#his tongue is covered in the same flexible flesh as the under skin

[infection-zone]

Barbie man himself

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Sweet Dreams Part 2

Part One | Part Two

Chase Collins x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,968

Warning: contains physical intimacy and mature language

Summary: Now that you’re back from your trip, nothing is going to interrupt Chase’s plans for you.  A continuation of part one requested by the very sweet @thickemadame​​ 

After hours spent laid over in airports, you were finally home. Your body was a little stiff and you could really use a shower but life was good otherwise.

You adjusted the straps of your carry-on made your way to the bag claim carousel. Some fellow passengers were lucky and only had to worry about their carry-ons but that wasn’t possible for you. The research trip had lasted several weeks and a luggage set was entirely necessary to survive time you’d been out of town.  

The escalator took you downstairs to the ground floor and in the masses of unknown faces, a familiar one stood out.

Chase.

He spotted you ad waved the homemade sign in his hands around like crazy. The sign was colorful, complete with large bubble letters spelling your name and tons of stickers.

All in all, a very sweet gesture.

And almost the complete opposite of who your boyfriend really was.

Really, he did love you but Chase was a regular asshole most of the time, difficult and driven. He wasn’t naturally sweet; his idea of a romantic time was getting some beers and ending the night naked and covered in sweat.

He was also very concerned with how others saw him which is why it was unsurprising that he did this. It was all for the approval.

“Over here beautiful!” he yelled.

People around him cooed, whispering praises about him being a perfect boyfriend and he ate it right up. As soon as you were within reach he tucked away the sign so he could pick you up and give you a small twirl.

“Welcome back.” He leaned forward for a kiss and a few people even clapped.

Unimpressed, you pushed him away, brow raised. Really?

“Did you miss me, my dearest?” His arm draped possessively across your shoulders and he whispered hotly into your ear. “Cause I know I did.”

A shiver danced up the back of your neck as he herded you toward the baggage claim. It seemed that he hadn’t forgotten what had, or rather what hadn’t, happened the other night. And with him touching you, actually touching you instead of being in a dream, those memories were coming back for you too.

How your hands strained against the binds… every touch magnified with the blindfold on… the sharp sting of his hand spanking your flesh.

And most of all, the thrilling combination of hunger and pissed-off-ness on his face as he was about to wreck you only to be interrupted by the spell being broken.

“Of course I missed you.” You leaned to covertly nip at his neck. “I’ll show you just how much when we get home.”

He groaned lowly and tightened his grip, his fingers clamping down. 

In retaliation, you snuck your own hand around his waist and scratched his lower abdomen. If his shirt wasn’t in the way, your nails would’ve teased the trail of hair that led down underneath his pants.

The last thing you saw was your suitcases all successfully pulled off the conveyor line. Then you blinked and you were in your bedroom, the airport miles away with bags propped up  against the wall. Being with Chase for so long, you figured out what happened quickly.

“Using magic like that in front of everyone? Jesus, Chase.”

He barely lifted his mouth from where it was attached to you, sucking damp imprints into the back of your neck. “Calm down, baby. I made sure no one would see.”

“Even if that’s true, I’ve told you not to be so reckless Using. You’re going look like a fossil in ten years tops if you keep this shit up.”

Your head was pulled back and he tutted disappointedly. “Language, baby, language. Besides, even if I turn into an old man, I’ll still be enough to satisfy you.”

The carry-on dropped to the floor as Chase pulled you into a sloppy kiss that was all teeth and tongue and spit.

He made quick work of your clothes and soon you were completely topless, nipples hardening when they came into the exposed air. But you gave as good as you got and you frantically ripped his shirt off as well, his belt buckle your next target when he abruptly retreated.  

A delicate thread of saliva still connected the two of you as you panted. Spinning you around, he threw you onto the bed, the force making you bounce when your back hit the mattress.

One might mistake Chase’s body as weak but you knew that he packed serious strength under his clothes, the evidence undeniable as his muscles flexed in the yellow light from the bedside lamp. He may not swim competitively anymore but he was still an avid gym goer.

Couple that with his supernatural advantage and he had no problem tossing you even though it shocked you every single time.

The mattress further dipped as Chase crawled up after you, starting at the foot of the bed and working his way up to your lips. Now that he finally had you where he’d wanted you for weeks, pliant and under him, the kiss softened from animalistic desire to soft seduction.

Tongues licked at one another languidly, sending thrills down your stomach and straight into the heat between your legs. Your hips canted upwards, seeking more friction against your most sensitive part and he indulged you by grinding against you, his hard-on obvious.

Soon you were moving in tandem, hips rolling together, his hand ghosting over your sides and leaving goosebumps in his wake. He hovered over the hem of your pants, rubbing the pads of his fingers briefly under the waistband before slithering away to the skin that was already bared.

You moaned and he did the same thing again.

And again.

And again.

Feed up with the teasing, your nails dug into his muscled shoulders. “Touch me already. Please.”

Please was the magic word and it flipped a switch.

The pants were thrown across the room and landed on the floor with a muted thump, your panties placed in his pocket. For a second you regretted the loss of his lips until he descended onto your breasts, the same purposeful attention he gave your mouth.

His breath was hot and contrasted with coolness of his licks which ensured your both nipples stayed nice and tight. One particularly hard draw had you clutching him to your chest, fingers weaving through his soft hair to ensure he stayed where you wanted him.

Not that he would leave you hanging, even if your minor display of dominance irked him a little. He’d allow it for the moment.

He always had been a breast man and yours were especially perfect to him, soft, mailable, and oh so sensitive to his ministrations.

To prove it, he wound his tongue around the pointed nipple and sucked hard and firm.

The cry that left you was all too satisfying and he smirked as he nuzzled against your breast. Case in point. Still, he knew all of your sounds by heart and that wasn’t the best you could do, not by far. He needed to step up his efforts.

You were so into what he was already doing that your eyelids slammed shut when you felt something circling your clit. You didn’t stop to think how that was possible given that both of his hands were locked on your breasts along with his mouth.  

The circling started slowly and built up in speed until it was moving close to the speed of a vibrator. Your inner walls clenched around nothing and you felt yourself growing increasingly wet.

Quivering moans were constant as you couldn’t find the strength or will to keep your mouth closed.

“God, that’s hot,” he growled. “That right, baby, let me hear you.”

Words were difficult to form but you managed a whiney, “More,” before you were back to making unintelligible noises.

Continuing on his journey south, all the while licking and caressing, he stopped when he got to your opening. Iron strong hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise and he spread your legs as wide as they would go.

Chase made a mental note to drag you to the gym more often so he could work on your flexibility: it would allow him to explore more positions with you.

His own mouth replaced the invisible force that had giving it to you so good just a second ago, working you at a much lower speed, however, no less enthusiastic.

He didn’t give a damn about messy about and his lips sucked your glistening folds as if he were devouring a ripe peach. His saliva added to the wetness and the mixture dribbled all over his chin, and his nose which was also buried in between your legs.  

After all, you were his and he took your arousal as a badge of pride. Anything to get you off.

He shamelessly spelled out his name on you repeatedly with his tongue. It worked for both parties. You couldn’t help but respond to the attention and the fact that it was his name that did this to you placated his possessive urges.  

While he was doing that, the invisible force returned, this time massaging inside of your slick walls with wet squelches.

Had you been paying more attention, you would’ve noticed the black expanding to take over his eyes. As it was, the only thing you comprehended was the added pleasure. 

Your whole world narrowed to the heat emanating from your most intimate place.

The magic ramped up it’s pace like it had done when it was humming against your clit except now it was thrusting into you. Your hips were positively bucking trying, and failing, to keep up.

“Look at you, fucking yourself. Trying to cum,” Chase panted into your inner thigh. He pressed a kiss there. “Come on then. Do it.”

What had been fire running through your veins turned to lava in an instant and you cried out as your limbs liquefied, heavy with molten euphoria. Instinctively, you tried to grab his hair again but he didn’t take kindly to it the second time around.

Another invisible weight pinned your hands to the bed, the sheets beneath you long since having been wrinkled. You desperately pulled against the restraint but to no avail. The only way you were getting out of those damn invisible, magical bonds was by Chase’s will and he wasn’t feeling merciful at the moment.

“Tsk. You know the rules, no touching unless I say so. Now be a good girl and cum for me.”

The dominant tone along with the tight bonds and the relentless pounding inside of you, had your back arching sharply. One last sloppy kiss to your clit was all it took. 

You erupted completely with breathy screams and quivering muscles, bursts of light flashing in your vision as your eyes peeled wide open.

The wave ended far too soon and left you shivering when it ended. Everything was blurred.

His light eyes were lidded as you lazily stroked his face. You couldn’t help but to turn to kiss him as he held himself up on his elbows over your body.

“I—I think need a shower.”

“Later,” he retorted with finality.

Confusion showed on your face and he pressed his still hard cock against your stomach.

Oh. You’d been so caught up chasing your orgasm, that you’d forgotten about his.

He popped open the brass button at the top of his jeans and kneeled before you. “After all, you’ve been gone long time. We’re just getting started and nothing is going to interrupt us this time.”

_______________

Sorry for the long wait! April was a crazy month and I’ve been trying to tell myself I don’t need to write for Mortal Kombat 2021 (even though I want to.) I still don’t know if I have the rhythm for smut down but I hope everyone enjoyed it. 

Thanks for reading! 

[fictional-thoughts]

Poisoned

the mandalorian x fem!reader

warnings: smut, rough messy sex, slight dom/sub elements, sex pollen (dub/con), language, breath-play, fingering, one (1) spank

words: 6k+

a/n: this is genuinely the smuttiest thing i’ve ever written...enjoy

The Mandalorian is walking too fast, he’s gaining speed, leaving her behind in the foggy dark green forest. She’s desperately trying to keep up but her body’s seizing up and trembling and soaked in sweat. His cloak sways behind him and she’s try to not feel dizzy as the tanned colour of it clouds her blurry vision; but the planet is spinning in time with her twisting nerves and white hot muscles.

He’s clumsy, ducking under banches almost too late and his boots catch on thick veiny vines that litter the forest floor. The air smells damp and of pollen, of fluorescent flowers, dripping their sickly sweet scents and luring their prey. Deathly and dark violet the bulbous and puffy flowers hang in thick bunches, taunting the bounty hunter, teasing him with their lavender faces.

He should have known something was wrong. It was too silent. Too dark.

“Wait, wait,” she’s sweating under the thick and flexible armour, it feels as if there’s a million suns spanning the vast sky above her, burning down in fury from the gods. Skins slicked and her underclothes are sticking uncomfortably, melting to her frame. Her hairs a mess, damp and knotted and frizzy with humidity. “Damn it, Mando — somethings wrong.”

Mando nearly freezes in his tracks at her words voice high and broken; fuck, he knew it. She’s got it too, she has be feeling the same, weakened, chest constricted, halting breath in the lungs and skin burning like a forest fire, tongue parched and dry in the mouth, it’s death but only slower.

“What did you say?”

She coughs. The pit of her stomach is pulling towards an unseeable object, ripping through muscles in curling motions, thighs and hands trembling. The forest is so dark and bushy and green and lush she’s having trouble telling what is in front of her, eyes bleary and blinking in and out.

She hears the Mandalorian speak and nearly crash into the brushes under her heavy boots, the hot curls of pain unfurl inside her, a caged animal, clawing to be free and rid of her wretched body.

Something is really wrong.

Her hands find a mossy tree trunk and she’s barely keeping herself up, she’s holding her head in her shaking hand and has got her eyes screwed shut to block out the sight of the Mandalorian pushing his way back through the trees to get back to her, his long rifle catching on the vines and boots thumbing on the ground that seems to sway, a gentle and giant seesaw of lush greenness is the planet, twisting into a thousand vines.

He’s getting closer and it’s all she can do but not scream. Don’t, don’t come any closer.

“You okay?” He grips her forearm tight in his gloved hand and her skin erupts in goosebumps, prickling her skin with an override of electricity. Her mouth drops open as a thousand fluttering beings swarm inside her stomach as he’s connected to her.

“Don’t touch me,” she’s frantic and he’s pulling away from her, his gloved hands raised, almost in defence. Her own clammy hands are pulling at the thick straps and buckles of her armour, it’s too tight and she can’t breathe.

The Mandalorians mind is racing, thinking back to every single second they they’ve been on the godforsaken planet, it’s a slipping of details, they’re all a blur, pieces fell where they shouldn’t be and he’s so confused, why can’t he remember what happened to them? Why does it seem to be affecting her more then it is him?

Then he realizes.

The Mandalorian growls a soft swear, “shit,” and she whips her head to look at him, pupils dilated and forehead glazed with a sheen of sweat, she’s a breathtaking disaster.

“What?”

“This is your fault.” He’s harsh, condescending. He angrily snaps his rifle over his shoulder to free up his movements, he’s handling the weapon roughly and she’s watching with slight awe. Every second he’s in hot pain, it’s pulling him closer to her every second and now he’s absolutely certain. “Now —” he tries to explain but she’s already lashing out in that bright red anger.

“You bastard, how is this my fault?” She stumbles and nearly falls but catches herself with some dignity, ignoring the Mandalorians hand moving to help her, if need be. Her raised voice causes his chest to lurch and he’s trying not to look directly at her. He’s now absolutely certian and trying to remain calm.

-

They’d been wandering through the thick forest, stepping through shallow streams and climbing over moss covered rocks protruding from the planets crust. She’d been walking along, weapons slung across her chest, just absolutely entranced by the canopy of violet flowers that hung in thick and heavy looking bunches over their heads; the red suns of this planets atmosphere did their best to shine through the long winding leaves of the plants, but as the bounty hunters continued on, the darker their surroundings became.

She was ignoring the Mandalorian, angry at him once again for getting them lost, but his argument in retaliation was she had simply forgotten to pack the ships tracker back at base. Packed into a steaming argument she then proceeded to send him surly glares and refuse to speak.

The Mandalorian didn’t mind much, he liked the quiet, and quite honestly, he enjoyed it more when he knew she weren’t going to start speaking. He’d never been much of a talker, but going on this mission with a fellow (amateur) hounty hunter, he’s been forced to converse, pleasantly or not.

They had been walking under the flowers for ages, time didn’t exist there, a loop of the hours that dragged on forever. Then that is where everything was her fault.

She touched a small fluorescent flower, curled her slim fingers around the velvety petal she smoothed skin of the plant under her palm and turned to examine the bright pollen covering her flesh.

She caught his gaze for a moment, a hazed over kind of glint in her eyes, then looked down at her pollen covered hand, then back at the innocent looking plant, a light violet powder covered her hand, and imprinted on the large petals was her very handprint.

“It’s just a plant. We should keep moving.” He turned and strode away, pushing down the idea that she had looked beautiful, surrounded by soft colours, it was different than her usual aesthetic. She only smiled, her frustration melted away, and brushed the rest of the pollen from her palm, together they watched it soak into the air, soft and aesthetic it slid between the panels of sunlight that peeked through.

The faces of flowers watched the hunters leave the forest; poisoned and deadly.

-

“You gotta be fucking kidding. Fuck.” The Mandalorian sighs deeply and he’s trying not to stare as she’s stripping from her metallic armour, her hurried fingers untying the laced up straps of her chest piece he’s kneeling down and helping her before she can yell at him. His gloved hands graze the skin of her collarbone exposed between the laces of her white undershirt and she’s whimpering.

She can’t strip right here. He’s not sure what will happen if she does. “Stop.”

“I said don’t fucking touch me,” she’s pushing him away and glaring, dark and deep.

“Do you know what that was?” He’s cooled down, thinking of what to do, that pulsing and burning need is brimming within his chest, begging and a slur of sinful thoughts seep into his mind. “The flowers?”

She’s sunk down to the brushy forest floor amongst the fluffy ferns and little white dotted flowers with red cheeked and filled with fierce bemusement she answers him. “The hell should I know.”

His shoulders droop with his heavy sigh and he’s scanning the trees around them, wondering if it’s the pollen affecting his sight too or if the wooded plants really do look as if they are bending over them, creaking and contorting into an arch as if to protect the two hunters, watch over them. “I’ve heard of these before, and this has to be it — why you’re in pain.”

The Mandalorian makes no comment of his own deplorment, controling desire morphed into threads of pain. He’s keeping it under wraps but having her so close to him, so bare and soft, as much as she exists to him as an enemy rather than one he’s thought of in such a way its throwing his attention askew.

“I’m not in pain,” she’s snapping at him again, short words and a steely tone she’s already turning a cold shoulder, never accepting the fact that she’s not immortal.

Inwardly she knows she’s lying, but it’s a half lie, she’s in pain but it’s a familiar feeling, the warmth pooling inside her, trembling hands and thighs, she can just feel the dampness at her core, hot and slick she’s absolutely soaked.

“I’m just —” she cant string the words together, looking up at the stern Mandalorian she’s fighting back the urge, the longing and pathetic urge to crawl into his lap and have him fuck her till she can’t breathe; to sink himself deep inside her with a hand around her neck and to just fuck her senseless.

“I know.”

-

They’re back at the ship, the night air is cold and there are few stars alive in the sky. The Mandalorian and her are only feet apart, he’s across from her in his chair, back straight and unmoving, facing the dash. She’s sitting on the ground with her back against the rough cooling wall, the metal grated floor is hard and her ass is sore but if she’s sitting anywhere else she’s close to the Mandalorian and she can’t have that.

WInd howls outside and the huge trees sway in the darkness outside the Mandalorians ship.

She’s got her eyes closed, jawline accented in the semi darkness she’s leaning back to the wall, bottom lip caught under her teeth she’s biting down harshly and tapping her foot in an anxious beat as sweat drops past her sternum and slides over her skin between her breasts, she feels every milimeter of her skin crawl and its rolling in waves, the slick and pushing arousal, its sliding under her skin and got its grip on her chest so tight shes stripped her shirt off.

Her forgotten armour and boots lay in the middle of the open space within the ship.

This isnt ending soon.

The Mandalorian watching his fist curl and uncurl, the wrinkles of the leather gloves he’s wearing bend and fade, he’s unfocused and can only think of her, she’s ten feet away and hasn’t spoken to him since they made it back to his ship. He’s thinking of how she uttered a moan as he brushed her lower back, her eyes closing, slipping into a world where the affects of the pollen are taken care of. 

He’s wondering just how long the effects last when the she speaks up, her voice hoarse and taunt in her lungs. “How the hell is this not having any effect on you?” His fist clench one last time and he’s shifting in his chair, through the visor his eyes close momentairly, pondering of what to say.

“I never said it wasn’t.”

For all the wrong reasons heat pools within her core at the Mandalorians tender voice, smooth and rich its all she can do but imagine how he sounds next to her ear, telling her how good she feels around him, how wet and tight. “You feel this too?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s still blaming her, still wrapped in the idea she’s at fault. How could she have known? In turn, he was at fault as well, getting them lost and failing to recall the deadly flowers.

Then she’s saying something he’d never expect.

“I’m so sorry,” she’s muttering, rubbing the heals of her hands into her eyes, blurring her vision — childlike, innocent. “This is all my fault,” grimacing, she moves her legs to be more comfortable. “It hurts,”

An apology. In the moment the Mandalorian finds it amusing that it takes fucked up pollen fever to force her to apologize for something.

The Mandalorians chest is pinched, painful, and he sighs deeply, she sounds so wrecked, her voice soft, weak. He hears her shifting on the floor and his ears ring witht he rustle of clothing — everything is sensitive. “I know,” he says her name in the short sentence and she’s whimpering in reply.

They could be anywhere, planets away, flying past suns and stars, holed up in dingy towns or broken cities — no, they’re ten feet apart and both have managed to inhale sex pollen straight from the deadly plant itself.

“Mando,” she whimpers again, sliding her hands down her torso, her palms press over her nipples and her back arches; she’s forgetting her hatred for the Mandalorian, letting his annoyance to her everyday life slip from her mind — she’s opened her eyes and he’s there, standing, the shadows curved around him you can only see the outline of his form. Her eyes linger on his arms, his now bare hands and the warmth tugs somewhere deep inside her.

Eyes darkened and filled with a lingering prederatory hilt, she’s pulling herself to her feet, the Mandalorians watching her, a warrior, torn and wrecked, chapped pink parted lips and lashes fluttering over her bright eyes — unstoppable, seductive. He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about her beyond the dealings of companionship, of partners in they crimes they commit.

“We gotta do something about this, Mando.” Its killing her, she’s sure of it. Her eyes break into his beskar, drag over his bulky body.

“There’s nothing... we just wait it out.”

“I can’t,”

“I don’t care.” He’s back to cruel words in the place of his longing rule the flood of things he wants to say, to bend close to your ear and whisper. Fuck me.

She’s stalking closer to him, wetting her lip with her tounge its only moments before something has to happen, its damp and rushed in the hazy red lights inside the ship, they’re furious and watching the Bounty Hunters below.

“I hate you, you know that?” Her words are dripping burning silk — she’s never hated him. And thats her immortal demise, a secret, tucked away in her heart.

“Feelings mutual.” He turns his head to stare into her eyes, her widened and starlike eyes. His own dark eyes trail down past her collarbone and land on her breasts nearly pushed from her tight covering, rising ad falling in time with her breaths. His hands ich to just touch. 

She purrs. “We can hate eachother,” she’s stepped closer to him and he’s not moving, allowing her to invade all idea of personal space she’s so close he can smell her. She seems to forget where she was going with her sentence, looking up at him its like she sees right through him.

“Can we?” His voice breaks through the mask. She chews on the idea, wonders what kind of pretty words it would take to get him to fuck her. Her cunts soaked and throbbing, the push of the material of her pants aren’t helping.

 “Have you ever been with anyone?”

There it is.

“Dont ask stupid questions.” He’s turning away but she’s got a hold of his arm, her warm hand in contact with his is taking ridiculous affect, lurching up and and through his chest the Mandalorians heart is in his throat. “We cant,”

He’s thinking it too.

“Its not wrong,” she’s sliding her hand down to slip her fingers through his, stiring up the growing fire. Its hot and heavy, weighs him down. “Mando, please,” she’s begging, caught on whimpers she’s breathing heavier and heavier. The Mandalorin pulls his hand from her grip, raises it and he’s brushing a forlorn tear from her cheek.

Please. “I can’t stop it,”

He’s slowly going insane, at the touch of her skin something within him snaps and he’s pulling her close, pushing her to the wall of the ships interior, his arms trapping her in. Their breaths match, and she’s so close to him, her eyes softening her mouth opens to beg, of pathetic desperation and drunk on the flowers bitter poison. The Mandalorian stops her, a bare hand agaisnt her mouth he’s silenced her. The touch of their burning skin nearly has her dropping to her knees. She looks into the visor of the hemlet and searches of emotion, a flicker of life behind the face of a machine.

The Mandalorians body is pressed to hers, compact, brimming with the poisonous affections, they’re drowning in the stuff. She shudders in his grasp, the mix of metal and weapons, of leather and the soft material of his shirt, its all too much, burning and keeping her of air its not enough.

He’s looking away from her, forcing himself to keep his cool. Its a rippling fire, lurching and spreading as if alive, the thick coils are heavy. Mando tempts a movement, his cock hard against her and it’s so good — she whines info his hand, her leg slinking up his own, trapping him closer.

