#it's the exact same roll of fabric and it's WILD

[444rockstargf]

Hey, "high with Clyde" anon here (and high again, funnily enough). Smut you say? I've had a thought circulating in my mind recently. Going shopping for new clothes with Jack Thurlow and trying stuff on for him to rate while he sits all pretty on that couch they have there (y'know, that one that they have specifically for guys doing the exact same thing?) while you model for him. And for whatever reason - maybe his responses have been rather lacklustre and you want his....ahem, "enthusiasm", or maybe just cuz you're devious like that - you decide you wanna rile him up a little bit. So! At the next store, you grab like, the sluttiest outfits available unbeknownst to him, and then model them all for him, feeling all smug that he's practically drooling at you

And when he finally reaches his breaking point, the next thing you know, you got your feet behind your ears and his hand over your mouth so you don't get caught. 🤤 Idk, do with that what you might. ^^

you've done it again, anon 🙌🏽

"i get dressed to ride for you, baby." | jack thurlow

burning desire. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @angelsanarchy @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @livingdead-materialgirl@romanroyapoligist @oliviah-25@si1nful-symph0ny @auggiethecreator @vanlisbon@livingdead-reilly @imoonkiss @lankysimp @nom-nommmm1 @xxbl00d-cl0txx @k1ll3rh0rr0r @wildathevrt @mommymilkers0526 @greenxgloss @wild-rose-35 @areuirish

female!reader x jack

word count: 1.8k

contents: public sex, unprotected p in v, missionary position, creampie

“you’ve got 5 minutes to try everything on, you hear me?” jack called out as he sat on the small leather couch outside of your dressing room, brows furrowed as he crossed his arms and slumped into the seat knowing full well you were going to take your precious time trying on every single outfit. so much for a "fun" shopping trip.

inside the small room, you had an assortment of clothes in front of you, ranging from long flowy gowns to dark blue baggy jeans and designer sweaters. a top-tier selection of clothes but none of which were to jack’s taste. but you decided to test your luck anyway.

minutes later, you stepped out and stood right in front of him, wearing your first dress. “how’s this one, jack?” his eyes were downcast, looking at something on his phone. you tapped him on the shoulder, only earning half of his attention. “hm? it looks nice, dolly.” you pouted, moving your hand to his chin to make him look at you. “but you didn’t even look at it.” he moved your hand away, looking you up and down with an unamused gaze. “i said it looks fine. now are you finally done so we can get out of here?” 

you rolled your eyes, walking back into the dressing room and slipping off the dress. you picked up a skintight black dress that was so long it dragged on the floor. surely this one would grab his attention, you thought to yourself as you paired it with a white, button-up sweater. you put on a pair of light-brown heels that were hidden by the fabric, stepping out once again and patting his cheek. 

“what about this? is this one better?” you gave him a little spin, giving him a full 360 degrees of your body in the tight dress. he gave a little smirk in response. “yeah if you wanna look like a nun, i guess. is this the last outfit? i don’t think i can listen to the music in here any longer.” you huffed, discouraged at how nonchalant he was. “yes, im done.” you muttered, walking back into the dressing room to get back into your normal clothes.

you walked out of the dressing room empty-handed, leaving everything behind since none seemed to give you the reaction you expected from him. he took your hand, dragging you out of the store and back into the main mall. “good riddance,” he muttered under his breath. “can we go home now, angel?” your eyes scanned the assortment of stores surrounding you until they landed on one that would surely sell clothes that would blow his socks off.

you shook your head. “not yet, i just wanna go to one more store. please, just one more place?” you begged, staring up at him as he groaned. “only one more. you head on inside, i’m going to grab a coffee. i’ll meet you in the dressing room.” with that, he released your hand and let you go your own way. 

you dashed into the store, immediately pleased by the outfits in the display window. you wasted no time picking up everything you saw, picturing the look on his face when he’d see the clothes on you. you walked into the dressing room, starting to change into one of the outfits as you heard his voice.

“you in here, doll?” he said as he sipped on his hot drink, waiting for a response. “i’m here, jack. just gimme a sec, okay?” he nodded, immediately realizing that you couldn’t see his answer. he sat down on the seat in front of your dressing room, sighing as he scrolled on his phone. “this damn girl…” he whispered to himself. then he was interrupted by the noise of you walking out, standing right in front of him.

you didn’t have to tap him to get his attention this time. his eyes were caught by the shiny black thigh-high leather boots you had on. then his eyes traveled up, first landing on your dangerously short pleated skirt and low-cut tube top that showed just enough cleavage to make his breath hitch (this is the outfit). you placed your hand on your hips, looking down at him as he swallowed hard, immediately putting his phone down and gripping the seat.

“now i’ve got your attention.” you remarked smugly. “you like this one, jack?” you took the words out of his mouth, his cheeks covered in a bright pink stain as his mouth gaped open. he cleared his throat, nodding nervously as a stupid little smile tugged at his lips. “y-yeah, this one’s nice, baby. give me a little spin, will ya?” your face lit up and you twirled, making the skirt lift up just a little as your heels clicked on the ground.

jack squirmed, shifting his position so he was sitting with his legs crossed, suppressing a painfully obvious boner. you grinned triumphantly, happy that you could break his cold, hard exterior. you walked back into the room, making that sad that you were going away but excited to see that next set of clothes you’d have on.

minutes passed and jack found himself impatiently tapping his foot as his mind ran wild with thoughts of you wearing such intimate clothes just for him. his hard cock was straining against the rough denim of his jeans, making him groan quietly as he placed a hand on top of his bulge to calm the throbbing sensation.

his foot began to bounce on the ground with anticipation, and soon enough he couldn’t take it anymore. he sprung up from his seat, pushing the curtain of your dressing room to the side and popping his head in. “are you done in here?” you jumped slightly, startled. but jack’s eyes became as wide as saucers as drool began to drip down his lips. 

you stood in front of the mirror, wearing a small tennis skirt with a plaid pattern on it, paired with a white silky shirt that was more revealing than your bra. and your cute little feet in those white knee-high socks didn’t help the matter either (the outfit). “jack! i’m not done in here yet!” 

he walked into the room, approaching you with a lust-filled haze as you backed into the wall behind you. he closed the curtain of the room, pinning you to the wall and pressing his body into yours, his boner pressing into your stomach. you gasped, the heat of blood starting to pool in your core as he grabbed your face and pulled you into a very sloppy kiss.

“goddamnit, woman… you just know exactly how to drive me crazy, don’t you?” he grabbed your ass, lifting you off the ground and making you wrap your legs around his waist, your clothed, throbbing clit now in contact with his pulsating bulge. you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you again, this time using his tongue to tease yours with his gentle flicks.

your hips began to grind on his, desperate for even the smallest amount of pleasure to still your nerves. jack groaned deeply, whipping out his cock and pumping it quickly. you glanced down, seeing that his girth had nearly doubled in size because of how swollen it had gotten. he rubbed his leaky tip on your silky panties, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric.

you let out a shaky moan, grabbing onto his muscled biceps as he set you down on the wooden bench that was meant for clothing. he pushed everything else off, leaving room for only you as he pushed your legs behind your head, the wet spot on your panties much more conspicuous in this position.

jack bit his lip as he grinned from ear to ear. “that’s my little model…” he trailed a teasing finger down your cleavage until he got all the way down to your dripping wet cunt. he replaced his finger with his cock, getting off from the feeling of your wet folds hungrily attempting to swallow him.

“guess we should get these out of the way, huh?” he slipped his cock underneath the thin string that covered your pussy, breaking it away with a light tug. your breath became shaky as the cold air hit your grooling cunt. jack spat on his thumb, rubbing messy circles onto your clit as he lined himself up with your hole.

the tip slipped in effortlessly, along with the first few inches. you moaned quietly, making jack clamp his hand over your mouth. “it would be a shame if we got caught in here, wouldn’t it?” with a low groan, he pushed in the remaining inches of his rod, making your eyes well. with his jeans down to his ankles, his hips began slapping into yours.

your eyes rolled to your back on your head as the perfect curve of his dick made him reach nothing but your cervix. you felt your drool bubbling all over his hand as deep, heavy breaths escaped from his parted lips. his large cock abused and stretched out your tiny hole, much to his pleasure.

his fingernails dug into the back of your thighs as his balls slapped your asshole with every deep thrust. your hands found his wrist and forearm, gripping the skin tightly as a white-hot knot began to tie in your stomach. jack’s orderly thrusts quickly lost their composure as your muffled moans made his core boil.

strings on precum connected him to you each time he pulled out. he flipped his hair out of his face, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed back curses that threatened to break free. “s-shit… that’s it, baby… takin’ my cock so well…” 

your back arched as you ground your hips against his, desperately chasing the orgasm that was just in your reach. your gushy folds hungrily ate up his cock, making him toss his head back. “use my dick, angel…just like that.” you brought your fingers to your clit, sobbing into his hand as you felt yourself cumming all over him. he grabbed your hips, fucking you at lightning speed as his balls sagged with cum. in a matter of seconds, he was filling up your tight, swollen pussy with loads upon loads of his hot seed.

he pulled out of you, watching as his cum cascaded out of your hole like a milky waterfall. you panted breathlessly, slowly regaining your composure as jack tucked his cock back into his pants before getting you all cleaned up as well.

you put on your clothes, looking at the mess you two had just made in a public residence. but before you knew it, jack was out of the dressing room, carrying all of the clothes you tried on. you walked behind him quickly. “where are you going?” jack smiled back at you. “to the cashier. i look forward to my little model putting on a show for me every night.” he dumped the pile of clothes onto the counter, the cum-stained skirt above everything else like a cherry on top.

author's note: thank you "high" anon for the request! istg I rlly didn't mean for it to get so long

#444rockstargf #rory culkin #rory culkin smut #lana del rey #smut #jack thurlow #jack goes home #born to die paradise edition #born to die #jack thurlow smut #jack thurlow x reader #burning desire

[jellyfishdoodler]

I know I dont post fanfics here but I'd like to try? If yall arent into it I can move them to my general shitpoat blog 💛

Drummer Boy

Requested by @vanessasepticeye who wanted a oneshot of Jackie playing the drums to get his emotions/ anger out, similar to Gwen Stacy.

TWs: Angry Jackie, mentions of his dad, mistreatment of drumkit

Word Count: 1,226

A small thought in the back of Jackie's head wants to kick himself for leaving his window unlocked, but right in this exact moment he could not give any less of a shit. Vaulting into his bedroom from the fire escape, Jackie pulls back just enough of his strength to not hurl his patched backpack through the drywall.

A small thought in the back of Jackie's head wants to kick himself for leaving his window unlocked, but right in this exact moment he could not give any less of a shit. Vaulting into his bedroom from the fire escape, Jackie pulls back just enough of his strength to not hurl his patched backpack through the drywall. He tears the blue mask off his face so the elastic no longer digs into his skin, crushing the soft material in his hand as he stalks around the room. He finds his drumsticks on the cluttered desk and trades them for the mask with a pathetic and unsatisfying throw. The piece of fabric flops from the wall to the table without a sound and Jackie can feel a scream burning in his throat, so instead, he stomps towards his lovingly beat-to-shit drum kit. It was half duct tape at this point but it still worked, and it's not like Jackie could afford a new set anyway.

Patrol was an absolute fucking nightmare today. First he had to skip breakfast due to an early call for help across town, then he got chewed out by an old woman for breaking her potted plant and was harassed into buying her a new one- which he then had to stop the plant shop from being robbed by some jackass who thought he was hot shit with a switchblade. He lost the comic book he was saving to read on his lunch break to the sewer drain, got completely soaked by a burst fire hydrant, was sent on a wild goose chase to track down a missing dog in the park where he literally got chased by geese. And to top it all off, when he saved the day and rescued two teenagers from a burning apartment building, he was the one who was blamed for the girl's broken leg, even though it was literally trapped under a solid wood bookshelf before he got there. But the girl's parents just wanted someone to sue so they could make some fucking money back like all of this was a huge inconvenience and not like they almost lost their fucking kids to a fire. 

Jackie worked really hard to keep his composure until he got home. He has many years of customer service under his belt before he got powers and managed to smooth talk his way out of a lawsuit. But that encounter was the final straw for him. Jackie knew being a hero was a thankless job most of the time, hell he understood that those people were just scared for their kids, but everything throughout the day stacked on top of each other and he was left with a gross itchy feeling under his skin. He had to get it out.

Slamming himself down onto the spinning stool, the young man wasted no time taking his frustration out on the drums. Using the double petals on the bass kick to set a fast beat as he practically wailed on the set. He loved the feeling of the vibrations of contact traveling up his arms, it felt like clapping mosquitoes mid-air and off your skin so they dont drink more of your blood.

That same voice in the back of his mind reminded him he's gonna get another noise complaint from Mr. Smith upstairs, but right now Jackie doesn't care. The rapid beats of the snare matched the buzzing feeling rolling from Jackie's core down his arms and to his drumsticks, the crash of the cymbals almost dents the brassy metal as it covers his urge to yell in frustration. 

He focuses on the patterns of his rapid fire set, picking up more pace and forcing himself to go faster.

Faster.

Faster-

Everything abruptly stops when his right stick snaps in half. 

"FUCK!!!"

Panting heavily, Jackie just stares at the now uneven sticks in his white knuckled hands. Everything in the apartment is still and quiet aside from his heavy breathing. In the distance he can hear the neighbor's dog- Patty- barking up a storm down the hallway. 

Jackie finally allows his shoulders to slump down as he unceremoniously lets the drum sticks drop to the floor with a deafening clatter in the now silent room. 

He always hates getting this angry, he knows it's not good for his public image or for his own mental health. Fighting bad guys helps with most of it, but it still sneaks up on him sometimes when he's not paying attention. It scares him.

The hero gently rolls his neck and shoulders, letting air escape from his nose in a silent laugh at a memory flowing into his head.

 If his overall deadbeat dad was good for one thing in his damn life, it was teaching Jackie how to funnel his emotions, primarily anger, through playing the drums. His dad said he was part of a shitty rock band when he was in school and that's where he learned to play. 

One day, Jackie's teacher called his dad and told him about an incident on the playground. Jackie stood up for another kid getting picked on but broke another kid's nose in the process of defending them. That afternoon when he got home, instead of yelling at him like Jackie thought, the man sat Jackie behind the drum kit that sat in front of him today and taught him how to keep a steady rhythm.  

"I had a similar problem to ya, kid." He started when Jackie was getting the hang of it. "Always letting my anger get ahead of me." Neither of them say that he still does sometimes, and he continues, "If you use these to just, yaknow, get what you're feeling out of your system, this way nobody around you gets hurt. You don't… go punching anybody you don't like 'cause you kept it in for so long." Jackie wanted to protest that he was protecting a friend but let his dad keep talking. 

"You exhaust yourself playing these so you don't have the energy to let it boil in your stomach for later. On top of all that, the world gets to hear your heartbeat. It might not be pretty, but they get to hear it go strong and loud even if you can't say what you're feeling in your chest. Even if it's hurting. You use this as a way to help you let shit go. Because at the end of the day, if you let it be, if you let it fester, that pointless rage will rot you from the inside out." 

Jackie does not know what to really say to all that. His dad isn't the best at pep talks but he thinks he gets his meaning. Even if the man is a hypocrite. He just counts the beats in his head.

It's one of, if not the only kind-ish memory Jackie keeps of his father. The man was a dick his entire childhood, but he did give Jackie this one thing that was good.

With that memory of a good Tuesday afternoon nearly 10 years ago gently floating in his chest instead of what was there before, Jackie picks up the busted drumstick and tosses it in the trash. Heading to the bathroom to finally shower away the long day's grime.

Tomorrow is a new day.

#my writing #jackieboy man #fanfic #jackieboy man fanfic #jse egos

[voraciousvore]

The Half-Blood Giant (33/51)

***Contains soft, safe, willing vore***

Chapter 33: Unrequited Love

Hunter dreamed about Hannah during the night. He was floating in the night sky, amongst stars and cosmic dust, with sweet little Hannah cradled against his chest. He brought her up to his face and gave her a small kiss. His heart sang when she reciprocated, her tiny lips contacting his own upper lip. He nuzzled and nibbled her until he found himself caressing her with his tongue. She tasted as lovely as she smelled, almost like a wild blueberry. He licked her all over like a lollipop until he couldn’t resist pulling her entirely into his mouth. He rolled her around on his tongue, feeling every curve of her body and savoring her flavor as she soaked in his saliva. She was perfectly willing as she rubbed herself against his tongue and ran her petite hands along his teeth, gums, and palate, exploring every inch of his mouth from the inside. His senses—taste, smell, feel—were highly stimulated, overflowing with luxurious pleasure. When she was ready, and his stomach begged for relief, he finally swallowed her whole. He dissolved into sensual bliss as her tiny body slid down his throat and settled into his stomach. For once, he didn’t feel so unwanted, so empty inside. He was wonderfully full, in both body and soul. 

Alas, the lovely feeling was not destined to last. Hunter woke up famished and sore. The juxtaposition between his self-indulgent, voluptuous fantasy of a dream and abhorrent reality left him cranky and bitter. He stretched out the kinks in his muscles and went to put on his uniform. He had grown again, several more feet. His ankles and wrists stuck out from cuffs too short to cover them properly, and the green fabric was stretched taut across his chest, belly, and waist. He adjusted the uncomfortable outfit as best he could and prepared for his day. 

He could barely tolerate his hunger as he trudged to the cafeteria. His dream was still fresh in his mind. He observed the tiny humans riding their bikes with obsessive focus. With some disquiet, he recalled his father engaging in the same exact behavior when he visited the school. He understood now, all too well. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold himself back indefinitely without cracking under the pressure. It was unnatural for him to deny himself his rightful prey.  

The giants of this realm really were quite different from him, in appearance and behavior. They didn’t seem to suffer from the same intense cravings that he did, as far as he could tell. He felt too large and awkward, with everyone so much shorter and less brawny than him, as he piled up his tray with breakfast foods, particularly meat. More and more, the other students avoided him.  

Hunter caught a glimpse of Hannah and Hector in the human section. He considered, briefly, coming over to say hi, but discarded the idea immediately. He would terrify the other humans, and he had a hunch that Hannah would not be too happy to see him, based on her behavior the prior day. As he watched Hector wrap his arm around her waist and pull her in close, a new emotion bled into his heart, dark and brutal. He was jealous. He wanted to be the one to hold Hannah, not Hector. 

He couldn’t ignore his budding feelings any longer. He was forced to acknowledge the unsavory truth: He was falling for a human. He supposed it made sense, since he was part human, that these emotions would arise in him, but he was still disgusted with himself. He was just as bad as his father, but Chester had no excuse as a pure-blooded giant. Hunter, yet again, found himself cursing his tainted bloodline. To have feelings for a human was despicable and unforgivable. 

He attempted to crush those feelings into dust as he angrily munched on his chicken and waffles, and then went to class, but he couldn’t get Hannah out of his mind. She was his first crush, and his fresh new infatuation burned bright as a star for her. Hunter had never experienced romantic love before, in his social isolation, nor the pain of unrequited love. He had not yet learned how to temper or restrain his newfound passion. He was underdeveloped in the department of emotional control, and Hannah was going to destroy him in his weakness, through no fault of her own. The developmental delay made his love all the more poignant, enhancing the inevitable suffering that would follow. 

Hunter groaned internally when he saw Principal Henderson enter the class and make his way toward him. “Hunter, I need to see you in my office again,” he informed the unruly giant teenager. With a huff, Hunter got up to follow him to his office. Both giants remained silent the whole way. Milton noted that Hunter was now at least five feet taller than him, and it had only been a day. He wondered, with significant concern, how much more the boy would grow, when he was already having so many behavioral issues. Having an oversized troubled kid at a mixed school was a recipe for disaster. 

Hunter sat down in Milton’s office, hunching over in his chair. The principal settled in on the other side of the desk and rubbed his temples with a sigh. “I’m sure you know why you’re here.” Hunter crossed his arms defensively and averted his eyes, but didn’t reply. Despite his dramatic increase in size, he felt small and shameful before the principal. 

“I’ll relate to you what I was told, but I want to hear your side of the story,” Milton continued. “The PE teacher and your fellow students claim that you refused to participate, injured another student, and then ditched class.” As Milton related these accusations, Hunter sank lower in his chair but kept his mouth stubbornly sealed, refusing to talk or meet his eyes. Milton sighed at his silence and gave him a mildly exasperated look. 

“Hunter. I want to know what you were thinking. What really happened? What was your reasoning?” His tone was gentle and sympathetic. Hunter finally glanced up. 

“I didn’t know how to play,” he mumbled. “It wasn’t like I was trying to cause trouble. But… I’ve never played any sports before. Where I’m from… I couldn’t.” 

Milton raised his eyebrows, then slowly nodded with understanding. “I see.” 

“And… the coach yelled at me, accused me of lying. And then all the students were berating me. I got upset. So I lost my temper and threw the ball at one of the students. When I realized that I had hurt him… I didn’t know what to do. I was overwhelmed. So I ran away.” Hunter hung his head. 

Milton processed this information, rubbing his chin. “I think I understand.” He sighed. “Now, Hunter. I still have to discipline you, so you’re going to have detention after school today.” Hunter didn’t react much to the news; he expected as much. “I know you were distressed in the moment. I can see how that was a difficult situation for you to be in. Yet, you can’t respond with violence. You need to learn to control your temper. Do you agree?” 

There was a pause. “Yeah, I guess,” Hunter conceded begrudgingly. He had to admit that the principal had a point and was being fair to him. 

“I’ll talk with the PE teacher and explain the situation to him. I don’t think he realized your… unique situation. Perhaps that will help.” Hunter shrugged dismissively. 

“As for you, Hunter… you have a responsibility to control yourself. If you find yourself in a situation where you are distressed or angry, or you want to hurt someone and you’re struggling to contain yourself, I want you to physically remove yourself from that situation. Come straight to me, or another adult if you don’t feel comfortable. My door is always open for you, okay?” 

“Okay,” Hunter parroted back. He looked down and picked at his sleeve, trying and failing to pull it down over his wrist. “I need new uniforms,” he remarked absently. 

“I’ll order you more,” Milton promised. “Today is Friday, so you probably won’t get them until Monday. Do you have any other concerns for me?” 

Hunter couldn’t think of anything else in the moment, so Milton dismissed him. By the time he returned to class, the period was almost over. The bell summoned him to his next class. He felt hollow inside as he walked the halls, trying to ignore the usual stares and glares and whispers. Already, his capacious belly had torn through his breakfast, and that all-too-familiar gnawing hunger was back, nipping at his innards. His mood decayed rapidly and he entered his next class with a scowl. 

He hardly made it through to lunch, since he struggled to focus when he was so hungry. He ate as much as he possibly could during the break, yet the nutrients still didn’t feel like enough. His body was like a sponge that soaked up every last drop of nourishment it came in contact with. As he demolished his plate, his sensitive nose picked up Hannah’s distinctive blueberry scent from the other side of the cafeteria, along with Hector’s more hardy scent, almost like a rich gravy. He spied the couple sitting at one of the tiny tables with their friends. He imagined grabbing the entire table and shaking it over his open mouth, dropping all the humans inside and gulping them down with a single satisfying flex of his throat. He’d save Hannah for last, perhaps. He’d eat up all her friends first, then drop her in his pocket and keep her until he was hungry again. Maybe play with her a little bit first, tease her, just for fun before he gobbled her up. 

Hunter absently rubbed his hand over his belly as he thought about what it would feel like to have living humans squirming around inside him. The gesture reminded him of his father, when he had his mother in his stomach. He was always caressing his belly so tenderly with her within, lovingly, as if the act of eating her was a form of physical intimacy. Hunter had not considered consuming humans in that way, but now he wondered, with his preoccupation with Hannah, if he could somehow make her a willing participant. With his magic, he could probably find a way to keep her alive inside him. The thought excited him, awakened his flesh far more than he anticipated. He wanted her more than anything. 

Hunter left the lunchroom to go to class. “Hey! Hunter! Over here!” a little male voice squeaked. He turned around to see a teeny speck waving at him from the floor. Hunter forgot that he shared his last class of today’s rotation with Hector. 

“Oh, it’s you.” He reached down and picked up the human teen, bike and backpack and all, and carried him in his hand. 

“Sorry I didn’t come over to say hi during breakfast or lunch,” Hector apologized. “But, uh… Hannah is deathly afraid of you. I’m not sure what’s gotten into her, considering she was willing to have lunch with you yesterday.” He shrugged. 

Hunter ruminated over his statement. Clearly, Hannah hadn’t told Hector about their meeting behind the dorm. Was she embarrassed about it? He could only speculate on the matter. “Do you think she’ll ever warm up to me?” 

“I’m working on it,” Hector answered with a friendly smile. “I think there’s hope! She just needs to become acclimated.” Hunter nodded in agreement. He regarded Hector, sitting fearlessly in his hand, oblivious to the dark rage flowing through him. The poison of jealousy still pumped through his veins when he imagined Hector hugging Hannah, holding her, kissing her, loving her… he hated every second of it. Almost enough to want to close his hand around the boy and squeeze the life out of him. 

Perhaps he could use Hector to get closer to her. Maybe, once she got to know his more gentle side, she’d grow more comfortable around him, to where she might even reciprocate his feelings. There was a chance. He just needed to play nice with Hector. With that goal in mind, he stuck his free hand in his pocket and fished out Hector’s baseball cap. 

“I forgot, I’ve had your hat since, ya know, that whole thing with the fountain,” Hunter said, handing it to Hector. 

“Aw, thanks buddy! I was wondering what happened to that!” Hector replied as he slapped the hat back on his head, pushing down his curly locks. He glowed with a genuine smile, and Hunter felt the smallest drop of regret for his manipulative thoughts. He entered the classroom and dropped off Hector on the human platform, then sat down at an adjacent giant desk. As the lesson began, he kept surreptitiously glancing down at Hector. A strange cocktail of emotions was swirling around inside him: jealousy, rage, anxiety, mixed with fondness and hope. Hunter was inclined to negative feelings, however, and before long his rage at the world was boiling over as usual. He’d find a way to win Hannah over—even if he had to steamroll everything and everyone to get there. 

Chapter 34

Chapter 1

#g/t vore #gt vore #male pred #willing vore #soft vore #safe vore #extreme cuddling #giant #tiny #female prey #endosoma #vore writing #vore story #vore stories #willing prey #v0r3 #v.ore #size difference #macro vore #macro micro #the half-blood giant

[theshiningbeacon]

Tutorial for my OFMD Breakup™/Bird Robe

Disclaimer: I’m not a professional sewer or costumer, so any weird methods of execution are entirely due to my own (mis)adventures in sewing. Also all of the links for the fabric and research are in the replies bc I have no idea if tumblr is still ~suppressing~ posts with links.

The basic design for my Breakup Robe™ was based on heathervanderstitch and  hannahgreenecostumes‘s instagram posts (two of the costume designers on OFMD) who said that their bird robe was a modified 1940′s kimono pattern with a box pleat in the back to give more movement at the bottom without being too baggy at the top. So I took that info and essentially worked backwards by comparing screenshots from the show and a bunch of online kimono patterns. (The most helpful ones were Ralph Pink’s free Satchi kimono pattern and The Tailoress’s Giselle Kimono). 

