#had to trace the second one since there was nowhere to fit him in

[clanborn]

jaxtonpaw was actually in every amv you just didn’t see him since he was so fast

design by @needlepine!

[livelaughlovesubs]

Hi hii for the prompt event can i request dressing childe/tartaglia in degrading outfit? 🙏🙏 take ur time and thankss ^^

Hiiii it’s been so long since I last saw Childes name in my inbox, hope this is to your liking :>

Dom!reader x sub!childe

Warning: feminisation, teasing, cross-dressing

Anniversary event

“Is.. this really my size?” His awkward laugh echoed from the changing rooms, alongside the flicker of the shoji screen. You reassured him by yelling back, “I’m sure of it, it’s supposed to be a little tight. Are you done? Then come out.” One look and anyone could tell you were getting impatient, tapping your finger on your knee, gaze wandering around the establishment to look for anything interesting.

Despite your clear orders, he still hesitated, this time his hand emerged from behind the rood divider. “Are we alone?” The ginger asked, still mysteriously hiding himself, an act that was very uncharacteristic for him. “Yes, we are still alone, just like ten minutes ago.” You groaned, rolling your eyes at his behaviour. “Haha… right.” Tartaglia answered meekly, running out of excuses to use. The atmosphere was so dry, and so uncomfortable.

This time he really shot himself in the knees. He challenged you to a bet, and instead of you meticulously analysing your chances, you immediately agreed. That should have been enough of a sign, you’d never take on a gamble so quickly except it isn’t one. As things have been planned from the beginning, he lost, and had to obey to whatever conditions you set for him. Great, absolutely fantastic.

But why did your request have to hurt his pride like that? He could barely stand straight without shaking with his knees, and now you want him to expose himself to you? Bloody hell, you were so cruel he could feel himself falling for you all over again.

“Ajax, you really are testing my patience. If you don’t come out now, I’ll-” suddenly he moved the paper wall to the side and walked over to you, sighing defeated, “alright alright, I’m here okay?” Your expression changed for a split second, something like shock grazed your features, before you composed yourself again. He tried to stand normal and unbothered while your eyes scanned over his body, tracing every outline and shadow, devouring every inch of his body.

He felt like a prey being toyed with by the predator, you were making him squirm with that intense stare. That’s why you avoided eye contact, jumped from one foot to the other, and kept doing god-knows-what with his hands. At some point you were fed up and said, “hold still, are you a dancing monkey or what?” Childe could only response with another forced laugh.

As for why you were eyeing him up and down so much, well, simply put, he was wearing woman’s clothing. A qipao in a pretty dark red colour, the shade kind of reminded you of blood. Since the dress was cut to fit the build of a woman, it looked clumsy around his fairly muscular body. And even though it looked out of place, you still thought it was quite attractive. Unlike his usual fashion, the dress showed off his curves and exposed his bare legs, what seems to add to his embarrassment.

“Looks good.” You gave him a short, almost forced compliment. It wasn’t a lie, just you had way more to say than a simple ‘looks good’. “Wow, thanks I guess.” Tartaglia groaned, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Seeing what little effect your praise had, you decided to try again, “I mean it, you look good as a girl, as my woman.” Out of nowhere his body twitched and tensed up, he didn’t answer you verbally but with his body language. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging like crazy.

“Are you done gawking?” The male eventually asked, his face and shoulders got painted bright pink. His eyes told you the truth, that he was humiliated, ashamed and yet also excited. “What’s with the rush, can’t wait to show your new look off to the other people?” You teased, and your words immediately got his attention, making his brain ratter, “what do you mean by that?” A smirk plastered your lips, you chuckled amused as you explained, “we are going to have a nice little date night today, and you aren’t going to change until I’m done with you.”

The way the colours left his face, letting him become as pale of a ghost was pretty amazing. He was trying so hard to accept his current situation, his legs were shaking again. “Come on, I already paid for the dress. So let’s put it to good use.” You encouraged him, holding his normal wear in your arms, now he couldn’t even run anymore. It seems there was no way around the straight up shameful act he was going to commit, and as if to add salt to the wound, he felt himself getting hard beneath the skin tight dress~ ♥︎

You walked ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you. All he could do was obey your commands with a sheepish smile, quickly rushing to your side while letting you show him off like your own little pet.

[sinsandsweetness]

Girl I have a weird fantasy about Daryl being a trucker before the world ended, like he’s older and picks me up on the side of the road after I’ve left home and tells me if he’s gonna take me where I want I go, I’ve gotta give him somthing to make it worth it.

Then giving him sloppy road-head and getting fucked in the cab till I’m dumb

Absolutely love your writing babe 😘

I actually rlly love this. especially since I’ve dated a truck driver who looks like young Norman and will literally sleep the whole time in the cab when he goes on jobs…

I imagine you sitting in the passenger seat, cross legged and snacking on some licorice from a gas station. You’re almost 6 hours into the drive. Still another two nights until you’re in the state you actually want to be in. Nice and far from all the bullshit you’re running away from.

Daryl keeps glancing over at you reading your book, leaned up against the window. Paying special attention to how short your denim cutoffs are and how tight your white tanktop is. Leaving almost nothing to the imagination. The thought dawns on him that in two hours, when the sun has set and both of your eyelids are getting all heavy, he’ll have to pull over at a rest stop. And when he saw you with your duffel bag and your bright red boots, sticking your thumb out as you walked along the shoulder of the highway, he didn’t think about the fact that there’s only one bed in the cab. One, tiny, little mattress, and two of you. You’re way too far in the middle of nowhere to find a motel either. No service. No trace of civilization for at least a couple hundred miles.

Wow. You must be stupid or something. To get in a truck with a stranger. Hell, he could have been some kind of creep. Have you seen any horror movie ever?

He looks back over at you during his internal questioning. Gosh you’re pretty. Effortlessly stunning. Hair a little wild and undone. No makeup on that he can tell at least, but he’s never really been good at noticing that stuff anyway. You’ve got layers of mixed metal jewelry. Necklaces and rings and earrings. All glimmering in the golden hour sun. You kicked your boots off hours ago. Blue polish all chipped off nearly all of your toes. Truthfullt, you’re kind of a mess. A pretty one though.

“What?” You ask him, your honeyed voice brings his brain back to earth.

“Oh- uh… nothin’,” he looks back at the road. Where he should be looking anyway. “Just, it’s gonna be dark soon. Won’t be able to read.” He keeps darting his gaze over at you while he talks.

“That’s ok. I’m sure I’ll find something else to entertain myself with.”

“You should try and sleep. Don’t think we’ll pass a motel until tomorrow night.”

“Oh that’s okay, I’ll just sleep when you do.”

He was hoping you wouldn’t. He was hoping he could avoid the awkwardness of the sleeping situation altogether.

“Yeah, I mean if you want. There’s only one bed so I just thought-“

“What, you don’t wanna share?” You’re giving him a look that he can’t decipher. Are you… flirting with him? You toss your book into your bag and unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Uh- what are you- what are you doin’?” He asks as you climb into the back.

“Well since you’re kickin’ me to the floor I guess I’ll try and catch some z’s before you pull over.” He’s glancing back every few seconds. Trying to keep his attention on the road, but a little too intrigued by you peeling your shorts off to succeed in doing it.

“I’m not- I wouldn’t make you sleep on the floor, I just didn’t- I don’t want to -“ fuck. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to sleep with him. Like you had to share the dingy little sleeper cab that can barely fit his own broad shoulders, let alone another person. An incredibly attractive and insanely good smelling girl. One that’s bending over to fix the sheets and baring her lacy hot pink thong in the process. His eyes widen and get all shifty. Should he look? Should he pretend he doesn’t see?

“Don’t want to what? Sleep with me?” You scoff as you sit back on the bed thing your hair up into a messy blob at the top of your head with a hair tie.

“No I-”

“Don’t worry, I know what you mean. But I really don’t mind. In fact, I probably owe you anyway.”

“O-owe me? I already told you I’m going your way anyhow.” He says, reminding you of his refusal to take any cash.

“I know, but you’ve been so nice and sweet for picking me up in the first place. Wanna make it up to you.” You’re voice is low and sultry. And your words go straight to the tent in his jeans, the one that’s been half hard and ignored since he first invited you into the truck. He glances back at your half naked frame, relaxing into the sleeper cab mattress. Seeing your tanned legs and pretty panties. Wild hair and a playful, up to absolutely no good look in your eyes.

He wants to focus on the road. He does. But his mind is racing with all the ways you could make it up to him. Since you’re offering that is. And he really doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend he doesn’t want to pull over and plow you til the sun comes up. Especially with the way you’re looking at him, hand trailing down to tickle at the waistband of your underwear, biting your lip and flipping through your own filthy fantasies about the handsome, young trucker who’s been kind enough to help you out.

He catches your gaze as he glances back once more and the lustful look in his baby blues sends a jolt straight between your legs. You smile and lick your lips, wanting to be extra clear of your intentions,

“I’m ready whenever you are, pretty boy.”

[fromkenari]

Waterloo Letters #3: A mass of fools and knaves

A mass of fools and knaves A agcd@eclare45.com                8/10/20 1:04 AM to Henry H, Have you ever read any of Alexander Hamilton’s letters to John Laurens? What am I saying? Of course you haven’t. You’d probably be disinherited for revolutionary sympathies. Well, since I got the boot from the campaign, there is literally nothing for me to do but watch cable news (diligently chipping away at my brain cells by the day) and sort through all my old shit from college. Just looking at papers, thinking: Excellent, yes, I’m so glad I stayed up all night writing this for a 98 in the class, only to get summarily fired from the first job I ever had and exiled to my bedroom! Great job, Alex! Is this how you feel in the palace all the time? It fucking sucks, man. So anyway, I’m going through my college stuff, and I find this analysis I did of Hamilton’s wartime correspondence, and hear me out: I think Hamilton could have been bi. His letters to Laurens are almost as romantic as his letters to his wife. Half of them are signed “Yours” or “Affectionately yrs,” and the last one before Laurens died is signed “Yrs for ever.” I can’t figure out why nobody talks about the possibility of a Founding Father being not straight (outside of Chernow’s biography, which is great btw, see attached bibliography). I mean, I know why, but. Anyway, I found this part of a letter he wrote to Laurens, and it made me think of you. And me, I guess: The truth is I am an unlucky honest man, that speak my sentiments to all and with emphasis. I say this to you because you know it and will not charge me with vanity. I hate Congress—I hate the army—I hate the world—I hate myself. The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you … Thinking about history makes me wonder how I’ll fit into it one day, I guess. And you too. I kinda wish people still wrote like that. History, huh? Bet we could make some. Affectionately yrs, slowly going insane, Alex, First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege

Re: A mass of fools and knaves Henry hwales@kensingtonemail.com                8/10/20 4:18 AM to A Alex, First Son of Masturbatory Historical Readings: The phrase “see attached bibliography” is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me. Every time you mention your slow decay inside the White House, I can’t help but feel it’s my fault, and I feel absolutely shit about it. I’m sorry. I should have known better than to turn up at a thing like that. I got carried away; I didn’t think. I know how much that job meant to you. I just want to … you know. Extend the option. If you wanted less of me, and more of that—the work, the uncomplicated things—I would understand. Truly. In any event … Believe it or not, I have actually done a bit of reading on Hamilton, for a number of reasons. First, he was a brilliant writer. Second, I knew you were named after him (the pair of you share an alarming number of traits, by the by: passionate determination, never knowing when to shut up, &c &c). And third, some saucy tart once tried to impugn my virtue against an oil painting of him, and in the halls of memory, some things demand context. Are you angling for a revolutionary soldier role-play scenario? I must inform you, any trace of King George III blood I have would curdle in my very veins and render me useless to you. Or are you suggesting you’d rather exchange passionate letters by candlelight? Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I’ve just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all? I think perhaps Hamilton said it better in a letter to Eliza: You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any thing else—you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream—and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness. If you did decide to take the option mentioned at the start of this email, I do hope you haven’t read the rest of this rubbish. Regards, Haplessly Romantic Heretic Prince Henry the Utterly Daft

Re: A mass of fools and knaves A agcd@eclare45.com                8/10/20 5:36 AM to Henry H, Please don’t be stupid. No part of any of this will ever be uncomplicated. Anyway, you should be a writer. You are a writer. Even after all this, I still always feel like I want to know more of you. Does that sound crazy? I just sit here and wonder, who is this person who knows stuff about Hamilton and writes like this? Where does someone like that even come from? How was I so wrong? It’s weird because I always know things about people, gut feelings that usually lead me in more or less the right direction. I do think I got a gut feeling with you, I just didn’t have what I needed in my head to understand it. But I kind of kept chasing it anyway, like I was just going blindly in a certain direction and hoping for the best. I guess that makes you the North Star? I wanna see you again and soon. I keep reading that one paragraph over and over again. You know which one. I want you back here with me. I want your body and I want the rest of you too. And I want to get the fuck out of this house. Watching June and Nora on TV doing appearances without me is torture. We have this annual thing at my dad’s lake house in Texas. Whole long weekend off the grid. There’s a lake with a pier, and my dad always cooks something fucking amazing. You wanna come? I kind of can’t stop thinking about you all sunburned and pretty sitting out there in the country. It’s the weekend after next. If Shaan can talk to Zahra or somebody about flying you into Austin, we can pick you up from there. Say yes? Yrs, Alex P.S. Allen Ginsberg to Peter Orlovsky—1958: Tho I long for the actual sunlight contact between us I miss you like a home. Shine back honey & think of me.

Re: A mass of fools and knaves Henry hwales@kensingtonemail.com                8/10/20 8:22 PM to A Alex, If I’m north, I shudder to think where in God’s name we’re going. I’m ruminating on identity and your question about where a person like me comes from, and as best as I can explain it, here’s a story: Once, there was a young prince who was born in a castle. His mother was a princess scholar, and his father was the most handsome, feared knight in all the land. As a boy, people would bring him everything he could ever dream of wanting. The most beautiful silk clothes, ripe fruit from the orangery. At times, he was so happy, he felt he would never grow tired of being a prince. He came from a long, long line of princes, but never before had there been a prince quite like him: born with his heart on the outside of his body. When he was small, his family would smile and laugh and say he would grow out of it one day. But as he grew, it stayed where it was, red and visible and alive. He didn’t mind it very much, but every day, the family’s fear grew that the people of the kingdom would soon notice and turn their backs on the prince. His grandmother, the queen, lived in a high tower, where she spoke only of the other princes, past and present, who were born whole. Then, the prince’s father, the knight, was struck down in battle. The lance tore open his armor and his body and left him bleeding in the dust. And so, when the queen sent new clothes, armor for the prince to parcel his heart away safe, the prince’s mother did not stop her. For she was afraid, now: afraid of her son’s heart torn open too. So the prince wore it, and for many years, he believed it was right. Until he met the most devastatingly gorgeous peasant boy from a nearby village who said absolutely ghastly things to him that made him feel alive for the first time in years and who turned out to be the most mad sort of sorcerer, one who could conjure up things like gold and vodka shots and apricot tarts out of absolutely nothing, and the prince’s whole life went up in a puff of dazzling purple smoke, and the kingdom said, “I can’t believe we’re all so surprised.” I’m in for the lake house. I must admit, I’m glad you’re getting out of the house. I worry you may burn the thing down. Does this mean I’ll be meeting your father? I miss you. x Henry P.S. This is mortifying and maudlin and, honestly, I hope you forget it as soon as you’ve read it. P.P.S. From Henry James to Hendrik C. Andersen, 1899: May the terrific U.S.A. be meanwhile not a brute to you. I feel in you a confidence, dear Boy–which to show is a joy to me. My hopes and desires and sympathies right heartily and most firmly, go with you. So keep up your heart, and tell me, as it shapes itself, your (inevitably, I imagine, more or less weird) American story. May, at any rate, tutta quella gente be good to you.

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 239-247). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

[bisquicklite]

The Mass Effect - Skyrim cross over that no one asked for and I will likely never finish (but I did bother to write out the first chapter of because I am an anxious little whore of a woman :3)

Ghosts, Guns and Dragons

Chapter One

Cryptids of Akuze

2177 CE

From the journal of Reyna Wolfsbane

Translated from Dovahzul

“I do not know what day it is here, so I will leave the date a question. But in Tamriel, I believe it should be mid Second Seed, 4th era. From what they tell me, I was unconscious for several days while the healers here worked to bring me back from the brink of death.

When I awoke I found myself in an unfamiliar and strange place, too bright for the lack of windows. My weapons and armor have been taken, as well as the few potions I had brought with me on my journey. I am left near-naked in a thin robe that is pulled away whenever the healers need to check my wounds.

Men with severe faces questioned me, asking what business I had at a place called Akuze. That I wasn’t a colonist, and carried no identification. What group of mercenaries was I with? Where did the giant worms come from? Did I understand that this was a serious investigation, and that dozens of civilians and marines had lost their lives?

I told them what I knew-- about Miraak, how he fled our battle like a coward, how I chased him through a tear in Apocrypha into… Wherever we landed. There were giant worms, yes, and many dead bodies, some looking melted as if splashed with acid from a disgruntled alchemist. They laughed when I said we had rode through on dragons. That Sahrotaar was dragged underground by one of the worms, dying, but his soul stuck and unmoving.

They asked where the other dragon was, as if it was a joke, and didn’t seem to listen as I told them that Kruziikrel flew off. The dragon, once under Miraak’s control, seeing his cowardice, abandoned him.

They kept pressing me with questions, and I pressed back equally with my own concerns. Miraak was still out there, still possibly a danger - hopefully less so now, as he is down to one arm. It is possible that he has lost the Voice as well, but he has had centuries in the Apocrypha to learn how to be a danger to this new world. These men say that there was no trace of anyone else alive where we came through. No one fitting Miraak’s description. They treat me like I’m mad.

For now there is not much that I can do. I am kept shackled to my bed, and made to talk to another healer, this one claiming the title of a ‘psychologist’, Doctor Reed. She says I have delusions, that I have a sickness in my mind that makes me imagine things. This healer is kind, even if she doesn’t believe me, and has given me a sketchbook to draw in. Something about how art can be therapeutic. I have drawn memories from my time in the Apocrypha, and the faces of my companions so that I do not forget them. I write now in Dovahzul, as I still do not have a firm grasp of common writing or reading.

Doctor Reed looked over the pages that I have sketched, and while she says they are skillfully drawn I can’t help but to notice the disappointment and disturbance in her eyes.

They think I am mad here. But since escaping the Apocrypha and the reach of Hermaeus Mora, I feel I have taken back the sanity that was lost on Solstheim. My mind was clear until they gave me medicines that made me tired and foggy.

