its prey. Like their Captain had seen the beauty of your soul and decided, then, that you’re all his.

Simon washes down the taste of defeat in his mouth with his shot of whiskey, mentally dedicating this drink to his Captain because he knows he would’ve done the same.

He would’ve kept you in a house just as cozy; would've played house with you to distract you from the foulness of his virtues because kindness, civilian to that extent, is so foreign to them now. He would keep you full of him, satiated with his presence and dripping with his cum—

“Sweetheart, c'mere.” Their Captain’s voice pierces the staccato of his thoughts. Simon twitches, suppressing the full-body jolt because there’s something measured in the way their Captain called you. 

They watch as you pad towards him with a hum, a bounce in your steps, before reaching to cup his cheek the moment you get close. 

“Hi,” you murmur, a breath too quiet.

Their Captain chuckles, basking in your warmth, before curling an arm around your waist and tugging you to his lap. You fall with a little gasp, your hand tight on Price’s shirt as your eyes swing to them in surprise.

“John, they–” 

Price kisses the back of your shoulder, fixing his arm over your stomach. “They won’t mind.” Dark eyes turn to them too. “Would you, boys?”

They feel parched. Thirst palpable in the way they have their jaws clenched, their tongues heavy inside their mouths. They devour the pretty sight you make—all bashful looks and hunched shoulders, looking so utterly soft, so charmingly fragile, atop their Captain’s lap.

It sets off their primal instincts, their desires ravaging their sanities.

“No,” Gaz is surprisingly the one to reply. His voice was smooth and clear, bouncing against the walls with surety. “Don’t mind at all.”

There must be something in the way Gaz was looking at you or perhaps you were also able to hear the unabashed want coating his words, but whatever it was, it made you sit up straighter, head tilted to the side, thinking. 

Considering.

It makes all of them jolt, even Price feels a stirring inside his jeans at the sudden shift in your posture, because this changes everything.

It was not that they would be satisfied with only having a look, with only seeing what they want and pretending that their thoughts—dirty and ragged and full of filth—are enough to satiate the fire stoking deep inside, but they didn’t want to set off their Captain. They didn’t want to meet the beast inside the man’s eyes, and be further punished by having you be taken from their reach.

Because the moment they crossed that little door, the moment you smiled up at them and told them that they’re welcome in your quaint little home, in your space, you were theirs.

And their Captain would just have to deal with that.

But Price is already looking at them with crinkled eyes, his lips busy as it drags all over the expanse of your shoulder, his palm gentle as it rubs over your stomach. 

Kyle takes it for what it is—a permission.

[itaipava]

— candid photos f1 boys would take of you.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

it’s on the dim bathroom light as you finish washing your face to get ready for bed; with his free hand he gently pulls a lock of your hair and tucks it behind your ear so you don’t get it wet. and the way the drops of water run down your face and you look so purely and delightfully you. and he stops brushing his teeth for a moment just to admire your reflection; you undo your bun, letting your hair fall down your back, and then you run the towel over your face to dry it, totally oblivious to his gaze on you. he goes back to brushing his teeth, but still with his eyes on you and his heart racing - and with those beautiful butterflies in his stomach he felt when he saw you for the first time. he says “wait a minute” and runs off to his room. you look at him curiously and with your eyebrows furrowed, but everything makes sense when he comes back with his camera in hand. he positions the camera in front of his face so that he’s barely visible, because his focus here is you. you smile at him in the mirror and that’s when he takes the photo; saying “wow” while looking at you.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

he loves taking photos of you and that’s no surprise to anyone: most of the photos on his phone and camera are of you in random moments and, if you asked him if he had a favorite, he’d say no because they’re all so so beautiful that he can’t choose one. until now. you were laughing at something he said and he quickly thought about taking the camera that was on his lap to take a photo of you, he was also laughing, so the photo came out a little shaky but it’s just perfect; your eyes are closed in the middle of laughing, your head thrown back and your hair is so beautiful... your smile is pure and it’s so contagious that it makes him smile fondly with heart eyes.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

it’s when you relax and unwind after a long day; you take off your jacket, when your shoulders start to slump and you throw your head back, letting out a slow, smooth exhale, closing your eyes as you let your body relax on the couch next to him; you slowly open your eyes and it’s when he suddenly says he thinks you’re very beautiful. he didn’t hear himself say those words because he was too busy admiring you, forgetting about the rest of the world, but his heart spoke louder and he couldn’t help it. you just smile, huffing out a small laugh, then run your fingertips over his jaw before pressing a light kiss to his lips, letting him know without words that you think the same of him. then you rest your head on the sofa again, your hair is messy and your hands are in your lap. you smile at him; eyes almost closed. he tells you to wait and takes out his phone and takes several photos; you smile more and shake your head, making him smile in love - and enchanted - by you.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

it’s when the two of you walk together at sunset; you look so ethereal and purely unique in the setting sun and he can’t stop looking at you. it feels like the brightness of the sun is not able to compete with the brightness of your beauty. the way you squint your eyes or look down, the way you close your eyes quickly when a gentle breeze passes you both. god, he’s so madly in love it hurts. he doesn’t know what to say, just admire you. but then an idea comes to his mind. he takes his hand out of yours and takes his phone, asking you to stay where you are. he moves away a little and starts taking photos of you; the sun makes your hair look more beautiful than it already are, your smile is contagious and your face lights up in pure, genuine grace. he smiles at the photos he took and, when he looks at you again, his eyes shine.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

you laugh at a silly joke he told about the drunk people you were watching on the beach: your hair blowing in the wind, the simple but beautiful glow of the sunset on your face. you try to fix your hair, still laughing, when you notice him taking photos of you on his phone. his smile is genuine and passionate and his eyes shine as bright as you do at that moment. “you’re so beautiful” you hear him say in a calm and sweet voice. you look at him, letting a gentle and embarrassed smile appear on your lips before he kisses you. later you are surprised by the photos he posted on his stories, a sequence of photos of you: a photo of you looking distractedly at people, fixing your hair and with a smile on your face, you looking at him, you with a shy smile and you very close to the camera. he loved these photos so much that he couldn't keep them to himself, he wanted the whole world to see your beauty.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

he can’t help but fall in love with you a little more when he sees the way you look at the puppy lying on your lap. your gaze is pure and sweet as you gently stroke the ears of the peacefully sleeping puppy. you look at him with a wide smile and happy eyes; he, however, can’t resist and takes his phone out of his pocket, taking photos of you, looking at you with so much affection and love.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

he’s trying so hard to look away only to peek right back at you, when your lips part in concentration as you lean forward towards the mirror and apply the product on your face. he can’t help but pull his phone out and snap a quick picture. and of course he would show you when you’re done, letting you know how pretty you look.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Passing Autumn Nights

[Proxies (Toby, Masky, Hoodie) X GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Like, none?]

[AN: also known as the 'fuck me i just miss autumn' fic and LOVE writing slice of life things.]

[1356 words <3]

Reblogs are appreciated!

Moments like these never last forever. Fleeting, careless, and bittersweet, they remind you of a time long, long passed. The moon is rising and a chill runs through the air. It oddly warms you and reminds you of friends that pass in and out of your life just as freely, though in your past life it might have caused you minor concern. 

You sit on the hood of this stupid car Toby stole. It’s sporting a giant dent in the side, and some of the paint near the tires is rusting but it’s taken care of the four of you so far. In your hand is a pack of cigarettes. You don’t smoke. You tried it once and hated it, coughing up like a crude imitation of a dragon lighting up your first attempt, and never tried again after that. They’re actually Tim’s; he wants you to hold them to help kick his habit. 

Brian says it’s a sign he’s trusting you more and more. After all, no one knows Tim like him, and you trust your right hand’s judgment. 

Laying in the back seat is Brian himself. His forearm is over his eyes to shield them from the harsh overhead lights in the parking lot. He smells like pine, the woods, a bit of whiskey but not too much. He’s got his back windows rolled down as he waits with you for Toby and Tim to finish whatever the hell they’re doing inside the grocery store. You all needed some cash, and Tim has ways of getting it without any suspicion raised. Whole registers, wallets, purses, things lifted without so much as a smile on his face and an oddly friendly, ‘have a nice day’ in response. 

In your hands, you play with the lighter Tim also left with you. You flick it a few times before finally hearing your right hand’s voice. 

“Leave it,” he hums tiredly, not bothering to move his forearm from his closed eyes. “Thing’s low enough.”

You smile softly and cap it before resting it back in your jacket pocket. For a mid October day, it’s only a little cold, which is surprising. You expected it to be chillier. Or maybe that’s just your proxy blood telling you to not register cold the way a human might. There’s scrapes all over your body, some from missions, others from training, only one from The Operator himself. You trace over the heated mark on your clothed thigh and internally wince, remembering when you upset him. “Sorry,” you apologize half heartedly as you run your thumb in slow circles over the smooth box of cigarettes. “Just get antsy waiting.” 

Brian hums again in response as if to ask ‘why’, but makes no further move to press. He just smiles slightly in response to your presence. “You can always ask them how they’re doing,” he says. When you glance over your shoulder to peer at him through the windshield, he tapes at his temple. Head talk, of course. 

You squint a bit across the parking lot and feel a small bout of relief wash through your system as Tim and Toby step out of the store, bags in hand from legitimate purchases, and well, you can feel the things they acquired outside of legal bounds. “No need to,” you say in response to Brian. 

“Get off the hood,” Tim chides you slightly, but he makes no further move to disturb you. It’s said much like an older brother would to a pesky younger sibling. 

In solidarity, and out of a love for annoying his leader, Toby haphazardly opens the trunk of the car, tosses the bags inside which earns a scowl from Tim, and then bounds over to sit on the hood with you. He leans back a bit, resting his tired body alongside yours. “Kinda crowded in there,” he says to you, knowing you’re curious about how it all went. “Bit too crowded for a Thursday at 8pm,” he muses further. He runs his fingers through his chopped brown hair, gazing at the night sky. The moon has always captivated him. Reminds him of simpler times. He likes autumn just as much as you do, and this feels like the best it’s going to get. 

“What took you guys so long, then?” You inquire as you and Toby listen with half attention to Brian and Tim’s conversation. Something about future work, run of the mill proxy lifestyle things. 

Toby rummages around in his pockets and pulls out a handful of dum dum lollipops he lifted. He gives you a toothy grin and nods for you to pick a flavor before he settles on blue raspberry after you’ve chosen. He crinkles the wrapper, shoves it in his pocket and then holds his hand out for you to give him your wrapper as well. He pops the sweet thing in his mouth and savors the taste before shrugging a bit, “you know Tim. That’s how it always is.” He smiles when Tim taps the windshield in slight annoyance. 

“C’mon, get back in the car. We got somewhere to go,” Tim says as he starts the car up. Either you two get in, or he’s driving with you two strapped to the top of the car. 

