#damn do i just have a soft spot for x mute reader??

[pianostarinwonderland]

fuck

i need to stop reading fanfics, i'm going to go insane at this rate.

anyway my knees are going weak at Ineffable Bloom by yomogi_mogi_mochi (I'm just gonna call them yomogi) cause like FUCK ok first of all, if you are interested in reading my ramble and then the fic, there's talks of like, hanahaki, emotional abuse, so careful about that.

next, i will say this fic has a lot left to be desired in terms of the technical side of writing (a few grammatical errors, for example (they misspelled Mostro but not even like Monstro, it gets farther from that to the point it's kinda funny)). but like. that ain't important because THIS FIC HAS SO MANY GOOD POINTS

I absolutely love how they depict MC as a childhood friend to the Octa trio and not only that but how they affect the Octa trio. They are notably much softer than their canon selves, but in a way that makes sense and it's not just serving to the readers?? A lot of fics that play around with the childhood friend trope tend to write them like their canon selves, like the presence of another friend didn't change them. It's not inherently a bad thing but often the MC is written to be kinder and such, so Octa being the same as the canon doesn't super match up ?? Like the MC's presence didn't matter. and on the other side of that, they're sooo soft that they start detaching from their personalities so then you don't see Jade, Floyd, and Azul, you just see three mushy guys that look and dress exactly like them.

but here, it's like yeah. this MC is defs on the kind and sensitive side. and you can see that their kindness changes the trio. yeAH tweels would be nicer and not just threatening. yES Azul wouldn't be just drafting up contracts and such to lure people into deals. They're more than their meanness, and especially you see this with Azul, who's being so accommodating and kind to MC. but like, the core part about each individual, the things that they learned, the things that make them unique and themselves, it's still retained. Floyd and Jade are still teasing and mean. Azul is still hardworking, and he definitely still does contracts.

in terms of childhood friend MC Octa fics, this one is really good.

ANOTHER POG THING ABOUT THIS FIC is that it really took an interesting take on hanahaki. like. like man. MAN. MC got flowers on their lungs because of a love for their mother that was not reciprocated?????? bro, yomogi could have taken the flower disease to the romance direction (like Azul initially didn't like them back) but holy shit, they went with FAMILY. and that's so SO SEXY???/ LIKE I NEVER CONSIDERED THAT AND THAT'S HONESTLY SOOOOO BIG BRAINED i . i love it. yeah :) also love that they actually did surgery for it and that they showed said EFFECTS of it, both physical and mental.

there were also moments that really broke me man. like. for example.

:-) cue intense sobs in the distance

no no because. fuck. you KNOW their throat is so badly damaged from all the surgeries and the flowers that grew in their lungs, you KNOW that as a result, they can't speak. and yet they'd almost speak just to say Azul's name. it's just. it's so. like. almost forgetting your disabilities or wounds cause you saw someone you love. like. what the fuck. actually, what the fuck.

then also this moment

I THINK ANY DISABLED PERSON WOULD BE INCREDIBLY TOUCHED THAT SOMEONE WOULD ACCOMMODATE TO THEM !!!

deadass read that and nearly choked like what the fuck. i'm not even mute or anything but like FUCK. and you Know Azul damn well studied the language just for MC!!!!!

and then we have this paragraph

new paragraph to make me feel oguhoghuhuouosdhosguohg

if i can sum up yomogi's writing in one paragraph, it's that paragraph. it's very poetic and freeflowing, it's very beautiful, it's soooo oughhhhhhhhh like, i'm kinda particular about the grammar, spelling esp, and spacing format in fics and this fic kinda hit my peeves for some of them admittedly but the writing makes me forgive it. cause it's that pretty like ohsguohdogdg the metaphors used it's soooooo good

man idk I just love the way they describe that giddiness and the sharp memory that you have for someone you love like DAMN DAMN THAT'S SO PERFECT, and i just love especially "the way his mole stretches across his chin, the world in his eyes" like. like GODDDDDDDDDD IT'S SO FUCKING PERFECT IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN WHY IT'S PERFEFCT IT JUST IS IT REALLY JUST. IS. PERFECT...

AND THEN WE HAVE THESE TWO

i'm gonna get diabetes at this rate MAN WHAT TEH FUCK

THE WAY THEY MIRROR EACH OTHER.........

"Spoil them, I don't care."

"Stain them, I don't care."

and it's in response to each other's tears.

lord i'm not your strongest soldier

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Girl in IT - 2. Off to the Races

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

Previous Chapter │ The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Preview: You hesitantly reach for the massive bouquet, looking at the beautiful mix of colors in awe. "Joel," you breathe, "They're beautiful." "The woman at the shop said that certain flowers can have meaning. She asked me about you." He points to the flowers in your hand. "Lilies, well, they mean infatuation. Chrysanthemums, for excitement." He points to the pink rose. "For sweetness and admiration." "and the carnations?" "For fascination and enchantment." "Joel.. you don't mean that, do you?" He chuckles. "Oh, I absolutely do, Sugar. Those flowers are just my way of expressing what I already know."

Chapter Warnings and Tags: Joel Miller is hungry and wants to EAT, Smut, One massive Tess sized-cockblock, Boss x Employee relationship, Time Jumping to and fro, Joel Miller is a silly flirt, Joel jumps right in, Explicit language, Did I mention smut?, Soft boy Joel Miller

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: You GUYS. YOU GUYS (!!!!!)

Thank you so much for all of the love for the first chapter of my silly little series with my even sillier Old Man Joel and his Sugar. I am absolutely flabbergasted by all of the likes, reblogs, and comments from all of you, it really means a lot to me! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You have no idea how much it means to me.

I have the first few chapters written and planned out, and I hope to post at least a new chapter once a week. I can't make any promises as I go back to work next week, but I will try. I apologize in advance if I skip a week, it is not my intention to let you guys down.

I hope you all enjoy!

Today. 

[Hey Sugar, are you in your office right now?]

Yes, did you need something, Mr. Miller?

[Yes, actually, I do. I'll come to you, don't leave!]

A knock on the door startles you.

"Hey, Sugar?" Tommy Miller's voice rings out from the other side of the door. "Have you seen Joel? I know he said he had to ask you about something, but that was an hour ago-"

"Yeah?" you reply, almost in a whine, your head tipped back in pleasure as you try to muffle a scream. "Joel? No, haven't seen him around. No, not since this—"

There's a pause, and then Tommy's voice comes again, this time with a hint of amusement. "Still wrestling with his laptop, huh? The man can't even change his wallpaper without causing a crisis. I'll check his usual spots. If you see him, tell him Tess needs him in her office, pronto."

Just then, the muted sound of a cough under your desk catches your attention. You look down to find Joel, crouched beneath the desk with a sheepish grin on his face.

"Now, where were we?" he chuckles, his eyes meeting yours with a mischievous glint.

“Joel!” You smack him playfully as you roll your desk chair back. “Tess will have your head if you don’t show up soon!”

“But I’m starving, baby! Just let me have a little snack-“ he pulls your chair back to him as he situates himself under your desk, lifting your skirt as he smiles at the sight of your barely-there scrap of lace one would call underwear. “Shit baby, is this for me?” He lowers his head to your aching cunt, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he pulls you closer to his mouth. He rubs the tip of his nose along your slit, a satisfied smirk forming on his lips. He licks at your covered mound, the tip of his tongue adding just enough pressure for you to gasp out in pleasure. “I asked you a question, baby girl. Who did you wear these panties for?”

“You,” you say breathily, covering your mouth to muffle up your moans as he plants kisses along your thighs. “You, Mr. Miller. Only you.”

“Who owns this pretty pussy?”

"You do, Sir."

"Damn right, I do." Joel licks his lips as he pushes your panties aside, licking your clit. "Fuck, she's aching for me, isn't she?" He locks his eyes with yours, his mouth hovering over your pussy. "Can I?"

You nod, not trusting yourself to keep quiet.

Joel shakes his head, displeased with your answer. "No baby, use your words-" he growls, nipping at your thighs as you wince in pain.

"PLEASE Joel, keep going!" He smiles at your eagerness, licking and parting your folds with his tongue. He pins you against his face, tightening his hold on you as your body trembles.

"Fuck, you taste so fucking sweet-"

"JOEL!" Tess's voice reverberates through the hallway, the urgency evident in her heavy-footed approach, each step echoing past your office door. "Has anyone seen him?!"

Joel lets out an exasperated groan, his head dropping onto your lap as you suppress a giggle. "Duty calls, Mr. Miller. Can't keep your boss waiting, can you?"

"I am the boss, just so you're clear on that."

"Sure, Joel, keep telling yourself that."

Joel crawls out from under your desk with a grunt, stumbling onto the carpet with a thud. "I'm definitely too old for this shit," he mutters, trying to regain his footing.

"It's your list, Mr. Miller. You make the rules, I just help you execute it," you quip, smirking as you extend a hand to help him up.  

He takes your hand, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He yanks you towards him, and you end up falling into his lap. "Right where I want you," he smirks, capturing your lips in a kiss.  

You smile as he starts to kiss along your jaw. "You are insatiable."

"Only for you, Sugar."

"JOEL, FOR FUCKS SAKE!" Tess bellows from across the building.

"You better go before she breaks down all the doors," you wince as you give him a small frown. "Again."

Joel sighs, pressing one last kiss on your forehead. "Fine, but once I'm done with Ms. Pain in my ass-"

"You're going to go back to work like a good boy?" you reply sweetly, straightening out your skirt as Joel heads towards the door. He gives you one last glance as he turns the doorknob, a hungry look on his face.

"This isn't over, baby girl. When I come back, I expect to eat."

Ten years earlier. 

"Joel! Tommy! Thank you so much for coming! Please, come in, come in!"

Joel straightens up and smooths out his flannel, nervously fiddling with his tool belt slung taut on his hips. He gives a curt nod to the client, turning to his side expecting to find Tommy next to him. His eyes narrow at the empty space. "Tommy, you fuck," he hissed under his breath at his brother, who was casually smoking a cigarette off to the side of the client's perfectly manicured lawn. "Put that out and stop fucking around, we're getting paid for this shit!"

Tommy takes a long drag, exhaling a long plume of smoke before flicking the cigarette onto the street. "This is small-time shit, Joel. We should be playing with the big dogs, not wasting our time doing residential work. How much was the bid?"

"20."

"Bullshit. This is no more than 5, and you know it. It's just a fucking scorched roof, and at only one side, it's not even a complete replacement."

Joel scoffs at his brother, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "Have you seen the size of this fucking house? We're in fucking Westlake Hills, for fucks sake. Think of the potential! Maybe we can convince them to replace the entire roof, replace their windows... fuck, I just want to make a good impression!"

"Oh, so is that why you're dressed like a fucking moron? Cowboy boots? Really? You're 46, not 26." he appraises him as he makes his way towards the front of the house. "Don't tuck in your shirt, man. I can see your fucking beer belly from here!" Tommy looks towards the front door, the client having already retreated into the home. He cocks his head and whispers to his older brother. "Is the wife hot? Shit. Maybe I should have run a comb through my hair-"

"They want this project done in a month." 

Tommy whips his head towards Joel. "Are you fucking KIDDING ME? JOEL-"

"Boys!" The client's voice cuts through the building tension between the brothers, a sweet conspiratory smile on her face. "Are you coming?" She looks out into the distance beyond the brothers, a big smile blooming across her face. "Oh, Sugar! come and meet the boys who are fixing up the roof, you know, the side where your antenna thing exploded?" She beckons to the figure who was suddenly behind them, motioning her to join their conversation.  

She's a sweet little thing, Joel muses, all nerves and jitters like a baby calf attempting to walk for the first time. So fucking cute, he thinks to himself. You were dressed for the brutality of the Austin summer, with barely there cut-off shorts and a tiny white baby tee, the sweat forming on your skin wetting the thin fabric, and if Joel looked hard enough, he swears he saw the outline of your nip-"

"Baby," the client rings out, forcing Joel to look away in embarrassment, a blush forming on his neck all the way up to his face. "You remember Joel Miller, the contractor we ran into in the mall?"

"Yeah. I remember. Hi, Mr. Miller."

You cringed as you approached, your head downcast as you awkwardly reached your overbearing mother. "Tommy, come and meet my daughter, we call her Sugar, because she's so sweet! She's back home from UT Dallas, she's working her way up to her master's in IT! We're all so proud of-"

"Mom," you whine, glaring at the ground as you shift around uncomfortably. "I don't think they care about what I'm doing at school."

"Don't be silly, Sugar," the mom chided with a dismissive wave. "These fine gentlemen surely appreciate a smart, capable woman, right, Joel? Tommy?"

Joel, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected introduction, nodded with a friendly smile. "Absolutely, ma'am. Education is valuable, and we're glad to have such esteemed company. It's hard enough to go through earning your bachelor's, I'm sure it's hell trying to navigate trying to get your masters!" Joel clears his throat as he gives her a nervous smile. "You look great, by the way. You look well rested, I reckon this break is doing you some good."

Tommy, giving Joel an amused look, chimed in. "Smart is the new sexy, Sugar. Nothing to be shy about. I agree," Tommy winks at his brother as his smile widens at Joel's nervous shuffling. "Joel sure likes them smart and capable, alright."

You blushed, still uncomfortable with the attention. "Well, uh, nice to meet you, Tommy, and it's nice to see you again, Joel," You mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Pleasure to see you again too, Sugar," Joel replies.  

Tommy chokes on nothing as he witnesses his brother taking the girl's hand in his, placing a soft kiss on it. 

"Oh, brother of mine," he whispered to himself, shaking his head at seeing how smitten his brother was for you. "For fucks sake, what the hell am I going to do with you?"

Six Months and One Week ago.

"Sugar? Is that you?"

You turn towards the deep voice, smiling at the body that it's coming from. "Mr. Miller, it's nice to see you again. Thank you so much for this opportunity-"

"I heard from your mother that you got that Masters, I'm proud of you, girlie."

"Oh," you stammer, "It was nothing-"

"Don't do that," Joel says with a frown, shaking his head in disappointment.  

"Do what?" you ask, matching his frown as he steps towards you. You can't help but gasp at his sudden boldness. You keep your hands glued to your sides, willing yourself to not reach out to his chest. You forgot just how much he affected you, even if it's been a decade since you've seen him last. He's older, sure, with strands of grey peppered throughout his curly hair... but he's different too, the remnants of his boyish charm morphing into something harder, more rugged, more broad. You tremble under his scrutiny. You force yourself to meet his heavy gaze. "Do what?" you repeat out louder, your voice getting caught in your throat as you push an errant strand of hair away from your face. 

"You shouldn't downplay yourself like that. Earning something like your Master's is a big deal, don't sell yourself short like that, okay?"

You grant him a small smile. "Okay."

Joel, satisfied with your answer, nods. "Want to grab a cup of coffee with me?"

Six Months Ago.

"Are you sure she's good? Joel! Are you fucking listening?" Tess snaps, her fingers snapping for emphasis as Joel jolts in surprise. "It says here that she's been working at the Geek Squad for the last eight years; that's hardly enough experience to run an entire department—"

"She has her masters in Management Information Systems from UT Dallas, and the person who vouched for her-"

"Yeah, her mother? If she's as old as you, I highly doubt she can grasp what we need... what are we doing Joel? Are we just letting little old rich ladies headhunt for us now? I don't need no privileged priss in some ball gown running IT, we're a multi-million dollar company-"

"... who didn't even have a decent IT department in the first place, and now that Gloria is retiring, shit, Tess-" Joel runs his hands through his hair as he groans in frustration. "... she's better than everyone else we've interviewed, hell- at least we know that she's a lifer, being that she's worked for minimum wage at Best Buy for almost a decade! We have a chance to bring someone in to help out with the draftsmen, shit, she's even proficient in Revit! Tess, level with me: with her knowing that 3D modeling shit - we need her! More than she needs us!"

"So it's not that you want to fuck her, then?" Tess rolls her eyes as she throws your resume on his desk. "Yeah, Tommy mentioned your little high school crush on her, it's funny, you conveniently forgot to mention that-"

"Tess, don't."

"So if we decide to hire her, I won't catch you fucking her in your office? Her office? The conference room, the supply closet..." She glares at him, tipping her head back as she pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance.  

"For fucks sake Tess, are we hiring her or not?"

Tess rises from her seat, running her hands down her slacks to straighten them, and gives Joel one last glance. With a half-smile, she shakes her head as she heads toward the door. "I'll email her an offer. If she takes it, she takes it... But, I will be starting her off at our base pay."

Joel nods, suppressing the urge to beam as much as he'd like. "That's fine."

"Oh? And Joel?" She pivots back to Joel, hand on the doorknob. "I didn't hear a no. If I catch you guys in my office, I will fucking castrate you, you hear?"

Two weeks ago.

To: Sugar0926@gmail.com

Fr: J.Miller@gmail.com

Subject: About that list...

11:30 am (30 min ago)

Sugar,

Thanks for saving my ass last night. The meeting with The H Hotel went off with a hitch and Tess was none the wiser for my little mishap... no harm, no foul, right? Right.

About earlier today, when you said "Let's do this", was that a "Yes, maybe?" or a "Yes, definitely?" because I would very much like to do this, with you, at your pace, of course. I don't want to pressure you or anything. I'm just fucking excited, you know? You have no idea how much I've wanted to talk to you back then... I let shit get into my head, you know? Fuck. I'm rambling.

Thank you for giving me a chance, Sugar. I promise I will do everything in my power to make it worth your while.

Joel

To: J.Miller@gmail.com

Fr: Sugar0926@gmail.com

Subject: RE: About that list...

11:45 am (0 min ago)

Yes, definitely. Yes to all of it. 

When do you want to start?

One week ago.

[Hey Sugar, are you busy?] 

Not at the moment, I'm about to clock out for lunch, what's up? Did you click on a phishing link again?

[Sugar, have a little faith! Say, I'm about to head out to lunch too, meet me in the parking lot in 5?]

That's rather forward and presumptuous of you, Mr. Miller. What if I had already brought lunch from home? What if I was looking forward to eating my adult lunchable?

[What the hell is an adult lunchable? It sounds terrible! What if I take you to that little Sushi joint down the road? Would that be enough to convince you to come out with me? I'll let you snack on the lunchable on the way there.]

Hey! Don't knock my charcuterie! Also, Doesn't that "little sushi joint" have a two-month waiting list? It's impossible to get in! I thought that it was only open for dinner?

[Baby, don't you know that we built that restaurant? Masayoshi is a good friend of mine, and he owes me a favor. All it takes is one call, what do you say? Nothing's impossible for my Sugar.]

Nothing's impossible for my Sugar. Sugar. My Sugar.  You read Joel's message over and over again, your stomach growling as you contemplate the current state of your life. If someone had told you six months ago that you would manage to not only crawl your way out of the depths of Geek Squad hell, snag a decent job, and catch the eye of your hot-as-fuck boss, you would have laughed in their face at how ridiculous that sounded. It is ridiculous - how one little mistake led to having everything you could have possibly wanted out of your minuscule life, hot man included. So what if you haven't had a serious relationship since college? It's not like you were with your ex long enough for you to go all the way, and even then, you weren't remotely even into him, he was too skinny and nerdy and didn't scream 'man' at all. His nervous laughter and awkward shaking did nothing for you. Joel, on the other hand- now that was a man. A man you wouldn't mind climbing like a tree, all thick and firm and sturdy...

[Sugar? You still there? Are we doing this or not?]

You snap out of your daydreaming, your decision already being made. Your hands shake as you type out your response, your fingers striking the keys with a finality that you never would have thought you would ever have the courage for.  Well, you think to yourself as you press enter.  Here goes nothing...

I'll be right there. See you soon.

[That's my good girl.]

"Hey, Sugar," Joel greeted with a playful grin from the driver's seat of his F-150, his arm casually resting on the open window. His eyes lingered on you as if savoring the moment. "Hop in, Masayoshi is heading over to the restaurant now."

You rolled your eyes with a teasing smirk as you approached the passenger side, clamoring into the cab with a bit of awkward grace. "Just like that? A single call to your chef friend, and he drops everything to cater to your every whim? Color me impressed, Mr. Miller."

Joel chuckled. "Well, what can I say? I am sort of a big deal." He reached for your hand across the center console, fingers intertwining, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin. "Is this okay, Sugar?" He lifted your hand to his lips, planting a gentle kiss. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a delightful flutter in your stomach. Turning your head away, you mumbled, "It's very okay, Mr. Miller."

"Now, what did I tell you?" Joel teased, a glint in his eyes. "It's Joel, none of this Mr. Miller nonsense. Save that for when we're crossing off items on my list, alright?"

You couldn't help but laugh nervously, a blush creeping up your cheeks as Joel's easy charm and forwardness caught you off guard. "You're going to be the death of me, Joel," you quipped, half-jokingly, half-serious, unsure how to navigate the sudden closeness. The air in the truck seemed to hum with a subtle tension, and you wondered if Joel could sense the rapid beating of your heart.

Joel's gaze held a playful sparkle, and he grinned. "Well, Sugar, I hope it's a good way to go." He revved the engine, and the truck rumbled to life as he pulled out onto the road. 

"So, Sugar, tell me something interesting about yourself," his fingers tapping the steering wheel to an imaginary beat.

