#You’re Not Distracting You’re Mesmerising

[gamermattsgf]

Dirty little monster // Chris and Matt

Warnings: threesome filth / lowkey toxic relationship plot?? / ownership kink / degradation Chris / praiser Matt / cunnilingus / doggy / wrist restraints / unprotected sex / blindfold kink / manhandling / missionary / exhibitionist kink / brief mention of somnophilia / Eiffel Tower position / blowjob / edging / jealousy + possession kink / female stimulation / spit kink / slapping / hair pulling

Summary: Chris and Matt know the deal. They’re supposed to share you, but sometimes that idea gets in the way of their individual feelings, especially in situations like these…

Author’s notes: finally the threesome you’ve all been waiting for. If this is not your cup of tea PLEASE just scroll!! You guys are probably sick of the amount of goddamn warnings that come my shit hahaha. Also, happy late birthday present for @sturnsmadl I hope u like ur gift baby.

“You’re a dirty little monster, a coked up little pop tart… can’t keep your head out your dreams” - Too Much Sauce, Harry Styles

‘Fuck… Matt…’ you pant, your head twisted to the side as you feed your bottom lip into your teeth. The harsh pressure you exert upon it almost makes it split, the stinging sensation helping to distract you from Matt’s face that pries open your inner thighs.

His own lips look dewy and puffed, his tired eyes sleepy but alluring as the pale bags underneath them exemplify his chalky blue rings. Just showered and shaved, the smell of his cologne is almost intoxicating when it feeds itself up into your nose and diffuses across your senses. It’s sharp and citrusy and fits his clean cut personality perfectly like a breath of fresh air.

His hair is still slightly wet, and strands trace damp streaks over your stretch marks when his tongue gifts open mouthed kisses to your clit.

He presses himself so close to your throbbing sensitivity that you can barely see his face and eyes because they’re covered with his scruffy brunette hair.

You can’t help but rut your hips onto his nose as your back arches, the whine peeping from your throat breathless and needy whilst he grinds himself into the mattress. He just can’t help himself as the bed shakes backwards and forwards. Every couple of seconds you have to readjust your thighs around his head and when you do the rough skin where his beard grows grazes against the plushness of your flesh.

‘You like that sweet girl?’

The voice you hear is not Matt’s, because he is too busy licking away at your velvety slickness. But Chris’. He sits with his back against the headboard, and your back propped up against his bare chest. You lie, nestled in between his two spread thighs that are clothed over with grey sweats and subtly squeeze against your thick hips after every time you arch your back from off of his stomach.

You yourself are fully naked, with your tits out and resting softly on your chest, until Chris’ larger hands slither up your ribcage and cup them gently, his thumbs rubbing over your stiffened nipples. The pleasure from both ends is almost too much, and a hot rush flurries over your cheeks when you allow yourself to throw your head back and lean it into the crook of his shoulder.

Chris smirks as he watches the top of Matt’s head moving from in between your silky thighs intently, mesmerised by the way he swirls his tongue and causes whimpers to claw their way up your throat. He gets off on watching Matt eat you out because it’s almost as if he’s watching a high definition sex tape of himself eating you out.

‘S’Matt treating you well baby…? Making you feel good huh?’.

He presses his lips to your temple gently before pinching your nipples and loving the way you squirm at the sensation. He then kisses the side of your head softly. ‘Y-yes’ you moan, your calves sliding up and over Matt’s shoulder blades to give him better access whilst your hands grapple to squeeze against Chris’ sweatpants. Matt grunts at Chris’ praise of his work whilst lathering his tongue over your spongy nerve messily.

‘Yeah? His mouth making you wanna come?’

Chris speaks for Matt so that Matt can keep working against your clit, his face rocking backwards and forwards over your cunt as his hands come to splay about the tops of your thighs. You can feel the way Matt’s cheeks apple when he smirks at what Chris says, because he knows it’s true, and he knows his tongue has the ability to make you unravel at his fingertips.

‘Please’ is all you can heave whilst craning your neck forwards once again to look at Matt.

‘That’s my good girl, so polite aren’t you?’

Chris coos once again from behind you. Suddenly Matt pulls his heavenly tongue away from his teasing so that he can spit a string of saliva all over your dripping folds. He leers upwards which makes your calves fall from his shoulders. Lazily, they plant themselves back down onto the mattress at his sides as his saliva seeps down you slit. He raises his eyebrows incredulously at Chris, before licking his lips and flicking his dilated pupils back to yours.

‘Our good girl’ he corrects bitingly, before leaning over from his position in between your spread legs to smooth his lips onto yours. He bites your bottom one gently and sighs into the kiss whilst pushing his tongue through the barrier of your teeth.

Whilst Matt kisses you, Chris finds it necessary to let one of his hands delicately trail down your navel, only to slide in between your folds and stroke your slimy clit, saturated in Matt’s saliva.

Chris practically cradles you to himself within his larger frame as you crumple back into him in pleasure.

You uncontrollably moan into Matt’s mouth at the rough pads of his long fingers moving in slow concentric circles whilst he manoeuvres his lips to the side of your neck, just so that he isn’t missing out on the action. ‘Love my fingers touching you like that, don’t you baby?’ He teases, lusting after the feeling of your hot clit easily skimming against his fingertips. He doesn’t just kiss your neck though, he bites and sucks it, each time pulling away to see how much darker he has the purple roses blooming on your flesh.

He likes it that he’s the one who’s now making you whine, not Matt, so grins deviously into your neck.

All of you know the agreement. Matt and Chris are supposed to share you, but sometimes each one of them can’t help but want you to themselves. And sometimes they do take you for themselves. Matt had you in the shower last week, and Chris had you in the coat cupboard the other day. But the catch is that they do it secretly - behind each other’s backs - not that you mind. It just means that you get more out of the deal than them. So you just don’t tell them.

The three of you know that this is a toxic relationship you share, and a toxic cycle at that… but you’re all addicts, and you can’t help but crawl back to each other after every single time you give into these frivolous sexual desires.

Chris is a selfish fuck, but Matt is an obsessive one. Both of them are possessive, and whenever you three are together it is a constant competition to see which one of them can make you cry harder, moan louder, cum quicker. They can’t help but be competitive when around you, because they want to feel like their cock pleases you more, stretches you out thicker and fills you up the most.

With that being said, as you moan softly into Matt’s face, he’s envious that your lips get lazy and languid with their kissing motions. I mean… you’re barely even trying to make out with him anymore, and it’s all Chris’ fault. So he fixes that by scooping his cupped hands underneath your armpits in the heat of his jealous moment.

He always has a couple of those when you three fuck together.

He detaches you from his mouth and lifts you high up enough to be thrown over Chris’ thigh and into the centre of the bed. This therefore also rips Chris away from you and he huffs in annoyance when Matt clambers over him to get to your body.

You lie in the centre of the bed in helplessness, your cheeks an embarrassed red and your thighs shyly clamped together in modesty because of the way Chris and Matt look at you. They devour you with their eyes… their pupils peeling apart each section of your skin and feasting on it. And you just know that when they’re done with using you, they’re going to be licking their sticky fingers clean of your honeyed mess.

‘Fuck, look at you, all wet and needy for us. You’re so pretty…’ Matt muses whilst admiring you before he’s bending his torso over and peeling his cropped blue shirt from off of his back. This reveals his smooth skin, and now he matches Chris in attire, until Chris sees that he’s evened the odds and decides to take off his sweats so that now he’s only in his underwear.

You blink and place your palm over your eyes in humiliation. ‘Stop’ you whine slightly at his praise, and it makes it even worse when Chris decides to join in too. ‘You greedy baby… wanting both of our cocks at the same time, you’re such a little cum slut aren’t you? Naughty girl. What’re we gonna do with her Matt?’.

Chris smirks as he looks over to a Matt that has to purse his own lips together to suppress his grin, his chest rising and falling as he debates on how they’re going to take you today.

There’s a moment of silence before Matt presumably has an idea.

‘Go get one of your bandanas Chris…’ he requests, nodding his head towards one of the shelves in the room that had Chris’ various bandanas draped over the top of it. You swallow nervously as Chris catches onto Matt’s idea. With a cheeky glint in his eyes he withdraws from the bed, ‘sure thing Matt…’.

Matt watches him for a second before turning his attention back to you as he fumbles with his Diesel belt buckle. You watch attentively as his spindly fingers wrap around the clanging metal, the leather expertly being pulled through the clasp. Then he’s opening it and slowly sliding it out from his belt loops. The agonising pace is to tease you, of course, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

‘I haven’t stopped thinking about using this on you since the last time it happened’ Matt reminisces, and it takes you back to that one time you three had been fooling around, and Chris and Matt had used their belts on you. One belt had been tied to a wrist and an ankle each. This had spread you open and allowed them to fuck you from behind, as they took turns to hitch your hips up and keep you still for them.

‘Can I do it again baby, will you let me tie you up? Please… it’ll be so pretty I promise’ he begs whilst the floorboards creak under Chris’ footsteps. His black bandana is slung in his right hand lazily as he makes his way back to the bed, just in time for you to give in and nod with agreement.

‘Whatever you want Matt.’ You mumble submissively with a little seductive smile. It drives him fucking feral to the point of insanity when you do that, he had only had his lips on you just minutes ago but now he wanted to do it all over again.

His mouth waters for your sweetness, your pre-come, the wetness leaking from your folds that he creates with his tongue.

You squirm about to position yourself on your knees, before leaning up and arching your back. You bury your face into the pillows at the top of the bed and give Matt an eye-full of your pulsating core whilst you lift your wrists to rest them together on your tailbone.

Matt’s cock is so fucking hard and so fucking sore, he’s definitely saturated under all of his layers, just as he’s sure Chris is too, because he also gawks at you and licks his lips when Matt shuffles up to your behind. From there, he loops his belt around your flimsy wrists. You hiss slightly when he knots it tightly, his biceps flexing and his nose scrunching. Simultaneously, Chris decides to shuffle up towards your head.

‘Look up for me a sec baby’ he demands you softly by patting your hair, and you do as your told, only to immediately have your vision obscured when Chris forces the bandana over your face and onto your eyes. You twist your head helplessly and whine a little when Matt forces your hips downwards into the mattress.

Your stomach roughly hits the mattress at his manhandling and your legs give out underneath you.

‘Turn around for us honey’. It’s Chris speaking again, you recognise the tone of his voice so you try to look in the general direction of it but to no avail. You wriggle around with great difficulty what with having your wrists restrained behind your back, and as you do, you also hear the small sound of Matt’s zipper scratching against the seam of his jeans. He’s taking them off.

‘W-what are you gonna do to me?’ You mumble nervously, now sitting on your ass with your legs crossed awkwardly so that you aren’t completely spread out and on display in front of them. Something about having a blindfold on and having your sense of sight completely eliminated made you jittery, especially when you couldn’t tell who’s cold hand was playfully skimming up your bare thigh.

‘We’re gonna play a little game, aren’t we Chris?’ Matt speaks, his voice nearest to you ear, so you assume that he’s the one who has just trailed his hand up your skin.

‘What kind of game?’ You swallow nervously, trying your best to look up at Matt, but you no longer feel his warm presence beside you and so you furrow your eyebrows underneath the bandana.

‘Simple. You try and guess who it is that’s touching you. You guess correctly you can have your orgasm, you don’t… we’re allowed to edge you’ Matt explains, before clarifying with an ‘s’that fair princess, hm?’.

The princess name has you blushing. You love it when Matt calls you princess.

After fucking them a couple of times, you realised each one had different tastes. Chris seemed to like degradations, and using methods of ownership to get you to your high, he liked things rough and fast and even sometimes couldn’t help his wandering hands that frequently reached out to playfully slap your thighs or face whilst he buried himself inside of you.

Matt was vastly different, he took the very definition of the word ‘praise’ and ran with it. He was all about the idea of feminine pleasure, and preferred to help you reach your high with words of affirmation and sugary sweet pet names. He liked things slow, sensual, intimate… and sometimes even lazy. Sloppiness and saliva was key whether it be him waking you up in the morning with his mouth on you or him fuck you in the simply position of missionary. He always wanted eye-contact.

Chris fucking lusted dominating you, it didn’t matter how, he just chased that possession of control. Matt wanted to establish connections and soak in physical touches. Which is why you liked having both of them, because it introduced an interesting dynamic to your experimentations. You liked having two people with completely different kinks because in the end they would always come together and use them both on you simultaneously.

The proposition seems easy enough to you, considering the fact that you know both of their bodies like the back of your hand, so you agree, simply just desperate for an orgasm now seeing as Matt had pulled away from your core right before he could give you one earlier.

What you don’t know however, is that Matt and Chris had anticipated this. And so had mutually agreed before this rendezvous that they would completely switch up their tactics to mirror the other one’s sexual habits.

You lie there statically on the bed patiently waiting for someone to viciously attack you with their onslaught of tongues, and soon someone does.

Matt makes eye contact with Chris and nods his head towards you, signalling that he wants to go first. Chris grins and decides to lie down on the other side of the bed whilst Matt crawls up to your awaiting body. He twists his head to look over at the two of you and bites his lip when Matt roughly wrestles you back around and onto your knees. Your breath hitches a little because you’re not expecting it and you almost fall back over trying to balance.

Matt roughly flattens his palm in between your shoulder blades and forces your front downwards so your tits and left cheek are pressed into the duvet cover. Matt uses his knee to kick out your thighs and spread them for him whilst he smooths his hands against your hips. Just as Chris would usually do.

Whilst this is going on, Chris throbs and watches with drool almost falling from his mouth. Matt takes his underwear off and very quickly is able to slide himself into your plushness. The cry you expel is muffled with the soft fabric of the sheets on the bed as his cock stretches you out unexpectedly. Everything feels wet and hot as his prick throbs inside of you before he starts to rock his hips roughly.

Chris can’t help but bury his own hand beneath his underwear to stroke himself whilst he admires the way you get fucked in his favourite position. He loves the way that your hips always swivel and the way your back always arches, even when it’s not him who’s fucking you, it just looks so hypnotic, and he loves watching it happen.

Matt smirks down at you, panting as his hips snap up to hit against your ass rhythmically. Your moans are still quietened but they do a great job at getting both Matt and Chris worked up.

And as much as he hates to admit it, Matt likes this oppertunity to be rough with you in front of Chris, because he knows how jealous Chris gets when he sees him fucking you how he normally likes to fuck you.

Matt then suddenly reaches one of his hands forward to greedily take a fistful of your hair and yank on it, lifting your head up a little and allowing you to now groan into the air. Chris has to roll his eyes back into his head and close them at this, just to suppress the moans he wants to shout, because if he gave in to his temptations it would ruin the game. And he doesn’t want to miss out on his turn to do a better job than Matt.

You feel flurries of pleasure rippling past your thighs after every time Matt’s cock returns and hits the right spot. With your hair pulled back, your voice strains at the awkward angle your neck is tilted at, but you blurt out a laboured ‘C-Chris, it’s Chris isn’t it?’ when your build up starts to get more intense. Matt and Chris stop what they’re doing to grin maliciously at each other, they knew you’d fall for this idea of theirs.

Matt turns back to you, before slowing his thrusts with a ‘guess again sweetheart’ cockily singsonging from his mouth. He’s smug with it as he pulls his cock out of you completely before slapping your ass in playfulness whilst your shoulders deflate.

‘What…?’ You breathe in delirious confusion, so sure that it was Chris because he usually liked to fuck you that way. Guess you were mistaken. But now you’re pouty because that’s the second time you’ve been denied an orgasm. You huff in annoyance whilst Chris giggles. ‘God, are we gonna have to gag you as well? S’that the only thing that’ll keep you quiet? Wonder what the neighbours think…?’.

