#bout to stay up all night to watch and i’m not ashamed at all

[ayoarticulate]

i already finished episode one, so, my thoughts

absolutely in love with the fact we’re getting more of this dynamic between syd and carm, this rip off each other, one-mind vibe, while also having their own ideas and goals

i’m really excited to see more of each chef’s life outside the restaurant, like the opening seen we get with Marcus and who I’m assuming is his mom, could be someone else tho

LOVE we’re getting more sugar, i love sugar and her “i will tell you what you need to hear” attitude with carm, while still being the loving big sister

the casual convo between syd and carm about her family??? yup. yup.

the awkward talk by the lockers when they were leaving was EVERYTHING. low key loved it more than anything else

like this other side we’re getting of richie, he’s still him but he’s also trying to find his place in the world which i’m excited for

If it wasn’t clear already, i’ve changed my mind about carmy and syd! i need this awkward ass relationship more than i need air! a small part of me feels like they’re lowkey grumpy x sunshine coded, but there’s no set roles and they both can be either lol. Feeling real excited so far!

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ love me, connie springer (nsfw)

thinking about babydaddy!connie fucking you nice and slow after finding out you got stood up by your date. having little constentina (his idea, but tina for short) for the weekend, your precious angel just couldn’t keep her mouth shut to her daddy when you’d told her you were going on a small ‘dinner’

“she said dinner but that really means date, daddy.”

connie isn’t surprised. no one knew how to handle you beside him. i mean, he’s had your ass in place successfully for nearly ten years; only he was man enough to handle you, your mind, and most of all your body.

you loved connie like no other, you wanted no one else to be the father of your children. but you knew the streets would eventually take him away from you, and you just didn’t wanna stick around for that. not when you had a five year old girl depending on the both of you. connie looked for other ways to make bread without selling or doing anything…illegal but it was hard to match the stacks he was bringing home every weekend.

your separation was a one sided agreement anyways it seems. to you? you two were broken up. to connie delulu ass? you were his wife and you’re ‘smoking dick if you think ion belong to you and you’on belong to me.’

you didn’t even have any words for the absence of your so called ‘date.’. after an hour of waiting, you figured you’d call in to check on tina. ringing connie, your babyfather answered on the first ring, of course with a wood in his mouth and multiple lights on his face, signaling he was watching tv.

“hey,” your voice is solemn and low. you really were tired and ashamed to say anything more.

“hey mama, you okay?” connie’s hazel brown eyes quickly flick over to yours through the screen.

you shrug though he can’t see it. “i’m okay.” you admit. “just callin’ to check on my baby.” the frame was only on your face, but from the small shake of your hand, connie had managed to get a glimpse of a pretty black dress you’d sported, breasts looking three times as big as it usually did because of your sitting position. he could tell you dressed up for the night.

“yeah? she good, just upstairs sleepin’ right now. how was your date, pretty?” you hear connie turn down the tv in the background and give you his full intention.

you furrow your brows. “what? boy, how’d you know about it?”

your baby father blows out a huff of smoke and chuckles, flashing his gold canines. he wasn’t gon snitch on his lil informant princess. “i got my ways. tell me bout it baby.”

with a roll of your eyes, you let out a tired sigh and felt your shoulders sag. “wouldn’t know. the nigga never showed.”

connie furrows his own thick eyebrows. “what you mean? he told you he couldn’t come?” he asked. from the shake of your head, you see his face soften on the screen. “come over n’ smoke with me. lemme make you feel better.”

you kiss your teeth and throw your head back, already knowing where the conversation was headed. embarrassment flooded your expression. “you eating my pussy is not gonna make me feel better, constance.”

connie kissed his teeth and waved you off dismissively. “you’on know that.”

a blush can’t help but creep its way onto your brown cheeks. “i’m supposed to be staying away from you, ya know.”

connie gives you a knowing grin, shamelessly flexing the two deep dimples in his cheeks that constentina inherrited from him. “yeah? how’s that going for you, mama?”

“obviously not good because i’m actually considering your offer of being a booty call tonight?” you laugh.

“come onnn mama, tina’s sleep, i got a wood rolled for you and i want you here.” your ex compromised with a kiss of his teeth. “lemme rub ya feet and all on ya butt i promise you’ll feel better.

“i’m tired and don’t feel like driving, con,” you whine in the same tone. you knew if he didn’t have your daughter he’d already be at your door, but you refused to risk waking her up in a car ride over here.

connie rolls his eyes and puts you on pause for the moment. a minute later he comes back on screen and takes a pull of his backwood. “your uber on the way baby.”

“ooh daddy,” you cried, trying your hardest to breathe straight. “you know i cum fast like this, oh shit,” connie had your legs spread wide open, forcing your huge tits up against the bottom of your face as he pumped in and out of you.

“you like that mama, like when i fuck you nice and slow? all romantic n’ shit?” connie teased. tears streamed down your face and he wasted no time in kissing them from your pretty face.

you’re too far in euphoria to even fully comprehend exactly what he’s saying. “yes, i love when you stroke this pussy so deep daddy.”

connie holds your breasts up damn near to your face and takes his time sucking on each of your nipples, making sure to stretch and pull it all the way back as far as it could go, grinning at the sound of it snapping back toward you. “you’on need no one else to love you like this but me, you heard?”

you can’t help but shake your head, the small responsible part of you left that hadn’t been fucked out by connie yet (though he was close) was slowly bringing you to reality. “no,” you respond.

“nah, nah, dead that shit or imma stop,” your ex threatened, straightening his back out so he stood tall, yet still very deep inside your gummy walls. you can’t help but stare down the tattoos that littered his body; many dedicated to you and your shared daughter. “you grippin’ me so tight baby, boutta make me cum, fuck,” connie throws his head back and whines. “tell me you’re mine n’ we gonna get back together.”

“no, con,” your words were saying one thing, but the cream ring of your arousal forming around connie’s tanned dick was betraying everything leaving your mouth. “w-we’re we’re toxic—oooh, yes, right there right there!”

suddenly, a large pair of hands come to wrap around your neck, gripping lightly. “tell me you’re mine or im not fuckin’ this pussy,” he orders. “you know i don’t be bluffing, mama. ‘specially when it come to your spoiled ass déjame oírte decirlo.”

more tears fall from your eyes as you feel your lower region bubble in evstasy. “con—“

“say it if you wanna cum.” connie’s grip around your neck tightens as he inevitably starts to babble. he was not gonna let up off you no matter what. “come on mama, say it n lemme give you another baby. gonna make you a mama all over again, want you so full of my babies, pretty—fuck,” he breathed out. “you know daddy sorry, you gonna forgive him?”

it wasn’t until connie started to add his thumb rubbing circles around your clit did you finally fold and give in. “oh fuck, yes! yes yes i forgive you con—please—“

“go head and cum mami, te quiero.” connie breathed out, feeling his own orgasm approach. “te amo joder joder por favor dame más hijos mami te estoy rogando déjame correrte dentro de ti,” the man curses into the atmosphere as he strokes himself in you a few more times.

“yes yes,” you nod in response to his pleads of cumming in you. a nanosecond later, connie’s cumming deep into you until he ends up shooting nothing but blanks. you’re full to the brim to the point where drops of his cum couldn’t help but ooze out between your puffy cunt.

“dio mio.”

[melrodrigo]

The Other Side Of The Door - V.C.

Vada Cavell x Fem!Reader

Summary: Vada’s been a questionable girlfriend lately, and you’ve decided you’ve had enough.

Warnings: Angst, Vada is kinda toxic in this, mentions of drinking

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: Inspired by TOSOTD by miss t-swizzle herself. I hope u angst monsters r happy, I don’t write angst very often. Also! Did not proofread this, sorry bout that

“Leave.” You say, face stoney and eyes narrowed. You ignore the voice inside of you that says this is a terrible idea.

Your girlfriend blinks back at you, taken aback by the venom in your voice.

Her expression changes from happy to crestfallen in a second, and it takes everything in you to not immediately take back what you’ve just said.

“What is this about?” She asks, eyes wide.

The minute your girlfriend had waltzed into your room, whistling to her favorite Juice Wrld song, she had been met with the sight of you sitting on your bed, arms crossed.

“What is this about? Are you kidding, Vada?” You seethe, too pissed to have any sort of filter anymore.

She gulps.

“How about it’s about the countless times I’ve had to drag you back home because you were drunk shitless, doing god knows what with god knows who, without any explanation whatsoever.” You’re standing up now, sizing Vada up.

“It’s about the amount of times you’ve ignored me this whole week, never answering texts, never picking up my calls. Am I even your girlfriend anymore?” You press, rambling as if everything that’s been pent up inside you for weeks stars spilling out all at once.

Your girlfriend pales as you monologue, eyes darting to lock on anything but your face.

“But-“ She opens her mouth and closes it a couple times, searching for something to say.

You cut her off quickly. Unwillingly to let her have any say in this.

“Quite frankly, I’ve had enough. So if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to leave.” You tell her, pretending you don’t see the way her eyes are starting to water.

She’s as still as a statue for a good minute or two, contemplating what she wants to do. You can practically see the cogs turning in her brain.

One more glare from you has her rushing out your room and downstairs. You can’t help the pang in your chest as you watch her leave. After everything, you still want her to stay.

Stupid girl and the grip she has on me.

Nothing quells your bad mood for the rest of the night. You spend dinner shooting back one word responses to your mom’s inquiries, irritable.

You tuck yourself into bed, check your phone for a message from anyone—okay, maybe you wanted to see if Vada had said anything, but nothing. You huff and pull the sheets over your body, closing your eyes shut and forcing sleep to have its way with you.

-

Somehow, in the morning, you wake up even more annoyed. Whenever you’ve had fights with Vada before, the morning after she’d be all over you; begging for forgiveness and blowing up your phone.

You’re ashamed to admit you like the attention.

Today, nothing. Not a single call or text from your normally oh so talkative girlfriend.

As the day goes on, you start feeling mournful. Regret courses deep through you. You sit and stew in your feelings until you can’t think of anything else.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said all that.

It’s a sad Sunday that’s spent with you staring at cute photographs you’d taken with her months prior, and jumping at the sound of any notification. It’s pathetic, but you need her. You don’t remember how long it’s been since you and Vada have had a day apart.

You’re stuck. You miss her so much, but your stupid pride won’t allow you to text first, or to go find her, because what would you even do? You’d been the one to apologize first too many times. This time, you decide it’s going to be up to Vada.

You sleuth around for the rest of your Sunday. When you finish dinner and storm to your room, your turmoil has turned into spite.

“If you don’t call in the next 5 minutes I swear I’m breaking up with you.” You hiss to the phone, staring intently at Vada’s profile picture, as if she’s just going to pop out of the phone by sheer will of you wanting her there.

After a minute of this, you set the phone down and take a deep breath. You turn your phone on do not disturb and pick up a book. All this drama has you feeling like you need to reconnect with nature a bit.

It’s a book Vada herself had recommended you, which was funny, since your girlfriend barely read shit. You hate to admit she has good taste. You glide through the pages easily, happy for a distraction.

Minutes turn into hours, and before long, you notice that the light is starting to dim down and the sun is starting to set. You also hear the tiny pitter-patter of rain hitting the roof.

You get up and walk to your window, face still buried in your book, and gently ease it open, hoping to find some comfort in the fresh air and smell of wet grass.

What you get is not that. A pebble, the size of your pinky comes hurling, too fast for even your reflexes to react.

It hits you smack dab in the face, making you loosen your grip on the book and dropping it. You groan, rubbing the part of your nose that stings. You hear a tiny oh shit below you and you peer out your window so fast it gives you whiplash.

The sight of Vada standing in the rain, her hair messy and her bike discarded on your tiny front yard brings out a lot of mixed emotions in you.

Finally. Goddamn, finally.

She looks sheepish as she speaks. “I’m sorry!” She squeaks. “I didn’t mean to hit you- I swear. I was just trying to do one of those huge romantic gestures where the guy gets the girls attention by throwing pebbles at her window ya know? But it ended up being kinda fun and I didn’t see you when I threw that one-“ She says, speaking so fast you can barely understand her.

When you don’t answer, it’s almost like Vada remembers what she came here for. She straightens up, wiping her palms on her loose graphic tee.

“I’m sorry. I really am. If you would hear me out, I’ll explain everything. I promise. I’m sorry for not coming to my senses earlier, and I’m sorry for not paying you enough attention. I love you, I’m in love with you; you know that. More than anything.” She yells, almost screams so you can hear her clearly.

You feel your walls crumble immediately. How were you going to deny your sweet, loving, albeit sort of confusing girlfriend of your love? It was no use. She always wins when it comes to you.

You sigh.

Vada waits patiently, shifting on her feet and shivering slightly from the cold.

You gesture for her to come in with your hand, and you have to stop yourself from laughing at the joy that sparks across her face immediately.

She sprints in, saying a quick hello to your mom- who probably heard everything, and runs up the stairs, practically tackling you onto your own bedroom floor.

She’s soaked, and you can already feel the water seeping through your own shirt, but you don’t care. Vada’s wrapped herself tight around you, like a baby koala. She’s trembling slightly, and you notice she’s crying.

You place your hand on top of her head, rubbing gently. You murmur sweet nothings into her ear.

She tilts her head up to look at you, eyes all red and puffy. She looks so pretty like this.

“I missed you so much.” She gushes.

You grin lazily, happy to have your girlfriend back in your arms.

“I missed you too, baby.”

[lunarfleur]

Can I get something Curly? Maybe him comforting reading after a long day they spent with their family? I had to sit next to my witch of a rich grandmother and I’m not feeling so great :(

Can We Kiss Forever? ~ Curly Shepard

Tagging: @sophie-i-guess13 @sluggmuffin @spaceagebachelormann @whyareyouhere66 @juneberrie @ilovejoekeeryy

Warnings:Mentions of family problems but none are clearly stated

A/N: Lee. My love. I love you. I sort of got an idea and just ran with it, though, I hope that’s okay!

This is x gender neutral reader!

Tim watched as Curly stood in front of the mirror, running his hands through his curls and shaking them back into place. He scrunched his hair with his hands, squeezing tightly. He had been standing there for a solid 20 minutes, always paying the upmost attention to his hair.

“Curly,” and Angela shouted from the living room, “Y/N’s on the phone!”

With a sudden brightening in his face, Curly ditched the mirror and all but sprinted into the living room. He loved talking to them. He loved hearing their voice. But why call when he was about to pick them up?

“Hi, baby,” he said into the phone. He fought back the lovesick smile they always gave him, at least until Angela stopped looking at him.

“Hi, Curls,” they said back. Curly frowned instantly.

Their voice, the voice he loves more than anything, sounded exhausted and tense. It was nasally and, well, sickening.

“Everything okay?” Curly asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, um…I’m sorry, babe, but I think I’m gonna have to cancel tonight.” Their voice faded as it came, sounding guilty and ashamed. Curly didn’t like it.

“That’s okay,” he sputtered, “but why?”

They sighed over the phone and paused. The silence, though only for a second, was tense and worrisome. The idea of them canceling was confusing, considering just the night before they were all but crying over how much they missed him.

“I just-I’ve had a long night. There’s so much going on, with my grandma and everything…I don’t think I can handle being out. I’m sorry.”

Curly sighed, “That’s okay, baby.”

“Maybe tomorrow?”

Curly’s lips curled up into a small grin as he leaned against the wall behind him.

“Hey, how ‘bout this? I’ll go up to that diner you like, get you some food, and then I’ll come over.”

He heard a faint, happy chuckle from the other side. His heart fluttered at the noise.

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

“Of course, baby. Give me no more than 30 minutes, I’ll be right there. I love you.”

“I love you,” Y/N said, beaming.

And he hung up the phone.

——————————————————————————

As soon as they heard the firm, heavy knock on the door, they happily speed-walked to the door. Unlocking it with a click, they were greeted by Curly’s grinning face.

But the sight of them, although clearly in a bit of a better mood, made Curly’s smile falter. They looked exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Y/N, sighing contently, wrapped their arms around Curly’s torso. His free hand came to the back of their head. His other hand, carrying the plastic bag filled with food, stayed down at his side.

“I missed you,” they mumbled against his shirt.

“I missed you, too, sweets,” Curly chuckled happily.

Curly looked down, confused, when they didn’t let go. Instead, they held on tighter. With trembling shoulders, they sniffled.

“Are you crying?” Curly asked softly. They shook their head against their shirt.

“No.” But they obviously were.

Curly set the bag of food on the floor next to his feet, bringing hands up to wipe their tears.

“What’s goin’ on, baby?”

“I missed you.” And it only made it worse.

“C’mon, stop cryin’. You don’t gotta miss me anymore.”

Taking a shaky, deep breath, Y/N backed up slightly.

“Your food’s gonna get cold. You need to eat.”

The pair walked hand-in-hand into the living room. Curly pulled out all their food, then leaned against the back of the couch. He watched them as they ate. Curly loved watching them, seeing them. It was the best part of any day he saw them.

Getting up, Curly turned on the TV and flipped through every channel he could find. Finally, he settled on the last half of Rebel Without A Cause and sat back down, this time noticeably closer to his lover.

After finishing their food, Y/N pushed it all onto the coffee table and leaned back, letting Curly snake an arm around their shoulders. As if all the weight was lifted from their shoulders, they curled into him.

“Tired, honey?” He asked. They nodded.

With a gentle hold on their arm, Curly guided them into his lap. Their legs wrapped around his waist, his arms wrapped around their shoulders. Their face snuggled into his neck, his face pressed against the top of their head. He placed he sweet kiss into their hair.

“I’m sorry,” he heard them mumble.

“What for?”

“Ruining our date.”

“Baby, there ain’t nothing wrong with how the night ended.”

“I know, but-”

“No buts.”

There was a pause and nothing but heartbeats and breathing could be heard.

“Curly?”

“Mhm?”

“Will you kiss me?”

Smiling, Curly’s arms unraveled. They looked up at him, eyes filled with the dull longing of sleep. He kissed them. Then he kissed them again. Then again. Then again.

Curly kissed them so sweetly, so full of love, that any and all worries they had seemed to float away. He kissed them so deeply that it made their head fuzzy. His kissed them for so long that the butterflies in their stomach reached to every bone in their body. They were filled with love for him.

“I love you, baby,” Curly whispered, pressing his forehead to their own.

“I love you, Curls.”

Y/N fell asleep not even 10 minutes later, slumped against his chest and listening to the melodies of his heart. He stroked their hair, not once getting up. The lamp in the living room never got turned off.

[spine-buster]

Patience is a Virtue ft. Matthew Tkachuk | 𝒫𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒

gif credit @czarniks

CONTENT WARNING: this story deals with cults, polygamous cults, escaping cults, strict adherence to religion, gender roles, abuse, miscarriage, and a character with a traumatic past.  Please be warned.

Word Count: 2,899

A/N: Was I really going to name the epilogue any thing else?

                                                         *     *     *     *     *

Effie had been quiet lately.  When Matthew said ‘quiet’, what he really meant to say was not all there, and when he said ‘not all there’ what he really meant to say was that she was there, with him physically, but her mind was somewhere else.  She had these bouts from time to time.  Effie was always going to be a work in progress, and that meant sometimes she’d regress instead.  He knew that when he signed up to be with her ten years ago now.  He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together seven years ago, and she said no.  He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together six years ago and she said no.  He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together five years ago and she said no.  He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together four years ago and she said no.  He knew thar when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together three years ago and she said yes.  He knew that when they moved in to said house two years ago.  Some bouts were long, some were short, but he always noticed them.  

This was another one.

She usually came around.  Well, actually, she almost always came around.  She’d ask something or propose an idea and Matthew would learn or realize why she was so withdrawn, why she was so quiet.  Sometimes they were simple, and a short bout: “I want to change the menu at the bakery.”  Sometimes they were vastly more complex, and a long bout: “I know Chantal’s okay with me not having kids, but what about Keith?”  She’d get stuck in her head a lot.  And with someone with so much to learn, as someone who was quite literally going through life learning by doing, it was almost a guarantee this would happen, considering what she came from.  

But Matthew was there.  Always.  

As he spooned her in bed, he could feel how distant she was.  He could practically feel her mind racing and refusing to slow down despite it being late at night.  Matthew placed a small kiss on her shoulder.  “D’you want to talk about it?” he offered.

Effie turned around so she was now facing him.  He could see the worried look in her eyes and started to worry himself.  She took a deep breath.  “Would you want to marry me?”

Matthew licked his lips, and without hesitation, he nodded his head.  “Yes.”

Effie looked away, almost ashamed.  “I had it in my head that you wouldn’t want to because I’ve been married before,” she whispered.

