#he'd just force em to sleep

[kristinhateslife]

lmao yall rlly think nightmare and his gang rly had a house b4 the truce in TCC don't yall

[graphicpepsi]

thunder (nsfw, mdni)

OR: soft morning sex w simon the morning of his deployment :(

You woke up to a hand stroking your back, lovingly, and somehow you could tell he'd been awake for hours already. You hated that you'd woken up. If only you could stay with him, in warm sheets and sunkissed pillowcases forever. If only he wasn't mere hours away from fighting for his life.

"Mornin, love." His voice is gruff from sleep. You look up from his chest to meet his eyes. He looked at you like he mourned you, like he dreadfully pitied your sadness.

It scared him how much you loved him, because it gave him something to live for.

"Don't go, Si."

He sighs, heavy, his chest moving your body as it heaved. You have this conversation every time- every fucking time, and your heart hurts knowing it can only end with one word.

"Can't."

"I know."

He rubs his hand against your back, like he's trying to soothe a child. Your breath is getting caught in your chest, and your head is thick in water, your eyes sting like they've been rolled in salt but you're not going to cry- you're not going to cry. You can't do that to him.

You trace the scratches you left on his chest lastnight with your nails. Simon takes your hand in his, almost examining it.

"Your polish is chipping, love. Get 'em redone while I'm gone, yeah? On me. So you can scratch me up good when I'm back."

You force a small smile. He always insists on paying for everything while he's on deployment. Says it reminds him why he's fighting.

"I'd like that."

You peer over to the alarm clock. 7:30am. He had to leave at 9.

Simon sees the look on your face.

"Baby-"

But it's too late, a tear has already fallen down your face. And then another, and another.

"C'mere."

He sits you up, holding you tight in his arms, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

"It's okay, baby, I'll be back soon, okay?"

You sniffle, pulling away to look at his face. You're going to miss that face. Scarred and worn, soft and loving.

You kiss him, softly at first, like you're timid. But then you're kissing him, desperate and hot, salty tears on your lips. He pushes you down underneath him, gently, his hand cushioning your head. His hands glide up your bare thighs and waist, underneath his shirt.

He doesn't have much on himself- just his boxers.

He slides his hand onto your cunt, his fingers rubbing between your folds. You tug at his hair in your hands, telling him you want more.

"Sh, it's alright, love."

He's barely touched you and you're already shaking. You both know this is the last time you'll feel each other for months.

Even Simon, large and strong, trembles as he slips his finger into you. He's almost wincing at your little moans, your breathy little whines, because it fucking hurts missing you before he's even gone yet.

He curls his fingers inside of you, softly, because he's not fucking you. He fucked you last night, the night before that, the night before that. He left you hazy and vibrating, fucked out, cum splattered everywhere, marks on every inch of your innocent skin.

But this, this was something different.

You dig your nails into his back, harder than usual because you want them to last.

"God, Si, please,"

It's like you're begging him to stay.

You whine when he takes his fingers out, your cunt pulsing around nothing.

"I know love, I know."

He feeds his dick into you, slowly, and you're grabbing at the sheets, his shoulders, his back- everything. He fills you so fucking good.

"God, damn." He grunts as he thrusts into you, his head leaning back. Your back arches into him, rays of warm sunlight covering your body in little orange lines as it filters in through the blinds.

"Si, Si, fuck-"

God he knows how to fuck. Knows how to make you cum faster than you do.

His dick brushes your spongy cervix with every time he slams into you. Fucking heaven. Your tight walls on his cock, like velvet around him.

"This pussys all mine baby, all mine," He grunts, bracing himself above you. His breath is hot on your neck.

"All yours, Si, fuck,"

He slams into you harder, his nose brushing against yours.

"'M gonna cum, Simon,"

You whine, scratching his scalp with your nails, fisting locks of hair.

"Cum on my cock, sweetie, please."

You cum on him with a shudder, eyes screwing shut and your head lolling back. He cums at the way you shake on his dick, the way your little body convulses in pleasure like it doesn't know what to do with itself.

God, you're tired.

He fucks you through your orgasm before gently pulling out, holding your hips with his large hands.

Your eyes are still shut, your cunt aching.

You feel him tuck a blanket over you, another pillow sliding under to support your neck.

"Just go to sleep, baby, shh." He strokes your cheek with his thumb. You half-open your eyes to look at him, sadly.

He's crouched next to the bed, looking at you adoringly.

"I'll be gone when you wake up," His voice is breaking, "But only for a little, okay?"

You grab his hand,

"Please come back."

He runs a finger over your knuckles before kissing them.

"I will, love." His accent is thick next to you.

Neither one of you want to move. But he has a half hour to shower and go.

"I love you, Simon Riley." You whisper, shutting your eyes and sighing with the knowledge this is the last time he'll hear those words next to him for awhile.

"I love you too, baby. Just go to sleep."

He presses a kiss to your forehead before you hear him walk away.

Fuck.

A/N: 🥺🥺🥺 first time writing for our boy Simon bc i also want him primally even tho König is my main piece of ass. Hope y'all enjoyed

[bumblesimagines]

The Beasts of The North

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When Jace travels to the North to meet with the Lord of Winterfell, he expects to meet the well-known Wolf the North. What he didn't expect was a bear residing in Winterfell as well.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, unknown age gap since (Y/N) is early to mid twenties and Cregan is mid twenties, technically not HOTD Cregan personality or appearance wise rip (inspired by Cordeliacordate on Ao3's interpretation of Cregan),