You bury your head back into the mattress in embarrassment, not being able to help your sensuous sounds. Your cheeks turn pink at Chris’ insult. ‘I’m sorry… I can’t help how good you make me feel’ you mumble, trying to retaliate his harsh words with flattery. Chris likes to have his ego stroked, it comes hand in hand with his ownership kink, he likes to hear how good he makes you feel, so you manipulate that to your advantage to soften his exterior. Chris and Matt make eye contact with each other, knowing what kind of game you’re trying to play with them, so Matt gestures for Chris to have his turn.

You again, sit and wait for someone else to pounce, now in a more conflicted mood than before, knowing that both Chris and Matt are going to make this a lot harder than you first anticipated.

It’s not long before Chris can’t contain himself anymore and he’s practically sprawling over to you with a yearning to finally have your cunt to himself.

He makes sure you have your back fully pressed to the mattress with your cuffed wrists wedged uncomfortably between your back and the sheets. He moves in between your spread thighs, squeezing his hands down the backs of them whilst he opens you up before painting the tip of his red cock right over your throbbing clit.

Your head throws itself back when Chris feeds himself into you, going slowly to make sure you can adjust before he starts to rock his hips, his cock wetly slipping in and out of your already used hole. His figure soon looms over so that his face can nuzzle into your tits, spitting on your nipples and then passing his tongue over them, strings of saliva connecting his lips to your flushed skin. The constant rocking motion is almost too much for you, and you nearly cum by accident, but you hold back.

Instead of cumming though, you yelp instead because suddenly Chris takes one of your nipples into his mouth, only to bite at it harshly. Tears spring into your eyes, too focused on the pleasure and the pain to figure out who the fuck this could be. It could be Chris… but it also could be Matt going again… trying to trick you.

Chris pulls away, only to tip his chin up and look past your head at a Matt that sits and watches the two of you with his lips set into a dissatisfied line, seething with jealousy even though Chris and him had agreed to work together.

He can’t stand sharing you sometimes, and it’s just agony to watch Chris touch something that should be his.

Chris looks directly at him with a challenging gaze once again, a panting smirk on his stupid fucking face after every time he grinds himself forward and elicits a strangle breath from you. ‘Fuck, it hurts…’ you whine breathlessly, your sensitivity so overwhelming after being stretched out by two different cocks. But Chris decides to smooth his hand over your mouth and utter a possessive ‘shh… baby, I know… I know’ gently into your ear as he uses his other hand to stroke gentle circles over your hipbone.

Chris couldn’t help it. He let his voice slip, and that gave you exactly what you needed to guess correctly this time. And thankfully you guess right with a panting ‘Chris! It’s Chris!!’ right up onto the seal of his sweaty hand.

You don’t think you would have been able to suffer through another round of this torture so you are relieved when Chris slips his bandana from off of your head. He grins down at you at throws the forgotten fabric to the floor.

‘Hi sweet girl…’ he coos down to you, still moving his hips up and loving the way your little face screws up cutely in pleasured suspense after every thrust.

He smiles down at you but the moment is rudely interrupted by a Matt that grunts ‘alright that’s enough’ as he moves up to the both of you. He doesn’t want to give Chris the satisfaction of being the only one who’s able to get you off, or the delight of being the one who’s able to cum all over you. ‘I want her gut, you had it last time, s’only fair’ he barks at Chris, and gives his shoulder a brotherly shove to which Chris begrudgingly complies with a roll to his eyes and a subdued sigh.

Even though you love having both of them at the same time, you’ll admit it gets a little irritating when they constantly quarrel over who gets to finish where, especially when you’ve been edged about three times now this time.

‘Guys… p-please can you just let me cum? I don’t fucking care how you do it, just- please!’ You whine like a petulant child, knowing that if they see you’re desperate for them, they’ll listen to you.

‘Fuck, sorry baby. We’re sorry, sweetheart’ Matt immediately dotes upon you by profusely apologising, before coming up to you and spreading his hands over you hips so that he can flip your body over and onto your knees for the last time. ‘Shh, shh, c’mere baby’ he continues as he once again comes up behind you and stuffs you full of his cock. You moan, this time in aggravated pain at how long your aching walls have had to wait whilst Matt uses his quick fingers to finally untie your wrists, his belt loosening ever so slightly before it slides off completely and you can put your arms back onto the mattress.

This allows you to lean up onto your hands whilst Matt starts moving. You come face to face with Chris’ cock and look up between your eyelashes to see the way he smirks down at you hungrily.

‘Go on then pretty, I know how much you like giving me head…’.

You roll your eyes with a glare before succumbing and sliding his perfect thickness right past your teeth, already accustomed to his size because of how much he loves to have you suck him off.

Whilst you work yourself against Chris’ thick skin, you struggle not to choke on him as he starts to teasingly thrust into your face. This pushes himself further down your tight throat. Chris shivers and arches his back, Matt slipping his finger down to your clit so that he can rub it as he finishes you off.

‘Can- can I cum down your throat?’ Chris utters through a groan, asking for your permission to finish.

You nod sweetly and let him, which he does. His cum seeps out stickily from his head and making its way into your mouth almost on command. You suck him a little more to get rid of everything he has before he slaps your cheek a little at his overstimulation. ‘F-fuck- that’s enough baby!’. He carefully slides himself out and watches Matt help you to your own high.

Your neck crooks as you throw your jaw back when Matt continually ruts his hips into you throughout your intensive orgasm.

After you become spent and just as sensitive as Chris, you whine for him to stop, so he pulls out and strokes himself until he too finishes all over your ass, his sticky cum sliding down your hot skin.

All three of you collapse onto the bed in a panting sweaty mess. You lie there and look at Chris who smirks back at you, before casually reaching for his phone and putting in his passcode like nothing had even happened before hand.

Matt reaches out his hand to affectionately trace circles over your back before he’s shuffling around behind you. The bed creaks as he gets up. He leans over you to kiss in between your shoulders blades before mumbling ‘I’ll go get a cloth’ to both you and Chris.

As he walks away, Chris glances down at you, deciding to thread his fingers through your hair and stroke it absentmindedly whilst he clears his throat and quickly shoots a random text to one of his friends.

Both of you melt into the mattress in relaxation, Chris’ fingers scratching your scalp just enough to lull you to sleep after your exhausting escapade with the both of them.

You know you guys should probably stop this. But you can’t. It’s just so addictive… so much so that you think it’s fair enough to title all of you a dirty little monster for enjoying such a filthy fucking thing…

Author’s notes p.2: I’m writing whole ass novels, fuck me bro. Technically the song I used is an unreleased Harry Styles song so only the real ones know how it goes teehee. But anyways, this was literally like- Skye Teller but the 18+ version lol. I lowkey felt so much pressure writing this bc so many people have been fangirling about it, so hopefully (with a little bit of luck) I didn’t disappoint you lovely readers who I love so much for giving my silly little stories attention :). As always, request / ask whatever u want thirsty hoes!!! Until next time 🎀

Taglist: @lovingmattysposts @luvmila444 @luverboychris @luv4kozume @strniohoeee @sturniolosreads @thesturniolos @vecnasnose0 @meanttomeet @ellie-luvsfics @matthemunch @mattsleftnipple03 @robins-scoop @asturniolos @imwetforyourmom @sturnioloenthusiast @breeloveschris @kvtie444 @rootbeerworshiper @strawberrysturniolo @chr1sgirl4life @hrt-attack @gigisworldsstuff @stargirlsturniololover @imlidewwallyhittingdagwiddy @sturniololoverr @jahlisa22 @bernardsgf @luvasr @meg-sturniolo @blahbel668 @liz-stxrn @sturnreblog @ratatioulle @isabellehoran @carolsturns1 @1800chokedathoe @sturnsmadl @sturniolossmut @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattswifey00 @sturniolowhore @skadltmf @sturniolosstar @luvsturns @chrizznmetswife @i-heart-mattsturniolo @lovergirl4387 @sophie21153-blog

#sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #threes0me #sub matt sturniolo #mommy k!nk #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader

[chosocutegf]

band au!Choso x fem!reader

cw: smut towards the end

(my other fic about band au!Choso)

bassist!Choso who has tattoos, piercings, smokes and wears all black so anyone who sees him for the first time is immediately scared of him. He goes around not giving a fuck about anyone, and doesn’t look at anyone in the eyes, even if they are trying to have a conversation with him.

bassist!Choso who only cares about his music and his band. Anyone who sees him on the stage can say that he is really in love with what he is doing and his instrument, it’s like he gets sucked in from it anytime he takes it in his hands. He has a lot of fans who always try to get his attention, but he dismisses them the moment they approach him.

bassist!Choso that when he plays, his gaze is mostly on his bass and his head nods in time with the notes he is playing. Even when he has to sing the chorus, his gaze is distant or his eyes are closed. No one will catch him smiling at anyone, but rest assured, that whenever he is playing, a little smirk is on his face.

bassist!Choso who never looks up from his instrument and never looks at the audience, you start to assume that he is there just from the music and doesn’t really care about who is in front of him. You are mesmerised from the way his slender fingers move over the four strings, fast as lightning. So when you’re entranced watching him, he finally looks up and it feels like the world just turned upside down.

bassist!Choso who actually misses a note when he sees you for the first time in the front row; no one noticed but he did, and he can’t help but furrow his brows and immediately look away. He is angry at himself for making a mistake in that very moment, while the most beautiful girl is looking at him. On the other side, you think he was disgusted by you from his reaction, so you’re quick to look away, your smile fading.

bassist!Choso who can’t seem to forget you and is confused because now a part of his brain isn’t occupied anymore by his music and his bass, but you. He tries to ignore whatever is that he is feeling, but his eyes widen when he sees you at a local pub another day, exactly the same day he is playing with his band. He wonders if you are there to see one of his band mates.

bassist!Choso who is teased from his band members because he looks distracted and he has never been that way. He is always in his own world, listening to music or playing his bass, even in his breaks between concerts. So when they see a hint of interest on his face that isn’t for music, they understand that something happened.

bassist!Choso who notices you again in the first row for the third time and when he sees you observing his fingers instead of the main singer, he thinks you are checking the way he plays because you remember the mistake he did the first time. He is naive, and doesn’t think that you are looking at him because you’re attracted to him.

bassist!Choso who thinks about you the moment he gets off stage, wondering how can a girl be so beautiful. He freezes on his spot the moment he sees you backstage, laughing softly at what one of his bandmates said. He is even more shocked to discover that you’re a friend of them, and that’s why you are usually at the concerts. He finds out that you've been going to see them play for some time already, and he is stunned when he realizes that you have seen him play more times than he thought.

bassist!Choso who is now looking forward to the next concert because he knows you’ll be there. Everyone is shocked when they see him waving at you, and actually giving attention to someone outside his instrument.

bassist!Choso who tries to ignore his band mates teasing him about you, because they understood that something is different when it comes to you. Choso denies everything, and walks away from them just in time to hide his ears getting red.

bassist!Choso who doesn’t understand what he is feeling when he gets down the stage and sees you talking and laughing again with his band mate aka your friend. His stomach tightens while he suddenly feels insecure about himself. He stares at the two of you until you turn to him, feeling his gaze on you. He walks away before you can get to him, suddenly angry at himself for thinking that he could ever be with a girl like you. On the outside, it seems like he is trying to avoid you, his usually aloof expression changed into something like disgust.

bassist!Choso who gets home and doesn’t understand why his cock is hard. He was still angry at himself, but mostly he couldn’t stop thinking about you and wishing that he was the one you were smiling at like that. He touches himself while thinking about you, your smile, your laugh and the way you looked in that little dress.

bassist!Choso who is stunned the next time you go to one of his band’s concert and sees you walking towards him shyly while smiling. He is quiet as he observes you, feeling his mind short-circuit when you look up at him with your soft eyes and realises that’s the first time you two are alone together. You notice his cheeks having a pinkish shade, not knowing that it’s because he can’t stop imagining having you under him, in less formal circumstances.

“Hi,” you say with your soft voice, smiling widely at Choso. His eyes widen and he doesn’t know how to answer you. He is lost thinking that your voice is the most beautiful melody he has ever heard. “Hey,” he mutters, blinking; his voice is low and husky, and you can’t help but recognise that there is a hint of softness in it. “So… uhm, I was wondering if one of these days… maybe, and only if you can of course, you wanted to go have a coffee… with me,” you mumble, your eyes looking around the room and careful to never meet his indifferent ones, while your voice lowers as you go on with the sentence, getting more and more insecure.

Choso’s eyes widens even more at your question, because… are you really asking him out on a date? The sweetest girl ever? He only cared about his band and bass, but in that moment he thought that you would soon get on top of all that.

bassist!Choso who you discover is actually the shyest guy on the earth, and his aloof attitude is because of it. He is actually very thoughtful and intelligent and loves to talk about his passion about music, but will also listen attentively when you talk about your things. He actually thinks that he would rather hear you talk about your life than him tell you about his music.

bassist!Choso who always teases you, loving the reactions he can get out of you. He does all those things that clearly show that he is in love with you: he ruffles your hair, squeezes your thighs, jokes with you etc… You’re both obvious of your feelings, but everyone outside understands that there is something going on between you two.

bassist!Choso who does anything to impress you and always gets so excited when he sees you in the crowd, happily cheering for him in the front row. Everyone is impressed by how he seems to be more daring, going around the stage when he can and doesn’t keep his gaze fixed on his bass anymore but rather on you.

bassist!Choso who confesses his feeling for you through a song. You see him finally smiling on the stage, and he is actually very nervous to do this in front of everyone. However, he can’t hold back anymore, so he makes sure that when he sings those words, your gazes are fixed on each other.

“Even if

you left me out here stranded

my feelings wouldn’t change a bit

You know how I feel, baby

Infinite

The love I have for you, a diamond couldn’t put a dent in it”

bassist!Choso who runs to you the moment he gets down the stage, ignoring everyone else when he knows that you’re waiting for him backstage. Your heart is beating so fast that you are scared that he might hear it when he hugs you and holds you tightly against him.

“You were really good out there,” you tease him, pulling back from his embrace. A little grin tugs at the corner of his lips and his brows rise, “yeah? Did you also like how I confessed my feelings for you?”. Your breath hitches at his confirmation, and you can swear that your heart is going to give out before a nervous chuckle leaves your lips and you talk, “especially that moment… you stole the words from my mouth”.

You’ve never seen him smile so broadly after your words, but you’re interrupted gaping when he kisses you. His band mates gasp when they see it, before screaming and cheering for you two.

bassist!Choso who is the sweetest boyfriend you could ever imagine. From the outside, he looks like a bad guy with all his piercings and tattoos, but in reality he is just a silly guy and a nerd for music. He loves to see you in the crowd during his concerts, looking at him. But he loves even more when he finally gets you on his bed, laying naked on your back while he fucks you.

bassist!Choso who fucks you slow and nice, dragging his big cock inside you lazily, making you feel every inch of him and his veins. His swollen tip always hits your sweet spot making you let out those precious little moans that he knows he will put in a song so everyone can hear the sweet melody that you are.

bassist!Choso who teases you on purpose when he is practicing with his bass, knowing that you love when his fingers nonchalantly move on the four strings. He makes it even harder for you when he makes sure to not wear a t-shirt, so you can see his toned chest and strong arms, his muscles flexing as he moves his fingers on the instrument.

“Cho,” you whine, squirming on your seat, and feeling the waves of the bass hit your core. Your boyfriend glances up at you with a mock innocent expression, and you almost faint when he continues playing even if his gaze is on you, “what, princess?”.

