#thankfully i have work and responsibilities that keep me from crawling to a corner of my mind

[parthenosvenus]

i often make the mistake of thinking that i know how the world goes and that i’m prepared for it but my god am i struggling right now

[thesolferino]

Hell On Earth

⤷ dream x f!reader.

⤷ genre: fluff

⤷ word count: 3.2k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon!

— summary: you barge into clay’s office to complain about his broken air conditioner, unaware that he’s streaming.

Florida was hell.

You liked to say it as a joke, during October when the rest of the world was freezing, during December when the insane temperatures finally went back under control, and the sun granted you its blessing of a refreshing gust of wind every now and then. You liked to say it as a joke, mostly, but God, did you mean it whenever summer would creep around the corner and you’d get reminded of why you told your boyfriend so often that the devil must’ve left hell, came down to America, and bought himself a nice penthouse in Florida.

It lived up to its title of the hottest state in the US, by far, considering the hellish temperatures that constantly made you dizzy whenever June rolled around. You had great air conditioning in your apartment, though, and as soon as the sun started burning skin, plants, water, and everything in its way, you and your college roommate would lounge at your place as the air conditioner blew cold wind and thank the lord (and the person who invented AC, bless his heart) for providing you with at least one blessing during these trying times.

So, of course that as soon as summer came about, your air conditioning conveniently broke.

Your roommate was out of the apartment within two days, flying to her family in Wisconsin, bidding you farewell as she left you to cook like a raw chicken in your shared apartment. Thankfully, you had a boyfriend - and what a boyfriend he was.

You don’t like to brag, but at these moments, you feel grateful to the universe and whoever else is looking over you for providing you with a rich boyfriend, with quite a big, echo-y house, and air conditioning made of pure heaven. As soon as your roommate packed your bags, you packed yours too, - if one backpack filled with makeup, your laptop, meds, underwear and hopes that he’d let you steal all of his clothes could count as “bags” - locked the apartment and left, ready to leave the AC on snowman temperature for two days minimum and ignore all his complaints.

Bad luck seemed to follow you everywhere, though, because you were there for merely three days when the air conditioning started stuttering.

You were sprawled on the cold sheets of his bed, listening to the low hum of the AC as you scrolled through your phone, his white T-shirt sticking to your back, the cold air cooling the sheen of sweat that covered your body, leaving goosebumps all over. One of your fingers started lazily petting Patches’ stomach, and you could faintly hear Clay talking in the background, the sounds coming from his office.

“Thank you for the gifted subs! Um, yeah, it’s really hot here, I can barely, like, breathe in here. I have the AC on at highest, but all it’s doing is giving me a headache. Even-even my water bottle is completely hot.” You heard him rant and chuckled, turning on your side and continuing to scroll through random videos.

You sort of tuned out his talking, knowing he’d most likely be cooped up in that office for hours before your shared dinner, and started watching random YouTube videos, ignoring your surroundings as you shoved your earbuds in your ears. 

The longer the videos lasted, the more you felt like you were suffocating. The heat crawled up on you slowly, sneakily, almost unnoticeable yet undeniably there, hand made up of pure fire gripping at your throat tighter and tighter. It started off seamlessly, with you rolling around, trying to find a new cold spot on the sheets, to pulling at the shirt, trying to create cold air to soothe you, to wiping the sweat that basically covered your entire forehead, when your eyes finally peeled away from your phone and you realised you were basically choking in the heat, feeling like you’re breathing fire. 

You lift your head off the bed way too quickly, head pounding, and look at the one thing meant to save you from this madness - just to see it leaking water down the wall, barely coughing out any air. Your head miserably falls back down on the bed, hands rubbing at your face, dangerously close to both crying and screaming in distress. After a few moments of self-wallowing, you get up and make your way over to your boyfriend’s office, being met with nothing but silence as you walked to it, happy he ended the stream so you could complain and wail to him, possibly cool down using the AC in his office. 

You slam the door open, seeing him hunched over in his gaming chair, Minecraft open as usual, and as soon as he takes one headphone off, turns around and sends a surprised but oddly panicked gaze your way, you start ranting.

“Babe, you won’t believe what just happened.” you said, rubbing a hand over your face again, eyes closing as you feel the coldness - in comparison to the living hell that was his bedroom right now - of the room wash over you. You don’t even let him speak before you continue.

“The fucking AC in your bedroom just broke. It’s leaking right now.”

Clay looks like he wants to say fifteen words at once, and the first one that comes out is: “What?”

“I swear. I was watching something on my phone, and I realised it’s crazy hot, so I looked up and realised it’s broken. Why does this happen to me!” you complained, and he tried pulling his headphones off for a second but instead pulled the cord out of the computer entirely, letting you hear everything that goes on in his headphones.

It’s silent for a second or two, before you hear a familiar voice.

“Dream.” you hear a British man with an awfully posh accent speak, and your eyes meet Clay’s in pure horror and realisation, when you slap a hand over your mouth. He looks as equally terrified as you, but also disappointed, because oh, that’s why he looked so panicked when you stormed in.

Then you hear another voice, equally British, but higher pitched. They laugh. “Is that Drista?”

Clay seems to snap back into reality, turning around towards the computer and adjusting his mic before speaking. “No- it’s- Tommy she said babe, why would Drista call me babe?”

“You’re so stupid, he was trying to help you.” You hear his long-time friend, Sapnap, deadpan, and you can practically feel all of them freaking out, while you stand in the doorway in horror, cheeks heating up despite the fully working AC.

Another laugh. “No, I wasn’t, I was genuinely asking. Why- Sapnap, why would I be helping Dream?” 

“Dream, you are so stupid.” you hear George laugh into his mic and your boyfriend immediately starts stuttering, trying to defend himself.

“How-how am I stupid?! She’s the one who walked in, what was I supposed to do?” you lean against the doorway as he defends himself, head buried in one of your hands.

“Mute!” you hear Sapnap borderline yell, almost mad. 

“Wait- I don’t get what’s going on- Does Big D have a girlfriend?” you hear the British boy, Tommy, ask, and all of them go silent for a few seconds before a loud, screeching laugh breaks out through the speakers, and when Clay turns around to look at you, all you can do is mouth an apology as you almost break out into laughter at how ridiculous the whole thing is.

“Oh my God, chat is going crazy right now.” George says while Tommy is laughing his lungs out in the background, still.

“Did you actually- did she actually- oh my GOD, Dream has a girlfriend! I can’t believe this!” Tommy keeps on laughing, coughing between sentences. “Dream stans, I am so sorry, this must be just a terrible, terrible day for you all.” 

“You’re probably already trending on Twitter, dude.” Sapnap adds, sounding more worried than your own boyfriend did at the moment.

“It was bound to happen at some point, I guess.” he huffs out, turning around to look at you every so often, gesturing for you to close the door and come in, which you did, guilt weighing you down as you moved.

“Are you serious? Can I- Can I speak to your girlfriend, Dream?” you can practically hear the grin in the boy’s voice and Clay doesn’t even turn to you before replying.

“No, you can’t.” 

“Oh, come on! You let me speak to your mum but not your girlfriend? Just for a little bit, please? I just- I just wanna see which lucky woman managed to get the attention of the Minecraft God, Dream himself. That’s it.” Tommy asks and you don’t even have it in you to laugh because of the anxiety that eats away at you, but then Clay sighs. 

“...Fine, I guess.” he looks up at you. “D’you wanna speak to Tommy?” 

You’re not quite sure what the expected answer is, but you shrug, gaze darting from his eyes to the computer, and then back to him. “Um… I don’t mind, I guess.” 

You hear him sigh and plug the headphones back into the computer, handing them to you. “Alright, she said yes. Here you go.” he stands up out of the chair and lets you sit, placing the way too big headphones on your head as your heart races, standing closely by your side as you roll the chair further towards the desk and microphone.

“Um… hello?” you shyly speak, and you hear something like groans of mixed annoyance, confusion and nervousness coming from George and Sapnap as Tommy starts laughing immediately, greeting you loudly. 

“HELLO, DREAM’S GIRLFRIEND!” you hear him yell in response as your shaky hands land on the keyboard, moving his character left and right. 

“Is the AC really broken?” Sapnap asks and you hear George laugh in response, considering how unimportant that information is right now. You know both of them, obviously - you’ve talked to them more than a few times, joining in on their jokes when Clay talks to them on speaker, growing as close as one can with their boyfriend’s friends.

“Yeah, it is. The AC in here is really good, though. Maybe I should stay and just take over the Dream channel.” You joke and they laugh.

“Yeah, I mean it would probably be better. A woman owning the Dream channel would make it so much better. The views would skyrocket.” Tommy says and you see his character walk up to you before he randomly laughs again.

“I can’t believe- I can’t believe Dream actually has a girlfriend. Is he, like, paying you to do this, or are you really…” he trails off and you giggle at his question, switching tools in the hotbar as you try to figure out how to play the game again.

“No, he’s not. We are dating, yes.” you confirm with a nod, and you feel Clay’s elbow sink into the chair, almost trying to listen.

“Say 1 if he’s keeping you hostage.” he says and you laugh again, shaking your head.

“No, he’s not- he’s not keeping me hostage.” you reply and you hear Clay go “WHAT?” right behind you.

“Well, of course, of course, I mean, who could ever pass up dating the great Dream. With all those subscribers, and Twitch primes, and Minecraft skills. Did- did his Minecraft skills get you?” Tommy asked, but before you could even respond, Sapnap jumped into the conversation.

“Oh yes, absolutely. She loves it. Yes, Dream, speedrun faster!” he sarcastically replies and for a few moments the whole call is blown into loud laughter, screeching and yells before it quiets down.

“Yes, what Sapnap said. I was so impressed, he just blew me away, with um… with his, um, Manhunt skills? I dunno, I don’t play Minecraft.” you hear him laugh at “Manhunt skills” behind you as the rest of the boys start laughing too.

“Dream’s girlfriend doesn’t play Minecraft?! What?! Dream- how could he allow this, seriously…” Tommy argued dramatically, his character staring at yours - or rather Clay’s.

“I can’t imagine if we were both Minecraft players, that would be a nightmare.” you replied.

“Why?” you heard George laugh through the headphones.

“Who do you think peels him away from the damn computer? If I was just like him we would never get out of the house, probably.” you argued.

“Dreamfriend, what is Dream like, you know, in real life?” Tommy spoke up and you heard George giggle again.

“Dreamfriend?” you repeated, a grin forming on your face at his stupidity, finally deciding to move the character around and switch back to the sword in the hotbar.

“Yes! Dream’s girlfriend, Dreamfriend, Dreamgirl, Girldream, whatever you like.” Tommy said and you laughed.

“Dream girl… if I wanted to get clout off Dream I’d use that, that’s genius.” 

“Thanks, I know I’m a genius, everyone tells me so.” Tommy claims and you shake your head, checking your boyfriend’s inventory to see if there’s anything interesting in there.

“Alright, I’m gonna check on the AC, I’ll be back in a second.” Clay says to you, before lowering himself to the mic so the boys could hear him. “Tommy, don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Oh you know it, big man! I’d never!” Tommy yells back, despite Clay being unable to hear him, and he leaves the office with one last, quick kiss to your temple.

“Is he gone?” Tommy asks, and you nod and hum, despite him not being able to see you.

“Okay, so you don’t play Minecraft, right?” he asks.

“No, I don’t.” you reply.

“So there’s this really cool thing, right. If you just go in and type /op tommyinnit, there’s this thing that’s gonna-” Tommy doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he’s cut off by Sapnap, whose character suddenly appears in front of you.

“No, no, no, no, don’t trust him, you should-” Sapnap cuts in, but Tommy still loudly protests in the background.

“BE NICE TO OUR GUEST, SAPNAP! Let her do what she wants! She is Dream’s girlfriend after all, the most powerful woman.” Tommy claims and you laugh, sort of blushing from all the attention. You don’t even dare to check the chat or the donations that come in from Twitch, because it must be blowing up by now. As if he can hear your thoughts, George speaks too.

“Oh my God, Dream’s already trending on, like, five different spots on Twitter.” he says, and you instinctively grab your phone to check, before you can even think about it.

“What?” you and Sapnap both say in sync.

“Yeah, ‘Dream’ is trending #2 worldwide, and ‘Dream girlfriend’ is #4.” he lets out a shocked laugh.

“Oh my God…” you mutter out in both excitement, nervousness and dread as you open Twitter and confirm that George is indeed correct. You don’t even dare to press on either of the trends, simply turning off your phone with a sigh and moving back to stream.

“Wow, you’re famous now! How does it feel?” Tommy asks and you let out a quite dry laugh.

“Amazing. I can feel my value as a person increasing as we speak.” you respond sarcastically and hear George quietly laugh in the background.

Just then, you hear the door to the office opening again, but you ignore it because Tommy starts speaking.

“Okay, well, I’m sure that must be very fun and exciting for you, but I really will need you to type in /op tommyinn-” 

“No! I’m not listening to you, Tommy! I’m not about to type in some stupid command and get yelled at!” you cut in, but he keeps on whining.

“Come on, we know Big D would never yell at his… beloved girlfriend! Listen, just do it, I promise he will not be mad.” he argues.

“What does /op even mean?” you ask out loud, and suddenly Clay is yelling behind you. 

“Who is asking you to op them? Give me the headset!” he says, one hand already tugging at the headphones as you laugh while Tommy panics.

“Well, it was fun talking to you guys, but I have to go. Bye!” you bid them farewell and heard George and Sapnap say goodbye as well while Tommy yelled, and you took off the headphones and passed them to Clay who immediately put them on and adjusted them, plopping back into the chair. You left, moving to the living room to process everything that happened and abandon your phone for the next few hours because you were not ready for that type of attention in the slightest.

You laid in front of the TV, watching random shows on Netflix and grabbing a few snacks from the kitchen while you could still clearly hear him yelling and streaming, wondering how he’s still going as if nothing happened. The temptation to check what people were saying was overwhelming to the point your hands were itching to grab your phone and open all social media - before you even realised it, you were on the trending page again, thumb tapping on the “Dream girlfriend” tab. 

You braced yourself for the worst, but that’s not what came at you - sure, there were a couple of tweets telling people to lay off you, and delusional shippers getting ratioed, but they were mostly positive, lighthearted jokes, from single people making jokes about how a Minecraft YouTuber can get bitches but they can’t, to people calling you cute/funny. One hate comment obviously stings more than a million positive comments make you happy, but they were mostly misogynists calling you annoying for the roughly five sentences you spoke on stream or shippers disappointed that their favorite YouTuber isn’t gay, so you didn’t really let it get to you. 

When the house finally quieted down the sun was lowering itself into darkness and melting into a pot of blinding orange and golden honey, and you heard Clay’s footsteps when he finally turned off the stream, stepping into the living room a few seconds after you heard him. He sat down on the couch next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to him, sitting there in silence with you.

“So… that was something.” he finally broke the silence and you nodded.

“It really was.” 

Another beat of silence passes.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I really need you to stop breaking all these ACs.”

“I’M NOT THE ONE BREAKING THEM-”

“Sorry, but I’m noticing a pattern here.” he wheezed, obviously just trying to get you riled up as you pulled away so his hand gets ripped off your shoulder.

“Shut up. You better have called someone to repair that damn thing, cause there is no way we’re sleeping in there without an AC.” you huffed, and he shuffled closer to you, arm wrapping itself around your shoulders once again.

“I did, they’re coming by tomorrow.” he assured.

“Tomorrow?” you asked, looking at him in disbelief. “How are we gonna sleep tonight?”

“Who says we have to sleep?” the glint in his eye and the stupid grin plastered on his face tells you everything you need to know, and you roll your eyes.

“If we fuck, I’ll actually die of overheating. Absolutely not.”

“Well in that case, I need to get that AC fixed as soon as possible.”

[thesunicarusfellfor]

icarus my beloved, may i please request for a zombie apocalypse au (dsmp) and the characters haven’t seen you ever since the apocalypse started and they’ve been trying to find you for a long time, but once they finally find you, you’re already turned. basically how different dsmp characters would react to finding you turned as a zombie :> also i find your stuff ✨imaculate✨

and may i pls be ur 🌧anon?

I lovvvvveeeee Zombie apocalypse AUs. I'm very excited to write this. Also, thank you! I appreciate your compliment!

Yes, you can be! I'll eventually make an Anon list... Eventually.

In order of: Dream, Bad, Tommy (and Tubbo?), Ranboo, Ghostbur, Philza

Tommy's story is Bench Trio while Ranboo's story is more around Boreal Boys.

The Boreal Boys is set around the Antarctic Empire rather than the DSMP.

Edit: Trying to put a cut in. 50/50 on whether or not it worked.

DSMP Reacting to You Being Turned Into A Zombie (Multiple x GN!Reader)

They grunted, stepping over a fallen log as they yanked a crossbow bolt out of the skull of a fallen zombie, shoving it into their bag where other bolts and arrows were wrapped up. Ignoring the murmuring of their companion(s) as they looked over the faces of rotten flesh, thankfully none of them striking a familiar chord in their mind.

"They could still be alive..." They murmured softly under their breath as they walked back to the campsite that they and their companion(s) had originally set up. With a sigh, they plopped down in front of the crackling flame and adjusted the food that had been cooking before a horde of zombies had made their way through the makeshift barricade.

Ignoring the snores of their sleeping 'teammate(s) of survival', they eagerly dug into the food after it finished cooking before pausing mid-bite as they heard a crackling in the branches. Drawing their sword out from the sheath on their hip while they set their food down back into the pan, they spun around to face their possible attacker, silently hoping it was a wild animal they could use for meat, wool or feathers.

Glancing through the forest, they squinted as they saw movement but the firelight only spread so far which wasn't enough to shed light on the figure. With a sigh, they took a burning branch from the fire and lifted it, beginning to walk forward.

Judging by the guttural growls, groans, and scent of rotting flesh, it was definitely a zombie. Lifting the makeshift torch enough, they were able to see the undead being better and squinted, trying to recognize the creature before it turned around.

(H/c) hair... Albeit matted and overgrown, and torn clothing loosely hanging to their rotten skin... But when the zombie turned their head... They'd recognize them anywhere... Even after so long...

(Y/n).

Dream

His breath caught in his throat temporarily and he felt the torch slip from his hand, but it didn't fall.

Gritting his teeth together, he cringed and gripped onto the damaged smiling mask he usually wore.

"Fuck... (Y/n)... FUCK!" He took a few steps back to avoid the lame swipes you took at him.

He was thankful that your movement was hindered to the point where your steps were small shuffles.

"You promised..." He whispered, looking down at his trademark symbol.

It was a gift from you. Two years ago... You had promised... You promised that you would be okay...

And now here you were... Lifeless but alive... Groaning and gnashing your teeth at him...

He faintly heard the pounding footsteps of George and Sapnap behind him, likely having heard him yell.

"Dream?!" George yelled before the steps immediately came to a stop.

"Is that..."

"They promised..." He whined softly before pinching his eyes shut again as anger quickly overtook him. With a fierce battle cry, he swung his sword.

The strike was sloppy, filled with emotion and too much power. He had a feeling that if Technoblade was around still, he would be mocked to death for such a shitty swing.

But this was a brainless corpse. They couldn't rub two brain cells together to even think about dodging. This wasn't his smart, clever... Cunning... Alive... (Y/n)...

So it hit.

The gleaming diamond sword sliced through the rotten skin like a hot knife through butter, especially easier due to the Fire Aspect engraved into the sword.

He took a sharp intake of breath as he heard the horrible screeching noises that came from you as you sunk to the ground, desperately reaching out to him in one last attempt to get even a taste of his flesh.

He turned from your burning body and placed his mask on to cover his face before his friends saw the silver tears in the corners of his eyes, "Let's go."

"Dre-"

"I said, let's go."

They decided not to comment further.

Bad

He slowly felt the torch slip from his grasp and clatter to the ground, burning the dew-soaked grass it had landed on but it didn't matter.

Groaning and snarling at him, you lamely stumbled forward to grab at him, but he grabbed you first.

The Demon cringed slightly at the feel of rotten flesh beneath his fingers, but he held you back from walking forward.

He dodged the gnashing of your teeth as you tried to bite his arm, but he couldn't bring himself to bring the sword through your chest to finally end your suffering...

He glanced in the direction of the camp where Skeppy was still asleep, hopefully anyway...

Bad knew Skeppy would never agree to keep you around, even if you had once been someone very important to him.

Neither of them knew how zombie bites would affect Diamond Sprites or Demons, and weren't too eager to find out.

"(Y/n)... You muffin..." He put a hand on your chin, preventing you from chomping on his arms, "I wish... I wish I could've said goodbye..."

"Maybe I could've protected you..."

"Would you still be alive if I hadn't stormed out that day?"

He continued whispering questions to your mindless form, but his only responses were watery gurgles and the odd groan.

"Muffin... I'm so sorry..." He whispered, lowering his head to look down at you better, lava tears dripping down his cheeks and landing on your rotting away face, causing horrible screeches and snarls to escape from you, but you didn't yank away.

"Bad?!" Skeppy's voice came from the camp, and he looked over his shoulder to stare at the Diamond Sprite, "What... Why are you..."

"I-I... Skeppy... Do you think... If I had done anything different... They'd be alive?" He whispered, moving aside to let his small friend see his former friend.

The blue-skinned male sighed and loaded an arrow into his bow and grabbed onto the string, getting ready to pull it back, "Bad... You can't rewrite history... What's done is done, it's too late for them..."

"Can... Can you...? I don't think I can..." He whispered and finally let go of you, causing your balance to be set off.

The second he turned his back, he heard the stretching of a bowstring before releasing it. He shut his eyes tightly as he heard the familiar impact of a bow hitting mostly rotten but still solid flesh.

He didn't turn around, instead choosing to keep his head down as his friend brought him back to the camp.

"Goodbye, (Y/n)..."

Tommy (and Tubbo?)

He was frozen stiff, his grip tightening on his sword and the torch as he stared down the undead being.

Honestly, if anyone had asked him why he was still fighting through this damned apocalypse, he would say that he was fighting to survive.

No. He was fighting to make sure you were still alive...

Now, what was left?

"For fuck's sake! You were supposed to be alive!" He yelled, no doubt waking up the camp of other survivors.

"You were the only one- Dammit, (Y/n)!" He cried, ignoring the tears running down his cheeks as he threw a punch that connected to your jaw, cracking the weakened bone almost instantly and causing it to hang like an angered Enderman.

He continued to shout at your undead form and cry, ignoring the worried calls and frantic scrambling of his friends from back at the camp.

"You used to be such a great fighter, and you lost to FUCKING ZOMBIES!" He swung his arms around, his mind barely cluing into the fact that he dropped his sword and torch, "You almost beat Technoblade for fuck's sake! Technoblade! And-and..."

'No. No. Stay angry. They lost the fight. They- Don't mourn their stupidity...' He crumpled to the ground in despair, his tears dropping into his lap as he quickly grew deaf to the sound of shuffling feet.

Luckily, someone ran past him and shoved you to the ground with a shield, sending you rolling into a puddle of mud.

"Tommy!" Tubbo cried, setting down the shield as Ranboo quickly looked him over for any bite marks or injuries.

Once he found none, he gave a large sigh of relief and looked over at the corpse that Tubbo had shield bashed away from his friend, "Oh... Wait..." He frowned, struggling to remember the face that was struggling to crawl their way over to them through the mud.

"That's (Y/n)..." Tommy murmured, sounding rather numb, Tubbo and Ranboo noted, "They taught me and Tubbo to fight, back before we lost L'Manberg... They practically raised us... Despite being a similar age... They were so strong... and brave..."

Tubbo's breath hitched as he took another look at the growling creature desperate to feast on their flesh, "N-No... They're too strong to- I don't- No- No!"

"Guys... I know- I- No, I don't know... But we have to leave. They're going to call more zombies- And... We have to kill them..." Ranboo whispered, flinching a bit when Tubbo and Tommy whipped their heads in his direction, fire burning in their eyes.

Tommy's inner flame was the first to die out.

"I know..." He whispered, ignoring Tubbo's cries of protest as he picked up the diamond sword, twisting it in his hand and watching as the torchlight reflected off of it.

"You can't kill them, Tommy- They're like our older sibling-... Were... like... Our older sibling..." Tubbo corrected himself with hesitance and a sniffle as he looked away.

He turned back to your gurgling form and walked over, moving his feet away from your grabs at his ankles while raising his sword.

With a sharp intake of breath, tears continuing to drip down his cheeks as he rose his sword, "I'm sorry..." He whispered before bringing it down through your chest.

Ranboo

Sure, his memory was bad, but he could NEVER forget the face of the name that was scrawled through his memory book.

He stumbled backwards and tripped over a log with a small yelp, his sword and torch falling from his grip.

The water from the recent rain seeping through his torn clothing caused his skin to hiss, and a small whine tore from his throat as he scrambled backwards.

His noises of pain and distress failed to scare the zombie of his former best friend off, instead only persuaded them to lazily drag their feet towards him a little quicker.

Thankfully, although he was deaf to it amidst his panic and sobs, heavy footsteps and the ruffle of feathers echoed through the forest.

"Ranboo?! Mate, are you okay!?" Hands flew to his shoulders while a pink and red blur hopped the log he had tripped on to start a brawl with the zombie.

"DON'T HURT THEM!" He wailed to Techno, fighting against the hands that held his shoulders to reach out at the zombie.

"Heh?!" Techno used his shield to hold you back, dodging the swipes you took at him with your unkempt nails, "Ranboo! They're dead! A zombie!"

Ranboo sobbed louder, fighting the urge to cover his ears at the horrible words, "(Y/n) isn't dead... They aren't... They can't be! No... no...!"

Calloused hands carded through his black and white hair, which would've calmed him down on a normal day, but now... How could he feel anything but despair? His best friend was now a lifeless being...

They promised that they'd see him again, alive, not like THIS!

"Ranboo..." Phil murmured from behind him, likely having finished checking him for bites. The avian pulled him into his chest, allowing him to bawl his eyes out, the fabric muffling his desperate wails and preventing the tears from burning his skin too much.

"You- you said a gapple and a weakness potion could turn them back, right?!" Ranboo cried, looking up at the elder male, "C-can't we try it out on them?!"

Phil and Techno were silent, and the only sounds that were heard were the crackling fire back at the camp and the gurgles of his former best friend.

