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irisintheafterglow · 7 months

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Parley? (opla!zoro x you)

summary: a stranger arrives to disturb your peace and you have no choice but to negotiate with him.

wc: 2.57k

cw/tags: first meeting, swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence including blood and swords, zoro doesn't know how to express his feelings

note: i'm so nervous posting this ngl because i really like zoro as a character but i'm scared that i'm not gonna do him justice since i don't know him as well as gojo or geto or bakugo etc etc etc. hopefully all yall zoro girlies like this because i've been itching to write for him since my explore page became nothing but mackenyu. enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

You hear the chimes first. The melody is soft, nearly imperceptible to the untrained ear, but you sense it. After all, you were the one who tied the string under the walkway floorboards in such a way that the bells above your window would clink if something pressed down on the wood. Over time, you learned to identify where outside was being pushed based on more strings and bells. It made it easier to find the Lady, on the rare occasion she stepped into open air and you weren’t with her. However, whoever was now setting off your makeshift alarm system had footsteps unlike the usual occupants of the house. The quietness of the notes was unsettling, in a way, because it meant they were creeping around the house. Someone didn’t want to be heard.

It was the flowers next, the roses with uniquely reflective petals that were especially good at bouncing moonlight precisely through your window. The Lady commented one day in the market that she’d taken a liking to that particular flower, and you bought the vendor’s entire stock to plant around the house once you realized how it could be used. Not before you built a crow’s nest-like window, first. The glass structure jut out of the house in just the right way that you received colors from the left, right, and front of the house. Had an intruder approached from the back, your only blindspot, you would hear the more insistent clicks of the typewriter keys attached to the outside deck panels. The nearly noiseless bells and the ominous shadow sneaking across your wall were enough to snap you wide awake.

The soles of your feet meet cool stone as you slide from under the covers, wrapping the sheath of your saber around your waist and slipping out of your bedroom. Despite the darkness of the hallway, your legs move by memory to the Lady’s chambers only to find the door already ajar.

Shit. Were you too late?

Slinking into the room in one graceful stride, words leave your mouth without thinking when you see him standing over your Lady, holding two deadly-looking swords.

“Taking a life halfway gone is immoral no matter the bounty, pirate hunter.” His head snaps in your direction and you have your blade on him before he can blink, resting the point lightly but threateningly against his throat. His eyes narrow on you challengingly and you put ever so slightly more pressure into your hilt, forcing him to surrender and sheath both swords. The third, you note, remains undrawn on his hip. “No better targets to pursue than a retiree? I expected better from the demon of the East Blue.” His gaze remains unchanging while you step forward, inching him backward until his head hits the wall with a soft thud. You were thankful, for once, that the Lady was starting to lose her hearing and was always a deep sleeper.

“She’s wanted,” he says in a low tone.

“She’s withered,” you retort. “Killing her advances justice no more than leaving her alive.” His face is still unreadable, void of any emotions just as the rumors conveyed. Many tales circulated of the infamous pirate hunter, but you chose to believe the Lady to be far too irrelevant to pose any real threat to the Marines. As one of the last known powerhouses of the Gold Roger era, it was more likely her wanted poster would be drowned out amongst younger hotshot pirates than for her to become an actual target. And yet, here was the most feared bounty hunter in the seas, hunting down a myth that many assumed was already six feet under. And for what, fun?

“It doesn’t matter. Honor is a courtesy denied to killers.” He speaks in a way like you wouldn’t understand his ideas, and it sends a white-hot flash of anger racing through your veins.

“Ooh, yes. You’re being so honorable by julienning a defenseless old woman while she sleeps.” To your surprise, he flinches, unwillingly bringing your eyes to corded muscle and flexed biceps. It’s a bit of a struggle to refocus on the task at hand. “Enlighten me on how this makes you feel vindicated.”

“I kill pirates for a living,” he states simply, nodding over to the slumbering mass under the thick comforter. The tip of your sword follows every movement he makes, careful not to give him an opening to strike. Unexpectedly, he seems almost relaxed, like the weapon at his throat was the least of his worries. “That woman is a pirate.”

“That woman was a pirate. She is no longer the ‘Captain Indigo’ you seek.”

“Who is she now, then?”

“Lady Lavender, adored by her constituents and far removed from a life of piracy. If I weren’t on the verge of spilling your organs on the carpet, I’d say visit the farmer’s market on Tuesdays. You’ll see just how different her life is now.” His chin tilts in disagreement.

“The Marines say otherwise.”

“What do you say?” A minute tilt of your wrist angles your saber so that the point now resides under his sharply defined jawline. “Hmm, hunter? Any opinions in that thick skull of yours or are you just another mindless government weapon?”

“You understand nothing,” he mutters like an indignant teenager, looking off to the side woefully. It makes your blood boil.

“Try me,” you snarl at the green-haired stranger. In another life, you’d have thought him pretty handsome, if you weren’t so infuriated by his indifferent sense of justice. He knew nothing about you, or the Lady, or what either of you had to endure to create a sense of safety. Safety, you would add, that you weren’t going to give up easily.

“This woman you serve, what are you to her? A caretaker? A child?”

“A friend,” you answer cautiously. “Something your line of work would know nothing about.”

“The Marines know that your friend murdered the former governor and seized the island in an act of desperation,” he informs you with a note of condescension. “They’ve wanted her gone for ten years, and I am here to collect her head. It’s not personal; it’s business.” The incorrectness of his information is laughable, but what concerns you more is the ease with which he talks of taking lives.

“You don’t feel any sort of remorse for the targets you kill?” The anger in your stomach starts to rub against a different, unwanted influx of sorrow. After witnessing the change in a ruthless pirate empress, you refused to believe a human could be this heartless.

“I don’t dwell on them long enough to care. Most of the time, they do something stupid that makes it a little easier to dispose of them.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong about her,” you recover, pressing the blade against his skin on the brink of drawing blood. He winces, squirming against the wallpaper for some sort of relief. You don’t budge. “The former mayor was a half-brother whom she reconnected with after Gold Roger’s execution. His death was caused by a misdosage of medicine used to treat hemorrhoids he’d suffered with since he was twenty. On his deathbed, he made her promise to take care of this city...” You inhale, focusing on the man in front of you. His expression is soft, nothing like you would have expected from a feared killer-for-hire. He was actually listening to you.

“Go on.”

“And to take care of me. I have the great pirate hunter at the end of my blade, so she must not have done that bad of a job at either request.” He’s silent for a moment and you watch the cogs turn in his brain, hoping he’d find some humanity and realize that killing the Lady isn’t just pointless, it’s fundamentally wrong.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I need money.” Nevermind, then. Backup plan it is.

“I understand that,” you concede, and you remove your weapon from his neck. His hands are on the hilts of his swords instantly, but he doesn’t draw them. He could kill both you and the Lady in a single swing, but he doesn’t. Maybe you did reach a different side of him. “That's why I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with pirat–” he starts, but abruptly cuts himself off when you raise your eyebrows in expectation. Did you not learn anything from what I just told you? His face contorts in confusion, as if his mind was at odds with what his body was telling him to do. After carefully schooling his expression into blankness, he stands to his full height, rolling a broad shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“You’re aware of the Blue Ringed crew, yes?”

“Famous for their poisons, I’ve heard,” he confirms and you nod. “They cover every inch of their ship in toxins and wear special clothing to prevent contact with their skin. Makes it hard to sneak up on them.”

“Exactly. See, you’re not as uneducated as you look,” you tease and you feel your face heat when he sticks his tongue out at you. It’s so boyish and immature, in stark contrast to the handsome, god-bodied man that faces you. “I happen to have a counteragent, enough for you to get on their ship and collect three times the amount if you killed us tonight.”

“And what would you get in return?”

“The sound of your boots walking off the property and never returning,” you whisper a little desperately, pleading with him to leave your perfect peace intact and forget this altercation ever happened. The quiet in the room as he ponders your offer is suffocating save for the gentle snores of Lady Lavender. Eventually, he takes your deal, inspecting the powder-filled vial when you bring it to him on the front porch.

“How do I use it if it’s powder?”

“Mix it with lotion to help soak it faster into your skin. When your skin is dry, you’ll have roughly an hour to navigate the boat completely immune to the poison. It’s sweat resistant but will wash off with seawater, so take care not to get thrown overboard,” you instruct him, crossing your arms across your chest against the chilly ocean air blowing in from the south. It was breezier than normal and you regret not grabbing a sweater. Unless you wanted to freeze your ass off, you needed to finish this debacle quickly. “Kill the pirates, get your bounty, and leave us the hell alone. Deal?”

“Fine by me.” He carefully places the vial in the pocket of his pants and begins his descent down the front walkway. Before you can turn back into the house, however, his voice reaches your ears so lightly you think you’d hallucinated it. “Stay warm.”

He doesn’t end up keeping his side of the deal. A few days after your initial altercation, he approaches the house again in broad daylight holding a box about the size of your hand. You stare at him in disbelief, reading in the nook of your window and he has the audacity to smirk at you when he spots you looking.

“I thought we had a deal, pirate hunter,” you remind him when you open the front door of the house. It was infuriating how good he looked for having just returned from a pursuit, dressed up in fine fabrics with his hair combed back nicely. The irony was palpable, the situation not unlike the stories the Lady told you about the numerous men who attempted to court her. They appeared at the same front door with flowers, rubies, and promises of devotion, but none of them actually wanted her heart. In contrast, you wanted to stab the heart of the idiot in front of you.

“Stop calling me that,” he frowns and you can’t help the laugh that leaves your mouth. “My name is Roronoa Zoro–”

“Oh, sorry,” you interject and his eyebrows furrow at your lack of manners. “Am I just supposed to act like you’re my friend now? After you tried to kill my boss?”

“I thought we were past that,” he states bluntly.

“That was four days ago.”

“It’s enough time to move on.”

“You’re impossible.” You shake your head in disbelief, slightly puzzled at the giddy feeling in your chest when the faintest smile appears on his face. “What’s that?” You gesture to the rosewood box in his fingers.

“Consider it an apology,” he says, holding out the box for you to take, “for bothering you the other night.”

“How chivalrous.” You eye the box warily, still unsure about the enigmatic bounty hunter before you. “But we don’t need nor want your money.”

“It’s not money. Just open the damn box,” he grunts impatiently and you begrudgingly oblige, sliding back the top panel to reveal a bracelet. It wasn’t like any other bracelet you’d seen before, a gold chain garnished with a single deep green emerald barely the size of your pinky fingernail. It was delicate and elegant, subtle enough not to draw attention but luxurious enough to make you feel spoiled. “Do you like it?”

“I do, actually. The color is pretty,” you reply slowly, still slightly in shock. “Why green?”

“Take a wild guess.” He smirks again and your gaze flicks up to his hair. It was just as vibrant as the gemstone and he watched you carefully as the pieces clicked into place. With the bracelet, you’d be forced to think of him every time you looked at it or anything the color green. What kind of guy buys a momento for almost killing you, you had no idea.

“You didn’t need to bring me this. I thought the deal was–”

“I remember what the deal was, but I felt bad making you stand outside shivering while you explained how the counteragent functioned.” Your eyes widen slightly at his admission. He noticed you reacting to the wind, so how intensely was he watching you that night? If he sees your surprise, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to explain why he brought you the gift in the first place. “The powder worked, by the way. I snagged this from the captain’s chambers on my way out.”

“You stole this because you saw me get cold?” He merely shrugs, clearly unbothered.

“I mean, yeah. You looked miserable.”

“I was miserable.” He smiles slightly again, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. It makes your heart stutter against your wishes. “Does this mean we’re even now, pirate hunter?”

“Call me Zoro and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You’ll consider it?”

“Holding a sword to someone’s throat is a major transgression that can’t be forgiven so easily,” he taunts and you roll your eyes. “Let me start over, meet you properly without the involvement of weapons.”

“You really want to see me again?” He scoffs at your question as if the answer wasn't crystal clear.

“What, bringing you a bracelet wasn’t obvious enough? I’ll have to bring the entire ship next time. Might take a little longer to get back to you.”

“Get off my porch, Roronoa Zoro,” you laugh, reaching out to push his shoulder away and feeling every inch of his skin against your fingers in the brief moment your bodies touch. “Don’t come back unless you have something important to say.”

“I think you’ll soon find out what I prioritize as important.”