A regress.  Inevitable.  Effie’s mind was a complex ocean.  “You were never married,” he said firmly.  “But if you want to get married, I’d love to marry you.  We could do it however you wanted.”

“What about our marriage?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’d get married, but what would our marriage be like?”

Bad memories, obviously.  The last time she was a “wife” it wasn’t a marriage at all.  It was practically a hostage situation.  An abusive relationship.  “Do you like our relationship how it is now?” Matthew asked.  

Effie nodded her head.  “I want it to stay like this,” she said.

“Then that’s what our marriage will be like, too,” Matthew assured her.

***

“I don’t know what type of ring I like,” Effie mumbled on the phone to Geneviève as she picked at her lunch, a poppyseed bagel she’d made with a generous spread of lox and cream cheese.  Geneviève was in Sweden, like she was every summer, with Jacob and her twins.  Though they’d be back in a few weeks for the season, Effie couldn’t hold off talking to her.  She never really could.

“Why would that matter?” Geneviève asked.

“Matthew and I talked about getting married.”

There was silence on the other end of the call before Effie heard the dial tone.  She thought the call dropped – it did that sometimes, especially when Geneviève was in Sweden – but then her phone was vibrating all over again, and it was a FaceTime request instead of a simple phone call.  Effie couldn’t help but smile as she accepted the call.

“You and Matthew WHAT?!” Geneviève shrieked, holding the phone too close to her face.  

“Um…yeah,” Effie nodded.  “We talked about it a few nights ago in bed.  I asked him if he would want to marry me and he said yes.”

“Effie, Matthew’s probably wanted to marry you since he told you how to pronounce tomahawk.  What made you think he didn’t?” Geneviève asked.

Effie shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t know…” she said.  “I just—last time I was married, it wasn’t a good marriage.”

“You were never married,” Geneviève deadpanned.  It was good to know she thought the same thing as Matthew.  “But besides that—has Matthew been anything like him in these past ten years?”

Effie shook her head.  “No way.”

“Then what makes you think he will when you’re married?”

Effie knew Geneviève was trying to make a point – and a good one – but Effie was, for some reason, still apprehensive.  “He comes home soon,” she said.  “I’m going to talk to him more about it.”

Geneviève nodded in understanding.  “Just remember that you deserve happiness, however that comes to you,” she reminded Effie.  “And remember, Effie – you can choose happiness, too.  You can choose to overcome a fear and make yourself happy.”

***

Effie searched all about engagement rings until she heard the garage door open and Matthew step into the house.  He’d been at the gym, and his own lox and cream cheese bagel was waiting for him in the fridge.  “Hey,” he called out from the laundry room.  

“Hi.”

“Whatcha up to?”

“Uh, looking at engagement rings.”

He was silent.  Silent until he rounded the corner and Effie saw him emerge from the hallway that led to the laundry room, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.  “Engagement rings, huh?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, adjusting herself in the bar stool.  “There’s so many different styles.”

Matthew looked at her skeptically, dropping his gym bag before walking over to her.  “There are…” he began.  “But you should look at a style or styles you like, and then we can bring it to a jeweler.”

“A jeweler?”

“I’m not gonna get you just any ring, baby.  It’s gonna be custom made,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Effie’s research told her that custom made rings were the most expensive types of rings.  While there were so many pretty styles online, custom was definitely something to aspire to for many people, even thought it was out of reach.  “You’d get me a custom ring?”

Matthew looked at her.  Without saying a word, he leaned back into the barstool beside her but grabbed hers and scooted it closer to him.  “Will you please talk to me?” he asked softly, but needily.  “You know I’d get you a custom ring.  You know I’m gonna let you get any dress you want and have whatever kind of wedding you want.  You brought up marriage but the questions you’ve been asking me…Effie, it’s as if you think I don’t love you.”

“That’s not—no,” she shook her head, stuttering out her words.  “I’m sorry, Matthew.  I don’t mean it to be like that.  I know you love me.”

“Then what’s with the questions?”

Effie took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with Matthew until she knew she had to talk.  “This is what it was like last time.”

Matthew’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.  “What do you mean?”

“Abraham was nice before he abused me.  He promised me so many things.  And I know you’re not him—you’re nothing like him—and I’ve—I’ve told you that for ten years but—”

“—Effie, if this is too much for you, we don’t have to get married.”

Effie began shaking her head.  And when she began shaking her head, tears started to well up in her eyes, and as they welled up, they fell down her cheeks.  She tried wiping them away but Matthew beat her to it; she was so ashamed she couldn’t even look at him.  “But everybody gets married.  Look at Brady.  And Taryn, even.”

“Effie…we’re already in a committed relationship that’s like a marriage anyway.  I’m devoted to you, and you’re devoted to me…we—we live together, we act like we’re married anyway.  If you don’t want to change that then you don’t have to.”

“Yes I do,” she stressed.

“Why?”

“I do because I want to do something for you.  You’ve been doing things for me for ten years and I know you want this.  I know you want to get married.  So I want to give that to you because you’ve given me so much.”

“You giving me yourself is enough.  You know that.  You’re enough,” he said.

“I know,” she nodded.  “But marriage is a celebration of love.  It’s a celebration of love.  And I want to celebrate our love.  I just have to get it through my thick skull that marriage isn’t a punishment, it’s a celebration.”

Matthew nodded his head, giving her a quick kiss on the nose.  “Want me to call Dr. Barlow?  We can work on this together.”

Effie nodded.

***

Half a year later, Effie couldn’t stop staring at the rock on her finger.  It glimmered in even the shittiest light.  She was sure Matthew had something put in it to make it shine so much, but he kept denying it.  Geneviève loved it.  So did Jenna.  So did Annica.  

“But do you?” Matthew asked her.

She nodded.  The second he slipped it on to her finger, everything became real.  Everything.  She’d never had an engagement ring before.  She never had a testament to her partner’s love for her.  And here it was now, on her finger, ready for her to wear for the rest of her life.  Matthew gave it to her.  Her Matthew.  Nobody else but her Matthew.

***

“Oooooooh, Effie,” Chantal’s eyes lit up as Effie walked out of the fitting room of the small bridal boutique in St. Louis they went to on a whim.  Taryn’s jaw dropped in quick succession as Effie walked out and stood on the platform in front of them, a three-panel mirror showing her every angle of the dress.  She watched Chantal through the mirror.  “Oh Effie, this is stunning.”

“Do you think Matthew will like it?” she asked.  

“Matthew’s gonna bawl,” Taryn interjected, causing everyone to laugh.  “I’m about to bawl!”

Effie looked at herself in the mirror, patting down the fronts of the dress, even though it fit her like a glove.  Despite trying on some dresses already while out with Jenna and Geneviève, she didn’t get the same butterflies in her stomach as she did seeing herself in this dress, now, even though this wasn’t planned.  It was the first one Effie chose for their consultant to pull but the last one of the three she tried on, and it was the most beautiful.  She loved everything about it: the eyelet organza, the corset bodice with exposed boning, the A-line skirt with pockets.

The ivory.

The consultant puffed out the skirt for her, letting it fall behind her dramatically.  Effie was quiet as she watched Taryn eye the consultant and say “We need a veil” before the consultant left them alone.  Chantal was covering her mouth at the point, admiring the dress but also as a mechanism to stop herself from crying, probably.  Effie pat down the front of the dress again, her heart beating in her chest.  “Chantal?” her voice was small.

“Yes sweetie?”

“I can wear white, right?”

Chantal nodded automatically.  So did Taryn.  “Of course you can.  You were never married,” Chantal said.

“Even if you had been,” Taryn piped in, “it’s your wedding.  You can wear whatever you want.”

***

Matthew held Effie’s hand as they sat on a couch in Dr. Barlow’s office together, talking through Effie’s trepidations of marriage and expectations as a wife.  Effie knew that the only reason why she was having trouble with all of this was because of her past experiences; when she thought about it, deep down, she wanted nothing more than to marry Matthew.  But her mind was a funny thing – it always was – and that’s why they were here.  Matthew had been patient in waiting for her to agree to buy a house and move in together; he’d been even more patient in not asking her to get married but letting her make the decision herself.  Now it just all came down to this – the working through the nitty gritty things, the things that still plagued her mind – so she could go into the marriage in the healthiest way possible, just like their relationship was.  And she was going to see it that way.  It helped her immensely to see it that way.  This is just an extension of our relationship.  This is a celebration of our love.

“Have you given thought to any popular wedding or marriage traditions that the two of you would want to follow or not follow?” Dr. Barlow asked.

“Like what?” Matthew asked.

“Effie, will you be taking Matthew’s last name?”

Effie looked at Matthew before squeezing his hand quickly and nodding.  “Yes,” she said confidently.  “I’ll become Effie Tkachuk.  I met this woman through hockey – her husband plays for the Toronto Maple Leafs – her name is Bee Rielly.  She took her husband’s last name and she said the reason why she took it was because she had no connection to her maiden name, McTavish, because she had no real family and her mom was an alcoholic and it only really reminded her of that.  Considering her background, she wanted it gone, and I feel the same way.”

Matthew squeezed her hand back.  Dr. Barlow smiled and nodded her head.  “It’s great that you’ve met someone like that, that can help you see these kinds of things in that perspective,” she said.  “Are you having a church wedding?”

“No,” Matthew took this one.  Even though he and his siblings went to Catholic schools, religion wasn’t a huge part of their lives.  “Just an officiant.  We actually already have her booked.”

Dr. Barlow nodded again.  “Effie, how do you feel about the tradition of someone walking you down the aisle?  Levi?  Matthew’s dad, perhaps?”

Effie shook her head vehemently.  “I love them, but no,” she said.  “No way.  I’m entering into a marriage freely and I’m making the decision.  Nobody is giving me away.”

Matthew smiled.  “And that’s that on that.”

***

The more that Effie planned, the more she got to experience what normal wedding planning was like.  It was stressful, sure, but it wasn’t your-mom-telling-you-that-you-were-going-to-marry-a-55-year-old-when-you-were-fourteen-years-old type of stressful.  It wasn’t an I-don’t-know-anything-about-being-a-wife-I’m-only-fourteen-years-old type of fearful.  It actually wasn’t fearful at all.  The more decisions she made about how she was going to marry Matthew, the more excited she became.  Decisions about flowers, about table coverings, about décor, about music, about food.  Her favourite was taste-testing cakes samples with Matthew.  Every time they tasted something Matthew would always say, “It’s not as good as your cakes” to her.  

Every.  Single.  Time.  

***

Between family, friends, and teammates, there were about 130 people at the wedding.  Effie wore her dress, tailored to perfection, and the veil – long and regal and cathedral length, because the only day it was socially acceptable to wear a veil that long was on your wedding day, and Effie was going to take full advantage of it.  They did a first look and Matthew cried.  He cried again when she walked down the aisle by herself.  

When Effie stood holding hands with Matthew, reciting vows to each other, she thought about the past ten years.  She thought about the person she was when she met him at Noah’s birthday party.  She thought about their Starbucks meetings and him teaching her about corn dogs and candy and frappucinos.  She thought about how different she was from then till now, and that though the past still affected her, and crept up on her from time to time, she had been strong back then, and was even stronger now, and that made her proud of herself in a way nobody else could understand.  Not even Matthew.  That she stood here with him, marrying him, making the choice to marry him, spoke volumes of her progression.  It spoke volumes of the person she had been, the person she was now, and the person she was becoming.  She was always a work in progress.  

Matthew was there for it all.  There to help her, there to guide her through it.  There to help her achieve her dreams and expose to things she never thought possible.  Lake Louise.  Moraine Lake.  The Bahamas.  Europe.  St. Louis.  Confidence.  Trust.  Love.

“I love you,” he whispered to her when their vows were done, rubbing his thumb over the backs of her hands.

“I love you too,” she whispered back.  Freely.  Meaningfully.  Deeply.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife!” the officiant beamed.

For the first time in her life, Effie was married.

[cockasinthebird]

It was awkward at first, which isn’t much of a surprise to Steve. This is a whole new world for him-  how would he ever even go about dating or flirting with guys, least of all Billy Hargrove. Girls he understood, flowers and chocolate and driving them to the mall and carrying their shopping bags, classic textbook stuff that he’s actually quite good at if he had to say so himself.

Hi was all he managed to write to Billy.

Hey ;) was the response.

Nerve wracking, dizzying, nauseating. It left him a mess for that entire weekend, making him incapable of ever even responding to any of his other matches on the apps, because he couldn’t stop thinking about Billy fucking Hargrove. Yet he also didn’t know where to go from there, and when Billy didn’t see it fit to send him a second message, it just died out right then and there.

But there was no relief, no Oh thank God that he wouldn’t have to even try and find out what it’s like with Billy- what sex is like with Billy. Yet the thought of it stayed. Every night, morning, day. Friday, Saturday, Sunday, all ruined by a crown of golden curls, broad shoulders, his musky stench, that ugly tattoo… It doesn’t make any sense to him still, but now whenever he thinks about how firm and strong Billy was, bumping up against him on the court, the way he almost admired Steve in the showers right before calling him a pretty boy, and his voice when he said it… it’s all too vivid now. Whenever there was a moment for it, his idle hands would slowly find their way past the border of his briefs, but after only a few strokes of his half chub he’d pull back with a loud and exasperated sigh.

Come Monday morning and he’s sitting in his car, hands gripping too tight around the steering wheel, students flocking to the front doors of Hawkins High. Yet somehow through the mess of reluctant teens, Steve still manages to spot Billy without even really thinking about it, like a gorgeous needle in a hormonal haystack, jeans clinging to his sculpted ass, the fabric around his thighs looking about ready to tear-

Steve shuts his eyes, squeezing till it becomes uncomfortable in an attempt to forget that he knows what Billy looks like naked; how freckles dust across his features everywhere, how smooth he is, how he’s oh so perfectly waxed-

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit.” Of all things that could have happened, Steve sporting a boner at school wasn’t rare but definitely the worst. Especially given the subject of his all too sudden desires. 

He had never cared to think twice about Billy when he wasn’t around, and now he’s the only thing on his mind. He can’t go in there like this, can’t face him like this, Steve’s body is too sensitive to even the slightest hint of Billy apparently. 

And he’s not going to jerk off in his car, that’s just… sad.

The fact that he makes it all the way home without a single speeding ticket is just dumb, lazy luck, and that he makes it to his bedroom before jerking off for the second time today is just impressive. At least he can still show some self restraint.

But only a little.

For when he’s done and ashamed of it all, he sluggishly drags his feet toward the shower, where as soon as the hot water hits his skin, he’s reminded of the locker room at school. And he’s reminded of all the times he has caught Billy stealing glances, only for those crystal blues to flee once they’ve been caught, maybe spit out a little toxic comment that’s barely heard in passing.

As he now looks down at his fully hard dick once more, yearning to a certain someone’s attention here in the nude, Steve closes his eyes only to be met by the prideful, girthy cock that even when flaccid Billy struts around with like he’s the king.

His lips pursed around a cigarette. His hands as they grasp the ball at practice. His fingers so nimble whenever he plays with a pencil in class. His smile that he flashes to all the girls. His tongue out to swipe as he grins at Steve.

“Fuck, ah-” he bites into his one hand as he cums into the other, white clashing with the pink of the bathroom tiles. And another, “Fuck!” as he slams the side of his fist against the wall of the shower.

Barely an hour passes before he’s hard and ready again, lying on the couch with old reruns of whatever on the tv, his eyes glued to the pics Billy has posted everywhere for his own conceited ego’s sake, and the hundreds of likes and comments he gets, of course.

But it’s hard not to like what you see, when you’re faced with self-confidence like this, and well earned at that considering his Adonis looks and frequent exercise routine. It wouldn’t shock Steve if he found out that Billy could lift him without breaking a sweat.

Actually it thrills him far too much to even consider, as he watches a video on instagram of Billy benching far more than what Steve weighs, and all the blood rushes into his already eager erection at such a speed he gets a little dizzy.

He almost misses the doorbell ringing in his intense, almost stalker-y field of view, and who the fuck even rings anyone’s door at almost 1pm on a Monday. A sigh and rubbing his eyes prepares him for the inevitable greeting of either mormons or jehovah's witnesses, or maybe he’s lucky to meet a travelling salesman who’s got a cure for crushing on people way outside your league.

The bell rings several times as he walks up to the door, and even after opening it up to the warm summer weather, it takes Steve several long seconds before he realises who’s standing there, toothy grin and denim clad with an arm up on the doorframe.

It hits him like a bullet to the heart, the shock of finding billy Hargrove here, in front of Steve who’s barely dressed and-

Billy’s eyes hone in on the obvious tenting of Steve’s green boxers, and that grin spreads into the widest, flashiest smile that Steve has ever possibly seen.

“Is that for me?” he drawls out, lustful and daring.

And it sets the poor trust fund kid aflame, his heart pumping so fast and hard he feels it pulsate in his dick. The blood rushing away from his brain must be making him dumb, because the only seemingly obvious reaction Steve can sort out is reaching for Billy and kissing that smug look from his face.

It doesn’t take Billy long to get in on it; he pushes his way through the door and closes it behind him, strips clean of his denim jacket before tugging off Steve’s shirt. It all happens so fast he can’t even follow, the taste of Billy’s spit and the feel of his teeth biting disorients him to a point where he can barely answer the question,

“Where’s your bedroom?”

With, “Upstairs and to the left.”

Suddenly they’re on his bed, the memory of them stumbling up the stairs as they undressed distant and nearly gone, as the throbbing of his cock has never felt louder than in this moment.

Of all the girls he’s been with, being with a man is… different. He’s nervous, almost nauseous with it, yet has never been more excited, turned on, or harder in his entire life. Hands are everywhere but where he desires them as they push him into the covers, smoothly runs up and down his chest and abs then all the way up to cup his jaw. His face feels wet with kisses and how eagerly Billy licks his lips to taste everything.

It’s a rushed mess yet it doesn’t go fast enough.

“Touch me,” he whispers without thought as he tries to keep up with Billy’s pacing.

“Yeah? Want me to touch you, pretty boy? Touch your hard, long cock?” Billy’s tone almost cruel and rough at the seams, his hands going down to grip Steve’s hips with near brutish strength.

“God yes,” Steve moans at the slight pain, “I want you to touch me so fucking bad- jerk me off, please.”

“Please?” Billy barks out a laugh at that, “Those bitches you fuck into all that nicety? Please and thank yous.”

“They love it,” Steve says with confidence that can only come from personal experience.

But it only makes Billy laugh more as he pulls away. He sits up on his knees, cock hard and thick where it stands at attention between his muscular thighs. “That won’t work with me, princess. Don’t gotta ask like a good guy for me to fuck you, just say it and I’m here.”

“How easy of you,” the words are out before Steve even thinks about it. The rivalry they have is still new and fresh, it can barely be helped, and for a moment he fears that he has ruined the moment.

Yet Billy doesn’t move away. He slowly licks along the arch of his upper lip, something deep and primal in the way he stares, and a hand runs through his golden locks to push them away from his irritatingly handsome face.

“Look who’s talking.”

In a rush that seems natural to Billy, he flips Steve onto his side before laying down behind him and pressing the head of his wet dick against the crevice of Steve’s thighs.

“Wait!” Steve almost shouts as the churning of his stomach makes him sick with worry about the more technical functions of… this.

“Don’t worry baby,” Billy’s voice all of a sudden like silk, a range so odd and unfamiliar compared to his normal boisterous attitude, “I’m not gonna pop your cherry the first time we do this. You got me too excited for that, don’t wanna wait while I prep you like you deserve,” he whispers against the shell of Steve’s ear, and it eases every single worry he had.

“Oh…” The pent up nerves in his stomach vanishes, like a knot coming undone, every single muscle in his body relaxes into the sheets.

Well, almost every single muscle.

“Yeah, oh,” Billy chuckles and rubs his nose against the back of Steve’s neck, kissing his back. “I can be a nice guy, too. You don’t gotta worry bout a thing, just let me take care of you.”

Today has been… a long, confusing mess. From the boner he woke up with after dreams of Billy, to the one in his car, the one in his shower, the one on the couch, to the way Billy so rudely shoved his way into Steve’s personal space, up the stairs, onto the bed. Rude and hectic from their first kiss till now. Now he’s… nice? Steve feels a fool for falling for it, but at least he’s aware as he lets down his guard and allows for Billy to… do whatever he pleases.

Is this how girls feel whenever a hot guy is nice to them? Whenever Steve is nice to them? Doesn’t feel like the worst thing in the world.

So he nods and hums a light agreement.

“Good,” Billy hums, too, and it makes Steve’s skin crawl in the best way possible; the shivers down his spine almost delightful as they go straight to his dick.

