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mt-musings · 10 days

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To Inherit the Night - 17

“Sit still, Magpie, or I’m going to send you up Topside with half a face of makeup.”

“You’re poking my eye,” she retorted, squirming away from his eyeliner brush. He grabbed her jaw to hold her still.

“Suck it up. Beauty is pain.”

“That’s bullshit. I’d be the prettiest person in Fodlan if that was true.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “You are pretty.”

“Pretty fucking ugly.”

“Do you want me to finish you makeup or do you want to have a pity fest? It’s one or the other,” he asked, brow raised. She slunk down in her chair, dropping her gaze to the floor.

“Makeup. Please.”

“Ahh, so you do have manners.”

“No thanks to you.”

He laughed at that, eyes glimmering with mischief. It was no secret that she’d inherited his foul mouth and rapid-fire retorts. She had enough sense most of the time to keep it in Topside, but everyone in Abyss knew to be wary of her tongue.

“I still don’t know why you’re putting in so much effort. It’s lame, as far as balls go.”

“But I’ve never been to one. And everyone else is going to be dressed up and there’s going to be dancing and champagne and—I don’t know. They always sound fun in stories.”

He tried to hide his grin, shaking his head.

“What?”

“You’re adorable.”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. Are you going to dance with your Prince Charming tonight?”

“Fuck off.”

“Planning on meeting someone in the Goddess Tower?”

“Planning on cutting holes in your socks.”

Yuri snorted, pinning a stray piece of hair back. He took a step back to admire his work. Her hair streamed down her back in perfect waves, half pulled back into braids that encircled her head like a crown. The white didn’t look so stark with the lilac ends woven through, bringing out color in her face. He hadn’t done much in the way of makeup. She didn’t need it, despite what she thought. He’d merely disguised the scars on her cheek as much as he could and emphasized her eyes with a little eye liner and mascara and the smallest amount of shimmer.

“Do I look stupid?”

“Do you think I would make you look stupid?”

“If you thought it was funny.”

“You don’t look stupid. I, as usual, am a genius. Go on, check in the mirror.”

He watched her expression as she took a deep breath, steadying herself before turning to look at the small mirror on his vanity. He watched as she gasped, turning to stare at how faint her scar had become, almost invisible but for the slight divot of the old wound, at how large and thick-lashed her eyes were. She pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes welling with tears.

“Don’t go crying off all my hard work.”

“You—I—Yuri!” She stammered incoherently, nearly tumbling from her chair in her haste to throw her arms around him in a hug. He returned it easily, not bothering to hold back his laughter.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Magpie. It’s just a little makeup, I’ve been offering to teach you for forever.”

“You made me pretty,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Made—Cella, do you really hate your scars that much?”

She didn’t answer, just hugged him harder. He sighed, pressing his cheek to the crown of her head. He’d have picked her up her own cosmetics long ago if he’d known seeing herself unscarred would bring her to happy tears. She’d always seemed so indifferent to fashion, to her appearance, he’d simply thought she wasn’t bothered by it. She’d always been more concerned with snooping about, with reading as many books as she could get her hands on, with tinkering and causing problems for a laugh.

She glanced up at him, eyes still shining, grin cemented to her face.

“You’re the best.”

“You’re tolerable.”

She scrunched up her nose at that, smile widening. She stepped back and did a little twirl in her altered skirt, smiling at her reflection in the mirror.

It wasn’t often that Yuri felt like he was truly a good big brother. He ran a gang after all, a gang he’d allowed Cecily to become and integral part of. Sometimes he forgot she was barely sixteen, that she was supposed to still be more of a kid than not. But watching her beam at herself as she did a happy little bounce of a dance made him feel like the best brother in the world.

Blood or not, she’d always be his kid sister, and he’d always do anything it took to do right by her.

~~~

Yuri had been right—the ball was terribly dull.

He’d never been one for such occasions to begin with, but with so little to gain by mingling with his fellow students—it was practically intolerable.

Or it would have been, if Cecily hadn’t been having so much fun.

She’d spent the whole evening dancing, with hardly a break since they’d arrived. He hadn’t the faintest idea where she’d learned—maybe she’d asked Dorothea for lessons. She always went to her for help with classwork.

He’d never seen her smile so much, or laugh. She practically glowed, brimming with joy. It was like watching who she might have been, had she never been kidnapped and tortured, who she would have been had she never gotten mixed up in petty noble disputes.

“Kid’s having a good night.”

Yuri glanced over to find Balthus drop into a seat next to him, propping his boots on the table.

“Looks like it.”

“She’s about the only one. Constance and Hapi already left. What say we follow and continue the night with some proper drinks down at the Wilting Rose?”

“I dunno. Maybe in a bit.”

Balthus followed Yuri’s eye line to where Cecily was dancing with Claude, laughing at something he was whispering in her ear. Balthus laughed, shaking his head.

“You hanging around to scare off any over-eager suitors?”

“Why would I do that? She can take care of herself.”

“I’m not buying that, pal. Worried someone’s going to whisk her off to the Goddess Tower?”

“Terrified,” he retorted, the word dripping with sarcasm.

“Alright then, why stay? You hate these things.”

Yuri just shrugged. “I like seeing her happy.”

“She does look young when she smiles like that. She looks so serious all the time I forget she’s practically a baby.”

“You’re just old.”

“You’re not wrong, especially in this crowd,” he laughed. “Two more songs and you’re coming for a drink with me. You gotta let Little Birdie fly on her own someday.”

“Balthus—“

“Come on! What’s the worst that can happen? It’s a church ball. So she makes out with some kid in the back gardens, it’s a right of passage.”

“This is not a conversation I want to be having.”

“Then you should just agree.”

“I’m not—“

“Hey!” Cecily said, beaming. She came to a halt right in front of the pair of them, beaming, cheeks flushed from dancing.

“Oh, great timing. We’re heading out,” Balthus said, grinning as he glanced sidelong at Yuri. Cecily’s face fell, though she quickly replaced it with a well-practiced smile that never quite met her eyes.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go say bye to Thea.”

“No, no, no—Yuri and I are leaving. You stay and have fun. Besides, you can’t leave your first ball early, it’s bad luck.”

Her eyes flicked to Yuri, never quite believing Balthus at his word when he used that tone. He sighed, giving her a crooked smile.

“Go have fun. I have to get this geezer back home.”

“Hey!”

“Let me know when you get back, okay? I’ll be up.”

“Okay!” She said and grinned, giving both of them a quick hug before darting back towards Dorothea and a handful of the other Black Eagles lingering on the edge of the dance floor.

“See? No harm no foul. She’ll be fine! Come on.”

Yuri grudgingly followed Balthus from the hall, glancing back to find Cecily back on the dance floor being twirled around by Hubert, who’s usual grim demeanor was replaced with something softer, something almost like a smile. He turned on his heel, ready to abandon Balthus in favor of ensuring it was their last dance of the night together, but Balthus grabbed him by the collar and practically dragged him out.

“Leave her alone, she’s a good kid, she deserves some fun.”

~~~

“You look…very nice tonight,” Hubert said, the words careful and measured. He was wrong, of course—his assessment was severely lacking. She looked particularly beautiful—she’d done something to cover her scars, sure, but it was more in the way that her eyes glimmered with excitement, the soft way her hair had been braided back from her face.

She beamed back at him.

“Yuri did it for me. You look really nice too.”

He ignored the faint heat that rose in his cheeks at her words, her smile. Had he seen her smile, really smile, before? Never this much, he was sure.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be so fond of balls.”

“It’s my first one. I’d read about them, of course, but they’re much more fun in person!”

“If you like dancing.”

“Well, that’s the best part! Don’t you think?”

Never in his right mind had Hubert ever enjoyed balls, or fancy parties, least of all dancing—especially the stuffy Court kind. But as he swayed with Cecily in his arms he didn’t think it could be all that bad, not if it made her smile like that.

“I—Yes. I daresay it is.”

She rewarded him with her biggest smile yet. “I wish we had more than just the one here at the monastery. I’d like to do it again.”

“There will always be more balls. Goddess knows the Season is bursting with them.”

“The Season?”

“The social Season, when all the balls and parties are set. There’s scarcely a weekend without one.”

“Oh, how lovely,” she replied, though he could see her smile slip, just a bit. It was an idiot thing to say—of course she didn’t know what the Season was, or how commonplace, really, balls such as this were. He’d wondered why she’d scarcely stopped dancing for ten minutes the whole night, why she’d said yes to everyone who had asked her, even those she didn’t particularly get on with, why she hadn’t followed her fellow Housemates back to their quarters.

For her there would be no more balls, no more nights of dancing and laughter, of idle banter and string quartets.

“If you ever find yourself in Enbarr during the summer I would ask you consider accompanying me to one. I could use an accomplished dance partner.”

She giggled, not in the cruel sort of way he’d grown used to girls laughing at him, but in the way that bubbled up with harmless mischief. “I’m afraid you might have to look elsewhere then. Dorothea only started teaching me two weeks ago.”

“I never would have guessed. You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“Perhaps I merely got all my toe-stepping out of the way earlier in the night.”

“Oh?” He asked, amusement creeping into his voice as he raised an eyebrow. She giggled again, the sound as sweet and bright as bells.

“I might have stepped on Lorenz’s toes. On purpose. Because he said I could be mistaken for having a noble air about me when I was dancing, and I couldn’t have that.”

Hubert surprised himself by letting out a genuine bark of laughter. She fought her own smile, though her eyes shone with it.

She opened her mouth to say something else but the song ended and she shut it again, the mirth once more slipping from her face in favor of a practiced smile, shoulders drooping ever so slightly as she took a step back into a shallow, unbalanced curtsey.

“Thank you very much for the dance, Hubert.”

He tumbled out the words before he had a chance to reconsider. “Would it be presumptuous of me to ask for another?”

Her eyes went wide for a moment before she gave him the sweetest, almost shy smile. She answered with mock seriousness, the glimmer of mischief returned.

“Oh, most certainly, but I daresay I could forgive it.”

He smiled back without thinking. “Then I am ever so lucky,” he said, offering her his hand once more. She took it with the same hint of shyness she’d shown at his request, though it was without hesitation—they easily fell back into rhythm, Hubert depending on over a decade of practice while Cecily followed his lead as if it were as easy as breathing. He wondered, idly, when she’d found the time to practice so diligently with Dorothea—he still wasn’t quite sure how she found time to sleep between her late nights studying and her work with Yuri.

He wished then, that his offer to take her to another ball, to have an excuse to spend an entire night at her side, with her in his arms, hadn’t been a functionally empty one. He’d meant it when he’d said it, meant every word—but the world would be a very different place in a few months, and Enbarr wouldn’t be hosting any balls any time soon. He quite doubted there would be many throughout Fodlan in the next few years, at least until Lady Edelgard was able to unite the continent under a new, Crestless society.

Until then there wasn’t time enough to spare for such frivolity, for such pointless, selfish desires. He could simply allow himself these few moments, moments he—

“Are you alright, Hubert?”

“Of course. I apologize, I simply got lost in thought.”

She searched his face for a moment, her own unreadable. “It can be a treacherous endeavor.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Indeed.”

“Hubert?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what.”

“Being kind to me. Even when I know it’s been burdensome.”

He shook his head. “It’s never burdensome. I promise.”

She smiled at him as the song ended, letting the silence ring out a second before stepping out of his hold.

“Thank you for the dances. I hope the rest of the night treats you well.”

“Are you retiring for the night?” He asked, hating the edge of disappointment that laced his words.

She huffed a laugh, ducking her face to hide her blush. “Well, three dances and people would talk.”

“I didn’t know that you cared about what people thought.”

“I don’t,” she said, something sad creeping onto her face. “But you have to. Goodnight, Hubert.”

“Cecily—“ he called after her but she didn’t turn, disappearing from the ballroom without a second glance.

~~~

Hubert surveyed the ring, the sick feeling in his chest rising. It was objectively perfect—a delicate platinum band with a large, marquis-cut center stone of shimmering alexandrite, flanked by a spray of smaller ebony stones on either side. The center stone alone had cost an exorbitant amount, but it resembled the peculiarity of her eyes so well that he hadn’t blinked.

He thought of how under different circumstances he’d be nearly giddy at the thought of giving it to her. How he would have sat and prepared an entire speech, taken her to the rose garden, away from prying eyes, declared to her his ardor and devotion.

He wondered if she might have liked it, had it not been a shackle. He’d never seen her wear any jewelry other than the silver cuff on her ear engraved with a band of foxglove.

He sighed as he set the ring back in the box. He’d have to give it to her tonight—he wouldn’t be allowed to see her before the ceremony tomorrow, some sort of idiot custom he was supposed to adhere to.

He stood stiffly before he could lose has nerve and strode to Cecily’s apartments, nodding at the guard at the door before stepping inside. She was sat on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, chin propped up on them as she stared blankly at the flickering shadows on the hearth. She didn’t look up or greet him, though her grip tightened as if it were enough to protect her.

“I thought you should have this before tomorrow,” he said, though he didn’t move to hand her the box. It was another moment before she turned her head to look up at him and it was then that he could see her red-rimmed eyes.

She’d been crying.

His heart twisted painfully in his chest at the realization, but he shoved it down. She might have been crying, but her cheeks weren’t as hollow, her bones no longer as sharp under her skin. She was still too thin, but not in the utterly unhealthy way she’d been when she arrived. She was at least better taken care of in the palace, no longer starved and bruised.

He hesitated a moment before sitting next to her on the floor, ignoring the childish indignity of it. He watched her brows furrow in confusion, all the more so when he pulled out the little leather box.

He handed it to her without preamble or explanation, choosing to watch the flames, rather than her face. She didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough that he thought she might not say anything at all.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s for you. I should have given it to you at the start of our engagement, but I admit that I hadn’t yet gotten it.”

She stared at it for a long moment, absently tracing the stone. Then she handed it back to him.

“I do not need a ring, Hubert, nor am I suited for one such as this.”

“It’s a gift, and it was made specifically to suit your features. You will be the Marquess Vestra tomorrow, and will need things befitting such.”

She didn’t say anything, but he watched as she wrung her hands, as she traced the scars that dotted her knuckles, that cut across the backs of her palms. Scars from fighting, from training and surviving. He thought of his own hands, less scarred, though discolored from years of black magic overuse. She’d never seen him without his gloves, no one had, save Edelgard, but she would, tomorrow. She’d have to, to slip his own black band onto his finger.

Surely, if the faint silver scars on her own disgusted her, his hands would prove a horror.

He pulled the ring from the box and reached for her hand, pausing just shy of taking it.

“May I?” he asked, half expecting her to get up and lock herself in the bedroom, as she was prone to do the moment she became utterly sick of him. Instead she stared at his hand for a long moment before placing her own trembling one lightly in his. He was struck by how small it looked in comparison, how something so unassuming could cause such destruction, should she desire it. He slipped the ring on her finger, glad, at least, that he’d gotten the sizing right. He hated the involuntary rush of warmth at seeing it there, knew it had perhaps more to do with the connotation of such a piece than with his satisfaction with the design.

She didn’t pull her hand from his right away as he’d expected, her face unreadable as she stared at it. He wondered if she’d momentarily forgotten her hand was still in his, though he’d be hard pressed to remind her, not when he could revel in the warmth of her touch for just a little longer. He was surprised by the urge to press his lips to her knuckles, the sweet gesture so absolutely out of character for him.

She pulled her hand back gently, wrapping her arms back around her knees. He couldn’t help but glance at where it glinted in the firelight.

“There is to be dancing tomorrow. I remember—I remember how you enjoyed it, at the Academy. I did—I did promise you another dance, in Enbarr.”

He didn’t know why he said it, why he brought up what had been such a happy memory. Maybe he just wanted to fill the silence. Maybe—maybe he wanted her to know that he still held her in the same regard, even now. Maybe he wanted her to know that he still remembered, that it hadn’t been an empty promise.

He watched in horror as her face crumpled and she let out a choked sob. She buried her face in her lap, her breath coming too fast, her shoulders shaking with ragged tears. He sat frozen, unsure of what to do. He wasn’t the most comforting person at the best of times but he was worried now that he’d only make it worse.

He had a strange, foreign compulsion to pull her into his arms and hold her, but he didn’t, instead forcing himself to stand. He poured her a glass of water and set it carefully next to her before taking one of the blankets off the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders. He didn’t want to leave her side, not while she was crying, but seeing as he was the cause he backed up towards the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

“I—I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sorry, Cecily.”

She didn’t respond. He wasn’t even sure she’d heard him, through her tears. He lingered another moment before forcing himself to go, walking quickly to his own chambers to wallow in his own misery.