You chuckled, playing along. "Well, Joel, I like to teach myself new things, I have a British shorthair named Sir Bubbles, you know, because I was obsessed with Bridgerton, And, by the way, it's Mr. Miller only when executing things on your list, right?" you teased, recalling his earlier remark.

Joel shot you a sly grin. "Sharp memory, Sugar. You're catching on quickly."

As you neared the sushi restaurant, the conversation seamlessly transitioned to lighter topics. Joel shared stories about his work, and how it felt working with Tommy and Tess, and you found yourself drawn into his earnestness and honesty. The playful banter continued as Joel made his way towards the edge of town, your cheeks hurting from how easy it was to smile in his company.

Parking the truck, Joel turned to you with a playful glint in his eye. "Ready for some sushi and more of my irresistibly charming company, Sugar?"

You roll your eyes, feigning reluctance. "Oh, the charm? I don't know if I can handle it, Mr. Miller."

He grins, opening your door with a flourish. "Well, brace yourself, because it's coming."

As you step out, Joel pauses, reaching behind your seat. "Wait a sec," he says, unveiling what looks like the botanical equivalent of a small garden. "A little something to brighten up your day."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is this part of the list?"

Joel chuckles. "Maybe."

You hesitantly reach for the massive bouquet, looking at the beautiful mix of colors in awe. "Joel," you breathe, "They're beautiful." 

"The woman at the shop said that certain flowers can have meaning. She asked me about you." He points to the flowers in your hand. "Lilies, well, they mean infatuation. Chrysanthemums, for excitement." He points to the pink rose. "For sweetness and admiration."

"and the carnations?"

"For fascination and enchantment." 

"Joel.. you don't mean that, do you?"

He chuckles. "Oh, I absolutely do, Sugar. Those flowers are just my way of expressing what I already know."

You playfully roll your eyes, holding the bouquet to your chest. "You're quite the charmer, Mr. Miller."

"Only for you," he replies with a wink, taking your hand as you both head towards the sushi restaurant. "After you, baby girl."

After lunch, you and Joel emerge to find the heavens have opened up, rain pouring down in sheets. Joel stops you in your tracks, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of sincerity and mischief.

With a twinkle in his eye, he asks, "Mind if I tick off the first thing on my list?" 

You smile, stepping closer to Joel as he tucks an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, the both of you soaked to the bone.

"Yes please, Mr. Miller."

Taglist: @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat, @gwendibleywrites, @joeldjarin, @brittmb115, @thewiigers,

@auteurdelabre, @quicax3, @casa-boiardi, @amyispxnk, @untamedheart81,

@paleidiot, @bbiophiliaa (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)

As always, dividers by @saradika-graphics

[angelicpoison12]

Can you do angel dust x shy autistic male reader, the reader loves the texture of angels fluff.

absolutely!! I love autistic!reader fics sm thank you for requesting this! 🫶 i added the reader being nonverbal because as a selectively mute autistic, i feel like there aren't enough fics w/ being selectively mute!

wordcount: 741

tags: fluffy cuddles, tooth rotting fluff, nonverbal!reader, reader can't find their comfort object and has a shutdown, Angel being Angel, (platonic) use of petnames, Angel lets you touch his fluff teehee, SFW

— ✃☕︎︎ — 

you enjoyed touching things. specifically, soft things. you always had a soft comfort object nearby to keep you calm; whether it was a small piece of soft cloth, a stuffed animal, the sleeve of a soft sweater, a blanket-whatever it was, it kept you at ease. today, all went to shit because you couldn't find it. "fuck, where is it? where is it?!" you nearly shrieked. you felt like the entire day was ruined, and it hadn't even gotten started yet.

you knew you needed to calm down. but how?

your mind finally hit 'fuck it', and you decided to just go on with the day without your comfort object. you'd be okay, right?

sitting in the hotel's lounge, you muttered in annoyance under your breath, not really wanting to deal with anyone right now. of course, we can't get everything we want, right?

"hey babycakes," you heard. you slowly lifted your head and turned your chin away from the voice, knowing from the Brooklyn-Italian accent that it was Hell's hottest porn star in the Pride Ring. Angel Dust. he sat next to you, kicking his heels up onto the table in front of the couch. "whats the matter with you? somebody gotcha blue?" Angel asked. your cheeks puffed with air, and you huffed, squirming to the furthest corner of the couch. "look, when somebody asks ya something, it's kinda rude to not respond, dollface." Angel said, his eyes softer now, not having the usual glimmer of mischief that they usually held.

you opened your lips to say something, but closed them, not wanting to act out. Angel could tell you weren't feeling the best. he didn't know you too awfully well, but he knew you weren't one to shut down without something going wrong. "lemme guess. uh.. somethin' bad happened?" you nodded. "hm. well what happened? was someone mean to ya?" you shook your head. "damn, okay. not makin' this too easy for me, toots. uh.. lost something?" you perked up and nodded vigorously.

Angel scooted closer, and you didn't push him away. well, not like you could anyways, you were basically smooshed into the corner of the sofa. "what'd ya lose, toots?" he asked. all you could do was rub your thumbs against your forefingers, as if you were feeling the pads, seeking sensory attention. Angel immediately noticed this and it was as if a lightbulb had clicked in his head. "ohhh.. i get it. ya always got somethin' with ya. you can't find it, dollface?" you nodded, your lips pursed in a sad pout, eyes wide and soft like glass. "aw, doll.. it's okay. can-uh, can i touch ya?" your eyes widened, and you quirked a brow. Angel was quick to throw his hands up and say, "no-no, no, not like that, babycakes-just uh.. i just wanna hold ya. maybe give you some comfort, y'know?" hesitantly, you nodded. you squeaked when Angel effortlessly pulled you into his lap, holding you with his four arms around you.

you noticed his fluffy chest, his soft jawline, pearly white teeth with his golden fang, mismatching irises, extra eyes, and spotted hair. you noticed your hand involuntarily reaching for his chest. you were quick to cower back. you knew Angel felt vulnerable enough having you in his lap, and you didn't want to push his comfort too far. Angel gently brushed some hair from your eyes as he said, "it's okay, babycakes. go ahead, i just got done brushin' my fluff this morning, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste." he said with a chuckle, smiling as he led your hand to his fluff. you swallowed, and tenderly squeezed his left fluff breast. you blushed, your cheeks a soft rosy blush. you pressed your ear to his chest, listening to the gentle, comforting melody of his heartbeat.

"aw, yer adorable, toots." Angel nearly cooed. his upper set of arms held you closer, pushing your head deeper into his fluff. you gazed up at him. from the nose down, your head was buried into the sweet-smelling white fur. you nestled closer to him, and you swore you heard his heartbeat quicken when you reciprocated, your arms holding his waist. "feelin' better, babycakes?" Angel asked, his voice soft. you nodded into his chest, nuzzling him like a sweet cat would. "good."

[rosewaterandivy]

teaser - loose lips sink ships

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: depictions of high school, mild cursing, allusions to vaping & mike wheeler dumbassery

A/N: Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance. Feedback and reblogs are appreciated; enjoy!

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Now - Spring term, March

“Look kid,” Hopper sighs, drumming his hands along the desk. “Far be it from me to pry into your personal life…”

Pulse quickening, the pen in your hand pauses in anticipation. Your eyes cut to him, curious.

“People are starting to talk.”

“About what?”

Another sigh and shake of his head. When his eyes meet yours, it’s as if he’s silently pleading for you to understand his vague remarks.

Seeing a crease begin between your brows, Hopper knows he’ll have to come out and say it. He glances to the door, checking that no one lingers in the hall outside. 

“‘Bout you and Harrington.”

An awkward moment passes before you cap your pen and set aside the essays you’d been grading. You’d always been a cool customer, Hopper recalls, even as a student–all calming breaths and calculated replies. Never quick to anger or snap judgments, always holding out for a rational explanation; or, as the case so often is, to hear a rambling teenager’s interpretation of events.

And he knows, god does he know, how difficult the past year has been for you. The last thing he wants to do is quash any semblance of happiness you’ve managed to find as you meticulously picked up the shattered pieces of your life. But–

“There’s nothing to say.”

The response shocks him, and his broad shoulders slack.

“That so?”

You softly clear your throat before resuming your grading. “Cards on the table?” 

He nods mutely.

“We’re living together.”

“Huh?!” He nearly shouts.

His response surprises you, and you subtly raise an eyebrow.

“You’re… looking at me pretty intensely here, Chief.”

He begins to sputter and flushes nearly rouge. “Oh, that’s just uh–” Jim Hopper takes a deep breath, “And you’re sure there’s nothin–”

“Just friends,” you shrug, placing the marked essay in the stack to your right. “I was in tough spot and he offered to help me out.”

The walkie at his hip crackles to life. “Base to eleven, base to eleven; over.”

With a sigh he radios back, “Eleven to base, copy.”

You can hear the exhaustion in Joyce’s voice when she responds, “Code green in the language hall’s boys’ bathroom; over.”

Hop pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, “Copy.”

He rises from the chair he’d pulled up to your desk, joints popping. You let out a soft snort at his predicament. “5 bucks says it’s Wheeler,” you mutter, shuffling essays.

He rasps a laugh, “You’re on.”

Glancing to the clock above the door, you quickly stand and usher him out into the hall. You kick the doorstop into place and lean against the wall. “Give ‘em hell Hop,” you say by way of goodbye, a little too loudly. “Flush that vape down the drain!”

He turns back at that, eyes a silent plea for you to keep it down as students flood the halls in time with the bell. Steve joins you mere seconds later, door propped open to take in the exchange. 

“What was that all about?”

You shrug casually, “Code green,” you whisper, voice hushed as the early arrivals wander in to the classroom. 

A slow smirk pulls across his lips, “Wheeler?”

“Oh, a hundred percent.”

He scoffs, “Vaping? Who are they kidding–sucking from a glorified MP3 player does not make you look cool.”

“And you’d know all about that, I suppose,” you quip back.

“Damn straight,” he nods to a few students in greeting. “You have to light a cigarette, at least there’s a semblance of danger there.”

“Right, because the imminent threat of emphysema and lung cancer wasn’t enough.”

He laughs brightly, “See, you get it!”

“Uh huh,” you kick the doorstop back into your classroom as the bell rings out, “So saith the King.”

A mop of curls attempts to enter without your notice, Steve clocks it too and raises his brows in interest. You roll your eyes at him, mouthing ‘later’ and follow Henderson into the classroom. He takes his seat and begins to pull out his supplies. Greeting a few students as they settle in, you stop just shy of his desk. 

Squirrely on the best of days, Dustin spies you from the corner of his eye and continues to line up the pens and pencils on his desk. 

You bide your time, waving to a few students in the interim; you can wait it out with the best of ‘em. And that is clearly what Dustin is trying to do now. “So, it’s gonna be like that, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is his perfunctory response.

“Is that so?” You find yourself echoing Hop from earlier, “I was just going to commend you on that latest timed writing assignment,” you keep your tone light. “Your analysis of Elie Wiesel’s Nobel Prize Acceptance speech was beautifully done.” 

He abruptly stops fiddling with the pens at his desk.

“The way you noted the allusions and repeated rhetorical strategies from Night was–”

“I didn’t write it!” He admits, eyes screwed shut in embarrassment, “I-I ran out of time and used Chat GPT–”

“Hah!” You shout indignantly pointing at him and walking to the lectern, “I knew it Henderson, I knew it!”

By now the rest of the class has filed and in taken their seats. You diligently uncap an expo marker to add Dustin’s initials to the ‘You Suck’ column on the whiteboard. With an exaggerated pout, you slowly erase the ‘D.H.’ from the ‘You Rule’ column. 

The class emits a prolonged ‘oooh’ as you hop on to your chair and wave a hand for them to stop. Curiously, Mike Wheeler is absent and you make a mental note to text Hop to pay up later. 

“Standard procedure Dustin,” you say as a reminder, “A call home, email to teachers, zero in the gradebook until the assignment can be corrected during mandatory week-long tutorials.”

He sulks in his seat, slouching low against the back of the plastic chair, “But I’ll miss Hellfire!”

“Tsk,” you cluck, “Should’ve thought about that before plagiarizing. Munson’ll never let you live it down.”

Turning to the board, you move to go over the day’s agenda when Sinclair pipes up.

“Okay, but is it technically plagiarism?”

You appreciate his attempt to go to bat for his friend, you really do. And you’d hate to crush his burgeoning inquiry, anyway.

“Interesting line of thought… Continue.”

Lucas hesitates as the attention of the class falls on him, “Well, I just– It’s an AI. There’s no previous ownership over the product, right?”

You breathe out a sigh, “True, AI sentience has yet to be determined,” you acknowledge, “But intellectual ownership is what’s important here.”

Dustin sinks lower in his chair, if at all possible.

“At the end of the day, what Henderson did is really no better than…” you take a pause for effect, “Saaaay Christian’s use of Cyrano’s words for Roxane’s affections.”

The class audibly groans as you bring them back to the task and text at hand. You smile brightly and continue with the day’s lesson.

[sebastiansluts]

I have a very simple request: the reader is needy/horny, Bucky is sleeping next to her but she doesn't want to wake him up, so she starts touching herself for some relief. Bucky actually hears her soft moans and her moving in the bed, so while she keeps playing with herself and whining, he gently asks her if she needs some help and she basically begs him to make her come (with his tongue, fingers and dick).

Bucky Barnes x Reader; needy!reader, masturbation, fingering, oral sex f receiving, vaginal sex

ANY HATE WILL BE DELETED THIS IS A JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE DON'T LIKE, DON'T INTERACT; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+

You and Bucky were in bed together, and he was fast asleep while you were burning up with need. You didn't want to wake him though, he needed his rest, so you slowly slid your hand into your pants, tracing your fold through your panties.

You nearly whimpered, hips already jerking up as you slid your panties aside and pushed two fingers into your pussy. You bit your lip, a whine slipping through, your hips lifting off the bed as you tried to find your spot.

You moaned in frustration, your fingers not enough against your walls, clenching desperately, trying to feel full. You were so focused on finding your spot, you didn't realize how loud you were getting, whines and grunts slipping through your teeth.

"Sweetheart?" Bucky asked quietly, and you gasped, hips dropping to the mattress in shock. "D'ya need some help doll?"

"Please! Bucky make me come please. I can't, it's not enough, need you," you begged, fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy hard, trying to hit your spot.

"Okay doll, shh, I gotcha," Bucky said gently, stilling your hand and pulling your fingers free despite your whines. "Ya want my fingers baby? Hmm?"

"Fingers, mouth, cock, anything! Please Bucky," you nearly cried, squirming next to him trying to pull his hand towards your cunt. He gently tugged his hand free, slipping two warm fingers into you and making your back arch as he hit that spongey spot.

"Yes! Oh god, more more, please more," you chanted, and Bucky grinned at you quickly before moving down your body and settling between your legs, fingers still buried in your cunt, slowly massaging.

Bucky winked before lowering his head and wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking gently. You sobbed at the light pressure, nearly delirious with need.

"B-Bucky! Please-" you gasped as he lightly bit down on your clit, flicking it rapidly with his tongue. Your body writhed on the bed, Bucky having to hold your hips down with his metal arm, plates shifting.

Bucky gently released your clit and pulled his fingers free, sliding up your body, pressing kisses everywhere before reaching your lips. He slid his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on it, his dick sliding through your folds.

You automatically spread your legs wider for him and he groaned into your ear. "Fuck babydoll, you're so good," he murmured as he slid his dick into you, easing in inch by inch.

You sobbed wetly, gasping as you were filled, his shaft gliding along that spot as his top hit your cervix before pulling back. Your hands scrabbled at his back, nails leaving red lines, and making Bucky hiss, his hips slamming into you. A screaming moan left your lips and he hushed you.

“Quiet doll, gonna wake up the whole damn building,” Bucky grunted, slowly rolling his hips, his dick rubbing against your spot and making you pant.

“Bucky please, need to come, just make me come, please!” you begged, pulling him down harder on top of you, until he was pressing you into the mattress, big body weighing you down, huge cock splitting you open.

Bucky was braced on his metal forearm above you, and he used that hook his other arm onto your shoulder and pull you down into his thrusts. You went mute, a silent scream in your throat, your eyes rolling backwards as you came, body shaking.

Drool spilled out of your wide open mouth and Bucky groaned, letting a line of spit drip from his mouth to yours, before he doubled down on his thrusts, fucking you so hard you were sure your pussy was bruising.

"C'mon baby girl, gimme another, you wanted to come so bad, do it again," Bucky ordered, lips next to your ear, voice low and rough. You choked on your inhale, his dick hitting your cervix again and you buried your face in his shoulder as you came again, body going loose and limp.

Bucky rut into you, chasing his orgasm, and came with a deep groan, spilling inside you. He rolled his hips leisurely, fucking his cum into you, the serum making him come for an age, filling you so much it leaked out before he was done.

Tears ran down the sides of your face, streaming into your ears. Bucky pressed kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, and your nose before kissing your slack lips, sucking on your lower one.

"Better, doll?" Bucky asked as he pulled away, dick slipping out of your dripping cunt, and he rolled onto his side, bringing you with him. He tucked you into his side and you snuggled down into his chest.

"Mhmm, thanks Bucky," you murmured, already half asleep. You could feel him chuckle, the vibrations rumbling through his chest into you, before he settled, stroking your hair.

"Good. Sleep now, baby. I love you."

[queendeeshorrorimagines]

October 14: breeding

Art the clown x fem!reader

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it peeps), sex with a clown (not my thing but hey, I get some people are down go clown), unrealistic dick (he is a demonic clown?) Fear play, reader is morally grey and is into Art

As an apology for not being able to post this in time, day fourteen and fifteen will be longer than what I've been writing.

The situation you were currently in for the past 24 hours was probably hands down the most fucked up situation you've ever been through in your life. It started out with you attending a Halloween party with your friends even though you didn't feel like going.

Oh how you wished that you would've stayed home instead of going to that damn party. Your friends have been long dead, you knew it too well. The amount of screaming and blood throughout the house was a given.

In the deepest pits of your mind, a dark side of you didn't feel any sympathy towards your friends. They were the ones who decided to fuck around and harass the creepy clown that was staring at you. Although the clowns mannerisms were rather unsettling for you, you couldn't help but to feel the attraction towards him.

The once new and beautiful angel costume you wore became bloodied and tattered- covered with the occasional dried up mud and grass stains. You were hiding inside the master bedroom, inside the walk in closet.

You felt your heart beat out of your chest as you heard the door opened, shit. You swore you locked the door before hiding as you hear quiet footsteps lightly echoed. It was a few minutes before it went quiet, too quiet for your liking.

Just before you were about to leave the closet, you suddenly feel a hand grabbed your waist before the familiar honk of his horn, causing you to jump. The closet door flew open, Art walking you out of the closet.

"What do you want from me? I apologized for my friends earlier..."

Your eyes were doe like, looking at his dark ones. His eyes took in your body with a smirk, sending a wave of arousal down to your core. 'This is not the time for me to be aroused.' You scolded yourself as he moves his free hand to the side of your face.

It wasn't a harsh touch like you expected, it was almost caring as he let's go of your waist, pulling out a black rose from his hat before putting it back on. He handed the rose to you, causing you to blush slightly.

"For me? Thank you.. I'm still confused about why keep me?"

You gently held on to the rose, smelling it with a soft smile. If it wasn't for the fact that he just killed all your friends, the gesture would've made you blush.

The clown starts making mime like gestures. Him moving his hand over his stomach, moving his hand as if he has a pregnant stomach. Then, he moved the hand to his chest in the position of him rocking a baby. The whole thing made you blush more and feel even more aroused at your situation.

"So you want me to be pregnant with your children? You want to fuck a baby in me?"

You didn't realize that you said the last part lustfully until you see him smile wider, giving a thumbs up in response to your questions. Your body suddenly feels warm as he starts roughly ripping the costume off your body.

Leaving you in only your sheer white bra, art undoes his pants before pushing you on the bed. The first thing you noticed was that his pale cock was a lot bigger with thick blueish veins. You sucked in a breath while watching him slowly move over top of you.

Before you were able to prepare yourself, Art suddenly thrusted into you. Your hands grabbed onto the back of his shirt as you leaned up to kiss him. The two of you kissed, smearing his face paint on your face.

His thrusts speed up slightly, causing your legs to wrap around his waist. You gently pulled away from the kiss, you pull him closer to you as you see his mouth parted. Muting out his moans, art leaned his head closer to yours as you panted softly.

"Keep hitting that spot"

You whined out as he thrusted harshly. Arts hands moved frome your hips towards your torso to the meaty flesh of your breasts. You saw art suddenly made a pleasure face, filling your walls with cum.

Art slowed down, his fingers harshly played with your nipples as you groaned out. After a few minutes of slow thrusts, you thought he was finished, art looks at you with a smirk before increasing his pace once again.

[hoebii]

gamer boy

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader Genre : Established Relationship!Au, Smut Rating : 18+ Warnings : sexual content, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism I guess?  Wc : 2.3k Beta(s) : @taegularities​ , @mimikookie​ Banner : @pars-ley​  A/N : Reposting cause tumblr hates me :,) Huge thank you to my amazing betas, they helped me so much into making this not ~C r I n G e~ and lovely Ley for making the banner, such talent! We love! I don’t think I’d have the courage to post this without their help so please go drown them in love, they deserve it! As always, hope you guys like this one, feedback is always appreciated~

-----------------

“Kook?” you called out, peeking out of your bedroom when you heard someone shout. Getting no response, you called his name louder.