You pout slightly and crawl closer to him, nuzzling against his shoulder before cupping his cheek and pecking his lips, “stop teasing me,” you murmur, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. He raises his brows casually but he can’t hold back the grin that spreads on his lips, “doing what?”. You roll your eyes at his words, and you’re quick to move his hands away from his bass, putting them on your body, making sure that he gives all the attention you deserve and not to that stupid instrument.

bassist!Choso who knows how to use his fingers in the proper way. He always makes sure to make you cum on them at least twice before doing anything else. He likes to prep you for his cock, because he knows he is big and you can’t fit him if your pussy isn’t properly stretched.

bassist!Choso who loves to see you with his bass, trying to learn how to play it. He teaches you, placing your fingers the right way, his bigger ones caressing your skin. His special way to teach you is to sit behind you, his fingers playing with your sweet pussy while he guides you with his voice, clicking his tongue when you almost drop his instrument.

bassist!Choso who scares anyone but you. And he still doesn’t give a fuck about anyone else, but you make the exception. He only cares about his music and his band… and you, only you.

i’m probably gonna make a part 2 because this wasn’t enough and i barely scratched the surface (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

(thanks Tyler The Creator for the lyrics)

(m.list)

#choso #jjk #choso x reader #jjk x reader #choso smut #choso kamo #choso fluff #choso x female reader #choso x y/n #jjk choso #choso jjk #choso x you #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x chubby reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x plus size reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #.band!au choso ᯓ★ #𐙚

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part one

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

status: completed

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 1.1k

The thing was, you didn’t plan on getting laid tonight. 

After a couple of days trying to settle in at Barcelona and looking for your lost luggage, all you wanted to do was to finally start your vacation. You just wanted to relax and experiencing the night life in Barcelona was definitely a good way to officially kick it off. 

So there you were at the bar of an (apparently) exclusive night club in the city–the location was emailed to you by Derek with a VIP pass and a note that said, ‘have fun ;)’–nursing your second, half-empty glass of mojito, the speakers blasting rhythmic reggaeton music, when a woman slid into the space next to you, cool and confident with the way she leaned on her elbows against the counter as she gave the bartender her order in smooth spanish, “A gin rickey, please.”

The woman looked to be several years older than you–and taller, too, even with your heels on–and maybe it was the alcohol or the proximity but there was no stopping yourself from openly admiring her. Her black, cropped top and her tight, high-rise pants revealed perfectly broad shoulders and toned arms, as well as the taught lines of her stomach. When your eyes travelled back to her face, you found her looking at you with a raised brow and immediately, your cheeks warmed. The fact that you were gawking shamelessly and got caught doing so… just wow.

Words of apology were already on your tongue but the curves of her lips were mesmerising, the elegant slope of her brows distracting, and those eyes… the depth in them threatened to drown you that all coherent thought deserted you. 

“Wow,” you breathed out.

“Excuse me?” Came the bemused question, an instant slap to the face that sobered you up immediately. 

“I’m so–I’m sorry, that’s what I meant to say. I’m–” You palmed a hand over your face as you began but a small chuckle stopped you halfway. You risked a peek through your fingers and saw the woman with her lips to the glass, something akin to a teasing smirk on her face while she remained leaning on the counter by her hip. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The woman asked as she took a sip from her drink.

Not really the question you were expecting but you’d rather take a reprieve over a disaster. And at that, you smiled sheepishly at her. “Is it that obvious?”

“Hmm, no, not really. Your slight accent gave you away but your Spanish is impressive.”

“I’m still working on losing it but I’ll take that as a win. I’m assuming you’re from around here?”

“My home town is about an hour away outside of the city but I stay here most of the time for work.”

“That must be nice, being close to home.” Feeling more at ease now, you sipped at your drink. The woman did the same. Then you continued. “So, what do you do?”

For a moment there was nothing but music and chatter as the woman regarded you with an unreadable expression. Her eyes glinted–with what exactly? curiosity?–her head cocked slightly to the side. Then she sipped at her drink again. Did you say something offensive? you wondered.

“I work between the sport stadiums. And you? Where is home and what brings you to Barcelona?” 

It was clear from the vagueness of her answer that the stranger didn’t want to talk about her job and it didn’t help your growing interest for her. You wanted to ask her about further details but the dismissive tone with which she answered made you hold your tongue and her question, anyway, made you pause as you pondered to answer.

As an orphan who lived a few years in the system, the subject of where home was had always been a sore spot for you even if the stranger didn’t mean anything deeper by it. In some sense, your adoptive mom was home but there was always a part of you that longed for… something.  But, of course, you couldn’t bring that up right now especially to someone you just met. So you just told her where you were from, that you were on vacation, and that you work as a photojournalist for a press agency you helped establish. Something in your answer must had piqued the woman’s interest because her brows shot up.

“Which branch do you work in?”

“Spot news. But I’ve been meaning to expand my portfolio and get into another branch. Maybe try sports or portrait?”

The woman hummed in appreciation. “Any sports in particular? Wait, do you even like sports?”

“I honestly know close to nothing so I haven’t made a decision yet, but it will definitely be women’s sports,” you replied. She nodded and sipped at her drink again, never breaking her gaze from yours and you felt your cheeks warm again. Those eyes… they were dangerous; they lit up every nerve in your body and it felt good. You continued. “What about you? Are you much of a sports person?”

And to your total bafflement, the woman beamed at you, radiant and glowing, dimples in her cheeks as mirth shone in her eyes.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous and at somewhat of a loss. 

The stranger let out a small chuckle, shook her head slightly as she rubbed the bridge of her nose, an attempt to hide her smile. “Nothing, nothing. And yeah, I’m a big sports fan. Then a beat passed before she continued, “you ever thought of covering women’s football? There are plenty of matches happening in the domestic leagues right now.”

“Maybe I will,” you hummed, mulling it over. It sounded good actually. And then you asked, “what else do you suggest for someone to do in Barcelona?”

The woman downed her remaining drink and placed the empty glass on the counter. Before you knew it, you could feel the warmth of her breath against your ear and you shivered when she purred. “Dance, of course.”And then she was holding your hand, pulling you off of the stool you were on, and began dragging you to the direction of the dance floor. 

All at once, warmth encompassed you: the crowd immediately swallowed you both, bodies pressed on you but the heat that emanated from the woman before you was the sole beacon for your attention. She had a loose arm around your waist and as the both of you danced to the music, you took that opportunity to wrap your arms around her neck and pulled her closer. She slowed down and she still had enough height on you that she had to lower her head.

“I never caught your name,” you spoke into her ear. 

“I’m Ale,” she replied. She pulled back to smile down at you. And then, she kissed you. 

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: meant to be a oneshot but im posting it as parts now 🥲 ill combine everything once i finish and post it on ao3 #meanwhile will reblog this to post future parts thats why the drop down is there ahahah #apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

[whore4abby]

cookies; dbf!abby anderson

part one part two

warnings; almost smut?? - older!abby (refers to herself as mama once), ass + tit grabbing, tiny mention of nipple play, mdni

wc; 1.2k

a soft knock at the front door startles you out of you thoughts. you glances at the time on your phone, realising it was a little too early for your dad to be home. you set down the bowl you were mixing cookie dough in and walk towards the front door, your curiosity piqued. you instantly recognise the tall figure on the opposite side of the frosted glass and your eyes widen slightly, you freeze for a second before gaining the confidence to actually open the door.

you open the door and abby stands there leaning against the doorway, her broad shoulders almost touching each side of the frame. “hey kid….your dad home…?” she asks, looking past you into the rest of the house, as if looking for movement in the house.

“not yet….” you shake your head, feeling a little awkward as you fidget with your hands, pressing your glossy lips together. you stare at her in awe and after what feels like an eternity, you regain your composure and find the courage to speak. “oh…uhm, you wanna come in…?” you step aside a little and swing the door open further to invite her in.

abby steps over the threshold and into the house, wiping her boots off on the doormat. you practically gawk at her, her huge biceps straining against her t-shirt and making your mouth water and you quickly look away once she makes eye contact. abby smirks to herself, following you into the kitchen.

“you’re making cookies….?” she laughs softly as she notices the mess of a kitchen, utensils strews across the counters and dirty dishes filling the sink. you laugh awkwardly and nod as you pick up the wooden spoon again and finish mixing the cookie dough up. “mhm….baking calms me down i guess….”

she smiles and reaches over to take the spoon from your hand, her calloused fingertips brushing against yours. she maintains eye contact as she lifts it up to your mouth. struggling to keep a straight face as she watches your eyes widen, finding your nervousness a little endearing. “cmon….open up sweetheart~“

abby’s playful teasing seems to have an effect on you as you become hyper-aware of every little movement you make, slowly parting your lips and eating the sweet cookie dough from the spoon, trying hard to stay focused as you watch her gaze drop to your lips.

abby looks down at you in amusement, enjoying this little moment of intimacy that you both seem to be sharing. she lets the spoon fall out of her hand and back onto the countertop, landing with a subtle thud. “you just gonna stand there? those cookies won’t bake themselves…” she looks at you seductively as she speaks in a tone that is both sweet but suggestive. it’s clear that she has something else on her mind.

you snap out of your your momentary trance, your eyes refocus on the glass bowl placed before you, filled with the golden, saccharine mixture. having trouble focusing on the task of shaping the dough, abby notices the look of cluelessness on your face and chuckles lightly before leaning closer to you. “here… let mama do it~”

abby takes the bowl of cookie dough from you. she starts to roll up balls of the cookie dough and places them onto the tray. the contrast between her rough hands and the delicate dough is almost mesmerising. as her wrists flex, you find yourself distracted by the thick, pronounced veins that run up the back of her hands all the way to her elbows. they’re thick and bulging, a sight that almost has you drooling. you can’t help but be in awe of her as your eyes are glued onto her the entire time - it makes you curious as to what else she may be able to do with those hands…

once the whole tray is filled up with the even shaped cookies, abby passes you the baking sheet and stands behind you, placing her hands on your elbows and guiding you to slide the sheet of cookies into the awaiting oven, knowing that soon the sweet smell of homemade goodness will fill the kitchen. “atta girl…~”

once its been placed inside, she shuts the door and reaches over to set the timer for you. abby decides to stop teasing you and she walks over to the table and takes a seat in one of the white wooden chairs, keeping her eye on you the whole time as you start to clean the dirty dishes. her eyes begin to wander down to the curve of your ass as you stretch across the sink to grab the dish soap. the clinking sound of dishes being washed echoes in the room, with the occasional splash of soapy water.

you finish up cleaning the dishes and dry off your hands, feeling a sense of accomplishment as you see the sparkling dishes sat on the drying rack. turning away, you jump slightly as abby had somehow snuck up on you without you realising. “oh…! abs, you scared me….” you giggle breathlessly.

abby chuckles playfully as she spins you around and brings you closer to her by placing her arms around your waist. her strong muscular arms completely encircle you, providing you with a sense of complete infatuation as you look up at her dreamily.

“m’sorry sweet girl…~” abby mutters as she gently brushes your hair back from your face, caressing your soft cheek with her thumb. you freeze as you suddenly realize what's about happen and before you can even react, her hands move to cup your face tenderly as she gives you deep and long kisses, your tongues mixing and exploring each others mouths hungrily. her teeth sink into your bottom lip faintly, causing an involuntary whimper to bubble up from your throat.

abby softly and passionately continues to kiss your lips, her rough hands roaming down to your ass and gripping it firmly. she hoists you up effortlessly and places you on the counter, you shiver as your shorts ride up and the backs of your bare thighs make contact with the cold marble.

“abby….mmm fuck….~” you voice comes out as an airy whisper, tilting your head back as she begins to plant wet kisses across your delicate neck. her muscles flexing as she roughly squeezes at your bra-less tits through your shirt. her thumbs expertly caressing your nipples, the friction from the thin cotton causing them to harden even more as you arch your back and whimper in desperation.

abby softly runs her tongue across your neck. her strong tongue continues to explore every part of your neck and her warm breath against your skin causes you to shiver. “good girl….” abby purrs in your ear, her rough voice making you gasp. her hands slowly start to slide down to your ass and start to rub against the juicy flesh.

just then, the oven timer goes off. abby pulls away, a wicked grin on her face. she straightens back up and moves towards the oven, but not before giving you a rough kiss on the lips, her fingers squishing into your cheeks almost painfully.

and so she leaves you there on the counter, your hair dishevelled and your lips still wet from her passionate kisses. you take a moment to gather yourself, panting and feeling a mixture of confusion, desire, and disbelief….and wondering what the fuck just happened.

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ⋆.ೃ࿔myfics⌨️ #tlou abby #abby tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby x you #abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #abby x reader #tlou

[leejenowrld]

putting pretty makeup on jeno while sitting on his lap and he’s just letting you do whatever you want with him while he looks at you like 🥺. once you’re done he looks so babygirl since he’s just (.◜◡◝) and you can’t take it, so you have a cuteness aggression moment and just squeeze and hug him so tight while giving him compliments and he’s laughing at you. you give him lots of smooches and kisses which turn out into a makeout session hehe

oh this has me weak. is it ok if i change it a bit? at first i thought it read “putting makeup on and sitting on jeno’s lap” so i wrote it like that before knowing 😭

at first when jeno pulls you onto his lap you’re like ?? you know that he’s gonna distract you, you don’t have long to get ready for this date and you wanna look as pretty and as beautiful as you can for him. his arms hold you tight and he’s just resting his head against the crook of your neck, smiling and breathing you in, whispering about how pretty you look and how you’re his girl.

he watches you with fascination, the concentration in your face as you skilfully apply all your products. he’s so mesmerised. he helps you out a bit by brushing and straightening your hair for you, his hands working to smooth out any kinks and making it as perfect as possible.

he was a distraction. kissing and smooching you every few seconds, you could feel his hardness beneath you. so what do you do? you turn around in his grip and start passionately making out with him, dry humping, messy wet tongues, heavy breathing and moaning. your grip on his face rough as his come winding in your hair, messing up what he’s just done as he tugs and tugs at your scalp

when you pull away you realise that your makeup had all gone. he had kissed it away. you had expected this to happen, boyfriend air was a thing :( so for fun you decide to put makeup on him, he just sits there silently and doesn’t protest, he knows he has no voice in this pffff, you’re right, he is so babygirl and it just makes you coo. minutes later he fucks you with that pretty pink blush on and his hair tied with ribbons whilst tying you up to your headboard and blindfolding you, using an ice cube and chocolate sauce all over your body 😩

#nct dream #jeno smut #jeno x reader #nct #nct jeno #jeno fluff #nct dream jeno #jeno #nct 127 #jeno imagines #jeno angst #jeno nct #jeno moodboard #jeno icons #lee jeno #nct dream x you #nct smut #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct u #nct reactions #nct icons #nct lee jeno #nct dream fluff #nct dream headcanons #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream fic #nct dream reactions

[velidewrites]

I don’t usually have many thoughts but one thing that’s been on my mind this past week (or more? time has blended into a continuous stream of insanity) is how absolutely iconic Elain Archeron and Helion Spell-Cleaver would be as a friendship duo. Yes yes Lucien I just found out you’re my son and my sole hair but your girlfriend is a SEER and can you ask her if she wants to have lunch with me later because I have so many ✨questions✨. No you can’t come you’ll only distract her, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Helion is literally a human sized library of knowledge and there she is, casually wielding an ancient power that has been lost to Prythian for generations. Helion wants to talk to her and write down everything, from the feeling of an incoming vision to her favourite gardening techniques cause yeah we may have strayed off topic but have you seen the greenhouse at the very top of the palace, Elain? The flowers there need proximity to the sun to bloom and I bet you’ve never seen anything as beautiful as them before (Lucien chimes in here going well, Father, she wakes up right beside me every morning so— “NOT NOW LUCIEN”)

And Elain is completely mesmerised by him too, and she finds herself surprised when she realises that, other than her mate, Helion might be the very first real friend she’s made in her entire adult life. He’s the sun personified and it’s impossible to stay away from him and yes, I would love to have tea with you at the greenhouse later so we can gossip about our mates and the fire in their blood. He gifts her a Pegasus for her and Lucien’s mating ceremony, one of the most prized ones from his collection, and Elain tears up a little at the family the Mother has blessed her with.

Anyway, besties Elain and Helion. That’s it that’s the post

#anyway as you can see I am perfectly normal about them #elain archeron #elain acotar #helion spell cleaver #helion acotar #lucien vanserra #elucien #pro elucien #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

[babyleostuff]

brain fluff rot cause dokyeom having a lawyer wife. like he would be so cute bringing her food to work. distracting her while she's working at home. buying her coffee and civil code books. (its giving intj wife x infp husband. fr fr.)