Perhaps he panicked himself into a light-headed state, or maybe his memory was worse than before because the next thing he knew Techno was dragging a chained and growling corpse while Philza was practically carrying the enderboy who was pretty much twice his height.

The next few days felt like a fever dream. He spent most of his time sitting in front of a cage where the corpse of his friend laid on the cold stone ground.

Phil had doused them in a splash potion of weakness and forced a golden apple down their throat a few hours after they caged them, now it was Ranboo's job to watch over them for any changes and write them down.

"Yeah then Me, Phil and Techno travelled out of the Tundra back on the DreamSMP, and we made our way to the Antarctic, back to the old Empire that they used to rule over..." He rambled onto your lifeless corpse, reading through his memory book to continue telling you stories, even if you were dead.

"Ran...Boo..."

"(Y-Y/n)?!" He threw the book aside and ran over to the cage, only to see the corpse had gained more of a human flesh tone rather than a sickening green, and formerly black, now (e/c) eyes were staring up at the stone bricks that made up the roof.

Ghostbur

He absolutely lit up with a happy squeal.

"(Y/n)! I knew you would make it through this whole apocalypse thing!" The ghost walked over and put his hand on your shoulder, brushing off the way that you didn't flinch away from the intense cold that radiated off of him.

You only continued walking...

"Oh? Do you know of any shelter? Lead the way then!" He chirped, pulling on the lead that was hooked up to the blue sheep he knew as Friend.

The two of you walked through the forests, Ghostbur blabbering away about memories he had involving you both, but he had a tight grasp on something blue the entire time.

You never responded to him, other than the odd groan or gurgle, but the ghost never found anything wrong with it.

Inside, he knew that you were an animated corpse. He knew that you would never be able to lose your three canon lives, and become a ghost.

Instead, you were stuck as a corpse that would perpetually come back to life over and over again until your body completely got destroyed.

Every time he looked at your growling form, he wanted to feel happy, you were back travelling with him! But... You weren't the same person...

"Wil- Ghostbur!" A voice came from behind him, and he saw the father of Aliverbur standing in front of him, sword at the ready.

"Phil!" He chirped, moving beside you and holding your shoulder, so you didn't run towards Philza, "Hey, how's it going man?" He smiled widely.

The flightless avian put his hand on his hat as he watched you reach towards him uselessly, being held back by the ghost of his son, "Ghostbur... That's not..."

"(Y/n)? Yes, it is!" He continued to smile, although it seemed a little forced, "It's just been a while, don't be so negative, Philza Minecraft!"

He sighed heavily, "Wil, that is not (Y/n) anymore. They are a senseless mob!" He reached for his sword, only to blink when Ghostbur quickly ran in front of you.

"No, no! It is! It is them!" He sobbed, his tears burning his transparent skin as his body shook with horrible coughs. "Please... It is... It is..."

"Okay, okay." He put his sword in the sheath and held up his hands in surrender to make Ghostbur stop crying, "It is, it's (Y/n)... Go say hi to Techno and get some food for Friend... I'm going to talk to them."

Ghostbur wiped his eyes with his sweater and eagerly nodded, "Okay! I haven't spoken to Techno in so long, I hope he's been doing okay..." He continued to ramble as he walked to the attached cabins next to the mountain, dragging Friend along.

Philza turned back to you and drew his sword, watching as you dragged your feet through the snow to reach him, "I'm sorry, (Y/n)... He just... Doesn't understand that you're stuck suffering..."

"Philzaaaa!" Ghostbur skipped out the door, pulling his blue sheep along as Philza sheathed his netherite sword, "Where did (Y/n) go?"

The avian folded his wings to his back under his cape as he looked over his shoulder, "Oh, they were going towards the portal. They said they would be back soon."

"Oh, they finally spoke? I'm so proud of them! I'll wait for them here!" Ghostbur smiled widely, completely unaware of the burning corpse hidden behind the trees.

Philza

Maybe he should've felt something more...?

Then again... He was the Angel of Death, he caused and attracted death like a magnet with a knife.

He swung his sword simply, watching as the corpse burned and crumpled to the ground before him with desperate wails and growls.

First Wilbur... Then Tommy... Now (Y/n)... Who was next, Ranboo or Techno?

He sighed, turning away from yet another person who had meant the world to him but was now nothing but rotting burnt flesh on the stark white snow.

"Phil!" Ranboo gave a chirping noise, a static-filled deformed mimic of one of the noises he often made due to his avian genetics, "Are you alright? One of the traps went off an-"

He wanted to smile, he did. He wanted to tell the boy who was practically shaking with worry as he checked him for bites that he was alright.

"It... Was (Y/n)..." He murmured softly, feeling... Oddly calm about the situation... Or was that empty? It was like how he felt after he killed his son...

Ranboo's bi-coloured eyes slowly rose up to meet Phil's blue ones and almost cringed as he saw that he was practically looking through him, "You... Mean, your..."

"Yeah... That's them. B-But it's okay-" He went to say but Ranboo gave an upset growl sort of noise as his monochrome tail wrapped around one of his lanky and abnormally long legs.

"Okay?! Phil, you just killed one of the most important people in your life... You- You aren't okay! You're numb!" The Enderman grabbed his shoulders... And the feeling of floating that he hadn't even noticed came to a sudden halt.

Oh. He was numb... That's why he didn't feel it...

Wait when did Ranboo bring him inside?

He slowly glanced out the window to see the sun had set long ago, and the fire in the fireplace had practically died out. Ranboo was curled up on the couch on the other side of him, and Techno was nowhere to be seen.

'I killed them... Without a second thought...' His mind caught up with the situation much slower than his body had, and he slouched against the arm of the couch he was propped up against.

'I killed them like I killed Wilbur...'

'Terrible person... Horrible...'

'I kill everyone I love...'

'Techno and Ranboo are left... They're in danger from you too...'

"Phil?" A hand grabbed one of the ones that were entangled in his long golden locks, "Hey, hey... I want you to listen to my voice, okay? You're okay... Follow my breathing..."

When did he start crying?

[flightlessangelwings]

Save You

Din Djarin x gn!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: hurt/comfort, injury, blood, mild canon-typical violence, protective!Din, blindfolds, feelingssssss, my love of Pedro Pascal’s nose really shines through here

~

It was nothing new for you to follow the Mandalorian headfirst into danger. It was part of life as his partner, and though you had many scars and bruises from your chosen life, you had no complaints. You grew to care greatly for the bounty hunter and when the little green child joined, you quickly became attached to him as well. And you knew that Mando did too, though he was more reserved with his emotions and feelings. 

He protected both you and the child, and he taught you how to better defend yourself as well. That way you could take care of yourself should anything happen. Mando wanted you to become more capable, especially now, since the child was around. You liked that he had that much respect for you to treat you as an equal, and you gladly accepted the risks of life with him.

You and the Mandalorian found yourself in a damp, dark planet on the trail of another bounty. He led the way through a series of tunnels of what looked like an old mine. You stayed close behind him with the child securely strapped to your chest for safety. You had your blaster ready in your head should anything jump out from around the corner, but so far the only movement was from you and Mando.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you whispered as you listened to the steady beep of the tracking fob in Mando’s hand.

“Just stay close,” was all he offered in reply. Truthfully, he wasn’t completely confident either, but he didn’t want to alarm you. Ever since you and the child entered his life, his number one priority was to keep you both safe.

Just as you were about to say something, the tracking fob grew louder and the beeps became more rapid; you were close. Mando nodded to you and you raised your weapon as you stayed at his side. The tunnel was dark, but the light in his hand illuminated the way. You vaguely wondered who would hide down here where it was so dark and dusty. But then again, it provided the perfect cover for someone who didn’t want to be found.

The tunnel seemed to come to an end, and although the fob beeped wildly, there was no sign of anyone else around. You met Mando’s gaze for a moment before you both looked around to investigate. You were in a mostly empty space. It was clear that the crew who had been in this cave had quickly left their digging. The area was littered with abandoned tools and boxes, but there wasn’t a soul around.

You stepped towards a larger box that had material piled on top to get a better look when you noticed something odd. There seemed to be a small light at the top of the pile, and it looked like it had been placed there more recently. Something was off, and the Mandalorian sensed that as well. The child cooed inquisitively and you gently pat his head to keep him quiet. 

“Hey Mando…” your voice was muted to not draw attention in case anyone lurked in the shadows.

He stepped up closer to you for a better look at what caught your attention. He cocked his head to the side but said nothing as he watched you reach out to investigate. Carefully, you poked at the source of the little light, but the moment your hand grazed the material the two of you froze as you both realized what it was.

It was a bomb. This was a trap.

Mando reacted quickly as he grabbed your hand and yanked you back. “Run.” The urgency in his voice was clear as he moved with haste to get you and the child out of danger.

Everything happened in a blur. You and Mando started to run, but you didn’t get too far before the explosive went off. There was enough space so you were not in direct line of fire, but it wasn’t far enough that you wouldn’t be severely hurt. The cavern lit up around you before you heard the explosion and by the time you turned around, it was too late.

But the Mandalorian was faster, and without a second thought, he jumped in front of you to shield you and the child from the brunt of the explosion. You ducked your head down and wrapped your arms around the child to try to protect him as best you could. Despite your best attempt, you were knocked off your feet from the force of the blast.

Luckily for you all, it was not a particularly strong detonator. However, you were still close enough for it to do some damage. You hit the ground with a loud grunt, and you had enough forethought to land yourself on your side to not hurt the child. He cried out, but was completely unhurt. Mando landed right next to you with a harder thunk, and you knew right away that was not a good sign. He laid on his back, and you saw that his chest barely moved.

“Din? Din!” In your panic you used his real name as you crawled over to him and shook his shoulder. You heard a soft groan through his modulator, but he stayed still.

A rustle of movement caught your attention, and you acted on instinct and shot the intruder without hesitation. In the low light, you vaguely made out the features of the bounty you both had been after, but that was the last thing on your mind right now.

With a heavy exhale, you lowered your blaster and looked down to check on the child. With a sigh of relief that he was ok, you pat the top of his head. “I need your help, little guy,” you choked back tears as you knew you had to be fast. “We need to get him back to the ship and I can’t carry him by myself.”

The child looked up at you with his big eyes and blinked once before he turned to look down at his father-figure. He seemed to understand and he lifted his little hand and closed his eyes on concentration. You watched with bated breath as Din’s body slowly rose up from the ground. Once he was more upright, you wrapped one arm around his waist and positioned one of his arms over your shoulders. Together, you and the child managed to get the Mandalorian back to the ship.

Luckily, the quarry seemed to be alone, and you didn’t encounter anyone else on the agonizing trek back to the Crest. You locked up the cargo bay behind you and carefully set Din down on the floor against the back wall in the main hull. The child slumped back against your body in exhaustion as you unfastened him from your chest and set him down in his pram.

“You ok?” you asked the child in a soft voice as you caressed his face. When he cooed at you, you smiled down at him. “Thanks for your help. I’ll take care of him. I promise.” You tried to hide the fear in your voice for the baby’s sake. 

He seemed content with your words and slumped back into the pram and watched quietly as you hurried back to Din. You rummaged through your things until you found the med kit. You rushed back and sat down at his side as you checked over his injuries. Thankfully, the beskar seemed to shield his body well enough for the most part, but because you were so close to the detonator, some shrapnel got lodged underneath.

With trembling hands, you took off Din’s armor piece by piece and pushed the shredded fabric to the side to work on healing his injuries. Blood soaked his clothing, and you fought to keep your breathing steady while you worked. Din leaned back against the wall and watched you work through his visor. The helmet hid the fond expression he wore though half lidded eyes as you frantically raced against time to help him.

Your own hands stained red with his blood, but you didn’t care. You just kept whispering to him as you kept your eyes trained on the wounds. 

“Hang on, Din.”

“You’re going to be alright.”

“I can’t lose you… Please…”

“Just one more bacta patch should do it.”

With a heavy sigh, you finally sat back and took in his slumped over form in front of you. Din barely moved since you set him down, and though you managed to close most of his wounds, you could tell his breathing still was labored. Fear ran through your veins as you noticed that blood dripped down his neck and realized there must be an injury underneath his helmet as well. Your hands rested on his chest as tears formed in your eyes.

Din must have read your thoughts, because he slowly rested his hands over yours and whispered your name in a weak voice.

“I know, I know,” you couldn’t hide the way your voice trembled. You looked around the hull as you tried to come up with a plan. As much as you couldn’t lose the man in front of you, you also knew how important his creed was to him and you would never ask him to break it. “There has to be a way…”

Din took in a breath to say something, but you unknowingly cut him off with an exclamation. His hand twitched on top of yours as he slightly tilted his head to the side in a questioning glance. “What is it?”

You met his visor with a newfound fire in your eyes, “I have an idea. But I need you to trust me.”

His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, “I trust you,” he said your name and you could feel the confidence in his voice, however weak it was.

With a nod, you broke away from him and reached out for a piece of medical wrap from the med kit. From the far corner of the room, the child cooed inquisitively; he had watched you from his pram the entire time, but was too tired from using his powers to be of much help. You looked over and met his gaze before you crossed the space to address him. 

“I need you to keep this on, buddy. Ok?” You spoke in a soft voice as you tore off a smaller piece of cloth and hovered it over his eyes. You dropped it for a moment to give him your pinky instead. The child seemed to understand and he reached out and wrapped his little hand around your finger as he cooed softly in response. You gave him a smile as you tied the fabric securely around his eyes. “I’m trusting you here.”

The child started to reach up but he didn’t touch the fabric around his eyes. You watched him for a moment, and only when you were satisfied that he wouldn’t remove the cloth did you turn back to Din. You settled in front of him again as you secured your own makeshift blindfold. The Mandalorian watched with bated breath as he realized what your plan was. He made no attempt to move as you slowly reached out for his helmet once you took away your sight.

You held your breath as you rested your hands on either side of his helmet, “Din,” your voice was barely audible as you waited for him to make the final call. A gasp escaped your throat when you felt his own hands over yours again and together you slowly lifted his helmet off.

There was a tense silence in the room as Din took a deep breath of fresh air for the first time. You let go of the helmet and brought your hands back to yourself as you waited for him to set it down. When you heard the soft thud, you broke the silence, “I’m going to need you to guide my hands.”

Din let out a heavy breath of his own, “Alright,” he didn’t trust himself to say anything more, and the sound of his raw voice took you both by surprise.

Carefully, Din took your hands in his own as he led them to the med kit. Slowly, the two of you worked together to set bacta on the wounds that bled at the back of his head. You knew your lips trembled, and you figured he noticed, but he never said anything. Din hissed in pain when you put some bacta cream on the back of his head, and you whispered a soft apology in response.

When Din was sure there was enough to cover the last injury, he let go of your hands. But, instead of letting go, your hands lingered against him. You couldn’t resist the temptation, and you still had adrenaline pulsing through your system, so you ran your hands through his hair. It was damp from sweat and blood, but it was still surprisingly soft. You were careful and tender with your movements. You kept your touch light so you wouldn’t hurt him and he could lift your hand away if he wanted to.

But Din found that he didn’t want to, and he let you run your hands through his hair a few times. He sighed softly as your hands came to the front of his face and you brushed a lock of his hair off his forehead. Your fingertips traced over his face as if you tried to figure out what he looked like from touch. Din closed his eyes as you cupped his jaw with one hand while the other trailed down his nose.

You couldn’t help but smile at the feel of his skin under your hands. And though you didn’t voice it out loud, you were already fond of the shape of his nose. The hand that roamed over his face came to rest on the side of his jaw as you cupped Din’s head in your hands. You bit your lip as you tranced your thumb across his cheek, and you didn’t even realize how close your finger came to his lips until you felt his breath against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped suddenly as you started to pull your hands away, “That was overstepping. I….” 

Just as you started to move your hands away, Din reached out and grabbed onto you gently. Your mouth fell open as a small gasp escaped your lips, and you tensed when you felt him place your hands back on his face.

“You didn’t overstep,” his voice was soft, and you felt his breath on your hands.

Din rested one hand over yours to keep you in place while he reached out for you with the other. His hand cupped your chin, which startled you. He was just as slow and careful with his movements as he brought you in close to his body. You fumbled, more clumsy without your sight, but you settled yourself in his lap as you faced him and you froze when you realized how intimate the position was.

The child, who stayed quiet the entire time, perked his ears up and cooed softly. He seemed to sense the growing tension in the room and he reached over and blindly searched for the button on the front of his pram. He slumped back to lay down as the top cover closed and gave you and Din more privacy. Din noticed the action out of the corner of his eyes, and he smiled slightly before he turned his attention back to you.

He felt you tremble in his grasp, and the nerves that radiated from your body were almost palpable. “It’s alright,” Din whispered as his lips hovered over yours.

“Din…” your voice was so hushed that he barely even heard you.

The Mandalorian’s eyes dropped down to your lips for a brief moment before he closed the gap between your bodies. The kiss was soft and light at first; he just tested the waters for now. But when you sighed and leaned into his touch, Din wrapped one of his arms around you and pulled you so that you were flush against him. You moaned into his mouth as you deepened the kiss. One of your hands stayed on his jaw while the other dropped down to clutch at his shoulder.

Din winced slightly at the touch, but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt before you patched him up. Besides, he would rather feel a slight sting if it meant you stayed connected to him. Din wasn’t ready to let you go just yet, not when he finally felt your touch for the first time. It was a feeling unlike any other, and he was already addicted to you.

You smiled into the kiss as you felt the warmth and security from Din’s grasp. If you were honest with yourself, you wanted this for so long, but you kept your feelings buried. But now that you had it, you never wanted to let it go. You never wanted to let him go.

“Thank you.” Din finally spoke as he broke away just enough to breathe.

“For what?” you furrowed your brows.

“For saving my life,” you could hear the grin in his voice as his thumb brushed over your skin.

You leaned in for another kiss before you smiled against him and spoke in a hushed voice that held so much emotion, “Thank you for saving mine.” A muffled coo from the corner of the room called your attention and you let out a short laugh, “Our lives,” you corrected yourself.

Din smiled against your face and made sure you felt it, “Of course,” he kept his response short and left it unsaid that he would do anything to keep you and the child safe. You both meant more to him than anything in the galaxy and there wasn’t anything Din wouldn’t do for you both. But for now, he was content to be safe in the hull of the Crest with you both, and for him to feel you against his bare skin was more than he could ever have asked for.

~

Notes: I love me some good hurt/comfort with Din so much and this idea just came to me randomly and I had to write it! As always, taglists are open so let me know if you’d like to be added :) And let me know what you think of this one too!

[kpopdaebak-lol]

Monsta X • When they come home exhausted after a long day (and you end up cuddling) •

...

Shownu

You’re in the living room when you hear the door open and close, a sign that Shownu came home. You look at the clock, he’s a little later than usually. You look smiling at the door expecting Shownu to appear any moment. But instead of joining you in the living room as he normally would, you can hear his steps going straight to your bedroom.

Worried you make your way upstairs. You knock softly on the door before you enter the room and find Shownu lying on his back on the bed, sprawled out over the whole width. His eyes are closed. He looks so tired, it breaks your heart to see him so exhausted. You quietly sit next to him and gently start rubbing his back, “Hard practise?” Shownu only nods and sighs.

You gently pull his head onto your lap and start massaging it and stroking his hair, and he hums quietly.

“It feels so good, don’t stop.” The both of you stay like this for a while before he sits up a little and you take the opportunity to pull him in for a long and tight hug. Shownu relaxes into it and you can feel his steady heart beat against your chest.

“Shownu, you okay, hmm? Practises normally don’t drain you as much....”

“It’s just been a long week. All I need is your warmth and some rest, that’s all. - I can feel your heartbeat”, he smiles with his eyes still closed, “I like it.”

You let yourself and him fall (gently) onto the mattress, reach for a blanket and put it over the both of you, covering you from head to toe.

You look at his face and kiss him on the left cheek, right cheek, top of his nose, corner of his lips, eyebrows... Shownu blushes a little but he enjoys the intimacy and closeness of this moment.

You stay under the blanket like this for a while, you listen to him quietly talk about his day, stroking his hair, face. Your eyes never leave his face, his follow yours.

“Thank you, y/n.” He smiles a little. You tilt your head smiling at him, “Are you feeling better?”

“If we can stay a little longer like this, I will.” You just nods smiling, pulling him in for another hug and you can see a relaxed smile on his lips.

Wonho

You can hear the door open and close while chopping some carrots in the kitchen.

“Wonho? I’m making dinner, do you want some?” When you don’t get a response you look up worriedly and make your way to the corridor. You find Wonho leaning against the wall his head resting against it, eyes shut tightly, he doesn’t look great.

With quick steps you make your way to him and hug him tightly. You can feel your heart tighten and pull, seeing him like this hurts you too. A deep sigh escapes his lips and his head slumps onto your shoulder. Somehow he seems so small.

“What happened, Wonho?”, you whisper while still holding him. “Just a long,” he takes a deep breath and exhales, “- long day.”

You stand there for a few moments not sure if you should move, but you can tell Wonho needs the comfort of your arms at the moment. So you just keep hugging him, slowly stroking his back with one hand.

“Come with me”, you say gently into the silence after some time has passed, while tugging at his shirt lightly.

He follows you with slow and heavy steps into the living room where you sit down on the sofa. You gesture Wonho to sit next to you and he slumps down, he places his head onto your lap so he can look up to you. “Wanna talk about it?”, you ask while tucking some of his longer hair strands behind his ear. He shakes his head “There’s really nothing to it, I’m just drained, that’s all. Worked out this morning, had a bunch of meetings about the upcoming events and then we started practising the new routine, it just killed me.” His eyes closed mid way explaining what happened and an exhausted smile lingers on his lips.

You lean down and peck them. This makes Wonho smile, but he doesn’t open his eyes. You stroke his hair again. “Can I get another? I think it makes me feel a bit better, you know?” You smile to yourself, relieved that Wonho starts to feel better. You shower his face with kisses, with each one Wonho relaxes a bit more. You stop your little attack when you hear a loud noise, so loud it makes Wonho’s eyes shoot open.

“Was that-?” “Y/n, that was embarrassingly loud, I am so sorry! I haven’t eaten anything since lunch time and I am starving...” you just chuckle while placing another kiss on his lips. “Let’s order some food, I want to spend some more time with you like this.” Your words make him beam up to you.

Minhyuk

You’re chilling on the sofa covered in a blanket listening to music when the door suddenly opens with a bang. You nearly scream at the sudden noise and person standing in the door frame. But you see Minhyuk enter the living room and slump down on top of you.

“Minhyuk, I swear if you do that again- you scared me!” To your surprise he doesn’t tease you like always but just mumbles something against the crook of your neck. You pick up on his state and the situation and gently start massaging his shoulders and neck, he hums.

“That bad, huh?”, you question quietly. Minhyuk doesn’t have the strength to lift his head and just keeps talking against your neck, it tickles quite a lot, but you try your best not to shift around too much. “Today was just... a lot, y/n...”.

You pull out the blanket sandwiched between the two of you and open it so Minhyuk can crawl under it too. His head is now resting on your chest, his eyes closed in exhaustion. You hug him tightly and he hums again, relaxing his body onto yours.

He sighs contently and you start placing soft kisses on his face and top of his head. When you stop he sighs even louder.

You chuckle a little but start placing kisses everywhere again. He hums again. Just to tease him and lighten the mood, you stop again. You can feel his lungs fill with air before he sighs even louder and heavier than before. You laugh a little and can see a smile play around his lips. You start kissing him again, stroking and tickling his neck gently. The both of you keep playing this game until a full smile forms on Minhyuks lips.

Kihyun

You are reading a book on your bed when you hear the front door close and heavy steps walk towards the bedroom.

Kihyun enters looking a little disheveled and tired. “Kihyun, you look tired.”, staying the obvious, hoping he’d smile. He tries to smile, but just looks exhausted.

You pat the place next to you, a little worried to see him in a state like this. Kihyun lies down with a sigh and puts his arms around your waist while you start rubbing his back in slow circles.

“Y/n, some days are just killing me...”

“Want to rest a little before dinner?” Kihyun just nods in response.

You keep rubbing his back and trying to keep reading your book, but you can’t really concentrate. You just want to make sure Kihyun is comfortable at the moment. His head rests on your tummy, his eyes are closed now so you keep comforting him with slow circles, light strokes.

After some time you can here him snore slightly. With your free hand you grab a blanket and gently place it over him.

Once it’s time for dinner, you carefully free yourself from his embrace. You stroke his cheek gently, giving him a soft peck before leaving the room quietly, making sure Kihyun is still asleep.

You start prepping dinner and try to be as quiet as possible. Some time later Kihyun wakes up and joins you in the kitchen, still a bit groggy from his nap, but the smile on his face is endearing.

You beam at him and give him a light kiss on his lips and hug him tightly “Slept well?”

He just nods and smiles into your neck.

You place a cup of tea in front of him and motion him to sit down.

“Sit. You’re not doing anything today. Dinner is in the oven and we can watch a film later if you want to.” While you prep the rest of dinner you keep pecking his lips every now and then, leaving Kihyun with a gummy smile and soft.

After dinner you make yourselves comfortable on the sofa.

You can tell Kihyun isn’t very focused on the movie so you start stroking his head again with some soft kisses in between.

Soon he falls asleep. You decide not to wake him up. Instead you make sure Kihyun rests comfortably. And both of you end up sleeping on the couch.

Hyungwon

You’re in the middle of baking some cookies when you hear Hyungwon come home. You can hear him walk to the living room, his steps slower than usually. Quickly you wipe your hands and make your way to the living room too. You stand in the door and watch him as he collapses on the sofa.

“Ugh why are meetings so exhausting? We’re sitting all day, but honestly, it’s worse than dance practise..”, you can hear him complain quietly into one of the pillows.

You take in the scene in front of you, him sprawled out, arms and legs everywhere, making your sofa look tiny, sighing so heavily it makes your heart ache.

Without another word you grab a blanket, place it over him and tuck him in, give him a quick peck on the cheek and lay on top of him, hugging him tightly. Hyungwon opens his sleepy eyes a little surprised.

“I’m sorry you had a rough day.”, you whisper. “It’s a little better already.” He smiles as you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, kissing his skin softly.

“Can we stay like this for a moment?”, he mumbles. You just nod and listen to Hyungwon’s breathing. Gently you start stroking his cheek and his eyes flutter closed.

