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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year

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in the shadow of your heart (part one of two)

Daemon Targaryen x f!Reader

requested by anon: inspired by the plot of the movie Flipped, where the reader openly pines for Daemon, but he always brushes her off until one day, she stops bothering him.

word count: 2.5k ▪︎ part two (preview) ▪︎ masterlist

themes: one-sided pining (by f!Reader in the beginning, then Daemon eventually), angst, language, Daemon being Daemon

It’s no secret that you pined for the Rogue Prince. Ever since you moved with your father to King’s Landing after he was appointed Master of Laws in King Viserys’ Small Council, your admiration has steadily grown for Daemon. He was in and out of the city, due to his tumultuous relationship with his brother.

One week, Daemon returns. He trains with his gold cloaks in the front courtyard, surrounded by intrigued spectators. Workers of the Red Keep, knights, lords, and ladies. The last group bothers you slightly, the ogling ladies are all clearly there for Prince Daemon. You are, too. But you believe yourself to be different.

You consider Daemon to be a friend, at least. The two of you spoke from time to time. For seventeen different instances now, but it’s not like you were keeping count.

Your mouth falls open in awe as he spins, dodging an attack from his opponent. He might just be the most impressive fighter you’ve ever seen, all bias aside. He dodges quickly to one side, and digs his elbow in the other knight’s ribs, making him stumble to the ground. One down. His other opponent, though, manages to take advantage of this pause and slams the hilt of his sword heavily on Daemon’s back, bringing him to his knees facing you.

“Fucking cheat!” you sneer openly, “Get up, Daemon!” Several ladies moan in worry. Simpering sycophants.

He raises his head at your voice, and your eyes meet, “You,” he only says. His opponent moves closer to him, making you more alarmed, but Daemon does not seem to care.

“Get up,” you hiss, “turn around!

Daemon digs his sword into the ground, and leans into it, merely smirking at you. Just when it seems like his opponent has him beat, about to ceremoniously demonstrate the final blow, Daemon rolls completely, slantwise, ending up behind the knight. He pulls the knight's legs back with such force that the man screams in shock, before his body slams forcefully on the ground.

The crowd begins to cheer, nodding to each other, admiring the Prince’s prowess. Daemon walks over to a bench, wiping the sweat off his brow.

“Quite a good fight, as always, my prince.” He hears your voice pipe up. His little shadow, he calls you. He’s gotten used to your affections at this point, and it isn’t like you were shy about them, either. His gold cloaks have even created a sort of running joke about you. Then again, you care not about what anyone else thinks. Only Daemon.

“Enjoyed the show, my little shadow?” he takes a large swig of ale, “It seems as if you have nowhere else to run to this morning. Not that it’s any surprise to me.”

His crassness affects you no longer. You even like how blatantly honest he is, even when it’s at your expense. “Watching you train is just as good of an activity as any other, my prince. I might say that I prefer it, even.”

“Oh, of course it is.” He seems to drift off, his attention not focused solely at you anymore.

You sit next to him, sighing loudly, trying to get him to look at you again. “So,” you think of something interesting to say, “my father says that the war in the-”

He quickly interrupts you, “I hardly care what your father has to say.”

The smile falls from your face, “I must admit he has no fondness for you, too.”

The silence falls over the both of you. You stare down at your hands, furling and unfurling on your lap. You hear Daemon tiredly sigh beside you, “Is that a new dress?”

Your head snaps back up. You didn’t think he would notice. He never notices details like this. “Oh, yes, it is actually. I rather like it.” You turn to him hopefully, “Do you?”

His hand drifts atop your skirts, feeling the material. You struggle to ignore your pounding heartbeat, driven wild by his proximity, by his touch. “It’s nice enough, I suppose.”

“My prince,” one of his knights beckon to him.

“The colour isn’t the most flattering on you, though.” He says, before standing up to leave you. “My lady,” he nods once, and walks away, not seeing how your face falls in dismay.

Great. As you make your way back to your chambers, determined to change into your old dress, you think of how you never wish to put on anything with this colour ever again.

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

The next time you see him, he actually is the one to find you. He storms into the godswood, evidently distressed, kicking up stones in his path. You sit underneath the old tree, reading a heavy volume on Aegon’s conquest, when you notice him. You’re not certain whether to approach, but he seems so worried and angry, that you don’t think twice about comforting him. You slam your book shut, and approach him.

“You, again,” he sneers, “I thought I came here to find some peace.”

“You can find it here,” you say gently, “I do not wish to bother you.”

“And yet you always do.” He paces away from you.

The arouses your annoyance. Why can’t he, at the very least, be civil towards you? Granted, he may just be taking his anger out on you, so you voice out, “Something’s bothering you? You can tell me what it is, but you don’t have to be so heedlessly rude.”

He seems surprised at your tone, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Of course I won’t,” you can’t help but scoff. How lowly must he think of you? Your affections are clearly wasted on the prince, but something still draws you to him. There is something there. There has to be.