- 🖼️

oh my god yes yes yes. i don’t even want to being with him being so proud of you, dokyeom would not shut up about you being a freaking lawyer. he’d try mention it in every situation, because „did you know my wife is a lawyer???” *heart eyes* (and he’s not be subtle about it, because hello you’re a LAWYER).

if you were ever working at home he’d sneak into your office and start asking random questions, partially because he wants to distract you a bit from work, and partially because he really likes to listen to you talking about all of the lawyer stuff.

and you can be damn sure he'd pop into your office with food or your favourite lunch on a daily basis, even if you didn't forget to bring it from home - dk would still come with a full bag of your fav snacks.

and he'd always have these big puppy eyes whenever you'd talk about a case you were working on, dokyeom would be so mesmerised with you (even more than he usually is).

#seventeen #seventeen kpop #seventeen carat #seventeen reactions #seventeen imagines #svt reactions #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen x you #svt dk #dk #svt fluff #dk x y/n #dokyeom #lee seokmin #seokmin x reader #seokmin fluff #svt

[rose-lunaire]

music box | hannibal with a musician!S/O

dedicated to all the beautiful artistic souls reading this, i hope you like it!

pairing: hannibal x gn!reader

warnings: yandere behaviour, unspecified age gap, my lack of knowledge of musical terms

you met in the backstage of your first recital

hannibal was mesmerised by your craft, such mature and fresh interpretation of his favourite piece

“that was an excellent performance you gave us”

you nearly dropped your music sheets from shock

“o, oh, thank you so much, sir. to be honest, i was worried the nerves came through too much and ruined it…”

“i assure you, the concerto was flawless. mahler requires this uncertainty and you portrayed that beautifully.”

the way he said it seemed to lift all the weight from your shoulder; there was no room for question in his voice, just pure respect

“pardon me, where are my manners. my name is hannibal lecter and i would like to become your patron”

and that’s how it started: your relationship emerged from this contract and eventually evolved into friendship

in the end blossoming into something more

you always appreciate his remarks while practicing until late at night

he’s your biggest supporter!

always carrying your stuff from practice, saying he can’t allow you hurting yourself

he would massage your hands after long practices, kissing the tips of your fingers like the most delicate of flowers

don’t be shy about your callouses, hannibal sees them as a token of your hard work and dedication

they’re beautiful, just like your mind and heart

he would do anything to protect you from critique

once upon a time someone dared write an unpleasant review of your performance and it was the end of their career

their body was found in the trash behind the opera house the next day and on their blog posted an apology to you, saying they were paid and coerced to say those abhorrent things to you

you never found out about this case, hannibal took you on a retreat to a national park, free of any distractions to “gain inspiration”

he admires you as a connoisseur but also as an artist

he was a bit shy to showcase his work for the first time

but then he fell for you all over again when he heard you playing his pieces

they sound so different yet so familiar, he can’t focus on the notes and instead stares at your hands, mesmerised

you’re his porcelain doll, the most precious treasure he will cherish until the end of his days

displayed only for his deserving eyes, inside a beautiful box, dancing to his tune, twirling around laughing, his applause is the only thing you can hear

too beautiful for others to truly appreciate, you’re hidden away in his study

bound to be perfect

#hannibal x reader #hannibal imagine #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #bedelia du maurier #hannibal reactions #hannibal headcanons #hannibal preferences #yandere hannibal #hannibal #hannibal fluff #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen x reader #art #musician

[ohtobeleah]

Okay but Jake getting distracted during a presentation he’s giving because Iris is sitting up front eye fucking him.

Iris Masterlist

Oml Jake would be so mad afterwards. Like he’d march after her and pull her aside before pre-flight checks like “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Eye fuck me!”

“All due respect Lieutenant Commander I was merely listening to your presentation, anything else you’ve managed to take for that is simply your own opinion—“ And Jake is just seething, steams almost coming out his damn ear’s because this bitch is playing him. Walking him like a damn dog. “Am I excused?”

Jakes just standing there, pitching a tent because this woman is infuriating yet mesmerising and forbidden fruit. But you’re exactly the type of woman he’d been searching high an low for. A challenge. He just didn’t fuck with the whole Maverick’s your dad and could ruin his career part of the ordeal.

“You know exactly what you’re doing don’t you?” Jakes asking, watching as you smirk up at him.

“Oh absolutely I do, see you in the sky, daddy—“ You say it just loud enough for Roosters ears to prick up as he’s walking by. Jake just groans, he hates that he loves that you called him that. Rooster just smacks Jake up the side of the head.

“You are going to get yourself killed man—“

#Iris // Jake Seresin #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader

[hearthotchner]

handsome

— for @my-mummy-dust

— pic sourced from pinterest

cw; none. a slight reference of wanting to give aaron head

aaron was so handsome. even when he was frowning down at the papers strewn across his desk, he was still the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. you were mesmerised, watching the way his fingers glided over to a file, or when his arm flexed while he was writing.

you knew he loved his job, and gave himself to it entirely, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t feel lonely, when he was working from home. it was like he was still on those cases, hours away, when in reality, he was only a room away.

running a hand down his face, he groaned, realising he smudged writing on the side of the page; his mood quickly shifted when he saw you standing in the doorway, in one of his quarter-zips. “i know you don’t like it when i work at home,” he said, pushing his chair out, and turning it slightly to face you. “but if i finish this today, then i’ll be all yours for the weekend.” he smiled, raising his brows suggestively.

your eyes were glued to his lap. his legs were spread, and the navy trousers that fitted him a little loosely, tightened around his thighs — it was so inviting.

a crease formed between your brows, while you chewed on your lip, thinking about your next move.

“did you hear what i said?”

“mhm..” you nodded, inching over to him.

standing between his legs, it took all your willpower to not drop to your knees — that was for another time. right now, you just wanted to love on him.

big, warm hands found themselves around your waist, a slightly ink-stained one resting your stomach. looking up, he asked, “is something wrong?”

you finally sat down. “no. i miss you, that’s all.” you confessed, whilst getting your hand lost in his thick, black hair.

“i’m sorry, sweetheart.” he brought your free hand up, and pressed a kiss to your palm apologetically.

“it’s okay, i don’t mind what you’re doing as long as i’m with you.” you beamed, caressing his face, and he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes.

he chuckled, “you’re gonna get bored here. just because i do paperwork all the time doesn’t mean it’s fun.”

“i guess so… but i’m still staying here. you’re really nice to look at, you know?”

he looked at you, confused almost.

it was then, when you began littering his face with kisses. the first peck, was placed on his cheek. the next, on the dimple that formed when he smiled. the one after, on the tip of his nose; you continued like that, pressing little kisses all over him, convinced that if you were wearing lipstick, he’d end up with marks everywhere.

“you’re distracting me.” he smiled, not complaining in the slightest.

it was his turn to give you a kiss now, just below your jaw, nipping at it a little.

you denied his accusations, “can’t i show my boyfriend how handsome i think he is?”

playfully, he replied, “you can, but if i don’t finish this tonight, you won’t have me at all.”

throwing your head back in defeat, you let him carry on with his work.

it didn’t take long for you to be all over him again; instead of stopping you this time, he continued, or tried to continue working.

at some point, aaron gave up, and gave into your advances — paperwork being less than the last thing on his mind.

#i’m so sorry this was rushed #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #my fic

[xhdream]

on zoom

pairing: ceo jooyeon x fem!reader

genre: smut wc: 1.3k

cw: sub!reader, masturbation (m/f), spanking, dirty talk

you’re in the middle of a zoom meeting with ceo!jooyeon

you did not expect it at all. you just got out of the shower when you received a message that there’s something urgent to talk about. there was nothing you could’ve done except put on the first nice blouse you pull out from your wardrobe, brush your hair and open your laptop in a rush.

because of jooyeon, your boss, you quickly got used to work from home outside of your work schedule. he constantly finds you little unexpected tasks to do or edits to make on something you sent in hours ago, causing you to work even from the grocery store.

ceo!jooyeon is feared by most of your colleagues. he’s demanding, with high expectations, and some may say - high ego too; but you don’t find him scary. you find him tedious. infuriating. maddening to look at, because of how attractive he is.

even now, as you watch him sit back against the headboard of his bed with his blond hair messy and falling into his eyes every time he shifts over to grab a sheet of paper in just a plain black t-shirt… even now he’s unbelievably mesmerising. he has his glasses on, the ones you’ve seen him wear a couple of times during meetings, but everything else from the casual clothes to the view of his clean nightstand and multiple pillows is new and very… intimate.

you try to shove away the thoughts, and focus on his words coming from your laptop without staring too much at his lips, which has always been a challenge.

“will you go get it, please?” he asks, but please from jooyeon’s mouth doesn’t mean he’s asking if you can do something, it means that you have to do it. now. “i want to see something and we’re done here.”

your voice trembles while you look for the right way to word your answer. “i will send you an email with everything from the report so you have everything that may come in handy. right after we—“

“why can’t you just show me the report now?”

his gaze pierces through the screen, making your palms sweat against your bare thighs.

“i don’t… remember where i put it,” you mumble, looking around your room awkwardly, as cold shivers shoot through your half naked body that’s still warm from the long bath.

ceo!jooyeon knows that’s a lie, cause you’re the least neglectful employee he’s ever had. he sighs before tilting his head up to skim your silhouette. he’s an observing person, so the way you sit stiffly barely even moving your arms is not that unnoticeable to him as you think.

he asks when did you become so unmindful of your work, and you apologise, saying that you’re sure you’re going to find it, and if not - it’s probably in your office.

you run your finger on the keyboard nervously, praying the fact you’re naked from the waist down won’t risk your job. your eyes don’t leave jooyeon out of sight as he licks his lips with a contemplative look on his face. the lamp on his nightstand lights up his sharp features nicely, and they only get you more and more distracted. his jawline, his neck, his adam apple, his collarbone that’s peeking from his shirt…

“you should be more careful, y/n. i’m not keeping you here only because you’re hot.”

you nod, as his words echo in your head.

“do i make you uncomfortable?”

“not at all,” you reply on the instant although this was the last question you expected to hear. your high pitched tone eventually turns into a hollow chuckle. “why would you think that?”

“do i turn you on then?”

you breathe in trying to grasp where this is going.

“i think i do,” jooyeon smirks from finding the answer on his own. he fixes the position of his laptop that’s sitting on top of his stomach before placing one arm behind his head, and turning his attention back to you. “you turn me on too, but you probably already know that since the day i hired you. right, sweetheart?”

“actually no,” you admit, “i didn’t know that.”

jooyeon lets out an airy chuckle and glances at you surprised. “i thought i was obvious. i think about kissing you all the time.”

your hand crawls between your inner thighs, and you shamelessly allow your fingers to brush against your exposed clit. it’s all happening under the table; the camera doesn’t catch anything that’s below your stomach, but it’s enough for jooyeon to notice your uneasy breaths and the way you gulp.

“you’re so freaking hot,” he continues in a more relaxed voice, “especially when you wear those tight skirts at work… i can only imagine how pretty your ass looks without them.”

at this point he’s turning you on so much that your index finger easily slips through your folds without you even spreading your legs properly.

“i can show you if you want,” you say softly through a heavy sigh.

those few words bring out a new type of smile on jooyeon’s face - a greedy one; like he just won something, but it’s clear he will still want more.

“go ahead.”

as you stand on your feet, moving your chair back, you observe the way his lips part and his gaze turns more dazed, but also focused at the same time.

“so your pussy has been naked this whole time? were you planning on telling me at all? turn around.”

you hear shuffling noises from the speaker, as you make a step back. when you peek behind your shoulder to make sure what jooyeon wants to see is all caught from the camera, you see his face a lot closer which means that he pulled his laptop forward in order to reach his dick more comfortably.

“gorgeous from head to toe… fuck,” he groans, and the sound of it is so arousing it makes you clench desperately around nothing. “wanna spank that ass so bad.. do it for me, doll, spank yourself.”

your hand rises in the air and quickly lands on your right cheek; a few more slaps follow by jooyeon’s command mixing with his moans. a few for lying about the report, and a few more for attending a meeting with your cunt naked.

“now suck on your fingers and touch yourself,” he mutters, changing the speed of his fist. “slowly.”

as you stay bent over your chair like he said, you move your fingers from your reddish butt cheek towards your heat. two of them glide with ease through your dripping hole, and the feeling is so satisfying, an immediate whine escapes your lips.

“jooyeon—“ you moan from the pleasure of going deeper. despite the building rush, you crave to feel more than just that. you need his presence, his touch all over you.

“yeah, sweetheart?”

“i need more…”

“i know, i know…” his voice comes out heavier than usual, because he needs the same just as much as you do. the sound of his fist starts to become clearer. “keep touching yourself, pretty girl. look how wet you are for me.”

hearing those things from his mouth turn you so lightheaded and impatient, you don’t realise your fingers start moving in and out with their own pace that’s not to jooyeon’s liking. first, you hear the frustrated scoff; the remark that breaks off your pleasure - second.

“you’re disappointing me today, doll, can’t you follow simple instructions anymore?” he listens to your panting while his own arousal begins to overwhelm him too, but he controls his emotions pretty well, even after he keeps switching the speed of his hand depending on your body language. “no?”

you start to disagree, but too late.

“sit down.” his demand rings in the silence of your room, building up your desire. “you should know better, doll. now that pretty pussy is gonna get punished because you refuse to listen.”

after you spread your legs wide for the camera, your hand rises again and drops for a new slap.

“be glad i’m not there to do it myself. i’m not that gentle.”

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

#xdinary heroes smut #xdinary heroes hard thoughts #xdinary heroes hard hours #xdh smut #xh hard hours #jooyeon hard thoughts #jooyeon smut #jooyeon x reader #xdinary heroes x reader

[mitsies]

FISHTAIL, WHAT'S THE MATTER ? ; aki hayakawa > aki might just change his mind about you if you keep on touching his hair like that.

the devil hunter's headquarters are quiet in the mornings.

there's no one here, not at 7 in the morning. the lobby is empty as aki shuts the door behind him. glass windows let the early morning light shine through, painting the receptionist's desk and potted plants white and pale yellow. the receptionists aren't here yet– it’s just him for now. he slides past the doors leading to the office portion of the headquarters, letting them click shut behind him.

the doorway takes him to the dreariest of dreary rooms he’s ever seen. cubicles followed by cubicles fill the centre of the room and line the walls. some are more decorated than the others– many are bare. a few have pictures hanging next to computer monitors. even less have flowers placed on the seats– memorials. aki walks past those ones a little faster. he’s a little distracted by his observations of his colleagues’ workspaces and he jolts a little in surprise when someone’s familiar voice calls out, “aki?”

he turns and sees you. a grimace passes over his face and a storm brews in his chest. you’re standing by the entrance to the office space, having entered a few minutes after him. you look tired, with eyebags colouring your skin with sleep and exhaustion pulling you down into a slight slouch. your arms are crossed over your chest and you blink at him slowly. and aki hates it because you look so lovely, even when you don’t try to. your hair might be mussed but you make it work, and you might be on the verge of passing out but at least you’d look good doing it. he snaps his gaze away from you in a vain attempt to pretend his cheeks from burning redder than red.

“why’re you here so early?” his question is responded to with a huff of laughter as you begin to make your way closer. a part of him wants to tell you to stay away but your increasing proximity is alluring, and he’s not a strong enough man to turn you away. 

“i could ask you the same thing.”

he stiffens as you draw nearer. he doesn’t know why– you’re a respectable distance away. a colleague-worthy distance. a friendly distance. and aki’s frown deepens because he wishes that you’d be closer. “i had paperwork to get to.”