“You really don’t know what you do to me, huh?” The Mandalorian’s rough, distracted, caught in grinding out as much friction against her as he can, chasing away the clouding thoughts, screaming at him that everything is wrong.

But those fade, sink into pure silence when her free hand slides up his wrist, nails dug into his skin, she’s pulling his hand away from her lips, her heavy lidded eyes dance with seduction. He’s watching her turn his hand, help him cup her jaw, half spread over the side of her throat, his thumb glides over her lip, she’s turning her head, leaning into his grasp she’s taking the digit between her wet pursed lips, sucking, biting down.

Fuck.

“Please Mando,” hoarse voice in his ears and shooting a pool of warmth straight through him. She’s sinking into the wall, dark eyes pouring into him. Desperate. Longing. “What, you want me to beg?”

Mando freezes. A growl pushes its way through his chest. “No,” she’s ruining him, breaking him apart by the seams. Her brows knitted, eyes wide, pleading. A selfish, dark part of the Mandalorian wants to force her to her knees, maybe turn her front to the wall, press deep into her and fuck the burning urges away.

Her tones smooth and sinking into his skin, drugging him. “Wanna watch me get off? Maybe that’s what you’d like, Mando?”

She pushes him back, forcing stumbling steps, using what’s left of her strength. It’s wickedly wrong, she needs him so bad it hurts. She wants to drop to her knees, taste his cock on her tongue, strip the beskar off, drag her nails down his skin, make him moan her name.

Her words are nearly fucking unbearable. The burning sexual tension hangs in the air, choking them. The ships inside is warm and sticky, her half bare body is covered in sweat, her skin flushed and eyes dark, she matches what earthquakes seem and what passion wishes it could be.

The last dregs of self control fade, his minds hazy with greed and the absence of her burning fever touch has him desperate.

“Get on the floor.”

Quiet. Commanding. She’s obeying instantly and sinks to the floor of his ship, grated metal digging into her flesh, the ground is filthy and gritty and she’s biting back harsh words, only for the moment, thick and heavy need is in place of hatred. Her poisoned gaze burns into him, watching him pull away weapons and leather, heavy cloak and chunks of beskar — not all all of it though.

He’s over her, burning touch that’s melting to her skin. She falls into a moan, her stomach tense with arousal, spreading through her body, following his hands. “Fuck you need to touch me,” everything is begging her to delve into him, rip apart from their restraining history, make amends and build up something new, something in which he can fuck her and hate her at the same time.

And maybe he is.

Through the visor of his helmet, glitching into view, her body spread and displayed, his core deepens, eating him from the inside. Mando pulls her to his lap, her cunt right over his centre, throbbing over his cock. A hot moan drips from the helmet, he closes he eyes, letting her move against him, spine arched beautifully; Mando slides an arm around the small of her back, keeping her close with a spread hand. The other gropes her chest, further pulling down the tight material covering her tits.

“I need—” a whimper slides over her lips, her hands settle over his broad shoulders, drag him closer. “I need something...your hands — fuck — your lips on me.”

“You’re not getting that.” He promises, his helmets not coming off, he’s barely taken any armour off — and she’s bare over him, albeit tight underclothes. His hand slides down her skin, past her navel and dip down past her underclothes, shoving them aside. She gasps loudly, releasing her breath in a shaking moan as his fingertips brush her softness.

That aching pull, it’s deepening and she’ll surely run out of breath before the Mandalorian can properly touch her. She’s forgotten it’s not affected him as much as her — not that it matters, he’s got his hand on her cunt and his dick is hard and thick under her. “Please, oh my god.”

The helmet tilts, the coolness brushing her skin. He’s watching her, arched into his grasp, silently begging for anything. Then he’s curled two fingers into her, gathered in slick and crooked just right and she shrieks, shatters over him. Blood red lips and wild eyes, she’s moving, urging him to fuck her through the drug, bring the heavyness to an end. Its not enough.

She’s falling back, legs untanged with his, she’s gripping him and pulling him close, collasping onto the floor, his hand leaves her for a moment, tugging an empty ache back into her gut. “No, no --” she’s whimpering, “please keep going.”

His hand pushes the mess of hair from her face, looking right into her wretched eyes. Through the rush and anger, he feels a bit of softness, a bit of longing mixed with a likeness, she must be well under the drug, for she’s never been one to beg just that much. His bare hands slide back over her body, dipping past her hipbones and blunt nails dragging down her thighs. Her cunt glistens, Mandos caught in wondering just how she’d taste on his tongue, his head between her thighs, tight around his ears.

“Mando,”

The helmet tilts again and she catches a glimpse of skin, tan under the material and beskar. It’s the column of his throat, leading down where his collarbone would be. The sight sends her into fresh, delicious delirium.

“You need me to fuck you.” He’s buying time, seeing how far she can stretch, the looks of her all soft and longing is turning him on a little too much. It’s not the girl she normally is.

Half a sob curls up, painfully pushing at her throat. She needs him so bad. “Isn’t that fucking obvious.”

There she is.

Without warning he’s over her and his hand on her cunt, two fingers sunk deep in her wetness, pulling her into a painful arch from the grated flooring. She shakes, her hand finds his shoulder and grips tight, nails nearly digging into the thick material of his shirt. Living vicariously through the feeling of his fingers in her cunt, he’s back to thinking just how she’s taste, how she’d writhe and shiver under his tongue. The thoughts are burning through him and his dick is painfully hard — her thigh brushes him and he nearly comes right there.

He’s fucking her slowly, roughly; thumb brushing her clit through the plush wetness of her cunt, she biting down on moans and quivering, lithe in his grasp. “Mando please, I need —” she’s got her eyes squeezed shut, rolling through another wave of wanton poison, it’s bleeding into every nerve.

“I know what you need,” he’s got her. His voice soothes her, his rough hands pull her thigh up, three fingers slathered in her dripping elixir, they’re flat to her clit and pushing in short circles. His touch is chasing away the heat in her skin, derived under influences of lust, she’s collapsing under thick waves of it. She needs his hands, his lips his dick — anything. What the Mandalorian is doing is not enough.

“Mando, just shut up, please —” the slip of his fingers on her clit is sloppy, pressing hard and soaked in her honey. “I need something.” It still hurts, the pollens clamped itself inside her system, taking ahold of her hot muscles, her running heart and flushed skin.

He’s got her pinned, ragged sounds tear from him, the helmets speakers crackle with his breath. Mandos hovered above her, ire trained on her face, down her chest to her breasts rising and falling, pert nipples and soft curves. She’s so damn soft, angelic in a ruined sort of way. Mando groans, her hands found his cock, palming through the fabric.

“Take of the mask,” she’s panting, her free hand leaves his shoulder and slides down the metal, right where she imagined his cheekbone would be. His movements slow. “Wanna have your fucking mouth on me.”

“Helmet stays on.” He’s pulled her closer, sinking down to cover her bare body with his metallic and leather clad one, his right hand digs under her thigh, raises it to his side, slim fingers gripping her pretty curves. She’s frustrated, all that hate and anger comes back in droves, her hand leaves his cock, much to her displeasure and leaves him chasing the feel of it, she’s temping him, fueling a spark of anger.

“I don’t care.” She hisses, eyes scathingly dark.

Smack! His hand slaps the outside of her thigh, burning the skin a deeper colour and bringing a cry of surprise to the edge of her breath. Fuck, the spank shot the air from her lungs, swollen lips parted but not a noise leaves them.

The sudden sting and roughness of it was painful — she wants it again. Her cunts tight around nothing and she’s pulled on an edge.

“Could blindfold you,” the voice through the helmet is deep, it sends her further into an intoxicating trance. “That what you want?”

Fuck no. She’s biting her lip and pushing herself up and onto him. Her tits press to his beskar and it’s cold to her skin, covered in goosebumps and sweat, chills run rampant over her form. She whimpers, his rough hands find her cunt, dip into the warmth once again.

“I’m not putting a blindfold on, fuck that.” She’s panting, arched up to him as his fingers leave her cunt, slicked and tasting of her sweetness. She’s mewling and its not enough, she needs the real thing. She’s begging him to fuck her properly between the sounds of metal clinking, the heavy rustle of fabrics — he’s not wasting a second before he’s half torn from the beskar.

The Mandalorian smooths his bare hand over her cunt, watching her shiver — wretched art, she’s beautifully twisted. She’s palming her own breast, arching info the feeling, her body calling him, a siren luring.

Fuck it. He could do no blindfold.

“Fine,” he’s growling and grips her hips, hands dug into her skin he’s flipped her over, her chest pressed onto the dirty floor of the ship, the Mandalorian runs a hand up her smooth back, his hand curves around the back of her neck and she’s pinned down.

His free hand rips the helmet off, it clatters fo the floor beside her, the empty metal visor staring, watching. Basked in fresh air and the smell of sex, Mando leans over her, a large hand slides up past her tits and circles her throat. She whines and bends to his will. Mandos rough and unforgiving, a newfound freedom without the helmet has him pulling her body right to his broad chest, teeth scraping her neck, damp moans and mutters of curses fall from his hungry lips.

“Gods, gods you’re so good,” his raw and ragged tone is thick in the air, finally free of his helmet, still mysterious to her, it’s the sinking reality of just how attracted she is to him, how pathetically desperate she is, letting a man fuck her and never let her see his face; but the feel of his hardness pressed against her along with leftover leather and beskar mixed with his lips on the lobe of her ear is enough.

She wants the Mandalorian to show her how good she is. All that blinds her is pure need, flower drunk and trapped in the world of fever dreams.

Sliding her ass against him, his cock hard as fucking marble between them, she moans, ripping through another wave of arousal, she’s growing wetter by the second its evident on the inseams of her thighs, shiny and coated. The Mandalorian shoves harshly her down again, his knee knocking hers to the side, spreading her apart, bending over her his lips and teeth find her shoulder blade and between her yearnful sounds, stuck in the darkness of the fever, she’s struggling, eyes squeezed shut.

Then sliding past all that, pushing through shuddering breaths, Mando grips her tight and sinks himself into her. Its instant relief, a fall into icy rushing water and the world becomes clear again, everything is felt differently. She’s warm and wet, every inch delved deep in her cunt is pure bliss.

“Oh-h stars—” curling, tense pressure mounts within her, she’s sensitive and trembling, he’s breaking her open, it’s everything she’d been desperate for and more. She’s writhing in his grasp, tangled in pleasure, her form caved to his touch.

The Mandalorian moans, exilariated he’s pulling back only to slam himself into her again, arms supporting him he’s leaned over her, pressing messy and wet kisses to her shoulder, sinking his teeth into her soft skin he’s forcing her to cry out, to bend at his will and crave him only more. She’s stretched, a sleek feline, muscled and curved, her knees are spread and the metal of the floor is digging into her skin, its painful but she doesnt feel it in the moment.

At a loss of words, her lips part and she’s stuck, caught in thick webs of flowing pleasure, running in hot waves through her bloodstream, her nerves and bones. The Mandalorians pace is off, deep and hard, he’s sloppy and rough.

Its a race to the edge and she finds herself taunt, her thighs tremble and she’s already close, taking it hard she covers her mouth with her hand, pushing forwards as the Mandalorians movements twist into something other than, something primal and urging on what the poison called them to do.

Her body half broken under fatigue, Mando’s strong arms grip hers and gather her up, spine curved again, her ass pressed to his hipsbones, the new angles deep and he stutters his movements, head falling tight to her shoulder, resting for only a moment.

He’s fucking her harder, messier. One arm wrapped around her chest, hand clasped with hers and the other winds around her throat, forearm pressed over her chest. Fingertips pressing to the sides of her neck, he knows just what he’s doing — right amount of pressure, the slight squeeze, it’s got her gasping and hungry for adrenaline. She curled an arm back, holding the back of his head, fingers threaded through his thick hair, soft under her palm.

“Mando, fuck you’re good,” maybe it’s the drug, maybe she’s sunk under the influence, thick with lust but each show, calculated fuck against her has her wondering why they’ve never done this sooner.

He squeezes once, a warning. “Quiet,” and that’s why, she remembers, slurring thoughts mix through her foggy mind, he’s controlling, he’s rough and merciless — but it doesn’t matter now, she’s halfway to orgasm and the calling relief is so much better than her hatred for him.

She’s trembling on the edge, the Mandalorian fucks her hard and fast, chasing after release and turning the lust into something wickedly beautiful. Each hit has her breathtaking moans, a little gift to his ears, furthering his seeping arousal. She’s tight and hot around him, fucked out at a perfect angle and lashing against his grip, then it’s all blinding and his release comes from nowhere, coating and warm inside her she’s gasping at the feel, triggering her own fall from grace.

Slow and gutteral moans, shaking breaths and molten energy, they’ve fallen on the same brink of time, waves of lighting crash through her, the heavy coil snapping, evolving into sparks of rabid pleasure. She muffes shrieks into her hand. Mando’s never come harder, so unexpectedly torturous, she’s impossibly wet around him and it’s hard to keep a grip, her thighs shake. Three more leisurely thrust, deep in her cunt has him tripping through the moment, head dropping to her shoulder, teeth gritted tight, he’s a mess and it’s wrecking him.

“Fuck,” he bites down on the swear, she shivers as he pulls away, hands releasing her throat and waist she’s shaky and not able to hold herself up. Mando doesn’t speak, his mind filled with one thing.

Through the darkness of the Crest, the thick taste of sex in the air and sounds of her intoxicating whimpers, he sinks down and helps her lie back, her form shifting under him, she’s facing him in the darkness, breathing through the aftershocks. “Holy... shit,”

“Don’t move,” chasing the trembles down her ruined form, he drops between her legs once again, dangerous hands pawing at her thighs, her knees had knocked together, tensed in the throes of pleasure but Mando’s splitting them open and burrowing his head between.

She jolts back into reality, haven drifting into some kind of post orgasmic dream. His velvet tongue slides up through her cunt, finally having a taste of her, drinking all she has to offer. Wet and heavy moans shift from his lips to her slicked cunt, his whole body is pressing forwards, rebuilding the release. She’s choking on moans, the sensitivity is on the verge of pain, tipping past pleasure. The sounds of her cunt to his lips, his nose ridged against her clit, churning out a new rush, white hot and bathed in carnality.

“Yes, oh-h my gods,” her hands fumble, her form is numb to feeling, every nerve is retracting, drowning in the new burning coals and blackened skyes. It’s ruined daylight and broken stars. It’s only been seconds after the release, and another ones building. Hot tears threaten to escape, renagade and borne by exhaustion, sensitivity; and the Mandalorians not slowing down, sinking into her begs on the edge of sin, his tongue delves deep, flicking and curling around her bud.

She’s split apart, the half on verge of passing out, the other riled up, curling her leg around his shoulder, pushing him further and fuck she’s so close, pooling warmth and the rushed feeling of tightness, the burning coil taunt. Through the darkness, she’s wretched — faces of flowers coat her vision, blinking in and out, she’s lost off the world. It builds, stacking and mounting and she can’t control it. Shuddering, her spines arched and she feels chills climb the ridges of her bones — her thighs close tight, stopped by his rough hands, pushing her open but it’s too much, the fires alit and burning through her.

His mouth slants over her cunt, closing around in a wet kiss paired with slurred words, close to her slick the Mandalorians telling her to come on his tongue, that he’s got her, he’ll work her through it and then she’s suddenly shaking — pleasure rips through her form, unbearably shocked.

“Fuck, fuck, Mando —” she’s gasping and he’s addicted to her taste, sweet and sharp on his tongue, he’s breathing deep, his tongue slip against her core and he’s fucking her slowly through her release; she’s close to sobbing, the pressures releasing ever so slowly, the motions of orgasms bend and fade, twisted in her mind and body. Her hips pressed to the ground, keeping her still, large hands gripping, tight to her scalding skin.

His lips leave her, the urges come back.

The poison — cursed pollen, exchanged sinfully through their bodies, it’s not been purged, still thick in her veins and fogging her mind, she’s gasping for air as it locks into chest.

The Mandalorian feels it, somewhere deep and dark.

They’re right back at the beginning, her thighs ache and her hands feel numb, lips bitten red and skin coloured with marks, she’s an art form of desperation and need. Through the musky darkness, his hands find her body again, she’s in a daze, staring up at the red lights above them, watching them fade and glow. She floats back to the planet, back to the ship as his lips graze her neck, fresh with anew urge of ecstasy and hands smooth over her breast.

They’re going to be there for awhile.

-

feedback is always appreciated!

[tags / some of these are from the previous list, please tell me if you’d like to be removed or added] @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8 @fantasticwizardnerd @flipping-fan-tastic @thatoneemosithlord @dontbetricked @bamfkurt @m-is-for-mischa @otherthingsinhead @christiandior @ccordiform @darlingbravebelle @aj-2187 @boogiebunnies @charlotte-solane-writes @allihave-arememories @pedro-pascal-online @iprettybirdi @toasterking @jedi-dreea @s-v-e-l-t-e @http-user-eraser @fxcastle @titahnics @captianstartights @banana-batman @biolo-tea @raveviolet @aroseamongthestars @bitchasaurus @imconfused28 @rebelwriter95 @nyashi-kaages @bigtoughswordboy @stonertokoyami @sailorflowermoon @sleepingdeath007 @gothtechie @skys-luce-stellare @missalyssx

[ri-ahhh]

but like... seeing Grayson all wet like that... needs a shower sex concept... like coming home from work and you call for him and he's like "I'm in here!" and when you meet him in the bathroom he's just standing under the showered in that clear glass shower with his head tipped back into the stream and the water dragging down his body like...

You’ve just returned home from work, unable to find Grayson until you round the corner of the bathroom. You’re met with the distorted sight of Grayson’s naked body through steam and rivulets of water clinging to the glass of the shower wall. His head is tipped under the stream of water coming from the rainfall showerhead, letting it soak his broad, hard body. You don’t even realize your fingers have already untucked your blouse from your trousers as soon as you heard the running water of the shower; apparently your subconscious is ready to join him already.

Your clothes can’t hit the ground fast enough before you’re swinging open the door of the shower, surprising him for a moment until he smiles brightly at you. He combs his hair out of his face with both hands, his arms bulging and drawing your eye to the thick bands of muscles.

“Hi, sweetheart. How was work?” he asks, dropping his hands to clutch at your hips once you shut the shower door behind you.

You smile and let him draw you to him, placing your hands on his chest as he dips down to give you a warm, welcome home kiss.

“Good,” you say simply, standing on your toes for another quick peck. “Can I have some water? It’s getting cold over here.”

He grins and scoots over, watching you close your eyes and tip your head back to let the water soak your hair with a sigh. It feels good to start to wash the day off, to let the comfort of the water calm your body — even if it isn’t nearly hot enough for you, a joking but never-ending point of contention between the two of you.

Grayson’s fingers surprise you by replacing your own, raking through your strands to let every part of them become saturated while also massaging your scalp soothingly. You indulge in the sweet sensations he’s creating across your skin, but eventually you duck your head back down and flutter your eyes open, meeting his sweet gaze with loving eyes of your own.

He smiles again and swipes the water out of your eyes for you. It definitely helps you see how extra beautiful he is all wet and dripping, little streams running down every ridge and crevice of his sculpted torso, begging to be licked off that taut golden skin. His eyes follow your hands with a smirk as they trail down his sides, over his abs, across his Adonis belt, until you’re grasping his semi-hard length in your fist.

Grayson’s breath catches in his throat, and he follows your gentle push to his chest as you start to stroke him, until his back hits the opposite wall behind him. You sink to your knees and start pumping him with more purpose, your thighs clenching together at the sensation of his dick getting harder in your grasp. You drag your thumb across his leaking tip and look up at him through the water droplets clinging to your lashes.

Grayson threads his fingers through your wet hair and bites his lip when he looks down at you. “I feel like I should be the one welcoming you home first,” he says.

You smile and palm his thigh, the hairs there much softer than when they’re dry, as you trace some of his tattoos with a manicured nail. “I don’t mind,” you reply, licking up the underside of his dick from balls to tip, then giving the head an introductory little suckle. “You just look too good for me not to suck you off right now.”

Grayson groans quietly, and pushes gently but insistently on the back of your head to encourage you to take him in fully. You oblige readily, and hollow your cheeks as you take more of his shaft into your hot, wet mouth. You drag your nails down his thigh, because he loves that, then move your hand to fondle his balls as you work up a rhythm with your mouth. Grayson grunts, and his hips start thrusting shallowly until the tip of him hits the back of your throat.

You fight back your gag reflex, relaxing your throat and concentrate on breathing through your nose as you hold his hips down with both hands. His dick fills up your entire throat as you work him over, holding still when you’ve taken as much of him as you can and letting the spit and drool collect in your mouth so everything is wet and warm and perfect for him.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, cursing when you moan and force your eyes to open so you can look up at him once again, only this time with your mouth full of his cock. His eyes are heavy and lustful looking down at you.

You smile and pull off him with a gasp, spitting the thick bubbles of excess saliva from your lips back onto his dick, using both fists now to rub the slick into his hard, throbbing flesh. His heavy breaths are barely audible over the pounding of the water hitting the shower floor, but his grunts and groans are plenty loud and go right to your clit.

You sit back on your heels, then suction your lips around the head of him once again so your mouth and hands are working in tandem together. You can’t get enough of how clean he tastes, his skin hot and fresh from the shower, and it makes you crave the warm saltiness of his cum like crazy now. You sneak a hand behind his balls, and press your thumb to that firm bit of skin that separates his sack and his ass. Grayson moans immediately, and he’s tugging on your hair to pull you off his dick and coax you to stand up.

You follow his lead with a giggle, and stand toe to toe with him, his dick poking you in the belly insistently. His hands cup your tits and he ducks down to kiss you thoroughly, his tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth.

You break away after a few moments, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and nibbling little kisses into the sensitive spots only you know exist. “Why’d you stop me?” you ask, grinding your hips into his as best you can with the height difference.

He swallows when you find one of those spots, and you feel it as well as the deep chuckle he lets out. His fingers pinch and tug gently on your nipples before dropping down to cup your ass and help you rock your center against his. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you? Can’t do that if you make me cum already.”

“Mm,” you hum, giving his pulse point a nibble and suckle. “What are you waiting for then, Dolan?”

A rumbly little growl erupts from his throat, and he pulls you away from him so he can spin the two of you around. Your back hits the shower wall, and Grayson places both of your arms around his neck before spreading your legs where he wants them. He licks his fingers and drags them through your pussy, groaning at the wetness he encounters there. You gasp when he starts circling your clit, but it’s not enough to make you cum; you know he just wants you dripping for him before he enters you.

“Grayson, please,” you whimper, locking eyes with him as he removes his hand and sucks his fingers clean. He hooks one of your knees under his elbow, and you count yourself lucky with how flexible following his stretching routine with him has made you. Your arms clutch tight around his neck for balance as he lines himself up with your entrance before sinking into you with a couple of quick strokes.

“You’re so tight like this, baby — shit,” he hisses, drawing back his hips and thrusting into you to the hilt slowly. You moan and drop your head back against the glass as he picks up the pace and finds the perfect rhythm, which is surprisingly deep and hard given the slippery conditions that you’re in.