~~~

Cecily sat on the roof of the ballroom, watching the light from the windows dance across the gardens. She’d cloaked herself in shadow so no one would be able to see her.

She knew she should just go back to Abyss. Yuri said that he’d be waiting up for her, something she’d most definitely want to avoid, especially coming back red-eyed with all the makeup he’d so carefully applied wiped off on her sleeve.

It was her own fault, for being stupid. She’d forgotten that she was just a little Abyssian rat, just another orphaned urchin who’d gotten good enough at stealing and eavesdropping to keep herself in coin.

Hubert would be a Marquis. He was the closest confidant of the next Emperor of Adrestia. He’d probably attended enough balls that the thought alone of this one had bored him stupid, meanwhile she’d made a fool of herself telling him she’d read about them in story books.

She shouldn’t have come. She’d never belong to that world, never fit in the way Yuri so effortlessly could.

It had been fun though, to pretend, just for a few hours. To laugh and talk and dance—by the Goddess she loved dancing. It left her giddy and breathless and she couldn’t think of anything that had made her so happy.

Unless it had been dancing with Hubert.

That had felt so utterly different, like she’d been floating, like it was just the two of them instead of a crowded hall full of their peers. And he’d smiled, and the softness of the expression suited him perhaps more than that devious smile that she favored, a smile that always meant something was about to get interesting.

But he was the son of a Marquis and she—

She had never even met her father. He’d been some sort of scholar, back in Sreng, or whatever passed for a scholar there. He’d been learned enough try to kill her the moment he’d seen her eyes.

If she was lucky she’d return the favor.

Because that’s what she was—a murderous little monster with a penchant for spying and ruining other people’s plans.

She swiped at a tear running down her face, hating herself for being so stupid, for forgetting her place. She was nothing more than a plaything to these noble brats, would never be anything more than a plaything when it came down to it. After all, she wasn’t pretty, like Dorothea, or scholarly, like Linhardt, or a fierce and tenacious fighter, like Petra. She wasn’t inventive like Constance, or strong like Balthus, or brave, like Hapi, or even half as wily and charming as Yuri.

She was still just a silly little girl, a silly girl who still believed there was truth in story books.

She leaned back on the roof, looking up at the stars. Yuri had always told her that heartstrings were what they tired the noose with, that they were made him so very good at what he did. He could make anyone fall for him, pour riches into his hands in the hopes that it would win them his heart. But it was a game—he’d always told her it was a game as long as you weren’t stupid enough to let anyone close enough to take yours.

And she’d been particularly stupid—of all the people at the Academy she’d let herself fall for not only a noble, but for Hubert, who loved nothing and no one but her Majesty, Lady Edelgard. Who was perhaps even more rigid in his adherence to his noble duty than Ferdinand, but had the good sense to mostly shut up about it.

He was kind to her and she was useful.

Because she was useful. And that’s all they’d ever be. All she’d ever be.

Useful.

She didn’t bother wiping the fresh wave of tears, she knew they’d only just be replaced.

She knew Yuri loved her, beyond her use, had loved her before he’d known, when it was only a burden to him. But beyond that—she’d been enveloped into the Ashen Wolves because of Yuri, rather than anything she had to offer. Balthus looked out for her because Yuri’s asked, Hapi would share a meal with her if they were both around, and Constance—Cecily knew Constance had a good heart buried beneath all that pompousness and inbreeding, but she still hadn’t gotten over the time she’d tried to bully her into being a test subject for one of her experiments and she’d had one of the worst panic attacks of her life.

And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about the way Hubert had smiled at her, how it had felt to have his hand on her waist, to hear him laugh, really laugh. The way he’d look at her when they studied together in the library with the same softened brow, how he’d help her even though it served no benefit to him.

Or maybe it did and she was just dense.

She scrubbed at her face until it felt like she’d wiped off the last of the makeup—she’d been stupid to ask Yuri to do it for her. She wouldn’t have, if she’d known just how much nicer some people would have been just because they couldn’t see her scars.

If she’d known she’d have gotten a tiny taste of what her life might have been like if she’d been pretty.

Surely, she’d have been insufferable, not a door unopened to her.

It would have been nice.

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #yuri leclerc #fire emblem three houses x reader #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers

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bvannn · 1 year

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Weekly Update May 19, 2023

Not doing so hot. Lots of ambitions, not enough progress. I have a certain long term physical illness that decided to flare up really bad this week, but the day before I had gotten a bunch of art done and queued so I think I covered it up well. I haven’t been doing anything productive today or yesterday, I’ve just been playing Dokapon.

I’m getting self conscious about my art presence online again so I want to make a big push by making something. Ran into a couple issues with the would-be new projects.

In TRG Animated news I have all but one shot storyboarded for the first batch of audio, and have begun divvying up the second batch, and I’ll probably look into what other audio I’ll need for this animation. A bit unsure if I should storyboard the second batch or begin character animation on the first once I’m done. May also touch up a couple pieces on the rigs, like Emile’s hair and Jon’s Jacket. Also a good chance there will be holes in the limbs I missed that I’ll have to fix. I’ve already caught one in all 3 boys’ arms, 2 in Jon’s.

Also been poking other Adobe features in general in anticipation of other animations, and want to throw out some lower effort animations, although that still requires prep work that I don’t want to dedicate significant time to while there’s bigger projects on the table. I’ll still put in what I need to for it in passing, but when I have dedicated art time I’ll try to focus it on general drawings and TRG.

On the topic of other animation projects, I don’t want to screw with copyright music stuff, so I tried to look into composition software again. Turns out the version of FL I bought was a crack/scam/illegal copy. I don’t really want to use pirated versions of software that offers one time purchases, so I don’t really know what to do with it. I’ll look into FL alternatives, since I didn’t really like FL’s interface anyway. If I ever had a real source of income maybe I’d buy it but that’s probably never going to happen if my body keeps rotting and spawning like it has been.

Still need to catch up on inktober 52 I’ll probably do it all in one burst once I get a burst of motivation without access to digital stuff. Lower priority.

My body is really badly screwed up, I’ve been back on the painkillers at night, but I’ve been able to stay off during the day. It feels like my kidneys are full of live beetles and my scars are being pulled apart by dogs from inside my skin. The scar thing should clear up eventually on its own but it still sucks. I’m also trying to sell my blood again, but transportation is tricky. I’ll try to register with another company that has a closer location I can take the bus to. Doing everything I can, just never feels like enough.

#weekly update

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no-droids · 4 years

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Beginner’s Luck

Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6K

Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT. Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry

A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos

***

“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting. “Turn around, let me see.”

“No. I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says. You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in. “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.

Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it. You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle. Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.

Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him. He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.

“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence. “I look ridiculous.”

Still, nothing. You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth. Oh for the love of Maker—

“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl. He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.

Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it. You fucking knew he was laughing.

“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.

“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?” You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries. The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace. “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”

“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now. “Way too big.”

“Too big?” You blink at him. “That’s your criticism?”

When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no. It’s fucking… rust. It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character. There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?

“You’re telling me you went from this—” You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens? It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”

He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull. “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh. “This planet isn’t nice.”

That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully. “Are we on Corellia?” You ask without thinking.

“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron. “Tatooine.”

You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill. Different setting, same kind of people. Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them. You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else. It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.

“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs. “Someone… nice. It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”

Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you. Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to. Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy. But for real, who is he talking about?

“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?” You ask instead, but he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace. “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”

“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again. “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”

Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore. “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words. “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”

You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second. “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment. “We can stay with your… friend.”

You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step. You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.

Was that not subtle? You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated. You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again. That’s what’s called a friend, right?

Maker, why are you being so weird about this?

Thankfully, you end up getting away with it. After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit. You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.

***

It’s bright. Fuck, it’s so bright here. You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it. Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.

Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now. But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance. “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”

Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely. You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.

“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him. “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”

“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink. What… what happened last time?

“It sure won’t!” The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long. “I’m still recovering, Mando!”

“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second. “How much do you think my life is worth?”

Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration. Probably both. “I brought my ki—”

“You bring trouble!” She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground. “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”

He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot. How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide. He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his. He talks to you. He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without. Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.

So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.

“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos. “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”

Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders. Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.

“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?” She faces him and pokes his armor again. “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”

“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase. Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point. He said she was nice? And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?

“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks. Fuck, there’s no way. There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.

But… he doesn’t respond. Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation. Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue. Maker, five hundred credits. You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it. He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.

So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around. Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side. You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now. Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does. Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it. You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—

But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.

You understand him. Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway. You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing. It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him. That’s insane.

He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.

“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.

And you think now is finally the time to go, right? Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently. Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you? You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?

You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape. He leaves and doesn’t look back.

Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.

“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk. Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask. “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”

You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her. “Pre-Imperial or post? Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”

She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.

***

So Peli is… a character.

She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it. She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable. You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night. You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.

The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse. You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck. Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror. Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.

Din was right, though. She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about. She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being. On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears. It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.

At least you stay busy—which, understatement. She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing. Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later. You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset. You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life. However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do. After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.

One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself. You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.

You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.

Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.

You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.

***

A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.

There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game. There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.

It’s an unpredictable nightmare. But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game. The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.

“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.

You don’t argue, because there’s no point. The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point. You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void. You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best. Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.

“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it. “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”

You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand. “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair. Peli sets the mug down and sighs. “You’re a good mechanic. I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”

Now, you do smile. But it’s a hidden one. A fond one. One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him. You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him. Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace. It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him. Nothing can touch you. You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.

No, you’d never consider it. This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous. You love the baby. You love him. You’d never consider it.

“Don’t you get bored?” She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit. “Just waiting around for him to come back?”

You don’t have to think about your answer. Of course you do. If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without. Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go. You’ve never experienced anything like that before. There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age. So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them. You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy. You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family. You don’t know of anything you could want more. Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment. Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence. You know what it means to live for yourself. You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different. As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better. Now you have other people to live for, too.

You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago. He used to terrify you. You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up. Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.

No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition. Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do. You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea. But maybe you can also…

You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What do you want now?” She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal. “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them. Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface? I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”

She furrows her eyebrows at you. “But I still need your help with…”

You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it. Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work. This is what Din does, right? Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet? Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.

“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin. “But only if you win this round. What d’you got?”

You set down your cards to reveal your hand. A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.

“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.

***

It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7. They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave. Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.

You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done. After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.

As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape. You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating. You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.

Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before. You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted. It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.

Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired. You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open. Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.

“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you. Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.

You know you must look a hot mess right now. Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is. Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.

Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could. Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.

You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that. You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.

And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted. He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.

Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level. And fuck, nothing stops you from looking. He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either. He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.

He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs. Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…

The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.

You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time. Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now. Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…

“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all. “But… shit, but…”

“But…?” You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides. “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”

You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him. All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.

“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside. Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful. “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long. “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him. Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you. The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck. “Shit. I… I need to clean up. Grab your things, go tell…”

Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss. You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters. “Uh. Go tell…” He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so. “Her. That we’re leaving tonight.”

“What?” You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused. “What are you saying right now?”

“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat. “The mechanic, with the… droids. Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”

“Peli?” You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point. “Did you forget her name, Mando?”

“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that. “Never asked.”

“But you—?” You blink at him. “But you said she was your friend?”

“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy. It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it. Yikes, you absolutely did say that. You forgot.

“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response. “Ha. Oh. Yeah, huh.”

There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom. Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?

“Were you jealous?” He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.

“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far. You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw. “Tell me the truth.”

You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered. So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would. Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.

His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help. His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle. “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”

His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you… Mind blank, no thoughts. Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.

“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try. “There’s no reason. I was jealous. It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid. I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”

Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off. Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.

“See that wall?” He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it. You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about. It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar. He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you. “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar. “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”

Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.

She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore. “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again. “You owe me five hundred credits.”

“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point. Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.

“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.

“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.

Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly. You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here. She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.

“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him. “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”

And then your jaw drops. Holy shit, is she serious? You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly. Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.

Also… girlfriend?

Is that what you are to him? Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so. You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important? You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again. If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough. Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough. It’s an elementary school version of what this is. And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend? Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.

“Uh.” He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point. Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder? Lover? No, not good enough. Partner? No. No, not wife, definitely fucking not— “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder. “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”

All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness. The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.

“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.

***

So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.

You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing. You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here. Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.

When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food. A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps? Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things. While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.

Well. Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.

Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful. The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you. You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.

So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically. So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one. He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.

Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch. It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye. Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.

Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—

You fire, and… well. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life. You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.

“Try again.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it. Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.

No, you think in frustration. You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time. You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.

You adjust your aim and fire a few more times. Miss, miss, wild miss, miss. Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you. Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—

Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.

“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise. He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.

“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit. “Go ahead, give it another shot.”

But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was. Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing. He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast? That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?

“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.

“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.

“So how did you toggle so fas—?”

He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.

“How in the f…?” You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch. “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again. “Design flaw.”

“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon. “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature. Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”

The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.

“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking. “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando? I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”

“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips. They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again. “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”

“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.

“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.

“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin. “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”

But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off. “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”

Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him. “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards. “Of course not. Pick up the gun.”

Okay.

Okay, so that one gets you.

You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you. Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.

Shit, okay, focus. Focus, you can do this. You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life. The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours. His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows. He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.

He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on. Maker, chill out. Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot. This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…

Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong. You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—

“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.

The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center. You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.

He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target. Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.

When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more. You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit. Bullseye, right on the nose.

This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.

“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh. “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”

“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down. “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong. Are you just distracted?”

Uh, fuck yeah you are. So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind. He’s your biggest distraction, all the time. He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.

Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.

“Can I watch you do it?” You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf. “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him. He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused. You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.

He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically. You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out. You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot. You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.

As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right. You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop. Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.

He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable. Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago. No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere. The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit. They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands. But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there. He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either. He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.

None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize.�� It’s not fun because he’s too good at it. This is life. This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.

You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element. You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you. Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.

Is it just you, you wonder? Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?

No, you think. No. You have seen him relax. You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.

But… only with you. A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.

Fuck. Why does that turn you on so fucking much? It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit. The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.

“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it. You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it. You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.

Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders. He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.

Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back. Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.

He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason. There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator. He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime. Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.

Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf. The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.

Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots. Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.

You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this. His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too. You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.

A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him. Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more. So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point. And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.

Din is a fucking statue. He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it. Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.

You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already. You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out. You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.

At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public. Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.

Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else. Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response. He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it. This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else. This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.

You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue. His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue. While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.

Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth. Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with. You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it. He endures. Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.

But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando! Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”

You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing. The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.

And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.

The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming. Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at. Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.

He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance. The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever. Handling it is all on him. He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun. It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?

Wrong. So wrong. You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss. Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs. But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.

Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length. Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him. His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.

So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want. His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache. You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.

“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise. “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”

Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?

You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.

His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth. You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner. The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.

He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean. His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.

He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going. Is that fucked up, you wonder? What would he think?

He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving? Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that. The coast must not be clear, you have to assume. Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t. You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants. He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.

The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows. What would he think? That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent? Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.

At some point, you can’t stop yourself. You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.

You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit. Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss. He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on. You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.

Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair. Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—

That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand. And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this. You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again. Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified. Debased. And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.

When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum. You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins. By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants. You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.

The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest. You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble. Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that. He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake. He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense. Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.

Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.

“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet. “Now you should be able to focus, right?”

Fuck… Fuck, is he serious? You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard. How does this work again? What does this do?

“Wh-What?” You croak—fuck, your voice is gone. “I… I can’t—”

“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it. Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield. “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath. “You can do it.”

You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way. “I… can’t.”

“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace. A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.

It sounds… wonderful.

Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady. The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.

You drop your hands, already defeated and drained. “I can’t.”

“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again. Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.

You shoot. Nope. So you shoot again. And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.

