Warnings: stress, struggling to sleep, fellatio (oral sex, m receiving), 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
A/N: as y'all know I haven't written for SW in a long while and so I also haven't used my tag list recently. please mssg me if you'd like to be taken off or fill out this form to be added/ update your preferences. thank you <3
He wouldn’t ask—that much didn’t surprise you, not when he thought you were asleep, along with his brothers in the surrounding bunks, where they currently still are. But with every shift in the pilot's seat, every loud creak underneath the worn-down cushion, you would think you were the one with heightened senses as you struggled to fall asleep. Your concern was something else though. Something was bothering Hunter.
And there he was—sitting in that pilot’s seat with the backdrop of hyperspace halo’ing his silhouette. The strong shoulders that signal his reservations, a wall shielding the man beneath, the pillars that hold the weight of the galaxy.
And there you are—with soft footfalls following you to the cockpit, where you find Hunter, restless and tense.
It’s a conversation neither of you are fully equipped for at this time, to unload your grievances about your lives and the state of the galaxy, not while the both of you are so low on sleep. But there remains comfort in the few words you exchange that for now, are enough.
Then it’s the creak of the floor as you drop to your knees, settling between Hunter’s. The low moan he lets out as you snake your hand under his cod-piece, half suited up—always an eye out for danger. The clicks as you unfasten the plastoid and maneuver the fabric underneath to free his cock.
The way it gleams under the light afforded by the Marauder’s large windows. You can imagine arguing with Hunter at a different time about the best sights in the galaxy; you’d crudely argue in favour of his cock and he’d say it’s you in this position. Though you know it’s just to mask his honest answer—a cliché ‘you.’ The both of you can just agree on hyperspace.
Even as the Marauder almost suffocates with heat and exhaustion, Hunter shivers at your touch. The catch of your hands against every ridge and vein of his cock, thick and hard, every twitch of his hips.
A gasping ‘thank you’ when your lips wrap around his pretty, swollen tip, the swirl of your tongue catching his pre-cum as you consume him in more ways than one. A hum around his length as he moans for you. Hips bucking up, up, up, as you take him deeper.
I’ve got you. It’s okay. You’re safe.
A promise.
Hands intertwining. Hunter breaking out of his pleasure induced stupor to meet your eyes—yours that watch him carefully, wanting to push him over the edge, to let him let go.
He moans your name as he comes undone, and you take from him what you so selflessly gave him. It’s the caress of your face with his big hands that cause you to flush, watered eyes adoringly gazing up at his.
He murmurs another ‘thanks’ before helping you to your feet. A kiss to his forehead, then one to yours, and then you’re wordlessly returning to your bunk to go to sleep. You have no doubt that Hunter will join you after his watch is over, and that you will find him next to you when you awake.
Warnings: some jealously, oral (f receiving)/cunnilingus, fingering, closet sex, biting, 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
A/N: yes im back but no promises with what im back with. this has been in my drafts for ages. not fully proofread bc i just wanted to get it out there. for now have this.
Your face hurts. Your body too—with the heavy dress weighing on your shoulders, and the scratchy faux jewels that embellish said dress—and your feet, strained in these god-awful heels that threaten you within an inch of your life every time you step forward. Fortunately for you, Silco has proven to be very effective in helping you maintain your balance by offering his arm for support, as well as being good company. Unfortunately, he seemed to have disappeared, and you're stuck talking to some topsider that doesn't care what a wink you say so long as you keep smiling and laughing with him. Yeah, your face hurts a lot.
And it doesn't help that this man has the most punchable face you've ever had the obvious displeasure of looking at.
Behave. Silco's reminder rings in your head. You're here so that he can keep good graces with the Piltovans—taking their greatness as his, and making sure that they do not intervene with his control in Zaun. So why is it that you're having the unpleasant conversations, batting your eyes at men who have far too much bravado for their brains to know what to do with. It's a surprise you haven't downed your entire glass of champagne yet.
'Say, what's a pretty girl like you hanging around sumprats for?'
You had forgotten that you also grew out your nails for this event. Your fist balls at your side, manicured fingertips digging into your skin as you refrain from yelling obscenities at this man and his audacity. You're appalled by his Piltovan-hubris and further baffled by the ignorance of this man - far too privileged to know that people cannot move to Piltover as they please, not that you would want to. But still, surely the council has more to offer than the man that doesn't seem to know the regulations he has a hand in approving.
Gritting your teeth behind a feigned smile, you respond. 'I'd hardly expect you to be a better company,' you joke, though there is no lie in your quip.