“Shotgun-!”

“Sh-oh come on,” Toby sighs in defeat as you snicker in triumph and slide off the hood of the car. You pat his shoulder and then round your way to the passenger seat, settling in and feeling oddly warmer despite not registering you were cold to begin with. You watch as Toby slouches his way to the backseat with Brian, who at first, does not want to move for the former runt. When Toby shoves him, Brian only laughs and tells him to ‘not get your panties in a bunch’. 

“So, where are we going?” You ask as Tim puts the car in drive and smoothly leaves the parking lot. You’re always surprised at the places proxies end up. Right now, you’re in southern Illinois right around Ruth’s hometown. You wouldn’t tell her, but you visited her family’s farm and left a small gift. She would say it’s far too much, and even dangerous for proxy influence to be near her folks and younger siblings but The Operator’s always been fond of her. He wouldn’t hurt them. Not while she performs beautifully for him. 

Tim props his left arm up on the sill of the car window, resting his head there as he drives with one hand. He’s very relaxed, preferring driving at night as opposed to dealing with everyone else when the sun is out shining. He won’t admit it either, but he loves autumn nights like these too. He watches the lights of the town start to fade as you head further south. “Stopping in a small proxy town, meeting with EJ, then Jeff is gonna tag along. Something about… a farm? Lotta farms lately,” he chuckles tiredly. “It’s kinda perfect for Halloween - I’ve never seen The Operator so fascinated with a witch before. So, that. He said he wanted us with those two, and we’ll get further directions once we’re at said farm.” 

Brian clears his throat and adjusts his posture so he’s sitting up. “That farm gonna have pumpkins?” He asks. It’s surprisingly out of character for your right hand, arguably one of the most brutal proxies in your team. 

Tim shrugs. “Fuck if I know.” 

You laugh softly, “why? You wanna carve some?”

Some part of Brian’s old world personality shines through. His smile, the crinkle in his eyes despite him being older and no longer a college student but a weathered, jaded proxy is visible as he nods slightly. “Yeah,” he sniffs slightly, gaze now falling out the window at the orange, red and yellow trees visible from the car’s headlights as you pass, only to see them disappear as the four of you roll through. “Always liked autumn,” he says. 

There’s that warm, gentle feeling again. You focus on your lollipop, feeling the presence of something mulled and sweet. This is as good as it’s gonna get. 

“Yeah,” a pause, “me too.” 

[e-hibiscus]

Synopsis: How the Honkai Star Rail ladies react to an s/o that likes playing with their hands and getting headpats.

Pairings: Kafka x reader, Himeko x reader, Natasha x reader, Serval x reader

Warnings: None, SFW, not very consistent (some rambling and thoughts added in)

Author’s Note: As a person who likes/does both of these things, this is to indulge my desire for affection since yesterday was Valentines day 😔

Part 2, Part 3

﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊

Kafka

Playing with her hands:

The first time you start playing with her hands, Kafka thought it was cute. Raising a brow, her gaze settles on how your hands grip hers— squeezing her palm and lacing your fingers with hers. Kafka doesn’t mind the closeness, such an intimate action simply makes her smile.

The time you were allowed to remove her gloves was a different experience than what you thought. Kafka’s hands are surprisingly unweathered by battle despite her fighting with a sword. Her hands are well taken care of. They’re calloused to some degree, but her hands are smooth.

After a while of this happening, she’s going to relentlessly tease you about it. Joking and making comments about how much you like her hands and occasionally pulling out innuendos just to see your face turn red as you still hold onto her.

Giving you headpats:

Kafka will only give you headpats when she wants to, and she had no issue making you beg for that sort of affection. However, she mostly does it anyway because she likes it as much as you do. The way you take her hand and put it on your head is endearing.

She’s definitely going to call you pet names too while she’s at it while she teases you. It’s just the perfect opportunity to get a reaction out of you, but it’s out of love.

Himeko

Playing with her hands:

Himeko is pleasantly surprised with this habit of yours though she won’t complain about it. She’s going to let you play with one of her hands as you sit together at a table, on the bed, hell even when the two of you are in the parlor. It’s an idle activity that lets the two of you be together while Himeko works or is drinking coffee. There’s always such a warm expression on her face whenever you two share these moments.

Despite tinkering with machinery and being the train’s navigator and engineer, Himeko’s hands are soft. Somehow she doesn’t have any calluses! The confusion on your face when you first felt her hands was amusing— you just couldn’t get over how she keeps them so well maintained despite what she does and works on. Also, her hands are in general really warm, so they’re the best for when it gets cold.

Giving you headpats:

Himeko does a few simple pats when you ask for headpats. After the first few times of you grabbing her hand and placing it on your head, Himeko can generally figure out when you want that sort of attention even if you don’t say anything yet. Somehow, Himeko just knows when you’re going to take her hand.

Natasha

Playing with her hands:

The poor doctor rarely catches a break, but on the rare occasions that Natasha is free to relax, it’s spent quietly with the two of you together cuddling while playing with her hands. Natasha finds having her hands with yours to be one of the most soothing things for her to fall asleep to.

Natasha’s hands are on the rougher side, and a little dry because she always has to wash her hands to keep the sanitized when she isn’t wearing gloves. Please, get this woman some hand cream, she’s going to be so thankful about getting it.

I also think she’ll kiss your hand after a while of you playing with her’s. She just wants to show you how much she loves you too.

Giving you headpats:

She’s only really ever doing it in private, not because she doesn’t want to, but rather because she’s often too busy, though she will try when you ask. Natasha would rather opt for quick kisses instead of just head pats, there’s just something more intimate about the other instead.

Natasha pairs the headpats with a kiss on your temple when she’s done. She finds it adorable that you like being physically affectionate in this way, so she does try and make a little more time to spoil you with headpats when she can.

Serval

Playing with her hands:

This girlie plays guitar, and they have been through a lot for her to be able to play as good as she does. Like Natasha, Serval’s hands are on the rougher side due to her job and passions, but that won’t stop you from grabbing ahold of her hands and playing with them. Holding hands with this girlie is a common occurrence. It’s something you do often anyway so she wasn’t surprised when you first asked

Serval would melt when you do this, both alone together or out in public. She just loves you so much, and thinks it’s just the cutest thing ever. She gets as much joy out of it as you do, and you can tell because of the big grin on her face.

Giving you headpats:

If you are shorter than Serval, she’s using your head/shoulder as an armrest at least once just to tease you. She’s gonna give you all the head pats, hair ruffles, smooches, and everything in between because seeing you needy and wanting her attention makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside 🥰 it shows how much you want her with you 🥺 she’s gonna be giggling and kicking her feet.

[inkykeiji]

But also the thought of big brother Touya noticing you usually steal his shoes to run outside, and he loves it. But this one time he catches you and you hadn’t even realised that you’ve snatched Natsuo’s— but Touya noticed…

JOOOOOO this ask sent me into a fucking fit and i wrote an embarrassing amount about it i am so sorry (but also thank you for such a brilliant idea it had me reeling for days ily ily ily)

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, stepcest, noncon, touya is Awful, unrealistic amounts of cum, one (1) mention of implied underage, minimal prep, slight dacryphilia, fem!reader, implied physical abuse, rough sex words: 2.4k

You don’t notice—and, truth be told, you wouldn’t have noticed, had Touya not made such a big fucking deal out of it. 

But, as always, that just isn’t his style. 

A heavy, dirty palm claps over your mouth the moment you re-enter the mudroom, smothering the scream of surprise punched from your chest as another strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against a broad chest. 

“Shut up,” your eldest brother growls in your ear, though amusement tinges the edges of his words, demand spit through a grin. 

Using his bodyweight, he manhandles you toward the steadily humming washing machine, spinning you around to face him just before he traps you against it, vibrating edge digging into your back.

“Jesus, Touya!” you heave out, a palm held flat over your heart in an attempt to calm it. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Y’know, I really can’t believe you’d do this to me,” he laments, an exaggerated pout molding his scarred lips. “I thought I was your favourite brother.” 

“What?” your lashes flutter in quick succession, forehead warping with confusion. “You are? You know you are, you always have been—”

“That so? Who’s shoes are on your feet right now?” 

Looking down, your gaze lands on Natsuo’s tattered white sneakers—a stark contrast to Touya’s worn-in combat boots, or Touya’s fraying, battered Vans—and realization smooths your brow. 

Oh no. 

Head snapping up quickly, an explanation begins to bubble in your throat, stalled by the sudden ice in your veins, your heart plummeting through your ribcage. 

“O-Oh! Uh, I-I’m sorry—I just grabbed them—I wasn’t paying attention—”

“So you’ll just slip your feet in anyone’s shoes?” 

The innuendo infusing his snarky tone doesn’t go unnoticed and your eyes narrow, face puckered up with something sour.

“Of course not,” you spit, chin tilting up a little. 

A hum of incredulity vibrates in his throat, head quirked. “Doesn’t seem that way.” 

Your features flatten, fixing your big brother with an unimpressed look, though your heart is still in your stomach, pounding away irregularly. 

You’re sure he can feel it, throbbing in your gut, his hips pressing further into your own, demanding an answer.

“Touya, they’re shoes. They mean nothing. It was an innocent mistake—”

“Prove it.”

“Prove what?” you frown, voice beginning to strain beneath desperation. “It was an accident, meaning that it was unintended, not deliberate, like—”

“Prove to me that I’m your favourite brother.”

A pang sears through your chest, features falling as if he had just physically struck you, appalled that he would even insinuate such a thing, as if he could ever not be your favourite, and your response comes out harsher than you intend, scathing your tongue. 

“I prove that to you every fucking night.” 

Sapphire flares, engulfing pinprick pupils, the hinges of his jaw flexing with a slow, controlled exhale. It wafts across your face, chills skittering after it as dread unfurls, thick and sticky, in the pit of your stomach, engulfing your heart in a tarry, suffocating embrace. 

“Y’know, that mouth of yours is real filthy,” he begins, eyes lidded with a practiced indifference, not enough to hide the flames glimmering in his irises.

Of course your mouth is; it’s routinely glazed by your eldest brother’s tongue, your teeth lacquered in thick spit stained with spice and ash—irrevocably soiled, ruined, forever his.

A response blazes on your tarnished tongue—something you try to keep locked away behind two rows of ivory, something you try to snuff out, muscle pressed hard against the roof of you mouth—but it’s too hot, it’s too strong, melting past your teeth to ooze from your lips, venom and syrup.

“Oh, yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?”

You expect a backhand for such a rude response, face preemptively wincing as the phantom of sharp knuckles and metal rings caresses your cheek, but he just smirks, eyes lazily sweeping to the sink crammed between the machines, zeroing in on a thick bar of soap. 

“Oh, I’ve got some ideas.” 