“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again. “Expensive. Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”

Miss, miss, miss, and—no. Just, no. There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap. You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place. “Mando, I ca—”

“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.

… What? N… No…

Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.

You… you know it must just be a joke, right? Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be. You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.

“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding. If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away. Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something. Is he messing with you again? Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?

It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate. Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.

The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready. You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—

—it hits dead center.

Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is. You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.

“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint. Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened? “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him. “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”

You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all. Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?

No. Shut up. Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything. Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—

You do, and oh. Oh, no.

“Uh?!” Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic. What the fuck? No fucking way. Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot. “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”

Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you. You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.

The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb. There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—

—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.

It fucking bends. Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.

Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.

… that’s not closed.

The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away. Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it. You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.

Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.

“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him. “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”

Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door. You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance. The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.

***

Stay tuned for the next part!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #star wars #fanfic #reader insert #no-droids

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goldenkirstein · 3 years

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aot band! au headcanons pt. 1:

pt. two here

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pairing: jean x fem! reader, eren x fem! reader, zeke x fem! reader

wc: 1.2k+

cw: smut (18+ minors DNI), reader has female anatomy, manipulation/corruption, dumbification/incoherence, sorta dubcon (?), mentions of spit, cockwarming, unprotected sex, cursing, dirty talk, creampie/breeding, cumplay, degradation, perv! zeke.

a/n: okayyyyy, so im reposting this, because i didn't like it the first time i posted it lol. i added and cut out some things still don't know if i really like it. anyways, i tried my best with tagging everything, i really hope i didn't miss anything, if i did please let me know. this is my first time writing anything smutty, i'd love to hear any feedback or criticism !!

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

smut under the cut

jean kirstein

Jean would play the electric guitar.

He wouldn't have any big tattoos but tiny stick and pokes, but when he takes off his shirt, there would be this giant, intricate tattoo that spans his entire back.

He wears thin white t-shirts that cling to his body when he gets all sweaty from performing or when he douses himself in water because the lights make it really hot on stage, babe. The shirt becomes practically see-through, and when he turns around, you can see the outline of the back tattoo. You swear he does it on purpose.

HIS HANDS, calloused from hours of practice, wears chunky silver rings that make his long fingers stand out. He keeps his ring finger empty, though (he's a romantic and a big ol’ softie).

When he's writing songs or can't figure out what chord would sound right, he plays with his rings. He takes them off, sliding them up and down his finger until he's satisfied and moves on to the others.

It drives him insane if he sees you singing along to his songs at the concerts. He'll smirk at you, opting for a quick wink, before getting back to performing.

After the show, he’ll pull you into his lap, in whatever empty room is available. He’ll have his hands on your hips, the cold rings contrasting against your hot skin.

His heart would be beating so fast, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He just got off stage, and here you are, grinding down on the growing bulge in his pants, driving him crazy.

On most days, he liked it when you would fuck him post-show, sliding your skirt up and sink down on his cock.

He loved watching you fuck yourself dumb around him, tits bouncing in his face, head thrown back in pleasure. His cock would reduce you into an incoherent blubbering mess. The only thing making sense was the way you were chanting his name like a prayer.

this fucker would love to whisper the most filthy things in your ear, “you’re making such a mess around my cock, petal. You’re gonna be a good slut and clean it up after, right?”

when he’s about to cum, he turns into an absolute mess. He gets super whimpery and will hold you close to his chest as he dumps his load in you. He stays like that for a while, watching as his cum drips out of your cunt and down his dick.

He doesn’t let you get off his cock, partly because he’s so sensitive and partly because he secretly wants to stuff you full of his babies.

after he’s calmed down a bit, he’ll open his eyes and run a hand through his hair, letting out a small chuckle, “shit, baby, you keep fucking me like that and I might just have to put a ring around that finger.”

eren yeager

plays bass and is on vocals

he has a sleeve on one arm, and the other one is empty. It's pretty cohesive, and the pieces link together-think American traditional; he takes great pride in his tattoos. After all, they're pieces of art on his body.

He likes showing off on stage. He’ll take off his shirt and throw it into the crowd, and he loves hearing the screams that ensue afterwards.

Always the performer; he’ll walk off the stage and stand on the rails, getting the people in the crowd to run their hands down his sweat-slicked torso. It’s another crowd favourite.

he wears rings too, and his favourite thing to do is to get you to pull them off his fingers using your mouth. He has to coax you into each time, “I can’t pull them off by myself; they’re too tight, need your help, angel.” He just likes having you suck on his fingers; he won’t tell you that, though.

He likes the attention from the fans, but he mainly does it to get you hot and bothered. Eren stares at you while strangers are practically grabbing at him. It’s a game for him. Figure out just how many ways he can get to you.

you always avoid him after the shows, in a way to tell him that you're not impressed by the stunts he pulls.

As much as you try to run and hide, he always finds you. He’ll come up from behind, hands on your waist; you don’t need to see him to know that he’s got that Cheshire cat grin on his face.

Try to escape from his grip, and it’ll only get tighter, “what’d you think of my little performance, princess? Did it make you weak in the knees?”

He loves pushing your buttons, does everything to get a reaction out of you, try all you might, the night always ends the same way, you bent over his dressing room table, skirt lifted, panties to the side, and him fucking ruthlessly into you from behind.

the stoic front you put up would be practically erased from the way his cock slides in and out of your spongy walls, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

He loves hearing you beg for him; he wants to listen to the vulgar words fall from your mouth, wants to have you begging him to let you cum, pleading for him to cum in your pussy.

He’ll tease you endlessly, “what’s that angel? If you want my cum so bad, you gotta beg better than that.” In the end, he always gives in, also liking the way his seed drips out of your pulsating hole.

Before any can drip down your thighs, he’ll slide back your panties, straighten out your skirt and send you off, saying that, “it’s for later, for when you try fingering that pretty little pussy, you’ll always have a reminder of who owns it.”

Bonus: tour manager! zeke yeager:

tour manager zeke, who watches the shows from the venue’s back, keeping his eyes trained on you.

Tour manager zeke who has a reputation for being a sleazebag, a cheapskate and vile to women.

Tour manager zeke, who watches as you stay back after each show to clean up, smiling ever so sweetly at him, “no mr. yeager, I really don’t mind helping out. It’s the least I can do.”

tour manager zeke, who can’t help think of shameful things when you bend over to pick up the crumpled posters, his eyes that linger a little too long at the swell of your pert ass.

Tour manager zeke thinks about how your mouth would feel around his cock, how your eyes would tear up as he pushed your head further and further down his cock. How pretty you would look with spit and cum coating that sweet face of yours.

Tour manager zeke, who has always been kind to you, offering to take you home for the night, telling you how cute you look and how he can’t believe you’re over 18.

Tour manager zeke wants to defile you and make you his, ruin you so that you can only get off from his cock and no one else’s.

Tour manager zeke wants to teach you how to suck dick, how to ride, how to fuck.

Tour manager zeke, who treats you so nicely, putting false notions in your mind so you can let your guard down around him, hoping that one day he can shape you into his plaything.

a/n: hope the smut sounded right this time around lmao, i might scrap it in the morning again idek yet, just wanted to see if i could even write smut.

I am working on the second part of somewhere only we know !! thank you for all the love on that.

if this does well, i'd love to do a part two to this with armin, mikasa and connie, please let me know if that is something you would be interested in !!

as always, if you enjoyed, leave a like/reblog, i truly appreciate it <33

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salemwritesxx · 3 years

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𝓪 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽.

𝕂𝔸𝕄𝔸��𝕆 𝕋𝔸ℕ𝕁𝕀ℝ𝕆

⇴ x male reader [under 5‘0“, merman hashira] ⇴ all characters are depicted as [18]+

↳ summary/request: Part 2 of this.

↣ rating: explicit, 18+ ↣ warnings: smut, monster sex, merman x human, double dicks, double penetration

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Rushing down, Tanjiro met you at the usual isolated little area where you had shared your first kiss. Now, months later, it was still your secret place to meet – not that he or you really hid the fact that you started dating. But it was nice knowing no one would interrupt you or find you there.

“[your.name]?”, he called for you, your name echoing in the silent night that was only disturbed by the sound of ocean waves.

“Jiro? You’re already here?”, a head poked through the surface of the water. As you smiled at him, Kamado also couldn’t help but smile back.

“Mh. I came back as soon as I reported everything.”

“Wait I’ll come out then-“

“No.”, he surprised you a little, though the smile on his lips didn’t falter, “I’ll come in, [your.name]!”

Thus, you watched as he slipped off his haori, letting it fall onto the ground, before his uniform followed, one piece after another. Tanjiro was not shy anymore like a few months ago. Instead, even though he had scars from battles, he confidently took off everything until he was completely naked.

And you just look at him in awe – he was so pretty. You loved him so much.

“Ah, it’s cold.”, Tanjiro giggled and gasp at the same time when he swiftly jumped into the cool ocean water.

“That’s why I told you I’d come out.”, you laughed and your arms opened immediately, inviting him. And certainly, you didn’t have to say anything as he swam the last few feet to get to you, strong arms wrapped around your neck in an instant.

“Nhn.”, he shook his head and leaned in, softly kissing your lips, “[Your.name]… I wanna go all the way today.”

His sudden request surprised you, though before you could say anything, his ruby eyes met your own [eye.color] ones – he was determined. Even though he looked so confident, you still breathed a mere, “Are you really…?”

“Yes.”, Tanjiro whispered back and cuddled his head against yours. His naked body was pressed against your own and his legs wrapped around your fishtail.

“Then, I won’t hold back, my love.”, you smiled at last.

Those words alone made his heart jump in his chest, only for Tanjiro to softly whine when you buried your hand in his hair to pull him close. Your lips collided and his arms tightened around your neck, knowing, even though you were still smaller in your merman form than him, you would hold him up and not let him drown – well, only drown in the sweet bliss and pleasure.

“Ah-“, a choked moan escaped his lips, only to bite it in order to not get too loud as your fingers were stirring up his insides; penetrating that sweet spot of his while he was barely able to keep it together, hanging onto you in the water and trying to touch you as well.

You two did have sex before in your merman form, but today was special, because today, he finally wanted to be fucked by both of your cocks. Tanjiro had been longing for it for quite some time after all.

“[Your.name]!”, whining your name, his glazed, ruby eyes were half open as he looked at you. Though closing them instinctively when you came closer to kiss him, his heart made three flips just from such sweet gestures.

“Ahnh mhnnghH!”, Tanjiro couldn’t stop moaning against your lips, not when you entered a third finger to spread his ass. Your own cocks were excitingly throbbing and twitching against the palm of his calloused hand as he wanted to touch and stimulate you as well.

Your tongues were playfully fighting, muffling his moans like that, while his hand was holding onto your shoulder, the other wrapped around one of your dicks. His own cock was leaking so much precum already, everything getting washed away by the ocean waves and yet, your body kept him from floating anywhere, strongly pressed against you.

“[Your.name]…”, whimpering against your lips, Tanjiro pulled back at last, gasping softly and drool dripping from his lips.

“You’re so cute, Tanjiro.”, you smiled gently, but the gleaming in your [eye.color] eyes told him everything. You were just as aroused as him and it made him so unbelievably happy.

“AHN!”, and then, he couldn’t muffle his aroused moan when all three digits of yours were thrusted inside fully. With shaking legs and shivering hands, he grip you even tighter, your own low moan vibrating in your chest as he pumped your cock harder.

“[Y-your.n-name], I… I am ready. Please.”, his lips brushed against your own, “Do it. L-love me.”

“Being this cute must be seriously prohibited!”, you thought while smashing your lips on his, his desperate moan and the way he held on were just so arousing, you could barely hold back.

Pulling out your fingers, Tanjiro moaned into the kiss once more, before you gently pushed his hand away from one of your weirdly curved, inhuman cocks. Instead, you placed his arm around your shoulder, breathing a mere “Hold on, Darling.” while your hand slipped down to his ass once more.

Massaging his cheeks with both hands, you spread them and pulled him closer, a lustful hiss escaping your lips against your lovers, Kamado only whining and kissing you deeper in response. Thrusting lightly, you rubbed both of your cocks between his ass, the long, twisted tips brushing against his twitching hole seriously driving him crazy - you were such a tease.

But then, you used your hand to adjust your cocks and in the end, pressing them both against his hole, you started to push, his ass opening up almost immediately, sucking you in eagerly. Once both of your cockheads were in, Tanjiro’s ragged breathing calmed down a bit, yet he knew, there was something much thicker waiting for him.

“Tanjiro. Tell me if it’s too much.”, you mumbled against his lips, kissing them over and over again and he returned every little one of them.

“Mhmm”, an approved, high-pitched whine was all he could do.

Your movements were slow as you eased into his tight ass, spreading him more and more as he was pushed down onto your cocks. He was moaning and grunting, especially when you started playing with his own dick, jolts of pleasure mixed with discomfort made it much easier to take both of your cocks at once.

As you pushed his ass down, the base of your curved, twisted cocks got thicker with more bumps, making Tanjiro gasp in delight as the little nubs brushed against his twitching insides. His hole was tightening and sucking you in more. And at last, he was pressed fully against your scaly skin.

“God…. your such a Good Boy, aren’t you, Tanjiro?”, your inhuman purr was intense and all he could do was nod and hiccup your name.

Staying connected like this for a second, Kamado adjusted to the thickness and lengths of your dicks more easily than you thought, and before you knew it, he softly tried to sway his hips, making you hiss. He wanted to be fucked – now.

So, you granted him his wish.

“Hold on tight!”, was the last thing you grumbled deeply, before your hips started moving, immediately sending Tanjiro flying.

Due to your very special form changing ability, you easily moved underwater, thus slamming your cocks into him without the water disturbing your movements or strength.

“AHNH! AHHhh NHHH [Your.name]! [YOUR.NAME]!”, he didn’t care to hold back his voice anymore, moaning loudly and freely into the night. He always enjoyed making love, but being fucked by both of your cocks at once was a new level of ecstasy he didn’t know he could reach.

Tears of pleasure were dripping down his cheeks and his cock was throbbing in your pumping hand, never letting him even breathe for a second as you drilled your dicks into him relentlessly. Tanjiro’s legs were shaking and he knew, if it wasn’t for you holding him, he would probably drown with how utterly unable he was to think one straight, coherent thought.

“AH I- I- Ah- Love yOU!”, Tanjiro sobbed. Every time, he still thought he was dreaming. Being together with you, was like a dream.

And even though, it had been months since your confession, he still was so lucky and happy that it almost hurt.

“I love you, too, Jiro!”, your own grunted answer made his heart flip.

The friction of your cocks rubbing together, and from being engulfed by his hot, tight ass was almost too much to handle for you. God, he just felt so fucking amazing. How his body melted against your own so perfectly and even though the ocean water was pretty cold, Tanjiro himself was burning up.

“D-Darling, I’m… close…”, pressing those words out between gritted teeth was the only thing you could do before another moan spilled from your lips, feeling almost too overwhelmingly good. Now, that Tanjiro could fit both of your dicks at once, it truly was almost too much.

“[Y-Your.name]- AHn! M-me… Me too… Hnnn-!”, stuttering your name, he threw his head back at last when you started teasing his sensitive cockhead with your thumb.

One last time, your free hand grabbed his ass, your nails digging into his flesh as you pressed him against your body. Your tail was thrashing in the water as you raggedly started shoving your cocks into his ass. His hole being so sloppy and wet due to all the precum you were leaking.

“Ah, AH! Ughhnh-!”, Tanjiro couldn’t hold back his moans, his legs were shaking due to being penetrated so vigorously and your hand playing with his dick. All he could do was lean his forehead against your own and let the burning sensation in his abdomen take over.

And once that happened, it was over.

His cock was throbbing and bouncing in your hand from the strong orgasm sweeping through his body. Squirting cum into the ocean, his body spasming from the intense feeling while his mouth was hanging open as he tried to desperately gasp for breath – though getting interrupted by his pleasurable cries and sobs.

As Tanjiro was tightening so much around your cocks, it was almost unbearable for you. Grabbing him tightly and following him with your own release. Your deep, delightful moans and little grunts mixed with his own aroused sounds. Dicks vividly throbbing and moving, you filled him up with your cum. His ass overflowing almost immediately and releasing your seed back into the ocean, even though you had stuffed him full with your cocks.