And when Billy gently pushes his heated flesh in between Steve’s thighs, the wet pre lubing up the skin perfectly, it’s weird and foreign, but also impossibly erotic and thrilling, and suddenly all Steve can think about is how Billy’s cock would feel inside of him.

It’s no lie that that’s something he’s thought about before - not necessarily with Billy mind you, just in general when sliding into a soaking wet pussy, he’d often get almost lost in thought about what that feels like, and if this is any indicator of it, he’s even more eager for it now.

So eager he can’t help the long, breathy moan that escapes him as Billy moves into his embrace till they’re lying flush together.

“That good huh?” Billy whispers from behind, and Steve can only imagine the self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Rather than responding he moves, closing his legs tighter and grinding back against Billy, as to test his own boundaries with all of this - which has been something of a win, considering he really went from his first kiss with a guy to this within ten minutes or so. And the way Billy groans all pleasant and pushes harder into their meeting of skin jolts through Steve’s cock like a bolt of lightning making him spurt out pre.

“Yeah, keep your legs just like that,” Billy speaks uncharacteristically soft as he moves one hand down, his burning hot palm smoothly moving over a thigh and staying there for leverage, as he starts rocking back and forth. In and out. 

Steve’s breath stutters and he can’t help but put a hand over his mouth. It’s not uncommon for him to be overly vocal and enthusiastic during sex, but this felt… almost embarassing, the kind of blithe and soft coos and moans rather than deep, throaty groans making his cheeks red.

“Don’t do that.” Billy moves his hand up to grab Steve’s and intertwines their fingers. “I wanna hear you. Let me know what I do to you.”

His cock throbs with urgent need at those words. Such a deep, baritone voice that excites Steve to a fever pitch, his body burning up where sweat gathers down his back between them. It’s gross and stimulating all at once, as Billy thrusts between his wet thighs and holds him close, he feels like a virgin again.

And maybe that’s why Billy is treating him so kindly. Not that he disagreed with the fervor earlier, how crude it was to be manhandled like that, but this? This gentle rocking of their bodies as they together find harmy in the rhythm, it’s intoxicating. Steve barely even notices when his own hand sneaks down to wrap around his hard length, so lost in the moment he can’t think straight, can’t stop the sighs and moans that spill from his body as he melts into Billy’s embrace.

“That’s it,” Billy speaks softly like summer rain, “God you’re so fucking hot. Can’t tell you how long I’ve admired you in secret, thought about every single mole and freckle as I jerked off at home. This is all I’ve wanted for so long, I thought I was dreaming when I saw you on the app.”

Steve wants to respond, wants to say something like, “How do you think I felt when we matched,” but his mind is a fog of euphoria, barely able to even hear what’s being so dearly and honestly said as he can’t focus on anything other than the slickness of Billy’s cock hitting the back of his balls, nudging him closer and closer to the edge with every thrust.

“Your thighs are so nice and soft, clenching around me just right, arh, you feel so fucking good, princess.”

When Billy speeds up, Steve naturally follows along.

“I’m so close.”

Steve, too. The pent up feeling that’s been quickly building to an unbearable pressure point is becoming too much, hot and ecstatic like a volcano waiting to erupt.

“Wanna cum between your legs so bad, baby.”

“Ah- please,” Steve finally finds words and it comes out like a pathetically needy little whine.

He wants to wait- wants them to cum together like he’s seen on porn as fake as that might be, but it’s a sudden and rampant thing, blinding him with fireworks behind his screwed shut eyes. A feeling that can’t possibly be expressed in any other way than a loud, prolonged, almost shocked moan, as he cums into his own hand that he jerks with ardent intensity.

Whilst not simultaneous, Billy is not far behind; urged on by Steve’s alluring keening he sped up his thrusting and grinding like he’s in a race for the finish line himself. And it would be kinda humorous if it wasn’t so hot how hard he slams into the gathering of warm, soaked flesh. Oh how he pounds into Steve with all his sweaty might, grunting and groaning till he cums with a loud and lustful moan, his hand still holding on to Steve’s with a near crushing passion to it.

And then there’s silence, as they breathe out together, muscles relaxing, dicks flaccid and sticky with cum. It’s warm and nice and cozy, but it’s hard to enjoy for Steve.

Is Billy actually this nice, or was it just a play to get off? Did he do to Steve what he does to every other bitch that he gets with? What now? What’s next? Are they gonna be a thing or just friends with benefits? Wait, are they even friends? Fuck buddies maybe? All the thoughts that he didn’t have time to be anxious about before comes rushing in fresh and clear in a post-climax-clarity moment, and it stirs the pit in his stomach alive again.

When Billy squeezes his hand gently, and asks, “What are you thinking about?” whilst nuzzling into the nape of Steve’s neck, kissing him lazily as if almost asleep.

It… helps. The thoughts aren’t gone per say but they’re in the distance now, and all it took was a simple question- a sign of caring.

Steve turns around in bed to look at Billy’s drowsy expression, before answering, “Thinking about taking a shower. You wanna come with?”

Billy’s nose furrows and wrinkles as he peeks out past ruffled curls. “Can’t we stay like this a bit longer?”

It makes Steve’s heart beat different.

“Sure.”

[hansoulo]

whisper scarcely breathing

part four of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse

Word Count: 6.1k

Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader

A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦

༓ series masterlist ༓

The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.

You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”

Did he, now?

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”

The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”

Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.

You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.

The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.

Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.

Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.

In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.

But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.

BF-18378-3263827

You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.

When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.

There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.

The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?

Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.

Boba Fett was not much of a talker.

Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.

And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.

The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.

It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.

You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.

One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.

“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”

Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.

He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”

Makes me want… want…

Want what, Princess?

Want you.

You can have me.

The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.

It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.

You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.

He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.

What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.

You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.

And yet…

You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.

And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.

Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.

hi

Hello

are you busy?

In a way

how so

Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor

poor thing

Don’t get soft on me now

wasn’t talking about you

Very funny

I’m very, very sorry

Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit

… show me?

⫸———————————————— ⫷

BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS

SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM

Your damp hands tremored.

YES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.

You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.

But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.

You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.

You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.

And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.

The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.

Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.

Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.

In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.

The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.

“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.

Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.

His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.

He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”

A soft whimper left your throat.

Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.

The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.

“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.

Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver.  “M’not.”

“And stubborn.”

You glared at him, but it held no real venom.

“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “—any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”

“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.

You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”

He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”

Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”

You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.

Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.

Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.

You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?

Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.

 “Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”

“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.

He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”

“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.

Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.

It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”

Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”

You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of  strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.

Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.

But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.

Had been, anyway.

He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.

You were going to destroy him.

Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.

Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.

So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.

When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.

He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.

His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”

Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.

A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.  

If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.

Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”

Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.

Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.

The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.

You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.

“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.

The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.

His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”

He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.

He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."

The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.

He liked being known by you.

⫸————————————————⫷

You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.

A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”

For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.

He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.

Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.

Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?

Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.

He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.

He was going to ruin you.

“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.

Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”

“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”

His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.

“Goodnight, princess.”

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dreaming about him.

He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.

In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.

Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.

Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.

You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.

But this was different.

When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.

All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.

“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.

“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.

“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.

You. Just you.

“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.

“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.

There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.

This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.

"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"

"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."

You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.

"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.

Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.

“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.

Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

You understood now.

Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting.  “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.

You were dying.

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.

You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.

“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.

“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”

He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.

You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”

Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.

“D’you want to?”

Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.

You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”

Thank goodness for modern medicine.

⫸————————————————⫷

It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.

He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.

It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.

You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.

The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.

In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.

Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.

But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⫸————————————————⫷

The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.

“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.

A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.

Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.

He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”

Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.

But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.

[odos-bucket]

More Protective!Batdad Fic, With the Pretense that this is a Series Mostly Given Up

They’re returning to the cave after Robin’s first night out since the start of Tim’s parents’ most recent stay in the city. It had been a routine patrol, made noteworthy only by the return of the boy wonder. They’d gotten into a bit of a scuffle with some muggers towards the end of the night, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle, and they had both come away from it unharmed. At least that was what Bruce thought at the time. And he paid pretty close attention to things.

But when the domino mask comes off he can clearly see where Tim has a black eye, and a bruise blooming over his cheek.

“What happened?” He leaves his cowl and gloves on the computer, and takes a few steps closer to where Tim is fishing his civilian clothes out of a bag.

“Huh?” Tim bunches up the shirt he’s holding into a fist, and his eyes dart around for a moment without settling on Bruce. “Oh.” Fingers of his free hand fly up to hover over his injured cheek. “Thief got in a lucky shot.” His voice is a fraction of an octave higher than usual.

Bruce’s eyes automatically narrow as he begins his mental recall of the events that had transpired less than twenty minutes prior.

“I didn’t see you get hit,” he says slowly.

Tim just shrugs.

The bruise is too dark to be less than half an hour old anyway. It had to have come from sometime earlier in the day. It had been hidden beneath the mask though, and they’d both already been in full costume when they’d met earlier that evening.

Before Bruce can say anything else, Tim is ducking into a private alcove to finish getting changed. He’s a bit slower at it than usual, and Bruce wonders if that could be indicative of other hidden injuries, or if Tim is just drawing it out to avoid further scrutiny. Several minutes go by, and he finally clears his throat.

“Tim?”

“Just a second.” The words come out quickly.

Bruce goes to change himself, only to find that Tim still isn’t out by the time he’s finished and returned. He knocks gently on the wall that’s partitioning off the section of the cave where he’s changing, and hears a soft startled gasp, before Tim’s scurrying out.

“Yep! Sorry! Sorry! Just a little spaced.”

“Tim.” Bruce hopes his voice sounds gentle. “What happened?”

“What do you mean? I told you-“

“Don’t lie to me. That didn’t come from just now.” Bruce pauses and sighs. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Tim shakes his head.

“I won’t tolerate you hiding injuries from me.”

“I’m not.”

They stand looking at each other for several drawn out, silent seconds.

“Were you patrolling on your own?” Bruce asks after a minute. “I’m going to find out if you-“

“No.” Tim sounds even less like his normal self when he cuts in. “I promise I wasn’t.”

“All right. So what is it? Did something happen during the day?”

As much as Bruce wants to know about it if Tim’s getting into fights at school, or somewhere else, he recognizes that it may not be his place to intervene if this wasn’t vigilante related. That’s fine (at least so he tells himself) but he’d like assurance that someone’s looking out for his Robin.

“Is it something you can handle with your parents?” He tries.

Tim’s eyes widen for half a second, and then he bursts into tears.

Bruce briefly freezes, before returning to himself and rushing to Tim’s side.

“I’m so stupid,” Tim is muttering, barely discernibly. “I’m sorry. I was so stupid.” The words barely come out between bouts of gasping, shuddering sobs.

Bruce wants to beg him to tell him what happened, but settles for reaching out a careful arm, and slowly pulling him close. Tim freezes for a fraction of a second, before melting into his side, continuing to mumbled unintelligibly.

“It’s all right,” Bruce tries to sooth, very aware that he doesn’t really have the voice for that sort of thing. “You’re okay.” He desperately wishes that he could offer some more specific reassurances, but he still doesn’t know what’s going on. “I’ve got you,” he settles for, running a hand through Tim’s hair.

They stay like that for a while, Tim crying, and apologizing, and Bruce telling him it’s okay, and wishing he could be sure that it was true. Eventually the tears dry up, and the breathing evens out, and the tense body beside his goes limp with exhaustion. Bruce doesn’t let go, not until he feels Tim starting to shift around restlessly. And even then he stays close enough to be easily collapsed into again, should the need arise.

“I messed up,” Tim says, after a few false starts.

“Whatever it is, we can fix it.” A ridiculous promise, and one that Bruce normally wouldn’t be making without more information. But somehow- without Bruce meaning to allow him to- Tim has joined the narrow ranks of those capable of inducing him to speak or behave a-procedurally.

Tim shakes his head.

“Tim, I want to help, but you have to give me something to work with.”

Tim is too focused on keeping his eyes dry, and his breathing steady to respond.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Bruce forces himself to offer, forces himself to remember that this child isn’t his, doesn’t need him the way the other robins did.

Another sob escapes Tim, and he buries his face in his hands. There’s a pang in Bruce’s chest as he realizes what he has to ask next.

“Did something happen at home?”

The question is met with heavy breathing, followed by a drawn out silence, and then, finally, a slow nod.

Bruce forces down his rising anger, as Tim finally gathers himself to speak.

“I don’t know if they want me to go back.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper. “Dad was so mad at me.”

Fury coils in Bruce’s gut, and lies in wait for his next question to be answered.

“Did he do this?” He gestures to the black eye.

“It’s never happened before,” Tim rushes to say. “Nothing like this ever has.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Bruce practically growls. Tim, to his credit, seems entirely unaffected by the intensity of the tone.

“I started it,” he says.

“… There’s no way that’s true.”

“Bruce,” Tim chokes out, leaning back into him.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Bruce pulls him close like he could absorb Tim into himself, like if he holds him tightly enough he can keep him safe- as if he’s actually capable of keeping any child safe. This will never happen again, he wants to say, I won’t let it. His mind is racing. He doesn’t want to let Tim back into that house, doesn’t want to let him out of his sight really. He’s never been able to fathom how the Drakes can have this selfless, determined, brilliant child in their care, and be so willing to spend all their time away from him. He’s been wary of them from the beginning. But he never imagined that they could pose this kind of danger to their son.

“This is so stupid,” Tim grumbles into Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce can’t disagree, though he’s a little worried that they aren’t on the same page about what exactly that means.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Tim continues after a minute. “I thought- I thought things were going well!”

“Telling me was the right thing to do,” Bruce says quickly. “If somebody’s hurting you- no matter who it is-“

“That isn’t what I mean.” He takes a deep breath, and leans back a little bit.

Bruce watches patiently, as Tim calms his nerves, and steadies himself.

“I… told Mom and Dad about Connor,” he breathes. “Not the alien clone thing, obviously. But, I told them that I was seeing someone- a guy- and I don’t even know why I did it! In the back of my head I knew there was no way it was going to go over well. I knew that. I was just, I don’t know, feeling happy, and okay for the first time in a while. So I thought-“ He shakes his head. “I mean I didn’t think; that was the problem. And Mom reacted the way I knew she- the way I should have known she would. And I got mad, and I started yelling at her, and Dad, when I yelled at her, Dad, that’s when he- he…”

Bruce’s heart breaks. It’s not like he’d imagined that Jack Drake would have a good reason for lashing out at his son, but this was nothing.

“I’m still not hearing anything that you did wrong.” He forces himself to stay calm.

“Trying to come out to them was dumb! I didn’t need to do it. They were leaving soon anyways, it shouldn’t have mattered!”

“No. They shouldn’t have hurt you,” Bruce says fiercely. “This is part of who you are, so it should always matter. It’s not stupid to assume that people who are supposed to care about you would want to know more about what’s going on in your life. Tim, you did nothing wrong.”

He runs a hand up and down his back, like he’d done when Dick had nightmares as a child.

Tim glances at him out of the glassy corner of his eye, and scrubs his hands roughly over his face, before mumbling something that Bruce doesn’t catch.

He waits for a beat, before quietly asking if Tim will repeat himself.

“They don’t want me coming around here anymore,” he says more clearly, voice suddenly empty. “They- they saw that interview you did a couple years back, where you came out as bisexual.” His face is tinged pink, ashamed to even be repeating his parent’s words. “So they think that I, I don’t know, caught it from you, like it’s contagious or something. But I didn’t know where else to go! And I- I don’t want to give this up…“ He gestures broadly to the cave around them as hiccuping breaths overpower his speech.

Bruce just holds on as Tim continues to cry, softly repeating that he didn’t do anything wrong, carefully keeping the furious voice raging, ‘those bastards won’t take you away from me,’ under wraps. He doesn’t let himself think about every other instance of his sexuality being cited as a factor making him an unsuitable guardian that he’s committed to precise memory, the vicious arguments that his children should be taken away from him, the fact that if he hadn’t been born so lucky in so many other ways they might have been. Tim doesn’t need him to be angry, Tim needs him to be smart.

They wait out the tears again, until they’re not falling so heavily, and Tim is shuddering occasionally, rather than continuously, and can compose himself enough to speak.

“I didn’t mean to dump all this on you,” he says once he’s mostly calmed down.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bruce threads his fingers through locks of lightly tangled hair. “I’m so glad you told me what happened. You’re going to stay here tonight, okay?”

Tim is with them often enough when his parents aren’t around that they already have a room made up for him, a room which after less than a year has come to show more evidence of his personality than his bedroom at the Drake’s mansion.

Tim nods.

“Thank you.”

Bruce squeezes his shoulder.

“Do you still have pajamas here? Or do you need to borrow a pair of Dick’s?”

It’s something easy in a moment where everything feels impossibly difficult.

“I brought them with me when I went home.” His breath catches on the last word, and it only half comes out.

“That’s all right. Dick won’t mind.”

Now it’s just a matter of getting themselves upstairs. There will be more to worry about tomorrow, much more, and it will undoubtedly only increase in the days that follow. Bruce will have to figure out whether or not Jack and Janet Drake are looking for their son, and he can’t quite decide which the worse option is at this point. He’ll also need to make sure he understands what exactly is within his power to do to keep Tim safe. Bruce stops himself before he can begin preparing for the future too obsessively. He brings himself back to the present moment, stairs, pajamas, bed, all very manageable tasks.

He just really doesn’t want to let go of the child in his arms. The realization that Tim might need him more than he thought is overpowering, making him feel violently protective, and a little bit terrified.

Some of the strain of the moment breaks when Tim uses the side of Bruce’s arm to stifle a yawn, but it’s still a little while longer before they’re ready to head upstairs.

When they do, Tim wanders up to his room, where Bruce hopes he’ll find easy rest. He stays awake and finds Alfred. There’s a lot they need to talk about.

[murderousginger]

Tuck A Knife With My Heart

Polly Gray x Aberama Gold

Word count: 920

Warnings: They're criminals, guys, they do bad things.

Note: This idea has been kicking around my head for a while. I'm not sure if it's a story exactly, or just a love letter to an iconic couple.

She stretched languidly in his arms before untangling herself from him to walk to the bathroom. He watched her naked frame in the fireplace light as she floated like a spirit across the floor. 

"I can feel your eyes, Aberama," she chastised as she went through the doorway.

"My eyes will have to do until you return to my bed," he said, a quirk of a smile appearing on his face. "I was only marveling at the regality of a gypsy queen in all her glory."

He stretched before he propped himself up against the pillows, waiting for her sharp eyes to fall on him again. 

"I heard that you have got second sight," he said. "I heard that you speak with the dead."

Polly watched him closely, looking for disbelief in the corners of his eyes. She found none.

"Yes," she said simply. "Your wife's often around you. She watches you."

"Is she here now?"

"She left," she said with a smirk. "She doesn't think you should trust a Shelby. She doesn't like me."

"She never liked competition, my Annie," Aberama said as he stoked the fire. 

"Her fears are not unfounded."

"My mind was made up long ago," he said as he reached for her. "If I die by your hand, it was a worthy way to go."

"Stay under the stars with me a little more," he cajoled as he held her near the fire hours later. "Better yet, let's make this our bed for the night. A gypsy queen and her faithful servant need no walls."

Polly smiled into the fire as she squeezed his arm that wrapped around her. 

"I am not as young as I used to be," she playfully chastised. "And a queen deserves a bed."

"My queen deserves the world," he said as he kissed the top of her head. "But if you'd rather have blankets of wool rather than stars, I can give you that."

Aberama took her to a tiny cabin nearby, clutching her hand like she would disappear into the dark otherwise. She immediately started another fire in the fireplace, breathing warmth into the dusty room. The fire illuminated the humble place, with only a bed and a small bathroom the only other room in the cabin. 

"This isn't yours," she said as she sat back from the fire and looked up at him.

"I never said it was," he said, holding his hand out for her. 

She took it and let him lift her back to her feet and into his kiss.

"You've seen a woman naked before, I trust," Polly said as she walked back over to the bed and sat next to him, pulling a cigarette from her clothes pile and lighting it as it lay between her lips.

"Aye," he said. "But not a queen. Most women take the sheet with them to the bathroom, or scamper; they cover their body when the act is over like there's something to be ashamed of in the light."

"But you," he pressed his lips into her shoulder as she blew out a steady stream of smoke into the air in front of them. "You walk unafraid of anything. A spirit that refuses to be sheepish. Too self-assured for such trivial thoughts."

"You've already seen me," she answered. "And I you. There's no scar that differs in the light or the dark. No change in the color of the soul."

"And what a beautiful soul you are," he said as he ran a finger up her arm to her shoulder and finally across her collar bone.