So sorry to Tom Taylor but he is not what I envision when I think of Cregan 😭 I always saw Cregan looking more like Roman Reigns or Alexander Dreymon as Uhtred

~~~

By the time the sun began to rise, Winterfell had already come alive with the hustle and bustle of servants, residents, and villagers coming and going as they began their routines. The mixture of chatter, laughter, occasional yipping of a dog, and the sound of birds singing and squawking floated through the cracked open window, reaching the ears of the two men lying beneath bundles of furs and blankets to keep them warm from the cold. 

"Cregan," (Y/N) sighed, sleep oozing out of him ever so slowly. The bed just felt oh so comfortable and heavenly, enticing him to sleep for a few more hours. There was much to be done, though, and he couldn't allow himself nor Cregan to forget lest they risked an earful from Sara. "The princeling will likely arrive today." 

"Aye," Came the gruff, sleepy response from the lord, his strong arms still coiled tightly around (Y/N) and showing no signs of releasing him so they could both begin their day. Instead of climbing out of bed and preparing himself for the day ahead, Cregan pulled (Y/N) closer to his chest and nuzzled his face against the back of his neck, the fuzz of his beard scratching and tickling him.

(Y/N) pushed his cheek into the soft silk of the pillow beneath his head, savoring the feeling for a moment before he forced himself to sit up and detach from Cregan. One of the furs slipped downward from his chest, exposing his skin to the coldness of the room, though (Y/N) had grown acclimated to the harsh temperature of the North. Cregan made a low rumbling noise of discontentment, his hands blindly searching for his lover but (Y/N) slipped out of bed before Cregan could wrangle him back into his embrace. 

"We wouldn't wish to leave a bad impression on the princeling, would we, Cregan?" (Y/N) spoke teasingly, echoing back the words Sara had told them when they received word of Prince Jacaerys intent to fly out to Winterfell on his dragon. Neither of them were fools, however, and they'd rapidly pieced together the reason why when they received word of the boy prince's uncle, Aegon Targaryen, being crowned in King's Landing over Rhaenyra Targaryen. War was brewing, and both sides needed an army before it could spill over. 

"Mm," Cregan responded, grunting softly as he pushed himself up against the headboard, the wood creaking beneath the weight of his sturdy back. His black hair had loosened free from the bun he'd wrapped it in before bed, resting and brushing over his shoulders in a mess of bedhair he'd have to brush before they broke their fast. His gray eyes watched him, lingering on (Y/N)'s nether regions with a curl of his lips until they were covered up by pants. "Starks never forget their oaths. We hardly need to be reminded of 'em."

"I detest the idea of a royal guest as much as you do, Cregan, especially one raised to believe in the Seven." (Y/N) reminded him, the warmth of the stone floor digging into the bottom of his feet as he crossed the room to close the window, finding himself thankful for whichever Stark had the idea of building the Great Keep over natural hot springs. Through the window frost, he could see those walking around below, preparing for the feast that'd be held in honor of their guest. "But supporting the boy and his mother would be better than supporting the Hightower lot." 

"The boy," Cregan echoed and chuckled breathily, his fingers scratching at his chin before he tugged the furs and blankets off himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He rose with a heavy, still exhausted sigh and approached him, an arm wrapping around his shoulder and lips pressing against his temple. "You're hardly much older than him, I hear. Besides, you were once new to Winterfell. Perhaps you can help him get accustomed to how things are around here." 

"What if he's a spoiled brat and I cannot stand to be around him?" (Y/N) groaned softly at the thought and rolled his head back to rest it on Cregan's shoulder. Cregan smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek next, his palm lightly squeezing his shoulder before his thumb rubbed into the exposed skin soothingly. (Y/N)'s eyes flickered away from the roof to study the side of his lover's face. "Or what if I like him enough to entice him into bed, hm? What will you do then?"

Cregan laughed heartily and spun him around to press their chests together, his hands dropping to grasp at (Y/N)'s hips and hold him still. He dipped his head and kissed him properly on the lips, swallowing the mischievous giggle that left (Y/N). He grew back with crinkled eyes and pressed his forehead against (Y/N)'s. "I doubt some little princeling will catch your eye, my darling. He'd likely be the one trying to entice you, even with that attitude of yours." 

"That attitude had you tripping over your own feet to sweep me off mine." (Y/N) lightly jabbed his finger into Cregan's chest, feeling the lord's body shake with another laugh. Cregan didn't bother to deny his words and instead pecked the bridge of his nose, rubbing his hands into (Y/N) hips before pulling away to finally get dressed. 

Following suit, (Y/N) collected the rest of his clothes off the floor and slipped out of Cregan's bedchambers into his own across the hall, discarding the old clothes on the bed and greeting the maids that fluttered in to help him get dressed. The wool fabric pressed and dragged against his skin, the layers of clothing warming his chilly skin in a matter of minutes. By the time he finished, Cregan had dressed too, and together they headed down the hall and down a set of stairs. 

"Good morrow, you two." Sara greeted them from her spot by the table and casted them a glance over her shoulder, little Rickon fastened to her hip with two fingers in his mouth. His big brown eyes turned toward them and brightened, a wide smile breaking out on his chubby face at the mere sight of his father. He looked so much like his mother, Lady Arra Norrey, in certain lights, especially in his gleeful moments.

"Hello, my little pup." Cregan greeted softly when he scooped his young son into his arms, nuzzling his nose into the boy's belly just to hear him crack up with laughter. He freely slumped against Cregan's chest and (Y/N) pressed a fleeting kiss to his small temple, a smile tugging at his lips when Rickon giggled in response. 

"Prince Jacaerys should be arriving soon." Sara reminded them like a mother would her children, turning away once she finished her conversation with two servants to face them. Despite her status as a bastard, Sara took care of things around Winterfell just as much as Cregan and (Y/N) did, perhaps more than them. Her pale blue eyes, nearly the same shade of gray as Cregan's, flickered between the two lovers. "His room will be beside (Y/N)'s. I do hope you'll behave yourselves." 

Their smirks only made her roll her eyes and heave a sigh, her hands smoothing out the bottom of her dress as she sat beside them at the table. (Y/N) dug into his breakfast with eagerness, the subtle ache in his stomach disappearing with each gulp of food and juice until his plate was clean. He dapped at his lips with his handkerchief before brushing the crumbs from Rickon's chin, his eyes softening and a gentle smile spreading across his face. Cregan swooped in to kiss the top of his head, an act those around them hardly batted an eye at. 

"My Lord, My Lady, Ser" Maester Orwen called out when he entered the room, dipping his head in respect and greeting. He shuffled closer to them, his hand brushing over Rickon's head affectionately. "There have been reports of a dragon not far from here, My Lord. It appears our guest will soon be arriving." 

"Thank you, Maester Orwen." Cregan sighed and stood from the table, handing Rickon off to his sister with a kiss to the boy's temple before he motioned with a nod for (Y/N) to come along to greet their new royal guest. (Y/N) grimly realized he never bothered asking for how long the prince would be staying with them and gave a heavy sigh.

Maester Orwen followed the two men out into the chilly morning air, the snow crunching beneath their boots and their heads angled toward the gates. (Y/N) knew very little of Prince Jacaerys apart from the rumors circulating his parentage and the fact he was to be his mother's heir as the eldest son, despite the possibility of being a bastard.

An unfamiliar shriek echoed through the air above them and he tilted his head upward to watch the shadow of a dragon pass overhead in awe. It dipped downward toward the ground beyond the walls around Winterfell, the alarmed shouts of villagers quieting with reassuring calls from the guards around. 

The gates soon parted, a lonesome figure stepping through and making his way toward them. (Y/N) had an image in his head of what the Prince would look like; silver-haired, purple eyes, boyish features, and a snobby attitude known to royals and most nobles. That image promptly shattered when Prince Jacaerys stopped before them. His hair, (Y/N) noted, was a chestnut brown color as were his eyes, two notable Targaryen and Velaryon traits he lacked. He was lanky and still appeared boyish due to his age but his features were hardened and eyes determined. No amount of determination, however, would cover up the trembling of his body. His clothes lacked a layer or two to keep him fully warm from the cold.

"Prince Jacaerys Velaryon," Maester Orwen greeted and bowed, offering him a friendly and welcoming smile despite the glances and disinterest of those around him. A small smile appeared on Prince Jacaerys face, giving a slight dip of his head in greeting before looking back at Cregan and then at (Y/N). He paled a little at the sight of them, despite his reddened face from the cold insistently nipping at it. "May I introduce the Wolf of the North, Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, and our trusted master-at-arms, Ser (Y/N) Mormont of Bear Island. I am Maester Orwen, here for whatever you may require."

"Welcome to Winterfell, Prince Jacaerys," Cregan spoke, voice devoid of most emotions and face largely stoic. (Y/N)'s lips curled at the way Prince Jacaerys adams apple bobbed nervously. His lover was an imposing man, he knew that well. Naturally tall and burly with a piercing stare that sent shivers down even the most hardened of knights. What had most men cowering only made (Y/N) swoon. 

"T-Thank you, Lord Cregan." Prince Jacaerys cleared his throat. "It is a pleasure to meet the both of you. I am here, as you must know, on my mother's behalf-"

"Speaking of politics already?" (Y/N)'s head lolled to the side and Prince Jacaerys eyes flickered back to him, his cracked lips parting and closing. Cregan's features morphed, his lips tugging into a grin and eyes crinkling with amusement as he turned to eye (Y/N). "Straight to the point type of lad, aren't you?"

"What Ser (Y/N) means to ask-" Maester Orwen sent him a swift scolding glare. "-is if you require anything, My Prince. We could have a meal or hot bath readied for you, if you'd like to rest after a long... flight." 

Prince Jacaerys lips pressed together, uncertainty written on his face but he looked away when (Y/N) arched a brow at him. "A hot bath sounds lovely, thank you. I, uhm-" He swiped his tongue over his lips and shuffled his feet, his composure rapidly disappearing the moment Maester Orwen stepped away to instruct some servants. "As I was saying, I am here as my mother's envoy to garner support for her cause and claim. Many years ago-" 

"My father, Lord Rickon Stark bent the knee and accepted Rhaenyra Targaryen as the heir to the Iron Throne." Cregan finished for him and spared a glance over his shoulder before he turned to (Y/N), his eyes shimmering with amusement. His hand came to rest along (Y/N)'s midback and (Y/N)'s eyes narrowed. "My love," (Y/N) swore he heard the prince choke quietly on his spit. "Since Prince Jacaerys will be residing in the room next to yours, you should show him the way." 

"There are servants for that, Cregan." (Y/N) squinted at him, the mischief on his face clear as day. "I have squires and wards to train, not to mention-"

"All that can wait for the Prince, can it not?" Bastard.

A brief cheeky grin graced Cregan's handsome features and he leaned in to kiss the area between (Y/N)'s eyebrows, giving his back a pat and nodding to the startled prince before he turned and marched further across the yard to tend to his own duties. (Y/N) watched him go with pursed lips, making a note to himself to get back at him for it later.

"I-"

"Come." (Y/N) ordered sharply, momentarily forgetting the young man before him was royalty and not another clumsy boy he had to shape up. Prince Jacaerys hardly seemed to notice, nearly slipping on the icy stone as his legs quickly moved to follow him into the castle.

(Y/N) led him through the hallways until they returned to the Great Hall, coming to a stop beside Sara and Rickon once more. "Your brother's the worst." He muttered quietly in her ear, earning a soft snort before he turned to the prince. "Prince Jacaerys, this is Sara Snow, Cregan's Stark half-sister. This little lad is Rickon Stark, Cregan's son." 

"Ah," Prince Jacaerys dipped his head in greeting and Sara curtsied as best she could with her nephew in her arms. A wide smile spread across his lips as he took in Rickon, lifting his finger toward the boy and chuckling softly when Rickon wrapped his little fingers around it. "Pleasure to meet you both," Rickon answered in an incoherent babble. 

"I suppose I should show you around since Cregan is..." (Y/N) almost sighed. "Busy."

With Prince Jacaerys proving to be rather obedient and quiet, (Y/N) had little trouble leading him around the castle and showing him the different rooms, halls, and towers connected to it. The prince only piped up to ask questions, mostly regarding the history of Winterfell or about a member of the Stark family until they reached the hall leading to the bedchambers and pushed the door open to Prince Jacaerys temporary room. 

"The bath has already been drawn, Prince, and the belongings you sent ahead have been put away. If you require something and cannot locate anyone else, my bedchambers are to your left and Cregan's bedchambers are across." (Y/N) told him, eyeing the tempting steaming bath before turning to look at the prince. He studied his surroundings curiously. "Is there anything you need as of right now? I have fools to train."

"Are-" Prince Jacaerys cleared his throat once more. "Forgive me if I am overstepping but... are you and Lord Cregan..." He trailed off, the light red color returning to his skin and eyes jumping away from him.

"The Old Gods care not if you lie with someone of the same sex or love them, Prince. I'm sure as a child of the Seven you've been taught differently, but we followers of the Old Gods do not hold the same values." (Y/N) explained simply, watching the prince slowly nod. "Cregan and I are lovers, and if that bothers you, I suggest you deal with it for the duration of your stay." 

"It- It doesn't bother me," Prince Jacaerys assured quickly.

"Good." (Y/N)'s lips dragged into a small smirk. "Welcome to Winterfell, then." 

[justwinginglife]

Friends With Benefits ft Soshiro Hoshina

Soshiro just fucked your brains out and had the gall to ask you to bake him cookies afterwards.

You pant against the pillowcase, hands still gripping the sheets tight. "Excuse me??"

He smirks. "You heard me. Cookies. I want 'em."

You roll your eyes, wiping sweat off your brow and turning to look at him. "You're ridiculous, you know that Shiro?"

He grins. "What are friends for?"

You roll your eyes again at that word. Friends. What a strange word to use for whatever this was. You and Soshiro had been close ever since you joined the defense force together, always pushing each other to train harder and bantering with each other to no end. Then one night after everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself alone with your hand and he'd walked in on you to your shock and embarrassment. But he just smirked and offered to help and ever since then you've had this little arrangement for whenever one of you needed to blow off steam. It was convenient at first, but then you'd be minding your own business brushing your teeth or eating dinner- something unassuming- and you'd find yourself thinking about the way his neck looked when he swallowed or the way his back looked after you'd dug your nails into it. Then it wasn't even about the sexy things anymore, it was the way he absentmindedly started playing with your hair when he was bored or the way he chewed when he was eating your cookies. Right. He wanted you to make him cookies. You shake your head to snap yourself out of it.