Grayson drops his mouth to your exposed throat, sucking kisses into your slick skin without any mind to not leaving a mark. You don’t care either, too engrossed in how good he’s making you feel.

His lips move to your collarbone and give it the same treatment, his hot breath spreading goosebumps across your skin. You grab a handful of his hair, made completely wet again by the water raining down his back now, and sing out his name desperately. As amazing as it is, it’s impossible for you to reach your clit in this position, and you need more. “Grayson... please, I — fuck...”

You don’t even need to finish your sentence, because he knows. He licks a trail up your neck, kisses you deep and sloppy for a moment, then pulls out and sinks down your body so he’s in the same position you were earlier.

Only Grayson isn’t in the same teasing mood that you were. He wastes no time in throwing your leg over his shoulder and burrowing his face in your dripping pussy. His tongue drags up your slit, collecting your arousal on his taste buds and swallowing with a satisfied groan before diving back in. Your hands grab fistfuls of his dark hair now, and you put your faith in both the wall and your core muscles to hold you up as your legs shake and he makes you cum in a matter of a couple minutes with some deft attention to your swollen clit.

Your chest his heaving, and you accept his kiss in a trance-like state as soon as he’s standing in front of you again. He coaxes you to turn and face the wall, and you lick the taste of yourself off your lips as you obey. Grayson covers your back with his broad chest, and his hands dwarf yours when he grabs them and plants them on the wall together. He intertwines your fingers, then pushes back into you with a harsh groan.

You’re extra tight and swollen and wet from your orgasm just moments ago, and you whine and whimper and moan as he uses your body to chase his own climax.

“So good, Gray. So fuckin’ good,” you say encouragingly, pushing your ass back against him in rhythm with his deep thrusts. His moans have gotten higher, louder in your ear with his head rested on your shoulder. “Gonna give me all your cum, Gray? I want it, baby, please... give it to me...”

That’s all it takes for him to explode inside you, his warm spurts coating your walls and filling you up so nicely. His breaths are harsh but pleasant, and you smile at the closeness you feel with him in this moment.

You need to hold him, to be face to face with him, so you push your palm against his hard belly and he pulls out at once. You turn around and wrap your arms around his middle, and let him gather you in his as well. The two of you stand there peacefully, both of you coming down from such amazing highs slowly.

You have no idea how long the two of you stand there, soaking up each other’s warmth in the safe haven of the shower, but eventually you tip your head up and pucker your lips at him. He meets them with his gladly, and you smile into his mouth.

“We should make this a daily welcome home ritual,” you suggest, running your open palms up and down his back.

He grins as well and gives you a squeeze. “Absolutely.”

[shroomcult]

Hey folks!

Here’s my Day 1 post for Soma Week 2021. Tooth-rotting fluff towards the end - please enjoy. ^-^

@soulxmakaweek

Maka awoke with an audible groan, first registering the lack of her weapon’s familiar soul wavelength in the room before anything else. Whether she was disappointed or grateful of his absence was difficult to determine in her hazy mindstate.

Soul had been fussing over her for the past day, and while his concern for her comfort was endearing - his mother hen routine got old fast. 

His over-attentive behavior was at least understandable. He had little to do cooped up in their hotel room, and ended up alternating between watching cooking shows at a considerately low volume, pacing around what little square footage they had, and laying in his bed beside hers tapping out the rhythm to whatever was blaring from his headphones. He was sure to pester her about how she was feeling at least every 20 minutes and his restlessness had been grinding on her last nerve before she fell into a fitful sleep. 

If she had to hear “you okay?” or “need anything?” one more time, she was liable to snap and throw the closest object to her directly at his dumb, fluffy head. Not that he actually deserved it.

If she were being honest with herself, she was mostly frustrated with the situation itself - not Soul.

Well, maybe she was a little frustrated with Soul. 

He may have been outwardly kind towards her in her predicament, but she could feel something else beneath the surface of that. She was well-versed in the subtle language of Soul’s facial expressions after all. 

He was dying to tease her, and while she commended him for keeping his mouth blessedly shut about the humor in her suffering - she knew it amused him at least a little bit.

Because despite the fact that they had been sent to the bustling beach-side city of Recife, Brazil to take down a particularly cunning and repulsive kishin - she was not stuck in bed over any kind of work-related injury inflicted during their battle with the corrupted beast. 

There was no glory or dignity that could be gained from the current state of her weakness. She had not received her injuries from a tense and thrilling battle, but instead from being negligent in her application of sunscreen before falling asleep splayed out on a beach towel under the unforgiving afternoon sun.

Soul had even recommended that she apply sunscreen a second time for her “hella pasty” skin and she responded to his comment in kind by throwing the sunscreen bottle at him with impressive accuracy and force.  

Now she was bedridden with what was likely sun poisoning and had a complexion comparable to a hot dog. 

Perhaps she should have taken Soul’s advice after all.

She also may have reached her last straw with Soul’s smothering behavior earlier and said something along the lines of “please get the hell out of here and give me at least an hour of peace,” before taking her rather unsatisfying nap.

That certainly explained his absence.

She let out a heavy sigh before deciding she would deal with the pain of moving so that she could re-apply aloe vera for the twentieth time that day. Only this was the first time she would be doing it without Soul’s assistance.

It was difficult to reach most areas of her back without him. She was certainly flexible enough to do it on her own, but the pain that came with stretching her arms was something she would prefer to avoid experiencing if possible.

She started on lathering her arms and chest area first, grounding herself in the way it stung yet soothed at the same time. 

She only got through a small portion of her back before the combination of fatigue, nausea, and pain convinced her to give it a rest. 

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just figure out where Soul was. She didn’t need him or anything. She was just checking in - making sure he didn’t get himself into any trouble while she was asleep.

She made an awkward hobble across the room to retrieve her phone, careful to avoid bending her scorched appendages on the way there. 

It only took a ring and a half for Soul to pick up her call, and she cursed herself for the way her entire body relaxed a little at the sound of his voice.

“Hey. Everything alright?”

He had that pleasant gravelly quality to his voice that usually indicated he either just woke up or he had a few drinks. 

“I’m fine, Soul. I just woke up, actually. What have you been up to?” she’d tried to sound casual, but the hitch in her voice when she tried to lower herself back on to the bed betrayed her. The soft cotton sheets felt like they may as well have been a brillo pad against her sensitive flesh.

“Just givin’ you space like you asked. Found a neat little place to drink just down the road from us. To be honest with you, I think it might be a swinger bar or somethin’ - everyone here is middle aged and horny as hell.”

Maka felt a twinge of irritation at that last comment. Was he really off flirting with a bunch of Brazillian cougars while she was stuck in bed?

“S’not like I’m interested, but they keep buyin’ me drinks anyway. I don’t speak very good Portuguese and they seem to think that’s pretty sexy of me,” he added with a throaty chuckle that raised goosebumps across her skin.

“Why don’t you just stay there all night then! I could care less what you do!!”

She felt a bit childish for her outburst, but blamed it on Soul’s innate ability to push every last button she has in very few words.

“If you don’t care, then why’d ya call me in the first place?” She could just tell that his lip was curling into a smirk by his voice alone. Oh, he is so lucky he’s not in book-throwing distance.

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere,” she murmured with only a little bit of edge left in her. 

“Oh yeah? That all?”

“.... Also, I guess you can come back to the hotel room.”

“Sorry? Can you speak up a little?”

“I said you can come back to the hotel room! Don’t make me say it again or you can sleep on the streets!”

He responded with an amused snort, “Oh, that’s very gracious of you. What a loving and benevolent meister I have.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t fall in a ditch on your way here.”

“Love ya too, Maka. Be there in a few.”

With that the phone call cut off, and she was left staring at the ceiling and feeling an overwhelming warmth in her face.

She decided to blame that on the sunburn rather than her weapon’s comment.

It only took about 20 minutes before she heard the click of the hotel door as it swung open, her partner poking his head in first and flashing her a shark-toothed smile before he kicked the door open the rest of the way. He was carrying an entire pack of drinks under his arm and a plastic CVS bag in the other.

“Stopped by CVS round the corner. Dunno if you’ll like ‘em, but I got these weird electrolyte drinks. S’posed to help hydrate you better or something,” he said as he plopped down at the end of the bed, emptying the contents of the plastic bag.

“Also got you some ibuprofen, more aloe, and a couple snack things. I know you said you weren’t hungry, but you should really try and eat at least a little bit.”

Maka only nodded, slightly overwhelmed by how caring he was being despite her recently sour attitude. 

He tilted his head to the side for a moment, regarding her with gentle eyes before he got up and sat closer to her on the bed, being especially careful not to let his legs touch hers.

He slowly placed the back of his hand against her forehead muttering something about a fever, but she was too focused on his close proximity to her to even register what he was saying. He smelled of beer and limes and sunscreen.

His skin was a perfect bronze color, and he was showing off a lot more of it than he usually did. He was clad only in swim trunks, slider sandals, and a loose-hanging tank top that the top of his scar peeked out of.

He had been out in the sun just as long as she had, napping right beside her even, and yet his skin only tanned; never burned. The lucky bastard. 

He used the same hand he’d checked her forehead with to brush back a few stray hairs from her face. “Sleep okay?” he asked in a hushed tone, as if he were worried his voice would bother her. 

“I slept okay, I guess. Not much else I can do right now anyways.”

He nodded and gave a sympathetic click of his tongue, running his hand through her hair a few times before reaching for the aloe on the nightstand.

“Need me to get your back?”

She ignored his question, opting to rub the short-cropped silver whiskers covering his jaw with her palm.

“You need to shave.”

He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated huff, squeezing the tube of aloe into his palms and rubbing them together. 

“I’ll just take that as a yes and pretend you think I’m roguishly handsome.”

That earned him a laugh from her that clipped short when he placed his hands softly on her back. It only hurt for the first brief moment of contact, but she soon hummed her approval as the stinging sensation in her back felt dulled and soothed wherever his hands caressed her. 

He was talented with his hands - knew just the right amount of pressure to give and take at each moment. She really had needed this. Trying to reach that spot between her shoulder blades on her own had been a nightmare.

Minutes passed with only the sounds of their breath and Soul’s practiced hands over her skin. It should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. Everything was just easy with him.

“Hey, Soul?”

He acknowledged her with a noncommittal grunt.

“Thank you. I know I haven’t exactly been pleasant lately, but I really do appreciate all of your help.”

She wanted to say more, it felt as though she hadn’t really expressed to him how much he means to her, but Soul wasn’t one for flowery words and declarations of love. She knew that was enough of a thanks for him. 

“You don’t gotta thank me for all that, Maka. We’re partners, this is what we do for each other.”

“Right,” she whispered, a faint smile gracing her lips.

“All done,” he announced, “you gonna hang tight and read for a bit?”

“No - I’d like to, but I just feel too tired and nauseous to focus on anything like that right now. Maybe I’ll just try to take another nap.”

Without a word, he sauntered over to the book she had brought - a period-piece romance novel that he would make fun of at the first given opportunity. After it was in his grasp, he collapsed on his back right next to her. He really did kind of reek of beer, but she didn’t have the heart to push him away.

Once he found her bookmarked spot, he started from the top of the page with a hardy clear of his throat, reading the lead male love interest’s lines in the most posh and ridiculous accent she could have imagined.

She immediately burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles and snorts, which only encouraged him to continue, smiling from ear to ear as he did.

She nearly ran out of breath when he began reading the female heroine’s dialogue in a shrill voice that sounded more like an old British nanny than a pretty young woman. 

He continued this entertainment for an admirable hour and a half before he had to admit that his vocal cords were defeated from the strain of ‘fancy British lady voice.’ 

By the time he had put the book aside, she had a hand curled around his bicep and her face was buried in his neck.

He’d said he was watching TV, but he fell asleep within 10 minutes of setting her book down much like an old man.

Her skin felt dry and tight, a feeling she was easily able to ignore while Soul was reading for her. She was aware that she’d need to get up soon to re-apply aloe, or she’d regret it later. Yet, it was so difficult to move away from him. 

He was breathing deeply, and he smelled less like a bar and more like a beach the closer she was to him. He always looked so peaceful when he slept too. He looked young, like he didn’t carry the exhaustion that he usually does. 

Despite the calm, collected demeanor he always tried to hold around others - he carried a lot of weight on his shoulders from pretending to be the person that other people need him to be. From taking the load off other people’s backs, he only strained himself and she felt this tiredness from it all that seeped into the very cracks of his soul.

She wished he didn’t have to try so hard all the time. She wished he could let himself be taken care of for once.

“I know you told me before that I don’t need to thank you. That the things you do for me are what I should expect from a partner, but you really are more than that to me, Soul,” she’d only whispered this into the crook of his neck, but she lifted her head up just to check that he was still unconscious. 

He appeared serene, his breathing steady and not a crinkle in his face to indicate her words had disturbed him from his slumber.

“You can always depend on me too. I’d love to take care of you the way you take care of me. You deserve that - you know that, right?”

Not even a twitch.

She sighed, not expecting him to respond in the first place, but a little disappointed she hadn’t had the courage to tell him this while he was awake. She assumed it safe that he was in a deep sleep and began threading her fingers through his thick tufts of hair sticking up from his forehead.

“I know that when you say you love me, you’re talking about as a partner, as a friend. Well, I love you too. I love you a lot, Soul. I’m always afraid to say it back ... because it would carry a different weight when I say it. It’s like I’m afraid you’d just know.”

His breath hitched for a moment and her heart nearly jumped into her throat. 

He only readjusted slightly, pressing his cheek against the top of her head and making a small sound akin to a whimper before his breathing evened out again. 

She let out the shaky breath she had been holding and turned her head ever so slightly to press a soft kiss to his throat, where she could feel the warmth of his pulse.

“I hope we stay partners for a really long time.”

[ladyblastexecution]

-`Deity Of Light´- K.D X F!Reader

The threat of rain meant one thing, you were not coming over today.

Kaminari looked up to the clouds covering the sun and frowned. His day off hadn’t gone over like he planned.

First off, his favorite bakery had run out of the croissants he had craved all week, and he had to drink his coffee with a raisin cookie, then when he went home and was ready to cook, his apartment filed with smoke as his pizza was burnt to a crisp. Around noon, when was the time you came around to say hi to your favorite mortal and play Mortal Kombat, the sky turned dark, and the wind picked up.

‘This day can’t go worse.’

As that thought appeared in his head, his whole world was engulfed in darkness. Just what he needed... A blackout. If he was planning to distract himself from your absence with video games or one of those dumb movies he liked, now it was out the window.

It was dumb, really. He still had a hard time believing he knew a real deity. You were such a cool person to hang out with and the fact that you found his plain and Mortal self amusing was surreal.

Almost an entire year had passed since he met you on a sunny day where he was patrolling. If he closed his eyes, he could hear the sounds of sirens and screams of the civilians that were terrified of the villain with a snake like quirk. The heroes were struggling to keep him at bay, it’s monstrous size and flexibility difficult’d things. Kaminari had been injured while attempting to stop him, the villain’s fangs grazed his arm and it left him unable to move from the neck down. He was sure he was going to die under the huge scaly body, and almost all of the heros were in the same position as him.

Kaminari tasted the metallic taste of pure horror in his tongue and as he saw the impending doom of the end of the snake’s tail coming down to crush his body, but then the sky opened up, and in a halo of gold a figure came down, speeding at an alarming rate toward the ground.. Kaminari could only open his eyes in horror, believing that, whoever it was, they there was no chance of them surviving the impact.

At the last second, the figure stopped, hovering a few inches off the ground, above Kaminari, protecting him. You wore a sheer gown that seemed to be made of pure light, feet bare and not a speck of dirt could be seen on your body. With your hair appearing to flow as if it was under water, a crown made of two branches laurel rested on your temples, framing your face.

You were ethereal, and he felt his brain lag, with a similar effect from when he overused his quirk.

With a hand up to the sky you let a blast of blinding light that burned a hole in the snake’s body, preventing it from colliding on both of you. A spray of green blood sprayed, and you threw herself on top of his body, shielding him from the impact.

A sizzling sound came from everywhere the fluid met, and he realized it was acid. And you just had taken a shit ton of it on your back. Wincing, you got up and blasted another attack, aiming to the head this time, while maintaining the protective stance in front of his sprawled body. From that perspective, Kaminari could admire your bare back, where iridescent scars, that sparkled under the sun covered almost the entire surface He was surprised to find them and instead of being disturbing, they had a heroic feel to them. thick trails of smoke rose through the air, emanating from the scorched tears on her skin and golden liquid cascaded down your back, pooling the iridescent fabric of your gown and sticking it to her form.

A deafening squeal of pain reverberated in the air, and the snake’s upper body slithered in agony. Your light had met the snake’s eyes, and you smirked, skin literally glowing from within. But as soon as the corner of your lips went up, they came down, because the snake’s fauces barreled towards both. Grunting, your arms pushed him away, and his heart clenched when you were swallowed whole.

Everything felt lost, the ray of hope that appeared when you hurt the beast, extinguished like a cigarette under someone’s boot.

The screeching sound that the snake released seemed delighted and as its bifid tongue ran through its lips, almost as if it could still taste you on them, Kaminari noticed something bulging, and expanding the skin in the mid drift of the monster.

The surrounding air seemed to heat up, oscillating in waves that disturbed the sight, the image of the snake wobbling, as if it was a reflection of itself in one of those silly mirrors they usually had in fairs.

The commotion stirred something in him, but the monster was oblivious to it all, too focused on its joy and apparent victory to notice or even feel that something was off. At least until a blinding ray of pure white pierced its skin.

The smell of burning flesh and the humming sound of the surge of power rose the hairs on Kaminari’s arms and his stomach dropped at the sight of green blood oozing out and dissolving the pavement below, craters being formed. The wails of the thing grew in volume before it came crushing down, it’s long body twitching for a few seconds until going completely still. Kaminari held his breath, expecting the reptile to lounge at someone, but the only thing that assaulted him was the solemn silence that followed after a shocking event. Even the humming of a fly’s wings could be heard.

His body was still deemed useless, and no matter how much he wished to go in there and rip your body from the beast entrains with his bare hands, he was stuck as a bystander, observing in the sidelines as those heros that could still move took the reins of the situation.

The hushed voices of the pros were not enough to drown the groaning that preceded your emerging from the pile of charred meet.

Fabric torn and body painted golden, there you stood tall and proud, stretching your shoulders like you had just finished a workout.

“Fucking Phyton, and his resolve to make my life even more complicated...” He saw you sigh while trying to wipe the stream of gold out of her eyes. Even battered and torn, you were the most beautiful creature he had laid his eyes upon. “Oh, shit... Here, let me help you ChargeBolt sir.”

Squatting down next to him with the grace of a ballerina,yourr fingers rested on top of his forehead, and a sudden feeling of calmness numbed his mind. With a warm flutter in his chest, he wondered if you were in reality an angel of death, and if what he was feeling was that story he always heard from those who had experienced a close to death experience. Because all he could see was light.

It took a few seconds of his lethargic brain processing to realize. It wasn’t a light what he was seeing per se; it was your body, shining like the sun, but in a way that his eyes didn’t burn while looking directly at it. Images of him laying beneath the sunlight at the beach flashed in his mind, and if he closed his eyes for a second, he had a similar sensation right in that moment.

Then, as if he was a solar panel and you were the very sun charging him up, a wave of energy he never experienced drummed beneath his skin.

Opening his eyes, your face was the first thing that he saw, hair cascading around your head as you leaned over him, and his fingers twitched for him to caress the strands and confirm if they were as soft as they seemed.

Then it dawned on him.

His body no long felt disconnected from his brain, In fact, he felt every single thing, including the goosebumps that invaded his skin everywhere your eyes met.

Tentatively, he sat up, afraid to fall right on his back and make a bigger fool out of himself. After confirming he felt good, even better than before hell broke loose, he opened his mouth.

“Just how many quirks do you have!?” His sentence came out louder than he intended, and he wanted to sew his mouth shut when you flinched back a little, but the serene smile you sent his way eased his nerves

“Wouldn’t you like to know...” You teased, with crinkles by your eyes.

“Seriously, how did you do all that?” he stood up, and towered above your frame “Anyone else could’ve died...”

“Oh! That reminds me...” Interrupting him, and turning around, you willed a scepter out of nowhere and tapped it in the ground with force.

The floor shook and for a second he feared another threat was around the corner. A crack on the floor appeared beneath what was the remains of the villain, and just like that, what once was a frightening monster, now was disappearing to the center of the earth.

Kaminari’s heart stopped for a second as he saw you lean dangerously over the edge of the abyss, and he rushed to grab your arm just in case a breeze blew past and threw you off balance. A zap coursed through his skin once he made contact, and he wondered if that’s what it felt like to be electrified by his quirk.

“Thanks Uncle Dis!” you called out

The ground melded back together in a second and there was no evidence let of it ever being torn.

Kaminari tried to keep his cool, and after living in a world where everything was possible because of the diversity of existing quirks, he thought nothing could ever disturb him anymore. But after only five minutes of knowing you, that was rendered false.

“Okay... Now I would like to have an explanation sunshine.... Who exactly are you?”

“You just said it cutie...” Winking at him and outstretching your hand, you flashed him the brightest smile he ever saw. “I’m Delian, or Smintheus, or Loxias, or Pythan, or Apollo or any of the names you people had given me through the years, but now I mostly go by (Y/n), deity of the Sun, Nice to meet you”

Kaminari Cringed at the memory of what happened next and tried to think of something else to ease the embarrassment that came after your introduction.

Snapping out of his remisicing Kaminari walked outside, sitting in the porche and he noticed the sunflowers you planted on his frontyard seemed to be lacking a bit of water.

He never understood why you had done that, if he had to guess he would’ve said your favorite plant would’ve been a bay tree, since it was the plant most associated with you and all that, but when you brought the four sprouts on your hands a few months prior, excitement making your skin flow and your body to flutter off the ground, he contained his teasing, too entranced by your beauty to say anything to sour your mood.

“Denki my dude! Look what I got for you straight from the underworld!” Your smile lighted up his whole house, literally. And Kaminari felt a blush rise to his cheeks over how pretty you looked.

Now those tiny sprouts grew and got up to his waist, their yellow petals were an unnatural bright yellow, courtesy of Persephone herself. He was ashamed to admit how much he liked those sunflowers, even as much as he liked you.

He was known for having a fascination with pretty girls, but you just went ahead and ruined him forever. Everyone he saw paled in comparison, and it wasn’t fair for the rest of the world. You were literally a Deity. Your beauty was something no mortal could achieve.

And whenever he tried to flirt, you always said something along the lines of

“Nah, you should see Aphrodite, your brain would fry instantly”

The forced easy laugh that usually followed was enough of a proof to know that, no matter how extraordinary you could be, you were still insecure.

On one of your sleepovers, when the sun was down and you were weaker, you shared your secrets with him. How every relationship you tried to maintain failed, every god, demigod, nymph and human abandoning you. You were aware of the Myths humans told about you, but since they said you were Male, he started doubting every tale that circulated with your name.

“I wish you would’ve been around on the golden era... The old olympic games would’ve been your shit, naked wrestling, bodies slick with olive oil...”