“Do you need anything?”, you whisper, don’t wanting to disturb the serene moment. “Hmm I wouldn’t say no to those cookies I smell...” you chuckle lightly at his response and peck him on the lips.

“Tea, coffee or hot chocolate?”. Hyungwon grins now, he loves being babied by you.

“Coffee, please.”, he pretends to pout a little to make you laugh.

“Anything else?”, you ask in a chuckle. “Hmm another blanket please. And would you mind getting me a hoodie from the bedroom?”, he asks with big eyes.

You just kiss the tip of his nose in response and Hyungwon smiles back at you thankfully. “Anything for you.”, you whisper. You get up and quickly get everything Hyungwon needs and put on some more comfortable clothes yourself. Once Hyungwon got changed too, you place the blankets on top of him, pecking his lips and cheeks every now and then and he giggles happily, loving the attention and gentleness of you caring for him.

Quickly you make some coffee and prepare a plate of cookies. When you enter the living room again, Hyungwon opens the blankets for you to crawl in.

Once the two of you are comfortable he sighs, this time utterly relaxed.

Jooheon

You sit on the sofa, the lights dimmed, listening to some music and trying to get some work done. Every now and then you look worriedly at the clock on the wall, realising it’s getting quite late.

Finally you hear the front door open and close. Relieved you jump up and make your way to the door. You find Jooheon taking off his shoes, he looks so small and tired, it makes your heart beat in pain. You basically race to him, embracing him in a big and tight hug. Jooheon looks at you surprised,

“Y/n, you’re still up?”, his voice sounds tired and worried.

You nod against his chest and say quietly, “I wanted to wait for you. You didn’t sound great when you called earlier...”.

“Yeah, some things went wrong in the studio and it took us hours to fix it. My brain is fried.”, he relaxes into your embrace and you gently pat his back. After a couple of minutes just enjoying each other’s presence, you gently pull away. “Nooo, not yet!”, Jooheon whines a little. You give him a quick kiss on his cheek and take his hand, “Let’s just get more comfortable.”

You go to the living room and sit on the sofa and Jooehon places himself between your legs, his head resting on your tummy. He sighs a really long and deep sigh, slumping down a bit more.

When you start stroking his head he hums softly. “Y/n, you’re so warm.” You place butterfly kisses on his forehead, corner of his eye brows, eyelids, top of his cheeks, dimples, top of his lip, nose, making Jooheon giggle happily. You can feel the tension leave his body so you keep pecking his face until a bright smile manifested on his face. He keeps his eyes closed, enjoying your warmth, taking in your comforting scent, still smiling at the attention and affection he gets. You end up falling asleep like this and decide to take the next day off, having a long lie in and cuddling all day.

I.M

You’re sitting in your favourite spot at the window, watching the sun set, listening to some music.

You can hear the front door close and before you can even get out of the blankets and onto your feet I.M hugs you from behind, sighing loudly.

“Everything okay?”, you ask a little surprised. I.M just shrugs.

You tug at his shirt to make him come around and face you. He looks down at you with a small and tired smile, making your heart twist a little.

You decide to pull him down so he ends up straddling you. Gently you hug him again and he places his head on your shoulder.

“Thanks, y/n.” “I’m not doing anything... do you want to talk about it?”, you carefully inquire. He sighs again, “It’s nothing big, really. I’m just tired, is all.”

You start to rub his neck, trying to get the tension out of his shoulders. Slowly I.M starts to relax. Playfully you start kissing the side of his face which is next to you. You can feel him chuckle against your chest, so you shift him a little and start pecking the other side of his face too.

“Mmmh. I’m enjoying this, y/n. I don’t want to get up.”, he mumbles against your ear.

“You don’t have to.”, you whisper back, glad he’s feeling a little better. You grab a blanket with one hand and place it over the both of you. I.M nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, smiling relaxed against your skin. The sun is nearly set and it’s getting darker around you. But the moment is just too calm and warm to be bothered to put any lights on.

I.M is now in a full cuddle mood and you end up spending the whole evening cuddled up on the sofa, chatting quietly, I.M loving all the kisses and hugs in between.

...

A little different than the things I’ve written before, I hope you like it!

What comforts you the most when you’ve had a long and exhausting day?

-S✌🏼

[aerynwrites]

A/N: This post - which I HIGHLY recommend everyone to see was drawn and shared by @ollovae3​. She draws amazing, fun, accurate, and touching art of all kinds of characters but mostly focusing on the Star Wars universe. Boba has always been a comfort character of mine and Ollo’s OC, Bee (short for Bui'cyare), has been such a fun character to follow and see the relationship that Ollo has created between Bee and Boba. So, after seeing this post with Bee helping post sarlacc Boba with the aftermath of his trauma, I had to reach out to her and see if she would let me expand on this sweet moment in writing. Thankfully she was super kind and amazing to talk to and gave me permission to create this one shot. @ollovae3​ I hope I did Bee and her relationship with Boba justice and I hope you enjoy! I haven’t written non-reader insert fic in years so this was a fun little thing for me to do!

WC: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of phantom pain, amputated limbs, prosthetics, chronic pain, fluff, hurt/comfort, fluff fluff fluff!!

Boba Fett x Bee (this OC belongs to @ollovae3​!!!)

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

Boba enters his quarters just as the sun begins to set on the Dune Sea, where the unrelenting heat of the day finally gives way to the frigid cold of night. As the Mandalorian enters the shared space, Boba’s eyes fall to the figure hunched over the workshop table in the back of the large room. When the door closes immediately behind him, several lamps can be seen lit throughout the room, casting a soft glow against her skin as she focuses on the chestplate sitting in front of her. 

Boba smiles as he takes a few labored steps further into the room, “Repainting your armor again?” he calls as he pulls the heavy helmet from his head. 

A small chuckle escapes the woman’s lips as she turns to look over her shoulder, “I’m just touching it up, is all,” she states, “Believe it or not I don’t actually do a full repaint all that often.”

The man let’s out a small hum in response, opting instead to turn his attention towards his own armor...and the task of taking it all off. As he removes each piece, he works slowly, slightly more than usual, setting it neatly against the wall near their bed. With every movement, his joints creak and throb, feeling an ache in his left leg-- or, at least he thinks he does, where the comfort of his robe beneath the armor, rubs uncomfortably against his scars.

Today is a bad day. And Bee notices immediately.

She turns away from her work, watching with narrowed eyes as her partner struggles with himself. She can see he is trying to hide his pain and discomfort from her, but as he shifts unsteadily to favor his right leg, she automatically knows. 

“Is it the phantom pain again?” she asks, voice soft as she approaches him, bare feet padding gently against the sandstone. 

Boba stills, gripping the last piece of armor in his hand as he avoids her gaze. “I’m fine, cyar’ika, no need to worry about me.”

She purses her lips. While they have broken through most of eachother’s walls in their relationship, Boba was still as stubborn as an old bantha when it came to Bee worrying about him. Looking at him for a moment longer, acutely aware of the waves of discomfort rolling off of him, she sighs. 

“We’re partners, Boba,” she reminds him, “Both on and off the job. It’s kind of my responsibility to worry about you. Just like you worry about me. Even if you won’t admit it.” her voice is teasing with her last words, and Boba can’t stop the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. 

He gives her a small nod, grunting as he turns to sit on the bed. “I thought the medicine was helping,” he finally admits, one hand falling to where his prosthetic ends, rubbing it absentmindedly. “And my karking knee is acting up again, and my scars…” he looks away from the woman again, eyes falling to the floor instead. “It’s been a long day, is all.”

Bee’s heart aches as she looks at the man she loves. This journey of losing him to the sarlacc, getting him back, and dealing with the aftermath hasn’t been easy on either of them. But, seeing Boba struggle is one of the worst things for her, especially when he tries to keep it to himself. 

She moves to sit beside him on the bed, one hand running gently over his back as she rests her chin on his shoulder. “Well,” she begins slowly, “I found this new form of bacta cream in town the other day when you sent me out to search for parts for the Slave I. Why don’t we try it? You know that hot compresses help with joint pain.”

Boba turns to look at her, their noses brushing as he does so, and he feels his chest swell with adoration at the emotion swimming in her eyes. Without thinking, he reaches up and cups the back of her head, fingers threading through the long locks as he presses his lips to hers. She responds immediately, smiling into the action before pulling away and standing from the bed.

“I take that as a yes?” 

Boba lets out a playful scoff, “Yes,” he breathes, “We’ll try this special lotion of yours.”

Bee smiles down at him, before turning to go fetch the canister from the fresher. However, just before she enters the room, she turns back to the man sitting on the bed. “Take your robes off, and your prosthetic too,” she instructs gently. “I’ll be right back.”

Boba nods and does as instructed before waiting for her return.

------

It doesn't take long before Bee emerges from the fresher, carrying a small metal container and a steaming washcloth. With his prosthetic set off to the side, and propped up next to him, Boba sits on the edge of the bed, wearing only his briefs. Neither of them say much in the next few moments. Instead, she places the container onto the bed beside him, before gently placing the warm cloth over his right knee, just to make sure that it hadn't been too hot. Once he confirms that the temperature was okay, Bee crawls onto the bed behind him, taking the container in her hands before unscrewing the lid. She dips her fingers inside and scoops out a generous amount of the cream, before rubbing her hands together. 

Bee leans over his right shoulder and looks at him, “What’s bothering you the most?” 

Boba quietly reaches up and gestures vaguely to his back, shoulders and chest. In their silent understanding, she lathers the cream over his shoulders and down his back, deciding to start there and getting to the rest later. Her gentle ministrations feel soothing, as she massages the ointment into the scarred skin. 

Boba seems to relax into her touch immediately, his shoulders sagging tiredly, with his posture less rigid, as if the salve had pulled the pain right out of him. Letting out a relieved sigh at the feeling of her hands roaming over him, the salve feels cool and smooth, as she rubs the rest in. It is the most relief he’s felt all day, as if it had almost completely doused the dull fire beneath his skin, to which he smiles at the feeling. 

Once she’s sure the ointment has been absorbed, she reaches down for a bit more, scooting closer to Boba, as she moves to work the salve further into his chest. But just as her hands begin to make contact, a familiar rough hand covers her own, looking up from her work only to be met with the deep pools of brown she had grown so fond of. She tries to ask him if anything is wrong, but is cut off by the gentle squeeze he's given to her hand, all while pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you, cyare,” Boba’s voice is a rumbled whisper as he speaks, but Bee hears him and sends him a small smile.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Boba,” Bee whispers back, giving him a kiss of her own, before turning to look down as she continues her treatment. 

Boba smiles for what feels like the dozenth time, his earlier pain and frustration forgotten, as he relaxes back into her, all while whispering,

 “I love you too.”

[newtonsheffield]

Any chance of getting some spicy royals content on this fine Sunday? After they’re married/during their engagement, I have a vision of them doing their events and then going back to palace and just like tearing each other’s clothes off and doing it on any and all available surfaces.

My friend, you understand the Royals vibe.

Their whole romance started because essentially they couldn't keep their hands off one another. That's not going to change when they're together, in fact, it makes it all a little worse. The young queen and her future husband are well known for probably being too in love.

Kate wasn't stupid, she knew what the entire country was saying about her when rumours of her relationship with Anthony started leaking from the palace as these things often did. And she supposed she was a good part to blame. People couldn't help but notice the Security that lined the corridor outside Anthony's flat, and really that meant there had to be someone of note inside, and there was, of course, the very public way Anthony had gone about things. It didn't take long for the rumours to start.

She called off the wedding for him

It was all arranged for publicity

The Queen Regent demanded she marry him if not Stirling

He's a traitor and so must she be.

It was vaguely amusing honestly, the idea that Mary of all people would be encouraging Kate to do anything to Anthony that wasn't punching him in the stomach. The palace PR team had practically begged her not to acknowledge Anthony publicly

"All due respect Your Highness, This will be a disaster." Jenkins had said, the bridge of his nose pinched in his fingers, barely 2 days into her relationship with Anthony,

Kate had bristled, "What are you suggesting, Mr Jenkins?"

"I'm suggesting, that publicly, Our new Queen has no consort, whatever you do in private is of course your own business."

Kate had frowned, "And what about when we get married." A small hiss escaped several people in the room and Kate had pretended not to see the way Mary stiffened beside her, plowing ahead. "Surely eventually I'll have to marry someone, what do you suggest then?"

And no one had really seemed to have an answer for her, which of course meant the answer was clear.

Hopefully you'll come to your senses before then!

But it hadn't been necessary in the end. Sophie had sent them to a primary school, and aided by a rather adorable Hyacinth Bridgerton, Kate and Anthony (Kathony as they'd been dubbed) had emerged as they country's new it couple. Requests poured in for comment, the were star crossed lovers people that certainly weren't supposed t fall in love but couldn't resist the pull. And allegedly, everyone could see it. Just from the way they looked at one another.

It seemed every day in those first few months blurry pictures emerged of them, Anthony's head resting on her shoulder on a street corner, Kate's legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her through the garden on his back, Anthony crowding her against a tree their lips nearly touching. It was relentless, and rather than sullying the image of the royal family, it seemed to make public opinion soar. Yes, their new queen was young, beautiful, and very much besotted with her grouchy boyfriend. It really was quite the narrative, and not very far from the truth. Before long reports of them slipping away at public events seemed to emerge, and this the palace could not abide.

"Kate, please, please do not sneak out of this event." Sophie was practically begging, looking sternly between her and Anthony. "I mean it, "I get it, you just got engaged, and it's adorable that you're so happy but Can we stay to the end of one event this month?"

"Ahh Sophie, when you look this good, lady's are bound to drag you behind a topiary animal for a quickie." Anthony had said, with that insufferable smirk on his face."

Kate had scoffed. "Won't be a problem, Sophie, Anthony won't be getting any for a while."

As it turns out, it was a problem. Before they'd even left the palace Kate was warm. Anthony had been sitting in the small living area attached to her suite by the time her styling team had finished flitting around her, and honestly, the sight of him made her mouth go dry.

He was wearing a light grey suit, the waistcoat of which had a light checked pattern through it, cut tightly across his broad shoulders, his red tie and pocket square in stark contrast. She didn't really need to look at them, she'd known before she even walked in what colour they would be, they always matched, Anthony insisted upon it. Insisted on her crest being neatly embroidered into them, and it was a little unflattering but it aways sent a little possessive thrill through her.

She'd cleared her throat and he'd looked up from his phone, smile already in place though it turned just slightly predatory at the sight of her.

"Well, well, your majesty, don't you look lovely this evening?" His fingertips had trailed over her bare back a little delightfully.

Kate had scoffed, her cheeks burning, "we promised hands to ourselves tonight."

Anthony laughed, "There's almost no way you're going to be able to manage that, Darling. I look delectable this evening."

God his arrogance was startling, even if he wasn't far off the mark. "You look average."

He wasn't deterred. "I'll make you a deal, Princess" She'd been the queen for months but he still called her by her original title, his eyes shining at her. "If we stay until 11:30, I'll give you a reward."

A shiver had run down her spine as she'd thought about last night when he'd bent her over the back of the sofa, his hands hot against her. "Won't be a problem. Prepare to get on your knees for me."

"It would be my pleasure."

By the time they'd been there an hour, Kate was struggling, Anthony's hand was hot on her back, his eyes burning into hers as he laughed and smiled, his glasses shining in the dim lighting, and it didn't help that she was sure the air conditioning was broken.

And he wouldn't leave her alone. Usually at these events after a while they were tugged in different directions, mingling with this lord and that, as directed by their teams. But tonight Anthony shrugged off all of his instructions, keeping his arm like a vice around her, the smell of his cologne a little overwhelming, his deep voice rumbling through the both of them, his finger tapping his watch every time her own hand slipped under his jacket or to the edge of his trousers, a stupid smirk on his face. God he was absolutely unbearable, and she wanted him so fucking much, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

Her eyes didn't leave his watch from 11:28, counting down the seconds as they slipped by, clearing her throat as soon as 11:30 ticked around.

"Can you have the car brought around Steve?"

Anthony's smirk intensified into something like a wolfish grin as they waved once more to the assembled party before they slipped out the side doors.

"Well, Your majesty, very impressive restraint shown tonight." his voice was like gravel in her ear, both hands on her waist now, one on either side, his teeth already nipping at her neck, it was all she could do not to groan loudly.

As soon as the car door was opened, Kate had tugged Anthony inside, her hand wrapped around his tie, his hips bucking against her at the sharp tug she gave it.

"What are you doing?" Her own voice was rough as Anthony attempted to settle into the seat beside her, his eyebrows raised.

"Sitting down so we can go home and fuck?" There was something so innocent about the way he said it, that made her heart flutter with love for him, his hand fiddling nervously with his glasses.

Kate clucked her tongue, tugging on his tie until his knees were resting on the floor of the limousine in front of her. "But we have such a long drive home, Lord Bridgerton, you better get to work."

Anthony's eyes darkened immediately, his hands tugging roughly at the hem of her dress, calming as he slipped underneath it, his lips trailing up her thighs, hands forcing her legs apart.

"Fucking hell I wanted to crawl under this dress the minute I saw you, wanted to do it right there in that fucking room again."

Kate tried to force her voice into something like nonchalance, failing miserably as she shifted her hips a little desperately "Well it would have certainly given the Lords something to tut about, you know how they like that."

His chuckle was slight muffled through the layers of her dress. "They're just jealous, they don't get to have you."

And then his mouth started moving over her, hard and relentless, and fuck she couldn't breathe. The privacy partition was thankfully already up as it always was on the way home from events, but still, Kate knew the driver, and Steve who always rode in the front of her car could hear her, and there was something oddly thrilling about it. Oddly thrilling about the obscene noises that were pulled from her chest, about the soft sound of Anthony's mouth on her, the soft moans falling from his lips at the taste of her, his voice coaxing against her.

"That's it, Kate, you've been such a good girl for Daddy."

Her eyes rolled back in her head, unable to help herself as her hips bucked against him helplessly, desperately seeking just a little more friction.

"Please, Anthony, Please."

He chuckled again and then he started moving impossibly faster, his fingers joining his tongue, forcing her higher and higher, she could see the reflection of them in the window as the streetlights passed, th obscene image of them branded on the back of her eyelids, And everything shattered. A soft scream tore through her chest, Anthony humming happily in response as her chest heaved, her breathing erratic.

Anthony's head popped out from under her dress, checking his watch a little dramatically.

"Well that took 5 minutes so I think I can probably do that another 3 times before we get home."

He managed another 4, one rolling against the other like an endless wave, her screams getting louder and louder, condensation covering the windows in the back of the car. And Anthony's smug smile as he tugged her boneless from the car, really was absolutely insufferable.

[snackhobi]

pairing: namjoon x reader / word count: 9.3k / genre: pwp/smut

summary: You’ve been letting your laundry pile up for a little too long. Fortunately, your neighbour Namjoon is there to lend you a hand.

warnings: sexually explicit content, masturbation, edging (kinda), unintentional voyeurism (briefly), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms (f receiving), bigdick!joon, dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, overstimulation (reader gets fucked dumb), praise, aftercare (please heed the warnings, and let me know if I need to clarify/add any!)

--

For most people, Sunday is a day of rest. But not for you.

Sunday means chores. Sunday means tidying up, dusting, vacuuming. Sunday means finally doing all the Adult Things you’ve been too busy/lazy to do for the rest of the week (or even longer than that, as evidenced by your overflowing laundry basket). Sunday means work. 

You slap at your vibrating phone, fingers sliding uselessly across the screen as you fumble to cut off the chirping alarm, and then you groan. “Ugh." You bury your head into your crumpled pillow. And then, once more, with feeling: “Uggggggh.”

You roll around in your bed, thrashing a little like a child having a tantrum, before you flop on your back and stare at your ceiling with your limbs akimbo, a starfish.

“Why?” You whine out to no one in particular. “Why me?”

Fortunately you live alone, so there’s no one to witness your sulky behaviour.  You would put off getting all your errands done, but you’ve already been doing this for so long that you’re practically out of clean clothes to wear. That’s one part about living alone that’s a double-edged sword- you have your own space where you can act however you please, which is Great, but also you’re the only one responsible for keeping on top of things, which is Less Great. You can’t rely on other people to get things done for you.

You’ve never been a morning person, and the fact it’s so nice outside already does nothing to brighten your mood; it’s the perfect kind of day, the chilled bite to the air mellowed by the sun in the cloudless, pale sky, and you’re going to have to spend it indoors. Ugh. You eventually grit your teeth and pull yourself out of bed, waking yourself up with a cold shower. Once you force a cup of overly sweet coffee into your system and the caffeine hits you so that you’re fully awake and ready to go, the world suddenly feels a lot more bearable. So you’re unperturbed when your underwear drawer comes up practically empty.

“Oops,” you say. “Oh well.”

It’s practically empty, but not entirely; there, at the back, there’s that pretty lingerie set you’d bought on a whim in a sale and then promptly never worn. Honestly you’d be happy to go without, seeing as no one else is here and you have no one to look pretty for, but you find that you never get anything done if you’re not in a bra. It’s like a Pavlovian response that you've ingrained into yourself: when you get home, your bra comes straight off, no ifs, buts, or maybes. Bra off means it’s Relaxation Time. Bra on? That means it's time to get things done.

But, yeah, if you’re going to wear the bra, you may as well wear the matching thong, right? It came as a set so you’d basically be committing a crime if you didn’t wear them together. You take one moment to admire yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that to appreciate how it makes you look, before promptly ruining the illusion of sexiness by covering it up with a pair of old sweatpants and a too-large tank top. They're the only bits of clothing not in your laundry basket that you don't mind getting dirty while you clean, so, you have to make do.

The worst part about doing chores is getting the whole process started, but you’ve been doing this long enough that you have a routine. Bra on, hair up, mental checklist ready. You toddle through to the kitchen with your laundry basket, picking through for the colours and whites, feeling entirely too accomplished once you get the first load sorted. This kickstarts the whole chore procedure and once you get stuck in, you actually start to have fun; you’ve got your noise cancelling headphones on and your cleaning playlist is full of songs that get you pumped up, and you sing along to the music as you get started on your next job.

You wiggle your butt to the rhythm of the beat while you hoover, pushing your vacuum into the corners of your flat and ruthlessly sucking up the dust bunnies that have gathered there. You're in the middle of belting out one particularly long note when a spider scuttles out from under your sofa and the note rises into a little scream; you act on pure instinct and suck the spider up into the hoover, watching as all the long hairy legs fold together and get schlorped into the vacuum’s nozzle before disappearing forever. You feel immediately relieved but also immensely guilty when this happens- spiders are awful and you hate them but usually you’d try your best to catch them under a cup before flinging it outside, so the fact you’ve maybe just killed it? You really are just awful. (But thank God it’s gone.)

Maybe that's enough hoovering for now.

You empty the dust bag into the bin, mindful of the fact that the spider might still be alive and come crawling out onto your hands. Thankfully it doesn’t, but you’re not going to take any chances; you draw the bin liner shut and tie it tight, before deciding that the best course of action is to put it into your outside bin, in case the spider decides to come back with a vengeance. 

You hoist the bag up and pause for a second to glance down at how the straps of your too-loose top have slipped down your shoulders to reveal the top of bra, the intricate lace trim of the cups and extra straps that criss cross your chest- definitely an, uh, interesting outfit choice for a quick trip out of your flat. You make the executive decision to shrug on a hoodie and zip it all the way to your neck to preserve your modesty and save you from the chill outside. Once that’s done it takes two seconds to slip your feet into your (fake) Converse shoes, another few seconds to fiddle with the lock on your door, struggling with the latch- it’s been a bit janky for a while and you keep forgetting to sort it out- before you hop your way downstairs and  to the outside shed where everyone's bins are stored.

Ewch. It doesn’t smell that great in here. You make quick work of dumping your rubbish and escaping from the hut, shutting the door firmly behind you to try and keep the stench locked inside, before almost falling over when you feel the telltale sensation of a cat curling around your ankles. He’s meowing up at you but your headphones have been drowning him out, so you slide them off your ears and hook them around your neck so you can actually hear him.

"Oh, hi, baby!" The ginger stray likes to hang nearby the building, always friendly and happy to see you, even if he seems to like sneaking up when you least expect it. He meows at you again as you squat down to stroke him, butting his head into your palm as his tail curls in delight. "Aren't you just the most gorgeous boy? Yes, you are, aren't you?"

The cat ends up putting his paws onto your knee to butt his face against yours, and the next thing you know, you have an armful of cat. You laugh and continue to pet him, cooing at how cute he is as he purrs back. "Awh, baby, you're so sweet," you say. "I wish I could take you home, but my meanie landlord says we can't have pets."

“I was thinking of starting a petition, actually, so the landlord gets rid of the No Pets clause in the tenancy agreement. You’re welcome to sign it if you like.”

You glance up from where you’ve been allowing the cat to shove his nose against your chin, standing up straight to address the man who’s talking to you, cat still clutched in your arms. “Oh! Hi, Namjoon-ssi. That’s such a good idea, I love that. Stick it to the man. I’d definitely sign it. How are you today?”

Kim Namjoon, aka your neighbour from across the hall, is smiling at the cat in your arms. Namjoon’s the perfect neighbour and ideal tenant- quiet, tidy, considerate, although he does have a tendency to lose his keys and gets locked out of his flat on a pretty regular basis. 

It’s actually how you’d started to talk in the first place. When you first moved in you’d given him a small box of chocolates to endear yourself to your same-floor-friend, only exchanging small nods and pleasant greetings for a while after that, but after you’d found Namjoon waiting sheepishly on his own doorstep- “My friend has a key but it’s going to take him a little while to get here,” he’d explained- you’d invited him into your own flat to wait, rather than just in the hall. 

Since then you’ve started to have chats whenever you see each other, and occasionally knock on each other’s doors whenever you ask to borrow things like sugar or a screwdriver or whatever, and you always invite Namjoon in for a cup of tea when he’s waiting for one of his friends to rescue him from his own forgetful nature. You’re still toeing the line between Friendly Neighbours and Kind Of Friends, but one thing you already know and admire about Namjoon is his ability to actually be a mature and put together adult. Sure, you drink a decent amount of water, you have a skincare routine with multiple steps, and you usually manage to eat your 5-a-day, but a lot of that feels like you do it because you’re expected to, sort of like a child playing make-believe. 