Polly rolled her eyes but a smile escaped her lips as she exhaled another bout of smoke. She stubbed the cigarette out on the headboard before she rolled onto Aberama in one fluid motion, her hands on either side of his face. He did not flinch. Instead, he leaned forward to kiss her but she leaned back just far enough to be out of reach. 

"This space is liminal," she whispered into his mouth. "Time and the world around us is far away. There is no war. There is no debt to be paid. Only the two of us."

"And how I would love to stay here forever," he said, straining forward as she kept herself just out of reach.

"Maybe," she said as her hands cupped his face. "But that is not the purpose of a place like this."

She kissed him softly, slowly; a wave overwhelming his senses with every steady push and pull under the moon. He was lost. There was only this room. Only her. 

She broke the kiss and his eyes opened, and it was then that he felt the cold metal against his throat. She had found the knife under his pillow.

"Even though this space is liminal," she said. "Even though your knives can't kill me, if you use them against someone I love when we leave this space I will make sure you never join your wife in the afterlife. Instead, you'll wander lost just as you have in life."

"I have no hesitation that someone as lovely and dangerous as yourself would do just that," he answered, raising his chin. "I'm already lost in you, Polly Gray. You're the only beacon in the fog I've seen in years."

Aberama hesitated and licked his lips before pushing forward against the knife to meet her lips. He heard the knife clatter to the floor as he grabbed her face to pull her to him closer.

He might not have her forever, but he had her now.

[jincherie]

four’s company | rapline [m]

✘ — pairing: boxer!rapline x male!reader ✘ — genre: smut!, boxer au, poly au ✘ — wc: 6.4k ✘ — rating: 18+ ✘ — warnings: minor injuries (occupational hazard kind), smut: mxm, light (accidental) voyeurism, light hand kink, baby boy reader, sub/bottom reader, dom/top members, foursome, anal sex, protected sex (don’t forget to wrap ‘em, lads and ladies!), fellatio ✘ — notes: part of a fic exchange within the ghostie network, i’m sorry it’s late!!!!! please accept my humblest apologies!!! @bangtanloverboys​ here you go!! i hope it’s not too shitty!!!

If accidentally walking in on your three crushes in a heated moment, not once, not twice, but thrice isn’t enough to capture their attention, then you don’t know what is. You’re about to find out that you’ve had their attention for a while, though.

— posted; 02.01.2021 || masterlist

For what is far from the first time tonight, you feel the weight of a certain gaze.

Well, to be more specific, it hasn’t just been one gaze you’ve felt on you tonight. More like… three. 

You know who they belong to, unfortunately. It’s the same three people that you found in an… interesting situation earlier. On that was, no doubt, not meant for outside eyes. 

Well, you say that, but you feel like that’s just because you, yourself, are mortified. To be honest, the three boxers you found locking lips and making out in the locker room didn’t seem to be all that ashamed about it.

In fact, when they caught you in the motion of fleeing, they’d had the audacity to grin about it! 

Utterly humiliating. You haven’t been able to bring your gaze anywhere near them all day. To make matters worse, you couldn’t even flee to the safety of your home or anywhere similar, because there is a match tonight and you’re needed as a qualified first aid officer. 

Which brings you to the current predicament; sitting ringside and attempting to avoid the gazes of the three boxers seated on the side adjacent. Try as you might, it’s actually a struggle to keep your eyes on the current match. It’s a rookie night, and you feel extra bad since one of the people in the ring is actually a close friend. 

Though, perhaps you should demote Jungkook from ‘close friend’ status considering he is the reason you started working here and subsequently, had the opportunity to stumble upon a certain scenario this morning. Were it not for him and his stupid, pleading puppy eyes, you wouldn’t have a particular embarrassing image burned into the back of your eyelids.

You know that despite his rookie status, Jungkook is quite a naturally talented boxer. Perhaps that is part of the reason that your brain thinks it’s okay to let your eyes stray from the match instead of watching attentively as you’re expected to. The subconscious certainty that Jungkook can handle himself seems to be your undoing, because in a moment of inattentiveness your eyes manage to reach the area you’d been trying so hard for them to avoid. 

As you’d both feared and expected, they are in fact already looking at you. Well, one of the three. It is the piercing gaze of the club's current lightweight champion, Min Yoongi, that bores a hole into you right now. The two accomplices to his side aren't joining him in drilling their eyes into you across the room for now, instead leaning into each other as though they're whispering amongst themselves. 

There's something about Yoongi's eyes, dark and piercing, that seem to always root you in place no matter where you are. His expression, as it usually tends to be, is unreadable. It's a certain kind of neutrality that graces his features, thin enough that you can tell there is something behind it but too opaque for you to be able to discern exactly what. 

You don't even realise you're trapped in his gaze until the sounding of the bell snaps you out of the spell that seemed to be cast over you. Your head whips back around and you see the referee signalling the end of the bout, and just beyond him Jungkook is standing slightly bent over as he offers a hand to his opponent on the canvas. To your alarm, it is only now that you notice the blood dribbling down the man’s face. The reasonable crowd that has gathered is still cheering (Jungkook was quick to rise as one of the fan favourites) and it’s a wonder you can hear the referee’s call above the ruckus.

“Medic!”

That’s your cue. 

x – x – x 

 “You look kind of on edge, man. Are you alright?”

You’re almost too busy staring into your coffee in a borderline dissociative state to hear Jungkook as he calls for your attention. It has to be about the thirteenth time in the past half hour, but you can’t find the energy to be ashamed about it. Mostly because all of your shame and embarrassment are focused on other areas right now.

It had happened again. 

Is it just your luck? You don’t know whether to dub it as rotten luck, because you feel it would be a bit of an insult to the boxers you’d once more found in a suggestive situation.  But considering it good luck feels kind of sleazy, because although you’re embarrassed as hell, all things considered what you walked in on wasn’t a bad view—

No, that thought is stopping there. Any further and you’ll only incriminate yourself and you’ll have to dose yourself with another fresh shot of shame. 

Realising that you still haven’t answered the concerned-looking boy sprawled in the chair to your side, you offer him a non-committal grunt. It’s the best you can do while you take another moment to form actual coherent thought. 

“I’ve never been better,” you say, and immediately Jungkook lets loose an abrupt snort.

“You look like shit, so don’t bother trying to lie. Are you having trouble sleeping again or something?”

You survey him for a moment, touched that he remembers the insomnia that had ailed you for a few months a while back. “Actually, I’ve been sleeping pretty good the past few months.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, making you squint at him in question. “Oh, I’ll bet you have, considering the things you were saying in your sleep last time I stayed over.”

You simply look at him, wondering whether he’s going to be an ass and continue.  You don’t have to wait long for an answer.

“You were all like, ‘nngh, Namjoon,’ and ‘oh, Yoongi’, and then you said something about Hoseok too but I can’t quite remember, probably because it was so x-rated that my poor baby brain banished it from my memory—”

“Jungkook,” you cut him off, gripping the plastic spoon that came with your drink painfully tight. “Shut up.”

This is most definitely not the conversation to be having in the café barely a block away from the boxing gym where the two of you frequent, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to get the hint. Actually, you’re pretty sure he got the hint and he just doesn’t care enough to heed it.

“You really ought to do something about that crush of yours, bro. There’s three of them, so there’s three times the misery if you sit on your ass instead of—”

“Jungkook,” you attempt to warn him again, glaring slightly this time. You’ve scooped some of the whipped cream off of his plate of pancakes and hold the tip of the spoon back, threatening to fling it at him should he keep talking. 

“—doing something, you know? I’ve seen them practically undress you with their eyes enough times by now that I could fill out a diary with all the incidents I’ve witnessed. Plus, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how often they ‘hurt’ themselves as an excuse to see you? I really don’t think you have much to lose, especially with an ass like yours—well, it’s nothing like the cake I’m serving, but still, it deserves some praise—ACK!”

Ah, so he has chosen death.

You discard the now-empty spoon onto a napkin, taking a long sip of your drink. It seems Jungkook has engaged his ape brain more today than usual as instead of wiping the cream off his face like any normal human would, he’s attempting to reach it with his tongue. His chances aren’t good, to be honest; though you reckon your mutual friend Jimin would be able to get it from that distance. Dude has a tongue like a lizard. 

“You have Seven Days,” you tell him, struggling not to let a smile through as the amateur boxer whines, unable to reach the cream.

“You have seven days,” he grumbles sulkily, reaching with a begrudging hand for a napkin. “Do something or I’ll expose your ass.”

You roll your eyes, ninety-nine percent sure that he’s kidding.

… 

That other one percent worries you a bit though.

x – x – x 

You take back what you decided earlier— something is definitely wrong with your luck.

“And how did you hurt your knee again?”

“I tripped on the stairs.”

Jung Hoseok, the club’s current star welterweight boxer, sits before you in your little medical office. There aren’t any matches on today, but you’re on shift because the club members are doing some of the more rigorous training; there is an important few matches coming up for a few members, and they all want to be as prepared as possible. As tends to be the occupational hazard, training can often lead to injuries that need to be immediately attended to. 

You can’t say, though, that this is the type you were expecting when you rocked up today.

Hoseok is beaming at you, all sincerity and sparkles. There’s a slight bit of dark regrowth in his hair that catches your eye as you survey him, the crimson ends sticking to his forehead lightly from sweat. He looks every bit earnest and honest as he sits in front of you, but you can’t help but suspect him just slightly.

Because you’re not sure any of the club members have ever made their way to your office for a graze that wouldn’t even phase a kindergartener.

“Well,” you say, trying to ignore what Jungkook had said barely a day or two ago that floats back into your head now. “The good news is, it’s not fatal.”

Hoseok lets out a great, dramatic huff in relief. “Oh, thank god. I was so scared this might have been the end.”

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how often they ‘hurt’ themselves as an excuse to see you?’

Is that what this is? An excuse to see you? A look spared for the man before you leads you to conclude: probably not. He’s a little too radiant to be seeking out lil’ ol’ you.

“Not this time,” you say, rummaging through your small box of mismatched bandages. Finding what you’re looking for, you turn back around and begin preparing it to place it on Hoseok’s knee. “You live to see another day.”

Hoseok shifts like he’s about to say something in response, but cuts himself off with a surprised laugh when he sees the band-aid you put on him. “Wh—you have Minions band-aids?!”

“I reserve them for special patients,” you say before you can stop yourself, promptly clamping your mouth shut a little too late. Your cheeks… you just hope the heat gathering there isn’t obvious.

Something shifts in Hoseok’s gaze as he surveys you for a moment, before hopping from the bed, testing his knee out like he’d sprained it instead of scratching it. The look is gone before you can fully decipher it and he’s back to grinning brightly once more. 

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll have to come back often. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.” Hoseok’s smile adopts a slightly cheeky edge as he makes his way to the door, lifting two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute. “See you later, doc!”

Then he’s gone before you can return the farewell, door closing definitively behind him and leaving the room in silence. 

Are you going crazy, or did Hoseok— one of the three boxers you’ve happened to walk in on twice now—just return your light flirting?

… God, you hope it wasn’t because of the minion band-aid.

x – x – x 

You wish that visit had been an isolated incident, but you had a repeat of it at least twice a week. Each time Hoseok would rock up grinning at your door with some other minor injury, all but demanding a minion band-aid for his troubles. You gave it to him, of course, but you still hope he doesn’t remember you as the minion band-aids guy. 

Surprisingly enough, it isn’t only Hoseok that has been cropping up more often in your day-to-day. You’ve had a few surprise encounters with Yoongi, who lately has taken to giving you a sly, unreadable look before turning away, leaving you in your own confusion. Sometimes you’ll get carried away watching him or one of the other boxers practice, and before you know it he has caught you staring red-handed and you’re forced to flee the room to escape the smug, intrigued look that slips into his eyes. 

It’s after such an occasion that you find yourself in the main locker room, attempting to multitask by looking for a box of first aid supplies hidden in the top shelves and giving your face a chance to cool down. It’s taken you so long to even find the damn box that your embarrassment has all but evaporated by now. By the time your eyes lock onto the scuffed white box peeking over the edge of the highest shelf in the corner of the room, you’re more than ready to snatch it down and escape back to the comfort of your dingy little office. 

Of course, it couldn’t ever be so easy for you. Not given your recent string of poor luck. 

You don’t consider your height to be remarkably anything, and normally you don’t have that much trouble reaching the cookie jar on the top shelf in your apartment but for some reason the shelves in this building are built to cater to giants, and try as you might you simply cannot reach. You’re literally about to abandon the last of your dignity and attempt jumping for it, when there is a light scuff on the floor from behind you and then a firm warmth pressing into your back. 

In all honesty, your brain short-circuits. For a second you think you might have even blacked out, because it takes at least three seconds for you to realise what is happening, and by that time the figure has already retreated back from your form. 

Somewhat dazed, you turn around to see one Kim Namjoon, the clubs leading middleweight champion and the third and final member of those racy scenarios you happened to walk in on oh-so long ago. In his hands is the box you’d been struggling so much to reach, and on his face is a look that somehow blends sheepishness and amusement into one attractive cocktail on his features. 

“Here you go,” he says, and for a shamefully long moment all you can do is stand and soak in the lovely timbre of his voice. By the time you snap out of it, a small smile has begun to curl on his lips. You pointedly avoid looking at the dimples that are beginning to show as a result. 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you say, trying to make it as natural as possible as you reach and take the box from his hold. “Whoever put it up there seems to have a vendetta against me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he says, and there’s suddenly something a little secretive about the way he’s smiling. It makes you suspicious, and once more the words Jungkook prattled into your ear a week or so ago come rattling back into your brain. 

Is this something similar to what Hoseok had done? Did Namjoon put the box on a higher shelf?

“Are you calling me short?” For some reason, that’s what comes out of your mouth. There is a slight disconnect from what you said and what Namjoon had said previously, but he seems to make the connection. He tilts his head back and a rich laugh tumbles forth. It sounds nicer than you wish to admit to yourself. 

“Never,” he finally answers, grinning. “Though, feel free to come get me next time you lose against a shelf.”

Your mouth drops open in affront, but he makes a departure too quick for you to respond. His laughter echoes down the halls and you’re left reeling in your spot.

This isn’t what you expected to happen after walking in on a few intimate situations. In fact, this is quite the opposite.

What is happening?

x – x – x 

As the weeks go by, there are several big nights and several big matches. Hoseok and Yoongi, among a few others from the gym, emerge victorious. At this point you’re not too ashamed to say that you spent the entirety of their matches watching the way their muscles rippled as they dodged, swung and wove around the ring. If the last shred of dignity still clinging to you had disappeared, then you probably would have drooled like a dog. 

 The nights tend to go by weight classes, and the next upcoming night is to showcase the middleweight boxers. While Jungkook classifies for the class, as one of the newer recruits he isn’t the first choice for the match—much to his dismay.

It is approximately a week before this big match, in which Namjoon, one of the three men who live in your head rent-free these days, is participating, that you’re woken from your sleep and called into the gym.

It’s your night off, actually, so for you to be called in there must have been a pretty serious injury. You’re proven right when you enter the building and walk into the main room.

Before you can even assess the scene, Yoongi spots you and darts on over. He has a look on his face that you don’t think he’s ever sported before, and it fills you with a feeling of dread. It seems an appropriate feeling, considering what you see when you advance further into the room, towed by the frantic blonde who’d fetched you.

“Holy shit, what the hell happened?!” You dart forward, Yoongi’s grip slipping from your wrist as you move out of his reach. 

Namjoon is seated on the floor in a squat, cradling his left hand to his chest. A grimace twists his features, eyes glistening but face clear of tears. 

To your complete and utter surprise, the familiar tenor of Jungkook’s voice reaches your ears. You didn’t know he had stayed behind to practice tonight.

“We were leaving after practicing a bit later than normal, and some assholes drove past and picked a fight. I think—I think they were members from one of the rival clubs on the other side of the city but it was kind of dark and I didn’t get a good look.”

Your brows shoot up—that’s risky behaviour on their part, if it was actually members of a rival club that did this. Judges of this particular tournament don’t look kindly on foul play.

It would make sense if it’s true, though; a lot of local clubs tend to have boxers in the middleweight range, and Namjoon has emerged from enough matches victorious that he’s actually quite a threat. 

“Let me see,” you say, holding your hands out to Namjoon for him to rest his injured one in your hold. “Jungkook, go get the big tin box with the red cross from my office. Make sure it’s the one with antiseptic and bandages.”

You don’t even need to check he’s listened, because you can hear the frantic, obedient pattering of his feet fading away in the distance as you unwrap the blood-drenched towel from the hand in your hold. Namjoon’s busted up limb takes all of your attention the second you lay eyes on it properly, your stomach filling with an unpleasant, nameless cocktail of sensations. 

“Holy shit,” you say, unable to contain your wince.  “Tell me you didn’t get this from fighting them bare-knuckle.”

Namjoon has enough capacity for humour right now that he lets out a little huff. Yoongi fills you in before Namjoon has a chance. 

“No, though I almost did.” His expression is dark, the heat of his anger reaching you even when it’s not directed your way. “They were probably drinking before coming here, since they had a few bottles they threw into the mix.”

That explains the gashes you’re seeing on Namjoon’s palm— it seems he caught one of the bottles, though you’re not sure whether it was already broken or whether it broke on impact. Thankfully, from what you can see, the gashes and lacerations aren’t too deep and shouldn’t cause lasting damage, but they’ll definitely take a while to heal, and one or two of them look like they will need stitches. 

“Alright,” you begin, sighing softly. “I’ll do what I can to fix this up for now, but you’re going to have to go to the ER, because some of these will need stitches…”

You look up, reading the expressions of everyone in attendance and knowing that they have all reached the same conclusion regarding Namjoon’s immediate fate as a boxer.

“Sorry, Namjoon,” you start, watching his features crumble ever so slightly into a look of resignation. “This isn’t going to heal in time for next week, and you definitely won’t be able to train for a while.”

It’s just as you announce that, that Jungkook returns with your box of first-aid goodies. Hoseok, who has remained surprisingly silent the whole time this conversation has gone on, takes the box from his hold and delivers it next to you. Surprising all of you, Namjoon is quick to look up and pin Jungkook with a grin.

“Well, since I can’t participate—how do you feel about making your Big Boy Boxing Debut, Jungkookie?”

Your friend is rooted to the spot in shock for a solid few moments, before he snaps out of it and an excited if slightly nervous expression filters onto his face. 

“I will defend your honour, Namjoon!” he declares, saluting stupidly. “Count on me!”

Cheesy of him, but you can’t help the smile that tugs your lips. You just hope it’s not too late-notice for him, and that Namjoon’s injuries really aren’t that serious, as you surmise.

x – x – x 

 The week passes quicker than you anticipate, and before you know it, it’s the night of the big match—Jungkook’s first big match, that is. Namjoon had done his best over the days to coach Jungkook on the particular fighting styles of the opponents he normally faces, and to everyone’s pleasant surprise, Jungkook has picked it all up with ease. 

You’re more surprised to say that you’re not even that nervous, as you sit waiting for the match to begin. Jungkook stands in one corner, his opponent from one of the more renowned rival gyms in the other. You prepare to be on standby in case either boxer is injured enough to need aid, but cross your fingers that if anything at least Jungkook will be alright. 

In the blink of an eye, the match begins and the first bout kicks off. Jungkook’s opponent is slightly stockier, likely pushing the upper limits of the weight class, and is the first to make an offensive move. The familiar sound of cushioned gloves making impact rings in the air and you find yourself tensing in your seat as you watch the two interchange blows. 

It’s pretty much neck-and-neck for a majority of the bouts. Some of them go quick, and others seem to consist of the longest three minutes of your life. Still, the match goes on, and the night is filled with the siren song of the crowd and the ring of the bell.

After a night of close-call bouts and baited breath, Jungkook finally emerges victorious. 

Ever the fan favourite, the crowd that has amassed erupt into cheers as the referee declares the end of the final bout and Jungkook is held up as the victor. With the match decided, the club members that had been watching ringside burst up and swarm around the young boxer who brought pride to the gym on his very first big match. The three boxers that usually occupy your thoughts wriggle their way up there too, and it’s Hoseok’s bright tone that pierces the ruckus of the crowd.

“Drinks at ours to celebrate our victor, Jungkookie!” he caws, rubbing Jungkook on the back in something akin to pride. “Members of King Hit Gym, we better see you all there!”

You mightn’t be a technical member, but the way you suddenly feel three sets of eyes on you tells you that you’re still more than invited. 

x – x – x

It’s three hours since the end of the match, and you’re more than a little tipsy.

You can safely say that you haven’t ever been to the house where Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi live, but you’re nothing short of impressed. It’s a three-storey townhouse, with three rooms— presumably one for each of them, though from what you’d glimpsed on the way to the bathroom earlier only one of them appears regularly lived in.

