#if i do prompts again remind me of this...

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] exclusive care package

Summary: LIs react when you pamper them - they indulge you and let you do their skincare/nails, then show it off the next day at work. (From a submitted prompt! edited: typos+ g/n reader for Caleb's)

Genre: Fluff <3 TW: suggestiveness

SYLUS

You corner him in his study, walking up to him and spinning his chair to face you with a bright, innocent smile that tells him you're up to no good.

You expect resistance when you pull out the nail polish. Instead, Sylus extends his hands with a smirk. “Ah, good. Something to keep me entertained while I go through these transaction records.”  

"Better than that," you purr, moving his hand onto the armrest as you sink to your knees. 

He arches a brow. "Kitten, as tempting as you look right now… take a seat with me. Or else your knees will match the shade of the polish." 

You end up sitting with your back against his chest as you unscrew the cap. "Alright, time to transform you into my hot goth boyfriend." 

He chuckles but surrenders his hand, watching with amused fascination as you paint each nail with meticulous care. When you blow gently to dry them, his free hand sneaks up to your midriff from behind and presses you closer against his chest. "Why don't we have some time to ourselves while we wait for the paint to dry?"  

“We can't- because you'll get paint everywhere,”

You jump when you feel his lips brush against the side of your neck. “Oh, kitten. I don't have to use my hands at all. Not if you stay still for me.”

You find out what exactly he means- him, leaving a litany of marks along your neck, and you, a blushing, breathless mess as he continues his way down to your shoulder. “You said I shouldn't use my hands,” he murmurs when you protest.

::

The next day, Luke and Kieran freeze mid-report when they notice his gleaming black nails.  

Luke clears his throat. “Sir. Your hands.”  

Kieran nods. “They look… new.”  

Sylus chuckles, flexing his fingers. His lips curl when he recalls what exactly he did with you after the paint dried. “They are.”  

_____

ZAYNE

Zayne tenses when you place the vitamin C mask over his cheeks, eyes squeezing shut. "This is… moist. And cold." 

"Shhh," you whisper, massaging his temples and smoothing out the corners of the mask. "Doctor’s orders." 

He exhales a laugh, leaning into your touch as you gently drag your fingertips over the softness of his cheeks and the slopes of his nose and jaw.

"…Your hands are warmer than the mask." He observes.

You bring his hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. "That’s the point." 

By the end, he’s nearly asleep, his usual sternness melted away. He stirs when the mask is peeled off, his sleepy gaze focusing on you. When you leave a quick peck on his lips, he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. The cool moisture smears on your skin, drawing out a giggle from you. His arms tighten around you as he watches you squirm with amusement glittering in his hazel eyes.

::

The next morning, Greyson squints at him during rounds. “Did you… moisturize?”  

Zayne’s pen pauses. “It’s called hygiene.”  

Greyson whispers to an intern. “That’s not hygiene. That’s the power of love.”  

_____

XAVIER

Xavier stares at the tiny bottle of magnetic nail polish like it’s alien technology. "It does what?" 

You giggle, dragging the wand over his ring finger, watching the moonstone effect swirl to life. "Magic," you declare. 

Xavier watches with fascination, as you paint his ring and pinky fingers with magnetic polish, swirling the metallic veins with a magnet. “It reminds me of stars and asteroid belts,” he observes.

When you lean in to blow on his nails, he tilts your face up instead, kissing you softly. “Thank you, my starlight,”

He moves his hand to your waist, but you pull away from the kiss with a yelp. He freezes, then looks at you with wide eyes.

“The paint will smear if you move your hand,” you explain sheepishly.

“Mm, I promise not to move it if you kiss me again,”

(He repeats the same request each time you finish painting a new nail)

::

At the Hunter's Association briefing the next day, a junior Hunter notices and blurts, “Sir, your- uh- nails?”  

Xavier, holding them up to the light. “Ah. A gift from my beloved.”  

The junior nods, unsure of how to continue but busies themself with tidying documents, and excuses themselves quickly when another Hunter enters the room to prepare for the next meeting.

(Xavier spends the afternoon tilting his hand to watch the polish shift colors, smiling to himself.) 

______

RAFAYEL 

Rafayel gasps when you tweeze his brow. "This is torture! I looked fine to begin with- ow!" 

You shush him, pressing a cool wet cloth to his skin to soothe it. "Hush. Just a touch-up for the handsome genius." 

He pouts but leans into your hands, sighing dramatically. "Fine. But only because your fingers feel nice." 

When you finish, he grabs a mirror, perfect brows shooting up towards his hairline. "Wow, cutie. That's… impressive.”  

You hum knowingly, then begin dabbing rice water toner over his face with a cotton pad. He lets you do your work with much more compliance now, sighing contentedly at the cool sensation on his skin and enjoying the way your fingers brush over his face gently.

Once you're done, though, he smothers you in a flurry of kisses, grumbling that he had to sit still without getting to touch you back.

You try to scold him for wasting skincare that was meant for him, but he gives you a dazzling grin. “I gotta share some of the good skincare with my cutie.”

::

The next morning, Thomas pauses by the door. “Your face.”  

Rafayel preens. “My skin glows, doesn't it? Fruits of my muse’s labor-”  

“I was going to say suspiciously moist.”  

He scoffs at Thomas. “I hear the jealousy. Now, spare me the boring details and tell me what you need from me. And it'd better not be a new schedule this afternoon- I'm booked for another appointment with my muse.”

______

CALEB

Caleb grumbles as you spread clay over his face. "Is this just mud?"

"Hush, Colonel," you tease, applying the paste with featherlight strokes. “Your skin will thank me,”

He closes his eyes and leans back. “Alright, alright. We'll see how good it really is,”

Later on, after the mask is washed off and replaced by serum, he maneuvers you onto his lap, facing him. He claims that “his personal beautician needs a proper seat”- and he wasn't wrong, but you can see the way his eyes drag over you while you fuss over him.

As you put on the lip mask, your thumb grazes his lower lip. His eyes snap to yours, then down to your lips.

“Nuh ‘air,” he mumbles.

“Not fair? Then you can do my skincare later,” You pat his cheek. “And- just five minutes. Your lips will be extra kissable after this.” 

The next day, when Caleb sets off towards his jet with his co-pilot, the man turns to him. “Ahem, Colonel. Your skin.”  

(He does put that claim to the test after five minutes- and successfully proves the mask effective.)

::

Caleb, rubbing his face. “What about it?”  

“It’s… glowing? Did you polish yourself?”  

Caleb grins. “Nah. My partner did.”  

Note: HELLO lmk what yall think!! this was based on an anon prompt and it was a pretty cute idea HeEHE. i took a 1 week hiatus bc i felt a bit tired from writing but im back and have a few ideas now!! And also got some lovely submissions from yall too. THANK YOU FOR READING AS ALWAYS! <3 Comments and reblogs truly appreciated <33

✨️

[bitchinbarzal]

Still Proud — J Burrow

Summary: Sloane insists on waiting up every time Joe has an away game. And every time, he finds his girls fast asleep on the couch but still, she wakes up just enough to remind him that win or lose, she’s proud.

⸻

It started out cute.

“Daddy’s not home yet,” she’d say, peeking out from behind your legs as you tucked her in. “I hafta wait.”

You’d smile, kneel beside her bed, and run your fingers through her curls. “Daddy won’t be home till very, very late, bug. You’ll be fast asleep by then.”

But Sloane Burrow is nothing if not stubborn.

Three years old, fierce as fire, and full of the same resolve that makes Joe chase wins down to the wire. She doesn’t understand time zones or postgame press conferences. All she knows is that her daddy isn’t home yet and so, she has to wait.

So now it’s a thing. An unspoken ritual.

Whenever Joe’s on the road, you’re both curled up on the couch by 8:00pm with Sloane freshly bathed, wrapped in one of Joe’s hoodies like a blanket. You let her pick a movie. She always chooses Tangled.

“I just like when it ends happy,” she explains. And really, what more do you need?

By the time Joe’s flight lands and the team bus makes it back to the facility, it’s well past midnight. Sometimes closer to 2:00am.

But still, there you are.

The porch light on.

A bowl of snacks half-eaten on the coffee table.

And his girls sound asleep in front of the TV, the screen now dim with the Netflix “Are you still watching?” prompt glowing faintly in the dark.

He never says it aloud, but it might be his favourite view in the world.

Tonight, it’s extra late.

A west coast game. Tough loss.

His body aches. His brain is fried. He wants nothing more than to collapse into bed and forget all about the red zone interception and the second-half collapse.

But when he steps into the house and sees you both curled up on the couch. Sloane on your chest, your arms around her, her pink blanket half-slipping onto the floor something in him melts.

Quietly, he crouches beside the couch and brushes a kiss to your temple.

You stir a little, eyes fluttering open.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he murmurs back, his hand brushing her curls.

“She made it till halftime,” you add, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “She said she was gonna ‘stay up for real this time,’ and then passed out with popcorn still in her mouth.”

Joe chuckles softly, shoulders relaxing for the first time all night.

You sit up, letting him gently scoop Sloane into his arms. She barely stirs until he gets halfway down the hallway.

Then comes the tiny voice, scratchy with sleep.

“Daddy?”

He pauses, shifting her in his arms. “Yeah, bug. I’m here.”

Her eyes are heavy slits, barely open as she curls tighter into his chest. “Did you win?”

Joe hesitates for a second.

“No,” he says honestly. “Not tonight.”

Her fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie.

“That’s okay,” she mumbles. “I’m still proud.”

Joe’s heart swells.

He leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Thanks, baby.”

“You tried real hard,” she adds, her voice getting softer with each word. “I saw.”

And then she’s out again, just like that.

He carries her into her room and tucks her in gently, smoothing the hair from her face and settling her stuffed animal beside her.

He stands there for a minute longer than necessary, watching the rise and fall of her tiny chest.

She’s proud.

Even when the rest of the world is picking him apart in slow-motion replays, she’s proud.

When he climbs into bed next to you, you’re half-awake, waiting for him the way she always tries to.

“She talk in her sleep again?” you ask, your voice warm against his shoulder.

He chuckles. “Yeah.”

“What’d she say this time?”

“She said she was proud,” he says softly. “Said she saw me trying real hard.”

You smile. “She’s not wrong.”

Joe doesn’t answer right away.

Then: “Some days, I feel like the only person I need to prove anything to… is her.”

You roll over to face him, fingers tracing soft lines over his wrist.

“You don’t need to prove anything to us, Joe. Not winning. Not perfection. Just being here… that’s everything.”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“I’m always coming home to you.”