Miraak is still out there. I will find him.”

~~~

John Shepard internally sighed, more eager to get back to the red jello the nurse brought him than to continue this particular conversation. But there was an official investigation, because of course there had to be one after the shitshow Akuze turned into, to figure out what happened.

Fifty marines dead, a whole colony missing, and giant man-eating worms on the loose. As the sole survivor of the incident- aside from a crazy woman that appeared out of nowhere that he managed to save- there were questions he needed to answer.

“Right, we just wanted to go over your statement one last time, make sure we didn’t miss anything.” One of the investigators said, sounding casually enough. “Your squad arrived at the colony on Akuze at approximately 15-hundred hours.”

“Yes,” John cut in, a headache from the crack he took to the skull already pulsing again. It was almost time for another dose of medication to keep it in check while he recovered. He could guess the general direction the conversation was going to go, and decided to recount the important  details himself. “We searched the settlement and while we found no one alive, the colony was otherwise untouched. Later at about 18-hundred hours we set up camp a short distance away. At about 19-hundred hours a giant worm erupted from the ground and splashed half a dozen of my men with acid.”

He took a moment to breathe, and set his mind to focus on the facts of what had happened. Now was not the time to be getting emotional. Thankfully John was able to carry on calmly, even being watched closely for the two investigators.

The pair of them looked like they had never seen a day of combat. They were pencils pushers, who had the look of children going through a morbidly curious phase. It was the kind of job John's grandmother would have liked for him to have. A nice, safe, respectable career choice. One that wouldn’t suit his restless nature.

“From there it was, understandably, chaos. Someone managed to send out a distress call to get us out of there. We tried running, getting to higher ground, but my squad was quickly killed off…” John felt himself hesitate then, for just a second. What happened next he didn’t particularly want to recount.

If he didn’t tell it just right, he would surely end up with a discharge for being mentally unfit for service.

“Then, comms went down. We couldn’t radio out, hell, we couldn’t even radio each other. Our omnitools stopped working, everything electronic just went haywire.” Pressing on through the story he gestured upwards with the hand that was still holding the spoon for his gelatine snack, “The sky lit up, there was some kind of rippling explosion. That’s when they showed up.”

Before John could continue the shorter of the two men piped up in his nasally voice, “By ‘they’ you mean Miss Reyna Wolfsbane and her friend that we have yet to find, known only as ‘Miraak’?”

John blinked at learning the woman's name. There hadn't been time for introductions on Akuze. He had been too busy trying to survive, and she had been busy trying to get at the masked man she appeared with.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t  exactly call them friends.” John interrupted again with a slight chuckle. He shook his head as he continued to explain, “They were fighting. I know a playful sparring session when I see it. Those two were out for each other’s blood.”

John remembered how she had screamed, shouting words he didn’t understand and his translator didn’t know what to do with. But with each shout the air rippled with shock that he felt in his bones. Force and anger radiated out of the pair of them.

His first impression, seeing the two descend from the hole in the sky on the backs of dragons had been awestruck. Then a thought of how hard he had hit his head in the initial attack, and that he was possibly hallucinating. The look on the remaining Marines at his side told him it was real.

But now, in an Alliance hospital where he was recovering from a concussion and acid burns, with no evidence to prove what he saw, he had to fit the story to their expectations.

"When we saw them we thought they were LARPers-" John had started to resume his story when he was cut off by the taller investigator.

"Sorry, LARPers?" One of the men squinted his eyes at the unfamiliar word.

"Live Action Role Player." The other answered the question, which received him a certain look from his companion. "What? It's a thing. People dress up like wizards or knights or whatever and, uh, role play."

"... Is it a sex thing?"

"It doesn't have to be." The shorter one cleared his throat and nodded back to John, "Sorry, Lieutenant, you were saying?"

John looked between the two of them to confirm their back-and-forth was complete before speaking again. This time he sounded markedly dispassionate, "Over the course of approximately thirty minutes the remaining members of my squad were killed."

The dragons and their riders had been circling around in the sky. One dove at the other's throat, dragging both crashing to the ground. Their riders dismounted in a messy fashion. The woman, dressed in thick armor that looked like it was made of scales, wasted no time in drawing a sword and running down her quarry.

"We had been trying to push our way back to the rendezvous point for extraction, but Jordan was badly wounded." John maintained an alternating eye contact with both men. Their discomfort reminded him not to mention any mythical creatures in his account. "I didn't let him go until it was clear he was dead."

The dragons and their riders were between John and the rendezvous point. In the glimpses he caught on the dead run he could see their battle- one in a robe with a staff, the armored one wielding a sword. They fought with skill and ferocity that he admired and feared.

There were more shouts in that strange language. One of the dragons swooped low on its approach, and for an instant John feared he would be it's target. Instead, it zoomed past him, crashing into a giant worm as it leaped from the ground. John had been shocked, watching the great winged reptile spitting fire into the air before it was dragged down. The motion was reminiscent of a python biting and coiling around its prey.

He started running again, fueled with a fresh rush of adrenaline and fear. Beneath his feet, even sprinting as he was, he could feel the ground rumble with the worm wrestling with its meal. But there were other worms that hadn’t been fed, and he could swear he could sense them approaching.

He continued talking while recalling the events, omitting what was necessary. "The other one ran off. But I managed to grab Miss Wolfsbane, and got us to the rendezvous."

By the time their battle was wrapping up he had been quickly closing the few yards that were between them. The man in robes was already running away, but the woman, Reyna, had seemed to have exhausted herself. John had skidded to a stop with seconds to spare to pull her arm over his shoulder, practically dragging her to the rendezvous point. The other dragon was nowhere to be seen, but the approaching shuttle was a welcomed sight.

It was only once they had thrown themselves onto the shuttle that John could fully take stock of his wounds, much less notice the knife in the woman’s side.

No, knife was the wrong word. It was a dagger, with a long and ornate handle crafted from shining black metal.

“I had a pretty bad concussion, so I blacked out after that.” John finished simply, mentally shutting the memories of that day last week into a box in the back of his mind.

He could focus his mind on more important matters. Namely, getting these two to leave, and returning to the sweet whipped cream topped jello dessert the nurse was nice enough to bring him thirds of.

"And just to be clear," the taller of the two started to ask, his eyes and fingers busy with a data pad in his hands, "You didn't see any dragons on Akuze, did you?"

The question hung in the air for what felt like forever. John trained his expression carefully, making his face blank. Usually, from what he was told, this look came off as mildly offended to those it was directed. He completed the appearance with a stern tone, "Is that supposed to be a joke, sir?"

The shorter investigator jabbed his elbow into the other's side. "I told you that wouldn't be funny."

"It's a little funny." The other replied with a small smile before waving the matter off with his hand. "Sorry, Miss Wolfsbane wouldn’t let the topic go. She kept talking about dragons and how one was still on the loose and-"

"Collin, it's really not okay to make fun of the mentally ill." The shorter of the two chastised quietly.

"Not my fault you don't have a sense of humor Bondeaux." The other retorted.

While relieved that they didn't press further about mythical flying lizards that he had definitely seen, John also couldn't help a growing concern on the topic of that woman.

"Hey, is she doing okay?" He asked suddenly, which drew the investigators attention back to him. "Miss Wolfsbane, I mean. She was injured pretty badly when we were picked up, and the doctors aren't telling me anything."

"She'll recover. Her injuries were critical, and she lost a lot of blood, but she woke up yesterday." The shorter answered, clearly the more empathetic of the pair. "She hasn't admitted to any involvement in the incident on Akuze, but her mental state is… Questionable."

John nodded at this answer, though still felt a pang of guilt. That woman wasn't crazy. Not the way they thought she was, anyway. He wasn't crazy. But without evidence there was nothing to back up the claims of the additional happenings that day. 

"What's going to happen to her?" John asked before he could stop himself.

"Well, our investigation is pending her undergoing a psychiatric evaluation. I imagine if she has a significant diagnosis then she'll be medicated and put into a long term facility for her and everyone else's safety."

Again John nodded as if accepting the answer. It still didn't feel right, but he chose to bite his tongue instead of speaking up again.

“Do you have any idea who she is?”

“I don’t know." John shrugged with his reply. The words stuck in his throat before he could speak. "As far as I can tell, Miss Wolfsbane is a crazy lady with a sword.”

“Well, now she’s just crazy.” The taller of the two chuckled.

The shorter jumped in to answer the question in John’s expression. “Her weapons had to be confiscated, of course. Safety hazard.”

The investigators left without further questioning him, thankfully. With the more coherent version he was able to tell now that the concussion-fueled brain fog has started to dissipate; they had all they needed from John.

Usually, even on bad days, John had a sweet tooth that wasn't easily satisfied. Looking down at the squares of red topped with a generous pile of whipped cream he was disappointed to find his appetite missing. Setting the dessert aside again he laid back against the pillows, and tried to ignore the itching pain on his right side.

~~~

It was sometime later, after finally eating the jello with no joy and a nap, that John decided to follow his doctor’s advice on getting some exercise. Nothing too strenuous, was the precise advice, just a walk around the hospital grounds.

The wonders of modern medicine got his bruised ribs healed quickly, and the acid burns along the right shoulder already scaring over. But the concussion would simply take time and rest to heal. He was thankful that none of the injuries were career-ending. However the mental strain of watching his entire squad getting killed did bring the attention of psychiatrists who would occasionally check in on his mental state.

All things considered, he was 'handling it well', they said. There was encouragement to talk about how he was feeling, pills to help him get to sleep without nightmares, and an offer to talk anytime it was needed. It was an offer he had yet to take advantage of, and didn't intend to. With how much he had left out of the official report, he was reluctant to even try.

So, he walked, in the calmer hours where patients were asleep and less staff roamed around. It felt surprisingly nice to get out of bed and move around now that his body was up to it. He thought he looked like an invalid in the sweat pants and plain grey shirt, shuffling in slippers that made his toes sweaty. In a window overlooking a small courtyard he caught a glint of reflection, and winced at how distressed he looked.

John had thought that getting out of bed would change the station of his mind. Instead he found it automatically replaying, on a loop, the events of the past week. The hours on Akuze. Then, how he had likely sentenced a random woman to what would likely be intense psychiatric care.

Right, he thought, outside. Fresh air. Grandma had always recommended fresh air to clear one’s head. With that decided he roamed slowly until he made it outside, where the air was crisp and refreshing. Even if the night was nice, it only soothed his thoughts momentarily.

Suddenly the loop stopped and he was fully jerked back to reality. He had been looking dead ahead, his feet on autopilot carrying him through the facility to the small courtyard. His eyes had recognized the figure before his brain clicked with just who he was looking at, and he stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly tense.

She was sitting on a bench just a few yards away, the woman that rode into the world on the back of a dragon, serenely staring up at the night sky. Her armor had been stripped, replaced with the comfortable, loose clothing that indicated a patient. Any weapons she had been carrying would have been taken as well. With the way she looked now peacefully sitting with her hands in her lap, it would be hard to imagine her as the warrior John had seen before.

His eyes scanned the area on instinct, seeking possible threats. A guard posted at an opposite door nodded to him in acknowledgement. The lights in the area were low, the courtyard sparsely decorated. Grass, some bushes he couldn’t name the species of, a small tree in one corner. There were no dragons. There were no giant worms spitting acid. He forced a deep breath to calm himself, willing his jaw to unclench and his fists to unravel.

There was no danger here. Eventually his body and lower brain functions listened and eased.

He wanted to turn around and go back to bed. Maybe turn on some vids of cute puppies and kittens to distract his mind. Against his own better judgment John found himself continuing forward with a purposeful stride, slowed to a stop, and eased himself into the free space next to the woman on the bench. Next to him the woman, Reyna, didn’t seem aware that he was there.

"Rough night?" He asked, casually enough.

She was slow to react, her gaze easing from the sky to him. There were deep dark circles under the ocean-blue eyes that told him she hadn't been sleeping well, if at all. Despite the clear exhaustion, and slack expression, she was still a striking woman. With a pale complexion marred by scars down her arms and a faded one along her jawline.

"Aye," She replied after a moment, her gaze not quite focusing on him but rather drifting, "It has been a rough... while."

Her voice was quiet, though held a clear accent John couldn't quite pin. It sounded perhaps Swedish, or something similar. She had the features of a classic Scandinavian beauty.

“I see they got a guard keeping an eye on you.” He commented absently, not sparing a glance to the marine assigned to Reyna who kept a respectful distance from where they sat.

"Making sure I don't cause trouble. Or try to run away." She spoke softly, and gave a small nod. Her eyes drifted again, this time going back up to the sky again. Without prompting she went on to say, “The funny thing is, I don’t know where I would even run. This place is not home. I am quite sure it is not a plane of Oblivion, but it is not home.”

John could feel the confusion leak into his face. When a moment passed that he didn’t offer a reply she turned her gaze to him, and as if to explain herself gestured to the sky, “The stars are all wrong here.”

“Right. Yeah.” John nodded as if accepting the answer when he was merely trying to understand what the hell she was talking about. He could understand about the stars if this woman didn’t understand about changing star positions based on the viewers location, but in this age it was a common concept. A headache threatened the back of his head if he thought too hard on the topic.

She spoke about 'Oblivion' as if it were a place, an odd comment from an even odder woman. If she talked like this to the doctors, it was no surprise that she ended up medicated, sedated to a sluggish pace where she would be easy to keep an eye on. In the brief quiet John joined her in looking at the stars, though refused to take all his attention off her.

"You were the one from before...?" She said suddenly, looking back at him. Gaining a degree more animation she spoke, "With the, um," she gestured with both hands, cupping them as if holding a weapon and giving small jerking motions. It was only then that John noticed the restraints shackled around her wrists, which shouldn't have surprised him. 

"With the... rifle?" It took a moment to catch on to what she was trying to say, and he wondered how much sedatives she had been given.

"Rifle." She repeated the word carefully, as if such a word had never passed her lips. Letting her hands go slack into her lap the woman nodded. "Yes." Then a look of recognition crossed her face and she visibly perked, "You were the one who saved me. From the worms."

John found himself fumbling for words for a moment. He had been trying to avoid thinking about Akuze, and had been fairly successful until that second. Sure, he dragged her out of a hotzone. But the side of the story he told effectively threw her under the bus. Even if she wasn’t implicated on what happened, there was no way she was getting away without being labeled unstable.

"Yeah. Yeah that was me." He managed to get out, unsure if the gleam in this woman's eye was her gearing up to praise or chew him out. Did she know that he lied?

"I'm not used to being saved. Usually I'm the one doing the saving." She said this with a small smile, her eyes drifting away from him for a second. When she looked at him again her stare pinned him in place. "Thank you. For the rescue."

"Yeah, its, ah, no problem...?" He trailed off, eyebrows raising in thought about what exactly this woman had done with her life. She wasn’t Alliance, that was damn sure. John got the sense that there was a lengthy story to her that would likely remain unknown.

At the very least he could scratch the surface a little, for his own curiosity.

Before he could think too hard about what he was doing, and risk inviting a headache, John extended a hand in a friendly introduction, “John Shepard.”

“Reyna,” She answered in the soft voice of the moderately sedated, and rose a hand to grasp his wrist. Then, a moment later as if trying to recall her own name, “Wolfsbane.”

“Well, Reyna, I’m glad to see you’re still alive.” He offered a small smile, sincere in his statement. It was good to know that at least someone else got off of Akuze.

“Aye, the healers did a good job of patching me up.” She nodded, her hands returning to her lap.

John got the impression that she was trying to push through a mental fog to be able to hold a conversation. Her speech was still slow, and her eyes struggled to keep focus under heavy lids that threatened to stay closed with every blink. But she didn’t seem crazy, or dangerous by any means. A little strange, yes, but not crazy.

“And yourself?” Her question surprised John, who had been mulling over how to tactfully ask where she came from or something that would shed some light on her mystery. “The last time I saw you, you were bleeding all over the place.”

John glanced down at his right side, which was bandaged up under his shirt, and then remembered the concussion and broken ribs he had had. The concussion still fogged his brain, but thankfully didn’t leave him incapacitated, and the acid burns would heal. Everything was thankfully numbed with medigel and additional pain killers.

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay.” He answered automatically, without much thought. Then, he decided to follow up with more honesty, “I will be okay. I’ll have a gnarly scar on my side, but at least my skull is thick enough to prevent any serious brain damage.” One of his hands went up to gently rub at the bandage affixed to the side of his head, and he had to remind himself not to pick at it while it was healing.

“Good.” Reyna said simply, with a small smile. Her eyes drifted away from him again, returning to gaze at the stars above.

They sat in a brief, comfortable silence, while John worked up the nerve to ask a question that had been gnawing at his mind. He knew he wasn’t crazy. The worst any psychiatric evaluations turned up was some lingering trauma from his childhood that he had managed to work through.

“Hey, I’ve gotta ask, because I’m not sure what was real and what was a brain-injury fueled hallucination.” He started, drawing Reyna’s attention steadily back to him. She eyed him curiously as he looked away, sure that he would lose his nerve if he had to maintain eye contact. “Back on Akuze with all the shit going down…”

Saying it aloud seemed absurd. But he managed to force the words out with his eyes shut. “You two, were riding around on dragons? Was that real?”

“Sahrotaar, and Kruziikrel.” Reyna replied without hesitation, her voice barely a whisper. She went on, “When I was young, there was a boy in the village that got kicked in the head by a horse. He survived, but he was never the same after. He spoke like a drunk, all slow and slurred. Most nights he screamed at the moons, and he would go on and on about how chickens were secretly agents of the Thalmor sent to spy on us all.”

“Sorry, Thalmor?... Um.” This conversation had stopped making sense, and John couldn’t help squinting his eyes at Reyna who managed to simply sit calmly. He was starting to think the guys who interrogated him earlier that day were right and this woman was crazy, “What?”

“I suppose that’s another thing you don’t have in this world, eh?” There was laughter in her voice as she said this. Reyna’s voice went more serious as she returned her gaze to him, “It was all real. Miraak, me, the dragons, all of it.”

[marjansmarwani]

Non-day Specific WIP Preview

I was tagged by @reyesstrand to make a poll to see which fic I should work on and write as many sentences as there were votes for the top one. I was not shocked by the one that won, but I was surprised by the breakdown of the other votes. There are more secret Midsomer Murders fans out here than I thought.