It didn’t take you long to ponder exactly why, considering the things you’ve accidentally witnessed in the past month.

Most of your time tonight was spent celebrating with Jungkook as he made the rounds and received congratulations from the rest of the club members. Music thrums through the building, bass vibrating pleasantly through your chest every time you pass the expensive speakers in the living room.

You’ve paced yourself well, all things considered. All you had to do to avoid an early night ending in blackout drunkenness was steer clear of Jungkook whenever he made his way by the kitchen to refill— he’d learnt his mixing skills from Jimin, a verified alcoholic back in the day who spent his time in university trying to throw together his own signature cocktail with the same alcohol percentage as absinthe.

So you’re relatively proud of yourself to only be a little over tipsy at this point in the night. You can’t really say the same for the rest of the club members, though— even Jungkook has reached a point where he is stumbling and giggling. Which, of course, led to the event that splattered drink all over your shirt. 

You’re wandering up the stairs now, mind occupied with everything but what you’re doing as you absentmindedly seek the bathroom to clean your shirt. You haven’t seen any of the homeowners in a while, actually, which is kind of disappointing because you’re really longing for some eye candy right about now. They disappeared about ten minutes ago, and you figured it was just to socialise or maybe grab more snacks but you haven’t paid it much thought since then, and now you’re realising they hadn’t returned to the party yet. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, you pause for a moment to try and recall which room is the bathroom. There’s two of them, you remember being told, one ensuite and a main bathroom. There was also a third one on the first floor, but that was too far for you to attempt reaching it. Unable to remember which door is which, you simply decide to wing it and march on forward towards the first door to enter your line of sight. You’re pretty stable, but your head is kind of fuzzy, so your hand hovers by the wall as you walk just in case you stumble. 

Upon reaching the door in question, it takes you about a second and a half to realise the room you have reached is not the one you want, and another second for the shock to reach you.

Because, for the third time in a month, you have walked in on something you shouldn’t have. 

Except this time, you can’t seem to pull yourself away as fast as you should. 

It’s Hoseok and Namjoon tangled before you this time, in a position much more intimate than the last you’d seen. Their lips are locked, Hoseok straddling one of Namjoon’s thighs with one hand tangled in inky locks and the other rubbing over his crotch, where a prominent bulge makes itself known even to your eyes. Just when you remember that you should really be on your way, their lips break apart and Namjoon’s head tilts back, a sinful, velvet moan climbing from his throat as Hoseok leans to pepper it with kisses. It’s mesmerising, and you forget you’re even there as you watch the red-haired man’s hand climb up Namjoon’s stomach and then slip beneath the waistband of his jeans. 

You come back to yourself when you feel a familiar tightness in your own pants and a throb between your legs— of course, you’re hard. You’re too hazy-brained to even be ashamed of it right now. It does pierce through the fog, though, that you’re intruding on something you’re not meant to see. Like you’re trying to move limbs filled with lead, you start to drag your feet and turn around. 

You barely get a step in before you’re face to face with someone strikingly familiar, and your heart drops in your chest before kicking back into motion at double speed. 

“You always seem to enjoy watching, don’t you?” Yoongi’s question catches you off guard and puts you on the spot— before you can panic, though, his lips curl in a kittenish smile. “It’s alright, we already know you do, baby boy.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, stomach flipping giddily. Your eyes track it with surprising clarity as Yoongi’s hand— strong and sculpted and deliciously vascular, as you’d admired many times before— rises to caress your cheek, and he leans forward until his lips brush the sensitive skin of your earlobe.

“Why don’t you join us, this time?”

You find yourself nodding before you even realise it, but it’s definitely a decision you would make again any other day. 

You feel Yoongi smile against your ear, and then he is pressing a soft kiss to your cheek and pulling back. That same strong hand winds around your wrist and you’re tugged into the room, the door shutting behind you. The two on the bed barely bat an eye at the arrival of their third lover and an extra figure, merely smiling dazedly at the two of you. 

“Baby boy is finally gonna join us?” Hoseok asks, eyes lidded and dark to match the tousled look of his hair and clothes. His words are slightly slurred but the keenness to his gaze tells you he is still very much aware of everything he does. 

Yoongi hums in confirmation, coming up behind you to wind his arms lazily around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder. “Mhmm. Don’t stop on our account— why don’t you give him a bit of a show to start, hm?”

Hoseok needs no further prompting, a grin all you glimpse before he is diving back to crash his lips into Namjoon’s, hand moving inside his pants and eliciting a deep, throaty groan. It makes your own cock throb in need, and almost as though he reads your mind, Yoongi's voice sounds in your ear once more. 

“You already hard, baby boy? Like what you see?”

Something about the husky quality of the boxer’s voice makes a shudder roll down your spine, a light whine slipping from your throat. Yoongi presses soft kisses to the skin of your neck as you watch the two on the bed undress each other between heated kisses. 

“Want me to touch you, baby boy?”

As though possessed, your head begins nodding before you even think to act on the urge. Yoongi requires no further prompting; he begins to kiss and suckle along the column of your neck while his hands move— one creeps up beneath your shirt to flick a thumb over your nipple, and the other slips down, down, down beneath the waistband of your pants and boxers, until that hand you admire so much is slipping around your cock and squeezing just enough to make you gasp out a moan. 

Pleasure and desire wind together to mix with the tipsy haze in your mind, and you’re more than happy to surrender yourself to the current situation. Slowly, you’re urged over to the bed, eyes still locked on the pair occupied there as Yoongi’s hand works magic on your length. You don’t even bother attempting to stem the gasps and moans tumbling forth because you know at this point it would probably be futile. 

Hoseok has now stripped Namjoon entirely and is making his way down his body with his mouth, pressing a kiss against every inch of golden skin he can reach. Namjoon is quite generously endowed, and you can’t tear your eyes away as Hoseok finally reaches the apex of his thighs and begins to lavish attention to Namjoon’s flushed cock. 

You can feel Yoongi grinding lightly against you as he strokes your own aching member, the two of you observing the show before you with rapt attention. At some point you’re rid of your shirt and the air feels cool against your flushed skin, your upper body leaning back against Yoongi contentedly. The noises spilling from Namjoon’s throat are downright sinful as Hoseok’s mouth sinks down on him with practiced ease.

It’s almost too much for you, really. Almost sensory overload. You’re urged ever so slowly to the bed, and as you sit on the plush mattress you happily oblige as Yoongi begins to undo and remove the jeans that are now uncomfortably tight. Your boxers follow soon after and then you’re joining the other two in their nudity. As though sensing the change in plans, Hoseok pulls off of Namjoon’s cock with a ‘pop’, licking his lips and ignoring the whine in protest that Namjoon lets out. “In a minute, bubs.”

Yoongi leans over to the bedside table to retrieve lube and something else you soon realise to be condoms as he tosses them on the bed between him and Hoseok. 

“Are you alright with this?”

You turn at the sound of Yoongi’s voice, eyes meeting his own— though heady and full of desire, they’re also determined. You don’t doubt that if you say no, he will stop things here.

“Yes,” you confirm, and you watch as a smile pulls over Yoongi’s face.

“Excellent. Now, lean forward, baby boy. This might be a little cold.”

Without question, you allow him to shift and bend your body as needed, knees digging into the plush bedding. Tilting your head up, you manage to meet the eyes of Namjoon, who is in a similar position to yourself, just in time for you to gasp at the sudden cold sensation at your ass. 

You’d think by now you would be used to the feeling of lube— you’re immediately distracted from that though at the sensation of Yoongi’s finger beginning to toy around your asshole. You allow yourself to relax as much as possible, turning your attention to Namjoon and Hoseok and simply enjoying the sensations Yoongi is eliciting. 

Namjoon’s hand raises, cupping your cheek and dragging down ever so gently. Hoseok catches the movement and lets out a coo, eyes boring into your own. 

“Wanna kiss him, baby boy? Go ahead, he’s good at it.”

You don’t need to be told twice, and neither does Namjoon. You find Hoseok definitely isn’t wrong as Namjoon’s lips meet your own, the kiss quickly turning heated as his mouth moves against your own. He swallows down your moans as Yoongi’s fingers begin to stretch you slowly, one by one.

You lose so much time in the hypnotic motion of bodies against your own that before you know it there is a gentle yet firm hand against your shoulder pulling you back from the man before you. 

“Ready, baby?”

You nod, and soon after hear the familiar tear of foil before the head of Yoongi’s cock is pressing against your hole. You take a deep breath in, allowing your eyes to flutter closed as he begins to press himself in and stretch you open bit by bit. The burn isn’t particularly painful tonight, and to be honest sometimes you’re partial to the sensation. 

By the time Yoongi is fully seated within you, you’re almost panting, soft moans escaping unwittingly. Through the fog of pleasure currently addling your brain, you hear similar noises in front of you and realise Namjoon must be in a similar state. Unconsciously, your hand stretches out, seeking contact, and manages to entwine with the large, warm one you identify as Namjoon’s good hand. 

As soon as Yoongi receives the green light from you, he begins to move. The sensations of him dragging against your walls are enough to almost drive you mad, especially at the slow pace he’s set. It isn’t long before he picks up though, and soon rough the slap of his hips against your ass is one of the many sinful noises echoing in the room, muffled by the loud music still booming beyond the bedroom walls. 

“O-oh, fuck,” you moan, barely coherent enough to respond to Namjoon’s seeking lips. Absently, you hear Yoongi’s soft groans and low murmured praises, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Good boy,” he all but purrs, hand caressing down your spine before finding purchase at your hips. 

Time blurs and you’re wound so tight that it isn’t long before you feel yourself approaching that edge, your hand lowering to begin stroking your own cock again in an effort to reach your high faster. It’s one deep stroke that hits you in all the right places that is your undoing, and with a cry you’re cumming hard, spots appearing behind your eyes. 

The sudden tightness around his cock has Yoongi stilling, a low, drawn out groan sounding from his throat as he joins you in your high, throbbing inside you. Your arms are a little too weak to continue holding you, but he seems to be in tune enough that he notices and his own slip around you, easing you into his embrace as he adjusts on the mattress and hums into your skin. 

Namjoon and Hoseok aren’t far behind you, the two of them reaching their own end not long after. Namjoon flops against the bed, spent and Hoseok hops up to retrieve a bin and some wipes to clean up a bit before he too flops across the mattress, smacking Namjoon’s ass as he does and eliciting a brief whine in protest. 

“Well fuck,” you hum, staring absently at the ceiling. Yoongi snorts, pulling you closer, and like they all share a hive mind you’re very suddenly in the middle of a cuddle pile as the other two join in. 

“Beats just watching, doesn’t it?” One of them queries, probably Hoseok— you’re too tired to really discern it. 

“Mhm,” you respond, basking in content. “Four’s company, I suppose.”

There are a few hums of agreement, and then comfortable silence falls over the room. You find yourself smiling as you sink into the most content sleep you’ve had in a while, in the arms of the three boxers who have nestled their way into your heart one by one 

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi! I have an idea for an one-shot for fnati:

Although the reader was scared in the beginning, they now get along with Treasure Island’s inhabitants very well, except two.

Mascot PNM and Undying.

The reader is already unsettled by normal mascots, but really scared of these two.

Maybe something bad happens, or they are in a dangerous situation and they get help from the mascots. How would a situation play out where they get help from one of their fears? :]

I hope this isn’t too long, or much. Have a lovely day!

These two are my comfort characters aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ty!!!!

................

"Mascots..ugh..I can't stand mascots."

With a slight shiver, you switched the camera from the costume department to the kitchen. You didn't mind seeing whatever character was in there.

Anyone would be better than the mascots, specifically Undying and Photonegative Mickey. You never knew why you were so...freaked out by them, of all things.

Then again, normal mascots always scared you as a child. It ruined a few family trips to Disney but it's not like you could control your fears.

Seeing a character like Mickey Mouse as the size of a human, along with their static faces, just made you..uncomfortable.

You thought you've grown out of that fear until you encountered Undying in Pirate Caverns...and visions of someone trapped inside his suit, struggling to pull off his head. Then he started coming by your office, never speaking but just wandering around and breathing heavily.

It was odd because you were on friendly terms with the toons--who were far creepier in appearance. After helping them separate from the Hourglass amalgamation during you sixth shift, they let you work in peace, often stopping by the office to say hello.

Then came the update to your monitoring system that allowed you to alter their behavior through some unknown mechanism and meet new characters like Sparky, the toons' original suit forms, and...

That godforsaken Mascot Photonegative Mickey.

Unlike Undying, he could speak, but you were just as anxious seeing him on the cameras, holding some mallet. You'd rather not know if the stain on it were rust or blood.

In your heart, you didn't wanna be afraid of the mascots anymore. Hell, you became friends with aggressive toons like Pete faster.

If only you could work up the courage...maybe tomorrow night you will.

At some point during your shift, you heard the toons starting to talk over each other, but they sounded so garbled and jumbled.

It was like they were all in one place at the same time-

Wait.

Your heart sunk into the pit of your stomach when you realized that could only mean one thing. And as you checked the roof's camera, sure enough..

Hourglass was back.

"Oh no, no, no..why did they fuse again?" Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the beast closely, seeing that it was without a Mickey mask. Its actual face was human-shaped, with empty eye sockets and visible teeth--courtesy of Impurity.

Clearly something must have stressed the toons enough to merge like that. Getting them to separate the first time was a miracle in itself, even now they were still misshapen from that experience.

You just hoped they were okay and still remembered your friendship with them.

Or else this was going to be a very, very difficult night.

"I like your teeth".

Jumping at the voice that echoed throughout the whole premises, you checked the camera and saw that it abruptly left the roof, now nowhere to be seen. "Shit, shit, shit.." You scrambled to keep track of it, eventually calming down once you found where it went to.

"Okay so if it started on the roof then it must be taking...Face's path! So I gotta shut off the lights-"

"They won't be playin' that game anymore, bud."

Hearing the familiar hushed whisper, you slowly looked up and jumped in your seat, seeing the photonegative mascot looming over your desk. In a panic you scrambled to turn off the lights, but a white glove took your hand to prevent you from reaching it.

"Don't scream..he wants to help you, too."

"H-Help me?" You then looked to the hand's source, freezing as you gazed into the empty eyes of a certain 1970s mascot Mickey.

He stared back at you, raising his finger in a "hushing" motion before pointing towards the back of the office. As terrified as you were, you stayed silent and followed his gaze, shocked to see Hourglass right there.

The amalgamation seemed confused at the presence of the two costumes, but it just snarled at you. Clearly it was too unstable to recognize you as its friend.

Mascot brandished his mallet before looking back at you. "Hide."

Without question you ducked under the table just as Hourglass screeched and charged forward. You heard Mascot grunt as he slammed his weapon against the creature's jaw, after which it emitted a howl of pain.

"You oughta be ashamed of yourselves! Attackin' someone who brought light and joy back to this dark place! Why I oughta-!!!"

As the two fought, you sensed the presence of Undying under the table as well. Considering how still your whole body was, he wasn't sure if you were there and panicked slightly. But you, deciding to conquer your fear once and for all, tapped his shoulder to reassure him.

"I'm okay." You whispered, smiling as you realized how genuinely worried he was about you. He looked in your direction and seemed relieved, although you both tensed when the monitor was ripped off the table, crashing to the floor.

Then the table itself flipped over, and you saw Hourglass hovering over you with a grin. Undying got to his feet, ready to protect you with his life, but before anything else could happen-

The beast's head was struck from behind, looking comically dazed as it collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

You saw it was Mascot who saved you. "Welp, that did the trick." He huffed. Despite his suit being covered in ink spots, he seemed more concerned about cleaning off his mallet. "We can get 'em back to normal but..this is becomin' quite problematic-"

"Thank you...both of you. And..I-I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" He repeated, raising an eyebrow. Undying gave you a similar gaze as he helped you stand up.

"I've just been..afraid of mascots for so long. I barely talk to either of you, and yet...you saved me and spoke of how much joy I brought back to this place." Your smile grew as you laughed a bit, now finding it silly how you were ever afraid of these two.

"Hmm, well a little duckie told us how sweet you've been to everyone, so-"

"Wait..you understand Disembodied?"

"Sure do. He also told us 'bout your fear."

"...oh."

"But we knew you'd come around eventually." Mascot chuckled. "This ain't the happiest place on earth, but you make it a lil' more bearable for us."

"I'm glad." You breathed a sigh of relief for the first time tonight.

Finally, you've overcome your worst fear, knowing they were on your side, too.

[an-anticlimactic-bass-drop]

Tall Part 2/?

Prompt: Tech is too tall for his own good. Constantly hitting his head on objects and desks as he works on projects. The other bad batchers make fun of him for this but you find it endearing.

Tech X Reader

Slow Burn/ Angst

Warnings: Mild 1.11 Spoilers, Deviates from canon

Word Count: 1.5K

Part 2/?

partly inspired by this gif 

(it won’t let me put it in but its the one of tech catching omega)

Omega nudges you awake from where you are napping in the pilot’s seat. The small girl’s blonde head peeks over the arm of the chair as she looks out the window. 

“Look!”

The sounds of explosions and blaster fire are erupting from the city center a few klicks away. You quickly lean forward and start firing up the takeoff controls for the Marauder. You are sure your boys are the ones behind the explosions and you smile gently as you imagine Wrecker’s gleeful expression as you see a cloud of smoke rise into the air in the distance.  They can’t be too far off if the nearing sounds of blaster fire are any indicators. Omega rushes to the landing ramp as Hunter’s voice crackles in through the comms. 

“Omega! Get ready to bring the senator aboard!” Hunter sounds a little winded and Wrecker cackles in the background as another explosion rocks the tunnel they were in. You remember the new security system Tech put in place and shake the last cobwebs of your nap out of your mind as you recall the specifications that he had told you about before leaving. Your hands fly across the panels as you disarm the system and lower the landing ramp. You head to the ramp as Omega jumps up and down waving at the men as they trek towards the ship. 

“Ladies! Meet the newest passenger of the Havoc Marauder, Senator Avi Singh.” Hunter introduced you to the senator and you looked him up and down. The senator doesn’t look like he’s all that happy to be leaving his planet in the hands of the Imperials. Singh is wringing his hands and has a look of worry on his face. 

“I should not leave my people. They need me here!” The senator says quietly. Echo leans in with a hand on the senator’s shoulder. 

“If you stay here you will be hunted down and murdered. It is better to live to fight another day than to die unnecessarily.” The clone looks almost defeated as he tells the senator this. Singh’s shoulders slump forward as he takes one last look around his planet before boarding the ship, nodding in agreement at Echo’s words. 

The trip back to Cid’s bar was uneventful to say the least. The senator and his droid are quietly sitting in the cargo hold. You offered him a cup of caf earlier but he graciously declined. The men are scattered around the ship as hyperspace speeds by. Echo and Hunter are attempting to sleep in the bunks while Wrecker and Omega are playing Saabac on the box that functions as a makeshift table. You just poured yourself a piping hot cup of the precious brown liquid that keeps you going through bouts of insomnia caused by the nightmares and the general lifestyle of the Bad Batch. Wandering up towards the cockpit, you aren’t expecting to trip over Tech’s long legs that are stretched out into the aisle. 

“Kriff!” Tech curses as your cup spills slightly onto the top of his blacks. He slides out from the wall he was buried in and starts looking around for a towel to wipe the hot caf off of his shirt. 

“Sorry! I didn’t see you there!” You frantically bend down to help him. You grab one of his grease rags from the toolbox you notice off to the side and dab at the stain on his shirt. 

“No worries. I will be fine.” Tech strips off his shirt and you swear you can feel the temperature of the air heat up several degrees as you realize just how close you are to the taller clone. “There. No harm done. Would you mind putting this in the laundry for me? I need to finish this last bit of wiring before heading back to check on the flightpath.” You flush as you tear your eyes away from the bare chest of the man in front of you. 

“Hm? Sorry! I’ll just get right on that.” You hurry away with the stained shirt and a blush on your face. You left your cup of caf on the floor near where Tech was working. He let out a small chuckle as he steals your drink. Not his fault if you left it in your hurry. 

The ship lands back at Cid’s bar without incident. The senator thanks you all graciously and departs into Cid’s office to discuss payment. Wrecker and Omega not so sneakily sneak off to get Mantell mix and Echo follows them at a distance to make sure they stay out of trouble. Tech goes to the bar to get a drink and you sit beside him to discuss the mission. You flush as you think about the previous night on the ship and you clench your jaw to avoid licking your lips at the thought of the bare chest of the taller clone next to you. You aren’t ashamed to say you dreamed of the expanse of skin and what it might taste like while you were in your bunk after that episode last night. 