You press a kiss to his lips, slow and steady.

“Good. Because she’ll always be waiting on the couch.”

New City. New Game. New Bedtime Plan.

You’re brushing Sloane’s teeth when she pauses, foam bubbling at the corners of her mouth.

“Wait. Daddy has football tonight?”

“Uh-huh. He’s flying to Nashville.”

She spits and gasps. “Then we gotta get the couch ready!”

You chuckle. “Baby, the game won’t start till after bedtime.”

She puts her hands on her hips, as serious as a three-year-old can get.

“I’m not going to bed ‘til Daddy wins.”

He doesn’t win. Again.

But she’s still asleep in your arms when he walks through the door at 1:30am.

Still wrapped in one of his old LSU shirts. Still drooling a little against your collarbone.

And again, just as he lays her in bed, she stirs.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, bug.”

“I waited up.”

“I saw.”

Her hand reaches for his cheek in the dark.

“Did you score a touchdown?”

He huffs a tired laugh. “Nope.”

She blinks slowly. “Still proud.”

This time, he’s the one who gets choked up.

And every game after that,win or lose,it’s always the same.

The couch.

The hoodie.

The sleepy smile and mumbled pride.

Because in her eyes, he’s undefeated.

[back2bluesidex]

Crawling back to you 2 - A Rebound - MYG

Pairing: Rapper!Yoongi X Fem!Reader

Type: Drabble series.

Theme: Break up au, pining, so much angst, exes to lovers.

W.C: 1.9k

Summary:

"It's sad to see you go Sorta hoping that you'd stay"

Alternatively:

All the time you thought Yoongi was in love with you - he was in love with his best friend.

Warning: Extreme Angst!! You might want to strangle Yoongi. 🙂

Based on Do I Wanna Know by Hoizer (Yes, the cover because that sounds more melancholic)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist (1) (2) | Patreon (For early access) Posting every Saturday

A/N: AN EARLY UPDATE AGAIN BECAUSE WHY NOT!!!!

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“How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I found That makes me think of you somehow”

Everything reminds you of him - the cold bitterness of iced americano in the morning, the missed meals during emergency rush, the lit up billboards with his handsome face painted all across at night - everything reminds you of Yoongi. 

Even though, nothing.. Probably nothing reminds him of you. 

You check your phone whenever you can, you wait for the message or the call that never comes, you crave to hear the “I’m sorry, please come back to me, I miss you” in his voice. But no, each day passes with no effort from Yoongi’s side. 

Like a stupid lover, you thought those were his words of anger when he asked you to leave him alone. You thought he would crawl back to you if you disappeared from his life, if you give him an absolute silence - but again, you have been wrong. 

It’s been more than two weeks since you walked out of his life, he has been out of reach ever since. 

And now you wonder, if it has ended already. You wonder if you should stop waiting altogether. 

Your mind says yes, your heart objects - for it still beats for Min Yoongi, it still bleeds for Min Yoongi. 

So, you give yourself time. If he doesn’t reach out to you within two more weeks, you will consider your two year long relationship as dead. 

Although, at this point, you aren’t sure when it was ever alive. 

“Doctor, you okay?” a gentle hand presses itself on your shoulder. 

You regain your wandering focus and look up to find your department’s head nurse smiling gently at you, “yes. I’m fine, just tired, Miss. Kim. Do you have anything to tell?” 

The nurse nods, “yes, professor Shin asked you to see him at his outpatient cabin. One of the VIP patients has scheduled an emergency appointment. They must be here at any moment.”

You sigh, “is that so?” 

Opening the system to check the appointments, you look for the mentioned VIP patient’s name. And because of some devine joke, it’s Yoongi whose name floats across the screen. 

“Min Yoongi?” your voice turns uncharacteristically loud. 

“Yes, the rapper. You remember he had a surgery at our hospital two years ago? He came to regular check ups for six months too.” the nurse prompts. 

Her words vanish somewhere on the path from your ear to your brain. 

All you can think of is Yoongi. Is he fine? Is his shoulder troubling him again? Has it swelled? 

His injury was pretty severe but he had healed nicely then why now? Has he… has he got injured again?

You reach for your phone, opening the contact list you almost tap on the call button. But then you recall…

“...stop being so clingy and demanding! I have a life out of you, for god’s sake! Leave me the fuck alone!” 

The words come back to you like a brutal scene from a nightmare. Your fingers pause.

Your attention is not what Yoongi wants. He already has the one he needs beside him… someone that’s definitely not you. 

Is this fate’s way of telling you that things aren’t completely over yet? 

You are finally seeing Yoongi after two weeks of radio silence, after a stretch of a cold war but not as his girlfriend - as his doctor. 

Your hands fidget with each other as you stand beside your professor’s chair. Yoongi may come at any moment. 

And the moment comes instantly as a soft knock rings on the door before being pushed open. Yoongi walks in, concealed in a bucket hat and a mask. You expect Yi Jeong, his manager, to accompany him but the figure that walks in, holding onto his upper arm is Inhye. 

Your blood runs cold at the sight. 

You forget to greet, as you stand still like a mannequin. Yoongi’s eyes find yours, he stares at you for a moment but he does nothing to shrug Inhye’s hand off of him. 

She sings her greetings, you bow half-heartedly. 

She knows who you are. She has met you once already but her ignorance, and her apparent claim on your boyfriend makes you wonder if she is just shameless or if she is forgetful. 

Inhye sits Yoongi down, touches his injured shoulder gently - does everything that you should be doing. 

Yoongi accepts it all. 

When he peels the mask off, you see no sign of annoyance on his face. He is as quiet as usual but his posture is relaxed as if… as if he is relieved that it’s Inhye beside him and not you. 

Both of them ignore your presence like you are an invisible ghost. 

You try to blink your unshed tears away. 

There’s not much for you to do other than handing the charts and typing notes down whenever professor Shin asks you to. 

So, your eyes keep falling on Yoongi and Inhye, no matter how much you try to keep yourself poised. Your professional and personal boundaries blur when you realize Inhye keeps holding Yoongi’s hand the whole time. She recites how Yoongi slipped and fell down, how he kept his mouth shut about the pain and how she convinced him to get checked. 

They did an x-ray previously, so the doctor only reviews that and tells him to use his injured shoulder as little as possible to stay safe. He suggests some medication. And that’s all. Then they are saying their goodbyes. 

No. no! Yoongi can’t leave you like this. 

You won’t let him. 

You two are still together, no matter how bad your relationship has gotten. He can’t date someone already. He can’t behave like a married couple with his best friend. 

He can’t! He can’t! 

“Sir, I need to use the restroom quickly.” you bow to your professor and dash out of the room. 

They are almost at the end of the corridor when you reach them. 

“Yoongi, I need to talk to you.” your voice is loud enough for him to hear but not too much to gain unwanted attention. 

Both Yoongi and Inhye turn around. She acknowledges you first. 

“Doctor, is something wrong?” her question pins the fact down that she clearly doesn’t recall you. 

You only huff a laugh, “I need to talk to Yoongi” you walk closer to them, “not as a doctor but as his girlfriend. We met once, Inhye, but you probably don’t recall me.” 

Your tone is sarcastic, you know. Yoongi closes his eyes in apparent frustration. 

Realization draws on Inhye’s face, “Oh! Oh right! Y/N! No wonder you looked so familiar. Sorry, I am not good with faces.” 

You nod, then look back at Yoongi, his eyes are boring holes in you, “Yoongi… please?”

He sighs, “Inhye, wait for me in the car, hm?” 

Inhye nods and smiles brightly at him. Yoongi’s eyes crinkle in something that resembles a smile as well. 

You feel like you are interrupting a sweet moment between a couple, even though it’s Inhye who has interrupted your life, your love and left you scrambling for Yoongi’s attention. 

“Have you been cheating on me with her?” getting these words out of your mouth is more painful than you assumed. 

Yoongi’s jaw ticks, he cards a hand through his hair in frustration. Now that both of his hat and mask are gone, you can see him fully - he looks good. He looks better than he looked when you were still in his life, bothering him with your attention. 

“No.” he answers briefly. 

“Then why… why is she the one who gets to be with you and not me?” tears start spilling from your eyes. You can’t take it anymore. You really can’t. 

Yoongi doesn’t answer. So you continue. 

“You two looked like a couple in there and I watched from the sidelines, Yoongi. It hurts, it hurts a lot. She is where I should be. And I don’t even know what I did wrong to be pushed away like this.” you pause to inhale, “what is it that you feel for her, Yoongi? I really need to know. I deserve to know!”

“I am in love with her. I have been in love with her for as long as I can remember.” Yoongi’s admission falls like thunder over your head and it pierce like a dagger slicing your heart in two uneven parts. 

At first you think you heard it wrong, “what? What did you say?” 

“I said I am in love with her, Y/N.” he finally looks at you, with jaw tight, eyes clear, shoulders straight. 

You know he is serious. 

“Then.. then me? What about me? We have been together for two years and all that time I thought you loved me, you were in love with her?” your throat feels extremely tight and dry, the words make it out of your mouth with great difficulty. 

Yoongi, ever the honest man, nods, “I confessed to her shortly before my accident. But she turned me down and we had a fall out. When I met you I thought… I thought I could move on. So I started seeing you.” 

“So you're telling me that I am nothing but a rebound? And you dated me to forget her for two fucking years?” anger, hurt, pain flare through every vein of your body. 

Your head starts spinning, you find it hard to breathe. 

“I am sorry.” Yoongi gulps. 

“But you used to say that you loved me.” a loud sob chokes out of your throat. 

“And I did. I started liking you genuinely but when Inhye contacted me again, I realized I still- I still love her." he avoids looking into your eyes probably out of shame, "I know it’s not justified by any means and I am just the worst person to treat you the way I did but I can’t keep deceiving you, Y/N. I think we should let each other go, for both of our sake.” he states as if nothing matters to him more than getting you out of his life. 

“I can’t- I can’t believe… I loved you so much. I love you so fucking much and all of it is going to waste. Two years of my life, so much of my emotions, countless nights, all those physical affection - everything… everything went straight to the garbage.” you fall on your knees, Yoongi rushes towards you to hold you. 

“Y/N-”

“Don’t touch me please. And please… please go away. I can’t stand breathing the same air as you anymore. Please… leave me alone.” Yoongi’s hand, which reached out to touch you, retreat in hesitation. 

“I’m sorry. I really am.” he murmurs again before keeping your request of leaving you alone. 

The door of the emergency exit closes with a loud thud signifying his disappearance. And once he is gone, you break down. 

You cry and cry and cry sitting on your knees. 