You’re too slow, too weak, too stupid to escape it—or, rather, he’s too fast, too tough, too smart to allow such a mistake, a fluid flash of ivory and crystal as he leans forward, palm already clasping around the bar when you try to wriggle from below his body, his free hand catching your jaw and yanking you to back toward him, hard enough to give you whiplash. 

Pain sears down your spine, a yelp splintering in your throat, body gone pliant beneath your big brother’s touch. 

“Open.” 

Head shaking, your jaw clenches under callused fingertips in defiance, molars grinding together.

“I said, open,” he growls, expertly squeezing the hinges, mouth popping open easily without your permission.

You should’ve known he’d do that, a trick he learned when you were teenagers, a trick he’s been exploiting ever since. 

The bar shoves past your teeth, scraping against the edges, thick curls of soap collecting in the divots of your cheeks. 

A bitterness explodes on your tongue, flattened to the underside of the bar, and your features scrunch up in distaste, nose wrinkling, eyes shut tight.

“Keep it in there,” he says, thumb pressing it in a little further, huffing out a chuckle at your responding gag. “If you spit it out before I cum, I’ll tie it to your goddamn mouth and fuck you again, y’hear me?” 

Azure eyes search your face, slow and calm as they wait for you to nod your understanding. Then he’s smirking, something smug and arrogant curdling the corners of his lips, and he’s spinning you around, grip rough and harsh as he pins you between the machine and his body, and he’s kicking at your inner ankles, toes forcing your legs further apart, knees slipping between your own, keeping them pried open. 

“You know,” he’s saying conversationally, hands unhurried as they creep up your dress, the hem beginning to bunch around his wrists. “I’ve always found it so cute when you act as if you don’t want this.” 

Fingers crawl between your spread thighs, muscles tensing around his as if they’d like to snap shut, his own strong legs urging yours wider. 

Two digits find your hole, drenched and desperate, rubbing circles into it through the lace of your panties—massaging, tips just barely dipping inside, snorting out something sick and cruel as your empty cunt pulses and flutters, a poor attempt to suck them in further.

He plays with you for a breath, gathering the fabric between his forefinger and a thumb, peeling the sticky material from where it was clinging to your folds. 

Holding it taut, he lets your shame build, flushing hot through your blood, pinpricks sprouting across your skin, Touya waiting for that telltale whimper before finally allowing it to slap back wetly, another little snicker dripping from his lips. 

Callused pads find your clit, puffy and yearning and jumping beneath his touch. He brushes against it—a crude apology of sorts—then clamps down on the swollen nub, something high and pitchy cracking in your throat.

“It’s always so hot,” he speaks over your cry, grip strengthening, “when you act as if this doesn’t turn you own just as much as it turns me on.”

Jerking forward, his hips grind into your ass, hard cock pressed tightly to supple flesh. His jaw latches over your shoulder, chin digging into your collarbone and keeping you in place.

“So don’t stop, ‘kay?”

Your head nods; automatic, instinctual, unable to resist even if you wanted to.

Because yeah, sure, he’s fucking sick, but you’re just as bad, ailed with the same illness, contracted from the same diseased household, the both of you growing, festering, in the same putrified environment—nurtured there, poisoned there, by each other, for each other. 

And so, you obey, you perform, body thrashing against his own, palms planted on the top of the washer pushing back hard, his cock twitching in response. 

Yeah, yeah, keep fighting him. 

The sound that rattles in his chest is dark, dangerous, lips spread into a wide grin. One of his hands curls around the back of your neck, grip hard enough to stutter the blood in your jugulars, before he slams your head down against the machine, skull bouncing a little with the impact. 

The force nearly sends the soap skittering from your mouth, eyes widening as you manage to catch it with your teeth, drawing it back in. His palm skims down your spine, splayed flat on the small of your back, pinioning you in place.

His cock breaches you suddenly, one sharp, swift thrust to bury him to the hilt, head jammed tight against your cervix. It fucking stings, delicate skin splitting as your hole stretches, strains, struggles to swallow him whole, desperate to succeed, to submit. 

You choke on a gasp, the soap wedged in your mouth making it difficult to inhale, and Touya laughs, cruelness curling on his tongue. 

His other hand wraps around your waist, fingertips snapping tiny capillaries beneath their touch, using the leverage to pull you back as his hips hammer forward, each drive of his cock jostling your entire body, the edge of the machine jabbing your tummy.

It’s ruthless right from the start, just as it always is with Touya, cock pounding into you hard and fast and deep, the sharp slap of his pelvis against your ass rivalling the steady rumble of the machines. 

The soap is already starting to slip again, melting in the heat of your mouth, eroded by the saliva drooling in thick strings from the corners, and you whine, teeth sinking further into the softening bar, a feeble attempt to hold it in place. 

Even now, you’re still so eager to please him. 

But it’s hard to hone your concentration on the slick bar between your lips when Touya’s consistently ramming against that swollen patch of flesh buried deep within you, cockhead rolling over that spot in quick little motions, in time with the piston of his hips. 

Sparks of pleasure quiver down your legs, each thrust sending another bout flooding through your veins, a dense, hot heat beginning to furl in the pit of your stomach. 

It feels so good, muffled moans seeping past the seam of your stretched lips, fingers curling around the corners of the washing machine, nails scraping metal as you try to anchor yourself, weakly pushing back against your big brother, begging for more. 

It’s a shame your big brother knows your body so well.

“Don’t you dare,” he pants out, purposefully angling his hips so he stops brushing up against that spot, his next thrust missing it completely. “Bad little sisters don’t get to cum on their big brother’s cock, don’t you know?” 

The denial burns your eyes, a stringy, contorted wail of his name wavering around the soap as a thick shield of tears blurs your vision, nose twitching with a sniffle. 

“Yeah, yeah, cry about it, baby,” he mocks, the edges of his letters gone wispy, sounding more like a plead than a demand. “It’s your own fault; if you weren’t such a disrespectful little brat then maybe niichan would’ve let you cum.” 

You hate being told no by anyone, but you hate being told no by Touya the most.

It hurts, chest aching with rebuff, but your body does as he asks anyway, incapable of disobeying a direct order from its owner, tears spilling past your lashes to pool in little puddles on the metal.

You try to say please, to beg so prettily, with glittering lashes beaded with tears and sweet little niichan’s hiccuping your ribs, but the wiggling of your tongue causes the soap to slip again, a sweet yelp of concern trembling in your throat as your teeth dig in deeper, jaw tensing, cheeks hollowing around the bar in an attempt to suck it further into your mouth.

The agony doesn’t last long, though, your combined obedience and weeping and the grumbling vibrations from the machine enough have Touya cumming quickly. 

You should’ve known that would happen, too, Touya now a seasoned pro in the art of the quickie, a feat achieved through years of practice, in family game closets and your personal shower and the backseat of his car. 

Two more pumps before his cock is throbbing almost violently, his hips stammering to a stop, flexors pressed flush to your ass as he fills you to the brim with hot, thick cum. 

The moment he’s got nothing else to give, finished stuffing your cunt full of his rotten seed, he’s pulling out despite your whines of protest, knees hitting tile as his hands curl around your thighs, nails dimpling plush flesh, carving crescents of angry purple as he wrenches them further apart. 

Dollops of cream cascade down your inner legs, his thumbs sure to move out of their way as they lazily roll past, unobstructed. 

“Don’t move,” he breathes, voice infused with a sick sort of awe as his head tilts, spine curving uncomfortably while he follows them down your calves, watching as they trickle right into Natsuo’s shoes. 

“Fuck,” he nearly whines, nose nuzzling into the back of your knee, lips dragging across your skin as he speaks again. “D’y’think you can squeeze some more out f’me?” 

Yes, niichan, of course, niichan, anything for you, niichan. 

Empty hole contracting around nothing and muscles in your gut tensing, you manage to wring more of the sticky substance from your body, sending another torrent of cum flowing down your legs in silky streams to soak into, to stain, Natsuo’s soles. 

A praise sticks in Touya’s throat, garbled and heavy, his tongue smoothing along the residual streaks gleaming on your skin, sopping up the remnants of his pleasure, painting over them with a thick salve of saliva. 

“There,” he’s murmuring when he gets to his feet again, nose trailing along the curve of your neck with a single deep inhale, lips planting a chaste kiss to your earlobe. “That should be enough to remind you to never make such a careless mistake ever again, right?” 

Your head turns, nose bumping against his own, wet eyes blinking twice. Waiting. 

Something sinister smears across your big brother’s lips, crystal eyes shimmering as they watch his fingers dislodge the bar from your mouth, clumps of soap clinging to the edges of your teeth. 

“Yes, niichan,” you say immediately, voice wrecked and raw, the confirmation grating on your throat.

A thumb rubs along your front teeth, smudging the soap in a crude caress, his gaze mollifying slightly. 

“That’s my good little sister.” 

[bugsbia]

ʚ Campus asshole scara x fem reader

ʚ BEFORE READING: Fem reader, reader is just trying to get 5 minutes away from their annoying roomie. Take note of warnings.

ʚ WARNINGS: Use of drugs, implied laced weed, scara smokes a little, dub-con, shotgunning.

Scaramouche has always been known for his ill temper among the students on campus, always having something mean to say and getting into trouble for doing shit he shouldn’t be doing. Today was no different as he found behind the campus dorms, sitting against the wall as he had a quick smoke despite knowing there was a no smoking on campus policy. When did he ever listen to authority though?

You found yourself behind the dorms as well, just looking for a short escape from your loud and annoying roommate who wouldn’t seem to leave you the hell alone. You grimaced upon seeing Scaramouche there too, but tried to ignore his presence as he simply sat against the wall as far from him as possible.

That wouldn’t stop him though, he made his way over to you, looking down at you as you sat there silently. “Don’t see people coming back here often unless they’re up-to no good, so what’s your deal?” He spoke, his tone coming off like a demand for answers rather than a question.

Waving the smoke from his cigarette out of your face “I’m just trying to get a break from my roommate, promise I won’t bother you or tell anyone I saw you.” You responded, hoping he’d just leave you alone if he knew you wouldn’t go snitching about his smoking.

“Sounds like shit” he said, followed by pause as he considered his words carefully. Kneeling down in front of you he spoke again, his words coming out almost silky smooth. A sign of his manipulative intent which you seemed to miss “can come to my dorm, I don’t have a roommate, and nobody will suspect you’re there.”

With a small sigh you hesitated, considering his offer, but it didn’t take long for you to agree. Staying in his dorm for a few would be way nicer than sitting on the dirty floor behind the dorms, so you nodded eagerly. Following close behind him as he led you to his dorm.

“You shouldn’t smoke in here” you said as you stepped into his dorm, taking off your shoes. You didn’t really care that he smoked exactly, but you also didn’t want to have to smell the smoke the entire time you were in his dorm.

He moved closer to you suddenly, taking the cigarette from his lips as grabbed your face between his index and thumb and forcing your mouth open as he leaned in. Forcing your mouth open while his lips were mere millimetres away from your own, exhaling the smoke into your mouth in a twisted display of attraction.