“Game room, babe!”

Ah, you should’ve guessed. Where else would your dearest boyfriend be if not in his beloved gaming room? You chuckled to yourself as you grabbed a random shirt from the closet before going to him. 

The shirt you took was too big on you - as one would expect when you wore Jungkook’s clothes. You tugged the shirt down a little to let it cover your bottom and buttoned it up except the first two. 

You had just gotten out of the shower when you had heard him, so you didn’t bother putting on any proper clothes. It wasn’t as if he never saw you naked anyway.

Knocking softly, you twisted the knob to push the door open that led to his game room. He hadn’t seemed to notice your arrival, too immersed in the game he was playing. You smiled when you saw him shout at someone - most likely Jimin or Taehyung - about getting spotted by the enemy. 

Soundlessly, you moved towards his chair, standing behind him to watch his gameplay for a bit. You had to admit, seeing the focus written in the crease between his eyebrows and the way his jaw clenched whenever it seemed like he wasn’t winning had affected you more than it should’ve. Your eyes trailed over to his fingers, which were dancing rapidly across the keyboard for different combos. You shifted from one leg to the other when you heard his gruff voice.

Did the room suddenly get warmer?

You tugged on the shirt’s collar you had on to try to cool yourself down, not wanting to disturb him with your neediness during his gaming hours. His bare torso also did nothing to help your predicament. 

Curse you Jungkook for not wearing a shirt! 

But the longer you stood there watching him, the harder it was to remain strong. You were about to leave the room when an idea suddenly popped into your head.

It was the stark opposite of your previous thoughts of not wanting to disturb him, but now that it had made its way into your mind, you would be damned if you didn’t go through with it.

So, with a smirk on your face, you bent down and put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, whispering a little ‘boo’ into his ear.

You giggled when Jungkook jumped a little on his seat, his fingers pausing over his keyboard. Realising that it was you, he shot you a bright smile, mouthing ‘hi’ excitedly as he moved to grab you by your hips and pulled you onto his lap. 

Your soft laughter continued as he motioned for you to stay silent a while longer, quickly speaking into the mic to take a break before muting himself.

“Hi baby,” he cooed, pulling you close to give you a kiss on the cheek. “What do I owe the pleasure of having you here?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, slinging your arms over his shoulders and leaning closer to him. “I missed you.”

Jungkook pouted at you, though you could see the sides of his lips twitching up into a smile. “Did you? Aw, I’m sorry baby. Do you want me to tell the guys that I’m done playing for the day?”

Ah, such a sweetheart. Ready to finish his game early just for you.

“As much as I’m honoured to be more important than your game, I have another idea,” you said, smiling cheekily when he raised his eyebrow.

“Oh? Do tell.”

You bit your lip, one of your hands coming up to wrap the chord of his headset around one of your fingers, moving your hips to get some friction. “I want you to fuck me while you play.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. His posture straightened and you felt his hands grab your hips tighter. 

“Baby..." he breathed, the low tenor of his voice coated in warning and intrigue.

It was you who raised an eyebrow at him this time, not stopping your movements. “What? You don’t want to?” you asked. You knew he was interested in the way he reacted; you could feel his length twitching at your actions, so you weren’t too worried about him not being on board with the idea. Staying true to your teasing self, you let your expression change into a taunting smile. “Scared that your friends will hear? I didn’t know you were a coward.” 

Jungkook’s eyes darkened at that, his hands sliding down from your hips to your ass. “Clearly this morning wasn’t enough. Let’s see where that smart mouth of yours has to say when you beg me to let you cum.”

Your pussy clenched at his words, already dripping palpably. 

“So what? You want to ride me while I play?” he asked, one of his travelling across your body to settle on your breasts.

Your voice came out as a breathless whisper when he squeezed it. “I want you to stay unmuted the whole time.”

Jungkook took his headset off slowly while he processed your request. His eyes were hooded, hunger evident in them. “You really think you can stay silent while I’m balls deep inside you?” he teased. “Or do you actually want them to hear?”

Jungkook’s sly smirk only grew at the pathetic moan that escaped your lips. “Am I right? You want them to hear the way you beg for my cock?”

“Jungkook,” you whined. The longer you went without him inside you, the more desperate you grew.

He pushed you off of his lap gently to pull his trousers down, his dick springing free. He leaned back against his chair and patted his thigh. You eagerly climbed back onto his lap, wrapping your fingers around his length. A groan left his lips as he closed his eyes at the pleasure, his jaw hardening when you started stroking his member the way you knew drove him crazy. 

You grinded your hips against his thigh, not bothering to hide any of the sounds that left your mouth. You felt Jungkook’s fingers make quick work of the shirt you had on, opening the buttons but not pushing the article of clothing off your shoulders like you had expected him to. Rather, his hands moved underneath it, running them over your body before stopping at your breasts. He leaned forward to place kisses all over your chest, sucking hickeys wherever he pleased.

You gripped his dick tighter, movements stuttering when you felt him take one of your nipples into his mouth. The hand that wasn’t busy with his dick, raised to grab his hair - tugging on it as you moaned.

You could feel your orgasm approaching fast, the coil in your stomach getting tighter; but as much as you would have loved to come from fucking yourself against his thigh, you had a specific way you wanted to do experience this. So, with great effort, you leaned away from Jungkook, removing your hand. 

“Do you plan on letting me cum on your thigh, or am I going to get dicked down by you, instead?” you asked, raising your eyebrow.

Jungkook licked his bottom lip as he took in how disheveled you looked with the open shirt and hickeys scattering your chest - some from the night before and today morning. “I don’t know, that sounds hot as fuck too, you know?” He chuckled.

“Jungkook,” you whined. “Fuck me already.”

“Well, If you insist.” Jungkook laughed quietly, finding the way you were begging for him adorable. He grabbed the front of your shirt and pulled you down in a kiss. “You just can’t resist me, can you?”

You playfully glared at him, flicking his forehead. “You say that as if you weren’t the one begging for my pussy last night.”

Jungkook remained silent at that, just giving you a sly smirk as his eyes twinkled in mischief. “Come on then. Ride me, darling.”

That was all you needed to hear, for you wasted no time on lining his dick with your entrance before moving down until he bottomed out.

The two of you moaned at the feeling - you from the way his cock still managed to stretch you out even after fucking you any time he got the chance and him from how warm your walls felt and clenched around him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. 

You suddenly heard his phone ping, indicating the arrival of a new message. Jungkook placed a hand against your back as he moved forward to grab his phone, his dick sliding deeper into you making you mewl. Your legs around his waist tightened.

Jungkook placed a kiss on your shoulder as he read through whatever was on his screen before placing the device down. “It was Taehyung. Said they were waiting for me to join the lobby for the next match.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning your head against his shoulder and placing kisses up his jaw. “Then join the game,” you spoke slowly into his ear, smirking when you felt a shiver at your words.

“You will be the death of me,” he said before you felt his hands moving behind you, most likely relaunching his game.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like the idea of fucking me while the others have the chance to hear. That you don’t find the thought of having to stay quiet thrilling,” you sang teasingly, purposely clenching around him and basking in the moan that he let out.

Jungkook stayed silent, but you could swear that you felt him get harder at your words and your smirk widened. He didn’t bother putting his headset back on, rather muting the gameplay and putting the Discord call he was on with the boys on speaker.

When you heard their voices, your body almost reacted on its own, your cunt contracting around Jungkook’s dick. 

Jungkook’s voice wavered a little, shooting you a look before turning up the volume of the call. One of his hands grabbed the back of your neck and brought your ear close to his lips. “You’re enjoying this a little too much, don’t you think?” he asked. “Don’t forget that you’re mine, sweetheart. Your tight little cunt belongs to me.”

You had to bite down hard on your lips to hold in the whimper that threatened to escape. You knew how jealous he could get and you didn’t want to feed into his jealousy by not replying - so with great effort, you managed to keep your voice low as you replied to him, “Only yours, baby. I enjoy having your dick in me, not theirs.” 

Even though Jungkook didn’t verbally reply to that, you knew that he was happy with your answer from the smile that appeared on his face.

You tried staying still to let him converse with his team members without any disturbance till they joined a match. But feeling his throbbing dick twitch inside you without fucking into you was driving you mad.

You waited for a moment longer before you gathered your courage and lifted yourself, moving down on him. Jungkook buried his face in your neck to muffle the groan that almost escaped at your sudden action before one of his hands moved to support your back while the other glided over his keyboard. His eyes never left the screen as you set a quick pace from the start, but he had started to thrust up to match your movements, eager to chase his high. 

You bit down on his shoulder to stop any noise from escaping, your nails raking down his back as you tried to ground yourself. 

It didn’t take long for you to get that familiar feeling of your orgasm nearing, and from the way Jungkook’s thighs shook and his brows furrowed - you knew he was close, too.

You didn’t need to tell him about your building climax - the two of you knew each other like the backs of your hands. The fingers drawing circles on your back moved to play with your clit, rubbing it in tight circles to help you reach the edge. 

Your surroundings blurred together the closer you got and before long, you were cumming with a cry and you felt Jungkook’s movement grow frantic - both his hands gripping your hips to move you up and down. His low groans rang out into the air as he chased his high. 

Your mind was blank from the pleasure that ran through you and you moaned when he finally thrust into you as much as he could before you felt him shoot cum into you.

The two of you stayed in that position, panting as you leaned against him, trying to catch your breath. It was only when you came down from your high that you realised how quiet the room was nothing but your heavy breathing filling the silence. 

Your eyes widened comically when you remembered that Jungkook was in a call unmuted and the two of you had just given Jimin and Taehyung a free audio show. It seemed that Jungkook had yet to realise what was wrong when he pulled you in for a kiss and whispered a soft ‘I love you’ against your lips.

Before you could say something to him though, a voice chimed through his computer’s speaker that had both of your faces flushing red.

“As hot as that was to listen to, I didn’t sign up for a boner when I texted you to come play.”

Jungkook hid his face in your neck, his lips brushing against your collarbone and you couldn’t help but moan. Hearing you, Jungkook pulled back to look at you with wide doe eyes - the lust and hunger that was in them now long gone. 

“Baby, why.” he whined and it did nothing but feed into his teammates’ teasing. 

Jungkook gave you a small pout, even though you knew he wasn’t really bothered from the small smile that was on his face and he pulled you into his embrace to hide his face against your chest again. 

You ran your fingers through his hair and you hugged him back and placed a kiss on top of his head.

Poor Jungkook wasn’t about to live this down for a long, long time.

-----------------

PS- I didn’t tag anyone even after some of you filling up the taglist form because I realised I didn’t ask for you guys to clarify if you wished to be tagged for nsfw content so 👉 👈  I’m gonna have to annoy you guys one last time to go fill it up so I can make sure no one gets tagged in things they aren’t comfortable with. Thank you!

If you wish to be added to the taglist, complete the form on my bio/masterlist~ and if you wish to no longer be a part of the taglist, then shoot me a dm :>

[meowzfordayz]

from dusk till dawn

Author’s Note: got carried away writing this. It’s 4am. 😳 Yolo.

from dusk till dawn

Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader

Word Count: ~1,400

CW: explicit language

Song Inspo: Dusk Till Dawn by Zayn

~faqs, image~

Sanemi has a love, hate relationship with your sixth sense of knowing exactly where to find him whenever he slinks away. Well. He doesn’t count sentry duty, observational duty, kill-demons-all-day duty, mind-his-own-business duty as slinking away. But he doesn’t understand how you consistently end up in the same village, town, city, general vicinity as him. Don’t you have your own missions? Duties? Shit, you’re not even a Hashira. Shouldn’t be free to wander. Could those damn crows be in collusion? Why would they have you follow him though? It’s not like they give a fuck about craving, love, or desire.

He doesn’t understand why you put in the effort: doesn’t understand why you won’t—

“Leave me the fuck alone,” he rarely spares you a glance, and this time is no different. He doesn’t need to.

Nobody else would ever look for him.

Nobody else would ever intrude on him.

He has a soft spot for rooftops. Treetops, if he’s between destinations. They’re inconspcious, come with fantastic views, and he’s normally their only occupant.

You scoff, “You could trip and-”

“I’m a Hashira ya dumbfuck,” he clicks his tongue, “How uncoordinated do ya think I am.”

“I brought a blanket,” you squat down a fair distance from his scowl as a muted, patchwork quilt unrolls from your hands.

“I. Don’t. Get. Cold.”

He loathes how you constantly doubt him: how you constantly treat him as though his strength, his resolve, his ability, his—”For myself, Shinazugawa-sama”—is inferior.

Oh.

“Idiot,” he never shows you any feeling beyond irritation, “Whatcha gonna do, sleep on the roof? You’ll roll the fuck off.”

Your small laugh tightens his scowl. I hate when they laugh at me.

“In case it’s escaped your attention, I’m up here to keep you company,” you pause when he doesn’t interrupt you with a scathing remark, “But unlike you, Shinazugawa-sama, I do get cold.”

“You don’t escape my attention,” Sanemi drawls, “You’re an ugly, needy cunt who won’t. Leave. Me. The. Fuck. ALONE.”

I wish you wouldn’t wince. I wish I couldn’t hurt you. He doesn’t gravitate toward unnecessary loudness. Cruel. Terse. That’s his preferred method of resistance. But his graceless approach doesn’t tend to affect you.

I hate yelling at you.

“You’re lucky I’ve got thick skin. Otherwise I’d be running off crying right about now. It’s incredibly insensitive to insult someone’s appearance,” you rebuke him.

He knows that disappointment swelters behind your thinly veiled nonchalance — he makes sure of it.

These nights go one of two ways.

On nights when he’s feeling particularly numb, Sanemi usually wins: usually slathers on one too many insensitive insults, and watches you retreat with a comforting sour taste in his mouth. He knows you’re replaying every word of the exchange — knows that you’re one step closer to splitting him wide open.

Sometimes, though. Sometimes. He’s weak. Sometimes, he forgets to say anything until it’s too late. Until you’ve already committed to your intent for the evening. Until you’re badgering him with question after question and he finds himself answering just to get you to shut the hell up and leave me the fuck alone. He hates when he’s weak. He knows his weakness encourages you. Gives you hope. Brings you one step closer to splitting him wide open.

Despite himself, Sanemi loves the game. At least, it’s easier for him to think of you as a game — to consider himself your obsession. I’m not their concern. I’m not their interest. He refuses to remember when you’d sat near enough that he’d had to consciously restrain himself from shoving you back (roofs aren’t meant for two — especially not when one hates the other). Refuses to remember the admission you’d made. Bravely Carelessly. Mesmerizingly Disgustingly.

“I appreciate that you haven’t killed me yet. I know, I know: you’d never break corps rules. But, I’d deserve it if you, I don’t know, accidentally made something happen? I do feel badly about forcing my presence onto you. I’m not that clueless.”

Shockingly, he’d simply stared icily at you, so you’d continued.

“I only bother you because I’ve heard you cry.”

He had inhaled sharply at that, but you had pressed on.

“And it was the saddest noise. Ever. You might actually kill me now that I’ve told you that. It’s my deepest secret. I haven’t told anyone else though. I swear. I don’t know why you were crying. You could’ve been crying for a hundred, a thousand, different reasons.”

You’d chuckled sheepishly at yourself.

“I guess I figured, you were probably lonely. Not just lonely, I’m sure you were other things too, but… lonely. So, I could keep you company.”

He hates that you hadn’t realized how weak he was. Hates that you hadn’t pressed on a breath further. Hates that only he had known how fragile his control was, and that if you had just moved even closer, then he would’ve found the strength to look at you. To look at you, knowing that you knew he was looking. Knowing that you knew you had him. But you had trailed off, hesitant without his biting retorts and dismissals, and the glistening thread between his fear and your determination had snapped.

I’m too strong for their sincerity.

And too weak for their adoration.

“Shinazugawa-sama.”

He focuses on the folds of his haori.

“Aren’t you going to apologize? I know I’m not ugly. But you offended me nonetheless.”

“Fuck you.”

“Shinazugawa-sama.”

“I said: FUCK. You.”

“May I call you Sanemi?”

He balks, unable to discern whether the feeling splintering through his veins is astonishment or revulsion.

“If I answer one question of yours, truthfully, then will ya piss off.” he counters your request.

Sanemi’s offer unsettles you. He never goes out of his way for you. Never.

“Piss off as in leave you alone or piss off as in you’re going to kill me after answering my question?”

“I would never break corps rules,” he responds quietly. I hate how easily I could hurt you. I hate how often I do. 

“Have I not done more than anyone else ever would, than anyone else ever could, to be strong enough… for you?”

You ask him this tenderly.

Intimately.

Weakly.

“I don’t want you to be strong enough.” I couldn’t bear it if you were. Especially not if it were… for me.

And suddenly, you know how to split him wide open.

“I bother you because you sadden me.” Shut up. “I keep you company because you need someone. Because nobody else will.” Shut up. “I cherish you because you’re the only person I truly know.” Shut up. “What is your strength?” Shut up. “Is pushing me away your weakness?”

“[y/n].”

Sanemi never. Never. NEVER. Addresses you by name.

“[y/n],” he repeats. “[y/n], [y/n], [y/n].”

You are my only definition of beautiful.

“I can’t apologize,” he speaks roughly, “I know how I treat you.” I know what I am. “I don’t want you to be strong enough,” his voice cracks. “I want…”

“Shinazugawa-sama…”

“I want you to call me Sanemi.” Everything burns. His gut. His throat. His eyes. “I want you to be warm. When you’re with me. I want you to feel safe.” He’s drowning in his confession. Tossing and turning and suffocating in his desire. In his denial. “And I want you to accept my weakness.”

Wanting you closer than I can handle… that, that… is how I am weak.

“Sanemi.” 

He looks at you. Nourishes himself on the depth of your eyes. Skims along your luminous goosebumps. Almost chokes when you smile. He’s never seen that smile before. A smile so, unembellished, so unrehearsed. It’s just, a smile. A subconscious extension of your vibrating disbelief; of your tentative exhilaration.

It’s new to you too. 

“Sanemi.”

“[y/n].”

“I’m cold.”

“You brought a blanket.”

“I thought you wanted me to be warm.”

“Is the blanket broken.” he grumbles.

“I want you.”

“You want me.” he grimaces.

“Sanemi.” Are they, pouting? Fuck. That. “May I sit, closer, to you?”

He shudders. Nods. Despises himself. He cringes at how floaty and desirable he feels. Is desperate to shrink from the budding, foreign softness at the tip of his tongue. He’s weak. Right? Addicted to painting himself with layers and layers of indifference — with his disenchantment, disregard, and disdain of entertaining any world beyond the greyscale. Too unaccustomed to the blinding color of his exhaustion; of his wayward greed begging, attempting, to let a single thread of the color of your eyes into his memory. He’s weak.

Sanemi has a love, hate relationship with the color of your eyes; with the color of his salvation.

“I want you to be warm.”

[xoxo-teddybear]

The Silent Treatment - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: slight angst, slice of life, crack(ish?), fluff, cursing

Summary: Bakugou is very much....an asshole. A shithead. A professional dick if you will. And Y/N, being his girlfriend is very much aware of that. So when he takes it too far, she has to make sure he learns his lesson.

A/N: just a quick lil cute thing, totally not spelled check

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

“Hey babe!” Bakugou said as he walked into the living room to find his girlfriend reading a book. He plopped down next to her and just relaxed in the feeling of the soft cushion. The little shit felt like messing with his girlfriend today.

Y/N had already been having a pissy day. After arguing with her boss, forgetting a few items back at the grocery store, and losing her new pair of headphones, she just wanted some peace with her cup of tea and a good book. Now, she has her loving boyfriend to comfort her as well. This day was surely taking a turn...right?

“Hi love, need something?” You asked calmly with the most melodic voice. Your voice. His favorite sound in the world. The sound of you just put a smile on his face which is a huge oxymoron to what this motherfucker is about to say.

“Nah, just wanted to talk to my princess,” he said while resting his head on your stomach, resting in between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist. You awed at him but didn’t notice his little devil smile. “I had the best dream last night.”

“About what Suki?” You asked while petting his soft hair.

“You.”

“Awweee,”

“Yeahhh. You went mute for the day. Fucking paradise.” Once the words left his mouth you stilled your actions and felt your eye twitch in annoyance. Your hand on his head stilled and slightly tugged at it. In any other circumstance, Bakugou would’ve groaned at the tug (kinky bastard) but he was too busy chuckling into your tummy.

You exhaled roughly through your nose and pushed Bakugou off of you in a very polite way. He rolled onto his back onto the actual couch and watched as you crossed your legs, close your book, and pick up your tea mug.

“Hmph!” Was all that you “said” as you tilted your nose to the air and walked away. Bakugou just snickered as you left. He thought it was adorable when you were mad over tiny inconveniences and thought it was hot as fuck when you were yelling at him, but today, you won’t be doing neither.

—

About 30 minutes had passed and Bakugou had awoken from his nap on the couch. He fell asleep after you walked away but now missed your touch. He sat up, stretched, and went to find you. He walked around the house until he spotted you relaxing in the jacuzzi in the backyard. He grinned at your relaxed look and went to change.