You loved a man who never loved you back, you dreamt of a life with him while he always belonged to someone else. 

Yoongi walked away and took away a big part of your heart. 

The pain rips through every pore of your being. 

You were nothing but a rebound… Choi Inhye has always been the main character in Yoongi’s life. 

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[abarbaricyalp]

hiii for the drabble prompts: sambucky + 6 or 41? if you like!

41: "You did all of this for me?"

The trek up the front porch steps was slow and difficult. To finally reach the top and then decide to turn around and limp back down them was almost unthinkable, but Sam had a suspicion to confirm.

"Wait, hey, no!" Bucky floundered as Sam ducked out from under his arm and clattered down the steps. The crutch beneath his arm caught on every step and he almost pitched himself forward twice, but Bucky caught him the second time and helped him down to the ground again. "What are you doing?"

"Who fixed the creaking?" Sam asked, staring at the old steps. They weren't old. Someone had replaced all the boards with fresh wood and repainted them, and the porch railings.

"I did," Bucky scoffed. "It's my house too, y’know."

"Yeah, I know that," Sam scoffed back. "Just figured you'd be preoccupied."

"I'm not the one who got blown up a week ago. I had free time and an empty house."

Sam would've rolled his eyes, but his head still hurt too much to do that. Back up the steps they went. The crutches remained unruly beneath him. Bucky pulled Sam's keys from his own pockets and unlocked the door, swinging it wide. Sam cringed, waiting for it to batter the entryway's wall like it always did.

But it didn't. Inside, the entryway had been widened, exactly how they'd been talking about doing since they'd toured the house for the first time. The storage shelf had been moved to the left side so it wasn't in the way and all of the boots and jackets had been repacked into it. Two go-bags were tucked between it and the wall.

"You took out a wall?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Actually, Marco, down the street, took out the wall. Remind me to pay his dad later. He wouldn't take anything while he was here. Said it wasn't business, just being neighborly."

"For someone plenty neighborly yourself, you don't really get the concept, do you?"

Bucky shrugged and gently guided Sam away from the new entry and into the kitchen. "He brought two other guys with him and that truck with the scooper on it. It's business."

Sam went to grab an ice pack out of the fridge and found everything stocked and organized. Turning around revealed an immaculately cleaned living room with the couch they hadn't been building completed and decked out with Sam's favorite blankets, and the ugly pillow Bucky liked. The DVDs and records had been straightened and placed back on their shelves. The laundry machine was open and smelled like Sam's favorite soap.

"Buck, did you do all of this for me?" Sam asked in surprise.

Bucky, who had been fiddling with the tassle on his ugly pillow, did not look up. He just shrugged. Twice. Then said, "You were out for three days and I didn't sleep at all. So I made myself useful. You were gonna come home--you had to come home--and I wanted it to be nice. I got new sheets too. In that green color you like. I wanted...I wanted..." He seemed to get frustrated with the thought and switched gears. "You'd be hurt, so things should be soft." He shrugged again and still didn't look up.

"Why are you being shy?" Sam asked.

"Well, when I just wanted you to come home, I wasn't thinking about anything else. Now I'm worried you won't like it."

"What? It's all stuff we said we wanted to do. Why wouldn't I like it?"

"Because you like to do this stuff. Maybe I over stepped. Maybe you wanted to use your hands and get dirty."

"Buck." Sam leaned his crutches against the side of the couch and limped to Bucky's side to hold his hand against Bucky's cheek. Bucky finally looked up and rubbed Sam's other arm, keeping away from the broken parts. "If I'd wanted to build the couch, it would've been built. I can't believe you did all of this. It's great."

"Did I mention I didn't sleep the whole time you were unconscious?"

"Yeah. It's sweet. In your own way."

"The couch was as bad as we thought it'd be."

"You're the one who wanted the kind that turned into a bed."

"Well, you have so many friends, we'd definitely have people staying the night."

Sam laughed, warm with the thought of them making a home for their friends too. Bucky watched him for a few seconds, then his face crumbled.

"Sam..." he breathed, sounding wrecked for the first time since Sam had woken up. He'd been cool and aloof, steady where Sam kept slipping after waking up and realizing the extent of his injuries. Now he looked like he was breaking himself. "You had to come home. It had to be ready. It had to be perfect for you."

"It is," Sam assured. "Buck, you are. And I'm home. So take a breath and show me what else you've done."

"Oh, you need more?" Bucky scoffed, trying to slip the facade back in place.

"Nah, I just know there's more," Sam teased, leaning forward to get into Bucky's space. He'd almost brushed his lips against Bucky's when his leg went out from under him and he fell forward.

Bucky caught him like it was nothing and began to nag about the crutches instantly. Sam just leaned against him and let Bucky hold him up instead.

[stargazedwinchester]

can you write something where Sam and the reader take a case in a town that reminds him of Jess? maybe they wonder if they’ll ever be enough for him

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `i'm not jess, sam winchester ༘♡

summary: sam is reminded of his late first love, and it leaves you questioning if you'll ever be good enough. word count: 630 pairing: sam winchester x reader prompt: "i swear i didn't mean to." you can find the prompt here! cred to @promptsbytaurie thank you!

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

The town is quiet in that California way. The autumn breeze tangled in the tree branches, sunlight leaking through the oak leaves like spilled honey. It’s the kind of place that feels too peaceful for the kind of work you do.

Yours and Sam’s shoes crunch against the leaves that’s crept in from the nearby trees. You had just finished questioning a local business owner about a string of disappearances. Nothing supernatural so far, but it doesn’t hurt to check. You both had agreed to make the journey here, although this is Jess’s town.

Sam’s been… distant. Thoughtful. Quiet, but not in a bad way. More like his head’s been somewhere else.

“This café,” he says suddenly, nodding across the street. “Jess used to talk about it. Said they had the best lemon scones outside of San Francisco.”

You glance over, the painted blue and yellow exterior screams Jess. Cheerful and carefree. You can just about picture her there. Before the fire and the nightmares and the weight of what Sam’s life really is.

“She grew up here, right?” you ask gently. He nods.

“Yeah. She loved this town. Always said she wanted to bring me back here with her someday. Let me meet her high school friends. Show me the beach where she snuck out to drink cheap wine…” Sam laughs under his breath. “Her mom, too.”

You stay quiet.

“I used to think about what that would’ve been like. You know, normal. Quiet.”

You smile, because what else can you do?

Something about the wistfulness in his voice makes your stomach curl. Not in jealousy—but there’s an ache. Like you’re standing in a place she designed, trying to wear shoes that don’t fit.

You walk a few more blocks, past little shops and an old movie theater that’s probably not had a renovation since the 90’s.

Finally, you stop outside a bookstore with it’s shutters down, a padlock securing it in place. You take a breath.

“Sam?” You say, turning to him.

He looks at you, a question already in his eyes.

“I’m not Jess,” you say carefully, “I know that’s obvious, but… sometimes, when you talk about her like that, like she could still be here with you, it feels like I’m… just keeping her spot warm.”

His face shifts instantly, the guilt rolls over him like a wave as his brows furrow and his eyes full of concern.

“I’m so sorry… Y/N, I swear I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, Sam—”

“I swear, I didn’t realise…”

“It’s okay, Sam,” you begin, “I know you didn’t. And I want you to remember her. She mattered… and she still does. I’m just not her. I can’t be. I don’t know how to compete with someone who’s already gone.”

Sam reaches for your hand. “You shouldn’t have to compete,” he sighs, “God, Y/N, I… Jess was my first love. But she didn’t know this life. This version of me. You do. I’m so sorry I made you feel this way.”

You look away, your eyes stinging. “I just want to be enough.”

“You are,” he says almost immediately. “You’re the person who gets me through every damn day. You’re the person who’s here now. That’s what matters the most.”

You finally meet his eyes. There’s so much in them. Pain, yes, but honesty. Regret. Love.

“I’m with you,” he carries on softly, “here. Now. I wouldn’t trade that for any version of the past.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay.”

He smiles back—a little sad, but real.

“Want to go get one of those famous scones?” you ask, gesturing toward the café. Sam chuckles. “Yeah. Let’s go see if Jess was right.”

And when he reaches for your hand again, you let him hold it.

[defire]

I'm not sure if you still take recommendations or if you've already done this, but do you have prompts of a Whumpee lashing out at their Caretaker?

Hmm...

Whumpee lashing out at caretaker

Content: cursing, verbal/emotional abuse, bad caretaking moments

"Oh, it's like fucking clockwork. Whumper destroys me, and you patch me up nice and pretty for him to do it again!"

Caretaker touching whumpee on their back and whumpee hisses and slaps them off, expecting pain.

"Sorry." "You know not to touch me there!"

Caretaker saying toxic stuff that reminds whumpee of whumper and whumpee finally getting to yell what they wanted to say to whumper, over and over, except this time they're not gagged.

"Oh, you too?" Whumpee snarls. "I thought it was just whumper who thinks I 'brought this on myself'. Asshole."

[kancelolol]

On Loop Itoshi Rin x Fem!reader

— You love calling Rin to randomly update him on your day, and he wishes he responded more.

wc: 1.4k || Oneshot || Angst || Hint of fluff? || No happy ending || Implied death/Grief || Swearing || Might be ooc... || Not proofread

"Good morning Rinnie! I hope you've eaten already!"

Rin blankly blinks up at the ceiling as he listens to the sound of scraping and shuffling. His phone laid flat on its screen near his ear, showing off the back of his clear phone case.

On display was a polaroid of you. A personal favorite of his, mainly because you looked so cheerful and wore his favorite smile.

He tries to imagine that you're there with him, using your digital face and voice as a substitute (even when it can never truly compare to the real deal). He lies there in his bedhair, his eyelashes littered with eye crust that he tries to rub away.

A mess was what he was—just like his room that had scattered clothes on the floor and dust cultivating in the corners.

But he smiles nonetheless.

Because he gets to talk to you.

"Morning. Just woke up. I'll eat later." He answers quietly with a slight rasp, already being lulled back to sleep from your comforting voice.

"I'm making myself some pasta right now. Saw a video online last night and started craving it," you chuckle, which is accompanied by sizzling in the background. "You better eat before heading to practice. You can't run on an empty stomach!"

He rolls his eyes, but your words do a better job at warming him than the sun that's peaking through his window's curtains.

"I know. I know. No need to remind me," is what Rin says, exasperation seeping into his tone.

But the way you laugh afterwards makes him think that he wouldn't mind hearing more of your nagging.

Just as long as he could keep listening to your laughter.