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #opla x reader #opla x you #opla x y/n #opla!zoro x you #opla!zoro x reader

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cheesy-cryptid · 10 months

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American occupation era Philippines but our girlie here is secretly a vampire hunter at a fancy party looking for her target 🦇🧛‍♂️🌴

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lizzy-bonnet · 11 months

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I love Jane Austen's work and I love podcasts, so naturally I follow several JA podcasts (please drop recs in the tags). I'm enjoying Live from Pemberley from Hot and Bothered, but a comment from literally the first episode of the series has been circulating in my brain since I listened to it several months ago: one of the hosts expressed surprise (and disappointment?) in the fact that when we first meet Lizzy, she is "employed in trimming a hat". This comment literally comes right after a conversation about how Austen tells us so much in the very short space of Chapter 1; without wasting any words, we know exactly who Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are (lightly toxic relationship), understand their family situation (need to marry well), meet the main driver of the first act (rich man in the neighbourhood), and understand a social dilemma (girls can't meet him if Mr. Bennet does not make the first overture). So what is Austen telling us when we meet Lizzy in the employment of trimming a hat?

We so often read a sort of modern girlboss feminism into Lizzy because she is smart and stands up for herself, but I think that's something that really gets embroidered on to the text. Lizzy trimming a bonnet is telling us several things about her:

She is frugal - new hats and bonnets are really expensive (my casual hobby is shopping for reproduction bonnets and this remains true), because the straw is braided by hand, the bonnet shape is assembled and blocked by hand, feathers have to be gathered from real (living or dead) birds, ribbons and flowers are hand-finished, the whole situation is fuck expensive. Lizzy is most likely putting new trim on a straw or wool bonnet she already owns to make it work better for this season's fashions, or a new dress, and possibly recycling trimmings from other hats. Contrast this with Lydia's spending all her pocket money on an ugly hat in Chapter 39, just so she can reduce it to parts, even though she acknowledges she'll also have to buy some extra satin too, to finish the project.

She cares about fashion - we don't get a lot of information on sartorial choices in Austen's work, and when characters are discussing fashion, it tends to be a framework for explaining something about their characters; Miss Steele's need to know how much Marianne's dresses cost (rude, crass); Mrs. Bennet's loving description of the lace on Mrs. Hurst's gown (shallow); Catherine Moreland's agonizing over what to wear to the Assembly (young, a bit flighty); Bingley wears a blue coat (has probably read The Sorrows of Young Werther, is fashionable). The fact that Lizzy is trimming a hat tells us she is fashionable, but paired with the fact that she will get a petticoat muddy in order to see her sister, and does not spend a lot of time worrying after fashion like Lydia tells us that she does not live and die on fashion.

She is creative - I've trimmed various hats and bonnets over my years of interest in historical fashion and honestly it's not easy. It's quite fiddly to get a nice ribbon edge, a ruched lining takes forever, and getting sprays of florals and feathers to be nicely shaped and all in a complementary palette is quite fussy. Getting a nice looking bonnet requires some thinking and planning. But it's also great fun! The Regency era is, in my opinion, a particularly good period for hats.

She is normal - I think Austen wants the reader to understand that Lizzy is a young woman with normal cares and concerns. She doesn't have cash for a new bonnet, she wants to look nice, she knows how to put an outfit together, she's not frivolous like her sisters, and she engages in the typical pursuits of someone who is not yet one and twenty who does not have a specific occupation.

A lot of modern readers are expecting Lizzy to be striding around the countryside unconcerned with "girly" things, or reading a clever book because we have come to think of her as proto-feminist in a way that suggests she might be a bra (corset) burner, but I think that comes from an outdated feminist lens that still wants to tell us that girly things are bad, or at least, a bit weak, and I don't see that in the text at all (I think some of this trickles over from the adaptations). Lizzy walks enthusiastically, she enjoys reading (but not to the exclusion of other employments), she dances very well and plays with mediocrity, she cares deeply about her friends and family, she has excellent manners, and dammit, she trims hats.

#jane austen #pride and prejudice #lizzy bennet #regency fashion #bonnets #characterization

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gotham--fc · 4 months

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Puck Drop - A Hilary Knight Imagine

Request: Hilary and R are married with kids and R comes to the first Boston game to support Hilary and the PWHL

we are so back, I'm so back in the writing game I mean it this time it's not like the other times I said that then disappeared for months I really mean it the woho girlies have got me I can't them down

About 1000 words of pure fluff enjoy

Y/N pulls the end of the jersey her son was wearing out of his mouth. She smooths out his hair, wipes a bit of dirt off his cheek. He squirms away from her, like any four-year-old would, but she gives him a look that says stay still for one second. She adjusts her nine-month-old daughter’s jersey as well, making sure Knight on the back is visible.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Y/N asks her son. Noah nods.

“Stay with you, drop the puck to Mama and smile for the picture.”

“Good,” Y/N says, “We have to wait until they tell us to go out.”

“Mama is going to be so surprised,” Noah says.

“Ma!” Luna babbles.

“That’s right baby, are you excited to see Mama?” Y/N says. Luna starts squirming in Y/N’s arm, clearly excited.

A stadium employee steps into the room they’re waiting in.

“We’re about to get started.”

“Thanks,” Y/N says, “Okay lets go.”

Y/N adjusts her grip on Luna and takes Noah’s hand. She follows the employee and watches the opening ceremony. She cheers when the names are announced and she can hear Noah cheering too. When Hilary’s name is called Noah cheers louder.

“Go Mama!” He yells. Luna shrieks in agreement.

An employee hands them each a puck. Noah takes his and holds it very seriously. Luna puts her right into her mouth. Y/N can’t help but laugh. The PA announcer announces the ceremonial puck drop and Y/N keeps her eyes on Hilary as he announces their names. The three of them step onto the carpet and Y/N watches the shock and delighted surprise on Hilary’s face. Hilary skates over for the puck drop, a huge grin on her face.

“Okay, are you ready?” Y/N asks. Noah nods. The two of them drop their pucks on the ice. Luna keeps her in her mouth. Y/N tries to pull it out but Luna pushes her hands away. Hilary laughs and tickles Luna’s belly. Luna laughs.

“Can I have this?” Hilary asks. Luna gives Hilary the puck, almost smacking her in the face with it. “Thank you,” Hilary says. Y/N laughs as Luna tries to climb into Hilary’s arms.

“No baby, Mama has to play hockey now, you can see her later.”

Hilary drops her gloves on the ice and hands her stick to Noah. She pulls Luna into her arms.

“Hi baby,” Hilary coos, “You surprised me, you sneaky girl.”

Luna gurgles in Hilary’s arms. They all turn to the photographer who has been taking pictures of this conversation. They get a picture before Kendall backs away.

“Get one of just the family,” She says.

Hilary starts protesting, saying Kendall is basically part of the family, but Y/N pulls her attention away.

“Just take the picture, my love.”

They do, and Y/N goes to take Luna back, but Hilary ducks her head down before she can and kisses her. Y/N blushes. She would think, after years of dating and marriage that she would stop turning red every time Hilary kissed her, but alas. Hilary grins then hands Luna back. She kneels down to give Noah a hug before Y/N and the kids walk off the ice. Y/N heads up to the box her and the other families members were given to watch the game. During the game, Luna pays no attention to the ice, and instead gets passed around and entertained by the other occupants of the box. Noah splits his time between playing with the toys Y/N brought for him and watching the game.

“Which one is Mama?” Noah asks.

“She’s right there,” Y/N points, “Number 21.”

Minnesota wins, 3-2, and Y/N knows Hilary will be disappointed. She always is after a loss, and Y/N understands. Hilary always wants the best from herself and when she loses she always picks apart everything she thinks she should have done better. Y/N and the kids head downstairs and wait for Hilary outside the players area. Y/N says hi and makes conversation with Hilary’s teammates as they head out. Hilary is the last one to leave the locker room, as usual. She’s freshy showered, her hair still dripping on her shoulders, and she smiles when she sees them, but Y/N can see the disappointment underneath.

“Mama, were you surprised?” Noah jumps into Hilary’s arms before Y/N can tell him not to. Hilary groans as she lifts him up, no doubt sore from the game.

“I was very surprised,” Hilary says, “I was told you were just going to watch the game from the box.”

“And we did,” Y/N says. She leans up and gives Hilary a kiss. “We also did some other stuff too.”

“Uh-huh,” Hilary says.

Hilary puts Noah down so she can carry her bag. The ride home is filled with Noah chattering excitedly about the game, with Luna piping in with unintelligible sounds. Hilary matches Noah’s enthusiasm, and Y/N is struck again by Hilary’s character. No matter how she feels about the game, she never lets the kids know. She never sulks or snaps or acts upset, even though Y/N knows she is.

By the time they get home, Luna is asleep in her car seat and Noah is halfway there. Y/N sends Noah inside to change into his pjs, and Hilary gets Luna out of her car seat. Y/N stop Hilary before she can head inside. She cups Hilary’s cheek and leans up and kisses her.

“I’m sorry about the game,” Y/N says, “I know you wanted to win. You’ll get them next time.”

“I know,” Hilary says.

Y/N wraps her arm around Hilary’s waist and puts the other on Luna’s back where she’s curled up on Hilary’s chest. The three of them sway together in the garage, Hilary’s cheek resting on Y/N’s head.

“Thank you,” Hilary says quietly, “For coming to the game. For surprising me. For marrying me. Having kids with me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Y/N answers just as quiet, “I would do it again. I would go back and do it all over again in a heartbeat.”

“We should go inside before Noah gets bored and demolishes the house.”

Y/N laughs. “He is your son.”

“He is just as much yours as he is mine,” Hilary says, “Whatever mischief he gets into is both of our faults."

#hilary knight #hilary knight imagine #uswnt imagines #hockey imagine #womens hockey imagine #hockey rpf #uswnt hockey #woho #woho imagine

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httpsserene · 7 months

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i've been looking for weeks and months but can't find a single x male reader fic/au/etc... could u spare sum for the boys too😭🤲

ɪ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴡ/ ᴍᴠ33

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: max is over at daniel’s where they're supposed to be doing whatever best buds do. but somehow, the topic of his father comes up, and it brings max to a…realization of sorts. it also causes the two of you to argue, and for several discoveries to be made in the early morning hours; some of the depressing-kind, and some of the heartwarming-and-life-changing-kind. 📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: angst and fluff (hurt/comfort). argument. jos verstappen's a+ parenting. no beta we die like alphatauri's engines. 📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4k words 📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: max verstappen x male!reader (race not specified) 📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: oneshot 📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: ivy • frank ocean

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ: i *usually* don’t write for male readers (as a cis woman idk i think it’s sus? idk, but maybe it’s not since i do support and love mxm ships, so maybe that’s hypocritical?)....but since it is my first request and max’s birthday (when i started writing this) i figured i could spare sum for da boys :)))) i scrolled through the tag and most of it was f1 x platonic!male!reader which is lowkey depressing, the boys deserve to simp wholeheartedly with us girlies ✊🏽 i hope “the boys” enjoy this and it makes the f1 x male!reader life a lil better! (you also didn’t specify who you wanted, so i went with max bc of his birthday) big shout out to the best kitties in the world, jimmy and sassy, for being great sports in this fic ☠️ they were wonderful setting devices! this is not an accurate description of max’s relationship with his father. we all don’t know what’s going on there, but it did become a wonderful plot point. so, it’ll probably be the only thing jos the boss is good for besides being max’s sperm-donor 🙂.

want to be added to my taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me a message !

prompts from @forestryprompts and @dumplingsjinson

it’s 3:23 AM, and you’re brutally jarred out of your sleep by your phone ringing. you’re disoriented–still in that sleepy “where the fuck am i” stage–and don’t quite catch the first phone call. a few seconds pass by without another call, and you’re convinced you hallucinated. usually, there’s only two reasons for you to be disturbed in the middle of the night. number one, when sassy “accidentally” presses all ten pounds of her body weight into your spleen with one paw; and number two; when max returns from partying, a late flight, or streaming. glancing around, you guess sassy is the bengal curled up on max’s side of the bed, gravitating to where his scent is the strongest as max is over at daniel’s; missing her favorite parent. and you guess that jimmy’s the heat source curled against your feet under the duvet, as that’s his favorite spot to sleep and his favorite place to prey on your toes. you lay straight back, head resting on your pillow and shrug, dismissing it as a problem for the morning.

then another call starts ringing through. now, you’re awake enough to start processing the important information. you always set your phone on dnd when going to bed, and there’s only a few numbers that are set to bypass it during sleep. this ringtone in particular, identifies the caller as max, which is peculiar. max doesn’t disturb your sleep unless absolutely necessary, he already feels guilty enough for doing so when traveling. with that thought, you reach for the phone with a reaction time you’d only relate to your boyfriend’s occupation.

you breathe out, “maxy, baby? are you okay? did something happen?”

a panicked and slightly desperate giggle slips out of the receiver, “heyyyy, it’s daniel, actually–”

“daniel?” you softly exclaim, sitting up in bed, worriedly continuing, “where’s max? did something happen? is he okay–”

“well,” daniel starts, “i wouldn’t say he’s ‘okay’, so to speak–”

“oh my god! what does that mean, daniel? i’m coming over right now give me like, fifteen minutes–” you say rushedly, already leaping out of the bed. jimmy yowls in shock of being disturbed, panically darting out of the duvet, and sassy shoots up–airplane ears activated and all.

daniel cuts you off, “NO! uh, no! i’m actually already on the way back to yours with him right now! he’s like- kinda drunk- tipsy i guess, one would say uh- but–”

“are you driving, daniel? if-if you’ve drank you should’ve let him sleep over, or called me to come get him if he’s being a menace!”