The man raises his arms in mock surrender, receiving your words the way you concealed them. He grins disgustingly, only emboldened by your attitude. 'Now there,' he laughs almost tauntingly, 'I only meant it as a compliment.'
That earns him an eye roll. 'Can't say the same,' you return, raising your glass to the jest and smiling into its narrow rim as you take a sip. But as you pull the drink away from your mouth and feel his fingers slide against yours around it, it takes everything in you to not smash the glass over his head.
Again, the audacity.
You don't protest as he takes the glass from your hands, but your mouth falls agape as he downs the rest of your drink and discards your cup. Is he expecting you to swoon at his bawdiness?
'What th—'
He offers his hand to you. You stare at it blankly. 'Let's start over. Salo, and you?'
—are about to tell him to shove his slimey fingers up his frivolous-looking a—
'Silco, charmed,' he interjects, an arm crossing the space in front of you to shake hands with your company. The other loops behind your back, squeezing your waist in a silent greeting. 'Darling,' he drawls, both eyes regarding Salo with no sign of impress or genuine intrigue towards your companion, 'You didn't tell me you've already made friends.'
'It's been a pleasure,' you retort coldly, not caring to stroke the man's ego any further than you apparently have.
Still, Salo doesn't get the hint and is rather emboldened by Silco's presence. 'Your lady has been keeping me very entertained,' he responds, a painfully obvious attempt to look you up-and-down paired with his words.
'Oh? Has she now?' Silco, smug as ever, raises his eyebrow at you, 'Have you been holding out on me, dear?'
You can feel your jaw clench under the pressure of the smile you are maintaining.
'Well, I—'
'I sure hope not,' Salo interjects, cutting you off rudely, 'Gods know how many men - or women! - I don't judge'—he winks at you and you roll your eyes when his returns to Silco—'are dying to get their hands on something like her.'
'You know, I really think we should get going,' you urge irritably, tugging at your date's sleeve. Your eyes meet his in a silent 'help me out here' and then widen to communicate a threatening urgency to him. As if to say that if you don't leave this instance, you will be dislodging your nails into Salo's eyes. Silco gets the message.
'I'm afraid she's right,' he smiles dashingly, eyes full of fondness. 'We have a little one at home,' he begins to apologise to Salo, excusing the both of you from the conversation and hopefully, the rest of the night.
'Nonsense!' he exclaims with a laugh, 'It was a pleasure mee—'
'Pleasure was all ours,' you rush, already pulling yourself and Silco away from that pretentious douche as fast as you can—not caring for your insincerity, not that Salo knew any better. Your feet scurry out of the ballroom, pulling you and Silco into an empty hallway.
'Darling,' he begins, 'Might I say—'
Silco grunts with the sudden impact of his back to the wall, the rest of his sentence morphing into a low groan with the way you push him backwards with forceful lips on his.
He entertains your eagerness for a moment, pushing back. 'C'mon darling,' he groans against you, mouth refusing to fully separate from yours. 'Let's get out of here.'
You're absolutely giddy with your ungraceful escape, hands snaking down to tug at Silco's belt with intent and refusal against his suggestion. 'Nuh-uh,' you chide, 'We can have fun right here.' Your hands fumble at his hips clumsily, as if you were teenagers both horny but unable to stop giggling.
‘Surely we can have fun in behind one of these doors,’ he suggests, knocking just to the side of the wall behind him, where there conveniently happens to be a door. ‘And look!’ he gasps dramatically, hand twisting around the handle, ‘It’s unlocked.’
You roll your eyes as he opens the door, walking past his outstretched arm in an exaggerated show of chivalry. 'We do this all the time at home,' you sigh, 'Can't we do something a bit more...indecent.' While you love the rendezvous you have with Silco at The Last Drop, this gala presents you with a fine opportunity to be naughty.
The door closes, prompting you to turn back to Silco as he makes use of its lock. When he faces you, his eyes narrow, capturing yours as he stalks over to you. He chuckles darkly.
'I'd be happy to defile you on every surface of this building—the whole fucking city—if you can prove to me you can be quiet.'
You inhale a steady breath as Silco lowers himself.
Ah. Only behind closed doors are you given the pleasure of seeing the Eye of Zaun drop to his knees so willingly. It's really a testament to your power over him.
He brushes slender fingers up your bare leg through the slit of your dress, your heart rate picking up against his unhurried movement towards your arousal.
'That pretty boy—What was his name?'
'Salo,' you grit, drawing in a shallow breath.
'Salo.' He tastes the name on his tongue, a bitterness in his tone. 'He's been gawking at you all night.'