You pull yourself out of his bed, groaning at the effort, and then throw on one of his oversized t-shirts. "If I burn myself, I expect you to kiss it better." You tell him, starting to preheat the oven.

He laughs. "If you burn yourself, I'll be shocked. You've made me so many batches of cookies before, you should be able to do it in your sleep."

You start pulling ingredients out of the fridge and say to him, "I bet one of these days you'll actually ask me to do it in my sleep too. You're shameless, you know that?"

He grins cheekily. "You just can't say no to me, I've got to take advantage of it where I can."

You roll your eyes again but start mixing up the cookie batter because, as he said, you just can't say no to him. He'd been your closest friend for so long, and to your surprise, he'd started to become something else to you too. But you couldn't let him find out about that. He'd never let you hear the end of it.

You place the bits of balled up dough onto a baking sheet and pop it into the oven, setting the timer.

"You're cooking dinner since I just did dessert. You know that's the deal." You poke him in the arm. He feigns being offended but he gets started cooking. You watch as he pulls on that familiar apron he always wears when he cooks you dinner. After you accidentally discovered he was a great cook by stealing a bite of his bento box at lunch one day, you'd forced him to cook for you frequently after that and he claimed that he wanted your baking as compensation.

It was hard to imagine life without him at this point. You sigh, earning a concerned look from him. He set his knife down on the cutting board. "What is it? C'mon, you don't make that face for nothing." He tucks a finger gently under your chin and props it up so you're meeting his gaze.

"I'm just hungry and you're slow." You lie.

He laughs slightly but he shakes his head at you in a knowing way. "You may be hungry, but I know that's not what you're really thinking about. I'm here when you wanna talk, okay?" He continues to cook, letting you have some space to think. He's too damn considerate for his own good. If he keeps this up, you could really be in love with him.

You fidget with your fingers. The kitchen starts to fill with wonderful smells and you inhale, letting the scent of his familiar cooking warm you. You close your eyes and try to relax as you listen to him hum to himself while he starts to fry things on the stove. You sense that he is looking over at you every couple minutes just to make sure you're doing okay and it drives you crazy. So damn considerate, you think to yourself again, frustrated.

Finally you sigh, exasperated and you open your eyes, about to say something when he presents you with a plate of food. Your eyes gleam and you happily accept. He watches you carefully as you eat and you try not to think too much about how his beautiful eyes are focused so intently on you.

"So-" He starts, but the oven timer beeps. You shoot up out of your chair and go to take the cookies out of the oven, thankful for the distraction. He looks like he wants to say something but the smell of cookies distracts him, and he starts crowding around you to get a view of the sweets.

"Hot. Okay?" You warn him, knowing that if you weren't there, he would've burned himself shoveling these things into his mouth.

He nods quickly, but you can tell he's impatient for the cookies. You laugh and poke the tip of his nose. He grins. "What was that for?"

"You're just like a little puppy. Wagging your tail, waiting for treats." You tease and he rolls his eyes at you, playfully yanking you towards him and ruffling your hair.

He realizes he has time to ask his question since he has to wait for the cookies to cool down, so he loosens his grip on you, it's just enough so he can face you properly but not enough that he can't feel your warmth on his skin. "So what's going on?" He asks finally.

You sigh. "Can't we just wait for the cookies in peace?"

He shakes his head no. He's let you have your time to think but now he wants to help.

You sigh again. Might as well get it over with. "What are we?" You ask, cautiously.

He blinks. "What do you mean?"

You rest your forehead in your palm, wondering how you're going to explain this to him.

"Like what am I to you?" You say again, unprepared for the sweat that's started to trickle down the back of your neck and the heat that's started to rise in your cheeks. The words that you've spilled into the air seem to want to crawl back down your throat and hide for dear life in your stomach.

He blinks again. "You're my best friend?"

Great. So now he's just bestfriend-zoned you. And since when were you best friends anyway?? This relationship of yours is escalating both too quickly and not quickly enough. You groan. You're in love with the sweetest, sexiest, smartest man alive and yet somehow he's an idiot when it comes to stuff like this. You're going to have to put it bluntly. Very bluntly.

"Soshiro. We fuck. I bake you cookies. We fuck. You text me all the time saying you miss me. We fuck. We share secrets and jokes with each other. We fuck, again. What in the hell are we? Lovers, idiots? Serious, unserious? Give it to me straight." Your words tumble out like they're falling down stairs, once they gain momentum you can't stop until you've hit the bottom. You don't realize just how desperately you need his answer until the chaotic mess that is your feelings crashes through your lips and lands at his feet.

Please answer me. Don't answer, don't tell me what you think. Ignore what I just said. Tell me what you're thinking. Don't tell me. I need to know. I don't want to know.

Your thoughts bound back and forth in your head like a tennis ball constantly changing sides on the court.

The silence in the air is so loud that it almost splits your skull. Your ears feel like they're bleeding from the lack of a response. You're spiraling. This is it. This is how we end.

He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him again. Your heart stops. You see his eyes. They're warm and light and they make you feel like everything is going to be okay. He finally smiles at you. Yeah. Everything's okay now.

You exhale softly, not even realizing you'd been holding your breath.

He cups your face in his hands and rubs your cheeks softly with his thumbs.

"Well how about we start with what you want to be? Can we start there?" He asks gently, as though you've got all the time in the world to answer.

You nod slowly. "I-I want to be more."

He smiles. "Okay. I can do that. How much more?"

You flush red.

"I see I'm going to have to take the lead on this one." He chuckles. "Okay, will you settle for being my girlfriend for now? Let's see where this thing goes, and see if we want to do more than just date, yeah?"

You nod again.

He kisses your cheek and it's not the rough, hungry, demanding kiss that you're used to. It's sweet and soft and you think you could do with a few more of these kisses. You tap your other cheek and he laughs but he leans in to kiss the other one too.

"Now, can I please have my cookies?" He teases.

You roll your eyes. "Most insufferable boyfriend ever." You shove a cookie in his mouth.

"But a happy boyfriend, nonetheless." He winks at you.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

[d6volution]

Melatonin

Jax/Reader Fic. [Fem aligned reader.]

Heavy explicit content. | 1k words.

[Also found on my Ao3]

minors dni.

Jax sighs, his iconic smile briefly dropping as he stared at your tense figure, "C'mon toots, relax. You'll never get any sleep like this y'know." A gloved finger lifted your chin to face him, "Trust meee. You'll be finee." He cooed in a somewhat teasing voice, before dropping his hand and pushing your shoulders gently, allowing gravity to take over and your body to hit the plush bed beneath you. He crawled atop your smaller form, and sometimes you forget just how tall he is. You swear you see a devious glint in this eye for a moment.. You hesitated.

"I-It's not that, Jax we barely know each other and-" Words fumbled from your lips, until he shushed you, his finger touching your lips. "Ah- ah," He tuts. "Just.. see this as an exchange between two friends, yeah? A little.. help gettin' ya to sleep. That's all." He spoke while his opposing hand shoved the strap of his overalls down from his body, and they fell seamlessly. "Alright?" His words were so smooth and voice like honey, you nodded and briefly looked up at the ceiling, trying to calm your mind until- *Plop*, something heavy fell onto your stomach and you felt heat creeping up to your cheeks, a small squeak escaping your lips. You swallowed hard, "Ya gonna stare at the ceiling all night?"

His voice broke you out of your previous stupor , his hips moved grinding his already semi-hard shaft against your stomach. His smile returned, wide and mocking as he watched you glance down at his dick. "Impressed? Maybe the devs are a bunch of perverts who knows-" His hand grabbed your left breast and began kneading, his body hunching over yours. Mouth closing in on your ear, "Ah , well- let's put on a show for 'em."

your stomach was doing flips.

Before you could speak Jax flipped you over, "Oof! Jax, wa--" You protested, but only for a moment as one of his hands shoved your head into the pillow, the other looping beneath your waist and dragging you upwards, forcing your body to arch against him, "Thaaats more like it. All this talkin' is making me impatient, just let me do my thing and I promise you''ll be in dream land in no time." You could feel his eyes boring into your back, his eyes narrowing as he pushed aside the silly garb covering your wet snatch, "Heh. And here I was thinkin' you were being shy or something, good thing your bodys bein' more honestly with me dollface."

Hell. His words were only making this worse, embarrassment seeped into your core, "J-Just quit talking and do it alrea- Nngh!!" His thick shaft forced its way past your gummy walls until he was buried to the hilt, his hands gripping your hips as he sighed in relief, holding you in place as he bottomed out. "Hha... mmn, were you sayin something toots? Nnh, yeah.. keep clenching on me just like that," You whined and nuzzled the pillow, you could feel your insides spasming around him. You were sure this place made you feel far more sensitive than you felt did in the outside world. "J..Jax I feel.. nnh.."

"Uh, huh I know, I know-- you'll get use to it. In fact I think you'll love it," His hips began to move, he pulled out until just his tip was teasing at your entrance. Then he slammed back in with even more force than before, you cried out his name and his hand forced your head back into the pillow. "Aah. not too loud, you don't want your new friends to hear you gettin f&%cked into the mattress on your first night do ya?" He picked up a rhythm now, hips slapping agianst yours, every so often he'd grip the plush of your hips and pull you closer. "N-No.. I.." Your words were muffled, "Can't hear ya sweetness," His fingers lost themselves in your hair and yanked your head back, "Repeat that for me will ya?" He asked, hips still rocking you both, "I-I don't want them to hea- Aaah!!" He purposely thrusted sharply against your sweet-spot, causing you to see stars.

"Mmnh, right there huh?" He chuckled against your ear and released your hair, causing you to fall back against the pillow. "Guess, I'll focus there," He muttered and picked up the pace, focusing on the spot that caused you to moan so sweetly before. The tip of dick battering into your g-spot as you squirmed and whined beneath him. Biting the pillow to hide your embarrassing moans, "J-Just like that, keep takin' it.." He huffed and panted above you, a gloved hand swatting your ass for the heck of it. "Eep!" He noticed how you clenched down on him whenever he slapped your ass. He couldn't help but laugh, "Cl-Close.. Jax.. I'm..!" He smirked, "Already? Fine." He almost sounded just as annoyed as he sounded amused.. Except, he pulled out. "Wha.." You lifted your head from the pillows, in a daze. "Why'd you.."

"Relax, would ya?" He rolled his eyes and flipped back onto your back, grabbing your legs and folding you like pretzel as he slammed back into your needy core. Hitting your cunt even deeper this time, fucking your smaller shape into the mattress, he grunted into your ear and you moaned into his in tandem, "Please.. please..!" You didn't know what you were begging for , but Jax still answered your cries, a hand reaching down to rub quick circles onto your clit. "C'monn.. that's right, let go.." He almost growled into your ear as hips were moving like a blur now. You couldn't take it and cried out his name in pleasure, back arching against him and cunt spasming around his dick. His own hips stuttered due to the vice grip around him, "Ahh.." He sighed, releasing inside of you and allowing his weight to hold you down until he finished spilling into you. "Heh." He pulled out and took a step back from the bed to admire his work. Your body was sprawled out on the bed, chest heaving as your eyes remained half lidded. "Sleepy.." You muttered.

"'Course you are." He fixed himself up and pulled up his overalls. If you were able to look him over, you would have noticed he didn't seem to break a sweat. "Sweet dreams, toots." A familiar key swung around his finger as he strutted out the door, locking it behind him so no one would walk in and find you asleep half naked.

[romanticintheory]

thinking about simon riley being betrayed by reader.

simon "ghost" riley x reader

-when you first joined the task force, you were a breath of fresh air.

-you were extremely good at what you did and had great chemistry with everyone. even simon.

-kyle loved having you as his new training buddy. the two of you found that your music tastes surprisingly overlapped, so you'd often share playlists with each other.

-johnny was, as always, excited to have someone new to banter with. if he had to take a shot for every time you made him laugh, he'd probably be dead from alcohol poisoning.

-john was relieved seeing you integrate so well into his team. it was like introducing a new puppy to three of his own. when laswell sat him down and introduced your file, a little barren compared to the others (save for simon) but with a raving review from the woman herself, he was curious to see your character.

-and even if he didn't show it, simon was the most grateful for your arrival. there was just an unspoken level of understanding between the two of you.

-one day, you're kneeling next to him on the floor trying to put pressure on his wound and keep him alive long enough for help to arrive. you didn't know each other extremely well, but you seemed so upset. he couldn't imagine why.

-"hey, now, don't go quiet on me, lt," you said in an almost begging tone.

-"you must not know me well," he replied, fighting groans from the pain.

-you ignore his attempt at amusing you. "tell me something," you order, voice starting to crack.

-so, he did. maybe it was the fact that he was lightheaded from the blood loss and half delusional, or maybe it was that he wanted to feel closer to you, but he ended up telling you about his family. he talked about the monster of a man his father was, how he learned to throw him out and take care of his family, and how not even that had a happy ending.

-by the end of it, there was a voice on the other end of your radio telling you they were less than a minute away from help. you slipped your hand into his and told him, "if you can survive that, you can survive this."

-it wasn't until after he recovered that he found out you had your own stab wound to take care of. why you completely disregarded it in favor of his, he'll never know.

-ever since, there was a change in the air between you two. fleeting glances, lingering touches, warm faces. it got even worse when you confessed your feelings to each other, and johnny made sure to be as obnoxious about it as possible.

-for a long time before you, simon felt a kind of loneliness within him. sure, the rest of the team was good company and he'd trust them with his life, but you seemed to do more than just break down his walls. somehow, you seeped through the cracks in his heart and made a home of it. that's why he is so surprised when everyone is taken prisoner except you after an unexpected ambush.