“no, uh-” daniel starts whispering, “we’re in an uber. ma- i mean- your boyfriend is kind of out of it, and not in a drunk way.”

“what the fuck,” you bite out, switching to hold the phone to your ear with your shoulder, as you pull on a pair of sweatpants (max’s) over your boxers, “does that mean, daniel?!”

“so, like,” daniel whispers even quieter, “hypothetically, we started talking about ma- sorry, his- wonderful childhood, and i guess me saying that seeing his father stabbing a mechanic with a fork isn't a normal thing to experience, kind of sent him into a spiral.”

“oh, fuck” you pause, while pulling one of max’s championship hoodies on.

“yeah, that’s pretty much what i’d say,” daniel sighs, “but, then um, he tried to like rationalize it to me? like, he’d bring up different crazy memories, and i’d be like ‘no, mate, that’s not normal either,’ and everytime he’d bring up a positive interaction with his dad, he realized it correlated to how well he performed, and he kind of um-shut down.”

“oh. fuck.” you repeat. sassy, in a rare show of solidarity, winds between your legs and mews gently at you as if she’s letting you know that she’s here. “um, well,” you say, running a stressed hand through your hair, “you should be on max’s list to come up to the apartment, but i’ll call down to give them a heads up. text me when you get here, please?”

“will do,” daniel perks up, “i’m sorry by the way. i should’ve left it alone, or distracted him away from the topic. but you know how he gets, probably better than me.”

now it’s your turn to let a depressing chuckle escape, “probably not, dan. i’ve known him for fourteen years and dated him for five of those, and he hasn’t done more than agree that his dad ‘isn’t perfect’” you wave your hand through the air, brushing the train of thought away, “anyways, i can get the spare room ready for you, so you don’t have to uber back?”

daniel nervously laughs, “forgive me for saying this, but i don’t really want to be present for whatever conversation is going to happen. or have to pretend like i’m unaware of anything. max would do his best to avoid me for as long as he can if he knew i was around, and i don’t want to risk that…after what happened when i left red bull.”

“yeah, you’re right. don’t forget to text me when you get here,” you state.

daniel’s text comes through when you’ve just gathered the ibuprofen and water bottles. you thumbs-up the message, and go to sit in the living room to wait for a knock on the door. you plop down on the couch and your leg bounces anxiously. jimmy gracefully hops up into your lap, and he must be an emotional support cat because he sits down on that leg, and leans into your torso butting his head into your chest asking for pets. you indulge him, a shaky laugh erupting, “thanks, jimmy,” and you lean down to press a few kisses to his cheeks. silence overcomes the room, and then three knocks break the still air in the apartment, and both you and jimmy jump off the couch and race to the entryway. you push jimmy behind you with a foot as you open the door, knowing damn well he’ll sneak into the hallway if given a chance.

max stumbles through the doorway first. his eyes are bloodshot with a cold and unseeing look glazed over them, red-rimmed and looking so distraught at tonight’s realization, that your heart aches for him. you wish you could take his pain away, or at least carry some of it for him. his hair is sticking out in different directions like he was anxiously tugging at it, but the most surprising observation is the tear tracks on his cheeks. max doesn’t cry, like at all.

well, that’s not exactly true. he’s one of the men that says crying is “strong” and not a sign of weakness when you cry and even encourages you to cry it out on his chest. but, when it’s himself, he refuses to cry until everything gets too much. he’ll come up to you and sit or stand pressed right up against you, grabs at and plays with your hand to let you know that he needs comfort, before he looks at you and softly asks with a cracking voice if he can have a hug. you always set aside what you’re doing as quickly as you can, because you’re not going to let an opportunity of caring for max in a rare vulnerable time pass, and pull him into your chest. even though he’s broader than you, he appears to shrink himself within your arms, and presses his face into your shoulder while he cries. his tears are always silent, but his body is loud; he shakes, and his hands grab at whatever you’re wearing in fists like he’s afraid that you’d slip out of his grasp.

anyways, you’ve never known him to really cry with other people. with a soft, “max…” you reach out to him, but he brushes right past your hand and goes straight for the bedroom. jimmy trots after him, and sassy falls into step from whatever pocket she was hiding in. you freeze, shocked at his behavior while also understanding, he’s had a life-changing realization that he’s never allowed himself to address. you feel guilty that you're jealous of the fact that he had it with daniel.

daniel clears his throat, still standing outside the doorway, “...you know he doesn’t mean to ignore you like that, right?”

you nod, “when did he start crying?”

“he held it together until we got into the uber, i think. he was turned towards the window the whole time and refused to look at me. i didn’t notice he cried until we got out.”

“are you sure you don’t want to stay the night? it’s late, dan. or at least let me get you the uber back” you offer again with a questioning look.

daniel refuses both options, “nah, don’t worry about it. i’ll make max take me to lunch one day to pay me back. i’d say good luck but that seems redundant. be gentle with him, alright?”

you sigh, “i’ll be gentle, dan. can’t say the same for him,” daniel’s face saddens more, “get home safe alright, dan? text me when you get there.”

“of, course,” daniel nods, “goodnight.”

you watch him walk into the elevator before closing the door. you turn the lock, and step forward until you can rest your forehead onto the cool wood. eventually, you push off the door and turn around to grab the water and ibuprofen from the settee and make your way to the bedroom. max is sitting at the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees and his head resting in his hands.

pausing, you place the water and meds on the nightstand first, then you sit next to him and lightly place your hand on his upper back, attempting to rub between his shoulder blades to provide comfort. max shrugs your hand off. you pause, blinking a few times trying to discover the best course of action. you decide to ignore the second blatant dismissal of the night, and pull his hand off his face and push him to sit up straight. you forcefully straddle his lap, ignoring his grumbles, and grab his face, thumbs resting on his cheeks and directing him to look straight at you.

“max, you’ve got to communicate with me here. i was terrified, when daniel called me! you refuse to talk about your dad with me, which is fine, okay? but you have to talk to somebody. whether it’s me, daniel, a therapist, christian, or even fucking helmut marko—you need to talk to someone. you’ve repressed this shit your whole life, and when whatever film you had over your eyes when looking at your father slipped away, you shut down completely? that can’t happen again! i don’t want it to happen again…daniel sounded completely fucking terrified—like he was afraid he broke you or something. and if you’re scaring me right now with how-h-how out of it you look, i can’t imagine what it was like for him,” you finish, taking a few deep breaths. max doesn’t say anything, just stares at you blankly.

you make a distressed groan, both hands releasing max’s face to rub at your eyes and drag down your cheeks. doing so, you continue talking, “max. you don’t even have to talk, baby, not to me at least. i don’t care if you journal, if you meditate, if you go goddamn axe throwing; but, you need to see a professional. cause, how your brain is coping, and how you’re rationalizing it isn’t good. you aren’t the problem, nothing you could’ve done differently would have made your dad change; you are not the problem, max, he is. okay? i’ve known you for fourteen years, and not once have i pressured the topic after you said that ‘you’re fine,’ but, you have to at least promise me that you’ll start doing something.”

max parts his lips, thinking about what to say, as you fully sit on his lap. you look at him with wide eyes filled with worry—with care— and you’re anxiously playing with the hairs on the nape of your neck.

“i don’t want to talk about it.”

“that’s not an option,” you state, with a furrowed brow, “can you at least tell me what caused the breakdown?”

and, that’s what gets get’s max going. his cheeks flush, and his eyes darken, and he starts talking with a firmer voice.

“it wasn’t a breakdown, first of all. i was just overwhelmed and overreacting. it’s nothing serious, like you’re pretending it is. i don’t need this—this false worry, showing up all of sudden when you know how the relationship between my father and i has been for all of the time we’ve known each other.”

you pull away, retreating off his lap and stand in front of him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“false worry?? that’s what you think this is,” you start with an exasperated tone, “max, ‘for all the time we’ve known each other’ all you’ve done is deflect from my questions about you two, or tell me that everything is fine when it’s clearly not! and i gave you the space you wanted, because i was afraid that you’d stop talking to me, that you’d stop trusting me. but now, as your boyfriend, i can’t let it go unaddressed anymore!”

“you already did for fourteen years! it shouldn’t be that difficult for you to keep ignoring it.”

“because you asked me to, max! you didn’t want to talk about it then, and you need to talk about it now! i don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to share it with me, but it needs to be with somebody!”

“i already told you I didn’t want to talk about it, yet you keep insisting!”

“that’s because i fucking care about you!”

“well, did i ask for you to care about me?”

you’re stunned silent. the room is filled with heavy breaths from the two of you. this might be the most serious argument you’ve had, in awhile, or ever.

it’s the third blatant dismissal of the night, and you’re calling it quits, daniel did tell you to be gentle, and if you keep going like this you’re word choice will become less gentle.

“you’re right,” you exhale, relaxing your clenched jaw, “you didn’t ask for me to care. and you shouldn’t have to ask for anybody to care. and, for some ‘unbelievable’ reason, i do happen to actually care,” you finish, your words dripping with exhaustion and defeat.

you walk around to the side of the bed, grabbing a pillow off the top and point at the nightstand, “the ibuprofen and water are for you. at least, finish one bottle before you go to bed, please.” you start walking towards the closet.

“wait,” max calls out, finally standing up with a confused look in his eyes, “why’d you grab a pillow?”

you grab a blanket out of the closet, and sigh, “i’m sleeping on the couch.”

“what? no-no you’re not,” max stutters out, disbelieving.

“uh, yes i am.”

“what, no! no, schatje, i’m sorry, please come to bed,” max utters out, looking absolutely heartbroken.

“i’m going to sleep on the couch, max,” you repeat, “if i go to bed, i won’t be able to not talk about it, and we’re clearly going to talk in circles about it. both of us are tired, frustrated, and mad, and we’re going to end up even angrier, so i’m going to sleep on the couch.”

max, crossing the room quickly, grabs at your waist with his large hands, and pleads, “if you’ve made up your mind about it, you can at least take the bed, i’ll sleep on the couch, schat.”

you, grab his hands off your waist, having to fight him a little bit for it (you may be a man, but your man is a professional athlete, you’ll be outmatched any day) and press them into his chest, “you’re still pretty drunk, max. i’ll let you take the bed so you can be comfortable, you seem like you’re going to have a pretty bad hangover, i can smell the alcohol on you still.”

max looks upset, but eventually concedes. you press your lips to his cheek, “i’ll see you in the morning, babe. then, with clearer minds we can talk, ‘kay?”

sassy baps jimmy on the face before nuzzling in between max’s legs, while jimmy makes to follow you out as you shut the door gently.

situating yourself on the couch, you squeeze your eyes shut. usually you’d be hugging max’s arm to your chest but tonight, jimmy is benevolent enough to leave his usual spot at your feet to fill in for max. even with the comfort the bengal’s purring body provides, you know you’re only in for a fitful night of sleep.

you wake up a few hours later, your body not able to keep you under for long you guess, as the early morning sun has barely started lightening the room. you take a minute to get your bearings, not used to waking up on the couch (in the past when you have accidentally fallen asleep on the couch, you magically wake up in bed laying on top of your boyfriend, how weird), and jimmy is no longer laying with you. he’s with max, who’s sitting on his floor below you, with his back facing you.

you rub at your eyes and whisper, “max?” he startles, and turns around to face you. his eyes have fresh bags underneath, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower, and you can tell he hasn’t gotten any sleep. even though you got a couple hours of shut-eye, the matching bags under your eyes prove that your sleep was restless.

“hey,” he whispers back sheepishly, “i know you told me to go to bed, but i couldn’t fall asleep. i only came out here a few minutes ago though, and i was just going to wait until you woke up in the morning.”

you sit up straight, and pull max onto the couch with you, “max, what? you could’ve at least layed down on the other couch, and not sit on the–”

max cuts you off.