The winner of the poll was the fic I have been calling "Without a Trace: TK Strand Edition" with 25 votes. So here are 25(ish) new sentences of it:

-----

Carlos stared at the building before him, anxiety bubbling in his gut. The house was not even remotely intimidating in any of the usual senses, but to Carlos it was akin to stepping into a rattlesnake’s lair. He had circled the block twice before finally coming to a stop, and he had been staring at the once-familiar front door as the minutes ticked by. This place had once been home to Carlos, but now the sight of it loomed before him and kept him safely inside his car.  But he needed to do this, a phone call wasn’t enough.   He just had to hope for the best.  He squared his shoulders and stepped out of his car, taking a deep breath as he headed up the front walk. He hesitated for another minute when he reached the front door, only for it to swing open before he could knock.  “Took you long enough,” Nancy said evenly before stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter. Carlos did, even as he fixed her with a dubious look. He hadn’t seen or heard from her in weeks, and not from lack of trying on her part. After everything, he just hadn’t known how he fit. So, he had avoided. His “preferred method of coping,” TK had always called it. Carlos shook the thought away and turned his attention back to the present. Efforts to avoid those memories are why he had avoided Nancy and the rest of the 126 since that day that TK had walked out of the loft and out of his life, but TK was in trouble and his safety was more important to Carlos than anything, even now.  It always would be.  “Sorry.” he responded evenly, “I didn’t realize we had an appointment.”  Nancy shot him a glare before she headed further into the house, Carlos trailing behind her. “I’m going to ignore the attitude and the fact that you’ve spent weeks ignoring my texts because we have bigger fish to fry.”  She led them into the kitchen, which Carlos was startled to find contained the entirety of the former 126 crew, papers spread across the table. He had the distinct impression of stepping into a war room. The occupants of the room were split between papers and laptops and phone calls, but it all came to a halt when he entered the room.  “Uh,” he started uncertainly, “hi.” Silence filled the room but Carlos didn’t know what else to say. A part of him marveled at the fact that just a few weeks ago these people had been like a second family to him. But now it felt like he was the intruder, an outsider walking in and not sure of the welcome he would receive.

This fic is already 5k and nowhere near done, please send help.

It's been a while so I'll just no pressure tag some people in case you want to do something or because you might have tagged me too, idk it's been a while @justaswampdemon, @moviegeek03 @welcometololaland @sunshinestrand @kiras-sunshine @terramous

[respondedinkind]

A battle is being fought inside that young mind, equally as brutal as it would be out in the open, on top of planets that get cleaned of any life before being scavenged and eradicated, to truly delete any trace of it having ever existed in the first place - Khan can see the fire within the man's eyes burning, flames licking along his sanity and everything he's ever believed in as it threatens to be shattered by the man standing at the opposide side of that wall, inside his pristine prison cell.

He can tell the other has been risen within what Starfleet is, at least partially; Perhaps he considers it a home, something that caught him as his own frame went through periods of stumbling confusion and change, of trying to find itself. To have betrayal written into the ranks of what must be considered companions, someone to look up to, feels mind-shattering, suffocating; Desperate thoughts clinging onto the reality they're familiar with, hoping that any of what is being said between them being a lie rather than a pill that lies on the tip of one's tongue, spreading a bitter taste like acid burning through flesh and tissue.

It almost makes Khan feel compassion for the blonde, to know he's going to be the one to offer him the things he doesn't want to hear, but needs to in order to be the Captain he's supposed to be. But only almost - because Khan himself struggled, still does, has gone through thousands of wars not only in mind but also in person, and has gone through exploitation and torture ever since having arrived on earth on top of it all.

Right now, he fights - again. Has never stopped fighting, despite his successful attempt to flee from his own cruel world. He's fighting for himself, his existence, his life, and the blonde might be the only man who could possibly ever give it to him.

The stare between them persists, someone barges in; The one who's taken a blood-sample from him, he's returning, and Khan knows precisely why he does.

He's seen things, and he wants Jim Kirk to know.

"He knows.", is what Khan says before that Doctor can, albeit him being aware that the brunette most likely has only scratched the surface of what's hidden within red cells.

So he goes on, takes away some of the words that would've been spoken out by someone else instead if he did not.

"---My body is unlike yours. I am stronger than the average human being, my bones able to endure more trauma before breaking. I possess double the lung-efficiency than any of you while my heart is one-and a half times larger; I can keep standing for much longer than any of you can - I was made to win wars and to bring glory to the ones I was forced to look up to."

Made to fight, made to keep standing, made to suffer through pain until death.

A pause follows, filled with silence. Whether it is of stunned nature or not he cannot say, but Khan takes the quiet within the room as an invitation to go on. So he does.

"My intelligence is unrivaled, and my kind is thousands of years old, thriving on improved technology in ways humans won't reach in hundreds of years. Admiral Alexander Marcus knows; That's why he had me build weapons for him, torpedoes that cause mass-destruction, can end a planet's existence within mere seconds - very well fitting to a warship that's fulfilling any of his darkest desires, anything he could ever dream of, a mind that wants nothing else than to be the superior one himself, residing in an old, brittle body."

Khan despises Marcus, with every fiber of his existence. The name, once spoken, is basically spat in front of the three men staring at him through the crystalline wall, and Khan presses his lips together as he feels a wave of emotion hitting him out of nowhere.

For the first time ever since the start of their conversation, he blinks - and then squeezes his eyes shut for a second before opening them again, obviously struggling before he gets himself back under control.

Memories haunt him. Even now. And he hasn't even mentioned that part of the whole situation yet - the things Marcus did in an attempt to get what he wants besides owning weapons of mass destruction and a warship.

And because of the second pause following, the man who must be the Doctor of this vessel, decides to use his chance and spread the news to an agitated Captain: His blood is unlike anything he's ever seen during the whole of his career. His blood should not do what it does, there's not much human about it in any way.

The words are whispered, and yet Khan can hear them loud and clear.

in  an  alternate  timeline,       the  captain  becomes  acquainted  with  Section  31  much  earlier  —  not  through  the  words  of  the  man  who,       unbeknownst  to  him,       is  fated  to  join  his  ship,       his  crew,       his  surrogate  family       (       a  notion  that  would  currently  induce  peals  of  laughter  if  he  were  told  about  it  today       ),       but  from  the  ruthless  individual  orchestrating  a  reality  spiraling  towards  Jim’s  heroic  self-destruction.       while  his  present  circumstances  differ  subtly,       nuanced  in  their  own  right,       a  smoldering  rage       &       thirst  for  vengeance  simmers  within  him       &       it’s  quelled  only  by  each  measured  breath.      

such  feelings  are  a  constant  in  every  universe.       Jim  hates  how  specific  the  explanation  he’s  given  is,       compelling  him  to  recalibrate  his  thoughts  with  seed  of  doubt  flourishing  behind  his  luminescent  eyes.      

it  cannot  be,       can  it     ?      

the  notion  of  corruption  festering  within  Starfleet's  echelons  is  a  concept  he  had  never  fathomed,       its  non-military  ethos  having  imbued  him  with  a  misplaced  sense  of  security,       &       despite  the  origins  of  the  establishment  being  rooted  in  military.      

the  silent       DUEL       between  him       &       Khan  continues,       the  tension  between  them  suffocates  the  room  rather  than  it  being  the  other  way  around.

Kirk  remains still.       his  first  instinct  is  to  ask  whether  ‘he  was  better  at  walking  around  with  a  stick  up  his  ass  since  he  considers  himself  superior’.       he  gulps  that  back  since  he  doesn’t  feel  like  making  stupid  jokes  in  front  of  someone  like  him,       not  today.       it’s  only  moments  now  before  Bones  barges  in  with  the  news,       but  the  captain  is  already  hellbent  on  piecing  together  the  horrifying  puzzle  of  recent  events.       a  questioning  begins  within  his  influenced  mind.      

neutrality  is       IMPOSSIBLE,       &       yet  he  has  to  try.      

❝          no  that  isn’t  it.       partially,       maybe  but     .  .  .          ❞       he  frowns  at  the  other,       blinking  a  few  times  as  a  plethora  of  possibilities  pool  his  brain.       ❝          not  being  human  is  not  exactly       RARE.       there  are  species  on  this  vessel  who  are  not  human,       so  what     ?       why  you     ?          ❞       his  tone  oscillates  between  playful,       sardonic,       &       caustically  acidic.       a  hunger  for  deeper  understanding  propels  him       ;       it’s  a  strenuous  task,       but  he  consciously  postpones  the  debate  on  superiority,       an  irksome  thought  lurking  in  his  mental  periphery.       ❝          what  was  he  trying  to  accomplish  by  having       YOU       hostage     ?          ❞

[opalesense]

oh my god Your 'a sight to behold' work was mhmfmmsmamzx, i love it. im sosososoossosoo curious as to what graphic details you have in mind 😏

lose control

zhongli, childe, diluc, kaeya & f!reader (NSFW)

3.5k words • ~22 min. read

summary: a part two to this where the boys are unable to fight their urges when they see you helplessly stuck in a wall.

warnings: slight dubcon, choking, cunnilingus, facefucking, a bit of zhongli favoritism oops!

notes: omg hehehe thank youu i’m so glad you liked it <3 i wrote it at 2AM and was so surprised it turned out decently well for my fuzzy brain HAHA anyway as for the graphic details... i only left them out originally because i wasn’t sure if anon wanted straight up full nsfw or not >////< but since you asked you shall receive... <3

zhongli

 Zhongli effortlessly took the rocks off of you, waiting and watching your slight movements for a few moments before your eyes finally fluttered open. A throbbing pain in your temple sent one of your hands to gently massage it, making you wince quietly in pain. “Zhongli...”

 “This is the result of carelessness and insufficient planning,” he crossed his arms and studied your curves as he calmly scolded you. “Next time, let me take the lead.”

 As you laid there massaging your head, his eyes traced up and down your body, fixating on the way your legs were helplessly spread in front of him, parted in such a way that he knew he would fit perfectly if he sat between them. Following that train of thought, he uncrossed his arms and slowly climbed on the bed of rocks, letting his body hover over you and supporting his weight with a hand planted above your head.

 His free hand crept up your shirt, pulling it up in the process. The way he suddenly exposed your torso made you gasp and simultaneously wince again from the sudden movements. You weakly placed a hand on his forearm, initially in instinctual protest but then relaxing as you knew this was not just some stranger from the outside, but a man you trusted. “Z-Zhongli, what are you-“

 “Checking for injuries, of course,” he lied with a coy smile which made you softly giggle. His hand slowly caressed your bare hips and waist, noticing the way your skin formed goosebumps at his touch. You watched as his gloved fingers hovered over your bruises and scrapes, making their way up your torso then finally pulling your bra up to reveal your breasts. You swore you could hear the hunger in his low growl as his eyes were desperately fixated on your half naked body.

 “Zhongli, at least take me home first–“ you attempted to speak up but he interrupted you by wrapping his hand around your throat, applying pressure while his knee wedged itself in the empty spot between your legs. As you choked, you finally got a good look at his face. The amicable yet stoic expression Zhongli usually had was replaced with something more sinister, more lustful. With heavily breaths and shaky hands, you could sense he was getting needier by the second.

 “Right now?” you managed to whisper as you stared into his glowing amber eyes. Unable to form coherent words now, all he could do was press his forehead against yours and let his lips quiver as he fought the thoughts that flooded his mind. He knew he shouldn’t do this. He knew he should help you get home and ensure that your wellbeing is secured. A war raged on inside his head, the logical side of him trying to fight his urges, but he knew he couldn’t uphold this for long. His body couldn’t help but latch onto yours, grinding against you in desperation. You two didn’t need to say much to each other to know when Zhongli was craving you like this. Looking down at his knee slowly rubbing against you, you already knew what was going to happen. From the sight of you so vulnerable under him, your legs spread out in a perfect position for him to take you, all he wanted to do in this moment was chase his release. And yes, he needed to do it now.

 You tilted your chin up to plant a sweet kiss on his lips, slightly catching him off guard. He let go of your throat as he gave you another short kiss back, letting out what sounded like a whimper once he pulled his face away. You sighed contently as you glanced down at his growing bulge. “Well, make it quick, okay? Then we can continue this at home–“

 Immediately after hearing your approval, Zhongli wasted no time to lean down and wrap his lips on one of your nipples, immediately biting and sucking, causing you to arch your back and gasp at the sensation. He simultaneously freed his already hardened cock from his pants, slowly pumping it with his hand and letting out a low groan, sending vibrations to your nipple. You whimpered in pleasure, instinctively trying to pin your knees together in an attempt at modesty which only squeezed him closer to you.

 He let go of your nipple and lifted himself up, now standing in front of you and slowly pumping his cock as he looked down at the sight of your lewd position. “Please tell me if this is too much,” he managed to tell you before he lifted one hand towards a boulder and crushed it into a peculiar shape with one swift movement.

 Before you could process why he was now hovering the large rock over your body, you felt the earth rumble below you and push you upwards, straightening your spine as if you were laying on a table. Your legs began to dangle off the edge of the newly made platform as he locked you in place with the boulder he had shaped, which you noticed had a space carved into it only large enough for your waist to be pinned down. It was all adding up now as he grabbed both of your legs and pulled you closer to him, ensuring that you couldn’t escape his cleverly built trap.

 Lifting your knees over his shoulders and pulling your underwear to the side, you felt his erection prod your slick entrance before he slowly pushed himself inside of your cunt, groaning in pleasure as he grabbed ahold of your thighs for stability. He began to rock his hips back and forth immediately, leaving you breathlessly moaning at the little time you had to adjust to his size.

 “Only you make me feel this way,” he muttered as his grip on your thighs tightened. He leaned forward to pound into you at a better angle, his hips slamming into yours with each powerful thrust. “Only you can make me lose control of myself so easily...”

childe

 “...I’m sure I can make all the pain go away and replace it with pleasure instead.”

Childe’s words echoed in your head as he yanked your underwear down and firmly gripped your ass, spreading your folds apart and making you shiver at the sudden exposure. You tried to wiggle your way out of the pile of rocks in protest, but that only pushed you further into his grasp, making him laugh at your pathetic attempt to escape. You didn’t want to admit that this was slowly turning you on, but looking down at the damp stain in your underwear, Childe knew regardless.

 “You make it so easy for me,” he traced a finger over your already wet folds, eliciting a whimper from your throat. “You make it so easy for me to conquer you and remind you that you’re mine to play with.”

 Even though you weren’t eager to get toyed around with, given the current circumstances of being completely locked in with nowhere to go, you weren’t completely opposed either. You couldn’t help but mewl at the feeling of Childe suddenly pushing one gloved finger inside of your trembling cunt, slowly curling his digit to massage your walls. “At least... take me home first...” you whined cutely, he thought.

 “Why should I when you’re already enjoying yourself here?” he pulled his finger out momentarily only to push back in with two fingers, “Look how wet you are when we’ve only just begun...”

 Childe could hardly contain himself either, but he didn’t want to verbally admit it. If only you could see how hard he was getting by the second just by staring at your vulnerable holes and the way your underwear hung around your knees, or the tiny squirming of your legs when he pushed the right spots inside you. If only you could see the way his eyebrows knitted together, breath stuttering as he fantasized about railing you into next year in this position, fucking you into the wall for hours until you cried for him to stop.

 But for now, he decided he’d show you some mercy and make it quick. As he used his free hand to unbuckle his pants and unsheath his cock, he was determined to hear your screams echo around the walls of the cavern first before letting you go. “Hold still for me, okay? It’s not like you can go anywhere, anyway,” he chuckled then pulled his fingers out to grip your ass and position himself behind you, “I’ll make you feel so good...”

 “Childe, wait–!” was all you could say before moaning in ecstacy as he began to drive his cock into your aching hole, each inch pushing apart your walls so deliciously that he couldn’t help but moan too. He stayed still for a moment, bottomed out inside of you, head pressed up against the rocks as he relished in the feeling of you clamping around his cock. But before you could relax and bask in the delightful feeling of being stuffed full, he squeezed your ass with both hands and began pounding into you with no second thought.

 Whatever pain you might have had before was surely gone by his penetration alone. He knew how good he was screwing you by the way you whimpered out his name in between moans, or the way you subtly pressed up against him with the limited movement you had, matching his rhythm. “You better pray that I don’t lose control and fuck you here until the sun rises,” he said with a dubious smirk that you wish you could’ve seen, “But I bet you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

diluc

 To say Diluc was nervous as his eyes were pinned on your thighs rubbing together was an understatement. He could feel himself getting more aroused by the second, staring at your underwear and noticing a subtle wet stain that had developed beforehand. Your words were completely drowned out in his mind. All he could focus on was resisting his urges and maintaining his composure like a true gentleman.

 But surely a gentleman could be a little self indulgent now and then, right? Especially since you were tempting him so badly wiggling around like that, he couldn’t help but wonder if you were doing this to him on purpose.

 He took a few steps closer to the wall and adjusted his gloves before reaching into his coat pocket for a hair tie. “Could you repeat that again for me, dear?” he tilted his head as he gathered his long strands into a ponytail, never taking his eyes off of your glistening skin.

 You happily obliged, listening to him kneel down behind you, assuming he was just picking up another rock. “I was just saying how – Diluc?”

 Your assumption couldn’t possibly be more wrong. He interrupted you by pulling your underwear down to your thighs, licking his lips as his hungry gaze traced your wet folds, imagining what your face must look like by how he took you by surprise. His grip on your thighs tightened as he fantasized about you, the straps of your underwear still wrapped around his fingers to keep his hands on you no matter how much you squirmed underneath him.

 He leaned down to press a sweet kiss on your clit, eliciting a gasp from you in response. Smirking, he stuck out his tongue and began slowly tracing the wet muscle around your folds, savoring your taste and savoring the sweet moans you gave him at the same time. “Keep making those pretty sounds, my love,” he whispered, his hot breath against your cunt driving you crazy.

 His slow and sensual kisses on your cunt was only the start of his feast. Each kiss was accompanied with small circles he rubbed into your thighs with his thumbs and low periodic groans that sent vibrations through his tongue, making you whimper in ecstacy. But as much as he loved taking things slow and steady, he wanted to hear you cry out his name. He wanted to see how far he could take you to the edge by his control alone. He wanted to make those pretty legs tremble violently under his touch.

 In one swift motion, he began to prod his tongue against your entrance, stretching your folds by drawing circles with his eager muscle. If only the rocks weren’t holding you down along with his hands pressing your thighs into place, you surely would have been thrashing around at the way he teased you with his tongue alone. Slowly, he began to extend his tongue into you more, inching his face closer to your aching hole and stopping once his nose met your skin. The sensation of his tongue gently quivering inside you made you melt, even more so when he started to fuck you at a steady pace with his mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he relished in your taste.

 Soon, his movements started to reflect how hungry he really was for you. He bobbed his head steadily, stifling his moans so he could listen to yours. He took one hand off of your thigh to gently rub your clit with his thumb, still fucking you with his tongue and making you subtly rock your hips back and forth to match his rhythm. It hadn’t even been very long since he laid his hands on you, but your body couldn’t help but react to how worked up he was making you.