Namjoon, meanwhile, manages to just ooze the sort of gravitas that comes with being a fully realised human being, someone who actively participates in the world around them because they’re entirely engaged with things and basically just Super Mature Adult (even if he apparently loses/breaks things on a fairly regular basis). Hence why you’re not at all surprised at the petition thing, or when Namjoon proceeds to tell you that he’s going to spend the afternoon at his friend’s uncle’s strawberry farm, picking fruit, because of course Namjoon is the kind of guy who supports local, organic, free range produce. (Wait. Can strawberries be free range? Or is that just eggs?)

“Ahh, I love strawberries! That’s so cool,” you say. “It must be fun.”

“You’re welcome to come, if you like,” Namjoon says. He’s always gracious so you know he’s just saying this to be polite, but you can’t help but think it would probably be really nice to spend time picking fruit and talking with him.

“Ah, I’d love to, but unfortunately I have prior commitments. I’m catching up on chores,” you admit ruefully. You’re still absently scritching the ginger cat’s chin as you speak, the animal purring up a storm in your arms and shedding all over your clothes, although you don’t notice or care. Namjoon is incredibly endeared- not that you notice that, either. “Hence the runway-ready outfit.”

Your hair is so messy it looks like some sort of wild possum has been nesting in it, your hoodie sleeves are so long they threaten to swallow your hands, and you’re not even wearing your cheap knock-off shoes properly- you’re stepping on the back collar of them in your bare feet so they’re basically glorified flip-flops at this point. Total fashionista. (Not.)

Namjoon, however, seems surprised at your dismissive tone. “You look cute and cozy,” he says.

You snort in an unladylike way, lifting the cat in your arms a little- you can’t gesture properly with an armful of fur, especially when the stray takes this as an invitation to crane upwards and shove his little face into the crook of your neck, knocking against your headphones. “Cute baby,” you coo at the cat, before turning your attention back to Namjoon. “You look cute and cozy,” you echo. It’s a little chilly today and Namjoon’s wrapped up, long scarf curled around his neck, beanie on his head, hem of his coat fluttering around his thighs. Super cozy, and again, a well-put-together adult. 

You muffle a sigh. He’s a well-put-together and hot adult, tall and built, so handsome in his casual outfit, effortlessly masculine. You’ve been lowkey crushing on Namjoon for a while now, as futile as that effort is- you haven’t seen any evidence of a special someone in Namjoon’s life, but there’s no way that man is single. Even if he somehow is, he’s like, a bajillion light years out of your league, hyper intelligent and kind and gorgeous, in comparison to your… um… your… well. Yeah. In comparison to that. 

He’s nice to you and he smiles whenever he sees you, though, and your weak little heart can’t help but flip flop in your chest whenever you see that dimpled little smile, even if you know you don’t have a chance in hell that he really thinks that you’re cute. He’s just being polite. 

The cat in your arms gives a little wriggle, apparently sated for the day, and you carefully squat down to deposit him onto the ground. He gives you both one last little mewl before scampering off and you fondly watch him go. “Let me know when you have that petition written up,” you say, brushing the cat hairs off your sleeves. “I better get back to my flat, I need to finish the rest of my laundry so I can continue the facade of being a functional adult. Have a great day, Namjoon-ssi, and I hope you enjoy the strawberries! You’ll have to tell me how they are.”

“I will,” he says, eyes warm as he smiles, those little dimples appearing in his cheeks. Ugh, you want to touch them so much. “Good luck with your laundry.”

Namjoon’s beautiful smile fuels you for the rest of the day, buoying you up as you scrub the walls of your shower and bleach your toilet, bright yellow gloves a size too large for your hands as you spritz your bathroom counter. You might not be a legitimate adult in the same way that your neighbour is but you can give it a damn good go; even if the rest of your life is maybe a bit more chaotic than you’d like, you can at least get your surroundings in order.

And you do. By the time you’re finished with hoovering and mopping your floors and reorganising your clutter, your flat feels brand-spanking new again, fresh and clean and airy. You’d even lit a few scented candles earlier and you give yourself a pat on the back for your forward thinking as you snuff them out, the delicate smell of vanilla lightly filling the apartment. All that’s left is to go to the kitchen and put the final load of laundry in the tumble dryer and once that’s been emptied and sorted, you’re all finished. Mission accomplished. Chores done.

Once the tumble dryer has started its cycle you reward yourself with a cup of tea, a blackcurrant and blueberry fruit infusion that you’d gotten as a Secret Santa gift at work and hadn’t used yet, saving it for a special occasion. You hum to yourself and continue to wiggle your hips to the music trickling out of your headphones as the kettle boils, watching the purple that bleeds from the tea bag once the hot water cascades over it. It looks rich and vibrant and it smells so good- but then you make a little face when you take a sip. Fruit teas never taste as good as they smell. It’s not bad but it’s a little disappointing, really, a subpar reward after a hard day of work. 

You stand in the middle of your kitchen with your mug still in your hand, eyes unfocused as you stare into space, trying to think of things in your flat that you could use to reward yourself. You’ve already used up those fancy gel eye masks that Jimin had given you for your birthday, and you’d let Jungkook have your sheet masks when he’d said his favourite brand was out of stock; Taehyung had pilfered all of your bath bombs as part of an experiment (the experiment being that he wanted to know what colour his bath water would turn if he used all your different bath bombs in it- the answer was ‘an incredibly underwhelming, if glittery, sludge brown’), and he still hasn’t gotten around to replacing them.

Pay day isn’t until next week and you’re tight enough on money at the moment that you don’t want to order out for dinner- living alone means you have to pay more rent so you have to be more careful with money- so you’re out of ideas. 

That is until motion out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. You glance over at it, pulled out of your reverie; the old tumble dryer has been in this flat longer than you and it’s showing signs of wear and tear, base warped a little from age, noisy and wobbly as your clothes are being spun inside. You pause, mug dropping a little in your hand as the thought briefly flickers through your mind, before you bite your lip and throw caution to the wind. Fuck it. You live alone and you’ve had a long day and you deserve some kind of reward. 

You abandon your unfinished mug of tea in the sink before eyeing the shaking tumble dryer. You hoist yourself up, straddling the corner of the machine, a little shiver running through you when you feel the vibrations through your legs and thighs as you settle into place; it takes time to situate yourself, thighs spreading as you tilt your hips forward and press your heat against the rumbling dryer. You shift on your hands, palms braced against the top of the machine as you wriggle into the best position- the second you get just the right angle you let out a little gasp, eyes squeezing shut when you feel how the shaking machine is sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

You keep your eyes shut as you continue to find the right rhythm. You rock your hips forward each time the machine rocks back, rolling the weight of your body down towards your clenching cunt; the vibrations are so strong that you can feel them through your sweatpants, lace of your thong rubbing against your clit in a deliciously rough way, sending little shockwaves of pleasure through you.

As you continue to work yourself up, your skin starts to feel overheated under your clothes, even with the chill spring air seeping into the flat- you fumble with the zip of hoodie, letting the material sag open before you brace yourself with your palms again. You feel how the hoodie slips down your arms, baring your shoulders, and you tilt your head back, revealing the line of your neck as you arch your spine. Each rumble of the machine rolls through you, wetness starting to slicken your folds as you grind down a little harder. It’s a steady, slow climb towards your peak- you shut your eyes to focus fully on the pleasure building between your legs, the way your clit feels swollen and almost over-sensitive from the strong vibrations from the dryer, the way your pussy clenches whenever you get the angle just right.

You start to gasp, biting back moans when you feel how your orgasm is getting closer. You lift one hand from the top of the dryer to run your hands over your skin- your neck, your throat, tracing over the straps of the bra that are digging into the swell of your breasts. It’s good, really good, but it’s not enough; every time you feel like the peak of your orgasm is about to crest, it ebbs away again, and you let out a little whine from the back of your throat. 

With your eyes still shut, you try to conjure up images that’ll arouse you and send you tumbling over the edge. Hands on your body, lips against your skin, your mouth. Normally when you masturbate you try to keep away from thinking about anyone in particular, because you feel like if you see that person in the future they’ll just telepathically know about it and you end up feeling awkward and guilty (even if you know it's illogical)- but today you can’t help it. Your mind slips to the thought of Namjoon this morning and the way he’d smiled at you, and once you start thinking about Namjoon, you can’t stop. 

Namjoon’s smile. His mouth. His tongue. His hands, his fingers. His tall, beautiful body, pressing you down against a mattress, trapping you against him. You take the hand that’s been trailing over your collarbones and lift it to your mouth and press two fingers past your lips, trying to imagine that it’s Namjoon. Imagine that it’s the weight of his cock on your tongue, hard and heavy. You bet it’s as gorgeous as the rest of him. You bet he tastes so good, hot and salt and maybe a little bitter, heady and masculine; you let out a low moan around your lips as you run the pads of your fingertips over your tongue, saliva pooling in your mouth.

All the while, your music has been playing on, heavy beat thrumming through you as you forget the outside world and focus on the reality you’re conjuring in your mind. Namjoon’s cock in your mouth. Namjoon’s mouth on your cunt. Namjoon’s skin against yours. Namjoon fucking into you, hard and deep. Your blood rises in your veins, toes curling as you can feel how your orgasm is getting ever closer now that you’re this turned on, your cunt leaking with arousal; the thought of Namjoon wanting you as much as you want him is dizzying, as unlikely as it is. The Namjoon in your mind fucks into you with a particularly rough thrust and in the real world you respond with a moan, garbled around the fingers between your lips. Fuck, you’re so close. 

Just as you're nearly there, your playlist ends and everything lapses into silence, your reverie shattered. The moment is gone. Your orgasm slips away from you again and you whimper, unintentionally edging yourself yet again. 

Your eyes flutter open briefly when your haze is broken, although you squeeze them back shut so that you can get back to picturing Namjoon and finally bring yourself to completion- but then your eyes fly open again, fingers stuttering in your mouth and hips going still as your entire body stiffens, blood turning to ice in your veins.

The very real Kim Namjoon is standing in the doorway of your kitchen. There’s a look of utter shock on his face, his lips parted, eyes so wide it looks like his eyeballs are going to pop out of his skull, frozen in place. You don’t know how long he’s been there. You don’t know if he’s just walked in on you. Really, though, it doesn’t matter if he’s been there for five seconds or five hours- he’s seen everything, the way there’s saliva dripping from your mouth around your fingers, tank top barely hiding your lingerie, the way you’ve been bucking your hips against the dryer. Utterly desperate and debauched and depraved. 

There’s a small, white plastic bag in Namjoon’s hands with a pretty strawberry logo on it, drooping further and further towards the floor as his arms go slack. You don’t notice it until it’s slipping loose from his fingers and landing on the floor. 

Berries go rolling out of the sagged plastic and across the tiles but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice. That single point of motion in the room seems to kickstart your brain into gear, your flight or fight response screaming flight, and you practically throw yourself off the tumble dryer. Your brain is entirely empty of logical thought right now and the only thing you can think of is that you need to get away and hide forever. 

You rush past a still frozen Namjoon, stumbling down your hallway towards your open front door- you notice that the latch is stuck, not clicking into place when you’d come back inside earlier and leaving the door unlocked, you idiot. Namjoon always knocks and it must have swung open as soon as he rapped his knuckles against it, and you wouldn’t have heard it over your goddamn music. You absolute, utter idiot.

You’re not thinking about how illogical it is to flee from your own home to get away from someone. You’re just thinking about your escape. Taehyung’s flat is the nearest and it won’t take long to run there and you can survive without shoes; you’re still barefoot but you don’t have time to grab anything. You have to run. 

You’re just stretching out for the door when you feel large hands grab you from behind. You flail, door swinging shut as your fingers brush against it before you’re being pulled backwards by the arms that have slid around your waist. You start to struggle, squirming in the hold, pushing at the hands trapping you as you instinctively still try to get away from the shame and embarrassment; Namjoon’s body is warm and solid against your back, his muscles effectively trapping you in place, and you can feel how his voice rumbles through him as he speaks, audible through the silence of your headphones.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

You’ve never heard Kim Namjoon sound like this. His voice is authoritative, commanding. The part of your brain that acts on pure instinct- the part that just told you to go hurtling out onto the street without shoes- responds instantly, and you immediately go lax in his hold even though you’re still internally panicking.

“I was planning on going to the moon,” you say, unable to cover up how your voice is shaking, even if you’re trying to hide behind sarcasm. It’s your only defence right now. Your skin prickles with embarrassment. “Where else do you think?”

Namjoon lets out a chuckle, and your toes curl at how deep the sound is. “The mouth on you.” He sounds amused. You can’t look him in the eye. “Were you trying to get away from me?”

“‘Trying’ is the operative word.” You’re still staring resolutely at the door- it’s swung shut and the latch has actually clicked upwards this time. Traitor.  “As you can tell, I’m not doing a very good job. The sooner I go, the sooner I get the paperwork started for my move to Fiji.”

“I thought you were planning on going to the moon.” Namjoon’s hold on you is still firm. You’re utterly helpless. “Changed your mind?”

“Going to open a diner in Fiji to raise funds for my moon mission. It’s a long plan.” The spike of adrenaline that had burst through you is already dissolving in your system, leaving you feeling limp and strung out. You can’t see Namjoon’s face with how your back is crushed against his chest; when you glance down all you can see is how big his hands are against your stomach. Despite yourself, you shiver. As panicked and embarrassed as you are, arousal is still trickling through you, and you hate yourself for the effect that Namjoon is having on you right now. You try to sound calm and unaffected as you continue to speak, but you feel breathless from the lingering pleasure tingling between your legs. “Can you let me go now, please?”

“Is that really what you want?” You’ve had your hands on his wrists from how you’d been trying to push them away, so you feel how one of Namjoon’s hands starts to slide downwards, slow as treacle, and your breath hitches as his fingers slide under the waistband of your sweatpants. They don’t go any further than that, palm splayed over your hipbone, but you feel your pussy clench at the warmth of his hands on your skin and a whimper slips out of you. “Or do you actually want something else?”

Your fingers dig into his wrists. When you open your mouth to reply, your words fail you and instead you just let out a little breath.  You’re in utter disbelief at what’s happening right now, unsure of what’s going on- you’re not an idiot but there is no way that Namjoon is implying what you think he’s implying. Absolutely no way. Not a chance in hell. What?

As you continue to stay silent, brain trying to catch up with the situation, Namjoon doesn’t move.

“Use your words, baby,” he murmurs. “I need to know that you want this.”

Oh, fuck. When Namjoon calls you baby it feels like a switch has been flipped inside you; like he’s slipped a missing fuse into place and your entire body has lit up, full of energy and electricity from his touch. It’s overwhelming. “Of course I want this,” you confirm, trembling, and then: “I want you.”

Namjoon responds by finally moving his hand downwards. You watch as it goes, how he pauses when he makes contact with the fabric of your underwear, the unmistakable texture of embroidered lace under his touch. He drags his fingertips across the straps that cross over themselves, an arrow guiding him to his mark; your entire body goes tense when his fingers glance over your swollen folds, slick through the fabric.

You gasp. You’re still trapped against him by the strong arm curled around you, but your hands are free- you pull your headphones off and let them fall to the floor, twisting your head around so you can finally look at Namjoon’s face. His eyes are hooded and dark. He looks nothing like the cute and clumsy man who waves you good morning every day; he looks like some hungry animal, a predator who’s been waiting for the right time to swallow his prey whole.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. He gives you a small smile that’s more of a smirk, utterly at odds to his usual dimpled beams.

“You don’t have to settle for an old tumble dryer, gorgeous.” He kisses the bare skin of your shoulder, right next to where your bra strap is resting, eyes locked on yours. His lips are so soft and you shiver. “Let me help you.”

“I’ll have you know that tumble dryer was very close to getting me off, actually.” You’re so turned on right now but you can’t help the words slipping out; a lifetime of snark doesn’t leave you the second you start feeling horny. “So it’s less you helping me, and more you giving me something you owe me, seeing as you took it away in the first place.”

Namjoon’s silent for a second, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far- if you’ve run your mouth too much- when he hums. “Ah,” he says. “That’s true. You’re right.”

“Huh?” You say eloquently, surprised, but then he takes the hand out of your sweatpants and you whine. “Hey, put that back, you’re not done yet.”

Namjoon lets out a little chuckle. “No, I’m not,” he agrees. “But I want to see this pretty lingerie properly. You’re all covered up and that just won’t do.”  

He punctuates this statement by taking both of his hands to your hoodie, where it’s been caught at your elbows, and sliding it off you. He drags his large palms down your arms as he does this, cool against your overheated skin; goosebumps appear in the wake of his touch and you shiver again. You have no idea what's going on right now. Everything feels like some sort of fever dream but you're not about to start complaining.

“If you’re about to see me in my unmentionables I’d least like a kiss first,” you say, pout audible in your voice. The truth is you’ve thought about Namjoon’s plush lips more often than you’d like to admit, how beautiful his mouth is, and it’s got to be illegal for Namjoon to have been touching you for as long as he has without letting you have at least one taste of his kisses. “Please?”

“Turn around, baby.” You instantly comply, all but throwing your arms around his neck as you look at him with an innocent, bambi gaze; he still has that half-lidded set to his eyes but you can see how that ravenous hunger is softened by his smile. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you say. You might sound like the protagonist to some cheesy romance film right now but the truth is that you’re still aware of the heat between your legs, the ebbed arousal that’s still coiling low in your stomach, and as much as you want to kiss Namjoon, you want to cum, too. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss m-”

Namjoon kisses you. He cuts you off mid sentence by slotting his mouth against yours, open around the word he swallows, and he immediately presses his tongue past your lips; you yield to him, letting him press his lips to your cupid’s bow as you lick his lower lip, soft and full. Just as good as you thought. No- better. His hands stay steady around your waist, but yours keep moving as you keep kissing- his shoulders, his nape, his hair, his jaw. Every part of him is so warm and solid against you and you just can’t get enough.

You slant your head to get deeper, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths in a way that borders on lewd, rubbing against each other as you trade saliva, your mouth full of the taste of Namjoon. You swear there’s a lingering taste of strawberries. You feel better, a little more in control now that you know Namjoon will indulge you even if you’re being a brat, and you can finally chase the thing that got this whole sequence of events started.

“I wanna cum, Namjoon,” you murmur against his lips once you finally part, breathless from his kisses. “Will you help me cum? Please? Pretty please?”

Namjoon’s lip curls back from his teeth in a silent growl, and a shudder runs through you at the sight; seeing your usually composed neighbour act like this because of you is a heady sensation. “You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you,” he says, and your pussy throbs with need at his words.

“Jesus Christ, Namjoon.” Your eyes are wild. “I want you to fucking wreck me.”

You get no warning before Namjoon is literally sweeping you off your feet and you squeal in surprise when you feel them leave the ground, but Namjoon’s grip on you is steady as he lifts you in a bridal hold. You feel breathless at this physical representation of his strength- you’ve only seen his bare arms once (that had been a nice morning) before but you definitely hadn’t forgotten about how thick they are, as evidenced by the way he’s carrying you. 

Normally you’d probably be chewing him out for lifting you without warning, but right now there’s a very base, animalistic part of you that goes belly up at the very obvious reminder of Namjoon’s superior power. The instinctual part of you that had initially told you to run away from him now seems entirely content with the fact you’ve been caught, and so you stay quiet in his arms. You cling tight to him as he walks to your bedroom without the need for directions, your flat the mirrored twin to his; you keep kissing his neck as he nudges the door open with his foot, running a hand down his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. 

He’s so fucking hot, what the fuck.

He’s hot, and strong, but gentle, too. When Namjoon sets you down he’s so careful even though he could easily manhandle you in any way he wanted, and you give him a kiss as a thank you. It’s a brief moment of quiet, that little kiss, but then Namjoon is pulling you back towards him and his hands are all over as he helps you strip; Namjoon’s eyes are heavy on your body as he drinks you in, finally wearing nothing but the lingerie he’s been so desperate to look at.

He sees the way the interweaving straps rest against your skin with the perfect amount of pressure, little swells letting him know that he’ll be able to trace the touch of lace on your body even after he’s ripped it off you. The lace cups of your bra do nothing to hide how your nipples are standing to attention, begging to be touched. But the most eye-catching thing, the thing that Namjoon can’t stop looking at, is how sodden the lace between your legs is; your inner thighs are slick with your arousal, shining, and you haven’t even cum yet. 

“Look at you. So gorgeous,” Namjoon says. “Gonna make you cum over and over, baby.”

His hands feel so good against your skin as he skims his fingers over your panties, but he doesn’t take them off, and you let out a needy little noise. “Please,” you whine. “I need to cum, Joonie, been waiting so long.”

Namjoon watches as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra and reaches for your hands, stopping your motions. You blink up at him, confused, but then he’s turning you towards the bed and bending you over it, motions firm and undeniable; not that you would try to defy him, anyway. You brace your palms against the mattress and instantly arch your spine so that your ass is pushed out, enticing as possible.

You’re wondering if you’re going to have to beg for Namjoon to touch you but it seems what little patience he had has run out; his warm palms are immediately against your ass, touch reverent as he slides his hands over your skin, and you press back into that touch, wanting more of it. His hands skim up your sides and his fingers dance along the edge of your bra before reaching for the hooks, unfastening it so that it slips down your arms and onto the bed before you shove it aside. 

He bends over you, chest broad and warm against your naked shoulderblades, arms coming around your body so that he can cup your breasts in his large hands; his palms cover so much of your skin, your sensitive nipples, and you gasp at the shock of sensation that shoots through you as he drags his hands over them before using his fingers to pinch the hardened nubs. You twist your head and make a little noise, and Namjoon obliges you with a kiss, grinning against your mouth with each desperate sound he muffles with his plush lips.

Eventually, though, he pulls away from you. You glance over your shoulder to see that he’s gotten to his knees, still staring at your soaking core, before he hooks one of his thumbs into the fabric covering your aching pussy and pulls it aside before pressing his mouth against you.

“Oh, fuck!” Your body goes weak and you slump forwards onto your elbows and shove your face into the bed, and Namjoon follows when this moves you away from him, tongue buried in your cunt as he eats you out with no mercy. He’s utterly shameless, noises slick and lewd as he drags his wet tongue over your entrance and clit, swallowing down all the arousal that’s leaking out of you, ravenous. You reach behind you with one of your hands to grip his hair, and when you grind back against his face he lets out a satisfied hum; you gasp at the vibrations against your lower lips, oversensitive from all your edging.

“Gonna cum,” you say, twisting your head so that your cheek is pressed to your rumpled blanket. “I’m so close, oh, God, Namjoon-”

He’s been rubbing his tongue up and down your clit in a particularly sinful way, and after one more particularly hard stroke, you finally, finally reach that precipice you’ve been reaching for all day. You shove your face back into the blanket as you cum, all your gasps and moans coming together in one long cry as your toes curl and you tighten your fingers so hard into your sheets you almost pull them off the mattress. Your entire body trembles as your cunt pulsates with pleasure, each ripple of your pussy feeling like it’s passing through your whole body, and Namjoon doesn’t let up for a second, lapping down each wave of cum that flushes out of you. You feel utterly weak as you flop forwards against the mattress, boneless and shaky, but Namjoon’s mouth is still on you and you let out a whimper, oversensitive.

“It’s too much,” you gasp. “Namjoon-”

He takes his mouth off you immediately. “Sorry, baby,” he apologises, pressing a kiss against the swell of your ass. You want to sag your lower body against the bed but his hands are keeping you up, fingers digging into the soft skin of your ass and hips. “You just taste so good. Can you lie down for me?”

“Yes,” you say into the blanket, your voice a muffled slur. You’re so eager to please him even though you feel so weak from your post orgasm haze, and your muscles feel like jelly as you try to lift yourself onto the bed. Namjoon obviously notices how fucked out you are because he helps flip you over so that you’re on your back, staring up at him.

You continue to stare at him as he sheds his clothes. You let your gaze shamelessly rove over his body as it’s revealed- the honeyed tone of his skin, the muscles that shift underneath it, his shoulders, his arms, his chest, the long legs, the thick thighs, the trail of hair that dips down to his-

“Holy fuck.” Your voice is reedy with desperation, and Namjoon laughs.

His cock has to be the biggest you’ve seen in real life, long and thick, fully erect even though you haven’t touched it yet- the fact that you’re apparently arousing enough to bring him to full hardness is flattering, honestly. Even as you stare at it, it twitches, a dribble of precum oozing from the flushed head, almost an angry red from neglect. You watch, enraptured, as he circles his fingers around it; it doesn’t look any smaller in his large hands. He pulls on his cock, long and slow, before he spits onto it and fucks into his fist as you watch him, spreading the wetness over himself.

“Gonna fill that hungry little pussy with this cock,” he says. “Gonna give you a reward for being such a good girl. Is that what you want?” Namjoon watches you as he thumbs at his slit, precum weeping from his tip. “Does my good girl want this cock?”

“I want it,” you beg. You do, you want it so bad. His mouth and lips and tongue felt so good but it must be nothing in comparison to how good it’ll feel to be filled up  by Namjoon’s heavy, long cock. “Fuck, Namjoon, please, I want it.”

You lift your hips so that Namjoon can slide your panties off you. He stares at the strings of wetness that cling to them as he peels them away from your core, finally bare to the cool air of the room, and you suck in a breath. He wastes no time, climbing onto the bed and settling above you, cock swaying between his legs before he grasps it and tilts it towards your entrance. 

You lift your hips again, tilting them towards him for an easier angle- and immediately cry out when he broaches you, head pressing past your entrance. You’re so turned on and flushed wet that the initial slide in is easy, but as he gets deeper and deeper you can feel the stretch, your pussy forced open for him, feeling like you’re being split open with how big he is- you’ll feel the burn tomorrow, but right now your body is ripe and ready for him to take you, cunt clenching as he bottoms out in you. You experimentally tense your muscles and the two of you gasp in a breath, shocked pleasure at the sensation.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon groans. “You feel so good.”

He holds still for a moment to let you adjust, leaning down to kiss you. It’s deep and slow, tongue swiping into your mouth as you part your lips for him and let him take what he wants. When he leans back, all that softness is gone- your legs fall apart as he starts to fuck you, hips snapping forward as he ruthlessly presses his cock into you. He’s so big and he’s striking so deep it feels like you can feel him in your stomach, and you arch your back into him and cry out each time he strikes home.