A few minutes later Bakugou had came out to join you in the hot tub. Your eyes were shut as you relaxed in the bubbling water, and so Bakugou was able to get in without being seen. He relaxed into the water as he scooted closer to you, eventually grabbing a hold of your waist.

“Hi baby,” he said as he attempted to place you in his lap but you looked at him with an unimpressed look as you scooted away. “Y/N?”

You grabbed your towel and stepped out of the tub. You wrapped yourself in the cloth as you walked back into the house, completely ignoring Bakugou as he spoke to you.

“Wha- you’re just gonna leave? I just got in with you,” he pouted. He opted to stay in the nice warm water for a bit but once you closed the door he groaned and sunk deeper into the water. He let the water go just above his mouth and right below his nose as he blew bubbles into the tub out of annoyance.

‘The fuck is up with her?’ He thought to himself.

—

Time passed and Bakugou came out the tub. He went back to his room to change into some gray sweats and a black long sleeve (and yes he pulled the sleeves up a bit because he knew you found it attractive and if y’all don’t, well I do).

He walked into the kitchen and spotted you seemingly eating dinner. He noticed a plate for him but kind of frowned at the fact that you didn’t wait for him. He saw you placed the plate on the other side of the island, far away from you, and so he pulled the plate over and took the seat next to you.

“Hey, princess? You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” He asked but you said nothing as you just ate in silence. “Silent treatment huh?” No words.

“Baby, is this about what I said? I was only kidding Y/N,” he said as he tried to wrap his arm around your waist but you pushed it off and he groaned. “Fine. Be that way, you’ll get over it. Come talk to me when you’re done acting like a brat.”

Bakugou just grunted as he ate his dinner in silence right next to you. You finished before him and walked away after you washed your dish and this time it was Bakugou who snubbed his nose in the air at you. If it was the silent treatment that you were gonna give then it was the silent treatment that you were gonna get....sorta.

—

“BABYYYY PLEASSEEEEE!!” He whined while poking at your leg. You were currently in your home office typing away at your computer doing work when Bakugou came in about 25 minutes after he finished his dinner. He couldn’t help himself. He missed you.

You continued to ignore Bakugou as he poked and shook you for attention. You gave him nothing all day and he was getting close to his limit. Please believe he wasn’t getting shit after that brat comment.

“Princessss, c’mon! It was a joke baby, let’s go to sleep, yeah?” He begged. You looked at him with a bored expression and saw his smile as you finally gave him something. You turned back to face your computer and his smile dropped again and was replaced with a scowl. “Y/N, I was just messing with you. I love the sound of your voice and I love you. So quit ignoring me and come give me love!” He demanded.

When he noticed you weren’t budging, he stood from his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose as he mentally counted.

‘1....2...3,’

He gave in and forcefully turned your chair and threw you over his shoulder. You didn’t speak to him but you squirmed and shook trying to get out of his grasp.

“Aye, aye,” he smacked your ass to get you to stop, “quit it. I’m tired, and I want sleep, and we both know I don’t sleep unless my teddy bear is with me, so shush.”

You looked at him when he told you to “shush.” As if you hadn’t been doing that all day. He just squinted his eyes as he knew what you were thinking. “You know what I mean shitty woman!”

Bakugou stormed into your shared bedroom and dropped you onto the mattress. You didn’t even try to run away. You had decided that, yes, you are indeed tired but you refused to give a certain blonde any attention. You stretched on the bed and Bakugou was in awe of your cute state but quickly snapped out of his trance when you turned on your side and gave him your back.

Bakugou got into bed along side you and scooted closer. He pressed himself against your back but once he made contact, you scooted farther away. And so, he scooted himself closer again but just like before, you scooted away. This went on about 2 more times before you scooted and fell off the bed.

“Y/N? You okay, love?” He asked as he looked down at you. You popped up from the floor, on your knees and grumbled to yourself as you vented quietly. You stood up and continued ranting as you tried to walk away to sleep on the couch but before you could get away from the king sized bed, Bakugou grabbed your wrist and pulled you on top of him. “Ignore me all you want but I’m not sleeping without my cuddles.”

You sighed as you gave in. You allowed him to hold you but you refused to speak. Bakugou rubbed circles onto your back as he inhaled your scent but he missed the sound of your voice. The sweet sound that was something similar to honey.

“Baby...I’m sorry.”

You looked at him when he apologized and raised your brow. A verbal, genuine, apology from Katsuki Bakugou? This you’ve gotta see.

“I know I shouldn’t have said that to you and even if I was only kidding......it was pretty fucking mean. ..But I hope you know I love the sound of your damn voice. I love you, dumbass. And I would never ask you to stay silent because....*sigh* ‘cuz your voice, you talking to me, you being with me, and just you in general keeps me sane. So I’m sorry. Okay? And I love you..” he said with a growing blush as he stared at you with a flustered face.

You smiled and went up to peck his lips and then give him a loving kiss. He jumped at the sudden contact but quickly melted into the kiss. He smiled as he finally got to revel in the sweet intimate moments like this. The sweet moments he’s been missing all day.

“I love you too Suki.” Oh how he craved to hear your voice. He loved the sweet sound and missed your loving tone. He pulled you in closer and just held you tight. He doesn’t plan on letting go.

“I’m so sorry. I will never make you upset like that ever again.” He bargained but you only shook your head.

“Katsuki, I was just messing with you today. I had an annoying day and that little joke just sent me over the edge but you know I never take your mean quips to heart. You’re rough around the edges but that’s just who you are and I don’t mind it. I love everything about you, even if you’re a jerk sometimes,” you teased and flicked at his nose. You giggled as he whined and tried to soothe the spot you hit. “You don’t have to censor yourself around me. Okay?”

Bakugou smiled even more. He loves you so damn much. Not only did you know he was just a little abrasive, but you accepted him for all his brunt behavior. You truly did love him. “Thanks princess,”

He sealed the deal with a sweet kiss to your temple as you giggled at the warm feeling of his soft lips. He pulled you down to his chest as you both cuddled up for the night. You sleeping is the only time Bakugou will ever be okay with you being silent. But never again will he ever allow himself to get the silent treatment.

A/N: Guys, I’m so sorry. I’ve been in such a slump and I feel like im reaching a writers block. It’s not even like I don’t have any ideas, I do! And I even have multiple unfinished pieces in my drafts but I just don’t have any motivation to finish :( sorry Cubs, don’t worry, I’ll try my best to finish them as quick as I can. Idk, should I take a break?

I’m already in the middle of a story and I don’t wanna leave those who are reading on a cliffhanger.

[emwritesstuff]

housesitting | bucky barnes x reader

summary: Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything.

You can hardly see how Bucky Barnes stumbling into his apartment at 3 am with multiple wounds is one of them. But I guess it might be?

notes: this is my attempt at a more ~comedy centered one-shot, with some making out in the middle because uh, who doesn’t like that? In other news, reader is Chaotic. Canon mcu (Infinity War/Endgame) is non-existent in this.  (word count: 3K)

warnings: language, mentions of blood, gunshot wounds, general patching up shenanigans, some making out/grinding but not quite third base

[PART 2: breaking and entering]

Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything. An old popsicle thing, you assume.

It’s peaceful, too. The neighborhood is nice and quiet, the other tenants are either extremely polite or too scared of Captain America to make much noise. You’ve had very nice stay-cations at his place, where you were free to choose to binge The Office while eating an entire pizza in the spam of 2 episodes or taking advantage of the quiet to write your grad-school thesis.

So when a loud BANG almost makes you drop your coffee mug on the floor, your spidey senses are immediately on alert. You don’t care how many times Peter insisted that it wasn’t a thing, your arm hairs stood up and your heart started hammering on your chest all the same.

You contemplate squeezing under the bed, turning off the show that was long abandoned and hiding until whatever it is goes away, but before you can do any of that, a string of sharp cursing and soft thumps and thuds snaps you out of your fear.

Maybe it’s a burglar. You could take a clumsy burglar, easy.

Now feeling like Tony had just welcomed you into the Avengers, you hop off Steve’s bed and let your baby Yoda socked feet carry you stealthily into the living room, holding a table lamp as if it was a baseball bat.

Everything is quiet, with no signs of forced entry at the door (you remember someone on Law and Order using those words), and in the dark you don’t notice the bloody trail coming from the kitchen.

You’re imagining things, then. When was the last time you slept? You don’t even feel tired, but you know sleep deprivation always gets you all kinds of crazy.

It happens the second your arm falls to your side and your posture shows the slight of relaxation. A strong arm around your neck and a hand against your mouth to muffle the screaming.

In the quiet of Steve’s apartment building, there is only you shrieking and howling and thrashing against the hold of a stranger.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” You still.

And then you bite into the hand that is muting you, immediately regretting it when your teeth sink into something hard. Metal? Concrete? Ouch. You resume your resistance, determined, and is shoved away.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck are you.” His voice is gruff and dulled over the mask he is wearing, and as you’re taking this giant of a man in, you notice it.

The metal arm. The strapped leather jacket. The tortured blue eyes.

Winter Soldier.

The intruder is James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve’s best friend. That’s who the fuck it is.

“I’m Steve’s house sitter! I even have a key.” You say, with arms in front of you to signal no harm but inching closer to the table lamp with every step.

“House…sitter? Where’s Steve?”

“Who knows. Maybe a mission. He texts me, I come over.” You shrug, and put a chair back to where it was before it got knocked over.

“I don’t believe you. Where is Steve?”

“Listen, I don’t know, okay? I guess he’s just out for a few days. I don’t ask. He just lets me stay in here so I can water the plants and feed the Avengers.”

“The– the what?”

“The Avengers! The fish, see.” You point to the aquarium, where a handful of colorful fish swam peacefully in.

Peace. So much for your peace, because now what you have is a surly super soldier eyeing the fish tank like it was the most loathsome thing in the entire universe, except maybe for you.

“I hate this thing. Naming them makes it even worse.” He trudges back to the kitchen, stomping on the floor like he was on a parade.

So much for the other people’s peace, too.

“Hey! Sir. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s 3 in the fucking morning?” You sass, putting your hands on your hips when he retorts that yeah, he does know. “What are you even doing here?”

“Back from a mission.” He grumbles without looking at you, as if you’re the one who stumbled into his place in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t your place, but still.

“Don’t you have a house?” There’s a part of you that knows pushing the Winter Soldier’s buttons is asking for trouble, but your tired and confused brain decides to ignore it.

“You interrogating me? I need a motherfucking– ” He wheezes and nearly doubles over, holding on the door frame between the living room and the kitchen. You finally spot the blood, both on the tiles and seeping out of the Soldier’s jacket and pants.

He’s hurt. Shit.

“– first aid kit.”

“You need a motherfucking hospital!” You shrill, panic chilling your bones. You don’t do blood. Or any kind of wound, for that matter.

The man ignores you, opening up cabinets hastily. You huff, and walk past him to get to the actual home of the first aid kit. Steve’s oldest, closest friend and can’t even find a box with pharmaceutical supplies in his kitchen. You slam it on the counter next to him.

“You’re welcome.”

“Zip it.”

Just a look from him is enough to render you speechless, and not in the good, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way. You’re positive that one swat of that metal arm and you’ll be flying out of the window.

He begins by removing his mask, revealing a handsome face underneath, and you try your best to focus on how dark and menacing it looked while locked in that scowl of his. Then, he unbuckles his jacket and discards it on the floor, it coming to a stop next to your feet.

Oh man, he’s naked. Well, not really, just the incredibly toned, strong and muscular top half of him, but you stare wide-eyed as if he was.

“See somethin’ you like, doll?” He quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you turn your back to him, mostly to hide your own embarrassment.

“No.” You cross your arms resolutely, because you definitely don’t think he’s attractive. He is a rude, grumpy, private-property-invader-bastard. Doll. Yuck.

You hear a rumble come out of his chest. Is he laughing? Shithead. Other noises follow, wheezes, small grunts and the tinkle of metal on the marble counter.

A particular pained grunt makes you turn, and you see Barnes with his body twisted, trying to reach a bloody hole on his back. It would be funny if he wasn’t trying to poke a gunshot.

“Do you need… help?” You ask, against your own will, only to be met with his icy gaze.

“No.”

“Come on, you can’t even reach that.”

Another glare is shot your way, and you quirk your brow up. He did need the help, you think, because aside from the muscles and the sweat making him glisten like a delicious – wait what – glazed donut, the man looked like hell.

“…fine.” He slides a pair of surgical prongs, something you identify in your head as oversized tweezers, and you instantly regret your offer. Pressing an iodine-soaked cotton ball to a wound, sure. But not this.

He turns his back to you without a word, supporting himself on the marble. You think that he’s about to make a dent on the goddamn stone if he keeps holding onto it that hard.

“Ah, fuck. Shit. Fuck. Ugh, it’s so gross. Fuck.”

It’s the most horrifying thing you’ve ever done, but you try your best to get to the bullet quickly, so very thankful that Barnes holds himself perfectly still for you. “Got it!”

He lets out a long breath when you toss the prongs and the bullet on the counter with the rest and resumes his cleanup. So, he’s not even going to say thanks. Great.

You try not to think about how you still want to make conversation while you hurriedly scrub the blood from your hands, because aside from the hostility and him jumping on you as a meet-cute, the guy peeks your interest.

Steve has said Barnes is nice, too, and you believed Steve, because he’s basically incapable of lying. Or maybe because he’s pretty. Both, for sure.

With your hands now clean, you turn to him, mouth open with some kind of conversation starter that is immediately forgotten.

Oh man, he’s naked. For real this time.

Bucky Barnes has stepped out of his pants while you were overthinking by the sink, now standing in only a pair of black boxers. It’s like he feels you staring at his butt, because he turns to you with raised eyebrows.

“Last one’s on my thigh. I got it.” He’s holding the prongs this time, and you’re glad you don’t have to do anything, because your face next to that groin might make you go into spontaneous combustion.

“Yeah.”

He hums. You hope all of this is a fever dream.

“Isn’t there a med bay at–”

“Don’t like people prodding and pokin’ at me.” His comment makes you grimace. He’s the Winter Soldier, damn it. You know the stories, everyone does. Of course he doesn’t like being prodded.

He looks at you funny, probably because you went dead quiet. You don’t want him to think you feel pity, because you don’t, but god don’t you feel bad for poking him now, even if verbally.

“I’m gonna – grab one of Steve’s – uh. Dude you need to put some clothes on. Jesus.”

He laughs at you again, which you’re thankful for because anything is better than the awkwardness of the other subject. You pick up a black pair of sweatpants that was so deep in one of Steve’s drawers that you know he’d have to have bought it and never had the guts to put it on. This one would do just fine.

If there is one thing Steve Rogers isn’t, is a black sweats guy.

“Here.” You deposit the sweats and a white tee on the counter, one of the millions that you found inside the closet. Barnes was patching himself up now, bandages wrapped everywhere on his body.

Got his ass kicked good. You shudder when you imagine the state of the other guy.

He eyes the clothes, and saying nothing, returns to his task. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to help me.”

“Yeah, but I did anyways! ‘Cause I’m stupid, I guess.” You almost hurl a dirty plate at him when he scoffs, muttering a yeah, guess you are. “God, why are you so grumpy?”

“Well you try being shot 5 times and see how cheerful you are after.”

“You got shot 5 times?!”

Looking at you from between his brows, the Soldier nods to the five mangled bullets sitting on the counter. You think about how you’ve made yourself a sandwich just hours earlier on the exact same spot. You want to puke.

Taking time to look around yourself, you can finally grasp the state of Steve’s ever-so-pristine kitchen, now a mess of dirty clothes, blood and your own few dishes from the night before. You don’t even think about what you’re doing as you move, gathering every single cleaning supply you can find, and start working on the cleanup.

You’re struggling, because obviously you’ve never done this before. Anyone can tell, from your soft abdomen and your severe lack of muscle, that you’re not an Avenger. Sure, you work with them, but you’re usually neck deep into advanced tech, not in the gym by any means. Also, you don’t do blood.

That means you have to think about something else, anything else, while you’re manically cleaning the floor. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, the Winter Soldier’s tight ass, four sheep, get it together goddamnit –

“Leave it. I’ll clean.”

You huff, he huffs back, and you look up at him.

“You got shot five times. Go sit down or something before you blow your back too, grandpa.” You call him that to assure yourself that he is old, like actually super old, and thirsting over him is weird. Even weirder when he’s all bandaged and bleeding. And still shirtless. Shit.

He mumbles something that you ignore, and stomps off. You think you actually did a pretty decent job with the cleaning, considering.

You need coffee. Definitely an entire bottle of vodka too, but there was no alcohol in this god’s good home, so you settle for the brew that you made earlier. You pour a mug for Barnes too, because you’re nice like that, and amble into the living room to find him slumped on a chair.

“Coffee?” You start, settling his mug on the table next to him.

“It’s almost 5 a.m.”

“Guess I’m up early for once. Maybe I should go for a run.”

He snorts, and opens one eye to inspect you from where he is. He reaches out for the coffee, using his metal hand, and you consider the two ways this could go.

He’d shatter the mug right then and there. Or, he’d throw it at you. Your jaw goes slack at what he actually does, sirens blaring loudly in your head. Truly astonishing, the most bewildering turn of events.

He drinks from it.

“Thanks. Quit staring at me.”

“Wow, Mr. Winter knows the magic words. Mr. Barnes. Sergeant?” You’re thinking aloud, abandoning any trace of sanity you’ve been holding. You even sit on the couch next to his armchair.

“It’s Bucky,”

Again, absolutely bewildering. You must be going insane.

“– and you talk too much.” He finishes, with an end-of-story tone, and returns to his rest. At least that felt like normality.

“Bucky. Bucky.” You roll the name on your tongue, feeling a weird buzz start to take over you. It grows stronger when you notice he’s looking at you, one brow quirked as if you lost your marbles. “You know, Bucky, this is definitely not how I saw my night going. Home invasion, playing surgeon – not my usual kind of fun.”

You get up, maybe because you decide that you – and Bucky – need a blanket, or maybe because you need a distraction from his chest going up and down like it’s got a business with making you want to touch it.

You’re not a slut, but who knows? Jim Halper would get it.

“You’re that kid, aren’t you? Stark’s assistant.” Bucky’s voice, low and husky, makes you jump. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

It’s surprising that he knows you, considering. He’s – well, he’s basically a celebrity, if ex-assassins could be considered that. You’re only Tony’s techie, and you and Bucky have never actually met, not even in the few parties you had attended to stop your boss from nagging you that you had to actually go out and have some fun sometimes, because you’re still young and cute and you need to enjoy yourself before you get saggy and bitter.

Jokes on him, you were born bitter.

“I’m no kid.”

“Nice socks.”

You wiggle your toes and it makes the ears of one of the baby Yodas move.

“Still not a kid! If you wanna be sad and wear your sad, plain socks, Bucky, that’s entirely your choice.” You said, pointing your index at him, making circles in the air with it to really get your point across.

Bucky smirks, and you go up to him with the two blankets on your arms. He’s blocking the door with that bulky body of his, and you raise your eyebrows quizzically.

“I’ll have you know – meeting Steve’s annoying, mouthy, pretty house sitter is not how I saw my night going either.” Bucky puts a doubtful tone on house sitter, as if he still doesn’t get exactly what it means.

You blink. You’re positive you heard it wrong. Is he… is this flirting?

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I called you annoying and mouthy too.”

“Yeah, I mean I know that much about me.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “The pretty part is new though.”

Bucky still hasn’t moved from the doorframe, and you find yourself staring up at him. He is inches away now, pupils blown wide in the darkness, and you can see a ring of steely blue around them. He licks his lips, and you’re drawn in.

The maelstrom in his eyes sends you spinning.

“I think someone should say you’re not see through, much less–”

Bucky shuts you up by pressing his lips onto yours, a slow, exploratory kiss, the tenderest he’s been all night. His metal hand rests on your lower back, making you shiver at the cool touch.

You’re all panting and eagerness when you cup his face with both hands and press your body against his. You need to deepen this kiss. You haven’t drooled over Bucky Barnes all night to keep things lovey-dovey.

He responds in earnest, pulling you closer. The flesh hand on the back of your neck is a stark contrast against the chill of the other. You and Bucky stumble from the corridor and back to the living room, knocking over a few of Steve’s decorations in the process.

“I don’t feel as bad for this one.” You mumble against his lips, stopping to look at a particular framed picture of Captain America in uniform, surrounded by every single counterfeit Cap in Times Square.

“S’ one of his favorites.”

You nod, you’re aware. Steve thinks it’s the most hilarious thing ever.

Bucky’s breath tickles the hairs on your neck when he continues.

“I hate it.”

“Yeah.”

You capture his lips again, and you two resume your chaotic redecorating. You’re thankful for Bucky’s strong arms keeping you from falling over, because at this point you’re not sure if your legs work anymore.

He takes you with him when he drops down on the same armchair from earlier, and the dizzy spell you find yourself in is broken when you hear him groan.

Right. He’s battered up and stuff.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m sorry–”

“No.” He pulls you close again, and guides your body to straddle one of his thighs. “Stay right here, doll.”

Doll. God-fucking-damnit.

His hand moves under the elastic band of your pants, oh my god you’re making out with Bucky-Hot-Piece-Of-Ass-Barnes in your wiener dog pajama bottoms, and finds the hem of your underwear. He pulls on it, and you yelp when he lets it snap against your side.