'Hmm.' So he noticed.
His hand stops, too close to where you want him but not yet there.
'But he's not your type? Is he?' You shake your head at his question but he pushes on, not satisfied. 'Why not? He's pretty. Rich. Powerful—'
You scoff, cutting him off. 'He doesn't know power.'
He seems to be in agreement, though wants to hear more of your stance. The hand that presses against your thigh becomes a slight indication for you to continue as it remains unmoved.
'Elaborate.'
And the timbre of that voice. Yeah, that too.
'He's arrogant. Salo holds no true power—none over Zaun or even Piltover. Rich, sure, but he's never worked for anything. He might have a pretty face—'
A pinch to your thigh, your leg jerks at the pressure.
'Careful,' Silco warns.
'But you...' you can't conceal your grin as you hold Silco's upwards-turned gaze, knowing that this is how you get what you want. 'You... are devilishly handsome...'
'Wicked girl,' he comments.
'Rich. Powerful. Striking. And you know what else?' He quirks a brow and you drop your voice, a smirk tugging at your lips. 'He could never satisfy me like you do.'
A beat of silence. You swear the temperature rises. And then—
It's the sound of your yelp that cuts through the air of the closed space as determined hands separate your legs, forcing one of them over his shoulder. The skirt of your dress parts with your thighs, allowing Silco closer access to where you need him as he comfortably settles in between them. While the change in pace has you startled, you are not complaining.
'Hush, darling,' he croons, splaying a hand over the exposed thigh resting languidly over his shoulder, 'we wouldn't want to be kicked out of this fancy party too soon, do we?'
Well, not before you get off.
'—Not before I get to defile you on every surface in here. Like I promised.'
Oh right. Definitely not before that.
You shake your head at him, pointedly not responding with a sound but instead grinding your hips in a silent plea.
'Patience, girl.'
And then he inhales. You shudder as his nose presses against your panties, earning him a whiff of your cunt as he balls the fabric of your dress in his long fingers.
'Please...' you whimper, though it's barely above a whisper.
He flattens his tongue along your still-clothed cunt, then presses harder, as if your panties weren't soaked already with your arousal alone. Salivating. Tasting you.
It's not enough. For you or him.
A forgotten hand of yours snakes itself through his hair, parting the gelled strands, mirroring your dishevelment. Then, a tug.
Again, a silent plead. Please.
A hum in return. Okay. A tug of your panties, then a snap against your skin. A contained yelp from you. A 'you asked for this' as he frees you of the scrap of fabric.
There is no teasing this time when he pounces on your cunt. No warning as two fingers breach your opening and slide in with ease. None as his tongue, wet and wanting, separates your folds, lapping at the arousal already spilling out of you, and you—despite his desperation matching yours—aren't allowed to make a single noise even as he groans shamelessly against you, indulging in your sex.
You try to stay quiet, you really do. But for every dart of his tongue, every push of his fingers, every grind of your hips against him, there is a gasp, a squeak, an apology to every tug on his previously elegantly styled hair.
A beg for more, more, more.
And he is the one to indulge you. To make you cum as his tongue finally latches onto your clit; grinding, pushing, sucking on the delicate bud. A sensitivity that makes your toes curl in those absurdly uncomfortable shoes, numbing you in a state of euphoria rather than the strain of Piltover's exhibitions.
The obscene noises caused by the man between your legs are more telling than your whimpers; those high-pitched noises becoming echoes of your suppressed moans. And the noises echo, unwavering almost as his tongue laps and laps again, pushes against your clit, between your folds, even teasing your entrance despite the two fingers slick with your arousal with every push against your walls. Pushing and pushing until you're falling over the edge, only able to stifle your moans by sinking your teeth into the flesh of your own arm.
Well, nothing you can't survive.
And even if you do make a sound, Silco will just have to punish you. In which neither of you are particularly averse to. Especially not with his promise to take you on every clean Piltovan surface, leaving his mark as the king of its underworld with his queen at his side. More likely, you under him.
If you thought the night was long before, it's about to get delightfully longer.
congratulations, my dear! so proud of you. if drabble are still open, can i request 9 and/or 23 with hunter?
under the stars
Hunter x gn!Reader; hurt comfort for reader, prompt: [9] - nightmare | w/c: 463 | 501st follower prompt list
A/N: officially my last bit of writing for 2021 because my clock is about to hit the new year in literally a minute. all my love for 2022 <3
'Can't sleep?'