“Ahn- d-don’t… pull out… yet…”, Tanjiro barely stammered as he buried his face at your shoulder to calm down. You just purred and nodded while also showering his face and the side of his head with kisses. Using your tail, you slowly swam back to the shores, since you had drifted off quite a lot.

Kamado just enjoyed those sweet gestures since his body was limp anyways from being fucked too good. Though, when you reached the little isolated beach again, you pulled yourself and him out of the water, just so it was barely reaching your hips.

Looking down your body from the corner of his eyes, he watched as your fishtail transformed back into human legs. And with that, a soft moan and grunt escaped his lips as your cocks slipped out (to transform back as well); releasing all that cum that you had stuffed him with, having it drip down over his balls and into the water.

“I love you.”, you said in a hushed voice while kissing his forehead. Tanjiro just smiling as he cuddled against your smaller body, his legs tangled with yours and his hand also reaching for your own.

“I love you too, [your.name]! I love you… so much…”, he tiredly mumbled back, before taking your hand and squeezing it softly.

Thankfully, it was a warm summer night, thus you could both savor the moment a little longer, laying together in the warm sand and caressing each other.

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@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

⇻ salem.talks: like I promised, the spicy part! also thanks to some nice encouragement and ideas, I tried to “personalize” my posts without using banners and just some different fonts and symbols and general new stuff. so far, I like it :)

#salemswriting.#kamado tanjiro #tanjiro x male reader #kny x male reader #bottom tanjiro #tanjiro smut #tanjiro x you #mermay2021 #male reader insert

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing xi.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 2, 396

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

hi everyone !!! here we are with the weekly update hehe, and it's a brief chapter but it does direct it up to the next one, and that'll be far more ... happening ... if you catch my drift 🤣

anyways, apologies for the silence again - uni has been absolutely kicking my butt and I'm lowkey on the verge of burnout but we'll pull through !!!

hope you enjoy the chapter 🥺❤️

Jungkook sits across from Jennie when it happens.

“What the—?”

“We need to talk.” Jimin glares, hand already grabbing him by the collar when he tugs Jungkook out of his seat. He doesn’t bother to send Jennie a look of acknowledgment, though he doubts she’s at any fault. He was only there for one thing and the subject of his disdain only looks perplexed and confused.

“Can we do this later?” Jungkook huffs, gesturing between his body and Jennie’s. She’s blinking at the interaction, then picks up her purse to shoot the two boys a half-hearted smile.

“I think I know what you needed to say,” She smiles. Then she looks over to Jimin who’s still glaring down at the younger boy, “Good luck.”

Her wish only makes Jungkook gulp, but he can more or less guess what Jimin is dragging him by collar about.

When he manages to ruffle his clothes back into position and sees the angry slope of Jimin’s back, he takes a deep breath. Jimin was by no means a terrifying person on average, in fact, he was quite debatably one of the most pleasant people anyone could know.

But Jimin was loyal and he stuck by the people he cared about with all his heart. He’d fight and he’d defend them till the end of time, and you were no different. Especially since the two of you grew up with each other, Jimin seeing you grow from an inquisitive toddler to the intelligent woman you were today—Jimin would die to protect you.

So when Jimin shuffles through his backpack to hand Jungkook a pack of ice, he can only stare at the cold object in the palm of his hands.

“What is this—?”

“You’ll need it.” Jimin deadpans, then he’s rolling up his sleeves.

“I thought we were talking?” Jungkook asks with a raised brow.

“We are,” Jimin retorts, eyes unblinking when he stares the younger boy down with a heavy-lidded gaze, “After I beat your ass for fucking _____ over.”

Jungkook opens his mouth, ready to defend but Jimin’s resolute glare only makes him cower in submission. He knew he fucked up, and he knew that there was no way he could get a word in even to meekly apologise because when Jimin had his mind set on something, he wouldn’t stop until that goal was achieved.

And it seems that Jimin’s goal was to give Jungkook a physical reminder on why he shouldn’t fuck with the things or people he loved.

“Let me take off my jacket,” Jungkook mutters, defeated.

After multiple shoves against the wall and a generous swing to his cheek, Jungkook is begrudgingly holding the ice-pack against his bruising face.

Jimin doesn’t look apologetic when the two of them sit side-by-side on the sidewalk, or even when Jungkook’s lip busted open. He knew Jungkook could take it, he was twice his size. Even more so, Jungkook knew Jimin had every reason to act the way he did.

“Thanks for the ice pack, by the way,” Jungkook says sarcastically, wincing when he moves his mouth a little too much.

Jimin doesn’t gratify him with a response, instead levels a stare so menacing that it could send anyone running. But Jungkook’s done a bit too much of that recently; so he stays, braces himself for the words that were to leave Jimin’s lips.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jungkook sighs, scrunching his face before tossing the ice pack aside. He supposed that it was nearly useless, nearly melting into a puddle that drips down his arm uncomfortably.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook confesses softly.

“You’ve got a set of nerves on you if you thought it was ever okay to say the shit you did to her, let alone a human being.” Jimin frowns, pulling Jungkook but his collar so that he’d look at him.

Jimin’s face is permanently etched into a scowl, but Jungkook already knows he’s fucked up. The constant reminder of you turning to different directions whenever you’d spot him was enough to hurt more than a punch to the face.

“I know.” Jungkook whispers, fiddling with his thumbs.

“Do you, Jungkook?” Jimin spits, glaring down at the boy who remains helpless under his grasp, “I told you to not fuck with her and you deliberately went against what I said.” His reminder is vicious and quiet, a hiss in the wind that blows.

Jungkook hears it loud and clear, “I know,” He exasperates, still as frustrated with himself as he was with the entire situation, “I know.” He repeats, more defeatedly.

Jimin shoves Jungkook back by releasing his grip around the collar that he nearly stumbles. But Jungkook catches himself just barely when Jimin rises to his feet, looking down at his younger friend like he was a piece of gum stuck on the sole of his shoes.

“Why?” Jimin asks after a beat of silence.

Jungkook purses his lips. He knows why, but he still can’t bring himself to say it. Not when he knows he’s fucked up and Jimin is rightfully furious. He knows Taehyung knows at this point too, there was nothing that Jimin knew that Taehyung didn’t. It was just that Jimin was the more confrontational one where Taehyung was passively aggressive with his anger.

“I …” Jungkook trails off weakly, standing up to reach Jimin’s height but despite his friend being taller, his presence was already intimidating enough.

“You doing that shit with her was one thing, because if it was consensual I’d go on my merry way,” Jimin sneers, poking a firm finger into Jungkook’s chest, “But you had to go and poke at her insecurities to hurt her. On purpose. That’s where you fucked up. Royally.”

Jungkook blinks, intently listening and observing the way Jimin’s chest rises and falls with every breath he heaves.

“It’s taking everything in me not to smear your reputation on campus for the shit you did,” Jimin’s eyes flutters shut and his voice is threatening. Jungkook’s eyes widen, but he still remains quiet, “But against my better conscience, you’re my friend. And I’m so fucking disappointed in you.” Jimin croaks like he’s conflicted.

And for the first time ever since the conversation started, Jungkook feels bad for Jimin; specifically. He knew that it was difficult to defend your friend while berating another, and he hated himself for putting him into a difficult position. It was an internal dispute that Jimin and Taehyung would have to face between holding Jungkook accountable and leaving him to dust.

There was history, between the four of you. But there was unseen history between Jimin and Jungkook that you and Taehyung hadn’t seen, and Jungkook’s always regarded Jimin as an older brother, honorific aside.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook whispers.

Jimin looks up, glaring at the apology like he’s sworn at him.

“I can’t believe you.” He sneers, barring his teeth intimidatingly while Jungkook swallows.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook looks down at his feet, and for a moment he feels like a child being scolded but he knew that children would never say anything as vicious as he did, unless they were a product of their environments.

Jungkook still can’t justify his words, or why he said them. But a deep part of his recognises that it was his insecurities peeking through and him weaponising a weapon powerful enough to shoot himself dead.

“This isn't my apology to accept,” Jimin says sternly, “But even if it was—I could never forget what you said to her, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods, eyes still cast downwards.

“What does this …” he trails off, finally looking up to see Jimin carding a hand through his hair in exasperation and a pinched expression marring his face, “Where does this leave us?’

Jimin knows Jungkook’s asking about the state of their friendship together.

But the anger is blinding and overwhelming, so instead; he tosses his backpack over his shoulder before turning on his heel, head looking back ever so slightly to level Jungkook with a final gaze intense enough to speak for itself.

“Here,” Jimin declares, gesturing to the abandoned ice pack, the bruised cheek and knuckles, “Until you decide to get your shit together, I need time away from you. If not, I’m going to do something that ____ would hate and I don’t want to hurt her any more than you already have.”

The words are sharp, targeted and venomous. But Jungkook recognises he deserves it. He also doesn’t bother fighting back when Jimin finally leaves, leaving Jungkook to bask in his own, clouded thoughts.

“Why are your knuckles bruised?” Is the first thing you ask Jimin when you see him storming towards you and Taehyung in the library.

Taehyung is aware while you blissfully aren’t.

“None of your business,” Jimin shoots back, but then he’s tugging you out of your seat to hug you.

Your eyes widen, “Jimin?”

When he pulls away, his eyes soften.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Taehyung nods and your head is spinning in confusion when you stare between the two boys with furrowed brows.

“Tell you what?”

“Jungkook.” Taehyung answers, eyes boring a hole into your skull.

At the mention of his name, you freeze in Jimin’s grasp as you stare at the both of them with wide eyes.

“How did you know—?”

Jimin frowns, releasing you so that you’re all able to take a seat in a specific corner of the library. You dryly note to yourself that you realise that every one of your conflicting moments of confrontation occurred in this place. Maybe it was about time for a change of scenery.

“Yena,” Taehyung tells you, and you scowl—nearly cussing her out in your mind but you know that your anger wasn’t warranted.

Especially when Jimin reaches out to grab your hand when he notices you looking down at your lap.

“How do you think it felt for us when we had to find out from someone else that you’ve been going through a hard time?” He asks softly, looking at you so gently that your lip nearly trembles.

For the longest time, Jimin and Taehyung were like older brothers that doted on you as much as they could. They took care of you and made sure that you knew your worth ever since the three of you were children. And for that, you could never be more thankful for their presence.

So you understand their hurt, and it makes you feel guiltier when you see Taehyung quietly patting your head although his eyes carry a sadness that only came from a friend withholding information from you.

“I …” You croak.

“You didn’t need to tell us why,” Taehyung reassures gently, “Just wanted to be here for you. For whatever reason, it may be.”

You stare down at your lap even harder and blink away the tears that only came with guilt.

“I’m sorry.” You say so meekly that it comes out as a squeak.

“Please don’t apologise. We just want to be here for you,” Jimin says sadly, squeezing your hand tighter even if you weren’t going to look at him. He doesn’t push you to do so.

“I didn’t want to make things complicated.” You confess softly, fiddling with the thumb on your free hand.

Taehyung scowls, “_____, you know that whatever it is, Jimin and I will try our best to remain as objective as possible but Jungkook said things to you that we're absolutely not okay and as both of your friends, we have a responsibility to hold him accountable.”

You purse your lips, nearly pouting. It’s as if Jimin reads your mind, where a million thoughts run through it, he pulls you closer so that he can properly hug you. Even if the position is a little weird and Taehyung has to bend his arm at a weird angle to be able to hug you too, you feel comforted.

“Don’t be mad at him.” You whisper softly into the material of Taehyung’s shirt.

Jimin snorts, “I release my anger in a healthy manner.”

Your eyes glance down at his knuckle suspiciously but he tugs it away when he notices your wandering eyes.

Taehyung sighs, caressing your hair softly. “We have every right to be angry with him, _____. What he did and said was unacceptable.” He informs you firmly.

You pull away slightly from their hold to furrow your eyebrows, “I know but—”

“You do know,” Jimin says softly, “And we know that you don’t like other people fighting your battles for you so we’ll step out of it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t personally be disappointed in what Jungkook did. He’s our friend too and if he did that to anyone else, we’d still be mad. We’re just extra mad because it’s you and we’re your best friends.”

You dip your head, letting out a sigh of acknowledgement.

“Just … let me talk to him.” You say, and Taehyung raises a brow at the shift in your tone, “This is something I need to do for myself. I appreciate you guys, I really do. But I don’t want things to be weird because of what we did.”

You can tell Jimin is about to argue with you, but Taehyung shoots him a look that shuts him up immediately.

“If that’s what you want.” Taehyung smiles gently at you.

Jimin clenches his jaw, clearly the more displeased one between the two. But he swallows it by clenching his fist and patting your head, shooting you a concerned stare mask in a slight glare.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

You nod, “Very.”

Jimin nibbles on his lips as if deep in thought before pulling away completely, leaning into his chair.

“If you insist,” He sighs, “But Jungkook did get what he deserved.”

You shrug, “I mean I don’t think avoiding him was the worst thing to do, but I guess you’re right.”

Jimin blinks.

Then Taehyung and he are sharing a look familiar enough for you to know only comes out when they did something wrong or were caught causing trouble.

You raise a brow, “Am I missing something?”

Jimin shoots you a reassuring smile and you miss the shift of Taehyung’s eyes to the fist that wraps around your shoulder.

“Nothing at all.”

You [21:09]: hi jungkook

You [21:24]: can we talk? my door's open if you're free.

#bts fic #bts imagine #bts fics #bts imagines #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook #jungkook series

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inviouswriting · 3 years

Text

Sinful Writings

Kind of specific but I need some things.

Simeon x fem!reader

Smut

Bonding with him over writing is something he looked forward to, Simeon overjoyed that another person shares that same passion for writing. Even more as a hobby, like his is. He invites you over often, you shared with him tame pieces you’ve written.

As your relationship had grown with the angel, you wondered if he would read your other stories. The ones you keep hidden away from other eyes. Under a special name.

Simeon notes how relaxed you are laying half on his legs with your upper half towards his feet. You had your device of choice in front of you, and he gets curious to see what you are working on. You are dressed down for the night in a shirt and underwear.

One of his hands pokes at your calf to get your attention. You save your progress and look over to him, you had been staring at the page. Your angel realizing you are stuck.

“May I see what you have?” The color in your face reddens, Simeon sees the rapid change as you look like you got caught doing something naughty in the presence of the angel. He catches on quick, and you see his smile widen at catching you.

“Oh? Is this something you can’t share with an angel?” He teases, and straightens up to collect you into his arms. You allow him to change the way you are laying to cuddle with him.

“Um... a little.” You answer him finally. Now he really wanted to see what it is that makes you blush.

“May I?” He asks for your permission, rubbing his face affectionately against yours. You soak his attention up, and find it hard to say no when he uses his eyes and affection to ask nicely.

You hand over the written work you were doing. He takes it and goes to the beginning to read it fully rather than the spot you had just finished writing. You are nervous as he reads it, shifting down to fit more into his side, resting your head to his chest.

One of his hands rests on top of your head; running through your hair, teasing around an ear. You didn’t chance a glance to his face right now, you know your face is still warm and colored pink from the fact he is reading it.

The piece you were doing was an internal fantasy you’ve had of the angel. You know he is figuring out that the pair is you and him when that hand that was tracing around an ear moves to the back of your neck. A spot you have written you enjoy when he touches it. His thumb dances over it, mirroring what he is reading.

You notice a raise in his heartbeat, and he shifts to uncross his legs Simeon was feeling his shorts a little tighter than he’ll admit to. You thrum your fingers along his stomach, teasing him a little with a few delicate pokes along his exposed sides. It isn’t until he sets your writing down on the nightstand that he had finished reading.

Simeon taps his fingers along your neck, wanting your attention on him now. He had removed his hands briefly but you noticed he isn’t wearing his gloves anymore. You two have been intimate before, having broken that ice on your own when you stayed the night with him.

You look up at him, and see a serene look to his eyes, but also mischief. A little bit of pink on his cheeks, but that look to his eyes is specific, you know that expression.