 And of course, he would notice these reactions. Your shaky rhythm against his was an indicator to hold you down firmly and quicken his pace, and surely enough, the heat in your core was starting to build up. You buried your head in the rocks, flustered and blushing more than you ever had before. “D-Diluc...! More... more, please!”

 When he pulled his tongue out, you figured he was just going to be mean to you and deny your orgasm but you were pleasantly mistaken. To your surprise, after a moment of rustling as he took one of his gloves off, he pushed two fingers inside of your needy hole and began to hit your sweet spot immediately as he fingered you, almost as if he had memorized what makes you cry out in pleasure. His eager lips began to suck on your clit as well, his heart set on making you cum on his fingers.

 Soon enough, you couldn’t contain it anymore. Your legs quivered as you reached your peak, your mewling and whining sadly muffled by the rocks but loud enough for him to hear you clearly enough. The sound of his name being echoed throughout the cavern as your orgasm exploded on his bare fingers was enough to make his cock throb. With heavy, warm breaths, he pulled his face and fingers away from you to let you calm down from your climax, his face flushed red and nose shining from your wetness. “So beautiful... I can never get enough of you, [Y/N].”

 You whined as he slowly let go of your thigh after giving you one last kiss on your sensitive clit. He licked his lips once more, lapping up all your wetness and wiping the excess that had dribbled down on his chin with his sleeve. With a chuckle, he stood up and placed his hands back on your ass, squeezing your curves and pressing his hips against yours. His clothed bulge fit so perfectly between your cheeks, snuggling comfortably in your wetness to leave a stain on his pants. He grinded himself into you even more at the sight of this, teasing you just for the fun of it. “Don’t worry love, we’re not going anywhere just yet...”

kaeya

 “Now that I think about it, I do deserve a prize for saving you, don’t I?”

 Kaeya’s hands travelled from massaging your scalp to scaling up your jaw, one thumb tracing your bottom lip gently asking to let him in. You pouted stubbornly, losing your patience – you had been stuck here for a while and wanted to get out, after all. “Quit running–“

 But alas, he used this moment to stick his thumb inside your mouth, letting the pad of his finger massage your tongue. He let out a hum of satisfaction as your eyes softened, slowly submitting to his touch. “You’re being awfully defiant to the one person who can get you out of here. I ought to teach that naughty mouth of yours a lesson while I claim my prize, hm?”

 This man never knows when to shut up, a voice in your head complained. But admittedly, the way he stared at your mouth so longingly had your core light up a tiny bit. You whined in response at first, looking down (or up?) at his thumb disappearing inside your mouth then deciding it would be best to comply. With a small hum you opened your mouth wider, letting your tongue stick out as your eyes darted to meet his. He grinned contently, pulling his thumb out of your mouth to pull his cock out of his pants. No matter how many times you’ve seen his length, you never understood how he managed to fit himself inside you.

 “Good girl,” he tucked his hand under your neck to offer support as he pressed his tip against your awaiting tongue. He started rocking his hips slightly just to tease you, grinning evilly as he stared down at your eyes. “You’re so cute like this. So vulnerable and eager to please whenever I want you...”

 He began to slowly push himself into your mouth, letting out a groan of relief as he buried himself inch by inch. You sputtered a bit at first, not completely used to his length just yet, but secretly he loved whenever you choked on his cock. He let you ride out your choking a bit more as he nearly bottomed out, watching as your throat slowly relaxed around his bulge.

 His other free hand found its way on your cheek, caressing it as he started to rock his hips back and forth very slowly, basking in the feeling of your throat clamped around his cock. “Such a good girl, making me feel so good whenever I want... You’re doing very well, sweetheart,” he quietly praised, opting to listen to your muffled whimpering whenever he pushed in.

 A bit of restlessness started to kick in after awhile of fucking your mouth so slowly, and with a naughty smirk, Kaeya took both hands to grip both sides of your head. He started to thrust into your mouth at a quicker pace, occasionally pulling out to give you a breath of air only to bury himself in your throat again. He found himself unable to contain his moans at this point, letting his sweet, raspy praises for you ring through your ears. Your legs started to twitch in excitement the more he praised you for being so obedient and good for him that despite your initial defiance, you hoped he would take care of your needs later.

 Your thoughts were interrupted by his fingers running across your scalp then suddenly taking a tight grip on your head as he fucked your brains out quite literally. He began to get lost in the feeling, ignoring your pleas for air as you tapped his thigh repeatedly through tears. Even when he snapped back to his senses for a moment to pull out, he whined desperately as he quickly pushed himself back in, wanting to chase his orgasm so badly using your mouth.

 “S-So good for me... I’m gonna...! F-Fuck, no..!” Kaeya quickly and quite nervously pulled himself out of you, leaving you immediately coughing and gagging in your own spit and his precum. He grunted in frustration, leaving you confused and concerned as you continued to choke for air. He suddenly tucked his cock back into his pants haphazardly and went straight back to work on getting the rocks off of you.

 “W-What was that all about? Are you waiting until we get home or something?” your voice was clearly defeated as you watched him work. He only glanced back at you for a moment before chuckling and pulling one specific rock out of the pile to send the rest tumbling down, finally revealing your trembling body, exposed in all of its glory. You gasped in a mixture of relief and excitement as he hungrily climbed on top of you and pulled you towards him so your head wouldn’t hang off the edge anymore. You giggled at how disheveled and horny he evidently was, his movements ragged and needy. Who could blame him for looking so desperate when he was staring up and down your vulnerable body, waiting to devour you like a hungry beast?

 His hands worked with urgency as he ripped your underwear off and unsheathed his cock again, manhandling your hips to meet his. You gasped as he quickly pushed himself inside of your cunt and began pounding into you mercilessly, not letting you adjust to his size since you were already so aroused for him anyway. Your cute whimpers and gasps made him even more feral, and it was at this point that he decided to lean down and whisper the answer to your question earlier.

 “Sorry, sweetheart. I can’t just wait until we get home, I need to be inside you right now...”

[chemicalpink]

Soft, vanillaish smut with husband jin x fem reader 😭

plssss YES IM A SUCKER FOR VANILLAISH JIN

So allow me to present to you: a drabble.

This is from the Trust Fund Baby universe (bc I really like that fic and I have to continue it at some point) but of course, you can read it as a standalone.

Pairing: chaebol!Seokjin x fem reader

Genre/AU/Rating: smut, fluff, married couple au/just married au, 18+, maybe...humour)?

Warnings: softcore smut, a sprinkle of exhibitionism (but a very very low dosage of it), unprotected sex

It had been your first Christmas spent at Seokjin's parents after the wedding, although things hadn't been quite better after the whole debacle from before, you could at least thank the universe (and the fact that Seokjin was the apple of his mother's eye) for his mother to remain civilised ever since you two tied the knot.

Everything was sort of new and exciting if only a bit overwhelming what with adapting yourself to Seokjin's way of life. When his father had suggested for the both of you to stay at Seokjin's childhood bedroom when the snowstorm didn't seem to let on at the end of dinner, you had expected to be cramped up in a twin bed, fighting for a way too small blanket that could barely cover one of you, let alone the two of you. If only the fact that Seokjin used to be spoilt rotten in his early years (still is, really) hadn't flown over your head, you wouldn't have to do a double-take when he lead the both of you upstairs, closing the door behind him to a spacious room with a Queen bed in the middle along with a futon on the side and a huge TV on top of an expensive-looking dresser.

"I'm pretty sure my high school clothes can fit you nicely," he said as he was already rummaging through one of the drawers, not a second later playfully throwing your way a baggy shirt. Not as big as the ones he had back home, but surely baggy enough for you. He turned around to place a kiss on your lips "I'll go wash up"

You wasted no time in getting out of your own clothes and into Seokjin's baggy shirt, bare feet against the cold wooden tiles as you made your way into the bathroom, squeezing yourself behind your husband in hopes of getting to wash your face beside him when he catches a glimpse of you on the mirror, the way that his clothes look just big enough to fit you, riding up your thighs as you move your way into the not so spacious bathroom, he straightens up in half a second, turning to where you're standing, cornering you against the door as he places both of his hands on your hips, leaning down to catch your lips with his, mouth rapidly travelling down your jaw until it traces the side of your neck, his own figure maneuvering the both of you back into the bedroom until the back of your legs touch the end of the bed.

"The things you do to me, Y/N" a small whimper leaves your mouth when his right hand finds its way up his shirt in search for your underwear, nowhere to be found "Now that's what I call getting ready for bed"

He climbs onto the bed as you draw yourself back on the mattress, leaving enough room for him to position himself in between your legs, mouth moving with yours with a gentle rhythm in the darkness of the room, the faint bathroom light enough to make out the traces of Seokjin's shirtless body fitting perfectly with yours as you feel his cock getting hard against your thigh, strained by the material of his boxers.

"Jin-ah-Jin" you try to get his attention as his hands keep caressing every bit of skin under his shirt, open mouthed kisses worshipping the otherwise exposed skin as you try to protest in a tone barely above a whisper "Seokjin baby your parents-they're"

Seokjin slips a finger inside you, your breath hitching as he starts moving it, his own breath ragged even as you watch him sport one of his mischievous smiles and you already know it's game over. "Then we just can't get caught"

He's quick to work you open until he can feel you wet enough, spreading your juices as he rubs your folds, you can tel he strokes himself a few times even with your eyes closed as you hear him groaning, your shirt barely covering half of your upper body as his tip presses against your entrance, both of your legs wrapping around him in an attempt to get him to move. One of his hands comes up to caress your cheek as he enters you. "I love you so much, Y/N"

The room is soon enough filled with the faintest noises, small moans, quieted groans, the unmistakeable squelch of Seokjin's body against yours, a few erratic hard thrusts after a rather gentle tempo, his lips finding yours in an attempt to quieten your louder moans as your whole body seems to curl into him, toes curling just seconds before he stills himself, filling you up, an unmistakable glow in both of you that is soon brought to an end as you hear footsteps outside, a light clicking on and filtering through the door as you feel your whole body freeze even as Seokjin continues being on top of you, warm skin on warm skin, before the light is turned off and the footsteps retreat.

"Your mother will most certainly not let me live this down" and it causes a giggle to slip his lips as you burrow your face in his neck.

[felassanis]

Legacy Of The Sparrow WIP - Reaver x F!Sparrow

This is a WIP of a full story I am planning on making. So please lemme know what you think! I am refraining from posting it to AO3 in case I need to make any alterations as I map out the chapters.

Reaver tries and fails to understand just exactly what about “Until I return to kill you and take back what's rightfully mine,” had been lost in translation. 

He was rather certain his feelings on the matter were made quite clear. In print nevertheless! How could anyone expect him to be more clearer than that?! It was as if they were begging to have their heads blown all over the walls, honestly!

Reaver even thought it an improvement on the wallpaper. Considering it was not his wallpaper in the first place.

They couldn't just contend with squatting in his Bloodstone Manor. Oh no, they had also stripped it of any trace of Reaver’s personality. Taking it upon themselves to completely refurbish the manor as they saw fit. And in their rampant warpath his oil paintings had been pulled from the walls. His collection of titillating contraptions…gone! Tossed and burned with his old sex chamber switched into a bloody office. 

They’d even done away with Reaver’s Rear Passage. Blocking the entrance with thick, hard, concrete…Seriously. Not every manor had a secret escape tunnel. They must lead awfully dreadful lives to never see the usefulness of one.

“No, this won’t do at all,” He mumbles to himself.

Blowing smoke from the barrel of Dragonstomper, Reaver steps over a row of bodies casually. Only slightly fretting what the spilled blood pouring from between their eyes would do to his floorboards. He wondered briefly, in a spurt of awareness, if anyone would miss the throuple. Only to then realise he didn’t care. In fact, there were far more pressing issues….

On his trip back from Samarkand, he’d lost all the wealth he’d accumulated from the distant, barbaric land of sand. His ship The Reaver unfortunately lost her battle to Albion’s sharp and twisted coasts on the trip home. His beloved finally finding her watery grave after many long years at last. And with it, Reaver’s reapings from Samarkand.

Now he’s found his second beloved abused, mutilated, and tortured in rampant bright colours and shackled by domesticity. Oh well, at least he still has his vault. No one in Albion could crack the code to his belly of riches that lay beneath Bloodstone Manor.

“Reaver, sir!” 

The bald man who appeared suddenly from nowhere had made him flinch. Something so undeniably humiliating that Reaver nearly put a bullet in him right then and there to save face. And he damn well would have, were it not the scout he had sent out earlier. 

“M’sorry sir! I-I just had news! The news you wanted me to get for ‘yer!” 

Now here was some village missing its idiot. The man holds his hands up in a delayed reaction as Dragonstomper glares at him with one big, deep, black eye. And as tempting as it was to pull the divine trigger…he was one of the few fools left from Reaver’s old crew who hadn’t been snatched by the wilds of Samarkand or died in the subsequent shipwreck.

“Well? Quickly now lad! Before I completely do away with the notion of ‘don’t shoot the messenger’,” 

“Well, I know we ‘ant been back from Samarkand long. But shit’s changed, sir. Some o’ the locals heard the gunshots, sir. Before stuff got prim ‘n proper, people might’ve joined in innit? Bit ‘o fun, bit o’ target practice like for the kiddies. Not these lot. Mighty fearful they were. They’ve gone ‘an told on you, sir,” He explains quickly.  

“Told on me?”  Reaver keens in interest. Tasting the question on his tongue like sugar. “My, and whom have they told on me to, I wonder? A teacher? The guards? Oh I'm unequivocally shivering in my breeches…” 

He could do with the target practice after all this. Keen to let out his frustrations on the populace stupid enough to come after him.

“No, sir. They’ve gon’ and told the Queen,” 

Reaver blinks. “Since when was there a bloody Queen?” 

--------

“Your form is sloppy. Any pisspot who remembers he has legs could kick your weight out from under you,”

Walter relents his picky point with another strike of the blade. Hurtling towards her at such a hard, unwavering speed that she barely has time to use the side of her blade to throw him off as he rams. 

Stunned, she teters backwards. Barely staying on her feet as Walter flicks the blade to his side pompously. Circling her with a cocky smile that curls under his brown moustache.

“Embarrassing for a queen,”

She lets out an undignified huff. “I’ll show you embarrassing,”

Walter comes bounding towards her like a bull, sword like horns, as he darts. Rather than exert unnecessary energy, Sparrow extends her hand outwards. Her palm directed at Walter. With a sudden gust of force, the propulsion of her Will fizzles into reality. Sending him flying back like an insect caught in a vengeful wind and with it, his sword clattering to the ground.

Walter rises to his feet, smile completely wiped off his face. “I said no magic!"

“There are no rules in battle, dear Walter,” 

“Not in writing. But dirty tactics and cheap tricks aren’t honourable,” He picks up his sword, aiming the tip towards her in accusation. “Troops look up to their leader. To find her throwing dirt in an opponent's eye to win is hardly inspirational,”

Sparrow shrugs. The act of exerting Will was hardly cheap tactics in her eyes. With a wave of her hand, she could conjure a frightening row of swords with the ease of breath. Aim them true, and her enemies would become human pincushions before they landed a single hit. Lightning and fire bowed to her whim. The very earth would bend and break if she wanted it, cowering under her might. What was cheap about that? It was hardly comparable to throwing dirt in someone’s eye.

But Walter had always been very by the book. He’d sooner lose a battle than win by tricks and wit. She supposed there was a fairness in that, something to admire. But it also felt short sighted. She could not have relied on Lucien Fairfax to prepare honourable tactics back when. Doing so would have seen her dead. As it saw so many others dead.

“My apologies, Walter,” She nods to her old friend. Perhaps it was unfair to exert Will over someone who was not a Hero. “Would you like to knock me off my feet again? I know you love it when I fall underneath you,”

Her tease is not lost on him, as evident by the hook in his brow. “Always saying what’s on your mind, eh lass?”

“I don’t say everything that’s on my mind. You’d be blushing to your toes if I said everything I’m thinking of,”

He lets out a roar of laughter at that, which makes her smile. He could be very serious when he wanted to be, too serious. The job of being her bodyguard had all but sapped the humour out of him. She wished nothing more that behind closed doors, he’d drop the dutiful act and be Walter Beck again. Like they were in the old days.

When Walter starts to pace towards her something clutches her chest, winding it tightly into a knot of anticipation. Maybe, just maybe, her teasing had struck a chord. Finally. His eyes hold something close to courage, something closer to need. Desire…

Only for it to be wounded when he stops a foot from her.

He looks like he wants to say something. His mouth hangs open, before closing promptly. 

“Come, your highness. Your council will be waiting in the throne room,”

She deflates, disappointed. But hardly surprised.

“No rest for the wicked, eh?” 

She sheathes her sword, shoving into her belt roughly like a careless punch. Side by side the two of them make their way through Castle Fairfax in silence, arriving at the doors to the throne room also as such. Where her council awaited, and where her day was about to be ruined.

Outside the hall's doors is Jasper. An elderly man, trussed up in a buttoned up suit with slicked back hair white as snow. He spots the duo, quickly checking that his collar was in top shape as if she’d care. In his hand is a red velvet cushion holding her crown.

“Your majesty,” The butler takes a bow, holding the cushion perfectly poised as he bends.

“Jassy,” She replies, taking hold of the crown and nestling it quickly on her head.

They enter the hall alongside the thundering cascade of the large oak doors being swung open by Walter, who urgently holds the door aside for his queen. The room is cast into an immediate hush, eyes trailing towards the lithe frame of Sparrow. Twinkling like the sockets of skulls. Crimson banners bearing Sparrow’s sigil drape from the ceiling, matching the elongated carpet that flowed across the marble floor towards her throne…

With a deep breath that blows up her lungs, Sparrow walks down the centre of the hall with practised grace. Though her throne rubbed her in all the wrong places, and the crown wrapped around her temples like a wreath plucked from thorns that provoked a headache, she would never show it. She could feign grace, feign poise and manners, things she had never embraced in her heart truly. It was all an act, a mask, a barricade to deflect the staring and hushed whispers that descended upon her court. She flaunted this facade for five years, it came naturally to her now.

All she had to consciously not trip over this damn carpet.

As she ascends to her throne and settles her bony arse in the stone seat. The first noble wastes no time in taking the stand.

“Your Majesty, Queen Sparrow,” 

She recognised the noble. An older man who went by Cotton Filly; befitting of his name was a head of greyish curls that fell to his shoulders like cobwebs. He was built similarly to a doll made fashioned from clay that had been pulled and stretched by a meaner older brother. Sometimes it baffled her that answering to her authority meant taking such…pissants seriously.

As the man spills his drivels, her eyes begin to wander. In a room filled to the brim with people there was comfort that amongst the sea of faces at least one was known to her. 

Searching for his gaze, she finally catches Walter Beck’s eyes. Who watches her from afar at his post at the other end of the hall. He can read her better than anyone and knows she’d rather be anywhere else. Alas, all he can just about offer is a sympathetic look.