--- 🦜 ---

I found a helpful starting place for pattern piece sizes was a twitter post from another fan (fiftyfathomkinit), however I ended up making my own modifications because I found her drafting slightly confusing (she includes armhole cutouts in her back panel which i could never figure out). I also adjusted the sizing to better fit my own measurements and I added an extra seam on the sleeves so one side of the pattern wouldn’t be upside down.

On a personal note, don’t be afraid of making mistakes! I didn’t realize I needed to adjust the pattern measurements until after I’d started making the lining - which was an oopsie on my part and could have saved me a little bit of money on fabric for my lining. You can get around this error by making a mockup in cheap fabric, or you can do it like me and start off with larger pieces and make them smaller as you adjust to your own fit.

Speaking of the lining, the original robe has a fuchsia dupioni (coarse) silk lining and a hand dyed, block printed 100% cotton velvet outer shell. I found the velvet from (I believe) the same seller on Etsy. It’s a little pricey, but they also have a regular cotton version for those who want a cheaper option. 

For the lining, I wanted silk to match the original, bc it breathes better than polyester satin, and I believe it’s longer lasting. But I wanted something softer than the dupioni, so I went with... literally the smoothest silk in the closest colour I could find at a local fabric store. (I literally just rubbed my fingers against every fuchsia silk they had). But you can go with whatever lining you’ll be most comfortable with (satin, cotton, etc). 

I got tassels from that same fabric store and the thread and orange bias tape from Fabricland, but you can make your own tassels with yarn if you prefer.

I bought 5 yards of the bird velvet (bc they don’t do half yards) and 4.5 metres (5 yards) of the silk. I ended up using most of the silk and about 4.5 yards of the velvet.

--- 🦜 ---

I started by making my own patterns from some super cheap brown wrapping paper with gridlines on the back, which I got from the dollar store. You could also probably just measure and cut your fabric directly, but having paper patterns made me feel better.

Your own measurements will vary (I’m 5′7″ and 120 lbs), but I wanted it to be quite oversized, with the sleeve shoulder seam hitting a little ways down my arm, and the overall length sitting just above my ankles, the same way it does in the show robe.

You can see in the above graphic I have a neck opening cut into the front panel that ends halfway down - this is how long I’m also making my collar. (Pro tip - cut the collar longer than you think you’ll need). Meanwhile, the sleeves have an 11″ x 1″ diagonal cut on the sides that will be attached to the main body of the robe, as used in a lot of kimonos.

Here are my pieces cut out (minus the sleeve diagonal bc I forgot to do it while I was cutting everything - but that was a very easy error to correct later):

--- 🦜 ---

For the inverted box pleat, based on screenshots and insta posts, I went with 3″ on either side of the centre point and guestimated that it ended a little lower than the armpit. So mine ended about 10″-11″ from the top of the back panel.

I basted some stitches along the three points (centre back, 3″ to the right and 3″ to left, so it was easier to keep both sides equal). Then I pulled the two sides of the fabric together so they met in the middle at the centre point of the back panel. I pinned them together, stitched the sides together by hand with a ladder stitch, and then machine stitched a line across the top of the panel at my ½” seam allowance.

I then machine stitched the sides together down the middle with a really small zigzag stitch to make sure it was extra secure.

I cut a 1″ x 7″ inch neck dip after doing the box pleat, which is probably not the proper way to do it, but it worked out for me!

I didn’t take a picture of it, but this graphic is an approximation of how you’d go about it:

--- 🦜 ---

To sew the actual robe, it requires very simple straight line sewing to connect all these rectangles. 

Firstly, you’ll want to attach the front panels to the back panel at the shoulders (right sides together).

Next, you’ll want to sew across the top of the sleeve panels (right sides together). Make sure you’re matching the diagonal sleeve indents so that when you open up the sleeve panels, it looks like this:

Then you’ll open up your robe body so the right side is facing up:

You’ll then attach the sewn sleeves to the front panels (right sides together), ensuring you’re matching the sleeve seam with the shoulder seam. Make sure you’re sewing the side of the sleeves with the diagonal cutout so when the garment is flipped right side out, the diagonal is next to your body. You’ll sew from the marked line to the marked line.

Next, you’ll want to sew the sides of the robe together to close it. However, this was a tricky part for me, because I had tried to sew the body and sleeves at the same time when I was doing my lining, but the armpits ended up bunched and slightly twisted around. So I tried getting around this issue by stopping about 1″ from the armpits, leaving a gap, while sewing the sides together. (You’ll close this gap at the very end of your project).

For the collar, attach both pieces together at one end, right sides together, to ensure the pattern isn’t upside down on one side. Once done, the right sides of the attached fabric should look like this:

Then, take the collar and fold lengthwise so the right sides are together. Sew a straight line across the two bottom ends. Then, flip the collar inside out so the wrong sides of the fabric are together and the bottom edges are nicely hemmed. It should look (more or less) like this:

(Ignore the weird cuts on the bottom right and left hand corners  - this was my first attempt with a collar that I realized was too short. [Pro tip - cut the collar pieces way longer than you’ll think you’ll need!] I forgot to take a pic of my second attempt, but you get the general idea of what it’s supposed to look like).

For the bias tape, this is probably not the proper way to go about it, but it was the only way my CFS brain could figure it out and it worked for me! (As the disclaimer said, I’m not a professional sewer - I’m more concerned with whether something works than whether it’s the 100% professional method of execution).

So, take your bias tape, open it up, and pin one edge against the raw edge of your collar. Sew these together a little bit lower than your seam allowance (1). Then you’ll want to fold the bias tape up so both edges are facing the sewn edge of your collar. Then pin and sew your collar, bias tape side down, to your robe (2). (When doing so, make sure to match the seam at the back of the neck on the collar with the middle of the back panel).

This way, when you attach the collar using your seam allowance, you’ll still be able to see a small amount of the bias tape peaking through around the collar when it lays flat against you, like so:

For the bias tape on the sleeves, I attached one edge of the bias tape to the right side of the fabric, stopping an inch past the 9″ marking on both sides of the sleeve. (I sewed this about 1/4″ from the edge).

I then flipped each sleeve inside out (right sides together) and sewed it together, stopping about 1/2″-1″ away from the armpit (as previously mentioned) and at the 9″ measurement on the opposite side. For the side with the bias tap, I flipped the bottom part of the tape over onto the wrong side of the fabric and sewed it down as I was sewing the entire sleeve.

At this point, if you flip the entire robe inside out so the right side is facing outwards, it should look like this:

--- 🦜 ---

For the lining, follow the same steps as you did for the velvet (minus the collar). But when you do the box pleat, make sure the inverted side (the side you pull together) is on the wrong side of the fabric. 

Once the lining is fully constructed, you’ll want to attach the lining to the velvet, right sides to right sides, along the collar and centre front.

Once you’ve sewn the lining and velvet together, flip your robe inside out so both right sides are showing. 

As you can probably see in the photo, I already started the next step. Which is hemming the bottom of the robe. I’d recommend doing so while it’s hanging (either on a hanger, dress form, or another person), to ensure you don’t have any weird spots where the lining is pulling up on the velvet. I attached the lining and velvet by hand stitching.

For the sleeves, I folded the bias tape down onto the wrong side of the fabric, folded the lining under itself to make a nice little hem, and sewed both together. I did so by hand with a really simple stitch. (As with the bottom hem, make sure you’re only picking up the bias tape and lining so you don’t poke through to the other side).

Then for the final touch - the tassels! Mine came with a large loop that I had to remove. I cut it off and then encased the shorn ends in hot glue to ensure the entire thing didn’t somehow unravel. 

I let the glue harden and then attached the tassels by hand to the corners of the sleeves and collar.

Now we’ll finally close those ~1″ gaps under the armpits. I did this with a very simple hand stitch, making sure I grabbed a bit of fabric from each side of the fold and pulled the thread taught.

--- 🦜 ---

And voila, you should now be the proud owner of the infamous breakup/bird/wrap robe.

--- 🦜 ---

And that’s it! Hopefully this all makes sense and if anyone has any questions either send me an ask or add a reply to this post and I’ll do my best to answer! 

On one final note, not to be That Person™, but this took quite a lot of work (both the robe and this post) and I’m a chronically ill freelancer who’s income was hit hard by COVID. So if anyone wants to throw some change at my KO-FI if you found this helpful, I’d be very much appreciated.

#sewing #our flag means death #text post #ofmd #ofmd costuming #ofmd cosplay #ofmd tutorial #long post #banyan robe #mine [wb] #bird banyan #seriously this post is quite long but i wanted to be thorough so I can save at least one person the headache i've been dealing with #namely the headache of trying to figure this whole thing out #also if anyone's curious the colour of this robe changes drastically depending on how it's photographed #which is why it looks red in some pictures and more pink in others #it's the exact same roll of fabric and it's WILD

[strayed-quokka]

into the mirror || hwang hyunjin

» summary: hyunjin was always the more enthusiastic shopper of you two, but when you pass a lingerie store, he decides to make up the hours he had you walking for. 

» pairing: nonidol! hyunjin x reader 

» rating: NC-17 so under 18s do not interact 

» genre: established relationship, smut

» words: 4,103

» warnings: explicit sexual content, mentions of body insecurity, semi public sex (?), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), choking, just in general a lot of hyunjin keeping your mouth shut in all sorts of ways, slow sex, unprotected sex (we all know better), there’s a mirror too, hyunjin’s cocky as hell about everything but you love it... 

» masterlist

» a/n: honestly had anxiety for them writing this because man they would’ve totally been caught in real life lmaooooo. and yes, i do work in a lingerie shop. yes i got the idea bored in there one day. and yes, these changing rooms are based off the ones we have (they’re not the most private and i’m wilding out). yes, i work for the exact brand they end up in...

“I think you’re excessive,” you watch as Hyunjin adjusts two of the many bags he’s carrying in just one hand, insisting not to use the other one since he’d wanted to hold yours. It was sweet, but also incredibly impractical as most of the weight fell to his left side. 

“I haven’t bought clothes in ages,” he starts, looking at you with narrowed eyes, “and whose fault is that?” 

“You overspend,” you roll your eyes, making your boyfriend laugh as he’s reminded of why the two of you had become so close in the first place. The two of you might be very different, but a flair for dramatics was shared and a mutual understanding and acceptance of each other had always been there. 

“Well, I’m done anyway. Where do you want to go?” you didn’t want to go anywhere in particular, but it was getting warmer and you’d been thinking of buying a new swimsuit and maybe a nice bralette in a while. 

“We can go to Victoria’s Secret?” 

It was something you would’ve done in your own time if you weren’t conveniently already here now, with Hyunjin willing to follow you to any store you wished to visit. 

“What do you need from there?” he starts to follow you as you speed up, the only thing linking you together are your intertwined fingers as you pull him with you.

“I wanted to look at a bralette.”

“A what?” 

You laugh, slowing down as you walk inside the shop with your boyfriend right beside you. He may be quite fashionable, but when it came to certain clothing, he had absolutely no idea what any of it was called. He categorized it all the same. 

“It’s like a bra but you can wear it like a shirt,” there’s a girl that greets the two of you at the front and offers her help, but you quickly decline and filter through some bras that are hanging on the walls on display. 

“But then surely it’s just a shirt?” 

“It’s not… nevermind. I’ll just show you,” you can tell he’s lost interest though, not in you but in what you’re looking for, his eyes roaming over endless displays that fills him with mental images of you wearing them. 

“You’d look good in this,” he holds up a light pink bra with black lacing, and you agree it’s nice, taking it from his hand to touch the fabric. 

“It’s nice, yeah.”

“You don’t seem very convinced. Try it on,” you’re about to protest and push it back into his hand, but Hyunjin isn’t having any of it, “you’ve spent half the day waiting for me to try things on. It’s my turn to wait.”

“Are you sure?” Hyunjin laughs, shaking his head as his longer blonde hair falls over his face.

“More than sure. Let’s find some more,” before you can say anything else, the man has already walked to the other side of the room, going through a rack of bodysuits that you don’t think would particularly flatter you. Though it’s sweet to see him so invested in you. 

“I don’t suit those.”

“I think you would. Which colour do you want?” his excitement is intoxicating, making you want to match his energy for you as you skim through the choices. 

“Which colour do you think?” 

“Lilac,” there’s no hesitation, though Hyunjin had never hid how much he admired you and what he thought looked good on you, “it’s up to you though.”

“I’ll try it,” you take it from the rack, moving through the fairly empty store, though it is a wednesday afternoon, so you’d have been more surprised if it was busy. 

When you find the swimsuits on the second floor, Hyunjin is no longer with you. It didn’t worry you, but it did make you wonder where he’d gone. Ignoring it, you find a beautiful one piece bathing suit that is cut and wraps in a way that makes it look like two separate pieces, and you add it onto the three items you already have.

“Can I try these three?” the girl you speak to nods, pointing out the fitting rooms to you at the back and you make your way over, sending Hyunjin a message in case he ends up looking for you. 

It’s only when you close the door behind you that you realize you never went looking for the bralette. 

Oh well. 

You place your shoes in the corner, removing your shirt and the sports bra you’d been wearing to try on the first bra Hyunjin had found for you. It fits you well which surprises you, making you wonder if he’d known your size somehow before or was just good at guesswork. 

With him, it could honestly be either. 

You sit on the little stool provided, looking into the mirror, hands dancing over the lace as you frown. It’s not that you don’t like it, and it does give you a decent amount of lift and cleavage, but it’s everything else that makes you frown. 

It was one of the reasons you really hated shopping for clothes. Trying them on and being surrounded by full body mirrors was terrible for your self esteem. Whilst your boyfriend looked like a model the minute he woke up, you had to take a bit more time to look half as decent. 

Even if he scolded you every time he knew you were thinking it. 

There’s a knock on the door, and you recognise the shoes that peak beneath the barrier separating you both.

“I found you something else,” curiosity peaked, you opened the door, the lankier man pushing himself inside, proudly holding up an item, “what do you- wow.”

Hyunjin stares at you, completely unashamed as you stand there. He licks his lips, reaching for your hips as you cross your arms over your chest, “you don’t like it?” 

“I do,” you say, but the blond had always been too good at reading you. 

“You just don’t like it on you?” 

“I just feel like I don’t suit something so nice and delicate,” he sighs, sitting on the stool behind you as he spins your body to face the mirror. 

“You look beautiful. But if you’re not comfortable, try something else?” he offers and you nod, smiling down at him, “like this.”

He holds up a piece that looks similar to a corset, with hard wires to create form and shape, delicate lace that you see through in all the right places, and a laced up binding on the front that ties together into a bow at the top. It’s a beautiful cherry red, and even if it’s something you’d never have sought out yourself, you do get excited to try it. 

“Alright, I’ll try it next,” Hyunjin pulls you back into him, his hands moving to undo the bra you have on, fingers hovering over your skin enough to make you shiver. You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, but it does make your legs weaken just slightly as you take it off, suddenly bare. 

“Maybe stay like this, hmm?” he’s teasing, locking eyes with you in the mirror while his hands move around your body to cup your breasts, and the effect he has on you is almost immediate. You tense, your nipples hardening at the slightest touch and he notices, smirking.

“Are you even allowed in here?” you try to ignore what he’s up to, asking him a question instead and turning to face him as you busy yourself with putting the corset piece on. Hyunjin squeezes his eyes shut, making you shake your head. 

“Probably not. But see, I’m not even looking,” you clasp the back, adjusting the straps on you, and once again, your boyfriend's ability to figure out what works with your body is admirable and even sexy. 

“You can look,” he doesn’t wait, his eyes reopening to see your reflection in the mirror and his jaw drops. It fits you perfectly, just tight enough to push your breasts together and make them show, but not too tight that the wires hurt you. 

“I like it,” his voice sounds lower, and you recognize the look he’s giving you, for as well as he knows you, you know him, and it’s only confirmed when his hands wrap around your thighs that are eyelevel to him, pulling you back to him, “do you?” 

He’s distracting you, fingers over your bare legs as you’d chosen to wear a skirt in the heat, and it was now coming back on you as his hands trail higher, “I do.”

You clear your throat, ready to take it off and try something else when Hyunjin slaps your hands away, and it doesn’t take years of knowing him to know what he’s thinking, “Hyunjin, we’re in public!”

“There’s a door,” he seems so unbothered, making you tremble and wish to push your legs together. Hyunjin was always sexy to you, but when he flipped the switch in him that made him demanding like this, that’s when you really became weak. 

“It has a gap on the top and bottom.”

“The top gap is way too high, even when I stand people can’t see me. And I can hide my feet if I sit on this chair differently. If that’s your worry,” he’s tugging down your skirt, slowly first, because if you really did protest and say no, he would stop in an instant. But you don’t. Something about this thrills you.

He trails kisses along your lower back, letting your skirt pool to the floor, leaving you in your lace underwear and the corset he was desperate to keep you in, “I can be quick.”

You knew Hyunjin better than that. In all aspects of his life, Hyunjin was never quick. He took his time with every last thing he did. Whether that was shopping, finishing new choreography for work, or fucking you. 

It makes you blush, to feel how your underwear is already damp and clinging to you, and you seem to forget all about your surroundings as Hyunjin crosses his legs, hiding them from anyone passing by (if anyone was), his fingers teasing you over the fabric of your underwear.

“Look at you, already wet,” he’s whispering, so quiet that even you strain to hear, but it’s enough to make you tremble and close your eyes as his breathing ghosts over your hipbone. Hyunjin pushes your underwear to the side, his index finger slipping between your wet folds and he smirks at the reaction he gets from you. 

“Look into the mirror,” he demands, moving you slightly so that you can see him playing with your clit, his finger glistening in the light and you’re struggling not to make any noise, your chest moving quicker as you try to catch your breath. 

You both tense the minute you hear voices nearby, though neither of the two are speaking to you. The sound of moving hangers confirms that they’re likely looking for something, and Hyunjin relaxes far quicker, pushing his index finger inside your pussy. 

“O-oh,” fuck. You pray no one heard you, but Hyunjin’s smirk tells you at least he did. He turns you to face him, pushing another finger inside you, but the sound you’re about to make is stopped with the hand that goes around your throat as he forces your head down to be eye level with him. 

“Darling, do I have to shut you up with my cock stuffed in your mouth?” yes, yes, yes. He lets go of your throat and strips you off your underwear, and the way he moves so determined tells you that he already knows what he wants to do to you next. 

But just because you can tell that he knows exactly what he wants, doesn’t mean you can tell what that something is. So when he moves the stool and has you pushed into the wall, him facing you and away from the mirror, you’re incredibly curious. 

“Actually, I may need to shut you up. You’ll scream otherwise,” and the cockiness without an ounce of hesitation tells you he has an idea that you’ll go weak for, “open.”

He’s demanding, having you drop your jaw slack as he shoves a piece of fabric inside that you recognise. It’s your underwear that you’d just been wearing. He waits first, to see if you’ll blink a few times in the pattern he knew that said stop but you don’t, only nodding to him that you’re okay. 

It’s when he knows that you’re fine where you really understand why he’d silenced you this way in the first place. He has you push your legs over both his shoulders, his hands on your ass to hold you between him and the wall, and you really are trying not to completely fall apart the second his tongue finds your clit. 

You supposed the past three years had been spent religiously studying you until he could hit every last nerve in you with effortless skill, but it still overwhelmed you. Your body arches off the wall, eyes briefly reopening to see your own reflection on the opposite wall. 

You’re a state, writhing with your legs hooked over your boyfriend's shoulders in a public changing room, thighs tensing as his tongue runs over your folds, releasing a groan that he hides easily. His fingers dig into your flesh, but the strength he’s using to hold you up makes you mewl, the muscles of his arms showing where his t-shirt ends. 

It’s clear to both you and him that you won’t last, your eyes locking and communicating that you want him to let you cum when he looks up. Given Hyunjin’s usual willingness to please you, it doesn’t surprise you when he slips two fingers back inside you, scissoring you open with ease while his tongue circles and teases your clit. 

The fabric in your mouth may quiet you, but not enough anymore. All you can do is pray that the store stays empty enough. That people don’t pass by or that they don’t pass by now when you’re so close to an orgasm, the knot in your stomach bringing you near tears. 

Though luck once again proves to not be on your side as Hyunjin stills entirely, hearing two voices in their own world as one opens what you can only assume is another changing room door. Your heart is racing, nearly beating out of your chest.

Hyunjin gently moves his fingers out of you and brings your legs back to the floor with such weightlessness that it barely makes a single sound. He’s gentle, only letting go of your hips when he knows you can stand without falling. You think for a second maybe this is it, that the two of you have shared enough of a thrill for the day, but the blond seems to have other ideas. 

You can tell he’s turned on, given the very obvious bulge in his jeans. You also know that Hyunjin can be very stubborn and that he’ll likely refuse to leave until you’ve done something about it. And if you were perfectly honest, you’re desperate for him to fuck you.

He brings his hand up, removing your underwear from your mouth, watching him still sat there, his own lips wet with your juices that he licks clean with his tongue. You watch him silently, as if in a trance while he runs his finger over his lower lip, holding it out to your own in clear demand. 

His finger slips inside your mouth and you can make out just a hint of what you taste like, busying both your free hands by running them underneath his shirt, feeling the defined muscles as you strip him out of his shirt. 

“What about this?” there’s someone right there, oblivious to your fucked out state and your boyfriends erection that must border on painful, and you don’t know what’s made Hyunjin this unbothered as he slowly undoes his belt and the zipper of his jeans. He’s good at being quiet, you’ll give him that, but even he loses part of his reserve as his cock is released from his boxers. 

Your mouth waters, already moving to sit on his lap but he’s turning you back around to face the mirror with him. He guides you without a word, making you use the little space you’re given to work with as the lower portion of your legs rest over his thighs to straddle him. 

You’ve rode him before, but never facing away from him. You’d always been one that yearned for eye contact, but since you could still see him now, albeit in a reflection, you didn’t mind this sudden change. 

Hyunjin had incredible reflexes too, for his hand flew over your mouth the second you saw his cock disappear inside you, stretching you further as he bites down on your shoulder so he doesn’t let out a sound. The pain is sharp but not extreme, spurring you on as he bottoms out, and you’re thankful he’s keeping your mouth shut. 

“Is everything alright?” It’s the same lady who’d led you to the fitting room earlier judging by the voice, and you’re relieved that she’d likely only see the shadow of one person's legs if she looked, for yours were rested on the little space left on the stool that Hyunjin had occupied for majority of this time. 

“Yeah, just trying on the swimsuit!” you sound weak, but there’s no crack in your voice and nothing too obvious that gives you away, impressing even you as Hyunjin’s free hand pushes down the corset you’re wearing, enough for your nipples to meet the harsh air. 

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will, thank you!” you hear the same woman ask the question to whoever’s in the changing room next to yours, but Hyunjin doesn’t care and you know what he wants as you rise up, seeing his engorged cock move out of you before you inch yourself back down. 

It’s slow first, as you’re so self aware of a single noise, his thick girth splitting you open deliciously. You want him to go faster, but the slapping of skin would be such a dead giveaway. 

It feels like years until all three strangers walk away, and you wait another minute to see if you’ll hear anything else. When neither of you do, Hyunjin gives you a smug grin in the mirror, his large hand over your throat while the other is on your waist holding you steady. 

You bounce on his cock, the noise echoing slightly but your blond boyfriend still won’t let you go fast enough for it to become too much. There’s still a point of return, a way out, in case you need it, but the constant stopping and back and forth between slow and slightly quicker has you constantly teetering over the edge.

And you really want to fall over it. 

Hyunjin knows you do too, but he’s also a massive tease, because he feels the way you tighten around his cock and how your body occasionally stills, as if right there waiting for the final push over the edge, yet he won’t give it to you. He takes it back every time you ride his cock a little faster, turning desperate.

“Careful darling,” he whispers, tightening his hand around you, making you gasp for air but your body responds by wanting more of him, “you’ll have them hear you.”

Your senses are in overdrive, as if the careful and risky nature of it all makes you hyperaware of everything he’s doing to you. The way he fucks into you, how his free hand roams over your body before focusing on your clit, and the way he occasionally steals all the air from your lungs before letting you breathe again. 

And once again, you’re grateful for his reflexes, the hand on your throat going over your mouth as you cry out into his palm like he knew you'd make a sound instinctively, your whole body convulsing and trembling as his fingers keep teasing your clit, cock moving in and out of you at a delicious pace that makes you feel every vein that runs along his shaft. 

What you feel is an intense form of sensory overload, your walls squeezing down hard on his cock, making him groan and struggle with his own release. He’s set over the edge when he sees you in the mirror, desperate to cum until you do, screaming into his hand and squeezing your eyes shut as you squirt all over your thigh and his, his hands wet with your juices that he wants a taste of. 

Hyunjin falls over the edge just a few seconds after seeing the mess you’d made knowing he was the reason for it, filling you up with his thick cum that mixes with your own orgasm. You’re completely spent, sweaty and hot as you lift yourself off him, white strings of his cum on his own cock and between your legs. 

You want to fall over and collapse but Hyunjin steadies your hips and kisses your waist, making you smile. 

“Get dressed and head to the car. I’m buying you this,” he pulls the strap of the red corset that’s still haphazardly on you, making you yelp slightly but nod nevertheless, “I’m sorry I can’t clean you up, my love. At home, okay?”

You suppose your thighs are a state and it is incredibly uncomfortable, but your skirt can hide it long enough for the car ride home and you know he's never once, not taken care of you afterwards. Hyunjin’s staring at you, watching you get dressed and helping you every time you stumble or nearly fall, his caring nature back after laying dormant for the past half an hour. 

“Go out first. Here,” he hands you the car keys and you nod, taking his shopping as well despite his protests after you change, Hyunjin finally standing himself to dress. 

You don’t make eye contact with a single person on your way out, far too afraid that in the end, you did give yourself away. 

It feels like hours when Hyunjin finally joins you in the car, throwing the new shopping bag with stuff for you in the back and collapses in the front seat, spent but chuckling in a way that leaves you confused as he holds up two iced coffees he must’ve gotten on the way. You take one, grateful to cool down but waiting for him to speak. 

“They caught us.”

“Oh my god, Hyunjin!” you’re mortified, blushing a furious red tone as you hit his arm. He’s unphased though, grinning from ear to ear as if it’s the most thrilling thing he’s told you in a while. 

“Should stop thinking people are so gullible,” sighing, he begins to drive the two of you home, one of his hands on your thigh, though this time it’s a reassurance that he’s here with you, that he’s looking after you. There’s no sexual undertone to it. He's just there.

“They didn’t arrest you?” 

“Is that a thing?” you shrug, assuming it did fall under public indecency but not sure yourself. 

There’s a long silence until he simply shrugs, “well anyway, we’re banned from there now. Though I got your stuff and we can always just buy more online, so I wouldn’t call it a loss.”

He’s smirking, and you sink further down in your seat as you hide your face, “I’m never going back to this centre.”

“Are you saying you didn’t have fun?”

“Hyunjin-”

“It’s a yes or no.”

Silence takes over and you do wrack your brain to wonder if you regret it. If you had the choice again, would you just drag him out and home instead? And you realise that you wouldn’t, that you would’ve done it all again the same way. 

“I did. I suppose it was fun,” and the smile you hide tells Hyunjin all he needs to know, stopping at a red light to lean over and kiss you. 

“I love you. So don’t kill me...” you give him a look that’s already shooting daggers, already preparing yourself to hear something even worse, though you can’t imagine what that possibly looks like, “but you’re an absolute mess darling. Jump in the shower and I’ll buy us take out.”