“I shall take my leave if you can’t stand my presence, Prince Daemon.” You start to walk away from him, but he grabs your elbow, pulling you back.

You look at him questioningly, “Well?”

“Stay.”

His eyes hold so much depth, a silent plea directed to you. Your anger dissipates, and you ask softly, “Are you certain that you wish me to?”

He softens at your welcoming expression, and hums in affirmative. So you take his hand, and guide him to your previous spot under the tree. You sit side by side in relative tranquility, in the crisp autumn air and faint sunlight.

Daemon leans back against the wood, and for the first time, he gets to observe you. He sees that you are once again wearing your old dress, so you must have taken his thoughtless opinion to heart. Your beauty is heightened under the sunshine, making you almost glow, like an ethereal being. Daemon's expression brightens unconsciously. My little shadow. More so my light, in this moment.

You peer at him, “What are you smirking about?”

“Nothing of any concern, my lady.”

“I am glad that your spirits have lifted, somehow.” Bravery takes a hold of you, and you reach out for his hand, squeezing gently.

He looks down at your hand, slight and soft compared to his. He won’t admit it to himself, perhaps not just yet, but he feels an immediate comfort from your presence. He had stormed out here after another heated confrontation with his brother, not expecting to find you. But find you he did, and he’s only glad for it.

“You don’t have to tell me about it, if you don’t wish to. Your secrets are your own. I do hope that I can bring you some calm, with my company.” Your voice is ever so gentle with him. He’s aware that in comparison, he has been mercurial in his disposition. Sometimes tolerating your flirting, your playful remarks. Most of the time, turning his cheek in apparent displeasure.

He can’t quite point it out, but he appreciates how unabashed you can be around him. Whether he's cordial or downright impertinent, whether he’s being showered with praise after a victory in battle or treated as the kingdom’s outcast after being dismissed yet again by his brother. You only see him for who he is, one and the same.

“I appreciate that, my shadow.” He smiles faintly back at you, genuinely, a rare sight to behold. “But I suppose I shall let you know part of what’s bothering me. My dear brother wishes to wed me off to some dolt of a lady, from some southern house. I’ve refused, of course, as she looks just as goatlike as my late wife, the Lady Royce.”

“I heard that the late Lady Royce was a beautiful and strong-”

He cuts you off sharply, “She was just about as riveting as watching paint dry, and our lifeless marriage was no more than a mummer’s farce.”

Oh, gods. Daemon wouldn’t be Daemon if there is no fire in his words. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you nudge his shoulder, “You could just marry me, you know. I’m sure I would be a whole lot more interesting than some southern lady.”

He looks at you strangely, as if he can’t believe that you had the gall to even offer such a thing. “Hmm,” he raises an eyebrow, “but you can’t be my wife. You’re already my shadow.”

“Funny,” you smirk back at him.

You think again about how you care not what people say about Daemon, what they might think about your desires of him. They matter very little, if not at all.

Only Daemon.

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

This year, your father arranged for a grand celebration for your nameday. No expense was spared, despite your reluctance. You cared little for these festivities, but the whole arrangement made your father happy, so to hell with it. This was another opportunity to see Daemon, after all.

You had seen him yesterday, in the Red Keep. There was a woman walking with him. She was beautiful indeed, with dark and silky hair, sensual lips, and a knowing gaze. You later learned her name to be Mysaria. One of Daemon’s… night time companions. The thought of it made your stomach churn, but you did your best to ignore it.

“Prince Daemon, I’ve been looking for you,” you greeted him, and only him.

“Aren’t you always?” Daemon replied playfully.

“Yes, well,” you stammered, and looked away briefly, before relaying your message, “It is my pleasure to invite you to the festivities occurring tomorrow, for my nameday.”

“Ah, my warmest wishes, shadow.” He tilts his head in response.

“Why do you call the lady shadow?” Mysaria questions, reminding you of her presence.

“Just a little something between myself and the lady, my dear.” Daemon says to her. My dear. You hated the jealousy springing from you. My dear. Not as endearing and meaningful as 'my shadow', I would say. Any lady can be called my dear, as a polite gesture.

“Can I count on your presence, my prince?” You ask excitedly, eyes twinkling up at him.

“I’d be loathe to miss a good revelry, my dear shadow. I’ll be there.”

“Very well then!” you steal a glance at Mysaria, who was eyeing you surreptitiously, “My father had his messenger send proper invitations to you and your family, but I thought I would ask you myself.”

As you sit at the main table, guests constantly come up to you to give their greetings, most of them you’re not familiar with at all. Anyway, the one you were most interested in seeing was Daemon, but he hasn’t arrived yet.

All at once, the crowd stands at the arrival of the Kingsguard. The Targaryens are sure to follow, so you stand eagerly to greet them, keeping an eye out for the Rogue Prince. But you fail to spot him, and only the King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra come into view.