“The current climate of the region is appealing to you to find a suitable husband. Someone of good standing who understands what it means to be a leader. And who can provide a strong and capable heir to rule in your stead when you are gone,"

Her eye twitches irritably as she is taken out of her distraction. It was one thing to hear rants about lowering the taxes for the rich or about rebuilding roads. But when they butted their noses into her private affairs. It was a little too much. And hit a sore spot…

“And as I’ve stated before, Mr Filly. I have no need of an extra mouth to feed in my household,” She tells him flatly. “I’ve enough feeding you lot as it is,”

Mr Filly, unphased by her answer, continues. “Your highness. There are many in your kingdom who would see a lone queen as fragile…vulnerable even. And more view it as a challenge. The people worry that without an heir, your…ahem, generous rule may be cut short. If that happens we will be left struggling without a guiding hand. I implore you, to reinstate the confidence in your people, find a husband,”

“And I implore you to return to your queen with concerns that actually matter to the fate of the realm. The question of who I have or don’t have under my bed sheets will not dictate Albion’s safety,” 

She could see the thinly veiled attempt at control on his part, of him trying to rein her in like a loose pup. He dressed his words up as pragmatism of course, but deep down she knew his blood boiled at the sight of her on the throne. His posture stiffened, and his lips pressed firmly into a thin line.

Years ago the only way she would have ever seen the inside of Castle Fairfax was through an unattended window, or being dragged to the royal dungeons by the guards for stealing bread from a stall. But now the lowest of commoners had committed a noble’s worst nightmare to reality… and ascended to royalty.

She was not Lucien Fairfax. And the nobles of Bowerstone detested it.

She had no status. No regard for the nobility. And no patience. She was an unnatural force of change in the once sturdy and structural hierarchy. And like most, change scared them to death. 

Sparrow had no intention of coddling them like Lucien had done. She’d force this change down their throats till they either swallowed or choked. As long as they kept in line, this feigned politeness between them and her would continue. 

Mr Filly pulls a face. “The dwellers are a solitary people. They’d rather live in the woods than with the rest of us in civilization. And that is their right. Many wonder though, if the burden of the crown is too heavy for someone used to going at it…alone, in matters,”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with the weight of my crown,”

“We are simply worried that should you perish without a husband or an heir-”

“Your worry is touching,” She snaps. “No, really. I’m moved to tears,” She strikes a finger across her dry cheek.

Once again his face scrunches. Like he had tasted something bitter in the air. “Your highness it is the responsibility of royalty to marry and continue their bloodline. And since you claim to be royalty, I feel it is my duty as a member of your court to remind you of this,”

Before Sparrow can attest to that, the doors to the throne room burst open. A set of guards painfully out of breath rush into the hall which erupts in gossip and outrage.

A strangled cry rises from Cotton Filly as Sparrow stands from the throne. “What is the meaning of this interruption?! How dare-”

“Oh do be quiet!” Sparrow descends the stairs that prop her throne up. Pushing past Filly as she attends to the two guards, who remove their helmets in respect.

Walter appears, taking quickly to her side as he addresses the men. “Figgins, Smithy! What in blazes are you doing here, lads?! You were stationed all the way in Bloodstone!”

Figgins, the much younger of the duo, wipes his face clean of sweat as he gasps. “Sorry, Walter, sir. But we have an urgent distress call from Bloodstone,”

“Distress…hah,” Smithy grunts with a weak, sickly smile. “It’s a bloody massacre is what it is…he even got the chickens, poor things…”

“Chickens? Wha-just tell us what is going on, lad!” Walter shouts.

“It started with the Billberry family, they were butchered in their own home. Shot dead like..like…” Figgins answers, growing nervous as Walter seems to tower over him.

Something lights up in Sparrow’s head then like a march to a wick. A pang of familiarity scratches at her mind over the uttered last name.

“The Billberrys…the Billberrys…” She tastes the name on her tongue.

Walter eyes her. “They’re the ones you sold Bloodstone Manor to, M’lady. Shame, they were a kind bunch of souls,”

Then it hits her. A sick cackle in the back of her mind, a voice rich in tone and smooth like velvet. Yet as sharp as any blade. A man as unpredicatble as a bomb. A walking time capsule that should have been buried and left buried. Rum and smoke and sea salt…

At first, she simply refused to believe the first thing that came to mind. She shook the memories like apples from a tree, daring to stomp on the fruits of her past…but she knew, deep down, she knew what this meant. There was but one man who could be responsible for something like this. Only one sadistic enough.

As ever living up to his name. Reaver had returned…..

[chiwhorei]

𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐚

✞𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧✞

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Dark Content, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3,175 [Link to Ao3]

Tags: Darkfic, sacrelige, coercion, corruption, dubcon and noncon elements, intonations and parallels to incest, but not actual incest (ie. ‘Father’ Shouta), choking, age-gap, oral, Priest!Aizawa, Virgin!Reader

From Chiwhorei: Aizawa is where this all started, so it’s fitting he is the subject of my anniversary fic. To everyone who’s followed me along this journey despite the long bouts of radio silence, to everyone that’s participated and supported this collab, to all of my lovely, devious friends— truly, completely, thank you for this past year. Xoxo.

The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.

** ** **

There’s not a soul awake this late.

The rosary wrapped between twitching fingers feels like a hot lashing against the skin. The glass and metal itch in your hold, the devotional was a gift for your confirmation-- it holds a decade of sins.

Your family has been asleep for hours now. Slipping through the back door as soon as you’re sure. Nineteen. A legal adult. Yet the only way to leave in the middle of the night is in secret. The cool, summer air hits your cheeks, it’s still for a moment. It’s so quiet, you feel like you’ve mistaken the real world for a snow globe. Static— in the moments after all of the glitter settles, all of the quiet, iridescent tears laying at your feet. It waits, patiently, until someone comes by to shake it again.

Moving into a cramped dorm room a few hours away, your childhood home feels bigger every visit. It’s bigger because nothing fills the space inside. There’s nothing but tense words and the clatter of silverware against dinner plates. Your father reminds you of an old briefcase— stern, rigid leather, unmistakably empty; your mother’s rose garden smells like poisoned wine.

Roses and leather, the combination suffocating enough to repel you in the hours you should be unconscious.

The walk from your parent’s house to the church is the most familiar thing in the world. Down to the cracks on the sidewalk and mossy steps leading up to a set of large, cherry doors. So routine it almost feels good for you.

There’s not a soul awake this late, you decide, that must be why you’re here.

That must be why he’s up too.

Pushing open one ornate door just enough to peek inside, you’re met with that distinct waft of incense and dusty missals. It smells like every Sunday morning and Easter Vigil, it smells like home.

Only votive candles light the space around you, flickering with intentions from fellow parishioners. You wonder if there’s one burning for you.

You know where to find Father Shouta, and suspect he’s waiting. He can trace every step from your parents home to the front gate. You open the confessional booth and crawl inside, the wooden space around you is cramped. It smells like incense masking cigarettes. Kneeling into the leather cushion, you face the screen partition.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was,” the memory has you falter, “three months ago.”

You remember the last hollow confession like it was yesterday. You were back in town for spring break. After mass that Sunday, your dad told Father Shouta how deplorable it was that your friends had tried, in vain, to drag you to the beach a few hours away from campus. “A week of drinking and sex, not for my daughter.”

Shouta met with you that evening and you cried your sins to him. How you had been dared to kiss boys at a party during midterms week, how you drank who-knows-what mixed with cheap beer at a frat house. He consoled you then, he told you that God will forgive all transgressions. “Even the sins of a whore.”

The memory makes you want to cry all over again. Yet, here you are— knees pressed to the very same leather, face against the same dusty screen.

He’s so still, so quiet, you jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, “What is it that you’d like to confess, my child?”

Your body aches, stiff and tense to the bone. You breathe in, shallow and suffocated, before you speak again.

“Father, forgive me I—” you can tell his posture is just as rigid, he’s only a shadowed outline and the slightest glimmer of color from his eyes. They warn you, but you ignore the familiar feeling on the back of your neck.

“I have been having impure thoughts. I’ve been thinking about a man,” one more deep breath in an attempt to keep your voice neutral, “a much older man.”

If you could hear a smile, Father’s creaks like floorboards.

His silence prompts you to continue, you knot your fingers together and hold them against your stomach, the Rosary tangled in between threatening to cut off circulation.

“The boys in my youth group, the ones in my classes— they’re all nice but,” you leave the second half of the sentence to rattle around in your mind, “but they aren’t you.”

“Impure thoughts are one thing, sinful, but,” his voice is indifferent, cold, “the true sins are ones of the flesh.”

“I- I haven’t,” you start to stutter, trying to defend yourself, “I haven’t done anything, Father.”

Despite himself, he laughs.

“It’s true Father,” you wonder why you hadn’t just stayed at home, “I’ve only ever kissed a boy— it wasn’t even a real kiss. I’m still a virgin.”

From the screen, you can only see him in fragments. Little cutouts of a dark figure and sickeningly bright red eyes. The color peaks through like pieces of a puzzle, chasing through the patterned wood before you can catch that he’s stepping out of his side of the confessional booth.

“It wasn’t a ‘real’ kiss,” each word is mimicked, emphasized by the tap of his shoes against the tiles below, “no, of course it wasn’t. Not with some boy.” Your legs are unsteady as you stand from the kneeler. There’s nowhere to hide, Father has you trapped in a toy box. Just for him to play with.

“Of course that wouldn’t have satisfied you.”

The door to your side of the booth creeks open just as your back hits the wall. You can see his face for the first time in months, you trace the features illuminated with candlelight. Father Shouta’s face is strong, even more sharp with his long, black hair tied back. His presence looms over where you’re sunken into the booth. Even standing and puffing out your chest, he’ll still be able to look down at you.

He bares his teeth. You know this by now, stupid little girl, you know he likes to play with his food.

Long fingers grip the small door frame and curl around the wood like an omen, his body slithers into your personal space until he’s only an inch away.

“Lust, greed, what is it that you want?” Each vowel cradles a hearty dose of poison, the consonants bite away and spit you out. Your skin feels raw under his attention, “You can’t atone for sins you’re not really sorry for.”

Those same fingers slide up either curve of your neck, he crawls from shoulder to jaw, slowly. So slowly it seems like he’s trying not to get caught. He holds steady against your skin, thumb rubbing lightly at your bottom lip. You must have just fallen asleep after your parents went to bed, that stale, poisoned house even lulling the restless. You must be dreaming right now.

“Don’t make me ask again.” His timber hits the three walls and brings you back to the present. There’s no rest for you, only a weak answer to his question. What is it that you want?

“I want to be a humble servant of our Lord.” Your voice shakes, battered against your throat on its way to meet the stiff air.

Father’s lips are on you, he traces the words of Luke over your trembling mouth, there’s only a breath of space between you,

“No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other,”

The hands holding your cheeks move down to circle your neck, each long finger lays a trap. He tightens around the skin, just enough to make you forget how it feels to breathe freely. He could do anything to you right now, and your cries for help would be swallowed by stained glass.

No one can serve two masters.

The scream caught in your throat meets his wicked smile, it fizzles into little more than a whimper. The small booth you’ve been trapped in is burning hot, you feel sweat beading on your forehead. The last ounce of courage, of restraint, tumbles out before you can catch it.

“Who do you serve, Father Shouta? God or the Devil?”

He answers you with a thick tongue finally pushing into your mouth. He smells like perfumed oils and votive candles, he tastes like sugar free gum and Seven Stars.

His grip around your neck is the only thing keeping you on your feet, you’re sure if he were to let go you’d melt into the floor below. Father’s lips against yours are a siren, dulling all other senses, rendering you malleable to his will. Whatever his will may be, whatever it is that he wants from you— you’d let him have it anyway.

He breaks away, the kiss that’s felt like hours disappears far too soon. Your body jolts forward of its own volition, trying to connect yourself to him again. You’re sure you look desperate, but you’re too intoxicated to care.

“I serve only myself.”

Father lets go of your neck and you’re allowed the first deep intake of breath you’ve had since walking into the church. You swallow hard, looking back up to him. He scares you, he always has, but that fear draws you towards him.

Does a moth know what the flame will do to it? Does the moth know their fate?

You feel like crying, really crying, but all that comes out are a few frustrated tears. Father leans over you once more, eyes trailing the tear waxing over your cheek, “You’re a wretched little girl.”

Is that why they fly towards fire, because they like the burn?

** ** **

You step forward in line, it’s almost your turn. Mother first, she’s always thought of Father Aizawa as such a “charming young man''. The notion always made you scoff, in reality he’s only a few years younger than your parents.

Your dad is behind you, he’ll give him a friendly handshake after the service and remark how beautiful the homily was. Today, he spoke of the devil tempting Jesus. You hung on every word.

Mother steps aside and makes the sign of the cross, you’re next. A sheep guided by the dutiful shepherd, a lamb onto his slaughter.

Your chin tilts upwards, eyes locked onto your part-time captor. He only has you for a few seconds this time, but his attention is a hallway— every door is a pitfall. Aizawa’s gaze turns red when he looks upon you again— a bright, bloody, captivating red. You’ve convinced yourself it’s a trick of the light. But you see them in the dark too.

“The Body of Christ,” his voice is a welcome mat in front of an asylum, holding out the wafer and obscuring one painfully beautiful eye.

“Amen.” You know you’re part, but you can’t hear your own voice.

Father watches as your eyes close and your mouth opens, a quiet obedience, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Your fingers tingle with how tight you’re holding them together.

He places the Body to your awaiting tongue. It tastes like a harsh nothing that will stick to the back of your throat for the rest of mass. You take Christ in pieces, letting it start to melt into the roof of your mouth.

Shouta brushes your bottom lip before retracting. It’s subtle, an accident— the smallest touch of chilling skin. No one notices, the earth doesn’t stop on its axis for anyone else. You step aside and follow your Mother back to the wooden pews like nothing out of the ordinary stirs in your heart.

You feel Father’s eyes on the back of your skirt. They feel red.

“Your sweet girl here has offered a helping hand getting prepared for a youth retreat the church is hosting next week.” After mass, the stop to shake Father’s hand is inevitable, a pleasantry every parishioner makes time for before shuffling out for Sunday brunch.

He speaks over your quiet, “Good morning, Father Shouta,” right as your family turns to leave, almost as if he had been mulling over whether or not it was worth a mention. He regards them with a veiled casualty, never once looking at you.

Father’s face is kind when he wants it to be, laying a hand in the middle of your shoulder blades, it's a feeling of comfort you can’t help but lean into, “We’re discussing how to remain chaste in a sinful world.”

The word ‘chaste’ is pinched into your spine and despite yourself, you smile. A heavy heart has found home at the bottom of your stomach, but you can’t let on to the sick churning in your gut. Your parents gleam with pride for their daughter. A perfect example of a good Catholic girl.

“I’ll have her meet at my office this evening, is six okay?” His question sounds like your dowry, talking past you and asking for your parents permission.

Your dad shakes Father Shout’s hand once more, delighted at how his diligent parenting must be the reason you’ve found yourself in holy favor. Said ‘parenting’ is definitely to blame, but not in the way your dad assumes.

*** *** ***

The walk through church and into the sacristy is like a meditation in fear, every step begging you to turn back, to run home like a scared child. You tread steady, feet searing on hot coals until you’re met with the sound of Father Shouta just beyond the threshold.

“You’re late.” Something sinister fills Father’s quarters as soon as you open the door. It’s scary how offhandedly he can lie. You’re at least ten minutes early, the evening toll of church bells will signal the hour. He wants to see if you’ll stutter, if you’ll argue. You stay quiet, busying your hands with the hem of your skirt, fingers lifting it slightly before you remember who owns the eyes sitting across the room. They look golden from here, a honey you could drown in. You cough at the feeling of sugar in your lungs before collecting yourself and awaiting instruction.

Seemingly pleased with your docility, he smiles wide and crooked. It’s bound into a book he will whisper into you page by page. It’s written in a language only he knows.

Shouta motions you farther inside, leaning back in his seat. He corrects you when you move to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk, waiting with little patience as you settle against his side instead. Your posture is stiff being this close, being this alone.

His facial hair is trimmed neatly, small scars litter his face, the most pronounced a jagged trail under his right eye. From the dim evening light, you see a shadow of loose hairs make a pointed crown around his head.

“St. Teresa of Avila,” Father starts, tapping his fingers against a small stack of papers, “what do you know of her?”

You’re disarmed, the question seems so innocent-- not a note of ulterior motive detectible. Even so, your guard remains high. His intentions need no subtext.

“St. Teresa of Avila, the patron saint of headache sufferers,” you’re struggling to see the point, but Father prompts you to continue, “she was a Spanish nun, she wrote about a prayerful life,”

After another moment of measured silence, you grow even more tense, “Father Shouta, forgive me, I don’t understand,”

You’re hushed with a laugh, the small collection of papers placed in your hands. The first leaf is titled with large letters, “The Life of Teresa of Jesus.”

“I’d like you to read the section I’ve highlighted.”

You shake, thumbing through until you find a block of text traced in bright yellow. You scan its contents, but are quickly interrupted by Shouta’s next request.

“Out loud.”

There’s no escaping the toy box.

His stare is unwavering, giving you no room for objection. They’re not soft like honey anymore, Father Shouta’s eye’s are harsh, bloody gemstones.

You know better than to keep him waiting, adjusting in your half sat position on the side of his desk, you begin reading with hoarse inflection, “In his hands I saw a long golden spear, and at the end of the iron tip I seemed to see a point of fire. With this he seemed to pierce my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails.”

Wincing, the words sound like a stranger in your ears. After every sentence, Shouta’s fingertips inch closer to the end of your skirt, right above the knee. You’d be stoned for this kind of hemline at home, but with Father it seems to be exactly the sacred skin he wanted to see.

His hands move, unwavering, as you continue with the annotated paragraph, “When he drew it out, I thought he was drawing them out with it and he left me completely afire with a great love of God.” Fingers stop their gentle assault before adding pressure to your inner thigh, he peels apart your legs with a wordless prompting to keep going.

“The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.”

By the last several words, Father Shouta’s lips are centered in between your open thighs, you feel tears frozen in the duct. You want to pull away, to escape, but his lips hold something you’ve never been this close to.

“Piety is a virtue,” you can feel the hot breath against your most intimate planes of flesh, “but our God is one of pleasure too.”

His kiss feels like branding. An aimless, confused lamb seared with the mark of its owner.

You cry out, loud and broken, when his mouth meets the cotton covering your pussy. Shouta uses his pointer and middle finger to move the fabric away.