He hears your voice again a few hours later while he's at practice. Feets away from his teammates—who were chatting during their break—Rin immediately reaches for his phone.

Even before his towel or water bottle.

"Hey Rinnie! I saw a cat today and it really reminded me of you!" You chirp like it was the highlight of your day, experiencing something so small.

Rin doesn't blame you. He thinks he's the same in some regard when it comes to you.

He still scoffs through his heavy breathing as he remembers the picture of a pleased black cat resting in your lap, "I saw the photo you sent. Is it cause of my hair?"

"It was super cute. It kept looking at me funny at first, and I thought it hated me. But it eventually came up and cuddled on my lap!" You snicker as you recall your meeting with the little feline, "Just like you."

"Since when have I ever done something like that?" He tsks, his lips twitching upward while he finally chugs some water. He takes a moment to pause, contemplating his next words.

They come out soft. Reassuring. And so unlike Rin.

"And I don't hate you. Never have. Never will."

"Who are you talking to?" Isagi appears behind him, causing Rin to whip his head around with narrowed eyes.

His response was a curt—"None of your business"—which prompts Isagi to open his mouth to retort. But a thought seems to flash through his mind, and he quickly shuts it.

"My bad. You just looked happier than usual. Got curious." He shrugs, wearing an unreadable expression.

Rin clicks his tongue, "Curiosity isn't a good excuse to interrupt someone's call. So fuck off. I'm talking to my girlfriend."

He turns his back to Isagi and the rest of the group again, murmuring a small apology as your voice continues speaking from the other end of the line—just barely missing the downturn of Isagi's mouth, and the glimmer of sympathy in his eyes.

By the time he's home and preparing dinner, you have something new to talk about.

"Hi Rinnie! Remember that wedding I'm attending in a few months? Well I'm trying to figure out what outfit to get, but I'm not sure about the color."

Of course he remembers. He could never forget the excited look on your face when you spoke about it, all happy for the bride, who was your friend.

A bowl and spoon clank against one another as Rin plates his meal, intently listening to your struggles with the dress code and purchasing attire that would match it.

"I don't even know what shade of either color would suit me..." You mumble to yourself, loud enough for the mic to pick up and echo throughout Rin's kitchen from his phone speaker.

"I think you'll look pretty regardless of what you go for," he gives a rare compliment that always circled in his mind, but was never quite able to escape his throat. At least, until now, where it comes out quiet, but firm.

As if there was no denying it.

And in Rin's eyes, there truly was no way of doing so.

"Ugh...I can't even decide on a simple outfit for this wedding. Makes me respect my friends who got married. Can't imagine how much of a hassle wedding planning is."

A corner of Rin's mouth curls up, "I think you're just an overthinker. You'll probably grow grey hairs if you were left alone to host a wedding."

There's silence on your end, except for the faint clicks and swiping of a laptop touchpad.

"...Still, I'd love to try it one day. With you." You admit, barely above a whisper, like it was a sacred dream.

Rin's heart skips a beat, lips tightening to prevent them from wobbling.

"Mm...I think I'll decide on this later. I've got time anyways," the snap of your shutting laptop rings out after a few minutes, alongside a soft laughter, "I'll give you a runway show once it gets delivered too."

Rin's chest hurts, but he snorts with amusement as he sits down with his food, phone in his free hand, "Fine. I'll look forward to it."

"I hope you look forward to it. Because I do." You state at the same time before pausing, and it's dead silent. Not just on your end, but with Rin too.

His apartment is feels bigger—emptier—than usual. It's dimly lit where he's seated at his small dining table. Across from him stood a single, empty chair.

"But maybe that's cause I miss you."

You chuckle as the sentence falls off your tongue, meant to be light-hearted.

It's quiet though—too quiet—with an underlying hesitance, like you saying that was the equivalent of confessing a sin.

Rin swallows hard, releasing the grip on his spoon to trace his thumb over his phone like it was your hand.

But it wasn't your hand. It could never be.

No matter how much he tried to deluded himself into believing it.

"...Fuck—I miss you too. I swear I do." His chest squeezes even harder as his voice cracks, the words flowing out in broken pieces like his heart.

His other hand covers his eyes—shielding his impending tears—as he continues, "I think about you so much. It's so difficult to do anything when—"

"I think I'll end it here for today." Your voice perks up again, like you couldn't hear how you had cracked a hole that opened Rin's reality once again.

"Call me back when you can. Good luck with your match. Love you. Take care."

Rin can practically hear—see—the sweet smile that's on your face. One that used to light up his world, but now haunts him with its absence.

"Wait—"

The voicemail ends with a beep before the apartment goes back to silence. Rin just stares at the list of voicemails from all the times that you've called.

All the times that he's never answered.

His food is long forgotten—appetite disappearing.

Yet, he still craved something.

He craved you.

Any piece of you. Any trace of you.

Like a wild animal searching for scraps, Rin thinks he will always cling to the memory of you. Even if it's poison.

And so his finger quickly presses the message he just listened to, and allows your repeated voice to lead him to his destruction.

"Hi Rinnie! Remember that wedding I'm attending in a few months? Well I'm trying to figure out what dress to get but I'm not sure about the color. The only thing is—"

Author's Note:

First time posting angst and it's kinda mid 💔 It's fine though (probably) Just wanted to post something to get rid at least one of the like, 50 drafts that I have...

[eyelambspider]

Hello! It's me again! And my brain has been turning lately... First off, that Gaz drabble has me on my knees. Oh my god. It's too much for my little heart.

That compliment out of the way, I've been meaning to ask for something like this for a bit. Of course it's alright if you don't wanna do it.

I'm curious about how you imagine the COD guys would engage in non sexual kink (with gn reader). You know, like keeping (or even asserting) the dynamic without resorting to that. You can do write about whoever you want :))

I hope you're doing well!

- 🐀

maus! (╥‸╥) ty for the compliment! its taken me more than a while to get to your ask but I haven't forgotten! i figured the prompt was sort of like-suggestive scenarios with the cod men being dominant? if it isn't 😅 lmk!

Can't Help It || COD Hcs

» pairing : gaz, price, könig, stone x gn!reader » content warning : fluff, suggestive, nsfw (stone being lewd smh), lap sitting, pda (?), kissing, teasing » a/n : feels great to be writing again, this prompt too anon-*biting lip*

» Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz likes PDA, as long as it-you know-doesn't put you on his enemies radar.

Whenever he's around you, he likes to tease and have an arm loosely wrapped around your waist, lower back or (if he's feeling a bit bold) to have his arm proudly over your shoulders. Keeping you close.

There's a smile always on his lips, those dark soulful eyes of his always locked on yours, flickering down to your lips like he can't help it.

Likes kissing you when you're both alone. His warm lips biting and trailing up your collarbone to suckle under your jaw. His tongue laving your neck with his love. Always unable to stop himself from nipping your earlobe.

If anyone's accidentally leaving a hickey on your neck, its Gaz.

"Come on, it looks good on you."

It's a mark that tells everyone who sees it that you're with him. His.

» John Price

being a little assertive over you comes naturally to price.

Price usually doesn't care much about an audience, as long as his touches are well-tasteful.

Like when the two of you sit next to each other (he will always sit next to you), he'll always place a warm hand on your knee.

Price can talk in earnest, as if the intimate touch is nothing. Going about his discussions like it was any other day... but its impossible to ignore how occasionally, his warm palm will slowly slide up your soft tight and give the flesh a little squeeze.

Will casually, and unironically just bring you into his office and sit you on his lap.

Keeping you there, especially if you feel flustered, while he does his work.

Can't keep his hands from wandering usually. Soft touches that don't need much thought, like a hand settled around your stomach, leaning his cheek on your shoulder...

Until he gets a little idea and begins to explore a bit. Rough hand coming up just under your chest, giving the spot near your ribs a feel, listening out to the subtle change in your breath. Pretending now to be interested in his work while his hands wander.

Last note, Price likes to murmur about how you're such a "good boy/girl" to catch you off guard.

» König

König isn't usually inclined to be... dominant over you, especially in public or semi-public settings.

PDA isn't a big preference for him, but he occasionally can't help himself around you.

It's especially true if he finds himself jealous.

When the two of you are alone, he likes to tell you -or remind you that you're his partner.

You know that, don't you Maus?

König finds you afterwards, people streaming out of the boardroom in gentle lines. The tall Colonel pushes past quietly, locked onto your form as you walk away, just to pull you around a corner and press you up against the wall where no one can see.

His large body pins you there until your back is flush against the cold wall, his knee sliding between your legs, gloved hands on your hips to keep you from protesting.

Looking down at you and your round questioning eyes... you just look so... tempting.

His fingers squeeze more firmly, on the cusp of saying something and breaking the stifling tension he's created... before he glances to the side, remembering the two of you are just out in the hall.

He lets go of you and steps back, but not before promising you quietly that he'll "See you later, Schatz."

» Harry Stone

Stone is the most forward and unashamed.

He likes giving your ass a playful smack when you walk by him, bystanders or not. Grinning appreciatively under his balaclava, watching as you walk away.

Likes to tease you with crude, sinful promises just to see you blush like a saint.

Leaning over towards your ear just to whisper: "Tonight, I was thinking I use my tongue on you, just the way you like it-eh?"

When you are in the privacy of your own room, Stone likes to hold you close with your back pressed against his chest. Either with you sitting on his lap or laying on the bed under him.

He likes to feel your skin as much as he can, his breaths turning into soft huffs against your ear, getting worked up as he palms your hips and stomach. Waiting for you to beg him to do more, working you up until you're absolutely needy for him- the lovable bastard ♡

[hairmetal666]

Eddie doesn’t text him.

Steve doesn’t think much about it, the first day. They just saw each other, and sure, there’s still a roll of shame in his gut when he remembers his freak out, but he has no complaints on how the night ended. It was good. They were good.

On the second day, though, he starts to worry. It’s not like they text all the time, or anything, but he’s gotten used to getting random memes and pictures from around campus. Finals are wrapping up, though, Eddie probably busy studying, dealing to panicked students, setting up shop at grad parties. But what if—

He didn’t do anything wrong, he reminds himself again and again. Even Eddie said he didn’t. He isn’t going to worry about it. It’s fine. They’re good, it’s not keeping him up at night, it’s not always in the back of his mind, it’s not the reason for the constant dull ache in his stomach.

At the beginning of the fourth day, he gets a ‘u up?’ text, and relief floods through him so hard he thinks he might be sick with it. He hurries over, but this time, for the first time, all the lights are on in Eddie’s apartment, the man himself waiting on the front porch steps.

“My roommates are home. We have to be quick,” he says by way of greeting.