You breathed it in instinctively before taking a step back, coughing slightly. “Don’t be fucking weird” you exclaimed, watching as he smirked and put his cigarette out finally, taking another step closer to you.

“Calm down, it’s just a little smoke. You should loosen up a little.” that devilish smirk still upon his lips. “Maybe you should try getting high, calm those nerves of yours a little.” He said as he moved over to his bed, pulling out a small bag of pre-rolled joints and holding them up.

Stammering a bit you responded “you can’t have that shit on campus- what if they find out??”

“They won’t find out, unless you tell them. But you wouldn’t do that to me, would you?” His tone was sweet, sickeningly so but it made a swirl of emotions run wild within you. Were you seriously considering getting high with the campus asshole?

You were, you absolutely were. You didn’t know why, maybe it was the fact he was nice to despite being rude to everyone else, maybe it was because you just wanted to relax after having your roomie pester you all day. Either way you found yourself sitting beside him on his bed, passing a joint between the two of you, not seeming to consider the fact that he may have laced it.

As you breathed in the smoke you felt a slight burn in your chest, coughing slightly at the sensation, but also felt a great sense of relaxation wash over you finally for the first time today. “This feels nice” you said quietly, eyes glued to the ceiling as you enjoyed the tranquility. You didn’t seem to notice how he never actually smoked any, he just held the joint for a second before handing it back to you.

“Yeah? I could make things feel better.” He added as he sat up, looking down at you with a sly smirk as he slowly moved his hand to your hip, His fingers gently caressing you over your clothes.

He held your chin between his thumb and index as he leaned in, kissing your lips hungrily, like he just wanted to devour you. You didn’t care to try and fight back or stop him, you were in such a calm state that you couldn’t even care, so you kissed back.

That only emboldened him further as he trailed his hands up your shirt, caressing from your waist down to your hips. He just wanted you so bad, and he had you right in his grasp, so high that he could truly just have his way with you.

Quickly he snaked his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with ease without breaking the kiss. Next was your panties, which were also no problem for him. He quickly pulled them off and tossed them aside, landing somewhere on the floor in his messy room.

Finally he broke the kiss, moving to sit at the edge of the bed for a short moment as he took his own pants and boxers off. He was already so hard for you, he just couldn’t help but get excited when you were so easy to catch.

He quickly moved back to you, situating himself between your legs as he began rubbing his cock against your pussy. You grew wetter and wetter as he rubbed against you, small whimpers escaping your lips every time he brushed against your clit. He loved the sight, you beneath him, exposed and drugged out.

Pulling back slightly he angled his dick at your entrance and slowly pushed in, groaning at how good you felt, “Fuck” he breathed out “you’re so fucking tight”. After a short moment of letting your body adjust to his size he began moving, thrusting his cock deep into you before pulling out fully, just to slam himself back inside of you.

You couldn't help but moan out beneath him, his cock filling you so well, hitting the deepest parts of you which made you see stars. The drugs in your system only made it all the more better, making you more sensitive to his touch. The sounds of his groans and your moans echoed through the room, accompanied by the erotic sound of skin slapping together as he harshly pounded into you. He knew you could probably be heard through the walls, but that only made him more excited.

Suddenly he pulled out of you and grabbed you by your waist, pulling you to the edge of his bed and pushing your face down into the blankets as he entered your pussy again, fucking you hard and fast from behind.

He tangled his fingers into your hair tightly, pulling harshly as he leaned down and whispered darkly into your ear. "I wanna hear those pretty moans of yours". With that he snaked his hand down your stomach and to your pussy, beginning to rub quick circles around your clit.

You gasped at his touch as it sent waves of pleasure washing through your body, your legs going weak beneath you while you felt your orgasm growing close. He could tell how close you were by the way you moaned so desperately, and that sent him reeling.

His thrusts became faster and sloppy as his fingers moved faster, finally making the knot in your stomach snap as you came on his cock. Gummy walls spasming around his cock while you moaned out his name.

"fuck- yes!" he moaned as he too came, the combination of the way you moaned his name and the way your pussy felt twitching around his cock sent him over the edge. Releasing his warm cum deep inside your pussy as his grasp on your hair grew tighter.

Finally after a moment he pulled out, releasing the grip on your hair and giving you a moment to catch your breath, looking down at your weak form beneath him. Watching as his cum slowly leaked from your abused pussy he scooped it up with two fingers, then leaned over and shoved his fingers into your mouth.

He could spend all night watching you suck and choke on his fingers if he could.

[nohoney]

thinking abt being out at a bar or party and texting us!touya that someone is hitting on you and he pulls up 😵‍💫

omg omgヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

warnings: drug use (cocaine), reader is slightly drunk, rough sex that’s a little dubcon, lil bit of choking, kinda exhibitionism

It’s loud inside the bathroom with so many girls crowding and waiting in line to use the next available stall. There’s three tasks at hand you need to do while you occupy a stall; pee first, do a bump of coke, and text Touya.

A third of those tasks are completed, flushing the toilet and pulling your panties back up before smoothing your little dress back in its place. Hand sanitizer is spritzed onto your hands but you know it’s not a substitute for actually washing up. You just need your hands to be as clean as they can be as you unzip the little pocket inside your purse for the little baggy. You dig your keys out as well, using the tip of Touya’s house key to dip into the bag. For just a second, you hesitate over the amount you’ve pulled up from the bag.

There’s already plenty in your system that you’ve been taking over the last few hours.

Maybe that’s too much…

You lean down anyway and inhale the bump quickly into your nostril, repeating the process on the other side.

There’s only one last thing to do.

“You done in there?! I heard you flush!” the person on the other side bangs on the stall door.

“Gimme a minute! I’m changing a tampon!” you yell back even though it’s a lie. It’s not like they’d be able to hear you actually pull one out to verify; it’s way too loud. You do intend to be quick though as you pull out your phone to quickly text Touya.

Aw fuck, your hands are a little sweaty. Maybe you are little bit more anxious than you had led yourself to believe.

[23:07] pls come get me, i dont feel like being here anymore

You shove your phone into your purse and undo the latch for the stall. You step out and two girls step in together, slamming the door shut. Either they both really need to pee or they’re also sniffing a little something together in there. It doesn’t quite matter anymore since you had your turn.

Only cold water dispenses from the faucet as you lather soap into your hands. Glancing up at the mirror, you peek up at your reflection and sigh quietly when you see the pupils of your eyes slightly bigger than they’re supposed to be. It doesn’t look discreet as you inspect your own nose and make sure that there’s no evidence of what you just sniffed. The bathrooms seems to get louder as more girls enter but thankfully your business is done and you make your exit.

You manage to find your friends in the same spot, thankful that you don’t have to go searching all around for them. Touching the shoulder of one of them, you manage to get their attention but you lean in close to tell them that you’re gonna be leaving. “You leaving? You’re sure? When?”

Pulling your phone out of your purse, Touya had already texted back that he’d be in the area in about fifteen minutes. You wish it would be sooner but it’s not a terribly long time to wait. It is a long enough time for you to be convinced to have two more shots—for the road, you know?

You blink a few times, alcohol resting in your stomach and warming your bloodstream and needing to take an audible breath before you speak, “‘Kay, I’m leaving now. He’ll be here in like… soon.” you’re disorganized as you speak, aware that you didn’t say a proper sentence, “You have fun, okay?”

One friend is willing to part to walk you out to the lot. Your arms are looped together with them and it feels like a whole different world as you step out of the loud bar into the quiet parking lot. “You can go back inside, it’ll only be a minute until he comes.”

It’s a small back and forth, but your friend bids you goodbye to walk back into the bar after you promise that you’ll text them when you’re back home. Really you just wanted the space to dig and do another bump of coke on your own and didn’t feel like offering to share.

“Mm… good.” you mutter to yourself as you carefully zip up the small baggy and shove everything back into your purse.

“Yeah, it’s good? You feel any better?”

You jump as you look behind you to see a single guy having approached you. Admittedly, he’s quite cute and he’s dressed stylishly but you keep a guard up around him. You make some noncommittal noise and nod your head, crossing your arms over your chest and dig the heel of your shoe into the gravel.

The guy circled around and makes you wary, sitting on the hood of a car and making himself comfortable. You can’t help but make a face, thinking it’s obnoxious of him to sit on someone’s car as if he owns it. He seems to read your mind, fishing out keys from his pocket and pressed the button from his keys. The car briefly lights up and clicks audibly.

“It’s a little cold out here to wait for an Uber. You wanna get in? I can turn on the heater.”

No, of course not.

For some reason you have a hard time finding your voice, only making a disagreeing hum and shaking your head. Your arms cross a little tighter over your chest and you take a small step back.

“No? I’m being a gentleman, I swear. I think it’s kinda fucked that your friend left you out here to go back inside. But then again, if they hadn’t left you then I wouldn’t have been able to come up to you.”

You only sent them away so that you could have some privacy to snort some coke. Now you wish you hadn’t done that, or maybe you wish that you hadn’t been convinced to have those two exiting shots before leaving the bar so that you would be more aware.

“You look like you could use a little more of your stuff. Tell you what, I’ll do one with you. Facilitate a little connection, yeah?”

Is that why that guy is here? Just to bum a line off of you?

“The prettiest girls I know always have the best coke.”

Asshole.

“Doll!”

You jump in your spot, looking left and right quickly before turning around to see Touya walking briskly in your direction. Relief has you relaxing your body as he walks forward to you, although his expression also tells you that he’s kind of pissed. “I thought you were waiting at the front, I was holding up traffic looking for you at the entrance.”

“Sorry, sorry…” you finally manage to speak and face towards him, “I just didn’t want to be with all those people anymore.”

Touya glances up to the guy sitting on his car, making a face at him. He’s already bristling over the presence of another man nearby you. “And you are?”

“Just keeping her company, that’s all.”

“Well your company isn’t needed anymore, fuck off.”

Your head snaps up at your boyfriend for speaking rudely, but there is a part of you that’s relieved that Touya is sending them off with no kindness either. All you want is to curl up now under a blanket and just wait for sleep to come to you.

“Sure, no problem. Good to see that my friend is gonna get home safe.” The guy stands up on his feet, sure to lock his car first before walking off. The asshole has the nerve to wink at you as he walks away. And of course Touya noticed because the way he grips his hand around your arm is none too nice.

When the two of you are sure that he’s gone, Touya drags you off in the direction of where he had parked. You trip over your feet twice but manage to keep up with him, more than relieved when you see his car and actually managing to pick up your feet to get to the passenger seat.

“Backseat, now.”

Your eyes widen a little as you glance up at him but nod your head. You bend down a little and pull the lever to push the passenger seat forward, giving you ample room to climb into the backseat. Managing to shut the car door, you sit back against the cushion as Touya enters from his side of the car but startled with how much force he used to shut his door.