“i just…couldn’t go to bed alone tonight, okay? i still feel raw–i think is the word for it. i’m exhausted and cried out, and the only person who can make me feel better is you right now. so i was just going to sit here, and be next to you, without disturbing you like you wanted, because being in your general vicinity already makes me feel better, even if you're mad at me.”

your mouth is left gaping, and you feel guilty now, your chest aches. leaving max at a time where he was vulnerable, even if you were right down the hallway–

“and, don’t feel bad about your decision to sleep out here. you decided that space was the best course of action for you, and you are probably right, because i was ready to argue with you,” max continues rambling, “honestly, you sleeping out here made me realize that i never want you to be angry with me like that, ever again. at first, i was scared that if i opened up about my relationship with my dad you would think i’m weak, or that you'd judge me for it, or that you’d leave me. but when i was in the shower earlier, i got really…scared.”

he pauses, taking a few deep breaths and you don’t make to interrupt him.

“i got scared because i thought you left me right now. that you lied to me about sleeping on the couch, and you were actually planning to leave. and, obviously you did not, you are still here right now but, it made me realize that i do need to talk to you. and that the reason i thought you were leaving was because of how i thought i scared you away with my issues. but i realize now, that the way i’ll scare you away is by not talking about my issues,” he turns to look at you with an earnest expression.

“so, if you are okay with it, i will talk to you. about everything, even though it may take me some time to work up the courage. i am uncomfortable with talking to a…professional, but i will, if you truly think it will help me. but i do not want to risk the chance that my refusal to communicate costs me a lifetime with you,” he ends.”

you stare at him blankly, and max begins to fidget at your silence. you lean forward and pull him into a hug, tears gathering in your eyes. he nestles his head in the crook of your neck, and presses gentle kisses into your skin.

“max, all i want is for you to talk to me about it. i want to share the burden you feel, and understand you better than the back of my hand. most of all, i hope having somebody who understands you to that depth makes you feel lighter, and validates your emotions.”

max says something, but it’s muffled by your body.

“what was that, baby?”

max pulls away to look at you with bashful eyes and pinkened cheeks, “you know i can’t imagine my life without you.”

“likewise,” you respond, just as meek.

“no, really. i've fallen in love with you,” he continues.

“max, you told me you loved me years ago,” you say laughingly.

“no, like, i’ve fallen in love with you again. everytime i think i can’t fall any deeper, you manage to prove me wrong,” he says intensely.

you pout at him, hands coming up to feel at your heated cheeks, “oh, max! stop, you’re going to make me cry. that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. i fall in love with you again, everytime you finish a race, and come home to me. that you chose me as the man you want to see after a tiring race weekend, regardless of the outcome.

max smiles all teeth, “there’s no other person i want to share my highs and lows with. well, hopefully more highs than lows. i have the ring for you already, but i at least need to win eight championships before i retire so you’re able to marry a record-breaking champion. i am proposing to you this year though, i cannot wait any longer.”

you stare at him unseeing for a minute, and he looks awfully confused for a man who just announced his plans to give you his last name.

“max,” you start shakingly, “what do you mean you already have the ring?”

max’s carefree expression drops, and becomes pale, “what are you talking about? i never said anything about a ring–”

“you literally just did?! the part before you said you were proposing to me this year, and before becoming an eight-time world–”

max claps, cutting you off while standing up. he offers you his hand, “alright! we should go to bed now, right? together, yes that’s a great idea.”

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems

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hayakawalove · 13 days

Text

Test of Love (Chapter Two)

Chapter Two

Chapter one, All Chapters

Summary: You had so much fun with Suguru the last time you went out, so you decide to go on date number two.

A/N: Bit of a Suguru centric chapter. Gojo girlies, don't worry. He'll get his time.

CW: Borderline NSFW, alcohol W/C: 5,771

Credit to @benkeibear for the banner

Your body sinks into your chair, Yaga’s voice becoming a low hum in your ears. It was usually hard to focus at staff meetings, but it was even harder when you were only going over information you already knew about. That happened a lot. Being friends with Gojo offered many perks, one being insider knowledge about the inner workings of Jujutsu society.

Your eyes focus on the map behind Yaga showing the last attacks until your vision starts to blur. God, you were so bored. A vibration coming from your pocket shakes you out of it.

Gojo: What underwear are you wearing :)

You: You’re annoying

You: What underwear are you wearing

Gojo: A lacy thong

You: You’re full of shit

Gojo: Wanna come find out?

You stifle a laugh, which catches the principal's attention.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” He calls your name, squinting his eyes at you.

“No, I apologize, please continue.” You say back, embarrassment flooding your system as all the teachers' eyes fall on you. Gojo pokes your foot with his, an easy smile playing on his lips. What a shit.

You don't even get the opportunity to try to focus before your phone is vibrating again. It’s from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey, I had fun last time we saw each other, would you be interested in hanging out again?

You: I would love that! What do you wanna do?

You keep your eyes locked on the screen in your lap. You hadn’t saved Suguru’s number yet, but you knew exactly who it was.

Unknown: The choice is yours, sweetheart

You ignore the heat that begins to spark underneath your face.

You: Why don't we go out to eat?

You: I’m not picky on where, I’ll let you decide

Unknown: Perfect. I’ll make reservations

You were excited to see Suguru again. The two of you had been texting off and on ever since your date, and you really enjoyed his company. It was exactly what you needed after a long day of working your ass off. You did feel bad that you didn’t tell him the truth about your occupation, but you didn’t really have much of a choice.

“So far the attacks haven't been anything too serious, but they are troublesome. I called this meeting together to let you know that we will start to have constant patrols near the school to try to avoid another attack.” Yaga steps to the side, briefly looking at the map before turning his attention back to the group of sorcerers in front of him.

You rest your head on your hand and flick your eyes across the room. You were at a loss on what to do about this situation. You were busy thinking about Gojo and Suguru, when you should have been thinking of ways to handle the problem at hand.

“Hm, no.” Gojo says calmly, his hands behind his head.

“No?” Yaga repeats.

“No.” Gojo tilts his chair back until it’s almost about to tip over before he leans forward again.

“We should have the students survey the area to get experience. The curses aren't too high of a grade so they should be able to handle them easily. We can cycle through the first and second years so they get breaks from patrolling. I mean, the students are here anyway. We can send out recent graduates to handle the larger threats, they can also jump in here if needed. And if it gets really bad then we’ll only be a few miles away.”

Silence settles over the room. It wasn’t a bad idea. The students went on missions anyway. You didn’t have to be worried about them being too far out of reach, either.

“Do you think they’re ready for that?” Yaga asks.

“Yeah, Yuuji might need a little more training but everyone else is fine. Unless, you have no faith in your students?” Gojo says your name.

“They can definitely handle it.” You look towards Gojo.

With his plan, higher level sorcerers would be freed up to handle bigger threats. You wouldn’t tell him, but he could be smart. Sometimes.

“Alright. We’ll try Gojo’s plan to see how it goes.” Yaga sighs, calling the meeting to a close.

You stretch your arms while walking back to your classroom. You were so fucking tired. Between texting Gojo and Suguru, you haven't been getting much sleep. Luckily, your students were out on a mission today, allowing you time to catch up on grading papers. At least you wouldn’t have to use too much brain power.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Gojo asks, long legs striding up beside you. “Who’s that?” He peers over your shoulder to look at your phone, watching as you type a message to Suguru.

“Don’t worry about it, and my classroom. You should probably go to yours as well.” You unlock your door and enter, not bothering to close it behind you as Gojo would only kick it down.

“You didn’t wanna see my lacy thong?”

“Maybe next time, Gojo.” You stand next to your desk and turn around, tilting your head back to look at him.

“How does tonight sound?” Gojo says with a wicked grin.

As much as you wanted to hang out with him…

“Can’t. I have a date.”

“And it’s not with me?” He looks at you dumbly.

You laugh, you hadn’t told Gojo about your date with Suguru. You didn’t really see a need to.

“You’re in an open relationship, isn’t it only fair that I can see who I want as well?” Not that you were necessarily official with Gojo.

Gojo pouts, staring down at you as you step closer.

“Is it your first time seeing him?” His blindfolded eyes follow you as you stop centimeters in front of him.

“My second.”

“Did you guys go all the way last time?”

Your throat feels dry at the question.

“It’s none of your business. And no. We didn’t even kiss.”

Gojo’s shoulders relax a bit at your admission.

“Aw, you jealous?” You joke, lifting a finger to point into his chest.

Gojo grabs your hand, yanking you closer. It catches you off guard, leaving your feet to wobble. You use your other hand to steady yourself against him.

“I don't have any reason to be jealous. You’ll be crawling back to me after your little date.”

The oxygen feels like it’s sucked out of the room, his lowered voice simmering in your stomach. Gojo lowers his blindfold to highlight his point, his blue eyes staring hard into you.

“Is that so?” You ask, breathlessly.

When did his lips get so close?

He hums before leaning down closer. His woody cologne fills your senses, making you immediately dizzy. Gojo watches your expression closely before his white lashes flutter shut while he presses his lips against yours. Soft and sweet. His lips were like sugar as they meld to yours. There’s no tongue, but you don't need it. Your body temperature is rising all the same.

He pulls away and smirks down at you before stepping away. A cocky bastard. You run your thumb along your bottom lip, indulging in the tingling sensation that lingered on you.

“I don’t need to be jealous if I got to kiss you first.” He says with a chuckle, turning around to head out of your classroom.

You can't deny the heat that was beginning to spread in the lower half of your body. You would be a liar if you said you had never thought about kissing him before. It happened only seconds ago and you were already replaying the scene in your head. At least he kissed you, you weren’t sure you would’ve made the first move. Even if you were glad he kissed you, a part of you hated him for leaving you high and dry.

“Have fun on your date!” He calls out over his shoulder, turning the corner to exit the classroom.

Bastard.