-the surprise eventually turns into something worse.

-there's a blinding rage surging in his veins and an icy coldness in his heart when he catches a glimpse of you acting buddy-buddy with the enemy.

-you're called a name he had never heard before, "(y/n) (l/n)," and being congratulated on your return.

-"knew you'd never disappoint us! and four of 'em, too!"

-how could you to this to them? to him?

-he spends the next excruciatingly long hours as a prisoner with no sleep. the only thing on his mind is wondering what went wrong. what did he miss? what could he have done differently? for a second, he wants to think about how he'd get vengeance on you, but he couldn't. his mind wouldn't let him, and he cursed himself for it. were you that good at manipulation? at seducing him with your supposed love and humanity that, even now, he can't think of you with ill intent without that sour feeling in his chest haunting him?

-he thinks he's hallucinating when he sees you standing at the now unlocked door to his cell with the rest of the task force standing behind you. you speak in a quick, hushed whisper, as if there was barely any time to even say a single word.

-"you'll have to be quick if you want to get out of here."

[annwrites]

⸻ forever. ⸻

· pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you & billy go to a vegas casino. the next day, you have a scare & make a commitment. · word count: 7,560

The next day, you and Billy stay snuggled up in bed watching TV. 

Even though Billy continuously changes the channel every few minutes as soon as you get interested in something just to drive you nuts. The two of you nap, eat, talk, and every once in a while, get on each other’s nerves just for fun. 

But, as you lie with your head on his chest and he with his fingers in your hair, you’re completely content to fall back asleep listening to his steady breathing and the beat of his heart.

You wake in the middle of the night to Billy tossing and turning beside you while muttering unintelligibly. 

His brows are furrowed, and his body is slick with sweat.

You cup his cheek in your hand, and quietly shoosh him, while telling him to wake up.

When his eyes do finally open, they're full of fear. 

He gazes up at you and his face crumples. 

"Oh, baby doll," he says before burying his face between your breasts and wrapping his arms around you.

You twine your fingers in his hair and hold him to you. "It was just a nightmare. It's okay."

"I lost you," he whispers. "You...fuck, you stopped breathing. I—"

"Shh, it wasn't real. I'm right here. Shh."

You let him cry softly against your chest until you eventually manage to coax him back to sleep by reassuring him over and over again that you're all better now, that you're still here.

"I love you. Just try and go back to sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up, okay?"

He nods, pulling you closer. "I love you, too."

While still a tad under the weather, you feel far better the next day, and are honestly itching to get out of the motel room, even if it's just to go sit outside, or ride shotgun while Billy drives around letting you sight-see.

You're just coming out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, when Billy comes back into the room carrying breakfast with him.

He kicks the door closed with his boot, and he has a brown paper bag held between his teeth, with to-go cups in one arm, and a couple more bags in the other.

He looks up to you with a raised brow as he begins setting everything down and then he nods toward the bed. "Take all that off and get back into bed."

You come over to him. "I feel better today. I'm tired of being stuck in this room, Billy. It's been days now. Can we please go do something?"

You bat your lashes at him, then press yourself against him, and he groans as you slip a hand in his pocket. "Pretty please?"

Before he can tell you, yet again, to get back into bed, you swiftly remove your hand, with his keys now dangling from your fingers.

He sighs, holding out his hand. "Yeah, you're hilarious. C'mon, give 'em."

You back up a step and hide them behind your back. "As soon as you promise to let me out of here."

He studies you for a moment. "Maybe in another day or—"

"No, today."

He crosses his arms, his jaw flexing. "I said no. And that's final."

You step closer to him and reach out for his hand, but he snatches it away.

"No. Do...do you have any idea what you put me through? I thought..." He shakes his head. "Don't ever fucking do that again, alright?"

Your lip twitches. "I will do my utmost to never get sick again. I promise."

You press yourself against his chest then. "Now let me outside."

He sighs. "Only once you've had breakfast."

You snuggle closer. "Deal."

"If you so much as sneeze, I'm taking your ass back."

You roll your eyes. 

He's been like this since before you stepped out the door. He even forced a thermometer under your tongue before letting you go out, which had read a perfect 98.7°—a temperature that should've pleased him, but he'd instead frowned.

You've tried joking that he just wants to keep you all to himself for another day, but you know it’s because he’s terrified of you getting sick again.

You turn in your seat to face him and run your fingers through his hair.

He fights against his lip twitching at the tender gesture, and then he sighs. "Alright, where to? Unless you want me to pick?"

He looks at you then with a smirk now on his face. "We are in Sin City. Could always hit a sex shop, then head back and create our own entertainment for the day."

You lean over and kiss him deeply, and when you pull away, he has a brow raised, thinking he's talked you into it.

"Nice try."

He leans back, and rolls his eyes as he turns the car over.

"Billy, stop, we can't go in. This is ridiculous. They're never going to buy your fake; I'm sure they see them everyday."

Billy is currently pulling you alongside him...into Caesar's Palace. 

He'd gotten the idea to go gambling, and not even offering to go to a sex shop to try on skimpy lingerie manages to talk him out of it. You even throw in that he can finally cuff you to whatever he wants and have his way with you if he’ll only turn back around, but he doesn’t listen to a word.

You've tried tugging unsuccessfully against his hand, unable to pull him back an inch in the other direction. Instead, he leads you further inside. And, just when he thinks—ignorantly—as he passes the hotel lobby, headed in the direction of the casino floor, he’s about to get away with it, a large man dressed in a suit, who’s probably twice the size of Billy, steps in his way.

Billy doesn’t shrink away from his authoritative presence, but you hide yourself just the least bit behind him as you glance up shyly to the security guard.

"Somewhere you're headed?" He asks—his voice a deep baritone tune.

Billy looks up at him with a bored expression, nodding behind him. "Got a few greenbacks that're just burnin' a hole in my pocket."

He goes to step past him, but the man side-steps, once again blocking him.

"ID card, pal."

Billy retrieves his wallet, and hands him the requested piece of information.

He studies it with a raised brow, then looks at Billy. 

"Billy Squier? You really thought someone would buy that?" He tosses it back to him. "Go on, get out of here."

Billy shrugs, tucking his wallet back away. "Like I can help that we share the same name." 

He smirks, flashing him a dazzling smile. "The Stroke is a damn good song, though, ain't it?"

He glances at you, then back to the security guard.

The man chooses to ignore Billy, honing in on you. "You got a fake for me, too? Let me guess: Stevie Nicks? No. Cindy Lauper."

You hold Billy's hand more tightly. "I—"

Billy interrupts you. "She left hers in the car." 

He lets go of your hand. 

"Listen, man, what's it going to take? My money's good, ain't it?" 

He pulls out a wad of rolled up cash, counts out a few bills, then reaches forward, and he feigns shaking his hand—the bills disappearing into the other man's grip. "Just trying to show my girl a good time. What, you've never been young and in love before?"

"You ever been employed before, kid?" 

He shoves the money back against Billy's chest. "Go on, before I have to use force."

Billy gives him a glare before turning back around and wrapping his arm around your waist. "C'mon, baby, we'll go blow a grand at Circus Circus instead."

Somehow, you and Billy get lucky at the next casino. You show up just when the security guards are changing shifts and sneak right in. Your heart is pounding, and you can’t tell whether it’s your palm or his that’s sweaty, but you eventually come to wrap your arms around one of his as he weaves between slot machines and craps tables.

You glance around and lights twinkle in your wide eyes in the dim lighting. The space is illuminated by colorful overhead chandeliers, and neon slot machines. There's even a section of the room that's modeled after a carousel.

You look up to Billy then, continuing to walk alongside him. 

"Can I play a slot machine?" You ask sweetly.

"Once I win at blackjack."

You frown. "Do you even know how?"

He stops, turning back to you. "Baby, I've got skills you've never seen."

You hook your finger on his black half-unbuttoned shirt. "That's likely."

He shakes his head. "Keep it up."

When he turns away, you smack his ass and he laughs.

You stand behind Billy, actually impressed. 

He'd not been lying about knowing how to play cards. While nearly every other person sitting at the table had eventually folded, or busted more times than they were comfortable with, and thus left with bruised egos, Billy's chips are just continuing to pile up.

You don’t like the way some people are eyeing his winnings, however.

You lean down close to his ear as he holds his cards close to his chest. "Billy, I think that's enough—"

"After this hand."

You sigh, frowning. "You said that twenty minutes ago."

He taps two fingers against the table and the dealer slides another card his way.

"Like I can help that I'm on a roll." 

He looks up at you, smirking. "Think you might be my little good-luck charm."

You shift on your feet. "You have way more than you came in with now. Can I please just go try a slot machine?"

He glances at the dealer and watches as he turns over a card, and a smile breaks out across Billy's face as he throws his own cards down before slamming his fists against the table. "Woo! Winner winner, baby!"

He pulls more chips in his direction, which you quickly grab in your fists, heading in another direction with them. You hear him curse from behind you, but he quickly gathers the remaining ones on the table before following you to go cash in.

After finishing up with the casino’s teller, Billy securely pockets away a few hundred dollars—practically beaming from his winnings. He then hands you a five and nods toward the slot machines. “Go nuts.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Only five dollars?”

He leans down close to you. “You want more, guess you’ll have to blow me.”

Your expression then morphs into a scowl. “You’re so—”

“Y’know, my dice, when I play craps later?”

You turn your back to him, and head toward a slot machine. “That is so not what you meant.”

“Not my fault that my cock is all you can think about.”

After losing once, you’d been ready to burn the entire building down. But after a few times? You’re seething. 

You yank on the arm one last time and it then demands more money.

“Oh, that is such bull. It took all my money!”

Billy glances at a few others who are seated at nearby machines, and a muscle in his jaw feathers when he sees them looking your way as you continue to make a scene.

“I didn’t win once. This game is rigged. I want a different machine!”

He can’t believe you’re getting this upset over losing five dollars that hadn’t even been yours to begin with, anyway.

“Honey—”

“Don’t honey me, I want another five,” you state, holding out your hand.

He crosses his arms. “I think someone might have a bit of a gambling problem.”

The vein in the middle of your forehead makes an appearance—he’s never seen that trick before. “I wanted cherries. I kept getting fucking bananas and—”

He steps closer to you, needing to calm you before someone calls security. “Sweetheart, I will give you all the banana you want when we get back to the motel. But right now—”

“I said cherries! See, you’re not even listening to me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Good Lord, you’re acting like a little kid. And he typically relies on you to be the mature one. Seeing you so pissed had been funny at first, but now you’re getting a bit scary.

“Alright, fine, I will pop your cherry when—”

You lean your head back and groan in irritation. 

“Too late for that now, isn’t it?” You state, leveling him with your gaze.

He finally reaches up and squeezes your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “You want to get us kicked out?”

“No,” you mutter through fish lips.

He smirks. 

You look adorable like this. So tiny and angry with your face all squished in his strong grip. Like a pissed off kitten. “If I give you another five, will you promise—if you lose—to control your temper, and behave yourself, and not be a sore loser?”

“Yes.”

He releases you, giving you the promised amount of cash.

“Motherfu—”

He yanks you up from the stool by your upper-arm before you can finish that expletive. “Alright, time to go. You’ve had enough.”

“Just give me another—”

“Nope, you’ve had enough.”

“But—”

“No buts. C’mon. You’d leave us high and dry if I let you have your way.”

“You are so not getting lucky tonight.”

“Already did. Sounds like you’re the one who didn’t.”

“Oh, you son of a—”

Once the two of you are back at the motel, you’ve thankfully calmed down. 

Billy is almost afraid to leave not just his money, but the keys to the Camaro anywhere you can get to them, lest you return to the casino for a second round. Third, really.

But, once you’re in a bubble bath and softly humming to yourself as you wash up, he figures that you seemed well-enough over it.

After bathing, you stand over your bag of toiletries with shaking hands and wide eyes, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare down at a tampon that’s been hidden at the bottom of the bag.

You’re late. Very late, by your standards. Your period has always been like clockwork. If it is ever ‘late’, it’s by no more than a day. Ever. And even that is a rare occurrence. Far and few between times has it happened.

But today makes five days. 

The two of you have used protection every time. But…what if there had been a hole in one of the condoms? Or some of his semen somehow leaked out or… 

That night on top of the Camaro. 

But he’d finished on your stomach. Not inside of you. 

No. 

This isn’t happening. 

You are not—

“Are you about done in there? I need to take a piss.”

You jolt, and drop the plastic tube on the floor, before turning to stare at the closed door, unable to form a single word. Until you manage to choke out, “just a sec”.

“Gettin’ all dolled up for me just to go to bed?”

Your eyes sting with unshed tears. 

God, you want him to just leave you be for a few more minutes so you can collect yourself. Because right now? You feel on the verge of a hysterical breakdown.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. Your face has gone pale, all blood is now drained from your lips, and your eyes are wide and terrified. And you’re shaking like a leaf.

You begin taking deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. 

Oh God, you feel like you’re about to pass out.

It’s nothing.

You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, that is all. Yes, that makes perfect sense. 

From the moment you left Hawkins, you’ve been on a non-stop rollercoaster of emotions. All the traveling, the fighting, worrying about money, worrying about each other, worrying about the future, you getting sick—it’s a perfect recipe for a late period.

And it’s only five days. Just because it’s typically always on time doesn’t mean it can’t be late every now and again, right? Sometimes bodies are weird. They don’t always operate how they’re supposed to. Obviously, or so many diseases and disabilities wouldn’t exist. And stress can wreak havoc on the healthiest of people. So, you have nothing to worry about. Right?

“Sweetheart?”

You quickly gather your things and do your utmost to ignore how your stomach is now in knots, and your shoulders are tense, and your jaw is locked tight.