“Only if you jump in with me,” you smile, hand going over his that still rests on your bare leg. He nods, answering without any hesitation. 

“Deal.”

this actually made me feel hella single when he got all soft pffffff I hate it here...

anyway, questions, comments, feedback always appreciated and loved x 

when i tell you guys i tried SO HARD to not make this hyunjin. i was scanning through every stray kids member in my head but this man just likes to make my life hard so i counted my losses and caved. for those of you who want other members i swear they’re coming after my next update for his last song. i’m literally forcing my brain to look at the others idc i’m doing it...

pssttttt next oneshot is husband bangchan but you didn’t hear it from me

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin smut #smut #straykidsland #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin #stray kids smut #skz #minors dni #established relationship #stray kids

[noteguk]

any way you want it | kth | m

— summary; in which your best friend, Taehyung, finds out about your unsatisfying sexual experiences and decides to put an end to that track record himself. 

— contents and warnings; smut, childhood best friends, Taehyung x reader, bigdick!tae, breast play, oral (f receiving), dry grinding, dirty talk, tae has a praise kink, unprotected sex (be responsible!!), rough sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, Taehyung takes things personally but he has good intentions, this is what happens when mutual thirst gets suppressed for years of friendship 

— words; 6.6k

— author’s note; i have no idea why but this fic was so fucking hard to put down into words??? I felt mentally constipated the entire time but it’s finally here 

Taehyung wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when you called him at almost two in the morning, complaining about your newest nightmarish date and practically begging to come over. Like the good friend that he was, he made sure to tell you that you would be more than welcome to join him in his newest documentary marathon about aliens, and wondered if you could bring him some takeout on your way over there. Like the bad friend that you were, you said no. 

To be fair, the nearest takeout place was across the city from his apartment (about thirty minutes away and in a bad neighborhood), and you were already having a horrible night as it was. Besides, you refused to take part in Taehyung’s search for a high blood pressure and cholesterol levels, arguing that it wasn’t the right time to stuff his face full of hypercaloric noodles. 

But you did pity him enough to comply with his second request: a big pot of vanilla ice cream, which you were sure you’d end up consuming too. You were in a crisis.

As if to prove that the gods above were laughing at you, during the walk of shame to Taehyung’s apartment, it had started to rain (because of course it did), and your umbrella was only able to save you from the shoulders up before it crumbled and flew away from your gasp, rolling on the asphalt like a ball of dirt in a Wild West movie. By the time that you dragged yourself to his front door, you were completely soaked (and not in the way you had planned for that night to end), and about to break down crying. 

Taehyung, like the angel that he was, helped you with your heavy coat and talked you into taking a warm shower before you got sick. He took the supermarket bag from you (where the ice cream had probably already melted) and walked you to this bathroom, excusing himself so he could grab you some dry clothes — and you only saw the ones he had picked when you got out of the shower. 

With a silly smile dancing on your lips, you fumbled with the black booty shorts that Taehyung had jokingly gifted you that past Christmas — one that read “daddy’s juicy butt” in big, bold, neon pink letters over your ass — and then decided that your dignity was already dead by that point, so another kick wouldn’t hurt. Taehyung had also given you one of his favorite band shirts, which he only revealed during desperate times. 

Your heart melted with the thought of your best friend trying to comfort you, and pulled the fabric close to your face so you could take a deep inhale, drowning in his scent. It smelled of that stupid cologne that Taehyung had used ever since he hit puberty, and a bit of fabric softener. 

The two of you had an extremely close friendship, to the point that it got kind of strange at times. Ever since childhood, it was joked that you and Taehyung had been long lost soulmates — doing everything together, from going to school to laughing at the same exact jokes during movie marathons, often at the same moment and for the same amount of time. Before puberty hit (and the hormonal rage took over your first teenage years) you couldn’t remember disagreeing with him even once. You two had always been in sync. 

But the uncomfortably close part only hit after you two went to college, and your anxiety for being a virgin in a sea of starving sharks got the best of you. After long conversations, you had managed to convince Taehyung to help you learn a thing or two about the art of naked wrestling. 

Apparently it was weird to give your best friend a handjob and a blowjob for the sake of education. Go figure. 

Regardless, your friendship wasn’t affected by any of that — even if you two had agreed to never mention any of it ever again — and you could always count on Taehyung to catch you when you fell. 

Even if it was at two am on a Tuesday, after one of your nightmarish dates. 

You threw yourself on the couch next to him, hugging your knees against your chest to form a barrier between you and the divine providence that had taken you to that point. You had half-assedly dried your hair, but pools of wetness had started to build on the back of Taehyung’s shirt. 

Instead of accusing you of ruining his favorite piece of clothing, Taehyung reached for the remote and paused his documentary just as the narrator was starting to explain how hieroglyphs were actually part of an alien language. “Just tell me how bad it was,” he said, a mustache of ice cream melting over his top lip.

You took a peek at the bowl of melting vanilla on his center table, and decided that you would probably pass the desert for the night. 

You glanced at him sideways, voice coming out monotone. “You sure you want to go down that path?” 

Taehyung licked his sweet mustache off and nodded, clearly intrigued. “Yeah, hit me with it. You look like you need all the help that you can find.” 

You sighed, turning around on the couch so you were facing him — legs still against your chest. “Okay so… I went to his place...” 

“Yes…”

“And... we had dinner, talked for a bit.”

“How was the talk?” He asked. 

You shook your head, trying to kill the memories inside. “He didn’t let me say a word. He just went on and on about this new website he’s working on, and how expensive his wine glasses were.” You scoffed, angry at yourself for ignoring the clear red flags of an arrogant douchebag. That was what the desperate need for immediate human connection could do to someone, you thought. “Apparently it’s supposed to be the next Facebook or something. Or twitter. I honestly wasn’t paying much attention.”

He chuckled. “Starting off strong.” 

“That wasn’t even the main issue,” you said, lowering your forehead so it was touching your knees. You just wanted the world to end at that moment, so you wouldn’t have to go through those experiences again. “After that, we sat on his couch and started watching a movie. And you know how that goes, we started kissing, he pushed me down and got on top of me…”

“And?” He instigated. 

With a sigh, you raised your head, meeting your friend’s gaze. Taehyung thought he had never seen you look so dead inside. And he had seen a lot from you. “And he humped like… my lower abdomen for about three minutes and came in his pants.”

Taehyung cringed visibly, taking one hand to cover his mouth. “Oh, man. That’s bad.” 

You nodded, strangely relieved at his reaction. Part of you was worried that you were the evil witch in that scenario, that maybe you had done something wrong. “The worst,” you agreed. “Wanna know what else?”

“What? There’s more?”

“He didn’t even ask me if I was satisfied with whatever the hell that was.” You told him, bitterness dripping from your tongue. In the grand scheme of things, that was something silly to get mad over, but the fact that your date didn’t even have the guts to ask if you had gotten something out of that was ridiculous. “Not that I could possibly be. But it’s like he didn’t care and I was just a pillow for him to hump like a… sexually repressed religious teen, I don’t know.”

Taehyung only nodded, realizing that there wasn’t much that he could say to fix the situation. “Was he a good kisser at least?”

You sneered. “I think he was trying to crush my face with his.” You glanced at your friend, only half of his face bathed by the yellow and orange shades coming from the television. Maybe a documentary about ancient history and alien expeditions wouldn’t be so bad. Worst case scenario, it would knock you out, and you wouldn’t have to think about that mess anytime soon. “Also, too much tongue, just… the amount of saliva…”

“Got it. You can stop there.” Taehyung raised one hand, his eyes closing for a second. His palm lowered and met one of your knees, standing there in a silent attempt at consolation. “I’m sorry about your terrible date experience, dude.” 

“If you could even call it that.” You ran one hand through your hair, suddenly overtaken by a wave of anger. “God! I was just… so… ugh! Like… ughhhh!!” 

Taehyung, bless his heart, sometimes couldn’t understand the random neanderthal sounds you threw his way. “So... what?”

At last, your makeshift protection came crumbling down, and you collapsed on the couch dramatically, legs dangling off the edge. Taehyung thought that you were being possessed for exactly two seconds before you started talking again. “I did a full body shave for this night, Taehyung. Do you realize what that means?” His lips fell open, but, before he had the chance to answer, you continued. “It means that I really wanted to get railed tonight. Actually, I wanted to find a guy who actually knew what he was doing for once in my life.”

Taehyung chuckled, trying to disperse the tension in the room. “Come on, the dating pool can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad,” you said. 

He wasn’t giving up that fast. “How bad?”

You raised your head to look him dead in the eyes, a silent threat, before finally uttering, “Try no-man-has-ever-made-me-cum bad,” and crashing your head back against the sofa. 

If you weren’t so hyper-focused on your own sexual melodrama, you would have noticed the thick silence that fell between the two of you, Taehyung’s face contorting into fifty different emotions within a few seconds. He thought that he had heard it all — from the secrets hidden in Machu Picchu to the obvious extraterrestrial influence on earthy religion — but no amount of bad documentaries could ever prepare him for that revelation. That didn’t make any sense. 

“Wait. Seriously?” He finally found his voice and managed to push his doubt out of his throat. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

You chuckled, humorless. “Oh no, I’ve had plenty of those. Just not from another person.” 

“How’s that possible?” he asked. 

“I ask myself that every single day.” You sighed, forcing yourself to sit back up. Taehyung was staring at you like you had just grown two extra arms, and you wondered what an amazing sex life he must’ve had for that confession to get him so confused. “Guess I’m just really bad at picking partners, who knows.”

There was a soft grunt on your throat as you fixed your position on the couch, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of your entire day piling up at once. Your gaze mindlessly traveled to the TV — a big plasma monstrosity that Taehyung had bought compulsively during a Black Friday sale — looking at a white-bearded man pointing maniacally towards a specific, round-shaped hieroglyph. You didn’t even need to hit play to know that he was making it seem like it was an UFO, but curiosity got the best of you. 

“Can you pass me the remote?” You asked, pointing at the small device that laid beyond Taehyung’s body. “I kinda wanna see what—”

“I’ve made tons of girls have orgasms,” Taehyung interrupted, looking at you like he had just clicked out of a transe.  

You laughed at his monotone voice. “I’m happy for you, Tae.” You leaned over his legs so you could finally reach the remote. “That wasn’t a jab at your masculinity, I’m sure you’re a very caring partner, and I’m sure there’s tons of guys out there that—”

“I can make you cum too, if you want.”

You had just grabbed the small piece of plastic when his sentence hit you like a smack in the face, making you drop the remote back on the couch, eyes widening. “You… what?”

He suddenly broke eye contact, taking one hand to massage the back of his neck. “Did that sound as creepy as I think it did?”

“A bit, yeah.” You forced out a light chuckle, trying to break the ice. There was no sign of mockery in his voice, and you didn’t know how to react. You could not say that the offer wasn’t tempting (you’d be lying if you claimed that you didn’t think Taehyung was attractive), but his proposal was so oddly-placed that it sounded like a joke. “What are you talking about?”

Taehyung sighed, turning his head to look at the television. “I just think it’s really unfair that no one has ever made you cum before.” 

You smiled. “That’s very nice of you, but…”

“And I want to help you with that.” He looked back at you. Oh, he was being a hundred percent serious. There was no longer a single ounce of doubt in your mind. “We’re friends, it’s not gonna be weird. We’ve done similar stuff before.”

“We were a lot younger, though.” You didn’t know why your mouth suddenly felt so dry, your fight or flight response kicking at full strength. You could tell that Taehyung was also trying to convince himself about the strangeness of the situation. “It’s gonna be kind of weird, yeah.”

“Not if we don’t make it weird,” he threw back. Was it bad that you were actually considering it? Maybe it was the piled-up exhaustion combined with the years of sexual frustration, maybe you were finally out of your mind. But you were really considering it. “I don’t wanna pressure you, alright? Just making a friendly offer. If you don’t want it, that’s fine.” 

You kind of wanted it, though. There was too much accumulated libido inside you from years and years of unsatisfying partners, and you trusted Taehyung with your entire heart. It sounded like a safe enough bet: if all went to shit and it got too awkward, you two could just stop, no hard feelings. Besides, you knew that Taehyung cared about you, which was more than you could say about all your dates in the past couple years. 

And the more you stared at him, probably looking like a deer in the headlights, the more you grew soft under his presence. At once, you were hit with desires that you had never considered before: you wanted to kiss those soft lips, wanted to know how his large hands would feel around you. You really, really wanted to know how it was to have a good sexual experience with someone, and you couldn’t think of a better candidate than your best friend. Even if you still thought it could be seen as a little bit weird. 

But you also kind of didn’t care. 

You licked your lips, finally finding your voice after a long moment of silence. “How… how would you do it?” 

Taehyung turned his head and looked at you, noticing the expectation in your eyes. “How would you want me to do it?” He asked. 

You tried to think, but your mind was completely blank. What did you want him to do? What did you like? Suddenly you weren’t sure about anything anymore. “I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing down. 

Taehyung smiled at your nervousness, one of his hands moving to your chin and tilting your head up. “How ‘bout I start by kissing you?” He questioned, gaze flickering to your parted lips. “Is that alright?” 

There were no words in your throat, so you simply nodded, closing your eyes as he leaned in. 

Taehyung’s mouth tasted of vanilla and you thought, even for a moment, that you were in paradise. The second that his tender lips met yours, your anxiety melted away, giving space to a newfound flame of desire. Taehyung kissed you softly, sensually, taking his time caressing your mouth and drowning in your heat. His hand moved to the back of your head, pressing you closer to him and leaning your head to the side so he could deepen the kiss. 

He sighed heavily into your mouth when your tongues met, his other hand moving to hold your waist. The position on the couch was kind of awkward for kissing, with the two of you sitting side by side, so it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise when Taehyung tugged you onto his lap, making you straddle him. 

The kiss was starting to get hungrier, messier, a small whimper dying in your mouth when his palms traveled down to cup your ass, pressing you down against his semi-hard cock. Taehyung sighed and groaned at the feeling of you on top of him, loving the way that your fingers played with his hair, your body so perfectly tight against his. If there was any hesitation before, it had completely vanished by that point. 

It caught you off guard when he suddenly broke off the kiss to ask you, “Do you like any pet names?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Hm? What?”

He placed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You know, you want me to call you by something?”  

You realized that Taehyung was really taking that personal service to a different level, and you couldn’t say that you were let down by it. If any of your past partners had the dignity to ask what you liked, you wouldn’t be in that position in the first place. “I… like being called ‘baby’,” you told him. 

Taehyung smiled. “That’s cute. Baby it is.” 

Before you had a chance to respond, Taehyung’s lips were back on yours, a dreamy sigh leaving his mouth as your tongues met once again. Only a few seconds passed before he shifted his weight to lay you down, never breaking the kiss as he positioned himself between your legs, hovering over you. Taehyung started trailing a path of kisses down your neck, his large hands slithering beneath your oversized shirt and caressing the skin of your stomach. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked, tugging at your shirt. 

You agreed and, within a heartbeat, that piece of clothing was already on the floor, and Taehyung was diving in to kiss the valley of your naked breasts. You moaned timidly when one of your nipples was wrapped by his lips, his tongue coming out to play with it. Taehyung’s other hand was occupied fondling your other breast, tugging and pressing down on it, and the sensations were taking over your mind. 

“You have great tits,” Taehyung mumbled against your skin, switching to mouth your other nipple. 

“I’m glad you like them,” you teased, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. You were letting out these cute little whimpers that were making him lose his mind. “Feels really good.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, moving back to kiss his way up your neck. His tongue was hot and heavy as it danced on your skin, and you knew that those sucks he was giving you were surely gonna leave a few marks on your flesh. But you didn’t really care. “Gonna make you feel even better, baby.” 

Your eyes fluttered shut at the pet name — it sounded heavenly when Taehyung used it with his deep, honeyed voice; his warm breath hitting your neck as he continued with his ministrations. 

He kissed his way to your cheek, placing a small pec on your lips before saying, “Can you do something for me?”

You nodded. “What is it?” 

Instead of responding right away, Taehyung’s gaze fell to your lips, and he was once again attacking them. That time, you weren’t able to hold back the whimper that you let out, your panties already glued against your core with how much he was turning you on. 

One of his hands had trailed down your exposed abdomen, teasingly playing with the hem of your shorts. You held your breath when he tugged them down, bringing your underwear with it and throwing them somewhere in the living room. Taehyung grunted loudly when his fingers slipped past your folds, digging into your heat. His brain almost short-circuited because of how wet you were. 

He broke the kiss and looked you deep in the eyes. “I want you to sit on my face, baby,” he said, and his request shot straight to your core. “Let me take care of you, okay?” 

“Are you sure?” You asked. You had never done that before.

But Taehyung wasn’t sharing your reluctance. “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse and eyes darkened. “Wanna taste you so bad. Sit on my face, please.” 

And you didn’t need any more convincing than that. Taehyung helped you get up from the couch so he could reposition himself on it, laying flat on his back and watching as you settled yourself above him, thighs on either side of his head. The couch was the exact size for that, a little smaller and you’d have one leg dangling off the edge.

Taehyung took his hands to your thighs, running them up to your hips. His eyes were focused on your pussy, and you never felt so exposed when he started pressing you down lightly, guiding you closer to his mouth. 

You held the back of the couch for support and did as he requested, lowering yourself until Taehyung had you flat on his tongue. Your breath trembled and caught in your throat when he licked a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit, humming around the taste before doing it again. Taehyung was an expert at erasing your worries because, with a few more licks, he had you fully losing yourself in his sinful ministrations. 

It wasn’t long until you were whining out his name, your folds lazily dragging against his tongue as you started to grind on his face. “God, Taehyung!” You called out, hand coming down to tug at his hair. Taehyung grunted in satisfaction, the vibrations of his deep voice sending shockwaves through your pussy. “That’s… that’s really nice. You’re really good at this.” 

He moaned in response, closing his eyes at your words. Taehyung was eating you out like his mouth was made for it, like he was starving for your taste and you were all that he could think about. He licked you from your entrance to your clit, playing with your sensitive spots and enjoying the tremors of pleasure that ran through your thighs, his hands locked tight around your hips. You sobbed and cried over him, making special effort to keep your legs steady as you rocked yourself on his tongue. 

It was only when he decided to suck on your clit that you realized how absurdly close you were. You clenched your teeth and whined out, yanking his hair harder. “Do that again, please,” you asked and Taehyung, like the good friend that he was, was quick to comply. Taehyung wrapped his mouth around your clit in a way that had you trembling over him, licking and sucking on your sensitive nub like his life depended on it. “Fuck, that’s so good, Tae. Feels so good…” 

He moaned again, more desperate this time, and some part of your mind understood the pattern that he was presenting you: Taehyung really, really liked your compliments. And you had no problem giving away any more of them. 

“You’re licking me so well, Tae, you’re gonna make me cum like this,” you told him,  meaning every word you said. Taehyung was a Greek god beneath you, staring up at you with those dark, focused eyes as if he dared you to cum on his tongue. “God! You’re so good for me.”

And then your praises ran thin, because your mind was gravitating somewhere else — seeking for the high that was dangerously close. It was only when Taehyung started toying with your entrance, brushing two of his fingers on it, that you came undone, crying out his name like it was a personal prayer. 

There was a smirk on your mouth as you came down, a flooding relief that overtook you. You never thought that you could come so hard in your life, especially when it depended on another person, and you were so, so happy to be wrong that you could cry. 

With shaky legs, you removed yourself from Taehyung’s face, straddling his lap and watching as his lips glistened with your arousal. His pink tongue came out to lick them, a hum on his throat as he took in your fucked-out expression. 

“You did so well, baby,” he said, placing one of his hands on your waist. “Come here.” 

Obedient, you leaned in and sighed as his mouth met yours. This time, Taehyung didn’t wait to eagerly insert his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste yourself on him. 

He pulled away leisurely, his voice hoarse. “Can you taste how sweet you are?” He asked. “I loved making you cum on my tongue, baby. You looked so pretty.” 

Taehyung breathed out, planting kisses on your neck, one hand trailing down to squeeze your ass. You whined at his tight grip and pressed yourself down on him, feeling his hard cock poking out against the fabric of his sweats. 

Taehyung groaned at the stimulation, pressing down on your asscheek again. You rolled your hips on top of him, wincing in sensitivity as his member brushed your clit. “Loved your pussy so much, baby,” he continued, sounding like he was lost in a daydream, “I can’t wait to be inside you. Bet you’d be so tight for my cock, hm?” 

“Yeah,” you managed to speak. Even if you had just reached your orgasm, you were still aching to feel something inside you. You wanted Taehyung more than you could understand. “I want you to fuck me, Tae, please.” 

He breathed out, his hands tightening around your flesh as you rolled your pussy against his cock once again. Taehyung looked like he was one heartbeat away from completely losing his self control, and hearing you beg for him to fuck you wasn’t doing him any favors. “Gonna need to lie down for me, baby,” he asked. 

With a few more shifts on the couch, Taehyung had you beneath him once again, your legs open for him as he removed his shirt and pants. It wasn’t long before his cock sprung free from its confinement, standing erect. You licked your lips at the lustful sight, pussy clenching in anticipation as you took him in — Taehyung was big. Bigger than anyone you’ve ever had, that’s for sure; long and thick and already leaking for you. 

You would’ve cried out in need if he didn’t interrupt you. “What are you looking at?” Taehyung asked, the ghost of a smile creeping up on his lips. 

Your stare oscillated toward his own. “That’s why you have such a good track record, your cock is huge.” You bit your lip, thinking about how good he would feel inside you. You didn’t know how it was possible, but you were pretty sure the last time you’ve seen his cock — back in the dark ages of your freshman year of college — it wasn’t as big as that. Or maybe you just didn’t have anything to compare it to. 

“Hey, I just used my tongue on you, don’t ignore my efforts,” Taehyung teased, wrapping one of his hands around his member so he could pump himself a few times. The playful atmosphere swiftly shifted back, and, when he spoke up again, his voice was deeper. “You think you can take it?” 

“Yeah, I can,” you said. You couldn’t be sure, but you were sure going to try. 

Taehyung hummed, moving a bit closer so he could brush his tip against your pussy, coating it with your wetness. You closed your eyes in expectation, knowing that you’d love the stretch he would give you. 

“You want it?” He asked, a touch of desperation covering his words. Taehyung was nearing his breaking point, and the fluttering of your pussy on his cock was making him go insane. “Want my cock inside your tight little cunt, baby?” 

You nodded, frantic. The brushing of his thick tip on your hole was becoming too much, your walls clenching around nothing, seeking for something to fill you up. “Yes, fuck, I want it so bad.” 

“Are you tight for me, baby?” He was trying to prolong that moment for as much as he could, keep the pretty face you made when you pleaded for him to fuck you burned in the back of his head. Making you cum once was a victory he would take forever, but making you cum around his cock might as well be his life’s biggest achievement. “Ready for me to fuck you?” 

You cried out when he started pressing himself inside you, guiding his crown inside your pussy, then stopping. “Yes, Tae, just put it all in, please,” you whined, hands fumbling for support on his broad shoulders. Taehyung already had you clenching around nothing, you didn’t know what else he wanted from you. “Please, please, fuck me.” 

Taehyung chuckled, looking down at where you two met. He was only human, and his self control was short lived. “Since you asked so nicely…” 

Your back arched off the sofa as you felt the delicious drag of his large cock inside you, opening you up gradually, taking its time before filling you up to the brim. You gasped and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling, nails digging on the skin of his back as Taehyung groaned besides your ear. 

“Fuck, that’s so good.” He let out a shaky breath, and you swore you never heard his voice get so husky before. “I just slipped right in. You’re so fucking wet.” 

Your mind was an apocalypse of confused thoughts and forgotten exclamations, eyes fluttering shut as you dove into the sensation of Taehyung inside you — his hips angling backwards, tilting up just enough so he could move himself away from you core, only to come slamming back inside. The stretch of his cock was amazing, it was making you drunk, and all that you could think about was how much pleasure it was giving you. 

“So-So big—“ you muttered, half aware that the words actually left your lips. 

“How do you like it, uh?” Taehyung asked, his voice dripping sin and hunger. You could tell that he, too, was getting carried away by the feeling, his hips rutting themselves against you at a lazy pace. “Gonna give it to you any way you want it, baby.” 

You bit your lip, a small moan leaving your mouth when Taehyung leaned closer to you, distributing hot kisses on your neck. You swore you’d be happy if you died then. “I like it rough,” you answered. 

He groaned, apparently satisfied with your response. “Whatever you want.” 

Taehyung got to his knees on the couch, deciding to put one foot on the ground for support, his hands raising your hips to help him reach even deeper inside you. Faster than your brain could compute, the shallow, lazy pace he had sat was being replaced with a harsh, fast pumping that made you cry out his name, eyes closing in sheer bliss. 

“Tae! Yes, yes, just like that,” you sobbed, running one hand through your hair. You felt like your body was floating, every cell of your body overheating with the amazing pleasure that Taehyung was giving you. You never had someone fucking you so hard, his cock pistoning inside you, your body bobbing up and down on the couch. 

Taehyung’s eyes were glued to the bouncing of your breasts as he continued to fuck you, a deep groan leaving his chest. “That’s it, take it,” he moaned out, quickening his pace even more. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth opening in a silent scream.  “Gonna make you cum so hard around my cock, baby. Gonna fuck you until you cry. Want that?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” you moaned. “Feels so good, Tae.” 

“You like my cock, baby? Like it filling you up?” He asked and you could only nod pathetically, your entire body too fucked out to even respond. “F-fuck, your pussy is so good. Tell me that you love my cock.” 

“I love your cock,” you whined, feeling like a complete hot mess under his thrusts. “I — fuck! — I love your cock so much, Tae, it’s so big.” 

Your words motivated him to fuck you even harder, his member hitting even deeper inside you. Taehyung was getting lost in the stretch of your pussy around him, the glorious sounds you were making, the lust that coated your face every time you called out his name. 

“Shit, I don’t know how anyone could look at you like this and not want to see that pretty face cum.” He was breathing out hard, grunting every time your cunt tightened around him. Taehyung wanted to see you like that forever, taking his cock like a good girl, creaming all over him and begging to do it again. You were wrapping around him so perfectly, taking all of him so well, that he didn’t think he’d manage to move on from that anytime soon. “So fucking hot.”

Taehyung chased after your high like a starving man looking for food, experimentally changing the angle and force of his thrusts to see what would get the best reaction out of you. At last, after a pathetically loud cry from your part after he raised your legs up, it seemed as if he had found it. “I bet you’d be so tight cumming around my cock, baby,” he was thinking out loud at that point, trying to make sense of the pretty sounds and expressions you were giving him so eagerly. He wanted nothing more than to see you cum — it was personal at that point. “I wanna feel you cum around me, baby. Wanna feel it so bad.” 

“I’m c-close.” Your nails dug into his shoulders, eyes closing tightly. There was a light heat in your cheeks and sweat on your forehead that was making Taehyung wonder if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “You’re so good, T-Tae, you’re fucking me so well…” 

Taehyung thought that he could cum right then and there, pushed over the edge with those sweet words alone. He loved being good to you, loved making you feel things that no one else managed to before. He was intoxicated by that sense of superiority, drowning in your praise. He wished that he could fuck you forever. 

“Cream my cock, baby, come on,” he pushed you on, his words hanging somewhere between an order and a breathless plea. You were getting so tight around him that it was making him crazy, your wetness coating his cock and dripping down between your legs like his own personal brand of aphrodisiac. “You can do it, come on. I wanna see you cum so bad.” 