He laughs, and you vibrate along with his chest.

You find yourself grinding on his leg, sucking on his bottom lip, raking your nails along his shoulders, doing anything, everything for more, trying to burn the taste and the feel of him on your memory. He moves on to kiss your neck and you sigh, tugging on his hair and making sure you’re holding on for dear life.

Your eyes flutter open, enough to see the fish Avengers in their tank.

The Avengers.

Steve Rogers is an Avenger. So is Bucky, technically.

You’re making out with Bucky. One of his hands is on your boob.

This is Steve’s apartment.

You manage to sober you up enough, despite Bucky’s constant attacks of open mouth kisses and bites on your neck.

“I don’t think Steve would – if we–” You lift your head begrudgingly to look at him. “You know, on his armchair.”

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced, but his hand moved up from your butt to your waist again.

Steve Rogers was probably miles away right now and still cockblocking you.

Even worse, his furniture was cockblocking you.

Stupid star-spangled IKEA shopper.

And his hot best friend. Who’s currently smiling at you in a such a way that makes you almost abandon all comradery towards Rogers and the sanctity of his place.

You debate getting up, but resign yourself to burying your nose in the crook of Bucky’s neck and just staying there, because honestly, when are you going to have the chance to do this again. Never, that’s when.

Also, he’s surprisingly comfortable for someone with a metal arm and such a jacked-up body.

“You’re sleepy.”

“No, I’m like, super awake.”

It’s a lie, because now that the sparks have flown and the rush of blood in your ears gave way to the quietness of the early morning, you feel yourself drifting, on and off, surprising yourself when you come to once and find that Bucky is still there, warm under you.

“Sleep, doll. I need it too.”

You shift, ready to let his rhythmic breathing lull you to sleep. The last 75 sleepless hours catch up with you.

“Bucky? If you want to break into someone’s house again sometime – I have a first aid kit too. Just sayin’.”

[safarigirlsp]

Nice Until Proven Naughty

Nice Until Proven Naughty

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Romance. Fluff. Humor. Lumberjack Kink.

Christmas Song Prompt: Winter Wonderland

AO3 Link

Fluffy snowflakes drifted lazily down around you, brief icy pinpricks landing on your cheeks and collecting in your hair. Leaning against the tailgate of Flip’s truck, you sipped from a thermos of hot spiced cider, the taste of cinnamon, apple, and clove filling your mouth as you enjoyed the show your man gave you.

Axe slung over his shoulder, you watched Flip’s broad, plaid-covered back as he walked to the tree you had selected. Snow already peppered his sable hair and dusted his shoulders from the short walk from his truck to the bushy pine tree.

The world around you was a true winter wonderland, soft and gleaming under its white veil. Deep in the forested mountains, as you were now, it was always silent and calm, but today even the smallest noises were muted by the snowfall. The only sounds that met your ears were the dull steps of Flip’s boots and his grumbling about the snow that rose above their tops.

“Are you sure this is the one you want?” Flip asked rhetorically, breath fogging from his lips thicker than cigarette smoke with his words. His axe bobbed on his shoulder when he turned to look at you, raising his eyebrows in that lost puppy sort of way of his. Returning his attention to the tree that stood a solid four feet taller than Flip, he groaned dramatically, casting another look back at you, asking for mercy. “This is gonna be a real pain in my ass, you know that, right?”

“Yep. Just like you know that half my fun is getting to watch the show,” you told him with a laugh, raising your thermos toward him to cheers him on. “Quit bitching. You’re burning daylight.”

“You better have some bills folded lengthwise for me, since I’m out here puttin’ on a whole ass performance for you.” Shaking his head, he chewed his lip as he looked for the best spot on the trunk to start cutting.

Zeroing in on a target on the trunk, Flip swung the axe down from his shoulder, bringing his left hand to the handle to join his right before he buried the axe in the wood with a resounding thwack. Yanking the axe free, Flip repeated his motion, chopping his axe into the same spot again and again at a steady pace. Moisture from the falling snow and his own sweat dampened his flannel shirt, making the fabric cling to the ridges and planes of his muscle, accentuating the way they flexed and tensed with his powerful movements. Each stroke of his axe made his hair rustle where it fell wildly around his face, and with each stroke he huffed another steaming breath and the occasional grunt.

With a final chop, the tree teetered on its cleaved stump before falling in exactly the wrong direction. Eyes wide, Flip shuffled through the knee-deep snow to the side of the falling tree, cursing under his breath as he narrowly avoided its final revenge of collapsing on top of his head. Glaring at the offending tree once it landed on the ground, Flip snorted through his nose as a vulgar internal diatribe ran through his mind.

“Are you tryin’ to kill me, sugar?” Flip looked over at you, still catching his breath as he returned his axe to rest over his shoulder. “Goin’ for that widow money, huh?”

“Who would I get to watch do so many stupid things if I kill you off?” you teased, smiling at the way he rolled his eyes at you.

Stalking back to you with an affected glare, he deposited his axe in the bed of his truck. Flip walked over to stand before you, placing both his hands on the top of his tailgate and caging you inside his arms against it.

“When Your Highness is finished with that hot cider, maybe you could help me load this damn tree you wanted.” His voice was still thick and husky from exertion, making you all the more eager when he lowered his head to meet your lips in a steaming cinnamon-tinged kiss.

Flip returned to the tree with a tow strap, tying it around the trunk. Taking one end of the tow strap in each hand, he turned with his back to the tree and put one strap over each shoulder, his hands fisting them in front of his chest. Lowering his head like a bull, he leaned into the straps and pulled the tree through the snow to his truck, growling with effort like the absolute beast he was.

Once he had dragged it close to his truck, you dropped the tailgate to help him load it. You had the relatively easy job of making sure the branches didn’t catch on anything while Flip did the literal heavy lifting. Climbing into the bed of his truck, Flip stood on the lowered tailgate above the tree where it lay on the ground. He squatted low and looped the tow straps around the back of his neck and shoulders, lifting the tree like he was squatting a barbell when he pushed back to his full height. He only had to lift the trunk high enough to clear the tailgate, but he had to show off extra for you like a jackass. You helped guide the tree trunk into the truck bed as Flip backed up, pulling it in with him.

The ground was slick beneath your feet and your movements were hampered by the depth of the snow. You found yourself slipping and sliding with the simple task of seeing to the tree branches, much to Flip’s amusement.

“Havin’ trouble down there, sugar?” Flip teased, laughing at you heartily while he did all the hard work.

Rolling your eyes, you deigned not to indulge him with a response.

After the tree was secured in the truck bed and tied down with the tow straps, Flip decided to show off a little bit more. Instead of stepping back out of the tailgate that remained open to accommodate the length of the tree, he decided to kick himself off over the side of his truck bed. His attempted dashing exit, landed his boots in a slick patch of slushy snow, slightly melted from the heat of Flip’s vehicle. As Flip’s boots hit the slippery ground beneath the snow, they shot out from under him, sending him falling down squarely onto his ass.

“Having trouble down there, handsome?” you echoed his question, laughing loudly while he cussed the ground and the snow that coated his jeans as he stumbled back up to his feet.

Scowling at the snow, he roughly brushed it off his ass and legs, grumbling something about, “So much white bullshit.”

“If you wanted to play around in the snow or make snow angels, you could have just said so,” you teased, climbing back inside the warmth of his truck.

“I’m just happy to know that when I bust my ass, you’re right there with jokes.” Flip fixed you with a playful glare as he climbed behind the wheel, struggling to get comfortable in his wet jeans.

“You can always count on me.” You were still laughing, your sides and cheeks beginning to burn from the strength of your amusement, when Flip began driving back toward his cabin.

*******************************************************************************************

Hours later, you were both warm and cozy in Flip’s cabin, one of Flip’s well-worn billowy flannels keeping you warm over your comfortable clothes. Outside the living room windows, the blizzard had thickened, a ballet of snowflakes dancing down from the evening sky. But inside, you were surrounded by light and warmth. A fire roared in the fireplace, sparking and crackling, mingling with the scent of fresh pine from the newly cut tree standing in the corner. Glimmering string lights encircled the tree, framed the mantle, and brightened other décor throughout the cabin.

It was that extra beautiful time of year when decorations for Hanukkah and Christmas overlapped, adding all the more sparkling beauty to your home. The holiday cheer imbuing you both with happiness and warmth.

After giving you a healthy ration of shit for your inability to reach the higher branches of the tree, Flip stood on a chair putting on the finishing touches of ornaments, while you set up the menorah on your dining table.

As you lit the last candle, Flip approached you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your neck, swaying with you to the tune of Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow emanating from the speakers set to holiday music.

“Did you finish the tree?” you asked, leaning your head back on his shoulder, moving with him.

“Nope. It’s your tree, you get to finish it,” he purred against your neck, kissing up toward your jaw to growl gruffly in your ear. “Spread ‘em.”

“Not until we’re finished decorating,” you laughed, bumping your ass back against him. “Then you can have your reward.”

“Then, quit wastin’ time, sugar.” Flip pulled away from your neck, his hands moving to grip your hips from behind. “Spread those legs for me.”

“Honestly, Flip,” you sighed, spreading your legs slightly apart to appease him.

Before you knew what he was doing, he dropped to a knee behind you, bending his body over and ducking his head down right between your legs under your ass. With shockingly little effort and only a mild amount of grunting, he stood back up to his feet, lifting you up with him, seated perfectly on his broad shoulders, while you struggled for balance from his lurching movements.

Flip clamped his left arm over your shins, pinning your legs against his chest so you couldn’t topple backward when he walked back into the living room with you. Snatching the tree topper off the mantle with his right, he handed it up to you.

“Get to work, sugar,” he teased as he walked you right next to the tree.

“We have a ladder, you know,” you laughed, reaching high to place the final ornament on the top of the tree.

“Do you want to make me obsolete?” Flip pinched your thigh with his question as he backed away from the tree and returned you to the floor. Turning you around to face him, he grinned down at you, very pleased with himself, indeed.

Resting your hands on Flip’s chest, you looked around the cabin, taking a moment to admire the décor. Even Flip gazed appreciatively at your handiwork, a lazy smile on his lips. Before he could trap you inside his arms for the remainder of the evening, you pushed away from him to fetch the menorah. Moving carefully to keep the candles from snuffing out, you intended to place it in a vacant windowsill, clear of any other decorations.

“Hey, put that down on the coffee table. It can help with the ambience. You know, the festival of lights and all,” Flip told you as he made quick work of turning out all the lights. The cabin was now lit only by the firelight in the hearth, the candles on the menorah, and the twinkling string lights. Perfect conditions for a romantic holiday night in with your man.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t put the menorah someplace more out of the way?” you raised a suspicious eyebrow with your question. “I don’t want it to get knocked over.”

“Who’s gonna knock it over?” Flip asked with an innocent expression. “We’re just gonna lay down on the couch, enjoy the fire, and, ummm, relax.”

“Yes, that’s usually the problem.” You shook your head at his shameless ploy. “I believe it’s the third of Zimmerman’s three laws: if it can be eaten, it will be eaten; if I bend over in front of you, you will attack me; and if you can knock something over, you will knock something over.”

“I’ll be extra careful,” he assured you with his cocky grin. “Besides, I’ve gone the whole month without an incident. I think you should reward me.”

Sighing your resignation, you did as he wanted and set the lit menorah in the center of the low coffee table seated between your couch and fireplace, the end of which neared the low hanging branches of the Christmas tree.

As if on cue when you turned back to Flip, Santa Baby began playing on your stereo. The song’s sultry lilt mandated a little slink in your step as you closed the distance between your bodies, telling Flip in time with the lyrics, “Been an awful good girl.”

“You’re not foolin’ me, sugar.” Flip smirked at you, taking your hand in his and spinning you into his arms and into a slow dance. “You’ve been naughty as hell.”

“Have I? Oh, no,” you feigned naivety, looping your arms around his neck and pressing your body to his as you moved together in time with the music. “What are you going to do about it?”

Bringing his lips to yours, Flip kissed you, still keeping a semblance of rhythm while you moved together. By the time Santa Baby ended and Winter Wonderland was a few notes in, he was stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers were tangled in his hair and raking down his neck, down to the buttons of his shirt, hastily clawing them open and shoving his shirt away. His hands were everywhere, just as hungry as his lips, gripping and kneading your flesh in all his favorite places. He groaned into your mouth when you unbuckled his jeans, matching his excitement.

Grabbing one end of his belt in each hand, you pulled him toward the couch with you as you walked backward. Flip ripped your shirt off over your head, throwing it aside before lowering his head to nip your neck and tease your skin with his beard, giving you goosebumps and pleasant chills. His hands smoothed down your body, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants to grab your ass. After squeezing his fill, he shoved your bottoms down your legs, lowering his body as he did until his face was level with your breasts.

Flip nuzzled into your tits, growling with satisfaction, and shoved you backward onto the couch, falling down with you beneath him onto the cushions. You laughed as Flip covered you with his body, already settled between your thighs, and returned his lips to your neck. He kissed you aggressively, as though he could devour you, starving for you by the end of every day.

All day had been spent watching Flip exert himself on your behalf; chopping down your tree, helping you decorate; bringing you a mug of cider while you worked in the kitchen. Now, late in the evening after longing for him all day, you wanted him just as badly as he lusted for you. Pushing his jeans down enough to free his cock, you wrapped your legs around his waist, eagerly guiding him into you. Your hips bucked at the delicious feeling of being stretched around the thick length of him, burning pleasantly despite your wet arousal.

“You’re always my favorite present to unwrap, sugar,” Flip husked in your ear, thrusting into you firmly.

You were already aflame with desire for the huge man above you, burning hotter than the fire in your hearth and the candles on the menorah, sitting on the table beside you. Your body rocked with his every powerful movement, every slam of his cock into you sending another wave of pleasure through you and pushing your body across the couch cushions.

Burying his face in your neck, Flip lost himself in the feel of your body all around him, fucking into you roughly as he kissed and licked your skin. Shudders and trembles raced through you, already ready to burst from the sensations he gave you, when, with another rough thrust, your entire right side was shoved off the couch.

Yelping with surprise, you rolled off the side of the couch. Flip’s weight above you didn’t help your precarious predicament. He had just enough awareness to cant over to his side as he fell with you so he didn’t crush you beneath him. On the floor, you laughed at the realization that you were still joined. You didn’t even have time to adjust before Flip rolled back over you with a growl. His shoulder knocked the coffee table roughly aside to make room for his broad body when he propped himself above you, pounding into you just as hard on the floor as he had been on the couch.

Flip’s pace grew faster and rougher the closer he brought you both. He looked down at you with a feral tooth-baring grin, his hair falling wildly around his shoulders and face, jostling with every hard thrust. The room around you burned hotter with your mounting pleasure, raising beads of sweat on Flip’s chest and neck.

Meeting Flip’s rhythm with your own bucking and rolling hips, you felt yourself throbbing around him. Nails digging into his muscled shoulders, you moaned his name loud enough that the wildlife outside could surely hear you.

“Show me how fuckin’ good I make you feel.” Flip was huffing now with each rough thrust, panting above you like a wild animal himself. “Cum all over my fat cock, sugar.”

Your orgasm exploded through you in pulses of ecstasy, your pussy tensing and clenching hard around his cock, trying to pull him in impossibly deeper. 

“Are you ready for me to fill you up?” Flip’s jaw clenched tightly as he fucked you through your aftershocks, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. “Stuff your tight little pussy so full of my cum that it’ll run outta you all fuckin’ night?” 

You could only moan and whine in response, lost in the haze of your own orgasm. Flip pounded his cock into you until his hips stilled, burying his cock as deep as possible. A rush of heat spread through you as he pumped you full of his thick hot cum, just like he promised. 

The room around you seemed to glow even brighter just like the afterglow that fogged your mind and senses. Flip sighed heavily, relaxing his weight down on you, his sweaty chest slick against your tits. Stroking your hands across his densely muscled back, he felt feverish with passion for you. 

As your mind began to clear, you realized it wasn’t Flip himself who was overly heated. The entire cabin was hot, sweltering around you, and the firelight was even brighter than it had been even moments before. 

Flip gazed down at you with a lopsided grin, nothing occupying his consciousness but you. Firelight glimmered in his eyes, reflecting from the corner of the room. From your place on the floor, you craned your neck to look at the soft light from your tree, only to see it dance and flicker orange. 

“The tree’s on fire, Flip!” you shouted at the sight of flames licking away at its lower branches. 

“What?” Flip jerked his head to look at the tree, finally roused from his amorous daze with eyes blown wide. “Oh, sonofabitch!” 

Shoving off of you and up to his feet, Flip knocked the coffee table completely over onto its side, sending the remaining candles in the menorah falling down onto the floor to join those he had already knocked off while he rigorously fucked you. You watched as two more candles rolled across the floor to join those that were already under the tree like flaming presents. 

Flip stumbled over the toppled table, arms flailing, as he clumsily stepped over it to the tree. Staring at the fiery branches dumbfounded for a moment, he realized it was beyond saving gracefully. He turned and ran to the kitchen, retrieving his discarded shirt from the floor as he did, as you pushed up to your feet. Flip wrenched the water on in the kitchen sink, soaking his shirt. 

Without ringing it, he raced back through the cabin to the tree. Dropping to his knees by the lowest flaming branches, he swatted the branches with his shirt before smothering them with the soaking fabric, barking curses and expletives. The voluminous wet garment made quick work of snuffing the fire, sending a cloud of smoke up to circle the ceiling of the cabin. 

“Goddamnit, Flip,” you coughed, waving your hand to clear the smoke away as you moved to open a living room window. “I told you we needed to put the menorah somewhere out of the way.” 

“Are you sure you told me that, sugar?” Flip teased, smirking at the glare you shot him from across the room with your hands planted firmly on your hips. He had no actual rebuttal, so he figured his best hope was to continue with humor and try to make you laugh. 

“I knew you’d knock it over one way or another.” Walking to him, you smacked his chest as you scolded him. 

“Hey, you can’t prove it was me!” Flip laughed, flinching dramatically from your slap. “You were rollin’ around pretty well down there yourself. I can’t help it that I drive you crazy and you kick shit over.” 

“Do you want me to hit you for real?” You raised your eyebrows at him in a challenge, unable to stifle a laugh. 

“Look, the good thing about me settin’ so many fires in the kitchen is that at least I know how to put ‘em out fast.” Looking back at the smoking tree, Flip ran his hand through his hair at the scene in your living room. 

“I married a fucking arsonist,” you said, shaking your head as you appraised the damage. “This is why we can’t have nice things.” 

“It’s not too bad,” he pondered, looking between the tree whose lower branches still smoldered smoke and back to you. 

“I hope you’re looking forward to going back out and chopping down a new tree for me tomorrow,” you replied with expectantly raised eyebrows. 

“So, you’re blamin’ all this on me, huh?” Flip asked, innocently placing his hand over his heart. 

“You? You mean the arsonist who argued with me about the menorah, and then knocked it over like I told you that you would?” You laughed at his playfully shocked expression. “What should your penalty be for not listening to me?” 

“You don’t think that me havin’ to go through tree-choppin’ hell again tomorrow is bad enough?” Flip asked, trying for mercy. 

“Not by a long shot!” You laughed, poking his chest playfully when you leveled his sentence, “I think you owe me a whole evening of watching those holiday Hallmark movies you hate so much. And for every eyeroll or grumble, I get a foot or back rub, your choice.” 

“Easy there. You’re worse than a hangin’ judge,” Flip teased, holding his hands up in supplication. “Nice until proven naughty, sugar.” 

*******************************************************************************************

Tagging some buddies: @babbushka @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @cas-backwards-tie @caillea @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @darkhairedmenrule @reyloaddict55 @fizzywoohoo @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @clydesfavoritegirl @emi11ie @bensolodyad @danidanisara @thepalaceofmelanie @celiholland

[alygatorwrites]

can I request a lil something? during the end of the manga or after the timeskip if you haven't read it yet, reiner still has feelings for historia and reader has one-sided feelings for him.

pieck gives reiner a small hint, saying he's wasting time while there's someone close to him that cares for him and points to you. he doesn't understand at first and maybe is conflicted about his feelings for you because of historia. reader is cool about it as she doesn't expect him to reciprocate her feelings.

a rollercoaster of emotions later, maybe there is a happy ending tho? i am curious to see what you can come up with 😭😭 i have dreaming of this scenario before bed and i can't help but get jealous of his crush on historia abjdsndks maybe you can help reiner reciprocate reader-chan's feelings or not

thank u so much aly 💖🥺

reciprocation

pairing: reiner braun x reader

a/n: OMG yesss! honestly, i was kinda annoyed at how reiner still had a crush on historia. i know that isayama wanted to show how everything went back to normal, but i was hoping that reiner would have a bigger role in the allied nations instead of being "dumbed down" to having an obsession with her. MAYBE THATS JUST THE JEALOUSY SPEAKING LMAO 😭 i was hoping this would be longer, although school has been killing me so im really sorry!! i hope its okay 💗💕 thank you honey!