“Wow, Sunshine. If you so desperately want to see me naked all you had to do was ask.” Kaminari joked, expecting one of your quick comebacks, but seeing your cheeks glow golden, in the way the deity of light blushed, he felt a flutter on his chest. A small ray of hope.

“Don’t be dumb, Denki. All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t have been as lonely if I had you then.” You rolled your eyes, portraying annoyance, but he knew it was only to mask your embarrassment.

Almost without him noticing, he fell for you, hard. As hard as the Python did under your unwavering power. And the realization filed him with equal amounts of dread and joy.

In love with a goddess, who would’ve thought, huh?

Never in his wildest dreams he saw himself feeling as strongly for someone as he did for you. Yes, the ocassional crushes were there, but they always seemed to have fade into nothing just like an ice cube on a hot summer day.

Kaminari couldn’t even look at the sky without thinking about you. Even when the clouds were thick and the thunders made the glass of his window rattle, whenever he looked above, he imagined you there, looking down at him and winking, as a way of encouraging him in his everyday tasks that seemed so mundane. The life of a pro hero is far from dull, but it still paled compared to a literal deity.

Kaminari sat outside, growling at the dark sky that killed his chance at seeing you. He felt the cold breeze caressed his face and violently rock his sunflowers. They were sad looking at that moment, almost a perfect reflection of how he was feeling on the inside, crestfallen and slumping down, facing the dirt, with no sun to make them happy.

He sighed and rested his head on his bents knees, trying to focus on anything instead of the empty feeling on his chest. He hated being so attached to you, but every time he thought of your face, so close that he could feel the air out of your lungs tickle his nose, the same thought invaded him.

How could he not be?

You were warm and shiny in every sense of the word, Your heart was as gold as your blood and you never showed anything but care and -he hoped- love. Maybe not in the way he wanted it, because hell, the need to hold your hand just because he could, and kiss your lips to see your cheeks shine is all he ever dreamt of ever since he met you, but how would it work?

You were a Goddes, a supernatural being. Immortal.

You saw millions of humans come and go, and the wicked fantasy of you being in love from someone of your past, and never looking at him ever again always woke him up with a startle in the middle of the night, sheets drenched in sweat and heart thrumming in his ribcage.

Another Thunder boomed, this time closer, so close in fact that Kaminari felt the static buzzing on his skin, making him sit straight because of the jumpscare.

His eyes laid on the sky and he scowled once again, the rain clouds were closer and so thick that swallowed any remains of sunbeams, turning everything a somber shade of gray, dulling the colors of everything, including his sunflowers, that now were facing straight at him.

Wait...

Since when the sunflowers were like that? There was no sun for them to seek for. He was disturbed by this, but still, he couldn’t ponder on it much.

The heavyweight of a pair of hands on his shoulders, accompanied by a hushed “boo” on his ear, tore a high-pitched shriek out of Kaminari’s insides.

The sweet sound of your laugh followed right after, the beginning drowned by his terrified outburst, but the end infiltrated his ears and flowed like honey through his body.

“(Y/n)? What are you doing here?” He asked, glancing upwards to the somber dark sheet covering the sky. You were smiling so bright it almost hurt his eyes, but one look over your body later he noticed the charred ends of your dress and the frizz sticking your hair up in all weird directions, leaving you as a bad Simba wannabe. “What happened to you?” Concern laced his voice, and he saw your smile falter. Doubt misting your eyes as your posture visibly tensed.

“Well, it’s actually a funny story...” You laughed shakily, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, going the extra mile to wave a hand, but he didn’t miss the way your fingers shook or the tense lines at the side of your mouth. “Let’s say the pissy prick I call father is against me spending so much time with mortals, and we had a bit of an... arterncate, you could say.” You were a bundle of nerves, and even the usual crown you sported was hanging crooked on your head.

Kaminari felt a cold hand clasping his heart at the implications of that that meant. Your encounters needed to stop, you were there to say goodbye and disappear from his life. He masked his pain with a soft smile and took a step closer, hands going to fix the mess on top of your head.

“It’s okay... I never thought the all mighty Apollo, Phyton, Loxias Del-Delos was it?...” He stopped, brows furrowed as he tried to remember the first time you spoke to him. word by word.

“Delian...” You corrected, eyes soft and tension melting off your face, a small twitch in the corner of your mouth made it look like you were almost smiling.

“Right, Delian, or (Y/N), Or Sunshine... Would want to spend her time playing Mortal Kombat with a loser like me...” His smile was still there, but the corners twitched down for a second, letting you see the insecurity that laied beyond his cool facade

Seeing him like that left you stunned. Eyes shimmering with an emotion he couldn’t quite read, and when his fingers finished arranging your hair the way it usually was, he rested his palms on your shoulders, squeezing a little just to remember that you were still there for a little.

Your fingers enveloped his wrist and the both of you just stood there, lost in the sad atmosphere as the wind picked up around you, and the lights flashed dangerously in the sky. Kaminari felt his chest constrict with the words he so desperately wanted to throw out there, but your fight with your dad sealed his lips.

Now there was no point in trying anything beyond the months of fun and jokes you shared.

“Thank you for teaching me how to use Kotal Kahn, Bakugou is so pissed about how I suddenly got so good at it... Sorry I couldn’t do the same about Raiden.”

“Why is this suddenly sounding like a goodbye?” You asked, with your throat tight and tears glimmering in your eyelashes, like little diamonds suspended forever in there.

“You shouldn’t anger your father Sunshine...” He said, grasping a lock of hair that was flying in front of your face, victim of the merciless wind. His knuckles brushed your cheekbone as he placed the stubborn silky strand behind your ear. You held your breath upon contact.

Your fingers enveloped his, keeping them trapped in between your cheek and your hand, with a grip that would be almost painful if he weren’t used to your unearthly strength.

He watched you crumble underneath his fingers, eyes flashing raw pain behind them.

Then, just like when you had healed him months back, he saw resolve and vigor replace that sad expression, brows furrowing and fire dancing behind your eyes, and it was all unleashed by his gentle hands cradling your face.

“No...” You whispered, leaning back away from him, but still holding on to his wrist like he was a lifeline in the middle of a turbulent sea.

“(Y/N)... I think...”

“No Denki!” She circled around him and stood in the middle of his front yard, looking straight up at the storm above and with cheeks glowing from anger. “You what to know what I think?” She turned to him, pointing an accusatory finger up the sky.

The warning of a flood of lightning made him take a step forwards to warn you, but a zap charred the earth missing his feet by only a few inches. His quirk was electric and a normal lightning couldn harm him, but he wasn’t sure those rules applied with the fucking god of lightning, Zeus.

“I’m tired of feeing like there’s something wrong with me, because there’s not...” The sky rumbled and a flash of blue descended, deathly close to her figure.

Kaminari searched everywhere to find a solution in this situation. Certainly a fight between two gods on his porch wasn’t ideal.

Your scoff brought his attention back to you and he saw your arms flying around, a halo of golden unclasping your body, your emotions breaking your control over your power.

“No, dad, certainly what happened with that demigod years back wasn’t my fault. Eros was just a dick and you know it... Why don’t you make the same scandal when Aphrodite comes down here and mingles with mortals?” Another set of lights burned through the sky and you laughed incredulously. ”Now you worry about the blood not mixing with mortals? Yes, hi... Do you remember Hercules, You Demigod Son!? Stop behaving like a child!”

Kaminari sucked a breath in after your insult towards the god, and rightfully so, because half a heartbeat later, a lightning bigger than he ever thought possible coursed through the sky and impacted with your body. He saw your silouette through the blinding light, and for a moment he feared the worst. He never felt a power like this, every hair in his body raising and a wave of nausea destabilizing him.

“Pretty fucking mature dad, really...” You were still alive, and as he leaned on his knees hunched over and panting another wave of emotion hit him through the chest. Even with smoke flowing up like black tendrils around you from your gown and grime staining your cheeks, it only seemed to enhance the way you shone. “I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either, no one else does! Uncle Dis even said he liked him, and that is saying something... Just please dad. I never asked for anything, just this once. Let me choose who I love...” Your voice was so brittle and frail he believed he had imagined it.

And then he realized... You said it, the word he wanted so desperately to shout on your face but to afraid of the consequences. You loved him... You, Apollo, Loxian, Delos, or whatever, you loved him, and even if you didn’t said it to him, the implication was as clear as day.

Kaminari forgot about everything else. The threat of being reduced to ashes a, the rage of your father above, the way his insecurities had kept him from showering you in affection like he longed to, all of that faded to the back of his mind, the only thing clear was you. You standing in front of him, only a few feet apart.

You, that loved him.

He was by your side, and almost in a daze his fingers found yours, holding them in a gentle yet firm hold. The warmth of your skin soothed his locked joints, and he took a breath in. Opting not to say anything, but let his actions speak for himself.

You looked up at him and beamed, drawing strength out of nowhere just by his sole presence. Both looked up at the sky, that turned a murderous shade of purple, just like the bruising he might have in his body if he survived turning into Zeus shooting toy.

“Father, this is not something I’m backing out of, and since the Olympians came into an agreement of not snooping their noses into other’s business, I’m staying here with Denki as long as I please.” You turned to him, hesitation written all over your face, and a flimsy peak of that ugly insecurity you had showed itself in your eyes. “If you want, of course...?”

It came out more of a question than a statement, as if you were subconsciously begging for reassurance.

He leaned in, his lips grazing the skin of your forehead, soft as a feather, but it left a burning sensation on his mouth. Your cheeks were shining bright, but a dumbstruck smile was plastered on your face.

“That is final, father. I took your opinion into consideration because I respect you, but if you try to do something funny, I won’t hesitate to ask Uncles Dis and Sai to interfere.” The sky grumbled one last time, and Kaminari Imagined it had to be reflection of Zeus own grumble of defeat.

If he admired you before when you took down Python, now he was awestruck at your strength and determination.

You deflated like a balloon and sat down on the grass, where blackened grass stained the skin of your legs. Letting a small incredulous laugh, you looked up at him, eyes open and so full of emotion. The tension that once constricted your whole body was now gone, and your whole body seemed to glow.

“I can’t believe that actually worked...” You muttered, wiping a hand across your forehead but never dropping the smile.

Kaminari sat down next to you and circled your shoulders with his arm.

“So... You just wanted your daddy dear to let you choose who to love?” Teasing you wasn’t the most sensible thing to do after the rollercoaster of emotions you two rode nearly a minute before, but it was his way of dealing with stress. Whatever the reason may be, it was worth if he could get to see your flustered face.

“Yeah, I’ve been feeling some kind f way towards this Ground Zero dude... It may be worth the shot” You teased right back, and in it felt like nothing ever changed between the both of you- even after the biggest confession- everything felt natural, no nerves burning inside other than the usual warm flutter on his chest when he saw your face.

He pondered on saying those three little words, but feeling how relaxed you were, with your face tucked in between his shoulder and neck, breath fanning over his jaw, he resolved against it.

The sense of knowing both of you were on the same page was enough for now.

Groaning, you got up, and extended your hand towards him, pulling him up and letting your touch linger a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“Man, I’m beat...” You stretched your back, smiling when a ‘pop’ filled the air. “Can we pretty please play MKX? I need to beat Raiden’s ass right now?

“I always thought you were crazy good at it, but turns out you were just motivated by imagining Raiden as your dad, weren’t you?”

There was no need to respond. The humor shining in the side glance you gave him and your crooked smile said it all.

As you passed by the sunflowers, he saw them turn around, facing you no matter how fast you were going. He stopped in his tracks and observed how they bent in an impossible angle trying to face you.

When you realized he wasn’t following behind, you sent a look behind your back.

“What’s wrong Denki?” You asked walking back up at him, the yellow petals following around like a shadow.

“Can you walk back to the door? I want to see something...” He said, fascinated by the reaction you had over them.

Confused, you did as he said, taking slow strides, trying to figure out what was he on to now, until you followed Kaminari’s gaze and noticed it too. Exited, you ran, twirled and crouched, trying to see if in deed they were turning to you. You giggled like a kid opening a present and turn to him.

“I didn’t know they were always looking at me...” You whispered in awe, caressing the yellow petals fondly. Your eyes gleamed under the sun’s light. The clouds long forgotten on the horizon, letting the rays finally warm up his skin. Your crown was lopped again, but it gave you an air of mischief instead of nerves, and Kaminari prayed his mouth was closed and not gaping like a fish. You never failed to knock the air out of his lungs.

“They’re not the only ones that do...”

[slippinmickeys]

Circle

This was for the #XFSmut2020 exchange. I had the lovely @kyouryokusenshi whose prompt was: “Post MSIV pregnancy sex. Scully’s hormones are raging and everything is tender.”

To look at her, curled up on her side in their bed, you couldn’t tell she was pregnant.

Hair fanned out on the pillow like it had been styled by a beauty team; curled about her on a wave of titian silk, her face soft, but composed -- stately in her age, but still beautiful.

He moved a hand lightly under the covers and ran it over the swell of her stomach, felt the firmness push back at him. A baby swam inside; cells dividing, constructing and nurturing, half him, half her. It felt like even more of a miracle this time though they’d done it once before. He adopted the same credo he had the last time, with William: best not to question it.

They had a firm due date. It was easy to calculate -- the vibrating psychosis of Little Judy leaving an indelible mark on not just their psyche, but their calendar, too. He remembered back to that night. Lying with her in his arms, Scully wondering aloud if he could and would find someone new to start a family with. Like he could just go to a market and select a bride. Here, this one.

Somebody else? Didn’t she know that wasn’t possible? He hadn’t been able to see anyone but her since she’d clipped into his basement office and blinded him with science.

She sniffed slowly to awareness beside him, eyelids fluttering open as she moved to put her own hand on top of his.

“‘Morning,” she rasped.

“Hey,” he said.

The morning sun shot bands of light through the shades and over the floor of the bedroom, creeping incrementally closer toward their bed as it rose.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, he leaned over and kissed her, once, twice. Breathing in the sleepy musk of her breath, the smell of hair that had soaked in a jasmine bubble bath the night before and dried on a feather pillow. He couldn’t get enough of her. Not for 25 years, not for 25 more.

“Mm,” Scully hummed as he fell back against his own pillow, and she reached out with a foot to burrow it under his calf.

She had told him only the night before how much she was enjoying this stage of pregnancy - past that miserable first stage and well on into the second trimester. How the last time she’d been so miserable missing him that even the little joyful things -- getting that first sonogram picture, feeling the first flutterings of movement -- were lost in the haze of her grief. How now she was enjoying them twofold, three. Once for herself, once for him, and once for William, who was still out in the world, connected to them by the tethers of biology and shared jeopardy.

He felt her pull her foot out from under him and then started running just her toes gently up the skin of his leg, and he cocked his eyebrows at her in question. She cocked hers right back. Right, he thought. This stage of pregnancy also came with the full flush of hormones, as likely to turn her amorous as they were to make her say “I’m turning food into a person, you get to fold laundry.”

His crotch leapt to attention. ...Leapt wasn’t the right word, he thought. Things didn’t much leap anymore, but they rose admirably to duty whenever called upon, and that was something considering this day and his age.

“Agent Scully, are you coming on to me?” his voice rumbled in the quiet of the room.

She nodded solemnly.

The nights were for passionate, sometimes desperate coupling in the dark --  but mornings were for slow, languorous bouts of lovemaking that they’d been denied so much in their lives together. This morning felt no different, the acreage of their bed laid out for exploration of each other, in the sluggish time before that first cup of coffee. He rolled toward her, nosing her cheek before darting out a tongue to taste her lips.

How strange to imagine his world with her still in it; that short, cheerful physicist with her herringbone suit and extended hand; she’d looked like a co-ed. He’d planned to launch her into the stratosphere, had known her game, with her little notes — she’d been a spy but too much of an ingenue to know it, and seven years later he’d slept with the enemy and fallen irreversibly in love with her. Or was it the other way around?

She climbed onto him deliberately, without haste, the camisole she’d slept in pulled off somewhere between his nostalgia and her lips.

“Where are you?” she asked breathily, the dew of her mons coming to rest on his thigh.

“With you,” he said, running a lazy hand up her side, grazing the side of her breast with fingertips. He was always with her, even if she wasn’t around, his internal radar tuned to her frequency like a NOAA buoy pinging in the dark.

She breathed out deeply, her hot breath ruffling the wiry hairs on his chest. A solid third of them were grey now, as were those in his beard, and he liked to think he’d earned them in the field, chasing mutants and monsters, but the bare truth of it was, he’d gotten them while pining for her like Pyramus, held at bay by a wall of his own making. The last few years without her had been tough.

At times he could see that Scully wasn’t yet used to this more thoughtful Mulder, and occasionally braced herself for his abrupt departure, his inevitable decline into a dog on a scent, falling into the habit of sisphysian search. But instead he would stand there, remain quiet and true, and she would ease back into him with her renewed faith.

She reached down and grabbed both his hands, lacing her fingers through his, and then raised his arms up and over his head. Her mouth was even with his and she took sipping kisses at them, the arc of her belly brushing against his torso.  

Her curves were rounder now, more carnose than sharp, lending her an air of lushness that made his cock ache. He would take her any way he could get her, but this gravid Scully was of Nanaya, Eostre, Hedone. A fertility sculpture come to life.

She slowly ground her sex into his thigh and he chased her mouth with his own as she pulled back a few teasing inches. He longed to hold her, touch her, but he let her take the lead and slowly, so slowly, she relaxed her grip on his hands and inched down his body, the hard points of her nipples just grazing the skin of his chest as she moved lower and lower.

She shifted until her mouth was hovering over the tent of his boxers, and she flicked her eyes to his and gave him a slow, lascivious grin. He suddenly felt short of breath. She worked her fingers into the waist of his underwear and he tilted up his hips to help her pull them off.

The anticipation of her hot little mouth lowering itself onto his cock was almost more exquisite than the act itself. But then, oh then her tongue was swirling around him and the heat and the slick and the pull of her mouth was, as always, a revelation.

This woman, this woman who would shoot him to save him, who would tell off bosses and brothers and fish him out of the Atlantic. He liked to remind her that she’d been held in contempt of Congress for him, like some 70’s era Post reporter, and she’d mimic driving a snow cat and he would get quiet with the brass-tasting memory of fear. They were foxhole soldiers, brothers-in-arms, each willing to hug the grenade while telling the other to run. Their love was a devotion, a decades-long experiment in tolerance and gravity. It was the only supernatural thing he’d never once doubted.

She hummed happily around the length of him, and Mulder sank boneless into the bed, moving one hand gently into her hair, not pulling or pushing, just needing to touch her. She had one hand cupping the base of him, and her mouth slid over him like a silken sheath. He had never wanted to ask her how she’d honed her blowjob prowess, but she was an artist of the genre, a true master, a Catholic schoolgirl fantasy come to life.

Just in time to save his reputation, she let him slide out of her mouth and crawled back up the length of him, settling tightly into his side, her tongue finding the sensitive spot just behind his ear.

With a low growl he raised himself to his elbows and canted himself on top of her, situating himself between her legs, their child resting between them in the cradle of her hips. He ran a hand along her belly reverently before gliding straight home, eliciting a breathy sigh from her lips.

Her head sunk back into the pillows, the rumpled cotton framing her face which was a mask of carnal harmony, her look one of both pleasure and pain, the sock and buskin of sexual euphoria.

He rocked into her slowly but firmly, the blunt head of his penis bumping into her sensitive cervix at the apex of every thrust. God, how was he to survive this? She was humming under him, rocking her hips forward slightly with his every thrust, her ample breasts bouncing, keeping time.

He thought back to their first sexual encounter, that heady feeling of discovery; shucking off her apple green sweater and uncovering a sex bomb underneath. She’d been wanton, just a season or two past quarter life and thrumming with sexual energy. The pent up longing; seven years of such a desperate love that when they came together, it had been practically atomic.

Now, their bodies knew each other, clicked into place with ease and comfort. No less passion, but more than enough love. He flashed on an old Harry Chapin song: and the years keep on rollin’ by.

He grabbed her leg and pulled it higher and he sunk into her flesh almost more than he could bear, her pregnant flexibility wreaking havoc with his restraint.

He felt more than heard her moan, a quiet rumbling in the base of her throat and he knew that she was close. He pressed his middle finger into her mouth and she sucked it with enthusiasm, and once again he feared he might not be able to hold out long enough for her to come. With a wet pop, he pulled his hand from her mouth and reached in between them, brushing the nub at the top of her sex with his slicked finger. She jolted under him.

“More,” she whispered.

He gave her as much as he could. He always had.

When she came apart beneath him, it was purling, languid, a roll like thunder. He rode out the crest with her and then let himself release, and it felt like every promise he’d ever made to her and a few he hadn’t.

He collapsed next to her, careful to avoid putting weight on their growing child.

“How is it that we just keep getting better at this?” he asked, his face half buried in the covers, his voice muffled.

She smiled at him, a little sweat beading on the top of her lip. The cockcrow light had panned up their bed, and a slant of it shone on her hair like aurora. “Years of practice, I suspect,” she said, her brow arching at him, reflecting a sliver of light. Then her face got a small surprised look, and she reached for him. “Give me your hand,” she said.

She took his hand and pressed it to her belly, and he felt it roll softly under him, like a golf ball under the skin. He felt tears spring to his eyes.

Peace and wonder fell over him in equal measure and they lay there together, not moving as morning turned to afternoon, settling into the horse latitudes of their life.

[roswellwrites]

Kinktober Day 4 Fill - Sleepy Sex

Pairing: Brahms Heelshire/Reader (M/F)

Tags: Slasher x Reader, Brahms Heelshire x Reader, Brahms Heelshire, somnophilia, kinktober, kinktober 2019

Word Count: 2084

The first thing you became aware of as your body stirred itself into wakefulness was that you were no longer alone in the room.

You had been dealing with an unfortunate cold for the past few days, Brahms knew, but as you climbed into bed for the third time that week without giving him his goodnight kiss, he could feel any sympathy he might have had withering down to a sliver.

You had been neglectful of him as you recovered, purposely distant, something that annoyed Brahms to no end. Instead of following your usual schedule, you had chosen to ignore your chores and duties, confining yourself to your room, in bed and coughing as if you might decide to drop dead at any point.

Brahms smiled slyly under his porcelain mask as he thought of all the ways you would make it up to him soon enough.

He had entered your room through the main hallway, aware by now of every creaking floorboard, careful to avoid making any sound as he shut the door gently behind him. Brahms’s gray eyes strained in the dark, roaming the length of the room until they were able to make out the familiar shape of your bed, your body fully obscured by the ever present mountain of blankets.

His mask clinked gently against the top of your nightstand as he removed it, his eyes finding your face in the soft moonlight, as if making sure you were still sleeping before climbing fully into bed with you. The mattress creaked as he settled over your sleeping body, creaked again as he removed your heavy blanket, one knee on either side of your thighs now as his hands hovered precariously over your clothed chest. 

He had watched you take your cold medicine only a few hours ago and knew from experience that you were much harder to rouse while it was in your system. 

He intended to use this to his advantage.