Touya joins you in the back seat, grabbing your hips and dragging you to lay horizontally on the backseat cushions. It’s a little bothersome to be handled so roughly, especially since you’re still drunk and your head is swimming a little from the motions. The moan you let out isn’t one of pleasure, your hands coming up to press your palms against your forehead to try to soothe you. But Touya’s hand goes under your dress, his fingers roughly tugging your panties down and grunting over how your legs just fall limp instead of keeping them open.

“I’m trying to take these off,” Touya growls before reaching to cup your jaw along his hand, “fucking help me over here.”

“Can’t it wait until we get home?” You whine but you know that there isn’t really a choice in the matter here. Your eye lids droop down, your eyes feeling tired and wanting to just shut even though your brain isn’t ready for rest any time soon. So you gather what little energy you have, your hands helping in bunching up the skirt of your dress and pull it up.

Touya slides your panties off and shoves your purse to the floor of the car, the contents rattling inside and the baggy sliding out. Just from seeing it alone, you’re perked up and you point to it. “Do one with me.”

“Fuck, yeah hand it to me.”

Managing to grab the bag off the floor, you’re careful to open it and hold it out to Touya as you sit up. “Got your key? ‘M too lazy to grab mine out of my bag.”

He lifts his shirt and grabs the pocketknife that’s clipped inside his pocket. Wordlessly he flicks the blade out and dips the tip of it into the baggy. You honestly hate it when he just whips out the knife without telling you first, it scares you every single time. There’s no complaint from you as he offers the first bump by holding out the knife towards you before doing himself. The knife is put away but he dips the tip of his finger along the inside of the bag.

He rubs the pad of his thumb along your lip slowly, intimately. The little exhale that leaves his chest has you sitting up a little straighter. When your tongue peaks out a little to lick at his finger, the bitterness of the coke also has you sighing. It’s not pleasant, but the numbing is a welcome sensation on your lips.

His hand grasps at your neck and his fingers pressing into the sides. “I don’t like seeing you around other guys, you fucking know that.”

“Careful,” you gasp out, “the bag.”

It’s still held in your hands but Touya just tosses it back to where your purse lays. You hope that it was closed properly and that none of it spilled onto the car floor.

“Something happen between you two? Hm? Being all buddy while you were out?”

You manage to shake your head with what little movement you could manage, cocaine once again flooding your bloodstream and awakening you. Your eyes are a touch wider and your heart races a little faster, you bite your bottom lip and savor the numbness from the coke your boyfriend had rubbed into your plush lips.

Touya hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers massaging for just a few seconds before grabbing a handful of hair and pulling your head back. You gasp out in surprise, your eyes fluttering when he leans in bites at your neck hard. It doesn’t sting in a good way but you know it’s because he’s mad over how he found you. He’s insanely jealous and only tolerates one other man to be near you.

He lays you back down onto the cushions of the backseat, this time using the grip has on the back of your head to turn you to kiss him. The air between you two is getting warm and if things progress further, it’ll fog up the car. You pant anxiously, slightly frightened for people to pass by or worse— a cop.

There’s no care from the other party, not from Touya as he suffocates you in a kiss and desperately tries to undo his belt and zipper with one hand. Your own hands slide up along his back and you try to comfortably widen your legs as much as you can in the small space. It’s a little awkward but the need for one another right now trumps the choice of just waiting until you get back home.

“Fucking spit, spit onto my hand.”

It’s not exactly elegant the way he cups his palm just underneath your lips, and it’s certainly not sexy the way you spit and some of it slicks against your chin. It’s a frantic and needy moment that needs to be dealt with on the spot. He tells you to spit again, needs just a bit more to smear on his cock so that he doesn’t hurt you too bad. Your tongue lolls out and licks off your bottom lip of the spit that didn’t quite catch onto his palm.

You can still taste the coke on your bottom lip.

The head of his cock bumps against your cunt, slightly slick but not quite as wet as the two of you would like. It has to do for now, and you grit your teeth a little as Touya pushes the tip in. It stings but it’s nothing that you haven’t done before. Before Keigo, he’d hissed over how tight you always were when he’d first get in and then fuck you open. After Keigo, he’s gotten a little spoiled by not having to do as much work anymore because he enjoyed sliding in you after your other boyfriend had already made you slick and ready for him.

The small little hiss you let out is gone after a few seconds, your eyes rolling back a little as your legs are pushed to your chest. Your cunt is fluttering around him, the delicate skin stretched to allow him inside and you’re choking out his name.

“T-Touya, Touya!” You’re whimpering for him, your eyes briefly glancing to the window above you and seeing the moisture trapped inside the car. It’s going to reek of sex in his car.

“Oh fuck, you’re turned on huh? Your little cunt squeezed around me.” Touya laughs a little and tries to adjust himself, hating the small space of his car but just needing to make it work. He had to make do because he needs you now.

He fucks quick, the jingling of his belt moving along with his momentum. The air is warm and starts to feel sticky, your sounds are stifled and he’s gritting his teeth as he tries to fuck fast and be out of the area. Between breathless moans, he hears you bed, “Choke me, choke me please!”

Touya can’t fuck you properly, not like this in this annoyingly small space, but he just needs this quick fuck to help him feel better. He needs to hear your struggling gasps as he chokes you, a little rough as a small punishment for not waiting at the front of the bar with other people. He needs you to cum first so that he can fill you up.

Your mind buzzes, completely awake now not just from the drugs but from desperate and frantic fucking you’re being given. A small part of your mind thinks is the coke bag spilled or not, wondering if you could ask Touya to smear more of it along your inner lip this time. You want to be high on three things; the coke, the fucking, and from Touya.

You’ll have to settle for two at the moment, which is also fine with you.

“Your cock…” you brokenly whisper, grasping at his hand and slightly tugging it off, “your cock Touya, love your cock!”

He laughs a little and flashes you a lovesick smile. A drop of sweat drips along his brow, sliding along his skin to his cheek. It’s disgustingly sweaty and hot inside the car, but now the two of you are so intoxicated from one another that it’s not a bother anymore. Who cares, who cares!

“I know you fucking do, cockslut.” Touya chuckles, “Always fucking drooling to get dick inside of you. Bet ya when we’re done here, you’ll be bouncing on Keigo as soon as we’re home!”

The thought of Keigo pressing your head to the mattress while he fucks you from behind has you giggling, exhilarated at the thought of your other boyfriend also shaming you for being so hungry to get fucked all the time. It makes you cum on the cock that’s fucking you but you’re not exhausted from your own orgasm. You’re eagerly nodding your head and reach your hand forward to grab at Touya’s shirt and pull him towards you. It’s damp with sweat which would normally disgust you, but you hardly notice as you beg, “Fuck me, fuck me! Want you to cum in me and then watch Kei fuck me afterwards!”

Touya fucks franticly now, sloppy and urgent now that he’s excited at what’s waiting at home for him.

“Fill me, fill me with your cum please!”

How could he deny his sweet princess?

Without a warning, he slaps your cheek and chokes you to reach that finish line. His muscles are straining and his neck is uncomfortable being conscious to not get too rowdy so that he doesn’t bump his head along the car’s ceiling. The tensions snaps in him, cum flooding into your pussy and he notices that he’s shaking a little.

Yeah… that was a good fuck.

The two of you lazily kiss in the backseat for a little to calm each other down, but it’s getting late and Keigo is expecting them at home soon. No doubt he’s probably texted where you’re at.

You’re sitting in the passenger seat and shifting a little as cum leaks into your panties. It’s not pleasant but you don’t want to mess up the car seat. It’s a relief to have the windows rolled down, airing out the car that reeked of sex not too long ago. Touya navigates his way through the parking lot to find the exit but stops in front of the car of that guy who seemed to want to bum coke off of you.

“Touya?” you call to him when he exits the car and approaches the side of it. He briefly surveys the lot and deems it clear, flicking out the knife again but this time using the knife to slash the tire of the vehicle.

“Touya! What the fuck?!”

He slashes open two tires before getting back into the car and driving off.

“Was that really necessary? What if that guy finds out that it was you? There could be cameras to identify you!”

Touya waves his hand dismissively at you before setting his hand on your knee. “If I thought that there’s anyway I could be caught, I wouldn’t have fucked you in that lot and fucked that asshole’s tires up. He can suspect it’s me all he wants but it’s not like he’ll be able to find me so easily.”

“And what if he does? What if he presses charges?”

It’s another one of those times when he looks at you and you just shut up. He’s clearly gotten away scot free before and you don’t know how, but he decides how he wants to handle it and it’s not your business.

“There she is! Did you have fun, baby bird?” Keigo greets you immediately when you walk through the door. His embrace has you relaxing, his hand petting your back and also dropping a kiss has you smiling. “You guys fucked, huh? And you forgot to pick up takeout for me.”

“Ah shit,” Touya tuts as he drops his wallet onto the kitchen countertop and hangs his keys on the wall hooks, “fucking forgot. I’ll make it up to you after she gets cleaned up.”

Keigo playfully smacks your ass and starts to push you towards the bathroom, “You better. We’ll be taking a bath while you make my food.”

“But… but I thought…” you pout over at Touya, “I wanna… y’know.”

“She wants me to watch while you fuck her.”

He says it so easily and even though it’s a regular occurrence between the three of you, you squeal his name in embarrassment. But he promises you that he’ll be there shortly, turning away to rest his hand along his hard on and hiding the giddy smile on his face.

[raspberrybesitos]

Woven in the Stars | din djarin x f!reader

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Chapter 2 - Cosmically Sewn

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~4k

Chapter summary: Din returns to town with Grogu, meeting with you to get custom clothes. Getting acquainted with the pair, you strike up an offer that could bring you and Din even closer. Will Din accept?

Chapter warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, dad!Din, flirting, one (1) use of the word “daddy” in a nonsexual way, reader refers to Din as ‘Mando’ (for now 🤭), POV switching, inaccurate star wars info, liberties taken with the Creed, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, none really mostly just pining and fluff

A/N: hi everybody!!! tank you for sticking with me, life has been so hectic lately to say the least 🙃 but these two are finally acquainted with one another! the smut will happen eventually so bear with me y’all! i will throw y’all a bone occasionally, but the freak narsty smut happens all at the end. gotta let these two babies pine and let that slow burn burnnnn! can y’all sense i’m a sucker for the buildup? hehehe anyway i hope y’all enjoy! 🩵 not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Divider by @saradika

the first emboldened word = Din’s POV

the first italicized word = Your POV

Stirring in the plush, handsewn sheets, Din’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the beaming sunlight. Groaning, he huffs as he rubs the shadow of stubble growing on his face, as he recalls what he did last night before falling asleep. Dread washes over him as he thinks of how he has to face you at the market later.