↳ to be added to my taglist, please fill out this ♡form♡

as reiner is handed historia’s letter, you fold your hands on the table and watch him without a word. when he reads the lines and smells the parchment - jean saying something snarky afterward - you say nothing.

you want reiner to be happy: you want to see him at ease like this more, face soft as the leaf of the page flits from his pinched fingers.

and so you let the man speak about historia like she’s a damn goddess, gushing over her handwriting, and keep your goddamn mouth shut. ignore your jealousy. your feelings.

the truth is, you’re in love with reiner.

you can’t even remember how it happened, but you can remember the first time you looked into those hazel eyes, and how you knew that they were going to stick with you for eternity.

you’ve come to accept his crush on the queen, though. reciprocation was never an option in your mind.

when jean begins to chew reiner out for lusting after a married woman, and reiner says something about jean being a horse, pieck’s gaze lands on you. “you’re rather quiet,” she says softly, resting her head on her palm.

you shrug, turning away from her. “i’m just tired.”

pieck catches your chin between her lithe fingers, and turns you to face her with a tiny smile. the young woman is very perceptive, and you’ve known her long enough. 

that’s when you notice the twinkle in her eye. she’s planning something.

pieck releases your jaw then, sitting up in her chair. “you’re wasting your time, reiner,” she says suddenly. “there’s already someone you know who cares for you.”

you pretend to not hear pieck - and definitely pretend you don’t see her faintly point at you through your peripheral. the movement of her fingers is barely there, but you catch it.

damn you, pieck.

the way you’re now pinned underneath armin, jean, connie, and reiner’s stares makes your stomach tie itself into knots with bubbling reluctance. shit, this is awkward. you want to run away.

still, you peer over to study reiner’s reaction. he looks confused at first, the contours of his face unreadable. you swear you see connie facepalm at the man’s cluelessness.

then reiner’s expression slowly changes: his eyes widen in awe, lips parting slightly, and brows knitting together. he seems genuinely surprised - and conflicted.

conflicted? why?

there’s no time to explain yourself though, because the door creaks open and annie steps in. her words fall on your deaf ears, and when everyone stands up to leave, you’re the first one out of the room. work beckons you as always.

two days pass.

you’ve been busy filling out tons of paperwork pertaining to the allied nations, so when you’re finally given a day off, you take it with open arms. 

freedom at last.

you lean against a bench outside of headquarters, enjoying the salty breeze that flutters along your skin. it’s dusk, the sky covered in a gradient of neon colors as the sun dips below the horizon.

you haven’t seen reiner since that day in the conference room. you wonder how he’s doing, what he’s thinking, how he’s holding up -

“hey.”

speak of the devil. you glance over your shoulder toward the voice, low and familiar.

reiner approaches you, clad in his uniform: the suit hugs his large frame perfectly, showing every flex of his muscles, and his blonde hair is neatly parted. the black tie looped around his neck just pulls it all together. it has you weak at the knees every. single. time.

“hey,” you answer, giving reiner a smile as he stops beside you.

and that’s when your heart lurches at the sight of him.

the sunset highlights reiner’s profile in gold, a heavenly shine that settles upon his blonde lashes and the flawless slope of his nose. the flecks in his irises sparkle – a beautiful mixture of soft browns and muted greens. the only thing you can do right now is admire the man. 

his words are what breaks you out of your daydream.

“work has been crazy lately, huh?” reiner says, focused on the candy-floss clouds and their fluffy shapes.

“well - yeah, pretty much. i don’t want to look at a pen or a piece of paper ever again.”

“that bad?”

“you have no idea. i almost regret marley and paradis reconciling.”

reiner chuckles gently at the joke, but it’s strained. his forehead remains creased, and he’s not really smiling. the emotion there is more … doubtful. it’s like he’s having some sort of inner conflict.

hopefully reiner’s not acting cautious because of the other day. you know he doesn’t return your feelings, and that’s totally okay. you’re happy enough being with him like this. “i’m not mad or anything, y’know.”

reiner stiffens at that. there’s a white flash of teeth when he chews on his lower lip. “i know.”

“good,” you hum, breathing out a sigh of relief. your core twists with envy when you force a grin. bite it back. tease him like always. “so about historia … ”

reiner’s eyes go wide almost comically, and you hear the breath in his lungs leave his firm chest in one exhale. there’s a light blush staining his cheeks now. it’s funny; he’s so goddamn big, yet he’s such a teddy bear.

“y-yeah,” reiner mutters. you observe the way his brows pinch together as he awkwardly shifts in place. it takes a while before the man composes himself again, which is strange.

is he scared or something? what the hell?

“pieck,” reiner hesitates for a moment. the golden strands of his hair ruffle in the wind and he appears ... well, lost. “was she being serious?”

the question is a shocker - jeez, he could have at least let you prepare yourself. a firm ‘no’ almost slips out, but you’ve never been much of a liar. not to reiner, anyway. crossing your arms against your chest, you inhale sharply and nod. avoid staring at him face-to-face. “yep.”

“ … why me?”

reiner says the words with a mixture of spite and anguish, a casual and rumbling voice. you immediately turn your head, frowning. “what?”

“i’ve done so many horrible things.” reiner exhales heavily and stares down at his hands; perhaps he’s imagining all the blood they’ve been stained with. “i betrayed everyone. i killed innocent people - all because i was selfish.”

it’s no surprise that reiner is broken after everything he’s been through, but it pains you to know that he continues to suffer in silence. whatever war is raging inside his ribcage tears him apart piece by piece, and you wish you could carry the burden. 

there’s probably nothing you can say to convince reiner that he was just a kid, a victim of circumstance. there’s nothing that can persuade him to see himself the way you do.

so you decide to tell reiner why you love him. 

you explain the amount of admiration you hold for him. tell him that you love the way he just wants to be someone his comrades can lean on, like a big brother. tell him that you think he’s the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen and how you think he deserves the world.

the way you spill your guts out snaps every nerve in your body. you don’t say everything you want to – but you tell him enough. a dark flush spreading across your face, you find the courage to look at him.

the world seems to stop on its axis when you find reiner staring right on back. the intensity of his eyes is stunning; they’re lit up with astonishment and affection.

god, the affection. you see it clear as day. maybe one of the greatest regrets in his life is how he forced himself to see you only as a friend.

that’s when he reaches out to you.

reiner retracts his hand twice, unsure, before slowly brushing his fingertips against yours. the touch is so feather-light that you almost can’t feel it. it’s a test - he’s waiting to see if you pull away. you can’t even move if you wanted to, because his fond gaze keeps you rooted to the spot before him. 

when you don’t recoil, reiner finally moves to gently hold your hand; his palm is so much bigger than yours, and your fingers slot together perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle’s final piece. 

heart thrumming like a hummingbird has been stuffed into your chest, you’re almost at a loss for words and come to a realization.

this utterly amazing man likes you. always has. 

but reiner shoved away the feelings for one simple reason; you deserved ‘better.’ focusing on the old crush he had on historia was a distraction - an attempt to convince himself to stop thinking about you.

because looking at you everyday and not being able to act upon his feelings was too painful.

“is this okay?” reiner asks lowly. there’s a slight pinkness to his cheeks, the color of a selfless love.

by some miracle, you manage to nod dumbly. “yeah, of course. it’s fine.” it’s amazing is what you actually want to say.  

reiner squeezes your hand at the reassurance, a sigh escaping from his throat. “i really—”

you wait for him to finish, but he doesn’t. reiner just searches your profile for signs of discomfort, and then untwines your hands to bravely swipe a thumb along the length of your cheekbone. 

there’s no time to speak because he’s already leaning down.  

the sensation of reiner’s lips pressing against yours lights your skin ablaze; you can feel the curling flames of passion sear your soul, made even more intense by the warmth of the sunlight on your back.

it’s natural, it’s tender, it’s warm.

reiner’s breath rattles into your mouth when you rest both palms against his solid chest and deepen the kiss. the musky smell of his aftershave and cologne envelops you completely, and fuck, it’s so good. your arms wrap around him, fingers passing over the sharp slopes of his shoulder blades.

as much as you wish the kiss could go on endlessly, there are people gathering outside. avoiding any unwanted attention from nosy strangers is very much appreciated.

you pull away to nuzzle your nose into reiner, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, protective arms moving to loop around your waist. it’s such an intimate caress that it sparks your brain into overdrive.

as the rushing sound of the breeze comes back to your ears through the quiet, you tuck the kiss away to be remembered forever. that’s all there is to it. being close to reiner like this - swaying together like wildflowers in the wind - is more important than anything else.

“i like you,” reiner murmurs.

the suddenness of it makes you laugh, and you can feel the upward quirk of reiner’s lips - a whisper of a peaceful smile and a sweet, sweet promise.

[laketaj24]

Serotonin

Author’s Note: I finally finished something in my drafts after two months. I feel semi accomplished today! Taglist is open, as are requests!!!! Send them… I want them.

Pairing: Colson Baker x Reader

Warning: Smut, public sex, drinking, language

Inspo Song: Why are you here?

 The eyes searing into you from across the club belonged to Meg Styer; you knew of her well, based on Colson’s Instagram, she was the new arm piece. The well-known model had a reputation of making herself known to the exes, even if that meant starting confrontations when they were not needed. She crossed her long russet brown legs; they shimmered in gold, as did her entire outfit. You felt immediately outdone, thinking of the minimal effort you’d put into the outfit or your makeup today. Tonight's outing was not supposed to be about Colson or this new woman; it was about falling out of this fucking slump you'd found yourself in for the past month.

"It’s lively here.” Eric grinned. Straight edge, Eric.

You cringed inside; if your mother could have created someone on an app, Eric would have been him. Without a doubt, he was handsome, with dark hair, delicate features, and not a tattoo or piercing in sight. The club had been his idea, but parts of you believed he’d gotten the idea from your sister, who knew that there was no way in hell you’d sit at a restaurant and eat. You liked the action; your job called for you to sit in silence and awkward conversations; you didn't want your life to be a damper as well.

“It is,” you looked around, taking everything in, including the abrasive eyes that still remained on you, but it didn’t matter once he entered the room. The black shirt revealed his entire tattoo-riddled chest, even the one of your name he’d gotten a few years back. He looked like he might be up to trying you tonight, so you had to disappear and do so quickly. “We should go to the booth you got.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.”

It wasn’t a good idea; you sat uncomfortably across from the pair watching their every move while trying to suppress the need to end the date abruptly and slap the fuck out of him. Irritating you always was the one thing he did exceedingly well. Meg sat in his lap, draping her arms over his body, throwing her ass on him like she had no shame!  Did he know it was you across the room from him? Did he care? You watched as the waiter brought your third glass of tequila to the table and leaned into Eric, noticing the earthy cologne mixed with the whiskey. He smelled nice, or perhaps you were elusive to the bullshit because being near to him dulled the ache of the scene across from you.

The room to be secluded offered no privacy, so even when you felt alone, you were smothered in the thoughts of what if he saw you kiss or touch this guy- what the fuck was his name again? You uncrossed your legs, clumsily kicking the round glass table in front of you and spilling his drink but thank god not yours.

“I need some air; I’m gonna go get some.” You paused and took your glass. “I’ll be back.” The words scrambled out, and you did too, pushing up from the leather couch and not looking back to see Eric’s reaction to the awkward movements.

Too many people surrounded you, and at the moment, all you truly wanted was to hear nothing and feel nothing, even if it meant you had to get shit-faced. The stairwell didn’t have many people in it; only two women consumed in one another and Colson.

Your heart sunk once you realized it was him, from fear, dread – fucking embarrassment, maybe? He shook his head; you took notice of the three earrings in one ear while the other garnished a seat of crosses that dangled. Colson’s hair was slightly disheveled atop his head; the dark roots peeked out of the platinum blonde tapered cut. He looked great as usual. “I thought you were in for the night?” Colson’s voice carried over the music because he refused not to be heard, especially by you. He looked down at you, nursing the glass of chilled tequila. You’d acquired a taste for it over the years of being with him, Colson drinking tequila like water had rubbed off on you. “This doesn’t look like your place.”

“Did you want something?”

“Why are you here with that broke down,” He paused dramatically, raising his hand as he thought of more insults. “Tom and Jerry looking motherfucker?”

“That’s the best you can do?”

Colson drug his teeth over his lip, “Where you meet him?”

“Where’s that instamodel chick? You know the one with the plastic ass and tits? You leave her in the car just so you can go check on your other hoes, or is she in here with them?”

“Man, stop.”

“I saw her looking at me, don’t tell them about me. I’m not your concern, and I am damn sure not theirs.”

“How’d you catch her looking at you if you weren’t looking at me?” Colson’s cocky smirk sent a rush of anger coursing through your body; even when he lost, he found a sure way to find a confident victory in it.

“Bye, Colson.” Your eyes met his, remembering how blue they were. Even when he was dead drunk, they found a way to still hold onto the Colson you knew was in there somewhere. The sweet one that danced in the rain and stayed in bed with you every free night he could give -- you shook it off. Breaking eye contact with him to look anywhere but the blue crystal stare. You cut down to the ground, admiring your pumps before he turned away from you and left.

The drink was no longer cold, and the tequila didn’t even burn as you chugged down the remnants of the clear liquid. You pinched the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath, and then leaned against the stairwell.

“Long night?” Eric cleared his throat.

“Already, I’m so sorry. Could we leave here?”

Eric shook his head yes and placed his hand on your shoulder, “Is everything okay?”

“Perfectly, fine. It’s fine.” You swallowed. The hazed state of your mind needed to be cleared, especially before you left with him. “Can I meet you upfront? I’m going to freshen.”

“It’s fine; take your time.”

 You wouldn’t take your time; the quicker you were out of this place, the better. Whenever you were in his element, your mind refused to do the right thing. You moved through the crowded dance floor, carefully avoiding familiar faces. And finally, you were at the restrooms splashing the cool water on your face. You looked yourself over, grateful you hadn’t worn makeup—the trickles of water run down your rich ochre brown skin.  Too many thoughts raced through your mind out there but not in here. It was silence, and your mind was in a stupor. For a second, everything stilled, your heart and breathing were relaxed, and everything was back to normal, that moment as everything else was short-lived.

Colson’s reflection appeared in the mirror before you. “I cannot believe you lied to me?” The door clicked behind him.

“I didn’t lie to you.” The way he casually entered the women’s bathroom to start an argument pissed you off. “And get the fuck outta here.”

“We talked earlier today, and you said you were in for the night.”

“You said you were going out by yourself, and you got a whole entourage. So, same shit, we both just single now.”

“Come here.”

“No, you don’t get to tell me to come here. You don’t get to follow me in the bathroom and talk to me about fucking lying when you-.”

Words ended when his lips met yours, he towered over you, but he didn’t mind the effort it took to get to your lips. He walked you against the wall- steadying your steps to his until he picked you up, and as if your body knew the routine, you wrapped your legs around him. Your lips eagerly kissed him back, tugging on his bottom lip before returning to take more kisses. How were you this hungry for him? You wanted nothing more than him to fuck you, rip this dress and ruin you in this unlocked bathroom. “Y/N.”

“Fuck me.” You pleaded.

He only needed the confirmation to move towards his belt buckle unsheathe his dick. There were two ways you fucked, frantic and as if you would never see one another again and then slow – ironically, they both had the same outcome. Your heartbeat matched his, strumming against your chest, and his matched yours. You loved it. There was no foreplay needed; you wanted to feel every inch of the pain he had to offer. He pushed the black dress up to your thighs, bunching the fabric enough that it revealed your pussy for him. He swiped his tongue over the pads over his fingers and swiped your lips. You were wet for him. You had been the whole night, no matter how much you wanted to deny it. He pushed the long finger into you, curling it to press the soft pad that made you squirm and throw your head back in pleasure.

He moved from the wall to the counters, not giving a fuck if someone walked in or not; he spread your legs wider for him and gripped your curls. Exposed to the world, but all you could see was him. You reveled as he slammed into your hilt deep, muted your sequel with his lips, and paused. “You missed me, didn’t you?” He whispered. “Y/N?”

“Shut up,” Your pussy answered for you, squeezing to pull him deeper as he fucked into you. He wasn’t even deep enough for you; your fingers tug on the black shirt as you thrust to meet him each time. Your skin clapped against his every time, his cock expertly hitting that spot inside of you that made you want to cum right then and there. You held it, panting as it began to build up all over your body. He knew the signals, the way your hands rapt against him, legs quivered, and your pussy throbbed.

“Up.” He said, listening to the door open behind him.

Decency had left when he started fucking you, there was no way in hell you’d stop now, and Colson possessed no fucks when it came to sex. They could watch whoever the fuck it was. He positioned you in front of the mirror, bent over for him. Colson’s heavy hand came down on your ass, and then he pushed into you arching your back before wrapping a hand around your hair and fucking into you wildly.

Your ass bounced back on him, and his moans made you wetter. Your fists clenched as you tried to steady yourself – there was no controlling the orgasm that flowed through you. Your breath quickened, your toes curled, and your eyes snapped closed as his name rolled from your tongue.

“Open them eyes.” He gave an arrogant laugh before leaning over you, pushing himself deeper and flicking his tongue over the lobe of your ear.,

Your eyes opened, and you saw yourself flushed with sweat, mouth open, and him fucking the shit out of you. The scene erotic, beautiful, and shit you wanted it again and again. “Oh shit.” You mumbled.

“You think that fucking clown ass suit gone give you this?” He laughed as he slapped your ass again. “I thought not.” He guided you back on him, taking your hips in his hands, making sure you took every inch. He was greedy himself, watching your breast bounce in the reflection of the mirror, all while hearing you echo throughout the entire bathroom. It was music to his ears. Colson slowed his stroke momentarily, peppering, kissing down your shoulder blade before increased his pace once again, and your body jolted. You ground against him, urging him to cum and the pressure built. He panted against your back for a moment and then kissed your exposed skin. “Don’t go home with him.” He whispered, retrieving your panties from his pocket. Colson lowered himself to his knees and turned you around.

“You can’t tell me that.” You whispered.

“I’m asking.”

“Are you taking her home?”

“I can drop her ass off at her place right now.” He smiled, pointing. “Shit, you can ride shotgun.”

Good memories flooded of his snarky ass sense of humor and late nights. “You’re silly.”

Colson adjusted your dress and then stood in front of you, making sure your hair and lipstick was not smudged everywhere. “Drop Chandler off and come home.”

“Fucking hell mate,” Dom’s voice did not seem shocked. “This other chick is trying to kill me out here. Y/N?”

“Dude, will you get the fuck out of here… like now.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.”

“This was-,” You step away. “Uhm, I don’t know. I’ll call you okay?”

“Tonight?”

“Tomorrow.” You clarified. “Or the next day, just give me a damn minute to breathe?”

“Bet.” He sighed. “Should I go first… so it won’t seem suspect?”

“You’re a 6’4” guy leaving the women’s restroom, you’re busted.” You chuckled.

 A/N: I through Dom (Yungblud) in there because I kinda love him just as much lol might right him too! Hope you enjoyed! Thank you! Please let me know what you think!

Taglist: @taytayize123 @supernaturalvikingwhore @jae-writes-fanfiction @bigsisbria @placeoffreedom @kyla-queen @missdforever @gottatoxicattitude @bang-kim-bap @msreshel @blowmymbackout @titty-teetee​

[raineydays411]

Oh, what am I supposed to do without you

Loki x daughter!reader

Summary: Loki thought he was in a good place. He was married, happy and having a child. He should’ve known the universe wasn’t that kind.

A/N: God I’m so sorry about this one lol. Not much of the reader but I will be  making a second part. I hope yall like this one though. Inspiration came from “Mr, Loverman” and this fic.

Master list

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

The silence was rattling. It creeped into the room, slowly,menacingly. Threatening to make him go mad. It wrapped around his body like a familiar friend. Making it hard for him to breath as it suffocated him. He knew they were staring at him. Trying to figure out what he would do next, whether he would break or not. Truthfully he didn’t know what he would do. For now he just starred as well. Not at them, of course not. He stared at the one thing that mattered. His reason for waking up and living. The one person in this entire universe who gave his world color. He reached out to touch her. Touch the hands that were always so warm against his cold skin. Hands that held his firm and sure as she pulled him along behind her, a smile on her beautiful face. Hands that were now cold and limp, the radicant glow she had been known for gone dark. The colors she brought to his world dimmed to dull, gre, muted hues. Then a sound broke through the silence. two sounds actually. One a wail of new life, a baby taking her first breaths, and another. A wail of a man who has lost everything. A wail of agony and pain.

As the healers bustled around him, Loki had only one thought in his head. 

“What am I supposed to do without you”

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

Three months later and Loki still felt the emptiness left by his love. He heard her at night, humming sweet melodies as she stroked his hair. He hears her heartbeat as he eventually falls asleep, worn out by his constant tears. His room is in shambles, his clothes strewn about the floor, furniture smashed, everything is destroyed. Except for the things that belong to her. Her silk dresses that draped on her body perfectly were still hanging, untouched. The books she spent hours reading and re-reading remained on the shelf, collecting dust as they were no longer used. He doesn’t let anyone in their chambers. The space where they both shared. Space where they fought, made up, made love. To let someone else in would be tainting it. Soiling the memories they made together. That was one thing he could never do.

Another was look at the little monster who is responsible for this tragedy.

It was a girl. The daughter of one Loki Odinson and his beloved. 

Ironic. This child was supposed to bring happiness with its birth. Not even cleaned and it already managed to take away Loki’s light. He can barely stand looking at it. He tried, of course  he tried. But within minutes he had to call the nurse to take it away. Why? 

Because she has her mothers eyes.