Brahms lifted your sleep shirt slowly, hiking the fabric up until it rested just past the tops of your breasts. The larger man tilted his head at your sleeping form, biting back a mischievous giggle as he settled back against your thighs to watch the gentle rise and fall of your bare chest.

Just how far could he go without waking you, he wondered. 

His fingertips found the sides of your neck, squeezing gently, and he mused briefly at your vulnerability before his long fingers moved past the bunched fabric of your shirt. Brahms’s touch remained feather light as both hands found the swell of your breasts then, gentle at first, his gray eyes darting from the sensitive flesh under his palms to your dark lashes where they fanned delicately across your flushed cheeks.

Still you did not wake.

As if emboldened by this, he began to knead at your breasts in earnest, watching enthralled as your pliable flesh dimpled under his fingertips. He gave a sudden harsh squeeze, his palm flush to your hardening nipple, and your body gave a single restless twist beneath his spread thighs before once again falling still.

Brahms arced his back then, removing both hands from your breasts. He slipped one roving hand into the waistband of his pajamas, forcing the fabric down hurriedly as he pulled free the length of his cock. He began to groan softly as he worked himself in his hand, bowing his head low at the same time to drag the flat of his tongue across your hardening nipple. He wrapped his lips around the small bud, rolling it between his teeth playfully, so enthralled by the press of the delicate nub against his tongue that he did not notice when you finally did begin to awaken.

With a sleepy groan, you brought one hand to the back of his head, fingers burying themselves deep in his greasy curls as you pressed him closer to where you wanted him. You could feel him grin playfully against the sensitive flesh, mischievous but accommodating as he lavished it with his tongue and continued to suck.

You came to yourself slowly as pleasure flooded your system, groggy still from the medicine you had taken and not yet completely awake. “What time is it?” You moaned, turning your head in hopes of catching the numbers on the alarm clock on your nightstand. 

Brahms removed his mouth from you suddenly, catching your chin easily between his fingers and turning your head so your eyes found his. 

“Ah, ah,” the man teased, his voice high and childlike. “Eyes on me~”

You groaned, lifting one forearm to throw over your eyes as Brahms’s hand left his member and moved instead to your underwear, the thin fabric catching against your skin for a moment before sliding down your thighs. With your eyes covered, you completely missed the sly smirk on Brahms’s face as he brought the article of clothing briefly to his nose before tucking them away in the pocket of his sleep pants.

Brahms had the unfortunate habit of wanting to ‘play’ at the worst times, specifically times when you had a long day of chores ahead of you, or right now, right this moment, for example, while you were half asleep and struggling to fight off the unpleasantness of a cold.

You remembered taking your NyQuil the night before, remembered climbing under the cozy comforter that sat atop your bed before the medicine had fully taken hold, spending a half hour tossing and turning before you finally fell asleep.

Brahms, ever the opportunist, was quick to take advantage of your wandering mind, wrapping an arm around your waist and lifting you up and away from the comfort of your remaining blankets.

You found yourself on top of him then, dizzy with the way he had used his bulk almost effortlessly to flip the two of you into opposite positions. Your hands found his chest, one hand carding through the dark thicket of his chest hair while the other remained still against the rise of his ribs, bracing yourself against him. 

Had he always been shirtless?

You blinked at him, groggy from sleep and the medicine you had taken that had not yet worn off, content for now on your perch above him as you allowed your hands to wander. The larger man, clearly pleased at the attention he was receiving, preened, allowed his body to relax under yours, his dark curls splayed across your pillows and his large hands spanning your hips.

Brahms, you had learned quickly, was the type to initiate and then sit back, happiest when you did all the work and did it without complaint. 

Your hand found the base of his length as it pressed against your lower stomach and you wrapped your fingers around it, a smug but tired grin crossing your face when the man hissed through his teeth at the action. You could feel his abdomen muscles flexing under your palm as you supported your weight and allowed a brief moment for your sharp fingernails to dig in, leaving painful looking indents on the man’s pliable skin.

The man tensed as you sank down, his head thrown back against your pillows as you lowered yourself onto his cock. The fit of him inside of you was snug but pleasant and you watched patient and unmoving as his exposed face cycled through various emotions. The scars that disfigured him were barely visible in the room’s near darkness and you found yourself staring with unfocused eyes though you knew the action could be construed as rude. 

“Move,” Brahms rasped finally, voice deep as his hands found your thighs.

“Ah, ah,” you laughed, your voice strained in your own ears as you attempted to mirror his attitude from earlier. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please,” he whined desperately, his hips giving single aborted thrust upwards before falling still beneath you again.

Wanting nothing more than to get this show on the road, you gave a soft sigh of pleasure as you began to move, hips rising and falling above his own. Your pace was slow, having discovered immediately that you lacked the energy for anything quicker. You inhaled deeply through your nose as you worked your hips against his, doing your best to ignore the pounding behind your eyes as it threatened to grow into a full blown headache.

Brahms, for the most part, was patient, something that surprised you at first given that he was one of the most impatient people you had ever met. He was usually so quick to force his hips flush to yours during sex, delving his fingers into the swell of your hips and working you against him for his own pleasure.

This continued for some time, the steady push and pull of your bodies as you rode him. There was no harsh slapping of skin on skin, just the smooth slide of your undulating hips and Brahms for the most part taking what he got without complaint, giving only the occasional sharp thrust when he suddenly found your pace too slow for his liking.

“Don’t you want to be a good boy for me, Brahms?” You whispered suddenly against his pale throat, lips and tongue finding the sensitive shell of his ear. Your tongue was soon replaced with teeth as you bit down, gently twisting the flexible cartilage in a way that had Brahms groaning under you, his hips stuttering upwards responsively to meet your own. You could feel his hands as they moved from your hips to your thighs, fingertips pressing so tightly to your bare skin that you feared they may bruise.

“Yesssss,” he moaned, his voice hovering strangely between a deep growl and the voice he used when he wanted something from you, high pitched and reminiscent of a child. “Please, please.”

You took one of his restless hands in your own, guiding it between your bodies and pressing his long fingers insistently to your clit. You arched your back, head thrown back and mouth dropping in pleasure as he began to work his thumb furiously against the small nub, the resulting assault of stimulation causing you nearly to cry out.

You waited for a few moments, your walls fluttering around his leaking member until his hips began to stutter beneath your own. With great restraint, you lowered your hand to find the base of his cock before he could press into you again. Brahms whined at this, hips rising insistently as they tried to meet your own, displeased as you prevented him now from thrusting back into your slick heat.

With a small grin, you began to pump your wrist along his length, quick even strokes that had Brahms arching off the bed with a soft gasp, any complaint he had dying on his lips. He came quickly after that, his fingers finding your wrist and squeezing hard, watching transfixed as his seed spilled over your delicate fingers.

You lifted your hand from his weeping cock, moving them so they hovered above his flushed face, dripping fingers spread tantalizingly as you pressed the digits to his spit slicked lips. “Open.”

Brahms opened his mouth immediately, obediently sucking your cum covered fingers into his mouth and lavishing them with his tongue.

“Good boy, Brahms,” you purred, brushing his dark greasy curls away from his forehead with your free hand. You pulled your fingers from his mouth then, reaching behind you to wipe the dampness on his striped pajama bottoms as you moved from your position over him. 

His arms came around your waist as you lowered yourself to lay beside him, shuffling backwards until your back was flush to his bare chest, his chapped lips finding the back of your neck and biting gently at the flesh he found there. You could feel the snaking of his palms as they moved to your thighs, dancing along your hips before traveling to your waist. Your shirt was still rucked up, setting atop your breasts and he took advantage of this, pinching one nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Brahms,” you said softly, the word ending on a sigh. Your eyes were already closed as you began to drift off to sleep. 

“Yes?” He asked, his voice slipping into its usual falsetto. You could feel as his hand stilled against your breast for a moment, moving as if to pull away before you lifted your own hand to meet it, pressing it again to your tender flesh. 

“Do what you want but don’t wake me up again, okay?”

You could still feel his mischievous smile against the back of your neck as you dozed off.

[granddaughterogg]

Less than whole - part 1

Hey, so I wrote a Thing once (long time ago) and only lately felt the urge to continue it! It’s about War having disability fueled angst...of sorts.

Your head darted up. He was still leaning over you, blush slowly seeping away from his face, that silver hair in glorious disarray. One strand flew across his scrunched forehead and fell over the wide straight unhappy line that was his mouth. Right now War looked like a pouty child, stifling the urge to cry.

His hands - those instruments of delight, the bringers of carnage – pressed into the table on both of your sides.

„I wish I wasn’t like that”, he said softly. „I wish I didn’t hurt you all the time.”

„Hey, as I said, not really a problem!” You chirped. „Besides, there’s not much we can do about it. I mean, you’re a big, strong Nephilim with a badass metal arm. And I’m just...me!”

War stiffened. „Strong”, he said, his voice hollow.

„That was all I used to care about. And this arm, too…” You watched him slowly flex the fingers of the enormous gauntlet as if he’d seen it for the first time. Pointy metal scraped on wood.

You never asked what magic bounds to the owner’s will. It was an instrument of bloodbath, that’s for sure. Designed to maim and crush and kill, not to give affection in any form.

But all the same - it was his prosthetics. A crutch he needed to move seamlessly through the world. You’d never ask the man you loved to take it off just for your comfort.

Chapter 1: Marks                    

Everyone has depths to them. But some people are expressive enough that their presence can be evoked with a well-chosen word. Just one arrow, which plunges right into the very centre of the dartboard of your tender memory, producing an unmistakable „boing!”

For Death, such a word would be snarky.   For Strife, it’s mercurial, for his spirit seems unable to settle. Only the change in mood is constant.

When it comes to War, the word is solid.

As in unswerving. Dependable. Resilient.

These are the terms you have at the back of your tongue whenever you think of the Red Rider.

Solid.   That descriptor fits all of him well. His broad, stout physique which cuts a presence wherever he goes, making the bigger enemies nervous and the lesser of them shit their pants. His combat style, forgoing all the frills in favour of murderous efficiency. You’ve seen War kill things - living creatures - a few times now. It was a formidable spectacle. Of course, as a desk-working, mostly peaceful human being you don’t know shit about fighting, but even you can tell. The Big Guy not so much clashes with most of his foes...as he ploughs through them. Grinding bodies into innard jam.

Solid.

That's his personality, too, which looks deceptively simple on the surface. Many would call War „stuffy” or even „boring”. And they would be dead wrong. He saves most of his daily quota of facial expressions for you, that much is true. His speech patterns tend to be a bit sublime. But you’ve learned to enjoy that Shakespearean tilt he puts on his words.

This guy’s listening to you, and he’s learning. The more you two chat (and War has surprisingly much to say when his more outspoken brothers aren’t around) the less he acts like this supercilious, stone-faced warrior from beyond the edge of the world...and more like an actual boyfriend.

One of your boyfriends.

You’ve always considered War to be that one brother who has his shit together.

The one immune to inhibitions or deep-seated regrets, the kinds of which plague Death. Free from insecurities, forcing Strife to clown around when he'd rather be sulking. You care immensely about both of your twisted, haunted Horsemen. They took you in, no matter how fucked up you might’ve been yourself; held you in this collective, rock-hard firm Nephilim embrace. Sometimes literally.

You loved it there. But War’s straightforwardness felt refreshing. Whenever he wanted something - he’d just reach for it with his hands or with his words. Mostly both. He was perfectly able to take no for an answer - and at the same time, to not feel bad about his cravings.

A rare thing in a man.

You thought him to be someone knowing exactly his place in the world. Who takes well-deserved pride in both his actions and his looks. Not too much pride though; a sensible amount.

The truth turned out to be...complicated. As it usually is.

*

You were floating mid-air.

Well, not exactly. You were a good meter and a half above the floor; one leg dangling freely, subconsciously grasping for purchase and another coiled around War’s midsection. Both of your hands dug into the firm vastness that was his upper back. Your whole torso leaned into his, and there was a lot to lean into. You kept your eyes closed and took in that beguiling heat, radiating through the cotton of his well-worn T-shirt. Between that, the Red Rider’s musky scent and his hair, covering most of your face with a fluttering, silky curtain – you were lost for this world.

Understandable, since he was kissing you. Vehemently.

Your bodies couldn’t possibly get much closer and yet War attempted just that. One enormous hand pushed you further into his grip, pressing the air out of your lungs. The bones of your ribcage groaned in protest.

„Wait…” You broke contact, choked and gasped, letting go of his nape and trying to wiggle away from this crushing embrace.

„War. I can’t breathe!..”

His eyes flashed wide. The ironclad hold supporting you suddenly lost its power. You yelped - and wrapped both thighs around his waist in order not to slide off this mountain of a man.

That discomposed War even further. His wide silver eyebrows furrowed while he seized you again, this time by your thighs – this time carefully – and put your slightly startled ass on the kitchen table.

„Forgive me”, he breathed, leaning in, his voice low and delectably rough from all the kissing. It made your insides backflip. But then again, he did just almost jellify them. „I got carried away. Are you all right?”

You giggled breathlessly.

It was hard not to melt when asked like this, not under the tender scrutiny of his gaze. War had eyes like two bluish LED lamps. Still somehow managed to convey emotion through them.

„I’m fine”, you ensured, looking up into this picture of worry. „Really! You just kinda...squished the air outta me for a while there.”

War’s lips pursed. „I am sorry.”

„Don’t mention it, Big Guy.” You absentmindedly rubbed your still aching sides. They probably wore a print of ten enormous fingers. This is gonna leave some bruises, especially from his iron hand.

Your head darted up. He was still leaning over you, blush slowly seeping away from his face, that silver hair in glorious disarray. One strand flew across his scrunched forehead and fell over the wide straight unhappy line that was his mouth. Right now War looked like a pouty child, stifling the urge to cry.

His hands - those instruments of delight, the bringers of carnage – pressed into the table on both of your sides.

„I wish I wasn’t like that”, he said softly. „I wish I didn’t hurt you all the time.”

„Hey, as I said, not really a problem!” you chirped. „Besides, there’s not much we can do about it. I mean, you’re a big, strong Nephilim with a badass metal arm. And I’m just...me!”

War stiffened. „Strong”, he said, his voice hollow.

„That was all I used to care about. And this arm, too…” You watched him slowly flex the fingers of the enormous gauntlet as if he’d seen it for the first time. Pointy metal scraped on wood.

You never asked what magic bounds it to the owner’s will. It was an instrument of bloodbath, that’s for sure. Designed to maim and crush and kill, not to give affection in any form.

But all the same - it was his prosthetics. A crutch he needed to move seamlessly through the world. You’d never ask the man you loved to take it off just for your comfort.

War’s stare met yours. He looked so distraught.

„I leave marks on your flesh, don’t I.”

You managed a weak smile. As far as you were concerned, black-and-blue spots on your skin came with the territory.

„Yeah. They remind me of you when you’re away.”

War inhaled with a hiss and dug both of his hands into the wood of the table. It crunched dangerously.

It was so hot, having him overarch you, block the light with those linebacker shoulders. Oozing with warmth, with this robust scent which made you think wanton thoughts and with worry.

It hurt to see him worried.

„Darling.” You embraced him by the neck, stretching your whole upper body upwards, hauled his face down to yours and kissed him. Hard.

War’s silver eyelashes fluttered in surprise; they were so long, you could feel them brushing up and down your cheeks. And then he let go and opened to you, soft and wet and ardent. Even though there was no embrace this time. His palms stayed down as if glued to the table.

„Ahem. Guys.”

The Red Rider let go before you did. One moment your tongues were entwined and War’s tantalizing smell filled you up to your very hair roots, as you slid your hips closer to the table’s edge in a honest notion of grinding on that dick. The next – it was all over as your giant jerked back and the sun from the kitchen window poured on you mockingly. It wasn’t the only thing that was mocking.

„Strife.” War’s cheeks were flushed with red again, his voice low and guttural. Such a growl should scare the shit out of any living creature, aside from a few exceptions. His cheeky brother was one of them.

„Guys. Guys”, he said with a smile as obnoxious as it was wide. „I love you both, you know that. But the thing is, you’re in the way.”

You panted and snorted, flipping your disheveled hair in a failed attempt to regain some dignity.

„Between you and fucking what?”

„The fridge, dahling.” The spiky-haired one posed himself flamboyantly in the doorway, one hip cocked to the right, arm behind the head jutted in opposite direction, his long spine curved sideways as if he was a JoJo character. As conflicted as you were about this dumbass’ attitude, you had to admire his flexibility.

And his height. Even when wearing only boxers, some old wifebeater (which read ELMO on the front) and no shoes - he still remained the tallest.

„How long have you been standing there?” you spat.

„Long enough.” Another megawatt grin.

War emitted a low, threatening sound of a remarkably beastly disposition.

„Hey, don’t come at me, brother.” Strife raised one hand protectively. „I’ve been wrestling with my thoughts here, ya know? Wondering whether it is decent to break up such a lovely scene, and then you two started arguing or something and it was all the more awkward, but then I really, really need to get that milk.”

You taxed the sharpshooter with a keen gaze. Unkempt hair, deep shadows under his golden eyes, a pinched look which his uneven snarky grin didn’t quite cover. An air of general dishevelment.

What time was it, again? Ah, yes. Saturday morning. The day of the Reckoning.

„Hangover is a harsh mistress, huh?” You flung the fridge door open and grabbed the milk.

„Work hard, party hard. That’s my motto.” He stepped inside, took it from you, uncorked the jug, threw his head back and drank like a man who’d just traversed Sahara.

It took a while. You remained silent. War, who has crossed his arms - was dead silent, too. Strife slurped and gurgled.

After a minute or two of this, you started to wonder about the crazy-ass direction which your life has taken. You shared a common roof with four Nephilim, out of which two were your lovers, one was a good friend, and another one was...well, Strife.

To the best of his Strife-ability.

„Can’t you just take it and beat it?” you asked wearily. Whatever magic has weaved between you and War, it was as good as gone anyway.

„No need. I’ll go.” The Big Guy sighed, pushed himself away from the table and trod past his boxer-clad brother, who courteously stepped aside.

„War?...” Your voice might’ve trembled. Just a little.

„I’ll be upstairs. I need a bath.”

And like that – he was gone.

Well, not exactly. You and the pointy-haired one stood there in silence for quite some time, listening to the thud of War’s heavy footsteps.

You waited until they trailed off, snapped your head at Strife and spit out: „There is a word for what you’ve just done to your brother. And that word is...”

„Cockblocking, I know”, he cut you off leisurely while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. „ Humans are so crafty. So skilled with your words.”

You inhaled sharply.

„We’re also skilled in the art of kicking someone in the shin, so don’t be surprised when it happens.”

„Hey”, Strife bent down and now his gleaming, taunting stare was definitely too close to your face. You felt as if attached to an electric current.

„Don’t go taking the strain in your relationships on me”, he said. „That’s so not cute.”

„Ugh! One day I’m just gonna kill you.”

He straightened back to his impressive length and flashed you a lovable smirk. „I’d love to see you try.”

„I mean it! I’ll find some way to make you miserable.”

Strife was already on his way out, gracefully placing the emptied milk bottle on the kitchen counter. „Anytime, princess.” He strutted out, giving his boxer-clad ass slightly more wiggle that necessary. You couldn’t unglue your eyes from it. „But seriously. Lookin’ forward to it!”

[brokenjardaantech]

captain allen appreciation week 2020 day 5: scars

me: tries to write a short

my brain: how bout some sexy time?

notes: set in the same universe as day 1+7. it is half a year after the android revolution. allen’s dating 60 who’s non-binary and is using they/them pronouns, so i tried to avoid gender-specific vocab for 60 here. please let me know if i fucked up.

warning: smut ahead

----

Decimus starts with the small one on the back of Lou’s left hand. ‘This one?’

‘It’s stupid,’ the human says, reclining further into the permanent pillow for his bed has become after the android moved in. He looks down at his significant other using his chest as a pillow and is met with soft, large, puppy dog eyes which seems to be Decimus’ constant except during missions. 

‘Please?’ Des asks with a pout. Before Lou can react, they have already brought the hand to their mouth and given the scar a lick. 

Fucking androids. ‘Fine,’ the human’s voice is filled with fond exasperation. ‘It’s from a bug bite. Scratched it so hard that I broke skin. I used to have a few more, but they faded throughout the years.’

Decimus kisses the raised patch of skin with the reverence as if it is something precious. Smoothing his hand from above Lou’d belly button to his neck, they return to the human’s collarbone where a long scar sits. ‘And this one?’

Lou sighs, his smile turning sad. ‘When Anna and I first moved from Alaska. I nearly got mugged. She saved my life that day.’

The android kisses the pale, smooth piece of flesh. Lou doesn’t stop them as they start nibbling on it. ‘How?’

‘There was...this scaffold,’ Lou’s voice becomes distant. ‘Anna collapsed it on the muggers. Only one survived.’

Decimus frowns. ‘I’m...sorry.’

‘It’s a long time ago,’ the human buries his hand in the android’s hair and plants a kiss there. With his nose buried in synthetic strands, he murmurs, ‘I’ve made peace with it.’

‘That your sister kills so freely?’

‘And more.’

Decimus’ LED spins yellow, and Lou knows that they’re processing the news. He had no one to talk to about Anna until he and Decimus crossed paths, and by the time the android helps him realize how fucked up everything was, he is already numb to most of it.

Des lifts their head only when they’re satisfied with the bruise they have sucked into their boyfriend’s skin. Supporting themself on their arms, they glide their naked body against Lou’s until they can nuzzle the long, thin scar behind the human’s ear along his hairline. ‘And this?’

‘Neural implant,’ Lou holds the android closer and exchanges a chaste kiss. ‘Helps me control my biotics, weak as they are.’

Decimus shifts and kisses Lou’s nose where a thin scar sits. ‘You’re already better than a lot of people. How about this one?’

‘’Cause they don’t even know biotics are a thing, Des.’ As if to demonstrate his point, he shrouds his hand in a blue halo. ‘Compared to you, Connor, Anna, Ryder… I can barely move my phone from one side of a table to another without wrecking anything else. And that’s from Anna accidentally punching me too hard when I taught her how to fight.’

The android hums, not quite agreeing with their boyfriend on his biotics but not exactly disagreeing either. Two fingers trace the twin scars above Lou’s left eyebrow, and before Des asks, the human explains, ‘Car crash. Some idiot rammed their car into the but I was taking. The window shattered and cut me.’

Decimus kisses them and does the same to the two forming an inverted Y under their boyfriend’s eye. ‘And this?’

Lou’s expression visibly darkens. ‘Ryder.’ A deep breath. Knowing that nothing good comes from their creator, Des kisses those scars as well to try to soothe the pain both physical and emotional. ‘She had her skin on so I didn’t know that she was converted into an android. The building was collapsing, she was blocking the only exit, and I really wanted to live to see Anna getting promoted. So I tried to fight her. Needless to say, a fleshy human is no match for an android who has a chassis of metal and biotics. By the time she’s finished with me, she already broke my legs. She could’ve left me to die there.’

‘But she didn’t,’ Des says, their voice distant. ‘She crushed you with a building as if what she had done to you wasn’t enough.’

‘I’m here now.’

They kiss deeply, and Decimus’ hands slide downwards along smooth planes of muscles and stop at the bottom of Lou’s rib cage.