With a deep sigh, he rises from the bed and tidily makes his bed before padding into Grogu’s room. Thankfully, he’s still sleeping, still cuddled up with the stuffed bantha you gave to him.

You are everywhere he looks. How have you infiltrated his mind so quickly?

Din heads down the hall and into the refresher, opting to take a long shower while Grogu still sleeps. The scalding water soothes the dull aches that still linger in his body from years of battling. He scrubs hard, attempting to wash away what he did last night, the guilt and shame.

He shuts the water off and dries off before trudging back down the hall and into his room. As he slips on his flight suit, soft coos make his ears perk up. He smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt as he goes to peer into Grogu’s room. The child now wide awake and still gripping onto the bantha. He squeals at the sight of his father, hands up and stretched forward. 

Din cradles him in one arm as he walks out into the kitchen, starting their daily routine. One that consists of breakfast for Grogu, and sometimes Din. If he’s not eating breakfast with his son, he’s usually doing some work - whether that be house work or having comm link meetings with Teva or Karga.

Today, it’s just breakfast for the two of them. Grogu brushes the stubble on his father’s face while he prepares their meal. In the past, he’d tell Grogu to stop touching his helmet. Things have changed.

Din no longer wears his helmet around Grogu so long as they’re alone in their home. He’s part of his clan now, having adopted him. Seeing that Bo-Katan and a few others who’ve walked both worlds, and being exposed to different Mandalorians who practice the culture differently, he’s decided to take some liberties with the Creed. He wants his son to see him, all of him after losing him once. Also, Grogu is still far too young to partake in the Creed, so he should be allowed to see his father.

He prepares breakfast for the both of them, sitting Grogu down in his chair as he serves them both. His son squeals as his father serves him and sits beside him. Mirroring each other, the clan eats in silence. Grogu busies himself with his meal, completely oblivious to his spiraling father.

How is he supposed to face you again today? Why did he do that last night? Maker, he needs to regain his sense of self control. He knew domestic life was going to be an adjustment, but he didn’t think he’d let himself slip up so easily, so quickly. For stars sake, he’s already thinking about sharing a life with someone, with you. He has other things to take care of before he can even give that a second thought. Like settling in, helping Grogu adjust to this new life, prioritizing his contract work with Teva, and the occasional tasks from Karga. He hopes he can act normally today. You caught him off guard yesterday, but hopefully he can prepare himself to see your beautiful face.

A whine pulls him from his thoughts. Grogu has crawled into his lap, pouting up at him with those big brown eyes, meaning he’s still hungry. Din hands him his spoon, and turns him around to face the table. Grogu squeals with delight as he rapidly devours the rest of his father’s food. 

With a tiny burp, Grogu plops down into Din’s lap and sinks into the warmth of his chest. Din rises to his feet and pads into his son’s room, cleaning him up and changing him into a spare tunic. He settles Grogu in his pram, nuzzling the new stuffed bantha that he’s quickly attached to next to him, and walks across the hall to put on his armor.

As he reaches for his helmet, he calls out for Grogu before placing it on his head. “Come on, Grogu, let’s go.” A hissing sound erupts as he slips his helmet on, and he rushes back into the living room, slinging the sack over his shoulder while Grogu plays in the pram with his bantha. Another reminder of you, he exhales a deep modulated sigh as he braces himself for a day at the plaza. Embarrassment coursing through him as he and Grogu head out the door and off on their journey for today.

Maker give him strength.

The town bustles as the sweltering sun beams down onto the plaza. Setting up the last display at your textile stall, you wipe the bead of sweat that’s formed at your brow. Mando is supposed to return with Grogu today, making you feel particularly giddy about seeing the mandalorian again. You’ve heard tales about mandalorians your whole life, and have even seen some in passing having lived on Nevarro for a few years now. However, something about him was so enthralling.

You couldn’t place it. Perhaps it was the way he was so caring and gentle with his son, or perhaps it was his demeanor which was surprisingly a lot more open than you had expected. Most encounters with mandalorians are short, as they are not people of many words - but not with him. Something about the man in beskar has captivated you, unable to shake him from your head since meeting him yesterday.

Subconsciously, you’ve never taken this much interest in a commission before. You’d even selected an array of fabrics for him to choose from for Grogu. You tell yourself it’s because of the unorthodox, sweet duo. The green baby having captured your heart the second you laid eyes on him, his curious eyes wandering and babbles that escaped him having tugged at your heart strings. You wondered how he ended up with his father, the resemblance between them obviously nonexistent, but you didn’t ask. It’s not your place to know, let alone judge, unless Mando feels comfortable telling you.

You should know better than anyone how complicated familial relationships can be. That family does not always correlate to blood relation, being adopted since birth after your biological parents had given you up to your mother and father. You believe that the stars lead you to people. They lead you to your family - your parents, your brother, your sisters. You are their daughter, their sister despite what biology may say.

Oh how you miss them all so much. What you’d give to see them again. You hope they’re alright, that the krayt dragon hasn’t reached them despite all the time that has passed.

Biting back tears, you shake your head and pack the selected textiles into a box and place them in your home-turned-shop. Working out of your home has its perks - never having to leave. It’s also got its downsides with the lack of space. It can get crammed sometimes, and it’s hard to not bring work home with you - literally and figuratively. Big commissions can be stressful, and dealing with a particularly aggravating vendor neighbor doesn’t help.

Recounting your last encounter with him, it was thankfully diffused quickly by your other neighbors. He’d yelled at some innocent kids who were eyeing the fruits he sells, calling them thieves and accusing everyone of being one after he’d had a few pieces of fruit stolen from his stand. You’d intervened first, scolded him for yelling at children and consoling them by offering them some candy from your stash. Thankfully the other neighbors despised him as well and jumped into your’s and the children’s defenses. He backed off and hasn’t said anything since. Hopefully it stays that way. 

Thank the Maker he doesn’t actually live next to you.

The sound of your name pulls you from your recollection and back into reality. You rush outside and your breath hitches in your throat. There he is, in all his shiny glory. If he’s this captivating with his helmet on, you can’t help but wonder what he looks like underneath it.

You wave at them, beaming as Grogu returns a wave with his tiny hand as he holds the stuffed bantha you gifted him just yesterday. Din desperately tries to keep his composure as he approaches you, trying not to think of what he’d done last night. His hands having grown clammy under his gloves, his helmet suddenly feeling hotter as the sight of you sends his head spinning.

You’re radiant, as if you belong in the stars in the evening skies - outshining every galaxy he’s ever seen. Your energy is infectious, making his heartbeat stutter. 

“Hi, baby! I see you brought your new toy with you! Do you like it?” You ask, voice full of glee. Grogu happily garbles an incomprehensible response, but you take it as a ‘yes’ and burst into a fit of giggles. Your laugh like music to his ears, he bites back a groan under his helmet. 

Is there any part of you that isn’t beautiful?

“Hi, Mando,” you giggle. It sucks the air out of his lungs hearing your breathy laugh and his name from your lips. Sweat forms on his brow and he wishes he could wipe it away. He fidgets with his holster, giving you a nod. “Hi, cyar’ika,” he nervously stammers, the affectionate name having escaped his mouth without thinking. Your brow quirks as your lips pull into a grin. “I’ve never heard that before. Is that your native tongue?” You inquire, fully intrigued by the name.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to let the name slip.

“It is. It’s Mando’a, the language of my people.” Your smile grows larger, making Din’s heart beat faster and body grow hotter. “It sounds lovely! What does that word mean? Should I be insulted?” You playfully tease him. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes bug out of his head as his cheeks grow red. “What? No, it was not an insult, I promise. It means, uh… it means ‘friend,’” he lies. You nod, narrowing your eyes at him as if you don’t believe him.

“Okay. If you say so, Mando,” you tell him, coyly winking at him. He clears his throat as awkward tension fills the silence between you two.

Grogu’s squealing breaks the tension, making you laugh. “You ready for some new clothes, baby?!” You ask him, scooping him up from his pram, eliciting a giggle from the baby. 

His heart feels like it’s going to burst through the beskar.

Tickling the child, he laughs excitedly as you set him on one of the tables at your stall. “Wait here,” you tell the clan as you disappear into your studio. You return with a box containing something. You place the box on the table, Grogu cooing in curiosity. Din tilts his head to the side. 

“What’s this?” He asks, making you beam. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I selected some fabrics for you to choose from based on what he was wearing yesterday! But also, please feel free to browse around the other selections,” you explain with a sparkle in your eyes as you smile at him, laughing as Grogu grabs one of your fingers to balance himself as he wobbles to the box.

He’s undeserving of your kindness, unable to fathom what he’s done to be on the receiving end of it.

“You didn’t have to do that, cyar’ika,” he nearly whispers. Your face is beginning to ache with the amount you’ve been smiling since he arrived. “It was no problem, Mando. I hope you like some of the selections. You can tell me if you don’t, you can be honest with me. Trust me, I can take it,” you tell him with a coy smile and a wink, making him suck in a sharp breath.

Keep it together, Din.

“Th-they’re lovely, cyar’ika. Thank you very much, I’m perfectly happy with any of the fabrics you’ve chosen,” he tells you. “Are you sure? Because I-I can pick out some more,” you say timidly.

Is he making you flustered? No. There’s no way.

“No need. They’re perfect.” You give him a nod and tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. “How about we let Grogu choose his favorites from the pile?” He says, subconsciously inching closer to you. “O-Okay,” you stutter.

You bend down to meet Grogu’s height. “Grogu! Which one do you like, baby?” You gently ask him as you hold up two pieces of fabric for him to choose from. He points to one in your left hand with a grunt. You repeat the process two more times, the smile never leaving yours or Din’s faces.

He watches quietly as you swipe your measuring tape from your apron, wrapping it around Grogu who garbles in confusion as he wonders what’s going on. He looks up at you with his big brown eyes, tiny teeth peeking out from his mouth. You smile and scrunch your nose at him, speaking to him about different things like toys, candy, animals, anything a child would like. You intently listen to every garble that streams from Grogu as if you can understand him, showing him enthusiasm as he babbles. 

Din can feel his body heating up, his chest feeling fuzzy as he watches you interact with his son.

Grogu goes for something in one of your pockets - the pin cushion. You and Din panic, you get to him before he pricks himself on a needle. “No no, baby! Those are sharp, they can hurt you. Here, you can play with this instead,” you say, handing him a spare one sans pins. You remove the one from your apron and toss it onto a table behind you, probably to ensure he doesn’t reach it at all.

How are you so maternal? Is it instinctual or do you have children of your own?

“You’re really good with him,” he says, moreso to himself rather than you. “Hmm?” You say, lifting your head and eyes wide as you meet his gaze. His heart feels like it’s going to combust every time you look at him. 

“What?” He asks. A smile splays on your face, teeth poking through your lips. “What did you say? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said,” you explain.

“Y-you’re, uh, you’re really good with him. Most people can’t keep up with his hyperness, but you can.” He sees something flash across your eyes.

