#bit suggestive

“Smoking will kill you one day.”

His voice, gravely and deep, it reminds you for some reason you can’t make out anymore, of the paths you walked as a child through the mountains, those paths gave you excitement and calmness, make you jump, almost dropping your phone. But lucky you, you keep yourself together

“Just like getting shot at. I prefer to go out on my own terms.” You shake your head and watch Simon pick the cigarette from between your lips. He pulls his mask up, like always when on base he hides his face, and sticks the cigarette between his chapped lips, you can make out small scars from knives or his own skin picking, but as always you don’t say anything about it.

But you watch him take one drag after another, you follow the stream of smoke up to the sky before returning to look at Simon again. Simon whose lips quirk up to a grin when he realizes how much you stare at his lips and you turn away to hide your embarrassment.

Simon is having none of it, instead he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against his chest. “Since when are we shy, lovely?” He asks and takes the last drag from his, no your, cigarette and throws the butt to the ground.

Only you don’t care about the environmental pollution, not with the way Simon presses his lips, hot and rough, against yours, his hands still wrapped around your hips, giving you no way out. Not that you want a way out with how easily your arms wrap around his neck and breath in the smoke he has kept in his mouth only to exhale it into yours again.

When your head starts spinning and your breath gets cut short from the intensity of his kiss, you were trained to hold your breath for longer than that, why was it that Simon fucking Riley made it so much harder? Simon breaks the kiss off and you stumble with weak knees against the wall in your back.

“Don’t go out on me before I get a chance to take you out!” He grins before he pulls his mask back down and leaves without looking back, leaving you head spinning and breathless without a single thought in your head aside from…

Carlos Oliveira x Reader

Masterlist

I wanted to give a try at writing Carlos and I came up with this quick little drabble. I'm pretty happy with it, but I don't think I'll be writing any longer things for him in the near future. I still hope you enjoy this + let me know what you think!

But it would be very good I think for Dream and Lovesick Cross

Somewhat NSFW (I not a good judge of how nsfw something is)

Character 1 is Insanely Stressed(TM) and character 2 is labeled “wants to suck the stress directly out of their dick”

I’m not really asking if you’d draw it, I’m just presenting the idea to you. if you wanna draw it that is up to you I’m just spinning them in my head rjdjdh

The result actually took most stress out of dream surprisingly

He becomes tense and tries to drown it out best he can.

He is not supposed to make sounds. He was never allowed that.

It takes some coaxing and encouragement. You want to hear any sound that comes from him. It helps to know that he’s feeling good and that you helped with those sounds. You truly want to hear it, he’d like it to knowing such a sound was due to being pleased.

It’s quite at first, signs and quiet moans and groans.

You encourage more and whisper how wonderful he sounds.

He gets bit louder and its incredible to hear. It’s quite freeing and Stars you love the sounds you tell him so and coax another out of him.

Oh, and the purrs are just astounding and you always seek to get more out.

He’s quite vocal now. Moaning, gasping, groaning and even some cries. Each one is given a praise and another sound follows...

WC: 315

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Will be suggestive. Feel free to brush by the post if you're uncomfortable.

Slumping, George sighed. There wasn’t much he could do until he got a residential VISA. Not much anyone could do. Still, it sucked.

He sighed again, slamming his head down on his keyboard. Letting his head rest there for a minute or two. Exhausted. An understandable exhaustion. He was, so very tired. And so close to just- he raised his head.

Looking around at his barren flat. Looking at every wall, the furniture. There were things scattered around the room. It was like what you’d expect from a ‘gently used’ couch you find for sale.

A gently used apartment. Just enough wear to know someone actually lived there. But could just as easily hae tose marks removed and taken away. Leaving it in its original condition.

That was George’s apartment. A gently used couch. And just like the original owners of the gently used couch, he didn’t want it. He wanted to be somewhere else. Needed to be somewhere else. George stared at Discord, Dream was typing.

Under his covers Dream squirmed back and forth, unable to go to sleep. His thoughts kept circling back to George. Everything about him.

Heat rose to his face, mushing it against his pillow.

George’s laugh rang out in his head, mocking him. Those George edits came to mind. The burning feeling spreading to his ears and down his chest. A muffled scream coming from the pillow.

The more Dream tried to avoid it the more thoughts joined him. The little freckles on his face. His hair being ruffled and moved. The way the corner his mouth quirked up into a smirk. The way he crowed on his victories. The way he raised his eyebrow to show skepticism.

Groaning to himself, Dream turned onto his back. Staring up at the ceiling. Taking in the occasional stain, dent, or other mark from the previous occupants.

Focusing on his breathing, Dream inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. Trying to force all the air from his lungs. Feeling the primal instinct to breath start kick in, the burning feeling in his chest as he cut his body off from the oxygen it needed.

The giving in, gasping to fill his body back up with air. Gulping it down. George. His thoughts again, leading back there. Just like a teenage with a crush. His brain just couldn’t leave him alone.

His mind came up with fantasy after fantasy. Imaging George here, laying next to him in bed. Loving him. Kissing his neck and cheeks and lips. Holding his hand. Hugging him. And- more...

This bed had a sturdy frame, it would be good for- he let himself indulge in his mind. Letting himself imagine his body. Held down, restrained.