You swing open the door and stare up at Billy. 

“All yours,” you say, stepping past him.

A moment later, you hear him relieving himself. 

You let out a breath of relief that he hadn’t noticed you’re now upset.

You barely touch your dinner. 

Billy notices, but you use the excuse that you aren’t all that hungry’. 

He stares at you for a moment before stealing one of your shrimp and telling you that he’ll eat them if you aren’t going to. He doesn’t notice your palm pressed firmly against your stomach beneath the table.

Once the two of you are in bed, you’d turn your back to him and try to fight back tears. 

If…if you are…will happen to the two of you? 

You’ve been so sure, since after that night in Texas, that you’ve finally found the one now. But this… A baby will ruin everything. He’ll leave you. This much he won’t stand for, you’re sure of it.

You’re both eighteen—kids yourselves. What the hell do either of you know about being parents? You don’t have any idea of how to be a proper mother, since you’d not been given an example of one yourself. And Billy has his history with his father.

You haven’t had that talk yet: what you want when it comes to kids. You don’t even know that he wants them in general. You don’t know what you want, either…

Just as your terror begins to grow, you feel his hand slide along your hip while his erection presses against your back. 

You feel sick at the sensation of it. That part of him has now destroyed your entire life. And you’ll be the one forced to deal with the consequences—the fallout.

You’d been right to be abstinent before. This is his fault. He hadn’t stopped until he’d buried himself inside your head. He’d pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled until you didn’t know where else to run but into his arms.

No. You can’t think like that. He loves you. He’s made some mistakes, but you understand why; have chosen to forgive him. You love him, too. And what if you’re just getting yourself all worked up over nothing? What if you aren’t indeed pregnant, and are only causing yourself further stress, which will only serve to delay your period further?

Billy presses his lips to your neck, and he reaches under his t-shirt, which you’re wearing, cupping your breast. “Want me to help you get undressed, honey?”

You bite your lip until you taste blood—fighting back tears. “I’m really tired. Maybe not tonight.” 

You say it so quietly that he barely hears you.

He presses a soft kiss to the back of your head. “Told you that you should’ve stayed in bed. But no one ever listens to Billy.”

You don’t respond. You just take his hand and wrap his arm around your waist, praying to God he doesn’t notice that your own is shaking.

You toss and turn most of the night. 

At one point you lock yourself in the bathroom to cry while Billy sleeps. You clutch at your stomach and pray to God that you’re not what you think you are.

If you are, and he does leave you, what will you do? Where will you go? Everything will fall out from under your feet then. You’ll have nothing. No one. He’s your entire world. Everything. He’s everything. Your everything. You’ve come to lean so heavily on him—to rely on him at every turn.

If he leaves you behind… You want to die at the thought.

The next morning, you’re exhausted, and Billy quickly takes notice over breakfast, which you barely touch.

He brushes his foot against yours and he reaches for your hand, concerned with the lost-in-thought look on your face. Are you getting sick again?

“Baby?”

You look up at him. “Hm?”

“You alright, angel?” He asks before reaching up and pressing his palm to your forehead. 

You don’t feel feverish…

You nod slightly, then look back down to your cereal, which is now just a bowl of mush, and idly stir it.

“I think you’re still just getting over that cold. I should’ve made you stay in yesterday. How about you go lie back down and get some rest. We’ll just hang out here for the rest of the day. Alright?”

You nod, then get up and strip before lying back down. 

You quickly fall asleep.

When you wake, the TV is on and the volume is low.

Billy is sitting up, with one arm around you, holding you close to his leg. 

You stare at the closed curtains, wondering what time it is, but don’t want to ask, because you don’t want to talk. You don’t want him to notice that something more is wrong than you just ‘being under the weather’, even if you know you feel back to normal now. You don’t want him to keep digging until you’re finally forced to cave and tell him what’s really going on.

So, you close your eyes instead, and force yourself back into a dreamless sleep.

Billy lets you sleep through lunch, but he now stands at the foot of the bed frowning, considering whether to wake you for dinner. 

He’d gotten you a cheeseburger—one of your favorites—so he’s sure you’ll eat it.

He tucks some hair behind your ear, then gently shakes you awake.

“Dinner’s here, beautiful. Time to get up. Once you’ve eaten, you can go back to bed.”

You moan against the pillow, wishing he’d just left you be. 

You don’t want to eat, because the moment you open your eyes, your stomach starts twisting into knots again. But you fight the feeling of nausea down, telling yourself to, at the very least, act fine. Pretend like you feel as much.

You sit up then and smile slightly at him.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and hide your face from his view. “Better.”

He sighs. “Good. That’s good.”

He leads you over to the table, and you force every bite down.

Billy makes another sexual advance that night, shortly after lying down. 

He slips his hands between your legs. “I can do all the work tonight, if you want?”

You simply pressed yourself into his chest. “Could you just hold me instead? Maybe…maybe tomorrow.”

He remains silent as he slides his strong arms around you and holds you close, whispering that he loves you and to get some more rest. That he’s sure you’ll feel better in the morning.

You do not, in fact, feel better in the morning. More rested than the day previous, yes, but your nerves are fried.

You’d raced to the bathroom to…expel your bowels from nerves at least twice in the night, and now your stomach is truly on empty. But just the thought of eating makes you feel sick.

You lie in bed awake—even if you’d rather not be—and listen to Billy quietly snore beside you. You sit up, then gaze down at him, trying to memorize every line and facet of his face and body before you lose him for good.

Tears sting your eyes at the thought of being alone again. Though, you won’t be totally alone, you suppose. 

If you are that…will it look like you, or him? Will it have his eyes? His beautiful head of hair? 

You don’t think you can bear it: having to look upon a perfect reflection—reminder—of him every day, while simultaneously knowing he’s never coming back.

How could you have let this happen? What if you get rid of it instead? Somehow, that thought makes you feel worse. A little bundle that’s equal parts you and him…gone. Just as a tear slips down your cheek, he begins to wake.

You quickly wipe it away, and smile as he opens his eyes, while he looks up at you, stretching.

He reaches a hand up to your cheek, cupping it. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

“You been up long?”

You shake your head. “I just woke up a couple minutes before you did.”

“Admiring your sleeping beauty then, huh?”

You smile at the sarcastic comment. “Most certainly.”

He slides his other hand up your thigh, stopping close to your heat. “You want to?”

You shift under his touch. 

How to tell him no yet again? You’ve not been intimate in days, and you worry that continuing to reject him will only serve to hurt him, if not make him suspicious. But the thought of him buried inside of you right now… You simply can’t.

He notices your silence and his smile fades. 

“Guess not.” 

He removes his hand before getting up. You watch silently as he nervously runs a hand through his hair. 

“I’m gonna go take a leak,” he says before padding over to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Your chin wobbles, knowing you did it anyway: hurt his feelings.

Billy lays on the horn, waiting for traffic to move. He glances at you who is busy staring out your open window. 

He knows something is wrong, but you won’t tell him what.

He reaches over and slides his hand up your leg, and his ego takes a hit when you recoil at his touch. He sighs, then rests his hand back on the shifter. 

“Come the fuck on, man!” He shouts at the line of cars in front of him.

He then looks back at you. “What? Are you still sick?”

You clasp your hands. “No. I’m just…tired.”

He leans his head back, rolling his eyes. “Heard that a lot the last couple days. Don’t know how. It’s not like we’ve screwed much recently.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t really care about that. He’s fine with waiting on you. It’s the fact that you’re keeping something from him that’re starting to really get under his skin.

You begin to shake from anger. “After everything, and that’s still all you still think about. Not like I should be surprised. Since we met that’s all you’ve thought with is what’s in your pants.”

He jerks his head in your direction. 

The two of you haven’t fought like this in a minute. “Excuse me?”

“You want to get laid? We’re in Vegas. Go pick up some hooker on the strip. You should have enough for it after the other night at the casino, I’m sure.”

He grips the wheel tighter. “The fuck is your problem? Huh? You got somethin’ you want to say to me?”

You look at him, and his expression softens when he sees the tears gathering in your eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice breaking before you bury your head in your hands.

He unbuckles, then reaches over and wraps his arms around your trembling frame. “Shh. Baby, please tell me what the fuck is going on. Did…did I do something?”

How to say yes and no?

You look up at him then with tears now streaming down your cheeks. “I’m late.”

His brows furrow. “Late? Late for wha—”

His face falls, and all color drains from it in an instant, leaving him lightheaded. He remains calm, as calm as he can manage—for the moment. 

“How late?” He asks, deathly serious.

“F-five days.”

“And the latest you’ve ever been is?”

“A day. And rarely, at that.”

He stares at you for a moment, then swerves onto the shoulder, parks, and he quickly gets out, slamming the door behind him.

“Fuck! Motherfuck! Why does this shit keep happening to me? It’s going great one minute, then it all just turns to shit!”

You turn away from the window then, refusing to listen anymore as you begin to sob while clutching your stomach. You reach forward, toward the dash, now hyperventilating, and you try to catch your breath as your ears begin to ring.

A moment later, Billy gets back in the car, then forces his way back into traffic.

“We’re not going to freak out until you’ve taken a piss test and we know for sure,” he states.

Both of you stand in the family-planning aisle of a CVS, staring at their plethora of a selection of pregnancy tests. 

Billy reaches forward with a shaking hand and he grabs a two-pack in a pink box.

“Should… Do you want this one?” He asks, looking at you.

You shrug, your lower lip trembling.

He puts it back, grabbing a blue box next. “This one sounds like it should be fairly accurate. Ninety-eight percent.” 

He tosses it back onto the shelf. “Why the fuck are there so many? What’s the goddamn difference? I mean, Jesus, it’s like buying condoms. I mean, the things are supposed to be fuckin’ fool-proof, right? Why make shit that leaves you guessing in a situation like this? It’s ridiculous.”

You stay quiet, knowing he’s talking more to himself than he is to you.

He picks the blue box back up in one hand, grabs your hand in his other, and he leads you up front to the register.

Billy tosses the test onto the counter, and the older woman behind it eyes up the two of you as she scans the box, telling Billy his total.

You just stare at the floor as he pulls out a bill, telling her to keep the change. 

“You all have a public restroom?”

Billy waits outside the door as you go, and silent tears slip down your cheeks as you place the cap back on the test, then set it on the sink to wait.

It’s maybe two minutes later before his patience has worn through and he pounds on the door, making you jump. “What’s takin’ so long?”

You walk over and crack the door open before staring up at him. “It takes fifteen minutes.”

His brows raise. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” 

He barges in and shuts the door behind him. “Why the hell don’t they put that on the goddamn box?”

“They did,” you reply quietly, showing it to him—right on the front. “See?”

He snatches it away from you, staring at it like it’s his own worst enemy, then tossing it in the trash.

He begins to pace back and forth in the small space with his hands on his hips. 

Meanwhile, you stand silently against the wall and watch him.

“I can’t believe this is fucking happening. This—coming out here—getting to California, was supposed to be a new fucking start and now… I’m eighteen-goddamn-years-old. I can’t be a dad yet. I’m not ready. I mean, Jesus, I don’t know that I want kids ever. I can’t stand ‘em now. Annoying little shits. And they’re expensive as hell. Even if you think you’re ready, you’re fuckin’ not. We don’t even have a place to live. What? Am I gonna stick a crib in the fucking backseat of the Camaro? Fuck!”

When he looks at you, his heart drops.

You’re standing against the wall shaking, with tears streaming down your face while you bite your lip to try and keep quiet. Both of your hands are clutching your stomach, and your face has gone pale. 

“I’ll get rid of it,” you whisper.

Then you continue, “Oh God, what’s happening to me? I can’t… I can’t do this alone. What am I supposed to do? How…how am I going to live? What will happen to my baby?” 

You hang your head and begin to sob.

You think he’s going to leave you? Alone? To this?

He steps over and quickly wraps his arms around you. “I’m sorry. Baby, I’m right here. Sweetheart, look at me.”

He takes your face in his hands. “Angel, I’m not going anywhere. If you are…it’s not like I didn’t play a part in it. You should know by now that I’m in this for the long haul—that you’re it for me. I know you deserve better than me. You always will. But I’ll try my best, alright? To be a good dad, I mean. I had a shitty fuckin’ example, but maybe I can learn from his mistakes. I’ll take care of you.”

He presses a palm to your stomach then. “Both of you. We’ll…we’ll get married. I’ll be better than he was. I have to be. You deserve that.”

You blink up at him, now speechless. Did…did he just propose? “You…want to get married?”

He smiles, kissing your forehead. “It’s the right thing to do. But I’m not gettin’ down on one knee, if that’s what you’re expecting. Not in this nasty fuckin’ restroom, anyway.”

You glance to the test. “I think it’s been enough time now.”

You walk over to it and fill with relief—joy—when you see the minus sign. 

You double over the sink, laughing lightly. All that stress and for nothing. Nothing at all. 

“Oh, thank God!” You exclaim, laughing some more, feeling like all is right in the world again. 

“I’m not pregnant. We don’t have to get married now! We can just—”

You stop talking when you turn around and see that Billy isn’t nearly as elated as you are. He’s not even smiling. Nor is he looking at you. Instead, his hands are gripping the metal support beam behind him, and his eyes are trained on the floor.

“I—”

He quickly brushes past you then, wrenching the door open. “Let’s go.”

Once the two of you have returned to the motel, he still hasn’t spoken another word to you. 

He instead goes into the bathroom and slams the door behind him. He even goes so far as to lock while he showers.

You press your ear up against the door and listen to try and ensure that he’s okay, but can hear nothing over the sound of water.

So, you instead sit on the edge of the bed and patiently wait and think of how best to apologize for what you said. 

You’d just been so sure that he would be relieved as well. He said it himself: that he isn’t ready for a baby yet. Then you wonder…had it been your comment about marriage that upset him?

Is…is he ready for that? Are you? When you think of it: wearing a ring he’s chosen for you and taking his last name while vowing to spend your life next to him, it doesn’t fill you with fear or doubt or unease. It fills you with love, joy, and a feeling of security.