A thick, pink line runs along the bottommost rib. ‘How?’ they ask.

‘Complex fracture of the rib,’ is the reply. ‘Feel this?’ Lou holds Decimus’ hand and guides smooth finders along the bone. The android nods. ‘Most of it is titanium now. A few screws hold it in place.’

Des buries their face in Lou’s abs. ‘Must have hurt.’

The human combs through the android’s hair and cups their jaw, the latter leaning into the firm but gentle touch. Sea-green eyes meet synthetic brown, both pairs equally warm. ‘I was out for most of it,’ Lou explains. ‘The only pain I felt is realizing that I was the only one to have survived the blast,’ he tears his gaze away as his jaw stiffens, ‘and sacrificing part of my humanity in doing so.’

‘Lou -’

‘Don’t worry, it’s been a long time,’ Lou brushes the stray curl of hair which never seems to stick to the coif just to see it flop down again. His hand stays on the back of Decimus’ neck. ‘I may never forgive what Anna did, but it saved my life. I get to live to have met you.’

A sad, sideways smile from the android, their eyes somehow managing to get even more watery. Des moves further down, the sensors in their fingertips allowing them to find out precisely where organic skin ends and gives way to flexible polymer and synthskin, and they press their lips there. A proof of concept that artificial intelligence and organic creations can co-exist. Then they kiss him once more, this time closer to his belly button and the V of his legs. Their tongue darts out to taste the blend of sweat and something not organic that blends into what Decimus associates with Lou. Licking and kissing a trail to the human’s shaft, Des slowly lets information flood their processors until Lou is his entire world. They look up when they’re bare inches from their mark. ‘Is this alright?’

The large hand in their hair grounds them. Dilated pupils, heavy breaths, increased blood and thirium flow throughout his system and heart rate. Decimus knows the answer before Lou opens his mouth.

‘Go on, Des.’ Then in French, ‘But I want to be in you later.’

Des shivers from the promise which they know Lou will deliver. As they kiss and lick his shaft with both hands wrapped around the base, the taste of Lou overwhelming their sensors and processors, their entrance clutches involuntarily and futilely against the onslaught of the first gush of slick, and they can feel the thirium-based lubricant sliding warmly down his thighs and drips onto the bed, onto their own and even Lou’s legs. Closing their lips around the head and tasting Lou’s precome, they can’t help but whine around the cock in their mouth, the emptiness amplified by the low throb of their own organ.

‘Prepare yourself if you want to,’ Lou says, and that is all the permission Decimus needs before reaching down with their left hand and shoves not one but two fingers immediately into the wet heat, stretching tight synthetic muscles to search for the bundle of sensors which serves as an erogenous zone while their mouth sinks down to take more of Lou’s dick, and when the head touches their throat, tears which have been threatening to fall since the beginning from the sheer intensity of their deeds rolls down Des’ cheek just to be wiped away gently by callused fingers. Lips still stretched around Lou’s member, Decimus risks looking up and immediately has to shut their eyes: the trust, the adoration, the love - it is too much.

Their fingers finding the sensors sends them over the edge. Lubricant gushes out from both their entrance and their untouched cock, their entire body quivering and barely able to support themself, and no matter how hard slick, warm walls clutch around their fingers, it is not enough. Faintly, they can hear Lou’s constant reassurance - ‘So good for me, I’m here. I trust you. Take your time.’ - but it isn’t until the man has to tug Decimus’ hair that they notice that they’ve been trying but failing to take Lou down their throat. Their jaw, for the lack of a better term, hurts. ‘Lou, I -’

‘Shh, come here.’

Lou pulls Decimus up and flips them over so that he is lying on top of them, his face hovering mere inches from the androids to force him to look at nothing else but him. When he reaches to wipe away their tears, Des’ skin deactivates wherever their bodies are touching, and the human doesn’t need to look down to know that the skin covering his cybernetics is completely gone. 

They are interfacing.

Although the connection is shallow, it manages to calm Des down just fine, and soon the full-body wrecks are reduced to no more than the occasional sob and tremble, which is normal for the android after every orgasm. All Lou wants to do right now is to bend them in half and fuck them to standby mode, but they had set up a few rules when they started dating, and making sure that both parties are in to go on is one of them. Ignoring his raging erection and peppering Decimus’ tear-soaked face with kisses, he asks, somehow reverting to French, ‘You alright?’

Des wraps their limbs around him tightly. No, they admit through the interface, voice echoing directly in Lou’s head, but I want you in me. Please.

Oh, that he can do. ‘Who am I to deny that?’

Lou leans down to kiss his love deeply and filthily, making sure that his spit is on every single tiny little sensor on the android’s tongue while he spreads their legs even further apart and pushes in. Des’ lips tears away in a wail, and, knowing what the android wants through their connection, he doesn’t wait before nearly pulling out completely and slams back home, setting a brutal pace that coaxes all kinds of sounds and reactions from them, a high-pitched, static-laced whine here, a crackle of blue there lighting up the entire bedroom and reflecting off their exposed chassis. He finds the bundle of sensors within him and rams into it again and again, and the screams of pleasure-pain that tears themselves from Des’ voice box are stronger than any aphrodisiac, encouraging him to go on and to take whatever he needs - Decimus is here to give.

A soft brush of his hand against Des’ cock is enough to wring another orgasm out of the android. Once thought to be impossible, their entrance got slicker, lubricant flowing freely out from both ends, and the tightening of wet, hot muscles around him sends Lou spilling inside them. He collapses in a sweaty mess on top of the android, and Decimus, so utterly wrecked, can’t stop trembling and crying from oversensitivity and their overwhelming emotions, their arms still wrapped tightly around Lou’d broad shoulders like a shipwreck survivor clinging to a piece of driftwood.

They have to stop holding their boyfriend for a while after Lou catches his breath and gets up to get some wet towels from the bathroom. After wiping most of the fluids on their bodies away (the amount of slick never ceases to make Decimus blush), the human also removes the soiled blankets and sheets and pillows from the fort and tosses them into the washing machine, allowing them to sleep on clean linen without doing something drastic such as stripping the bed entirely.

When he emerges still completely nude from the shower, he isn’t surprised that Decimus hasn’t reactivated all their skin yet. He also isn’t surprised that the android winds themself around him like an affectionate octopus, and in this proximity, he finally notices the slight dent in the chassis on Des’ forehead; when he tries to touch it, they bury their face in the crook of Lou’s neck, essentially disallowing the human a second look on what he guesses is a scar.

Both of them are asleep before Lou can think of its implications.

[otomefoxystar]

Morning Delight

Fandom:  Kings of Paradise

Pairing:  Yosuke X M 

Warning: NSFW 

Genre: Smut 

Word Count: 1,475

Written by: @otomefoxystar

Yosuke had _ _ _ wrapped tightly in his arms. the morning light was streaming through the curtains beating onto her shoulders. “mmm,” she was starting to stir. Yosuke squeezed her tighter, and she blinked open her eyes. Seeing Yosuke first thing in the morning never got old. She kissed his forehead and ran her hand through his hair. He always looked so sexy when he first woke up. She ran a finger along the contours of his face, watching him sleep but secretly hoping it would wake him up. She ran her fingers over his lips, and he knitted his eyebrows together. She started poking his nose, and he batted her hand away. She giggled and started drawing circles on his bare shoulder, making goosebumps rise up. Then she started kissing his shoulder.   “What are you doing?” he was still groggy. “ Waking you up” she grinned “ open your eyes Yosuke.” He slowly opened his amber eyes. looking her over. He put his hand on the back of her neck. “ Morning beautiful” 

She smiled, and he gave her a chaste kiss. He stroked her hair and looked at her tenderly. He put her hair behind her ear. She leaned forward and kissed him, but immediately pulled away and looked into his eyes and kissed him again. He smiled into the kiss, and put her hands under the covers and ran her hands along the hard planes of his chest. “ Are you trying to turn me on?” he said as he pulled away from the kiss. “ I just want to touch you, and kiss you. Sometimes it feels like a dream that I’m here with you, but then I wake up and you’re lying right next to me.” Yosuke caressed her face “ I’ll always be right here next to you.” He put his hand on the back of her neck and leaned in close pressing their foreheads together and rubbing his nose against hers. He caught her lips in a gentle kiss and forced his tongue into her mouth. He started exploring her mouth, fighting her tongue for dominance. She pushed her pelvis against his, and he pulled her tighter against him. He ran his hands along her hips to her rear end and squeezed. She moaned into the kiss, and she tugged at his hair. Yosuke moved his hands from her butt up and under her shirt and ran his hand over her bare back. He ghosted his fingers from her back to over her hips to her abdomen. “ I love how soft your skin is, especially here,” he moved his hand to her breast and began massaging. “mmm...” She closed her eyes and moaned as his thumb grazed over her nipple. “ You’re more sensitive than usual.” He smirked and cupped her other breast. He pinched both of her nipples drawing another moan out of her. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him taking her shirt off and throwing it to the side of the room. Yosuke looked up at her, and rolled her nipples between his fingers and sat up with her still sitting on his pelvis. He brushed her hair out of her face and cupped either side on her face and kissed her...deeply. He kissed down her jaw and nibbled at her earlobe. She was burning with desire she didn’t know how long she could hold on and let him ravage her. He kissed down her neck and gently bit her shoulder leaving a blooming love bite. She kissed him behind the ear and earned a nice moan from him. He leaned down and took a nipple in his mouth suckling while pulling the flexible flesh. “ Ahn... Yosuke” He smiled after hearing her moan. She leaned her head back and ran her hands through his hair. Yosuke released her nipple and kept ran his hands down her sides to across her abdomen. He ghosted his fingers down and lightly lifted the waistband of her panties and slowly, very slowly moved his hand lower till his fingers hit her folds. His forefinger circled her clit over and over. “ Oh, God!” She leaned back and put her hands behind her on his knees to balance herself.   He smirked as he kept circling her clit. He drew his fingers away and out of her panties, and she whined at the loss of contact. “Don’t worry, you’ll get what you want.” He switched their positions so that she was lying on the mattress. He slid her panties off slowly, and ran two fingers down her folds, and put two fingers into her entrance. He began pumping in and out of her entrance. Her legs started quivering, and she grabbed her breasts and moaned loudly. “ Don’t touch yourself without my permission. I can tell you’re about to come, but maybe I should make your orgasm better.” All she could do was look at him with anticipation of what he was going to go to her. She sat up before he had a chance to touch her and ran her nails down his toned chest. He closed his eyes feeling something between pain and pleasure. He kissed her swollen lips and pushed her down gently, laying her head on the pillow. He spread her legs and situated himself there. He kissed the inner side of each of her knees then slowly kissed down her inner thigh. Repeating the same action to the other side he placed his hands on either side of her hips and put his face into her heat. He ran his tongue down her clit to her entrance, teasing her slit. “ Yo-Yosuke” “ Yeah? That good huh? What if I do this?” He ran his tongue back up to her aching clit and entered a finger into her slick heat, pumping in and out. “ Mmmmm” Yosuke brought his other hand up to roll her nipples in between his fingers. He wanted to give her as much stimulation as possible. He wanted to see her lose herself in the pleasure he was giving her. He licked at her clit in circles and up and down to figure out what felt best to her. He alternated between breasts as he massaged and pinched and rolled. She threaded her hands through his hair and grabbed onto his scalp. “ Ohhh...Yosuke I can’t ... I can’t take it” He brought her clit in his mouth and sucked on it. She tried to buck her hips and he had them held down firmly. He didn’t talk, he wanted her to finish, and he wanted her to finish hard! He inserted another finger curling them into the rough patch that made her scream his name. Her eyes rolled back, and her legs were shaking uncontrollably. “ I want your hardness inside of me NOW!” Yosuke looked up at her flushed face. “ But you’re so close” she shook her head “ I’m about to finish all by myself, that leaves no room for you to have fun.” He chuckled “ You’re a woman babe, you can have multiple organisms.” “ What if I’m too tired?” “ I’ll have my way with you anyway” he smirked and went back to his ministrations. He pumped his fingers inside of her faster and licked and sucked at her making her moan until she stilled and all the energy drained from her. Before she even had time to come down from her high he had pulled off his flannel pajama pants and black boxer briefs and was inside of her in one stroke. “ I’ll never get over how good you feel.” She hadn’t even come down from her high yet, and he was pounding inside of her. What he didn’t know is he felt equally as good to her as she did to him. Once she finally started coming down the momentum started building up again and she moved her hips in sync with his thrusts. She raked her nails up his back leaving red marks in their wake. He took her legs and wrapped them around his hips giving him a better angle. As he pounded into her the sound of skin slapping against skin could be heard along with his sighs and her moans. He felt incredibly sensitive and started speeding up his pace chasing his orgasm. He changed his angle so his pelvis was rubbing against her clit. Her moans started getting louder and he started grunting. “ let’s come together,” Yosuke said as he went in for a sloppy kiss. Soon they were both panting and her convulsed as he shot his essence inside of her satisfied core. He pulled out of her and kissed her on the forehead. “ We need to do that first thing in the morning more often, I feel recharged.” She hit Yosuke on the shoulder. “ You would!” they both laughed. “ I love you though Yosuke, I’ll recharge you anytime.” She said raising an eyebrow

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Sweet Dreams

Part One | Part Two

Chase Collins x Reader

Word Count: 1,931

Warning: contains physical intimacy and some mature language

Summary: You’ve been away for weeks and Chase has no problems Using to prove just how much he misses you. 

It was cold and snowy outside, but the bed was cozy, the comforter wrapped around you thick. Added with a mattress with the right level of firmness and fluffy hotel pillows, and sleep came easy.

In one moment, you were curled on your side, drowsily watching the occasional flash of headlights that filtered in through the blinds. In the next, everything went black. The black was absolute, but not frightening. It was the kind of black that made you feel safe, like when you closed your eyes after a long day and shut everything else out.

Suddenly, you felt another presence in the dark and knew you were no longer alone. A crooning voice whispered in your ear. “Open those eyes for me, pet… there you go… that’s it.”

It took considerable effort but you manage to flutter your lids open like the sweet voice prompted. Something in that voice made it impossible to resist listening to it and you sighed in relief when you felt the voice’s fingers stroke your scalp in reward.

Gathering more strength now that your eyes were open, you turned your head toward the presence and saw that the fingers and the voice belonged to the same person. One that you knew. Knew very well, actually, seeing as how he was your boyfriend.

“Chase, what are you doing here?”

He smiled that signature smile of his. The one that always seemed so sweet at first glance, but masked the edge he normally tried to hide. “What? A guy can’t visit the love of his life?”

His words had you fully awake and you sat up, the darkness transitioning into the familiar view of your bedroom. “Wait. Are you real?” You peered around, your eyesight quickly adjusting. Saw your alarm clock on the nightstand. The piles of clothes that needed to be put away sitting on top of your desk.

He merely laid back on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head. “Well, not physically. But that doesn’t mean it’s not really me.”

You looked again and noticed how the edges of the room looked blurry, like someone had smudged the lines of the ceiling and floor. But everything else appeared perfect and you had definitely felt Chase touching you just now…

“So it’s a dream then,” you concluded. You smacked his chest with the back of your hand after a moment. “You promised to stop being so reckless with your powers, you idiot.”

“This isn’t reckless. I haven’t seen you in two weeks. That qualifies this dreamscape as an emergency in my book.”

He was right about that part. It had been weeks since you’d last seen one another. You had been traveling for research related to your master’s degree program and wouldn’t be flying home for another few days. In hind sight, that fact alone should’ve been enough for you to realize this was taking place in a dream space.

“As much as I love hearing that you miss me, this doesn’t count as an emergency, Chase.” He pouted, resting his head on your lap so he could rub his face into your thighs. “But since you’ve already went and done it… I happy you’re here.”

“Good. That means I can move to the next phase of my plan,” he murmured under his breath as if accidently thinking out loud. Which was a lie, of course. Chase was so self-aware that he never said anything by accident. If he said it out loud, it was because he wanted you to you hear him.

“Next phase?” you asked, playing along with his game.

“Well, you see—I think best if I just show you.” He picked up his head to press a kiss to your covered thigh, making sure to make eye contact with you. There was no mistaking the heat in his eyes.

His kisses moved upward to your hip. To your stomach. To your ribs. To your neck. Until he finally reached your mouth. He kept it very chaste, opting to press a fleeting closed-lip kiss to the side of your mouth. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and you shivered.

He pulled back, holding your face securely in his hands. “What do you say, hmn? Shall we continue?”

Before you could consciously think about it, your head was nodding up and down. The mood instantly changed from sweet touches to hungry intent. Black started leeching from the pupil to completely cover both of Chase’s eyes and you knew you were in for it.

You saw was the flash of his fire rimmed eyes and suddenly you were laid flat out on your back. The sheets were cool against your naked skin, bared completely nude for Chase’s own viewing pleasure. A blindfold took away your vision, leaving you in darkness once again. Unlike when you were trying to fall asleep, you were now hyper-alert for any sounds or touches in order to compensate for the loss.

Next, your arms were pulled up above your head. A quick test proved that your wrists were wrapped in sooth silk, likely conjured by your boyfriend, and bound to your headboard; your arms wouldn’t be moving until Chase allowed it. Your heart was already hammering in your chest and nothing had even happened yet.

He parted your legs so that he could position himself in between them. He spread them into a wide ‘v’ and spanked one of your thighs. “Keep them open, okay? Otherwise they get tied up too.”

He moved up your body to hover over your chest and you made sure not to move your legs. Chase demanded obedience and he was petty enough to leave you tied up, and untouched, if you didn’t follow the rules.

He leaned down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his warm breath raising goosebumps around the area. The touch seemed even more sensual now that you couldn’t see it coming. He alternated between strong sucks and playful flicks of his tongue. Not wanting to leave the other out, his hand crept up to grasp the bud with his fingers, stroking it masterfully until it hardened into a peak.

You sighed in bliss, the thread connecting your sensitive nipples to your sex lighting up. He wasn’t satisfied though.  

“I know you’re louder than that. Come on, let me hear you,” he said pinching your nipple. The pinch made you squirm and he followed it with a drawn-out lick to ease the pain.

The familiar duality of hard-soft treatment got you to release your first moan of the night and even though you couldn’t confirm it, you just knew that Chase had a smug grin on his face. “Louder,” he insisted darkly. The rumble of his voice combined with his sinful touches had you mewling, your back arching to keep his mouth on you.

“That’s more like it,” he purred.

With a parting lick, he detached himself completely and you had no idea what he would do next—your hearing no help since your heavy moaning drowned out every other sound. He left you in suspense for a few minutes, your body wound tight, and it wasn’t until you shifted your legs that he made his move.

“Uh uh uh,” he tsked in a sing-song voice. “What did I say? And I thought you were going to be good for me.”

“I do,” you breathed. “I promise I want to be good!”

His nails dug in to the flesh of your thighs, forcefully, his fingers gripping tight enough to leave marks. More silk wrapped around your ankles and it yanked so that you were forced into a split. It wasn’t the max limit of your flexibility, but it was enough to feel a stretching sensation in your muscles.

Without warning, he cupped you in his hand which had you bucking your hips. You were already slick and he coated his fingers, running them over you to make you even more slick while you trembled. Once he was content, he pulled away again and you grunted, restless on the bed.

“Patience, pet. I’m thinking.”

His gaze was laser focused on your sex as he stroked near your groin. He wasn’t sure whether to continue using his hands or if he should switch to his mouth. He was watering for a taste of you, but you really hadn’t earned that treat…

Oh well, he sighed. It couldn’t be helped. You needed to be taught a lesson. Besides, he knew you would look even better once you were a writhing mess.

He curled his fingers and pumped you once. Caught by surprise, you moaned lewdly, your hips canting to follow his movements.

“Here’s what’s going to happen—you’re going count every pump I give you until you get to fifteen. Then, if I want, I’ll use my mouth. Deal?”

It sounded like a trap. There was no way it wasn’t. Being stroked instead of spanked? Chase was a text book definition of a smooth talker who could sell ice to Eskimos. As good as the offer sounded, you knew it couldn’t be as easy as it seemed. Having no choice but to accept, you nodded.

He pumped again, slowly and with a tantalizing stroke at the end that had you straining against the silk bonds. And then he pressed his thumb down on a sensitive spot of nerves and made harsh, tight circles.

“One,” you gasped, lightning streaking through you. If it was that good after only one, there was no way you were get to fifteen without cumming. And that would be all the excuse he needed to deliver a harder punishment. You were definitely in trouble.

He went to touch you again when you were interrupted by a distant knock. Chase went deadly still and you turned towards the sound, still blindfolded. Another knock sounded, louder than the first time.

The restraints holding your limbs disappeared, followed quickly by the blindfold. All around, your bedroom was slipping away piece by piece and faster every second until just the bed remained. Confused, you faced Chase only to see him trembling in fury.

“Dammit,” he snarled. Then it all went blank.

Blinking your eyes, you found yourself back in the hotel room. A bit disoriented, you were awake enough to hear more knocking coming from down the hall. You heard a door open and a heated flurry of hushed whispers as the person knocking was presumably admitted into their room. The door slammed shut and then all was quiet again.

You picked up the clock from the bedside table and groaned in disappointment when it read 2:46 AM. Unfortunately, it would be while before you were able to fall back asleep now that you were wide awake. Down sides of being a particular sleeper.

And not only would you be unable to go back to sleep immediately, you were now left turned on with no boyfriend to finish you off. Your only consolation was that Chase was just as frustrated as you. Perhaps even more so.

It wasn’t often he wore his emotions clearly, especially in the bedroom, but his expletive more than gave him away, his parting snarl still echoing in your ears. He was pissed at being denied. Served him right for using his powers irresponsibly like that.

You amused yourself by imagining that he’d get so worked up, he’d call to finish what he started. A highly unlikely, but very intriguing fantasy. But then your phone lit up from where it peeked out under the covers to announce an incoming call.  

You smirked in the darkness.

Looked like your fantasy might not be as unlikely as you thought.

_______________

My first time writing for Chase! Was it alright? Thanks to @dhampiravidi​ for agreeing that he’s a kinky one. And thanks to anyone who reads! 

[shadowdianne]

hello there, do you have any advice on what to do after being stabbed in the back? it's for a friend

Hello my friend. Uhm… about being stabbed in the back you say? I certainly don’t know how that could be correlated to ANYTHING on my recent posted stories. (xd)

(Don’t despair tho. How about something like… this?)

A/N In order for the right part of the actual fic being understood we need to look back to a previous written moment that is actual canon on our little story. I’ll mark when the actual moment ends and the fic starts but I’d say that it’s going to be quite obvious. If you have any doubts regarding lore and why are we doing certain things don’t hesistate on asking Xd Also, did I get it right H? Was that your tumblr, darlin’? 😉

A/N2: This happens BEFORE our current situation and backs up the reasoning behind Freya’s weakness against psychic damage and how Jericho and others have learnt to maneuver through it. In case M hasn’t sent you this one.

 She wasn’t entirely risen by the voices whispering at the other side of the closed door; she didn’t truly have the memory of when she had awoken, to be honest. Just a blur of morning light and scurrying shadows that had become clearer the longer she kept her eyes open. It hurt to breathe, though, and there was a phantom pain at the height of her diaphragm: as if something had punctured it enough times for her lungs to heave.