“I take you like it?” You chance, and he tugs you up to him to place a kiss to your lips.

“Love it, have you written alot of sinful little things like this and haven’t shown me?” You cast your eyes away, and Simeon has his answer.

“Hmm... you’ve been holding out on me. But what has you stuck where you can’t finish it?” He rubs your side as he shifts you to sit on his waist, on the bulge earning a soft groan out of him.

“I am stuck on what sort of things to include... I’m sorry for holding out, I didn’t know if you would want to read those stories...” You feel his hands at your waist guiding you to grind on his lap. You can feel him hard against your core, you bite your bottom lip a little at wanting to feel him. Simeon wants to tease, and you can tell from his stare.

“Because of my being an angel?” You nod a little, he lifts one hand up to your face and cups it.

“If it is about us, I want to read all of it. I’d love to know the thoughts you keep hidden away or are too shy to share with me verbally. I think I know how to help break that mini writer’s block if you’d like some ideas.” You feel the love radiate off him.

“What do you have in mind?” His hands move your hips a little harder on his lap. Simeon enjoying you like this, his hands smooth up to where your shirt just covers the front of your underwear and slips his hands over the front to your breasts. You press closer to his palms when they cup and squeeze them getting a moan out of you. You didn’t worry about volume with how late at night it is.

“I think you’ll enjoy my surprises. May I ask that you lay on my knees like earlier?” You look at him confused, and how you were with your head towards his feet. You feel his fingers squeeze your nipples gently. Tugging them till you squeeze your thighs on his waist grounding yourself to him. The bump of his cock providing the right feel as you try to ride him through both his shorts and your underwear. He follows your motions, wanting to get that first orgasm out of the way.

Simeon helps arrange you so you feel his cock through your folds as you reach your hands down to part your folds to feel him as close to your entrance as possible even centering him to almost push in. He feels the damp slick as it glides against his shaft. He almost wants to tug both aside to properly feel you, but he had alot in mind for playing with you.

You center yourself and bounce on him, your hands splay on his abdomen, you bite your lip desperately wanting him inside you, you feel the tip against the hole and push down. You feel even with the fabric separating you two, him barely inside, enough to get you off with. Simeon’s hands are on your waist holding it still as he thrusts up to meet you.

“I need you inside... please...” You plead him, and you see him lick his lips in agreement, the pleasure too addictive. You raise your hips enough for Simeon to tug his shorts down enough and you tug aside your panties. You sigh whenyou line him and slide down his shaft. He throbs nice and twitches wild inside. You see Simeon’s eyes close as you resume bouncing on his lap and he meets you with eager thrusts.

You both are wild, he wanted to do something else before he sank into you, but he thought of some other things to enjoy. Simeon hears you hold your voice low, into small whimpers of pleasure. His hands move to tug off your top throwing it off the bed.

The angel angles your hips forward and sees you toss your head back in bliss, your mouth parted as sighs escape. You clasp your hands over your mouth when you feel one hand down to slip under your panties to rub at your clit. His other hand tweaks at a nipple till your hips move shakily on his.

Simeon keeps it up, he watches your every move, and nuance you make waiting for that one expression. When he sees your eyes lower and you look down to meet his blue eyes. He sees the haughty stare, the one you make right before you cum for him.

“Feels good right? Go ahead, on my cock and hand.” His words enough to make you shudder and push down to feel every inch, the wide tip close to your cervix. You feel good, very good like heat and pleasure through your spine till it ends on his hand in a mild squirt. You cover your face when you manage it, but Simeon tugs your hands away to see you so lost in pleasure.

Simeon follows after, pushing his hips up and tugging yours down to feel right at your womb separated by that wall. You feel hot cum spill into you from him, you see his face entranced by yours that he had peaked just from how you squeeze so nice on him.

You feel an overwhelming shyness hit you at the way he is staring. Covering your face, only to have both hands seize yours tugging them away gently.

“That felt amazing... Would you be willing to try what I have in store now?” Simeon asks, wanting to know if you want to continue. He wanted you while you are sensitive.

“Yeah, kiss me first?” The angel leans up and kisses you deep. You feel his lips nibbling on yours as you shift yourself to have him pull out. He tugs the shorts he wears down more. Then breaks the kiss urging you to follow his earlier instructions.

You do, you were about to take off the soaked panties till his hands stop you.

“Leave them on. I can’t do it without them.” You are confused, but leave them in place as you lay over his knees. He props them up so your front is angled down his legs. Simeon reaches over to the nightstand, and tugs out a egg bullet vibrator that he had purchased for one of your wild nights together.

The angle Simeon has you in, you feel the vibrator on your ass as he has it on. You feel him trace circles along the flesh. He tugs the panties up more to expose more flesh to his eyes and ministrations. For a moment he rests the toy on his own abdomen. You feel his fingers as he tugs the soaked crotch of your panties aside and spreads your folds open as wide as he wanted to see.

You are glad you are facing away from Simeon, you would lose your nerve with him staring at your pussy like this, the hole exposed, and to his delight his seed leaking out. He would be adding to it anyway. You hear a happy hum behind you as he lifts the toy from his own abdomen and brings it up to your pussy. You soon feel the vibration against your clit, the end of it being rubbed in circles around the sensitive nub.

“Simeon!” You call out his name, feeling him hold the egg there with his palm rocking it against the full of your clit and folds. You feel him tug the panties up and hold the egg in place, even using his knees to keep your legs apart as you fidget and ground down to the toy.

You moan freely, your hands gripping his ankles while his hands moved away to hold your legs from trying to move the toy off where he has you.

“My lamb, you’re so soaked now.” He watches you as another smaller orgasm rocks your body from the vibrator. You ache for something inside you again, that you try shifting to get the egg closer, but Simeon holds you still to keep you from doing so.

“Hmmm, not yet my love. You can use my knee.” You feel his hands again, on your rear, tugging your underwear up so the egg sits right, and he moves his knee to hold it in place centering the vibrator right against your clit. You squirm and sigh in need of him.

Simeon enjoys the sight of you like this, your head down on your arms as you muffle your moans into his leg. The angel tugs your panties enough to see how your hole drips with slick, he presses two fingers inside and you squeeze them. You want to feel them deeper, but he tugs his fingers back to just play with the ring of the hole.

You felt like you were about to cum again, Simeon could tell from the way your walls grip his fingers when he pushes them inside. He licks his lips as he wants to bring you over that edge again and again.

You feel your thighs shake as you try hard to hold back, but Simeon curls his fingers towards your belly, and thrusts his fingers against a spot he knows, that has you undone and combined with the egg against your soaked folds you bury your face into your arms as you cum hard again. Simeon keeps his hand moving to feel the gush against his hand. He did not care about being soaked, he even chuckles at the way you try to hold your moans back.

“Let it all out for me. Keep cumming for me.” Simeon is addicted to making you like this, legs shaking with need that only he can relieve. That mindless bliss he sends you into that your head is fuzzy and you absolutely ache for him. So much you sigh in relief when his fingers tug out after you unclench them. He moves the egg from your clit when you squirm away from it when he teases the end at your clit again.

“My angel... I need you...” You look over your shoulder to him.

“I know you do. Patience for now, trust me. Let me have my fun and I’ll keep giving you one orgasm after the next.” He says it so sweet, and you nod to his request. The egg vibrator he has, he moves it to the entrance of your pussy and rolls it along your folds till he presses the narrow end inside. You jolt a little feeling it being pushed inside at his gentle urging.

“This is okay right?” He checks with you, and you nod, letting him push the device in. He uses his fingers to guide it in as deep he wanted it to be, he enjoys the view of your pussy stretched around the egg. With your position still, it gave the perfect angle to rest right against your g-spot.

Simeon begins to tug your panties off, he had his fun with them and now he wants them entirely off of you. He tosses them off along with his own shorts after arranging you off of him momentarily. Simeon arranges you towards the edge of the bed, and he kneels down to have your legs draped over his shoulders.

The angel wastes little time after you had two orgasms and kisses your folds. You jolt up when you feel his fingers push back inside bumping the vibrator against your spot, making sure to please you well. His other hand wraps around his own cock and pumps himself.

You are a mess of pleasure, from his mouth on you, to his fingers pushing that vibrator just right. Your hands go into Simeon’s hair and rubs through it earning happy moans. You realize he is pleasing himself, and you want to return the pleasure he has given you.

“Simeon... can I suck on you?” You ask him, you see a blue eye peek up, he looks cute as his tongue circles your clit. He thinks of how you can do it so he can continue to play with you like this.

“Yeah. Do you want me to be over you or under you?” He leaves the position up to you as he gives another loving kiss to your folds and disentangles himself. He wants your mouth too.

“Over me, my legs are a little sore from kneeling.” He nods and guides you to lay back on his bed, your head down towards the foot of the bed again. Simeon grabs his pillows and shoves off the blankets to one side to not soil them. Once you are situated, you moan out when you shift your hips up to how Simeon wants them, the egg pushing down towards the entrance. You do your best to keep it inside while Simeon crawls over you.

You relax with your angel over the top of you, and he guides his cock down to your lips. You feel the plush head against them and part your lips for him. You tease the tip with the end of your tongue sweeping it around to feel the flared swollen edge of his glands. He fit so well and had a perfect cock to suck on.

You bring your hands up finally to touch him, the skin of his shaft a bit darker than the rest of his body except the very tip was a faint pinkish red. From the moment your mouth engulfed his aching cock you felt it twitch as he gently thrusts into your mouth.

Simeon busies his mouth back down on your folds, devouring them like he is starved for you, listening to your pleas for more around his dick in your mouth. Pressure was building in your belly again, and you push up to his mouth, Simeon swirls his tongue over the hard nub of your clit dragging it back and forth to circles leaving no spot untouched or untasted by him.

One of his hands moves to push the egg that was peeking out of your hole back in, he feels mild resistance with you on verge of another orgasm, he feels your thighs move closer to him and he keeps them apart as he pleases you full.

You continue to suck on him, you relaxed your throat enough to allow him to thrust into your mouth freely without choking or gagging you. You have one hand just above your nose playing with his balls squeezing them and rolling them with your fingers earning timed moans when you squeeze at the base of his cock.

Simeon feels your tongue swirl around the tip, delving the very end against the slit there to coax more precum out tasting sweet yet salty. The angel repeats your ministration with your clit before moving his mouth down to run his tongue around the stretched ring of your pussy.

Your mind muddles with more pleasure feeling Simeon ease the egg almost out of you. He keeps it halfway in holding it with his palm as he focuses it there at an angle. You shudder and feel his mouth back on your clit rapidly licking at it till your legs shake again and the orgasm he had been building in you overtakes you.

Your angel is there placing his mouth to taste the fluid you let out. You moan and whine around his cock as he tugs himself free from your mouth. He grips his own base to prevent himself from cumming right there a loud groan out of him as he pumps himself to ease the sensation down, but grips his base. You see precum mixed with cum dribble out, and you edge him on by pressing your tongue to the tip to catch it.

This move makes him lose the control he had, and ropes of white cover your face. Simeon sighs and had let all he had pent up out, some of it catching into your waiting mouth, the rest either on your cheeks where you rub it against his cock or lips as you milk him of more. You place a kiss at the end of the tip before resting your head on the bed itself to breathe.

Simeon sits up and looks down at you covered in his seed, his face flushes pink at seeing you with it on your face. You move to sit up, but Simeon playfully pushes you back down. You question him with a stare until he moves to settle between your legs. He pulls off his own top he still had on.

You understand without words that he isn’t done yet, and he begins to tease your clit again, you wriggle from him assisting removing the egg out of you and turns it off. He didn’t need anymore help from the device to make you have one more orgasm he will give you. He does that well on his own.

Simeon’s mood changes from that playful demeanor he had earlier to much sweeter and loving. He is softer in his touch on your pussy rubbing gentle circles and coaxing your body to relax and be ready for him.

There is always a little anxiety when he lines himself to you, though he has been within you plenty of times, it never erased that one feeling as he pushes in. The stretch he does different than the egg ever did. Simeon is thicker all around, and long enough that even when you felt him earlier it didn’t change how it felt in this moment.

One of his hands seeks yours and holds it above your head lacing his fingers with yours. Simeon begins to move with you, and thrusts slow at first. Always slow at first despite all his teasing and playing with you, you could handle him rough right now but he didn’t want to be rough.

You feel a change in his affection to soft kisses on your face that makes a gasp leave you at how sweet he is being. When he angles his hips right he brushes that one spot, your hand tightens on his, telling him he found it along with your wide eyes pleading for him to move more.

“Simeon... please.” You plea for him to move, pushing your hips to meet his, and he gives into your whim thrusting a bit faster. Still at a teasing pace till your free hand runs through his hair and scratches light at the nape of his neck.

“My lamb, you know what that does to me.” Was your only cue, you could have him sweet and loving, or passionate and wild like earlier. You bite your lip, and he sees you do so knowing your answer is going to be one he loves too. You hook your hand again to the nape of his neck and drag down from it to the middle of his back earning a moan out of him. Specially when you touch along his shoulder blades.

Simeon leans over you and lifts your waist with him, he holds your waist as he begins to move harder and faster. How you want him to move, and see the look in his blue eyes as he searches your eyes. You keen out his name, your hands scramble up his back where you can reach leaving fine lines behind as he repeatedly hits your g-spot. The angle has him in deep that you even feel his balls hit as he pushes deeper trying to get as much into you that you accept.

You marvel at the flush on his face, and his wild eyes lock with yours. His dark skin shines under the faint light from sweat and he takes in the way you look glossy too. It isn’t until you feel that climbing pleasure race through your body again from your head to his thrusts into you. You moan out underneath him, your hands going to your mouth when he lets go to grip your waist better.

“Let me hear you. I love your voice.” You nod uncovering your mouth and let him hear every sigh and cry as you cum again. Simeon holds you close to him as he buries deep, following you afterwards pushing deep to fill you full of his cum. He is careful as he lays on top of you, panting for breath like you are. You kiss the side of his face and he seeks you out to kiss you deeply.

You feel satisfied from everything you two did, your limbs jelly except your hands combing through his hair. You lay together like that a little while longer till Simeon lifts his hips to pull out from you, having enjoyed you too much. He begins to collect you into his arms for a much needed bath.

“I’ll let you sit in the water first before I join you so I can put fresh sheets on.” He explains and you nod in agreement.

“I hope this helped you with inspiration for your story. I can’t wait to read it when it is done.” Simeon reminds you of your story, and you smile.

“I had a great muse.” You tease him, and he presses his forehead to yours lovingly. Soon enough after a bath with him and fresh sheets you cuddle up with him worn out from all his attention on you that you fall asleep listening to his heart.

He’d have to ask you to let him read more of your works. Maybe he’ll be able to act on them like what he had read. Maybe he’ll let you read his hidden away books he has of you two.

For now he enjoys the soft sound of you asleep in his arms.

#simeon x reader #simeon angel #shall we date simeon #simeon smut #obey me simeon #simeon x fem!reader #invi's obey me smuts #simeon #om! simeon

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wolferine · 3 years

Text

Heart Skips a Beat

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha faces her worst nightmare when a rescue mission goes wrong…

Warnings: Violence, blood

Word Count: 1276

Even with your respirator, you still have a hard time seeing through the smoky air. You carefully wade through the uneven piles of debris while dodging the ceiling beams and cables hanging down like vines. Steve assigned you to search the 3rd floor of the 12-floor condominium, but so far, you haven’t located a single living person.

“Hello? Anyone out there?” you call. With your enhanced hearing, you hear something shuffle in the rubble. A hand pokes out, bloody and white with dust.

“Here!” a feminine voice responds.

“I’m coming!” You leap over holes ten-feet wide and balance on beams thinner than a windowsill to reach them. You kneel to brush some dirt aside and find a young woman lying beneath a large ceiling panel. You click the microphone button on your collar and tell your team, “I got a live one on the third floor.”

“So bring them down,” Clint responds.

“I was just getting to that, thank you for the suggestion.” You grab the ceiling panel and toss it aside, offering a hand to the woman. She accepts but cries out as you pull her to her feet. There’s a piece of rebar, nearly as long as your arm, skewered straight through her calf.