You smiled at him, a cute, fucked-out smirk that made Taehyung go to heaven and back. “So good for me, Tae, you’re so big,” you said, your voice so needy and high-pitched. Your orgasm was looming over you, pressing down on your lower body and making you see stars. It was only a matter of time before Taehyung got you crying out his name, back arching off the couch and mouth falling open in delirium. “Tae! Fuck! Don’t stop, please, I’m gonna—“ 

But your warning came a second too late, because you were already spasming around his length, body shaking as Taehyung thrusted hard inside you. Just as expected, you were absolutely fucking gorgeous when you came — all quivering lips and rolling eyes —, and Taehyung was beyond satisfied to know that he was the only one who saw that pretty face of yours. 

“That’s it, baby, fuck.” Taehyung was starting to feel his own high approaching, called by the delicious tightening and releasing of your pussy around him. His thrusts were messy and harsh; his sweaty hair falling over his eyes like a cascade. “Can I cum inside you, baby? Can I fuck you full of my cum?”

You noticed the desperation in his tone and, with the throbbing of his member inside you, you knew that he wasn’t far. “Yes, please,” you said. “You were so good for me, Tae, you can cum wherever you want.” 

And it was that final taste of praise that pushed Taehyung over his limit; waves upon waves of cum filling you up as he rode out his high. “God— fuck!” He cried out, drunk on the feeling of your walls milking the last drops of cum out of his cock. A few lazy pumps later, and he was collapsing on top of you with a mumbled, “F-Fuck.” 

There was an instant of silence after his orgasm, the quietude only filled by Taehyung’s heavy breathing. You took one hand to his head, caressing the strands as a smile blossomed on your lips. “Well, I believe you now,” you said playfully. “I’m sure you made a bunch of girls orgasm.” 

Taehyung chuckled, breathless. “Thank you, I try,” he said, looking up at you. The darkness in his gaze was gone, and it was just your best friend staring back at you. “You alright?”

“I’m great,” you admitted. You never felt so good in your life. “You?”

“Fantastic, thanks for asking.” He leaned back so he could sit up, running one hand through his disheveled hair before saying, “I’m gonna grab you a towel, hang on.” 

Taehyung left you for a couple minutes before coming back to clean you up, tenderly wiping away the mess you two had created. After he was done, he discarded the towel on the floor and crawled back to rest on your chest once again. 

There was a comforting quietude that floated in the atmosphere, only filled by the muffled buzzing of his freezer and the vague sound of raindrops drumming on the window. You didn’t really know how to deal with that entire situation, didn’t know how things would stay between the two of you. But, at that point, you made the decision to keep those worries for the following morning and, instead, just enjoy his warmth radiating all around you. 

The glorious silence, at last, was broken when Taehyung started mumbling against your breasts.  “Hey, ___?” He called. 

“Yeah?”

“How many dates have you been on?”

You hummed, thinking for a moment. “Ever?”

Taehyung made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I don’t know, like, this past year.”

“Uh… like… five or six? I think?” You answered, looking down to meet his gaze. You knew that wicked expression very well. “Why?”

He smiled. “Because we have a lot of shitty dates to make up for.”

#bts fic #bts smut #taehyung smut #taehyung fic #bts #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #bts x you #bts x reader #reader insert #smut #au #taehyung au #bts au

[rcksmith]

Be good — Five Hargreeves.

Requests: “can i get car sex w/five and lots of praise kink tyyyy 💖💖”

“Hi! Could I request smut prompts 11, 22, and 29 as well as fluff 40 for five hargreeves? Ty!”

Smut prompts:

11. “She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but i bet behind closed doors she’s latex and whips.”

22. “I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

29. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

Fluff prompts:

40. “Come cuddle.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope you guys like💖I decided to compile these two requests, since they were the same energy and they prompts connect to a central plot. I added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down. Good reading.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: explicit smut, degradation, dirty talk, bad words, fluff.

— — — — —

Part of Five thought it was absurd to feel this way, so wrong. You were young, so young, with an adventurous face in your 20s and bright eyes. Full of life and with such a loose spirit. You had that cool breeze with a free soul, a bright smile and, holy mother of God, you had a body that would be the reason why he would be banished from paradise.

There was something about your youthful innocence that clenched Five's teeth, that made him clench fists to control the urges to touch you at any time. This irritated him deeply.

You were so... so... sweet.

So fucking sweet. From your summer dresses, your delicate mouth, doe eyes and silky hair. You looked like a fucking princess and Five wanted to destroy you for that. You didn't look real. It looked like it came out of a fairy tale and it hit something very deep in Five. Oh, he was burning in a very dangerous fire.

Worst of all, you always knew what you were doing with him. And the way you pretend you don't make him even more angry.

Five remembers the exact moment when he threw in the towel, stopped fighting that insane desire and kissed you as if you were the last glass of water in the desert. And all of this was caused by a trigger so simple, ridiculous to be honest.

He gave up control one afternoon, when you were playing cards with Klaus in the living room, you had just won and got up, saying that you were going to get your phone that you were carrying in another room.

“It's hard to try to be mad at her, she's so cute.” Klaus said to Five, making a gesture in the air that represented pinching your cheeks.

If Five's mood hadn't been bad before, it was bad now. He rolled his eyes, hiding the expression on lips when he took a sip of coffee.

“You should learn from her, who knows" Klaus shrugged “She is so nice and you are... well, you are you.” Klaus pointed to Five's entire body, in a teasing of brother.

The deadly look that Five gave his brother made Klaus laugh even more. God, he was an idiot!

“Doesn't she look like those little movie fairies?”

“Is annoying.” Five rolled his eyes.

“It’s cute.” Klaus defended you “But you know, I think it's just superficial.”

That caught Five's attention, and Klaus realized and started to explain.

“She told me that she likes some more ... crude things, if you know what I mean.” Oh, Five understood “She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but i bet behind closed doors she’s latex and whips.”

So Five was shipwrecked by Images of you. Tied to the bed, in white lingerie, your lips swollen from using that princess mouth of for something else. The giant wave invaded he mind like a ball of destruction, demolishing the entire barrier of self-control he had struggled to build. Brick by brick.

Five wanted to erase those images from his head, to exclude any universe in which you were on all fours for him, begging for more, with that fucking cute voice of yours.

But no matter how hard he tried, Klaus' words brought endless malicious situations that did not come out of Five’s mind.

So that's when he gave up. It was ridiculous to be controlling yourself like a puritan, like a stupid little boy who didn't know what to do.

And Five knew exactly what wanted to do to you.

Then, that afternoon, he disappeared in front of Klaus in the blue flash and reappeared in the room you were in. You must have said something, but Five didn't hear it, or didn't want to hear it. He just walked up to you, put his hands on your waist and kissed you with all the desire that the world had.

He barely touched you and you were already a modeling clay in he hands, sighing with strong touches, with raw kisses, purring like a kitten.

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive." Five whispered against your mouth before he kissed you again.

Five Hargreeves thought that fucking you once would placate that sickly fire that was inside him. But it didn't placate, in fact, it was like pouring gasoline on the fire.

Everything inside him became wilder, more hungry, needy. And that was why he was there, fucking you hard in the car, on an abandoned street.

You moaned loudly, the top of your little red summer dress lowered, exposing your breasts that bounced as you slipped on Five's lap. The air was caustic and pungent, the two of you gasped, sighed, let out toxic and broken moans.

Their bodies clashed as if the world was going to end in that second, and Five did not have the strength to squeeze your hips, pulling you down and up with brutality, pushing him dick deeper into you with every bounce you gave.

“So fucking tight!” He snarled, lowering his left hand to your ass, lifting the fabric of the dress and slapping you.

You contained the cry, pressing your lips against him neck, the tears already burning in your eyes. Five don't slow down the ruthless pace, fucking you with the fury of an animal, as if I've never fucked you before.

“Such a good pussy!” He hand let go of your skin to wrap his fingers in your hair on the back of neck, pulling your face into his, making you receive the moans against your mouth. “I can't get enough of eating you! Good fucking slut!”

You could see the anger, desire, lust and wildness in he eyes. Five wanted to destroy you and, god, you loved it. You let go of that innocent and mysterious smile that left him even more out of control, and Five slapped you down again, but now on your left cheek.

“Don't look like that to me!” He pulled your chin up at him "Otherwise, you're going to get out of here without being able to walk right!"

But it was logical that you did not hear. Truth be told, you were a fucking tease. You liked the game, the hunt, the adrenaline. You liked to play with fire, and Five Hargreeves was not just a flame, but the entire fire.

“Do... do what D-daddy?” You used your best voice, seeing he anger and lust spilling out of he green eyes.

Then you gave that smile again, more neat, more painful and more innocent, and Five snarled like a wild animal that has just come out of captivity. He immediately took you off his lap, taking he dick out of you.

“Go to the fucking backseat. Now!”

You obeyed, going to the backseat and placing yourself on all fours, resting your chest on the seat while lifting your hips.

“You already know how to stand. You are is a little slut, really!” Then a loud slap came on your ass, and you bit your palm to keep from screaming.

“D...Daddy!” You whined.

Five pinned your hair up in a ponytail with he hand, pulling your body back until it was glued and glued to his.

"I'm not going to touch you unless you beg." He snarled in your ear, the hot temperature of he dick an inch from your needy center.

“Please!” You cried “I'm go to be b-good! I promise, daddy!”

“Beg!” One more slap.

“Please!” You rummaged your hips, trying to make any contact. “Please!”

Then Five entered you. Strong, rough, badly and aggressive. He barely gave you time to moan before he started hitting your fragile walls, flooding your eyes with tears that flowed. It was too much stimulation, too much strength, too much desire that made your body want to scream. You and Five had a security password, but you were too horny to want to use it because of the pain.

“So fucking good tis pussy!” Five kept his hand firmly in your hair and the other on your hips, pulling you to his dick. “You have to be a desperate slut to give it to me in the car, don't you?” another slap “Such a needy little slut.”

“Yes, d-daddy!”

Then he continued, relentless. You turned your face to see him, and that was even more of a discharge of electricity between your legs.

Five's coal-black hair was sweaty, clinging to his forehead, with a few droplets running down his firm face. He was without a suit, his shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up, exposing his vein-streaked arms, marking the white skin that was covered with a layer of sweat mist.

His green eyes contained all the wildness, fury and lust in the world. He looked like an angry young god. And that took you to the apex.

Five let out a short, husky, sneering laugh at how fast you always came for him, and he increased his movements until he poured the hot liquid as deep as possible into you.

“Your pussy is so good.” He whispered in your ear, slowing you two heartbeat with a few kisses on your shoulder.

Five pulled the suit that was lying on the floor of the car, placing it under you and turning you on top of the cloth, so that the cum dripped on the suit instead of the seat. He watched in lust as the cum poured out of you.

Five pulled the air against his teeth, not controlling himself and leaning towards you, sticking your lips together in an angry kiss.

“You are so hot." You smirked at his comment.

“Where were we even going?” You laughed.

"Home."

You loved how he used the word "home" with you. As if it were the home of the two of you.

“Take a shower and have dinner?” Five nodded, removing a lock of his hair from his face. "And after... we are come cuddle?”

He laughed, shrugging and sticking his lips to yours again.

“If that is going to make you stop talking. Of course, dear.” He grunted playfully on your lips, and you laughed.

God, you loved that man.

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five x you #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves imagine #five x reader #five fanfiction #five x y/n #number 5 imagine #number 5 x you #number 5 #number 5 x reader #number five fanfic #number five x you #number five x y/n #number five x reader #number five smut #number five #tua smut #tua five #klaus hargreeves #tua klaus #tua fanfic

[indianamoonshine]

Girl Talk | Din Djarin x Reader | Oneshot

Summary: What does a gal do when she’s just been railed by the most notorious bounty hunter in The Galaxy? Call her best friend of course.

A/N: Just something to tide you over until the next installment of Strawberry! I have anxiety and I need to busy my hands without thinking too much! This takes place after season 2!

There’s a crackling on the other end of the receiver. The telegraph service majorly bites out here on Besiana, which has been dubbed “the trench of The Galaxy”. Getting connected to Gabriele at all is a miracle in itself, though not without exploiting a few (somewhat) illegal hacks by yours truly.

Hells, not even this shitty phoning service can put you in a sour mood.

When Gabriele’s voice sounds at the other end, it gives the air that he’s just awoken from a heavy sleep or he’s suffering a hangover. Probably both. “Now what the hell are you doing all the way out in butt-fucking-nowh…” he starts.

You’re quick to cut him off. “Take a guess.”

Gabriele groans and there’s a rummaging in the background. Something sounds as though it falls off a surface - his alarm clock, probably. He must be in the inner rim somewhere.

“Miss girl, I don’t have time to play these games with you. My head is pounding. Now tell me why you’re in the catacombs of The Galaxy’s ass and…”

Behind you, a body shuffles from outside the refresher door. Your heart thuds rambunctiously in your chest as you carefully peer through a crack of the opening. Din Djarin - The Galaxy’s most notorious Mandalorian- is taking a seat with his rifle in hand. You watch as he begins to disassemble it with great technical precision. Something about watching him take apart his weapon causes your stomach to flutter.

And your knees to weaken.

“I just had sex,” you tell him in a whisper.

Gabriele is silent on the other end for a moment and then lets out a sigh of great disappointment. “Congratulations. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight.”

“The best sex of my life.”

There’s another pause. “Oh?” His interest has piqued, voice more alert at the prospect of juicy gossip. After all, what were best friends for?

You let this linger in the air for a minute, just to marinate his curiosity, and then peek at Din again. He’s taking a rag and wiping the barrel of the rifle; if it weren’t for the helmet upon his head, you’d swear he was concentrating with furrowed and ascetic brow.

“Do you remember that Mandalorian who made a giant fuss a couple of years ago?” you inquire lowly, eyes unable to leave the steadiness of Din’s deft hands.

Those hands. You have to stop yourself from moaning at the recent memories. You swear you can still feel the ghostly sear they left in their wake. The naked skin upon your hips tingles at the sheer recollection, the slick still upon your thighs all-too prevalent.

“You’re lying,” is what Gabriele gasps, absolutely scandalized. You imagine him shooting up in bed and covering his mouth in awe. He was always so dramatic but you couldn’t blame him if he did. This was the exact reaction you were hoping for.

Din grabs another piece of his rifle and starts up again. You have to tear yourself away from looking at him and instead surmise yourself in the mirror. It isn’t very big in any sense of the word but it’ll do. You take a look at your face (blushed and bright) and then your eyes (dazed and dick-drunk). Hells, this man has ruined you.

“I know you have questions,” you reply, tapping at your cheeks. They feel softer somehow.

Gabriele squeaks a bit under his breath. “Did he take off his helmet?”

You shake your head, though he can’t see it. “No. And I think it awoken something in me.”

He tsks. “Damn. I wanna know what he looks like. Okay…”

“I know he’s a brunette,” you say slyly.

Gabriele shrieks at the other end and you have to angle the receiver away with a laugh. “Is it big?”

You recall the tactical consideration- albeit brief - it took to get his dick in your mouth. You did it though, ‘ole girl. You tap yourself on the shoulder with a proud grin.

“Oh, it is. It’s…it’s very nice.”

You find yourself looking out the door again. Din’s moved onto another gun - he’s already put together the last. You grow weary at the sight of his gloved hands alone, but when your eyes trail downwards you find yourself swallowing something thick in your throat. Which in turn, of course, reminds you of the tanginess still lingering upon your tongue.

“Gabriele,” you say seriously, voice so low you can barely hear yourself. “I came eight times.”

“Shut up. You did not.” Gabriele sounds more than just excited - now he sounds jealous. You can’t help but giggle.

You raise a hand to your chest in a show of honesty. “I mean it. Eight times. He went down on me for an hour.”

“I thought you said he didn’t take off his helmet?” Gabriele asks suspiciously.

You chuckle lowly. “Oh, that’s where it gets really good.”

Gabriele - one of the biggest sluts in The goddamned Galaxy - was no stranger to sex. So when you tell him that you were blindfolded during this portion of an absolute wild ride, you’re shocked to find him screeching once more.

You’re about to continue - to confide in him about the brutal rhythm of the ordeal - until a knock startles you. You press the receiver against your chest, still flushed and naked from the previous romp.

Din calls your name from the other side of the door. “Are you alright?”

You freeze, contemplating on everything you could say to this most bland of questions. “I’ll be out in a moment!” you decide, scolding yourself for being so timid. You were at the end of his dick a half-hour ago.

Din mumbles something and then departs. After he’s within a safe distance, you quickly raise the receiver and say, “I have to go. But I’ll tell you everything later.”

Gabriele gawks, “Was that him?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes. Now I really have to go.”

“Oh my gods, okay. Fine.”

You smile, clutching at the durasteel of the phone. “Promise. Love you.”

Your best friend sighs theatrically. “Love you too. Be safe, okay? I don’t even know who I’d call to go after him if something happened to you. No one would be stupid enough.”

The idea of Din doing anything to put you in harm’s way is inconceivable. You’ve only known him for a short amount of time - a couple of weeks at most - but you already trust him with your life.

“I’d die a happy woman,” you joke.

A short while later, you exit the refresher with sopping, clean hair and any traces of sex scrubbed away from between your legs. Din’s allowed you to wear one of his night shirts (an honor in itself) because your clothes had been soiled.

Din is placing his rifle upon its rack when you sneak by for the kitchen. You pour yourself a cup of Java - black, unfortunately, because of Din’s lack of sweet tooth. The liquid is steaming hot so you blow on it before bringing it to your lips.

“Do you want one?” you ask him, taking a sip. It burns. “Oof.”

Din turns, armor somehow so dexterous in its bulk. “No, thank you. But…”

In a surprising move, Din reaches for your hips and pulls you flush against him, ignoring the mug altogether. You shriek, worried it might spill, and set it upon the countertop, but he pays little to no mind.

“You took awhile,” he mumbles, hands grasping at the flesh of your hips. They’ve already been treated so roughly today, and now you were sure there’d be bruising. Good.

You chew at your bottom lip, desperate to know what his eyes might look like. You imagine he has dark eyes - like the color of the sky at nightfall. Maybe they became brighter in the light of the suns. Maybe they crinkled when he laughed - if he were capable of that, anyway. You’ve yet to hear such music.

“I didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” you confess, avoiding the steel gaze of his faceplate.

Din hums under his breath and taps your chin, lifting it just barely so that you can meet his stare. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, fluttering your lashes in a vain attempt to remain mysterious.

Din reaches for something behind you and reveals a scrap of fabric. “How about we try for nine?” The modulator of his helmet crackles a bit, causing his voice to sound more severe than what he may have liked.

But it does something to you.

You nod sweetly, a tiny grin threatening to sneak its way upon your face, before he takes you within his arms and lifts you upon the counter.

A shrieking, but playful, giggle bursts from your lips. “Din!” you chide, but tie the fabric around your eyes all the same.

The hiss of his helmet sounds, notifying you that he’s revealing himself to the elements now. You can hear his natural breath and feel the way it fans against your collarbones before he kisses you fiercely.

“Let me give you something to really talk about.”

#din djarin #din x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #mw1 #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din x you #the mandalorian x reader

[merakiui]

Apricity

yandere!albedo x (gender neutral) reader art credit - miHoYo cw: nsfw elements, yandere, captivity/restraints, unhealthy behaviors note - please come home to me and take care on the journey, albedo! :D also kindly heed the warnings. thank you!

His eyes are unnaturally pretty. Like twin crystals glittering in an expansive, dismal cave, searching for secrets unheard of within Mondstadt. Somehow you’re always in his peripheral, not too close and yet impossibly far at the same time. The distance is harrowing, terribly so, and Albedo knows it should be nothing short of a coincidence. When he shows up at your quaint stall with Sucrose, claiming to be in need of the exact wares you happen to sell, you pay it no mind. After all, you’ve met your fair share of regulars, and their support is what keeps you afloat. 

But there is more to those beautiful irises than he lets on. Whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t exactly say. You suppose you would rather run into someone as well-respected as Albedo as opposed to an unlikable stranger with ill intent. And it’s always great to see a familiar face, especially when he chooses to peruse your stall rather the others around you. It isn’t all that strange; you’ve even become friends with Sucrose during your short interactions. Albedo has indulged in stiff conversations with you before, but most of them were meaningless. Simple throwaway chatter between two acquaintances. 

Oddly enough, Albedo finds himself wanting more. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather or the transitioning seasons; he wants to listen to you explain how your day was and if you made more profit than the day before that. He wants to stand there and immerse himself in your pleasant voice, ignorant to the hustle and bustle of the people around him. And yet he just can’t. For a variety of reasons that pull him out of the haze of intrigue, you’ll always remain in the background. And he simply can’t bear the thought of that.

It’s rude to deteriorate a relationship that’s only just begun to blossom. If your meager acquaintanceship with him were to wither away into dust, he would feel obligated to keep it going—as if he were simply beating a dead cow with a stick. Although your hobbies differ from his, it’s nothing he can’t handle. A genius must familiarize himself with other areas of study if he intends to craft solutions that are outside of the box.

“Albedo?” 

Your tone is meek and small, tinged with the slightest shiver. Part of him feels bad for lying to you, but you were just so trusting. It’s almost comical how easily you fell into his trap. If he gets to see you in such a delicious way all the time, he’s more than willing to forsake the truth to meet his own desires. A selfish wish, yes, but it’s absolutely wonderful.

“What is it?” 

He eyes you from his spot behind the easel, and even though you can’t see him you can feel his piercing gaze. Like the sun shining brightly in a wintry afternoon, his eyes smolder with unbearable heat and yet his expression is cold with brilliant focus. 

“A-Are you almost done? It’s really cold.” Your bare back touches the wall and you flinch, an instinctual response that makes Albedo’s brow quirk. “And this is sort of...weird.”

“How so?” 

He says that in such a dismissive manner, acting as if your current position isn’t compromising. As if this was a normal exchange between friendly strangers. You have trouble finding your voice in this situation, especially since talking seems like such a chore. You’re worried you’ll say the wrong thing and then it’ll leave a false imprint of who you are on Albedo. But you’ve always been nice, unable to refuse those who are kind in return, and so you’re forced to endure the discomfort that comes with modeling nude for this peculiar alchemist. 

“Think about it.” You distract yourself with a ramble of an explanation—certainly more than what’s necessary, but Albedo doesn’t mind. He finds solace in your voice. “You’re looking at me and I’m...n-naked. And we don’t really know each other. I’m not trying to vilify you when I say this, but I don’t want you to do anything bad to me. N-Not that you would! It’s just—this is really weird. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hm.”

“And do I have to be tied up like this?” You shuffle in your bindings, fingers scrabbling over the cuffs and chains that jingle like horrible sleigh bells. 

“You were moving too much earlier. I won’t be able to get your anatomy right if you’re constantly fidgeting.”

But it’s uncomfortable, you think, chewing on your lip out of habit.

“I guess I understand. It must be an artist thing, right?”

“You could say that.”

His work on the canvas offers a display that’s just as lewd as the real model, down to the way your nipples perk and harden in the cold. He’s not even close to finishing and that’s a blessing in itself. He could stare at your figure for hours on end, committing every inch of your flesh to memory, and he wouldn’t grow weary. 

“Do artists normally blindfold their models? I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but it’s okay if it helps with the process.”

“I find it to be interesting,” he answers, simple and vague as ever. “It adds a mysterious touch to the finished piece.”

“So you draw the model with the blindfold?” You’re used to gazing upon paintings of flowers and portraits of influential historical figures rather than blatant nudity. “Artists are definitely unique.”

Albedo hums in response, secretly reveling in your naïveté. At the end of the day, you’re just a normal citizen of Mondstadt, who stands behind a wooden stall every single day and happily chats with potential customers. You excel in business, but when it comes to the inner workings of art you’re at a loss. And that makes it all the more easier for Albedo to spin all sorts of wild tales. He fears that gullible nature will harm you in the future, yet there isn’t a threat in sight. Not when you’re here in front of him, no longer confined to his peripheral. And you’ll stay there for however long it takes him to finish this painting. 

It’s a twisted infatuation. Albedo knows he shouldn’t take too much of your time or else he’ll become addicted and it will be impossible to focus on his studies. But he can’t stop himself or his wandering gaze, which trails up your midriff. Higher and higher until he’s staring at your face, eyes obscured behind the soft fabric of a blindfold. Your body is a temple he wishes to worship, and perhaps that’s a sacrilegious thought that ought to have him consider the weight of his emotions. 

And yet you’re far too irresistible. His thoughts are dangerously potent, swirling within his brain like a maddening hurricane. Surely your missing presence in the market won’t be questioned if he were to keep you just a little longer. Longer than the boundaries of sanity will allow, that is. There are other vendors who sell the same things you boast; the economy won’t shatter if you’re not there to provide.

The paintbrush moves along the canvas in even strokes and suddenly Albedo’s mind is wandering between subjects. From art to alchemy, love to lust, and the wondrous crevices in your anatomy that call out to him. The brush stills in his hand. If he’s not mistaken, Sucrose will be stopping by to assist him and the last thing he needs is staining his appearance in a suspicious color. 

“Albedo?” His name rolls off of your tongue in such a delectable way; it’s almost sinful how his thoughts race and race in an endless track. “Are you almost done? My back is sore and the floor’s really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. This will take longer than I thought.” He sets his brush and palette down, and you listen to his footsteps as they draw near. “Something has come up, but I promise I won’t be long.” 

“Wait. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I need to get back to the marketplace!”

Before you know what’s happening, the blindfold is coming off and you’re locking eyes with Albedo, who peers at you with intense scrutiny. Certainly the look of a genius studying a textbook. You grow flustered all at once, just now coming to terms with the fact that he looked at your body for longer than you’d like to admit. Shyly, you shut your legs to obscure your private parts, but it’s not like that will help the embarrassment that claws its way onto your expression like a persistent beast. 

“You’re better off waiting here.” He shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders as if that’ll keep the dreadful chill away. “As much as I would like to finish this now, I have other work that must be taken care of.”

“I get that, but you can’t just leave me here! That’s practically kidnapping!” you protest, hoping he’ll heed the desperation in your trembling vocals. “At least, that’s what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap you,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re too funny.”

Yet he isn’t laughing and neither are you as you helplessly watch him depart. The floor is too cold for your liking and the idea of entrapment settles under your skin like a million maggots feasting on a decaying, chilled copse. Devoid of warmth and carrying an air of measured grace, Albedo doesn’t spare you another glance.

He doesn’t need to. He’ll have all the time in the world to study your body like it’s the finest artwork, and you’ll be powerless to object.

#genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact albedo #albedo x reader #yandere albedo x reader #genshin impact albedo x reader #yandere genshin impact albedo #yandere albedo #albedo #genshin impact fanfic #he's so handsome :0 #in writing this i hope it will bless me with luck

[foli-vora]

more than words, pt.3

A/N: Thank you for all the love! 🥺🥰 overwhelmed by the reaction I’ve had to this story! Super excited that so many of you are coming along for the ride! There is a tag list for this—let me know if you’d like to be added! (I apologise if I’ve missed anyone!) I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader, best friend!Benny Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, general first date nerves that trigger my anxiety x10

pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.4 / pt.5 / pt.6

+

He was trying to listen. He really was, but God, how many times can you hear the same thing over and over and over again before you start to drift away from the conversation? He knew the answer. He had a very short attention span when it came to certain subjects – he’ll admit that freely – so when you continued to gush about his best friend, his main man, naturally his attention fell to the couple seemingly having an argument by their truck in the parking lot. Hmm… wonder what they’re fighting about? He purses his lips, watching the girl deliver one hell of a slap across her boyfriend’s face and strut away, tears streaking mascara down her face. Cheater. Definitely a cheater.