She was surrounded by softness; the quality of the sheets that covered her good enough to make her remember the bed that had been hers back at her parents’ home and she curled her hand around a fistful of the fabric while pulling it closer to her face. The scent that permeated them, however, wasn’t the salty one from the bluffs back at her childhood home but herbs and remedies made out of lavender and night jasmine and she inhaled it as her mind kept on swirling.

There was something there though; a vacancy, a haze, that made her swallow, uncomfortable, as she heard Allura’s voice at the other side of the door. Urgent; worried. The answering one was Ireena’s; much calmer, subdued, and accompanied by a set of footsteps so light she suspected no one but someone accustomed to Jericho’s way of walking would have heard. Pressing the tip of her tongue against the back of her teeth, she focused once again on the haziness that tinted her mind.

She remembered some things; the fight against the creature. Vera’s awful way of trying to make it look towards her direction as she brandished her new sword, the one she had managed to buy from the poor merchant they had helped a few towns ago. She also remembered her own magic; feral and blue-colored, as she had called forth Sehanine’s power. The moons had shone between the clouds, their light growing brighter the longer she kept the connection open, circling her, penetrating her, filling her, until she had expelled it towards the fangs of what seemed about to devour them all.

She had heard a screech, a sound so high she had winced while wishing to have had the thought of covering her ears. And then…

Then nothing, darkness.

There had been other moments when she had felt the anguish rising up her throat, clawing its way up her flesh, ripping through her muscles. She had usually needed a few days under Jericho’s care to fully come back, complaining all the time as the tiefling tried his best to make her see that it was good to admit that she needed external help. A thought so risible that she now wanted to laugh yet again.

She could recognize a psychic attack when there was one. The numbing pain, the excruciating memory of her own alive status, the throbbing of wounds that weren’t hers but should have. She glanced down, at her fingers and the white-hued knuckles as they grasped the sheets; she was naked down them, she could feel the graze against her bare skin and, glutton as she was for punishment, she opened and peeked down, at the tattoos that were visible from her angle: starry and dark against her skin. A spill of ink against a white piece of parchment.

She skimmed her fingers from her free hand down her collarbone, reveling on the goosebumps she created on its wake. It was a strange sensation, almost as if it was something occurring to someone else, someone that was connected to her but just far enough for her mind to still feel deliciously numb. She wondered, and not for the first time, if she could keep the numbness forever, at least until she died.

Perilous thoughts, worrisome, but still ones she liked to entertain. Or, better, ones that never quite left her no matter how many times she pretended otherwise.

A sudden yell at the other side of the door, the echo of Ireena’s voice as she said something in that dialectal version of her own druid cant, made her halt, the cobwebs her thoughts were diluting as dew under the morning light. She moved her hand back up, covering herself once more and inspecting not her immediate surroundings but the room she was in.

It was one of Allura’s. Not the same she had stayed in during her first weeks back in Emon after…

After.

The bed was more spacious for once, the windows opening up to a second-level balcony and the details on mahogany made it quieter than the one filled with books and golden details she remembered from her last stay. Door at her left, closed and covered with etched sigils and a small yet probably enchanted chest at the end of the bed itself completed the room. It wasn’t much. But she suspected that had been the whole idea of leaving her alone.

She still could remember her screams and cries the first time she had opened her eyes after a psychic attack, the way her lungs had stopped as she had cried her heart out, as she had called for the gods, any gods, to take her soul and give the world back the ones that had been lost. Jericho had found her that day, mud up her knees, fingers dirty and bloody, magic dripping out of her in thick rivulets of energy that turned black everything they touched, sucking on its life-force, leaving it dry.

*“For the glory of the Twelve Allura, I merely was trying to help her!”

“I know that! But I also told you that we should wait a little bit longer before exposing her to your potion, you even said it so yourself; it’s still very early on the trials. We don’t know if it will have any consequences on her psyche…”

“Worse than the ones she has every time some kind of monster starts to thrash around on her head? Yeah, I’m sure whatever I give her will be worse than that.”

“I’m not…”

“She is awake.”*

Freya wasn’t entirely sure how Jericho always managed to known when she was awake, or how he could tell from the other side of the door but as soon as his voice filtered through the door, she jumped and went directly to the chest, sheets falling down around her as she fiddled with the lock until it opened. Inside, a new set of clothes welcomed her. Allura’s, probably, or that one friend she insisted she needed to make amends with -was it Kyma? She wasn’t sure-. Nevertheless, and despite them being maybe too tight on some places, she knew there was no point on pretending to be asleep no more after Jericho’s words. They would probably check up on her soon if she didn’t make any obvious noise and, despite the numbness and the slow realization her tongue and throat indeed felt weird, as if something akin to belladonna had been shoved into it a little while ago, she didn’t want them to worry. Or ask if she was alright.

She should have been more careful; probably. That’s what Vera would say with a scowl adorning her stupid face.

Sighing as she pulled the sleeves down her forearms as much as she fabric allowed her, she kicked the floor a few times, testing the deer-skin boots. Flexible, but the obvious scarring around the ankles told her that they had been fitted to withstand heavy armor rather than the lighter one she was accustomed to wear.

Definitely not Allura’s.

She stopped once more as the whispers at the other side of the door resumed once more, subdued and soft as if both the magician and the druid had decided that she shouldn’t know what they had been talking about until then. A potion had been mentioned. Ireena’s potion.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t trust the woman: her mentor had proven to be incredibly wise. But also succinct and not very forward if she considered she didn’t need to know apparent obvious details. And last time she had gotten a taste of belladonna…

Shivering at the burst of pain that particular memory brought with her, she walked towards the door, reaching for it, while glancing at the disarray she had left the bed in. She could always gain some more time if she made the bed, of course, but she wasn’t feeling entirely like it and she suspected there would truly be no point. Turning on the knob, she noticed the sigils glowing once before they died once again, the spell one she couldn’t quite recognize, made out of a magic she wasn’t knowledgeable of. Uncomfortable by the situation, the half-elf stepped outside the room only to be stopped once more by Jericho’s arms as the tiefling hugged her.

He smelled of leather and burned oak and there was very little else of him she was able to focus on before he took a step back, his hair in more disarray than usual as he took into her face, hands falling at his sides. At his back, still glaring at each other while seated around a table in where three teacups rested -cold, probably, due to the lack of steam rising from them- Allura and Ireena sighed at unison.

“Next time you try a new trick I’m going to tie you against a tree.”

Jericho’s voice made her glance at him once more, a smidge of a smirk on his lips despite the worry on his eyes. He was trying, that much she could tell, to appear non-fazed but they knew each other good enough and if there was something Freya hated was such obvious attempt at subterfuge. Rolling her eyes, she shoved into him friendly enough for it to be non-threatening, while she still addressed the two other occupants of the room.

“You gave me a potion?”

The air in the room froze and it became visible for a moment as the question made Ireena growl on her seat before she, too, rose. The tint on her skin seemed paler than usual, blue veins coloring her neck, bulging on her forearms, as Allura mimicked her.

“I found a way of keeping your outbursts at bay. Since you won’t stop adventuring.”

Allura crossed her arms at Ireena’s words. There it was, the protector’s need, the will Freya could recognize as it had once upon a time been hers. Not anymore though, not with the same intensity.

The ones she had longed to protect and care for were dead. But while she recognized the forlorn thoughts as the aftershock of a psychic attack the scarring pain wasn’t crippling her. Something was keeping her functional.

She swallowed, tasting the belladonna once more, the mix with it and something else, something she couldn’t quite place but in her mind it left a silver tray of magic and frozen leaves.

“What do you mean?”

[On with this!]

-.-

Jericho’s groaned as both he and Freya stepped outside Allura’s tower, the sun high and biting every shadow high-noon light couldn’t quite reach in-between the pebbles that covered the otherwise soft-looking road. His muscles were sore, wooden, and he messed up his hair always conscious of the two small horns that jutted from atop his forehead. He had barely gotten any sleep last night and the discussion and posterior conversation full of magic lingo that had happened once Freya had woken up hadn’t exactly helped to the blaring headache he had been sporting ever since he had insisted on getting the druid checked with the Archanist.

At his back, Freya sighed, eyes dull and expression contrite. The half-elf had barely spoken after Ireena had explained the tonic she had given her had been readied with a situation like the one they had suffered in mind. The first time Freya had woken up, memories, and nightmares mixing in a far too real attack, Jericho had been at loss. A feeling he didn’t quite enjoy. Not ever and especially not when Freya was involved. Knowing there were steps in place in order to evade a repeat of the moment when he had gotten a whiff of how utterly broken Freya had been due to the loss of so many calmed him. Yet, he, as always, found himself weary of the use of a tonic, a potion. He knew enough of them to know they were useful and needed and he wasn’t proud enough to lie and say that magic wasn’t something that needed to co-exist with maybe the less overt ways his own kind used but there was something there, out of his reach, that made him glance back at Freya once more as the half-elf raised her head towards the sky.

He wondered if she was thinking on transforming back on her white crow form and fly away. It was something she did sometimes when the pressure became too much and lucidity was needed. He suspected that, if it wasn’t for the bruises and ghost-like appearance the druid sported, he would have already been left with a flurry of feathers and the taste of magic at the back of his throat.

“How bad it was?”

Freya’s voice echoed as she started to walk, leaving the tower behind while starting the descend of the quite step path that curved down towards the less flamboyant part of the city. She wasn’t looking at him per se, but at her own boots, as if trying to gauge how much everything had been hit once her eyes had been blind to the world. He used that moment to take a gulp of air, reminiscing even if he quite didn’t like to at the moment where he had seen her fall.

“Not as bad as other times.” He finally answered, voice subdued. And it was true, after all. The attacks were still terrible, full of blood that wished to be spilled, but there had been a soothing-like feeling there. As if the moons that fed Freya’s magic had been conscious as well. He truly didn’t have a proper channel with Sehanine and he suspected the goddess wouldn’t truly answer him if he asked but he could guess that the deity had been there, accompanying him as he had moved among the battlefield with only one goal in mind: get Freya to safety. “But…”

“Yeah, yeah, you will tie me to a tree if I ever try to pull something like that again.”

Freya’s voice was tinted now with amusement despite the obvious tiredness in the way her muscles shagged and Jericho couldn’t do anything but smile at that as the half-elf turned and, reaching ever so carefully, arranged his hair once more, giving a quick tug to the tufts of hair closer to his horns. He always tried to play the passable human rather than the tiefling side. Most due because it aided with the blending on a city like they were and his own addiction on not being in the spotlight. However, the white-haired druid always tried to mess that ideal as much as possible, twinkle on her eyes.

“Maybe not tying but I’ll definitely think of something.” His own response was followed by his right hand as he grabbed her wrist, as gently as possible but pressuring her skin just enough. A hug that wasn’t entirely given, not with the situation they both were in.

Which made him consider the conversation he would like to have with the half-elf at some time, at some point. Not now, though, not with everything that was and were. Vera said it: He liked to play safe. No bets were ever won without knowing for a fact they would turn out profitable. He was a rogue, after all, he never liked the concept of something failing.

And, he thought as Freya bumped into him before moving away once more, that was precisely why he waited. He liked her. But, what if…?

What if.

[Enjoy the chaos. I’ll certainly will]

[twitchesandstitches]

She had been alone for so long.

It hurt, every thing hurt.

Empty, hungry.

She was HUNGRY.

Her tongue rolls out, dragging against the floor, and she feeds.

-----

“Freakin’ trash tigers,” the little kobold murmured, the sound of trash cans being smashed around for the fifth night in a row dragging him out of sleep. He got up, huge and floppy ears slapping around.

Eventually he wandering out of his room, shrugging on a nightshirt that went just past his extremely wide, feminine hips. Turning his draconic snout towards the closest door out, he sighed and went, dropping to all fours more or less on instinct. A thick tail, nearly as wide around as his whole body, flicked about to adjust for course correction.

Prowling out through the window, he jumped down. There! A massive shadow loomed over the trash cans, a towering mass of fabric and cloth.

Ah, he thought. A rubbish construct; someone was raiding his garbage to make it bigger! Fools, he had the biggest, best one around! “Hey, hey!” He snapped, “get out of that!” He gave it a kick.

He realized a few things in very short order; the first was that, even standing up, his tiny height of about three feet wasn’t even a fraction of this things size.

The second was that when his toe-claws kicked it, his foot sank into something very soft, but also extremely solid.

Rubbish constructs, masses of garbage, plastics, fabrics and whatever else they could consume, were a lot of things, but they weren’t particularly solid.

At this point, he also realized that he had just kicked something large enough to fill up the entire alleyway beside his house, and it was brushing up against the wall on the other side.

The big thing he had kicked sat up. Oh. Ooooh. It was sitting down, he kicked something half as big as his house and it was sitting down, oh shit.

Tattered fabric, an off-white canvas that looked torn straight off a tannery somewhere, fluttered as the thing wearing it sat up. It didn’t appear to notice him, and he took several steps back.

God, it was so big. He couldn’t guess what it was, but it towered over him, hints of immense bulkiness and spikes and squirming things beneath the, the… he was going to guess robe. It looked like a robe or something. A hooded cloak?

“Doo, doo. Dot…” a tuneless song hummed, in the prettiest, deepest contralto he’d ever heard. It wasn’t just a sexy voice, exactly; it was the kind of sexy that crawled through your ears and down your spine, playfully ticking buttons as it went, and hammered right into your crotch like a bull hitting a target. It was faintly soothing, and pleasant.

But something it in sounded… off. Not wrong, exactly, but it vibrated in odd places, echoed off in ways that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t a wrong noise, but it felt like it should have been. He felt vaguely unsettled, and for some reason he recalled a time he had stood in the tide and, not understanding the power beneath him, had almost gotten sucked into the undertow and dragged away.

There were things lurking in the deep, and he had almost sensed them. He felt something like that, very much, right now.

Oblivious to his thoughts, the… the beast lowered a projection that might have been a head, and something snaked out from the hood. Something long, shiny, slick with greenish stuff that looked like poison, dripping off to the ground. At first he thought it was a tentacle, something black and slippery, thicker around than a beef steak and astoundingly long. This seemed reinforced when it curled down around a trash can, dripping that green stuff everywhere-

He caught a sniff of it, it rammed into his nostrils. His scales felt ready to slide right off his body as the cool, lovely shivered racked his body. Shit why did it smell so good, this was WRONG.

The tentacle curved, astoundingly flexible, a prehensile limb, and he recognized something of the shape there. There were odd extensions here and there, perhaps sensory organs, and bits that glowed a faint green, but he recognized the shape of the black shape; that was a tongue, that was a goddamn huge tongue, THAT WAS A TONGUE BIG ENOUGH FOR HIM TO SLEEP ON.

The gigantic tongue, a rich and oilly black, curled around a trash can and squeezed. He metal shrieked, and just as he thought to yell to leave it alone even despite the sense of horrible peril, the creature’s head tilted up.

The trash can disappeared. There was a crunching noise, and a very loud swallow.

“Mmm!” The beast went, gulping down the garbage with every sign of relish.

“Stop!” he wailed, even as every instinct screamed for him to just run and run, and never stop running.

The beast continued what it was doing, and the huge tongue rolled out again. This time, it lightly slapped against the other trash cans. Something else was sweating off the tongue, something thicker and apparently very sticky, because the trash cans got stuck to the big tongue, and were promptly carried into the beast’s hood.

He watched quite a lot of money vanish; he’d paid good cash for those!

Next, the tongue then darted to the nearest dumpster, nearly the size of the beast itself, and he was shocked as the dumpster, weighing at least a dozen tons of solid metal and assorted mechanisms, was drawn into the hood with a hideous crunching noise. Something swelled beneath the hood, and then the dumpster was gone, crunched away with every sound of enjoyment

He began to suspect this had been a bad idea; feeling the edges of something raw and red making his legs weak, he took a step back.

The beast turned, and the hood faced directly at him. The massive tongue lolled down, so much bigger than him, rolling down all the way to the ground.

The beast, its body was. It was shockingly feminine. Totally clothed, but he saw hints of black flesh, scales and chitin studding it, immensely soft and spiky at the same time. And there were curves, stretching out the robes. It was… curvy. Really, really curvy, an outrageously stacked brooding beast.

Thick magenta feathers, grown long into something like hair, fell in lank curtains from the hood, over that tongue, and he saw three faintly glowing green lights behind those eyes, in a triangular pattern. Eyes, three eyes, staring right at him.

From a height of over sixteen feet… sitting down, and hunched over.

He took a step back and the hulking monstrosity instantly lunged forward; a massive arm, black and kind of moise, long webbed claws extending outwards, fell down at him.

He offered a single, small squeak as the creature lowered itself onto him in a heavy flop; there was a sloshing sound, and the absolute biggest, heaviest breasts he had ever heard of in his entire life spread over him, pinning him to the ground.

“Don’t!” He whimpered. “Don’t eat me! Please!”

The creature paused. It stared at him.

The green glows in the hood were just glows. But he felt something intelligent in them.

It tilted its head, staring at him with something like puzzlement.

The massive tongue approached, the stickier stuff disappearing in favor of the greenish fluid from before. He winced as the big, thick tongue rolled up his body, snaking up under his shirt, and he gasped as the coolness hit his scales and it felt so good, oh god why.

His nerves yelled in delight, his hips buckled as he unintentionally rammed himself into the tongue and, oh god, oh god! It was yielding, it was huge, it was so damn thick he could sink into it. Was he humping it, oh fuck, yes, what the hell, man.

With a whimper of extreme effort, he forced himself to stop, shaking as the pleasure of the creature’s… saliva? Toxin? Whatever it was, it was sinking deep into him, making him feel like it was too much effort to move.

A pink feeling settled on his head. He felt… nice. Very nice.

The creature loomed over him some more, lowering itself down, and tilting its head more, It raised a pair of hands, apparently satisfied that he wouldn’t flee with its breasts pinning him, and lowered them to his face.

The fingers, two to each hand and webbed like a sea monster, gently poked his face. Claws long and thick enough to disembowel him with a single swipe poked at him.

Slowly, they ran down his face, applying just enough pressure, apparently testing the shape of his bones, the give of his scales, the way his cheeks moved…

It felt sensual, and yet… platonic, at the same time?

The glowing eyes dimmed, and a very feminine giggle rumbled out from under the hood, strangely knowing and so very interested.

Not an it, he realized. She.

The claws played over his lips, passed upon his eyes, running smoothly over every scale. They pushed, they prodded, and the touch was electrifying, and he felt a hot blush run up at every little motion.

She’s examining me! He realized.

Slowly, the huge hood shifted aside, and a face revealed itself. Black skin, not exactly scaled or entirely amphibious, though there were feathered gills draped down her neck. A gigantic mana of magenta feathers, parted by a pair of extremely long ears. He couldn’t see the eyes; her hair was so long, it covered everything but a gigantic pair of lips so big, so plush and so wide that they covered pretty much all her visible face.

They were wet, and dripping with the same beautiful green toxin her tongue dripped with. That huge tongue rolled out of her mouth, her jaws extending to allow it, and licked her lips. He stared at the way that tongue sank into those impossible plush, yielding lips, and some back part of his mind thought: ‘is she applying a fresh coat, or what?’

Slowly he extended his hands out. Small, scaly, and his own claws better for climbing. Her lips quirked, apparently puzzled. He reached up as best he could, reaching up helplessly to the behemoth’s face.

His fingers sank into her lips, and understanding dawned. She sighed in relief, nuzzled into his tiny grip.

His hands sank into her lips, all the way up to the forearm, and they kept sinking. He made a small noise of wonder; they felt so good! His claws squeaked across their rubbery surface, the experience lubricated by her apparently harmless toxin, and he just kept feeling them, moving his hands around every other way, slowly feeling the shape of her.

She did the same to him; so much larger, so much older, but just as alien.

His hand drifted, away from the edge of her lips. She sucked at his hand, the noise startlingly loud, and his fingers were released with a pop, and then she froze as his palm rested against her cheek.

Her mouth opened wide, and then she tilted her head into his palm, going very still. Her breathing grew regular, and her eyes seemed closed.

She stopped feeling up his face, and he heard from her a distant whimper.

Has it been a while since anyone touched you? He wondered. Are you just lonely?

A single small tear fell from the middle of her face, perhaps from the eye upon her forehead, and he squeezed her cheek as gently as he could, and leaned up enough to kiss the little snout visible between her bangs.

She rested more fully on him, and it felt like a hug.

[musingmycelium]

Commission for @goblin-deity <3 Thank you so much for commissioning me! Pairing: Dimitri Enallasani x The Iron Bull Rating: Explicit Words: 2900 Commission info

Crackling fire mixes with the ringing of metal on metal. Rotten dirt rising high on either side and Dimitri brings the wrath of lightning charged flames reigning down onto the swarm of ghouls and blood red templars. Though the strike avoids Bull in the midst his greataxe glinting in the bright sunlight. Heartbeat in his ears, moments passing in slow motion as the swarm is reduced to a handful.

Stumbling as his shoulder is thrown backward, a white-hot line drawn across his skin with steel. Dimitri grits his teeth, bares them in a snarl. Above, on the ramparts, stands the archer who took the shot and Dimitri burns him from the inside out. Melting metal and boiling blood and Dimitri is glad he’s standing upwind.

Staff coming down once more, a flash of blue-white erupts from Dimitri. Bull roars a challenge at the largest of the group and the behemoth responds in kind. Blood-curdling and sharper than the jagged edges of lyrium splitting its skin open. Horrifying but they’ve both seen worse. Dimitri raises his staff over his head, swings it in a wide circle, slams it down into the shattered ground with a yell.

And the behemoth’s roar melts into a shriek. Flames licking at its entire form, flesh and bone and lyrium bubbling and leaking from the thing. Bull finishes the monster off -greataxe already dripping with gore but it cleaves into the behemoth’s flesh just the same.

The acrid stench of burning flesh fills Dimitri’s nose as the last templar hits the dirt. Fire on his fingertips, at the end of his staff. Copper and rust between his teeth. Dimitri lets the flames continue to burn as he takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose, grin pulling at his lips until it stretches across his face. They won.

Creators there had been so many, a wave of crimson in those pits dug by shemlen. The dead walking between men made of corrupted lyrium. A fist curled around conjured flame, Dimitri loosens his grip on his staff as the adrenaline in his blood sings. Bull whoops in front of him, greataxe lofted over his head in triumph. And Dimitri’s grin grows to match.

“Did you see that!” Bull’s voice carries through the trench, far further than the scant twenty feet between them. Turns from the carnage they’ve created, a wide grin splitting his face too. “We kicked ass!”

Filthy. Blood is splattered across Bull’s chest, dark crimson on grey, small shards of that damnable red lyrium glittering in the harsh and unforgiving noon sun. Dimitri would have to call himself a liar if he were to say the sigh didn’t fill his gut with something burning hotter than any flames he created.

Perhaps it is matched by the sharp light in Bull’s eye, in the heat of his softening grin. Dimitri steps forward. Once, twice, small steps lengthening into strides and Bull meets him halfway between.