You're startled by the sudden interruption to your self-contained thoughts—and yet, find yourself latching onto that simple question with clambering hands. The new presence in the room is a helping hand, there to keep you from drowning in your own turbulence. Accordingly, the blurred lines of hyperspace become lost to you as you attempt to calm yourself enough to quell the tremor in your voice.
'Sorry,' you reply with restraint, 'didn't mean to wake you.'
Hunter shuffles behind you, soft footsteps stepping closer in a non-threatening manner—assuring you that he wasn't intending to sneak up on you. 'Not your fault,' he dismisses your apology, 'Heightened senses, remember?'
There's a hint of a chuckle in his reminder. It's an honest attempt to lighten the tension.
'Of course,' you smile unconvincingly, 'how could I forget?'
As you look over your shoulder, you hope that Hunter doesn't see the weariness in your expression under the shadows of the cockpit. Unfortunate for you, you know that he doesn't need enhanced senses to read you better than anybody else. You just wish it wasn't him that found you tonight.
'What's wrong?' he asks - and there's something so contagious between you and him that when he frowns, your sad attempt for a smile immediately abandons its stage position so that your expression can mirror his. You internally cringe at the futility of your basic performance.
'It was nothing,' you attempt to shake it off - playing it as no big deal, 'Just a nightmare.'
'Yeah?' he steps around your chair, kneeling to your height. A hand rests on your knee, offering you the opportunity to seek the comfort you need from him but careful not to crowd into your space and back you into a corner. 'Do you want to talk about it?'
You gulp. 'Not really, no.'
'That's alright,' he assures you in a lowered voice, matching your volume, 'Do you want me to take you to bed?'
A real smile graces your face this time. Even your tired eyes shimmer as you bite back a giggle at his suggestion.
'Not like that,' Hunter chuckles at your reaction, shaking his head at your misinterpretation.
'I know,' you hum, the moment bringing you slightly more comfort. 'But stay?' you timidly request, 'Here - with me. I just want to watch the stars for a little longer.'
'Of course,' Hunter smiles, his lips turning upwards the more he sees your face morph into an expression of comforted-bliss and relief. He intertwines his fingers with yours, holding onto your hand as he takes the seat next to yours.
And as you approach a sense of contentment straying away from the troubling start to your night, Hunter finds himself with his own struggle:
Warnings: talks of using shimmer, recreational drug use (smoking), shotgunning, making out/light grinding, no explicit sexual content, friends to lovers-ish, lil fluff. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
A/N: im a simple person who just wants a shotgun hit from this man | first arcane fic and nervous about it
‘Are you sure you want to—’
‘Silco,’ you cut him off, chuckling as you open up a drawer to his desk. Your eyes immediately find the bundle of purple tubes he keeps stashed in his office, glowing temptingly at you. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘It’s unwise to—’
‘Silco,’ you snap your head towards him, fingers picking up a tube to pointedly hold it out in front of you, ‘I need this.’
The man regards your stature—the way you appear dejected tonight, shoulders slump and exhausted, and the way your eyes scream tiredness and desperation but also brim with a wicked curiosity. Whatever happened today must have really been something if you of all people were resorting to shimmer.
‘Fine,’ he snarls after a moment of silent consideration. Silco moves closer to you, plucking the tube from your fingers before settling into his seat. ‘But we do this on my terms.’
You scoff, folding your arms as a show of your resistance to his authority and growing irritation. Like you said, it’s been a long day and you’re not looking to be humoured right now. ‘Your terms?’ you raise your brow in question.
He nods. ‘You remain with me while you’re intoxicated, and you take no more than I let you have.’
Shaking your head, you bitterly laugh. ‘If I knew you chose today to be a stick-in-the-mud, I would’ve gone straight to the taverns.’
Anger flashes in his eyes and he scowls your name in a warning. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’
Right.
Understanding silently fills you, now realising that the sternness he’s unusually directing towards you is just masking his ever-present concern. You forget that you haven’t used shimmer before, and he knows you and shimmer better than almost anyone. His terms are in your best interest, even if you’re only becoming more frustrated and weary each slow passing moment.
‘Fuck.’ You’re exasperated, seating yourself at the edge of his desk and pinching the space between your eyebrows in embarrassment. Your head hurts. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
Silco says your name again, this time simultaneously softly and more demanding of your attention. ‘You are better than all of us. Don’t forget that.’
Dropping your hands to your side, you look at him dejectedly, a weak smile struggling to form itself on your tired face. ‘I just really need a distraction right now.’
The man laughs, leaning himself back into his chair, a lit cigarette between his fingers. You hadn’t seen him reach for it, but you’ve seen him with it more than you’ve seen him without, so it comes to no surprise. ‘Don’t we all?’ he muses, bringing it up to his lips.