No one has ever seen these parts of you, kept locked away for your future husband until now, sitting in the heart of your family's church, writhing from even the slightest touch.Hips buck of their own accord, and you’re granted one last open-mouthed lave against your twitching cunt. His tongue peaks out slightly to catch your clit before pulling away.

You move as if possessed, falling to your knees in front of your Father. Your mouth opens, that same quiet obedience, and his finger brushes your lower lip again. “No one” you think, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of fingers wrapped into the back of your hair, “no one can serve two masters.”

“Body and soul, you’re mine.”

But there’s not a soul left in sight.

✞ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: All writing is chiwhorei’s original content, please do not repost or modify. Do no read my content as asmr. Do not recommend me on TikTok.©️

[omgreally]

Hi there!

Could I please make a little request for Din?

"I didn't know where else to go"

Thank you, hope you're doing ok today! ❤

Hey lovely! First off, I am SO SORRY this took so long. I know it's been months and I have nothing but terrible excuses. Hopefully this makes up for it at least a little?

Shelter M, Din Djarin/Smuggler F!Reader, 2.1k words Warnings: Angst, drinking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, swearing, Helmetless!Din, lil bit of making out, brief almost-but-not-quite questionable consent, unresolved sexual tension (but who knows, maybe I'll do a Part II?) Summary: Mando has nothing left, nowhere to go. Except to you.

He stands on your doorstep, a soaking wet mass of metal and muscle. The rain falls in rolling sheets, sliding through his hair, down the back of his neck, underneath his cloak and in shining rivulets over his Beskar breastplate.

Without the helm, the Mandalorian looks...smaller, somehow, deflated, but maybe that’s just the defeated look lurking in the dark space behind his eyes.

He looks drained. Empty.

It’s him, though - nobody can fake pure Beskar armor, much less the set he wears. It’s mirror-finish, reflecting your stunned expression in rain-blurred steel.

You open your mouth to say something, but fail to find the words. They all seem so inadequate to address Mando standing in front of you, maskless.

He’s not quite looking at you, his gaze alternating between the ground and somewhere beyond your left ear. You resist the urge to glance behind you, instead taking him in, cataloguing the changes since you last saw him.

It’s been months, but it usually is. His circuitous route of bounty hunting doesn’t intersect with your parts of the Rim very much, which is fine; this way your businesses don’t overlap. As a smuggler, you’re far too likely to be on the wrong end of a tracking fob, so you stay away and so does he.

Once, you were a useful connection. You’re not sure when you crossed the line into ‘ally’, much less ‘friend’. Yet here he is, staring at you through the pouring rain. Helmet off, tucked almost protectively underneath his arm.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says, dully, and his voice sounds so different yet familiar that you experience a sense of disorientation, of the planet’s surface tilting beneath your feet as you re-orient yourself to this strange new reality where the Mandalorian comes to you for help.

Once, you would have asked for credits first. Now, all you say as you recover from your shock is, “Are you all right?” He shakes his head mutely as you step back and allow him access into your planetside flat.

It’s small, so small that his arm brushes you as he steps over the threshold. You resist the odd urge to put a hand on his shoulder; you’ve never had to comfort him before, save for buying him a round at some space dive or other after a job gone bad. This is something different. This is something else entirely.

You don’t ask what happened. You doubt he’ll give you a straight answer anyway. And you don’t ask about the helmet. He takes a seat at the kitchenette counter and sets it down on the counter in front of him. The black, empty visor stares at you silently as you fetch a bottle of something cheap and strong and hand it to him, knowing he won’t need a glass.

Mando uncaps it and takes a long drag without a word. He makes a face - so strange to see the expressions that are usually hidden by the mask of the helmet - and suppresses a cough as he hands the bottle back to you. You shake your head and set it down next to the Beskar headpiece.

You’re not known for your empathy, and neither is he, so you settle on practicality which you know he appreciates. “Are you injured?” you ask, businesslike as you examine his face a little closer. There’s the bloom of a bruise on one temple, underneath the damp plaster of his dark hair.

“Not permanently,” he says, that trace of dry sardonicism that you usually find irresistibly hilarious now making you frown. “I’m fine,” he adds gruffly as he reads your expression. You huff, crossing your arms, but he says nothing more. Just picks up the bottle again and swigs with an audible “Ahh,” from his throat.

“Why are you here?” you ask, at last, after watching him drink for a minute in silence. Mando looks at you, at your eyes, and holds your gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before he finally answers.

“I lost him.”

“The kid?” It feels like you’ve been hit, the air punched from your lungs. You assumed he was back on the Crest, asleep, not - gone.

You had only met the little gremlin twice, once when Mando needed fuel and ammo on the cheap, another for a place to lay low for a day or two. The weird green creature...grew on you, like a very cute fungus. His nonsensical babbling, insatiable appetite, and obvious love for the Mandalorian was infectious. You admit it; you were weak. You got fond. And, in turn, fonder of Mando himself.

And now…

“You found his people?” you manage, and it comes out in a croak. You clear your throat and Mando offers you the bottle. You take it, tossing your head back for a deep swig. It burns going down and warms the suddenly-cold cavity inside your chest.

“Yeah,” Mando says. “He’s...he’s safe, now.” The he was never safe with me is unspoken but you hear it anyway. You pass the bottle back to him.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and mean it. “I know...I know it was never a permanent arrangement, but he clearly meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his helmet before fitting the rim of the bottle to his lips, tossing his head back and draining the rest of its contents in several long gulps.

You watch the shape of his throat bob in his neck above the wet snarl of his cloak and look away quickly. A buzz is building in your veins already and he’s had most of the bottle - you’re surprised he’s still upright.

“You holing up in your junker tonight?” you wonder, after casting around for a change of subject. An expression of pain crosses Mando’s face, a grimace not caused by the alcohol, for just a second before it’s gone.

“The Crest is gone. Melted to slag and dust.” He says it without inflection, and that’s how you know it’s hurting him.

“Fuck,” you summarize elegantly. Mando nods.

“I haven’t got anything left,” he states. “No ship. No credits. No more favors to call in. Nothing.”

You reach out, more out of anger than anything else, and grab his hand, squeezing so tightly that the wet leather squelches. “Stop it,” you say harshly. “You have everything you need. You’re a kriffing Mandalorian.”

He snorts, pulling his hand away - with some effort. “Not anymore.” He stares down at his helmet, and beneath the scruff and fuzz and rain, his lips press together in a tight line.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I broke my Creed,” he shrugs, setting a hand atop the smooth dome of Beskar. “More than once. Didn’t matter at the time. All that mattered...was saving the kid. Making sure he was safe.”

“Mission fucking accomplished, then,” you say, shaking your head. “You pick yourself up. You rebuild. You move on.”

“How can I?” He meets your gaze, and you flinch at the dark intensity of his - something molten, furious there that you’re suddenly afraid of. You haven’t forgotten the promise of violence coiled in his every limb. “I have nothing to go back to. Nowhere to go. That’s why I’m here.” He waves a gloved hand with obvious disgust, and for some reason, that hurts, a sting behind your breastbone like something almost physical.

Mando must see the look on your face, for he wilts like damp lettuce. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine. I get it,” you say brusquely, your words clipped. You take the empty bottle from the counter, your fingers curling around the neck and squeezing, hard. “You come in here, beaten-up, drink my alcohol and drip all over my floors - but I’m the last place you’d go. I get it.”

He rises to his feet, and you forgot how tall he is, how broad. And despite - ormaybe because of - the unfamiliarity of his helmetless appearance, Mando is still intimidating. You don’t shrink back, though; you square your shoulders and your jaw and lift your chin in challenge.

“You’re the last person I’d put in danger,” he says in a low voice, a voice that stirs a strange sensation in the pit of your guts that you haven’t felt in a very, very long time.

“You forget what I do for a living?” you manage, your mouth suddenly dry. You swallow past it, tasting the aftertaste of alcohol and your own misplaced nervousness.

“I’ve been hunted from one end of the galaxy to the other,” he continues in that same husky baritone that makes your knuckles go white. “I wasn’t going to bring that down on you.”

“I appreciate that,” you manage, diplomatically - but he’s not having it, staring you down like his life depends on keeping eye contact. “But I’m a big girl. I can handle things myself.”

He looks you up and down - just once - but with such practiced ease that it makes you wonder how many times he’s done the same thing from beneath the visor. You shiver despite yourself.

“I know,” he says, and then before you can move or react or think, he lunges into your space and kisses you.

If you were shocked by Mando’s sudden appearance, you’re fucking floored by this. You don’t know how to react at first but he proves quickly to be competent enough at this to coax your lips apart with his and get you to kiss him back.

He tastes like a distant hint of blood and smoke and his body is solid as his arm snakes round your waist without you noticing and he pulls you to him. He holds you so that you’ll have to twist away to escape and with the confidence that says he knows you won’t want to. 

And you don’t.

Instead you let the bottle fall and it clatters forgotten to the ground as you grab him by the pauldrons and let him lick into your mouth with the answering surge of your tongue and your hips pressing to his.

Mando kisses you like he needs to, and you realize that he’s half-hard already, impatiently nudging a knee between your thighs and pressing you to the wall. You break from his mouth to breathe and wonder if he’s ever had anything but this - a wild, fervid fumble of hurriedly-parted clothes and tangled limbs.

You don’t want to be this for him - a receptacle for his despair, his rage. You have too much of your own to deal with. But you can’t deny that you’ve thought about this, imagined something similar to this very scenario - but you never counted on the weight of emotion that comes with it.

“Stop, Mando,” you say as he sucks bruises into your neck, the edges of his teeth making your breath catch on nothing. He goes still, but his hands are tight on your hips, holding you to him. You can feel his breath, heavy and warm in your ear.

“Not like this,” you tell him. “You can stay, but we’re not doing this. Not like this.”

At first you think he’s not going to let you go, and the thrill that passes through you from the thought is unconscionable. But then his grip loosens and his leg withdraws and he steps back, out of your space. You rub your face with hands you can’t admit are shaking before finally looking up at him.

He looks wrecked. Broken. Staring at the ground, damp hair hanging over his forehead, and you catch the trembling twitch of his bottom lip even as he ducks his head to try to hide it.

“You can take my bunk,” you tell him. “We’ll talk in the morning. Okay?”

For a second you think he’s going to argue, or just...walk out. Relief blooms in you as he nods. He turns without a word to retrieve his helmet before he retreats down the hall.

You watch him go, and the slump to his shoulders breaks your heart. But he’s staying, and that’s something.

You never thought you’d have a broken Mandalorian sleeping in your bunk. 

And you’re not sure if you regret the fact that you’re not there next to him.

[akakeiiji]

HI!~ (THIS IS MY FIRST TINE REQUESTING AND IM REALLY EXCITED) Can I request a scenario where their smol s/o (I'm like 155 or 5'1 for reference) gets easily lost? Like they just wonder off on their own cause they think that he's still with them and she tends to leave her phone with him so calling to find her is out of the question??? (Me honestly IM SORRY FRIENDS AND FAMILY) She likes a lot of things so sometimes its hard to find her cause they never know where she is? Ushi, Tsuki and Bokuto-🌼

-`,✎ Ushijima, Tsukishima and Bokuto losing their short S/O in a crowd

THIS REQUEST IS JUST TOO ADORABLE AND IT HITS SO CLOSE TO HOME!! We’re the same height nonnie 🤧🤧✋ Short gang, where ya’ll at? 

Also I apparently don’t know how to read because I thought you requested for headcanons at first despite you clearly asking for scenarios so I decided to keep the hcs since I was already halfway done with them~ hope you don’t mind, nonnie! 

The man is literally built like the empire state building, he just towers over everyone, it’s insane

And then there you are behind him, all tiny and stuff, it’s so friggin adorable

He doesn’t really notice your height difference at all

Whenever people point it out, he just cocks his head with his eyebrows furrowed and is like “Yeah, I’m tall?? And they’re short?? Why are you reacting like that?”

He’s genuinely confused and doesn’t see why it’s a big deal at all

When he looks at you he doesn’t really pick up on itty bitty details like your height and stature; he just sees you for the whole you and sees you simply as this perfect deity that he loves

But he does appreciate the perks that come with it such as the way you feel when he hugs you after a match or the way you look up at him so adorably when you’re trying to get a kiss

He also didn’t realize the cons that came with having a tiny s/o

There are many but we’re focusing on the fact that it’s so easy to lose you in a crowd

He’ll literally look away for 0.5 seconds and when he looks back at you, you’re suddenly gone

He probably won’t notice for a bit but after a while, he’ll wonder why you aren’t holding onto his sleeve or hand anymore

Whenever this happens he usually goes about it in two ways; he’d either stay still where he is and let you find him (which isn’t hard, he sticks out like a sore thumb) or if enough time passes, he’ll retrace his steps and look for you himself

He’ll have a tiny little frown on his face since he gets so worried about you, like you’re so tiny what if you get trampled??

When he does find you though, the wide smile on your face when you catch sight of him honestly makes the search worth it

can you tell that I miss ushi so friggin much

The streets in downtown Tokyo are always so packed at this time of day. There were hundreds of people rushing to and from work, tourists taking in the sights, and busy shoppers such as yourself and Ushijima; you two had just finished shopping together and were heading to your favorite restaurant in the area as you always do to end your date night.

Your hand remained tightly wrapped around the hem of your boyfriend’s coat as you two made your way down the busy streets, struggling to not get pulled away as people continued to mercilessly push past you. You would have much rather held Ushijima’s hand but he insisted on carrying all your shopping bags and was rather preoccupied with them at that moment.

He marched on, oblivious to your struggles behind him. It was during times like this when you hated how short your legs were, you were practically jogging to keep up with your boyfriend who, to him, was only going at a leisurely pace.

Before you knew it, your hand had loosened and you suddenly lost hold of his coat. You looked up, hoping to find him just a few feet away, but he had disappeared into the sea of people all around you.

Ushijima hadn’t noticed anything at first, he was too focused on where he was going to realize that the little tugs on the hem of his coat throughout the journey were suddenly gone. He looked down at both his hands and placed the shopping bags on one of them to the other so that he could use it to hold your own.

He held out his free hand behind him, calling out your name, and motioned for you to grab it. A few seconds went by of him gesturing like this only to be met with no response.

He looked back, eyebrows furrowed, only to find no sign of you.

Ushijima immediately stops in his tracks, eyes widening ever so slightly as he did a little 360 turn in his spot, raking over the crowds rushing past him in hopes he’d find your familiar head of hair bouncing about.

He stood motionless where he was, forcing people to walk around him—most wanted to tell him off for standing in the middle of the street but no one had the balls to.

A few minutes went by and he began walking down the direction he came from looking everywhere for you. Worry began to bubble in him when you were still nowhere to be found but suddenly he saw a figure waving at him from afar.

You were standing on top of those small cement blocks on the bottom street lights, waving your free hand that wasn’t wrapped around the lamp towards your boyfriend, grinning ear to ear when you met eyes with him.

Ushijima smiled in relief, shoulders relaxing as he made his way over to you. You met him halfway, immediately wrapping your arms around him in a hug, burying your face into his chest.

“I’m never letting go of your hand next time.” He said, pressing a chaste kiss on the top of your head before interlocking your fingers together. You laughed, nodding in agreement. “Definitely not.”

We all already know this: Kei is fucking ruthless

It doesn’t matter that you’re dating. It doesn’t matter that you’re literally his favorite person in the world tho he’ll never admit this to you you will not be free from his savageness

No one is more hyper-aware of your height difference than he is and no one teases you more than him

Tsukishima is literally the type to steal your things and hold them over your head or he’ll purposefully stand at full height whenever you want to kiss him just so that he can watch you struggle

“Oh, babe, I didn’t see you from down there.”

Is the type to purposefully put things you use all the time up on the top shelves in cupboards and cabinets

He says that he does this to annoy but really he does this so that you can call him to help you since he banned you from climbing the counters 🤧✋

He really loves your height though as much as he likes to tease you for it

He loves how easy it is to wrap his arms around you and how you burrow into his chest whenever you hug

His favorite thing about your height is probably the fact that it’s so comfortable being the big spoon with you since you fit so snuggly against him 🥺

again he’ll never tell you this, my man is tight-lipped

However he can get very protective over you, it’s like he developed this idea in this head that small = fragile

So whenever he loses track of you in a crowd (which happens a lot, it's honestly embarrassing) he immediately drops everything and searches for you

He’ll have this permanent pout on his face as he retraces his steps, going back to wherever you two were and keeping an eye out for either you or places that would catch your eye

Once he finally catches you, he’d sigh in relief and immediately put up his “i’m annoyed right now, give me attention” face and head over to you, knocking your head with his knuckles lightly

He’d lecture you a bit about staying close to him and he’d spend the rest of your time out with his eye on you and with his hand tightly wrapped around your own

The mall was always so crowded during the weekend especially now that Christmas was just around the corner. Tsukishima told you that you two should visit the mall later during the week but you were just so excited to see this new movie, he simply couldn’t say no; he cursed himself for being so tightly wrapped around your finger.

The building was already pretty full when you two entered the cinema but when you two emerged, it was as if the number of people there seemed to double in just a span of a few hours.

As you two made your way through the tight-knit crowds of people, the frown on Tsukishima’s face never left as people kept pushing and rushing past him. He called out your name behind him and said, “See, I told you we should have come after the weekend, it’s like half the city is here right now.”

He waited for your usual giggle or scoff, maybe a light smack on his arm as you tell him to brighten up but there wasn’t any of that.

“(Y/N)? Did you hear me? I—(Y/N?),” He turned around, worried that you may have been upset at him but instead was surprised to find that you weren’t trailing along behind him like he expected you to be.

He turned around fully, hands coming out of his pocket as he raked his eyes over the crowds of people around him. It would be nearly impossible to find you here, there were probably hundreds of people in the mall now.

Tsukishima groaned slightly as he ran a hand through his locks, his other hand going into his pant pocket to ring your phone only to realize that it was with him as well, right next to his. This elicited a second groan from the blonde.

Knowing you, you probably got distracted by something and wandered away from him.

He retraced his steps, keeping a close eye on his surroundings. He had no idea when you wandered away from him so you could have been anywhere. He stood at full height, towering over the majority of the crowd, and scanned the entirety of the floor and the shops on it.

He entered a few stores he knew you’d most likely visit; the bookstore, the pet store, and a shop that was having a 50% sale but he found no traces of you.

Tsukishima was about to give up and head to the information desk and ask them to announce something on the loudspeaker to grab your attention—probably something along the lines of “To the small gremlin wandering around floor three right now, please meet Tsukishima Kei at the main exit.”—when he spotted a bright store on the other side of the floor.

You were there. He just knew it.

He rolled his eyes as he made his way to the anime store and low and behold, there you were, crouching as you stared at the shelves of anime merchandise, a wide ear to ear grin on your face.