You huff and settle down into your seat, hoping the rest of the day would go by faster.

~~~

Luckily for you, it does. And strangely enough, Gojo hasn’t texted you at all since your encounter with him. You were kind of expecting him to pester you for details about the date. It wouldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibilities for him to show up and insert himself. That would be funny, you thought. Gojo and Suguru together would be interesting. They’re on opposite ends of the spectrum, the mere idea of them interacting puts a smile on your face.

The sun is beginning to set as you gather your things to head out for the day. Suguru told you what restaurant you guys were going to, not that you had ever heard of it. He also said he wanted to pick you up if you’d allow it, which you graciously accepted. The restaurant was higher end, in a richer part of Tokyo. You had only ever been to that area several times with Gojo. You were kind of nervous to go, feeling slightly out of your realm, but you knew you would have a good time if you were going with Suguru.

You stand in front of your mirror, rubbing your hands down your outfit. You decided on a black dress that landed just above your knees, the perfect mix between sexy and classy.

Checking your phone, an idea pops in your head. Would it be weird to send a picture of your date outfit to Gojo, considering you were also seeing him?

Yeah. Probably.

Oh well.

You lift up your phone and take a picture of yourself in the mirror, checking it before sending it to Gojo. Right as you send the photo to him, a notification pops up at the top of your screen.

Unknown: I’m here, are you ready?

You: Yes!

Grabbing your clutch, you hurry outside to find Suguru waiting for you. He’s leaning against his car, head tilted as he looks around. When he brings his eyes to you, you feel a chill down your spine. He reminded you of a fox. He wore a black button up with black slacks, his hair tied up into a neat bun.

“You look beautiful.” His velvet voice floats over to you.

Your eyes flutter down at the flattery as you make your way closer to him.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Suguru chuckles and steps aside, grabbing the passenger door handle to open it for you, resting his hand against the top of the door so you don’t bang your head. His car smells like wood and leather, an intoxicating scent that instantly fills your body. He rounds the car before sliding inside the drivers seat, eyes flicking to look up at you.

“How was work?” He asks, pushing the keys in the ignition before pulling out of your parking lot, driving towards the restaurant.

“It was okay, my coworker was kind of getting on my nerves today. He kept getting in my business.”

Suguru smirks, arm flexing as he grips the steering wheel loosely.

“Sounds like someone I know.” He responds easily.

The building comes into view and it looks even fancier than you were expecting. You could see the low lights past the windows with tables evenly spaced throughout the place. There was even a terrace on the top, apparently a rooftop bar according to Suguru. You make a mental note to see if he would bring you up there after you ate.

Suguru gets out before you and opens your car door again, causing your heart to race. You had never been with someone so gentlemanly before. He offers an arm out for you to take, leading you towards the front door. Once you step inside you’re able to see just how busy it is. There was a short line in front of you, and it looked like every table was taken. You remember that Suguru told you he made a reservation, which eases your nerves a bit. That being said, you still felt out of place.

When you get to the hostess table, a young woman glances up at you before doing a double take, eyes settling on Suguru.

Can’t say you blame her.

“Hello sir, did you have a reservation?” Her eyes gleam as she bites back a grin.

“Yes, under the name Suguru.”

“For 7 pm?” She looks back down, studying the list in front of her.

“That would be it.” He lifts a hand up to brush his palm against your arm, wordlessly comforting you. He must’ve been able to tell you were nervous.

“Oh, it looks like we accidentally double booked the table. Let me go and see if the other couple has already arrived.”

Suguru’s brows furrow and you bite your lip. What would you do if your table wasn’t available? You really didn’t wanna go back home, and the two of you were already dressed so nicely.

The woman returns with a somber look on her face. She fidgets with her hands while looking up at Suguru, completely disregarding your presence.

“I’m so sorry, it seems your table was already taken. We can put you next on the list for when another one opens up?”

“Do you know when that might be?” You ask.

She looks down at you, as if she just realized you were there.

“Probably 30 minutes.”

You and Suguru stand in silence for a moment, debating your options. You could wait, but you were also really hungry, a fact Suguru must have noticed.

“I think we’ll look for another restaurant.” He excuses you both, a soft smile on his face.

As the two of you exit, you look up towards Suguru.

“I can always cook something for us back at my house. I don’t think my boyfriend will be home for a while.” He wonders out loud, checking his watch.

“No! It’s okay, I wouldn’t want to intrude like that,” you say quickly, “why don’t we just walk around and see if we can find something nearby?”

Suguru squeezes your hand and agrees, walking alongside you down the sidewalk. There’s a slight breeze in the air, ruffling your hair as you make your way further down the street. It was extremely busy since it was a Friday night. There were groups of young people congregating together, laughing loudly. It had been awhile since you spent the night on the town. You honestly rather preferred to stay curled up in bed with a good book in your hands, but you couldn’t deny the joy you felt as you walked beside Suguru, weaving your way through seas of people.

“Oh! How about here?” You point towards a food truck parked on the side of the road.

Suguru’s brows fly up in what you assume is surprise before he trains them back down. He didn’t seem pompous, so you were hoping he wouldn’t complain.

“I haven’t had their food in awhile.”

“You’ve been here before?” You whip your head towards him while pulling him closer.

“Yeah, my boyfriend really likes it.”

Weird, the only other person you know who eats here is…

“What can I get for you!” A cheery older man says, poking his head out the side of the window.

“Did you know what you want?” Suguru asks you.

“Oh, um, I’ll just get a slice of the cheese pizza.” You murmur, looking at the menu printed on the side of the van.

Suguru orders a slice of the same, and the older man takes his money and trades off two paper plates. It looks greasy and wonderful, just how you remember it being.

“Thank you!” You exclaim, grabbing your plate before sliding to the side, standing at the edge of the sidewalk.

The pizza melts in your mouth the second you take a bite, the golden cheese sliding down your throat. You let out a groan of approval, stopping in your tracks when you notice Suguru’s eyes on you.

“I-I’m sorry!” You fluster out, cheeks immediately heating at the attention.

“It’s cute.” Suguru whispers with a small grin, before taking a bite of his slice.

You bite back a smile as you sink your teeth into the pizza. Honestly, you had no idea what you had done to get so lucky. Most women dream of dating a hot, sweet, funny guy. And you had two of them? You weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself.

A gust of wind blows by, causing your body to shiver. Suguru steps to the side to block the wind from chilling you further, reaching a thumb out to swipe a bit of marinara sauce on your lips.

The action almost felt parental, but you were beginning to notice that trend with him. It seemed like every action he did was in care of you, constantly looking for ways to help out.

“What did you want to do once we finish?” He asks, already halfway done.

You ponder the idea for a moment. Really, your options were endless on a Friday night. Suguru was still a bit of a stranger, so you weren’t really sure what he liked to do. Your eyes drift around the area you’re in, taking note of the establishments. A bright sign catches your attention.

“Do you like dancing, Suguru?”

Suguru’s eyes follow yours, seeing the club that stood several businesses away. There was a line out the door, but it was moving pretty fast. It had been awhile since you’d gone to a club, but the idea sounded very tempting. It was fun to let loose, plus you wanted to see what Suguru looked like under the flashing lights. Maybe that was a selfish desire, but you craved it.

“Yeah, is that where you wanna go?” Suguru laces his hand with yours once you finish eating, the two of you walking towards the club.

Just like you thought, you aren’t waiting long before you’re already in the front, flashing your IDs to get access. A waft of alcohol hits you in the face along with the cool breeze of the AC. It was slightly cool outside, but you knew you’d need the comfort the artificial cold provided once you were packed with the other bodies.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Suguru asks, his voice slightly louder than his normal talking tone in an attempt to speak over the blasting music.

You nod your head and follow him to the bar, his hand holding yours tightly so you don’t lose each other. His palm is large in yours, easily overshadowing the size of your hand. His skin was warm, but not in an uncomfortable sweaty way. It felt calming, protective.

When you arrive, you order a mixed drink while he gets a glass of whiskey. Hopefully the alcohol won’t get to you too fast since you had just eaten. The idea of being drunk in front of Suguru kind of mortified you, you still wanted to make a good impression.

The alcohol burns down your throat as you sip the drink, setting it down on the counter once you’re finished, only to find Suguru’s eyes already looking at you. Just like you expected, he looked amazing under the lights. Flashing colors illuminated his face, his tall stature even more daunting when compared to the other men in the club who didn’t even come close to his height.

“Let’s dance!” You yell over the music, digging your nails in his arm to drag him to the dance floor.

He smiles as he allows you to maneuver his body, standing him in front of you. His cologne goes straight to your head as you press yourself against him, throwing your arms around his neck.

“It’s a little busy.” He observes, mumbling in your ear.

The brush of his breath against your ear causes you to gasp, gripping on him tighter.

“It’s better that way, I won’t get embarrassed since no one will be watching me.” You respond.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” Suguru guides his hands up your body, the slow drag making you want to groan. He brings them back down and settles them on your waist, holding you tightly against him.

You sway your body to the music, standing so close to Suguru that you can't see his face. You aren’t sure you want to see his face. The alcohol was flowing through your veins, and you were afraid of what you might do were you forced to acknowledge his presence.

Bodies dance beside you, the heat of the room finally crawling up your spine. Your neck is starting to feel sticky already, but you’re too drunk on the moment to care.

Suguru’s body feels hard against your own, and you can't help but find yourself wondering what he looks like underneath all his clothes. He looked strong, you could practically feel the muscles that bulged underneath. Your mouth begins to salivate at the image you start to conjure up in your head, the sight borderline pornographic. The more you think about it, the more you can feel your restraint begin to slip. It wouldn’t be so bad to make a move, would it?

Bravery, it was a fickle thing, wasn’t it?

You were in need of it every day for your job. You needed it so often that you tended to forget that what you were doing required it at all. Sometimes it was hard to summon.

It also tended to be easier to use when you had the aid of liquid courage flowing through you.

You drag your hands down, softly scratching the skin of his veiny forearms while you pull away from him. He looks down at you with raised brows, waiting on bated breath to see what you were going to do. The music changes, giving you the last boost you needed. You turn around, placing your ass against Suguru while grabbing his hands, guiding them to your waist once more, and you start to follow the music.

You didn’t mean for it to be filthy, you really didn’t. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

It was too hard to resist the beat of the music so you decided to let your body do the talking for you. Quickly the two of you find a rhythm together, your bodies moving in tandem. Suguru digs his fingers in your waist, keeping you pulled tight against him. You allow your eyes to flutter closed while you sing along with the music surrounding you, the vibrations of it filling your soul.

“This feels so good!” You speak over the music, telling Suguru.

“Hm, is that right?” He questions, guiding your hips back and forth.

The lowness of his voice crawls over your skin, sparking a match deep inside your stomach. You meant dancing felt good, but now that you thought about it, your bodies pressed together also felt amazing.

You throw a hand back, placing it on Suguru’s head, bringing him closer to you. Closer, you needed him closer. What the hell was in the drink you had? You were feeling unstoppable.

You grind your ass against him harder, noting the way his hands tighten around you. It sends a rush of excitement over you, only beckoning you to go further. You run your hands over his arms again, delighting in the rumble you feel come from his chest.

“Careful, baby.” Suguru warns, placing a slow kiss on your neck.

How could he tell you to be careful if he was going to tempt you further to the deep end?

“Or what?” You find yourself asking, looking over your shoulder.

Fuck.

You were treading on a thin line, and you knew it. His eyes are narrowed in on you, peeking at you from thin slits. He doesn’t look angry, he looks determined.

Suguru reaches down, curling his fingers underneath the hem of your dress. He doesn’t pull it up, he just slides his fingers across your skin, causing goosebumps to prickle you.

You lean forward slightly, pushing your ass out more against him. If he wanted to tease you, two could play at that game.

It felt like you were the only two ones on the dance floor. Your bodies moved in perfect sync, almost as if you had danced this way with him hundreds of times before. Your mind was dizzy, drunk on the feeling that sunk in your chest.

As you move, you’re able to feel something underneath you. You only have to glide back and forth several more times before you’re able to deduce what that something was. When you look over your shoulder you see Suguru looking down, his brows furrowed as he watches you grind against him.

It’s as if he can feel your gaze, because he’s flicking his eyes back up to you. Your stomach immediately drops once you’re caught, but you still delight in the look he’s giving you. A low pressure builds in your core.

He takes control, practically moving your body for you. You want to feel embarrassed, but you don’t. Not when you know that there’s probably twenty other couples doing the exact same thing.

You feel like you’re a patient person, never jumping the gun on hardly anything. But in this moment, right now, you’re desperate.

You turn around, wrapping your arms around him and yanking him down towards you. He instantly gets the hint, grazing his lips against yours. The two of you look into each other's eyes through heavy lids before you press your lips together.

Kissing Suguru was everything you thought it would be and more.

His lips tasted smoky like the whiskey he drank earlier on in the night. It suited him. You press your mouth against his harder, silently begging for more. No matter how urgent you felt, Suguru refused to cooperate. He moves on his own time, guiding his lips over yours while his hands trail down your back. It’s painful to wait, your body craving to taste him.