The pace he sets is rough and aggressive, the slap of skin against skin and wet noises from his cock driving into your pussy filling the silence of the room, every part of you hypersensitive to every sensation- Namjoon’s weight pressing you into the mattress, the shaking bed, the rising smell of sweat and sex, the firmness of his hands on you. He leans back and you catch a glimpse of his hungry eyes before he puts his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up so that you’re practically bent in half when he fucks into you again- you cry out at the change of angle, how this lets him splay his large hand over the line of your hipbone as he starts to rub his thumb across your clit, continuing to fuck into the whole time.

“Gonna c-cum again,” you hiccup between thrusts, the air punched out of you each time that hot cock spears into you. “Joonie, gonna- gonna cum aga- oh!”

Your spine arches as your orgasm rips through you, coil of pleasure exploding like a firework as you cum for the second time that day, walls tensing around Namjoon’s cock; he continues to thrust into you, even when your cunt clenches so tight it feels like there’s no space inside you for his length. He keeps forcing your body open for him even as you keep falling apart around him, and you keep taking it, loving it. The only thing you can register is the delirious, mind-numbing satisfaction, sobbing out as Namjoon’s cock continues to fill you- you feel like he’s fucked you dumb, like your body was only made to be fucked by him, sloppy and open and wet. Each time he fills you up again it forces a noise from your throat, sounds of almost animalistic pleasure spilling from your lips, all semblance of coherent words gone.

When Namjoon pulls out of you, even though your body feels weak and limp and entirely fucked out, you whine at the loss. The next second, though, he flips you over, nudging your ankles apart before sliding back into you. The change of angle has him dragging against your sweet spot, balls slapping against your clit, overwhelming off the heels of just cumming, but you just take it, drooling into the pillow as your brain gives over to the all-consuming pleasure.

“So pretty when you cum around my cock.” Namjoon’s bent over you, murmuring praises that you barely register as he litters kisses over your shoulders and the side of your throat. “Greedy little pussy takes my cock so well. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Wanna be a good girl for you.” Your words are a slur, your brain foggy but eager to please, answering the question. “Joonie.”

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he says, lips pressed against your ear as he whispers filth to you, still mercilessly fucking into you. “Gonna fill this pretty little pussy with my cum. Do you want my cum, baby?”

“Wan’ it,” you moan. There’s heat curling in your abdomen again, pussy tightening as another orgasm creeps up on you, the promise of Namjoon’s hot cum filling you pulling you closer to the edge. “Want your cum, Joonie.”

His fingers tighten around your waist as he starts to jackhammer into you. His cock feels like it’s splitting you open even as his rhythm starts to falter, and after one particularly hard thrust your eyes roll back in your head as you tumble over the edge again, cumming so hard it’s a wonder you don’t pass out. You let out a strangled moan and Namjoon curses as you tighten around him, your entire body trembling under his hands as you give yourself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through you. 

His rhythm falters before he lets out a shout and his cock jerks inside you as your tightening cunt pulls him into climax. Hot cum fills your pussy as he empties himself inside you, aftershocks of your orgasm drawing his seed deeper, painting your insides. You lie there and take it, face turned into the pillow as you focus on the sensation of his twitching cock, the way your body is milking him even in your exhaustion, like it’s desperate to satisfy him even when you can barely speak.

You shiver when you feel him slowly pull out. He’s stroking his hands over your skin, kissing your shoulder blades and nape as he turns you over, gentle as he touches you. “You did so well,” Namjoon praises, smiling at you. “So good for me.”

You still feel fuzzy but you latch onto Namjoon’s words as he kisses you on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. Words seem so hard to string together right now but you try your best, voice small and weak. “Did good?”

“Absolutely perfect, baby,” Namjoon says, and you let out a happy sigh. You stay quiet while Namjoon slips out of your bed before returning with a damp cloth. You let your muscles go entirely lax as Namjoon rolls you onto your back and gently spreads your legs; he watches as his own cum drips out of you before he gently swipes the mix of cum that’s smeared across your pussy, mindful of your sensitive clit. You bask in his touch, feeling like a cat bathing in sunlight as he cleans you up, stroking his hands across your skin.

He gathers you in his arms and continues to murmur praises between kisses and touches. You slowly come back to yourself as he keeps lavishing attention on you, skin warm against his, turning into his touch as your brain starts to flicker back on. 

Namjoon brushes his lips against your forehead as your higher thought processes continue to fall back into place, although you’re still a little hazy. “You okay, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah.” You feel thoroughly fucked out after three back-to-back orgasms and your pussy feels raw and you’re not sure when you’ll next be able to walk in a straight line, but none of those things detract from how fabulous you feel right now. “More than okay. Wow. When I said I wanted you to wreck me, I didn’t realise you’d do such a good job.”

Namjoon smiles at you, and you finally get to indulge yourself, lifting a hand to stroke a finger across his dimples that deepen as you touch them. “I’m always happy to oblige,” he says, and you grin as you brush your nose across his neck, nuzzling into him.

“You really are the best neighbour,” you say. “Did you seriously come over to give me a bunch of hand picked strawberries? That’s what that bag was, right?”

“Of course.” Namjoon’s fingers continue to rub circles into your shoulder. “I thought you deserved a nice treat after a day of chores.”

“Oh, I feel very thoroughly rewarded,” you giggle, before pulling your head back to look Namjoon in the eye. “God. I was so mortified at the beginning, though. I seriously thought I was going to have to pack my bags and move away.”

“The strawberries wouldn’t be enough to persuade you to stay?” Namjoon strokes his knuckles down your cheek before resting his thumb under the swell of your bottom lip, pushing up a little so it looks like you’re pouting at him. “After I spent all afternoon picking them and thinking about you, and how lovely you’d look while you ate them with this pretty little mouth of yours?”

You relax into his touch, letting him rub the pad of his thumb over your lip, all but kissing his finger each time your mouth shapes itself around another word. “You think about me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Namjoon says, stroking over your lip one last time before cupping your chin in his palm.  “I don’t genuinely lose my keys as often as you think I do. Though I do still lose them a lot,” he adds, a little sheepish, and you laugh.

“So you’re saying that if I give you a spare key to my flat, I should have back-ups on hand just in case?” You tease, leaning into the hand that’s cradling your chin. “Good to know.”

“A spare key?” Namjoon looks a little taken aback, and you blink at him.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s obvious. “Y’know, unless you want me to go back to using the tumble dryer.”

The hand that’s been on your shoulder tightens a little as Namjoon digs his fingers into your skin, possessive. That part of you that’s gone belly up for him preens at the attention, still eager to please him and make him happy, loving the sensation of being so desired by someone who you thought was out of your reach. “No.” Namjoon’s voice is a rumble in his chest. “I’ll make you cum whenever you want, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You hum quietly before kissing his cheek, and then Namjoon uses the hand under your chin to turn you towards him and presses his mouth softly to yours. “You might regret saying that. I’m very demanding. Starting with this- do you want to go get those strawberries so I can have a taste?” You flutter your lashes at him, and Namjoon chuckles as he indulges you. 

You watch the flex of muscles in his thighs and ass as he walks from the room, still in a bit of disbelief that you’ve touched him and kissed him and been so thoroughly fucked by him. Kim Namjoon is a ten course meal (not including drinks or dessert) but here he is, naked on your bed as he feeds you the sweet, ripe strawberries that he picked with his own hands, kissing the taste off your lips between each bite.

You feel utterly pampered and taken care of, reclining against the pillows as Namjoon feeds you another strawberry. You reach out for the largest you can see and return the favour, letting him lick the sweetness off your stained fingers and giggling at the sensation. 

“The dryer’s finished its cycle, by the way,” Namjoon says after he’s finished kissing your fingertips.

“That’s nice,” you say as you carefully pick out another strawberry and rest it against the dark red flush of Namjoon’s lips. “But I’m busy feeding the world’s most beautiful man right now, so it can wait.”

Namjoon smiles at you, eyes lovely and warm as he parts his lips to accept the fruit, before leaning down to press his berry stained mouth against your own.

[writinglizards]

17 for the pining ask <3<3 love your writing btw

Ahhhh, thank you! I'm gonna be the first to say this is...probably not what was meant by "Pining in an arranged marriage" but this is the idea that presented itself, so I hope it works for you anyway!

Warnings: we're Big Sad tonight, yall. There is no happy ending.

"Do not disappoint us, Julian," his father growls as they stand ready to receive their guests--Jaskier's soon-to-be wife and her family. Viscount de Lettenhove might as well be asking him to remove his right hand for all the good the demand will do him.

Jaskier knows he's a sight--hair overly tousled from fingers run through it, eyes rimmed in red, cheeks splotchy. He's done a poor job concealing his crying fit, he knows.

Still, he stands at attention, hands clasped at his front as the woman and her family arrive and he is introduced to them, one by one. No one pays him any special attention beyond the initial greetings, even his bride-to-be and that's...that's fine. He doesn't want to marry the baron's daughter. He wants...

There's a warm hand on the small of his back, an improper touch his father would have a conniption about.

"Okay?" Geralt asks lowly, and Jaskier can only swallow and nod imperceptibly. He's not okay, but...what else is there, really? The hand presses a little more firmly, then retreats. He misses it immensely.

They migrate into the dining room, after introductions, and Jaskier is forced to sit at the table and socialize, much to his dismay. He had still harbored a tiny hope that he could sup in the guard's quarters with Geralt, as was his wont. Instead, he's here, being forced to listen to his father prattle on about shipments and investments while the baron boasts of their local grain harvest. Jaskier feels Geralt's presence behind him like a touch, although they are not close enough for that. He wishes, fervently, they were alone.

After dinner is more socializing, and Jaskier aches to escape. Thankfully, he is not expected to entertain his bride-to-be one-on-one as that would be indecent. She's...pretty to look at, he supposes, but she's not--she's not--

"Our Julian plays the lute," his mother cuts in excitedly in response to something the Baron or his wife must have said, and expectant eyes turn towards him. He wants to scream. Instead, he plasters on a smile plucks his lute from where it rests in the corner.

-----

He is finally dismissed sometime after midnight, and it's a good thing, too--his chest aches and he's been on the verge of tears again for at least the last hour--he'd caught Geralt's eye while playing and almost lost himself, had recovered only with much difficulty. And Geralt--

"Where would you like me tonight, my lord?" he asks, and Jaskier's heart clenches so hard he can't breathe.

In my bed, he thinks recklessly. He imagines sliding into Geralt's strong arms, imagines the way they might rise to circle him, to hold him close. I could do that. I could press into his arms, and--

But what would that accomplish, really? Even if Geralt is amiable--and there's no proof that he is--what does it change? Jaskier's still to be married in less than a week's time. How could it possibly be better to marry the girl knowing the taste of the one he wants most...and still unable to have him?

"My lord?" Geralt repeats softly, and Jaskier has to shake himself back into the present. There's a look of concern flickering in his eyes and it makes Jaskier's stomach roil makes him want.

"I would have you where you would wish to be tonight," he says after much delay. He knows Geralt hates standing guard at parties and dinners and would much rather have taken a watch on the wall, knows that he was only there tonight at Jaskier's request and insistence. It's only fair to release him for the evening.

"Wherever I wish?" he asks, voice strange, and Jaskier only nods again, unable to speak. He would give him the world, if only he would ask.

Geralt's silent for a time, gazing hard into Jaskier's face in a way that would be disconcerting if Jaskier did not know him as well as he did.

"I would be with my lord to keep him company, if he would grant it," he says finally, and something in Jaskier's chest gives way.

"Geralt." It's nearly a sob, and he can't help but throw himself forward into his arms anyway, welcome or no. Instead of pushing him away as he half expected, Geralt gathers him in tight, arms around his shoulders, and squeezes him close. Jaskier wants to crawl into his chest and live there, between the third and fourth rib, tucked up tight against his heart.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier," he murmurs softly into his hair, and Jaskier hates this, he hates it. He wishes he were of a lower rank, or Geralt of a higher one. he wishes he could tell him. He wishes he had a say. Instead, his love is a hopeless, delicate thing in his chest, already crushed. It had never had a chance, not like this.

"I'm sorry too," he chokes out, voice thick with tears, and it doesn't matter who sees them embrace in the hallway outside his room, doesn't matter who sees them enter together. It doesn't even matter when Geralt slips between the sheets with him, arms winding around his shoulders and tangling their legs together.

The words rise in his throat, but he swallows them down, sharp and painful. It's better, kinder, not to say. Nothing would come of them anyway.

[cdroloisms]

more of ghost!dream! what can i say, i love this au a lot. here are the previous parts [1] and [2] if you want to read them first - this picks up right after last time, again :D 

tws: death, grief (as per usual for this au), very briefly mentioned torture/abuse (what quacktiy’s been doing in pandora), prison arc/pandora’s vault, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms (c!sam is still very emotionally repressed, go figure) 

Maybe he should’ve carried the kid; it probably would’ve been quicker, at least. Fran sidled up to him, tossing her head easily as she brushed against his leg. When he looked down, she seemed to be staring at him judgmentally.

“What?”

She barked sharply, prompting a sleepy mumble from the kid trailing behind them, and Sam rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. Arguing with a dog now, really? You really are losing it.

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” Sam sighed again, cutting himself off before he said something he regretted. The words were colder than he intended as it was, making the kid flinch from the corner of his eye, and something in him stirred uncomfortably at the sight, far more familiar than he wanted to admit. Fran’s eyes were dark as she kept staring at him, feet padding softly against the grass as she nudged against him again.

What do you want me to do?

She held his gaze for a second longer before turning around, tail flicking to the side as she made her way to the shimmering image of the kid following them. Figure it out.

He huffed, making a small hissing sound through his teeth, ignoring the way his cheeks heated in embarrassment. He knew he was...cold, to say the least, had gotten used to everyone’s strange looks and shuffles away from him quickly enough. The prison left no room for vulnerability, not when every mechanism, every ounce of power in the prison, every person on the server was left in his hands, not when he was the only one standing in between the greatest danger that they had ever known and the peace that they had fought tooth and nail for. He’d learned how to lock every part of himself in a maze of redstone and blackstone and obsidian, learned how to hide away under layers of netherite and a metal mask. And- perhaps, at first, he’d flinched away from the slight fear in Puffy’s eyes, the hesitance in Tommy’s voice, the way that Ponk-

He swallowed, moving faster. He wasn’t going to think about him right now.

He was cold. He’d been cold as the Warden and he was cold, now, because he’d been the Warden for so long that he’d forgotten how to be anything else, because the walls that he’d thrown up between the part of him that lived under the sun and never wore more than a gold chestplate and the part of him that knew nothing but an endless checkerboard of grey and black had cracked over the days and weeks and months spent pacing, restless, around the same black box, from every piercing word Quackity spoke, from the bone-deep exhaustion that he could never shake. Fran barked again, behind him, and the kid giggled softly, the sound bright and weightless and warm; the weight of the mask on his face suddenly felt oppressive, and his hand came to brush against the polished edges. What did his voice sound like, warm? Did he even remember?

“Sammy!” He stumbled to a stop, the voice in his ears still unfamiliar in its familiarity, adrenaline making his heart flutter, “Slow down! You’re goin’ too fast!”

He stopped, not realizing he was holding his breath until he felt something- someone, right, knock into the back of his legs. He turned himself around carefully, finding the kid staring up at him with big, drooping eyes.

“M’tired,” he mumbled, leaning forward to put more of his weight on Sam, stumbling slightly when Sam drew backwards. “We’re almos’ there, right?”

“...yeah,” Sam looked away, pointedly looking over his shoulder to avoid having to meet the kid’s gaze, eyes finding the stone face of the mountain that he’d made into his home. “Just a few more minutes.”

“‘Kay,” he stepped back, arms coming down to his sides from where they’d been wrapped around Sam’s waist, and the weight that had suddenly settled over his ribcage eased off as well, finally letting him breathe. He began to turn back forwards so they could continue their walk and finally actually get inside the base when he felt something tug at his hoodie sleeve.

He watched, with something a little like a mix of muted horror and fascination as Dream grabbed his hand, carefully threading his fingers one by one in between Sam’s own until his hand was loosely clasped around the ghost’s, beaming at his accomplishment as he squeezed his hand firmly. It was something he’d done before, with Bad’s never-ending insistence that they stay together for safety at the slightest sight of danger and Sam usually relegated to wrangle the younger kids as one of the older and more “responsible” in the group, and the familiar weight of Dream’s hand in his own had him choking on memories he’d half-forgotten.

“Sammy?”

Even as a ghost, his grip was tight; there would be no way for Sam to ease his hand away without alerting him of his intentions. He swallowed around the thickness in his throat, feeling Fran walk up to his other side and circle around his legs.

“Let’s go.” His voice was rough, though the mask probably distorted it too much for it to be too noticeable. He pressed his shoulders back, let his right hand hang as a dead weight as the ghost swung it back and forth, humming idly as he did so.

“We’re almost there,” he said, looking forward towards his mountain, its western face shining golden by the setting sun, and didn’t know if he was talking to the ghost by his side or himself.

---

Thankfully, the actual process of getting into his base ended up being much simpler than the walk back to it. The sight of the various redstone mechanisms - hoeing the dirt and having a door appear from nowhere, especially - had the kid thoroughly perked up from where he’d been half-asleep by Sam’s side, and he’d fired off question after question as they made their way inside. The excitement was an easy distraction and he latched onto it with maybe a little too much enthusiasm, giving off-hand explanations as he dug through his chests for wool and wood.

The ghost, just as he’d always been, was an endless fountain of curiosity, following eagerly to look at his automatic potion brewer and sugarcane farm and furnace set-up, face scrunching in confusion when Sam tried explaining any of the redstone but watching intently anyway. Fran, seemingly exhausted from the walk - which, admittedly, had ended up being much longer than any of them expected - had almost immediately padded off to her room to sleep, leaving Sam alone with an all-too excitable ghost and far too many questions that weren’t going to get answers any time soon.

As the kid finally took a second away from running around to watch, fascinated, as the minecart in Sam’s furnaces dutifully circled back and forth with a few stacks of cobble that he’d thrown in there to smelt as a demonstration, he let himself step away, dragging a hand across his face with a low hiss of distress. He hadn’t thought of the possibility of Dream coming back as a ghost, honestly, had hardly thought about the future at all beyond the need for Quackity and himself to keep their mouths shut. It was an oversight, in hindsight, and he was lucky that he was the one to stumble on the kid instead of virtually anyone else on the server, but now-

Sam turned, watched as the kid rocked back and forth while watching the minecart make another round around the track. What was he supposed to do, now?

He would have to keep Dream here, obviously. All of the work that he and Big Q had put in to keep their actions secret could be blown with one careless pair of eyes on the newest phantom of the server; it’s not like they were particularly hard dots to connect. Speaking of Q, Sam felt the same uneasy prickle of something crawling up his spine, and he shook his head to clear it. It would probably be best if his business partner didn’t learn about this...complication, either, or at least not until he had a little more figured out. So it was left to Sam, in the end, to figure out what happened to the kid and to watch over him, as it always did; prime, there must’ve been someone out there laughing at the irony, making sure that he’d never be able to escape the seeming never-ending task of watching the same person.

It was fine. It would be- easier, this time, as long as he stayed far away from the rest of the Greater SMP. It’s not like anyone would notice anything different, considering how much time he’d been spending in the prison for the last few months, and at least his charge would be more willing to stay in one place than last time. All he had to do was keep them sufficiently out of the others’ prying eyes, at least until he and Quackity figured out a suitable explanation for the prisoner’s death to give to the others. Until then, his job was the same as it had been for months; of course, there were differences, but at its essence, did they really matter? Dead or alive, black walls or grey, he was still the Warden and Dream his...responsibility.

It would be fine. The ghost didn’t even remember anyone else; keeping him in one place would be easy. He’d been the Warden of Pandora’s Vault for months, what was a little time watching over a kid? An amnesiac ghost at that, naïve and far too trusting - it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Right?

---

They ended up converting George’s abandoned room into a bedroom, of sorts, for the ghost. He’d been fascinated with the door going inside, had played with it for a couple minutes before his earlier exhaustion caught up to him and he’d settled on top of the bed, watching as Sam hastily brushed off dust and made the room semi-presentable. It was largely empty; he’d added some initial furnishings when he first built it, but George never really officially moved in, ended up caught up with one thing or another until everything went down on the Sixteenth, and everything since then had been so thoroughly chaotic on both ends that he really hadn’t bothered checking in on either Sapnap or George, leaving both of their rooms to do little more than collect dust. He ran his fingers over the blue-green planks, regret washing over him suddenly like a bucket of cold water thrown over his head. When had all of them grown apart? When did their home become this?

His hands slammed a little too hard on the next bookshelf he came too, eliciting a sharp gasp from the ghost behind him. He whirled around, winced at the sight of the kid cringing, a hand clasped firmly over his ear, and forced the tenseness out of his shoulders with a heavy sigh. The tiredness, it seemed, did more than make the ghost a little quieter and less excitable than the kid in his memories. Sam moved to the next bookshelf, running a damp cloth over the top edge; there was a newfound skittishness to him, an unfamiliar tendency to jump at loud noises and sudden movements. He’d always been cautious, masked even in Sam’s earliest memories, but there had always been a boldness that simply...didn’t exist anymore.

“I’ll leave you to it, alright?” He looked back, watching as the ghost ducked under the pink covers - he hadn’t been able to find anything other than a couple blocks of pink wool in his chest from who knows how long ago - and moving towards the door.

“G’dnigh’, Sammy.”

His voice was soft and sweet, and the cold feeling from before was back, a block of ice nestled in his chest that he couldn’t get out.

“...goodnight, Dream.”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Enforcers Part 8 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

wc: 1.7k

tw: dark content (self-harm)

masterlist

a/n: By no means do I condone self-harm or want to glorify it in the light of this chapter. As a person who struggled with physical self-harm in her early teens, I know the destructive nature of this type of activity. However, as my characters are not perfect and complicated, I see this particular mode of action as something she would try to do in order to alleviate her pain and confusion. If you have questions or concerns, my inbox is always open to having a discussion about it.

If you so wish, you may skip this chapter altogether. There will be a recap on the next one if you choose to skip for your mental health. Take care of yourselves and see you soon. (ALSO, I know I promised smut but I gotta give y'all a raincheck this go-round. SORRY PLS DON'T KILL ME)

You're on your forty-seventh file of scandals, coverups, and secret dossiers that you finally feel it. The fabric of your identity begins to unravel right before your eyes.

Everything you've known is a lie.

The CSB has covered up so many things. So many lives lost. So many people forced to flee. So many families ripped apart--

An email makes its way over to the server, and you open it, the words across the screen coming from Suguru.

I know it's late, but send over Yu Haibara's files when you can.

You hit the reply button and begin to type out: "You mean the boy you killed?" but you stop yourself, deleting the words rapidly. Instead, you attach the files and send them over, not even bothering to look at them. You can't do it. Not another file could be stored away in the annals of your brain.

Nothing is as it seems anymore. The lies... they pile up in your mind, flooding the spaces where you used to hold what you thought was true, what you thought was real. Now, they're overflowing out of your brain and into your heart and soul, plaguing you like the nightmares that face you down night after night, more like demons that lurk in the corners of your mind than full file cabinets.

You always wake up in a tangle of sheets and sweat, one of your various enemies' faces hovering over you right before you stare down the barrel of a gun and --

You stumble out of the chair, eyes wet with tears, and go to the sink in the bathroom to wash your face. After you splash water on your skin, you look up at your reflection, anger rolling through you at the way you look. Weak.

You're fucking weak.

The voice in your head that usually told you that you were doing okay, that you had it all under control, is now turning on you, spitting nasty words that stick in between the synapses of your brain a muddy your rational thoughts.

The voices rise to a fever pitch, and you suddenly see red, the entirety of the world descending into blood-colored madness. The shattering of the glass mirror only becomes a reality when you're standing above the sink, chest heaving as your thoughts silence one by one, like shutting off lights in a house.

But only one stays behind as a shard of the mirror clinks into the sink.

Escape.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

You could get rid of the feelings here. You could get rid of the thoughts. You could escape. Why hadn't you thought about this before?

"Do it."

Your fingers grip the jagged shard of glass carefully, and before you can stop yourself, you drag it across the inside of your wrist, end to end, leaving behind a red line of blood that immediately blooms. Crimson dots drop into the sink, and you stare at the color, mesmerized by the way the blood runs down your arm and into the porcelain bowl. But there's no relief.

No sense of freedom.

Maybe you didn't do it hard enough?

Maybe you didn't--

The door to your room slams open, and you turn your head just as Suguru comes rushing into the bathroom. The shard of glass is still in your hand, as well as the blood running down your arm, and Suguru catches this immediately.

"Fuck," he breathes, and you turn to him, shard extended.

"Don't come any closer."

"Y/n," he calmly whispers. "You don't look so good."

"I wonder why that is," you reply, and Suguru stares back at you, hands raised in surrender.

"What're you doing?"

"What does it look like, Suguru?" you state in a trance. Your bullet wound begins to throb dully, but you ignore it, just like you're ignoring the blood dripping onto the tile flooring.

"Y/n, let's think about this."

"I don't want to think anymore!" The shrill scream is loud enough to make Suguru flinch, and you softly repeat, "I don't want to think anymore," over and over again as tears run down your face.

"I know," Suguru whispers. "I know. Will you let me help you?" You hiccup and drop the piece of glass to the floor, dissolving in a heap of tears and moans. You feel hands pulling you up from the floor and into strong arms, your head being cradled against a broad chest you've felt before. "Go ahead," Suguru encourages you. "Cry it out."

He carries you to another room in the building in silence, laying you on a firm bed and disappearing as you heave painful sobs into the sheets.

"Everything... hurts..." you gasp, and when Suguru reappears with a white bundle of cloth, a bandage roll, and some water, he nods.

"We're going to make it better, don't worry." He takes your injured arm and carefully wipes away the blood, examing the cut slowly. "Doesn't need stitches, thankfully." He turns to open the water bottle and hands it to you, silently telling you to drink while he bandages your wrist.

You drink the water greedily then lean back on the headboard, eyes closing down as Suguru works diligently on your wound. And then you remember the first time he did this for you and the mistake you made in your pridefulness.

"Thank you," you murmur, and Suguru looks up at your face, finally seeing some form of clarity cross your tear-streaked cheeks.

"You're welcome," he replies tenderly. "I have to keep you safe, remember? I promised you that I would." You don't answer him, but he finishes at that exact moment anyways, standing and placing the remnants of the bandage roll on the nightstand. The wound is now covered up completely, with no sign of blood seeping through the cotton and staining the white cloth dark red.