Tsukishima sighed and lightly smacked you, tearing you away from your thoughts and making you look up at him in shock.

“You are such an idiot, (Y/N).” You only laughed in response and wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your face onto his chest. “Aww, Kei! Were you worried about me?”

“Of course, I was. How do you expect me to feel?” He said with another roll of his eyes. He brought his hand up and placed it on top of your head. “I was worried someone thought you were a child and kidnapped you.”

You let out an indignant gasp and started to smack him but he only laughed and took your hand in his, dragging you out of the store behind him ignoring your protests.

Nobody in the whole entire world thinks you’re more adorable than Bokuto

He adores the fact that you’re so tiny, he likes you call you his pocket-sized s/o  

He never really teases you, instead he always coos and coddles you

He especially loves lifting you up in his arms and twirling you around, he always does this after winning a game and it always leaves you feeling dizzy

But you never complain bc who would complain about being hugged by Kou like that 🤧✋

However, as much as Bokuto loves how smol you are, he always kinda forgets that you’re short??

It’s because he’s always surrounded by tall people; his friends, the volleyball team, etc.

So he always forgets to adjust when he’s with you

And you know how some people just naturally walk really really fast, like they can’t help it, it’s just how they walk normally??

Yeah, that’s Bokuto

And this paired with the fact that he is literally 6’1 means he practically travels at light speed

Your tiny legs can barely keep up with your excitable boyfriend and you’re always practically jogging to keep up with him so if you take your eyes off of him for even just a few seconds he’ll probably run off somewhere and disappear 😔✋

This occurs so often when you two are out that you’re never shocked whenever it happens

It takes a few minutes before Bokuto realizes that he’s suddenly alone in a crowd and that you aren’t beside him like he thought you would be

AND IM SORRY BUT THE FIRST THING HE’LL DO IS JUST YELL OUT YOUR NAME REPEATEDLY AT FULL VOLUME WITH NO SHAME WHATSOEVER

“(Y/N)!! WHERE ARE YOU??”

Everyone around him would give him looks but he wouldn’t care, he just needs to find you fast or he’ll start panicking tho he lowkey already is

Some people would think that he’s looking for his kid but nah, he’s just looking for his smol s/o who would show up beside him after a while with a disgruntled look on their face

It never takes long for you two to reunite when you get separated, you just have to wait for the distinctive voice of your boyfriend yelling for you somewhere

When you two find each other, the first thing he’ll do is pull you into a tight hug, usually lifting you up from the ground as he presses a few kisses on your cheeks in relief

He’ll remember to walk slowly for the rest of the time you’re out, usually with his arm over your shoulder or with his hand tightly wrapped around your own

It made absolutely no sense to you that Bokuto literally grew up in the city yet has never visited the amusement park in the area before. You’ve visited the park countless times before but for your boyfriend, it was a first.

Bokuto was practically bouncing with excitement ever since you proposed the idea of visiting the amusement park together and it only got more intense as the day of your visit grew closer and closer.

You somewhat regretted not pushing your date to a later day in the week so that it didn’t fall on the weekend since the park was so packed but that feeling quickly dissipated when you glanced at your beaming boyfriend beside you.

What you did regret however was the fact that you didn’t wear more comfortable shoes, ones that were more fitting for exercise rather than leisurely walks since you were practically running around the park just to keep up with Bokuto.

His hand remained tightly clasped on your own as he sprinted all around the park, looking at all the rides, food stands, and gift shops around the place. He wasn’t really running, he was simply walking at a quick pace but this coupled with his long legs made it so difficult to match his pace with your significantly shorter ones.

You two had just gotten off a rather intense roller coaster and you felt your head spin from how dizzy it made you, you halted in your steps as Bokuto was about to begin running towards another ride making Bokuto stop as well as he was pulled back by your hand which was still holding onto his.

“Koutarou, let me rest for a bit,” You said as you sat on a bench in the shade, Bokuto immediately nodded and took a seat beside you, he handed you a bottle of water from his bag. “Sure babe, here drink this.”

After a few minutes of talking and resting under the shade, you stood up, reinvigorated, and filled with more energy. “Okay, let’s go, I’m feeling much better now,”

Bokuto immediately jumped onto his feet and beamed at you, more than ready for another round of rollercoasters and thrilling rides. He held out his hand for you to take and you two headed farther into the park.

“Let’s go on the Viking ride next—wait, hold on, let me fix this.” You let go of your boyfriend’s hand and began adjusting the overpriced headband on your head; Bokuto insisted on buying matching ones at the gift shop despite their ridiculous price (“Look, it’s just so adorable!”)

When you looked up, ready to grab ahold of his hand again, Bokuto was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

You whipped your head all around you but you couldn’t see the familiar head of hair of your boyfriend in the horde of people around you. You stood on your tiptoes, craning your head to get a better view but that didn’t do anything to help. You feel back on your feet and huffed; curse you and your short stature.

You walked down the direction you two were originally headed at, raking your eyes over the crowds of people you walked past when you suddenly heard a familiar voice yelling out your name from a distance. You whipped your head towards the direction of the voice and began to jog towards it.

Bokuto was standing on his tiptoes, his hands cupping his mouth as he called out for you over and over again, oblivious to the looks of shock from the people around him.

As he was about to scream out your name for the dozenth time, you suddenly pushed your way through the people around him and grabbed ahold of his arm, an exasperated yet also relieved look on your face.

Bokuto’s face immediately lit up, the small frown on his lips turning into a large smile as he wrapped his arms around you. He pressed you into his chest and lifted you off the ground as he usually does when he hugs you.

You giggled and flailed around as he did this, when he placed you back safely on the ground, he placed a small kiss on your forehead.

“Sorry for leaving you behind,” Bokuto said as he laced his fingers onto your own, “It won’t happen again,”

You scoffed playfully and let yourself be dragged along by him, “That’s what you said last time, Kou.”

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

To Each His Own

It's no secret that Billy was a chubby kid. It's for this reason that he doesn't feel like a complete failure when he finds himself squeezing into jeans that are yet another size up. He thinks that it would be more disappointing, if anything, if he had always been lean.

Then it would just seem like he let himself go out of nowhere.

Going back to one's roots isn't disappointing. It's expected. And maybe he's projecting, but he feels like the people around him have been waiting for it to happen. For him to turn soft.

He turns and examines himself from a few different angles in front of the mirror, smooths a hand over the curve of his ass and down his outer thigh. Tries to recall how these parts of him looked fifty odd pounds ago.

It isn't a second later when his reflection is joined by another. Sometimes he swears that Tommy has a sixth sense.

"Hey, cowboy," Tommy lilts. Fits his thumbs under the waistband of Billy's jeans at either hip. "Whatcha up to?"

His tone is kind and his eyes are doe-like, those freckled cheeks scrunched up in a smile. Billy sets his jaw.

"The usual."

"Brooding?"

"Mhm."

Tommy presses his lips to his shoulder. Hums happily into the fabric of Billy's shirt, likely appreciating the texture against his skin. Billy thinks for a second about how differently he reacts to different fabrics.

How if he wears polyester, Tommy won't so much as touch him.

"Thought so," Tommy sighs.

He rests his chin in the crook of Billy's neck. Traces his eyes over their reflections. It's obvious, given the way that his smile widens, that he likes what he sees.

Billy is indifferent towards it. All of it. The changing of his body, getting older, everything. It's just something that happens.

That doesn't mean he's not a little displeased when he watches Tommy test the give of the waistband with his thumbs. Like he's trying to gauge how loose they are and just how long he predicts this pair to last. It plants the seed of embarrassment somewhere behind Billy's ribs.

The roots dig in when Tommy unhooks his thumbs and instead elects to wrap Billy in a hug.

His breath catches in his throat, because fuck.

"Wanna go out tonight? Maybe popcorn and a movie will cheer you up," Tommy says.

"I dunno."

"How come?"

Billy stares awkwardly at his reflection. Crosses his arms over his chest, only to realize that it accentuates the pooch of his stomach even more. Then he rests them at his sides again.

"Goin' to a movie isn't gonna change the fact that your arms barely fit around me," he grumbles.

For a long moment, Tommy says nothing. Looks down at where his hands rest against Billy's midsection as if trying to piece an invisible puzzle together.

"Is that what you're all pissy about?" His voice suddenly has a slight edge to it that makes Billy's ears burn with guilt. "Babe, so fucking what? You're a big guy, and you've always been a big guy."

"I know."

"Been a few years since I was able to sweep you off your feet, Bills."

Billy tsks.

"Thanks, Tom."

"Look, all I'm trying to say is that you've picked a weird time to be sensitive about it. And, besides, my arms totally still fit around you." He presses flush against Billy's back and reaches in an attempt to prove his point, only for his fingertips to not meet. "Oh."

The blond can't help it. He snorts, and a grin splits across Tommy's face shortly after.

"God, you're fuckin' stupid."

"Whatever. I could reach if I tried."

"Sure."

"Yeah, but unfortunately for you, I don't wanna risk upsetting this beautiful tummy of yours or I'd be proving your ass wrong right now."

Billy scoffs, but his smile doesn't falter in the slightest.

"Beautiful, huh?"

"Mhmm," Tommy hums. Rubs gentle circles into Billy's stomach, his slender hands a stark contrast to everything beneath them. "The fact that I can't reach around you just means that I owe you more hugs to compensate, when you think about it."

"You have such weird taste, Hagan."

"My taste is impeccable, thank you very much."

Billy's face blotches red when Tommy brings his hands up to trace over the crest of his stomach, inarguably the roundest part. It's the spot that always spurs the most insecurity, simply because of the contrast between where his chest ends and his stomach begins.

And here Tommy is, lavishing it with loving attention without so much as a hint of disdain on his face.

Like he's looking at Billy through a special lens.

"To each his own, I guess," Billy sighs.

"Don't you dare dismiss me, Hargrove." The warm press of lips to his neck has his heart fluttering against his ribs in seconds. "My preferences aren't weird just 'cause I like you, y'know. I'm allowed to be normal and appreciate your tummy." Tommy then sways them softly from side to side and shuts his eyes. "Plus, you look hot as fuck in your new jeans. I'm totally chubbed up right now."

Billy chuckles. Threads his fingers between Tommy's and brings his hands to rest on the curve of his belly.

"Thanks, freckles."

"Mhmm."

Another kiss drags against his throat, and Billy tilts his head away to give his lover some room. Chews his lip as he watches Tommy slowly start to smooth his palms in circles again.

There's no thought behind the action. Just Tommy keeping his hands busy while he kisses Billy's ear and mouths softly at his jaw.

He certainly doesn't seem to be indifferent towards any of this. Not when he buries his face into Billy's hair and gives him an affectionate squeeze like they've been apart for ages. Like he needs to fully immerse himself in the blond's everything just to feel whole again.

"So what movie are we gonna go see?" Billy asks.

Tommy chuckles as he noses kisses into his hair.

"Anything you want, babe. My treat."

"Mm, how about Mars Attacks?"

"Seriously? The poster looks like total dogshit."

They share a chuckle, and Tommy nuzzles into Billy's neck again.

"C'mon, it's aliens."

After one last kiss and the roll of his eyes, Tommy leans away. Meanders across the bedroom and into the closet, leaving Billy alone in front of the mirror, now looking at his reflection with less judgment.

Looking at himself through Tommy's eyes.

"To each his own, Hargrove."

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Hollow

Pairing: monster!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: yandere, horror, stalking, kidnapping, death of minor characters.

Words: 2137.

Summary: You were finally going mad. Apparently, it was something in the air, right? Something the management told nothing about that caused hallucinations and all those scary things. Obviously, all those people who worked in the assembly shop #4 before you left because they knew that. That was the reason behind the stupid legend and all those rumors.

_______

There’s a man inside the wall behind you.

This was what the factory workers told you as soon as the manager left, forcing you to question people’s sanity. At first you thought it was a bad joke or something. A man inside the wall in the assembly shop #4? What the Hell was that?

You thought they wanted to scare you away because they didn’t like you: your colleagues were simple people who lived in this godforsaken place for ages and knew each other as if they all were one big family. You, an outsider from somewhere far away who didn’t even look like them, weren’t the same kind, they probably thought. Of course, they didn’t take a liking to you and tried to make you leave so that you wouldn’t become an eyesore.

However, soon you found out they all were pitying you. You could feel their eyes on you each time you left the shop where you worked alone, and all you saw on their faces was fear and regret. A couple of women tried befriending you, sitting at the same table as you during lunch, and the next day they all told you anyone who had been working in the shop #4 left in less than a month. Naturally, you didn’t believe that crazy talk about the man in the wall - it’s not like the factory was built in those times when people were buried alive inside the walls for good luck. Then the women tried convincing you to work facing the wall - you were now standing behind it because of how the rusted pipeline with a barrel shifter was placed. You almost rolled your eyes in irritation: you wouldn’t risk losing your job because you couldn’t stand where you were told by the manager. You desperately needed money.

The day after you received a letter in your locker: somebody asked you to leave the assembly shop #4 immediately if you valued your life. It was starting getting scary. Were these people schizophrenic's? No, there were far too many of them who believed in this creepy urban legend.

At some point you got so fed up with this stupid talk that you headed right to Andy, your manager, to ask him why on Earth people were bothering you with this. The man spent half an hour talking about employees who had nothing better to do other than slacking off and telling silly stories when they needed to work. Yes, rumors had it that almost a hundred years ago there was a man, an talented engineer, who entered the assembly shop #4 and never came back, but it had nothing to do with this ridiculous legend. The wall behind you was all solid blocks of stone that were never moved since the day this factory was built. Even if the engineer was killed - although Andy believed the story wasn’t even real - how would somebody hide the body of a grown man there without dismantling the wall? 

The story should have put you at ease, you thought, but instead it only made you more concerned: now as you knew about a disappeared engineer, every time you stood with your back facing that cursed wall you felt the shivers running down your spine. What if there were a ghost or something? You didn’t believe in them, of course, but the dim light in the shop #4, its rusted pipeline, dirty floors and dust balls were hardly making you feel any better. And that disgusted lunch bell... it sounded almost like Silent Hill siren.

You worked in the shop for 8 hours every day, having no time to literally visit the bathroom. Assembling metal parts that always looked ugly over and over again could make anyone go nuts. By the end of the day your body ached as if you carried a giant stone on your shoulders, your back hurting, arms heavy as you barely kept standing. You didn’t even have strength to smile at Dean, an elderly night guard, but he just nodded to you with understanding, knowing well what it meant to be a factory worker here. This shitty job could kill anyone if you stayed long enough here.

Was it the reason why everyone kept talking about that man in the wall? This was the only way to liven up things here, you guessed and decided to talk about it more with the women who you befriended.

They were happy you finally started asking questions. They talked about the legend of the engineer vanished into thin air: you had never heard so much nonsense, sitting quietly in the bus and waiting for it to bring you home. Somebody said the engineer made a pact with the devil himself and merged with the wall, becoming immortal within the stone; the others claimed the engineer went mad because of his loneliness and buried himself in the wall; one woman argued that the engineer, on the contrary, was a ladies man and got sealed up there by a relative of his former lover who committed suicide. There were far too many rumors for you to remember, and soon you abandoned the idea to use the-man-in-the-wall topic to "liven things up" in the factory.

The two weeks had passed since the time you first started working here. You hated this rusty place with all your heart, but this job kept you afloat. It was still better than nothing. Biting down on your dry lower lip, you exhaled tiredly and lifted a particularly heavy detail, trying to fit it in the right place.

The next moment it fell down the dirty floor as you heard an awful sound behind your back as if the heavy stones were moving. It was just for a second, a mere second, but it was enough to have you on edge as you stared at the wall with your eyes wide open. It was some kind of an auditory hallucination, right? There was nothing different in the wall behind you. It looked just like it always did, a nasty grey stone with a tint of orange from the rusty hooks. The wall couldn’t open up just like some Narnia’s wardrobe, could it? It was far too old for any sort of mechanisms like that. Besides, it wouldn’t be able to close so fast, leaving no traces. It was some hallucination from your lack of sleep.

Your coworkers didn’t think so when you told them about it. It was the man in the wall, of course. It always started like this - with an awful, frightening sound. Soon you would be hearing things and feeling the stare of that man all the time, they said. The room #4 was a terrible place, and you should leave it immediately, they said. One woman even offered you to stay at her place if you couldn’t provide for yourself until you found a better job. Of course, you declined her kind offer.

But you did start hearing all kinds of things while you were working. Stones moving, metal clinking, some weird rustling out of nowhere - it was all making you insane, especially since every time you turned around only to see nothing but the wall behind your back. Everything was as it should have been, but you felt something was happening when you didn’t look. 

You were finally going mad. Apparently, it was something in the air, right? Something the management told nothing about that caused hallucinations and all those scary things. Obviously, all those people who worked in the assembly shop #4 before you left because they knew that. That was the reason behind the stupid legend and all those rumors. Obviously, you - and all those people who ran away from here - lacked money to do all the necessary medical tests to prove anything.

Shit, you really needed to find a better job if you didn’t want to spend the rest of your days in an asylum. 

Now at night you were sending your CV and cover letters, but you couldn’t stop working, nonetheless, forced to constantly look behind your shoulder or turn around just to make sure you weren’t totally crazy. You tried ignoring the noise once, but when it grew louder instead of disappearing in one second just like before, you realized it was a big mistake. Every day was turning into a nightmare.

Grey stone, rusted hooks, dust bunnies on the floor. The same picture you saw over and over again when you were turning back. It was simply unbearable. At one point you even wished to see something different there, something that would prove you weren't going insane.

You had to be careful with your wishes. When you came to the shop #4 the next time, you saw a face of a man cut in grey stone.

You didn't know what happened after that, coming to your senses in the resting room with your coworkers giving your water and some pills, your body shaking so badly you barely managed to sit. Was that a hallucination? A face of a man in the wall? All people around you kept saying it wasn't, describing this face to you so vividly as if they saw it themselves.

You needed to get out of here. Even if it meant becoming homeless and begging for money on the street, it was still a better option than staying in one room with that thing.

It was the next day you prepared to give Andy your letter of resignation, turning back to face the wall nearly every minute. No, you weren't going to stay here and watch how your life was becoming a living Hell - damn, it already was, wasn't it? You no longer slept peacefully, barely eating, constantly trying to keep a bottle of cheap wine you kept in the kitchen out of your reach. No, no, no, you weren't stupid enough to work for a minimum salary in a place like this, risking your own life.

It happened when the lunch bell rang, making you cringe - the next moment something had exploded with such a defeaning boom you almost fell down to the floor. Shit, you knew this sound - an omen of a great catastrophe that certainly disfigured somebody, if not killed. Something went horribly wrong in the assembly shop #3.