“Benny? Are you even listening to me?”

His eyes roll back to you, taking in your narrowed eyes and angry chewing as a slice of pizza dangles from your hand. Was he listening? Well, he did for the first few minutes… does that still count?

He finally answers, tone flat and uninterested. “No.”

“Ben.”

He shrugs, gesturing to the scene outside the window with a flick of his head. “Malibu barbie just smacked the shit out of her beau.”

Your head snaps to where he was looking, shamelessly curious. “Cheater?”

“That’s my bet.”

You both fall quiet, watching the strangers play out a scene that really should belong in a cringe-worthy daytime reality show while you chew. It’s almost depressing, how eagerly you both watch someone else’s life seemingly crumble in public. But the longer they scream and cry, the longer they yell and fight, the harder it is to tear your eyes away.

“Shit.” Benny sighs, reclining in the booth and stretching his arms up and behind him once the couple in conflict goes their separate ways. “That was the most interesting thing that happened to me all week.”

“Not me,” you sing with a smile, fondly remembering the phone calls and texts you had been sharing with Frankie the past few days. Benny sighs in irritation, neck cracking as he rolls his head on his shoulders.

“I swear, if you talk any more about Fish, I’m gonna throw myself out of this fuckin’ window.” He levels you with a challenging stare, lips twitching as you eye the glass critically. “I’ll do it, too. Try me.”

Deflating, you sag in your seat and fiddle with the peeling label on your beer bottle, realising with a wave of slight shame that you had been talking about Frankie ever since you sat down at the table. “I’m sorry, Benny. I’m just excited. He seems really cool, and nice, and –”

“Alright then.” He stands abruptly, kneeling on the worn leather to brace a shoulder against the glass panel with a look of severe concentration.

“Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry – sit down, you idiot!” Laughing loudly, you tug at his shirt until he sits with a lazy grin and you shake your head. “God, you are such a child, Benjamin.”

He snorts, pinching a cold fry from the basket in the middle of the table and waving it at you. “You love me.”

Grinning, you snatch it from his fingers, and chew it loudly, grinning at his pout. “I sure do, especially when you set me up with your gorgeous fri–”

He groans loudly, “Enough, woman. I’ll throw you out of this fuckin’ window in a minute. Get me another beer.”

-

“You’re callin’ the wrong friend, angel.” Benny drawls lazily, “I’m no good with these kinds of pep talks.”

“Benny, I’m freaking out, please –”

The car feels small, cramped. The open windows letting in the cool evening air does nothing for you trying to suck in a lungful of oxygen as you pull nervously at your jacket. Have you overdressed? Underdressed? What would he be wearing? You hadn’t been on a first date in months.

“Look, I can almost guarantee you he’s somewhere having this exact conversation with another friend of mine. You’re both stress heads. Just relax – he’s gonna love you.”

You stare vacantly at your steering wheel, swallowing around the lump of anxiety stuck in your throat. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

He snorts in amusement, “Well, if you’re gonna do it, do it now – puking on the poor guy isn’t a first date thing. And don’t forget to rinse your mouth out.”

Leave it to the younger Miller to make you feel ten times worse. “Oh God. Ben –”

“You’ll be fine. Now get out of your car.”

“But –”

“Get. Out. of your car.” He waits, listening intently to the mechanical whirr of your windows as they close, smiling when he hears the loud thump of your car door shutting. “There we go. Now breathe, and get marchin’ – you got this. And don’t call me again – I’m watching a fight. Pay per view isn’t cheap.”

“Right. Sorry. Thanks Benny.”

“Anytime, angel. Have fun.”

You ring your hands as you start walking the short distance to the bar, running through a last-minute check of your appearance. Nothing in your teeth. No stains on your clothes. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, brushing the non-existent dirt from the fabric and making sure it’s not horrifically tucked in to your underwear at the back.

Oh God, your palms are so sweaty. What if he shakes your hand? His hand will slide right off. He’d be mortified. Who even goes for a handshake on a first date anyways? You’re being silly. Everything’s fine. You look great. Did you put deodorant on?

The twisting of your stomach and panicked rush of thoughts thankfully pause when your eyes catch Frankie standing outside the bar, hands buried deep in his pockets and dark eyes flickering around at the passers-by somewhat nervously. When they land on you, the apprehension seems to melt from his shoulders and he grins. Unable to stop the smile creeping on your face in response, you now walk without the sick feeling of anxiety creeping up your throat.

He strides forward to greet you, and for a brief second, you wonder how you should greet him. It’s not like you were strangers, per se, you had been talking on the phone all week, but where did you stand in the physical sense? Certainly not a handshake.

Throwing caution to the wind, you bounce forward and greet him with a hug, hoping to high heaven he doesn’t push you away and call the whole thing off.

He doesn’t.

Inwardly screaming, you melt at the feeling of a pair of strong arms winding around your waist, a small quiet chuckle brushing past your ear. Oh shit, oh fuck… he smells divine.

“Hi,” you mutter shyly when you pull away, a flush of warmth flooding through you from top to toe when he smiles kindly and hovers only a step away.

“Hi,”

You can’t help but admire his features up close; the ones that were lost on the photo Ben had shown you when first trying to convince you into this arrangement. His eyes were a lot darker, tousled curls longer than they had looked when they were hidden under a well-loved hat. A light flush of pink sweeps up his neck and along his cheeks, and you watch it fondly with a wild flutter of your heart.

Okay, you could just stand here all night and stare at him, but that might freak him out a little… maybe try speaking. Talk. Just talk. Say something smart – something stimulating. First date impressions and all that.

“It’s fucking freezing.”

What? No. You did not just say that. Seriously? That’s what had to bubble from your mouth? Are you kidding?

You want to face palm, want to just turn around and march right back to your car with a text to Benny saying ‘thanks, but we can’t be friends anymore’ and just disappear from the face of the Earth. God, he’s going to give you so much shit for this.

Thankfully though, Frankie doesn’t seem bothered by your blurted out statement in the slightest, and even grins, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, it is.” He watches you shift on your feet, smile widening just a little more at the look of complete horror that had just washed your features before he had spoken, and then half turns, “Shall we?” Oh God, what was that? Pope’s gonna kill him. You’ve got his head in a complete spin and now he’s forgotten Pope’s whole pep talk. Shit. Shit. Be cool. Be cool... what the fuck does ‘be cool’ even mean?

The bar’s warm when you both walk in side by side, Frankie’s hand placed softly on your lower back as he leads you to the bar, and then through to a spare table, nestled out of the way and tucked into the farthest corner after he buys your drinks. He lets you sit first, and you’re pleasantly surprised when he stays close and, instead of sitting opposite you, he sits to your right, knees bumping yours softly under the table.

It’s not until you both sit, quiet and fiddling with your beers while sharing nervous smiles, that you remember something you had been meaning to ask all day.

“Oh. How did Mena’s appointment go?” You ask immediately, recalling his slight worry the day before over her slightly warmer than normal forehead and uncharacteristic crankiness. Your stomach plummets when he shoots you a startled look.

Oh no… have you blown it? Were you not meant to ask about kids on the first date or something? What were the rules for this kind of thing? You’d never dated someone with a baby, you had no idea what was okay to ask and what wasn’t. You guys had literally only just sat down, and here you were, ruining it already. That’s got to be the quickest end to a date, well… ever.

Panic creases your features and you frown in worry, “Sorry, should I – should I not have said anything? I’m sorry, I’ve never –”

“No, no – you’re fine! I just… I didn’t expect you to remember.” And then he smiles. Blindingly. The dread crushing your chest quickly morphs into something sweeter, something that has your heart quickening. “She’s okay – she’s getting her molars. Thank you for asking.”

You smile, turning bashful under the pure admiration shining in his eyes, and shrug lightly.

“It’s alright. I was worried for you.” You’re quiet when you admit it, unsure if that’s something you should be upfront about with only knowing him for such a short period, but he seems to take it in stride, smiling fondly at you and reaching a hand to cover yours softly. The immediate heat from his skin encompasses yours, shooting wave after wave of electric tingles up your arm and straight to your chest.

If your pulse was racing before, it’s downright wild now.

He flushes when your fingers part ever so slightly, letting his nestle in between yours, and then you’re smiling at each other, laughing quietly as the awkwardness all but evaporates.

You talk about everything. Growing up, moving around, Frankie’s time in the military being a pilot. You have so many questions, but pick up on the wave of tension that rolls through him at the mention of flying. For a short moment, you wonder why he didn’t want to talk about such an achievement – being a pilot was incredible, but not wanting to ruin the easy-going atmosphere that had fallen over you both, you leave the topic of flying instantly, and switch for talking about Mena, thankful to see the light return immediately to his eyes as he gushes about his little girl.

“Can I ask a question?” You ask sometime later in the evening, now comfortably closer to Frankie as your legs tangle under the table.

He hums, sipping on his third beer and nodding, “Of course.”

You watch your fingers play with his on the table, before grinning up at him slyly, “Why ‘Catfish’?”

He groans, throwing his head back with a chuckle, and wipes a hand across his face.

“My whiskers.” He finally admits with a playfully defeated sigh. When you frown in confusion, his grin widens, and he scratches his fingers along his jaw and through the patch of facial hair. “The guys used to give me shit because I can’t grow much more than this.” He gestures to his face, rolling his eyes. “Used to say I had whiskers – like a catfish, apparently.” He chuckles, shrugging light heartedly. “It just seemed to stick after a while.”

You’re laughing, and it keeps the smile planted firmly on his face. What a sound.

“Well, it’s an interesting nickname, but I think I prefer Frankie.”

He softens, unable to resist melting closer to you, and nods, “Me too.”

He likes the way you say it… sweetly, softly. He’s desperate to hear it fall from your lips more, in all sorts of ways.

Disappointment floods you both when you notice the late hour, Frankie explaining dejectedly that he should probably go and relieve his babysitter before said babysitter gets too comfortable with his refrigerator and the beer in there. You can hear the fondness in his voice when he tells you about his sitter for the evening, Mena’s tío – another close friend of Benny’s apparently – as you leave the bar, his hand automatically falling to tangle with yours.

“I’m this way,” you point a thumb over your shoulder, fully expecting to say your goodbyes outside the brightly lit bar, but frowning in slight confusion when he merely nods and starts to walk the way to your car.

“Oh – are you parked over here, too?”

He shakes his head, pointing to the complete opposite direction. “No, I’m over there. I don’t want you to walk to your car alone.”

Your insides turn to jelly, smiling to yourself as you grip his hand a little tighter. Thoughtful. He returns your smile, but hates that you seem so surprised by the notion of being walked to your car in the dark. What kind of losers had you dated previously that either didn’t walk you safely to your car?

“Thank you for tonight, Frankie.”

He grins, thumb rubbing soft circles over your knuckles. “Thank you – I had a great time.”

“Next time, it’s my treat.” You say, hoping you weren’t thinking too much of something that wasn’t there. Would he even want a second date? Was he just being polite saying he had a good time? Is that what people said before never calling them again?

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie was having a hard time reigning in the enthusiastic excitement that had flooded through him the second you had spoken. You wanted another date? With him? He had to mash his teeth together to stop the eager grin threatening to break his face completely in half. Thank God he hadn’t blown it. You were… God. You were fucking incredible. He owed Benny – big time.

“I can deal with that,” he eventually agrees, face warm and giddy at the prospect of taking you out again.

You turn and envelope him in a hug when you reach your car, breathing in one final lungful of whatever delicious aftershave he had used, and smile to yourself against his shirt when he folds his arms around you, a hand cupping the back of your head to keep you pressed tightly against him.

Pulling back to say one final goodbye, you’re struck by how close his face seems, eyes flicking across his face before meeting his dark ones.

Suddenly trapped in a gaze that had a fire licking up your spine, your breath goes in a stuttered exhale. Rough fingertips trace your jaw, and then you’re holding your breath entirely as he leans in closer. Anticipation kicks in, heart thumping through your chest as he closes the distance much slower than you would like, and you fight away the wave of impatience that screams at you to just push forward and kiss him.

You don’t expect him to stop however, only a breath away from your lips, and you panic for a small second, wondering if you’re doing something wrong, but when he murmurs a quiet question, it takes all the strength in your legs to not fall to the fucking ground in a lump of melted goo.

“Can I kiss you?”

God yes. Please.

Unable to stop the shy smile that tugs at your lips, you try not to nod too eagerly and definitely fail miserably. You want this, more than what you’ve ever felt with anyone else. Frankie had you feeling like a giddy teenager with a huge crush and you were desperate to feel more of it, to see where it goes and what it could develop into.

At your nod of approval, he moves in the rest of the way, hand moving to cup the side of your neck below your ear, and he sighs lightly when your soft lips finally meet his. The kiss is tender, warm, and does nothing to soothe your raging pulse. He can’t hear your heartbeat, can he? God, can you hear his? He briefly worries, but when your lips move against his, his mind blanks.

His moustache tickles your lip, nose bumps gently with yours. Your hands find his chest, fingers gripping at the soft material, and for a moment it feels like you two are the only ones in existence, floating in a hazy whirl of space.

You take a minute to open your eyes when he eventually pulls away, and when you do, you find him gazing at you with a shy smile and a rosy flush across his cheeks. Lashes fluttering as you blink, you try to get a hold of your heart beating heavily against your ribs while your lips tingle from the aftershocks of his kiss.

Holy shit.

Before you can even think it through, his shirt tangles in your scrunched fist and you pull him back to you, replanting your lips against his with a desperate urgency he meets head on and returns eagerly. His hands, previously gentle, now grip at your waist, squeezing the flesh greedily as you let him walk you back into the side of your car. The metal is cold, even through your jacket, and you arch into him, moaning softly when his tongue traces your lip.

Your knees buckle when his tongue tangles with yours, and he presses you harder into the car to stop you dropping.

“Holy shit.” He breathes huskily after separating, lips widening into a grin when he sees you mirroring his breathlessness. You giggle softly, the fire roaring in your stomach turning into an affectionate warmth that floods your system when he brushes his nose along yours tenderly. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Stop.” Your smile turns shy, teeth digging into your lips as he chuckles again, dark eyes shining. He watches you wrangle your breathing into something semi normal, glad he wasn’t the only one that got swept up and carried away with the moment. 

He traces your cheek, planting one more, less hungry and more affectionate, kiss to your lips.

“Goodnight, mystery girl.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.”

He backs away, face split as he smiles, eyes admiring you before he turns and starts to meander away to wherever he was parked, turning to look at you over his shoulder every few steps. You climb into your car, grinning at the final wave he sends you before disappearing around the corner.

Finally alone in your car, you let out the disbelieving chuckle you’ve been keeping in all night, face feeling hot as the aftereffects of such a great date rests pleasantly in your stomach, mind running through every little moment of the night. Starting your car, you start the drive home, unable to stop touching your lips every so often, insides clenching at the memory of his lips moving against yours.

+

Tags: @anu-simps @seasonschange-butpeopledont @withasideofmeg @you-got-me-starry-eyed @emilykjh @peterhollandkait @sara-alonso @starlightsearches @bookishofalder @empress-palpat1ne @shadowolf993 @rosiefridayrogersunday @canyonmirrors​ @eoz-stuff @blackonemasie​ @layniapetrovnaaa @alberta-sunrise @goldielocks2004 @betterthanbucky​ @linkpk88​ @afootnoteofhappiness​ @livilottie​

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #benny miller x reader

[phoenixyfriend]

#9 “Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me.” with Obi-Wan & Jango & Satine? (... or Obi-Wan/Jango/Satine, I'm not picky)

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Oh, I'm going to make this deeply stupid and AU because I got struck by a plot bunny and I'm taking it out on a prompt.

Satine hates the man named Jango Fett.

They've met before, once or twice. He'd known her father, before the latter's assassination. She'd met Jango when she was a child, before he'd lost his people at Galidraan, before she'd lost her sister to a terrorist group and her father to a blaster shot. She'd thought him gruff but kind, at the time, and very sad.

Now, she just wants him to trip on a pipe and brain himself on one of the many rusted, broken beams around them. She won't strangle him herself, won't turn her back on her oaths and commit violence, but she's not too proud to hope for an accident.

"Pick up the pace, princess."

"I am a Duchess," she snaps, lifting her skirts to step delicately over something that might have been machinery at one point.

The only light they have is from his helmet, and the only reason she hasn't fallen from the fabric catching on some matter or other is that he has a sense for when she gets caught.

He'd suggested that she pull the skirts up to gird her loins, and then found that the numerous layers made it impossible. He'd offered to cut the skirt down to something more manageable, without depriving her of the coverage she still needed in the cold of these darks, dank ruins. He'd then found that the vibroblade did nothing against the skirts.

(She was a pacifist, not stupid. Of course her clothing was reinforced.)

"I don't care," he says back through grit teeth. She's not sure why he hasn't just left her for dead, but she's not going to complain. Much. "Just move."

They've been making their way through the ruins for hours. They still don't know how they got here. They have no way to find out.

They just head up, and hope it gets them somewhere.

(Signs litter the walls, all in a script unfamiliar to them. Archaic, or simply foreign, they don't know.)

"Wait."

She freezes.

Fett moves behind her, light shifting with the noise of his beskar, and then he says, "I'm going to turn out the light for a second. Give us a minute to adjust to the dark after I do. I think I saw something glowing, but I can't tell with the flash on."

She nods, sure that he can see it, and they are engulfed in the dark again.

It's not for long, because the glow that Fett described is real. Faint, far off down the hallway and a pale blue that winks in and out in multiple spots at once, but there.

"We'll need the light to make it there without you getting rust sickness," Fett mutters. He flicks the headlight back on. "Might get some kinda hint out of it, whatever it is."

"You'd risk it?"

"Don't have any other choice," Fett tells her. "Move out, Princess."

----

They reach the blue glow, entering a large, cavernous atrium, just as dark as the rest of the ruins so far, but much less cramped than the previous hallways.

It is mostly floating motes of something, and the something in question makes Satine's skin crawl. She has no idea what it is. She doesn't think Fett does either, but he's a little busy trying to get a scan of the room around them. Satine can just barely see the floor from the blue light, and she steps closer carefully. Part of her screams about deep sea fish and wild space ancients, creatures that use light to hunt, but they've had nothing else yet. No hints.

This place feels ancient. Perhaps the spirits that linger are even older.

"Kryze!"

"I'm fine," she calls back, deliberately refusing to understand the man's worry. She just... reaches out.

And one of the blue lights comes to her.

Fett swears and comes closer, but Satine pulls her hands to her chest, cradling the little light to herself. It's larger than she'd expected, perhaps the size of a Chandrila plum. It's warm, too.

"You're going to get yourself killed," Fett snaps.

"It's friendly," she says. "I think."

"You think," Fett hisses, the noise crackling through the vocoder. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Listen--"

The lights coalesce. They are, for the moment, blinding, and Satine flinches away.

Fett has a blaster out before Satine can even open her eyes again. She knows the noise better than she'd like. She can identify which blaster it is by the click of the safety alone.

Any Mandalorian her age can.

"Oh dear," an unfamiliar voice says. "I'm afraid that--well, yes, Mando, hello there. I'm afraid that the blaster won't do much to me. I'm already long dead, you understand."

When Satine manages to blink the spots out of her vision, it's to see a glowing, slightly blue-tinged human figure in clothing that is distinctly Jedi, if very... very outdated.

The man--she thinks it's a man, beards usually indicate such--smiles and waves at her. "I apologize for the light show. It's been quite some time since I've had reason to take a solid form."

"I can imagine," Satine says, her voice weak even to her own ears. The man isn't much older than her, or at least wasn't when he... died? Or perhaps he was elderly when he died, and just rolled his age back as this spirit for some reason.

He smiles kindly, and then looks past her shoulder to Fett. He rolls his eyes, and smirks, and says, "Su cuy'gar, Mand'alor."

"I am not Mand'alor," Fett growls out. "I don't hold that title anymore."

"You do in spirit," the figure claims. "None other can say the same, not yet."

Before Fett can argue further, the man smiles pleasantly, and says, "I don't suppose you could remove yourselves from my shrine? Just a few steps back, thank you."

Satine looks down. She notices the raised platform and carved sigils and the stone column she hadn't seen in the earlier darkness, and flushes. She steps back and down, and Fett does the same.

"Now," the figure says. "As I was saying--"

"What are you?" Fett demands. "Ghost of a Jedi?"

"Something like that," the figure allows. "I was not just a Jedi, but... yes, I'm something you could call a ghost. I'd prefer simply a spirit."

"Like the ka'ra," Satine mutters, and grunts in disagreement.

"Those, Duchess, are only Mandalorians."

"Then I suppose it is fitting that I am both," the spirit says, and his form shifts.

Armor. It does not cover all of him--his pelvis and head are distinctly bare--but the shapes are distinctly Mandalorian. The colors aren't quite exact, with the blue glow he carries about him, but she's fairly certain she's seeing blue, green, and black. Reliability, duty, and justice.

Fitting, for a Jedi. The symbol for the Order is on his pauldron, even, and the hilt of his saber hangs easy at his side.

The gasp that comes through Fett's vocoder is harsh. She can't imagine he likes this.

"You--" he cuts himself off, takes a breath audible even past the helmet, and tries again. "There is no way you are Tarre Vizsla."

"No, I'm afraid not."

"So you must be Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The man smiles and tucks his hands into his sleeves, the swinging of the fabric allowing them the glimpse of vambraces beneath. He ducks his head in a shallow nod. "I am indeed."

Satine feels how empty of blood her own face is. She can't imagine Fett is doing much better.

"This is the Kar'ta-yaim be talyc rang," Fett mutters, horrified in a way that Satine feels her own self echoing. "You..."

"Well, we certainly never called it that," Kenobi says, head tilting faintly. "But I imagine that after the siege... Yes, Temple of Bloodied Ash would certainly reflect our final days."

It was one of the few stories that didn't pit Jedi and Mandalorians against each other, in the histories.

It had been the first attempt to coexist, the warriors of the saber and the warriors of iron. None managed to wed the two philosophies the way Kenobi had, but that hadn't mattered. They'd lived together, in peace. The reports had been clear enough, that there hadn't been weapons storage. There hadn't even been real defensive measures, barring the force fields. The Jedi had refused to let war reach this building, even whilst the Sith still raged across the galaxy. The other temples could handle the atrocities afar. The children, the elderly, the infirm, they were all to find a home here. The only weaponry were the sabers and whatever metals the Mando'ade carried in their armor.

Just a place of peace, a home to research, to children, to hospitals, all slaughtered to the last man, and set ablaze after. Nobody had ever tried such an attempt at peace between Mandalore and Jedi since. The location has been lost for longer than anyone remembers, but...

"Why are we here?" Satine asks.

"I wonder," Kenobi says, seeming far too pleased for the revelations of the last minute. He strokes at his beard, and then turns and sweeps an arm across the air. As he does, a whirring noise surrounds them, stuttered and heavy, but growing in power. Bit by bit, the sections of the wall that he'd gestured at begin to glow.

There are lights set into the wall like circuitry, warm and bright. The generators, which much be centuries old, at the least, continue to run.

"They draw energy from the river in the mountain," Kenobi says, before either of them thinks to ask. "Come along, my dears."

Satine hesitates. So does Fett.

Kenobi turns, presumably noting that their footsteps aren't following him. He smiles, and the corners of his eyes crinkle.

Satine can't remember how old he supposedly was, at his death. His eyes are much older, but...

"I assure you, it's perfectly safe," he tells them. "The building won't hurt you."

"The building?" Fett asks, sounding perhaps a little more dubious than the situation warranted. They were already talking to a figure of legend.

"Yes, the building," Kenobi repeats, indulgent in a way that Satine would have found irritating if aimed at her, but rather approved of like this. "The walls are already straightening out, I feel. And the droids are going to be clearing out the debris soon enough. The rust will be a little difficult to manage, of course, but..."

"What do you mean the walls are going to straighten out?" Satine asks. "And how... this place has been dead for centuries, hasn't it? How did you wake it?"

"Duchess Kryze, I didn't wake the Temple," Kenobi tells her. She doesn't know how he got her name. "You did."

She doesn't know what to say in response. She stays quiet, and waits for him to elaborate.

"Is it because she woke you up?" Fett asks, clearly unwilling to play a waiting game. "You're a... guardian? The keyholder to the power?"

"Mand'alor," Kenobi says, with a smile playing on his lips behind the carefully-groomed beard, "I am the Temple."

What.

He smiles and starts walking backwards, gliding in a way that makes it clear he doesn't need to step, really, because his feet don't stay planted where he puts them. They have to follow, now, or risk losing him. "My consciousness, my very self, is woven into every bit of this building. I have no flesh, not anymore, but while my sense of self stays coherent in the Force... the Temple is my body."

"How?" Satine demands, hurrying to keep up. She tries to ignore the way the flagstones shift and settle ahead of her, still and level by the time she steps forward. She tries to ignore the grinding of metal, as it's pulled into the walls like it's soup instead of stone. She tries to ignore the creaking of the foundation about them, and stays focused on the pleasant smile of one of the only two Mandalorian Jedi in history that maintained the balance.

"Do your history books carry the name of my apprentice?" Kenobi asks.

"Skywalker," Fett says immediately. "And... Tano, I think, before she changed it. She escaped, didn't she?"

"Yes, she was away at the time," Kenobi says, voice distant for but a moment. Somewhere far off among the tunnels, there is a mighty crash. "I'd fought until I couldn't any more. My armor, what I had of it, protected me from the flames. I'd worn a helmet during the siege, and it filtered the smoke, even as I lay dying from other wounds... between that and the Force, I lasted long enough that Anakin found me. The others had all died of smoke inhalation, if they hadn't succumbed to their injuries or the flames themselves by that point."

"The fire didn't reach you?" Fett questions.

"Mm, no, the alcove I was in was all stone, and there wasn't anything flammable enough nearby to reach," Kenobi says, sounding distant again. "In any case, Anakin found me. He was... distraught. Desperate. Not entirely sane, I think, but with what he walked into, I can't find it in myself to fault him."

"Master Kenobi," Satine finds herself saying. "What did he do?"

Kenobi's smile is sad. She'd call it resigned, really. He's lived--sort of--with this situation for centuries now. It makes sense. "He took my mind, my soul in the Force, and 'saved' it in a way that would leave me tied to the world past my death. It was ingenious, but... I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. I don't think Anakin realized what he was doing until long after he'd already succeeded at the impossible."

"He cursed you," Fett declares.

Kenobi shrugs. "I think he expected the temple to be cleaned and re-inhabited again soon enough. It wasn't, as you can see. The generators have been gathering power for centuries, but the fire destroyed most of them, and we didn't have anything in reserve with how much we poured into the shields during the battle. I couldn't fix the ruins, and with the horrors that had occurred, nobody was coming back. Anakin said he would, he promised, but... he disappeared. He visited, and he spoke with me, but a few years in he was simply... lost. I had a connection to his ship's signal, and it winked out in the blink of an eye, and never came back."

Oh. Terrifying.

"For all that I am the Temple, now, there are still secrets here that I don't yet understand," Kenobi tells them. "Your arrival, for one thing. The sediment carried up the mountain has slowly buried the temple over the centuries. There isn't a way in, save for two tunnels leading to the river, both of which I know are untouched."