Steve nods, but Eddie’s already ushering him inside, hurrying him through the common room. The bedroom door is barely shut before Eddie’s eyes are on him, expectant and impatient. Steve undresses without further prompting, falling to his knees at Eddie’s feet. Within seconds of his skin meeting carpet, a hand fists into his hair.

“Look at you,” he coos. “Always so eager for my dick, huh? But you have to be quiet tonight, sweetheart. My roommates are just down the hall. Can you do that? Can you be quiet for me?”

“Of course,” He nods, eager to do good, mind already starting to go easy and relaxed.

“Good,” Eddie’s hand tightens in his hair. “Open your mouth.”

He does it, eagerness overtaking any of his lingering doubts, as it almost always does with Eddie.

“Gonna fuck this beautiful mouth, that way I can make sure you don't make a sound."

Chapter 8 of help me become somebody else on ao3 now!

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Happy Friendversary! For a Tevan prompt... how about a a disaster wedding?

Congrats on a year!!

Continuing with @sunnywithachanceofbi and I's friendiversary celebration. Fluff below ❤️

****

"Maddie!" Buck yelled as he walked into the Han house.

"What's up?" Maddie said, immediately concerned by his tone.

"I just need you to remind me that I don't look good in orange and that I don't want to spend my honeymoon behind bars," Buck said, pacing the living room.

Maddie rolled her eyes. "Okay, what's going on?"

"Margaret Buckley," Buck said simply.

"Buck," Maddie began.

"She has an opinion about everything. Everything! The centerpieces, the food, the venue, what Tommy and I are wearing," Buck said, throwing his hands up.

"Have you talked to her about it?" Maddie asked.

"How can I? Every time Tommy or I say anything, she gets all teary-eyed and tries to make me feel guilty." Buck imitated: "'I never thought you'd settle down, Evan. I thought I'd lost my chance to see a son get married. Please let me make it perfect.'"

"I mean, she is trying," Maddie said gently.

"Trying for who? Perfect for who?" Buck asked, his frustration evident.

"Do you want to know what I think?" Maddie asked.

"What?" Buck said, head in his hands.

"Call Tommy and put him on speaker," Maddie said.

Buck raised an eyebrow but did what Maddie asked, pulling out his phone.

"Hey, sweetheart," Tommy answered. "Everything okay?"

"Hey, Tommy," Maddie said, leaning closer to the phone. "I asked Buck to call you."

"Okay," Tommy said slowly. "What's up?"

"I have a question for both of you," Maddie said. "What does your dream wedding look like?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Our dream wedding?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah. Not what Margaret wants. Not what you think you should want. What do you two actually want?"

Buck looked up at his sister, understanding dawning on his face.

"I just want to marry Tommy. The only thing that matters is becoming his husband," Buck said quietly.

"Baby, I feel the same way," Tommy replied, his voice soft through the phone.

"So go. Get married. Just the two of you," Maddie said firmly. "Get in a helicopter and fly somewhere. Forget everyone and everything else."

"But what about all the planning? The deposits?" Buck asked.

"What about your happiness?" Maddie countered. "This is your wedding, not Mom's opportunity to plan the perfect event."

Buck was quiet for a moment. "Tommy?"

"I'm already looking up marriage license requirements," Tommy said, and Buck could hear the smile in his voice.

"Really?"

"Really. When do you want to do this?"

Buck grinned. "How about right now?"

"You're on," Tommy replied without hesitation.

"Maddie, I gotta go!" Buck said, already grabbing his keys and heading for the door.

"Go get him, little brother," Maddie called after with a huge smile.

Buck paused at the door, turned back, and gave her the biggest grin she'd seen from him in years. "I love you, Maddie. Thank you."

"Love you too. Now go!"

Buck raced out the door, leaving it wide open in his excitement. Maddie shook her head and smiled, walking over to close it.

A short time later, her phone buzzed with a text from Buck: "Getting married in Vegas. So happy I could burst. Thanks again Mads."

Maddie beamed. She was so happy and proud of her little brother and the man he'd become.

[shuastar]

Hello, hope you're doing well! Can I please request vernon smut 17 and 19 from the prompt list? Thanks!

pairing: vernon x f!reader genre/warnings: make up sex; vernon is lowk a red flag but its ok; lowk dubcon; p in v a/n: ik vern is kiiiiinda ooc BUT i love feral vernon sm </3 lowk shouldve added more smut to my vernon baseball fic...

prompt list | ask box

makeup sex you're not supposed to be doing this—wrong place, wrong time—but neither can stop

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not behind the soundstage. Not tucked into the shadows of this dim, narrow hallway where the walls still hum with music from the rehearsal next door. You’re definitely not supposed to be pressed up against Vernon, his hands on your waist like he never wants to let go—even though barely an hour ago, you two were yelling at each other like it was the end.

“You were leaving,” he breathes, voice low, rough with everything he didn’t say back in the van. His forehead leans against yours, lips brushing your cheek. “You actually turned around and left.”

“You told me to,” you whisper, voice trembling with anger you haven’t shaken. But you’re still standing here. Still shaking under his touch.

His mouth crashes into yours again before you can say anything else. Hot. Desperate. Messy. It’s not an apology—but it’s something. His fingers grip your waist tighter, like he’s trying to pin all the pieces of you back together, like he doesn’t know how else to say he’s sorry.

You pull him closer, teeth clashing, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt like you're punishing him for hurting you. He groans into your mouth when your nails rake down his back.

“This is stupid,” you mutter, even as your body arches into him. “We shouldn’t be doing this. Not here.”

“I know,” Vernon says, but he doesn’t stop. He kisses you harder, mouth sliding down your jaw. “I fucking know. But I can’t—not touch you right now.”

His hands slip beneath your waistband, rough and fast, and you gasp when his fingers brush between your thighs. He exhales against your skin, the sound ragged.

“Still so wet for me,” he mutters, pressing his palm firmly against you. “Even after all that.”

“Fuck you,” you bite, but it comes out breathless.

He grins—crooked and wild—as he kisses you again. “You’re about to.”

You reach for his belt with trembling fingers, heart hammering as he ruts his hips into you, cock hard against your stomach. It’s insane how badly you want him—still furious, still hurting—but your body aches for him like it’s the only language you both still understand.

Vernon grabs the back of your thigh and lifts, pressing you to the wall as you wrap your leg around him. It’s quick, frantic—he barely gets your pants down past your ass before he frees himself, breath shaking as he lines up.

“You sure?” he asks, eyes locking with yours.

“You started this,” you whisper, voice rough. “So finish it.”

The second he pushes in, your head slams back against the wall. A moan escapes your throat—half broken, half relief—as he stretches you open, slow but deep.

“Fuck, you feel—” he doesn’t finish the sentence. Just growls and starts moving, pace rough and relentless from the start. No teasing. No hesitation.

Just need.

You cling to his shoulders, both of you panting, breath mingling as he drives into you like he’s trying to remind you who you are to him. Every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, and you can barely remember why you were fighting. All you know is this—his hands gripping you tight, the sweat at his temples, the heat in his eyes when he looks at you like he’d die if you let go again.

“You think I don’t care?” he pants. “You think I could let you walk out and not go insane?”

You shake your head, fingers digging into his back, your orgasm coiling tight and hot in your core. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Not a fucking chance.”

You clench around him, legs shaking, and he hisses as you fall apart. You cum hard, gasping his name into his shoulder, and he keeps fucking you through it, stuttering slightly as he chases his own release.

“Shit—I’m gonna—”

He buries himself deep with a groan, cock pulsing inside you as he cums, arms locked around you like he’ll never let you slip away again. His breath is hot on your neck, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything. Just tilt his face to yours and kiss him—soft this time, slower. You’re still angry. Still hurt.

But the way he buries his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring his stupid apologies, hands tight on your waist, makes your heart skip a beat. 

[orangez3st]

Royal Planning

Clone Trooper Nemec × F!Reader

✧ Prompt/Inspo: Two heirs from opposing families must decide if their love is worth the risk of plunging their kingdoms into war AU (prompt by @/castielscaplan)

✧ Summary: As the heir to the throne, you have plenty of responsibilities. Unfortunately, your beloved prince hails from the opposing kingdom. Longing for peace, both of you discuss perhaps the maddest solution ever there is.

✧ Tags & Warnings: medieval royal au, established relationship, forbidden romance, brief royal politics, lots of kissing, talks about eloping, suggestive (no explicit), reader has hair long enough for him to brush away, (edit:) VERY CHEESY you've been warned

✧ Word Count: 2.1k

✧ A/N: So I'm surprised at how I missed writing Tolkien fics (I've never posted any but I love popular medieval adaptation word structures; they're kinda cheesily neat lol). This is for @hellfiresky who’d claimed their longing for Nemec is even bigger than Rex and Boss LMAO. Enjoy this one vode! 💛

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | divider by me

“We should stop meeting like this.”

Nemec claims your lips again as if they're his own name. His attempt to dismiss your warning is rather successful. Well, almost. While you can't resist the gentle touches and deep longing kisses his hands and lips give you, the overshadowing politics of both your kingdoms often take precedence. You, an heir to your father's throne—and Nemec, from the house of princes in the realm of your father's archenemy.

It isn't easy. But Nemec’s neverending affection for you seems to make it so.

He pulls you flush against his body. His hands taut gripping your waist, caging your political concerns from set free, attempting to keep you in the moment. Just you and him. He always utters those words to you.

“Is that what you truly want?” His breath is warm over your lips.

“Your coy wordplay is a reflection of how much you do want secret meetings in the middle of the woods like this,” you huff.

A deep chuckle comes deep from his throat. “Stating the obvious, aren't we?” His finger strokes your cheek. “Or what, would you like us to meet in a tavern instead?”

“No,” you state firmly. “I would not have freedom.”

“Then what is this?” His gaze is teasing. “Heir to the throne. Gone from the court. Apparently, perhaps, the gatekeepers saw you riding into the wild, hooded and cloaked. And for what? Definitely not meeting a secret lover from a rival kingdom. Is it to relish the wind sweeping over your face?”

“To pick some mushrooms,” you grunt. Nemec’s smirk widens as your cheeks fluster, an evidence of how much you like his low-voiced teasing. “And I had to bribe Thorn not to chaperone me this time.”

“How generous of you.”

“He knows, Nemec,” you remind him sternly. “That's what made it worse, for I have to pay double.”

“If you have any trouble with fortunes, you could send a word.”

You snort. “As if you are any richer than I.”