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

“Loki”

“Get out”

“Loki, it's been nine months since your child was--”

“THAT THING IS NO CHILD OF MINE”

Frigga was taken aback. She knew her son was heartbroken, devastated at the loss of his wife. But to disown his daughter, that was something she didn’t see coming. 

“Loki, you are being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? My wife has died because if that creature--”

“It is a child. A babe who has no idea who her father nor her mother is.”

“And as far as I’m concerned she never will!” Loki shouts, finally looking up at his mother. 

Frigga heart breaks for her son. She sees the utter agony he is in, the inner torment going on in his soul. Even if she didn’t see it in his face, the state of his room and self gives it away. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in the nine months that has passed. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, hair unkempt and wild. His face was pale and hollow, as if he was only eating enough to survive. He had dark bags under his eyes that showed that he hasn’t been sleeping well.  He truly was a man who was broken, almost beyond repair. 

“My son” Frigga said carefully,” I can never understand the pain you are going through, I pray to Valhalla I will not have to anytime soon. But please if not for yourself or that child, for the memory of her, attempt to see your daughter before making a rash decision.” And with that, she walked out of his chamber, leaving Loki to the silence again as he stared at the spot his mother stood. considering her words, he got up. picked up his room, went to bathe and walked out of the room for the first time in nine months. 

His face held no emotion as he walked down the hallways. He saw the servants stop and stare at him, shock filled their face as they saw the prince. He glared at them, sending them scurrying at the dark glance. He reached the nursery, the maid who oversaw the nursery tried to stop him. 

“My lord, you--” 

“Where is the child.” He said, calm and cool. The maid looked at him in fear, not knowing how to respond. At her silence, Loki scoffed and pushed her away, marching into the nursery. Upon entering he froze, memories of him and his beloved discussing the design they wanted for their child

**“Darling, why does the color shade matter? It’s not like the child has expectations.”

Laughter fills the air, “Loki, we must put every effort into showing our child they are loved. That includes finding the perfect shade of green to go with the room”

Loki looks at his wife, gently smiling.”If you say so my dear”**

The room was perfect. The walls were a beautiful shade of green that allowed the light into the room. There were vines and flowers crawling up the walls and draped over curtains. A white and gold crib stood in the middle of the chamber. A veil draped over it, preventing Loki from seeing the child inside. He was thankful as he worked up the courage to walk up to it. He looked out the window, seeing the stars that covered the sky, the lights of Asgard covering the earth. 

She would have loved it.

He took a deep breath and walked toward the crib. He pulled back the veil only to see that there was no child in there. 

“The babe is with your mother my lord.”

He turned to the maid. Embarrassed that she might have witnessed him reminiscing.

“And where is my mother” He asked

“In-in the dining hal--” 

He walked away before she was able to finish her sentence. He took long strides to the hall, wondering his his mother had tricked him into eating with the family.On the way, he passed a window overlooking the garden. He thinks of the times where he used to sit in it and listen to her read.

***  “...exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows”

“My love, why do you insist on reading these midgardian stories?”

Her laughter  reaches his ears, “Because beloved, it's a different perspective to something familiar”

“Oh? and what is that ?” 

“Love”  ***

“oki--”

Hearing his name, Loki is brought back to present times once more. He looks to see Thor, watching him with careful eyes. 

“Brother, it is wonderful to see you.”

“I wish I can say the same.”

Thor laughs, a soft chuckle compared to the booming laughter Loki knows he is capable of. 

“Ah Loki, your dry wit has been missed”

Loki rolls his eyes and starts walking and Thor follows. The two walking in silence. 

“What is it like?” Loki says softly. Thor looks at him in confusion.

“It?” 

“The child.”

“Oh brother, Y/n is--”

“Y/n?” 

That was the name she wanted. If they were to have a girl. She was determined, seeing the name in the book she loved to read. He remembers when they were telling his family she was with child.

*** Everyone was seated, servants bustling around the long table. Laughter filled the hall as the sun was setting. 

“Loki, you said you had news to tell us” Frigga said, taking a sip of her wine. 

Loki smiled, looking at his wife. Her face absolutely radiant as she flashes a smile of pure joy.

“ Well,” Loki waits till Thor has taken a large swig of ale, “ My beloved and are are expecting a child.” 

Gasps fill the room as well as Thor's hacking, ale being spewed on the table. 

“Oh Loki that is wonderful!!”  Frigga exclaims standing from her seat to embrace him. “Oh my dear, this is the most wonderous news,” 

“BROTHER I can’t believe it!” Thor exclaims, lifting Loki in a crushing hug. And for once, he didn’t mind it.  He turns to her and hugs her more gently. “ You are just full of surprises aren’t you, starlight”

Laughter, “Thor, I thought I told you to stop calling me that”

Silence fills the hall as Odin clears his throat, “ Loki, you have made me proud.”

Loki smiles as his love beams at him. 

“Thank you father.”**

They reached the dining hall. A cold feeling formed in the pits of his stomach. He can see his mother, talking with a maid as she bounces the child. He can’t see it, as Frigga's back is turned to him. Odin’s presence is notably absent, a small relief on Loki's part. 

Thor notices his brother’s nerves, he pats him on the back and says, “You can do this Loki.” Then walks off to join his mother. He kisses his mothers cheek and smiles at the child. He picks her up, bouncing her a few times  prompting a small laugh. Loki gimances at the sound. 

Thor walks up to him with the baby. 

“Loki, this is Y/n Odinson”

He looks at the child. He takes in its features, Beautiful curly hair, already thick and voluminous even at this age. Brown skin, unblemished and clean. Cheeks, chubby with baby fat. And...its eyes. Those damn eyes, he could barely stand it, (e/c) eyes, the same as his lost love. In fact, almost all it’s features that once belonged to his darling. A pain filled his body. He really couldn’t stand looking at this child. 

Not when his beloved wasn’t there to gaze upon their child as well. 

No, this was not his child. Not anymore. 

“Get rid of it.” 

Shock filled the faces of both Thor and Frigga. 

“Loki you cannot be serious.”

“Brother..”

“I SAID GET RID OF IT” Loki shouts. “I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT LITTLE MONSTER.” 

And with that he leaves the dining hall. Leaving behind  his mother, brother and the last piece of his wife he had. He hears it’s cries fill the silence.

He had only one thought in his head as he entered his chambers.

“What am I supposed to do without you”

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

[gaiuswrites]

Thread the Needle | Yoga!Din

Pairing: Modern!Din x Yoga Instructor!Reader

Rating: Explicit (minors, goodbye)

Word count: 3.5k~

Warnings/tags: Yoga!Din (yes, he gets his own warning), hurt/comfort, language, smut, good ol' fashioned cunnilingus, piv

Notes: ✨ HI FRIENDS ✨ Yoga!Din rides again. This idea has been stewing (pun intended, you'll get it later) in my dumb brain for a while now and I've finally decided to write it. Technically, this takes place a little farther into the future (perhaps when the pair is more of an item, and less of a fuckbuddy fling, but thorough plot? We don’t know her). Anyways, enjoy! Cheers x

He doesn’t mean to be dramatic, but it’s the most agonizing sixty minutes of his goddamn life.

He’s seated on his mat, legs folded into a fucking pretzel—lotus pose, a calm voice inside his head corrects—and he’s steaming.

She isn’t here.

He is—Din, for all his faults, showed the fuck up to class but she didn’t, and in her place there’s some smelly old bat, this woman’s wrinkly ass – sits bones – plunked down at the front of the studio— occupying her spot, where she should be.

His eyes stalk the movements of this other woman as she putters around the studio—the godawful stench of something earthy wafting behind her— and it looks wrong. It feels wrong; like a violation somehow—of the space.

Of their space.

“The light in me recognizes the light in you,” they all utter in unison like a fucking hippie cult, and he books it out of there, swiping his mat up with an aggressive slap and rolling it under his arm.

“Hey,” he calls out, pacing towards the front desk. The receptionist— Riley? Kylie? Din can never remember—glances up from her phone, bright eyed.

Poor thing.

“Who the fuck is that?” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder towards the studio, the gaggle of ladies trickling out of it already gossiping and clucking away. Din doesn’t mean to sound accusatory; he doesn’t mean to be this intense. It’s not this girl’s fault, he knows that— but she’s in proximity and she’s shit out of luck.

“M’sorry?” she sputters, blinking up at him.

Breathe, that same voice coos—he can feel the tickle of it behind his ear.

“Our usual Wednesday instructor,” Din begins again, clipped. “Where is she?”

“Oh," she shrugs, "she called in sick.”

With a furrowed brow he pitches forward, craning over the desk. “Is she okay?”

The girl— Miley? —all but flinches back from him, a quizzical expression wormed onto her. “Uhm, yeah she has the flu—nasty one, too, but she’ll probably be back by ne-"

Din doesn’t linger long enough for her to finish. He’s wheeled around, striding from the building, the tinny chime of the bell ringing out as the door creaks closed behind him. The women exchange waggling glances in his wake, tittering in mouthwatering delight—more juicy fodder for their post-yoga soiree.

///

He doesn’t remember driving there. He made a quick stop to the grocery store— their grocery store, now— to pick up what he needed and before he knows it, he’s at her front door, bringing his fist down upon it in hard raps.

He hears movement—can sense it there, can practically imagine it: her lithe body tip toeing over— no, she’s got the flu, maybe it’s more of a shuffle—and peeking through the peephole. There’s a weighty pause and then—

The slow, dubious clicks of unbolting locks, the turning of a handle, the yawn of the wood as it opens.

Her voice is made small with disbelief and exhaustion. “Din?”

“Can I come in?”

She cracks the door ajar, standing in the frame of it now, a thick blue comforter slung over an arm, and she can’t quite mask the stupefied look etched onto her face.

He’s never done this. She’s never done this. He’s been to her place twice—three times, if he counts them fucking in the car in her driveway—and he’s certainly never showed up unannounced.

“Uhm, I-”

“Great.”

Din pushes past her, plastic bag swinging heavy at his side.

“W-What?”

She’s left gaping, mouth and eyes opened incredulously, ogling the way he struts through her entryway, before finally having the wherewithal to close the door. “Hey, what are you-”

“You need to keep your fluids up,” he says roughly—as if it’s obvious—making a beeline towards the kitchen.

She follows after him, bunching the throw snuggly around her shoulders. “Din,” she utters feebly, “I really don’t think you should be here right now.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Please, I don’t wanna get you sick."

He thunks the bag onto the granite countertop, producing two cans.

She doesn’t know why she bothers, it’s not like he’s listening to her anyways. If she’s learned anything about Din Djarin, it’s that he’s nothing if not stubborn—impossibly immovable. He’s tossed his jacket off, slinging it over the island, a determined glint in his eye as he prowls around the kitchen, opening cupboards at random.

“Seriously, I don’t want you catching this. I feel like shit… Oh my god, I look like shit,” she groans in realization, burying her head in the blanket, hermitting herself away.

“You look fine,” he replies gruffly, delving through the drawers in search of a can opener.

Frumpy sweats and a baggy t-shirt with some faded logo on it that’s absolutely hanging off her. Hair tossed up and sloppy, coiled into a loose bun, errant pieces rebelling every which way. A little pale, maybe. Tired eyes. Messy.

Beautiful, he meant. She looks fucking irritatingly beautiful.

Din continues to rifle through her cabinets and he exhales in frustration, “Jesus, where do you keep your pans?”

“Bottom right,” she points begrudgingly.

He grunts, finding one big enough and sets it down on the stove.

She can’t stop fussing over him; making comments here and there, asking if he wants anything, needs anything—water, kombucha, tea, a beer, a snack—if she can help in any way possible—and it nearly sends him over the damn edge.

“Would you quit it and just let me take care of you?” he grits out, and her mouth clamps shut with a pop.

She’s quiet after that, picking anxiously at a thread poking out from the blanket she wears like a shawl—observing as he empties the cans into a large pot, lights the gas stove, and brings it to a boil. She gives him space, stationing herself by the kitchen table, leaning a hip into one of the four chairs there.

Honestly she does try to keep to herself; she tries to accept what Din is doing for her, but she can’t help it. As soon as she sees him ladling the soup into one of her favorite cups—it looks so tiny in his grasp— and bringing it over to her like a goddamn patron saint, she breaks.

“You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah well, you need to get healthy so you can take your class back from that fucking fossil.”

“Din,” she admonishes.

“Baby,” he gives her a pointed look and she gnaws at the inside of her cheek, a blush blotting her clavicle. “She fucking smells. Now sit your pretty little ass down-”

“But-”

He presses a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to sink into the chair with a soft oomf, and places the bowl in front of her. “Don’t fight me on this. Drink the fucking soup.”

She huffs, glancing down, and then back up to Din.

“Progresso?”

He grunts.

She blows at the steam rising from the hot liquid. “Chicken noodle?”

Din crosses his arms over his chest and plops back onto the island.

“Classic,” she praises, mumbling into it.

She loathes to admit it, but the first sip tastes like heaven. It soothes her raw vocal chords, worn hoarse from nights of coughing, and seeps deep to warm her cold bones.

Din remains mute through the whole affair, staring owlishly as she spoons it down, slurp for slurp, until he’s satisfied she’s finished. When she does, she arches an eye brow at him— mouth pressing into a thin line. Happy now?

He tips his head and pads over to her.

“Wait, no you don’t have to-" He swipes it from the table, the spoon clanking against the ceramic rim. Din moves to the sink and she groans.

“Just leave it,” she whines, but he ignores her—stubborn stubborn stubborn— he’s already got soap on the sponge and the water running. Again, she huffs and rises to her feet, hem of the blanket trailing behind her.

“Thank you,” she gives in a hushed tone.

It’s so strange— being taken care of in her own place. She doesn’t know what to do, where to go. It’s ill-fitting, foreign, and she can only hover there, buzzing like a pesky insect beside him.

He’s wiping the dish off with a towel when he chances a peek back at her, practically stuttering when he does.

She’s swaddled in that fucking quilt, awkward and impossibly sincere and precious just standing there—watching him play house in her home. A brush of color has sprung up on her cheeks—more light in her eyes, too—and Din, try as he might, can’t pry himself off her.

She’s sick—she’s sick and gorgeous and he wants her. He wants her to feel better, he wants to fuck her, he wants to hold her. He’s overcome with it.

He swallows.

Fuck.

He abandons the bowl and rag in the drying rack and turns to her, her eyes widening, glassy and bloodshot, as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear— knuckles trailing down her jaw.

“Din…”

Her tongue skips over her lip—mocking him—damp and full and begging to be taken by his own, and her breath catches as he drags a thumb across that plump flesh, enrapt with the way her mouth parts so effortlessly for him—so fucking supple. Din’s gut twists and his blood thickens in his veins—the air between them rippling with something velvet and carnal.

He takes a step towards her. Her throat bobs.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she pouts in protest, rutting her palm into his chest, but there’s no fight in it. The blanket slips from her shoulders, hitting the ground with a dulled splat.

“Din,” she tries again, “I don’t want you to-"

He leans in, cradling her cheek, murmurs fanning over her face. “I’ll risk it.”

And he dissolves the gap, sealing her mouth with his in a tender kiss. It’s almost chaste at first, how they rove tentative and unhurried over each other—an innocent exploration— all until his tongue darts out to touch along her lip and she whimpers into him, letting Din dip into the dark cavern of her mouth. She tastes warm, like comfort and broth and rainy days, and he sighs as she brings her hands up to weave into his hair.

Neither of them fight for dominance like this—their tangle of soft sounds is perfectly balanced— Hatha; effort and ease, breath and body. He pushes, she relents—she surges forward, Din bends. They dance like this, slow as tar, until she catches his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs.

It’s like a switch has been flipped.

He seethes, inhaling sharply as his hands slide possessive and greedy down her body, grabbing fistfuls of her waist hidden under all the oversized layers, and crushing her into him. She’s making these airy noises, panting and urgent and fuck if it doesn’t tear him apart—viscerally, from the inside out.

Din walks her backwards, step for choreographed step, foxtrotting until she bumps into the kitchen table. He breaks away from the kiss to reach past her, frantically pushing away the unopened mail and receipts and loose change, the jingling of her keys cutting through the wanton quiet as they clang onto the tile, and he hitches her up to sit there with one fell swoop.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he husks, inbetween the bites he’s searing onto her neck. “Please, just lie back for me sweet girl.”

“Din, I-“

He silences her with a nibble to her ear, coaxing a breathy yelp out of her. “Lie back, baby.”

It doesn’t take much convincing after that. She acquiesces, Din’s wide palm splayed on her breasts, guiding her to recline back onto the table. He makes speedy work of her sweatpants, yanking them down her legs and flinging them off to land in a crumpled heap.

He sinks to his knees, pulling the cradle of her hips to the edge of the table before parting her thighs. The gloss of her cunt, wet and glistening for him, makes his hardening cock jump up to his stomach, and she twitches as soon as the cool air brushes against her.

“Fuck me,” he groans, whispering into her heat like he’s pained, like the sight alone is torturing him—like it’s slowly but surely ending his fucking life.

Din breathes her in with a sigh, that summer fruit tang— the scent of her aching and pulsing for him— and he starts tracing up and down her inner thigh with his tongue and teeth, nibbling along the path there until he’s at her apex. He’s dimpling her pliant skin with his calloused fingertips, strong hands wrapped under her knees, keeping them splayed as he kisses along her outer lips, nipping at her hip bones, teasing everywhere but where she needs him most.

It’s devastating—debilitating—and she’s shaking now. Every muscle, every fiber of her, convulsing with anticipation—with the promise of being dissected, of being torn apart and stitched back together again. She’s already got a hand covering her mouth, muffling the sobs he’s drawing out as he toys with her— playing her like a fucking fiddle.

Din’s eyes flit up to find her like this, brow pinched tight and cries stifled, and he chuckles— he fucking laughs— heady and ambered into her legs.

“You doin’ alright up there, teach?”

“F-Fuck you,” she hisses out with a weak whine.

God, she’s fucking perfect.

“You need something, sweetheart?” He smirks— she can feel the shape of it against her thigh, the way his stubble grates along her skin— and she can only mewl, speechless. Pathetic.

“Yeah, I know what you need...” Din hums, before finally - finally - taking mercy on her.

With one single drag, he tongues a broad stripe up her slit.

The noise that rips through her sounds like she’s being strangled— it gets caught in her throat like a trapped animal in hot car— a desperate little thing clawing to get out. Her nails scrape against the wood, leaving nicks in the chestnut lacquer. Immediately, she cants up to him, searching for his mouth hungrily and Din all but obliges as he clasps onto her hips, keeping her still while he fucks into her.

He’s carving her out— hollowing her; burying himself in her folds, nosing against her mound. He laps her up in kitten licks, delving the muscle of his tongue in and out of her, leaving her weak and gasping. Din laves up and down and side to side in clever little swivels, before he reaches her clit and sucks.

Her fist shoots from her mouth to grip his wavy locks, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“O-Oh my god, Din - fuck - Din. Oh fuck oh fuck-"

He loves it when she gets like this; that serene and tranquil exterior— the one that can quell a studio full of strangers into a haze with only the sound of her voice, that voice he can’t get out of his fucking head, the one that got them into this mess in the first place— shattered, mutilated beyond recognition and all she has left is her need— her wild, unbridled need.

Her need for his tongue, for his fingers, for his dick. Din Din Din, she only wants him— only needs him.

He slips a finger into her, easing past his knuckle in one movement, and her chin tips back, crown of her head digging into the table, hair mussing against the wood grain.

Her nipples have pebbled through her shirt, her pretty feet arched and contorted, and she’s heaving - writhing - like this above him.

He adds another digit, pumping in and out, the squelch of her pussy sounding lewd and obscene and fucking divine as he grazes her clit with his teeth, pulling at it.

“Fuck-” she rasps, legs quivering on their own accord— instinct and reflex demanding she tremble— and Din moans into her sex, feeling her walls constrict around his fingers, and he curls them up as he thrusts, hitting against that spongy patch insider her that makes her vision go white.

“Din, I- I’m—"

She can’t manage the rest. Instead of words, she cries— high pitched and wounded, as if she’s barely making it out alive. Her legs clamp around his head, bracing him there, and she cums— she loses it for him— her slick coating his nose, his lips, the hair speckled around his chin. She soaks him, and it leaves Din rocking his hips and humping the fucking air— as randy as a teenager, ravenous for anything, even if it’s just the friction of his pants drawn tight around his erection.

He takes her through her orgasm, lapping at her softly until she’s warbling—a slew of nonsense babbling out of her— and he leans back on his heels to admire his work, eyes singeing into her cunt made puffy and swollen pink, fluttering at the loss of him.

He plants one final kiss to the cleft of her pussy before shifting his weight back up to his feet, slotting himself between her.

Fuck, he isn’t as young as he once was— he feels his age in the ache of his knees. All the yoga in the world can’t erase his scar tissue, can’t undo time.

But he thinks maybe—if he’ll let himself—that she makes him feel younger. Lighter.

He squeezes her calf and begins to move away when she whimpers, bolting upright to palm greedily at the bulge pressing painfully against its constraint, her fingers fidgeting with his zipper and Din— in an uncharacteristic show of strength and self restraint— gingerly clasps onto her wrists, holding her still.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and her eyes snap up to meet his. “This isn’t about me.”