“Hold on, it’s okay.” You remove a tourniquet from your pocket and cinch it around her upper thigh. “Let me carry you. I’ll get us out of here.” You gently pick her up bridal-style and retrace your footsteps. Her arms wrap around your neck as she clings to you like her life depends on it.

Then you remember that the staircase had long ago crumbled, and you’d gotten up here by climbing. There was no way you were getting down the same way.

“Um, wait, I didn’t think this through,” you admit to the woman, but she’s in too much shock to catch your joke. “Hey, guys,” you address your team again, “There’s no staircase for us—”

“So jump.” Natasha’s voice crackles in your earpiece and you smile.

“You are all so very helpful today.” You look around to find an alternate route. Two stories down, part of the floor is still intact. You had used it as a platform to jump up to the third floor—it should be able to take your weight coming down, right?

“Hey,” you say to the woman in your arms, “There’s no stairs, so I’m gonna have to jump. Just hold on to me and don’t look down, okay? I won’t drop you.”

She nods and tucks her head against your chest. You tighten your hold on her and take three great steps, pushing off into the unknown. You land on your feet harder than expected, but your enhanced bones take the impact in stride. From there, it’s just a simple path through the rubble back to the street.

“I’ve got a live one!” you shout, and paramedics rush towards you with a gurney. “She’s got some rebar through her leg, so be careful with her.”

“We got her,” the paramedics assure, helping you set her on the gurney.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you promise the woman, patting her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her hand lingering a little too long across your chest.

“You take care of yourself now.” You wave as the paramedics roll her away, then turn around and see Natasha walking towards you with an expression of jealousy. “What?” you ask, removing your respirator and wiping sweat off your forehead.

“Did you have to carry her like that?” Natasha says.

“Carry her like what?” you respond. “She had some rebar in her leg, Nat, I was just trying to—”

“We’re in public. You need to be professional.”

“No, you’re just jealous.” You step towards her, close enough to see the flecks of brown in her swirling green eyes. “Because I carry you like that to our bed all the time—”

“Don’t lead her on like that, you’re never gonna see her again.” Natasha steps back, but you see the blush in her cheeks and the twitch of a smile on her lips.

“I’m just doing my job,” you say. “Besides, I’m already in love with someone else.” You reach for her hand and squeeze it gently.

“Looks like Y/N found the last live one.” Steve comes up behind Natasha, his face streaked with soot and his hair matted just like yours.

“Perfect. So, we’re done here, right?” you say.

“Not just yet. We’re still not sure what caused the collapse—”

“Oh, come on, Steve, you know how these building owners are,” you interrupt. “They cut a bunch of corners, don’t build up to code, and then the whole thing comes down at the slightest—” Natasha shuts you up with a glare.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be here?” she asks.

“Could be a while. There you are, Barton.” Clint falls into place next to you.

“Well, if we’re here long enough, maybe we can hit up the nightclubs,” you say, throwing a glance at Natasha, but she doesn’t look at you. “Or, we can get some shawarma. That’s always a fan favorite.”

“Y/N.” Clint clears his throat.

“Sorry.” Sometimes you go a little too far, but that’s just how you are. Doing your line of work isn’t easy or normal, and you always try to keep things fun and light.

“We can celebrate after we’ve got this mess sorted out,” Steve says. “So what we need to do next is—”

BOOM.

You hear two gunshots; all of you do. But you’re the only one who gets hit.

The first bullet tears through your right shoulder and it feels like you’ve been struck with an anvil. Your body jerks upward and your blood sprays across the faces of your teammates. Before you even start falling, the second bullet spirals through your lower back and you swear you feel your organs explode. You stay standing, swaying slightly. You see the expression of shock on Natasha’s face, then the blood on her cheeks. Your blood.

“Shots fired, shots fired!” Steve leaps forward and slams Clint to the ground. Clint rolls out from under him and takes cover behind a car. Steve looks back and sees Natasha still standing, looking like a deer in headlights. None of your limbs seem to work. The respirator slips from your hand and your legs finally buckle to the right. “Get down, Nat!” He pushes himself up and tackles her to the ground.

“Everybody get down!” Clint yells. Paramedics and police officers scatter, civilians run in all directions.

Your right arm cushions your head from slamming on the asphalt and you hear your heartbeat in your ringing ears. The pain is dull, an annoying background sensation, and you’re not even aware of the blood pooling beneath you. Maybe you should’ve worn your bulletproof vest, but you hadn’t planned on being shot during a rescue mission.

Natasha stares at you helplessly, watching you gasp for air. Instinctively, she tries crawling towards you, but Steve flattens his weight on her.

“Don’t move, Nat!” he orders. “Stay down!”

But she doesn’t hear him. She only sees you. She sees your eyes glaze over, your fingers clawing weakly at the ground, trying to reach out to her. She sees the blood puddle forming around your body, practically drowning you in a sea of red.

Darkness pulls at the edges of your vision, threatening to swallow you whole. Your chest flames in agony with each shallow breath you take, and the darkness becomes more and more tempting. Your eyelids flutter; you don’t have the strength to keep them open. You don’t hear Natasha screaming your name as you blank out.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Click here for Part 2!

AN: I never thought I’d write fanfics again, but this brilliant idea popped into my head when I was watching 9-1-1 and I just had to write it. This is also the first time I’ve written a reader-insert story and one with no planned ending, so we’ll see what happens!

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow fanfiction #marvel

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wheelsup · 3 years

Text

the taming of the shrew | one

he is more a shrew than she

penelope reveals her plan to get you and spencer together. unfortunately, her plan has a few hitches.

A/N: again, big thanks to @homoose for being my helpful beta reader, and to YOU for reading it now.

category: fluff, spencer reid x fem!reader, series

wc: 4.1k

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Penelope came back to your place the following night, bearing a new bottle of wine and a collection of materials she mentioned were integral to executing the plan.

Very quickly into Penelope’s explanation of this Genius Plan –– her words, not yours –– you remembered what it was she did for work. Officially, she was some sort of technical computer-y person for the Federal Bureau. As you knew her, she’s a danger to society and anyone with a traceable digital presence.

She managed to construct a comprehensive list of every place in D.C. and Virginia that her friend liked going to, along with the approximate times in which you were most likely to find him there. Approximate meaning, exactly which days he visits and the roughly time of day, down to a mere one hour margin of error.

You scanned the list over, shocked at its detail. Where he cut his hair, got his coffee, bought his books. His favorite restaurants, the chess clubs he’s a member of, his local hospital.

His local hospital?!

“I’m not going to need to know that, am I?” you paused.

“Probably not, but it comes in handy with this job,” she shrugged with a nonchalance that was rather alarming.

There had to be a dozen more places on the sheet –– ranked, in order of his (assumed) preference for them. Penelope calculated it based on the frequency of his visits, their average duration per session, and how often he’d mentioned about the place.

“What?” she tossed her palms up, taking offense when you asked her if she had evil plans to take over the tristate area. “Hang out with him long enough, you tell me if you pick up a knack for researching or not.”

Researching. Mining private data through questionable methods. It’s a small difference to Penelope.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side, Penelope,” you muttered under your breath, flipping the sheet back and forth. “You could ruin my whole life with ten minutes on a computer.”

“I wanted to be thorough,” she defended, shrugging. “And I’d only need five.”

You laughed through your nose, giving the paper one last scan. “You left out one important thing, though.”

“No, I put his home address on there,” her brows wrinkled together as she pointed it out on the sheet with one hot pink polished finger.

“His name,” you berated. “Jesus, you think I’m going to show up at his home?!”

“Again! I’m thorough,” she cried at your accusatory tone. “His name’s Spencer. You’ll like him when you meet him.”

You didn’t doubt that Penelope’s friend was a likeable guy, but you weren’t exactly dying to go out of your way to meet him. You told her that you’d get around to it when you had a chance and left it at that.

And two weeks later, you found yourself in need of a caffeine fix that your tea kettle wasn’t strong enough to satisfy. You started on a new piece late the previous night, and midnight rolled into four in the morning, which pushed you into the arms of seven o’clock. Reinforcements were needed.

Throwing on a large sweater to cover up your messy clothes and grabbing the closest pair of shoes you could find, you originally planned on heading to your usual spot just around your street corner. Just as you were leaving, the list, still sitting untouched in the exact spot that Penelope left it in, caught your eye.

It’d been a while since you told Penelope you’d help her out. Enough time had passed that you now felt like there was an invisible deadline over your head.

Maybe it won’t hurt to try something new?

Besides, meeting someone at a coffee shop seemed like an easy, foolproof way to go about this. From all the movies and romance novels, you knew that cafes are the pinnacle of meet-cute situations. Or, in your case, a meet-forced.

Regardless, it should’ve been simple enough, and it would’ve gotten the favor off your shoulder.

You scanned the sheet for the cafe Spencer would be at on a Thursday at 8 a.m., and got there with barely five minutes to spare before he was expected to show.

It was just your luck that he had to pick a cafe practically as far from your home as he could get, and the transfer train had to have a delay that made you walk the last three-quarters of a mile there. Call it crazy, but you didn’t expect to actually have to put in work for this. You expected it better be worth the hassle.

You took a seat in the back of the cafe to catch your breath as you waited for him to show up. Sitting in the booth, with your head down so you coudn’t be seen, the plan started to feel stupid all over again. You were running around the city, spying on this stranger, and for what?

The silver bell hung over the door frame interrupted before your thoughts could travel down that path of questioning. It rang each time a new patron enters, and within the next twenty minutes it rang only eight or nine times. None of them appeared to be Spencer.

You were prepared to call this one a failure and leave, when you realized your colossal mistake. You only had his name, and no idea what he looks like. So unless he happened to wear a name tag around you could’ve already missed him. You realized then that there were more than a few flaws in this plan.

Keeping an eye on the door, you dialed Penelope’s contact as a swarm of new patrons flooded in.

“How am I supposed to know what he looks like?” you whispered into the phone, failing to cover it with a hand cupped over the speaker. Penelope was confused for only a second by the apparent lack of context.

“Oh! He’s tall, has mousy brown hair but he cut it recently. It’s like… missing on the sides, but it’s all there in the front!” she explained.

What the hell does she mean missing?

“Pen, brunette? That’s like all the guys in here…” You took a look around the full cafe; various men typing on computers, taking calls. All of them looked the same, from their brown hair to their khakis and puffer coats. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than brown hair.”

Penelope struggled to explain and with each new feature she gave you, your mental picture of him got more clouded. “He’s skinny! Dresses like a vintage teddy bear!”

“Does he have kind of like… a hot English teacher vibe?” you quirked your head, spying a man approaching from the sidewalk and drinking him in with your eyes. Tall, brunette, clad in corduroy head to toe with a plaid sweater vest underneath. Vintage Teddy Bear F/W 1978 collection.

“Yes! He teaches sometimes! And you think he’s hot?”

Your mouth gaped even though she couldn’t see you. “No, I - I didn’t say that. I said he had the vibes of a hot teacher.”

“And how different is that from saying he’s––”

“Pen, I gotta go. Your guy’s walking in.” You put the phone away before she could pick apart what you said.

The bell on the front door rang as he came in and you stared intently at his face. If this was like the movies, he’d turn his head right then, at the perfect time, and make eye contact. He’d fall madly in love from the first look, and your work would be done. You sat at the edge of your seat, burning holes into his skull, waiting for that moment.

But alas, he never looked up from the linoleum flooring as he walked up to the counter. With a groan, you slid out of your booth and quickly hopped into the line before anyone else could claim the spot behind him.

New plan: eavesdrop, order the same coffee as him, and pretend to go for the cup at the same time. Laugh about the coincidence, how if you share the same coffee order you must certainly have a lot in common, and have him fall in love with you.

But you overheard him rattle off his order and were absolutely horrified. Black coffee, extra sugar. Like, extra, extra sugar.

You were going to need a second change of plans.

You eyed him up and down, searching for something you could approach him about. He was donning black converse under a fitted pair of dark brown corduroy trousers, with a blazer to match, and a deep green plaid vest underneath. On paper, this outfit shouldn’t work. In practice, it… really did.

A little too well, given how good he looks in it. More fashionable than a federal agent ought to be as required by dress codes, right?

“Can I help you?” you heard, and it poked the bubble of your thoughts. Your head shot up to meet his for the first time, eyes wide as heat crawled up your face.

“Uh. No ––” Shit. You didn’t even realize how long you were staring at his legs. Long, long legs. And shit, why did you say no? That was your opening to talk to him.

The man –– Spencer –– nodded his head slowly, uncomfortably, and turned away with a forced grin. He grabbed the coffee cup placed on the counter and you thought now was the time to say something. But by the time you thought of it, he’d already picked up his cup and made his way to the door.

The stupid silver bell mocked you as he left.

The first attempt left you slightly jilted, but a few days later you found yourself in need of a few grocery items. You just happened to be in his neighborhood that day, and though it was very much out of the way of your own, you didn’t plan on it being a problem. He’d never see where you lived anyways, and he’d never need to know how unlikely this chance encounter really was.

You had Penelope text you the address of his regular grocery store, and upon arrival, felt immediate concern. It was not a grocery store. It was a convenience mart slash liquor store at the corner of the street, below a building of worn apartments.

As you walked through the aisles, the only things you found were a large assortment of wines that took up half the small store space, an aisle of candy packets and chips, a section for household supplies, and one measly aisle for canned and boxed foods.

Cereal, instant noodles, soup cans, pancake mix… nothing very fresh.

Spencer seemed like a pretty scrawny guy. You now believed it might’ve been from the fact that his food choices were so off-putting that he simply didn’t eat. It wasn’t your place to be concerned, but you decided that if you ever ended up taking him out, a farmer’s market might be good for him.

You loitered around for perhaps longer than necessary. The inquisitive shop attendant asked if you need help –– as in, why are you still here, get out of my store –– and you told her you were just really conflicted on which detergent brand you needed. Finally, the man you were after arrived at the scene.

“Hi, Dolores,” he greete with a small wave. The attendant, Dolores, greets back with a positivity that she sorely lacked when talking to you. Dolores has favorites, apparently.

An unexpected panic settled in your stomach and you quickly turned back to your selection of fabric softeners. You weren’t hiding, you just didn’t want him to catch you staring again. You picked up your two props, pretending to read the labels on the back and compare the chemical formulas on each of them, when you saw him out of the corner of your eyes.

He went into the aisle in front of yours, and over the short shelves you saw the back of his head sweeping over the modest food section. He turned around to inspect the other side of the aisle, and you ducked your head even lower. It was in vain. He spotted you anyway.

You fixed your eyes even harder onto the bottles, afraid to look anywhere else. He shuffled out of his aisle and turned the corner into yours. You started sweating a little.

“Uhm. Excuse me,” he said.

“Yeah?” You looked up from your bottles, putting on your best caught-off-guard face. Like you were a girl in a movie, reading a book on the beach (not detergent labels in a liquor store) and your romantic interest just noticed how beautiful you looked doing it, deciding he had to introduce himself.

“Can you… can you move…” he asked, gesturing to the section of cleaners that you’re blocking.

Never mind.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” You burned up, moving out of his way. He reached for what he needed and you peeked down to inspect the contents of his basket. Organic whole wheat bread, cream of mushroom soup, and somehow, he’d managed to find the only two apples this place must carry. At least there was light at the end of the dark, dark tunnel.

He tossed a bottle of Snuggle fabric softener and you raised your brows. Given that he was “grocery shopping’’ in a three-piece suit –– a good one, too, black trousers, vest and blazer with an eggplant purple shirt and lavender tie –– you would’ve expected him to simply send his clothes out for dry cleaning.

“Snuggle, huh?” you said. He gave you a confused look. “Oh, uh. I was looking at these. Couldn’t pick between the two.” You raised your two bottles of softener; Snuggle and Tide.

You needed him to know you weren’t just saying Snuggle to insinuate that you would like to do that to him. You remembered Penelope telling you he had a degree in chemistry or some sort of science field, and asked, “Is… is that one like, more organic? I was trying to read the formulas but I don’t… I don’t recognize the chemicals,” you trailed off. You could see yourself losing his interest the more you spoke. He barely looked at you as he grabbed whatever else he needed.