“Am I boring you? I can stop if you would like.” Tech looks concerned as you zone back into reality and realize you have been watching him with a blank expression for a beat too long. You blink in surprise as you shake away the untamed thoughts that have been plaguing your mind. You really can’t be anymore obvious in your crush can you? At this point you might as well have a giant sign that follows you around that says “This person has a crush on the tall nerdy one!” 

“No!” You exclaim a little too loudly and get some irritated looks from the other patrons of the bar. “Sorry I'm just distracted today. The mission has me a little rattled. I am not used to being that deep into enemy space.” You say in a quieter tone.

“We are also not used to it. I always knew we would make it to Raxus someday however I never thought about it being to save the seperatist leader. Echo was most displeased about the idea and protested greatly. I tried to convince him that it was just a job and we need to pay off our debt to Cid but he does not see it this way.” Tech seems saddened at his brother’s inability to see the mission without the politics. You can see Echo’s point of view and point out to Tech that Echo’s trauma probably makes it hard for him to trust the separatists seeing as they had kidnapped and tortured him for 2 years before he was rescued. 

“The Techno Union treated him like a computer! An algorithm! Barely even human! I really don’t blame Echo for not trusting the separatists. He has barely recovered from the trauma of being in that machine for so long. He is still really pale and frail and you haven’t finished working on his new limbs yet so he still has the prosthetics they forced on him. Speaking of which, if you need help working on those I am always available. He has every reason to be upset about this mission.” 

You are fully involved in the discussion and don’t hear Echo and the others enter the bar as they make their way over to you and Tech. Echo catches the tail end of the conversation and tries to announce their presence with a small cough that turned into a hacking one that left Omega looking concerned. Her big round eyes are full of unspoken worry as she gazes up at him. Echo glances down at the young girl and forces a smile, patting her head. 

“I am fine little one. Don’t worry about me.” He says reassuringly.

Hunter leaves Cid’s office with her and the Senator. He comes over to where the group has gathered and steals Tech’s abandoned drink. He chugs the rest of it and gestures for the group to follow as he heads back to the ship.  Tech stands up and offers his hand to you to help you off of the bar stool. He has a habit of making sure none of the Bad Batchers fall over, a habit he has picked up from their upbringing on Kamino where the other 3 clones were not the best balanced due to their enhanced abilities. Your face flushes again as you become uncomfortably aware of how close you two have gotten during the conversation. He leans away from your touch as if he also hadn’t realized how close you two had gotten. Tech turns to follow Hunter out the door and has to stoop a little to avoid hitting the door frame, Echo cracking a quiet joke about not having to worry about hitting the top of door frames since he lost a few inches. Only Omega and you caught the joke and you give a chuckle as Omega just looks confused. 

“The legs you see? Lost a few inches? Oh well.” Echo gave up on explaining the joke to the kid and followed Wrecker out the door towards the ship. 

Once back on the ship Hunter announces that they have been given a few days off courtesy of Cid since the mission went so smoothly. The other bad batchers glance at each other, not sure of what to do with their new time off.  You were pretty sure they have never had free time in their entire life.

“We could visit Cut and Suu? See how they are settling in!” Suggests Omega. 

“Too dangerous for them. We attract too much attention. The last thing they need is to be recognized as republic sympathizers.” reasons Tech. 

“I think we deserve a few days of downtime! We can take a well deserved vacation and rest up before the next mission.” you say as you pour a cup of caf from the pot Tech started when you arrived back at the ship. “We can get some repairs done on the ship and maybe even explore the city! I know Omega has been dying to go to the museums in the city center since we got here and I'm sure you boys would enjoy it too.” 

Hunter thinks for a moment and nods in agreement. 

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Taglist: @haloangel391 @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[bts-teaspoonff]

Reward

Genre: Smut with slight plot, Polyamory

Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Hoseok x reader, Yoongi x Hoseok

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: A well-deserved break after weeks of stress from work. Your boyfriend decided to give you a reward. You didn't know that he was not the only one eager to give you a reward.

Warnings: NSFW, double penetration, double creampie, unprotected s*x (still do safe s*x, kids!), slight degradation, cum eating, oral (F receiving, M receiving), implied!sub Yoongi, implied!dom reader, role!switch Yoongi, role!switch reader, Dom!Hoseok, anal s*x, vaginal s*x, love biting, cheek slapping (but not intense), choking (y/n’s not abused, y'all), A VERY IMPATIENT Y/N

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: This is actually inspired by their *chuckles* iconic japanese song, Otsukare. The closest translation in English would be “Thanks for your hard work”. Seriously, you guys need to watch their SOPE and OT7 performance of the song! You will laugh your ass off..

It’s been almost a month since you and your team have been burning blood, sweat and tears into this one specific medical case. Working as a medical intern with plentiful senior doctors piling every work on interns is brutal, however you just wade through everything since you did land an internship spot in the most prestigious hospital in the country. You do live in a decent apartment with a nice view you might say, but recently, you’ve been taking refuge in the intern’s lounge for almost a month already. All you want is to caress the soft material of your favorite linen and spend a week on your bed without getting out of it.

Today’s different. You and your fellow interns have cracked the case and have just finished presenting it to a panel of senior doctors. It’s also nice now that the patient in the said case can now breathe a lot easier since there is a higher chance of survival with our proposed medical management. You truly can’t wait to get home.

You also haven’t seen Yoongi, your boyfriend, for almost three weeks. Video calls and missed opportunities was your love story with him since you’ve handled the killer case.

He was very understanding of your situation, especially when you did try to visit him in his apartment one day. You were so drained but you still kept your promise to him for a ‘Movie and Taco Tuesday Night’. Just fifteen minutes into the movie, you were dead asleep on his couch. Sometimes, you even fell asleep while on a video call with him. You felt ashamed that you apologized to him non-stop for a week. He told you that he could compromise so he started visiting you in the hospital. Of course, that was also futile. Both of you would plan to eat lunch together but as soon as you were in each other’s company, beeps from your pager will end your short bout of joy.

You bombarded Yoongi with texts and voice messages that you’re finally free from the shackles of the said case. This weekend will the first whole break you’ve been rewarded with since last month. You receive a text from him asking if there’s any way you could spend the whole weekend with him in his apartment. You knew what he meant and you can’t deny that there’s a part of you expecting something to happen as well. Come on, you haven’t touched or caressed your boyfriend for almost a month. You’re too deprived and sexually frustrated. This is no time to be shy about it, not that both of you are shy with each other.

“But how about Hoseok? Won’t he be there?” Oh Hoseok. What a beautiful human. You’ve been together with Yoongi for almost a year already, and they’ve been roommates for the same amount of time. The three of you just clicked together ever since the start.

You met Yoongi through a common friend. Didn’t start officially dating one another until two months later. You would always tease him about it because he took so long to ask for a date just because he felt intimidated by you. You were more of a strong-independent and outgoing type of woman and he was quiet and reserved. It took a month before both of you started bringing each other to your respective apartments. There you met Hoseok. It didn’t take much and it felt natural to be friends with him. Maybe because it felt like the both of you were the same side of a coin.

You used to think that Yoongi and Hoseok were two poles opposite from each other, but you soon realize that’s the best thing about the two of them. That’s why you and Yoongi felt perfect for each other as well.

Although you love your boyfriend dearly, you can’t deny that a small bit of you has been attracted to his roommate. Apart from having a lot of similarities with each other, you do feel that sometimes you share the same mind waves as him. One day when Yoongi was so sick, the two of you left work for the day to stay and care for him. You were amazed that Hoseok knew what he was doing and was really frantic if what he was doing was enough. Seeing somebody else care and love your boyfriend this much warms your heart.

You do try to avoid letting your feelings for him grow any further since Yoongi is your soulmate. You could give the world to Yoongi, that’s how much you love him, and it swells your heart to know that he feels the same for you. You won’t do anything to hurt your precious boyfriend. Ruining their friendship is also the last thing on your mind. You just remind yourself to keep your small fire for Hoseok under control or put out, if possible.

“He said don’t worry about it. He’ll find a way to stay out of our way for the weekend.” Pleased with Yoongi’s reply, you can’t stop thinking of various ways to spend your night with your boyfriend.

With that, you arrive at his apartment that night. Yoongi opens the door, greeting you. You dropped the bags in your hands to the floor and jumped to embrace him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around your body. He noticed the fresh smell of your strawberry shampoo, a scent he truly missed.

You start to slowly kiss his neck and soon, you felt his hands grip your waist tighter. “Ummm, kitten?” He does enjoy you pouncing on him as soon as you arrived at his apartment but someone from across the room is eyeing the two of you. Your hands start to comb through his hair when he slightly pushed you, stopping you from teasing Yoongi. “Hoseok is still here.” He turns his head to the direction of his roommate and you followed.

Hoseok sat quietly on the other side of the kitchen counter, sipping his water while staring at the two of you. You straighten out yourself, ashamed at being caught in the act by Hoseok. “Don’t mind me. It’s not like it’s my first time catching the two of you in the act.” He quietly laughs as he took another gulp, completely teasing you.

“Don’t tease her, Hoseok.” Yoongi pats your head as he sees you turn shy at Hoseok’s teasing.

“It’s cute that you let her pounce on you every time she thinks you two are finally alone. So hungry for Yoongi?” Hoseok giggles as you shot a hawkish gaze at him. He gets up and took his bag from the chair beside him as he walks towards the two of you, or rather the door. You glance at the darkness outside the window and at your watch.

“Isn’t it too late for a drive?” You ask Hoseok as he pat your boyfriend goodbye before turning to you.

“I’m fine. Why? You worried about me?” He leans down, eyes meeting yours. He pats your head teasingly and you jokily swat it off. “Besides, aren’t you glad you finally have some alone time? This is my reward to you, little girl.”

“Little girl? I may be smaller but I’m older than the two of you!” Yoongi and Hoseok, focused entirely on your face, watched as you apparently try to make your point.

“Yes, we know kitten, by one year… as you constantly try to remind us.” Yoongi hugs you from behind. “Get on with it. Drive safe!” He hits Hoseok by the arm and they did their handshake. Hoseok also lightly hits your arm before opening the door and walking out, leaving you and your boyfriend finally alone in the apartment.

You both swiftly turn to each other at the same time after the realization that you’re finally alone with each other, amusing the both of you. You let out a smile full of sweetness with eyes almost glistening with longingness for Yoongi.

“I missed you, Yoongi.”

“You don’t how much I missed you too, my kitten.”

That nickname. When was the last time you heard the sound of his voice call you like that? You love it. He apparently can call you that in 100 ways possible. Most of the time, you do love it when he’s screaming it while you overdose him with pleasure.

“Should we watch a movie or something?” You suggest as you turn back to get your bags, carefully grabbing the bag filled with food that you plan to cook for him until tomorrow.

“Pass. I think we should start putting that toy to good use.” Yoongi grumbled in a very low tone as he slowly walked to you, bent forward in front of him. It’s been too long since he had a taste of you. Just by smelling you when you arrived already made him so hard in his pants. He bent down to you letting his body fall on your back. You slowly felt his hands crawl from your shoulders down to your hands. “I’ll be taking that promise now.” His breath brushing past your ear made you wet, shivering from anticipation.

A week ago, you may have promised something to Yoongi. When you’re finally done with the case, you promised him that you’ll allow him to dom you. Usually, it’s been always you who’s taking charge in the bedroom and Yoongi being the sub. You absolutely love seeing your boyfriend submitting to you in the bedroom. Although Yoongi is not really a dedicated sub, he loves it when you tell him that it feels so good acting all your fantasies in the relationship. You were the kinkier and more insatiable one between the two of you so he lets you lead. Tonight, you’ll be giving all the reins to Yoongi so when he knew that you’ll be staying with him this weekend, he texted you the lists of toys to bring.

“What do you want me to do?” You stood up and turned to face him. Yoongi understood what you’re asking of him. You are now submitting to him. His chest starts to swell up inside at finally having the chance to reverse the roles between the two of you.

“Start by calling me Sir.” Yoongi grabbed your chin, lightly tapping your cheeks. You gaze at his hooded eyes, now filled with desire and hunger to dominate you, making you starved to get a taste of him. “Kneel.” He pushed you down by your shoulders as he zips open his pants.

His cock sprung out of his pants, hitting you on the cheek. The enticing smell overwhelmed you. You deeply breathed to inhale his musk as your nose hit the tip of his cock. He gulped at the sight of you hungry for his cock. Your hands wandered towards his member when you heard Yoongi click his tongue. You open your eyes and gazed above. “You’ll only do what I tell you to do, understood?” a more commanding tone vibrated out of Yoongi, slightly surprising you at how he exudes himself right now. He brushed his thumb along your lower lips. “Answer me, kitten.” He tightens his grasp on your chin.

“Yes, sir.” You dropped your hands beside you as you let Yoongi, with his cock in hand, brush himself on your lips.

“Good girl.” He continues to swipe the tip of his cock, smearing his pre-cum on your lips. You hold yourself back from licking him and swallowing him whole. Every fiber of your being is getting impatient and just wants to stuff his cock inside your mouth this instant but a promise is a promise. You just have to wait and let him lead. “Stick out your tongue.”

He relishes the sight of you kneeling down for him, tongue out waiting for his cock. He put both of his hands in front of him against the wall as he aligns his cock in the tip of your tongue. “Purple is our safe word. You understand?” He gazes down at you, nodding enthusiastically.

Not soon after, he starts thrusting his cock so deep inside your mouth. Your head is pushed against the wall along with the rhythm and force of each thrusts. Something about his cock just satisfies you perfectly. The length is just enough to gag you but the girth, oh the girth. It hurts your jaw every time you suck him and if you had too much, you know you’re gonna have a hard time chewing your food tomorrow.

Sloppy sounds from the two of you started to fill up the room. Yoongi continues to bury his cock in your throat. He did stay deep for a few seconds a few times, grinding himself on you as you find difficulty to gasp for air. Tears started welling up in your eyes and Yoongi got concerned. You felt him pull away slightly but you assured him quickly that you’re fine. You know yourself that you won’t use the safe word tonight. You never did get to use it ever with Yoongi.

He gripped your neck, ever so slightly choking you as he pulls you to stand and leads you to the living room couch. He pushed you back to crash down on the soft couch. Quickly and not a second more, he crashed his lips with yours. Overwhelmed by the burning contact that’s long overdue, both of you breathed deeply as you allow each other to get intoxicated. Your hands tightly gripped the coach at both sides, controlling yourself from disobeying Yoongi. His tongue starts to lap at your sweet soft lips and continue to coil its way to your tongue.

Yoongi started moaning as he closed the distance between his crotch and your thighs. You felt him grind himself on you and your thighs started squirming at the sight of Yoongi satisfying himself on you. “Open, kitten.” He pushed your mouth open once more with his thumb. “Look at how hungry my kitten is for me. You’re so good for me.” He spits, letting his spit travel down slowly to your mouth. He chuckles at the sight of you swallowing for him.

“Sir, I want your cock now please?” Your thighs squirmed some more, wiggling while tightly closed together.

Yoongi clicked his tongue once more. “You’ve always been impatient. Always skipping foreplay and straight to fucking.”

“But sir, I’m really hungry for your cock.” You beg and whine.

“Good girls get rewards. Am I right, kitten? I have to prepare you well for what’s in store for tonight.” He bends down as he spreads your legs. Your thighs pushed towards you. He groans when he lifts up your skirt, noticing that you chose to come here without any underwear. He glared at you remembering that if he did not control himself a while ago when you were kissing him when you arrived, he could have lifted your skirt right then with Hoseok still present in the room.

“See? I am always so wet for you Sir. I can take your cock right now.” Your pussy, glistening with juices, further inviting him to devour you. He licks his lips before kissing your inner thigh.

“My kitten. When was the last time you touched yourself?” His breathe tickled your clit just as he let his nose slightly touch your clit. Yoongi sees you attempting to grind yourself to his face, impatient for his touch. You bit your lip as you stare and wait for your boyfriend. “Answer me when I ask you a question.” You gasp at the sudden bite on your inner thigh, soon followed by a warm lick from his feverish wet tongue.

“I have not touched myself for three weeks, sir. I really need your cock now, sir. Please.” You whine as you try to hold back your tears.

“Such a hardworking girl. I see you deserve a big reward.” He pulls the lips of your pussy to the side, making it taut and your clit standing to attention. He quickly swiped his tongue up your slit, finally tasting your juices dripping out from your pussy. He could say all kinds of profanities just from tasting you. You scratched and gripped what was around you at the overwhelming sensation. Yoongi continues to flick his tongue swiftly against your clit, followed by slurping and sucking. You arch your back as your hands finds its place on Yoongi’s hair.

His fingers soon landed on the rim of your pussy. He thrusts two inside very deeply, curling it to find your g-spot. You try to cover your mouth to prevent yourself from screaming at the intense pleasure. You’ve been so deprived of any touch for three weeks that just his tongue is enough to make you cum in seconds. However, you try your best to hold it out.

Yoongi fondles your breast with his hand as he licks your clit, while his other hand never faltering from fucking you. Seeing you lose yourself from his touch is making him drunk. He never saw you this submissive with him. With this, he adds another finger in your pussy. He licks your clit furiously as he sees you desperate to scream louder but you bite your lips to hold back. “Do you want to come, kitten?”

You gaze at him, furiously nodding. Begging to be allowed to reach your high. You see him smirk as he continues to thrust his fingers inside you. A second after, he pulled it all out, leaving you surprised and craving for him to return his fingers inside you. “Not yet. We still have to use this.” He lifts up a metal anal plug. He hands out the toy to let it touch your lips. Your eyes stay glued to him as you let your mouth open, sucking the toy. You see him staring at your mouth, licking his lips at how dirty you look right now.

The metal felt cold as it hits your tongue and teeth. You swirled your tongue around the bulbed end and he pulled it out of your mouth. He quickly pushed it inside your pussy without falter. He pulls it in and out twice to lubricate the toy with your juices before stopping just on the entrance of your ass.

You squirm as you felt the toy slowly stretching your behind. The sensation and stretch is too much for your first time. He doesn’t push everything at once, but slowly pulling it in and out as he slowly lets you adjust. He sees you shaking once he did push the entire plug inside you.

He wiped a strand of hair clinging on your sweaty forehead. Despite looking so fucked out, you’re still the most beautiful person he ever saw. You exchange a few seconds of sweet gazes before he inserted three fingers inside your pussy again while his other hand pulls the plug in and out.

“Oh my fuck… Yoongi. I’m gonna..” You came undone as he increased his speed from fucking you after he sees you writhing in reaching your high. You felt washed over with pleasure, vision hazy and ears ringing.

Yoongi still continued to thrust his fingers and the plug as you slowly finish. A sounding pop came from his fingers pulling out of you. He puts his fingers in his mouth, savoring your sweet taste of ecstasy. He curses, eyes closed, as he relishes the familiar taste.

The plug still within your puckered ass, you crawled back to the couch as you try to chase your breathing. Yoongi proceeds to walk back to the bag you left just near the door and when he came back to you, he pulled out a blindfold and a huge 8 inch pink dildo from your bag and placing it on the table in front of you. Yoongi, now fully naked, stood tall as he beckons you to remove all your clothes. “Stand up and sit down on my cock.”

Yoongi grins as he sees you eagerly standing up and waits for him to sit down. As soon as he sat down, he pats his thigh to gesture you to finally have what you’ve been eagerly waiting for. You turn around and before you sat down, you try to pull out the plug. Yoongi sees this and smacks your ass, granting a whimper from you. “I thought I told you not to do anything unless you’re told to. Keep it in!”

He groans like a beast from behind you as he placed both his hand on your waist. He pulls you down and lets his cock claim your pussy not a moment long. You whimper at the violent stretch and even more so when Yoongi started furiously humping his hips off the couch to fuck you harder. You noodle out sensual and erotic moans as you place your hands behind you and on Yoongi’s chest. “You’re so fucking tight.” He squeezed your waist so hard that the ache lingered when his hands left your skin. “You’re milking me. I won’t last if you’re this tight.” He lets out a guttural groan while he inch closer to your body. He marks you intensely on the crook of your neck. His hands wandered in front of you and tightly squeezed your breasts.

It feels so nice and naughty as you submit to the bliss of your love making. The pain from his rough hands is so gentle yet very shameless as well. He felt like a lion starving for his prey, you, who is presented on a silver platter. Every thrust of his cock feels primal. This reversal of roles is new to both of you but you find yourself finely adjusting.

“Do you want me to fill your ass with my hot…and sticky cum?” He sensually whispers into your ears. You quickly turn intoxicated with his erotic voice, scorching hot inside your chest and seeping wet from your pussy at the thought of him equally fucking your hard from your ass.