You watch as Suguru crawls into the bed beside you, sighing deeply as he runs his fingers through his locks. "Should I stay awake with you or do you want to try to sleep?"

"Sleep," you answer - albeit not confidently - and the black-eyed man obliges, pulling the thin sheet over you.

"I'll be right here," he affirms, but you reach out your uninjured arm and touch his hand. He instantly turns his palm up to let you grab his fingers, and you pull him closer to you in the king-sized bed.

"Hold me." A second passes with no movement, and Suguru whispers,

"Are you sure?" You nod, and he wordlessly scoots closer, wrapping an arm around you as you nestle into his side with your bandaged hand resting on his chest. His fingers rub a soft pattern up and down your skin, soothing you to the brink of sleep. "I've got you. We'll deal with everything else in the morning," Suguru murmurs as you slip off into a dreamless - and nightmare-less - sleep.

_____________________________________________________________

Morning comes and goes.

Midday arrives, and you awaken from your terrorless sleep still encased in Suguru's grasp. Your eyes flick up to his face, which is peaceful in the midday light streaming in from the windows. The Leader of the Fallen Sun District is asleep and dead to the world around him, but the sound of his breathing lets you know he's on the brink of waking up.

Part of you doesn't want him to. You want to lay there without any responsibilities to him, without any concern, or further harm to either one of you. Maybe if you continued to sleep, all of this would become a distant memory. All of this would go away, and you could go back to living in ignorance.

But Suguru's stirring makes you stiffen, and you feel his arms tighten around you before sliding away.

"You're awake."

"Yeah," you whisper, and he sits up, pulling his knees to his chest.

"We need to talk about last night." You sit up as well, staring at the edge of the bed blankly. "Why didn't you tell someone about your declining mental health?"

"I didn't realize it until it was too late," you admit, looking at the bandage on your wrist. "But I won't be doing that again."

"Doesn't matter," Suguru interjects, looking over at you. You choose to avoid his gaze and stare at your feet, inhaling deeply. "I have to have someone watch you now. I want you to be safe, and now I'm not sure if I can ensure that without some oversight on my part."

"No," you exhale quickly, looking over at him in fear. "I'm better now, I promise."

"I'll have someone move a few of your things over here. That way I can keep an eye on you, just in case." Suguru continues, standing from his position on the bed. "I won't bother you. But I made a promise to you, and I'm going to keep it at all costs." He turns back to you, stating, "Today we'll take a day off and go into the town. I've been wanting to show you around for a while anyway."

You conclude the argument is over when he places a kiss on your temple, then walks into his bathroom, shutting the door and leaving you on the bed alone.

_____________________________________________________________

A car picks both of you up from the building, and when you slide into the backseat, Suguru points to the expanse in the distance.

"Take us to the marketplace." The driver nods, scars running up and down his pale face and his blue eyes looking up at you in the rearview mirror. Does this man even know that he's sitting next to the leader of the Fallen Sun district? Or is Kenjaku a faceless man, hiding behind walls of ones and zeroes?

The scenes that pass by you look identical to those of the city you know and love. There are children playing on the sidewalks, people carrying groceries, life carrying on as if the majority of their names aren't on some rejected list of people who defected from their previous society. Suguru notices your awe at the way things are, and looks over at you, smiling brightly.

"You'd be surprised what you can build from ashes, y/n."

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @missbonekitty @wack0-genius @thankuary @jsqeeut @r-i-m-f-009 @sunfloweroranges @leanne-tamashi @girlruby23 @rein-icu @brownskinnedgirll @chanelmalandro @savantsoulfinder @jibe-gajima @chilledlucifer @amnxsia @kontentious @fuyuko26 @everybodylovescayrayray @flare-on @sammytamaki @meena-in-a-nutshell @falling-through-pages @naoyasdarling

[sinnamonrasinslut]

The Ease With Which We Hurt [I] ICorpse Husband x Fem!ReaderI

A/N: You guys. I have never simultaneously loved AND hated a piece that I wrote. I really don’t know how I feel about this, but I promised myself last year that I wouldn’t overthink my writing, so here we are. This is part one of most likely four, but we’ll see about that. Thank you to everyone in my inbox who gave me ideas to turn this into a multi chapter fic! They’re all coming, I promise :)

SYNOPSIS: Corpse loves her, she loves Corpse. But both of them are too dumb to realize it, and too afraid to admit it. 

It started, like most good things in his life, out of the blue.

He met her three years ago. Well, not met, but befriended her three years ago when her podcast was just taking off. He remembers sending her a DM about how great her work was, remembers her being gracious in her praise of his own narrations after and he remembers talking to her well into the night until she fell asleep. The rest, to Corpse, is history.

And yet, all he knows of her is a voice, a name, and the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. she chooses to wear a mask every time they FaceTime, just for the formality of the entire ‘faceless’ situation. She’s told him she thinks it’s ironic, how she feels like he knows her inside out, and she’s still afraid to show him her face. It’s not like corpse can blame her. She doesn’t even know his name, let alone what he looks like, and it’s a miracle she hasn’t filed him away as some no face creep by this point. 

But she hasn’t. She’s still here, after three years of being her friend, and almost a year of seeing her eyes and convincing himself that she’s his friend, damnit, she’s still here. It’s already a lot more than he can ask for.

He’s been holding himself back from falling in love. Or rather, he’s been in love for as long as he can remember, but he's been adamant on denying it; because he knows how this goes. It’s never gone well for him in the past. And he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s afraid. But sometimes, she tells him things that make his heart break, just out of the realization of how absolutely fucking stupid he's being, holding back from her.

He’s convinced that when he dies, she’s going to be the light at the end of his tunnel. That heaven means nothing more to him than a place in her world, however small, however insignificant, as long as he gets to see her eyes for the rest of eternity.

Every part of corpse tells him that it's love. But he tries to push it away, suppress his own feelings till he's nothing but a walking contradiction, overflowing with voices that only say her name.

But he’s tired. And he's scared. Because he’s been down that road before, opened himself up to people who haven’t liked what they saw and left with pieces of him he’s not sure how to tape back. He’s unsure if he's willing to let her try.

So, he settles for a small corner of her world, a little piece of her existence that gives him life, and every time he talks to her, hands flailing as she animatedly tells another story, he pushes the yearning to the back of his head till it crawls down and clings to his windpipe, unsure and immeasurable, and he can’t speak anymore without choking. But then she says things that make his heart jump into his throat, and then he’s choking but for entirely different reasons.

“What would you do if I was gone?”

He doesn’t mean it like that. Well, he does, a little bit, but his brain isn’t taking over every part of his body trying to convince him he’s unwanted, so he doesn’t mean it like that. He’s only curious, maybe in need of a little reassurance. And nobody does reassurance better than her.

She doesn’t say anything for a very long moment. Corpse knows the gist of her impending answer but the pause still blooms unnecessarily in his chest. But it’s not like they haven’t done this before.

“I’d write about you.”

“Huh?”

She only huffs a laugh at his confusion. She pulls a blanket closer around her and props up her phone to rest against what he assumes is a wall.

“You’re not easy to forget, Corpse,” her voice is soft, truthful without flattery, provides comfort without justification. “if you were gone, I’d write about you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, that’s the least I’d need to cope.”

It’s not what he thought he’d hear, but it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that it’s exactly what he needed. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her. 

“Besides,” she continues, hair falling in her face as she adjusts the blanket, “there is no place for me in a world without you in it.” 

 And he physically feels his heart stop and clench in his chest. The thought of meaning this much to anyone, to her in particular, is more than he knows how to handle. So, he doesn’t follow that up with a quip, no teasing laughter, no suggestive, exaggerated winks that only he can see. He only lets himself bask in the warmth of her honesty, lets her smile at him in that way only she does, the way that makes him freeze and ache and crumble.

He chooses not to talk after that, settles for listening to her tell stories about her childhood. Her voice is the purest thing he’s ever heard, he’d hear her talk till the world ended if he could, and the sweet lilt of her voice lulls him to sleep hours after she’s hung up the phone.

He doesn’t get to talk to her for almost two weeks after that. He misses her a little, but he keeps that to himself, and instead, tags her under dumb twitter memes and sends her pictures of cats that he’s saved specifically for times like these, and another video of two geckos fighting on a tree captioned ‘u and me’ .

There’s no place for me in a world without you in it.

The words wrap around his ribs like a noose, tightening by the second. Some days, when his heart is fast enough to beat out of his ribcage, it grounds him just as much as it hurts. But when she’d said it to him, it passed through him like a train wreck, distorting all semblance of control he’d convinced himself he had.

He knows it’s ridiculous, but he loves her. She’s only a voice through his phone and eyes on his screen and he has no clue what the rest of her looks like, but he’d be damned if he lets himself deny it one more time. He loves her. And that’s the most terrifying thought he’s ever entertained.

It doesn’t take long after that realization takes root, for him to send her a picture. He doesn’t let himself think too much about it. Taking pictures of himself is still new to him, but he tries his best. Don't think about it too much, he reminds himself, and unsurprisingly, it's her voice in his head that does all the soothing. He captions it something stupid, more out of habit than anything else (my hair makes me look like Dora the exploraH), with his name across his forehead and ‘Dora’ in brackets beside it. 

Momentarily, he wonders if he’s ever asked her if she even wants to see his face. (He has, and he distantly remembers her agreeing as long as he’s comfortable with it.)

He hits send before he has the chance to stop and think. 

Then he waits. 

Her response is quicker than he’s prepared for, her name flashing across the facetime request on his phone. He’s giggling before he even picks it up. 

“CORPSE, WHAT THE FUCK!” 

For a very long moment, they just stare, taking each other in. This is his endgame, corpse thinks, he’s never going to need to show anyone his face after this, nothing, no one will matter as much. 

With a jolt, he realizes that she’s not wearing her mask. He can see her, all of her, and that on its own should be enough to take him out.

And then she smiles. 

If there was any doubt in his mind before about how head over heels he is, she’s taken it out of his mind and stomped it to the ground. He’s not the poet in this friendship, but he’s assured he could write entire paragraphs about the way she smiles. And he tells her exactly that. 

“I’m curious to see how that would fit with fine lass nice ass cat ears and she uwu,” she teases, eye twinkling with mirth, “but I'm sure you’ll figure it out.” 

He’s both amazed and amused at how quickly they go from fawning to bantering. But perhaps that’s the thing about her that feels so familiar.

“I will write a song about you baby, don’t tempt me.” 

“Is that a threat?” 

“It’s a confession,” he shrugs, suddenly shy, unsure of where to lead with this. Thankfully, she interjects before he has to say anything else. 

“That’s an awfully bold confession for a man called Corpse.”

“I’m also awfully alive for a man called Corpse, but you don’t see me complaining.” Awfully alive and not enough husband, he wants to say, but he keeps that to himself. 

“You complain about being alive everyday, Mister Husband,” she counters and Corpse groans, dropping his head into his hands. 

“I say that to you in confidence,” he grits out, playfully glazing at her.

“You also tell about a million people on stream, I’m not special,” she laughs. 

“You are very special to me.” His voice is soft, shy, almost afraid to tell her the things he’s saying, “I did say I’d write a song about you. Pretty special if you ask me.”

She hums, taking a huge gulp of water and nodding enthusiastically. 

“Correct, me, the cat girl and the e girl. What’s the next single, Corpse? Faceless Girls are ruining my life?” 

“You’re a rascal,” he chides as a familiar warmth settles around his heart, and grips. 

“It is one of my finer qualities, yes.” 

Distantly, some part of his brain registers that this is the first time he’s seen her, but there is no sense of hesitation in his head about her. It feels just like it always has, with her on the phone saying the silliest things, and him responding with equal enthusiasm. This is the way they’ve always been. 

While she talks, hands animatedly moving around, Corpse allows himself a small moment of reprieve to think. He knows he loves her, but he wonders briefly if it’s too soon to be in love with her (he concludes that probably it is, given that she remains unaware of his feelings, but he finds that it doesn’t really matter)

Because while Corpse loves her, he’s sure he doesn't know how to love her. Doesn’t know her favourite flowers even if he knows her coffee order by heart, doesn’t know her ideal date even if he’s memorized every poem she loves. 

The meanest parts of his brain tell him she deserves better, and he knows they’re wrong. But a small part of him can’t help but dwell. He’d rather have her and her unnecessary hand movements in his life as his friend than not at all. So he pushes away his feelings for another day, and just listens to her talk. 

Corpse is perfectly content with that. 

[youngbloodlisk]

Two Dresses // Ten

- Ten in a maid outfit

- female reader, also in a dress (hence the name)

- dom/sub themes

- a bit of sub ten but more dom ten

- oral, male rec

- mirror sex

- some hair pulling

- pull-out method (be smarter than a fanfiction and practice safe sex plz)

- some aftercare

@kxnkxmoon 😚

"Hey... is it too late to maybe... change our group costume plan?"

"Nooooo..." Sarcasm laces my roommate's voice "No, Halloween is just two days away and all of us have our costumes already except who? You."

"I'm sorry! It's surprisingly hard to find a maid costume. With maid costumes being trendy all of a sudden, they're sold out everywhere."

"Check a resale sight. Surely someone is trying to get rid of one... Oh, and filter by local pickup! You don't have time for shipping anymore."

"Fine..."

After a few hours of on-and-off searching through different sites, it's a page reload around 5pm that I finally find a listing.

Posted one hour ago, cheap, pickup in my area... but horrible photos. Bad angles, bad lighting, you can barely tell what the damn thing is. No description either. If the title didn't say "Maid Costume with Garters and Collar (Good Condition)", I wouldn't know that it was exactly what I was looking for.

But, that being said... it is exactly what I'm looking for... and it's here and available.

I message the seller to ease my nerves about the product before buying it.

"hey, do you have any other photos of the maid outfit?"

It's around thirty minutes later before I get a response from Mr. 1_0LeeCha.

"i can take some but i won't be home until tomorrow. work until late and im staying at a friend's house tonight to help him with something. i have a few from when i wore it at a work Halloween party last year that i can send in the meantime?"

"that would be awesome, thanks"

"sure one sec"

I wait a few minutes as the three typing dots remain on the screen, telling me that he's scrolling through his photos to send one.

My phone vibrates and I look back at my screen to see... something I did not expect to see.

A slender, fit body in a loose maid dress. The boy is on his knees in front of a mirror with his legs spread apart. The dress is pulled up to fully reveal the black lace garters on his thighs. The hand that isn't holding a phone is holding his dick through the fabric of the dress skirt. His face isn't visible in the photo, but his neck is stretched to the left to show off the black choker.

"OH NO no no no no no i'm so sorry i did not mean to send that one"

"lol it's okay, mistakes happen. to be fair it's still a pretty good photo of the dress. btw is that a wayv album behind you?? signed?? my roommate is a fan lol how did you get that?"

"it's a long story. im kinda close with Ten."

"my roommate says that's cool lol"

"haha yeah i guess. do you want the costume or do you still need more pics of it?"

"are the other pics gonna look like that one?"

"no!! fuck no i swear i wouldn't do that to you on purpose lol. btw i deep cleaned it after i took those photos dw"

"lol no worries i was just playing. i'll take it. pickup and pay in cash tomorrow?"

He agrees and sends me the address, telling me that any time works for him as it's his day off.

I get off work around 5pm the next day and set off straight from the diner towards his address, having no need to go home first.

It's a chilly, but thankfully short, walk in my classic blue waitress uniform.

I check the address about five times before I knock on the door, to make sure I don't show up at the wrong person's door asking for a maid costume...

That would be less than ideal.

I hear someone say, "No, no! I've got it! It's for me!" behind the door before it swings open.

"Hi! Maid costume?" The slender boy, with a body I recognize a bit too well now, cocks an eyebrow.

"That's me."

"You must be freezing out here. Come on in, it's up in my room. You can just follow me."

I nod and comply, following him inside. He closes the door and leads me down the hall to the correct room.

I recognize the dresser and window from the photo, as well as the angle of the mirror leaning against the wall by his door.

He notices the way I lightly chuckle upon recognizing the scene.

"Uh- yeah..." He laughs nervously, picking up the bag with the costume in it. "That's... embarrassing..."

"Why were you taking them anyway? Personal enjoyment?"

"Uh... long story... Listen, I'm really sorry about that-"

"I'm not."

His breath hitches and he hesitates to respond, seemingly wondering if I really just said what he thinks he heard.

"H-Huh?"

"I'm not sorry you sent it. It was pretty... and pretty hot." I take the bag out of his hand.

"Oh, really?" His head cocks to the side, his confidence returning.

Suddenly, it feels as if you could cut the sexual tension with a knife.

"Really. I wouldn't have minded if you HAD sent more, in fact."

"Oh? You liked it? You liked seeing me in that costume?" He boldly locks his hands behind my neck.

"I did..." I take the dress out of the bag, dropping the bag to the floor. I straighten the dress and hold it up to his body. "Do you wanna wear it one last time before saying goodbye to it? For me?"

He leans in, only an inch away from my face.

"You're still gonna buy it when we're done with whatever we're about to do, right?"

"Does it really matter?" I meet his lips for a moment.

When I pull away, he takes the dress out of my hands. He reaches down to pick up the bag which still holds the garters and choker, presses a finger to his lips playfully, and disappears into the connected bathroom.

I look around the room while I wait.

This guy has a lot more WayV albums, as well as NCT albums, all of which I recognize from my roommate's shelf.

He has a lot of books that look worn. No telling if he reads a lot or if he just bought them used...

I spot a framed photo on one of the dressers. It looks to be him and his friends (all male) in princess/similar costumes. All of them are smiling or making a funny face.

The guy I recognize looks to be in an Alice in Wonderland costume, which makes me wonder where that costume could be.

The bathroom door opens, calling my attention and making me turn around.

There he is, in that maid dress, leaning against the doorframe. He tosses the clothes he was previously wearing into the corner of the room.

I can't help but notice the orange and gray striped underwear in the pile of clothes.

"You look even prettier in person, especially now that I can see your face. I didn't expect a boy so pretty."

"Well I didn't expect you to be so pretty either... much less wearing a 50's diner waitress outfit. That's for work, right? Or did you get all dressed up to come see me?" He playfully saunters over to me and places his hands behind my neck again, in the same way they were before he changed clothes.

"Cute. And what do you do for a living?"

"Long story." He begins to close the gap between us again.

"You seem to be full of those."

"Maybe I'll explain them all next time."

"Are you implying you already want there to be a next time? We haven't even done anything yet, tiger. Are you really that needy?"

"Are you gonna keep running your mouth or are you gonna kiss me?"

Instead of responding either way, I grab his waist and turn us both around. I push him gently, but hard enough to make him fall back onto his bed.

I quickly crawl on top of him, hungrily attaching my lips to his and straddling him.

His hands run up my thighs and under my dress, resting on my hips.

Things escalate quickly as he presses his hips up, the maid skirt falling to expose his hardening cock, and he grinds against my underwear.

"So desperate, aren't you?" I quickly comment before returning to his lips.

He hums as an agreeing response.

I grind down onto him to create more friction which causes him to moan into my mouth.

I move from his lips to his jaw and slowly down his neck to his collarbone, all while still grinding roughly against his hard dick.

Soft moans leave the boy and his breathing gets progressively faster.

His shaking hand starts tugging my underwear down, and I stop and sit up to take them off for him.

Once the blue underwear are tossed into the corner with his clothes, I resume my previous action of grinding into him. This time, however, his cock is running through my folds, making me moan.

"Oh, it feels so... so good..." He chokes out, breathlessly, grabbing onto the sheets with both hands. "Please..."

He begins to rapidly buck his hips up, matching my grinding perfectly, until his body begins to shudder and his movements become jerky.

"I'm c-cl- I'm gonna-"

"Cum for me, sweetheart." I brush his hair out of his eyes, which gloss over as a sticky substance covers our respective dresses.

He catches his breath for a moment, but his energy returns fairly quickly. Good stamina, I assume.

I slow my movement on him, but continue to seek the friction his shaft was giving me, until he firmly grasps my hips and holds me still.

I can usually keep my cool, but this action definitely shocks me... especially when I look into his dark eyes.

"And w-what do you think you're doing?"

"I sub for my own benefit, not yours."

"That's actually not very subby of you."

"Your voice is shaking. That's actually not very dominant of you... but it makes sense. Did you think telling me to put on a maid costume meant you were gonna take full control?" He scoffs, swiftly flipping us over and pinning me under him. His bare knee slides between my thighs, pushing against my wet pussy, and he holds my wrists against the mattress on either side of my head. He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers... "You're dreaming, honey."

His knee slowly rubs against me and I can feel the garter which is falling down his leg.

The lace brushes my clit as he moves, sending a shiver down my back.

He doesn't let me enjoy it for very long, however.

He gets off of me and stands up, telling me to get up as well.

I stand slightly confused, and extremely sexually frustrated, next to the bed as I watch him pull his white desk into the center of the room.

He pulls off the falling garter, and starts to take off the other one until I quickly tell him to stop.

I bend down on my knees in front of him and carefully take the lace between my teeth.

Looking up at him, he's practically drooling watching me slowly drag the garter down his leg with my teeth.

Once it reaches his ankle, I let go and he kicks it off to the side.

Before he can even speak, I lift up his dress and wrap my lips around his tip. His knees buckle for a moment at the sudden sensation.

He leans back, grabbing onto the edge of the desk behind him for support.

I take as much of him in my mouth as I can, almost on the verge of gagging, and try to handle the last part with my hand.

I can tell he's trying to resist the urge to grab me and fuck my mouth, so I try to make it worth it with the way I suck and lick and stroke him.

When I look up at him with innocent eyes, he shudders and pulls me off of him, also pulling me to my feet in the process.

"If you keep that up, I'll cum again... and I'm not cumming again unless it's because of your wet little pussy. So, bend over the desk."

As I follow his instruction, I realize what he did.

He placed the desk in front of the mirror. The same mirror from the photo which started all of this.

He positions himself behind me, flipping my skirt up and running a slender finger over my pussy.

"So wet..." He sticks that finger in his mouth and licks it clean. "And so delicious too."

He runs his finger through my folds a few more times and sucks them clean as he lines up and pushes into me.

The stretch burns in the best way possible.

I grip the edge of the table as he starts to rock his hips.

My back arches and my eyes shut tightly, but he tells to look in the mirror.

The way the mirror is angled, I'm able to see under the table and watch him fuck me. I watch him disappear inside of me and come back out, which only makes me realize more just how big he is and how deep he's reaching.

He places one hand on my hip and the other on my shoulder before he picks up his pace and starts to fuck me harder and faster.

I can't hold back my moans, feeling him so deep and watching it all happen in that mirror.

I notice his cocky smile.

He removes his hand from my shoulder and reaches down to rub my clit, causing my legs to start shaking. My orgasm starts to approach.

"Look at you..." He smirks at me, locking eyes with me in the mirror. "So pretty and getting ruined by a boy in a maid dress. I'm sure you expected this to go differently, didn't you?"

I let out a loud guttural moan and avert my eyes to the desk right under me, my head facing down.

"Baby, I can feel you clenching. Are you getting close?"

I shakily nod my head and feel his hand leave my clit for a moment as he takes a hold of hair at the root and pulls my head up to look at the mirror again.

"Watch it. Watch yourself cum all over my pretty cock."

He lets go of my hair, clearly expecting me to remain looking in the mirror, and he starts playing with my clit again.

My toes curl and I have a hard time keeping my head up as my orgasm finally rushes through my body. I clench around his dick and he helps me ride out my high before pulling out and jerking himself until he cums on the back of my uniform.

I feel almost limp as I lay across the table. My eyes are heavy, so I simply close them. I can't see anything that happens, but I can hear and feel that he goes to the bathroom and brings back a towel to wipe the cum off my clothes.

"Can you stand?" He asks gently.

I can, and better with someone to lean on, but my legs are a little shaky.

He uses the dampened part of the towel he got to wipe at the cum on the front of my clothes, before carefully having me sit on the edge of the bed.

He helps me pull the dress off of my sweaty body, tossing it to the pile of clothes.

"Wait here." He instructs, going into his closet.

He comes back with some comfortable looking sweats and hands them to me to wear.

I slowly dress myself and watch as he quickly changes his own clothes and then takes all the soiled clothes in his arms and leaves the room.

When he returns, the clothes in his hands have been replaced with a few bottles of water.

"Here, hydrate." He smiles, handing me one of the bottles. "I tossed the clothes in the wash. I hope you can stay for a bit, but if you can't then I can come bring you your clothes once they're dry-"

I don't miss the shining glint in his eye when I cut him off with:

"No, it's okay. I can stay for a while."

We both chug a couple bottles of water each before cuddling up in his bed to talk... which quickly turns into napping.

I wake up to a darker window than when I fell asleep, and I carefully pull myself away from the man to check the clock on the nightstand.

9:00PM.

I've been here for almost four hours, and asleep for almost three of them.

Quickly, a lot of thoughts come to mind.

One of us needs to put our clothes in the dryer.

I need to go home, I can't stay the night here.

Should I wake him?

As I watch his sleeping face, calmly breathing and mouth slightly open, I can't help but smile at how adorable he looks.

Before we cuddled up together, I placed my phone on the nightstand. I slowly and quietly pick it up, opening the camera and snapping a little photo of him.

I'll ask him when he wakes up if it's okay for me to keep it.

I brush a tuft of hair out of his face, which makes me remember when I did that same thing a few hours ago.

I feel my face heat up as I think back to what we did...

Around a half hour later, he's rudely woken up by his phone ringing.

Sleepily, he answers the call from a phone contact named "YangX2".

"What do you want?... Well, now I am... I don't know, uh-" He turns to me. "Are you planning to stay over?"

I shake my head, trying to be as polite as I can.

"She isn't... Yeah, I know... Obviously... Oh, thanks dude... Hey, that's mine!... I don't care that you found it, it was in my pants... Fine, if you've already spent it then-... Whatever... Yeah, thanks... Bye."

He hangs up and looks at me again.

"Good news and bad news. Good news, YangYang put the clothes in the dryer for us when the washing finished, so they're dry now. Bad news, he found money in my pants and bought him and Xiaojun some snacks at the convenience store."

I laugh with him about his stolen cash, which evolves into an awkward silence.

"Well, um... I should get going. My roommate hates being alone in our apartment at night."