Strong arms around his waist, lifting him from the ground in an arc as Bull’s lips crash against Dimitri’s. Copper lingering on their tongues, smoke and ash and adrenaline. A kiss with promise, with heat and with the exhilaration of making it out alive once again. Heady.

Hands on skin, roaming fingertips over armor and cloth and reaching, searching for the expanse of skin heaving underneath. Inside his chest, Dimitri’s heart already racing begins to ignite.

They make it back to camp in the evening. Sun barely beginning to set over the flat plains, ruddy orange bleeding into bruised purple sky. Dimitri would watch it set if it weren’t for the itchiness of dried blood crawling in the joints of his light armor. Rolling his shoulders he sets about cleaning up.

Slipping into his routine. Cold water and a rough sponge, harsh lye soap they make in huge batches back at Skyhold. Dimitri washes quickly -finds no point in taking his time when Bull’s already finished and waiting for him. Drys himself with the same haste.

Upper arm stinging where the arrow caught him earlier, another reminder. One of many littering Dimitri’s body, another story and another scar. Although he’s not the only one with both of those, and Bull is far better at telling stories. All Dimitri can think is how one day the only thing left will be stories, no bodies and no scars left to tell them.

Comes back to camp from the river in the same moment as the sunlight starts to give out. Moon and stars beginning to shine. Dimitri pushes aside the tent flap to find Bull relaxing against the pile of furs he calls a bedroll. Working on putting oil into the tight skin of his scars, a little extra help to keep them flexible.

“Hey, kadan.” Bull glances up, warmth in his eye. Even something so small and Dimitri has to fight to keep his stomach from flipping. Has never been successful at keeping his heart from skipping a beat when Bull looks at him like that.

The bottle is sitting behind Bull so Dimitri holds out a hand for it. An unspoken request. Bull raises his eyebrow with a hint of a smile but doesn’t hesitate to reach back for the bottle and hand it over to Dimitri. Simple intimacy in how he stills as Dimitri kneels in front of him, knees pressing into the soft fur.

Oil slick and cool against his palm. Dimitri pours a fair amount into his hands and dips his fingertips into the pool. Slowly rubs the oil into Bull’s skin, focusing entirely on the give of the scars under his fingers. Fractures and splinters, what if’s and could haves swirling inside his head.

There’s a scar on Bull’s good hand, thick and gnarled and stretching from the base of his thumb across his palm up towards the space between pinky and ring finger. Dimitri pays it attention first, Bull holds his hand open for him and Dimitri massages the oil into it until the smell of elfroot and blood lotus won’t fade.

Dimitri places a single kiss to the widest part of the scar. In the center of Bull’s palm, real and grounding. Beneath the herbal oil lingers the scent of leather and musk, mingling with jasmine and warm sand. Singular and home and Dimitri breathes in steadily. Bull’s heavy gaze on Dimitri’s back where he’s curled over Bull’s hand, the weight sitting comfortably between his shoulder blades.

One on Bull’s right forearm, his shoulder. Long and thick and curling, pearly and washed out against the rich grey of the rest of him. They sit in silence while Dimitri rubs the oil into each of Bull’s scars. Each scar gets its own kiss. One near Bull’s collarbone, another near his sternum.

A story for each one, some causing Dimitri to giggle in spite of himself, “Got that in a job with Fisher, you wouldn’t believe how big some of those nugs can get up north.” And others causing him to grimace, “Didn’t move out of the way fast enough.”

Some have only one word attached and those are the ones Dimitri lets his lips linger on. “Seheron.”

Dimitri doesn’t need to hear more than that name, knows exactly how Bull got those scars. Has his own to match. Memories and the past and the present mixing, a few times Dimitri stops in his ministrations. Time distorting, a heartbeat lasting forever, eternity condensed to a single moment.

Those are the moments Bull kisses Dimitri. A light press on the top of Dimitri’s hair, grounding him back in their tent, sitting on the pile of furs they share with oil in his palm. Nothing more but Dimitri doesn’t need anything else.

Continuing further. An expanse of grey skin in the light of the lantern, pearly scars and oil smelling of elfroot and blood lotus.  Running out of new places to pay homage to Dimitri retraces his path. A scar on Bull’s thigh, reaching for his knee. Jasmine and leather and a gentle heat in Dimitri’s chest.

A hand covering his. Dimitri pauses, glances up to find a smile and soft warmth in Bull’s eye. “My turn.” Bull’s voice is already low, a rumble not unlike thunder from a distant storm. Catching in Dimitri’s chest and echoing in all the caverns there.

“Alright.” Dimitri hands the bottle over and realizes he’s still mostly dressed. Baggy shirt and loose pants, nothing constricting. Easily removed. Without wasting time Dimitri stretches and strips, shirt going over his head before being folded and set aside. Not bothering to stand to slide his pants down his hips, lets them bunch around his ankles for a moment before wiggling out of them completely.

Bare copper skin in flickering light to match the grey of Bull’s. Dimitri doesn’t much care for others to look at him without several layers between him and the world but with Bull… With Bull Dimitri finds no pity in his gaze, only warm desire. Something comforting in how Bull doesn’t push for explanations but doesn’t pass over his skin too quickly either.

With Bull Dimitri is real. Solid and present, messy in the best way. Gentle simmering heat washing over Dimitri’s skin, a slow burn in his chest.

Fingertips pressing softly into his skin, a slow glide of oil slick hands on Dimitri’s scars. Starting with his hands Bull raises the back of his hand to his lips, turns them over to kiss his palm. Little white lines criss-crossing Dimitri’s fingers, defense and magic and stories Bull watched happen.

Moves downward to Dimitri’s right wrist and the jagged edges of the pale skin wrapping nearly the whole way around it. Bull knows the story but Dimitri whispers “Gallows.” anyways. Scars in the shape of teeth on his forearm and the same word applies. Dimitri closes his eyes as one present becomes many, fractures and fractals and Dimitri’s stomach is churning with nerves.

Chapped lips pressing tenderly against each one before moving on, further up his arm to the fresh red line on his bicep. Grounding Dimitri to this singular present. No oil but Bull kisses the mark as he kissed the scars on his wrist, on his arm. In the light of the lantern Bull’s eye is burning, a heat growing in Dimitri’s stomach to match the fire under his skin.

Along his left shoulder, Bull turning Dimitri around to reach the thick scar there, a different arrow from a different time. “Didn’t heal right.” And Bull lets his lips linger on skin. Massages the oil deep into the scar to keep it loose and flexible.

A strong back with muscles jumping under Dimitri’s skin, scattered diamond shaped burns and again Dimitri whispers, “Gallows.” Bull kisses each one, a trail of acceptance and commitment, a knowledge of pain and stories which have no good ending.

Down his side, Bull’s lips following the thickest of Dimitri’s scars. Rib cage to hip the scar stretches rough and jagged, a messily healed death sentence. Dimitri’s breath in his lungs halts but Bull continues, turning him back into the light of the lantern.

Bull stops, hand over Dimitri’s heart and raises his head to capture Dimitri’s gaze with his own. Warmth and desire, comfort and familiarity. A promise, “Doing okay kadan?” Shuddering breaths but Dimitri knows Bull will wait, or stop completely, at a word. Dimitri trusts, gathers his racing heart and closes his eyes. Nods.

And Bull’s hand continues onward, wandering across Dimitri’s chest, drags his fingertips over Dimitri’s hip bone to draw a breathy groan from him. Finds the thin scars scored across his thighs and the divot from yet another arrow. Bull’s thumb rubbing soothing circles into them as he lowers his head to the curve of Dimitri’s collar to finish what they started.

Lips with a hint of teeth. Twin scars on his neck and Bull knows their story too. Lingers there, fingertips on the curve of his hip shifting from exploring to soothing. Dimitri burns softly, a simmering flame licking in his veins.

Bull gives up the pretense completely. Draws back from Dimitri with a wicked smile on his face. “Behind you in the bag, trade out the oils.” Voice like distant thunder and Dimitri shivers. Fingers fumbling in his haste to grab the bottle of elfroot oil from where Bull is handing it over to exchange it for the far smaller vial of unscented oil in Bull’s saddlebag.

Nearly drops it once he has it, Bull’s deep laugh rumbling through Dimitri’s chest. “I don’t have another one if you break that one kadan.”

Rolling his eyes even as heat rises in his cheeks Dimitri places the vial in Bull’s waiting palm. Lets Bull guide him back into the furs, plush against his flushed skin. A safety in Bull’s weight over him, one hand bracketing Dimitri’s head even as the other kneads into his skin.

A cork pulled out with teeth. Bull’s eye closing slowly in what Dimitri knows is supposed to be a wink. Fighting a grin Dimitri rises up and drapes his hands around Bull’s neck, claims his lips in a searing kiss. The one place Dimitri wants them most.

Breath coming as a gasp only to be swallowed by Bull. Eyes closing as Dimitri surrenders to the fire they started in his chest. Bull’s oil slick fingers traveling down Dimitri's chest and stomach, his teeth catching against the scar on the corner of Dimitri’s mouth in the same moment his hand curls around Dimitri’s cock.

Gasp strangled into a moan. Dimitri bites against Bull’s bottom lip, tugs it with his teeth while Bull’s hand slowly stokes his length. Circles his fingers around the base and Dimitri pulls back from their kiss. Heat under his skin igniting, Bull turns his attention to Dimitri’s jaw and withdraws his hand from Dimitri’s cock.

Moves lower instead. Oil cool fingers press against his entrance in a thick and welcome intrusion. Dimitri digs his nails into Bull’s shoulder, cants his hips upward. A grin against the soft skin under his jaw and Dimitri’s heart flips in his chest. Creators, he’s too old for this.

Bucks his hips onto Bull’s finger, burning skin and boiling blood. Dimitri is starting to go up in flames. Little breaths falling from him with every movement of Bull’s finger inside him. A groan when one becomes two.

Scissoring and stretching. Dimitri arcs up against Bull as his head falls back against the fur. The lantern light blurring around him, the world falling out of focus. Nothing but sensation and flames. Bull grounds him, weighs him down into the moment and Dimitri groans under him.

Bull pulls his fingers out slowly. An emptiness in Dimitri with the loss even as Bull litters Dimitri’s shoulder with hot open mouth kisses. Lines himself up with Dimitri’s entrance and presses inside with the same gentleness he left with. The air in Dimitri’s lungs leaves him in a rush, low and heady and Bull’s groan is lost to the crook of Dimitri’s neck.

A heartbeat stretching, molten as Dimitri burns and adjusts to Bull. Burning in the same pyre. Dimitri rolls his hips up after a moment, languid and unrushed. His pace matched by Bull in a drawn-out thrust. Fire building higher, sweat beading in the hollow of Dimitri’s throat and the dip of his hips.

Moment after moment, thrust after thrust, eternity after eternity. Dimitri is becoming the very fire he wields on the battlefield they so recently left. Bull’s hand once again curls around Dimitri’s cock, twisting and pulling with a delicious friction. Circling his leaking head, pearly drops on flushed flesh. Blinding and building and Dimitri is nothing but flame.

Dimitri trails his hands from Bull’s shoulders up to his neck, drawing Bull back into a messy, scorching kiss. Hips moving in time, burning air shared between lungs. So close to the edge Dimitri can taste it on Bull’s tongue.

Falling off with a choked moan. Dimitri’s hips shudder out of time with Bull’s, thick ropes of sticky white seed painting his stomach. Clenching around Bull inside him and Bull empties himself with a groan Dimitri swallows. Heartbeats in their throats, flames receding to embers.

Dimitri breaths in the scent of them, jasmine and leather and sex. Air still hot enough to burn. Bull pulls out of Dimitri slowly, gently. Kisses Dimitri’s temple. “Fuck kadan we should clear trenches more often.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s joking and Dimitri laughs breathlessly. “Go get a wash rag and I’ll think about it.”

Bull’s laugh matches Dimitri’s as he gets up to get something to clean themselves with. Returns with cold water and a cloth and a grin. Waggles his eyebrows when Dimitri raises his before cleaning them up without wasting any time. Throws the rag near the entrance of the tent once he’s done with it and blows the lantern out.

Skin still flushed Dimitri reaches out for Bull. Pulls him down into the furs and presses himself along Bull’s side, wanting all the contact he can manage. It takes a moment before Dimitri is satisfied -wiggling about until Bull wraps an arm around him and kisses his mussed hair with a yawn.

Heartbeat slowing, embers glowing in Dimitri’s chest. He kisses Bull’s shoulder and closes his eyes. Lets the quiet of night fall over them both and Dimitri sleeps well for the first time in weeks.

[sp4c3-0ddity]

If you're taking prompts... Can I ask for Hunk and a space chicken? 👀

i’ve been waiting my entire life for this prompt. thank you for enabling my Hunk + birds habit on top of my love for chickens ;_;

also timeline in this is all over the place so let’s call it canon divergent. ~2000 words, and i hope you like it

If there was one thing from Earth - beside his family - Hunk missed it was chicken eggs.

Sure, there were other foods and herbs and spices he couldn’t quite replicate with ingredients from alien plants - although he found capsaicin in the exoskeleton of a beetle-like insect thing and ground it to season curry for Shiro…not that he’d tell him that was the source - but he never found anything resembling a chicken egg.

The consistency would be all wrong, the yolk a strange color, too much cholesterol or too little protein, a shell even the Yellow Lion’s foot couldn’t crack (and Hunk really didn’t want to know what would hatch from an egg that tough)...

Hunk just wanted a quiznaking omelet.

“Are you sure these are edible?” Pidge held an oblong object that barely fit in the palm of her small hand up to the kitchen’s light. It seemed to reflect the lights overhead, with the darker spots of pigmentation absorbing.

Hunk carefully snatched it from her hand. It was soft and squishy, sort of like a water balloon, under his fingertips, and he guessed he’d have to puncture the...skin to get at the edible flesh.

And when he shone a light through it, a round core absorbed the rays, the flesh almost translucent.

Hunk set it beside the others in a large platter. “You and I have both scanned them,” he pointed out, “and they might be a little protein-rich for fruit, but they don’t contain anything toxic to humans.”

Pidge folded her arms on the counter and leaned towards the platter. “Seems a little...risky though,” she mused. “Remember that spotted fuzzy fruit you tried to fry like plantains?”

His shoulders sagged, renewed guilt making his heart sink, but he couldn’t help retorting, “It’s not my fault Lance ate half of them before I could warn him that too many would probably have side-effects.”

Pidge’s eyes narrowed. “He couldn’t walk further than five meters from a bathroom for almost a movement.”

“And I still feel bad about that!” he protested, his stomach twinging with a sympathetic nausea.

“Not as bad as he did,” she retorted. She prodded one of the water balloon fruits with a fingertip. “Where did you find these anyway?”

“Under a tree,” Hunk said. He rummaged through a drawer until his fingers closed around a small knife - something with a bit more point than a spork. “Kind of in a ring? And they definitely feel ripe.”

“Really?” When he turned to face Pidge, her eyebrow was raised. “Why do you think that alien fruit would follow the same rules as Earth fruit?”

“Because so far other rules have been pretty consistent.” Hunk clutched a balloon fruit in one hand and pressed the tip of the knife into its flexible skin, watching how it puckered under. Just a little more pressure... “I mean, it seems like photosynthesis is pretty universal, for one, and for another--”

He broke off when the knife’s point punctured the skin, a triumphant grin pushing at his lips when a viscous white fluid oozed out. He transferred the fruit to a pan on the stove and sliced open the rest of the skin.

The dark core was a deep yellow and definitely not hard enough to be a pit.

Hunk stared at the blob of clear white fluid with its soft yellow center. “Uh...quiznak.”

“Um, Hunk? Something’s happening with one of your so-called fruits.”

He spun around, the tension in Pidge’s voice making his heart race as he turned his attention to the remaining balloon fruit sitting in their platter.

One quivered in place, as if shaken by tremors that only affected it. Its skin rippled before something pointy poked it from the inside.

Hunk stumbled backwards away from the counter, raising the knife in his hands and wishing he had his bayard . “Oh God we’re in a horror movie!” he realized. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew--”

The fruit exploded.

Pidge gasped, arms raised to shield her face, while something wet hit Hunk’s forehead. His eyes pinched shut as a fluid trickled down towards them, and when he dared open them again his breath caught in his throat.

“I-I think I prefer this to Alien,” Pidge commented, eyes wide behind her glasses as she leaned over the platter and the tiny fuzzy chick cheeping in the center.

Pidge insisted on slipping the rest of the water balloon eggs underneath a lamp to incubate and see if they’d also “hatch”, but when the noisy baby that enjoyed pooping on Hunk’s palm proved the only survivor (or the only fertilized) of the clutch, he happily cooked the rest.

“Are those eggs I smell?” Lance wondered. He skipped across the kitchen from the doorway, a dreamy smile on his face as he loudly inhaled. “Poached?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Pidge said. She flashed a teasing smirk at Hunk.

He scowled and, rather than retorting, watched the eggs - that, now that he had the opportunity to cook and examine them, had an odd green sheen to their yolks - cooking in boiling water.

Lance peeked into the saucepan. “You have ham to go with those green eggs?”

“As soon as Hunk finds a green pig,” Pidge told him.

“Hey, Pidge, can you make yourself useful and check on Ramsay please?” Hunk cut in before she and Lance could get a little too into their teasing.

“Ramsay?” Lance raised an eyebrow. “You have an Egyptian pharaoh hiding in the pantry?”

“That’s Ramses,” Pidge corrected, although she obediently hopped off her stool and walked over to the bin in the corner with the lamp shining over it. “This is Ramsay.”

She scooped up the chick in all his fluffy, cheeping, magenta glory and wandered back towards them. The baby’s eyes slipped shut when she stroked its head, a soft smile on her face.

“Get him out of the kitchen before he poops on his siblings’ remains!” Hunk said, raising a spatula in alarm.

Pidge turned, shielding Ramsay from him and with her lower lip jutting out in a pout. “You’re the one who murdered them.”

“And we both agreed they were never alive!”

“Okay...” Lance glanced between the two of them. “This sounds like some weird science thing I don’t want to get in the middle of.”

“And how do you know Ramsay is male anyway?” Pidge wondered. She lifted the chick to eye level, squinting at his underside. “It’s a chick!”

“There are ways,” Hunk pointed out.

“I’m sure,” she said, rolling her eyes, “but do you know them?”

“Ooh, actually”--Lance raised his hand as he broke out into a broad grin--”if he’s anything like a baby chicken from Earth, I can sex him.”

“You can?” Pidge set Ramsay on her shoulder...just so she could cross her arms.

“Uh, sure?”

“He can milk a cow,” Hunk reminded her. “Why not say if a chick is going to be a rooster or a hen?”

“Huh.” Pidge passed Ramsay to Lance, who...

Well, Lance squealed like a little kid. “Aw, he’s so cute! Just like a chick from Earth!” He poked the tiny barely there tail and ran a finger down the chick’s back.

“So he’s a boy?” Hunk said.

“I didn’t even look yet!” Lance lifted the chick and... “Oh, Hunk, I think you gotta change his name to Rachel Ray or something.”

“Girl?”

“Yep.” Lance grinned and said, “But if it gets us more eggs...”

A gasp escaped him, excitement gripping. “Lance, you’re a genius!” Hunk clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You can tell that’s a girl,” Pidge said, her eyes wide and incredulous, “but it surprised you when I said I’m one?”

Hunk laughed when Lance only scowled.

Ramsay - name unchanged, despite Lance’s suggestion - ate anything.

She was a hen after Hunk’s own heart.

“Not a very good critic, is she?” Lance commented.

“She’s growing fast,” Allura said. She smiled, cooing over the chick sitting in her lap while the mice looked on with what Hunk guessed must be jealousy.

(He’d have to watch them around Ramsay.)

Predictably, the smile twisted into a disgusted grimace when the chick dropped one on her dress.

“I suppose pets do have their...drawbacks,” Allura mused with a frown.

Hunk scooped her back up and smiled sheepishly. “I’ll keep her confined.”

“And away from Keith’s wolf?” Lance said with a nod at the door.

“Keith’s wolf teleports,” Pidge piped up. “If he wants to eat unripened chicken for breakfast, doors won’t stop him.”

Hunk’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. “I’ll...talk to Keith about that.”

Keith, however...

“You have time to raise a chick on top of being a Paladin?” Keith wondered.

Hunk raised an eyebrow. “I have time to cook for you guys, Lance has time to milk Kaltenecker, Pidge and he have time to play video games, you have time to train till you put too much strain on every muscle in your--”

“Fine, I get it,” Keith cut him off with a hand covering his face.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that Kosmo is not allowed anywhere near Ramsay,” Hunk said.

As if summoned by the sound of his name (which...well, he was something like a dog), Kosmo teleported into view in a burst of light. Hunk reflexively stepped away, cradling Ramsay between his hands, but when the cosmic wolf’s nose twitched in curiosity, he extended his arms.

He held his breath as Kosmo sniffed the obliviously cheeping chick. He stiffened when the wolf’s tongue flicked out.

Kosmo licked the chick’s downy feathered back.

“He likes her,” Keith said.

“Yeah b-but how?” Hunk said. “He’s about to give me a heart attack...”

Keith smiled but clicked his tongue. Kosmo spun around at attention, ears on end. “He won’t eat her if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh! Oh good.” The tension trickled out of Hunk’s shoulders, and as soon as Keith and Kosmo left he fell into a boneless relieved heap with Ramsay sitting on his stomach.

Ramsay grew to be the size of a chicken in only a few movements. But unlike a chicken from Earth, her down feathers gave way to scales.

“Well, birds on Earth descended from the dinosaurs,” Pidge said.

“She’s really ugly this way,” Lance said.

“Excuse you, she’s my child and she’s beautiful!” Hunk retorted, shooting a glare at him.

“But she looks like a chubby and flightless pterodactyl!” Lance gestured at where Ramsay foraged through the meadow alongside Kaltenecker.

The not-chicken - space chicken, they all, except for Allura and Coran, took to calling her - gathered scraps of grass into a heap, almost like...

“She’s building a nest,” Lance observed with a grin. “Aw, look who’s getting ready to lay eggs!”

“What, already?!” Hunk shot up with alarm, a sudden lump lodging in his throat. “I-I’m not ready to be a grandfather!”

“Relax!” Lance said, standing and patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll be here to support you, but only if I get to be the chicks’ godfather.”

“Uh, you guys are kind of forgetting something important,” Pidge said as she joined them.

“What?”

“Ramsay doesn’t have a mate to fertilize her eggs.”

Hunk exchanged a glance with Lance, then he looked at Pidge. “Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as embarrassment filled him. “I knew that.”

Hunk never had considered chickens a viable pet before, but Ramsay followed him everywhere. She trailed him through the Castle’s hallways, leaving poop he’d have to clean up later in her wake, and hopped into his lap when he sat down. Her eyes closed in contentment when he rubbed her vicious beak, and she perched for the “night” on his bed frame.

And if Allura, Pidge, Lance, and Keith could have pets, why couldn’t Hunk think of this strange space chicken that imprinted on him as one?

He’d see about Shiro adopting a cat later…once Ramsay learned to lay her eggs in a nest and not on the kitchen floor where a certain princess’s mice could steal them.