“Yes, sir. I would love that.” You turn your face to the side, surprising him with a slow and succulent lick across his lips. You felt like a drug to Yoongi, being this submissive to his every whim and drunk on sex. Something good actually came out from having to part with you for three weeks.

He pushes you off and eyes the anal plug still attached to you. He did not expect you to suddenly shake and cum again after he pulled out the plug. You dropped down with legs buckling, but he caught you in time just before you hit the floor. “Are you okay? Is it too much?” He lets you support yourself, bending forward and hands on the table. He bent down with his chest on your back, cock still erect touching your pussy. You chase your breathing and took your time before you answered him.

“I’m okay baby. Just getting used to this new you.” You giggled as you kiss his cheeks. “I promise to use our safe word if it’s too much.” He laughs as he felt you wiggle your butt on his cock.

“Always hungry for me, kitten?” he lets his hands comb through your hair before pulling it all back. You straighten your back, presenting your ass to him. He holds his cock in his hand, aligning it with your tight puckered muscle. “Put the blindfold and get the dildo, sweet kitten.” He lets go of your hair and allows you to bend forward to get the items he asked. You strap the blindfold on and blindly let your hand wander on the table to get the dildo.

As you were about to stand up back to him, you sense a slow shapely pressure on your ass as Yoongi tries to enter you. The unfamiliar and new stretch had you delirious from the pain and pleasure. You both find yourself breath taken as you wander through uncharted waters. Your tightness from behind is nothing compared to your pussy. If you had known how intense and sweet this was, you would have said yes to Yoongi to try this months ago. Yoongi hesitates to push his entire length on you, still taking his sweet time to let you adjust. However, you're patience is nearing its limit with Yoongi’s pace.

You push yourself back on him towards the couch, letting the both of you crash down. You scream at the intense sudden pain of having his cock rapidly filling you up when you fell on his lap. You lean your head back on his shoulder as he allow your scream to die down.

“How many times have I told you to obey me?” He squeezes your cheek, stealing the dildo from your hands. “I’m in charge here, not you kitten.” Yoongi smacking the dildo on your clit has your squirming and closing your legs. You can’t see anything and every sense you have seems to have heightened. “Remember who’s in charge or else, you’ll be punished.”

He gathers the dildo on the entrance of your pussy, lathering your juices around. “Punish me, baby. I’ve been a very impatient and disobedient girl.” You’ve now adjusted well to his cock. Yoongi saw you grind yourself on him, whining for more.

You hear him deeply chuckle then the dildo swiftly entered you until you felt it hit your womb. You try to suppress your voice and Yoongi felt this so he hooked his two fingers in your mouth, playing with your tongue to allow you to let your moans out. The merciless plunge of his cock in your ass and the unrelenting force of the dildo overwhelmed you. It was insane being fucked full by your boyfriend. You were submitting but you never felt this strong and satisfied when you were the one taking charge. The pain, the pleasure and the raw savageness of helplessness made you feel alive.

You respond to his each thrust with untamed moans, hands wandering on his body. You felt completely exposed and unguarded. “Tell me, kitten…” you continue to yield and moan for him when he whispered erotically in your ear. “Are you imagining somebody else’s cock inside your pussy filling you right now instead of the dildo?”

Your moans disappeared as you try to comprehend your boyfriend’s question. However, he continues to thrust in your ass and pussy, making your mind a mush. “I…”

“I think you have someone in mind and it’s not me, kitten.” His erect cock delved deep inside your ass, frozen from thrusting inside you. Although, he continues to push the dildo in and out with a force so savage, you can feel it bruising the entrance of your womb. “I’ve seen how you look at him. Do you wish that his cock should be the one fucking your pussy full right now?”

He gripped your chin with his other hand as you felt words stuck in your throat. You felt your chest tighten at the sudden confrontation. You don’t know if Yoongi is angry and punishing you right now because you can’t see him. He wouldn’t shame you like this normally so you don’t know if this is just the dirty talk or his true feelings. “Sir, I don’t…” you get caught up in your words as your blindfold is starting to get moist from your impending tears.

“I’m not angry kitten. I just want to hear what you truly feel. Whose cock, aside from mine, should be fucking you right now?”

It took you a while to get the knot out of your chest but you did. “I want Hoseok’s! Hoseok’s cock should be fucking me hard right now in the pussy while you destroy my ass!” You screamed. Yoongi slows the pace of the dildo in your pussy and pulls it out. You slumped on him, hungry for a reaction from your boyfriend. The blindfold is not helping the turmoil inside your chest. You want to face him and look straight at him to understand what kind of face he might be making right now.

“Good kitten.” He groaned from behind as he take the blindfold off you. You pry open your eyes, adjusting to the light. A naked figure stood in front of you as you rub your eyes to register the sight. Hoseok was standing tall in front of you and Yoongi, naked in all his glory and stroking his cock.

You jump slightly in your place but Yoongi pushes you back down, granting a sensual quiet moan from you since his cock is still deep in your ass. “Hoseok?!?....Why is he here?”

“This is your reward, little girl.” He continues to stroke his cock in front of you, smugly smirking to look at your boyfriend.

“It’s okay, kitten. I know you want this too.” Yoongi placed his chin on your shoulder as you’re still staring at Hoseok’s face. You turn to your boyfriend and you both stare at each other for a few seconds. You try to read his eyes, unsure if you’re really allowed to finally act on your feelings

“I don’t want to do this if you don’t, baby…” He sensed your panic so he cupped your cheeks to kiss you. A slow and sweet exchange of your lips made you understand that he really is letting you go ahead. He parts with your lips and sweetly gazed at you.

“I want this as well. Go ahead.” Yoongi nods his head to Hoseok, prompting you to allow yourself to submit to both of them. “This is okay. Take care of our girl, Hoseok. I trust you both.” You face Hoseok, who’s still furiously pumping himself to you. With the permission of his older roommate, Hoseok now shamelessly takes in your naked figure as he licks his lips.

He’s been wanting this for so long as well. He developed feelings for Yoongi first, when they became roommates. He’s been so good at hiding it not until Yoongi introduced you to him. At first, he was jealous and irritated whenever you would visit and stay at their apartment. The longer you spent time with Hoseok, he also found himself loving you. Hearing you come undone and screaming with Yoongi every night with just a wall separating him from the two of you was brutal. He loved you both, wanting to touch you and Yoongi as well. He was determined to keep it all a secret up until when Yoongi confronted him.

Yoongi suspected Hoseok has feelings for you with how he acted every time you were with the two of them. Of course, he felt something from you as well. Being quiet and reserved meant that he was very good at reading everybody else’s expressions and feelings. He was proven right when Hoseok confessed with his feelings towards you when he tried to confront him. He was taken by surprise though when Hoseok confessed to loving him as well. He didn’t expect it but also didn’t dislike it. Maybe something in him also feels something for his younger roommate. They did talk it out and came to a conclusion to talk to you about it. Yoongi was the one who initiated the surprise threesome. Hoseok wasn’t on board with it at first but now that you’re here, he’ll accept everything even if you reject him.

You let your lust and feelings take over you. You wait for either of them to command you. Hoseok sees your eyes change from reluctant to now willing to submit to him. He takes it as your acceptance of him. He groans as he walks closer to you, cock in your face. His cock smelled amazing. You take in the unfamiliar yet enticing smell as you sniff his shaft, granting a groan from the two males at the sight of you.

“Suck me now, little girl.” You opened your mouth to invite him in. Hoseok leans his head back as euphoria hits him from the satisfaction of having your warm and wet mouth capture his cock. His cock was different from Yoongi. He’s not as girthy as your boyfriend but the length is amazing. Your mouth is already full but there’s still enough left for your hand to play with. “Fuck, I can’t handle this. You feel amazing.” Hoseok wraps his hands on your hair as he started to furiously rock deep inside your mouth. You could feel him reach your throat. Your moans, now muffled by the huge cock occupying your mouth. Hoseok could come apart right there at the sight of your throat bulging from his cock and from the vibrations of your throat as you try to moan loudly, when Yoongi started tapping Hoseok’s hand away from your head.

“I said take care of her, not kill her.” Hoseok loses his hold on your head when he heard Yoongi as he pulled out of your mouth. You gagged and coughed but you swat your hands at them.

“Yoongi, I’m fine. I actually like it.” You swipe the drool off your lips and turned to face your boyfriend. “I’m not using my safe word, am I? So get on with it and fuck my ass full!” Yoongi and Hoseok, surprised at your outcry and commanding tone, just went quiet.

“I didn’t hear you calling him Sir, did I?” Hoseok grabbed your chin and lightly slapped you. “Did he allow you to take over? No! You’re our slut tonight so just obey us.” You were taken aback at Hoseok’s change in demeanor. You were a dom to Yoongi, but Hoseok felt different. You shiver in your place, unfamiliar with the feeling of fear from disobeying the sultry man in front of you. With Yoongi, you were willing to act as a sub tonight but it felt like you were really a sub to Hoseok.

All you do was agree as he slaps you once more in the cheek. It was not painful as you imagined. You know Hoseok still cared for you and wouldn’t really hurt you so you find yourself relaxing under Yoongi, waiting patiently for Hoseok to now command the two of you under him. “Fuck her hard, Yoongi, so that she knows her place. I’ll make sure to fill her pussy to the brim.” He licks his lips as both you and Yoongi stare at the dominant male.

Yoongi started to lunge his hips towards you, bouncing you on his lap. You scream at the pleasant sensation of being fucked in the ass. You see Hoseok smirking as he lines his cock at your pussy. Slowly, you felt him open up your walls as he continue to plunge his erect and long member. Hoseok gently bites and licks your shoulder as he tries his best not to come apart from the wonders of your pussy. It was heavenly. Filthy moans, your bodies tangled with each other, and sloppy sounds from their cocks entering you filled the room. You three were drunk from the pleasure, frenzy mushing your heads making you groggy.

You wrapped your hands around Hoseok’s back, pulling him towards you. Hoseok, surprised at the sudden proximity of his face with Yoongi, avoids eyes contact as he continue to fuck your pussy hard. Yoongi chuckled at the sight of his younger roommate getting shy despite being so commanding with you and him a while ago. He placed a peck on Hoseok’s forehead. Hoseok turned to Yoongi, now cheeks burning caused by the sweet kiss. They stared at each other, Yoongi sweetly smiling at him and Hoseok smiling at the feeling of being accepted by Yoongi as well.

You pull Hoseok’s face to yours, breaking their small moment. “I want to be filled, sir.” You gaze at him with eyes hooded. Hoseok realized that you’ve gone far off now and all he wants is to satisfy you.

“Little girl deserves her reward.” He looked at Yoongi and soon after, both of them pounded into you furiously. Overwhelming sensation from being full from both holes, Hoseok painfully fucking your pussy up up to the entrance of your womb, and Yoongi fully stretching your ass out. You scream as you let yourself in your bliss. You exploded from the ecstasy brought on by the two men you truly care and love. Yoongi and Hoseok moaned and squeezed their hands on you as they felt you squeeze down on them, milking them to reach their own orgasm.

You twist, still glued to them, as you felt their warm liquid fill you up from the front and behind. The three of you, panting, as all of you let your orgasm finish. Still twined with each other, you hugged Hoseok tightly before he parts from you.

“Are you okay? You came three times, you must be exhausted. I’ll prepare a bath for the both of you.” Hoseok quickly ran back to the bathroom, disappearing from the living room.

Yoongi lifts you up to stand, pulling his cock out your ass. He lets out another groan as he sees you leaking with both of their cum. You truly look filthy right now, but his heart won’t stop pounding in his chest as he take in your beautiful face. He swipes the leaking cum off your thigh and he pulls you back on the couch. He places his fingers coated with cum in your mouth. You willingly suck it clean, tasting the mixture of Yoongi and Hoseok on you. He examines you as you breathe deeply, trying to relax post-coitus.

“Wow. Baby. If I had known how fun it is to see you take charge, I would have let you do it occasionally. Also, that was awesome.” You hug Yoongi as you place your legs across his thighs.

“Are you okay? It was not too much, was it?” Yoongi wipes the sweat off your forehead.

“I’m fine, baby.” You placed your lips on him, intimately. You want him to feel your happiness and ultimately, your intense love for him. “So what does this mean? With Hoseok?”

“I know you love him and he does too. I’ve been suspecting it for a while now. I just waited for either of you to talk to me.” Yoongi tucks in your hair behind your ear.

“But I love you more. You’re the one I want the most.” You quickly rebut him, careful as not to hurt him with any of your words.

“I know, kitten. Trust me, I do love you both too and it makes me happy seeing the two of you together too.”

“But he’s your friend...”

“I love him too, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Hoseok suddenly appeared in the room. “I won’t force myself between the two of you. I’ll go wherever you want me to stay in this relationship. I’m happy with just the two of you knowing how I feel.” He stands straight at the edge of the living room, hesitant to walk further and respecting the current situation.

You turn to Yoongi and silently stared at each other. You quickly understood what this meant. Your heart felt huge and swollen at the amount of love you’re now receiving. You’re loved by Yoongi and Hoseok.

“Come here, Hobi.” You gesture him to come closer and he did, smiling enthusiastically as he knew that the both of you are now accepting him and willing to share each other.

“I love you both!” Hoseok crashed down on both of you, granting a loud giggle from you while Yoongi smiled silently.

No reward can ever top this one. Surely, the night is still young.

[jawabear]

Marcus Moreno + late night talks 🥺🥰

My World (Marcus Moreno x Reader)

Not my GIF

A/N: Well, I’m completely in love with this single super dad. Don’t know ‘bout you guys. Look at him. Such a softie. This is just a short little thing that was a request and I was so excited when I saw a Marcus prompt so thank you for making my day Anon! I really hope you enjoy this, and I hope I got his character right, it’s hard because he’s not really in the film a lot and at the moment their aren’t many fics for him. But nonetheless I will write for him. But yes, I hope you enjoy it, I hope it was what you were after Anon. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: fem!reader, mostly fluff, but also angst? I’m not really sure what to put, a tad bit of crying, Pedro Pascal comes with his own warning

Summary: The news is on and it’s all about the Heroics, and it’s gets them thinking...

“Get some rest, sweetheart” (Y/N) spoke softly to the young girl who was curled up in bed. Missy snuggled deeper into her covered as (Y/N) brushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear in a loving gesture.

“Hey (Y/N)?” Missy asked quietly.

“Yeah?” Missy looked at (Y/N) with a smile, an almost proud smile.

“I’m glad you and Dad finally decided to date” she said making (Y/N) laugh slightly.

“Me too honey. Me too” she leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Missy’s cheek before gently rubbing her shoulder. “Get some sleep Missy”

“Night (Y/N)” Missy said with a soft sigh as she closed her eyes.

“Goodnight Missy” (Y/N) stood from the bed and walked towards the door, her fingers resting on the light switch, she looked back at the child who was sleeping before flicking the lights off and pulling the door to.

(Y/N) smiled to herself as she walked down stairs and into the living room where Marcus was sat watching tv, watching updates on the Heroics, whilst sipping on a beer.

“She’s asleep” (Y/N) said, Marcus turned to face her and gave her a gentle look.

“Was she okay?” He asked as (Y/N) walked over to him and sat next to him.

“Yeah” she nodded “she was fine”

A moment of silence fell over them as he turned his attention back to the tv. His face now looked worried and concerned. Although it was the usual stuff they used to deal with. Both of them were in the verge of retirement from action but neither of them could fully put away their uniforms, they were a second skin, they couldn’t hang it up when the world needed them.

“Do you ever think about going back?” She asked him quietly. She pulled her legs up onto the sofa and turned her body slightly so she was facing him, resting her hand on his shoulder to ease some of the tension that was building inside him as he continued to watch.

“I-I can’t go back...” he muttered, not taking his eyes off the screen, his eyes growing more and more concerned with each word that was spoken.

“That’s not what I asked” she whispered as she ran her finger down his arm.

He leaned forwards and grabbed the remote to turn off the tv. He couldn’t bare to listen too it any longer, knowing he was of no use to the world.

He fell back against the sofa and looked at her. “I can’t go back (Y/N). I promised Missy. No more active missions. Besides, I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff”

“Again, that’s not what I asked Marcus” she told him “do you ever think about going back?”

Marcus was quiet for a moment as he turned to look back at the now black screen of the tv. He took a swig of his beer before putting it on the coffee table beside the remote. “Yes” he said quiet, lowly as if he were ashamed of his answer. “All the time. I see them out there doing what’s good, what’s right, and all I can do is watch. All I can do is...nothing. I’m supposed to...lead them, guide them. God knows they need the leadership and guidance. But...what I promised Missy has to stand. She’s so young and already she’s been through so much. I don’t want to be another disappointment in her life by going back on my word to her”

(Y/N) leaned forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to his slightly parted lips. Her hands rested on his cheeks, her thumbs gently rubbing his skin to try and make him feel better.

“You will never be a disappointment in her life Marcus. Never. You are her father. You are her hero. She needs you more than anything. She would never be disappointed in you because she trusts you, she trusts your judgement. So say if you did have to jump back in, she would understand how dire the situation is. She knows how much you love her, how much you want to honour your promise. She knows that. And you know that too”

He let out a slightly shaky breath as his forehead fell against hers. “And you lead us everyday. You are a better hero than any of us could ever be. You put your daughter first. You understand that being a hero isn’t just about looking the part, it’s about being the part. And slowly but surly, they will all come to learn that”

His arm came to wrap around her waist and pull her into his lap. He tilted his head back and captured her lips with his. “I love you” he whispered against her lips.

“I love you too” she whispered back.

“What about you?” He asked as he moved his lips, kissing over her jaw before dropping to her neck.

“What about me?” She asked. Her eyes closing as she relished in the feeling of his soft lips on her skin.

“Do you ever think about going back?” Marcus pulled his lips from her and looked into her eyes and watched as she thought over his question.

“I wasn’t meant to be a hero Marcus. I wasn’t raised to be one. I wasn’t raised to be anything. The world has never done me any favours so why should I protect it?” She said, her words were sharp but quiet, he could see the anger clouding her eyes but it soon vanished as was replaced with the love and kindness he knew “that’s what I used to think anyway. Until I met you. But rather than going back out there and protecting the world, I want to stay here and protect my world”

Marcus smiled at her words, feeling his eyes start to water “do you know what we used to call you?” He said with a slight laugh in his voice “speeches”

“Why’s that?” She asked.

“Because your damn good at giving them” he took her face between his hands and pulled her in for a deep and loving kiss, one that she happily excepted and returned.