"Oh! Yeah, yeah, sure. I'll go get all your clothes for you." He gets up out of the bed and rubs his eyes as he leaves the room.

I make sure I have my phone and my bag, as well as everything that's supposed to be in the bag, while I wait.

Far too soon, he's hugging me goodbye next to the taxi he called for me.

My load is lighter by a couple monetary bills and heavier by a (clean) maid costume.

"Oh! I almost forgot..." I take out my phone and pull up the photo I took of him sleeping. "You just looked so peaceful and cute... is that okay?"

A smile lights up his face, as if somebody taking a photo of him asleep is the cutest thing anyone's ever done in his eyes.

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Good. I'll... I'll see you around..." I trail off, realizing he never even told me his name.

"Yeah, I'll see you around..." He also trails off, probably realizing that I never gave him my name either.

We share a look, however.

A look that says that some things are better left a mystery.

I get in the cab and close the door, giving the driver the address of an apartment building just a couple blocks from where I actually live.

The moment I open the door to my apartment, I'm attacked.

"Where did you go? What happened? Are you okay? I thought you just had work until 5 and then picking up the costume. So, why didn't you get home until 10pm?!"

I explain everything.

Well, not everything of course... but the general things.

"Oh my goodness... was he cute? You said he stans NCT, of course he's cute. Do you have a photo of him?"

"Yeah, actually..." I pull up the adorable sleeping boy on my phone and show her.

Her eyes about pop out.

"TEN?!"

"Huh?"

"That's Ten! That's a member of WayV!"

"Wait- what?"

I suddenly remember what he said when I asked about the signed album in the photo.

"Kinda close with Ten" my ass...

[sisterspooky1013]

Damsels, Chapter Twelve: You Deserve to Enjoy Your Body

By SisterSpooky1013 / Rated E

Read previous chapters here / Tagging @today-in-fic

He follows her up the stairwell that leads to her apartment. The complex has seen better days, but when she unlocks the front door he’s surprised to see that the inside is relatively nice. It’s small but tidy, which is no surprise for any place Scully inhabits, and the decor is decidedly young.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, make yourself at home,” she says, then disappears into the bathroom.

He looks around and has an odd feeling that he’s invading someone’s space. There are little trinkets on the shelves, magazines on the table, a stack of bills on the counter, but none of it is Scully. He sits down on the couch but it’s impossibly narrow and low to the ground, as though it were designed for a child. Or a child-sized woman, he supposes. The only other seating options are the table or the bed. The kind of conversation he wants to have with Scully shouldn’t take place at a dinner table, so he sits on the end of her bed, listening to the running shower. He wants to rummage through the drawers, to see the private details of her fabricated life, but he doesn’t. When the water stops running, his heart starts to race.

&&

She steps out of the shower, wiping steam off the mirror with her forearm. Desi has gone down the drain and Scully looks back at her. She frowns, feeling a sense of loss. She’s going to go back out there as Scully, and Scully is going to sidestep her way right out of having an actual conversation with Mulder, just like she always does. Tears prick at her eyes, and she remembers how it felt to be Desi, to be free. She wants to keep that part of her, but she doesn’t know how.

Just ask yourself, ‘what would Desi do?’ and then do that.

Magenta’s words echo in her head. She’s not going to let Desi go just yet.

She suddenly realizes that she hasn’t brought a change of clothes into the bathroom with her, and because it’s a studio apartment, Mulder will be just outside the door. She puts on the short black bathrobe that’s hanging on the back of the door and it hits her thighs just below her ass. She needs to at least have underwear on beneath this; it’s too revealing. Scully would go out, grab a change of clothes, and then come back in here to put them on. But what would Desi do?

She opens the door and is surprised to see Mulder sitting on the bed. His head snaps over to her and a grin blossoms on his face.

“What?” she asks self-consciously.

He shakes his head, but the smile stays. “It’s just good to see you.”

She gives him the eyebrow. “I’ve been gone for ten minutes, Mulder,” she replies dryly.

“Right, um, it’s good to see Scully is what I meant to say. You. Really you.”

Is this really her? She doesn’t want it to be. She walks over to her dresser and opens the top drawer, plucking out a pair of red panties. Her back to him, she steps into them and pulls them up under the robe. He doesn’t make a sound, but she can feel his reaction.

Staying casual so as not to betray her pounding heart, she walks over and turns on the lamp beside the bed, then flicks off the overhead light and lays down. He turns to look at her from his spot at the foot, the amber light casting him in a warm glow.

“Your couch is tiny; for a second there I thought I had fallen into Gulliver’s Travels,” he says by way of explanation.

She has the thought that it had sat her and Angel just fine, but she doesn’t tell him that. She shifts to get more comfortable and winces at her sore ribs.

“He get you pretty good?” Mulder asks, crawling up to lie on his side next to her.

Scully would tell him, but Desi would show him. Pulling her robe open beneath her breasts, she exposes the developing bruise on her belly, just below and to the left of her sternum. Mulder sucks in a little breath that she assumes is in response to how bad it looks, but when she looks at his face his eyes are trained much lower, maybe on her scar. It seems as though he’ll never be able to stop blaming himself for that.

“No broken ribs or any internal injury, thankfully,” she says, watching him look at her. “I rolled away right as he kicked me, so it wasn’t as much impact as he was shooting for.”

“How long have you had that?” he asks, and her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Um...a few hours?” she offers.

“No, this,” he replies, reaching out and touching her belly ring with an index finger. She blushes.

“Um, a couple years or so. I got it after my cancer went into remission.”

“Why?” he asks, all curiosity, no judgement. He’s still fingering the ring gently and she stifles a shiver.

“I guess...I guess I wanted to decide what happened to my body for once,” she answers, and he looks at her face with some mix of pain and admiration.

“This assignment,” he says with a regretful voice, “it took that away from you again.” His hand has come to rest on her belly, his palm covering the gold hoop.

She shakes her head gently. “In some ways yes, but in other ways it was actually...kind of empowering.”

They look at each other for a beat.

“How many times did you come to see me, Mulder?”

He averts his eyes sheepishly. “Too many,” he says. “I’m sorry.” It’s clear that he counts himself among those who violated her autonomy.

“Why?” she inquires further. “Why did you come?” Her tone is all curiosity, no judgement.

He meets her eye again. “Do you want to hear the lie I told myself, or the truth?” he asks, and she knows he’ll be honest if she asks him to.

“Tell me the lie first.”

“I knew you didn’t have your weapon, because I went to your apartment and checked your gun safe. So I needed to be there to protect you, in case something happened.” He says it flatly. He’s not even trying to convince himself of that anymore.

“And what’s the truth?” She knows her voice is on the verge of trembling.

His thumb is now gently stroking the flesh of her belly, his fingers mere inches from the hem of her panties. Now seems like a good time for honesty.

“At first, I just needed to know where you were. I couldn’t stand the idea of not knowing. And then once I found you, I just…” he stops and swallows, letting his eyes drift down, skirting over her chest to where his hand lies.

“What?” she encourages him, needing to know. Needing to hear it.

He turns his head abruptly, facing her again. “You looked so fucking good up there, Scully.” His pupils are huge and his breathing is quickening.

She smiles demurely. “Yeah?”

He huffs a big breath. “Yeah.”

She screws up her mouth, embarrassed by the compliment. “Thanks,” she finally says, and then they are quiet.

His hand still rests on her stomach, and he looks around the room, rather than stare at her awkwardly. She can hear the clock ticking in the living room and a horn honking somewhere nearby. This is the point where she will say how late it is, how tired she is, how early they will have to be up in the morning to continue the investigation. This is the point where she pulls open the escape catch and slips through.

What would Desi do?

She reaches up to his face, slipping her cool palms onto his stubbled cheeks. He turns to look at her, and she blinks slowly, letting her lips fall open slightly. She remembers the VIP room, and how desperate he’d been to touch her.

You deserve to enjoy your body, Angel had told her. She wants it to be true.

She pulls gently, bringing him to her. He closes the distance between them slowly, pressing his lips to hers. This is not a searing kiss, not frantic or desperate or unbridled. This is her and this is Mulder, and this is real. His kiss is tender and sweet, and he sighs deeply against her mouth with a little hum. Relief, release, finally finally finally.

She slides her tongue along his bottom lip and his body jerks a little in response, electrified and activated. A swell of confidence courses through her. Bringing one hand down from his face, she pushes the top of her robe open to reveal her bare chest, her nipples already tight with anticipation. His hand snakes up her ribcage, fluttering over the bruise and coming to rest at the spot where her underwire lies each day they work together in the office. Where sweat collects when the air conditioning in their rental car is out. Where her body becomes Her Body, and they are crossing this boundary together. Even though they already crossed it, obliterated it, when he took her into that VIP room. This feels more significant. This is real. This is them.

He trails kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck, slow and delicious. His tongue dances across her clavicle and his lips brush the skin of her chest. When he takes her nipple in his mouth, she feels it so deeply, in a place she’d forgotten existed. A place that she’d so rarely let herself go. The rough of his tongue drags across the sensitive bud and she arches into him, letting her head fall back and her eyes close.

You deserve to enjoy your body.

His mouth is back on her neck and he kisses his way up to her ear. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers huskily, and she feels a surge of arousal dampening her panties.

He gently covers her bruise with his hand, kissing her lips whisper soft, so soft it makes her ache. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and at first she thinks he means emotionally.

“You won’t, Mulder.” It would have been the same answer either way.

She laps at his mouth and he reciprocates, deepening the kiss. As with all things, he’s exploratory; tasting each corner of her mouth, changing speed and pressure, discovering what she likes. Their slow, liquid kisses are the type she hasn’t experienced since she was a teenager and kissing was all that was permissible. She’d forgotten how erotic kissing could be. But she definitely wants to do more than just kiss.

“You can touch me,” she says. Even though he already is, already has. It’s as close to a request as she can manage.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he returns, and she remembers the way his hands had flexed and his body arched, seeking contact with her.

“Yes,” she breathes, “please.”

A low moan rumbles in his chest and his hand leaves her bruise, brushing over the skin of her belly as he continues to kiss her, the featherlight touch tickling her and making her jump.

“Sorry,” he says, and she can feel his smile against her mouth.

He plays at the hem of her panties, tracing the border across her stomach, the edge at her leg until it disappears under her ass. He follows it the other direction up and over the front of her leg until it takes him between her thighs. She moves one leg aside, resting it against him, and he continues to trace the trail along the seam of her thigh and vulva, so close she’s sure he can feel the heat coming off her. Maybe even feel how wet she is. He lifts his finger and places it low, on top of her panties near her opening, and drags it up over her cotton-covered slit. When he bumps up over her clit, she makes a little sound. He does it again.

“Can I…” he grumbles into her ear, “...I want to taste you. Please.”

A throb. Whatever she had previously thought to be the sexiest sound in the world is obsolete. Fox Mulder begging to eat her pussy is it, hands down, no debate. She wants to hear him say it again.

“You want to?” she asks rhetorically, baiting him. Her breath is ragged. If she somehow talks him out of this by accident she will die.

“So bad,” he drags his teeth over her earlobe. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about it.”

A throb. She might come just from talking about it. “Okay,” she says, as though acquiescing.

He moves to hover over her, kissing her several more times as though he can hardly tear himself away from one area to kiss another. If only he had a second set of lips to kiss her with. He makes brief stops at her breasts and belly along his journey, sucking the gold hoop between his lips, which produces an oddly pleasurable sensation. When he’s on his knees between her thighs, he hooks his fingers into the fabric at her hips and tugs, peeling them slowly down her legs. She lifts one leg and crosses it over his body so that he can pull her panties free and toss them on the floor. When that last scrap of fabric is gone, he gently pulls her leg back over and his eyes come to rest on the one part of her body he has not yet seen. She watches him intently, the mesmerized look in his eye as he commits her pink, swollen vulva to memory. He’s looking between her legs as though the answers he’s always been searching for are right here, and he can’t believe he’s only finding them now. He licks his lips.

When he lowers his body, laying on his belly and placing his palms on the outsides of her thighs, she feels the anticipation throbbing so hard she wonders if he can actually see how much she wants him. He dips his head and she is trembling, desperate, now now now.

The sweet slip of his tongue through her folds simultaneously ignites and extinguishes her. Release on top of heightened desire. Scratching the itch while tickling forth a new one. He is tentative, trying different levels of pressure and length of strokes, licking her long from bow to stern then short just across her clit. Every single point of contact is an entire fireworks show in a millisecond, one on top of the other, and she doesn’t even realize at first that she is crying out. Moaning and panting, making so much more noise than she ever would have permitted herself to make in the past. He slips a finger inside and she feels the beginnings of an orgasm begin to take shape. He laps her in short strokes, flicking up and over her clit over and over, and every synapse in her brain is firing. He slips a second finger in and she’s there, right on the edge, ready to fall over.

“I’m gonna come,” she whines, and he groans, keeping pace and pressure, not changing a single thing.

It’s slow, so slow the way it overtakes her. Her toes curl as it creeps up her legs, wrapping around her hips and pulling her under. She reaches the crest and hangs there, clamped tight around him at the peak of pleasure for so deliciously long. Then the waves hit her, pulsing and pushing and expanding and contracting, and he keeps going. It’s so good, so fucking good that she thinks she might cry, or maybe she already is, she doesn’t know. She’s still going, still pulsing around his fingers, but now that the most intense point has passed she wants him close, she wants more.

“Mulder,” she says with a thick, dry-mouthed voice, “come here.”

He crawls up over her body, still fully clothed, and she pushes his shirt up quickly, tossing it aside before her hands go to the fly of his jeans. She can see a question pass over his eyes, a worry that it’s too much too fast. Not for him, but for her.

“I want you,” she assures him, and he helps her push his jeans and boxers off, discarding her robe when he briefly stands. Then they are both fully nude, his stiff cock nestled between her thighs.

“Please,” she begs, because she means NOW she wants him now, right now, while she’s still riding the coattails of her orgasm.

He grips his cock and slides it over her, collecting her wetness, and then slowly pushes inside. He’s perfect, big enough but not too big for her petite frame, and she hooks her legs around his buttocks, pulling him deeper.

“Fuck,” he moans, but takes the cue and begins long, firm strokes.

The new sensation of the head of his cock sliding against her insides sets off another series of little waves of pleasure and she’s not sure if she’s still coming or coming again, but it’s so damn good she doesn’t care.

“You feel so good,” she moans against his neck, and he can feel him stiffen and grow even harder in response.

“Oh my god, Scully, oh my god.” He can’t find more eloquent words than that, but she doesn’t need them. She knows.

He kisses her while he slides in and out, groaning and growing more frantic. He’s close.

“Fuck, should I...pull out or something?” he asks breathlessly, a bit late in the game but she can appreciate that he thought of it at all. She remembers the box of condoms in the bathroom, but this is Mulder. She knows he hasn’t been with anyone else, and she can’t get pregnant anyway.

“Come inside me,” she commands, and that does it. His eyes clamp shut and his breath catches. He continues thrusting into her in stony silence, a living statue until he falls apart.

Words tumble from his lips as he pours himself inside her, a stream of consciousness he isn’t even aware of while dopamine is flooding every cell of his body. “Oh my fucking god, Scully, oh my fucking god, I love you so much.” She watches his face raptly, marveling at the blissful way his eyebrows stitch and his mouth hangs as he lets go, lets himself feel good for once. He collapses, falling to the side and taking her with him so he can remain inside her, nuzzling her neck as he rides out the final dredges of pleasure.

She traces her fingers over the sweat-dampened skin of his back, feeling whatever the opposite of regret would be. She’s never been so sure that a decision she’s made was the right one as she is now. He sighs deeply and then tips his head up to look at her, a sated smile on his lips that she returns.

“Hi,” she says in her very own voice, and he gives her a squeeze at the familiar greeting.

“Hey,” he replies, and her heart swells with affection that she cannot rightfully ignore.

“I love you too,” she says, and a flash of surprise disappears from his expression as quickly as it arrived. Maybe he doesn’t realize he said it, but he knows he feels it.

“Does that mean you’re not gonna kick me out?” he asks, and she can’t be mad that he’s ruining the moment with humor. He wouldn’t be Mulder if he didn’t.

“Stay,” she replies, and reaches up to switch off the lamp. They fall asleep just like that, his sticky cum on the insides of her thighs something she’s not ready to let go of just yet.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @dreadfutures! I really appreciate it! <3

Still working on the never-ending snippet (they’re chapters, really XD)! To be fair, this is a great exercise because it’s helping me utilize dialogue more! So, without further ado...

...The Anchor being a buzz kill. :3

---

“Fane..”, Solas said, slightly breathless as Fane explored and showed the warmth of a balm.

“Hm,”, Fane hummed as he finally found Solas’ pulse, fluttering and skipping. He pulled away a bit, eyes hooded as he watched the beating patch. “You’re getting excited already. Dangerous, my sky. Very, very dangerous.”

Solas let out an airy laugh, turning in his embrace a bit to rest his side against Fane’s front. He had to adjust his hold a bit and take his hand holding the mage’s jaw away, but he kept his eyes on the butterfly before him. It was tempting to...well, snatch it from the air, but Fane kept himself in control, even as he felt the sky begin to lay kisses along his neck. They were as light as air and near reverent, but no less hot with their underlying heat. It was making his mind haze with a different kind of smoke this time.  

“Ma’isenatha,” Solas murmured against where he was kissing, tender and sweet, but there was a note of...concern in its cadence? “...May I see your hand?”

What?

Fane blinked, the smoke clearing a bit. “Huh?”, he uttered in question, shifting his gaze away from the steadying butterfly to glistening orbs--lavender branching out from where the pupil was. Oh, he loved that hue. That hue, that very few saw…

Solas offered him a tiny smile. “Your hand.”, he repeated, a tentative touch appearing against an...oddly warm, blazingly warm, palm. Why was his hand so damn hot? It almost burned.

Fane drew his brows together, confused. “...My hand? Why do you--?”

Suddenly and before he could get the words out, the Anchor cracked within his palm--ancient magic still very much volatile from his earlier outburst. Fane hissed sharply. Damn it all! He forgot all about the Void-taken thing! Fuck! Just when he had been sure everything was as it should be again! Foolish! Foolish!

“Easy, vhenan,”, Solas soothed, one hand appearing upon his cheek and the other within his spasming hand. Within an instant, their fingers wound together, interlocking like a masterwork latch. “Breathe, and let us move from the floor. I can examine your hand better that way.” Blue orbs connected with his own, questioning and full of tender concern, even if they were a bit hard to make out from the suddenness of sharp daggers under his skin. “...Can you do that for me?”

Fane gritted his teeth at another pulse, growling deep in his chest, but he managed to jerkily nod. He could move, but by anything that was holy, he didn’t want to. The damned Anchor tended to skyrocket in its anger every time he jolted it, but...he could endure it. He could endure it if it meant it would just stop.

Solas gave him another reassuring smile, gingerly lifting himself off of where he was leaning against Fane’s front to stand. Fane nearly dragged the elf back down when another deep pulse of magic shot up his arm, but thankfully, not his head. It fucking burned like acid, however. The magic was less than it had been earlier, but it was still managing to seep from the slit and snake up his arm like ethereal vines.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”, Fane cursed over and over, growling and snarling in the interim. “Fuuuck!”

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily, trying to fight through the pain and nausea as he, none too gracefully, pushed himself off the floor with his free hand. To Fane’s surprise, the Anchor didn’t protest too awfully, only snapping against his wrist like a hand slapped another in reprimand. Still, it ached, burned, and screamed.

Solas’ hands appeared on him the moment he stood at full height, using both to lift the acid spewing hand up to his line of vision. Fane swallowed hard around pooling saliva and took in deep breaths through his nose as he let the mage work his magic. 

He watched as a slender finger glided along the brightly glowing opening, testing, teasing the familiar magic out with a gentle blue glow. The tendrils came outwards, but then abated minimally, cowing at calming blue, but they still carried fury underneath--pulsing and crawling. Fane grimaced at the sensation, stifling a pained growl. It would never end unless he chopped his arm off, would it? Or, well, if Solas took it away. Sadly, his sky didn’t have the capability or power to do that yet. Fane would be both relieved and not relieved the day that he did. For various reasons. Reasons they also needed to discuss sometime, but not right now. Not when his fucking arm was feeling like it was getting pulled through a rift!

Solas gave him a tiny smile, glancing up from his work. “You are doing well, my dragon.”, he praised before concentration hardened features that held the shadows and dual glow of magic, eyes going back down to focus. “What do you feel right now? Describe the sensations for me.”

Fane took in another deep breath. “Uh, c-crawling. F-Feels like there’s worms under my skin. Worms that are--are on fire.”, he tried to explain as best he could, but those blazing worms were wriggling, writhing as Solas gingerly ushered more of his magic into the mark. “I-It keeps knocking against that f-fucking ward, too.”

Solas glanced up again, but didn’t halt his ministrations. “It has not pierced through, correct?”

Fane shook his head with a shaky sigh. “No, but that’s because I’m…” He gasped a bit, a hard pound slamming into the walls of his mind like a drum. “...fighting it.”

That seemed to be all Solas needed him to say, going back to his task with a furrowed brow and a determined look in his sky-line eyes.

Slowly but surely, the Anchor began to die down as the more Solas guided his magic to make the more volatile counterpart heel. The tendrils of sickly, but sparkling green abated, the ever present glow dimmed, and best of all, the pain ebbed away like a lazy wave. Fane sucked in a deep, deep breath as that reprieved was granted to him. He still felt nauseous as all got out, but the worms were dying down, the knock upon a locked door floating away as chaotic magic slithered back down his arm. He could honestly sob from relief. Truly, he could. 

Solas let out a quiet sigh of his own, tired and relieved all in one, as his eyes met Fane’s own again and for good this time. They were speaking to him, asking a typical question and it filled Fane’s heart with tender affection.

Fane smiled tiredly. “Better. Thank you.”, he said. He was utterly exhausted, stomach tender and head aching duly, but the pain had stopped, the magic driven back to the hole it crawled out of.

Solas let out another relieved sigh at his words, a tired smile of his own appearing, cracking the mask of concentration, and giving his marked hand a gentle squeeze with the two still holding it.

“It’s nothing.”, the mage downplayed, shifting tender eyes down to gaze upon the Anchor forlornly. “I simply wish I could rid you of this burden, to wipe away this pain. If I had known it would be you who would somehow pick the orb up, I would have been--”

Fane sighed softly as he tapped the underneath of Solas’ chin with a few fingers of the hand he was holding. The elf blinked, steely orbs snapping up to him instantly and that only made Fane smirk more. How the sky heeded a dragon’s call. It should be the reverse, but this world continued to show how much it defied itself.

“Stop. Observe and accept. Observe what happened, and accept that it was beyond your control to predict. You will fix things, Solas. We will fix things.”, Fane assured as he leaned in to lay a light kiss against the mage’s lips. It was reciprocated with ease, a tiny hum escaping from his sky and it made him reluctant to pull back, but he did to murmur, “All of it will come in time, ma tarasyl. You know that. I know that. Be patient.”

Solas let out a chuckle. “Using my own words against me? Wisdom is a concept in you, I see.”, he teased.

Fane sneered a bit. “Cute.”, he replied dryly before shrugging. “I only used them because you used my own earlier, and I figured you’d be more amenable listening to yourself when in concern to what happened at the Conclave and whatnot. You do like to hear yourself talk, after all.”, he teased with a growing smirk. They were coming full circle now, and hopefully, his jokes would land more gently this time.

“Insufferable.”, Solas quipped with an exasperated sigh, but it was fond underneath, he knew. “Why do I--?”

Fane blinked as Solas suddenly froze up, face going blank and glittering eyes staring at him, but not registering. He furrowed his brow at that, pulling his head back a bit to get a better look at blue and grey. Now, that wasn’t normal. The hues were still bright, aware, blue with lavender branching from the middle, but Solas’ face and posture screamed, ‘disconnected’. Fane felt himself grow more worried at that. Had he fucked up again?

“Solas? Are you--?”

He went to ask after the man, thinking his joke had hit a nerve yet again, but a slender finger suddenly darted up to his lips, stilling them. It was telling him to wait, to be silent. Fane blinked. Well, at least the mage was responsive? Yes...a corner of a mouth was moving a bit, eyes were blinking slowly, and a…

...nose was twitching?

Before any more questions could be voiced or even thought up, Fane saw Solas’ face pinch a bit, nose screwing up before sucking in a slow, deep breath, and then…

“Achoo!”

We have it all in this story! Pain, sadness, Solas tears, Fane rage, fluff, cockblocking magic, and sniffles~ >:3 Watch this turn into a sick fic now. XD

Tagging forth (with love and potions to ward against sniffles!)

@oxygenforthewicked @noire-pandora @the-dreadful-canine @little-lightning-lavellan @aymayzing @dungeons-and-dragon-age @hoochieblues @whataboutbugs @1000generations @blueheaded @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold and anyone else who’d like to share! It’s Wednesday~! X3 (no pressure, of course! <3)

[secretpajamas]

a different kind of rush;

an ezra x reader fic

pairing: ezra (prospect) x female reader

rating: explicit

genre: romance/smut/and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

words: 5.6k

part 2 of 2 (read part one HERE)

please scroll to the end to “content” if you would like to know specific smut-related content before reading!

--

When you emerged from the shower, you changed into your long sleep shirt (the thing was far too old and ratty at this point to be considered a “nightgown”). Even though it wasn’t dark out yet, you figured you might as well go to bed at the rate this day was going.

As you slowly crept through the tent partition, you noticed that Ezra was gone—and so was his gear.

You found a note in Ezra’s barely-legible scrawl placed at the foot of your bed.

“Starstone quality check,” you mumbled, reading the note aloud.

Starstone was so finicky that it was necessary to check up on it in storage to make sure it maintained its stability. But you knew in your gut he was avoiding you. While he was out, you cleaned the filters and checked the tanks like you always did—minus the filter and tank that Ezra was currently using—the methodical work helping soothe your nerves a little.

When Ezra came back in, you were sitting up in bed, reading the book Ezra’s kid Cee had hand-written (“She didn’t come up with the story, but she basically rewrote the whole damn thing herself. Smarter than she knows, that kid.”). It wasn’t your usual kind of story, and not even your usual medium of consumption (you preferred late-night radio dramas, but they broadcast from the Ephrate—the signal was spotty at best in the Fringes and nonexistent here in the Reach), but it was captivating nonetheless.