When Billy emerges quite some time later, he tries to hide it, but you see it: his eyes are bloodshot.

Your heart breaks, now knowing what took him so long.

He had been crying.

You pad over to him and wrap your arms around his middle as he chooses a t-shirt for bed. He doesn’t do that, though: wear pajamas to lie down next to you. And now he suddenly feels the need to shield himself from you?

You press your cheek to his bare back. “Did you mean what you said about getting mar—”

“Just fuckin’ drop it, alright? You’re not knocked-up, so now we don’t have to get hitched. Let’s just go to bed.”

“But—”

“Like you’d want to anyway.”

“I do.”

He freezes, suddenly imagining you saying those words in a different context. 

He slowly turns back around to you. “What?”

You stand on tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck before running your fingers through his damp curls. “I want to if you do.”

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “Really?”

You smile, nodding. “I’m sorry for what I said. I wasn’t thinking. I was just relieved that I wasn’t pregnant. I…I’m already yours in every other way. Why not this one, too? Billy, no one else is ever going to love me the way you have—do. Just like you, I don’t want anyone else. You’re what I want. I can’t imagine having to start over with someone else after…after all of this. The thought of losing you…it was tearing me apart. Having to think of living a life without you in it…”

You trail off for a moment, swallowing down the lump that’s forming in your throat. “I’ll marry you.”

His lip twitches and his eyes grow glassy. 

He then crushes you to his chest and he holds you close while cradling the back of your head. “Okay.”

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

You and Billy are currently browsing through selections of gently-used clothing at a local thrift store, trying to pick out outfits to wear to the Little White Chapel. But every white dress you come across has something wrong with it: holes, tears, rips, yellowing, or it’s just a tad outdated, or way too frilly.

Until you find a hanger buried behind numerous other items. 

As you look the dress over, you begin to smile.

You then wander over to Billy, who’s looking through men’s dress clothes, and poke him in the back.

When he turns, a grin forms on his face. 

He grips the soft material, looking at you. It’s a white babydoll dress with silver sparkles that dance against the material from the overhead fluorescent lighting. There’s even a matching veil.

“It kind of smells like mothballs,” you say.

He smirks. “Don’t worry, baby, you won’t be wearing it long.”

Once Billy has picked out a pair of dress slacks that he feels are a tad too tight—until he notices that you’re unable to remove your eyes from his rear, which causes him to deem that they fit just fine after all—as well as a white button-up shirt, he goes over to the lingerie, and he gets lucky when he finds you a garter.

The two of you then go up, and you stand by his side and smile up at him as he pays for your purchases, and then he asks about using the changing room.

Once the two of you emerge, even he’s blushing. 

So, you take his hand in yours, and head back out to the car together.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

“Can we stop at a pawn shop first?”

He glances to you. “For?”

You reach in the backseat, grab a shoulder bag, then pull your dad’s Rolex out. “I want to trade this. For a ring. For you.”

He nods then, sniffling. “Course, baby.”

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

“What about that one?”

Billy shakes his head. “It’s fuckin’ hideous.”

You raise a brow. 

He’s worse than a woman when it comes to jewelry, apparently.

You squint while staring into the late-night pawn shop’s display case, before you kneel in front of it and practically press your face up against the glass. 

You smile and point while looking up to the middle-aged shop-keep behind it. “Can I see that one?”

He nods, then unlocks the display before grabbing the ring you indicated, and he hands it to you.

You grab Billy’s left hand, and slide it onto his ring finger. And it’s a perfect fit—a simple gold band.

You stare up at him.

He looks at the man. “Will the Rolex cover this?”

“More than,” he replies with a smile.

Billy looks back at you. “We’ll take it.”

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

Once the two of you are sitting in the parking lot of the small chapel, it’s only then that you notice that Billy is shaking.

You reach for him, but he quickly exits the car, then makes his way around to your side and he opens your door for you.

He doesn’t look at you, however.

You then reach up and cup his cheek while taking one of his hands in yours. “Are you okay? We…we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you want to wait, I’m okay with that. As long as we’re together—”

He shakes his head, his hand trembling in yours. “What if…what if I fuck this up? I’ve already done it enough times already. I nearly lost you back in Oklahoma, and then again in Texas. What if I turn out to be just like him and I hurt you, or—”

You brush your thumb over his lips, quieting him. “And I always came back. Or you came for me. Billy, neither of us are perfect. No one alive is. But…that’s the point, right? Of falling in love. You love someone despite their flaws. Or…help them through them. You don’t just give up when things get hard. I know what—who—I want. We’ve both said it: that we belong together.” 

You press yourself against his chest and he wraps his arms around you while kissing the crown of your head. “So let’s go make it official. No one is ever going to love me like you do.”

He rests his cheek against your veil. “Okay.”

You pull back and look up at him with hopeful eyes full of love.

“Let’s go get married.”

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

“And do you, Billy Hargrove, take this little lady to be your lawfully wedded bride? To have and hold tender and sweet, to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, for riches—God willin’—or poorer, for better or worse, ‘till death do ya part?”

Being married by an Elvis impersonator is most-certainly going to be a story to remember.

Billy tucks a lock of hair behind your ear before tracing your jawline with his thumb, his other hand is currently holding firmly onto your right one. “I do.”

He reaches into his pocket, and when he pulls out his hand, a silver ring is held between his thumb and index finger.

Your brows furrow. 

He told you back at the pawn shop that he had your ring already covered, but had refused to elaborate on how until you were standing before one another exchanging vows.

He swallows thickly. 

“It was my mom’s,” he states, glancing to you before sliding it onto your finger.

Unshed tears threaten to spill forth on both your parts then.

“And do you, lil’ mama—Y/N—take this young stud, to be your hubby? To have and hold tender and sweet, to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, for riches or poorer, for better or worse, ‘till death do ya part?”

Your lip trembles as you stare up into Billy’s beautiful, warm eyes. “I do.”

You slide the gold band you’d purchased less than half-an-hour ago onto his finger once again.

“Then, by the power vested in me by the great state of Nevada and the Lord Almighty, I do so pronounce you husband and bride. Now, my good man, kiss your lady.”

Billy leans down, cups the back of your head, and then he crushes his lips to yours while dipping you—his other arm wound securely around your waist.

A woman who works at the chapel snaps a few pictures of the two of you kissing, holding one another, and beaming at each other, as well as at the cheap, disposable camera she holds in her hands.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

After the two of you exit the chapel holding hands, laughing, and even crying a little, you get back into the car and Billy drives you to a bar, insisting on having some form of a reception, even if it’s just the two of you. 

In reality, he deeply wants to have his first proper dance with you.

You stand in the middle of the room—the place near-empty; it’s a tad dingy and small—and wait for Billy to select a song from the jukebox over in the corner. You know he’s found whatever he’s looking for when a small smile comes across his lips.

He comes back over to you, takes one of your hands in his, and he leans his forehead down against yours just as Bob Dylan begins to hum the beginning of Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door. He rests his other hand against the small of your back, pulling you in close to his chest.

You close your eyes, reach up, and tangle the fingers of your other hand in his hair while the two of you sway back and forth to the slow song.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You open your eyes, and tears slip down your flushed cheeks as you press your lips to his own. “I love you.”

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

When the two of you return to the motel, Billy leaves the door to the room open, and he blares the song Don’t Stop Believin’ from the car’s stereo outside. He tugs you up onto the bed with him, and the two of you begin to jump up and down on the mattress while holding onto one another. You smile, laugh, and feel happier than either of you ever thought you could be—would ever be.

He crushes his lips to yours while holding your face in his hands, and then he pulls back. “Promise me that you’re mine for forever.”

You wrap your arms around his neck. “Forever.”

[merakiui]

the idea of waking up in the middle of being gang banged bye the first years is messing up my head

seeing a pussy drunk suede drilling and muttering about how good you feel and how he can’t stop moving his hips feeling a few loads in you even after someone (ace) talked about how good his pull out game is

and jack cooing u back to sleep while ur trying to push em away u had a long day u should get plenty of rest just let them take care of you~

aaaa they're all terrible. Deuce is so pussy-drunk and can't stop even though he keeps telling you he will, Ace and Epel are competing to see who can cum the most inside of you before they're tapped out, and Sebek's trying so hard not to succumb to such carnal desires. There's no way he'd ever fall for a human's charms so easily! His restraint is abysmal because his grip on your hips is so strong and he is shaking,,, omg he's never known a sensation as sweet as this, and you look so cute squirming beneath him while someone else rests your head in his lap, brushing your hair out of your eyes.

You're so fucked out and exhausted, and you keep softly begging them to stop. But it's hard to protest when another cock is being stuffed down your throat and two more are sliding into either of your empty hands. <3 they're all so sloppy with their movements and touches, and it's hard to keep track of who came where and if you'll ever get a break being passed around from cock to cock.

Jack tried so hard not to be as bad as the others because he loves you so much and doesn't want you to hate or fear him in any way, but it's so difficult to resist when he's got Ace in his ear goading him into a useless competition about who can knock you up first and he keeps hearing your pretty moans and smelling your arousal...... And oooo does Jack want you so badly. T_T it's instinct to want to breed you and make you his mate and start a family and live such a happy life together! He wanted to do everything fairly and sweetly and court you without any force in the beginning. But he can't help it once he sinks into your warmth and you're grabbing at his shoulders and begging him to pull out because it's too much, too big, he'll break you... >_< it'll certainly feel even more so when he knots you. Completely accidental, of course!!!! Jack just couldn't help it. orz you felt too good, and you'll be stuck together for quite some time.

But everyone's your good friend! <3 they'll take care of you and clean you up and shower you with boundless love. It's stifling, but they're some of the closest friends you have here at NRC. You trust them, even if that trust earned you a sleeping spell, an aphrodisiac, and a sex marathon.

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Van Der Linde Gang's Fav Body Part On Their S/O

(Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, Dutch Van Der Linde, Kieran Duffy, Sean Macguire, Eagle Flies)

Warnings: NSFW

Arthur Morgan - I’m under the belief his favorite body part would be something non sexual. He’d probably like your hands the most. Hand holding, hand kissing, etc… Especially if your hands contrast his greatly; gentle and soft to his calloused and rough. He’d probably do that thing where you guys press hands up against each other and just be fascinated by the size difference. Also loves to hold hands when you fuck, makes it so much more intimate and gives him a sense of security. 

John Marston - Ngl he’s probably a tits man. But he's subtle about it. Will never outwardly say it but you would catch him staring at your cleavage, or even just the outline of your breasts if you're wearing something form fitting. Type of guy to hold one of your boobs while he falls asleep. Definitely wakes up with a boner. 

Javier Escuella - Strangely enough, your ears. Love nipping them or sucking on your lobes. Even as a joke he'll blow into them or squeeze your ears to get a reaction out of you. Especially loves whispering dirty things into your ears while y'all are in public, and even during sex he'll do it. 

Charles Smith - Your tummy! Loves smoothing his hand over it, and if he can, he'll love squeezing or holding it. Only if you allow him to of course. Whenever y'all have sex he will just look on in fascination, and if y'all are on your sides he'll hold it or wrap his arms around your midriff. Definitely presses down on it when he fucks you.

Dutch Van Der Linde - 100% a tits guy. And is very overt. Thinks he's slick but he ain't. If you're wearing something flattering that accentuates your breasts he'll say "You look lovely, my dear" while his eyes slowly drift to your cleavage. Type of guy to say "I like your necklace" as an excuse to stare. Also plays around them with near obsession whenever he can. And going back on the necklace thing, will buy them for you so he can disguise his staring with "admiring how beautiful it looks on you"

Kieran Duffy - He'd also like your legs, but more specifically, your thighs. Even as a non sexual thing, he'll use them as a pillow and sleep peacefully. Is very gentle with you, and even during sex he'll ask before he can even touch them. Likes to put a hand on your thigh if you're sitting next to each other, runs soothing circles on em, gives reassuring squeezes 

Sean Macguire - Legs. Literally turns into an animal whenever he catches even a GLIMPSE of your legs. And he will straight up tell you he is looking. Insists on changing with you all the time just to see em, and during sex he'll probably give you a full leg massage just so he can palm and grope at them. Grabs at your calves and moves all the way up to your inners thighs gripping with a near bruising force. 

Eagle Flies - Ass man. Idky I just get a feeling. And I can come up with so many funny scenarios because of it. In private will slap it every chance he gets, if you walk past, if you bend over, if it's up in the air while you're laying in bed. If you get mad he'll apologize shamefully. Also I can imagine in public he's been caught by Paytah or even caught by his dad staring at your ass while talking to someone. During sex he definitely gropes it all the time, you’re bruised like 24/7. He’d probably BEG to try anal ngl. 

[thebearer]

can you please write dad!carmen and mom!reader stuck at home taking care of their two sick babies? carmy would be soo worried hate seeing his girls like that 💔

"Teddy, please don't cry, sweet girl."

"I know, Wills, I know it's nasty. Just a little bit more."

One was screaming, the other sobbing with deep, heaving breaths that made your own heart feel like it might spilt in two somehow. Strep had made its way into the Berzatto household. A mandatory forty-eight hours to make sure they both weren't contagious, an extra twenty-four tacked on so they could recuperate, and you weren't sure you were going to make it past day one.