"We just woke up here," Satine admits.

"Yes," Kenobi says. "You did. And part of me knows why."

"...part?" Fett asks.

It's a fair question to ask of a man who happens to have a brain that is also an entire building, somehow.

"Areas are cut off from my awareness," Kenobi admits freely. "Cave-ins and the like, mostly. There are one or two that I think I cut deliberately, due to what lay within."

Also terrifying, thank you.

"But I do believe I know what happened," he says, with that same damnably soft smile. "You two are the leaders of your people, yes? Tradition on one side, and peace on the other."

Satine shares a glance with Fett, and then turns to Kenobi and nods.

"Then I do believe it's simply the right time," he tells them. "You'll need to work together."

"I don't think so," Satine immediately denies.

"The Force works in mysterious ways," Kenobi tells her. "And if it brought you here--and you couldn't have arrived otherwise, I promise you that--then it was for a reason. Two leaders, the same people, with ideologies that I do believe are possible to bring together into, if not mixing, then at least coexistence."

"Impossible," Fett says. "The New Mandalorians are cowards, Kenobi. To share a culture with them--"

"Is as unlikely as Jedi and the old Mandalorians?" Kenobi asks, smiling so very politely that Satine wonders at how they aren't frozen stiff at the sight of it.

The sigil of the Order gleams mockingly from his pauldron.

Kenobi huffs out a breath, just a shadow of a laugh the slightest duck of his head, and then he turns and waves open a door.

Beyond him, sitting clean and pretty and entirely free of dust on its ancient stand, rests the Darksaber.

Satine stares.

She's sure Fett does, too.

"That can't be real," she says, her mouth moving before she can control it. "The Darksaber is lost, but it's popped up in history too recently to have been here since the fires."

"I saw it in Tor Vizsla's hands less than a years ago," Fett confirms. The vocoder cuts emotion from his voice, but not enough. "This place has been locked tight for centuries. The saber can't be here."

"The same could be said of the two of you," Kenobi points out.

It's true.

Satine steps forward, when it becomes clear that Fett won't. She picks up the weapon, holds it like the antique it is, square and unwieldy, but so very, very old that she cannot deny its importance. Weapon or not, it is her people's history.

She lights it.

The blade burns black.

"Turn it off," Fett rasps, and she does.

Satine looks back at him, and then to Kenobi. She turns fully, and steps forward, and holds it out to Fett.

He looks at her, uncomprehending.

"If you'd like to check for yourself," she says, and her voice is too quiet, but she can't help it. Something is happening, something heavy and broken, and she can't ignore the pressure of the future in this moment.

Fett takes the saber. He looks at it in his hands, and she thinks he is shaking.

"Your people need you, Mand'alor," Kenobi says, and there is no room for question. "They also need the Duchess."

"Why you?" Fett asks, voice strained and shattered in a way Satine can't even begin to pick apart.

"It was either me or Tarre, really," Kenobi says, with an idle shrug unfitting of the situation. "And I'm a little more... accessible, shall we say, to those who aren't sensitive to the Force."

Kenobi steps forward and rests an immaterial hand on Fett's shoulder.

"I already failed my people once," Fett says, barely audible.

"And now you shall save them," Kenobi says. His voice is firm. It is as if there is no question, to him, about whether or not Fett will succeed. "You won't be alone, either."

Satine shifts her weight, refusing to meet Kenobi's eyes. Her hands fist in her dress, and her mind races.

"What do you need of me?" Fett manages.

"...Mand'alor?"

"What do you need of me, Master Kenobi?"

Satine looks up.

Fett... Fett removes his helmet, and looks at Kenobi with an expression that is more desperation than deference.

"To cooperate with those who would follow a different creed," Kenobi says, so low it's practically a murmur. His hand, still intangible, reaches out to cup Fett's jaw. Fett leans into it. "To protect those who cannot do so for themselves. Our people are warriors, Mand'alor, but to refuse violence for violence's sake, after the wars that have killed our home and rendered it little more than glass, that is its own bravery."

"Master--"

"Listen to me," Kenobi says, and Fett falls silent. "You will need to protect them. The Duchess may have the funds and the support to bring forth education, agriculture, childcare, and so on, but there are many who would take advantage of that peace. She provides the home for tradespeople, but you are the shield that keeps them safe."

It could be a balance, Satine tries to tell herself. Maybe.

Kenobi seems so certain of it, and Satine may hate violence, but she is far from unaware of the pirates and warlords that nip at their borders.

"The foundlings need homes," Kenobi continues. "The stories need to be told. The culture is fading, Mand'alor. Bring it back."

His eyes flick to Satine, and she looks away.

(Her pressure was only ever on violence. Her advisors had pressed at the erasure of the rest, but if it meant children grew up without the worry of their parents dying in pointless battle, then wasn't it worth bending?)

(Couldn't she look the other way as they tightened restrictions on even symbolic vambraces, if it meant few too-small bodies in the streets?)

(Her planet was a wasteland. What did culture mean in the face of so many dead?)

(She knows Fett doesn't see it that way, but she is the only governing New Mandalorian with any blood on their hands. She knows the weight of violence, of lives taken by her actions.)

(She knows it, and she rejects it knowingly.)

Fett breathes harshly, and Satine closes her eyes.

"I agree to try," she says. "If we can get out of these ruins and back to our people... I will try. I cannot speak for my people on this, but to instate the old Mandalorians as a planetary guard... it may be doable."

"Little steps, my dear," Kenobi says. He looks down at Fett, who's... not well, it seems. "The Mand'alor needs some help, I think. I'm no trained mind healer, but I imagine I can help. More than most, maybe. There are few who know what it is to be a sole survivor."

He smirks, just a little, at the joke that he is not, in fact, a man who survived.

It's not very funny.

"I'll stay," Fett says. "I'll... I'll learn. Master Kenobi, you... Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me."

"As a student?" Kenobi asks, catching on to just the same thing as Satine has. "Not in the Force, surely, but... you truly wish to stay?"

"There are none left alive that I would trust to show me the way," Fett says. Beseeching, he reaches for Kenobi, and his hands pass through. There's a pain in him that Satine can't quite comprehend, and Fett falls to his knees. "Please."

"You need only ask," Kenobi says. "The Duchess will look after our people until the King takes his throne, and then you will rule together."

They'll have to, Satine tells herself, and steps forward. She puts a hand on Fett's shoulder, and pulls him to his feet.

"Where do we begin?" she asks.

#satine kryze #obi wan kenobi #jango fett #ghosts #massacre mention #is this vaguely inspired by GLaDOS and Castle Heterodyne? ...yes #but less murdery overall #star wars #the clone wars #Phoenix Answers Memes #supernatural au #kinda #one shot #death mention #child death mention #horror au #also kinda

[mercy-burning]

Again And Again

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Companion to Out Of Commission and Make It Even (but can be read separately) / Reader and Spencer are frustrated at the constant injuries they acquire on the job. Category: SMUT (18+) Warnings: Language, smut (oral sex - both receiving, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, light degradation, praise, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, very brief mention of somnophilia at the end) Word Count: 3.1k

Full Request: “hey !! i love you writing and was wondering if you can make a part 3 to out of commission and make it even where reader and spencer reid have sex” — @deepestcloudvoidhound 

***EDITED: 7/25/2021***

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

***

"I swear to God, if this happens one more time I'm quitting," she breathed against his mouth, her hands frantically working to push off his jacket.

They hadn't even made it all the way through the door.

Spencer closed it with his foot and almost lost his balance as she yanked the jacket off his shoulders, threw it to the ground, and shoved him against the apartment door. And though in the back of his mind he worried that she might be a little too vigorous in her determination for long-awaited sex, he couldn't deny that it'd been nagging him as well.

It was a long four months.

It wasn't long after Y/N had fully healed from her stomach injury, two weeks to be exact, that Spencer hurt his knee again, after an unfortunate fall down some stairs no thanks to a sneaky unsub. Unsurprisingly, that took extra long to heal because of his previous leg injury, so that put him out of commission for almost a month. And then, after one night of fully-healed, very intense and hot sex, they were called away on another case, and sure enough, Y/N came out of it with another injury. It was a broken ankle, so nothing too serious, but still enough to warrant jokes from everyone about how accident-prone the lovebirds were.

And by the time both of them were finally ready to start having sex again, Y/N was in the hospital because of internal bleeding caused by her previous stomach wounds.

It was exhausting.

And that was putting it lightly.

Over the course of the last month, Y/N was so anxious to get back to occasionally jumping her boyfriend's bones, though said boyfriend and her doctor both laid strict orders to give it a good solid month and a half to two (or maybe even three, just to be safe) months before trying any sort of sexual activity. It made her cranky, made her co-workers greatly amused, and made Spencer a little sad, though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't frustrated as well.

Which is why, as she pushed against him, littering his neck with kisses and bites and hiked her knee up to settle between his legs, rather than suggesting they take it easy, he indulged her and rocked his hips against it, using his hands to clutch at her shoulders as warmth flooded his insides.

"I want you so fucking bad," she growled in his ear, reaching up to nibble on the top of it, which in turn caused her leg to press harder into his crotch. He shuddered against her as she continued speaking—low, slow, and hot against the side of his face. "But knowing our shitty luck, this will probably be one of the last times for months we'll be able to have sex, and I want this to last."

She rolled her body further into his, letting out a small whine in desperation, and it all but drove him up the wall. His hips ground down into her leg and his hands slid down her body to grip her ass, needing more than anything to be close to her.

"Please," he choked out, fluttering his eyes at the way she hummed against his neck. "Baby, please..."

"Mmm, I love it when you beg," she whined, right before her mouth sloppily slid across his neck, up his jawline, and over his lips. Their tongues pushed together instantly, sparks flying and hands roaming just about everywhere they could, until Y/N decided she'd done enough waiting.

"Take your pants off," she hummed, and he wasted no time with a verbal response.

As soon as his hands flew to undo his belt, she dropped to her knees and waited patiently, feeling herself grow wetter at just the sound of the belt rattling. She sat there and squirmed, until finally he was hooking his fingers through the waistband of the fabric, and as soon as he moved, she reached up and yanked them down, looking up at him with large eyes and a wicked smile.

The sight drove him wild, though the feeling only grew when she stuck out her tongue and licked his dick slowly from base to tip. When she got there, her lips wrapped softly around the tip and sucked ever so gently, before she swiped her tongue back down and repeated the whole process.

Spencer's head thunked against the door as he let out a sigh. "Y/N..." He wasn't even really sure how he intended to say her name. It felt like he was begging for her to do more, but he was also just so fucking relieved to have here here with him right now, feeling her desperation in every little kiss and warm, wet stroke of her tongue...

He whined a little when she pulled away, but was rewarded with the sweet sound of her laugh and her hand wrapping firmly around his dick, now slick with her saliva. Her hand glided swiftly along it, her eyes looking up at him through her eyelashes. And again, the sight drove him absolutely wild.

"Tell me what you want, baby," she whispered, moving her hand faster. "I'll do anything. Anything for you..."

"Just c—come here."

She stood up, keeping her hand attached to his dick as she stood on her tip-toes and kissed him. Their mouths moved together in frenzied harmony, and while she continued jerking him off, he slipped his hands under her shirt and cupped her breasts over her bra. She moaned gently into his mouth and was able to get out a hurried, "Bedroom."

They stumbled there, losing layers along the way until Y/N was just in her bra and panties and Spencer was wearing only his socks and his shirt, unbuttoned and hanging from his shoulders.

"Sit down," he told her softly, kneeling in front of the bed with a gleam in his eyes that mirrored the wickedness Y/N had possessed just moments earlier.

She smiled and obliged, perching herself on the edge of the bed and leaning back on her hands. It wasn't long before he was practically ripping her panties off and tossing them aside like they were a mere obstacle. And a split second later, his mouth was on her.

Her eyes fluttered closed as he wasted no time with pleasantries, quite literally digging in and burying his face into her pussy. He plunged his tongue as far inside of her as he could go, swirling it around as his nose brushed up against her clit. And he kept at that until she felt his finger slide into the mix, replacing his tongue as his lips pressed sloppy kisses to the inside of her thighs.

When his tongue found its way to her clit, flicking over it in tandem with the long, languid motions of his fingers, she moaned out his name rather obscenely.

This only gave him the confidence to take it a step further, curling his fingers just right to hit that sweet spot. Over and over again he hit it, causing her to yell out and grip the comforter as tightly as she could with one hand, the other doing the same to his hair. "Ohh, I'm gonna... fuck!"

Since his mouth was a bit occupied, he hummed against her in response, slightly rocking his head from side to side to give her that extra push to bring her over the edge.

Sure enough, right then she clenched around his fingers and he felt her body shudder against him. He drank up every second of it, savoring her taste and slowly finger-fucking her through each wave of pleasure until she was pulling his head away.

She almost came again at the way he looked in that moment. The lower half of his face was adorned in her arousal, and his tongue occasionally swiped out to get some off his lips. His hair was all mussed and out of place from the way she'd been tugging on it, meanwhile his eyes raked over her body in just about the most hungry way she'd ever seen from him. It was truly a sight to behold, one that she was sure she didn't need his memory to remember.

"Fuck, you're so good at that," Y/N sighed, gripping his hair again to pull him up. He got the message, climbing up and kissing her. The taste of herself transferring from his lips to hers made her groan into him. She brought her hands around to his neck and pulled them both backwards until he was straddling her hips, and impatient as ever, she lifted her lower half up to feel friction.

At her eagerness, Spencer laughed and held them down. "Not so fast, sweetheart. I set the pace this time."

She whined at his words, but nodded nonetheless. He grinned then, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, right before settling himself over her and taking his sweet time sliding in. And as torturous as it was feeling him very slowly fuck her, she focused on the way his shirt still hung open over his body. She loved him in any capacity of course, but there was just something about that one stupid piece of fabric hanging from his figure that somehow made this moment all the more sexy. Any other time, she would have figured it was the urgency of it all that made it as hot as it was, but with the way Spencer was moving slower than a turtle, that obviously wasn't the case this time.

But whatever it was, all she knew in this moment was that she was fucking turned on as hell, and squirming underneath him.

"Patience, pretty girl," he chastised, shifting onto his knees and holding her hips down. "I thought you wanted this to last?"

"I—I do," she gasped out as he took one slow thrust forward.

"Don't you want to feel every single inch of me as I get deep inside you, hmm?" At that sentiment, Y/N's breath caught in her throat as he finally buried his dick to the hilt inside of her. And that breath escaped as a series of little whimpers as he stayed there and ground his hips in slow circles, burning her from the inside out. She reached out and gripped the sides of his shirt that hung from his chest, grateful for the extra leverage as she steadied her breathing.

He pulled out slowly and then repeated the process, and it was the most excruciating pleasure she'd ever felt. But she desperately wanted more. "Please," she whined out, pulling his shirt and trying to lift her hips up. "Go faster, please, I need it baby, I need it faster..."

He laughed so quietly she wasn't sure she actually heard it, but after he spoke, she was sure he had. "Mmm, I love it when you beg..."

The mirroring of her words had never sounded so delicious on his lips, especially after he pulled out and then slammed into her again, harder, and then setting a steady pace that kept her satisfied. She cried out, twisting his shirt in her hands and looking down between their bodies to watch his hips smoothly cant forward into her each time.

He took notice of this, squeezing her hips slightly as he spoke. "You like watching me fuck into you, sweetheart?"

"Uh huh," she whined out, biting her lip and letting go of his shirt. She gripped his arms instead, pulling on them slightly before reaching back to unclasp her bra.

Once she got it off and tossed it to the side, Spencer did what she silently told him she wanted and leaned forward, gripping her breasts rather than her hips. He massaged them roughly as his hips continued their steady pace back and forth.

"Fuck, baby, you always fill me up so fucking good," she said lowly, gripping his forearms and admiring how the veins in his wrists and hands looked as they strained against his skin.

He rewarded her words with a harder, quicker pace that caused his hands to grip her breasts even tighter to give him leverage. She moaned out and threw her head back, loving the feeling of him just using her like this, a feeling she hadn't experienced in so long that it was like coming home.

He must have read her mind, because he paused then, stilling inside her and grinding his hips slowly again, to which she cried out. "You feel that?" he asked slowly, throwing a little more of his weight on top of her. "You feel how deep I am, pretty girl? I bet you missed that feeling, huh?"

"Ohh, fuck, yes," she breathed, struggling to keep her eyes open. But she did anyway, feeling her walls flutter around him as he gazed at her hungrily. And then she spoke again. "I know you missed it, too... Fucking me like the dirty little whore I am."

Spencer hummed lowly. "Is that what you want?"

"Mhm," she responded in kind through a whine.

He pulled out of her then, leaving her empty and already missing his warmth. "Then get on your knees."

Y/N quickly did as she was told, flipping over and even wiggling her ass in the air in anticipation, with the biggest smile on her face. But the second he lined himself up with her entrance, he leaned over and pressed her shoulders down. "Face down..."

She didn't dare tell him otherwise. Actually, the fire that lit within her at his words was enough to keep her compliant anyway.

So when he took one sharp thrust forward and held himself inside of her, she sighed, clutching the blankets and wiggling her ass again.

"You want it so bad, you move," Spencer demanded, landing a firm smack to her left ass cheek.

The guttural moan that ripped through her was nothing short of pornographic as she set a quick pace rocking back and forth onto his dick. He slapped her other ass cheek after a few moments, and it elicited a pretty little yelp that had him practically throbbing with want inside of her. He repeated it a few times, watching her ass gradually grow redder with every smack, and the string of sounds and curses that came from Y/N's mouth started to sound more like tired cries.

"You gonna come again for me, sweetheart?"

"Mhm," she whined out desperately, clenching herself around him.

"Let me hep you, baby." With that, he gripped her hips and helped her move them back, thrusting his own forward to meet her halfway and making her cry out. "Go ahead, rub your clit for me. That's it, good girl... Mmm..."

She shook around him and cried out, clutching the pillow in front of her with one hand while the other worked her clit through her orgasm.

Spencer held her hips steady as he continued pumping in and out of her at a quick pace, not letting up even after she finished. "I'm almost there, sweetheart. Think you can take it a little longer?" She whined out incoherently, but he ran one of his hands gently over the curve of her ass. "I know you can, you're always such a good girl for me. You take my cock so well..."

His words made her clench around him again, and she held onto the blankets for dear life, moaning out at the sharpness of each of his strokes. She was most definitely overstimulated and sensitive, but it only made his twitching inside of her all the better.

He held himself inside of her as he came, whispering sweet praises and bending over her backside to press little kisses to her shoulders and stroke the hair from her face. This new angle sparked another little aftershock of her orgasm, the feeling of his warm cum spilling over as he gently fucked it into her being the thing that took her over the edge a third time.

Once they both settled down, her grip on the blankets nothing but a memory and his slow, gentle thrusts coming to a stop, Spencer grazed his hand over her cheek and down her neck.

"I'm gonna get up now, okay?" he said sweetly. "Just so you can straighten your legs out."

"Mhm," she answered, slowly groaning as he pulled out of her and helped her move her knees out from underneath her. She laid flat on her stomach, the feeling of his cum spilling out a worry for another time. If anything, it made her smile, as it stood a reminder of the sex she'd been craving for months.

Still, Spencer grabbed some wipes from the bedside table drawer and cleaned her up, throwing them away before he made his way back to bed and snuggled up beside her. He laid on his side as he faced her, and his hand came up to brush the side of her face again.

"You okay? Not feeling any pain? You don't need a hospital visit?"

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately with a smile. Her hands were crossed and under her chin. "No, thank God. Though, even if I was hurt, I wouldn't tell you, because that sex was so worth it."

He laughed with her, though it was obvious he was still a little worried. "Well... I'm glad you're okay. But maybe we should take it easy for a week or two now, just to be safe."

"Absolutely fucking not. You know why?"

He opened his mouth, though whether to answer or retort, she wasn't sure, because she interrupted before he could get a word in. "Because we have a lot of catching up to do. So if we don't go at it again before we fall asleep tonight, I expect to see you bright and early when we wake up, with your head between my legs."

"Okay, silly girl," he agreed finally, with a laugh and light squeeze of her shoulder.

They laid in silence for a minute or two, just enjoying each others' company before Y/N spoke up again. "I'm really okay... I don't want you to think I'm just saying that to get you to have sex with me, I... I really mean that, because I know how much you care about me. And I love you for that, you know."

Spencer smiled and scooted closer to her, wrapping his arm around her back and pressing his forehead to her temple.

"I know. And I love you, too."

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#mercy 1k celebration #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #spencer reid

[lesdemonium]

Error Pining

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 2750 Summary:   When his djinn wish goes wrong, Jaskier finds himself unable to speak without excruciating pain. Geralt tries to fill the space himself. AN: a gift exchange fic written for @smuggsy for @thewitchersecretsanta. thanks so much for giving me an excuse to write physical whump for jaskier!

read on ao3  Before their argument, Geralt had been hazy, unfocused, and in dire need of sleep. He was still in dire need of rest, but now every sense was on high alert. The smell of blood and pain was so sharp, so strong, it left a metallic taste in his mouth and he just barely resisted the urge to try to clear his tongue of it. His eyes went wide, wild, as he tried to find the source of the blood. In a distant sort of way, he registered that he had been cut in their scuffle, but it wasn’t his blood he smelled. It was Jaskier’s.

Jaskier was doubled over, clutching at his neck, the djinn bottle long forgotten on the ground. His eyes met Geralt’s and he opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out before he was blinking away tears and dry heaving onto the ground. The hand around his throat was so tight Geralt wondered at how he could breathe, had a wild thought that maybe it was Jaskier’s own hand that was causing his scent to spike in pain and fear.

“Jaskier, what’s happened?” Geralt asked, bending over and hauling Jaskier back up by the collar of his doublet. Jaskier went, and when he tried to speak again, only a weak whimper came out before his face contorted in pain. His hands scrabbled at his throat and his eyes were so wide Geralt felt like all he could see was white, white, white.

“We’ll fix this, whatever it is,” Geralt promised him. Jaskier nodded weakly back.

They made it to the elf, Chireadan, who was less help than Geralt was hoping for. He asked Jaskier questions, and every time Jaskier attempted to answer, the same bitter taste of blood and pain and fear settled heavily within Geralt. The third time it happened, Geralt nearly punched Chireadan. Couldn’t he see this was hurting Jaskier?

“He can’t talk,” Chireadan finally settled on, and the look Geralt gave him must have been murderous, because he took a step back when their eyes met. “I can’t tell you more than that. Its origin is magical, and I have nothing that can reverse it. Something is ripping apart his throat whenever he talks.”

Jaskier let out a muffled hum, a desperate sound, that soon choked out and was replaced with the heavy scent of blood. 

“Sounds like not only when he talks,” Geralt said, and Chireadan’s grimace seemed to agree.

They were sent to a witch, Yennefer, but she wasn’t much help, either. She tried through the night, with Jaskier in a deep sleep, but when he awoke, nothing had changed. 

“I can’t do anything until you open your mouth to speak, bard,” Yennefer told them, and to her credit, she did look at least a bit remorseful. Or perhaps simply annoyed her magic couldn’t solve it. “Since I highly doubt you want to be singing as I fix you, there’s not much I can do for you.”

“Then how do we fix this?” Geralt asked, his voice tight.

Yennefer smiled and patted Jaskier’s hand condescendingly. “Have you considered a vocational change?”

They left, Jaskier silent and mourning beside Geralt. Yennefer’s advice was to track down another djinn, as Jaskier was unable to make the wish himself. Geralt thought this was a fool’s errand, and that Vesemir would be more help.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt said as they laid down to sleep that night.

Jaskier’s response was to turn over and go to sleep.

--

Traveling with a silent Jaskier was difficult for both of them. Every time Geralt looked at Jaskier, he seemed dimmer. At first, he still played his lute, but as they continued to travel and Jaskier’s throat continued to rip itself apart whenever he made even the softest hum, even that seemed to lose appeal to the bard. In taverns, Jaskier stared down at his mug, surviving the evening until he could turn in.

Geralt found he missed the sound. The silence beside him was uncomfortable, and made Geralt feel hollow. This felt as if it was his fault, as if he was the one hurting Jaskier whenever he made a sound. If he hadn’t been looking for the Djinn in the first place, Jaskier’s wish wouldn’t have backfired, and now Geralt wouldn’t have become acquainted with Jaskier’s forlorn face.

It took three days for Geralt to start talking, instead.

“Did I ever tell you about the griffin I fought outside Carrera?” Geralt said, offhand, as they traveled one day. 

He chanced a glance at Jaskier, only to find the bard staring back at him, a curious expression on Jaskier’s face. Jaskier’s lips were pressed tightly together, as if he was trying to remind himself not to speak up, and he squinted at Geralt. He looked almost suspicious. Geralt didn’t blame him. It wasn’t often that Geralt offered up his stories without a request, but Jaskier deserved something, and Geralt couldn't take the silence anymore.

So he told the tale, sparing no detail. At some point, Jaskier took out a notebook, and furiously scribbled the tale down. Often, Geralt had to stop, think about what sort of questions Jaskier would normally ask him, and try to answer them on his own. By the end of his tale, Jaskier was smiling. Despite his discomfort, Geralt smiled back. The remainder of the day was easier to bear.

As they traveled, Geralt told Jaskier of his contracts, as many as he could think of that Jaskier hadn’t already been there for. When he couldn’t think of a new story, he explained to Jaskier the difference between the vampire types, or the exact effects Swallow had on him. He felt silly, like he was play-acting as a professor, but it made the time go by faster. It also made Jaskier lighter, brighter, and eased something inside Geralt.

At night, when they were safely at camp, Jaskier began to play his lute again. Initially, they were the same songs Geralt had heard before. Jaskier’s songs, famous ballads written by other bards, lively drinking songs. As their travel wore on, though, Geralt began to hear songs he had never heard before. Soft, mournful things. Jaskier never met Geralt’s eye when he played these songs, but he did sit close to Geralt, so close that sometimes their arms would brush as Jaskier shifted up and down his lute. Geralt liked these songs best. He hoped, one day, he would get to hear Jaskier sing them.

These nights made Geralt brave.

“I ran into Eskel here, once,” he said. Jaskier didn’t stop playing, but he did look up, his eyes wide, his face open. “I don’t cross paths with the other witchers as much as I would like. You would like Eskel. He plays nice far better than I could. Doesn’t need a bard around to keep him in line around nobles.”

Jaskier bumped Geralt’s shoulder and they shared a grin. Geralt turned his gaze back to the fire and took a deep breath, but a moment later Jaskier nudged him again, this time with his knee.

“Yes, okay,” Geralt said, nodding. “I’ll go on. We were in the trials together. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family.” Until now, his mind helpfully supplied. Geralt cleared his throat, as if to smother the thought. “You really would like him. He’s… thoughtful. Polite. Keeps his temper better. A better witcher, too. He’d make a better subject for your songs.”

Jaskier stopped playing abruptly. He placed his lute gingerly back in its case, then leaned into Geralt’s side. His arm snaked around Geralt’s, intertwining them before he fit their fingers together. Like they belonged there. Like their hands had always been meant to hold each other.

When Geralt looked up, his mouth felt dry. Jaskier’s eyes were so big, so beautiful, and he felt like he could see everything Jaskier couldn’t say in them. Geralt swallowed, heavily, and tried to speak for them himself.