“I don’t know… I just like it,” he bristled. You looked down at the bottle and flipped it over to the front. It had a drawing of a teddy bear on it. How fitting.

You go to comment on it but yet again he’d made an escape, already at the checkout counter and unloading his basket by the time you looked up again. You rolled your eyes, wondering if it’s even worth it to follow him into line and see if he sparks up a conversation this time.

You could tell that he wouldn’t. So you gave him the space to buy his items and leave.

You didn’t really need the detergent, but Dolores gave you a pointed look before you could even think about putting it back on the shelf. You ended up buying the detergent, a loaf of bread, and two packets of sweets out of guilt.

As you took the train home, digging into your packet of sour peach rings, you began to doubt if you can carry out Penelope’s request.

After two failed attempts, you were prepared to tell Penelope that this just wasn’t going to work out. You didn’t expect it to be this difficult to talk to Spencer nor did you see yourself getting closer to him anytime soon. It would be best if she just found someone else to do it.

You caught her in the hallway, leaving her apartment just as you came home from the store. It seemed like as good of a time as any to let her know how unsuccessful your escapades were going. With your tail between your legs, you approached her with the intention of breaking the plan off.

But the second she saw you, it was like she could read through you. She clocked what you were about to say and before you could, she gave you a warm hug. It was the first one you’d ever received from her, actually. And she thanked you for trying.

It didn’t make you feel guilty, per se, but it definitely made you feel weird about telling her the news. So you bit back on telling her what you were really going to say. She didn’t need to know the details of your failure, or the fact that you were seconds away from giving up on her friend.

Maybe you didn’t need to give up right away.

After all, you did only talk to the guy twice. Don’t they always say the third time’s the charm?

You left the conversation at just that –– letting her know that you’re happy to do this for her, even if you aren’t really –– and slinked back into your apartment. The list, buried under the magazines and paint tubes and half-full cups of cold coffee on your table, called for you.

If by any stroke of luck you happened to share one interest with this guy, you promised yourself to give it one more try.

According to the list, that overlapping interest was the wonderful world of Gatsby Books –– a small, locally owned bookstore residing in the heart of D.C. ’s arts district. That neighborhood was smack in the middle of your’s and Spencer’s, and it was where the gallery you showcase at was.

You’d been meaning to get down there for a while now, anyways. It really was the cutest bookstore in the world; inside it lived a white, bushy-furred cat named Gatsby, and he was always there. After all, it was his bookstore.

It wasn’t such a burden to make your visit fit Spencer’s schedule, really. And it would make Penelope happy if you did. So on Saturday afternoon, you took a lovely walk through the sunny arts district of D.C., a smile on your face and a tote in hand for all the books you were planning on hauling back.

The smell of paper and coffee greeted your nose at the door, and you practically fell into a trance, letting it lead you through the aisles of the store without much thought of where you wandered. Not that it mattered, you could’ve roamed the shelves aimlessly all day long.

In the mystery and thrillers section, you found Gatsby. He jumped down from his perch on a step stool and weaved between your legs, greeting one of his long-time regulars. He was such a good shop owner.

“Hi, Mr. Gatsby.” You smiled and bent down to give him a little head scratch when he started running off in the other direction, taunting you into following him.

He rounded the corner and came to a stop at a pair of boot-clad feet; your eyes moved up to find your favorite employee (after Gatsby, of course) restocking the shelves.

“Miles!” you whispered, but he still jumped out of his skin. He turned around, hand still over his chest, and sighed when he realized it was just you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you laughed.

“Hey, long time, no see. Back for some more recommendations?” You ‘ooh’ed at his offer.

“I was just gonna say, the ones you gave me last time were so good. I finished them in, like, a week.”

“Really?” He smiled, brows happily up his forehead. You nodded in assent. “Okay, well I’ll give you more this time, see if the list’ll last you a little longer than that.”

You grinned eagerly, following him to the shop counter where he pulled out a stack of bright green post-its and a pen.

“I’ve actually been waiting for you to come in, I already had these in mind for you,” he mumbled, scrawling across the paper quickly. He handed the note over, and it took a moment to decipher the chicken scratches.

“Okay, first you gave me Al-Shayk and Bradbury. Now you’re giving me Chaucer, Dickens, and Doyle,” you recited the note, giving him a teasing look. “Are we just going through the alphabet, Miles?” you joked.

“Honest mistake. But I’d be happy to give you all the other twenty-two letters of the alphabet if needed.”

“I might hold you to that.” You nodded, folding the post-it in your palm to prevent the sticky backing from gunking up. It’d make quite the good bookmark for later. “Thanks for these!”

“No problem, just a part of the job.”

Nonetheless, you thanked him again before disappearing back into the aisles. You found Miles’ books as well as a few of your own and nearly lost yourself in the rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, until you made a turn. Standing in the middle of the next aisle was Spencer.

A week ago, he was the whole point of coming to the store. That day, you completely forgot about it, and it stopped you in your tracks to see him there. He was just standing in the middle of the walkway, staring blankly at the shelf in front of him.

“Excuse me,” you grinned, “Could you move?”

You thought it was a cute reference back to the laundry detergent fiasco, a chance for you to turn the tables, but he had no reaction to it whatsoever. His face was straight as he merely pivoted his shoulder out of your way as you reached for the book you needed; The Narrative of John Smith.

His eyes narrowed at you and his nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was called for because you grabbed the last copy they had in stock.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want this?” you asked, waving the book in his face. He was just standing there for so long, you didn’t think he actually wanted anything since he never picked it up.

“No,” he said coldly.

Contrary to Penelope’s review, he didn’t actually seem that warm of a person. But you smiled tightly at him, letting a forced laugh fill the stale air.

“I… I swear I’m not stalking you,” you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. Technically it was a bit of a lie, but he didn’t need to know. It’s just something people say when they have the happy coincidence of running into a stranger so often.

“What did you say to me?” he bit. His tone was sharper than you felt like this conversation deserves.

“I mean, I’ve just been seeing you around a lot… it was, like, a joke? Like, ‘ahh watch out, I’m stalking you!’ you know?” With each second he stared you down, you felt your throat dry out, getting more flustered as you felt the need to over explain yourself.

“Maybe you should work on your comedy routine,” he barked, his voice just faintly cracking. He shoulder-checked you as he rushed out of the store in long strides and a brisk pace.

What in the absolute fuck.

You couldn’t stay in the shop for another minute. You dropped your stack of books at the counter with Miles, giving him a rushed apology for leaving them behind as you stormed out of the shop and headed in the opposite direction of where Spencer ran off to.

The air outside was now frosty as the sun disappeared behind the horizon; the wind nipped at your hot cheeks as you charged home. There weren’t enough words to quantify the anger you felt. Your mind ran rampant with how much you now hated this man.

Not only did he bite your head off for no good reason, but he publicly embarrassed you at your favorite place and had gone so far as to bruise your shoulder to make a point. And you know what? If he really wanted you out of his way, you were more than happy to leave him the hell alone for the rest of your life.

You reached into your jacket pocket for your phone and dialed Penelope.

“Hey! How are––” she cheered.

“It’s off.”

“What?”

“It’s off. I’m not dating your fucking friend.”

“What happened? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding––” she started in a panic. She pleaded that you overlook whatever went wrong and promised that she’d have a talk with Spencer about it. She’d try to encourage him into the direction that you need.

None of that registered in your brain, hot blood filling your ears instead of her words.

“He’s a fucking ass,” you spat. “The more I see of him, the less I like him, and… I’m pretty sure we’d rather kill each other than date at this point. So yeah, I’m done.”

☆

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid slow burn #spencer reid series #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid enemies to lovers #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds series #criminal minds fic #doctor spencer reid #dr reid

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lesbobiwan · 3 years

Note

Hi Lee! 🌟 Congrats, I am so excited for you!! I love everything you write so much, you’re so talented! ❤️

I haven’t been able to to stop thinking about your Wolffe fic, so would I be able to request another with this line?

56) "Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you."

jess!!! thank you so much for this request!!! this was literally so nice thank u so much :) i really hope u enjoy! (sorry it took so long but i really hope u like it!)

#56: "Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you."

warnings: facesitting, biting, marking, hair pulling, i-thought-you-were-dead sex

"I'm mad at you," you whisper against his lips, hands prying at the clasps on his armor. "You should have been home weeks ago."

Wolffe hums and, in a show of strength that has you soaking through your panties, picks you up by the backs of your thighs.

You gasp into his mouth, thighs flexing as you wrap them around his narrow waist. In this position, your cunt has free access to grind against the hard plastoid of his cod piece.

"I know," Wolffe pants, trailing sloppy and open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, nipping at the skin occasionally. "Let me make it up to you?"

His hands squeeze the skin of your bare thigh so hard you know you'll have bruises. The excitement at the knowledge you'll wake up with his fingerprints marked onto your skin burns through your gut.

"You're lucky I even let you touch me," you hiss into his skin, trailing your own bites along his jawline. "I'm angry," you repeat.

You fingers scratch across his scalp, tugging at his hair to guide him to the specific spot on your neck you want him to —

"Oh!"

Wolffe's teeth sink into the meat of your throat, just above where your shoulder joins your neck. His tongue immediately drags across the skin, soothing the sting of his bite.

Your cunt clenches around nothing.

"Wolffe," you cry out, grinding shamelessly against the armor pressed against your aching core.

Wolffe smirks against your skin, scraping his teeth up the length of your neck before he presses his lips against yours once more.

He kisses like he's still at war. Like no one told him he's safe in the confines of your shitty apartment. Wolffe kisses you like he wants to devour you and you would gladly let him if it meant he'd keep holding you like this.

"I love your mouth," you pant into his skin, eyes rolling back as the ridges of his armor catches against your aching mound, "but I think you can find something better to do with it,"

Wolffe shudders underneath you, fingers pressing even harder into your skin. "Yeah?" he breathes out into the space between you, "You want me to use my mouth to make it up to you?"

One of your hands in his hair trails down his face. You rest your thumb against his plump lower lip, pulling it down to get a glimpse at his teeth. "You know that I do," you mumble, eyes transfixed on the way his tongue pokes out to lick against your thumb.

Wolffe closes his lips around your thumb.

Fuck.

Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his hot mouth wrapped around your thumb. He's always been so talented with that mouth of his.

"How's this," Wolffe says as your pull your hand away from his mouth, "come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you,"

Your thighs tighten around his waist. Your mouth goes dry and you're sure your eyes are almost popping out of your head.

"Yeah, you like that idea don't you," Wolffe starts walking you down to your bedroom with the ease of someone whose lived here forever. With each step, the hard plastoid of his cod piece presses firmly into your cunt.

Wolffe drops you onto your bed, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

For a moment, all you can do is stare.

Wolffe is here. He's alive. And now you're about to ride his face like a speeder bike.

"Shut up and lay down," you command, shifting onto your knees.

The commander does as ordered, splaying himself across your mattress with his lips quirked up in a smirk. "I think you're wearing too many clothes, pretty girl," he observes, finger trailing up the bare skin of your inner thigh.

"I think you should shut up and get comfortable," you reply, sitting up to shuck off your tank top.

You relish in having Wolffe's undivided attention as you strip off what little clothes you'd been wearing.

Your apartment's air conditioning was shot to hell, so it's been unbearably hot, leaving you to wear as little clothing as possible.

You catch Wolffe's tongue poke out to wet his lips as you peel off your shorts.

"Fuck, sweetheart," Wolffe groans as you sit up, fully naked on the bed, "you've got the prettiest pussy I've ever seen. Missed it so damn much while I was away,"

You swing your leg over to straddle Wolffe's face, just high enough that he'd have to strain his neck to get a taste. You tangle your hand in his hair when he tries to do exactly that.

"Baby —"

"I want you to beg."

Wolffe blinks up at you, his real eye already hazy with lust. His hands trail up your thighs, up the curve of your ass, but he doesn't try to pull you down. He knows better.

"Beg," you repeat, giving his hair a firm yank.

"Fuck, pretty girl," Wolffe groans, eyes fluttering shut, "you're killing me here. Please, let me taste that pretty cunt of yours. You know how hard it was to be away from you that long? I jerked my cock raw every night just thinking about you,"

It's intoxicating to be above him like this. Half of his face is hidden by your body and you can feel his hot breath brushing against your cunt. Fuck, his words make you drip.

"Just one taste, pretty girl? I'll make you feel so good, I swear. Maker, I dreamed about coming home to you like this —"

You lower your cunt against his face.

Immediately, Wolffe gets to work. He's nothing if not a dutiful soldier.

It's sloppy and wet and everything you've been dreaming about since he first asked you to sit on his face.

Fuck, the way his lips wrap around your clit and suck make you see stars. You nearly crumple atop him as he switches between circling your clit with his tongue and pressing it deep inside your dripping hole.

"Wolffe!" you wail your pleasure, hands tightening in your hair. "Oh, fuck, I missed your mouth so much," you cry out, grinding your hips against his face.

It's filthy and noisy and perfect.

Wolffe lets you use his face for your pleasure. When you look down, all you can see is the upper part of Wolffe's face — pussy drunk eyes glazed over and ruffled hair from your hands. You can feel your release getting closer, and Wolffe must sense it too.

His arms wrap around your hips, anchoring you to his face and his wicked tongue to ensure you can't escape the pleasure he gives you.

With one last vicious suck to your clit, you shatter to pieces above him, drenching his mouth and chin in your release.

Wolffe moans against your cunt, the vibrations making you tremble against him. He drinks up every last drop you have to offer until your hips jerk in overstimulation.

His arms flex and strain to keep you anchored to his face. His lips and tongue stay glued to your cunt, like he still wants to eat you alive despite how he just made you gush over his face.

"Wolffe," you gasp, trying to push yourself off of him.

You get just the barest distance between you before Wolffe starts to pull you back down.

"I said I'd make it up to you, baby," he reminds you, lips still drenched with your release, "and I'm not done making it up to you."

His arms pull you back down onto his mouth.

Wolffe's tongue slithers into your cunt with the most obscene noises.

He's going to eat you alive, and if you're coherent enough by the time he's done, you know you'll thank him and ask for more, please.

#100 follower celebration #tibbietibbs #commander wolffe x reader #i did not proof read this #once i finish typing it is in gods hands not mine #anyways #wolffe let me use ur face as a throne challenge #wolffe x reader

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egcdeath · 3 years

Text

checkmate

summary: you’ve always refused to lose, and love was no exception. (gone girl-ish au)

pairing(s): ransom drysdale x dark!reader, a special mystery guest ;)

word count: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ because of heavy themes! faked death, framing of crimes, manipulation, alluding to sex, alluding to cheating, terrible relationship dynamic, very loose usage of the word crazy/psychotic, implied mention of self harm, brief choking & slapping (in a non sexual way lol), pregnancy trapping (idk if thats the right term), the reader is a very bad human being, overuse of italics *please let me know if i’m missing any warnings!

author’s note: this is my 2nd submission for @stargazingfangirl18’s 5k soft dark challenge, i decided to make the reader dark >:) but ransom is also not a good person. I used these prompts: “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.” & The town golden *girl isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks.

this is definitely the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, but blame @literate-lamb for making me write this because when i pitched this to her and said that i’d probably never write it, she enabled me.

okay that's enough from me. join my taglist if you want :D

“I know women whose entire personas are woven from a benign mediocrity. Their lives are a list of shortcomings: the unappreciative boyfriend, the extra ten pounds, the dismissive boss, the conniving sister, the straying husband. I've always hovered above their stories, nodding in sympathy and thinking how foolish they are, these women, to let these things happen, how undisciplined. And now to be one of them! One of the women with the endless stories that make people nod sympathetically and think: Poor dumb bitch.” Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

Your whole life, you’d considered yourself a competitive person. Constantly overcompensating for one thing or another, whether it was the chronic desire to achieve perfection that had been installed in you since you were a little girl, or your persistent internalized sense of inadequacy. You realized early on that it was much better for you to win than for you to lose, no matter the physical, emotional, or mental cost of the prize of perfection.