“I am a member of some royal court as well, Your Highness.” He seals his lips onto yours again as if to set finality upon his words. “Only not an heir. You are the one with such grace.” He moves to your jaw, his voice growing huskier. “And such power.”

You giggle softly at his lips’ ministrations along your skin. “You're insufferable, prince.”

And he never goes far. Although the dips and flawless skin of your neck often keeps him awake at night in his own bed, Nemec never crosses the line. His hands never dip lower and his mouth only gets to latch onto your jaw, and once in a while; that patch of sensitive skin under your ear that derives the softest sound he's ever heard—but only when he needs it. Only when he intends to lay awake in his bed at night thinking about you.

He wonders. He dreams. How your soft body would feel like melting against him. You in your rider's clothing is enticing enough—there are less layers than your ceremonial clothes you adorn yourself with to court. Less jewelries, less formalities, more enthusiasm, more dreamy gleams shining in your eyes when you look at him. It is the best and rawest form of you he could ever get from you—for now—and he is sufficiently pleased.

“But about your personal guard,” Nemec says again, pulling away from you. A slight frown etches onto his perfect dark brows. “Is he not afraid to have his head separated from his shoulders if I, say, put a child in your womb out of wedlock?”

Heat creeps into your cheeks faster than your father's fastest cavalry rider. Your mouth gapes and closes as you try to form words at his plainly-uttered imagery.

“He trusts me,” you reply after a moment. There's no single element of teasing on Nemec's features, and you're glad for that. “Never mind wedlock, my love. Father would behead me for treason. And then I would lose the child. You would lose both of us.”

He nods, sighing. “Very good.”

You blink at his response. “Was that somewhat of a trial?”

Nemec's lips curve into a genuine smile, his warm brown eyes gleam at you. “Just know that I would never stand that far from my responsibilities.” He leans to kiss your forehead, breath gruff against you and his arms around you tighten. “I know the risks. But you make it almost difficult to resist.”

You bury your face into his chest, embarrassed. “Am I tempting to you?”

“Since the first day we met, Your Highness,” comes his deep chuckles. His tone grows softer and fond as he speaks. “How your gaze pierced through the throng of people as they danced in the middle of the ballroom, and you always seemed to look for me. I remember Fireball, a fellow prince from my house, teased me endlessly while being envious the entire night.”

A soft giggle escapes you. “That was so long ago.”

“Only proves that my love and affection for you has been equally steadfast, is it not?”

You raise your head to meet his fond gaze and smile. “I've never heard any truer words said.”

Nemec kisses you again, the last view you saw before he closes the distance between you is his delighted grin. He savors your lips as if they are to be his last meal, or a chunk of a juicy bountiful hunt. He wishes he could taste the sweet Alderaanian wine that you drank that night—the very same night you first laid eyes upon each other. Nemec had kissed you under the moonlight in the quiet corner of a balcony, and now under the green canopy of trees.

Each brush of his lips are firm and full of certainty, as if practicing his wedding vows on your lips in the form of kisses that always leave you breathless. Your fingers curl into the shirt that he wears, your boots stomping his clumsily with every teasing bite he does to your bottom lip. It doesn't take long for it to turn passionate, his tongue easing into your mouth and you releasing a soft moan as you savor and brush the wet muscle with your own.

Nemec pulls away abruptly. Your eyes reopen to see him hanging on by a thread, his hands on your waist gripping tightly. “By Haran,” he breathes heavily, “You’re not making it easy for me, my love.”

“Apologies,” you blush, looking down.

He smiles reassuringly at you. “No need to. It was a compliment.” He gently cradles your face and pecks your lips one more time. “You're beautiful.”

Muttering your bashful thanks, you weave a hand through his hair that's slicked back.

“But sooner or later we need to speak further about this,” he says reluctantly. As much as staying in a wee arboreal paradise where both of you could meet and kiss until eternity is tempting, he knows he and you have to work to make it reality. He shifts back against the tree. “Come. Sit down here with me.”

You sigh, feeling a little relieved. Nemec pulls you close so your back meets his firm chest, his arms winding around you with the intention of not letting you go soon, perhaps even after the discussion is finished.

“So I heard from a little bird that your court has been tense since two weeks ago,” he begins calmly.

“Indeed,” you sigh. You look longingly into the stream just a few distance away, watching the water currents break through rocks. “They were worrying about my brother's religious calling.” 

“Your father's spare?” Nemec is surprised. His hand tenses on your hip. “Isn’t that forbidden for the sake of the throne if you'd died?”

“Exactly.” You lay a hand on his thigh and trace a constellation along the seams of his tabard. “And he was on the brink of exiling himself. Father was horrified. A spare to the throne must adhere.” Being your father's heir, you were in every council meeting, and unfortunately it equals new headaches every now and then. “The royal court has been tense with the house of bishops since then.”

Nemec hums in thought. “Or he could be your new archbishop.” He is a well-taught man, rehearsed with the laws of your kingdom. “What do you think about that?”

“I merely want him to walk his own path,” you answer. “If one opens, one should tread it. Moreso if it comes from their own will.”

“Well, if I'm not mistaken, the prince is quite a little rebel himself. His endeavors travel to my kingdom, and my court honestly praises him, if you find that believable.” He lets out a little chuckle. You smile along with him. His voice lowers, as if trusting you to keep a secret of his upcoming words. “And if he answers his religious calling, I am thinking he'd take your side and bless our marriage.”

Your breath stops. You raise from his embrace and turn to face him; Nemec, your beloved. You've long gone from being smitten with each other to loving each other passionately, the grueling need between you growing stronger, as well as your need to be together with him openly. Not with secret meetings like this. His brows crease with seriousness, eyes sharp with determination. It doesn't look like his ideas had just come moments ago. This has been brewing long inside his own deep pool of thoughts.

“We aren't accepted in each other's kingdoms for their rivalries. If this continues and we aren't prepared by then, war would erupt and either you or I or both of us would fall victim to it.” He falls silent. “By a soldier's sword or by an executioner's axe.”

You look at him intensely. “So what do you suggest?”

“I am thinking,” Nemec says, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. “We take a map, ride out, and observe the lands. Choose the very grounds where we will build our foundation, and then we stab the ground with our standard to claim the land as our own.”

A long silence rules over the air around you, and for a moment you can only hear the water stream, unbothered by the tense in your conversation. The burden suddenly falls over you, and your doubts slowly consume you.

“A dominion… of ourselves?”

“We can rule together, you and I.” Nemec squeezes your hand. “We make your brother archbishop, then we form our own court.”

“But what is there to be left for my father?” you argue, “He would have no heir.”

“If I'm not mistaken, your queen favors your cousin just as much as she does her own children. I'm certain she could be persuasive.”

“Every word you said is true,” you huff, recalling how your mother loves to spend more time with your first cousins during festivities in the castle. Dancing, talking. Her smile appears often in their presence, and less with your own family.

Nemec sees your longing and disappointment, and empathizes.

“If you ask me, I see no other solution,” he says carefully. “I have been thinking about this for a long time. Every bit of our relationship is forbidden, and I want to live in a world where I could be at ease with you without worrying about plunging both kingdoms into war.”

The problem is they still would if you both do this.

“Let them be distracted with the matter about your brother,” he convinces you. “Meanwhile you must talk with him about our intentions and gauge him on our side.”

Your lips twitch with a smirk. “He's been on our side since he knew that I'd been gone with you the other night, unchaperoned. He coaxed me into telling him.”

“So the bribery runs deep?” Nemec teases you. “Information for information?”

“Information abuse,” you correct him. Your chuckle sets temporary ease within him. To strengthen his intentions, Nemec tugs you close to him again, your hands pressing against his shoulders as he can taste your breath with such closeness.

“We have to think of any other possible happenings,” he murmurs, one hand brushing your hair away from your face and the other squeezing your waist reassuringly. “What sort of dispute could erupt between your realm and mine, and what we must do before it happens.”

You nod determinedly. “I'll rehearse over every single law I've learned and find any loopholes. As long as you do that, too. If we are tried by our respective courts.”

“It would never get to that point if you renounce yourself to your people beforehand.”

“Marvelous idea, my love.”

“Entertain me not, Your Highness,” Nemec smirks at your tone, leaning to capture your lips with his again deeply. “Don't speak empty words to your soon-to-be husband and fellow sovereign.”

Taglist: @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @filamentlights @msmeredithrose @heidnspeak @lucyysthings @emmaw18 @leiopython-rat @gh0st-c0mpany @br00kthe0takuuuu @ct7567329 @returnofthepineapple

A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)

[arknights-imagines]

OMG;!!!! WAIT HAPPY (LATE) BIRTHDAY EXE 😭😭😭 I HOPE THIS YEAR HAS BEEN GOOD FOR YOU!!!! MAY RICO GIVES YOU LOTS OF LOVE VIA SMALL GESTURES!!!!!!

OKOK!! So, for the event... How would this character react to you wearing their clothes? (Number 6 on the prompt list!) I'd imagine it'll feel comfy maybe? Because his cloak seems really nice to just swaddle into... Like a heavy blanket if you will!!! But to be honest, generally his outfit overall seems pretty nice to wear...

Anyway tho please take your time to write this and have a good day!! I hope my ask makes sense agagaga!!!!

— 🦥

OMG you guys?! The people have... Spoken!! They want prompt 6!! 🥹🤲💕 And I am obligated to deliver aaanzjan

Hiya again 🦥 anon I'm v happy to see you're sticking around! CHOKI yay hiya (always a joy to see you in my inbox)! 🤲🩵 And anon hi there!! 🥹🫶 Tysm to ALL of you for dropping by inbox! (also... 🦥 anon?! 'May' Rico give you lots of love via small gestures'?! Please have mercy on my heart?! Ajaoajajaj-- 😖🫶)

Tysm for wishing 'Rico happy birthday and for joining his Birthday Party Event 🎉 Each of you!! Please take a slice of cake: 🍰

I can definitely understand all of you ouaojsiss... I was thinking of prompt 6 too v v much 😖💕 our angels clothes always look so... Wearable!! Comfy and safe like 🦥 anon said! He'd wrap you in his cloak and scoop you up if you were ever anxious or frozen up.... Akaksoakka omg 😭🫶

🦥 anon, @chokifandom, and anon!! And everyone! Please enjoy!! 🩵

Vestimenta Eius

6. How would this character react to you wearing their clothes?

or, in which Federico Giallo lends you his cloak.

"Love? Is your usual attire currently unavailable?"

Federico speaks up only after watching you with eyes trained like he's tracking a target in his aim, and only after trailing after you like a shadow down multiple hallways. The red-and-white fabric draped around your shoulders was unmistakable; no one else in the Notarial Hall wore said stark hues, the colours marking his ranking.