“you’re always working,” you muse, more to yourself, letting your head fall to the side a little. aki is only just a little mesmerised by how your hair shifts with your subtle movements, and he clears his throat. “someone has to pick up your slack.”

he winces internally at his own words– it wasn’t a respectable jab to take. you’re part of aki’s special division and you are, regretfully, a valuable asset. but you laugh, and he feels something coil and tighten in his chest, which he tells himself he hates but he’s never been too sure about that assertion.

“my bad, boss,” you respond dryly, with a half-smile that makes his stomach turn. “i’ll let you get to your paperwork. i’ve got my own, too,” you gesture vaguely to your tiny cubicle, a few feet away. aki glances over and sees a pile of white, official-looking documents with familiar seals decorating the wood. your cubicle is mostly bare, but there’s a single picture– it’s you and an older woman who looks a lot like you. you have a big, cheesy grin, little plaits running through your hair, and more smile lines than you do now. he wonders what you’ve given to stand where you are now, as you begin to move over to the spinning desk chair.

“wait.”

you stop, as you’re about to sit down, and glance back at him, waiting for him to continue. he can’t meet your eyes, opting to brush past you as he speaks. “bring your papers to my office. i have an extra chair.”

aki’s office is small and out of the way, compared to the other ones in the building. it’s on the ground floor but through a winding hallway, and he keeps in front of you, listening to your footsteps echoing through the otherwise empty halls. he opens the door to the space and clicks the light on, before moving to his desk.

he’s suddenly very aware of the empty mugs and full trash receptacle, and the smell of coffee hanging in the air, and he silently both hopes you won’t care and chides himself for offering you to come in the first place. because truthfully, why did he ask you to join him? aki was perfectly fine without company– in fact, he might’ve even preferred it. maybe you were becoming an exception. the thought crosses his mind, and he feels a surge of something so warm and overwhelming that he can’t quite discern how he feels about it. he thinks it might feel nice.

he pulls up a chair for you– a spare, right across from his setup, and sits down in his own seat too your credit, you don’t say a word. maybe it’s the early hour that renders you without much to speak about, as you unceremoniously plop your pile of documents and files onto the little clearing aki has made for you on the desk and slide into the seat.

the both of you work in silence for a while. he’s clicking away at his laptop, and you scribble onto your reports. it’s a silent system, and the only noises are the keys clicked and the soft breathing as the office building comes to life outside of the sanctity of aki’s office. people begin to arrive, and footsteps can be heard through the thin walls. people chattering quietly becomes audible from the room with the cubicles. at some point, your hand cramps and you slide back into your seat with a slight sigh. aki tips his head up to look at you, hair tied up with strands loosely escaping from the updo.

“doesn’t that bother you?”

aki blinks. “what?”

“your hair. it’s all in your face.”

he hadn’t noticed the loose strands until you’d pointed them out. absently, he brushes a longer piece behind his ear. “i’ll fix it later.”

he’s in a flow, now, breezing through the mountains of reports and paperwork he has to get through, and he looks back to his laptop screen. but you stand, suddenly, and walk around the desk to where he is. the already cramped space grows even tighter, and you’re infinitely close as you stand behind him, a hand on the back of his chair as he looks at you.

“what are you doing?” he tries to sound dull and stern like he usually does, but he feels the blood rushing to his face as he snaps his gaze back to his screen to avoid more humiliation.

“your hair, hopefully,” you hum. you’re half expecting him to tell you off when you deftly move your hands to his scalp, gently tugging out the black elastic that holds his updo in place. but he doesn’t say a word, simply continuing to scroll through whatever document he has open as you run your fingers through his scalp nimbly.

he’s trying his hardest to not react as your fingertips brush against his scalp, as your skin meets his, as your hand finishes its track and softly touches against the back of his neck. his brain is short-circuiting and sparking electricity in his head, and he feels so warm beneath your hands. and then you start braiding.

aki’s not too sure how he’s meant to work under these circumstances. deftly, swiftly, you section his thick, dark hair into parts and plait them. he tries to type, he tries to focus, but his mind is on you and your hands, you and your voice, you and your smile, you and yourself. he decides that he doesn’t mind thinking about you, and therefore doesn’t mind you much at all, not as much as he thought he did. and then you start talking, and he realises: he might even like you a little.

“my mom,” you start, “she taught me how to braid hair. used to let me do hers every morning.”

aki wants to respond but he’s not sure how. so all he says is a polite, “that sounds nice.”

“it was. maybe i should’ve been a hairstylist.”

“you could,” he says with a sudden rush of urgency. “you could be anything. you should be anything. you should leave.”

you blink down at him, and he’s not looking at you but he can see your expression in his mind’s eye. and you exhale like a laugh, and say, “and leave you here? no, thanks.”

the silence that follows your words is only permeated by the growing volume of conversation outside, and the mounting number of footsteps travelling down the hallway outside aki’s office. you plait his hair in the muffled noises of the morning, leading it up into a simple updo, like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. you braid his hair like your mother did yours, and he feels the love that is carried through in the actions, in the repetition, in the language of little intimacies. you braid his hair, and aki loves you.

he’s embarrassed to admit he’s upset when you’re finished. you wordlessly grin at him and trail your hands across his shoulders all-too-quickly before moving to sit down again and continue your paperwork. but he’s not too mad, because at least you’re still there. at least you’re here.

aki decides that he likes his hair braided. and he thinks that he might be far too busy to learn to do it himself– it would be inefficient and a waste of time to even try. so, he thinks, the only reasonable course of action is to ask you. he bites the inside of his cheek to contain the unabashed surge of warmth, the feeling he recognises as pure joy and affection, at the thought.

he thinks that he’s beginning to look forward to mornings, just a little.

✄ this was written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompt 'you ask to do their hair and the whole time they're trying not to explode'

[⇥3K EVENT MASTERLIST] [⇥3K EVENT INFO]

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man #csm x reader #hayakawa aki x reader #aki #hayakawa aki #aki x reader #csm #reader insert #mitsies 3k #title is from a song go away

[littledata]

I know you’re probably working on those prompts, but I, too, just ended up on North Sea tiktok, and if you have time, I’m curious what Ava’s reaction to that particular algorithmic destination would be. Because like, Bea’s the most capable person ever, but those waves are Very Big, and why isn’t everyone tethered to the boat at all times??

(From the on that dizzy edge universe. An example video if anyone would like context.)

For a long time, Ava's TikTok experience was predictable. It mostly went: hot girl biting her lip, hot girl playing guitar, hot dude baking a cake, weirdly mesmerising crafting video, drama about people she'd never met, hot person kissing another hot person.

The number of straight-up thirst traps has been on the decline recently though - mostly because Ava just has to turn her head and Bea will be changing her shirt or using a hammer or standing perfectly still, all of which is a lot hotter than any video she's ever seen. In its infinite wisdom though, The Algorithm has seen her scrolling past those videos and decided it needs to fill the void with something else.

That thing, apparently, is North Sea TikTok.

They're lying in bed when it happens for the first time. Beatrice had spent the first few weeks after she came home insisting they should try to maintain separate bedrooms, move their relationship along at an orderly and appropriate pace, but she pretty quickly gave in to the allure of spooning and her bedroom defaulted to being both of theirs.

Now, before they go to sleep, they often end up lying side by side while Beatrice reads one of her insane books about lesbian necromancers or whatever and Ava scrolls TikTok or reads fanfiction about hot people falling in love in coffee shops and stuff. It makes her feel mature and settled and safe in a way that's sometimes so exciting she has to take Bea's book out of her hands and make out with her about it.

Anyway, so they're doing that (lying in bed, not making out) when it shows up on her for you page. It starts with the weird, slow sea shanty, then there's the huge waves, and then someone is getting slammed in the face with the fucking ocean.

Ava lets it loop. Then she lets it loop again. Then she taps on the suggested search north sea tiktok and she's presented with a thousand more videos exactly like the first. People falling overboard and huge waves crashing over ships and and and -

"Bea." Ava taps her arm insistently.

Bea looks up from her book without much concern - she doesn't use TikTok but she does submit to being shown Ava's curated favourites. Also, she's wearing glasses and she looks super cute.

No, Ava, don't get distracted.

"Bea," she repeats and holds her phone up to her face.

Beatrice watches with a scrutinising gaze. When the video finishes, she says, "They really shouldn't be filming in those situations, it's distracting them from proper safety precautions."

Ava stares at her. "That's all you have to say? They could have died."

"Possibly," Beatrice agrees. "Once someone falls overboard it's very difficult to recover them, although certainly not impossible. And it depends a lot on the kind of ship. I assume someone wouldn't post a video where someone died though."

Although Beatrice's naivety about what people are willing to post on the internet is adorable, Ava's mind is stuck somewhere in between the words overboard and impossible. Even Beatrice, careful and capable as she is, couldn't keep herself from being swept off her feet by some of those waves. Ava can picture her so vividly, disappearing under the surface.

"You're not making me feel better about this."

"Oh." Beatrice blinks in surprise as if she has only just realised that they aren't having a purely practical discussion. She puts her book carefully down on the nightstand. "I'm not sure what to say. I can't lie to you and pretend it isn't dangerous. Those are cherry-picked clips showing the worst though, it isn't always like that."

Which, yeah, okay, Ava already knew it was dangerous. For all the months that Beatrice is away she lives with the low-level, prickling anxiety that the next call she gets will be telling her Bea is hurt, or worse. It's different seeing it though, seeing how quick it is, how powerful -

"How often are you in the north sea?" she asks, as if that's the only problem with it.

Beatrice winces, "Well, it depends. The contracts I work - " She explains something complicated and lengthy about shipping and demand and the company she works for and Ava thinks she's the most interesting person in the world but this stuff is, also, a little bit boring and she's still pretty busy picturing her girlfriend's imminent death.

She needs to send these videos to Camila. If there's anyone she can rely on to overreact with her, it's Camila.

"Ava," Beatrice says, seeing that she's lost her. She tugs Ava's phone gently from her hands and puts it down next to her book. Then she wraps one arm around Ava's shoulders and the other around her waist and pulls her in close.

Ava has always loved being hugged by Bea, even before they got together - she's strong and solid and lets Ava hold on for as long as she needs to. (Also, she smells fucking amazing, like, all the time).

It wasn't until they started dating that she realised Beatrice had been holding something of herself back though, not letting herself relax entirely whenever they touched. Now, it's as if her whole body sinks into it, like some tension evaporates the moment Ava's arms are around her.

Ava pushes her face into Beatrice's chest and inhales, lets herself hide there in the fabric of her shirt for a moment. It's dark and warm and hard to worry about anything.

"I promise I do everything I possibly can to come home safe to you," Beatrice says into her ear, "I'm sorry I can't give you any more reassurance than that."

"Okay," Ava says, voice muffled against Beatrice's chest. It's not enough but it has to be enough. This is Bea's job, the thing she loves more than anything else, and Ava won't ever touch the sanctity of that. "I'm still going to worry about you."

"I know." Beatrice presses a kiss into her hair and pulls back, "I worry about you too though, when I'm gone."

Ava rolls her eyes, "The most dangerous thing that could happen to me is Lilith finally snapping and turning on everyone she loves."

"So fairly likely then?" Beatrice asks.

Ava snorts, "Like a 90% chance."

They settle themselves to go to sleep, lying down fully and adjusting the pillows and blankets. That's another thing Ava learned recently: Beatrice - her big, tough sailor - likes being the little spoon. She won't admit to that, obviously, but she sighs contentedly whenever Ava wraps her arms around her from behind.

So when Beatrice reaches up to switch the lamp off, Ava does just that, presses herself against Bea's back. She listens to Beatrice's breathing become slow and even, and she clings on.

#extra writing #asks

[astroboots]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 11

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You overhear things you were not meant to hear. Or alternatively: The girls boys are fighting.

Content: mild angst, lots of eavesdropping on secrets.

Word Count: 6.9k words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The music box sits atop of the wooden counter. For a love song, it’s such a sad and melancholic melody. Made sadder by the off-key note that clangs jarringly five seconds in, after you've wound up the music box to watch the little deformed Anubis inside twirl. 

It's oddly mesmerising in a meditative sort of way, how it keeps spinning round and round with nowhere to go. 

Doing the same thing over and over again. 

Stuck.

Has Anubis always looked so unhappy?

Steven's hand brushes against your back, interrupting your musing, and you jump in your seat despite the gentleness of his touch. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you with a worried frown.

"You're going to be late for work, love," he says, "It’s nearly eight-forty."

"Shit." You’ve lost track of time, fiddling too long with the music box. 

You glance at the table where Steven has already stacked your plate. Two pieces of charred marmite toasts sit atop his emptier plate as he's walking over to the sink. A pang of guilt sits in your chest at the sight of it. 

Despite the effort Steven had gone through, getting up early and having it ready for you by the time you woke up, you've hardly even taken a bite of your breakfast. 

You rush forward, wanting to at least help him clean the plates, but Steven waves you off with a shake of his head.

"It's all right, love. You go ahead, don't want you to be late. I'll clear this up. Donna can't possibly get madder at me than she already is." 

There's a forced smile twisting his lips, and when you don't make any moves to go, Steven sets down the dishes in the sink and walks back over to you.

"Have a good day at work today," he says and tips his head, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I don't want you to worry about anything alright? Everything will sort itself out." 

It feels like deja vu when he says it, and for a second you worry, because the last time you heard this sentiment aimed at you, the man who said it disappeared without any physical trace. 

As if he can sense your apprehension, Steven continues, giving your hand a gentle nudge. "Go on, love. I'll pick you up after work, and we’ll order something nice for take out tonight." 

Despite your hesitance, you find yourself nodding as you head towards the front door. The sound of porcelain clinking together and kitchen clutter continues in the background as you click the door shut behind you. 

The hallway is dimly lit and gloomy as you make your way down to the lift. 

Once inside, it’s quiet except for the whirring of mechanical gears from above. It’s almost like being trapped in a music box of your own, except that Steven’s building isn’t fancy enough to have elevator music. There's nothing to distract you here. No twirling Anubis. No melodies. The only thing keeping you company is your own thoughts and memories. 

‘Marc, I mean it. I miss you.’ 

The memory of your own words seems to echo between your ears, and you cringe, shaking your head in an attempt to make it stop. You're restless, the cuticles of your nails itching to be picked as you try to push yesterday's telephone call from your mind. Trying to mute your own pleading voice from playing on an endless loop. 

‘I'm in love with you– ’ 

You’re desperate for a distraction, but the cramped lift offers no distraction. There are mirrors on both walls, and endless Xerox copies of your own reflection stare back at you, repeating off into infinity. There’s no place here to hide from yourself. 

‘–You don’t have to love me the same way. Just come back.’

Your hand comes to your left wrist, seeking something to fidget with to calm your nerves, but the familiar leather strap of your watch is missing. Your forearm is bare.  

Oh, for god's sake. Where have you gone and lost the bloody thing now?

As soon as you think it, you realise where it must be. Can see the watch in your mind's eye, sitting on the porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, right where you left it when you took it off to shower last night. You sigh, pressing the button of the lift back to the fifth floor. This time as the lift ascends the floor, you fix your gaze on the menacing bright red LED sign indicating the floor level, refusing to look into the mirrors on either side of you.

‘Please. I miss you.’

The lift door pings open, mercifully interrupting the replay, and you briskly retrace your steps. You’re so focused on retrieving the watch—and ignoring the unwelcome memories—that you barely register that Steven’s no longer in the kitchen. It’s not until you’re brought up short by the closed loo door that you realise it’s not going to be quite that simple. 

Looking down, you can see the light streaming under the door is cut by a shadow’s flickering movement inside. Steven’s gone to the loo. That’s all well and good—nothing out of the ordinary— except the fact that your watch, which you would very much like to wear to work, is in there with him. 

You sigh. 

You’re already going to be late as it is, but you can’t very well barge in on him in the loo, now can you? The poor man would have a heart attack.

You contemplate your options, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, and you have to resist the impulse to tap your feet like some grumpy old biddy. Trying for patience, you take a few steps back, dragging your eyes away from the bathroom to stare blindly off towards the empty kitchen corner. 