‘I suppose it’s part of the life,’ you lament, though still attempt to match his humoured attempt to console you. Pushing yourself off the desk, you approach him, hand gesturing to the cigarette between his fingers. ‘May I?’
He shrugs in indifference, beckoning you forward with the wave of his hand. ‘Come closer.’
You lean over him, a hand supporting yourself at the top of his seat while the other reaches for the joint.
‘Uh uh,’ he taunts, lifting the joint to his lips and inhaling deeply. He brings his other hand up to cup your jaw, slender fingers rapping delicately on your skin. He presses his thumb to your bottom lip, signalling you to open your mouth for him.
Without protest, you follow his direction. Your lips separate instinctively as he gently pulls you down so that your faces are only inches apart.
Naturally - as if you’ve done this a hundred times before - your eyes close in anticipation of his increasing proximity to you. It’s a moment later when the hold on your jaw tightens minutely, trapping you in place as a trail of smoke is blown from his mouth to yours.
You inhale.
The bitterness of the smoke surprises you, the fog neither warm nor cool as it filters its way to your lungs. Silco loosens his grasp. His thumb rubs softly at the side of your face as he coaxes you through the haze. Your eyes are still closed when the man drags his hand down to the base of your neck, his fingers curling around the junction at your shoulders. You sigh at the tenderness, enraptured by how easy it is to surrender yourself to his control like this.
He breaks the natural silence.
‘You’re perfect.’
Your eyes open on their own, forcing you to meet his mismatched ones. Pure conviction lines his eyes, but the orbs are blurred and unfocused as if his words were meant as a personal observation - something he wasn’t meant to say out loud. Only now do you realise that your face is still close to his, the cloud of smoke between you has dissipated and you can see him as clear as ever.
‘Silco?’ you murmur lowly, to which he engages you with a quiet and attentive Hmm. You catch the flit of his eyes to your lips, and make sure to hold his gaze when they reconnect with yours. You purse your lips in thought, trying to place a finger on the man that has stolen your existence. ‘What are you doing to me?’
Silco opens his mouth to speak only to have no words come out. He continues looking at you, unable to find a response and mesmerised by the tilt of your head as you observe him, just as he to you. Then he’s raising himself to connect his lips to yours.
You respond quickly, looking to rectify your awkward, bent-over position as you push him back into his seat and straddle his lap. Silco holds his occupied hand to the side, keeping the cigarette safely out of the way while his other hand trails itself down your body. He pulls you closer by the small of your back before his hand ends at your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he grinds his hips against yours.
When he coaxes your mouth open again, it’s his teeth on your bottom lip and his tongue—warm and forceful—seizing your mouth instead of that soft cloud of smoke. But just like before, you obey.
You don’t get much of a chance to taste his presence before he’s releasing your lips and searching for your gaze. Without breaking eye contact, Silco takes another hit of the blunt and then seals his lips to yours with the smoke still in his mouth. It’s pnly then that you can truly enjoy the warmth of his mouth as he pushes his tongue back into you and consumes you whole, a foreign smell mixed with your sweetness as your tongues clash.
‘You’re perfect,’ he says again, murmuring against your lips when he brings himself to retract his tongue from your mouth.
'Silco—’ you whine, grinding down against his hard-on, the inhaled vapour setting you alight with the most thrilling tingle in your lungs. You pull away from him, ghosting your lips over his ear. 'I…I need…’
'Tell me darling.’
'I need you to touch me.’
The last thing you expect from your admission is for Silco to freeze underneath you, his hips stilling below your urgent, desperate ones.
'Si—’ you begin.
'Not like this,’ he frowns, pulling his head from yours so that he can look at you properly. He repeats himself when you’re both looking at each other.
'Silco,’ you protest, voice coming out in a pathetic whine. 'I want this. I want you.’
'I know. Shit - I know,’ he groans, a mix of frustration and arousal in the throaty sound. 'Just not tonight,’ he tells you, reiterating himself.
There’s a pang in your chest, reeking of rejection and embarrassment. 'Do you want me to leave?’ you ask weakly.
'No,’ he’s quick to answer, not wanting you to get the wrong impression. Silco runs a hand through his hair, slumping back into his seat as he mules over the tense relationship between you two. His priority - right now - is you, and he needs to make sure you’re okay, that he won’t let you do something you might regret. Even if it’s him.
Mirroring your concern, he gulps.
'If…when you’re sober'—his uneasy tone betrays his usual demeanour with a foreboding uncertainty—'and you still want this - us, I’ll give it to you.’ It’s a promise.