Carmen had to stay home, of course, he wasn't risking infecting his staff or customers. You were thankful you had his help, especially at times like this.

Times when you were having to feed the girls their medicine. The pale pink liquid measured out in syringes, forced down their throats with gentle coaxes over their cries.

"I don't li-ike it!" Teddy sobbed, shoulders heaving. She was exhausted, sick, just uncomfortable all around. You knew she was. You wished you could jus magically make it better for her, take the pain instead so she'd go back to your bubbly, sweet girl.

"I know, baby." You hummed sympathetically, pressing the small sippy cup to her lips, thumb catching her angry tears streaking down her face. "But it will make you feel better."

"I want to feel better without that!" Teddy roared, crankily, throwing her arms out in pure frustration.

"That's the only way you can get better, Teddy Bear." Carmen chimed, soothing a still sobbing Willow in his arms, her face buried in his neck. She was still upset that he'd given her medicine to her. Sobbing in the most heart wrenching way; sad sobs, not like her sister's cries of frustration and anger- sobs that tore Carmen's heart right down the middle.

Somehow, you managed to get the two of them back down for a nap. They'd cried themselves to sleep, exhausted with emotion, collapsing in your's and Carmen's bed.

The two of you had took to the couch instead, falling nearly on top of each other. "Do you think we should take them back to the doctor?" Carmen muttered next to you.

"Why?"

"Because," Carmen hesitated, head lolling over to look at you. "I mean... They act like they're still in pain."

"That was their first dose, Carm. The medicine hasn't even had a chance to kick in." You countered gently.

"I know... I just- I-I was looking up their symptoms and what if it's meningitis or something? What if it was misdiagnosed and-"

"-Carmen, I swear to fuckin' God, I am blocking WebMD from your phone." You huffed lightly. "I don't know how I'm gonna do that, but I am. I'm gonna go to the Geek Squad and make them block it entirely."

"I'm being serious-"

"-So am I." You looked at him with a light glare. "Baby, they ran the tests. It came back strep. They have to like grow it and stuff to make sure, ok?" Carmen still looked unsettled. "If they wake up and don't feel better, we'll take them back."

"Fine." Carmen nodded, letting his head fall on your shoulder. "You think we should nap in there with them? Or stay in here?"

"Maybe one of us should go in there." You mutter. "Make sure Will doesn't throw up."

"True. Good point." Carmen sighed, rubbing his eyes when he sat up. "I'll go in there."

"I can go." You stand before he can, putting the blanket from the back of the couch on his lap. "You got them this morning. I got 'em, Daddy." You give him a playful, yet tired, wink. Carmen flushes, a shy smile that has your tummy pooling with warmth, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you're padding back to your bedroom.

[coffeeghoulie]

For the make 'em swoon prompts: a hug that gets deeper or "hi" *raspy voice* with Dewther maybe?

i saw this ask and went "both. both is good." I don't think I've had a fic jump out at me this quickly in a while. Hope you enjoy!

prompts from this list

divider by @ghuleh-recs

He thinks about coming home more than he'd like to admit. Even as he devotes himself to his work, the music, his unholy purpose, Dew imagines the moment he steps foot back into the Abbey more times than he can count.

He's fallen asleep to the fantasy countless times, the bus swaying like a cradle as the rest of his packmates sleep. It's hard. It's really fucking hard being halfway across the world without Aether. Dew's never had to be away from his side for more than a few days. It feels insurmountable, even with human technology that lets them call and text and talk.

It's hard to sleep in a bunk that feels too big. Too quiet. Too empty. He imagines stepping off of the bus, Aether there waiting in the double doors, Sunny peering over his shoulder while she waits for her girls, her multi.

Dew's the first one off of the bus, and because this is in his mind, there's no shame in the way he imagines dropping his bags, guitar be fucking damned, and sprinting up the gravel driveway. He barrels into Aether with enough force to make him take a few steps back, all of the breath leaving his lungs.

He'd be quick to wrap him up in his big arms, rearing back so just the tips of his boots touch the ground. "Oh, my darling," he would laugh, spinning them around like they're on the cover of some human pulp novel. Dew knows he would grumble at it, protest for Aether to put him back on the ground, he's not an air ghoul.

And Aether would squeeze him tighter before setting him down, that stupid fond look in his eye. Dew'd grab his collar and pull him down into a deep kiss to hide the way he'd be tearing up-

He takes a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling of his bunk, listening to the steady sound of Swiss's snoring. Dew silently wipes his face with the corner of his blanket, rolling onto his side and putting his back to the privacy curtain. He reaches up and pets at the crook of his neck, feeling the texture of scar tissue in the shape of his mate's teeth. His phone's in the cubby, and it's so fucking tempting. Taunting him. Aether's only a call away.

But it's mid morning back at the Abbey, and Aether's working. He'd stayed behind to help with an influx of infirmary work, taking time to rest after his entire time Up Top spent touring. And as much as Dew knows Aether would drop just about anything to talk to him, he'd rather not do that to his mate.

So, instead, he curls up around his pillow, burying his face in it in an attempt to breathe in Aether's scent, the pillowcase replaced with one of several shirts Dew had smuggled into his luggage. Thankfully for him and his packmates and techs, it's enough to lull him to sleep, his cheeks still damp with tears.

The tour drags on, as they always seem to do, and it's over in an instant, as they always do.

The next thing Dew knows he's on a plane back to Sweden, and he grumbles to himself that they always end the tours so far away from home. Eventually they make it back to solid ground. But it's not over yet.

There's a several hour long bus ride left, because the Abbey's in the middle of nowhere. Dew tries to sleep, exhausted and miserable and sore and so fucking close. Mountain sits next to him, guides his head down against his shoulder and hums, petting through his hair as he dozes.

It's late in the afternoon when the bus pulls into the long driveway, and Dew jolts awake as they cross the threshold into the Abbey proper. He's still a little disoriented, but he can feel the way the mate bond sparks back to life now that they're close enough that the magick can actually work the way it's meant to..

He can almost feel the way Aether rushes through the last of his paperwork, scrambling out of the infirmary to find Sunshine and run out to meet them. Dew's excited, he swears he is, but the exhaustion is bone deep and so fucking heavy. He gets to his feet slowly, swaying as he grabs his go-bag from the overhead. Some of the Abbey ghouls and Siblings will take care of unloading the bus itself.

Normally, when it comes to his luggage and his guitars, Dew's incredibly picky, preferring that he's the one who takes care of it. But he's just so tired, and so ready to be home, and so ready to be back with his mate that he can't bring himself to give a shit.

Dew stumbles off the bus, boots scuffing on the gravel. He looks up and he's there. Still in his scrubs, eyes shining even from across the courtyard. Aether smiles and the world is right again.

He's too tired to run, but Aether walks out and meets him halfway. The fountain in the center of the circle drive rushes, and Dew doesn't have the energy to barrel into him the way he imagined.

Aether steps in front of him, and Dew blinks blearily up at him. "Hi," he says, voice raspy from sleep. Aether just grins, big and wide enough to rival Swiss's. His gold tooth glints in the afternoon light.

"Hi, my darling," Aether says, his hands curling gently around Dew's biceps. "I missed you." He pulls him into a gentle hug. Dew's head spins as, after months of the fading scent on fabric, Aether's ozone-fresh air scent slams into him full force.

"Missed you too," Dew chokes out, not caring that the rest of the pack is watching as they file off of the bus. He grabs the front of Aether's scrubs, fingers curling into the fabric as he clings as tight as he can to his mate.

Aether nuzzles into Dew's hair, chuffing happily as he pulls Dew in tighter and tighter until he can barely breathe with it. He curls his tail around his mate's calf, and feels Aether's wrap around his waist. "I really fucking missed you, starshine," Dew whispers again, feeling the beat of his heart against his cheek.

Aether chuckles, hand solid and warm where it rests between Dew's shoulderblades. "Welcome home, my darling." He leans in, whispers so quietly Dew almost thinks he imagines it. "Your scent's just about gone from the hearth, Dew. Makes it so hard to sleep. Come home with me so we can make it right?"

Dew laughs so hard he cries. "Yeah, Aeth. Take me home."

[artstatues]

ooh how about hcs for movie night (inspired by your kenjinazeera one) but it’s grayson hawthorne x fem!reader and the reader is OBSESSED with tangled?

he'd buy you so many things tangledcore. i know yall have seen that tangled crown ring. he'd buy you that buy like, hand made, with crystals and gold

he gets so fed up with having to watch tangled sm times but he does it for you <3 in his eyes, watching a 1hr 40m cartoon is worth seeing you smile and laugh

goes to disney with you alot, for the tangled themed stuff yk

sometimes its not even a movie date but youre just in the hawthorne theater watching tangled when he finds you

"love?" grayson walks into the room, "oh not this movie again─" he groaned softly

you patted the seat next to you, "come watch" you smiled at him, even if it was hard to see in the dark.

sometimes youre watching it on your laptop when gray comes home from work late and quickly changes before snuggling with you and watching the movie aswell before slowly drifting to sleep

sometimes he'd even make referrences to the movie

"your hair is so long and pretty" he admires while playing around with your hair. "like a certain character" he continued

"yeah and you're my flynn rider" you giggled.

you guys probably went to halloween as flynn and rapunzel more than once. the first time, you were rapunzel. the second time, you forced him to be rapunzel.

his brothers took so many pics n vids it was crazy

there would be so many tangled things your guys' bedroom.

every few weeks you'd change the bedsheets to a shade of purple bc of rapunzel

when you and gray went to an event, you wore a rapunzel inspired dress and he couldnt keep his eyes nor hands off you for the entire night

a/n: boom! quick resp bc its js hcs and i js wrote the nazeera n kenji one so i got alot up my sleeve rn 💪also this isnt movie date but its tangled chat so 🤭‼️🔥 did i mention the fact that its short??

taglist: @reminiscentreader, @lxvebelle, @never-enough-novels, @kozumesphone, @reyna-obsessed.

@off-to-the-r4ces, @shuhuaspookie, @pockyyasii, @mrs-venus-beaufort, @lanterns-and-daydreams.

@starrynightsxo, @flowers-for-em.

[chxrrydrxp]

𝓃ℴ ℊℴℴ𝒹 (𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓂ℯ)

------

(Jason Todd x fem! Reader)

<does get a bit steamy, with heavily implied oral sex (fem receiving)> <edited ish>

disclaimers: guys irl please communicate with ur partner 🖤, also jason is being a dick.

------

The apartment was particularly quiet tonight, and you came home from work, stressed, exhausted, and in need of some type of relief. You lazily kicked off your heels and laid on the couch with arm over your eyes, not wanting to be bothered by anyone or anything. The crisp winter air flowed freely from the open window, causing small goosebumps to appear on your arms. It felt like hours went by, but you weren't quite sleep. Your brain flooded with all the stacks of paperwork that sat at your desk, waiting for you the next day.

The door unlocked, and in came Jason, his heavy boots thumping on the wooden floor. You felt a spark of annoyance coarse through your body, remembering that you had countlessly told him to take his shoes off in the hall to prevent him from tracking mud or wet snow in the apartment. Of course this flew over his head, as he laid his crimson helmet on the table.

You remained on the couch, still, as if you didn't want him to know you were awake. He made an observation of your coat, and hung his beside it. He lounged on the couch, running his hands smoothly through his dark hair.

He must've thought you were sleeping by his lack of greeting. That, or he too was stressed from whatever he did on patrols. You shifted a but, then uncovered your eyes. He made quick notice, his eyes gentle. "Hey baby..thought you were sleepin..", his hands grazed over your thigh gently. You groaned, throwing your head back on the armrest.

"You okay?" You wanted to yell at him for laying on the couch with his patrol clothes on. Hell, you wanted to complain about every single thing going wrong in your life, but you knew that wouldn't be fair. You knew it when you noticed the faint circles under his eye. He patiently waited for your response, mindlessly playing with a loose string on your black dress pants.

" I'm fine..tough day at work...," you trailed off.

Then you remembered his dirty boots. You glanced at the spot of dark brown dirt on your gray carpet that lay under the couch and extended to the console table. "Jason..your shoes. Again." You forced yourself to look away to prevent any words you didn't mean from coming out of your mouth. "Remember, you're supposed to put them outside." Usually, he'd curse under his breath and just put them away. Not this time. Instead, he rubbed his forehead tiredly and leaned his head back, a sigh leaving his lips. "I'll get em later..m' tired." You rolled your eyes at him, and stood up, escaping into the kitchen to prevent any more annoying discoveries, like him leaving his helmet on the counter again which was sometimes covered in blood.

"Damn it...Jason we don't have any food, I thought you went shopping yesterday," you exclaimed trying to keep your tone neutral. "Oh..yeah...I forgot." "Jason?" "What?" Your nerves were almost boiling over. "You can't just 'forget'. What are we gonna eat?" The couch creaked as he crawled off and walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, then sighed again. "We can just order something." You turned to face him, crossing your arms. "Or maybe you can just listen to me when I ask you to do something." He blinked hard at you, closing the fridge. "I'm sorry. It's not like I go out for hours every night and remember hundreds of names, dates, warehouses, whatever the fuck. Can you give me a break?" Your body went stiff and you steadied yourself against the counter.

"This is the 3rd week in a row Jason-" he cut you off, "You work in an office, baby girl. You sit down, and stare at your screen- is it (that) bad?" You clenched your teeth hard, feeling an emotional build-up. "No, Jason. I work with troubled kids in neglected neighborhoods-" You rushed over your words in a fit of anger. "Which you'd know if you ever paid any fucking attention to me!" In the instance of finishing the last word, you felt a wave of embarrassment hit you. His forest green eyes narrowed, and his clenched jaw softened...almost as if he was hurt. "Y/n...", he voiced faintly. You spun on your heel, walking away from him. Jason repeated your name as you went into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

His footsteps approached the door, and he was met with the faint clicking sound of the lock. He scoffed at himself and leaned his back against the door. "Come out y/n..". His command was met with silence. "Baby..please." Your heart broke a little, hearing the pleading in his voice. "Can we talk about this...face to face?" He could imagine you'd just tell him to speak from outside the door. The door opened, causing him to almost fall and you stared up at him, crossing your arms. "Hey..", he whispered lowly, reaching his hands out to touch yours, leaning his body so close, you were almost touching.