Suguru slips his tongue through his lips, grazing it against yours before you open your mouth. Fuck, was the room always this hot? Your tongue molds against his, heavy breaths being shared between you two. He slides his hand down your leg, hiking it up against his hip.

The new angle causes some friction against your core, leaving you reeling. If you didn’t have better self control, you might have just ripped your clothes off in the middle of the dance floor.

You moan against his lips, making him smile. His fingers grip your leg tightly, so tight you’re sure you would have bruises tomorrow morning.

His tongue easily follows yours, neither dominating or submissive. You didn’t care if anyone’s eyes were on the both of you. Suguru had you completely entranced. You were sure if he told you to do anything, you would do it.

You wrap your arms around his neck, reaching up to pull his hair tie out. You run your fingers through his silky hair, appreciating the way it flows through each digit. When his hair falls down, you’re able to get a whiff of his shampoo and probably conditioner (there was no way this man didn’t have a multistep routine). The scent was that of lavender and frankincense. It was calming, just like him.

Pulling back, you open your eyes to look at his face. He was so fucking handsome. Suguru’s lips follow yours, but you reel your head back even more, granting you just a sliver of space. How cute. His eyes flutter open to look down at you, as if offended you stopped kissing him.

His amber eyes cause your breathing to stumble, the intensity punching you in your gut.

“You’re a brat, aren’t you?” He asks, as if he already knows the answer.

“Why don’t you come find out?” You respond.

He stares at you for a moment longer, gaze calculating in the way he watches you. A pang of fear grips you, but it’s overshadowed by the alcohol in your system.

“Let’s get out of here.” He leans down to whisper in your ear. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. One he knows you’ll agree to.

Suguru pulls back, bringing his hand up to move some of your hair out of your face, behind your ear. He looks at you like you’re delicate china, something he wants to hold and protect.

Fuck, you really feel bad for not being able to tell him the truth about yourself…

You force yourself to snap out of it, too intent on enjoying this moment with Suguru. You place a quick kiss on his lips and tug him towards the exit.

How long has it been since you got laid?

The prospect of sex was rattling around your brain, making your mouth go dry. When you were dancing on Suguru you could tell he was big, and that fact only messed with you more. Could you take him? Something told you that he would make it fit.

Suguru slides his keys from his pockets, opening the car door for you once more. Part of you wasn’t even sure you’d be able to wait until you got home to have sex with him.

“Your house or mine?” You ask, out of breath from the anticipation.

“Mine’s closer.” He starts the ignition, holding his arm behind your seat to back out.

Of course he backs out like that.

Your fingers twitch in your lap with the need to hold him again. The idea of sitting on his lap while he drove was almost too tempting.

Suguru makes a series of turns until you’re waiting at a stop light, your stomach tingling.

“Suguru, how much l-“

Suguru turns around and grips your chin. He smashes his lips against yours, effectively cutting you off. You can’t help the squeal that falls from your lips at his action. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, making you raise a hand to grip his shirt.

“Be patient, little one.” Suguru murmurs, pulling back to look into your eyes.

You furrow your brows, seconds away from groaning. The red hue on his face changes to green and he’s moving back into place, pressing his foot on the gas.

Handfuls of nice apartment complexes pass by the car as you speed to his house, making you wonder just how rich he was. He said he was a freelancer, but you didn’t know of any freelancers who made this kind of money.

“We’re here.” He says, easing the car to a stop.

You lean forward to peer up at the building in front of you. It was incredible. It had to have been at least twenty stories, with glass paneling all around. You’re too busy gawking at the apartment to notice Suguru opening your door, waiting outside for you.

“Oh, sorry. This is really nice Suguru.” You mumble, taking his hand as you step out.

Your eyes are locked on the building as you get out, wondering what the inside looks like. It definitely had to be nicer than your place. You were starting to be glad that the two of you didn’t go to your apartment, you weren’t even sure you had picked the laundry up off the floor and here he was living lavishly.

Suguru tilts your head back to him, garnering your attention once more. He presses his lips against yours, trapping you against the car. His mouth was much more frenzied by now, as he pulled away to leave hot kisses down your neck, sinking his teeth in your throat softly.

You let out a quiet moan, which makes him grip you tighter. The two of you were beginning to gather attention, as you could feel the heat of people staring as they walked by.

“S-suguru.” You mumble, tugging his shirt.

He pulls back and looks down at you with feral eyes before stepping away. Suguru grips your hand, lacing his long fingers around yours while you follow him clumsily to the doors. He nods once to the front desk attendant before stopping in front of the elevators. Your body heat is steadily rising as you get closer to his apartment. His hand flexes around yours as the elevator slowly inches closer and closer to the bottom floor.

The second the doors open he’s dragging you inside, pressing you against the shiny walls. His lips are back on your throat in an instant, his hot breath caressing your neck as he nips you. The elevator was too small, the heat the two of you were emitting only circulating making you even more dizzy. You moan and dig your nails into his shirt, pulling him closer to you. His hips press into you, and you’re able to feel his hardness again.

Hell, if he wasn’t going to make it fit, then you were.

Beeps from the elevator fill the small room as you slowly crawl to the next floor. Your eyes are glued to the red numbers at the top, watching them get higher and higher.

Suguru sinks his teeth near your jugular and begins to suck, relishing in the groan you release. Your lips are slightly parted as you indulge in the sensation of his tongue working your neck. He was definitely going to leave hickeys, but you didn’t care. You bring your hand down and graze his crotch, brushing past his hard cock. Suguru takes in a quick breath, his fingers digging harder into you.

The elevator beeps once more before you’re at floor twenty, the doors slowly opening.

“Suguru-“

He pulls away and smashes his lips to yours before stepping away. The look in his eyes is a far cry from his appearance when you met him in that quiet bookstore.

You sink your teeth into your lip as he leads you down the hall, perfect white tiles lining the path as you go. The wetness between your legs was beginning to borderline on uncomfortable, and a throbbing sensation was shooting up from your core. Suguru stops in front of a door and rips his keys from his pocket, jamming them into the knob. Simultaneously he’s turning his head to kiss you again, finding the fact of being away from you unbearable. You hold the side of his face and stick your tongue out, tangling with his as the door opens and the two of you stumble inside.

“Oh, you’re home early.” A voice comes from inside the house.

Suguru pulls away from you and looks over his shoulder.

“Satoru, you said you wouldn’t be back until 11.”

…Satoru?

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @dinolvrrr, @kimi01985, @constawrites, @spookysoowpprince, @reosnagi, @faerie-soirxx, @platrom

If you want to be added to the taglist just let me know, please specify if you want to be added for all my works or just this fic

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loornaleoowo · 1 month

Text

Saw some cute references in pin and wanted to draw some renren. Unfortunately I can't draw digital anymore. My wife left me and took the ipad so I had to do it the old way👩‍🦲

@14dayswithyou

Miss Sia why did you make his sweater so complicated? I had 73 strokes, 133 heart attacks and lost two of my children 98 yo and a -999yo because of it. 🥲

Extra info about the OC.

6.5 ft. She was lifting him up in that pic.

Is very athletic and loves wandering around and taking photos of sus things. So she probably has some pictures of your mom.

Probably caught Ren lacking in some of her vlogs before the game time line started. But the mf keeps deleting them. Doesn't help her beat the delulu allegations.

Enfj because I'm. And I have no life.

Name:(Lilith)

Age: one year older then him.

Occupation: same as you.

Likes: cats, music, introverts, girly girls, soft boys, waring alt clothes.

Dislike: argent people, intrusive people, shameless people.

Hobbies: singing, vlogging, talking to people, exploring strange locations.

Favourite item: camera.

#14 days with you #14dwy ren #14dwy fanart #14dwy oc

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javier-pena · 10 months

Text

permission

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader x Paz Vizsla

Word Count: 3.3k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You belong to Paz ... but there's something about Din Djarin. He's on your mind constantly.

Notes: I had the idea for this fic somewhere toward the end of Mandalorian S3 and then it took me a while to find the time to write it but here it is 🤭 shoutout, as always, to Dani @alexturner for reading this in advance even though she definitely isn't a Paz girlie.

***

The air in the private booth is stuffy, filled with laughter, with cries and music, with the sounds of metal jugs hitting wooden surfaces, spilling their contents over tables and hands. The only thing separating you from the commotion beyond is a thin curtain, only there to give the occupants of the room a semblance of privacy.

It’s just you and Paz tonight – he sits perched on a wooden stool that groans under his massive body every time he shifts. You sit on his lap, cool beskar steel pressing into your thighs through your thin pants. And then there’s Din Djarin, whom you have known for as long as you’ve known Paz, maybe even longer. Memories begin to blur when you hop from planet to planet, from system to system.

With one hand, Din lifts his helmet so his chin and bottom lip are exposed, and takes a sip from his drink. Paz mirrors him, shifting his weight and you with it. You lean closer to him for some purchase against his hard chest, looking at a spot just behind Din’s head, at a brown stain on a gray wall, at a lamp barely bright enough to illuminate a little corner, at a small bug scurrying down from the ceiling. You look anywhere but at Din’s visor, anywhere but at the macrobinocular viewplate that hides his piercing eyes, those eyes he can’t keep off you, that have been on you ever since you all sat down. As long as you find other things to focus on, his gaze doesn’t hold any power over you.

“Are you’re sure they’re on this planet?” you attempt to make conversation, to distract Din and yourself.

Both men grunt, but that’s the only response they grant you.

You shift on Paz’s lap, you squirm, and he slings an arm around your waist, gloved hand coming to rest on your stomach. His other hand holds onto his jug while his eyes pin down the man opposite him.

“If I was running from the law, I’d try to hide somewhere warm, preferably with a beach,” you try to strike up a conversation for a second time.

“They’re not running from the law,” Paz answers, his thumb brushing against your stomach.

“No, I know,” you say. “I was just saying, there are nicer places to hi-”

The rest of the sentence is lost somewhere in the stuffy air as Paz’s hand glides lower, two fingers coming to rest at the apex of your thighs, pressing down. You can’t be sure, but you think Din’s gaze follows Paz’s motions … at least he lowers his helmet slightly. He could also be staring at your chest, you realize, your face hot with embarrassment.

“Where would you hide then?” Din asks, a metallic undertone in his voice, distorted by the modulator in his helmet.

“Niamos, maybe,” you answer. “I’ve heard Spira is nice –”

An insistent pull low in your abdomen makes you leave the sentence hovering unfinished in the air above the table. Two of Paz’s fingers are massaging you through your pants, the pressure enough to light up your core, not really enough for anything else. You grip the edge of the table, pretend you’re trying to get more comfortable on Paz’s lap, while Din raises his head, his gaze settling on the man behind you. There is a wordless exchange – you can see it in the way Din shifts his shoulders, hear it in the harsh exhale of breath coming through Paz’s modulator.

Suddenly, Paz slings his arm around your chest and grips your shoulder with his free hand. “Do you really think you’d be able to outrun us?”

Your vision blurs as you see yourself cowering in a dark air vent, as you imagine yourself crouching behind the trunk of a sturdy tree, laying low in a run-down motel, scraping together some credits to bribe an official to let you off a planet without papers. All the while, you’re looking over your shoulder, you scan every crowd for a flash of beskar, blue or brown, for the glint of a visor reflecting sunlight. You see them kick down the door to your room, tie you up, drag you back to their ship … No, you wouldn’t be able to outrun them.

You shake your head.

“No, you’re right,” Paz agrees, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, even with the helmet covering his face.

He slips his hand past the waistband of your pants then, the coarse leather of his glove rough against the soft skin of your thighs and belly. He reaches down to where wet heat has begun to moisten your underwear, and holds you, his palm resting against your clit. Din’s chest is rising and falling so fast you notice it in spite of the strong armor covering him. You force yourself to stare directly at his visor, to imagine his hidden eyes on you, his mouth hanging open. Your own mouth is dry, you can feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“I think you’d like that,” Paz goes on. “I think you’d like being at our mercy like that.”

You nod, because he’s right. You nod, because the thought has crossed your mind once or twice, when you watched them bring someone in, when you watched them handle their bounty as if they weighed nothing, their captive’s pleas falling on deaf ears. You nod, because Din’s hand closes harder around his jug, the leather of his glove groaning.

Paz notices too, and you can hear the gloating in his voice when he speaks next. “Would you like to touch her?”

You belong to Paz, but Din – it’s complicated. It’s an open secret there’s tension between the two men, between these two brothers by creed, because Paz got to you first. It’s a well-guarded secret, hidden in a deep, dark corner of your heart, that you sometimes wish Din had been first, that you sometimes lie awake, imagining his hands on you instead of Paz’s. And it’s a fact that Paz likes to tease both of you because of that.

Paz’s question is followed by a shift of his palm, by increased pressure against your clit. You bite your lip to contain a whimper.

“Paz …,” Din says, and it sounds like a warning. Or a plea.

“You know what to say,” Paz responds, and a shiver runs down your spine at the commanding tone in his voice.

Your eyes are glued to Din’s visor, a silent plea written all over your face. Say yes, say yes, say yes. But Din only has eyes for his brother, his rival, purposefully avoiding your gaze. And then he speaks.

“May I touch her, please?”