“No, but-”

“You don’t- we don’t have to-"

“Din,” she pants, grabbing onto the waist of his jeans and pressing her center into him, smearing herself along the denim there, her pearled clit catching on the rough fabric. Her eyes have gone jet-black with desire, obsidian lust burning through them. “Din, fuck me. Please fuck me, plea-“

Shit.

He’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life, unbuttoning his jeans in a flash, untucking himself— throbbing, leaking already—from his briefs. He gives himself two rough jerks, his blunt tip prodding at her entrance, before pushing into her with a gasp.

Fuck, she’s warm— not just warm, she’s hot. She’s molten, and she’s milking him for all he’s worth, gripping around him, fucking strangling his cock with how wet she is—how tight. God, she’s a fucking dream—a nightmare too, undoubtedly.

“Fuck baby - shit - you’re—hnng-” He groans—can’t even form a real sentence—all of his blood has rushed out of his brain and straight to the juncture where their bodies meet.

His eyes flutter deliriously at the feeling of her stretching around him like this and for a passing, fleeting moment, he considers the fact that he should be gentle with her— that she’s not feeling well, that she’s probably sore with body chills and God knows what else and that she should rest—

But once her knees are split apart and legs spread long— so fucking flexible, fuck she’s killing him— his well-met concern all but abandons him.

He fucks her hard— so hard she falls back, that unforgiving surface bruising into her spine. He probably hurts her a little—just how he likes, just how she loves.

Din plows into her, digging into the meat of her thighs, slamming into the pussy that takes him so fucking well, the pussy that feels like it’s made for him— like she’s made for him— and the table shudders with each roll of his hips, scraping it inch by inch along the tile, knocking against the chairs with loud, clattering bangs.

“W-Wait— wait wait wait-“ she pants, hands scampering up to his arms.

He slows his thrusts until he’s stilled inside of her, worry creasing around his eyes. “W-What? Are you okay—what’s wrong?”

“T-The table," she whines, “it’s from fucking IKEA. I built this piece of shit myself— there’s no way it’s gonna stay standing with you fucking me into it like this.”

Din barks out a laugh, throaty and genuine, and for the second time today, he comes to the conclusion that she’s perfect.

“Bedroom?” she nods down the hall.

“Bedroom,” he growls before scooping her up, lifting her off the table, her legs scrambling to hook around his waist, forearms bracing around the broad plain of his shoulders.

“Din!” she squeals in surprise, “I can walk, you know.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, giving her a bounce and a light slap to her ass. “You’re sick.”

///

“Onions,” he mutters, leaden eyelids nestled shut.

He didn’t mean to stay over this long—well past sunset, later than he’s ever allowed himself—but how could he be expected to leave? After she came on his cock - twice - and he had filled her up until his cum was gushing from her, extricating himself out of this exact position of woven, spent limbs and sweat stained sheets sounded criminal.

“What?” She cranes groggily up at him.

“The sub. She smelled like onions. And patchouli.”

“Hey,” she tuts in mock offense, “Brenda is nice.”

“Good for Brenda. Doesn’t make her smell any better.”

“God, you are so rude,” she laughs, shaking her head as she nuzzles into Din’s side, lips curving into a sleepy grin against his chest—right above the aching thump of his caged heart.

Taglist (I apologize if I missed anyone!):

@radiowallet @pedros-mustache @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamers @greatcircle79 @iamskyereads @imnotinlove-thisisnotyoursong @fan-of-encouragement @read-and-rec @helmet-comes-off @keeper0fthestars @hellabaybee @ourmotherofyearning @krissology

[justanobsessedfangirl]

The Sound of Silence - The Maze Runner Newt Imagine

Request from @ausblack: was wondering if you could write a newt x reader where she’s like the new greenie and the only girl. Everyone think she’s mute because she never talked and Newt decides to take care of her since he’s the only one she seems comfortable with. One day another glader attacks her making her scream and for some reason Newt recognizes that it’s her, he gets protective and helps her out. Eventually she speaks her first words to him and they both get together in the end 

Masterlist

Warning: Some mature language

Author’s Note: Sorry I haven’t posted in...a while. If it helps, you can think of me as a turtle. I’m damn slow and it’s pretty frustrating to wait but I’ll get there in the end! I hope I did this idea some justice because I thought it was pretty cool. Thank you for the request, I’m always open! (just remember the turtle analogy.) 

:)

Word Count: 3.6k

You stood in darkness. There was nothing in the darkness except for a quiet hum that rumbled the floor and the walls and the ceiling. It was power, some type of power that was running through this room and making it rise.

You stood in darkness. And you waited.

You weren’t alone, because your fear was so strong it had formed an icy hand, which wrapped around your throat, so tight it was hard to breathe. It took every ounce of your concentration to inhale, and exhale, and inhale again, and all the while the box hummed and rose, and you stood in darkness.

The hum cut off abruptly, the room halting with it. You strained your ears, and, through the loud beating of your heart, you could hear voices. Four heartbeats passed before the roof opened and the room was flooded with light.

You cringed away, raising a hand to block the brightness. Through squinted eyes, you saw boys encircling the room, level with where the roof would have been. Their voices floated down, gasps and shouts of “It’s a girl!”, and the sounds of shoving, bodies against bodies.

You took a step back, but there were boys above you there too. They were everywhere. One jumped down, making the whole box shake, and then you were turning around and around, looking for a break in the boys, a spot you could run through, someone to help, anything, anything, anything--

“It’s alright, love. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You whipped around to face the boy. He had his hands raised, and his eyebrows were knit together in sympathy. He had a kind face, with soft brown eyes.

Even so, any words you had were caught in your throat, caught by fear’s hand, trapped. Trapped, just like you. Your breaths came faster, your heartbeat quicker. Your hands trembled.

Across from you, the boy took a step back and looked up at the others. “Right, all you bloody slintheads need to back up!” He looked at one of the boys closest to the box. “Alby?”

The boy, Alby, nodded, then shouted, “Everyone, back to work!”

The crowd didn’t move. Your heart stopped. Your blood went cold.

Then, with a chorus of grumblings, the mob slowly dispersed. Boys peeled off this way and that, revealing grassy fields and large mountains in the distance. You peered closer. No, not mountains. 

Walls.

“It’s a strange story, love, but we’ll tell you all of it,” the first boy said. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off of the walls.

“I’m Newt. D’you remember your name?”

No. You’d realized in the darkness that you couldn’t remember anything. You felt strangely detached, like you were watching some other girl with no memories who was abducted and brought to a strange place. You felt pity for her. You felt sad for her. And you kept drifting along, only half-listening to the boy next to her, the one who said his name was Newt.

Newt stepped closer. You watched the girl watch him, watched his mouth move, watched the girl take light, careful steps to the edge of the box and climb out. You watched her stumble.

It was the feeling of Newt’s hand on your back, steadying you, that brought you back to reality.

“I’ll take you on the tour, love,” he said to you, pulling his hand back. In a soft voice, he added, “Don’t worry. You’re safe here.”

Your lips parted. Words sat on the tip of your tongue. Are you sure and How do you know and Please be right. And, also, lingering in the back, Thank you.

You swallowed and looked away from Newt.

He started walking. He kept a slow pace, both because of his limp and so he could intermittently point out buildings and people. “That’s Frypan, he’s the cook, and there’s the kitchen. Next to that’s the Homestead. You’ll be sleeping there.”

He spoke with such authority that you wanted to ask what his role in this little society was. If there was a cook, there must be a leader, and you hadn’t seen any adults around. But your tongue wouldn’t move, so all you could do was tilt your head to the side and look at Newt.

He scanned your face, then nodded. “I’m Second-in-Command. Alby’s in charge, but he won’t raise a fuss about you sleeping in the Homestead. We…” Newt ran a hand through his dirty blond hair before making eye contact again. “We haven’t…” He sighed. “You’re the only girl here. We don’t really know how the rest of those shanks will react.” Noticing your instinctive recoil, Newt hastened to say, “But you’ll be okay. Most of these lot are good guys. And the ones that aren’t...Well, they know the consequences. We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

There was that fear again, running its hands along your arms, past your shoulders, to your neck. It squeezed painfully around your throat, so painfully that tears threatened to spring up in your eyes. You gave Newt a quick nod and looked away, into the fields he was leading you toward.

He read you like a book and quickly switched topics. “These are the Gardens. When I don’t have other duties, I like to come out here. It’s good work, but it’s also just a good place to be. It’s peaceful.” 

A short, round boy darted out of a row of tomato plants, cackling madly. Lumbering behind him was a tall boy with a shock of curly blond hair, who shouted, “Come back here, Chuck!” The younger boy, Chuck, gave no indication that he’d heard. He disappeared back into the plants, with the tall boy following him.

Newt sighed. “It’s mostly bloody peaceful,” he grumbled.

The smallest of smiles twitched your lips up. You forced them back down, reminding yourself that you were scared, that you couldn’t trust anyone here, and that the way Newt grinned down at you did not make you feel safe.

“We’ll have you start working here tomorrow, all right, love?” Newt asked.

You chewed on your lip, staring over the plants. Your eyes landed on the tomatoes, right where the boisterous duo had gone through. Flutters of anxiety filled your stomach.

“I’ll be with you. There won’t be anything to worry about.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Besides waking up with no memory, that is,” Newt added.

Your lips betrayed you again. Newt grinned, and the butterflies that had been flying inside your chest slowly started to settle down.

Newt led you through the rest of the Glade. You saw the Deadheads and the Blood House, learned about the various jobs and Keepers, and, through it all, you didn’t say a single word. Newt never pushed you. Instead, he watched for facial expressions. He responded to any tap on the arm or flick of your chin. He lingered in the comfortable silences.

As you sat in your room in the Homestead that night, knowing that Newt was asleep in the next room over, you felt your shoulders loosen, just a little. The fear was still there. It still held your throat tightly in its grasp. But you felt a trickle of hope springing in the cracks.

You woke the next morning to a knock on your door. Opening it, you saw Newt.

“Ready to get to work, love?”

You nodded. The smile you gave him was uneasy and weak, nervous and gone in a flash, but it made Newt’s eyes shine with happiness. He smiled the whole way to the Gardens. Under the shining sun, you weeded plants, hoed new rows, and picked vegetables.

Newt stuck by your side. He explained more about the Glade; all you had to do was point to a person or a place and he’d run through it, even if he’d already explained the other day. A few times, you found yourself picking out things you already knew, just so you could keep hearing his voice.

“And then Chuck convinced Minho and Thomas,” Newt said between laughs. Behind him, the sun sat heavy on the horizon, haloing him in gold. “He convinced Minho and Thomas to take the rest of Gally’s clothes and--” Newt broke off, devolving into laughter.

You hadn’t met Minho and Thomas yet -- they’d been busy in the Maze all day yesterday and in the Runner’s Hut all last night -- but you’d heard a lot about them from Newt by now. You’d also heard about “Captain” Gally, and you figured he probably deserved whatever ended up happening to his clothes.

Beneath the cover of Newt’s voice, you felt comfortable letting out a small laugh. It was the first noise you’d made in the Glade.

Slowly, Newt’s laughter stopped. He stared at you, eyes soft, his lips pulled up in a small, pleased smile. He didn’t say anything.

You looked down at the basket in your hands, trying to stop yourself from blushing.

After a second, Newt said, “Before we go to dinner, there’s one last place I want to show you.” He took the basket from you and handed it off to Zart, the Keeper of the Gardens.

The pair of you headed off towards the far wall, away from the buggy Gardens, the dark woods, and the noisy kitchen, where a hungry horde of Gladers clamored to get their dinner.

“It’s not one of the really important places,” Newt said as you walked, “so I didn’t show it to you yesterday.” His hands swung awkwardly at his sides, as though he wanted to reach one out, maybe to guide you, maybe to hold you, but couldn’t decide whether he should or not. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted him to or not.

All you did was nod.

Newt continued, “But I think, maybe, it could be good.”

As you neared the wall, you felt your stomach drop at the sheer size. You craned your head back and back and back, trying to see the top, trying to see if any ivy led all the way up. How could there ever be a way out of those walls?

A warm hand touched your arm.

Your head shot back down, eyes landing on Newt’s. The faintest pink burned on his cheeks, a glow from the sunset, maybe, or... You shook the thought out of your mind as he pointed to the wall.

Carved into the wall in front of you were names. Immediately, your gaze landed on Newt’s. Next to his, Alby’s name was done in blocky letters. Thomas and Minho had made their marks. Chuck’s name was squeezed between the two, as he often was in real life, when he’d inject himself into their days. You recognized enough names to figure out that every Glader had been here once and had left a permanent memento of themselves. Some of those mementos, like the ones with a single sharp line running through them, had already outlasted their creators.

“I thought, I don’t know...I thought maybe seeing other names would help you remember yours.” Newt rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the ground. 

Your heart felt warm in your chest. Yearning took over. You reached a hand out, tracing the closest names, looping through the letters, dotting the i’s, crossing the t’s. You wanted to remember.

Please remember. Remember for Newt. Remember for me.

You pulled your hand away and pointed to Newt’s side, where his knife was strapped. He unsheathed it out without a moment’s hesitation. When he handed it to you, his fingers brushed over yours and you could swear your heart stopped. You had to fight to keep your composure, especially with the feeling of his intense stare as he watched you carve the first letter of your name into the wall.

You felt, rather than saw, Newt step closer to you. Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, his smile almost took the breath out of you. Your hand stilled as you finished the first letter.

Newt repeated it, sounding almost awed. “Keep going, love.”

Forcing your eyes away from him, you continued carving. Each letter of your name was done with precision, right below Newt’s. It felt fitting to do it there, like he was some guardian angel looking over you, keeping you safe. Being around him made you feel...the English language wasn’t sophisticated enough to describe it. You felt warm. And calm. And the kind of happiness that made your cheeks hurt and your jaw ache, even when you weren’t smiling.

When you finished, Newt said your name, his voice reverent. “Y/N.” He repeated it. He glanced down at you. “Am I saying it right, love?”

He’d gotten closer than you’d thought. His breath nearly hit the tips of your eyelashes. If you moved only a few inches you’d be touching him.

You nodded.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nodded again. He was so close you felt dizzy. You would’ve agreed to just about anything he said at that point.

“Are you able to speak?”

Your nod was more hesitant this time, slowed by dread for his next question.

“Why don’t you?”

You wanted to look away but his eyes had a hypnotic hold on you. You shrugged half-heartedly. How could you explain that every time you tried to speak your throat closed up? That your mouth went dry and you forgot every word you knew? That your heart started beating erratically, and your palms began to sweat, and it felt like walls were closing in, and you felt the fear again?

Newt nodded. He took a step back, the tension in the air dissolving. Jutting his chin at the wall, he said your name again. A smile crept onto his face. It was that soft, sweet smile that had gotten you through your first days in the Glade.

It got you through the next week, too. A week spent trying other jobs, where your lack of communication proved rage-inducing for a certain captain and ultimately landed you back in the Gardens.

It was rare that Newt wasn’t by your side. Today, though, he and Alby were caught up in meetings with the other Keepers, trying to figure out how to discipline a Glader who’d been making inappropriate comments and trying to instigate fights.

Newt had told you the basics the other day. You hadn’t wanted him to go into detail. He’d seen that on your face and quickly switched to telling you about the first crops they’d tried to plant, which had been such a disaster that the Creators sent up multiple books on farming the next month. The conversation was much lighter from then on.

Being with Newt was so easy. Most of the others pushed you too hard to talk, which only made your throat dry up and your tongue feel like lead. You wanted to talk with them, sometimes, but...you couldn’t get the words out. You couldn’t think of them when it came time to speak. You had a mental block, barricades set up to keep you from feeling too comfortable here. Part of you needed to feel the fear that came with trying to speak. If you stopped being afraid, you’d start getting complacent.

The sound of the Walls grating to a close struck the same feeling in you, even though you were safe in the Gardens, well away from the terrors of the Maze.

“Y/N.” Zart’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. “Good job today. Some of the other shanks left a bunch of tools out, could you bring them to the shed? I have to track down Chuck.” His normally placid expression morphed into a scowl as he shook his head, his blond mop of hair flopping over his forehead.

You nodded. The two of you split off among the rows, Zart’s cursing fading as you approached a scattering of trowels and rakes.

You pursed your lips in disappointment before stooping down and trying to gather everything. You ended up with two rakes and a hoe tucked under your right arm, a few trowels held close to your chest, and a sharp hand pruner held carefully in your left hand.

Boys.

You huffed as you headed for the shed. It was a crudely constructed building that was made in the first few weeks of the Glade’s existence. You’d heard some other boys say that the first Gladers originally slept here, but Newt hadn’t mentioned it so you weren’t sure how true that was. If they had slept there, you didn’t envy them. It was smaller than your room in the Homestead, which was a far cry from large. You supposed it was in a nice enough location, though; it stood on the edge of the Gardens, close enough to the woods to catch some shade, but not so deep that you were alone.

As you neared the shed, you saw that you actually weren’t alone. A figure paced next to it, head bent low, features hard to make out.

You purposely tried to walk louder as you came closer, hoping you wouldn’t scare him. At the sound of a twig crunching under your foot, his head shot up.

You’d definitely seen him before; he had thick, dark eyebrows and a strong jaw. The bruise forming under one of his eyes was new, as was his now crooked nose. You were pretty sure his name was Connor.

“Y/N,” he said, stilling in his tracks. He made no move to help you carry the tools.

You nodded, gave him a tight smile, and headed for the door. One of the rakes almost slipped from under your arm, but you squeezed it tightly and took a few hurried steps.

Connor crossed in front of you. You veered to the side. His arm shot out and grabbed your shoulder, hard enough to jostle it and send the rakes and hoe tumbling to the ground.

“You think you’re better than me or something?” He was speaking quickly, too quickly, you didn’t have a chance to respond or adjust the trowels that were slipping through your grasp or push him away. In one quick movement, he turned and slammed you into the shed wall. Two trowels dropped. You clutched the rest closer, your breaths turning into nervous pants.

“Is that why you don’t talk? You think you’re better than me? Than us?” Conor loomed over you. He glowered at you, his eyes afire with rage. “Answer me.” He slammed you back again. Your head cracked into the wall and you let out a soft whimper.

“So you can talk.” His grip was vice-like on your shoulders. His nails dug into your flesh like he wanted to tear you apart. “So why don’t you talk? Why don’t you fucking talk?” Again, he slammed you into the wall.

Were you crying? Were you talking? Were you making any noise at all?

Were you even breathing?

“You make this place even harder to be in. We don’t need some fucking mysterious mute bitch when we have to solve the Maze. Don’t you get it? You’re a distraction!” Every few words were punctuated with a slam. The air whooshed out of your lungs in a pathetic cry for help.

You’d never tried harder to talk.

But now there was so much fear in you. Not existential fear -- real, in-your-face danger.

One of Connor’s hands released your shoulder. It ached in relief until his fingers wrapped around your throat and he leaned in close to say, “Fine. Don’t talk.” And he squeezed.

Each second was an eon. Your lungs screamed for air. Blackness lingered on the edges of your vision, closing in, closing in, closing in, leaving only a pinprick of light. Your legs went numb, as if they’d just fallen asleep, and the feeling worked its way up your body, down your arms, to your hands, where the last trowel and the hand pruner were about to fall.

Hand pruner.

You had no more air, you had no more energy, and yet your body was moving and you were thrusting the sharp end of the hand pruner into Connor’s gut.

He let you go with a cry, curling over and holding his stomach. Air rushed into your lungs, only to leave a second later as you screamed, “Help!”

Connor groaned and straightened up enough to launch a clumsy fist at you. You twisted to the side. Your foot caught on a gardening tool, sending you sprawling to the ground, clambering away on hands and knees, still gasping for air.

A wet hand grabbed your ankle. You kicked, connecting with something solid, and yelled out, “Someone help!” The hand left your ankle for a second, then you heard something heavy moving in the grass, and the hand clamped down on your calf.

You tried to wriggle away. People were coming from the Gardens, you could see their black silhouettes as the sun set behind them. You heard your name, shouted by your rescuers and growled by Connor. You kicked at him again. His other hand caught your foot, using you to pull his body further onto your legs.

He was heavy. He slammed a fist into your back, knocking you flat.

“Get off of her!” Your rescuers closed in. They wrenched Connor off and surrounded him. Warm hands, soft hands, gentle hands, helped you stand. Connor’s blood rolled down the backs of your legs.

“Are you okay?” Newt asked, his voice frantic. He held you, his touch like feathers on your arms, as he scanned your body up and down, looking for any injuries. “Is that--” he started to ask, staring at your legs. Mid-sentence, Newt turned away, calling for a Med-jack.

“It’s not mine,” you interrupted him. The words were hoarse and quiet but audible, and Newt whipped back around to face you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

His touch slid down your arms, his hands enveloping your own. “I knew that was you yelling,” he said. His eyebrows lowered and his face grew serious. “I knew it was your voice. I knew it was you, love.”

Words hung on the tip of your tongue. Words you’d meant to say your first day in the Glade. Words you’d wanted to say every day since. Words that you could never get out. “Thank you,” you finally said.

Newt smiled, so wide and so bright that your heart started beating like you were sprinting. “I’ll always be here for you, love.”

The distance between the two of you was quickly fading. “I know you will,” you said, and then, again, “Thank you.” A second later, your lips met. And you felt like thanking him all over again.