For the most part, this mindset worked out for you. You graduated as Valedictorian from your high school, neared the top of your graduating class at Harvard. God knew you earned it, all those tears you shed into overpriced textbooks, all the popping of unprescribed Adderall, and robbing yourself of the parties and social events that the rest of your peers gladly indulged in.

You were just different, which was why you gained a job nearly immediately after your exit from school, quickly climbing to the top at the Blood Like Wine publishing company after only a few years of being there.

And one night, at the party celebrating the release of A Thousand Knives when you laid your eyes on Hugh Ransom Drysdale, the grandson of your boss, you knew that you needed to have him. Rich, hot, a bit of an asshole. You deserved to finally complete your image, and that socialite flavored eye candy seemed to fit the part perfectly. Luckily for you, he was desperate. It only took a few tugs on your dress’ V-line, and a number of knowing smirks to find yourself being finger-banged in his family manor’s bathroom.

From there, you wormed your way into his life. Leaving belongings at his place as an excuse to come back, and offering booty calls in the middle of the night. Ransom must’ve been much more desperate than you originally thought, as it really only seemed to take one night of stroking his hair while he vented about his family to make him want to be with you. Men with mommy issues were always so easy.

Except, he wasn’t that easy. The longer you got to know Ransom, the more fucked up you realized he really was. He had no boundaries at all, became jealous and enraged at the drop of a pin, and occasionally told you things that made the hairs on your arms rise.

This of course all came to a head after the night of Harlan’s 85th birthday party. When the news broke of his tragic death, you’d immediately known it was the works of your Hugh. If your intuition wasn’t enough, his confession in the shower, where he’d demanded you take off your clothes to display that you were without a bug, certainly was.

You were completely devastated. The man that you’d invested so much into for years had thrown both his and your reputations down the drain in just a matter of hours. Of course, you felt bad for Harlan too. He was a good guy (when he wasn’t instigating a family fight).

Still, you showed up during the funeral in your best mourning clothes and dawning your biggest crocodile tears. You rubbed Linda’s back while she mourned the loss of her father, and the new truth about her husband. You played dumb when interrogated by some Southern private investigator, even giving Ransom an airtight alibi. You testified on his behalf in court with enough conviction to grant you an Emmy.

You’d gotten so far, devoted so much energy into him, that you simply refused to lose now.

To your friends, you’d seemed to lead a near perfect life. Dream job, dreamy boyfriend, dream bank account, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you just didn’t know what.

It dawned on you while sipping mimosas at the country club, Ransom playing tennis with his friends just a few yards away from you while Danielle showed off her brand new engagement ring, a .59 Carat Asscher Diamond, that if you heard her speak of again, would probably make you lose your shit.

You zoned out as she droned on and on about the shape, and how Matt proposed to her in their own private room in one of the most exclusive Parisian restaurants, instead focusing on how you could find yourself in the same position as that airhead next to you. In all honesty, you couldn’t stand the idea that someone was doing better than you, let alone someone in your own social circle. Dani got all the bragging rights of being engaged to the heir of some tech giant, being the first in your friend group to get eloped, and worst of all, Matt wasn’t even making her sign a prenup.

You blankly watched Ransom from afar, taking occasional sips from your sweet drink, while you thought of how you deserved all of that and more, and you were going to get it one way or another.

——

It didn’t take much to come up with something, your first and most obvious plan being to simply ask Ransom when he was going to propose to you. Of course, this wasn’t the first time you’d tried to approach him about this subject, you just wondered if maybe this time things would be different.

Panting heavily after a rather rough night in bed, you rolled off of your boyfriend’s chest and gave him a messy, yet sincere kiss. You knew your man well, and if there was any time to pop the question, it was in his post-nut haze.

“Baby,” you said breathily, “I wanna ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he responded casually, glancing over at you.

“When’re you gonna propose to me?” you hummed.

Ransom groaned and shook his head, rolling his eyes, “this is about Matt and Dani, huh?” he tutted, then extended a hand out to your warm cheeks so he could gently caress one with his thumb. “Thought we agreed marriage is just a piece of paper and it’s stupid.”

You huffed in response.

Of fucking course.

“I never said that,” you muttered, setting a hand on his broad chest. “Besides, it’ll be good if you get pissed and decide to like, kill your dad or something. Y’know, spouses don’t have to testify against each other in court.”

Ransom chuckled as if this whole thing was funny, like your feelings were some kind of sick joke to him. “You know my lawyers, babe. They could prove that bees don’t make honey. That bears don’t shit in the forest. I appreciate your attempt, though. This has been some really nice pillow talk.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, pinching his nipple in retaliation before turning your back to him and yanking the blanket onto your side.

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised that he was being stubborn, most of the time you felt like you were pulling teeth from the man. But that’s why you had a backup plan! You always had a backup plan. That’s what separated you from your boyfriend. Where Ransom was extemporized and impulsive, you were calculating and prudent.

Although you devised your plan that very afternoon while watching your partner backhand small green balls, you were going to need some time to get everything in order, to prove Murphy and his stupid law wrong in making sure that everything that could go wrong wouldn’t.

After all, love was a game. And you sure as hell weren’t losing to Hugh Drysdale.

——

You sacrificed too much to have your plans ruined by some trust fund baby with impulsivity issues. You deserved your dream marriage, the stability you wished you had as a child. You wanted the white picket fence, and everything that came along with it. Your desire to be the best, to be perfect was what drove you to poke holes in every condom in the box, what led you to draw liters of your own blood in hopes of staging a fake crime scene, to buy a cheap getaway car and burner phone off of Craigslist, and reach out to a high school boyfriend who you knew was in a position as desperate as you.

You planted seeds of doubt in your friends throughout the following weeks, feeding them lies about Ransom’s behavior, how you were afraid of telling him that you did in fact see two faint red lines on that damn plastic stick– only half of the statement truly being false–, telling them that he was behaving erratically lately.

It all was going without a hitch. Ransom didn’t seem to notice anything was off, despite your frequent visits to the bathroom and newfound affinity for true crime documentaries.

You almost felt guilty, knowing the world of pain you were about to throw the man into. Granted, he deserved the pain. You were in a relationship with a genuinely terrible person, and that person had made a conscious effort not to commit to you. You tried to make this easy for him, give him a chance to say a few words to you and slide a ring on your finger, but no, he always seemed to take the hard route.

You slept like a baby the night before you were setting your plan in action. You made sure to uphold the facade of everything being fine, making Ransom a nice breakfast before sending him halfway across town to the hardware store with an oddly incriminating list.

Once he was out of the house, you hurried off to the fridge in the garage where you’d been keeping a small stash of your own blood. It wasn’t pretty, but it had to be done. You poured the blood throughout the kitchen, splattering bits of it on the counters and cupboards. You poorly cleaned the mess, just as he would.

You put your next move in motion, falsifying a home invasion. You tossed over a table and some chairs, throwing books and photos onto the floor, but left some aspects slightly untouched, like an upright picture frame to give yet another hint that things were not exactly what they appeared.

You left a tiny blue post-it note on the nightstand of Ransom’s side of the bed, a quick and simple doodle of a ring along with the first initial of your name inked onto the tiny piece of paper.

With that, you were off. Technically missing, soon-to-be presumed dead.

----

The days following your disappearance had gone even better than you’d initially planned. Local news coverage had been all over you, search and rescue groups were assiduously looking for you, your parents had opened a tip line, and begged for you to get home safe on news segments. But the best part of it all was that Ransom had been briefly found himself in police custody, only to be released shortly thereafter. His past of an accused murder quickly made your disappearance even more of a national story, and you watched the whole thing unravel from the safety and comfort of your high school boyfriend, Andy Barber’s Newton home.

Of course, you fed him the same lies you’d given to your friends, and seeing the rather lonely position he was in, he gladly let you stay with him. You were absolutely having a hay-day with it all, dedicating hours of your day to watching Ransom slowly unravel. Maybe it was a bit sadistic of you to enjoy torturing your partner so much, but he needed to learn his lesson. You deserved better. You needed Ransom to rise up to your level, allowing you to finally complete your image. To let you two appear to be the perfect couple. Really, this was all on him.

Andy, for the most part, had been a good host. He was gone for the majority of the day, dedicating himself to his work while you lounged around on his dangerously cozy couch. Around two weeks into your stay, you were sharing a box of pizza in the living room with your old lover when something interesting on the television caught your eye.

Ransom, broadcasted on CBS, being interviewed on your disappearance.

You watched with wide eyes as Ransom begged for your return on national television. It was one thing seeing your mother plead for you to come back, the same woman who had installed such toxic behavior in you sob for your return, but Ransom. You’d never loved him more than in that moment.

“Hugh, if you could tell Y/N one thing, what would it be?” the interviewer asked.

Ransom turned, looking straight at the camera, directly into your soul, “Y/N, I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. I need you to come back safely, to see you, to hold you again. I’d give anything in the world for that right now,” he looked down, a tear falling down his cheek. “I can’t live without you in my life, I-”

His sentence was cut off by Andy grabbing the remote, and turning off the TV. You turned your head and frowned deeply at him.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked with a bit of a pout.

“I just couldn’t stand listening to him talk about you like he hasn’t treated you like shit for the past few years. C’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

Your blood boiled. Andy was once a means to an end, but now he was interfering. He was clearly much too selfish to see that you and Ransom were quite obviously soulmates. A match made in hell.

You followed him to bed regardless, curling up on what had been your side of the bed for the past few days, and staring at the wall until Andy’s breaths moved from a soft and rhythmic pattern to loud snores. God, those snores were obnoxious.

You slipped out of bed and to his dresser, grabbing two soft ties from the drawer, and daintily tying his wrists to each side of the bedpost.

“What‘re you doing?” he mumbled, instinctively yanking both of his wrists as he awoke.

“I’m going back home,” you whispered.

“You can’t be serious,” Andy huffed, tugging on the restraint attached to the headboard.

You shook your head, “I am.”

“I should’ve known. Why would you do something like this? Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in with the law?”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in when the world finds out that you kidnapped me?” you retorted.

This threat seemed to wake him up right away, “what about this was kidnapping? I gave you a nice home, fed you, I didn’t even make a pass at you. I didn’t do shit to you,” he hissed. “You think I can’t prove that? I’m a lawyer, for god's sake!”

You nearly laughed, “Okay, Andy,” you paused for a moment, “As a lawyer, who do you think everyone’ll believe? Someone who the world was on a wild goose chase for in the last two weeks? Or the man with a family history of violence? Must I remind you that your father and your son have killed people?”

Andy shook his head, face pinched in sorrow at the mention of his deceased son, clearly a low blow. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Swear to god that you won’t tell a soul what happened here,” you leaned over him, getting right in his face. “Or I promise, Andrew Barber, I will ruin you. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, or disbarred, or whatever the hell I decide to do with you. So keep your goddamn lips shut.”

You pulled away and he solemnly nodded, not bothering to put up a fight. You loosened the fabric around his left wrist and walked out of the room. You picked up the keys to Andy’s Audi on your way out, checking the time as you adjusted the driver's seat.

9:45 PM. Fatherhood really changed the man.

You pushed that thought aside and began your drive home, which turned out to be a surprisingly short trip. When you pulled up in front of your home, you were met with a slew of reporters outside of the house, along with a police car that seemed to be permanently camped there.

As you slowly got out of the car, a gasp, followed by a loud silence fell across the crowd. You limped for dramatic effect up the driveway as cameras followed you, and glanced back at them pathetically. From your peripheral view, you noticed the officers get out of their vehicle.

You finally got to your door, ringing the doorbell and waiting. You blinked harshly a few times, conjuring up the tears you needed to really make a spectacle of the event. After a few minutes, Ransom opened the door, eyes widening as he looked at you. He stepped out, and you wrapped him in as big of a hug as you could manage, genuinely missing his embrace. It was possible that you even let out a few real tears in the moment.

Your emotional embrace was interrupted by the man you recognized as Lieutenant Elliott, the same officer who’d been assigned to Harlan’s case.

“Ma’am,” he began, only to be shut down by you.

“Please, just let me be with my boyfriend,” you pleaded, crocodile tears streaming down your face as you spoke with the officer. You still needed time to get your story straight.

“Just give us the night, Lieutenant. We’ll come in first thing tomorrow morning,” Ransom added, furrowing his brows at the officer that he’d come into contact with far too many times.

He looked to his partner, who shrugged, then to you, “enjoy your night.”

Cameras flashed around you as civilians, journalists, and newscasters alike attempted to catch your attention. You grabbed Ransom’s hand and dramatically pulled him inside, insincerely attempting to hide your face by ducking and covering half of your face with your arm.

As soon as you were in the privacy of your own home, Ransom threw you against a wall.

“Why. The fuck. Would you pull a stunt like that,” he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes wild, and a hand around your throat.

You whimpered as he tightened his grip, rage clearly flowing through his system uncontrollably.

“Do you know what you did to me? You almost had me thrown in fucking jail. Do you understand that?”

You nodded weakly, “Ran,” you whispered, “the baby,” you glanced down at your stomach.

He paused, dropping his grip on your neck and staring at you in awe, “no…”

You nodded again.

“How…? You told me you were on the pill… You- you made me use protection…”

“Surprise?” you said weakly.

“You’re a psychotic bitch.”

“I’m your psychotic bitch. And no child of mine will be born out of wedlock,” you taunted.

“That’s what this is about?” Ransom laughed manically. “You did this all because I won’t fucking marry you?”

You didn’t even have to respond.

“I should send you to the loony bin right fucking now.”

“What happened to all those things you said to me on TV?”

“You’re fucking delusional. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. And you will. I’ve had to put up with you and your stupid little antics for way too long. How do you think I felt when you killed your own grandfather?”

Ransom scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you are so fucked up.”

“I’m the fucked up one? You killed your own blood in cold blood! You’re unhinged!”

“You faked your own death for attention, and got pregnant while doing it! Is that baby even mine?”

“The fuck are you trying to say, Hugh?”

“I asked if it’s even mine.”

“Really. You’re accusing me of cheating on you. That’s rich considering Mia, Layla, and whoever the fuck else. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous? You couldn’t have a normal adult conversation with me!”

“Are you kidding me? I asked you time after time to marry me and it was always some bullshit excuse!” you wagged a finger in his face as you spoke. “Oh, commitment scares me, oh, marriage is just a piece of paper, oh-“ you mocked his voice in a deeper tone before you were cut off by the sting of his hand against your cheek.

“Can you shut the hell up?” he growled at you as you held your own cheek, before you reached out and slapped him back, “I can’t believe that I’m stuck with such a deranged bitch for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe work on your vows a little, dear. I don’t think that those words are as charming to me as they’d be to the rest of our family and friends.”

“You can’t be serious,” he groaned.

“But I am,” you hummed, rubbing your cheek softly once again. “Look at how fast your life fell apart without me here. How quickly the public turned on you. Imagine how upset they’d be if you left me. I love you, Ran. I really do. You and I are perfect for each other, can’t you see that now?”

Ransom took a step away from you, pacing slowly in front of you. He ran a stressed hand through his hair, and took a long and drawn out breath, clearly at a loss for words.

“So when should we have the wedding? I’ve always wanted a Spring wedding, and I know it’s a little short notice, but I don’t want to be showing too much in my wedding dress,” you grabbed Ransom’s bicep gently, as if you were just having a regular old day with him, as if you hadn’t been choked and slapped moments ago. “But we can make it work. We always make it work, right?”

Your now fiancé stared vacantly at the wall ahead of him, giving you a slow, empty nod of agreement.

“It’s settled then,” you smirked. “I’ll start looking at venues. You find me a nice ring, okay Honey? One that puts all those other bitches’ rings to shame,” you sighed pleasantly to yourself, “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before hurrying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You heard a distant shriek of “fuck,” from Ransom, but you truly could not care less.

You hopped into bed, grabbing your laptop from its charger and promptly opening it. You couldn’t help but to smile at your own reflection on the empty black screen. This wasn’t how you imagined your engagement, but you did the impossible. You tied yourself down to Hugh Ransom Drysdale, he went down kicking in screaming, and you were likely in for a lifetime of cheating and resentment, but you did it nonetheless.

You finally won.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #dark!reader #ransom drysdale x dark!reader #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombey x you #knives out #knives out fanfic #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

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