Bashfulness?

“Oh. Thank you, that’s very kind,” you say, voice hushed and shy. “Do, um, do you have any children of your own, if you don’t mind me asking?” He can’t help, but ask - curious as to how you’re so good with his son, curious if you’ve got a riduur at home.

“No! No children, just me at home. I did have a little sister and have just always had a soft spot for kids, but no… no children,” you tell him, a noticeable deflation in your voice as you bring up your sister.

Did. He catches that, unable to miss the use of past tense. Feeling like he’s already pried from you, he nods. “Well, you’re a natural. Plus, he likes you,” Din says, offering some sort of comfort and shifting the focus of the conversation.

Grogu chirps from below the both of you, making you smile. You boop his nose, making him laugh. “I like him too. We’re best friends now, aren’t we, baby?” You ask him, tickling his sides as Grogu’s laughter grows louder. “Better watch out, Mando. I think I’ve taken the throne as his favorite,” you say through your giggles. Din watches from behind his helmet as you cradle Grogu, his heart taking flight at the sight in front of him.

“I don’t doubt that, cyar’ika.”

“So… can I ask what brings you into town, besides clothes for Grogu?” You ask, marking measurements on the selected fabric.

“Uh, yes, uh, we’re actually also here to gather some things for a fence I’m building. I’ve got a pond in front of our house and Grogu keeps torturing the frogs. I also don’t want him falling in, so I’m buying the last of the supplies to block it off.”

Your heart softens at the mandalorian’s concern. Going above and beyond for his son.

“Those poor frogs,” you giggle at the thought of Grogu messing with them. “Yeah, if he keeps eating them, he’s going to turn into one,” he huffs. Grogu snaps his head up, garbling what seems like a question.

“Have you started building the fence yet?” You through a fit of laughter.

“I have not, I’ve been occupied with some last minute tasks High Magistrate Karga asked me to complete. But I plan to start soon, possibly within the next week.”

You hum as silence settles amongst you three. A thought pops into your head, recounting the time you spent helping your father around the moisture farm back home on Tatooine as a young girl. Building and repairing fences and traps with your brother around the farm, your father adamant on ridding your home of womp rats.

Without even thinking about your next words, they eagerly roll off your tongue. Not sure why you’d go so far to extend a helping hand, but not questioning yourself either.

“Would you like some help?” Mando tilts his head to the side. “W-with the fence! That is,” you say, trailing off at the end. “Oh, that’s quite alright, cyar’ika. It’s a lot of work, and I couldn’t ask another task of you.”

“It’d be no problem! I’m more than happy to help, if you’ll let me.”

You’ve never been so eager to do farm work in your life. Surely, your father would laugh at your enthusiasm.

“Cyar’ika, you’re very kind, but I’d be indebted to you should you help me. In fact, I already am with the garments you’re crafting for Grogu.” You playfully roll your eyes

“Again with the formalities. You aren’t indebted to me, Mando! This is my job. Helping would be considered a favor, helping out a friend.”

“Friend.” Mando states. 

“Yeah. Isn’t that what you call me? ‘Cya-cy-cyar’,” you stumble through the pronunciation. Mando barks out a hearty laugh, sending a flurry of butterflies swarming in your belly.

“Yes, we are friends, cyar’ika. You can just call me ‘Mando’ or ‘friend.’ We’ll work on your pronunciation later, don’t want you hurting yourself now,” he teases. Your scrunch your face up, mouth gaped open. “Wow! How rude of you, Mando! Give a lady some grace, why don’t you?!” You squeak, unable to contain the surprise in your voice as a huge smile breaks out onto your face, taken aback by his sudden playfulness.

“I’m sorry, cyar’ika. How can I re-earn your good graces?” A smile evident in his voice.

Your face feels like it’s going to fall off if you keep smiling.

“For starters, you can tell me what that word really means. I’m only fluent in Basic and Jawaese,” you say with a wink, trying to make him feel equally as flustered.

“Jawaese? Are you not native to Nevarro?”

You shake your head as you measure Grogu once more, jotting down his measurements, playfully booping his nose to keep him entertained. “I am not. Tatooine was my home, it’s where I was born and where I grew up.”

He nods, carefully catching a wobbling Grogu. “So what brought you here?” You smirk. “I could ask you the same, Mando… if that is your real name,” you tease. The mandalorian chuckles under his helmet.

Oh what you’d give to see his smile.

“Maybe I’ll tell you… should you ever choose to tell me your given name,” you tease.

“Fair enough. I’ll tell you everything one day, cyar’ika.”

One day. Is he possibly considering telling you his name?

“One day,” you repeat. Your gaze never leaves his, staring into the blacked-out T in his helmet, hoping he can see the desire in your eyes. The silence is broken with the clearing of Mando’s throat. 

“I plan on starting next week. Does that work for you, cyar’ika?” 

You nod a little too eagerly, automatically agreeing despite not having checked your deadline schedules for other commissions. “It does! I’ll even bring over Grogu’s new tunics next week, they’ll be ready by then,” you excitedly say, folding the paper containing Grogu’s measurements and tucking it into your apron. Tucking your pencil behind your ear, you fold the fabrics up and carefully place them back in the box.

Grogu picks one up and hands it to you, melting your heart. You graciously pout, cooing at him. “Thank you, baby!” You squeal, gently caressing his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch.

He’s got you wrapped around his little green finger.

A pang of disappointment hits your heart, your time with the clan coming to a close.

You sigh as you tuck the box of fabric under one of the tables behind you. Silence hangs in the air, fiddling with your apron as you’re unable to say goodbye.

“Well… I guess we’ll be seeing you next week, cyar’ika?” Mando says, making you perk up at the sound of his voice. “Yes, yes you will, Mando.” You can’t help but smile at the thought of spending time with the duo.

“Good. I can’t wait, mesh’la,” he says quietly. Your brows reach your hairline at the new nickname. “Okay, now what does that one mean, Mando? You better not be insulting me!” You exclaim, poking fun at him, but genuinely curious as to what he’s saying.

“I would never, cyar’ika! Like I said, I’ll tell you one day,” he assures you. You sarcastically hum, reaching for something else in your pocket and hand Grogu yet another piece of candy.

“Here you go, little man. Thank you for being so good today, baby!” You tell him, helping him unwrap the lollipop as he squeals with excitement. He incoherently babbles as you discard the wrapper.

“None for daddy though, he’s being a meanie,” you pretend to whisper to Grogu. Your head snaps up at the sound of a groan.

“You alright, Mando?” You ask, brows pinched together. “Y-yeah, cyar’ika. I’m fine. J-just s-sometimes… this… helmet gives me, uh, a headache. I’m fine though,” he stammers. Your worry not quite dissolving. 

“I’m sorry, Mando. Would you like some medicine? I think I might have some inside,” you worriedly ramble. He waves you off. “It’s alright, cyar’ika. I promise. Th-thank you for all your help today, truly,” he nervously says. Taking his word, you nod.

“Well, I’m here if you ever need anything. And of course, it was my pleasure,” you say as you extend your hand to him, smiling as you do so. He quickly glances down to your hand, his large gloved hand fully encasing yours, his thick fingers brushing against yours in the process. He gently shakes your hand, giving it a soft squeeze in between, flashing him a gentle smile.

Is he smiling under there? You hope so.

“See you next week, cyar’ika,” he says, his hand still in yours. “I’ll see you both next week, Mando,” you say breathlessly. He sets your hand down, but doesn’t let go. You can sense his hesitation, but what could he be hesitating about?

“Have a lovely day… mesh’la,” he rasps with a tender, but swift swirl of his thumb on your hand. Sparks of electricity bolt throughout your body, your hand feeling as if it’s ablaze. He quickly drops your hand, gathering Grogu in his arms and settling him in his pram.

“Thank you. You too, Mando,” you nearly whisper, still relishing in the lingering feeling of his hand in yours. “Bye, cyar’ika,” he says with a wave, Grogu mirroring his father’s actions. “Bye, Mando. Bye, Grogu!” You say, returning the wave to the father-son duo. They part from your stall.

There’s a few customers browsing around your stall, but you hardly notice them as your mind swirls from what just happened between you and Mando.

What was that?

A customer comes up to you to ask a question. You shake the thoughts from your head and go about the work day. Anticipation blooms within you as the day drags on.

Next week can’t come fast enough.

we've finally been introduced to our reader (or as Din likes to call you, 'Cyari'ka' hehehe) and now the plot has been set up for some major pining! we've even caught a glimpse of backstory for reader!

i truly hope your suspension of disbelief allows you to picture yourself when reading this, because i like to picture myself while writing! Din wants reader aka you! 🫶🏼

anyway, thank you so much for reading! i'd love to know your thoughts in the comments, my asks, or dms 🩷

tag list: @javierpena-inatacvest @gracieheartspedro @undrthelights @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @party-hearses @nostalxgic @mandoisapunk @pedrostories @anoverwhelmingdin @diguise7 @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @stilllivindue2spite @dindjarinsmut @coquettegingette @firstofficerwiggles @christinamadsen @leithatnight

if your name is crossed out, it means i couldn't tag you ):

[33max]

1000ish words of Max & GP post Hungary comfort

Lately, Max’s Instagram is showing him reels of power washing, lawn mowing, and rug cleaning. Some are weirdly satisfying and others make him want to claw his eyes out. What’s the point in showing the entire process and not the end result?

As he’s walking back through the garage he thinks about how great it would be to power wash his brain. Get rid of this gnawing uncomfortable feeling. Not because he thinks he’s in the wrong today, he’s not and he’ll stand by what he said both on the radio and to the press, but because he’s filled with an unbearable frustration that’s clawing at his chest and fighting fighting fighting for a way out.

He wants to soothe it. Get rid of it. Wash it away and feel balanced again.

But he also wants to scream. Wants to punch a wall. Wants to bite down into something and thrash his head from side to side because the championship is slipping away and he’s trying to grip onto it with just his sweaty fingertips.

Sometimes as he’s walking out of the garage and back towards his driver’s room he feels a calm wash over him with every step he takes towards his own space and away from the chaos. But today is different. Today he feels untethered. Like he needs something if he stands any chance of calming down.

An apology. An acknowledgement that the team fucked him over. But he knows he won’t get it, and that just makes the frustration claw deeper into his chest.

The last person he wants to see in his driver’s room is GP. The race engineer is perched on Max’s massage table, legs dangling and swinging back and forth like he’s not entirely comfortable with this interaction either.

“No,” Max says instead of hello. “I can’t right now.”

GP stands. He puts his hands in the pockets of his work slacks, he’s the picture of composed calm now. It’s all an act. He’s wearing the mask of quiet confidence that he can so easily slip on. Max has seen it a million times before. “I don’t want you to leave before we talk.”

“Tough.” Max snaps. He’s ready to grab his bags and head to the airport.