There’s a beat of silence as you consider his words. He licks his lips, your taste faint but still on the marred flesh. He speaks again.
'I’d give you my whole kingdom if you asked.’
You nod again in understanding, the reasoning echoing his earlier reluctance for you to use his shimmer. His shimmer. His promise is a testament to lots of things: his power and influence, his protectiveness, his concern, all of those things but for you. It’s thrilling - buzzing and heating up your face with fluster. A warm feeling that you could easily attribute to the common poison in your system, but also to him. Silco. He who has stolen your breath.
'Okay,’ you agree, smiling warmly as you allow your eyes to glaze over his features - the intricate lining of his scars, the way his eyes catch the light in different ways, the knitting of his eyebrows as he stares intensely at you…committing you and him to memory.
'But,'—you need to reassure him—'All I could ever want is you.’
Heyaaa dear! If you're feeling like it, maybe [14] (warm) with Fives?
Take care <3
- Meda
YEAHHHHH here you go babes
warm
Fives x gn!Reader; morning fluff! | w/c: 274 | 501st follower prompt list
You quirk your brow in the fresher mirror, tilting your head towards the door left ajar to acknowledge the muffled sound coming from the bedroom.
'You okay?' you shout, diverting your attention back to washing your face and awaiting a response from the decorated ARC trooper in your bed, for once relaxed and free of his responsibilities.
Fives groans again, the sound muffled with his face pressed against the plush of your mattress. You hear the shuffle of fabric as he rolls over in bed, his voice now clearer though still rough with sleep.
'Come back to bed,' he answers groggily, followed by a mumbled 'Miss you.'
You roll your eyes at him despite the fact he can't see you. 'Okay bossy,' you chide, moving to dry off your wet hands, 'I've barely been gone for five minutes.'
'I know,' he groans, shuffling again, 'Your side is still warm. Hurry up.'
'Or what?' you laugh.
'Or...it'll get cold and I'll get hypothermia.'
You emerge from the fresher, an amused look on your face as you approach Fives by the bed. 'That's not how you get hypothermia, dumbass,' you wave your hand at him, 'Scoot over.'
'And I'm the bossy one,' he scoffs, remaining still, 'I was keeping your pillow warm by the way.' He stretches his arm to the side, prompting you to lie next to him, 'You're welcome.'
You giggle, sliding under the blanket and curling into his warmth, his arm instinctively circling around your shoulders. You murmur a 'thank you' into his chest, but not before you smother his feet with your cold ones and laugh at the yelp he lets out.
Gregor finds out who he was before crashing on Abafar. He tells you the news, something you never expected to hear, and something you need him to say.
Warnings: oral (reader receiving), penetration (r receiving), mirror sex, sex with feelings, angsty but a bit optimistic. 18+ MINORS DNI
A/N: so apparently i couldnt handle not writing for 5+ days; this idea came up to me RIGHT AFTER i finished an exam
'Who the fuck are you?'
The helmeted figure whips their whole body around, blue visor swiftly moving from their reflection in the mirror to you, and allowing you a better view of the armour they don. Armour that was evidently once white and yellow but now greyed and dull in colour.
'I can explain!' they manage quickly, hands flying up to show you they mean no harm. It takes a moment for you to recognise the voice, confusion lacing yours when you realise who it is.
'Gregor?'
He nods, slowly moving his hands towards the thick-looking helmet, gloved fingers framing the canvas of hash-marks as he pulls it off his head. He shifts the helmet under his arm, smiling at you shyly when he meets your wide-eyed expression.
'You cut your hair,' you point out, bewildered by the seemingly new man in front of you, freshly shaved and hair much shorter. You weren't even aware he had a razor.
Gregor shrugs, not particularly expecting that question considering he expected the armour would be of more concern. Still, he runs a hand through his hair with a nervous smile. 'You like it?'
'I do,' you stare at him a moment longer, appreciating the new sight of him, though you will miss the shagginess of his old 'do—not that that needs to be known.
Though, you still recognise the cute upturn of his lips, and the soft eyes he always greets you with, even with the new kit of armour.
Right.
You blink away your awe-stricken gaze, clearing your throat, 'So...what are you wearing?'
…
‘You’re shitting me. A clone captain?’
Again he shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck, adorably awkward and still humble. 'Crazy, right?'
You and Gregor are now seated on the low table in the middle of his room, alternating his large bottle of red liquor between the two of you. You wipe off your mouth after another swig, passing the bottle back to him.
'Yes!' you laugh, leaning towards him to punch his shoulder, 'Knew you could do more than just dishwashing.'