There’s not much to look at, just the morning sun streaming in the window to illuminate the pile of sauce-stained dishes waiting to be washed. Your eyes linger anyway. Your mind fills in the gap with an echo of Marc as you’re used to seeing him, standing at the sink or stove, his back to you, outlined in the soft early light. All that’s missing is his voice calling out a soft greeting.

And for a moment, you think you can hear him—his all-familiar American accent echoing from your memories. Better his than yours. Better the voice you've been missing like an amputated limb this entire time he’s been gone. 

“You need to stop.”

You jerk upright because that’s new. 

You’re no stranger to the flat, demanding tone, but you can’t trace the words back to any memory of what Marc has said to you before. 

That means it’s real.

You whip your head back in the direction of the loo where the voice is coming from. 

It’s muffled. The volume muted by the door, but you’d recognise that grumpy, impatient voice anywhere. Been replaying it enough in your mind, that you could pick the owner out of a blind lineup based on sound alone. And you can definitely identify it now in the quietness of Steven’s flat, where it’s just you and him. 

Marc. 

The room seems to narrow to a needle point, the colours blurring into each other until all you can see is the bathroom door. Excitement rushes to your head and everything feels fast and slow all at once. 

Marc is in there. 

Your legs threaten to buckle, and the wooden flooring underneath your feet seems to sink and warp into porous sand with each step forward. Then you’re standing there, in front of the loo, separated from him only by a few feet and the thin wood panelling of the accordion door, so ancient and flimsy-looking that a gust of wind could knock it down. 

You want to knock it down. You raise a shaky hand to hover just above the surface.

All you want is to grab the handle, fling it open and see Marc again. Not as you have these past months, through the lens of the memory—either your own wistful, wishful thinking or the echoes of him that have been haunting your daily life. 

You need the reality of him. To see him in the flesh and bone. Marvel at the ever-present scowl as he tips his head in irritation. That deep furrow between his brow when he’s consumed in some task. The rare half-smile that never fails to make you feel like you’ve won a rare prize at the carnival when you’ve manage to coax it out of him. 

But you can’t. 

Because you know how that will go. Even if Marc is in there, cornered in the loo, the moment he knows you're here and aware of him, he'll spirit himself away like he did last time.  

So you stay there, hand raised, feet frozen to the floor, staring down at the shifting shadow visible through the wide gap like it’s shadow puppet theatre, trying to discern the plot as you listen in. 

“This is how things are now. It’s better for both of you that I’m not around.” 

He sounds tired, weariness weighing down his words, and your throat aches. You don’t need X-ray vision to guess how Marc’s shoulders must be slumped, his hand rubbing over his face and jaw in frustration. 

The worst part is that you know Marc well enough to know that he truly believes what he is saying. Believes that his presence is a burden. That just by being here, he’s causing everyone trouble. 

He thinks he’s doing everyone a favour by not being around, and there’s nothing you or Steven can say that will make him believe otherwise. You know that. But it doesn’t mean you want to say it any less.

You want to break down the door, take him by those broad shoulders, and shake him until his head wobbles as you scream that he’s wrong. That he would be nothing but good for you. 

Because being around Marc makes you happy. Sitting next to him, watching him sip the “rubbish” coffee you’ve made him, makes your chest light up.  Seeing his puzzled expression when you make a pop culture reference he doesn’t know makes you smile.  And even though you’re not a morning person, he makes you look forward to waking up early because you know you get to spend those extra ten minutes with him. Marc makes you happy.

It goes quiet behind the door, and you can’t hear his voice anymore. Maybe Steven is arguing back. You hope so. You hope that Steven is rebutting Marc’s misguided beliefs the way you desperately want to. 

Maybe for once Marc is actually listening. 

"She doesn't know what she's asking for, Steven.” 

Maybe not, the stubborn bastard.

His voice is pained, and you tilt your forehead forward until it makes contact with the doorframe, hovering as close as you dare. It’s not like it makes any difference; not like he can sense you from behind the door—nor would you want him to, given the flight risk. But your heart hurts for him, and you just want to be closer to him in any way you can, despite the divider between you. 

“If I'm around it'll just mess everything up for–” He stops suddenly like maybe Steven has cut him off. Then there’s a grunt of protest, followed by, "Steven… That's not– Steven."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Steven!" This time he sounds almost angry, his voice is low and venomous. And whatever Steven says next must really strike a nerve, because Marc hisses, “Shut up, shut up! Shut UP!" the volume rising to a crescendo with his agitation.

It takes you by surprise, and you jump back, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process. Then you scramble back to the door, pressing as close as you dare. Worried that you’ve missed part of the conversation because you can’t hear Marc anymore. 

“Look, maybe if you just, like... chill the eff out for a second, we can talk things over, yeah?” 

That’s not Marc at all. 

Instead, it’s Steven's warm South-Londoner accent spilling through the door. They must have switched.

“You can't keep doing this. You know that right?” Steven demands. “What's your grand master plan here, mate? Hiding during the day and sneaking out like a burglar in the dead of night...? A bit cowardly, isn't it? You have to know that’s not gonna work long term."

If Marc was angry, then Steven sounds properly hacked off, his patience on the last string, worn so thin it’s a surprise it hasn’t already snapped. This is clearly not the first, or even second time, they’ve had this conversation. Apparently the fact that he's been talking to Marc is one of those things Steven "can't tell you right now." You wonder how many times they've had this same argument. From the sound of things, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Steven has tried again and again without being able to even inch Marc to budge from his stubborn position.

"It's not the perfect life though, is it? Not when you’re being a right proper idiot about all this. She wants you here. I want you here, you great pillock!” Steven’s voice is loud and indignant, and you can hear a rattle in there that you’re pretty sure is Steven grabbing onto the sides of the mirror in a frustrated attempt to throttle Marc through it. “And you can stop trying to peddle ‘normal,’ all right? Nothing about this situation is normal, and I for one am perfectly okay with that!” 

You can always trust Steven to come through with the honest truth.

God, you love that man. 

You can’t help but smile as he quite loudly voices everything you’ve been dying to say to Marc in this moment. You agree with all of it, even the throttling. Because Steven’s so very right. Who needs ‘normal’ when you can have something better together? 

“Just–” Steven cuts himself off, and you hear the deep inhale as he takes a calming breath before he continues.

“Listen, Marc…” His voice is softer now, almost cajoling. Trying to negotiate and soothe. 

You lean up on your tiptoes and in closer to the door, until you’re practically pressed against it. In your eagerness, you forget about how flimsy the material is until it gives slightly under your weight, and you flinch back. Honestly, it’s probably a miracle the flimsy thing didn’t collapse altogether.  

“You’re not fooling anyone, all right? I can feel what you feel when you’re around her.”

You wait with bated breath for Steven to continue, selfishly hoping that he’ll spell it out further because you desperately want to know what exactly it is that Marc feels around you. For you. 

“When you wake up next to her, and–” his voice spills from the bathroom, the dry sarcasm unmistakable, “when you drink that bloody awful coffee.” 

Again with the sass about your coffee! 

You scowl at the door, any goodwill towards Steven’s efforts in this conversation quickly evaporating. Surely, your coffee can’t be as terrible as all that. It’s just beans and water! How much of a difference can the ratio make anyhow? 

“Or… Or the way you clutched onto that jacket for weeks after she wore it. Treated it like some bloody teddy bear, didn’t you?” 

His jacket? The one that gave you so much grief and guilt after the almost-kiss in front of the fishtank? And Marc had… what? Snuggled with it? Your mind boggles at the very idea, even as it warms your heart.

“‘Don’t?’” Steven challenges, obviously repeating something you can’t hear. “Don’t what, exactly, Marc? Don’t state the obvious?” He barrels on, apparently unwilling to give Marc time to reply, "I know how you feel about her. And I know what you think about when you spend those extra ten minutes in the shower." 

Extra… minutes? You frown to yourself. You don't understand. What could Steven possibly mean by ‘ten extra minutes’ in the– 

Oh. 

An invading image pushes to the forefront of your mind. Of Marc's stern and focused eyes closed in concentration. Wet curls plastered to his forehead. His fingers wrapped in a tight fist over his hard cock. It’s true that you’ve not ever seen Marc less than fully clothed, but you’ve seen Steven without a thread on his body, and your brain is more than happy to fill in the blanks.

Heat curls into your stomach and settles there. Your chest feels tight, as though the thought of Marc in the shower is squeezing the breath out of you. Your vivid imagination clings onto the image, no matter how hard you try to think of something else. Your brain is too enamoured with it and refuses to let it go. 

All you see as you close your eyes are his perfect cheekbones flushed a rosy crimson as he shudders in pleasure. 

"Well if you don't want me to tell her, you’d best stop playing hide and seek then," Steven continues, clearly exasperated, "You’re being ridiculous, you bloody plonker."

Despite the fact that he's still technically whispering, he's so agitated that he might as well be shouting and the volume would be comparable. Steven never could keep a lid on his emotions. You can just picture the animated expression on his face. 

“She wants you too, you know.”  It’s quieter, comes after a second or two pause, as if Steven’s deliberately tamping down how loud he was.

More silence follows. 

You wait for several torturously slow seconds, but there’s still nothing from behind the door. Is it because Marc has been replying to Steven, you wonder. And if he has, what has he been saying? Is he angry? Brushing Steven off? Or is it like it was on the phone last night—silent because he’s not replying back at all.

Why is that somehow the worst scenario? 

You don’t hear anything else. Perhaps this is how it’s going to end today as well. Another stalemate. Stuck in a loop, like Gus II’s endless pilgrimage back and forth across the tank, forever spinning in this box that you have gotten yourselves into, with no way out. 

How long can the three of you keep doing this for? 

“Did you know… she had a sex dream about us?" Steven says. 

A cold shock grips the entirety of your spine, and you jolt like someone threw a bucket of ice water over your head. 

"That’s right, about both of us, together—said she couldn't choose." 

Oh god. God! What on earth is Steven saying? Has he lost his fucking marbles? He can’t tell Marc that! 

Embarrassment burns with a fury in your cheeks. You bite down on your tongue, trying to keep yourself still, fighting every nerve in your body that wants to ram down the door. 

“Actually, I quite think you do need to be hearing this, mate. If you would just–” Steven breaks off, then tries again, raising his voice like he’s trying to talk over and overpower someone else in volume. 

“If you would just come back and talk to us about it, I'm sure she would… Marc. Take your hands off your ears, Marc. If you would just listen for one bloody second. Can you please just– Oh, right, that’s really mature!” 

“Oh, that is bloody well it!” Steven shouts, and harsh fluorescent light floods your vision, momentarily blinding you, as the bathroom door is flung open. 

You stumble forward, nearly falling through the doorway. The only things that stops you from going arse-over-tits are Steven's solid frame and the fact that you faceplant square into the middle of his chest.

His hands go to your shoulders, helping to steady you, and it only takes a second to regain your footing. And then you find yourself staring up at your fuming boyfriend. 

Steven’s cheeks are flushed, chest heaving, and his beautiful messy curls are bouncing wildly on top of his head. He must’ve been well and truly hacked off at Marc, but at the sight of you the anger melts off of him. 

"Oh,” he says, blinking down at you in surprise, “hello, love. You’re back?” 

Turning back to the bathroom, Steven narrows his eyes pointedly at the mirror, then turns off the light and slides the door shut firmly behind him.

"How... uhm… how much of that did you overhear?" 

"Quite a bit," you admit, not bothering to beat around the bush. "I'm guessing Marc’s still refusing to come home then?" 

Steven gives an exasperated shake of his head. 

"He's being stubborn, as always."

You nod, but there’s a bitter clump stuck in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. Steven must notice your struggle, because his hands trail down the length of your arms until he finds yours and weaves your fingers together, squeezing lightly. 

"Don't worry, love. He'll come around eventually, yeah? He just needs time." 

Steven likes to say the two of you have all the time in the world, but you're beginning to wonder if even that would be enough.

The flickering light from the telly is swathing the bed and surrounding surfaces of Steven’s bookshelves in blues and whites. You’re staring blindly at the ocean scenery playing out before you, without really hearing any of the narration as Attenborough drones on about whale wildlife. 

You feel listless. You try to tell yourself that it’s just been a long day at work. Between Poppy stealing your lunch, (which she denies) and that three hour Teams call that nearly ended your will to live, it’s no wonder you’re ready for this day to end. 

But it’s more than that. 

‘It’s better for both of you that I’m not around’.

Marc had sounded so tired in the loo this morning, like he’s exhausted to the depths of his soul, and you hate that for him. Guilt swirls in your stomach, simmering until it curdles into irritation and then anger. 

You’re furious at the whole situation. 

You hate how angry and defeated he sounded. Can't stand the thought that he's doing something that hurts him to keep you and Steven “happy.” But most of all you hate that he’s alone again. By himself, trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders like the victim of some tragic Greek myth, condemned to a solitary existence by the gods for all of eternity. 

But your anger isn’t helping you right now, and it certainly doesn’t help Marc.

In fact, nothing you’ve been doing has helped him, has it? All your efforts to get him to come back: spam texting him, poisoning him with your toxic coffee, confessing your feelings… The only thing any of it has achieved is to make him feel cornered and miserable. 

It needs to stop. 

You need to stop. 

“You all right, love?” Steven’s voice near your ear pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts. 

“Hmm?”

Steven frowns at you from where he sits beside you on the sofa. 

“You seem… distracted. Is there something on your mind, love?” 

“Yes, sorry, I think I’m just–” you trail off mid-sentence, the screen catching your eye when you lift your head. The credits are rolling and must have been for quite some time without you even noticing. 

“Let’s go to bed, love. Call it an early night, yeah?” he asks with a gentle smile on his lips. 

Curling up in bed with Steven sounds perfect to you in this moment and you nod at him.  

It’s all he needs to start moving,  Steven stooping to gather up the blanket that’s pooled by your feet and reaches over your lap for the remote to turn off the telly. The room dims without the brightness of the screen, and Steven takes your hand, pulling you to your feet. He watches your progress surreptitiously, keeping his hand steady over yours like he’s a guide dog worried you’re going to trip over your own feet. 

He doesn’t let go until you’re safely sat down on your side of the bed, and even then he stays standing there with an uncertain look on his face, one hand hovering in mid-air, the other hanging by his side, fingers fidgeting. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Steven finally asks, the words bursting out of him as if he’s unable to hold them in any longer. “What happened today, that is. About Marc, and what you overheard.” 

“Marc…,” you begin, and his name barely even leaves your lips before Steven is already nodding enthusiastically for you to continue. “He sounded really quite tired today, didn’t he? It must be hard for him to keep this up. I don’t know why he thinks he has to keep hiding like this.” 

Steven’s chewing on his bottom lip, and there it is again, the feeling that Steven knows so much more than he’s been telling you. You can practically see the weight of the phrase ‘I can’t tell you right now’ perched heavily on his features. 

You look down at your lap, fingers twisting into the blanket. But maybe, it isn’t hard to guess what it is neither of them are telling you. It’s Occam’s razor isn’t it? All things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. And maybe the simple explanation here is that Marc just… doesn’t want to see you. Whatever the reasons, he’s made that much abundantly clear, and you’ve gone and ignored all signs and pushed forward regardless. You told the man you loved him, and he didn’t say anything back. 

“I think that what I said on the phone–me telling him I love him—has probably only made things worse.” 

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you raise your eyes towards Steven again. 

“I just want him to know it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same about me. It’s all right if he doesn’t want this or– Or me. He doesn’t have to hide to avoid rejecting me or to spare my feelings. I don’t want him to be alone because of that. Can you… can you tell him that?”

Steven's eyes widens, and he shakes his head vigorously.  

“No. No, no, no, love. That is not what's happening here. That's not– The problem is– Marc is just–" He stumbles over his words a bit before spitting out tartly, "Just a right twit, is what he is." 