Rounding around you, his own cloak fluttering slightly as he does, the Saint halts your bouncing steps. Cool blue eyes drop to your feet, then travel upward with no haste over your form. You squirm slightly under the assessing gaze.

Scanning thrice to ensure he is not mistaken, - or so he tells himself, though such fails to explain why his gaze softens when it pauses on how the fabric engulfs your shoulders and drags slightly on the ground from the difference on your stature - and that you are indeed wearing his uniform cloak, his eyebrow lifts by millimeters after his confirmation, "If you are in shortage of clothing articles, you only needed to speak the word. I will remedy the solution by purchasing you new garments at the shopping arcade on Pagus Ambrosius. It is no trouble--" The Saint is already mid-movement to turn away from you and make way for the nearest exit.

You catch his wrist, and the small pressure halts him like you've tugged him backward. Your following explanation, laced with mirth, turns his head quick enough to skew some strands of his platinum hair into his eyes.

Federico faces you once more with a flutter of his cloak, hand not pulling from yours; he readjusts it instead, fingers aligning to interlace with yours, "... You wish to wear my garments precisely because they belong to me?" His free hand tugs the fabric of the stolen-cloak closer around your shoulders before he can realize himself, and his tone has warmed to a murmur before he can correct himself, "It would be improper. My garments are regalia specific to those of Sainthood, and you do not meet this criteria, love. It would be most logical if you returned the clothing article to me."

Indeed; his body betrays him. His systemic brain that it has never found conflict with, all of a sudden has lost its control. Whatever has won over it discards protocol - and reminds the Saint that the cloak you've draped over your shoulders leaves his scent of gunpowder and smoke too stubborn for the wash onto your clothes, that the cloak you've adorned yourself with signifies him so undoubtedly to anyone who might look at you in passing.

Federico realizes only when he returns from whatever he was teetering on, that both his hands now hold each end of the cloak tighter to your collarbones, "However, I do not understand why I cannot seem to remove it from you." A frown tugs at his lips and a slight furrow knits between his brows.

You wish to wear his clothing; why is it that he wishes to see you in his clothing?

"Wearing my clothes causes you joy, love? If that is the case, I see no reason to retrieve my cloak from you." The logical certainty in his tone cannot mask the softness of his words, "If you insist, you may continue to wear it for the remainder of today. I request that you return it to my closet once we have arrived home."

Affection has melted the edges of Federico's pupils until they threaten to swallow ice blue irises as his gaze drags up and down your form once more. The adequate words lack him as they typically do, and so of course the only logical solution is to punctuate them with a kiss to your forehead, "Moreover, the garment suits you quite well."

Though, unknowingly to him, the way in which his attention is utterly rapt on how his cloak blankets and flourishes around you as you head off speaks far too much already.

His Beatitude, Federico Giallo: "Speak the word if you need anything, Doctor."

[llondonfog]

This is such a weird, RANDOM, and long ask (more like a rant tbh), but I wanted to say something because I can't get it out of my head.

BIBLICALLY ACCURATE ANGEL SILVER.

Before you boo me, I COULDN'T HELP IT. I just, can't get it out of my brain.

Like, Lilia just wakes up one day, sees this mini horror in Silver's bedroom, and freaks out before realizing that IS Silver.

Everything he knew about Silver's parents is a lie.

Then, Silver transforms back, but part way, so he has these cute little wings with soft, white feathers, and Lilia just MELTS.

He's freaked out, amazed, confused, but he wants to comfort Silver, who is both confused and possibly in pain from the transformation. Growing wings seems painful.

Like, he had 6 wings (3 sets of 2) in the horror-fest form that is a Biblically Accurate Angel (I both encourage and warn you against searching that up lol), and now he has 2-4 wings (possibly with the feathers attached to his head as Seraphim Angels have. I think). Compared to his default human body, that's a big difference, right?

Anyway, I wanted to share this with someone. You don't have to do anything with this, or even respond, but THE IMAGE. I love Silver and he's already angelic, so might as well add a Horrifying version of that, AND pretty wings in the more "normal" version. I just can't write or draw my vision LMAO so I have to cope with sharing it instead.

BIBLICALLY ACCURATE ANGEL SILVER IM IN LOVE????

BABY SILVER WITH BABY ANGEL WINGS!!! oh they are so soft and fluffy, like dreams and clouds and silk all at once!! the imagery of him draping them over lilia while they nap or simply shielding him from the sun with one as he gets older....my heart!!!

And then considering the imagery of extremely pissed off biblically accurate silver protecting his loved ones against any who would seek to bring them harm!!! Absolutely terrifying to behold!! I don't know why I'm partial to the specific one of the large eye surrounded by countless wings but that's what I think of!! All those wings to sweep up and protect his loved ones, and more to deal out powerful blows of damage, with one dizzying aurora-hued eye that can seem like the most gentle gaze that allows you to simply bask in unconditional acceptance or the most horrific choking sense of inevitable judgement for what you've done against the word of good.

FANTASTIC CONCEPT I WISH I COULD DRAW IT

on the other hand, the thought of lilia being in such awe and wonder of his child, this pure and innocent being who has been granted to him, who loves him unconditionally and uses his powers to make lilia's life kinder and easier as silver tries to take away the aches and pains and nightmares... I could see it verging into a cult of two territory; lilia being very protective and possessive of his son, the thought of throwing himself into service to protect the boy?angel?savior? at any and all costs, to be his knight in shining armor to keep him safe and unsullied from the world. silver becoming like this odd forest deity creature who pours his magic so willingly into the woods and gives freely to those that need his kindness, and his father is only too happy to kneel to him, renewed in his purpose to serve his benevolent, angelic son...

[weirdglassthing]

LOA Shiptober Day 4: How They Met

October content month was ambitious..

This one took me. Shockingly long. Whoops! I’ll probably end up jumping around the prompt list and it might extend into November 😋

I’ll try to do day 31 on the actual date of Halloween though 🫡

[pastafossa]

"Poor thing." (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) 🔥

So as promised, I'm taking part in the October Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day One I had three prompts to choose from, and I wound up going for the kink prompt of somnophilia cause, well, I'd hinted at it in TRT as being something Matt liked, but never actually sat down and wrote anything out for it. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me, but for now, please enjoy Day One! This is not specifically written as any fem!Reader in particular, although any readers of TRT can choose to see this as TRT's reader!

As a reminder, if you'd like notifications when I post something, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck. But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he? 

Wordcount: 3.3k words

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: consensual somnophilia (they talked about this being fine, don't worry), oral f-receiving, grinding, PiV sex, some dirty talk. 18 and up only please!

Oh and we're black suiting this cause fuck yeah.

Your arousal hit him the second he opened the rooftop door. 

The scent of it stopped him dead in his tracks, threads of heat winding through him as he drew in a long, slow inhale, savoring it. Another inhale, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure, his mouth already watering, cock stirring. 

Well, that was one way to be welcomed home.

Not that he was complaining. His night had gone well enough—the fights visceral and satisfying, with multiple people he’d ensured would make it home safely. But your skin against his, fucking his way lazily inside you while you moaned loudly into his ear, dragging your nails down his back, would only make a good night better. However, as he eagerly stepped through the door and closed it behind him, it quickly became clear that your body’s call to him wasn’t exactly intentional. 

He directed his senses down the stairs and into the bedroom, hunting through sensory information, through the fire of the world until he found you in bed. You were laying on your side and tucked under the blankets, one of your arms thrown over his pillow to hold it up against your chest. And despite the tempting scent of you in the air, you weren’t moving. Not really, anyway. At most, every now and then your fingers would twitch or curl, your heartbeat uneven and a little restless. 

Asleep. 

You were dreaming, then.

Maybe even dreaming of him. 

He slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, considering his options.

You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck.

But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he? 

Just like that, he settled on a course of action.

He crept silently down the stairs, stripping out of his gloves and black mask as he went, tossing them aside without care for where they fell. The bottom step was carefully avoided, thanks to its tendency to creak and alert you to his presence. He stopped only long enough to kneel and quietly unlace his boots, tugging them and his socks off so that he could slip barefoot into the bedroom, weaving through the shadows, navigating around any floorboards that might give him away. He did it all without a sound, his senses so focused now he could hear the faint whisper of the dust motes in the air stirred by his passage, hear the tiniest shift of your skin against the sheets as you breathed, hear the blood flowing hot beneath your skin where you’d grown flushed and aroused. 

The scent of your arousal was even stronger here in the bedroom, more than enough to thicken the heat inside him, an instinctive little purr halted in his throat before it could stir the air with sound. His body knew just as well as he did what that scent meant, what always followed, and his nostrils flared as he got closer to you, taking in how your pheromones had mixed with his in bed. It stirred some possessive, lazy satisfaction in him to take in the way you’d curled up with his pillow, chasing his scent, and you were even wearing—

Oh. 

You were wearing his shirt. 

It was like you were begging for this, for him, for what he had planned. 

He crept up onto the bed on his hands and knees, each shift of the mattress followed by a pause, a confirmation from your heartbeat and breathing that you were still asleep. He had to be careful if he didn’t want to wake you. It wasn’t that you’d be angry, of course—you’d both agreed that this sort of thing was alright, though he’d had a far easier time making use of that agreement than you had thanks to his senses. No, this was about ensuring you still had a chance to rest. 

Though, if he were honest, the challenge of this was a thrill all its own. It was a delicate balancing act to give you the sensations you needed, allow himself access to your body, all without waking you. It was as if he were hunting you, gradually gaining ground from the shadows until at last he could take hold of his prize. Fortunately, this prize was one that would leave you both satisfied. 

The moment he found himself over your hips, he shifted to catch the blankets and slowly, ever so slowly began to edge them down. 

Gentle. 

Inch by inch, he bared your body to the air. You didn’t so much as stir, well and truly asleep, and presumably still caught up in your dream. Even so, he held his breath, listening closely to the beating of your heart and your shallow breathing. But he’d been careful enough, and besides, you were used to him climbing into bed in the middle of the night, shifting the blankets around as he crawled under them to join you. 

The scent of you that rose up as the blanket slid down was so much richer now that it wasn’t stifled and trapped by thick fabric. It made him shiver, his cock already so hard he could feel a damp spot growing on the silk of his boxers. He needed more of that scent, and to taste it, too, but the angle was all wrong with you on your side. So he gently traced one fingertip up the side of your thigh, applying the barest hint of pressure. You were normally fairly responsive to him even in sleep. 

“Roll over for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips, light as a feather, against your hip. “You smell so good. I need a taste.”