Gregor returns your laugh, his plated chest shaking with him, but there's an uneasiness in the sound, a slither of tension that you can still see through the unfamiliar armour. His laugh dies down, and he sees the remnants of your amusement becoming replaced by concern as you anxiously bite your lip.
He sighs, setting the bottle on the ground and avoiding your gaze, 'I'm leaving tomorrow.'
'You're what?' you blink, trying to keep your voice level as you search for clarification, but you're unable to stop how unexpectedly betrayed you sound. 'Gregor,' you say sternly, 'look at me.'
The gears turn in his head, debating with himself as to whether he can handle looking at you right now; whether he could fathom leaving someone as breathtaking as you if he chose to look, or whether he could handle it if he saw hurt in your eyes, knowing it was him that hurt you.
'I can't.'
You huff, 'We have to talk about this.'
'It's not up for debate,' he pauses, the words come naturally but they feel so wrong, 'It's my duty.' He doesn't savour the bitter taste they leave in his mouth.
You scoff, 'You didn't even know anything about the Clone Wars until this afternoon, don't give me that bullshit about duty.' The word leaves a bitter taste in yours too. 'There's no war here, you're safe here, we're safe here.'
'I can't just do nothing,' he laments, regarding the erosion on the old plastoid armour, as if they will give him the sense of purpose he's been looking for.
'It's not your war, Gregor,' you plead.
'It's my brothers', which makes it mine,' he snaps his head towards you, making you flinch, 'I don't expect you to understand.'
Taken aback, you shuffle away from him, moving to the other end of the table. 'I really can't change your mind, can I?' You swallow, attempting to hold back your tears. You steady your breathing, ineffectively masking your grief, 'I won't stop you then.'
A mixture of relief and sadness overtakes his face. On one hand, he appreciates you coming to accept his immovable decision, and on the other, he's saddened to see you give up so easily, to see you letting him go so easily.
'Why aren't you fighting harder for us?' The words tumble out before he can think of stopping them.
You laugh, but he can tell by the way the sound is thicker that you're on the verge of tears. He looks at you quizically.
'Guess I'll just wait for another stranger to show up here,' you muse, though you're both aware that nobody ever really comes here, or stays. Maybe you should've known better.
Gregor doesn't laugh, but before you can gauge his reaction, he's crossing the short length of the table, on plastoid knees and all, and pressing his lips on yours.
You kiss him back fervently, not wanting to exchange any more words, the tears slipping from your closed eyes without your knowledge. He can taste them though, as they reach your lips and he pushes his tongue between yours, guiding the two of you around so he can gently lay you down on the table.
Gregor releases your lips, pinning your body under him as he lets you breathe. You lift your head up, seeking him out again, to which he only entertains you with a peck on the lips and a murmur, 'Let me take care of you.'
With your desperate nod, he spends an eternity between your legs, spreading them apart and bringing his hot tongue to your region of desire. He brings you over the edge time and time again, always patient and letting you rest between each high, but always eager to go again.
He sears himself to you, the sounds of his sopping tongue lapping away at your arousal are the only noise your ears can bother latching onto. You're intoxicated by the heat of him as he burns you between your legs. Seeking reassurance that it's him when you will yourself to look forward and meet his eyes, only to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he wrings another shuddering orgasm out from you.
It isn't until you're blindly clawing at him after another high, your hand trying to reach for his, that you beg him to fuck you. And when he turns you over onto your stomach, your eyes find the mirror again, and you remember that he's still wearing that armour. He fucks you slowly, grinding his length along your walls with his thickness. The edges of the armour are sharp and rough, but his grip is soft and stable, ensuring your comfort despite the unfavourable surface he's taking you on.
You can't take your eyes off the mirror. You're unsure whether he chose this position on purpose, maybe so that you can share the same memory of this even after he's left. You don't dwell on the thought, not when his eyes find yours in the mirror, blurred softness with that spark of desire, asking you to be with him now.
His name falls from your lips, and he loves the way it sounds, how you look when you moan it underneath his touch. You grip the edge of the table, and then he hears his name again, this time more hidden but more demanding of his attention.
'Gregor,' you moan quietly, 'Promise me - Promise me you'll come back.'
He feels you clamping down on him, the squeezing becoming more erratic as you uncontrollably head towards another high. It spurs him on. He wants to cum with you, anywhere you'd let him. He wants to feel you when he cums, and he wants you to feel him.