You didn’t look up from the book as Ezra walked in. Neither of you said a word.

Part of you was relieved that you didn’t talk about it.

The other part of you was desperate to talk about it.

--

The next morning, you woke to Ezra sitting at his makeshift desk—a chair set in front of an old wooden shipping crate—swirling together the starstone enzyme bath. He was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a gray t-shirt, his hair already matted with perspiration from the heat.

You grumbled and slowly sat up.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Ezra said, not lifting his eyes from his work.

“Mmph,” was your sleepy response.

“Oats are ready if you have a hankering,” he continued, gesturing with his head towards the “kitchen”—another wooden shipping crate, this one with a battery-operated stove placed on top.

You were suddenly very awake at the promise of food. “Please tell me there’s coffee, too.”

“Haven’t made it yet,” he replied. “Go easy on the stuff, you’ve drunk near all my supply.”

“I believe food and board is included in my contract.” You yawned before shuffling your way over to the stove.

“Food and board, sweetheart, not drink.” Ezra held the canister of freshly mixed enzyme solution between his knees as he twisted on the cap with his hand.

Your stomach rumbled and you eagerly grabbed your bowl of oatmeal. After wolfing down your breakfast, you filled Ezra’s rickety kettle with water and set it on the stove, turning the power up to high. You pawed around the mismatched collection of canteens piled next to the stove until you found two clean ones and set them out, along with four packets of powdered coffee (three for you, one for Ezra). It was the instant stuff anyone could grab for cheap at a shuttle station, and it tasted wretched, but it did its job.

As you waited for the water to boil—not long when the water in storage was already warm thanks to this planet’s heat—You heard Ezra stand up and approach you. When you felt his hand brush the small of your back, you shivered.

Ezra huffed. “Are you cold? For cryin’ out loud, woman, it’s hotter’n two channel-rats fuckin’ in a wool sock.”

“Must be caffeine withdrawal,” you lied, knowing full well it was Ezra’s touch.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth and you nearly shivered again. “I suppose it’s high time I replenish our supplies,” he said, “lest you pillage the remainder of my coffee.”

When the kettle began to whistle, you switched off the stove and poured equal amounts of hot water into the cups—and unequal amounts of coffee packets. All the while, Ezra’s hand stayed on your back.

“Speaking of supplies, we could use another full O2 tank,” you said, trying your best to ignore how your stomach did somersaults every time Ezra absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against the material of your sleep shirt, “and coolant for the air circulators.”

“I’m well aware,” Ezra said, “but thank you kindly for the reminder.”

You offered Ezra his canteen of coffee. You mourned the loss of his hand on your back, but feeling the brush of his fingers against yours as you handed him his cup was nearly as electrifying.

“S’posin’ we pull a good haul of starstone today, I can ready the pod for the shuttle station tomorrow,” he said between sips. “Be back within a couple days’ time.”

You swallowed down a lump in your throat along with your coffee. You did need supplies, but it was hardly urgent—was he really that keen on avoiding you? But the way he just touched your back—he’d never been more intimate than friendly pats on the shoulder before—

“The shuttle station gets a clearer radio signal to the Ephrate,” Ezra continued, “I can have a good an’ proper talk with Cee.”

Oh. He wants to talk to his kid, you moron. Why did you make this about yourself and your ill-timed masturbatory ventures?

“I’ll hold down the fort, then,” you said between gulps of your coffee.

“I’m countin’ on it,” Ezra said. “Now let’s score some stone afore this bitch of a planet bakes us alive.”

–

Ezra was gone before you woke, but you had expected it. He told you as much last night. But you still couldn’t shake the notion that he was avoiding you. You sighed deeply before untangling yourself from the bedsheets and crawling over to make your morning coffee.

On the table, the kettle was already set out on the stovetop, along with three coffee packets, a clean canteen, and a note from Ezra.

“Radio at 21:00,” you mumbled. That was tonight—so he was planning to call you as soon as he got in. You couldn’t help but smile as you made your coffee.

You didn’t have to mine today or tomorrow, thanks to working double-time yesterday (and your aching muscles certainly reminded you of that), but there was still plenty to do around the tent. After gulping down your coffee, you started with the pile of laundry in the corner. It was the most urgent order of business, based on how it was beginning to climb up the wall—and how much it stunk. You filled a basin with water and soap and got to work.

While hanging the garments to dry, you noticed a pair of Ezra’s compression pants had a tear in the thigh—thankfully, it was on a side seam, so you could easily sew it shut. You noted to fix it as soon as it was finished drying. You wondered if you could mend anything else, noting Ezra’s ratty assortment of boxers and briefs. If he made any cash in the aurelac rush, he certainly didn’t spend any of it on underwear. You could mend holes, but you couldn’t work miracles.

As you waited for the clothes to dry, you snacked on a ration bar and read more of Cee’s book. You were invested in the characters now, despite your initial skepticism of the subject matter. You had to admit, it was a bit of a page-turner. After a while, you didn’t want to put it down. You moved from sitting at Ezra’s desk to leaning against one of the tent supports to laying on your bed mat, your eyes glued to the page.

When you finally came to a satisfying enough chapter to pause your reading, you looked around for a piece of scrap paper to mark your place. You picked up Ezra’s note and tucked it inside the pages before shutting the book. You noticed the laundry hanging up was dry—had you really been reading that long? Oh well. Time to get mending.

–

You had mended Ezra’s pants, a pair of his socks, and were about to sew a button back on the pocket of your suit when you heard your name crackle from the radio headset in the corner. Startled, you dropped your work, the button skittering across the floor.

“Gimme a minute!” You shouted, hoping your headset would pick it up from across the tent. You quickly found the runaway button and placed it on Ezra’s desk before scrambling to your side of the tent to put on your headset.

“Sorry about that,” you said, “I’m here. You get in okay?”

“All in one piece,” came Ezra’s voice in your ear, “give or take an arm.”

You rolled your eyes at Ezra’s wisecrack. “Talk to Cee yet?”

“Not yet,” Ezra said, “with the time difference between here and the Ephrate, she’s still in class. I shan’t interrupt her studies.”

You looked at the book where it lay on Ezra’s desk and smiled. “Well, when you call her, tell her I said hello.”

“Will do.”

“So, what station did you end up at?” You asked.

“Trinity,” Ezra replied.

“Trinity,” you said, “don’t think I’ve been on Trinity since the rush.”

“Ain’t any different,” Ezra said, “still got egregious docking fees and an abundance of unpleasant company.”

“Already shooed away a pick-pocket busker, haven’t you?”

“Several,” Ezra grumbled, “Damn this stump, they think I’m an easy target.”

“Were any of them good players, at least?” You asked.

“Truthfully, the boy on the panpipes was a talented little devil,” he said, “both in playing his instrument and his victims. I let him pilfer a coin from my pocket—I fancy myself a patron of the arts.”

You snorted. “You keep coin in your pocket? On Trinity?”

“Sweetheart, it’s the decoy cash,” Ezra explained. “You keep a couple low-credit coin in your pocket for the vandals so that they don’t go scroungin’ for the heavy-hittin’ gems in your suit lining.”

“Speaking of your suit lining,” you said, “I’ve been doing some mending.”

You heard Ezra’s raspy laugh through your headset. “Don’t suppose you’ve been sewin’ up my underthings.”

“Those are hopeless,” you remarked, “I meant your spare compression pants.”

“Ah!” Ezra said. “I do recall those had a rip in ’em. I was fixin’ to fix those.”

“Well, I figured I’d do it as long as I had the time,” you said. “Also darned a pair of your socks.”

“Are you anglin’ for a raise?” You could hear the smile in Ezra’s voice.

“Your listing did say ‘compensation negotiable,’” you replied.

“Hmm. That it did,” Ezra said. “Perhaps we shall negotiate upon my return.”

The radio line lay silent for a moment, and you felt a nervous pang in your stomach. Enough small talk. You needed to say something about what happened the other day—even if it was just to apologize.

“Ezra?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” He replied.

“Is everything... Okay? With us?” You asked, trying to suppress the anxiety in your voice.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Ezra replied, before quickly adding in lowered tone, “Did somethin’... rub you the wrong way?”

“Kevva help me,” you grumbled, feeling the wave embarrassment crawl up your spine. “I’m so sorry, Ezra. It won’t happen again.”

“Stop apologizin’. There ain’t a thing wrong indulgin’ in a little well-earned self-pleasure.”

The way he said pleasure made your breath hitch. You hoped like hell it didn’t pick up on the radio.

“If there’s one thing I’ve come to realize in my years,” he said, “is that there’s no use feelin’ shame in feelin’ good.”

His voice was smooth and deliberate now. That bastard knew exactly what he was doing to you. “So don’t you stop yourself because of me—truthfully, I don’t mind. Not one bit.”

Hesitantly, you reached down to press the heel of your hand against your clit, choking back a moan threatening to escape your throat—but not entirely succeeding.

You heard Ezra’s breath coming loud and heavy through the radio. “Are you touchin’ yourself right now, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you gasped out, your previous inhibitions completely shattered.

“Fuck,” Ezra replied. “Thank Kevva this radio headset is hands-free.”

You heard what might have been Ezra undoing his zipper—and your suspicions were confirmed when you heard a low moan through the radio.

“Ezra—”

“Do you have the faintest idea what you do to me, woman?” The line swelled with static and the throaty rasp of Ezra’s voice. “Told myself not to—made myself not think of you like that. It ain’t proper. But when you—you let me watch—”

You whined and slid your hand beneath your underwear. “I was thinking of you,” you confessed, “always thinking of you—”

“It’s a cryin’ shame,” Ezra said, “all I’ve got is spit-slick and a weak hand wishin’ like hell it was you.”

You sped up the pace of your fingers as he continued.

“If you were here,” he said, “I’d bury myself inside you so deep—ah, fuck—’til you were the only thing I could feel.”

At his words, you slid two fingers inside yourself up to the knuckle, arching your hips, trying to get them as deep as they could go, thumb tirelessly working at your clit.

“I want that,” you panted, “I want you.”

“—Make you come on my cock again and again ’til you’re dizzy with it,” he said, “fuck you so hard you feel it the next day.”

Ezra’s words were pushing you close to the edge. “Ezra, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he groaned, “let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You came to the overwhelming sound of Ezra’s broken moans and your own desperate cries and the static of the radio and the beating of your heart—

a discordant symphony of absolute ecstasy.

–

Ezra returned the following night with a full pod of supplies. You worked together like a well-oiled machine, moving various goods from the pod to the tent in an orderly fashion. You both made small talk—Cee was doing well at the Academy, the shuttle station shop was stocked enough with what they needed, no, they didn’t have real coffee, just the shit stuff in packets.

Despite the friendly conversation, the air was thick with unspoken words.

It was hot out—as it always was on this planet—so you breathed a huge sigh of relief when you had both moved all the supplies to the tent and you could leave the sweaty pod. You both discarded your helmets and stood in front of the air circulator on Ezra’s side of the tent, sifting through the supplies and placing them where they belonged throughout the tent.

When you reached at the same time as Ezra for a can of coolant, your hands collided, sending a shockwave up your arm and stopping your breath.

You both froze, staring at your hands where they met.

Slowly, carefully, Ezra intertwined your fingers with his.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he whispered, those beautiful brown eyes of his gazing at you tenderly.

You couldn’t take it anymore—you climbed over the pile of supplies between you and pressed your lips to his.

He let out a surprised little noise against your mouth before returning the kiss with fervor, wrapping his arm tightly around you and pressing you close to his chest.

“Couldn’t—stop—thinkin’ of you,” he said between kisses.

“Do you want to—can we—” You gasped against his mouth.

“Yes,” he breathed, scrambling to work at the zips and fasteners on his suit. He didn’t object when you reached out to help remove the suit—and honestly, you weren’t thinking of it as helping him, more like getting all your clothes off as fast as possible because holy shit this was happening. Ezra had already removed his boots when he took his helmet off earlier, and you were only dressed in your undershirt and shorts, so this blasted contraption of a suit was the main obstacle.

You both managed to get the damn thing off and Ezra kicked it aside. He reached back, grabbing his sweaty t-shirt behind the collar to tug it over his head. You grasped the hem of your top and pulled it up and off, throwing it to the growing pile of discarded clothing.

You were about to strip off your shorts when Ezra reached for you again, kissing your mouth, your jaw, your neck, down to the tops of your breasts along the edge of your bra. You scrambled to unclasp it, letting it fall to the floor. Ezra wasted no time, cupping a breast in his hand and lavishing kisses on the other. When you felt the wet heat of his tongue against your nipple, you cried out, grabbing his hair and giving it a tug. He moaned against your breast before pulling away to look at you.

“Let’s take this to a bed,” you urged.

Ezra nodded vigorously in agreement and you both stumbled over to his bed mat, falling atop the sheets in a tangle of limbs.

Ezra sat up and you situated yourself on his lap, wrapping your legs around him. You could kiss him like this for hours, his tongue in your mouth, your fingers in his hair, his hand steady and warm on your back.

When you both took a moment to catch your breath, Ezra cleared his throat and looked you in the eye, his expression almost timid.

“I must confess, I have not had the chance to... partake, since I lost my arm,” he said. “I may not be as formidable a sparrin’ partner as I once was.”

“Ezra, I’m sure it doesn’t matter,” you said, leaning in to kiss him again. He stopped you with a press of a finger to your lips.

“Allow me to enlighten you.” He shrugged with his stump. “Nothin’s as it once was. I can’t even take a piss the same way. Ever try to hold a dick with a hand that ain’t there?”

“Can’t say I have,” you said.

“Oh, hush, birdie, you can understand the sentiment,” Ezra grumbled. “Everything is at the behest of my damned weak hand. I can’t read my own handwriting anymore. Can’t shoot like I used to—my grip’s shit on the left. Even gettin’ dressed is harder than minin’ aurelac.”

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair before continuing. “And as long as we’re on the subject of minin’, I can no longer mine most things on my lonesome. Each harvest is hardly half of my previous yields, and I got the kid to support on top of everything. Now, Cee deserves every bit of that support, do not misunderstand my words—I would move Kevva and earth for that girl. But such meager wages do tend to make one feel... inadequate. A man’s work is no petty thing.”

You listened to Ezra attentively, not knowing how you could get it across to him that he was no less of a man in your eyes than if he had two arms. You wanted to reassure him, but he pressed on.

“So please, allow me to posit this caveat,”  he said, “that I intend to make love to you, and to do so to the fullest of my capabilities—but even my best efforts may prove... unsatisfactory.”

Make love. Ezra wanted to make love to you. Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You were so stunned by Ezra’s choice of vocabulary that it took you a moment to process what he said.

“Oh,” you said. “You don’t think you can make me come.”

Ezra ducked his head; you could have sworn he was blushing. “You always cut right to the quick.”

You cupped his cheek, running your thumb along the little white scar there.

“Ezra, I don’t care. I just want this. With you.” You glanced down to where you straddled his lap, rolling your hips a little against his growing arousal. “And forgive me if I’m assuming things, but it seems like you want it, too.”

Ezra moaned quietly at your movements. “My desire was never in question, I assure you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

You leaned in and kissed him softly. He returned the kiss before gently moving you off his lap.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he whispered, and you eagerly obliged, reclining on the mattress. He settled on top of you, propping himself up on his elbow, kissing you passionately. Eager to get your hands on him, you hooked a finger under his waistband and gave a tug.

“Whoa there,” Ezra said, “slow down, spitfire.”

You moved your hand away. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, believe me. But those clever hands of yours will have to wait, because I’ve been starvin’ for you,” he said with a sly grin, kissing a path down your breasts to your stomach, “and I can no longer deny myself a taste.”

It took a moment for your Ezra Translator to kick in. “Oh.” You scrambled to shimmy your shorts and underwear down. Ezra took over, pulling them all the way off and tossing them over his shoulder before leaning down to continue his trail of kisses.

He nudged at your thigh with his head and you eagerly opened your legs for him. Rough stubble tickled your thighs as he kissed his way to your cunt. At the first feeling of his hot breath against your clit, your hips jumped up out of their own volition, knocking Ezra off his left elbow and face-planting him onto the bed beneath you.

“Sorry!” You squeaked. You reached out to steady him but stopped yourself—you knew he hated being helped.

“Hell’s bells,” Ezra grunted. He gripped at the sheets with his hand as he slowly pushed himself to sit upright.

“Left arm ain’t worth shit,” he grumbled under his breath, “can’t even hold me up.”

“It’s alright, Ezra,” you said, “we can try again.”

“Indeed we can,” Ezra said. He lay down on his back next to you and motioned to his chin. “Take a seat, sweetheart.”

“Um,” you started. You’d done this before, but not like that. “I don’t want to—hurt you.”

“Kevva’s sake, woman, I ain’t gonna break,” Ezra said, then added with a grin, “if I suffocate on account of your cunt, I will embrace death with open arms. Well, one of ’em, anyway.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said with a groan.

“Here lies Ezra, drowned in pussy,” he continued teasing, eyeing you with a wicked grin.

You hesitantly shuffled toward him. Drumming up some courage, you knelt above him, one knee on either side of his head. You were so nervous that you could hear your pulse roaring in your ears.

Whether impatient or just eager, Ezra grabbed you by the hip, then, and urged you down onto his mouth.

You gasped, bracing yourself as you felt the white-hot warmth of his tongue against your cunt. You choked back a moan, your hips stuttering forward, trying not to grind down too hard on his face. Ezra was having none of that. He urged you to move, his hand gripping your hip and firmly pulling you forward. With a little more certainty, you rocked your hips forward and back, making his tongue slide against your clit in long strokes. You moaned again, louder this time, and Ezra hummed his desperate response, burying his face in your pussy like a man starving.

You rutted against him urgently, your thighs beginning to burn from holding yourself up over him. Your movements became less graceful, more desperate—you slid forward too far, causing your slit to grind against the bridge of his nose, and you’d be embarrassed if didn’t feel so damn good. You were right on the precipice, moments away from shaking apart, when Ezra stilled your hips with his hand and brought you back to his tongue. He latched his mouth over your clit and sucked on it, wet and sloppy and fucking perfect.

“Fuck, Ezra,” you gasped, the heat coiling inside you tighter and tighter, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—”

Ezra growled, his teeth grazing your clit for a moment, and the jolt of sensation just on the right edge of pain had you coming so hard you thought you might black out. You stumbled forward, reaching out to break your fall, your cunt pulling away from his mouth. Somehow, Ezra knew you needed more, reaching behind his head for you and guiding you back in place with his hand. He began to lap at you again, working you through another shaking shockwave of pleasure.

You had to pull away before it was too much. You collapsed next to Ezra on the too-small mattress, trying to catch your breath, feeling your thighs burn and your cunt twitch and your heart sing.

“Give me a minute,” you gasped.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart,” Ezra said, equally breathless.

You turned to look at Ezra. His face was flushed red, beads of sweat dripping down to mix with your slick that had ended up all over his mouth and chin—and his nose. He looked absolutely filthy and you’d be mortified if he didn’t look so damn pleased with himself.

You reached for your discarded t-shirt and gently wiped at his face, cleaning up the most offensive wet patches before tossing it aside again. “Sorry,” you said.

Ezra chuckled. “I do not accept your apology, ma’am,” he teased. “That was sexier than hittin’ a motherlode of aurelac.”

“Now that’s high praise,” you teased back.

“C’mere and kiss me,” he all but whispered, reaching out to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger. You closed the distance and pressed your lips against his. It was almost chaste—if not for the knowledge of where that mouth had just been.

He pressed his forehead against yours. You breathed deeply, absentmindedly playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

You looked down at the straining bulge in his pants, snaking your hand down to stroke at him through the fabric. A little choked moan tumbled from his throat at your touch.

“Let’s take this off,” you said, thumbing the waistband. He nodded in agreement, laying on his back and lifting his hips so you could pull his pants down and off in short order. His cock sprang free, hard and aching.

You licked your lips. “No underwear?”

“Too fuckin’ hot for underwear,” he said, gasping when you gently rested your hand on the crease where his thigh met his hip.

You moved your hand up and down his thigh, making him squirm and thrust up against nothing but air. He practically whined, his hand clawing at the sheets.

“Touch me,” he begged, voice cracking.

“I am touching you,” you said with a wolfish grin.

“Damn it, woman,” he groaned, “if the heat don’t kill me, you sure as shit will have the pleasure yourself.”

“Patience,” you chided, not sure how long you could keep this up—you wanted him inside you, and you wanted him now—but you loved seeing him spread out and desperate for you.

Finally, you wrapped your hand around him and gave a long, firm stroke. He threw his head back and moaned, arching into your touch. You licked your lips as you studied his cock, the thick length of it twitching ever so slightly in your hand. You rubbed at the underside of the head with your thumb and your mouth watered when a bead of precome welled up at the tip. On instinct, you moved down to lick it off.

Ezra cursed, bucking up to meet your mouth. You held him down by the hip before taking him into your mouth as far as you could.

“Fuck, sweetheart—I—fuck!” Ezra cried out, clawing at the sheets with his hand, writhing against your hand where it held him down. When you tentatively reached down to gently squeeze his balls, he nearly sobbed.

“I’m gonna—” Ezra gasped.

You pulled your mouth off of him, then, replacing it with your hand, not moving, just holding him at the base.

“Hold on, I didn’t say stop,” he said with a breathless chuckle. “Everything alright?”

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, barely audible.

Ezra reached out to still your movements. “I don’t have protection, sweetheart,” he said, voice strained.

You bit your bottom lip, averting Ezra’s gaze for a moment. “I have the implant,” you said, looking him in the eye again.

Ezra’s eyebrow shot up. “Well, shit, woman,” he said. “Thought they only had those fancy contraptions in the Ephrate.”

“They do,” you said. “I did have some decent money, once. In the rush. Before my crew took it all and left.”

“You and I have trod similar paths, so it would seem,” Ezra said.

“The rush left a lot of us in the dust,” you said.

Ezra nodded. “The deadliest dust there is.”

After a long moment, he sat up to kiss you, just a gentle press of lips. You put your arms around him and closed your eyes, breathing with him for a moment.

“How do you want to—which way should we—” you stumbled over your words.

“You may have me whichever way you desire,” Ezra said, voice low in your ear, “and I will do my darnedest to provide.”

“Can—can you be on top?” You started, “I mean—I will if it’s easier, but my thighs are kind of killing me.”

Ezra chuckled, and you thrilled at the vibration of it against your chest. “Lay back,” he said.

You complied, laying down on the bed mat. He reached behind you to grab the pillow.

“Lift up that pretty ass of yours for me,” he said, and you did. Kneeling before you, he placed the pillow under your hips.

“Reckon my knees will hold me up longer than my arm,” he said, gripping your hip to tug you towards him.

“Guess both our thighs will be burning tonight,” you said with a sly smile.

“Worth every ache,” he replied, taking himself in hand.

He slowly rubbed at your slit with the head of his cock. You moaned, your cunt clenching against thin air as you felt wetness dribble down. Ezra dragged his cockhead through the slick, gathering it before rubbing at your clit directly. You gasped at the jolt of pleasure lighting up your body—it felt so good you could cry. You could hardly stand the teasing anymore, wanting him inside you now more than ever.

“Ezra, please,” you begged.

At your urging, he lined himself up and slid inside you with one deliberate movement. The sensation of his thick cock filling you up, the almost-aching stretch of it—it was better than you ever imagined. He grabbed you by the hip again to pull you even closer as he began to thrust into you at a steady pace.

“Look at you,” Ezra said, his voice gravelly and low, “takin’ my cock like it was made for you. Shoulda known you’d feel this good, sweetheart.”

“Ezra,” you panted, “Ezra.”

You looked up at Ezra as he filled you completely—from his pupils blown wide and his lips slightly parted, to the broad expanse of his shoulders, to the torso adorned with freckles and scars, to—fuck, where his cock was seated deep in your cunt—he was more beautiful than any gemstone.

You could tell Ezra was trying to control the pace of his thrusts, biting his lip in concentration. You didn’t want him to hold back.

“Harder,” you breathed.

“I ain’t gonna last,” Ezra said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t care!” You cried out, clenching down on him.

“Fuck!” Ezra leaned forward and braced himself against the bed, arm trembling with the effort as he set a brutal pace, fucking into you hard and deep and unrelenting. You nearly screamed.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” Ezra’s voice was frantic and loud, “come for me, please, please, fuck!”

You rubbed your clit for hardly a moment before you shook apart, your cunt spasming around his cock, your body consumed in flames of pleasure so intense you could hardly breathe.

Ezra managed a few more thrusts before he came with a shout, his cock inside you as deep as it could go.

–

In the aftermath, Ezra collapsed beside you, absolutely exhausted. You turned your head to kiss him, lazy and slow.

“If it’s alright with you,” he said, his breath warm and close, “I’m inclined to take the day off tomorrow.”

“We’re sure going to be sore,” you sighed.

“Well, yes,” he agreed, “but I’m keen on more...sparrin’ practice.”

“You can say sex, you know,” you laughed, “not everything has to be a metaphor.”

Ezra smiled. “I do have an inclination to run my mouth, don’t I.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Ezra just rolled his eyes before taking your hand in his, your fingers twining together.

“I just realized,” you said, looking over at Ezra’s desk, “I could’ve sat on that chair instead of your face. Would’ve made things easier.”

Ezra’s eyes widened a fraction, looking over at the chair, then back to you.

“Why didn’t I think of that? I am dumber than a box of rocks,” he said with a chuckle. “But I do believe my method is superior.”

“We’ll have to test your theory,” you said. “Do some serious research.”

Ezra nodded eagerly before setting a steely expression with a furrowed brow. “Of course.”

--

content: phone sex (well, radio sex if you wanna get technical), cunnilingus, face-sitting, blowjob, vaginal sex

a/n: listen. all the scifi sex I write will conveniently make use of “the implant” purely so they can raw-dog it. also like where tf is ezra gonna go buy space condoms. this is set in the fringes of the galaxy. it’s not like he can pop over to space cvs and get some cosmic cock wrappers for his magnum dong. they don’t carry them at the shuttle station, okay?

and yes I DO go back and forth in my fics deciding whether “come” or “cum” is hotter/more grammatically correct/etc and this is a come fic, apologies to the cum crowd

special thanks to taylor (@damerondjarin​) for the exchange of messages that inspired this fic, and for all the moral support thereafter. believe it or not this entire fic was supposed to be JUST the face-sitting sex scene and uh it expanded from there. Oops.