His body heat radiated off of him, making you mindlessly lean closer. He held your hands. "Look at me. I don't pay attention to you?" "Well..I didn't mean..", you shifted slightly. "No..I think I heard you correctly," Jason breathily whispered in your ear. "I just meant..." You trailed off. "Yeah?"

His voice rumbled at his throat. You looked everywhere but his eyes. He pinned you to the wall with an intimidating gaze. You hated the way your body reacted to his. Hated how a few minutes ago you wanted to rip his head off and now he has your thighs rubbing together at his mere words.

"Baby you're on my mind 24/7. It's you who always pushes me away as if you can't let yourself enjoy my presence," he teases. You roll your eyes. "Can't take you seriously when you're over here tryna get some friction," he muttered and glanced down. You opened your mouth to deceptively defend yourself but he pressed a finger to your lips. "What, you didn't think I'd notice?"

He hooked his fingers onto the hem of her pants, slowly dipping his hands below to feel her dampness. "You're so wet and needy for me and I (barely) touched you, go on...ask for it." Your eyes flickered away from his. "B-but we have to talk about this Jay. We can't just-" he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. "I know..I know baby" he cooed. "Just lemme me take care of you first.." He searched your eyes for approval, to which you nodded shaky with anticipation. Then he kneeled.

[itsgrimeytime]

When you love him... || Rick Grimes (TWD)

When he loves you (sequel)

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

It was a rough day. A really rough day, you had constant nightmares -screaming faces of your family, jaws thrashing and running. Running until the breaths in your lungs burned and sweat dripped down your brow, you were running-

You woke up with a scream on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of-

"Hey," he hummed, groggy but forceful, "-hey, darlin', wake up-"

You came to almost immediately, the pounding, the screaming, the blood- it all went silent, only a mere ache in the back of your head now. When your vision cleared, you saw Rick -leaning over you, hands on your arms, gently shaking you awake.

"Hey," he spoke softly, a gentle whisper, "-hey, There ya are."

"Did I-"

"Light sleeper," he whispered, his drawl low and growly, "-'Heard ya shufflin' around."

Your cells were pretty close, maybe two off from each other but you were still surprised that he heard you from there. Were you loud? Were you screaming? You didn't want to wake-

"I cut you off from a scream," he seemed to read into your silence, "-No one else is awake, 'promise."

"Okay," you spoke, shakily, and, with his hand, he guided you up, "-okay."

His hand stayed there, on the small of your back -rubbing up and down with the gentle push of your breaths. You felt safe then, with his hand there, with him-

You pushed away the thought.

"Do ya wanna talk 'bout it?" He echoed, accent strong from the buzz of sleep in his voice.

"Just-" you started, deflecting, "-Just the same things everyone deals with."

"Just 'cause everyone deals with it," he spoke, more authoritatively -like you'd seen around the prison, "-don't mean it ain't important."

"My family," you relented, something catching in your throat -you hadn't told anybody, "-I watched them... Right in front of me, I was... I was so helpless."

You weren't built for an apocalypse, you knew that the second it started. When you'd come across the farm, you'd never even held a gun nevertheless used one. They had to train you, keep you practicing and make you confident-

You were used to it now, a familiar weight in your hand. Even when you used something else, it was okay, you knew it -you were getting used to this life.

You didn't know whether to sob or celebrate.

"You ain't helpless now," he spoke, hand finding its place on your shoulder -grounding, "-and I know it hurts but you can't change it. You just gotta... keep on movin' for 'em."

"I didn't think I'd make it this far," you confessed wiping at your tears -looking anywhere but at him, "-can you believe that? I thought... After my parents, my family, I thought I would go out just like them. Scared and afraid-"

"You didn't," he consoled, turning your face to face his own -your skin tingled under his fingertips, "-You won't. You survived. You are survivin', they'd want you to survive."

"Yeah, I know," you hummed, brought back to earth, "-I know."

"Plus," he clarified, looking straight into your eyes, "-you ain't alone anymore, alright? So don't, don't think like 'at."

"Okay," you exhaled, your breath a little more stable -he'd brought you down. The heaviness in your shoulders lifted, and something in you shifted -looking at him.

"'Kay," he started, hand rubbing your shoulder one last time -it left an ache in its wake, "-get some sleep, 'be good for ya."

"You too," you whispered, watching as he left -something building up in your chest, a little twinkle. An overwhelming feeling of... of wanting him to stay.

He has a pregnant wife, your brain dinged as you laid back down to sleep -head heavy and eyes exhausted but the thought kept you up.

You didn't sleep a wink.

[just-j-really]

Unsoulmates AU, part 6!

(Masterpost) (AO3)

"Have you found your person yet?" Morpheus asks, while Hob wrestles with their dinner dishes.

Hob had dragged Morpheus back to his flat to force some food into him after Morpheus had admitted that, with the opening date for Will's play drawing closer, he can't remember the last time he had a full meal. He'd sort of been expecting Morpheus to leave as soon as he'd eaten, since he'd only agreed to food in the first place because Hob had promised to reheat some leftovers and let him go.

He had, in fact, suggested several times that Morpheus consider things like going home and getting some sleep, and Morpheus had replied that sleep could wait until the problem with act two was fixed and-

The point is Hob isn't really sure why Morpheus is still sitting in his kitchen, asking him questions Hob's already answered, instead of doing either of those things, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has to derail himself from saying I think I did. I think I did, even if you find way too much amusement in my lack of spoon-washing ability.

What he says instead is, "Do you think Soulmates account for dishes?"

"What?" Morpheus asks, taking his seeming change of subject entirely in stride.

"They're supposed to be your Perfect Other Half, right?" Hob says, with only a little bit of sarcasm. "So does that mean my soulmate just loves doing dishes? To balance me out? Because that doesn't seem-" and then chokes on the rest of the sentence, because Morpheus has appeared at his elbow and taken the plate he'd been washing directly out of his hands.

"Oh, you don't- I wasn't asking-" Hob manages to sputter, once he's gotten over the shock. In that time, Morpheus has dropped the plate four times, splattered water all over his nice coat, and, crucially, made even less progress re: dishes than Hob was making.

"You can dry," Morpheus informs him, and that's that.

"Have you found your person yet?" Morpheus asks, through the door to Hob's flat. Hob had texted him- something, earlier, to let him know he was too sick to cook tonight, sorry. He's not sure what words he'd used, in hindsight. He's not sure they were English. He'd taken a nap immediately afterwards and woken up to find his fever finally gone down and Morpheus at his door with takeout.

Hob's not letting him in. He's not risking spreading this bullshit.

"You find 'em for me," Hob says, sliding to a seat against the door. It's nice, not to be standing. He might take a nap here.

Morpheus makes. A noise. A raspy, grating noise, like the sound that the concept of rusted metal would make if it were sentient, had some sort of lung disease, and was being tortured.

Hob is back on his feet and flinging the door open before he can think, coming face-to-face with Morpheus, who has one hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his-

Laughter, Hob realizes. With the context of the way Morpheus' eyes are sparkling and his hand is doing nothing to hide a wry smile, that horrific noise was definitely laughter. The weird little snorting sound he's currently doing an extremely unsuccessful job of muffling is him giggling.

It's hideous, and unrestrained, and adorable, and Hob immediately decides that he would cross and burn any number of bridges in order to hear him laugh like that again.

"I'll take the food for now, though," he says, voice hoarse in a way that has nothing to do with illness.

For some reason this sets off Morpheus laughing again, which means that despite the ache in all Hob's limbs and the fact that standing so quickly made the room start wobbling and his stomach churning, today officially gets marked as one of the best he's had all year.

"Have you found your person yet?" Morpheus asks, opening night of his and Will's play, the moment Hob pushes through the crowd in the lobby close enough to speak to him.

"You're asking me that now?" Hob replies. His eyes are still itchy from crying and he thinks he's going to need another week or so to be able to think clearly, after Morpheus methodically, delicately pulled his soul apart and rewove it into something better over the course of four acts, and he doesn't have the words to explain any of that so instead he just sweeps Morpheus up in a hug that lifts his feet from the ground.

Morpheus makes a startled little noise and clings to Hob's shoulders with both arms. "You're incredible," Hob says. He allows himself to hold Morpheus for one more moment, not long enough to matter to anyone but him, before gently setting him down. "Absolutely incredible. I don't- that was amazing. How the fuck are you this talented," he says. "I think you broke me."

In all the time he's been rambling, Morpheus has kept his arms around Hob's neck, perfectly still, like he's afraid he'll fall if he lets go even though his feet are firmly back on the floor. So Hob tugs him a little closer, and Morpheus sighs a little and leans against his chest, and Hob gets so distracted trying to preserve every detail of this moment in his memory that he forgets he was trying to explain to Morpheus how beautiful his play was-

And now they're just. Standing in a corner. Hugging.

Hob's life is perfect.

"Sorry," Hob says, eventually. "I should let you talk to people." The crowd around them is beginning to thin out, and as much as he wants to Morpheus all to himself he knows he should let him go mingle.

To his surprise, Morpheus shrugs. "That can wait."

It's a shot of sugary delight directly into Hob's bloodstream, and he can't restrain the smile that spreads across his face, over-enthusiastic to the point of hurting his cheeks a little. Morpheus wants to spend time with him! Specifically! Over reaping the rewards of the project that's consumed his heart and soul for as long as Hob's known him! Life is so wonderful!

Hob pulls out of the hug, just enough to scan the room. He's not familiar with this theater, but there has to be somewhere nearby they could slip off to, for a bit. Maybe talk a little. Maybe-

Maybe. Maybe Morpheus still has an arm looped around his shoulders, even though they're no longer hugging. Maybe Hob's arm is still around Morpheus' waist, and Morpheus has done nothing to shrug it off. Maybe, when Hob wraps that arm a little tighter, Morpheus only leans into him, lets his head drop onto Hob's shoulder. Even though there's a crowd around them, and anyone could see him nuzzling up against Hob in a way most people only do with their soulmates.

Maybe, Hob realizes, that crowd is so firmly clustered around Will not a single one of them would notice if he and Morpheus were actually, currently fucking. They're looking with Will with a sort of fervor that suggests he's going to start healing the sick with a touch or something. It doesn't seem like he's making any particular effort to direct them over to Morpheus, either, and sure Hob's been clinging to Morpheus for the past several minutes but Will's never seen that as a problem before.

"Wow," Hob says, not bothering to disguise his distaste, "Does he normally do this?"

"What?" Morpheus asks, sounding genuinely confused.

"This," Hob says, nodding at Will and His Adoring Public. They're still standing close enough that he barely needs to move his chin for Morpheus to understand what he means.

"It's his work," Morpheus says, his voice distant. "He deserves the credit."

Which is. Fair, Hob supposes. Probably. He could maybe even convince himself of that if Morpheus' expression weren't so resigned.

So he turns his head to Morpheus, close enough that no one else will be able to hear him, and says, "You deserve just as much. That bit where they hold hands in the last scene, after she dies? That made me cry. And I know that was all you." It was a tiny, subtle bit of stage directing that had the entire play's worth of meaning packed into it, of course that was Morpheus'.

Morpheus goes very, very still. The look on his face is less shocked than entirely disbelieving, like Hob had just recited some lost verse of poetry that archaeologists would sell their souls to rediscover.

"Don't deny it," Hob says, softly. "You broke my heart. Take responsibility," he adds, keeping his tone light enough that Morpheus can accept it as teasing even if what he means is Take my heart.

A small, pleased smile slips across Morpheus' face, and he melts back against Hob's side, lets his arm drop to Hob's waist. "I'm. In fucking awe of how talented you are," Hob says quietly. "And everybody else should be, too. You should have to wear sunglasses in public all the time to avoid getting mobbed by fans. There should be statues of you, and parades, and-"

"Yes, yes, alright," Morpheus says, elbowing him. He somehow manages to bring them even closer together with the gesture, so he's leaning more against Hob's chest than his side. "That part isn't important," he adds. "The play itself is. People saw it and it moved them, inspired them. That's what matters." His tone is the textbook example of 'haughty artist, far above mortal concerns.' It compliments his smile- satisfied, a little flustered- beautifully. What matters to Hob, at any rate, is that the confidence finally doesn't seem like a front.

"I still think you should get a statue," he murmurs, voice low, "But if you really don't mind missing out on all this, you wanna get out of here?"

[countjortula]

'I have so many headcanons about Matt' ok drop em

here's a few. I'm projecting but it's okay because I am matt jeevas and I make the damn rules here.

- has a vitamin D deficiency from hell

- used cheap hair products until mello came along and saw the absolutely disgusting, crunchy, dye/bleach damaged mop that was his hair. from that day forward, mello basically forced him to use more expensive shit.

- can and will go days on end without sleeping, either helping mello out or getting waaaaay too engrossed in games

- his diet consists of energy drinks and instant noodles (I'm projecting, I'm literally the same). even though he can cook. I like to believe that Wammy's taught these kids at least something about cooking and healthy diets and whatnot. be a bit stupid if they didn't

- prefers savoury to sweet, but likes to take small bites out of mello's chocolate sometimes

- most of his shirts are stripy, but he has some that say shit like "eat, sleep, game, repeat" or "murder is okay if you're sexy" or some absolute cringe like that

- likes salt and vinegar crisps!

- HE DOES LIKE MOUNTAIN DEW! STOP SAYING HE DOESN'T, IT UPSETS ME!

- loves jorts. totally the type or guy to wear jorts in december. he'd probably wear jorts to expensive, fancy restaurants. he would wear jorts to a job interview. this man would wear jorts at a funeral, a wedding, even a fucking baptism.

- he's a 'whatever happens, happens', guy. totally chill, just goes with the flow and doesn't let anything bother him. to be fair, he's probably too high to give a shit

- has crooked teeth and a gap in his front teeth. back at wammy's, they tried to make him get braces, but he refused because he thought hid crooked teeth were 'cool'

- he snores, and he sounds like a lawnmower when he does. it genuinely sounds like at least 10 planes taking off at the same time, it is so damn loud

- the dude ever. actually super hot under the goggles.

- CAT PERSON. HE IS A CAT PERSON.

-dropkicks or violently throws all his trash in the bin, cause it's fun as fuck.

and that's all I have for tonight because it is midnight and I'm so tired I could die. goodnight.