You can’t help the grunt-like snort that escapes, and the levity feels good. It’s nice to be able to laugh with Steven, even as glum as you are over the situation that you’re all stuck in. 

Your laugh must’ve pleased him, because he smiles back at you, eyes crinkling adorably. His shoulders relax too, and his hands stop their nervous fidgeting. 

Climbing knee-first onto the bed, Steven sits in front of you. His hand comes to yours, and he settles both your hands on top of your lap.

“Marc isn’t hiding away because he doesn’t feel the same about you.” 

Your face must show your scepticism, because Steven squeezes your fingers between his reassuringly as he continues. 

“Same body and all that, remember? I’m aware enough nowadays that I can usually feel what he feels when I’m not the one fronting.” 

"What does he feel?" You blurt out. It's a question that has been haunting you since your impromptu phone call confession. Longer even.

Steven hesitates, clearly torn, and it’s enough to make you realise what you've just asked of him. How unfair of a question it is.

"Sorry.” You grimace, your shoulders sagging. "I know you don't feel comfortable sharing things about Marc without him here. And I understand. It's okay. Really it is. It's..."

It's only right, isn't it? Of course it’s not for Steven to out Marc’s private matters. And what can be more personal than one’s inner thoughts and feelings?

"Oh, love," Steven says, voice impossibly gentle, “You're right that it's not my place to tell you.”

You nod, looking down at your lap, feeling like your whole chest has deflated. You know it's the right thing for him to do. You’re glad for it even—that he's looking out for Marc when Marc's not here to look out for himself—but you can’t help but feel disappointed all the same.

“Buuuut…” he continues, and your head whips up, searching his face with a tiny sprinkle of hope that perhaps there's still something Steven can share with you. 

“You heard what I said to him in there, right?” Steven prompts, and you nod. His fingers brush over yours, giving you the time to process. 

You try to remember everything you overheard, any other hints you’ve gleaned. How Marc always drinks your “awful” coffee. That he’d clutched onto his jacket after you’ve worn it. The shower. Your fingertips tingle all over again as the image of him in the shower tries to resurface in your mind. 

“Surely it’s obvious by now how Marc feels about you, isn’t it?” 

Steven looks so certain—like he can’t even begin to fathom why there would be any doubt about this—and you desperately want him to be right. Desperately want to think that Marc might care for you in return. 

He says it like all of the pieces of the puzzle are plainly there for you to see. And they should be, you suppose. Marc has shown you so many different sides of himself, and the conversation you overheard revealed more. The problem is that no matter how hard you try to mash the pieces together to make them fit… They don’t.

What Steven’s implying makes sense, and yet here the two of you are, alone. And Marc is still refusing to join you.

Despite everything, the picture before you is still somehow… incomplete. You can’t help but feel that there’s at least one more vital piece of information that you’re still somehow missing. 

“So why is he still hiding, then?” 

And there’s something there, in Steven’s reaction when you ask him. A quick, blink-and-you’d-miss-it flicker towards the direction of the fish tank. The only reflective surface, lit up as it is in the darkness of the room. 

“Steven?” you prompt loudly, fully intent on interrupting whatever tirade Marc is shouting at Steven. You lean forward, squeezing his hand for attention. “What is Marc saying to you? Why won’t he come back?”

Steven’s head whips back in your direction. His mouth is works, but no words come out, and he’s hesitating like he’s trying to decide how much he should tell you. 

“There are things that we—that Marc hasn't told you,” Steven finally says, eyes flicking to the fishtank again, then back to yours, holding your gaze earnestly. “Things that you ought to hear about from him. He doesn’t think he deserves– Well. He thinks that once you know about everything, you’ll walk away from us both. So he’s staying away. I guess in some way, he thinks he’s protecting me again. Buying me some time before it ends."

“That’s ridiculous!” you shout before you can stop yourself. “He can’t possibly know how I’ll react until he’s told me!” 

Your ears burn and you wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam coming out. Why can’t Marc just sit you down and tell you these things instead of making assumptions about what he thinks you would want? What he thinks would be best for you? It’s Steven and the goldfish all over again. 

“And, Steven,”—you look him right in the eye, because you don’t want there to be any doubt about this next part—”I love you. There is nothing Marc could tell me that would make me want to leave you, all right.”

Steven smiles, and even in the dark it’s warm enough to light up the whole room.

"Yes, love, I know.” His smile turns wry, “Like I said… a right twit."

It’s dark. 

Quiet. 

The world isn’t awake yet, and you’re not sure if you are either. You can’t even hear the London traffic outside. There’s too little light in here, and you can’t make out anything except vague shapes in the inviting darkness. You close your eyes again, ready to drift back to sleep. 

Fabric rustles nearby, a soft white noise like the raising of sails. It reminds you of visiting the beach as a child and putting your ear to the opening of a seashell. Everything sounds like it’s underwater.

The surface under you moves, rolling slightly, and then settles again, and it feels like you are out at sea on a small boat. Behind your eyelids, all you see is purple skies dusted with sugared stars. 

Someone is here on the boat with you, warm and sturdy against your side. For a moment or two, drunk on sleep as you are, you don’t quite know where you are or who the person is. All you know is that you feel happy and safe with them. 

The boat rocks again, the surface under you shifting, and the warmth moves away. You want it back. Before you can reach out, the soft weight covering you shifts like a wave, dragging against your hip as it rises up over your torso before settling again, tucked snugly under your chin. 

There are quiet, almost careful footsteps on wooden planks. Then the clink of metal like chains being dragged across the floor. 

It’s all so familiar somehow. 

Didn't there used to be a time when you'd often find yourself like this? Drowsy and half-conscious, pulled towards awareness by the quiet sounds of someone moving next to you, but too far under to fully wake? 

When did it stop?

Oh. Right. When Marc disappeared. 

This must be a dream then. Your brain processing and recycling old memories. Why else would you be out on the open sea? 

The noises stop. 

You can feel the moment drift, pulled away by the currents, but you’re not ready to wake up yet. There’s a long silence, where the dream threatens to slip beneath the inky depth of a wave. 

Squeezing your eyes firmly shut, you try to let yourself float gently on the current, hoping you can relax and prolong this dream. 

The surface you’re resting on dips, and something settles onto your shoulder. A solid, comforting weight. You know this feeling. It’s Marc’s hand, and it inspires the same feeling of safety it did last time, the last time you and Marc were together in person, after you'd cried yourself into exhaustion and he'd agreed to let you fall asleep in his bed. 

It feels nice. More than nice. It feels right.

You nuzzle your cheek into billowing warmth surrounding you that feels like a soft pillow and smells of fresh laundry detergent and coffee. You inhale deeply, sighing contently at the scent, trying to enjoy it while it lasts. 

You don’t want to give this up.

The weight lifts from your shoulder, and you almost rise up in protest, but something sweeps softly across your forehead. Those gentle fingertips, brush the hair from your eyes before coming to linger on your cheek. 

It's a bit funny, isn’t it? A bit cruel even, of your subconscious to conjure up a scenario where Marc’s touching your cheek tenderly like this. After all, isn’t this what you’d thought he might do that night? What you’d wanted him to do, even if you hadn’t known it then? To cup your cheek in his strong, warm hand; to hold you like you're precious to him, beloved, the same way that Steven does?

Marc’s hand moves away again, replaced by the gentle brush of soft lips and bristly stubble against your temple. It’s a barely-there touch, so light and fleeting that you might have imagined it, yet everything inside you aches like a tender bruise. Your skin tingles with an echo of lingering warmth.

You don’t dare to move; barely dare to breathe for fear that you’ll wake yourself up. Your chest constricts with a bittersweet longing that feels large enough to bury you whole. 

"I love you too," his quiet voice says, filling the silence.

Warmth blossoms in your stomach, pouring and pouring through you until you feel filled to the brim with happiness. You think you would be content to stay here, in this safe, quiet space, just basking in his loving presence forever.

For long moments, you do, sinking into the feeling of being loved by this grumpy, stubborn, confusingly gentle man.

Then you hear the heavy sigh.

"That's why I can't come back," he says, voice quiet, resigned, “I need you to be safe. And happy. I’ll make sure of that.”

The sea rises as his weight lifts away from you. The whole of the boat shifts unsteadily beneath you, tilting with the tumultuous waves. Set adrift by the unexpected and unwelcome turn the dream has taken, you’re convinced that the boat is going to tip over and capsize. That you’ll slip into the cracks between the planks of the deck and fall into the abyss, never to be seen again.

You reach out to grab the railing, trying to steady yourself. But where you expected a wooden ledge, hard and wet from seawater, your fingers grasp onto something soft and warm instead. It gives way easily under the grip of your hands, like cotton. Like sheets. 

Still you hold on tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable descent, and then…

Nothing.

Nothing happens. You’re still on steady ground. Still surrounded in the stillness of the dark night. The only sound is that of soft footsteps moving away and then the unmistakable click of the front door. 

Wait, what kind of dream is this?

Your eyes fly open, and you’re greeted to the sight of the wooden planks, mostly lost in shadow. The bottom of the deck? Are you in the ship’s hold? 

No, it’s the  lowered ceiling over Steven's bed. You’re in his flat.

There’s an ache in your shoulder from having rested on it too long, and you force yourself upright. Your eyelids feel crusty and dry, as though a desert has sprung up behind them overnight. They sting as you blink, wanting to seal closed again. 

Are you awake now? Or is this just another part of a dream? Ten seconds from now, will you find yourself back down on the mattress, forcing yourself to open your eyes all over again?

It’s dark in here, but that tells you nothing. In wintertime, dark can mean 5pm or 7am or anything in between. Turning to the side of the bed, you pat at the nightstand until you find your watch and raise it to your face, squinting in the darkness to make out the dials. 

Eight-thirty? That can’t be right. You and Steven fell asleep well past eight last night, and it’s too dark outside to already be eight in the morning. You reach over to the small lamp, holding the face of it up to the dim light. The arms counting the seconds is taking much longer than a second to hobble forwards. It’s desperately trying to tick along but it’s not doing a great job at keeping time accurately. 

You really need to fix the bloody thing. Or better yet, get a new one. Everything about it is falling apart. Still you fasten it to your wrist by habit before you move to get out of bed. 

With a heavy sigh, you dip one foot onto the floor, and hiss out an involuntary breath at the chill of it. Your shoulders clutch at the quilt tugging it closer around your shoulder.

Wait, this is…

Real.

The biting cold is definitely real. Not a dream; not your imagination. As fantastical as your dreams can sometimes be, your subconscious wouldn't have the attention to detail to replicate the energy bill crisis. 

Turning your head, your eyes drift to Steven’s side of the bed where he fell asleep curled up next to you. Except, he’s not there anymore. 

You reach out your hand, resting it on the spot of the mattress where he would have been lying. 

Still warm and toasty. 

He must’ve gotten up mere moments ago. The door to the loo is open and dark, so Steven’s not in there. He’s not anywhere, and Steven wouldn’t have left the flat without telling you. Must’ve been Marc then, gone wandering off into the night again.

Your neck prickles.

And all of a sudden you’re wide awake, realisation slamming into you like a runaway lorry.

Oh bloody hell, that wasn’t a dream. It was real. 

Marc was really here. 

He really– 

Oh god!

Shoving the comforter away, you leap to your feet. The cold draft in the room punches the air out of your lungs, but you ignore it and focus on trying to find your clothes and dress as quickly as possible. In your haste, you ricochet off one of the bookcases and have to clumsily pat things back into place to avoid an avalanche of Steven’s mess, picking the first pair of boots that is within reach and your coat. Then you’re out of the front door with a loud slam behind you. 

~ Continue ~

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #marvel mcu #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knigh fanfiction #jake lockley #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #cici writes

[rockingrobin69]

Numbly

“I've been informed,” Harry Potter burst through the door with his habitual earth-quake of a shout, “that you don’t even like peppers!”

“Good morning,” Draco said dryly. Harry Potter glared.

With a sigh, Draco retreated to the kitchen to fetch the biscuits from the cupboard.

Around his third one, an insistent crumb hanging to his upper lip with all its tiny might: “Peppers, Malfoy!”

“Pardon?”

“Peppers!”

Draco blinked. “If you’ll be so kind as to tell me what on earth you’re on about.”

“Pansy said you hate them!”

He looked absolutely outraged. Draco sipped his long-cold tea.

“Do I?”

“She said you’re allergic!”

“Am I?”

“Stop—fucking with me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” But the corner of his lips was twitching. “I’m not allergic. I was simply a horribly dramatic child and she still naïve back when we were, what, six. Seven. I’m fine with peppers now.”

Harry Potter pouted, terribly chipmunk-ish, and even put the biscuit pack down. Down to business. “I cooked the—bloody hell, Malfoy, just, honestly. Why wouldn’t you say? That you hate peppers. I would’ve made something else. I would have happily—why?”

Utterly bemused, “I am. Honest, I mean. I don’t mind peppers anymore.”

“That’s a fucking lie and we both know it.”

Grasping at straws and failing, at least managing to stop the wobble of his stupid mouth, the automatic turning downwards. Went for his cup instead. The tea was ice-cold and flavourless and Draco poured it down his throat like it could cure him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he then said, venomous, and turned his eyes back to the wall, where they refused to stay. It was always like this when Harry Potter barged into his flat. Even the water stains on the ceiling lost their usual allure and could not hold his attention. “If it’s raining, cast a bloody Impervious. Or take an umbrella.”

Harry Potter took a deep breath instead, sounding awfully, weirdly small. Some of the tension bled out of him in increments, his shoulders first, then the fists unclenching, then his belly un-hardening. His jaw was last. Draco was helplessly mesmerised by the transformation.

“You’re impossible,” but his voice finally not straining, his fingers not twitching towards the biscuits. No longer needing the obvious distraction. “Next time, if I make something you dislike, you have to tell me.”

“An order,” Draco huffed. “How sweet.”

Harry Potter could blush all the way to the roots of his hair. It was such a stunning, breath-stealing wonder to witness.

“It’s not a… fuck you.”

“Hmm.”

They sat there in strangely amicable silence. The oven still gave that choking, desperate cough every ten seconds, and it set a nice framework for their breathing, for the non-fidgeting. Harry Potter was always fidgety, but not when he sat in Draco’s kitchen like this.

“What’s your schedule? For today. Nev said you’re doing overtime again.” Leaning back, giving Draco that look all his friends liked to wear, the one on the border of a telling-off. It didn’t usually work on him, but Harry Potter had a slight edge to his disappointment that made Draco’s skin crawl.

“Not—exactly. Shouldn’t be so late. I’ll be home for bedtime, Mother, I promise.”

Even his mother didn’t glare like that. “Third time this week? I kind of want to strangle your boss.”

“Ha. I should inform you that violence is usually frowned upon in the workplace.”

He didn’t smile, but he came near it. Draco could tell, because the corners of his eyes were dancing. “Does it count if it's not my workplace?”

“Mm. Fair enough. Strangle away.”   

Now he was smiling. “When d’you start? Want a ride?”

And Draco was so grateful he didn’t launch yet another tirade about how Draco should quit that he said, “Why not.” (Only because he was distracted and rather tired, and not because sitting behind Harry Potter on his motorbike was in itself half-punishment, and not because clinging to his waist on tight turns at far-too-quick was—anything at all). On the downside, it made Harry Potter practically beam, and Draco still needed his eyes.

“Great! I mean. That’s good. That you won’t be late. Bad for your, er, record, and stuff, and you might not get a—bonus or something.”

They didn’t do bonuses at McMillan & McMillan, but that was neither here nor there. Draco nodded, pushed himself up on not so flimsy legs, collected his coat from where it was crumpled on the back of a chair.

“What about lunch?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t take. Any lunch.”

Why was he so obsessed with food? It was dangerously endearing. “I have an apple in my bag. Come now, you promised I won’t be late.”

“An—” Harry Potter shook his head, loosening even more curls out of his bun. They were rain-flat and miserable and still entirely too sweet. “I’ll buy you a sandwich at that poor excuse for a cafeteria you got there. And so help me god, Malfoy, you’ll eat it, or—”

“All right,” both hands up, “no need to shout. Your wish is my command, etcetera.”