“I’m.” He paused, wet his lips, tried again. “I’m glad you’re here. You make it easier. I feel less… alone.”

Geralt looked away, now. Back at the fire. Jaskier didn’t nudge him back this time, and didn't try to get his attention. Instead, he hesitated only a second--Geralt could feel the way he started, then stopped, then started again--and rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder. They stayed like that until Jaskier’s yawns could no longer be ignored, and they had to turn in for the night.

--

Geralt missed Jaskier’s voice most in the morning.

It was no secret that Jaskier was terrible when he first woke up. Grouchy, whiny, wheedling every which way. He hated mornings and he hated getting up early and would always be dead to the world for the first hour or so that he was awake.

Despite this, he always wished Geralt a good morning, even if it was gruff and his smile was more of a grimace. As he started to wake up, he’d often tell Geralt about his more ridiculous dreams. Often, Geralt was sure he had fabricated them entirely, just to make Geralt roll his eyes.

Now, Jaskier always woke up in pain. He’d groan first thing in the morning, or whine, or make some other sort of noise, and immediately his entire body would seize up in pain. Geralt had gotten softer in his approach to waking Jaskier up, trying to ease him into consciousness, to avoid the pain. It worked sometimes, but Jaskier was still too hazy upon first waking to remember why he couldn’t make noise. Then his eyes would fill with unshed tears as he desperately held out his hand for the waterskin. It didn’t seem to help, but at least it was an action Jaskier could take.

They survived. Hearing Jaskier’s silence never got easier, still left Geralt feeling hollow, but it became easier to fill the silences himself. Jaskier got better at expressing himself through the way he touched Geralt. Geralt had a feeling that had never been a skill Jaskier lacked, per se, but that he had only recently been allowed to touch Geralt. Now, he was taking his fill.

Geralt wondered how much time he had lost without Jaskier’s easy affection.

To get Geralt’s attention, Jaskier would grab his knee as Geralt road Roach, or press a hand between Geralt’s shoulder blades. He fingered Geralt’s sleeve nervously when they were in taverns and he had nothing to do with his hands. He would take Geralt’s hand as they walked through a crowd so they didn’t lose each other.

Geralt’s favorite touches, though, were still in front of their campfire. The trees around them, the stars in the night sky, the light of the fire and the way it crackled, all of it was beautiful, but it was nothing compared to the way Jaskier leaned against Geralt. Jaskier pressed himself into Geralt’s side, often allowing Geralt to wrap his arm around Jaskier’s shoulder or waist. Jaskier would play his lute, would play his soft, lovely songs, that had grown more hopeful as time went on. Geralt would tell Jaskier stories about growing up, about trouble he, Lambert, Eskel, the other wolves, had gotten into. He told Jaskier about the trials and let Jaskier comb his fingers through Geralt’s hair to comfort him, though Geralt insisted he didn’t need comforting. He told Jaskier about Renfri, about Blaviken, about his mother. Geralt told Jaskier everything.

Everything except about the way his heart hammered in his chest as Jaskier looked at him. Everything except how he sometimes dreamed of Jaskier’s voice, and woke up with a longing he couldn’t put to words. Everything except how he wanted, more than anything, to kiss Jaskier, but couldn’t be sure what Jaskier wanted.

“Can I… be honest with you?” Geralt asked one night. 

Jaskier turned to him just enough to roll his eyes at Geralt. As if Jaskier could stop him, the look seemed to say. Jaskier turned back to his lute, but his playing got softer, as if he was trying to give Geralt the space to speak.

“Right,” Geralt said. He paused, took a deep breath, rubbed the hem of Jaskier’s shirt between his fingers. “I don’t. I don’t know if Vesemir can help.”

Jaskier stopped playing and stiffened somewhat. But he didn’t turn around, didn’t put his lute down. Only stopped and waited.

Geralt swallowed thickly. “I hope he can. I think he’s our best bet. But, short of finding another djinn for me to make a wish… I don’t know how fixable this is. Unless we went back to Yennefer and had her heal you while you sing--” Jaskier let out a shiver and the stench of fear overwhelmed Geralt. “I know. It’s not good. But I don’t know how else to fix you if Vesemir has no ideas.”

Jaskier took a deep breath. He remained stiff against Geralt, but now he started playing again. His song was sad, mournful again, and Geralt’s heart ached with it. He wished, more than anything, that he could fix this.

“I’m not giving up,” Geralt whispered, some time later. “We’ll find something else to try. We’ll fix this eventually.”

The sound Jaskier made wasn’t quite a scoff. It was more a sharp exhalation, dismissive and--maybe Geralt was reaching here--a bit wounded. Geralt lifted his hand, hesitated a moment, then ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier leaned back into the motion, until his head fell back on Geralt’s shoulder.

“I mean it, Jask,” he said. His mouth felt dry again. “I miss your voice. I miss the lyrics that would go with your songs, even the ridiculous ones. I miss your jokes, your incessant complaining, the way you flirt with everyone and sometimes wink at me as you do it.”

Jaskier pulled away, and Geralt froze. Apparently, he had overstepped somewhere. He forced himself to look at Jaskier, but instead of discomfort or disgust, he found shock. Awe. Jaskier put his lute away, his fingers lingering on the clasps of his case, then he returned to Geralt’s side. After another moment of hesitation, Jaskier shifted, climbing over Geralt’s lap. Jaskier cradled Geralt’s face with feather-light touches as he leaned in, pressed their foreheads together.

“Jaskier, I--” Geralt started. 

Geralt trailed off, then wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He didn’t know how to accept this from Jaskier verbally, he didn’t know what to say, but he could hold him. Jaskier let out a relieved breath, and Geralt felt the gust of air against his lips. Geralt touched his fingers to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier pressed a hand to Geralt’s heart.

“You’re so much better at words than I am. I wish--” He trailed off again, thumbed along Jaskier’s cheekbone, held the back of his head. “You can’t tell me what you want.”

Jaskier’s breath sounded almost like a laugh, just before he leaned in to touch their lips together. The kiss was short, simply a way to test the waters. Jaskier pulled away, only for Geralt to drag him back in for more. Jaskier sighed into Geralt’s mouth and Geralt swallowed the sound, wished desperately he could hear more, wanted to see what all he could pull from Jaskier’s throat.

It was this thought that had Geralt pulling away. Jaskier’s eyes looked hazy, his smile dopey and big, as he stroked the side of Geralt’s face and his hair. He looked the happiest Geralt had seen him in months, since before the djinn had taken away his voice. Geralt kissed him again. And again. And again. Jaskier accepted every time.

“I wish you could talk. I want to hear your voice,” Geralt whispered into Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier whined a little, then reared back, just as Geralt flinched away, his arm suddenly burning. Jaskier’s hands flew to his throat and Geralt ripped back his sleeve to see a second mark, just beside the long-forgotten injury he had gotten when they squabbled over the amphora. Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed as he considered the mark, wondered after what in the world caused it, only for his focus to be dragged away by Jaskier.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, and his face broke out into the most brilliant grin. “What--I can talk again. It doesn’t hurt at all!”

Jaskier was still laughing as he dragged Geralt in for another kiss, which Geralt readily accepted. This time, he didn’t hold back any of his sounds. Each one was more beautiful than the last.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #my writing #not me taking lyrics from my favorite christmas song #despite this not at all being a christmas fic #no sir #anyway i gotta tell you sitting on a fic for a month was WILD #hope you enjoy it!!!

[inkformyblood]

towards an unseen day

Day 03 of @bobadinweek prompt: Caretaking

Warnings: None

Laughter echoed down the small side tunnel, deep and rumbling through the earth like an aftershock, and Din paused, letting the sound wash over him.

His hand — still pressed to the wall — brushed over the symbol carved there, the chill of the stone settling into his bones as his bare skin traced the lines he couldn’t read but understood all the same.

There had been a strange look in Boba’s eyes when he took Din’s hand — pausing first, his gaze flickering upwards in a silent question — to place it against the symbol when he first carved it into the rock wall. He had mentioned the Kaminoans, and their fluorescent ink that the clones had quickly learned to hack into their HUD display, with a note of mournful laughter in his voice, but hadn’t said what the symbols meant. His free hand had curled through battle-signs as he spoke, so Din could guess well enough: home, safety, return.

An ache had settled into Din’s bones, and every step closer to home lightened his burden, but still he waited, his head tipped to one side as he listened. There was a second current of laughter, tumbling after the first like a shadow, high and uncoordinated. His steps were faster now, warmth flooding through his chest and he input the code as quickly as his trembling fingers would let him.

Light filled the small room, heralded in a thousand shimmering fragments from the mirrors suspended above, reflecting the scrap of sunlight that fell through the barred window. Lining one indented wall was an array of packaged ingredients but the order was disrupted by clear gaps like missing teeth in the neat rows. Across the opposite wall hung a tapestry, currents of scarlet and bronze dancing through a background of dark blue, the careful images of the constellations above Tatooine picked out amongst a stylised set of Mandalorian armour, but the figures in front captured Din’s attention utterly as he pulled his helmet off, clipping it onto his belt.

Boba was without his armour, dressed in instead in a loose linen shirt that clung to the broad curve of his shoulders and fell past his hips to his thighs, and dark trousers. The birikad across his chest had been modified with the dark green fabric tied around the ring on Boba’s shoulder to allow Grogu to watch the world around him.

The child’s hands were stretched towards the fruit laid out on the counter in front of him, already stained with the dark berry juice, and, as Din watched, a sliver rose into the air. It hung for a moment, commanded by a power Din could barely wonder at, before Boba plucked the fruit, his hands stained with purple smudges and threw it into his mouth.

“Patoo!” Grogu demanded, his ears twitching, but his darkening mood passed in an instant as Boba ducked his head to smooth a kiss over his forehead, tapping the curve of one ear carefully.

“Later, kid. Save some for your buir.”

Boba tipped his head, his grin broadening as he caught Din’s gaze, and picked the knife back up. Grogu babbled, waving a hand towards one of the bowls before twisting to peer up at Boba.

“Yeah, that’s the next one. Good job.”

Din’s chest felt too full, too warm, barely able to breathe for fear of disrupting the scene in front of him. He had never imagined that he would have a life close to this. The closest he got to imagining his future was a shapeless plan to provide as best as he could for the foundlings and his covert. His usual grace had abandoned him as he stumbled forward, resting his hand on the table as the expected aches and pains made themselves known, radiating down his spine and legs.

Grogu turned with a shriek of delight, his eyes bright and reached from the pouch, almost over balancing to try and reach Din sooner. He caught the child, scooping him up to press their foreheads together. The scent of tart berries clung to him, mixing with the comforting warmth of blue milk and the herbs that were mixed into the laundry to keep them fresh.

“Missed you, womp rat.”

This close to Boba, he could sense rather than see the grin that spilled across his face, but Din moved up to kiss him before it could reach fruition. The scars on Boba’s lips, ridged against Din’s oversensitive skin made a shiver roll down his spine, the action mirrored as his beard scratched against Boba’s cheeks. Din broke away, shifting to press his forehead to Boba’s, Grogu cooing in the crook of his arm in satisfaction. The slight pressure of the Force against the back of his head made Din pause, but Boba was already moving to blindly tap his finger against Grogu’s cheek in gentle admonishment.

“We’ve got the memo, kid. Don’t need any outside help here.”

Din chuckled, reflexively trying to stifle the noise at Grogu’s disgruntled whine, and gently rocked all three of them, his free hand slipping to rest on Boba’s waist. The shape of a modified blaster, carefully hidden beneath the loose fabric made him pause, his laughter breaking free once again.

“Could hear you coming down the tunnels. But can’t get complacent.” Boba’s words were grave and tinged with bitterness, and Din nodded, careful to not break their connection.

This small room attached to both of their chambers and Grogu’s room had become a sanctuary of sorts. The shelves held ingredients suitable for long term storage in case they needed to shelter, and next to the door lay the familiar shapes of their grab bags. Grogu’s had been a new addition — a small brown knapsack, contrived to have as many pockets as possible — and Din knew some of them were already filled with the snacks he enjoyed, and that the kitchen staff kept slipping to him when Din and Boba pretended not to notice.

“How was the job?” Boba stepped away with one final gentle kiss, squeezing Din’s hand around his waist before he picked up the knife again. He picked up the bowl Grogu had indicated earlier and removed one of the yellow fruit from within. It’s skin was tough and ridged, and Boba anchored it on the board before working on piercing the knife through it.

“Well as could be expected at first. The traps and countermeasures he had set up against the Imperials were well-made, and just as effective against me.”

Din felt Boba’s worry rumble through him as if he was back on the ship, the rthymic sticky sound of the knife blade pausing as he looked him over. Grogu babbled, patting his chest plate, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I managed. That’s why you pay me well.”

Boba scoffed, and Din knew that his plans for the evening had just changed. The palace boasted an impressive set of heated baths in its depths, and Din had been looking forward to sinking into them. Boba wouldn’t rest until he catalogued every new wound and every purpling bruise.

Din let his thoughts wander for a moment, lingering on the warm steam that seemed to stick to the skin and the press of Boba’s hands — the callouses so like his own, rough but a sign of skill and training that made his head swim — against the ache that had settled in the curve of his shoulders and the fresh wound wrapped around his thigh. His gaze drifted to Boba’s, taking in the knowing grin on his face.

“Later,” he promised, an eyebrow raised as he inclined his chin towards Grogu curled into Din’s arms.

Din’s answering blush was immediate, feeling as if he had scorched his skin with his flamethrower, the heat spreading down his neck and across his chest. “He took some convincing but the information you gave me is still good.”

⁂

The blaster shot cracked against the wall just above Din’s head, the heat leaving a burning line across the edge of his beskar. He bit back a curse even as a grin, wide and unrestrained, slipped across his face.

His approach to the small encampment had been slow, a careful waltz around the concealed jagged traps that lined the walls of the ravine — all carefully at head-height for the average human and designed to be deadly. Their make was familiar, the twisted knots at the top arranged in a pattern that almost looked like a hand gesture. Boba tied knots for his snares the exact same way.

The intelligence he had managed to gather independently of Boba’s thriving informant network hadn’t proven to be of much use. A sea of closed mouths and gazes that turned away the moment they could, as impenetrable as any wall, greeted him at the small bar next to the single spaceport. The man had clearly managed to win their loyalty, something that seemed to be a reoccurring thread with these missions.

He was skilled with a blaster, proving it with another shot, curved through a modified barrel to try and draw Din out of hiding. Din went with the motion, catching the shot on his vambrace and directing it harmlessly into the dirt, and he ran towards the next outcrop, hearing the clicks and whirs of the blaster reloading echoe clearly.

“Kark off, Imp!” The man’s shout was clear, rage clear through every word, and Din watched the flicker of the shadow move, elongated through the setting sun. “I’m not joining your karking plot so you can shove it up your arse!”

“Boba Fett sent me!” Din called. A bubble of laughter settled in his chest, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he pushed it down. There would be time later.

Siblings, wherever they were found, held a note of similarity between them, and Boba and his many brothers were no different to Din and his covert.

The face that appeared in the small gap of the overhanging rock, barely visible theough Din’s visor, was similar enough to Boba that he could chart the similarities: the same unhinged grin, the same dark eyes and the same way of assessing the situation, his gaze focused like a sniper’s guide. But the clone had a shock of dark curls shot through with grey, grown wild after being cut back for so long and hanging at uneven lengths, and faint tattoos around his eyes, pale lines tracing around two large ovals like a Togruta’s markings.

“Boba? My ori’vod’ika sent you?” His voice in sharp contrast to the ringing shout before was quiet and pensive before his jaw closed with a snap and the rifle was drawn to his shoulder once more. “Talk faster.”

“Remember Docking Bay Seven!” Silence greeted Din’s call, as it had everytime before. Boba had shared many parts of his childhood on Kamino with Din from the small quarters he shared with his father to some of the training missions he undertook with the other clones but there was a wealth of adventures and occurrences that he couldn’t speak of.

Din understood. He couldn’t put into words the time he spent with Paz, the hours of meaningless conversations or the spark that had bloomed between them on their first meeting, tipping his face back to stare into the half-finished tattoos that ran over the other boys face like lightning strikes. But that phrase… it meant something precious to the clones Din had managed to retrieve from their bolt holes.

The clone above him laughed, wild and unrestrained. “Bob’ika has done well for himself then! Word of advice, your armour reflects sunlight like a signal flare. I saw you coming yesterday.”

“But you didn’t run.”

The man swung himself down, the muscles in his arms flexing in a deliberate display of power and control. When he stepped closer, it was a swagger, confident and sure of himself. “I am still a soldier, not matter what happened. I don’t run from a fight.”

“None of the information mentioned a name or a signifier,” Din began, and the man’s eyes widened for a moment, old surprise still fresh and burning. “What would you like to be called?”

“You retrieve many clones for our Boba?” The man’s gaze slipped over him, lingering on the mud horn on his pauldron and taking in the careful free space waiting for Boba’s mark. His grin was worn with melancholy, and his hand moved to touch the fanged necklace corded around his throat before brushing against the dotted lines tattooed across his cheek as it circled his eyes.

“Enough. There’s a compound on Tatooine many of them stay at. Some travel.”

“Tatooine?” Laughter rumbled through him, a burst of humour several of the other clones had displayed and Din couldn’t begin to wonder at. “Of course it is.

“Call me Alpha-17. That’s the name I chose for myself before all this.”

⁂

Boba hummed as Din finished recounting his mission, pausing to tap the blade along the board, now slick with a pale green juice.

“Alpha-17 helped train the younger clones after the trainers focused their attentions more on the speciality tracks. The Alpha class was one of the few that my buir hand-trained.”

Boba reached over, a piece of dripping fruit cradled in his palm, and Grogu plucked it carefully, his claws piercing slightly into the exposed flesh. The juice ran over his arms, glistening trails darkening the fabric of his robe, but Din’s attention was captured by Boba. He had raised his palm to his mouth, pale liquid spilling down his chin, and heat bloomed in Din’s belly, immediate and severe.

What he had left out of his recounting was the question he placed to Alpha-17 as they travelled. Food had been important to the covert, and learning a new recipe and perfecting it was considered the first true step towards a formal proposal.

The man had laughed, immediately plucking Din’s intentions from his careful questions, and answered as honestly as he could remember. Jango’s food was sacred to Boba, each remembered meal a sacrifice and a prayer, the kitchen made holy by his devoted attention, so Din worked at reconstruction, following the thread as devoutly as he would a bounty.

Boba paused, stretching out to draw Din down to kiss him once more, his mouth sweet and sticky, and Din marvelled at the life they had made and the possibility of what came next, each carving out a place for the other to shelter.

#bobadinweek2021 #BobaDin #the mandalorian #Star Wars #din Djarin #boba fett #grogu djarin #my writing

[miracle-sham]

Crack Your Bones and Say Those Lies.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 3: And They Were Roommates} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

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| After getting roped into the Vigilante life by Chat Noir, her friend and partner in crime, Maladroit tries her best to help fight crime to make the city a better place, if only Red Hood and his gang would stop causing problems. |

| Or alternatively, Marinette and Jason are roommates with secrets. Both have huge crushes on each other but more importantly, both are trying to juggle moonlighting as their secret identities. However, when watching the nightly news together, everything changes. |

| Word Count: 5,014. |

| Warnings/Tags: No Miraculous/Different Powers Au, Roommates, minor gang mentions/Red Hood is a gang lord, gun violence, Vigilantism, Identity Shenanigans/Mistakes, Miscommunication, some emotional hurt, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, and Domestic fluff. Also Oblivious, Protective, & Mutually Pining Marinette and Jason. |

———

| A/N: Hey! Sorry this is nearly a week late but where I live got hit with a nasty heatwave and I was barely able to write from sheer exhaustion from the heat. But on a happier note, I'm so glad I've finally been able to write and post a proper Vigilantes au (as in like Spidey style vigilantism with homemade gear and all!) Because that kinda Vigilante au especially combined with roommates is my favourite trope ever! Well maybe joint with Dragonrider AUs, but still! I've had multiple Vigilante Aus sitting in my notes and drafts so it's brilliant to finally release one into the wild! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It's Friday night, and Maladroit and Chat Noir are midway through their usual patrol of their slice of territory in the city.

“Race you to the billboard!” Chat Noir calls out, snickering in an almost cat-like-chitter as he launches himself forwards. Swinging over Maladroit's head with his grapple, he lands on the next roof ahead, in a perfect three-point landing.

Maladroit giggles, “Oh, you're so on!” She grabs her grapple and shoots. Swinging after him and onto the same roof. She instead, dive forward rolls for her landing and uses the momentum to propel her into a run.

Losing his lead due to the momentum loss of the three-point landing, Chat Noir vaults over a roof vent.

Forced to swerve to the side, Maladroit barely dodges a massive puddle of rainwater on her side of the roof.

Neck and Neck, the two raced across the rooftop. Closer and closer to the billboard they raced.

Nearly there! She thinks, c'mon! Reaching an arm out to slap the billboard—

Bzzt!

“Eep!” She yelps, startled by the buzzing crackle of her earring-comms. Unintentionally, she accidentally veers to the side and crashes straight into Chat Noir's side.

They collide with a loud thud, and two of them crumple into a pile.

“Graceful as ever, Mal.” A voice teases over her earring-comms. “Joking aside, didn't mean to spook you, sorry!”

Maladroit groans, “thanks,” and gingerly extracts herself from the vigilante limb pile.

“Gamer!” Chat Noir cheers, having heard him through his own disguised comms. “Got any crimes for us to fight tonight?”

There's a chuckle over the line, “Lucky you should ask, Chat, I do happen to have found some villainous plans for you to thwart.”

Chat Noir cracks his knuckles and stretches. “Oh? What are they?”

“Two which are time-sensitive.” Gamer adds.

Maladroit stifles a squawk, “Two! That are time-sensitive?” Her voice goes up a pitch on the last word, making it sound like a question.

“Uh-huh.” He confirms. “Chat Noir, there's a break-in at a jewellery store two blocks over from you. I'm sending you the directions now to your phone.”

Chat Noir does a two-fingered salute to the nearest security camera. “Got it, G! Detective Noir is on the case!”

“And Maladroit, we've got reports of sightings of Red Hood outside his usual area. By the Warehouses on fourth. There are no security cams around there so I've got nothing but rumours to go on. See if you can check it out and find out what he's up to.” Gamer informs her, sounding slightly irritated at the fact he's got little information to give her.

Maladroit nods, grumbling slightly. “When isn't he up to something.”

Slinging an arm around her shoulder, Chat Noir grins like the Cheshire Cat. “C'mon, Mal! It'll be a quick sweep and nothing will turn up like the last twenty times we've gotten this kinda tip-off!”

“You owe me ice cream from André's when we're in civvies tomorrow!” She huffs. “I made us macarons last time!”

“I haven't forgotten!” Chat Noir protests. “Anyway, see you tomorrow if we don't catch each other for the end of the patrol?”

Maladroit nods. “Yep! See ya later Minou!”

The two split. Chat Noir dashing after the directions, and Maladroit swinging towards the warehouses on fourth.

———

Breathe, Maladroit—reminds herself, perched on the rafters in one of the warehouses on fourth. Staring at the blood-red glowing mask of the red hooded villain, who happens to be oh so creatively named the 'Red Hood', leaning on the balcony railing on the opposite side of the warehouse to her rafter, and presumably glaring up at her.

“It's you again, Maladroit.” He growls, distorted by whatever voice modifier he's got wired into his mask.

She can't help but wince at the reminder of the word she had accidentally said the first time she had ever helped Chat Noir fight crime. Which irritatingly enough, stuck as her vigilante name. Especially since her second attempt at a name, Ladybug, didn't stick. She frowns beneath the black and red spotted bandana covering her mouth, and tightly grips her bladed yo-yo—with piano wire instead of string—of the same colour scheme.

“What are you planning, Red Hood?” She spits out, voice also modified by her bandana, a tad too grumpy and bitterly for the awkward-but-smiley "persona" she's supposed to act like (although it's not so much of a persona when that's just how she is almost all the time). But in her defence, she's had a rough day at uni, things have been awkward at home because of her crush on her roomie lately, and more importantly, Red Hood's lackeys have been a pain in the neck for the past week, so her reaction is more than warranted.

He has the audacity to laugh. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Pipsqueak?”

“Well,” Maladroit huffs, “I was hoping you were feeling considerate.”

Red Hood shifts his shoulders. “Aww, sorry Pipsqueak. I'm not feeling particularly considerate today.” In a split second, he slips both guns from his holsters, spins them, and shoots.

Maladroit squeaks, instinctively tugging on her power, and dives off the rafter to dodge the shot. “Rude!”

She's just able to shoot her grapple off and swing up to another metal beam.

“How the fuck do you keep dodging my shots?” He snarls, gesturing at her with his guns in short angry-looking motions.

In response, she throws her yo-yo at him, tugging on her power again. The yo-yo spins through the air, slashing through the Red Hood's jacket sleeve and slicing a deep groove into the gun, then rewinds on the wire back to her. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Bullet Boy!” She parrots back, cheekily.

“Hey!” Red Hood snaps, aiming another shot at her.

Tugging on her powers once more, Maladroit yelps as she swings to yet another metal rafter beam in order to avoid the shot. “Your aim sucks!”

“Fuck you!” He retorts, firing off four more shots aimed at her head.

There's a horrifying moment as she barely manages to tug on her powers in time. The bullets barely skimming past her hood, one even tearing the fabric slightly.

“Mal!” Comes Gamer's terrified voice over her earring-comms, “I need you to pull back immediately! Red Hood and his gang have been spotted nearby and Chat can't get to you in time to back you up if you do get into a fight!”

She raises a hand to her earrings and quietly laughs hysterically. “Little too late for that, G! I'm uh currently staring… face to gun to him”

“Oh, fuck!” Gamer responds, voice going up a pitch. “I'm contacting Chat now. Try and get out if you can but prioritise not getting yourself killed, please!”

Red Hood fires his guns again. “Eyes and ears on me, Pipsqueak.”

Squeaking yet again, Maladroit desperately tugs on her power once more and swings to another rafter. Her heart thunders in her chest as loudly as his gunfire. She spits out a frantic, “no promises!” to both of them.

“I've informed him, your backup is on the way.” Gamer tells her.

The main warehouse doors clatter open with a resounding slam! Followed by the stomping of multiple pairs of boots storming inside.

Maladroit waves at Red Hood, the quiet terrified hysterical laughter practically bubbling out of her mouth. “Haha, well I'm afraid that's my cue to Bug Out!”

“Oh, I don't think so, Pipsqueak.” Red Hood taunts, shooting six bullets at her, rapid-fire. “I ain't finished with our convo yet.”

Squeaking for the umpteenth time, and really just giving him even more reason to keep giving her that stupid pipsqueak nickname, she riskily shoots her grapple, aiming and swinging towards the warehouse's large balcony windows.

“Get the fuck back here!” He snarls, voice deepening with fury. Pausing to reload before firing off more shots at her with abandon.

Maladroit wriggles midair, tugging on her powers to try and dodge the shots. She curls into a dive forward roll as the grapple forces her to land onto the balcony. The same one that Red Hood has been stood on this entire time. Oh, help me! She thinks, eyes widening behind her makeshift red with black tinted lenses, goggles-slash-domino mask.

He aims his gun at her once more. “Move and you fucking die, pipsqueak.”