He wasn’t sure if it was his touch or his voice that made it past whatever dream you were lost in, but either way, some part of you heard him. You breathed out a soft sigh, twitching a little until he helped you roll slowly onto your back beneath him. You made a soft sound that might have been his name, and he couldn’t resist letting out a reassuring little croon as he pressed your slack thighs outwards, gradually parting your legs. There wasn’t so much as a hint of resistance as your legs fell open, baring the wet heat of your pussy to him. 

God, your scent. 

He quickly backed up a few inches before dropping to his hands and his knees, lowering his head just over your hips to quietly inhale the scent of your cunt. The rich, musky tang of your arousal—all pheromones and slick warmth—left him half mad, his eyes rolling back. His hips instinctively snapped forward against nothing but air, his body curving as if he were already fucking his way into you. 

It only got worse, got better when he let his head fall further, hungry for just a taste. He slipped his tongue out until he could use the tip for the barest little lick at the line of your slit where your arousal had gathered, your body twitching as he did. Even that small taste hit him like a drug, and he swallowed down a ragged moan, his chest hitching as he kept the sound from reaching the air. He’d told himself he’d just have a taste, just one, but one quickly became two became three, hungry, quickening laps at your slit until he finally whined softly in want and dropped the rest of his body down, burying his face desperately against your cunt. 

Your hips twitched, rocking against him just slightly, and you let out the softest little whimper as he grunted and slurped quietly at your slit, wetness smearing across his chin and mouth. Only once he’d thoroughly tasted what you’d made for him did he slide up to your clit, tongue extended to lap at it with little kitten licks, ones designed to encourage your body to give him more of your slick wetness, your body jerking with every pass. He tried to remind himself to be gentle, to take things soft and slow so you didn’t wake, but that was so hard when you whimpered again, whimpered as he pursed his lips to suck lightly at your clit, drawing it into his mouth to work with his tongue. Your fingers curled and released against the sheets, and you tasted so good that he found himself fucking against the mattress, humping mindlessly at the folds in the blankets like an animal.  

“M… Matt.”

His eyes fluttered lazily open, his gaze drifting up around the sensory shape of you. You were all flowing air currents and sounds and scents, twisting tongues of flame fed by the growing heat of both your bodies. Your heartbeat was still too slow to signal you’d woken up, but your breathing had picked up, your eyes fluttering more rapidly behind your eyelids. 

If you hadn’t been dreaming of him before, you were now. And if you were still dreaming, he was safe. 

He rumbled a low noise of satisfaction, using his fingers to part your folds before dipping down to your entrance. Once there, he began to lick firmly at you, pressing deeper and deeper until at last your body opened to him and he slipped inside. You let out a sleep little mewl, one of your legs shifting restlessly in your sleep, your head rolling on your pillow as he moaned quietly, curling his tongue inside you to drag against the silken heat of your clenching walls, his nose grinding gently against your clit. 

Did you know, somewhere deep down, what he was doing? That he’d spread you open like this and worked his tongue inside you? Or did all your dream self know was that you suddenly felt so, so good?

The very idea that you might not know, that you’d left yourself so vulnerable to him, had him dangerously close to coming, his motions growing just a hint more frantic. Wetness smeared across his face as he kissed sloppily at your slit, kissed at it like he might your mouth, snaking his tongue out to slide inside you with every pass of his lips. 

He listened carefully to the quickening pace of your heart, your breathing, taking in the faint sheen of sweat forming on your skin. Every time your heartrate rose too high, he’d slow just a little, or shift his mouth over to your folds or the inside of your thighs. It was there he left you a mark or two, sucking gently at thin, delicate skin. Even if he managed to do this without waking you, you’d know tomorrow what he’d done when you saw the little love bites and bruises between your thighs. The very idea made him purr warmly against you, and he quickly worked his hand down beneath himself until he could undo his pants, pushing the fabric down until he could pull his hard cock free. He took a moment to grind slowly, deliciously against the sheets, presing his mouth to the skin of your thigh to muffle his hitched moan. And that reminded him of what he’d planned on from the start, before he’d become distracted by the taste of you.

He was close, and he needed you. Fortunately, based on the way your body had begun to tighten in increasing waves, you were close, too. 

He let his head roll to the side to rest against your thigh as he panted, still grinding himself against the sheets. “Do you want my cock, sweetheart?” he whispered, his lips curling up into a delicious little smirk when your body clenched at the sound of his voice. “I think you do. Even when you’re asleep, you need me inside you, don’t you?” 

There was no verbal response, but the growing heat of your skin was enough for him. He rocked himself up as gently as he could, stopping just long enough to strip the rest of his clothes off before climbing slowly up your body. As he went, he caught the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up your body with him. He couldn’t take it off you—even he wouldn’t be able to mange something like that—but he had no desire to. The idea of fucking you while you were sleep, while you were wearing his shirt, was a fantasy he’d used more than once while taking himself in hand. He did, however, tug your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts to him. 

Obscene, something inside him whispered in delight, a wave of throbbing heat flooding through him. Here you were asleep, shirt pushed up over your breasts, your naked cunt practically dripping onto the sheets. He balanced his weight on one arm as he hovered over you, indulging himself as he palmed gently at one of your breasts, dragging his thumb slowly against your nipple. That won him another soft moan in your sleep, your cunt clenching, body tightening around nothing. Your next moan was even louder when he dropped his head to drag his tongue hotly against your other nipple, drawing it into his mouth to catch it gently between his teeth, sucking lazily until you let out an even louder moan, one of your hands curling as if to claw at the sheets before relaxing. “Poor thing,” he crooned quietly, reluctantly leaving your breasts to climb the rest of the way up your body. “Listen to you, so needy.”

And it would only be right to help with that, wouldn’t it? 

Once his hips were level with yours, he settled in, rocking and grinding his cock gently against your slit, slicking himself up with your warmth and the saliva he’d left behind. The sudden sensation of your burning heat against the underside of his cock made his mouth fall slack, and he started to pant at the little shocks of pleasure that washed over him every time he caught the head of his cock against your clit. You weren’t much better even asleep, whining as your hips jerked, eyes rolling frantically beneath your lids. It took everything in him to keep his motions gentle and slow, no matter how much his body demanded he grind and rut, fuck his way desperately inside you even if it woke you. No. No, not when he was so close, his cock now slick and ready for you. He let out a shaky breath, burying his face against your warm throat, huffing in the scent of you as he shifted the angle and began to slide inside you, centimeter by warm, delicious centimeter. 

“Fuck,” he whispered shakily, one of his hands fisting desperately in the sheets beside your head. “Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so good.”  

God, you were tight, so close to coming that you were already clenching tight around him. That tightness forced him to move gradually, his progress slowed to a sinfully dangerous crawl, one that allowed him to feel every last twitch and shift of your body around his cock. It seemed designed to make him lose his mind when he was already this worked up. In a blink, he’d caught the fabric of your shirt in his teeth, stifling his hoarse, shaky moan, your shallow, hitched breathing a tantalizing whisper of sensation in his ear. It felt like it took hours,  ages before he’d finally hilted himself inside you, buried in your slick heat. 

He forced himself to still there for a long moment, his chest heaving as he scanned over you with his senses again. 

Stuttered breathing, each breath hiding a faint moan. 

The fluttering clip of your heart, just slow enough to indicate you hadn’t woken. 

Your fingers clenching and releasing, spread thighs shifting in minute, restless movements against the sheets. 

It wouldn’t take much more for him to come, he knew that much—the taste of you still lingered on his tongue, filled his nose, and the drag of your skin against his with every breath only left him burning. But he wasn’t a selfish lover, even when you weren’t awake to beg and plead with him for release. No, he’d make sure you got what you needed, too: his sweetheart, so tender and soft and welcoming to the Devil even in sleep. 

He slowly, gradually settled his weight onto one arm, sliding his free hand down between your bodies. Even that much shifting around had him swallowing down a groan, and he couldn’t resist grinding just a little inside you. It made you twitch and whimper, hushed and breathless in his ear as he pressed his cock against that spot inside you. Once he was sure that hadn’t been enough to wake you, he quickly dragged two fingers through your folds, raking gently to gather up your wetness before he brought them back up to your clit. The rhythm he started was slow and easy, a gentle grind and loop over your clit that matched the rolling waves of his hips as he began to gently fuck you, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back to fill you once more. 

It took him no time at all to work your body up that final hill, your breathing growing shorter, your heart rate climbing as you began to tighten around him. It helped that he knew what you needed—each retreat was slow and gentle, and he never left you more than halfway before rolling lazily back forward, ensuring your warm cunt stayed achingly full as he brought you just up to the edge. This time it was your mouth that moved, not a word but a soft whisper of skin as you parted your lips, your head tipping back. And he knew that motion, even as slack and lazy as it was in your sleep. 

He purred quietly at the unconscious request that he fill you there, too, lifting his head to seek out your mouth. One soft lick against your lips and you parted them for him on pure instinct, allowing him to slide his tongue filthily into your slack mouth, dragging his tongue against yours, granting you what you’d asked for. You let out a soft sigh, your throat working beneath him as you sucked at the taste of him, of yourself, of you both. 

All it took from there was one more finger grinding against your clit, a gentle buck of his hips as he moaned into your mouth, and you crested, your body tightening and releasing around him in rippling waves. Your head rolled back in your sleep, a soft gasp shuddering up your throat as you twitched and shook, eyes rolling back beneath your lids. You let out what might have been a moan of his name, hot and sweet, a sound that seared its way across his mind like a brand. That was more than enough for him, and he let himself go. He groaned softly against your lips, snapping his hips gently against you as he spilled himself near-silently inside you, filling your cunt with a spreading heat that you wouldn’t notice until morning. He kissed you through it as gently as he could, rubbing lightly, quickly at your clit to drag your orgasm out along with his, pleasure rolling through him in gentle waves. Even once you both began to come down, he wasn’t quite done, rumbling a low, possessive growl as he ground himself inside you further, ensuring he’d coated every last inch of your warm cunt, his, you were his, even in sleep. He toyed with that overstimulation just long enough for his toes to curl, for his spent, softening cock to twitch inside you, spilling a few more drops, giving you everything he had as you drifted back down into a deep sleep. 

Satisfied with what he’d given you. 

He got one arm down and around your hip, gently, carefully rolling the both of you until you were both on your sides, his cock still buried deep inside you. He rumbled a low noise to reassure your sleeping mind, burying his nose in your hair as you sleepily curled into him, one arm draping itself over his waist. 

“Love you,” he murmured. “My good girl.” “Mm.”