He pouted so hard it was almost comical. But there was something still wounded there, so Draco added, “As long as there’s peppers, you know,” and then he was fuming again, bouncing on the balls of his feet and ready to deliver yet-another lecture. Draco watched him, amused, and forgot to lock the door behind him, and forgot his scarf.

Did remember his umbrella, which he Leviosa-ed to follow the Death Machine, stuck it against the silly jacket's back when they reached the office. It wasn’t raining anymore, thankfully allowing Draco to arrive not wet-dog for a change, and it made absolutely no difference.

Harry Potter took off his helmet to watch Draco enter the building. Didn’t follow him inside (wise, to prevent a murder), and so Draco completely forgot about the sandwich threat until it was roughly lunchtime. At which point, a drawer in his desk suddenly jumped open, and a far-too-fancy £12 bready tower appeared. On it a note that scrawled pepper-free, git.

Harry Potter had a lot to answer for. Draco, distracted, chipped away at the sandwich all the same, and was only shouted at twice, and didn’t even spill coffee on his keyboard.

‘Not exactly overtime’ at the office meant staying after everyone else to take note of stock and arrange all the impossible paperwork. That Draco was given this task was already hilarious, and always a disaster: that his boss insisted on continuing to give it to him, possibly commendable. Maybe he thought Draco was being stubborn. Maybe he thought, nobody could really be this bad without actively trying. Well, he didn’t know Draco yet! There was always time to learn.

Stock was stocked. The backroom was stuffy and still smelling slightly of smoke (not Draco’s fault, probably), the sweet dusty smell of paperwork going to rot. It made his head spin, not unpleasantly, made him inhale a little brokenly and laugh to himself. The sandwich from all the way back lunch sat heavy in his belly, sweating. Everything was so incredibly laughable.

When he finally finished (after only forgetting three steps in the protocol), the sun had long set and the streetlights were humming. Not worrying, Draco thought, going back to the office (forgot his bag). Not worrying at all (back to the office, to check he locked the door). (Why would anyone give him the keys?) (Some disasters were just asking to happen).

On his way home he stopped by the corner shop for another pack of biscuits. Some disasters, sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t prepare in advance. Harry Potter would surge in soon enough with another grievance. Draco was giddy by nature, and so the shakiness was not necessarily to do with this.

To the crescent moon drowning in cloud he wondered, do I hate peppers?

Couldn’t remember to decide by the time he made it back.

#this came to me in a not-enough-sleep #and i've been making little scenes of it in my head all day long #draco insists on calling harry 'harry potter' every single time #he hits his head on the oven and harry gives him a kiss and they're both mortified? sitting under the kitchen's neon light in silence #everyone barges in his flat and they're all so dramatic and he's so dryly amused by it #also they're all so disappointed with how little care he takes of himself and he chokes on how he's barely keeping it together #no this is fun i promise. i promise #anyway what do i tag even. i forgot how to do this #drarry fic #right? #1300 words ish #rockingrobin69 #this is a part of a wip? technically? i GUESS?

[pedropascalsx]

Target Practice {Din Djarin x F! Reader}

Summary: You get distracted by the Mandalorian cleaning his weapons, and he can see right through you and what you’re needing from him.

Warnings: Gun kink, gun fucking, weapon fucking, p in v sex, creampie, mentions of oral, slight fingering, breastplay and some dirty talk. Please tell me if i’m forgetting anything.  - obvious canon divergence. Canon? we don’t know her. No use of y/n.

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: So as usual I am a little nervous about posting this but I had so much fun writing it, I really hope y’all enjoy it and if you did please let know! I love hearing your feedback. I am REALLY trying to improve on my writing and my smut, i promise!!!

Shoutout to my best girl @djarinispunkk for beta reading this for me. Shoutout to @prolix-yuy for being the best supportive enabler and helping convince me to run with this idea.

And shoutout to my girl @pedrito-friskito​ for being the sweetest person alive; i love you to pieces - happy birthday, i hope you enjoy this.

He could spot it from a mile off - he was certain he would be able to even without zooming in on his helmet - a look that was reserved just for him, a look that you were sure only he could bring out in you. A look that said more than your timid self could muster to say aloud, one that was drenched in want and lust. The first time you had given him that look, he had all but ran across the hull to you, whispering ‘are you sure?’ into your ear and then ripping your dress over your head in one clean sweep the moment you replied with a breathy ‘yes’. He’d taken you entirely by surprise; he was gentler than you’d anticipated, and it seemed to surprise him just as much. You’d found him leaving the door to his room slightly ajar for you every night since. The conversation still slow but day by day, he revealed more and more to you. Most the time he’d just ask questions, little things to get to know you more and more, and when you’d ask the same back, you’d get a nod or a short reply. Some days he wouldn’t ask you a thing, he’d keep himself as quiet as he needed to and communicate with the tiniest of touches: letting his hand linger on the bottom of your back, or resting his hand on your thigh for a few seconds before letting it go with a quick squeeze. The last time you’d given him this specific look was when he was taking apart one of his guns; you were mesmerised, watching him methodically take apart each piece and polish it until it gleamed perfectly. It wasn’t until you’d realised his hands had stopped moving entirely that he’d caught you staring, his helmet poised with a slight tilt. He stared back intently behind the beskar and your breath hitched as you realised that you’d been caught. You couldn’t see them, but you felt the burning gaze of his eyes burrowing into you, seemingly reading the filthy thoughts floating around your brain.

Before you could speak, a wordless command in the form of his finger pointing towards his cot was sent your way. On shaky legs, you immediately made your way into his room and removed your clothes. He always liked it when you were ready, not wanting to waste time in removing your layers – he likes when you’re bare. Bare and waiting for him. Ready for him to strip off his gloves and run his rough calloused hands all across your body, silently aching behind layers of beskar for you to do the same to him. You were sure that he’d never allow it, honestly you weren’t sure he could. So utterly devoted to his creed.

His hands were one of two parts of him that he’d revealed to you. He’d gotten into the habit of removing his gloves the minute his kid was snoozing soundly in his crib, waiting for you to notice and to slide your hand into his. You also loved the way he wasted no time in pulling you to the bottom of his bed, spreading your legs so he could slide in between them and tapping your thighs in the form of a command for you to wrap your legs around his waist. Only then would he begin to run his hands all over you, taking his time to squeeze and play with your tits. Telling you how badly he wanted to suck them, run his tongue across them and bite down until you squealed beneath him. But this time was different, he breathed out the usual ‘good girl’ at seeing you spread bare for him, the two words he knew went straight to your core and made you leak arousal for him. He kept his hands to himself, his helmet tilting upwards and back down again as he took in the sight in front of him in.

“You look so good like this” he grunted, before finally reaching down to run his palms up and down your thighs. Spreading your legs, a little further before slotting himself against you, gripping up to your hips to stop any movement until he’s ready, “Tell me what you were thinking when I was fixing my gun back together, sweet girl.” His cock twitches as your breaths become shaky and your chest heaves up and down. He’s always more vocal when you’re like this, always more giving with words when he’s got you where he loves you the most. “Tell me, don’t make me ask again,” he growls out. You feel your core clench down around nothing with a desperate need. “I was thinking… thinking about how it-it would feel” you murmur, your voice small and shaky as he runs his thumb across your cheekbone.

“How it would feel where, baby? Tell me what you want.” You bite down on your lip as his fingers trail down your torso, just lightly sweeping against your skin until he gets to your core. A finger slightly circles the area beneath your belly button before he drags it down to the top of your slit, millimetres away from where you want to feel him the most, waiting until you give him the answer he is chasing.

“In-inside of me,” you splutter out, and he rewards you with a firm press against your bundle of nerves. “Good girl.” he grits out as he starts to draw circles around your clit, “You want it, sweet girl?” he asks as he reaches behind his back and pulls out the very rifle you had been focusing on minutes before. “Yes,” you moan as he continues working your clit. “Safe word or hit down on the bed if you need me to stop” he says whilst dipping two fingers into your entrance, gathering up as much slick onto his fingers before removing them and spreading it down the barrel of his gun. You groan as he removes his hand from your core and places it on one of your thighs, spreading you open a little more before rubbing the cold metal against your clit.

“You ready?” You nod your head ferociously as he moves the gun down slowly through your folds, until it reaches your entrance and he pushes it in, relishing in the soft moans escaping your mouth as the barrel breaches you more and more.

“Play with that pretty little clit,” he orders as he slowly starts to pump it in and out, studying your face as it contorts in pleasure and the pretty little sounds you make escape through your plump lips. He fucks you with his gun until he feels your pussy grip hard around it, until your eyes roll back into your head, and you beg to feel his cock filling you instead. He then flips you on your stomach and thrusts his achingly hard cock in and out of you until you’re a quivering mess, pussy lips sore and swollen from being railed into his cot and your bundle of nerves trembling from overstimulation. He left for a hunt the very next day and didn’t return for almost 10 days. He had told you he wanted to watch you fuck yourself with his gun the very first night he returned, but he quickly pulled it away and pressed himself into you, the gun quickly forgotten about.

And now you find yourself stood in the hull of his ship, your fingers tracing his pulse rifle. Feeling the cool metal against your fingertips as you run them slowly up and down the prongs. You’d never been brave enough to touch it before, knowing the power the rifle holds and having seen his disintegrate threats with it in a single blast, but today you couldn’t keep away. Memories of his gun rubbing that sweet spot inside of you replaying in your head, over and over as you dripped your arousal into your panties.

You couldn’t help but wonder how this would feel. How Mando would look draped in his armour as he stood over you again fucking you with another one of his weapons.

A gloved hand squeezes your shoulder, and you jump at the unexpected intrusion, so lost in your own filthy thoughts you didn’t hear him enter, “S’okay baby” he groans into your ears, a hand sneaking around your front and down to cup your mound, “You’ve seen what that one can do, sweet girl, I don’t think you could handle this one” he whispers. “I can handle it” you reply sounding braver than you’d expected to, “I want you to fuck me with it, Mando.” “Go get ready for me, sweet girl.”

You slowly walk towards his room, and just before you get to the door, you spin around to face him. Keeping your eyes on the visor of his helmet as you reach up to pull the straps of your dress off of your shoulders before letting it fall down around your ankles. You swear you hear a shaky breath escape through his modulator before you reach back and unhook your bra, swiftly pulling it down and letting it join your dress on the floor. You take a small step forward before dipping your fingers into the waistband of your panties and you slowly start to pull open the door, slightly swaying your hips as you do so. You step out of your panties slowly, and instead of letting them drop to the floor you let them hang from your index finger and you reach your arm out for him to take them from you.

You watch his chest plate rise and fall for a few short moments before he takes two long strides before you and snatches the flimsy lacy material from your finger. A smart contented sigh leaves your lips, and you hear him mumble something about not getting them back as you enter the room and lower yourself onto the bed you share. “Such a dirty, dirty girl” he groans as he sees you laid bare and waiting, “Fuck, you’re dripping, baby girl.” Your breath hitches as he lays the pulse rifle down beside of you, “Not yet, gotta get you ready first” he says, sensing your anticipation.

He holds his hands out in front of your face, and you take the silent order to remove the gloves as quickly as possible, the moment the first one is free he takes the opportunity to run his fingers across your cheek. “Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs before pulling the other free from your grip and plunging a thick finger inside of you, praising the way you clench around his digit immediately.

“Good girl, baby,” he coos as he slowly pumps it in and out, over and over until you’re begging for more. Eventually, he adds a second and reaches up to grab your own hand, moving it down to your clit. Your soft mewls fuel his need for you to cum on his fingers, and he orders you to rub your clit harder as he roughly palms at your breast with his free hand. You whimper the only name he had given you as you clamp down onto his fingers, vision blurred and seeing stars as he praises you throughout your high.

“You sure you want this?” he asks, gripping your jaw gently as he studies your face. “I do.” “And you’ll use the safe word if you want me to stop?” “Yes, Mando. I promise.” “Good girl.”

He reaches down to pick it up and you watch as he slowly studies his weapon, trying to work out the best way to do this, the way to do this without potentially harming you. He keeps his hand off of the trigger and holds it tentatively with both hands. After watching him think for a few moments about how to do this, you carefully reach down and guide the rifle towards you, keeping it straight as you encourage him to push the bottom prong inside of you as the top slides across your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck yourself down on it” he orders, “I’ll keep it still, baby. You cum on this and then you’ll cum on my cock.”

You keen over his words, and the way he lets the sweet endearments he keeps just for you slip out when you’re at your most vulnerable for him. Slowly, you move your hips, rocking downwards slightly and gasping at the way the cool metal feels against your clit. Your pace increases as you get used to the feeling, moaning louder and louder as the prongs rubs against the spongey spot inside of you and across your clit at the same time. You can see how affected he is at the sight laid out in front of him by the obvious tenting on his pants; you desperately feel the need to reach down and palm him he’s too far away. Desperate whimpers and moans fly freely from your mouth. “I know baby, I know” he soothes as your orgasm builds up inside of you, “I’ve got you, baby.” “I n-need… I need you, Mando” you stammer, as blinding pleasure explodes behind your eyes and you fuck yourself down harder and harder throughout your orgasm, chanting his name over and over as he continues to tell you that you’re his good girl, his and no-one else’s. The moment you come down from your orgasm, he slowly removes the blaster from your heat, discarding it as quickly as he can before freeing his almost painfully hard length from his pants. “My mouth,” you stutter as you attempt to pull yourself up, but a strong arm pushes on your shoulder to keep you laid down.

“Next time, baby… I need to be inside of you. Fuck. Need to feel that warm, tight pussy cum around my cock.” More arousal drips from your core as he continues letting filth drip from behind his helmet. You watch as he pumps himself a few times before dragging the tip of his cock through your folds, hovering at your entrance for a few seconds before filling you in one swift movement. Heavy breaths run through his modulator as he lets you adjust for a few moments.

“Look at you, so fucking perfect. My perfect sweet, sweet girl. Always so good to me. Always taking my cock so fucking good. Maker, how did I get so lucky as to stumble across you?” Before you can say anything back, he rolls his hips back and starts thrusting back into you. Your hands grip on to the cold beskar draping his shoulders as he fucks himself into you at an unforgiving pace, hitting that sweet spot with perfect precision. You squeeze down around him, choking out as his name as the feeling of euphoria begins to build inside of you; with each calculated and rough thrust, you feel the course patch of his pubic hair brush up against your clit and as you whimper his title, he whispers a simple one syllable word into your ear. “Din.”

“Din?” you repeat back to him. “Scream it, baby, as loud as you need to.” His name, you realise. His name. Din. “Din” you moan over and over, and you feel the affect it has on him - the way his shoulders seem to relax and the way his hands palm your breasts a little bit softer as he coaxes your next orgasm out of you.

You feel a gush from between your legs as you begin to soak him with your pleasure, before clamping down and screaming his name as you cum. He follows shortly behind as he thrusts in and out, painting your walls with his cum as he does so. “Fuck” you blurt out with a giggle, “That was… incredible.” “You are incredible” he says with a smirk that you can’t see but you can hear as he rolls down beside of you. You breathe out another tiny giggle as your hand slides into his. “It’s kind of perfect. It’s nice. Simple.” “What?” “Your name. Din. I like it.” “I like hearing you say it.” He says as he squeezes your hand three times. “I think you like hearing me moan it more.” “Mhm. Next time you moan it, it’ll be because my face is buried between your thighs.”

You gulp at the promise leaving his lips; never before has he tasted you, never before as he taken his helmet off around you, but the idea of finally feeling his lips against yours makes your heart stutter. You don’t press him on it, instead you snuggle up next him; letting the coolness of his beskar soak into your warm skin as he wraps his arms around you.

Letting him fuck you with his weapons was the best idea you’d had in a long time.

#pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #din #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #my fanfic #my fanfiction #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x original female character