Putting her hands in the air, she swallows a gulp of air. Her body armour is padded beneath her red, and black spotted, hoodie but it isn't bulletproof. And she can feel the straining exhaustion of overusing her powers clawing at her.

They're at a standoff. Still as statues, the both of them. It's almost poetic how they parallel each other. He's got his gun aimed at her, whilst she's desperately clutching at her grappling hook gun in one of her raised hands. Both donned in red. Both committing crimes in the eyes of the law. Two sides of the same coin, one and the same.

Maladroit feels sick to her stomach, staring down the barrels of his guns. Ever so slowly, she tugs on her powers. The window a little bit behind her creaks quietly enough that Red Hood doesn't seem to notice beneath the clamour of his gang doing whatever it is they're doing below.

She counts her breath and tugs on her power. A minute passes with no movement, no words, nothing happening on the balcony. Out of the corner of her eye, she can just see that it's now open enough that she should be able to make it out unscathed. Or at least mostly unscathed.

Closing her eyes, not that he can see, her power snaps. Instinctively she doubles over and slaps a hand over her mouth. Barely in time as a stifled scream is yanked from her throat, leaving her panting for breath. Her knees crash onto the balcony flooring. A bullet whizzes past her neck.

“Shit. What the fuck was that?” Red Hood grumbles, sounding genuinely concerned. He storms across the balcony towards her.

Maladroit can't help but flinch, bodily throwing herself back as far away from him as she can. Mind racing in panic.

He stows one gun back into a holster then reaches a hand towards her. “Hey, hey, hey. Calm down.”

“Gotta go! Bug-bye!” She squeaks out, wrenching on her power with all her remaining strength, and bolting for the window.

“I think the fuck not! Fucking pretending to be hurt.” Red Hood barks, ripping the gun back out of its holster.

Narrowly dodging the spray of bullets shot at her, Maladroit dives through the window and fires off her grapple. Safely swinging far away from the warehouse.

———

Carefully Maladroit drops with the ease of far too many nights of practise, onto the fire escape outside her bedroom window. She crouches and lets the shadows of the night hide her form. Creeping closer, she checks the windowsill for any marks or signs of tampering but it all comes away untouched. Content with her quick security check, she fumbles for the disguised piece of string wedging the window ajar in a way that's barely visible unless you know where to look for it. Got it! She thinks to herself, grabbing ahold of it and prying it, and the window above it, up and open.

Slipping through the open window, she sits on the sill to rip her thankfully not-too-dirty studded steel-toed boots off. Picking them up in one hand, she wiggles the rest of the way into her room and immediately resets the security measures, yanking the curtain down for privacy.

Maladroit then shuffles over to her bed. Tikki—her gorgeous fluffy red and dark brown miniature dachshund—blinks sleepily up at her, from the dog bed next to it. The puppy yaps in greeting before snuffling and curling back up to sleep.

She coos at the cuteness before continuing on. With the other hand not carrying the boots, she pries the blanket covered duffel bag out from underneath. Wrestling to unzip it in one janky and awkward motion, grunting slightly at the exertion. The metal of the zip digs in but the discomfort is mostly mitigated by the padded gloves and wrist guards she's wearing. The easy to clean plastic bag designated for temporary storing of her boots is dragged out of the bag and said boots are tossed in without a second glance.

Huffing, she starts to take the rest of her cross between mostly homemade and refashioned sports kit vigilante gear off. First, tugging down the hood of her hoodie and unclipping the black scrum cap hidden under it. It's dumped unceremoniously into a secondary plastic bag in the open duffel bag. After that, Maladroit removes the black neck guard and pulls her makeshift goggles-slash-domino mask over her head. Those too, are dumped into the other plastic bag. Then she unties the bandana with the nose guard underneath, from around her mouth and nose. Unsurprisingly, they're also dumped in the bag.

Next, she undoes the velcros on her red and black padded gloves, black wrist guards, as well as black elbow, knee, and shin pads. Also dumped into the other bag. With the outer protective wear removed, Maladroit pulls her hoodie over her head. Continuing on, she peels the padded rugby body armour and shorts off, and then the thermal under-armour. All dumped into the third and final plastic bag. “I swear,” Maladroit mumbles to herself, “getting changed out my gear never gets easier. And to think back when I had my last P.E. lesson at school, I thought I'd never have to touch this kinda kit ever again. Rip me.”

Lastly, Marinette—no longer Maladroit seeing as she is no longer in her vigilante gear—throws on her running-to-the-bathroom spare bathrobe to cover herself. She hastily shoves the three plastic bags into the duffel bag and kicks it under her bed. Purposefully leaving it unzipped but quickly fixing the blanket covering the bag, so that she can more easily grab her kit to clean everything later, whilst keeping it sufficiently hidden.

With that mostly taken care of, she nabs the mouthguard case, some clean pyjamas, and dashes out of her room—clinging awkwardly to the bathrobe. She hops in the apartment's shared bathroom, the rest of the place is silent, meaning her roomie, Jason, must have gone out. Still, Marinette locks the door regardless. If there's one thing she's learnt in her foray into the nightly masked vigilantism, is that one can never be too careful.

“Shit! Nearly forgot to take this out.” She grumbles to herself, just as she was stepping into the shower. Prying the mouthguard out of her mouth as she shuffles over to the sink, she gives it a quick rinse under the tap. Followed by a thorough scrubbing with her toothbrush and glob of toothpaste. She pops it into the mouthguard case and leaves it on the side of the sink for now.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Marinette finally allows herself to indulge in a good half an hour-long hot shower to get the grime from a night of crime-fighting off of herself.

She's only just drying off her hair, having already changed into her pyjamas, when the blare of the TV echoes through the apartment. Tensing up, her anxiety runs wild. It's what they get for living in the cheaper but slightly dodgy apartments where the walls are thin and the doors are thinner. Grabbing the mouthguard case, she wraps it up in the bathrobe and peeks out the bathroom door and looks down the hall into the open plan kitchen lounge. Jason's back, he's sitting on the sofa watching the TV.

Shoulders untensing, she finished drying her hair and heads out into the hallway. In place of a greeting, she exclaims, “oh! Jason, you're back!”

Jason flinches slightly and looks over his shoulder back at her. “Yeah, a friend had an emergency so, y'know.”

Immediately, concern wrenches at Marinette's heart, “oh no, I'm sorry. Are they… okay?”

He waves a hand in a so-so gesture and clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. They're fine now.”

“That's good!” She says, nodding, as she makes her way fully into the lounge and the TV catches her attention. “Oh is it nearly the eleven o'clock news already? I need to watch this! Alya texted me earlier saying I have to, and she sounded really excited!” Glancing down at the bundle in her arms and flushes red. “Actually, I'll be back in a second!”

“I'll yell as soon as it actually starts.” Jason offers, smiling warmly at her.

Marinette just misses the smile, rushing back to her room, and throwing a quick, “thanks,” over her shoulder back at him.

Also missing his smile turn fond and the good-natured roll of his eyes at her antics.

Barely half a minute passes before she's bounding back into the lounge, with a sleepy Tikki at her heels. She plops herself down on the sofa next to him and hopes the blush on her face could simply be mistaken for the flush of running about like a mad thing instead. Tikki whines until Marionette picks her up and lets her on the sofa with them, padding over to the furthest corner to curl up in.

Jason points to the pink floral steaming mug on the coffee table, right next to his Pride Prejudice and Zombies themed mug. “Whilst you were in the shower, I made us both hot chocolates with marshmallows, my granddad Alfie's recipe.”

“Oh!” Marinette responds in pleasant surprise. She turns to him and positively beams, eyes shining with happiness. “Thank you so much, Jason! You're always so thoughtful!”

He blushes and rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “Yeah, well, I thought it's only fair since you normally make 'em. And I visited Alfie recently, and I promised to get you his recipe to try, so I thought it'd be a nice surprise for once!” He pauses and points at the big bowl also on the coffee table, “also I cooked us some popcorn.”

“Aw! Thank you again! I really appreciate this!” She scoops up the hot chocolate with slight reverence and takes a sip. Immediately her face lights up even more in joy. “Oh, this is delicious!”

Jason chuckles, “isn't it the best! I'll pass that onto Alfie though, he'll be glad to know you like it so much. Speaking of which, he's gonna give making them a try next time I'm up since I wasn't there long enough this time. Would you fancy coming with me to see him, then?”

Her eyes widen and her heart stutters in her chest, feeling close to bursting from happiness. “I'd love to! Do you have a date when you're thinking of going up?”

He nods. “Yeah, maybe around—”

But he's interrupted by the starting audio of the eleven o'clock news.

They both immediately shut up and watch the screen intently as the news anchors appear on the show. The starting discussion is somewhat boring, talking about the local billionaire Wayne-or-something business and a related upcoming charity event of some sort.

Marinette doesn't pay attention to it, but she does catch Jason wrinkling his nose and scowling at the conversation.

Luckily, the topic shifts quickly enough. “And now, over to our newest reporter, Alya. We hear there's been some rumblings regarding the conflict between local vigilante Chat Noir, his sidekick Maladroit, and the gang controlled by the infamous Red Hood himself.”

“That's stupid,” Jason grumbles, “Maladroit is a fully-fledged vigilante in her own right and not just the catboy's sidekick. That's like saying Nightwing is Batman's sidekick!”

Marinette frowns, very touched by his words and trying her damnedest to appear nonchalant. “I don't know… from all the-uh news clips, Maladroit seems like Chat Noir's sidekick to me. She's always hovering nervously near him like a strong wind would spook her.”

“C'mon! She's been reported to have held her own against Red Hood on multiple occasions, alone!” He argues, sounding rather offended on her alter egos behalf.

Scoffing, she shakes her head. “Clearly that's because he's going easy on her! He's never directly shot her, according to the reports clearly, he's soft on her!” The lies taste bitter on her tongue.

Jason splutters and flushes bright red, turning away from her slightly. “W-well that's obviously a testament to her skill and not Red Hood's mercy! He's always reported as being a merciless killer, why'd he be soft on her!”

“I don't know!” She makes a dying-choking noise as she flushes even more red than earlier. Shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth to avoid having to respond any further.

Luckily, the news shows pans over to Alya standing in front of a screen showing a recorded feed of a warehouse. Not just any warehouse, but specifically the one on fourth that Maladroit had faced Red Hood in less than an hour ago.

Marinette feels her pulse quicken at the reminder of the close shave she'd had.

“Hey wait a second, those warehouses don't have security cameras at all? How'd they get this footage?” Jason complains, eyes narrowed at the TV.

It feels as though ice has been poured down her spine at his words. She freezes, body stiffening in shock. He's right… G said there's none because that's why he asked me to check things out. The only people who'd know this are Chat, Gamer, myself, and Red Hood and his gang. She swallows thickly and tries to subtly side-eye Jason. Oh no. I've been crushing on my roommate who works for Red Hood's gang? Oh god! The friend with the emergency was referring to Red Hood calling him into work!

She can't help but inhale a shallow panicked breath. He could've been one of the lackeys shooting at me and Chat this past week. Or, or I could've hurt him with my yo-yo. Or—

Jason turns to fully face, clearly registering the blatant panic on her face. “Hey, hey, hey, Marinette, you're okay, you're safe. What's wrong?”

“Are you working for Red Hood?” Marinette blurts out, accidentally, the words pouring out in an unintentional panicked rush. “Are you in his gang?”

He jerks back, fear, confusion, and hurt crosses his face. “Wh-what? What makes you think that?”

“His gang was just in that warehouse, and you were out on an emergency for a "friend". And how would you have known unless you were there tonight and working for his gang?” She chews her lip forcefully and winces as the taste of iron floods her mouth.

He reaches towards her, eyes widening concern.

She flinches back, suddenly reminded of how similar this is to that moment with Red Hood on the warehouse balcony.

Jason jerks back as if her flinching burnt him. Raising his hands, he leans away from her to give her some semblance of space. “Fuck. Look, I'm not going to hurt you! Have I ever hurt you whilst we've been roomies?”

Nervously, she shakes her head.

“I really care about you, Marinette. Hell, we've lived together for nearly a year now. I would never hurt you, okay! I promise.” Tears prick in his eyes, and he grimaces slightly, lowering his hands to rest on his lap. “Yeah, I uh, I'm working for him. But I do everything I can to keep work from following me home. I didn't tell you because I never wanted to scare you.”

Guilt gnaws at her. “I'm sorry! I shouldn't have judged. I—” She takes a shaky breath, “I really really care about you too. I'm just worried, what if Red Hood, or even Maladroit, or any of the other vigilantes hurt you? What if you get hurt in one of those gang wars?” Her words aren't lies but they're not the full truth either.

He sighs, “I can't promise I won't ever get hurt on the job. Maladroit and the other vigilantes do a lot of good but Maladroit especially is far too nice to hurt any of us. I've uh, seen her fight some of the others gang members, and been fought by her too. And out of everyone against the gang, she's the one who leaves us with barely more than a scratch at worst.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Most in the gang really respect her for that, y'know.”

Marinette's brain feels like the windows shutting down sound. “Oh. Oh.”

Sheepishly, he smiles half-heartedly at her. “Yeah.”

“So, is that why you were so adamant she's a fully-fledged vigilante in her right?” She asks, feeling bashful yet honoured whilst completely surprised.

Jason clears his throat and glances away. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” Her brain rewinds a moment. She splutters for a second, desperation racing through her. “Wait, she's fought you!?”

Full-on grimacing, he nervously laughs. “Left but a scratch!”

“Are you misquoting Monty Python right now? Oh good gods, that's the knight who says that after getting his limbs chopped off!” Marinette exclaims, looking every bit as horrified as her tone of voice conveys.

“Seriously, I've never gotten worse than a couple of minor cuts and bruises, I'm fine!” Jason reiterates.

She frowns and gingerly shuffles across the sofa closer to him. He keeps leaning back away, so she physically throws herself at him, pulling him into a tight hug. Incidentally burying her face in his shirt. “Okay, okay. Just, please let me know next time you get hurt. I've a friend who lived in a bad situation before, so I know how to help patch up minor injuries. Promise?”

Jason stiffens at the hug and slowly moves one hand to cup the back of her head whilst wrapping the other around her back. He shuts his eyes, cocking his head back and sighs. “Alright. I promise I'll tell you. And I'm sorry for keeping something this big from you. As I said, I was worried you'd be scared of me or that you'd get dragged into gang-related shit because of it.”

“You don't need to apologise.” Marinette mumbles in response, “I get it. I really do understand.” She bites at her sore bleeding lips again in guilt, her secret identity left unspoken on her tongue.

He shrugs, “so uh. I'm guessing you're still happy to stay roomies then, right?”

“Of course!” She responds without missing a beat hugging him even tighter.

Eventually, they release each other from the embrace to finish their now lukewarm hot chocolates and popcorn. The news continues playing, no longer forgotten in the background as the two try to act as if nothing has changed.

———

Jason collapses onto his bed with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his phone and rings a number on autopilot.

The dial tone plays as the line connects. “Hey, whaddup Jay?”

“Holy fucking shit balls, man.” Jason groans. “I fucked up.”

Roy hums, “like need help burying a body fucked up or what?”

Jason groans even louder, smushing his face into his bed covers. “My roomie is smart, right. I accidentally let a tiny detail slip when we were chatting whilst watching the eleven o'clock news as usual. And she now thinks that I'm in Red Hood's gang.”

There's a long pause, before Roy bursts into raucous laughter. “Holy shit, I'm dying! She's not wrong!”

“Yeah. I know. She ain't right either though.” He grumbles in response. “She was absolutely terrified when she realised. Nearly had a full-on panic attack and everything.”

“Oh fuck.” Roy helpfully says.

Jason grunts in agreement. “She was also real concerned that Red Hood or the vigilantes have hurt me.”

“Well, that's better?” Roy offers, sounding rather unsure of his own words.

“Yeah but she's taken thinking I'm some low-level member of my gang this badly, how the fuck d'ya think she's gonna take finding out I'm the big bad Red Hood himself?” Jason sighs. “I don't want to ask her out without her knowing this, 'cause it could endanger her.”

Roy hums again, “well, you've been roommates this long already and she's been completely safe from the Vigilante-Gang life so far.”

There's a gentle thump as Jason lifts his head and throws it into the sheets again out of sheer frustration. He relents, reluctantly. “That's true…”

“See. And since it sounds like she's not planning on moving out, clearly she doesn't mind living with you. Just ask her out to dinner already.” Roy adds, cheerfully.

Huffing, he rolls over on the bed. “I'm starting to feel like those weird girl slumber party ads with the creepy phone-a-boy games.”

Roy wheezes, followed by a thudding noise and the distant sound of his cackling.

“Wow. And to think I called you for help. I'm offended.” Jason goads with no bite, waiting a few seconds to hear Roy's response but it's just more laughter.

He rolls his eyes and ends the call, not like Roy will mind. Throwing an arm over his face, Jason barely refrains from grabbing his pillow to scream into. He doesn't, obviously. Because the walls are thin enough that Marinette might hear him and he's worried her enough this night as is.

Sighing like a lovesick protagonist in a period romance novel, Jason moves his arm to run his fingers through his own hair. A date. Just gotta ask her at some point, to dinner at a fancy-ish restaurant. It'll be fine, what's the worst that can happen?

Her terrified reaction on the sofa flashes through his mind, followed by the reminder of how small and scared Maladroit had seemed when she had fallen to her knees on the warehouse balcony. There was no way that she was faking the pain, like he'd initially thought. She had practically staggered in her mad dash to escape. And there's no way for me to find out whether she got to somewhere safe afterwards. God, she could be lying dead in some dank alleyway for all I know right now. Fuck, I hope she's okay...

He groans in distress and shifts in place. Already feeling like he really won't be getting any sleep at all tonight at this rate, thanks to his concern for those two.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| I decided to go close to canon for names this time, hence why Chat Noir remains unchanged but Max is Gamer (because A. that was his Akuma name, and B. he's like Player from Carmen Sandiego in this, couldn't help myself), and Marinette is Maladroit (from the first thing she calls herself in Origins). |

| Oh, also whilst it's not explicitly stated in the text; Marinette/Maladroit's has the power of luck/being lucky, Chat Noir has the power of being unlucky, and Red Hood has "Perfect Aim" aka he's a hitscan. Which is why Maladroit is able to dodge his bullets by making herself "lucky enough" to dodge in time. |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #MLB x DC #DC x MLB #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #JasonetteJuly2021 #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July Saturday Challenge #Jasonette July And They Were Roommates #Crack Your Bones and Say Those Lies #CYBaSTL #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

[withoneheadlight]

oh man that one with billy convincing steve to skip work has got me thinking trophy husband billy

Oh, anon! 💗💗💗💗adkahdshdhdkhkhdYESSS. I LOVE this idea!

And I’m SURE he would be the happiest trophy husband. And also the kind that's showy. Has so much fun going over the top with it, being gossip material. All cliché-y, and Diva-like. Basically confirming what everyone thinks about him (about them) precisely because it’s the diametrically opposed to what it really is.

Doing things like:

Mowing the lawn in mini-mini-shorts. Working on his tan on their lovely backyard on the sunny Sunday Summer mornings (in that exact spot where –coincidentally– Mr. Walker, their blatantly homophobic next door neighbor, would have to get out of his own backyard with his eyes closed not to see). Being reaaaally polite with everyone around (Mr. Walker included), smiling and waving his hand like “Hiiii, Janice! How did that new face treatment go?” because they live in a Nice Place now, six years after Robert Harrington made Steve climb his way up the company ladder right from the bottom “Exactly like everyone else”, both as a punishment and a trial; after working their asses out of their shitty one-bedroom apartment, having to prove themselves in every single step (as Steve and Billy, but also as SteveandBilly), but,

Here they are.

And now Steve has a very good job, one he’s genuinely good at, one that pays for much more than hardly the bills and maybe having dinner out from time to time. And they’re happy and they are together and they fucking made it, despite barely anyone around them given two shits. Now, Steve slicks his wild hair back from Monday to Friday, wears the nicest suits, so fitting and sexy and oh so preppy Billy sometimes gets a hard-on just from seeing them all together in the dressing room, hanging in a perfectly tidy line, made of the same material of sins.

So. 

He just doesn’t see the point in not treating himself every once in a while.  Make Steve run late for work or not getting there at all. In no letting himself enjoy the way those tailored beauties emphasize the shape of Steve’s glorious ass. Enjoy the certainty that in a big, stylish, impeccably neat office downtown, Steve’s dad is rolling his eyes all the way back into their sockets.

And also.

In not letting himself revel in the exhilarating feeling of sliding full into this ‘hot-mess trophy hubby’ persona almost everyone around them assumes he is. Steve’s Harrington boy-toy. “That California scum. Must be real good at sucking dick to get a deal like that.” Make the rumors roll down the small streets of Hawkins and under the door of his own father’s house. Thrive in the knowledge that every time Neil Hargrove hears any or those rumors or gets even the tiiiniest glimpse of them two together, going out and about holding hands,  feels like he’s about to puke his guts out thinking about what his son has ‘become’.

And aside from that, he kind of––enjoys, this trophy husband thing, to be honest. It’s been ten years since they got together now. Billy likes to keep things spiced-up. So when Steve is promoted and they move to be close to the new office, along with the house Billy buys a pair of powder pink slippers, fluffy ball of floating fur on top, and a see-through, fur-riveted robe to match. Some days he goes to his morning cockteling&tanning session in the backyard wearing only that (“Heeeey! How ya doin’ Mr. Walker?”). Kisses Steve goodbye long and filthy at the door, where everyone can see, opening the robe wide to wrap it around them both together, pressing their bodies flush, biting at his ear and whispering “Bring me a diamond when you come back, honey bunny” making Steve snort but say "You deserve a million of them, babe" making Billy melt, feel a bit like he's dripping love out of all the pores of his body, making a puddle that will permanently stain the glamorous white marble of the entryway as he waves Steve goodbye, scratches with feign indifference at the trail of fair hairs coming out his flashy-green pants to counteract the way Steve's killer smile makes him blush as hard as the first time, a whole decade away, that cold November night when he grabbed Billy by the collar of his T-shirt and said "I'm gonna kiss you. And then you're gonna punch me. And I don't care.”

It’s like a fucking fairytale. The way things were going? The most Billy expected out of life was live if fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse behind. But now, he’s got the guy of his dreams. He’s got a life he could have never dreamed of. He’s got Steve, now. Steve, who’s good, is caring. Always fights him back. Doesn’t buy any of the shit he tries to pull off. Steve, who's got lips like that moment the earth forgets about gravity when you’re riding down the hill of a rollercoaster. Got eyes that can rip out of you promises you never thought you'd make (like: I do and forever and not even death). That always see Billy when they look at him.

And now, he gets to wake up every morning before he does, put the Moka pot on the stove. Gets to see Steve’s sleepy face right after rolling out of bed, hair still untamed, pouty lips, bare feet dragging over the floor. See the way he beams, smile wide and devastatingly sweet when Billy tells him “I made you coffee, babe”. Gets Steve kissing him like a daydream, laying him over the kitchen table, fucking him before even touching breakfast with his fancy pink robe on.

And Billy thought he would have to change. Give something, to have something. Didn’t really mind. Too lucky to complain. Thought he would have to stop being mean once they got married. Play the tamed part. Thought he was going to have to behave to fit into the rich and respectable life they had landed at. But. No-No. Rich people? They’re way meaner than regular people, turns out. Billy’s just been upgraded to play for the Asshole’s World Championship Cup.

And he’s always been good at sports.

So he goes to the hair salon the afternoon before any important event. Gets a facial. Does his nails. Buys new clothes. Gets all Pretty Woman on himself just so Steve can show him off. And oh. OH. OHHH. Steve does show him off. To his dad. His mom. The whole party. Doesn’t give a fuck about whatever people keeps on whispering behind their backs. Offers his arm to Billy and Billy clings to him, keeps his chin up. He’s never been as afraid of anything as much as Steve not loving him back. He’s fearless now. Because here they are. So he lets Steve walk him through the crowd as the King he was born like. Brilliant. Proud. Letting Billy to deal with the vultures if he fancies to do that.

“Awwww. But look at you!! Anyone can tell you two are soooo in love!”

Fake boobs. Fake Louboutins. Fake Smile. Billy is Queen Bee now. He’s got this.

“Oh, no Miss Treadaway. I dearly appreciate you noticing how good my acting skills are. But it’s exactly as you said to Miss Walton the other day. I only married Stevie here because he’s got a big dick and it’s loaded. And he only married me because of how good I look on all fours. You’re too perceptive to hide it!”

But with Steve’s parents? With Steve’s parents Billy is relentlessly n i c e.  When Robert Harrington won’t even look at him. When Crystal Harrington blows saccharine all over him like in a bad magic trick, deceivingly sweet when she says, “Well William. Maybe it's time you get a real job too now our Steven is running his own branch" cold war buzzing between them when Billy spreads his most honest, open smile, not a millimeter of animadversion showing “But I already have a real job, Crystal. I take care of your son. And there’s also, you know, that side thing I do of running Garage” making her fingers clutch hard around her cup of fine champagne, making Steve’s lips fight to repress a grin, eyes fond, and soft and in love. And Billy will do whatever it takes, endure whatever he has to, if what he gets in return is this:  the way the narrow space keeping them apart feels like inevitability when they're about to kiss.

And everyone thought he was going after the money, when they married. Most still do. But Billy never actually asked for diamonds. Well, not for real. But he gets one anyway. Tenth anniversary and counting. It shines unreal on his finger, as much as this life he has now, as the liquid shine of Steve’s eyes when he says “They come from fire, just like you. I always thought they would fit so well. And looks like I was right” and just a few years before, Billy would have said “This is too much, I can’t take it” too afraid Steve would get the wrong impression too, too afraid to not be up to him. But now, he understands, that this is just another way Steve is trying to take care of him, to show him love. So now, Billy lets Steve spoil him as much as he wants. Take him out for dinner without reason. Hand him a sealed envelope saying, “What about showing me that ocean you love so much?” Kissing him in front of everyone, all the time, ringed fingers intertwined.

Lets him buy them a California King just to make a stupid joke, get Billy Hargrove to blush.

“We can ditch all of this, if you’re not happy. You know that, right? I don’t care about anything else as long as it’s you and I”

Billy shakes his head. “I am happy, pretty boy. Happier than I ever thought I could be” Tickles Steve’s nose with the fluffy, pink fuzz all around his robe until he sneezes and chuckles. “But I wanna know,” he says, tone pouty and tragic “It is true, what everybody says? Am I really a trophy husband?”

Steve shuffles closer, rumbles low in his throat. It’s an early Sunday morning. They’re gonna spend all time left until breakfast fucking in bed. Then cockteling&tanning together ‘till lunch. And then, after, he’s sure he can convince Steve to put on one of those gorgeous suits, let Billy grind against the soft fabric, make a mess out of him. Make him beg and squirm. Pull down his fly real slow, down on his knees. Suck him off. Eat him out. Make him moan I love yous brighter than diamonds when Billy gets inside him. But right now, Steve just kisses him silly, lowers down the covers to take a look down, at his leopard print, see-through, hideous new briefs. The cheapest ones he could find.

Because Billy’s trash. Will always be trash.

“Oh yeah, babe. You are. A fucking trophy. The best anyone could have”

But he’s posh trash now.

💎

The original post (xxxx) xD 💍

#harringrove #Steve Harrington #Billy hargrove #Billy x Steve #xask #askfic #xharringrove #the harrington-hargrove household #xaskwithoneheadlight #xfluff #xpronight