The blood drained from your face. Oh God. Were Shirley, Agatha and Simon alright? No, they weren't. Judging by the horrible screams coming from the metal door, they weren’t.

You moved as if in slow motion, your legs suddenly giving up on you, the siren wailing so loud your head could burst, forcing you to forget all the emergency instructions you were given. You needed to open the door. You needed to get this people out of there, those who were screaming in pain, cursing, and pleading for help.

"You can't go." A soft voice somewhere behind you said, and you froze. "You will die out there."

Someone's hands wrapped around you like a rope, making it harder to breathe, not letting you take one more step to the rusted metal door and dragging somewhere back instead until you felt the cold grey wall with your back. It was him, wasn't it? It was the man who had been watching you for a month from inside the stone, waiting for his chance.

When the realization hit you, the fear became suffocating. You couldn't move, couldn't even speak or cry out something to make others know you're trapped here, with a man in the wall who was taking you with him. But nobody would hear you anyway: the unstopping cries of people from the assemble shop #3 were earsplitting, and the siren didn't get silent either, making your efforts futile.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured so gently as if he was your lover, making you want to puke, "I won't leave you here."

The wall behind your back moved with a sound you knew well. Although you expected to bump into cold stones and rusted hooks that would tear your skin apart, instead, you felt darkness embracing you, wrapping around you like a cocoon. The picture of the assemble shop #4 looked so far now, so little as if you were staring at the tiny photo in an old album. It felt surreal.

You were behind the stone wall - or inside of it, you couldn't tell - looking at the real world through the looking glass. They were right. All those people who were constantly telling you about the man living in the grey stone wall were right.

"I was waiting for you a long, long time," the voice behind you said, and you felt somebody - or something - lowering their monstrous head to your shoulder, making a quiet sigh, "but you finally came to share my solitude... Thank you."

________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @melodie-rin @iheartsebandchris

[pascalpanic]

Sweet Talk (Din Djarin x afab!Reader)

Summary: Din can’t hold back anymore, and decides to start flirting with you. Too bad he’s awful at it.

W/C: 3.5K

Warnings: lots of flirting, lots of innuendos, SMUT 18+, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it, kiddos), fingering, squirting, cream pie... language? yeah uh there’s a lot. Reader is afab but no pronouns or gendered pet names are used. lots of dirty talk.

A/N: AAAAAAAA this was a request for @notabotiswear!! I hope you guys all like it, this is my first Din smut and I was rlly nervous bc uh Din smut is obviously something big in this fandom and I wasn’t sure if I’d characterize it properly. but here we are!

You don’t know what Din looks like under his helmet, but you think he must be smirking. There’s no way the man wouldn’t be, not with the words he just said to you.

You’ve been travelling with Din and his little green son for a while now. You’d brought everything good to the beskar man’s life the moment you met. You made him eat more, drink more water. The presence of another human on the ship encouraged Din to bathe more and to keep the ship tidier. All in all, things had massively improved when you entered Din Djarin’s life.

One specific perk brought relief: you were extremely in touch with The Force. So was the tiny little green bean. From you, Din had finally learned his son’s name. He didn’t really like the way Grogu rolled off the tongue, however, so he generally stuck to calling him what he had before. Your ability to communicate with Grogu made things like bedtime and baths much easier, and everything went smoother.

Yes, you were a Force user. Ever since you were a child, you’d had a special sensitivity to that force that flowed all around you. Even though Din was not aware of The Force, nor was he able to use it or speak with it, the energy of The Force made the man practically glow. You understood why Grogu liked him so much. The man radiated it, warm energy that seemed unnatural for a bounty hunter. Once you got to know him, it all made sense. His aura was indescribable, really, but it was fitting. He was a good man at his core. He was kind and even funny sometimes.

Let’s return to the present: Din Djarin just pulled a cheesy pickup line on you, and it made you stare at him with an expression of sheer confusion, even though you could feel your cheeks warm from his words. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” You ask, placing your hands on your hips.

He looks up at you and cocks his head to the side. “I said that I may not be able to feel the Force, but I wish I could feel you.”

Your mouth hangs open, trying to press down a giggle that rises in your throat. “Din, what the fuck?” You finally laugh, grinning. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. No wonder you’re single,” you shake your head. “Where is this coming from?”

Din’s last reserve has broken. He’s been planning this for days, planning the way he’d finally tell you everything he thinks. “Just… I wasn’t listening to you at all. Was looking at your face. You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He asks you, the black T-visor staring you down.

You frown as you see your own reflection in the shining beskar. “I wish I could say the same about you,” you tease and tap your fingers on the metal helmet he wears. “What do you look like under there? Can you tell me?”

“Why, so you can make fun of it?” Din rolls his eyes.

“No, so I can finally put a face to the man I think about at night,” you tease, leaning in closer. It’s instinctual, like you’re leaning in so he can kiss you. He obviously can’t, not with that damn helmet on his head that you know isn’t coming off any time soon.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Oh come on,” you smirk at him. “Two can play at that game, Din. What do you look like?” You ask, tracing your fingers across the indents of his helmet and down to his neck. “Can I see your skin?” You ask in a low, quiet voice.

Din nods. You pull the neck of his clothing down to reveal a patch of gorgeous, caramelly skin. “Oh,” you mumble before you can stop yourself. “I bet you have brown eyes, don’t you? With brown hair too, since your skin is this dark. Am I right?”

His breath is heavy now. “Yeah,” he rasps out through the modulator. You press a soft kiss to his skin, feeling how warm and soft it is.

A shiver runs through his body, making the skin prick up beneath your lips. “Oh. So you meant it when you were flirting,” you giggle, sitting back upright and looking at him. “Well, you’re gonna have to win me over the hard way, Mando. Flirting is how people usually do it, I’ve heard,” you tease and pat his helmet as you stand and make your way out of the cockpit.

His aura has changed. It radiates further, sucks in more energy and pushes more out, all at a quicker speed. If it had a color, it would be a deep pink. “You want me too, don’t you, cyare?” Din asks, voice low and husky.

“You’ll have to figure that out yourself, Din,” you laugh and make your way over to your little green child to wake him from his nap.

“Grogu,” you sing softly, and the little thing stirs beneath his absurd amount of blankets. Those big eyes blink open and he makes a little grunt of effort. “I know, baby boy. So sleepy,” you coo and lift him from his cradle. He cuddles into your chest contentedly. “Good morning, snugglebug,” you mumble and press a kiss to his head.

Your back is to the ladder, but you can hear Din climbing down. His feet hit the floor. “I’ve been thinking about you for so long,” he tells you. His voice is even deeper, raspier than the modulator makes it sound. “That body… you don’t know what you’ve unleashed by saying tha-”

You turn, holding Grogu in your arms. Din’s demeanor shifts. “Oh. Uh, hi buddy. Can he understand me?” he asks. He knows sometimes the child can, but not always. Not when he uses different words.

You shake your head, reading the baby’s energy. He’s too sleepy to comprehend anything. “No, he can’t. But really, is that so?” You ask, popping a hip and resting a hand on it.

Din nods. “I’ve always loved the color of your eyes. Have I mentioned that?” You shake your head. “Really, they’re so beautiful.”

That makes you genuinely smile up at him. “Din,” you coo and place a hand on one of the indents of his helmet. “Is there a way you can remove the helmet and I can’t see it that’s legal with The Creed? Like, if my eyes were closed, could you do it?”

He nods. “Yes. As long as you don’t see my face.”

You smile a little. “Good to know,” you nod and walk away, the baby in your arms.

-

The day continues like that, the two of you trading compliments and pick up lines, shamelessly flirting around the Crest. You cook dinner and Din comments that it smells nearly as good as you. Din fixes something mechanical and you comment that those fingers would feel really good somewhere else.

There’s a palpable tension between the two of you for the rest of the night. You and Din dance around each other, sneaking touches of the other’s arm or hand or back. He compliments you and you flirt right back.

When Grogu finally yawns, it’s like the Maker themself sent it. Din hurriedly puts the baby to bed, and finds you in the cockpit after, sitting in his chair. The pilot’s chair. “Din,” you sing-song to grab his attention.

“What?”

You look at him with purpose for a second, then close your eyes. Sitting up a little. Referring to what you said earlier- Din can remove his helmet if you can’t see his face. He can kiss you. You can touch his face, feel him. “I promise they’ll stay closed,” you tell him.

You can hear him breathe through the modulator of his helmet for a moment, then there’s a soft sound of the helmet being removed. Finally, there’s a clank of the helmet being set on the floor. When it’s just your little family of three on the ship, Din omits the full beskar regalia. Nevertheless, you can hear the soft noise of his knees hitting the floor. In front of you. “Can I kiss you?” He asks.

His real voice is like a song. It’s nowhere near as low, though it’s still a bit deep, a bit raspy. It’s beautiful, so quintessentially Din, and you nod with a small smile. “That’s why they’re closed, stupid,” you tease.

One of Din’s calloused hands finds the side of your face. He pulls it down a little, for his kneeling height, and kisses you. Slowly. His lips are warm and soft, surprisingly soft, against your own. You break away from him for a second, your eyes still squeezed tightly shut as if you may accidentally open them. “Can I touch your head?” You ask.

In response, Din takes your hands and puts them on either side of his face. It allows you to feel the stubble beneath your fingertips, the warm skin. “You have a beard,” you giggle softly.

“All the better if my face is between your legs, right?” He chuckles. It’s just so fucking perfect and real, the way his laugh sounds without the helmet. As much as you’re enjoying the sound, the words that his voice formulates make you gasp a little and shudder. “You want that?” He asks you, lips finding your neck and kissing it slowly.

“Goddamn,” you mumble. “No, Din, I wanna fuck you tonight. Can we? Will you keep your helmet off if I promise not to look?” You ask, voice desperate. You clutch the back of his head, digging your fingers into the thick hair there- it’s wavy, you can tell. “Maker, I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”

Din makes a little noise of affirmation into your neck. “Yeah,” he nods. “Even better, just wait,” he says, pulling away and putting the helmet back on. “You can look again.”

You do, seeing just your reflection in his helmet. “Where do you want me, baby?” You murmur to him, a hand on the side of his helmet.

Baby. No one has ever called Din that before. He’s heard it a million times, in crowded cantinas, between lovers. Between two people who cared for each other. You two cared for each other, he supposes. Obviously, or you wouldn’t be in this situation. The thought of the word makes Din pause for a moment.

“Hello? Din, what’s in there?” you tease and rap on the helmet with a fist.

You can’t see it but he’s absolutely beaming beneath his helmet, overjoyed. “Where do you want me? In the bunk? In the chair?”

You lean in and smirk, your eyes reflected in the black visor. “Where have you dreamed of having me most?” You whisper, and you swear you can see the beskar-clad man shudder.

“My bunk. Get undressed and lie down for me,” he tells you, already climbing down from the cockpit and motioning with his head for you to follow. You nod excitedly and climb down after him.

Din is looking for something, though you’re unsure of exactly what. You remove your top and pants, and start to move to remove your breastband before two large hands find your bare sides.

Din has returned, and he turns you around. He looks down at you with a long and thin strip of dark fabric in his hand, and you shudder. “Is that what I think it is?” You ask, hands finding the sides of his breastplate.

As you start unlatching his armor, Din nods. “You can undress me, then I’ll put it on and remove my helmet,” he tells you.

You smile a little as you start removing his beskar, tossing it to the side onto a discarded cape. It still makes a soft clunk, but it’s not enough to wake Grogu, thank the Maker. Once the metal is gone, your hands run over his flight suit, allowing you to feel the strong muscles beneath them.

“Din,” you murmur, unzipping the front. It exposes his bare chest, his tan skin with dark hair across it. He’s muscular, of course; as a bounty hunter must be. His arms are just as strong as you push the sleeves off of his shoulders, then push the waist down.

He doesn’t wear underwear. Of course he doesn’t, it would be impractical you suppose, but it exposes Din’s surprisingly large dick. You bite your lip as you look down at it, at how hard and needy it already is. You give it a slow stroke and Din groans. “Alright mesh’la. Let’s get that off of you,” he says and lifts your arms, pulling off the breastband.

After that, he shoves your underwear down and you step out of them, kicking them to the side. “Fuck,” he grunts at how beautiful you look, naked before him. Din pushes you back until your ass meets the end of his bunk and he lifts you to sit on the edge.

He spreads your legs and stands between them, his cock pressing against your dripping folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet, and it’s for me?” He chuckles with hardly any air in his lungs.

“Of course I am. So fucking sexy,” you murmur as you let your face fall forward into his chest, kissing at the skin and working a mark into his pec. You pull away and sit back, giving him a little room. “Okay, put it on me. Please. I just wanna kiss you,” you admit, closing your eyes preemptively.

He nods and wraps the cloth around your eyes, using his deft fingers to knot it behind your head. It’s snug, but not too tight. “You do this often?” You tease, resting your hands on his wrists.

He shakes his head. “Never have. Always kept the helmet on. You’re just…” he pauses as he removes his helmet, “something special,” he sighs, finally kissing you again.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him tight against you, wrapping your legs around his waist as well. “Din… should’ve said something sooner. Would’ve done anything for you,” you sigh as his lips find your jaw and then your neck, slowly tracing his tongue across your collarbone.

He makes a little grunt. “Sorry,” he chuckles. “Let me make it up to you,” he mumbles as he cups your face and kisses you again, his tongue running along the seam of your lips. “Can I do this, baby? Will you let me fuck you?”

The word again. Baby. It slipped from Din’s lips this time, before he could stop himself. He really really likes you, so much so that he can hardly contain it. He’s never been one for names in bed, degrading or praising, but he’s never going to stop calling you his, his baby.

You whine softly and break the kiss. “Please, Din. Fuck me, wreck me,” you nod before reaching out to where you find his face.

While you trace the stubble of his jaw, one of Din’s thick fingers slips into your folds. He shudders at how wet you are, tracing a finger up and down through the wet skin. “Mm, fuck,” he groans softly as the pad of his middle finger masterfully finds your clit. He rubs small circles into it, causing your head to fall forward into his shoulder.

“Please, please,” you whine, your walls clenching around nothing. “Fuck me already, baby,” you plead with Din, gripping his hips now.

“Relax, cyare,” he murmurs and kisses your neck. With the helmet on, he rarely gets to experience anything pleasurable with his mouth. Your skin is so soft and warm beneath his lips, his tongue, and he just has to bite at it. Din nibbles at your earlobe, feeling himself grow harder. “Let me take my time with you.”

“I’ve waited so long for you, Din. Please don’t make me wait,” you beg, slowly stroking his cock. A bead of precum forms on the tip and you swirl it around the head with the pad of your thumb.

Din can’t hold back anymore. He pushes your hand away and lines himself up to you with the free hand, two fingers circling your clit now. “You ready for me?” He groans.

“Yes, just fuck me,” you whimper and grab both sides of his head, pulling him to kiss you. It’s deep and hot and it grows sloppy as Din pushes into you, splitting you open on his deliciously thick cock. “Fuck,” you cry out at the sensation.

“You think you feel good?” He shivers and barely breathes out. “Feel so fuckin’ good around me, so hot and wet,” he shudders.

Din’s still standing, and he has more leverage as he thrusts all the way in, then pulls nearly all the way out. “Lay back,” he orders you, and you comply.

His second thrust is even deeper than the first as he pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, allowing him to already hit the deep spot inside of you. You whine and he smirks. “There we go. Good job, baby, keep making those noises for me,” he insists as he starts thrusting in and out of you.

He’s fucking good at this. It’s no surprise really, the way he knows your body masterfully. It’s almost as if you’re using The Force to guide him, but he’s just that fucking skilled. His tip drags against that sweet spot against you with every thrust, and Din pulls your hips to his with one hard thrust.

It’s so hot, the sound of Din’s skin slapping into yours, the way the skin of his thigh drags against yours. “Fuck,” you cry out as he presses his fingers a little harder against your clit, making the circles he draws slower and more deliberate.

“Knew you’d sound so good,” he grunts. “Knew you’d love it when I’m fucking you. When I get to take you like this. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you nod frantically. “I wish I could see you.”

“I know, cyare,” Din assures, even though his voice is breathless and strained. “Come on, baby, you feel so close, don’t you? I can feel it, the way your walls are getting tighter around me. You gonna be good and cum on me? I think you can.”

His words are just as arousing as his actions. “I will, please, I can feel it, just keep going and don’t stop,” you whimper. You take one of his hands, lacing his fingers through yours.

Din smiles at the gesture. It’s soft, intimate. He likes it as much as he loves the way you call him baby. “That’s my good baby,” he nods and pulls your hips a little off of the bunk, so that anything that spills from you will collect on the metal floor instead of the mattress.

It grows and grows in the pit of your stomach, and you can feel it. It’s coming and it’s coming hard. “Din, Din please,” you whine, one leg wrapping tight around his hip. “Fuck, I’m gonna,” your voice barely manages out before it washes over you, the feeling flowing through your body like a high in your veins. “Din,” you cry out as you cum, toes curling from the intensity. It spills from you, all over Din’s cock, dripping onto the floor.

“Oh, good job, cyare, fuckin’ Maker, you feel so good,” he groans. “I’m not gonna last much longer. Can I cum in you?” He asks, still checking up on you.

You nod. “Please, please baby,” you groan and squeeze the hand you’re holding tight. “Need to feel it.”

He nods too, though you can’t see it. “Okay, okay, I-“ a strangled cry comes from deep within his throat as he finally lets go, his cum pushing deep inside of you. “Fuck,” he murmurs, interjected by shouts of your name.

The both of you come down later, panting and covered in sweat. Din pulls out and a little bit of his cum drips from you, joining your own release on the floor. It’s so fucking hot that Din nearly cums again. “Stay right there,” he tells you, gently stroking your hip. “Don’t take the blindfold off.”

He comes back a few moments later with a damp rag, cleaning you up before cleaning up the mess the two of you made on the floor. He puts it with the laundry then climbs into the bed next to you, cuddling into your side. “Fuck, Din,” you giggle and press a kiss to whatever skin is in front of your face- his jaw. “You’re good at that.”

“Just felt so good,” he chuckles too. “You’re fantastic. I like it when you call me baby,” he admits.

You grin. “Then I’ll have to call you it all the time, baby,” you chuckle and kiss his lips softly. “Din?”

“Yes, ner k’arta?”

“Can we sleep like this?” You ask. “I promise I won’t look at your face or sneak anything, I mean it.”

Din chuckles quietly. “Of course we can. I trust you.”

You give a happy little noise and cuddle into his warm body, his strong arms surrounding you. “I like this. You’re so cuddly,” you admit with a small laugh.

“We can do this anytime you like,” he laughs too, kissing your forehead. “Whenever, wherever. If it’s with you, I’ll do anything.”

-

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867