He debates on his answer, having the wisdom that wartime has no guarantees. But he's hopeful. You deserve everything, and if the galaxy won't give you that then he'll give you everything. And you know it - it's that knowledge that comforts you. You're hopeful because like you said, it's safe here, but he's gonna give it up to fight anyways. He deserves to come back because he is a good man, the sweetest and kindest man you know, even if you didn't know as much about him as you'd like. He will find his way back to you, so long as the galaxy keeps him safe.
'I promise,' he gasps, making eye contact with you in the mirror once again, pure sincerity in his eyes, no empty promises without meaning. Those soft eyes reassure your glazed ones, hazed by pleasure and love. 'I promise I'll come home to you.'
28. almost getting caught w/ cody (gn!reader) 1.5k
29. period sex w/ hunter (fem!reader) 0.7k
30. temperature play w/hunter (fem!reader) 0.7k
31. secretly hooking up w/ wolffe (gn!reader) 0.5k
i really really want to thank EVERYBODY who has supported me through this month whether you just read my work, liked, reblogged, or even binged it (yes! i see y'all and i love y'all). i have so much appreciation for all of you and WISH i could show every one of you as much love as you’ve shown me this past month.
i also want to congratulate all my fellow writers whether or not you finished kinktober, or posted a few things here and there because no matter what, y'all should be prOUD OF YOURSELVES. this was hard and we all deserve a pat on the back!
Hi!! If you’re still taking requests I was wondering if I could ask for prompts 7+19 with crosshair please :) <3 (off the 501 follower prompt list)
speechless
Crosshair x gn!Reader | w/c: 630
501 follower prompt list - [7] speechless + [19] 'don't act so innocent'
Warnings: the lead up to smut, light choking, slight d/s undertones, 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG)
'Look at me,' he grits, fingers trapping your jaw in a fixed position as he holds your gaze. Crosshair assesses your face with a domineering scrutiny—and if weren't for the plastoid-clad knee pressed between your thighs, your legs would have given out under you. 'Not so talkative now, are you?' he sneers.
The rise and fall of your chest betray your attempts to hide your state of fluster under his observation—and the eyes that always take your breath away are set in a hard glare that still manages to trace your features with a softness reserved only for you. But he's pissed. You see the subtle flaring of his nostrils, seeming to make itself at home with the scowl on his face. The sound of your breathing is faint but intimate to him, yet it does little to quell his anger despite the closing gap between you.
You gulp, struggling to recall the events that have led to this very moment.
Unamused by your lack of response, he leans in impossibly closer, voice lowered to a near-whisper. 'Got something to say?' He releases the pressure on your jaw, though his hand remains cupping your face as if some sort of power play. A calculated move just like him to make.
He traces his thumb over your bottom lip just as you open your mouth to speak, causing you to inhale sharply, a reaction that isn't lost on him. How perceptive, you'd snark if you weren't in deep shit right now.
'I- I'm sorry,' you breathe, shifting your expression into one you hope will work in your favour. He doesn't move, not for a moment, then two. So you add, 'I didn't mean it.'
He scoffs, pulling his upper body away from you, though your legs are still situated together. 'Don't act so innocent, doll. He managed to get you in the same position I have you in right now.'
Okay, you'll admit: you had taken things too far, you wanted to rile him up. But this was an exaggeration. You didn't let the stranger get more than one hand on you, and you were quick to politely turn him down when he first made physical contact, to which he respected and bid you farewell. You had hardly gotten a moment to yourself before Crosshair crossed the room and grabbed you by the arm.
'C'mon,' you half scoff, 'you and I both know that's not what you saw.' With each word you manage to get out, a new confidence surges through you, one that mimics the one you've felt all night. 'Or do you need to get your eyes checked, ner ramser?'
You tilt your head in a wicked smile.
Crosshair resumes his grip on your jaw. He inspects your face, clicking his tongue in fake satisfaction when he's done. 'Careful, doll,' he warns, flashing his teeth at you, 'that mouth could get you in trouble.'
You bite your lip, dropping your eyes to size him up despite the way your face is angled upwards by his hand, 'What are you gonna do about it?'
He smirks, straightening his stance and somehow further towering over you. He brushes his thumb over your lips, 'I'm gonna fuck this filthy mouth,' he reveals, before releasing his grip and curling his fingers around your neck. 'And you help me decide whether you deserve my cock anywhere else tonight.'
Your lips part as he momentarily tightens his fist—not to harm you, but enough so that you're unable to ignore the power he holds over you. He relents pressure once again, eyes boring into yours, 'Any objections?'
You gulp, shaking your head in acquiescence.
He lets go, stepping away from you with a slight smirk on his face, 'Get on your knees then.'