The strain in his voice does make you whimper this time. Paz hears it, and so does Din. A big hand is grabbing one of your breasts now, squeezing it, rolling your nipple. You find purchase between the table and Paz’s thigh, but you can already feel the sizzling edges of an orgasm making its way toward you with greedy hands. Din watches, shifts in his seat, adjusts himself in his pants. And somewhere, far away, a man shouts, a glass bursts.

“Go on, then,” Paz says, letting go of your breast to spread your thighs with a sure motion.

Here? is your first thought. The second, much louder one, is Fuck …! as Din stands up, shaking hands balled into fists at his side, a visible bulge in his dark pants.

Paz pushes you off his lap, pulls down your pants and underwear in one quick motion, then pulls you back toward his chest. He spreads you open with both hands, an offering for Din to do with as he pleases. Or maybe not quite. Because when Din gets to work on pulling his cock out of his pants, Paz snaps, “No. Get on your knees.”

Din stops, uncoils his fingers, then balls them into fists again, a quick succession of small movements. His shoulders tense as he looks at you, spread open for him, as he wonders if the price might be too high after all. You know him well enough to know he’s weighing getting to touch you against following Paz’s rules. He can’t have one without the other. You want to whisper his name, you want to call out for him, but one wrong move, one wrong word, and Paz is going to take this away from the both of you.

Din stills his hands eventually, presses the open palms against his thighs, and makes up his mind. You feel the ground shake as he falls to his knees in front of you, then raises his helmet to seek out your eyes. The visor is too dark for you to be able to tell what lies beyond it, and you wish you’d be allowed to see his face, his eyes, just once, but before you can even ask for something as ridiculous as that, your vision turns dark.

“Take off your helmet,” Paz commands as he ties a piece of dark fabric tightly over your eyes. You squirm as your heart begins to race, but Paz presses you tightly against his body. “Stay still,” he whispers into your ear. “We’re going to take care of you.”

You feel a pounding between your legs at the hissing sound you hear next. Your breathing is too hard, too shallow, but with your eyesight gone, you have to rely on your other senses. The shouts from behind the curtain are louder than before – you can make out individual voices, certain words and phrases – and you are keenly aware of the fact that any second now someone could burst into the room to see you spread open like this with a man kneeling between your legs while another one holds you down.

That doesn’t stop your chest from vibrating with a deep moan when Din tentatively licks across the wet heat between your thighs. The first stroke of his tongue is a relief, the second kindles something within you, the third one and all the others following are torture. Paz starts to massage your breast again and your head falls back against his chest, relying on him and Din to make sure you won’t slide to the floor. Din’s licks become faster, more eager, as he buries his face between your legs, drinking you down like he’s starving and the taste of you is the only thing that can save him. His hands find their way to your thighs and he digs his fingers into your soft skin, spreading you even further, licking deeper and deeper.

“Don’t touch her,” Paz growls.

Din squeezes your thighs, but lets go quickly. You miss his touch, but know better than to say something. Instead, you twine your legs around his shoulders, caging him in with your thighs. He moans against your clit, and you shiver, pressing yourself harder against his chin and tongue and nose. Then his hands are on the back of your thighs, massaging your ass, pressing you even closer as he starts to feast on you, barely coming up for air.

“I said don’t fucking touch her.” Paz pulls you off Din’s shoulders, away from him, and stands while dropping you onto his stool.

It’s pathetic, really, the way you whimper, “Please,” but neither man hears you. You just hear sounds, a whirr, the sound of Din’s angry grunts of protest, armor clanging against armor. And then Paz says, “That’ll teach you”.

He picks you up again and places you back on his lap, and then Din’s face is pushed against you. He grunts his surprise and you hiss at the sudden return of his tongue. You hear the sound of leather tightening, and then Din’s head moves as if he has been shoved. A second later, both of Paz’ hands are on your body again, while Din’s remain absent.

Your entire body hums with the sensation of Din licking into you, each stroke hungrier than the last, while Paz holds you against him, watches over you, makes sure you’re okay. Sometimes, there are orders, “Not too fast. More pressure. Take your time with her,” other times there are questions, “Do you like how wet she is for you? Do you see how her legs are shaking?” and sometimes there are encouragements, “Yes, that’s it. You’re doing so well. Beautiful.” You’re not quite sure who the recipient of those is.

You come once with a surprised shout, spilling down Din’s chin, and hear all the sounds become wetter. Din doesn’t stop though, and Paz doesn’t tell him to either, and when you try to squirm away, raw and overstimulated, Paz makes sure you stay in place. You come a second time, moaning and panting so loudly Paz clamps a hand over your mouth until all you can taste is leather. Even after you’ve stopped shaking, even when you can’t do anything but hang limply between their bodies, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your heart beating so fast it feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest, blood rushing in your ears and pounding through your body, Paz still doesn’t let go, only says, “Another one.” Your feeble protest is lost between his thick fingers covered in hard leather.

You’re not sure you can come a third time, even though you can feel yourself flutter against Din’s tongue from time to time, even though there is an insistent throbbing there every time he sucks your clit into his mouth. Too weak to push him off, even if Paz would let you, all you can do is lie there and take it until they’re both satisfied. Paz squeezes your nipple again, but finally releases your jaw, and you breathe in deeply, gulp down air. The sweat running down from your brow mingles with a few stray tears pushing past the blindfold.

“Come on, girl, you can take it,” Paz whispers somewhere above you, and you nod, licking your dry lips.

The next thing you feel is Paz’s naked finger against your lips, tasting of Revnog. You lick it eagerly, tasting the sharp sting of the drink and the rich flavor of leather. As a reward, he grants you two fingers next, both coated in Revnog. As you suck them into your mouth, Din shifts between your legs, changing the angle slightly, and you’re pulled forward by a third orgasm, one that’s been building for a while now, one that catches you by surprise and refuses to let you go once it has you in its grasp. Your moans are choked by Paz’s fingers in your mouth; when you get too loud, he presses down against your tongue, making you choke. When you’re too quiet, he lessens his hold so he can hear you better.

Once you’re spent, ears ringing so loudly the sounds beyond the curtain seem muffled, far away, like you’re listening to them through a thick wall of water, Paz lifts you off his lap and places you on the stool where you slump, unable to keep yourself upright. A noise much closer to you, one that penetrates your exhausted mind, is the sound of Din trying to catch his breath, his shallow pants, his groans as he shifts on the floor in front of you. And finally, you can make out the hum of a vibroblade as Paz cuts him loose.

When Paz takes off your blindfold, he does it gently, careful not to touch you more than necessary. He strokes your cheek, his fingers cool and coarse against your heated skin. You blink a few times, waiting for your vision to become less blurry, and then look up at him hovering above you, taller than usual, his shoulders tense, his stance wide. You know what comes next.

Paz hands you his jug, lets you take a swig from it, then pulls you off that stool and pushes you against the table. You grunt as your chest hits the wood, try to push yourself up, but Paz pushes you back down, one hand sprawled across your back, kicking your legs apart with his foot.

“Hold her down,” he grunts.

When you look up, you see Din stand in front of you, his face already hidden behind his helmet again. The pang of disappointment you feel at that sight is quickly replaced by seething lust as he grabs both your wrists with one hand and holds them down against the wood. Between this and Paz’s hold on your hips, there is no chance of escape for you.

Behind you, the rustle of clothes cuts through the suddenly still atmosphere, laden with expectation. Then you feel Paz’s cock against your backside as he drags himself over your exposed skin before pushing into you with one quick stroke. You scream, nails digging into the wood – he’s so big, so heavy … you’re not sure you can take it. Paz gives you a moment to breathe, strokes down your back to calm you, even whispers, “Shhh,” (a hissing sound through the modulator). But then he pulls out and slams back into you so hard you see stars.

“Please,” you whimper, but he only tightens his hold on your hips.

You try to move but you can’t. Din, who feels you struggle against his hold, circles one of your wrists with his thumb in a soothing motion and you swallow hard as you try to relax. Paz’s palm lands against your bare ass with a slap and you’re being pushed forward, up the table. The sound you make is closer to pleasure than pain now.

“Do it, pretty boy,” Paz grunts between thrusts, and you glance back up at Din, watch as he pulls himself out of his pants, hope you don’t imagine the slight tremor in his hand. Your mouth turns painfully dry at the sight of his cock, completely hard, a dark red on the verge of becoming purple, its tip glistening invitingly. He begins to stroke himself fast, eyes fixed on you as he groans with relief, and you feel his hold on you become less hard.

Escape is now the last thing on your mind. You lick your lips eagerly as you imagine what it would feel like to have Din’s cock press against your tongue, spilling down your throat. And you hope Din has similar thoughts as he stares at you, chest heaving. Paz slaps you again. Then he closes his fingers around the back of your neck, pushing your head down. You push back against him in defiance, but he only slaps you a third time.

“You’re mine,” he growls.

Your fingers scrape against a bit of exposed skin on Din’s wrist.

“Come on, say it,” Paz orders, between three particularly vicious thrusts.

For a brief moment, you consider defying him, but there is something about the whimper you think you hear from Din’s direction that tells you he likes seeing you be used like this.

“I’m yours,” you give in.

“Good girl,” Paz praises. Then you feel a pressure between your cheeks, followed by a burning sensation as he pushes a finger past your muscles, taut with pleasure.

You don’t come, at least you don’t think you do, but you can feel yourself clench around Paz so hard his movements become erratic. Before you feel his hot release spilling into you, you hear Din hiss, “Fuck!” and feel him coat your bare arms, your cheeks, and the table beneath you in thick, white ropes.

While Paz fucks his seed into you with a few final, deep thrusts, you lick Din’s cum from the corner of your mouth, savoring its heady taste. And Din strokes your cheek, softly, like he’s savoring nothing more than this moment.

***

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin x you x paz vizsla #din djarin x reader x paz vizsla #paz vizsla #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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belle-keys · 1 year

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My Hogwarts House book recs

Okay, ever since some of my favorite booktubers made posts like these many a year ago, I always wanted to make a book rec list like this because I still genuinely do like the Hogwarts Houses. Enjoy!

Gryffindor

Graceling by Kristen Cashore - she walked so these new fantasy girlies could run, fantasy kingdom with assassin main character, the original ya high fantasy killer girlboss imo

A Game of Thrones by George RR Martin - all of the sympathetic leads are classic heroes (dany, jon, arya), adventure and politics and battle and dragons, nuanced outlooks on honor

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah - ww2 novel, deals with the french resistance during the occupation, hit every spot in my cold black heart, emphasis on sisterhood and endurance

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen - what is bravery if not a broke woman telling a rich man to get a grip, og strong female lead overcoming many challenges, criticisms of polite society

Hufflepuff

Crave by Tracy Wolff - big on found family, paranormal romance shenanigans in a boarding school, somewhat satire, unserious and just very wholesome, steeped in nostalgia uwu

All My Rage by Sabaa Tahir - unapologetically written to heal and explore trauma, cathartic, wholesome and pure relationships, emphasis on self-growth and overcoming abuse and pain

The Stationery Shop by Marjan Kamali - historical, about the value of relationships in war and hardship, themes of growth and acceptance and promises, beautiful story

The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic - what happens when you let a bunch of mentally ill kids play a made up sport, angsty but feels like a big hug, contemporary fiction, just genius ok

Ravenclaw

The Atlas Six by Olivie Blake - very slytherclaw, philosophy and physics as the basis, dark academia urban fantasy, character-driven, multiple POVs, morally grey academics

Babel by RF Kuang - this book has been likened to a history textbook, by a nerd girlie for the nerd girlies, linguistics and languages, super well-researched, condemns colonization

Disorientation by Elain Hsieh Chou - witty and sharp narration and dialogue, set in academia and deals with east asian literature, satire and black comedy, explores racial fetishization

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov - only a ravenclaw could appreciation its complexity, so many literary references, stylistically immaculate, lots of room to debate its message and themes

Slytherin

Vicious by VE Schwab - perfect moral quandaries demonstrated here, everyone is morally dark grey, supervillains, very angsty and also profound at times, dark academia

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde - my man makes a deal with the devil for eternal youth and beauty, everyone here is morally dubious, murder and orgies and philosophy

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn - exhausted woman does what she needs to do, female rage book, does some interesting things with pov, justified evil, amy dunne is insane and it's great

Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao - tired chinese woman does what she needs to do and kills men, very unhinged queen behavior, ambition and god complexes, pacific rim but in china

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dystopicjumpsuit · 10 months

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Turn It Up When You're Gone (1/2)

Starting my fic migration off with a bang! This is by far my most popular work on AO3, because people be horny. Delta Squad/Republic Commando girlies, come get y'all juice!

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Sev x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.9k

Summary: You are a GAR analyst, and your job is to process clone trooper helmet feeds. Being surrounded by incredibly handsome, competent troopers makes it hard to keep a professional distance, but you've managed. Until now.

Warnings: SMUT; voice kink, praise kink, body worship