26/12/20

Taglist: @linkpk88

[myonepiece]

hi i was wondering if you could do some headcannons asl + law (separately) with a male s/o whos maybe more about open their relationship and basically a non shy!male. sfw & nsfw would be appreciated but its up to you !! enjoy your day/night and just know i love ur account :)

Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Law with an extroverted S/O (open about their relationship) 

SFW + NSFW

Ace x non shy!male,   Sabo x non shy!male,   Luffy x non shy!male,

Law x non shy!male

Description: HCs of Ace, Sabo, Luffy, & Law (seperate) with an extroverted male s/o who is open about theur relationship

Warnings: partially NSFW 

A/N: I need more male reader content I think I literally only have 2 posts 😅 I’m not 100% confident in my writing for male readers, I’m still learning and I apologize if there’s anything wrong with this & pls tell me if there is 💕 

Ace NSFW, Luffy, Sabo, Law under the cut

SFW

Ace really wants someone who is open about their relationship with him, who’s proud to be dating him and shows him off. Ace wants to be able to show him off to everyone without making him uncomfortable, he loves that not only can he hug him and kiss him and smother him in affection publicly, but that he’ll initiate it himself aswell

he likes picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder in front of the crew, hearing their saracastic remarks to quit it, of course none of them would really have a problem with it in the first place, they loved seeing their brother so happy and in love- because it’s obvious Ace is in love. one of his favorite things to do is to find his boyfriend on deck and run over to scoop him into his arms and plop him on his lap for sleepy time

the fact that he gets to hold his hand without worrying about his embarrassment or discomfort, mostly because his boyfriend is the one who grabs his hand first, makes him all giddy and bubbly. it gives him a sense of perotection, that his boyfriend is by his side and Ace by his, it’s an easy way to let everyone else know that Ace is with him and they shouldn’t try anything

telling stories about him and their relationship, the special moments and the funny moments, telling them to the crew and laughing and listening to them “oooo” and “awhh” is another one of Ace’s favorite things. not only Ace loves how comfortable and open he is, but the Whitebeard crew does too- hearing embarrassing stories about their brother or seeing how whipped he is and teasing him for it. Whitebeard loves knowing that Ace has someone to look after him when he’s gone, and to give him the love that he deserves- Whitebeard is like Ace’s boyfriend’s #1 fan, huge supporter of their relationship and anyone who isn’t is gonna deal with him & the rest of the crew

he’s a sucker for his lover’s mushy love confessions and compliments, saying them so boldly and shamelessly in front of people gives him butterflies in his stomach and makes him blush, yes Ace can get flustered

NSFW

the public dirty talk is just- he’ll go up and put his hands around his boyfriend’s torso and whisper the perviest things in his ear “your ass looks nice today”, “I can see the hickies I left last night” “no ones at the back of the boat, how bout I go bend you over the railing hm?” 

and if he do the same to Ace? whoo boy, he goes weak in the knees and I’m not kidding, whimpers right there, or if he’s more fiery that night, he growls

Ace has no problem kissing his s/o in public, and if it turns into a makeout session, so be it. however he tries to keep those public makeouts short so none of the crew get uncomfortable. Ace will keep him on his lap until the two can go somewhere more private

as much as Ace loves how open his boyfriend is with their relationship, he doesn’t want him to tell any of the crew what goes on in the bedroom when Ace is the sub, that does happen- Ace is a switch with more dom tendencies, but still a switch

Ace will literally go up to his boyfriend on deck and grope his ass from behind, using his own body to shield his actions from anyone else’s eyes. and he sometimes will just boldly grab his boyfriend’s dick/groin, as long as Whitebeard doesn’t see

SFW

Sabo can be confident or flustered, no in between. he’s so happy that his boyfriend is completely okay with their relationship and letting everyone know about it. he feels like that means he’s not ashamed to be with Sabo, it also means that if Sabo is ever feeling down it won’t be weird for him to find his boyfriend, and Sabo wants to be tehre for him as much as he can and he wouldn’t be able to do that as well if they had to hide their relationship

he likes that everyone at in the R.A. knows his lover and say hi when passing, Koala and him are like best friends- that’s probably the only part of his boyfriend’s open-nesss that he doesn’t like, Koala and him always share humiliating stories and tease Sabo about everything

Sabo is touch starved, thank god his boyfriend is 100% okay with pda, seriously Sabo has to/wants to hold his hand every second. public hugs, hand holding, and nose kisses are a must. Sabo adores kissing him on his nose or cheek. Koala always fake gags when Sabo is the one to initiate any affection, but when his boyfriend does it Koala always “awhh”s 

just being able to sit with his boyfriend on his lap, or sitting on his boyfriend’s lap is amazing, providing a sense of peace in the hectic life of his 

Sabo gives little gifts and trinkets to him, and always shows off the ones he gets from him. Sabo is constantly talking or bragging about him, and always blushes whenever it’s reversed 

NSFW

Sabo is pretty shy when it comes to sex/sex related things, he likes it to be private

however, he’s a sucker for his boyfriend, so if he wants to get touchy in public, Sabo won’t exactly stop him- neck kisses and groping are things Sabo loves, giving and recieving

at least with pda being a normal with the two of them, when Sabo is needy and wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s waitst to pull him against him specifically holding his ass against his front, it’s not deemed suspicious by anyone 

as for hikeys, he doesn’t really like to be seen with them, but he loves seeing his boyfriend adorning them and he loves seeing him wear them proudly

Sabo likes keeping his hand on his lover’s thigh, sliding it closer and closer to a certain part and feeling his boyfriend shiver and harden under his touch

he makes subtle suggestive comments, flying under the radar so that only him and his boyfriend understand, though sometimes his boyfriend gives it away on accident, or not, and Sabo turns red

SFW

Luffy is not shy whatsoever, constantly clinging to his boyfriend and with his grin growing even wider when he hugs Luffy tighter against him

numerous kisses and hugs and touches throughout the day, not a second he’s not holding on to his lover. piggy back rides and shoulder rides are a given, and having his partner cling onto him like a koala leaves Luffy grinning for the rest of the day

Luffy is overall jsut himself, not really changing anything except he’s a bit more lovey-dovey and sentimental, he puts his hat on him a lot and is often in extremely close proximity, never once leaving his side- and Luffy feels secure and safe when his boyfriend returns the action

during fights Luffy loves to tell everyone who he’s dating, yelling things like “I’m dating him!” “Go ______! I love you!!”

ah that’s another thing, constantly saying “I love you”, every greeting and goodbye and moments in between is littered with the words, always accompanied by a rather sloppy kiss 

Luffy doesn’t care who’s watching, he’s just as open as his boyfriend- 10x more actually

one thing he does like though, that not many people would think about, is purely having someone waiting for him, staying at his side and embracing him anytime. Luffy has had his fair share of losses, he doesn’t show it but deep down he’s riddled with guilt and pain and sadness and fear, he doesn’t want to lose another person. holding his lover after a battle, after a nightmare, makes him feel better because he knows he’s still there with Luffy. being able to run to him and let down his captain facade and just cry into his partner is something that Luffy desperately needs and loves

NSFW

Luffy is shameless, the most shameless op character, there is nothing he won’t do in front of the crew, yeah I’m implying public sex- deal with it

Luffy will walk right up to him and start a heated makeout session, ignoring any protests from the crew- he will fuck him right then and there, annd also wouldn’t mind being taken right then and there- or probably at least moving to a different part of the deck because he knows that his crew would be very uncomfrtable at that, it’s not embarrassing to do it he just cares about his crew’s feelings too

but on the back deck, against the walls, in the crowsnest, all free territory- Luffys even done it with him on the ladder up to the crows nest, those rubber arms are very useful

speaking of rubber arms, he has like his own version of bondage, purely cosisting of his arms and legs and hands, wrapping his arms around his boyfriends arms so he can hold them behind his while Luffy fucks him doggy style

Luffy is also definitely a switch, down for any position too, serioulsy those rubber powers are no joke, he can do any position, though he does prefer close contact ones where the two of them can hold each other

Luffy is KINKY- yes I said he is kinky! he doesn’t know what a kink is nor that he one (many) he just thinks it’s something he likes. but, no talks of another person, no pain to either unless it’s spanking, no blood, no degradation unless his boyfriend asks for it (he’s not very good at it though)

Luffy is loud, he loves that his lover is loud too, and is fine wwith him leaving hickeys or scratch marks- because Luffy is totally fine adorning those himself

SFW

Law is not very open about his relationship, I mean he’s completely fine telling his crew and the strawhats and the kid pirates, the crews he knows, but telling anyone else wworries him because he doesn’t really want him to be a known associate because people would come after him to get to Law

he would prefer if his boyfriend kept their reltionship details private, he doesn’t want to be embarrassed by any stories he has of him, and he likes to be very private man overall, he would actually get quite irritated f his lover is very open about what happens in their reltionshp- again Law has no problem about allies or somewhat allies knowing, everyone could know iabout the relationship to be honest, if they wouldn’t all go after his boyfriend because of the connection

Law does secretly love how “okay” he is being in a reltionship with him, dating such a broken and “evil” man. Law is actually very insecure, hiding it well though, and he loves that he has someone to show him the love he rarely ever felt when he was younger, having someone tell him he’s sweet and charming and kind and loveable hit Law right in his heart

that last paragraph of Luffy’s sfw kind of sums up Law’s take on his boyfriend’s open-ness

Law is touch starved, on the ship or in private on an island, with no or barely any people around, he’ll hold his hand and/or have an arm around his wait or shoulder, and he doesn’t mind if his lover does the same. in public if his boyfriend were to initiate any physical affection, Law would try to get him to tone it down, keep it minimal, but he doesn’t want to be rude either so he would go along with it to some extent

in private though he’s touchy and he really wwants to be praised, he also praises his boyfriend a lot because he is just so whipped for him, often thanking him for loving someone like Law, being there for him and offering a safe haven that he rarely has the chance to have- if ever

NSFW

again, Law is a private man, he doesn’t want to make his crew. too uncomfortable, but if his boyfriend were to start something or Law is feeling especially needy, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell the crew to leave the room or simply gare at them 

he likes flustering his boyfriend, seeing someone who is usually so shameless, blush and stutter and get shy, is one of Law’s favorite things

he’s a major tease, similar to Ace with his dirty talk, except the deepness of his voice makes it sound 100x dirtier. one can’t fluster him by whispering dirty talk, his lover just can’t, he can make him hard but flustered is a no go. however, saying something dirty/suggestive out loud infront of people, that would do something- most likely resulting in either a scolding, punishment sex, or both

grind on him and he’ll growl, on certain occasions he has no problem throwig you over his shoulder and. taking you away from the public eye, but don’t try to do the same to him- Law is the dominant one in public and 8/10 of the time during sex

he’s not opposed to being the bottom, but he prefers to top

he lovex that his boyfriend is completely fine with him leaving hickeys and scratches and. just marks in general, it shows he’s taken and makes Law feel proud- Law however likes his marks to be hidden��

[fairytsuk1]

i was all over her (a)

part of the autumn experiences collection.

pairing: yandere!tomura shigaraki x reader

genre: angst

words: 2.5k

summary: you never learn.

prompt: visitor

warnings: noncon mentions/intentions, stalking, pervertedness, this is a yandere fic

    The rain was quickly soaking through his cotton shirt, chilling Tomura to the bone with a grumble threatening to work it’s way up his throat. He hadn’t brought an umbrella in protest of Kurogiri’s suggestion, he was sure it wouldn’t rain as he walked his normal path. But, he was wrong, it was fucking downpouring and his chuck-taylors were hardly holding up.

    Your frog umbrella flashed in and out of the streetlights, the rhythmic step of rain boots clicking and splashing in the puddles that littered the sidewalk. Brown, muddy water rushed in the crook of the street so fast he was briefly reminded of the times he and his family used to look at fish in the nearby rivers. That was a long time ago, no need to make room for old broken memories that would soon cease to exist as he aged further in life.

    What he wanted, was you. Your cute little feet stuffed into rainboots far too big for you, they were a gift from your father. That man was too flippant of your desires and needs that he didn’t even know his own child’s shoe size, a sorry excuse for a man if he were to be honest. The umbrella was a gift from your sister, adamant on you having something to keep you sheltered in this shitty ass neighborhood. You didn’t deserve to live here, he could imagine you in a perfectly manicured house with polished nails and frilly sundresses. The sun would sparkle on your skin and you’d smell flowery with a twinge of cinnamon, leaving men desperate and eager to flip up your skirt with the intent to breed you. You’d look so good, he mused. Cum filling your cunt as you squealed underneath him, pleading for more from your dearest, Tomura.

“Mmph!”

    Your shoe caught onto a crack in the sidewalk, nearly sending you face first into the mess that was the gravelly street. He imagined you’d make such lovely whimpers and moans as he rammed his cock into you, greedily taking you from behind...or maybe the front? He’d like to cum inside you to mark you and maybe, if he was really desperate, your mouth.

    He was working himself up, your apartment was near and the excitement was practically eating him alive with the thought that he’d be able to have you if he was just patient. It would be far too easy for you to get away and cause a scene if he grabbed you by the hair and tugged you into his arms, though, would anyone come for you? Your sister was right, this rough place that you called home was no home at all, they didn’t care about your wellbeing. They didn’t even care about basic necessities, like moving the trash bins so it would be easier for you to keep clean. They were selfish and it made him sick to think of them hurting you, taking you, and doing whatever these fucking creeps could think of. They didn’t care about you like he did.

    “Hey! You live in this apartment?”

    Shigaraki ducks into a nearby alleyway, back crashing against the wall as he shakes water out of his face like a wet dog. Soft pants fall from his chapped lips as water dribbles down his ears and neck. There’s a tightness in his pants and his heart is racing, a usual occurrence when he followed you home.

“Hm? Oh...yes, I do! It’s nice to meet you!” You tell him your name, why would you even think that would be a good idea? “Is there something wrong? I’m new to the area!”

     The man chuckles and your stalkers red eyes peer out from behind the wall, noting your neighbors large frame practically swallowing you up. He almost couldn’t see you considering this man was huddling you into the corner and looking down at you like a piece of meat.

    “You’re new? No shit, I’ve never seen a pretty thing like you before.”

    You can’t even help yourself, cheeks lifting as you pull your keys out of your pocket. Must be the neglect from your parents, you’ll let just anyone in between your legs huh?

     No.

    He can’t think like that, you’re different. You wouldn’t, you can hardly touch yourself correctly. He’d form you into the perfect girl, perfect housewife who made him meals and let him bend you over any countertop.

“Ah, well thank you sir.”

    You’ve got manners too, he likes that. He wants to hear his name-not Shigaraki-but Tomura as it rolls off your tongue, it’d be syrupy and sweet just like you.

    Clunky boots step into your apartment and a creaky door is locked closed, bet that makes you feel safe huh? Like no one’s gonna hurt you? Well, under his eye they won’t. But the only thing it won’t stop is Shigaraki; climbing the white rickety stairs to follow and a copy of your key to match.

    Waiting takes a long time, but it’s worth it to keep this little habit up. The water drips from his hair to his chin and neck, leaving a trail that would no doubt make him smell as disgusting as he felt. His hand reaches up to insert the key before the bulbous man from before is grunting out words that he couldn’t care to listen to. Though, the dude is utterly unrelenting and questions him, “what the hell are you doing?”

“What?”

    “Are you...who the fuck are you? I thought she was single.”

    Shigaraki scans him, unimpressed with the way he’d come to confront him when the two of them had the same goal in mind.

“It’s none of your business.”

     The man reaches for his wrist, looking small in the meat of his palm as Shigaraki lets him play hero for the time being.

     “I’m calling a hero! I have a cousin who works with Endeavor, you know! Stay here!”

“Let go of me.”

     The grip is starting to hurt but the man keeps squeezing, even adding a bit more strength when the wiry man expresses resistance. Doesn’t matter, he’ll just get rid of him while he can. Can’t go around harassing women if you’re just a pile of dust, right?

    Isn’t that what you do, Tomura? Stalk and harass future fucktoys? Or rather...as you like to call them, potential housewives?

    Sometimes, he might blanch when those thoughts resurface, bothering him and making him feel ashamed of who he is. How could someone like him, a successor to fucking All for One feel shame? That frustration or perhaps disturbance due to the intrusive thoughts lets his anger unleash, cracking like whips in the form of crumbling the man to dust. His wife beater, something he was sure he was (though he doubted anyone would want to marry this fuck), crumbled on top of the ashes and grew soaked under the downpour.

“I told you to let go of me. Now look at you.”

    What once used to be a living, breathing person, is now kicked to the drain below. Fingers itching the delicate skin near his jaw, he enters the apartment. He feels hungry, but not for food. He just wants to eat you right up. Yeah, that sounds right. Take you all for himself.

    You’d discarded the boots in the alcove near your door, the frogs smiling with pink cheeks as Shigaraki’s childish shoes squash them in his path of destruction. You lie drowsily in bed, pink fluffy pajamas comforting your soft skin and a duvet pulled up to your nose. You’d normally be asleep if it weren’t for the constant nagging in your gut. It felt as though something had gone horribly wrong. The anxiety causes you to lay still in your bed as if something was watching your every breath.

    It was eerily similar to the way you’d cower from your closet at night with the idea planted in your head that monsters were coming to eat you. This was only different in the way that you didn’t know what monster was coming. Not only that, you had no idea what he would do to you.

    You’d call yourself crazy during times like these, but you’d been right when the door to your bedroom opens.

    “I know you’re awake. You always sleep on your back, not your side.”

    It’s quiet and still. There’s tension thickening in the air like gravy on the stove and you briefly wonder if this was another bout of sleep paralysis. You thought you’d been in this position before, someone or something watching you. It had never felt like this, you’d never felt so terrified in your life.

    “Not up for talking, huh? A bit ungrateful considering I helped rid your little ‘home’ of that greasy pig next door.”

    The footsteps grow closer and against all instincts to play dead or even just move away, you sit up and face the man. His red eyes stare down at you, face bony and cracked...he looked like something straight out of a nightmare. Most people you knew were delicate and kind; they looked like regular people. Shigaraki though...you thought that Shigaraki might eat you alive and tear you apart limb by limp. A whimper exits your mouth as you sit paralyzed whilst he simply gets closer and closer.

    His eyes trace the neckline of your sleeping shirt, a scoop neck that showed the smattering of beauty marks adorning your skin. You were so beautiful, he grinned and planted his bottom at the edge of your bed. You shook, the water logged clothes easily soaking through to you and making your heart sink deeper in your chest. You held a confused look, like a deer in headlights or maybe a puppy with twitching ears.

“I’m...I’m sorry…”

    “Why are you apologizing? Aren’t I the one who broke in?”

    Cry for me. You’d look so good and I’d commit it to memory, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

    “You’re such a pushover, how’d you let this happen? Hm?”

     The tears build at your lash line until finally falling in fat droplets down your cheeks. Your hands turn to fists like a child as you rub your eyes, no defenses in place other than to cry like a submissive brat. Your breaths were uneven as you attempted to wipe away tears until a quick hand caught your wrist, pinky lifted.

    “Look at me, when you cry. Gets me off,” he giggles before leaning so close your lips could almost touch, “did you know that? Everytime you sobbed in your pillow, I had a hard time choosing whether or not I should cuddle you or jerk off.”

    A broken wail escapes you as your body finally makes the move to get away, your feet kick in the tangled sheets and you attempt to wrangle your wrist away from him, thrashing and beating on his chest desperately. He almost felt a bit sad, sure, he was a bit mean with the teasing. But...you had to have known that someday someone was going to come for you like this, right?

     It’s easy to intercept your punches, holding both wrists at your head as he leaned over you. His hair framed the two of you, leaving you completely caged in this man. His lithe body scooched up yours, hips resting at yours for a moment.

     “I’m gonna make you mine, well, more like you already are mine. Tomura Shigaraki's little wife. Okay? So you’re gonna come with me to the base without complaints, yeah?”

     A brave scream tore through your mouth as you arched your back, trying for a second escape attempt. His left hand detached from your arm to grab your throat, cries quickly dying out as you thrashed wildly.

     “If my pinky touches this vein right here, you’ll turn into a pile of dirt. If that happens, I’ll move onto someone else. So come on; do you really want to be the cause of someone’s future suffering? Give up, daddy taught you better than to fight.”

“How…?”

     He laughed heartily, your throat clenching under his grip before he loosened to let you get a whoosh of air.

     “Seriously? It’s so obvious you’re a daddy’s girl, take the stupid little gifts, listen to his every command, and wait for the day he decides to acknowledge you. It’s practically...practically predictable! You’re predictable and sad.”

     His words feel like venom as you cry, the lack of oxygen making fuzzy black spots dot your vision. He might kill you in this moment, your lungs squeezed and he finally let go. You sputtered, body confused with it’s sudden freedom as you looked up at him with glassy eyes and snot dripping down past your lips to your chin.

     “You look tired, I’ll take you home okay?”

     You’re dazed, you almost don’t recognize the way he peels back the covers and grazes his hands up your thighs, exposing every inch of skin as if you were a present meant to be savoured.

“I’m a virgin! Please don’t…”

     A look flashes in his eyes as he peers at you from his lashes.

     “Perfect, just makes you even sweeter.”

     You hadn’t thought you could cry more, but every word that came out of his predatory lips made a new wave of heartache resurface, was this really who you were? A weak girl who could let herself be lifted into the arms of a man she didn’t know, fingers digging into the plump flesh of her bottom as she weakly clung on?

      A memory flashes in your mind as you let yourself be taken care of...well no, be kidnapped from your bedroom. It was the one with the high school boys, the way they’d flipped up your skirt and prodded at your weakest, most sensitive places. You’d cried for them to stop, told your father what the sickening boys had done to you. They’d practically defiled you, maybe would have gone so far to take you in that empty classroom had you not kicked one of them square in the shin.

     Your father’s words ring in your ears.

     “Well, you must have done something for that to happen. Don’t wear such short skirts next time.”

     A hand comes to caress the top of your head. Tomura’s, he had you right where he wanted you. Vulnerable and weak to his advances, you were tired too. This was just going to make things easier.

     The rain has slowed to a drizzle, you shivered in his arms and prayed to God for forgiveness as you buried yourself closer to him, the warmth comforting and soothing for your soul. Your bare feet swung limply as he kept you pressed to his front, walking on a seemingly practiced path. He was all over you.

      If he could apologize, Tomura didn’t think he would. He had to be all over you. Consume your soul like the evillest of demons.

      “Cheer up, maybe if you’d been a bit more vigilant, this would have never happened.”

     Your bottom lip trembled, maybe love was not destined for you. After all, you must have been asking for this.

     “And by the way...you know I love you right?”

     You’d heard it a million times before.