“Max,” GP says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Max snarls. “Just- let’s leave it, yeah? I’ll see you in Spa.”

He grabs the bag he came here for and turns to leave, done with this conversation for today. He’s torn between being desperate for an apology, and not ready to accept one.

“Max,” GP says again, “I am sorry.”

“Thing is though, mate, I don’t even know what you’re apologising for,” Max says, anger laced in his tone despite Max’s efforts to appear as unaffected as his engineer.

“I’m apologising because I let you feel like you were out there on your own today. Like I didn’t have your back.” GP says. “I wasn’t- I know that today I was not what you needed.”

It’s a sincerer apology than Max was expecting from his engineer; usually, when they bicker they just write it off as their shared passion for racing. It takes him by surprise.

“You didn’t-” Max starts, and then forces himself to pause and take a deep breath. “I needed you to be on my side.”

“I was on your side.”

“It didn’t feel like it!” Max bites.

“Okay,” GP says calmly, weathering the storm he contributed to. “I know it didn’t, I misjudged the way you needed your communication today. But I am always on your side. We’re a team.”

Max feels the frustration dislodging slightly, the grit in his chest being smoothed over like one of those fucking power-washing videos. Without the frustration burning in his chest and keeping him angry, he feels fucking resigned, sad, and disconnected from the team. It hurts.

“Come here,” GP says, opening his arms. He’s recognised that Max’s anger is dissolving, exposing the often misunderstood sensitivity underneath.

No. Max shakes his head.

GP takes a few steps closer until they’re standing chest to chest, the closest they have been all day.

“I’m on your side, Max.”

Max keeps his eyes firmly on the floor. His stupid Red Bull-branded trainers are so close to GP’s, their toes nearly touching. “You’ve never called me childish in front of the whole world before.”

I’m not going to get into a radio fight with the other teams, Max. We’ll let the stewards do their thing. It’s childish on the radio, childish.

“Fuck, Max,” GP says, eyes wide. Then he’s closing the remaining distance between them, wrapping his arms around Max, holding him close so that Max’s face is tucked into the space where GP’s neck meets his shoulder. “I didn’t mean you were childish. You thought I meant you? This whole time?”

I’m not going to fight for you. You’re being childish. I’m not going to fight for you. You’re being childish. I’m not going to fight for you. You’re being childish.

“Yeah,” Max mumbles into GP’s polo shirt, chapped lips catching on the material. He can feel tears prickling behind his eyes, threatening to fall now that GP is holding him close.

“Come here,” GP says, squeezing Max tighter until Max wraps his arms around GP’s middle. “I’m so sorry, Maxy. I don’t think you’re childish. I think you’re passionate and determined and sometimes we annoy each other, sure, but you’re the only driver I would want to work with.”

Max can’t help the sob that rattles his chest. He didn’t realise how much of the ache in his chest was because of GP, how hurt he was by what GP had said, that his engineer’s words hurt him more than a fucking P5.

“Oh, Max,” GP says, stroking Max’s back.

“Sorry,” Max whispers. “I’m sorry too.”

“You don’t have to be,” GP tells him, one of his hands coming up to gently cup the back of Max’s sweaty head. “You don’t have to be sorry, Max.”

Max nods, tries to bury himself further into his race engineer’s arms. He’s not ready to let go.

“What did the medical delegate say?” GP asks, “That was quite a hit, Max.”

“That the only way to make a full recovery is to get a pizza with my race engineer.”

“Right.”

“And that my race engineer should keep stroking my hair.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” Max smiles, contented.

[sitp-recs]

the sun between us by @eleadore (E, 7.4k)

Draco Malfoy, an omega. It was laughable until he was right in front of you, smelling like he was one shaky step from tripping into a heat.

How could it be? Not him, with the cold eyes and mean mouth, and all his sharp edges—every edge, no respite—nothing soft to him, nothing to draw you in. (…) He's not pretty, with his pale, pointy face, all washed of colour and full of spite. Haughty and unfeeling. Cold, Harry thinks, even in the grip of a heat, he'd be cold. Who would want to fuck him? Who would want—who would—

I finally got the chance to read this fic and I knew I was gonna write a rec for it the moment I read the quote above (I’ve actually combined my two fave quotes up there). Then I stared at my tumblr draft for about 10 minutes before I remembered how to actually write a rec lol it’s been over an year since the last one and god knows how long it will be until the next, so thank you kindly @eleadore for fueling my Drarry feels once again!

What a delicious read. So viscerally raw and thick with tension (not only sexual, which makes it even more compelling), this put me at the edge of my seat, brimming with anticipation from beginning to end. I don’t usually read a/b/o and it takes me a bit to get into it but my god, they’re so mean and so horny that I felt the UST punching my bones and was salivating from the moment Harry first sniffed Draco 🔥

This is not only an impressive masterclass in tension building within 7k (insanity!), but also a refreshing take at omegaverse and a fascinating dive into Harry and Draco, who are SO intense even when they say nothing at all: rough around the edges, unable to differentiate fighting from fucking, desperate to appear smooth when in fact they’re about to burst with want. I love how they are so attuned to each other, the desire to hurt/touch/help/hurt too strong, the wistful memory of that one day in 6th year colouring the “enemies to lovers” dynamics. It was so much fun to see this stone-cold, mocking, demanding Draco through Harry’s increasingly wanton eyes, the unrelenting banter taking the “fucking your enemy through their heat” trope to a whole new level.

Speaking of - and being a good smut champion as always - I just want to highlight how incredibly hot the whole sequence was: that unhinged frenzy of a/b/o sex, all biting and no softness, the post-nut clarity replaced by the hazy confusion of losing control and accidentally knotting your omega boyfriend enemy. Peak Drarry moment 🤣 reading this felt like a fever dream that made me eat it up in one sitting, so if anyone hasn’t had the chance to check this series yet (oh yes, there’s a sequel!!!) run don’t walk! Happy Wednesday :D

[fictionalmenxyn]

✫𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐘/𝐥/𝐧 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡✫

Pairing: cowboy!rafe x cowgirl!reader

(Not apart of the possible fic, this is just a blurb)

Warning: language

(Outfit of reader: white baby tee, blue flared jeans and your famous brown cowboy boots.)

--᪥☆𓃗☆᪥--

It was a sunny afternoon at the ranch, sky is clear and the warmth hitting your skin.

You were sat in your ‘chill’ room that was next to the living room. You’d call it a man cave but there was no beer or sports related things. It was your record room, you may be nineteen but you know your older music well. Your parents grew you up on 70s, 80s and 90s music. So you have your range of taste.

You walked out to your turn table, pushing up the lid. You reached over one of your shelves and grabbed one of your favourite albums, Rumours by Fleetwood Mac.

Slipping the vinyl out of its case, you gently placed it down on the turn table.

You skipped to your favourite song, also the second on the track, Dreams.

The song kicked in as you turned up the volume. You feel the music in your feet and you tapped to the beat. Sitting in your armchair. Your boot tapped the wooden floorboard.

Your voice like honey, sweet and smooth. With a slightly rasp your sang “now here you go again, you say you want your freedom.” You head bops subconsciously “well who am I to keep you down…”

You snag to the song. Completely forgetting Rafe was supposed to be coming over soon to help your father with the cattle.

You continued to bop your head and tap your foot as you sang to yourself. Your eyes shut as you feel the music.

Rafe had just pulled up to the ranch, aligning his truck door shut, he made his way to the porch.

He could hear the music as he got closer. He looked in the slightly opened window, seeing you. Sat in your chair, feeling the music. He smiled at the sight. Then his eyes widened slightly as he heard you sing.

“Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision… I keep my visions to myself, it’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams…and have you any dreams you’d like to sell?…”

If his jaw could physically drop to the ground, he’d let it.

“Dreams of loneliness, like a heartbeat drives you mad… and the stillness of remembering what you had… and what you lost, and what you had, oh what you lost…”

He watched you in awe, who knew his girl had such a voice. Don’t get him wrong, he knew you could shout and had a good set of lungs on you. But to sound almost exactly like Stevie Nicks, it wowed him.

He kept watching as you sang, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Women, they will come and they will go, when the rain washes you clean you know.. oh thunder only happens when it’s raining, players only love you when they’re playing…”

He smiled to himself, he had to see this more often. Yeah, he heard you do karaoke down at the bar in town, but you were drunk.

“Say women, they will come and they will go, when rain washes you’ll clean you know.. oh thunder only happens when it’s raining… you’ll know… you’ll know, oh you’ll know…”

The song fades out and the next track of the album plays. He can see the soft smile on your face. He knew this was your favourite album, that’s why he bought it for you. Your parents had the album before, but it was lost up in the attic of your ranch. When he listened to you complaining for a solid ten minutes about it. He knew he had to get for you.

He smirked as you weren’t singing no more. “Hey, you should sing proud Mary f’me sometime.” He knew you liked Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Your eyes shot open at the sudden voice and saw Rafe. “Rafe! Jesus…”

“Nope, I’m not Jesus, you had it right the first time…”

“Oh piss off..”

“Nah, you know you can’t get rid of, besides, I’m here for your dad.”

You nodded as you got up and walked out of your record room and to the front door. You unlocked it and opened the front door then the screen door. He smiled down at you “hey baby, nice voice you got.”

You smiled as he leaned down and hugged you “hey, thank you, just don’t scare me like that next time” you both laughed.

He pulls away a little, still in each other’s embrace. He smiled then give you a soft kiss, which you returned. He looked in your bright eyes “so where’s your ol’ man?”

You nodded your head to the side “the stables, he’s checking up on Harley.” He smiled “she had her foal yet?” You shook your head “any day now, though…” he smiled and nodded. He stood up straight, but giving you one last kiss before he did.

“Alright, I’ll come back with your dad after we’re done, a’ight?” You smile and nodded “two cold beers are waiting.” He smirked “atta girl, see ya later, love ya.”

You smiled “love ya too…”

You leaned against the doorframe as you watched Rafe make his way over to the stables. You smiled as you saw him walk over to your father. You headed back inside and over to your record room.

Sitting in your chair once again.

Later that day, after they had finished working at the ranch. You placed two cold Coors cans on the outdoor glass table. Your father sat on his rocking chair, Rafe sat on the swinging bench on the back porch. You took a seat next to Rafe as both men talked. He had his arm on the back of the swinging bench. His finger tracing patterns on your shoulder, as you rest your head on his shoulder.

The sky turned into a pink and orange hue, the sun sets. Few of your dogs ran around the large open back yard. Your dad throwing a ball every so often for the dogs.

Moments like these you cherish. Even if it’s simply sitting in the back yard with your father and Rafe. Your mother and three siblings soon joined you three out the back. Your younger siblings making roasted marshmallows on the fire pit. Your youngest brother Daniel, would bring over two marshmallows and give one to both you and Rafe.

--᪥☆𓃗☆᪥--