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You love your job. As a GAR tactical analyst assigned to the Venator-class Star Destroyer Guarlara, you spend your days immersed in clone trooper helmet feeds. It might seem boring or tedious to some, but with your keen eye for detail and extensive knowledge of tactics, it is as close to a perfect occupation as you can imagine.

Besides, the clones are pretty entertaining. You always love the snippets of banter that pop up in their comm feeds, from gallows humor, to good-natured mockery, to genuine awe or delight at a new planet. Seeing the galaxy from the perspectives of these men, who have seen too little of beauty and too much of the chaos and horror of war in their short lives, gives you a new appreciation for its wonders.

At first, you try to maintain some professional distance from the troopers, if only to preserve your sanity when so many of them are lost in each engagement, and you have the responsibility of watching as their helmet feeds fade to black. But it isn’t easy. The battlefield camaraderie you witness in their feeds continues onboard the Guarlara, and you can’t help being pulled into it. You make friends with a few clones, and every time they go on a mission, you hold your breath until they come back safely.

It doesn’t help your resolve to keep them at arm’s length that you are surrounded by incredibly handsome, competent soldiers in peak physical condition. Several of your fellow nat-born analysts have already had flings with clones, and by all accounts, the experience is worth the risk of official reprimands or even demotions. You haven’t done it yourself—yet—but you’ve been tempted.

And the temptation just got one thousand times stronger.

A new clone commando unit has been temporarily assigned to the Guarlara: Delta squad. Regular clone banter is entertaining, but the Deltas are on a whole different level. Boss is all business, and Fixer is quiet and by-the-book, but Scorch and Sev are hilarious. You often have to bite your lip to keep from bursting into unprofessional laughter at their antics, even as you are blown away by their tactical prowess.

You find yourself saving the Delta feeds for the end of your work cycle, just so you can finish your day on a high note. Sometimes, you wish you could get your hands on some Mantell Mix while you’re watching the feeds. They’re better than any holoflick you’ve ever seen. If only they could be released to the public; they would make a blockbuster action comedy.

But there’s another reason you are quickly becoming obsessed with the Delta feeds.

The first time you hear Sev’s voice, you gasp, and prickles run down your neck. He sounds different from the other clones: deep, gravelly, menacing. Incredibly sexy. You often find yourself replaying snippets of his comm feed, just so you can hear him speak. Whether he is making a dark joke, tallying his kills, or snarling at an enemy, his voice never fails to make you breathe a little faster.

You have never met the squad, never seen their faces, though you’ve seen them in their distinctive armor around the ship. The commandos mostly keep to themselves. You aren’t even sure which armor belongs to which commando, though you would bet every credit of your cycle’s pay that Sev is the one with the helmet painted to look like a bloody handprint.

You know that the commandos were the same height as all the rest of the clones, but somehow, they seem larger. More solid. Far more intimidating. Maybe it is the armor, but you doubt it. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about what Sev looks like under all that bulky commando armor. Lying in your bunk during your sleep cycle, you picture him. Copper skin, curly black hair, eyes the color of amber. Hard, sculpted muscles. Broad shoulders, narrow hips that flex against yours, driving his thick cock deep inside you until you whimper his name. And of course, you imagine his voice: deep and dark, murmuring the filthiest words in your ear as he pounds into you with that incredible clone commando stamina.

When you meet up with your fellow analysts for lunch in the mess hall, you confess that a clone has finally caught your eye—or more correctly, your ear.

“He has the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard,” you say, keeping your volume low so as not to attract attention from the troopers eating at nearby tables or milling around in small groups.

“They all do,” laughs Drinna. “They’re clones!”

“This one is different,” you insist. “It’s so deep and growly. He sounds so… dangerous.”

Jeelee shivers next to you, and you don’t blame him. None of your friends can deny that the rush of adrenaline is at least a small part of their attraction to the clone troopers. There’s just something about a soldier who has been trained from birth to be a killing machine that activates your fight, flight, or fuck response.

“Stars, I never thought I’d get turned on listening to someone yelling, ‘Trando scum,’” you say with an uncertain laugh. “If it weren’t a massive security breach, I’d try to smuggle some of his feeds into my bunk for a little private viewing session.”

Drinna snorts with laughter, and the group hurries to finish the meal before you all have to get back to your stations to close out your work cycle.

---

Sev can’t believe his ears. He’s sitting in the mess staring at the empty table where you and your friends were just sitting. He’s off duty and wearing only his black body glove, which is why you don’t notice him sitting alone when your group takes the table next to his. But he notices you. How could he not? He’d spotted you the very first day he and the Deltas came aboard.

He isn’t completely sheltered. He’s met nat-born GAR personnel before, including a few female officers. And he has made the rounds at 79’s during Delta squad’s all-too-rare shore leaves. But something about you grabs his attention. He first notices your laugh. You laugh a lot, and you do it with your whole body. Your eyes light up, your mouth opens in a delighted smile, your head tilts back, your shoulders shake, your tits bounce. One time, he saw you laugh so hard you had to lean against a wall for support when your knees gave out. It makes him want to be the one who makes you laugh.

His keen sniper’s eyes have also spotted you stealing glances at him and the rest of his squad when you pass in the hallways of the Venator. He’s seen you chatting amiably with other clones, and he wonders why you never try to talk to the Deltas. Maybe she’s intimidated, he thinks. He doesn’t blame you.

When he overhears you talking to your friends, he doesn’t think much about it. He just enjoys getting a little glimpse into your life. And then he hears it: “... turned on listening to someone yelling, ‘Trando scum.’ If it weren’t a massive security breach, I’d try to smuggle some of his feeds into my bunk for a little private viewing session.”

Sev nearly chokes on his nutrient paste, and for once, it’s not because of the flavor.

It’s me, he realizes. She’s talking about me.

All this time he’s been watching you, and now he knows you’ve been thinking about him. Getting off to his voice. Imagining him during your “private viewing sessions.” The thought of it has him semi-erect in the middle of the mess hall, with no armor to disguise his state. He spends a long time eating his nutrient paste.

---

The next time the Delta feeds update, you notice that Sev’s is a little longer than the other three. As usual, you save his feed for the last of your day. You take a quick look around to make sure nobody is watching, which is ridiculous, because this is literally your job. But you can’t help feeling a wicked little thrill as you queue up his feed, as though you are about to do something forbidden. You settle the headphones over your head and turn up the volume as you press play.

The holofeed isn’t what you expect. Instead of a battlefield or the inside of a gunship, you see a barracks filled with empty bunks. It looks spare and sterile. The bunks don’t even have pillows; just thin blankets and rough sheets. Your own quarters are austere, but at least you have the luxury of a door and a small refresher. You’ve never seen the inside of the clone barracks before, and you feel as though you are intruding on something private. You reach to scrub forward through the feed, but you halt when Sev’s voice crackles in your headphones.

“I heard a sexy little analyst say she likes my voice,” he says. “I have a present for her ‘private viewing sessions.’ If she comms me the code to her quarters, I’ll know she wants it.”

Oh, stars. He heard. He knows. And he knows who you are. If ever there were a time for the Guarlara to have a small hull breach and launch you into space, now would be the ideal moment! Your heart beats so hard you are sure everyone around you can hear it. You steal a glance out of the corner of your eye, but none of your fellow analysts have noticed anything out of the ordinary.

You send him a quick message. “RC-1207, this is the tactical analysis center. Your helmet feed flashed an error code during your most recent upload. The code is one-one-three-eight-four-echo-bravo. Please run a diagnostic and purge your helmet’s memory bank to prevent corrupted feeds.”

The reply comes almost instantly. “Copy that, tactical. Thanks for the code. That’ll help me track down what I’m looking for.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, and turn your attention back to the feed. It cuts to the hallway of the Venator as Delta squad heads out for a mission, and the comm feed is just more of their usual banter, followed by their day’s activities in the battlefield.

You scrub back to the beginning of the feed and listen to it one more time before you trim the recording and upload it to the GAR server. You often have to cut out sections of feeds, so the missing section won’t raise any eyebrows, but Sev could get in huge trouble if anyone higher up the command chain saw the original recording.

With shaky hands, you tidy up your workstation as you do at the end of every work cycle. You straighten your uniform, joke with your friends, and head out of the analysis center. You meet up with a few clones in the corridor, and you make your way as a group to the mess hall, where you complain about the bland rations and make plans for your next shore leave. When you’re confident that you haven’t aroused suspicion, you stretch and tell your friends that you’re going to turn in early.

You barely restrain yourself from running through the halls to your quarters. You key in your door code with fumbling hands, and once inside, you spot it immediately: a datachip lying innocently on your pillow. You plug it into your personal player. There’s no holo, but Sev’s voice rumbles through your headphones.

“Get comfortable, beautiful. I want this to be good for you.”

You gasp. You pause the recording and strip out of your uniform in record time, flinging it across your cramped quarters to lie rumpled on the floor. Crawling into bed, you slide naked under your blanket and pull the headphones back over your ears.

“That’s my good girl. Are you naked? Kriff, I hope so. You look hot as hell in your uniform. You must be the prettiest karking thing in the galaxy out of it. All that soft, smooth skin. I want you to feel yourself for me, little one. Run your fingers through your hair. Is it as soft as it looks? Does it smell as good as I imagine?”

Oh, sweet gods, he’s been imagining you, too. You wonder if he has been picturing you when he touched himself. Arousal licks up your spine, tinged with a tiny bit of disappointment that you hadn’t made a move sooner. You push the thought aside, determined to enjoy this moment.

“Now I want you to touch your skin. Slide your hands up and down your body, your arms, your thighs. Cup your tits. Give your nipples a little squeeze. Do you like that?”

You nod, biting your lip and breathing hard. You imagine Sev’s hands, rough and strong and big, and your hand drifts down your belly.

“Don’t touch your cunt, sweetheart. Not yet. I don’t want you to rush this.”

Force, it’s like he’s there with you, watching you, instead of away on some Maker-forsaken planet blasting droids. You obey his pre-recorded commands, wanting to get the full experience.

“Brush your fingers over your neck. Do it gently, like you can feel me whispering in your ear instead of a recording. Touch your mouth, baby. Gods, I wish it was me. Would you lick my fingers? I wonder what you taste like. I bet you taste amazing. Sweet, soft lips, wet little tongue. Fierfek, you make me so hard I could nut right fucking now. How kriffed up is it that I’m jealous of your hands?”

Your breath stutters as you hear another sound in the recording: the rhythmic slide of skin against skin. Oh stars, he is getting off on this, too. Or he already got off. Whatever. You roll your hips instinctively, looking for stimulation.

“Damn it, Sev, let me touch myself,” you whisper.

But you don’t. Not yet. You wait for his permission. Instead, you writhe in the bed, sliding your hands all over your body, pinning your hips to the mattress, touching yourself everywhere except the place you so desperately need.

“If I were with you, I’d take my time. Explore your whole body inch by inch. I would kiss you, and taste you, and suck on your tits until you beg for more. I’d bite your sexy ass and then kiss it better. I’d eat that pretty little pussy until you scream for me. Oh, fuck—” He panted for a moment. “Sorry, honey, I needed a minute to cool down or I was gonna blow early. I don’t want you to think I’m not up to the mission. Because right now, you are my mission. And you know that the mission always comes first.”

You can’t help it: you giggle. It’s endearingly cheesy, but you suspect it’s also true. Once Sev has you to himself—because you have no doubt that he will, and soon—he is going to give you the ride of your life.

“Have you been a good girl for me? Did you touch your pussy before I said you could?”

You shake your head. “Please, please, Sev, I need it.”

“I think you have been a good girl, and now you deserve your reward. I want you to touch your cunt, angel. Just brush your fingertips over it, nice and easy. Are you wet? Kark, I hope so, otherwise I’m doing this wrong. Slip your fingers inside, just a little. Get them nice and slick. Now I want you to play with your clit. Do what you like best, baby. Go hard, or go soft. Rub it in circles, or give it a little tap, or press on it nice and slow. I can’t wait to find out what makes you scream. Do you like it when I suck on your clit? Or maybe you like it a little rougher. Do you want me to slap you, pretty thing? Slap that beautiful little pussy and then lick it better? Or would you rather I go slow and gentle, just barely touching you, taking hours to build you up before I ruin you?”

You moan as you work yourself frantically. You are close, so close, and his voice is doing unholy things to you. You can hear him fucking his fist again, and it turns you on even more to know he is into this just as much as you are.

Sev’s breath grows ragged. “It’s gonna be so good when I fuck you. I know your cunt feels amazing. So tight and wet and warm—fuck—gonna be incredible. I can’t wait, I can’t kriffing wait—gods baby, gonna make me come—FUCK!”

He grunts, and it is loud. You can hear the wet spatter of his orgasm, and the sound of it pushes you over the edge. You feel the entire universe contract into your body, so tight, so hot, and then Fuck! The tension snaps, and you cry out as your body jerks and spasms. You gasp for air, twitching away from your own fingers as your hypersensitive body shudders. Your body is drained, your head is empty, every drop of energy in your being is utterly spent. Your eyes close, and you slip into oblivion.

---

Chapter 2

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul

This compilation of lines from the Republic Commando game will never not be funny to me: https://youtu.be/WHXy-_mztg0

#sev could crush me like a droideka #and i would say thank you sir #dystopicjumpsuit writes #sev #rc 1207 #republic commando #repcomm fanfic #repcomm #clone simp #clone thirst #tcw fanfic #star wars tcw #sw tcw fanfic #sw fanfic

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