They reach you, with genuine smiles on their faces. “Our warmest greetings, dear lady Y/n.” King Viserys happily exclaims.

“My King,” you bow to each one in turn, “My Princess. You both honour me with your presence, truly.”

King Viserys moves on to speak with your father, while Rhaenyra takes your hands in hers, “You are having a great nameday, I hope?” She’s always been amicable with you, and you’ve grown fond of her friendship in turn.

“I am,” you weakly smile back, but he crosses your mind again, “I do wish Daemon was here, though. Is he not coming?”

Rhaenyra’s heart breaks for you, as she knows of your feelings for Daemon, “Well, I believe him to be occupied at the moment. Him and his gold cloaks left for the brothels earlier tonight, as is their usual routine.”

Your entire demeanour falls. You were aware of Daemon’s preferred activities, but you choose to ignore them. It isn’t as if you have any say in his doings, as much as you wish it.

“He’s an absolute idiot.” Rhaenyra is determined to cheer you up, “Why don’t we have some wine and plenty of cake, and go dancing with some of these dashing lords? Oh, and don’t look, but Cregan Stark looks as if he’s been eyeing you for a while now.”

You can’t help but glance at the Lord of Winterfell, meeting his heated gaze. Okay, then.

“Come, let’s get some cake.” Rhaenyra beams at you, and all thought of her absent uncle is pushed from your mind.

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

Daemon has been roaming the castle. He’s just been to the courtyard, and to the godswood, and to the gardens. He’s been practically everywhere, but he’s yet to see you. Strangely enough, he hasn’t seen you for a long time, it’s been nearly a fortnight since he last encountered you, when he was walking with Mysaria.

Where in the seven hells is my shadow? She can’t very well be my shadow, now can she, if she’s not even around.

Everyone has noticed that Daemon has grown even more unpleasant and impatient, as of late. More so than he already is. Snapping at servants, his gold cloaks, and basically anyone else who might unfortunately come across his path.

He’s had half a mind to ask your father himself for your whereabouts, but he has not come around to that just yet. He knows that you would turn up, somehow. You have to.

He turns a corner, when he hears it, faintly. Coming from the end of the corridor which leads to the open rooftop. His ears perk up at the sound of it again. Your laugh.

His legs propel him forward, quickly, yearning for the sight of you.

Then he sees you. But you are not alone. You lean against the balcony, a man standing close next to you. Judging by the man’s garb, he recognizes him to be Cregan Stark of Winterfell.

An unfamiliar sensation arises within him, accompanied by a sense of dread. He immediately wants to pull you to his side, and chuck the young Stark over the balcony for even being so near you. For making you laugh like that.

What the fuck? Daemon ponders to himself. What in the seven hells is this?

He steps forward to finally make his presence known, “Hello, my shadow.”

Daemon / General HotD taglist: @random-human02 @thelastcitysposts @avalyaaa @angel6776 @huntycola @sanguinalia @just-a-harmless-patato @outundertheocean @schniiipsel @my-dark-prince @darylandbethfanforever9 @daeneeryss

It's been quite a task to manage the taglists, but those here have asked to be tagged for Daemon fics or HotD in general (I think!) Apologies if I've missed anyone, just comment if you want to be added.

The next thing I'll post will be for Aemond ;) I've missed my little one-eyed mommy's boy/war criminal 🖤

#daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #matt smith imagine #matt smith #daemon targaryen fanfic

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embossross · 2 years

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A Labor of Love

part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ Pairing: Kakucho x AFAB fem!Reader; +Mikey/reader; Ran/reader; Rindou/reader; Sanzu/reader; Mochi/reader

✣ Warning: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI

✣ Synopsis: You want your relationship with Kakucho to work, enough that you’re willing to sacrifice something precious to you to his colleagues. Your body. Or BONTEN GANGBANG (fun time is had by all)

✣ Series: stand alone; part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ TWs: Dubious consent (active consent given but some coercive context, boundary pushing & reader is rolling throughout); drug use; GANGBANG – double penetration, ptv, pta, blowjobs (+rough), CHOKING (dubious consent), degradation, praise, cucking (sorta), rough sex, double penetration, filming.

✣ Word Count: ~10k

The day Kakucho walked into your gym, you had a black eye and a recently ruptured spleen. Your coach told you to throw a fight, and enraged, humiliated, heartbroken…you did. The bitch could have at least pulled that last body shot to spare your fucking ribs.

But those were just the breaks when you battled in the merciless rings of underground MMA.

All that to say, you noticed Kakucho immediately for looking even worse for wear than you did that day. The pale, angry scar that started in his hairline and cut a jagged path through the corner of his glassy eye drew the eye of everyone he passed, but on that day, it was exaggerated and worsened by the swollen lip, the angry red fingerprints like a collar on his neck, the limp. Looked like he had lost a fight, too.

You shared a look of mutual understanding. The look said that you had lost, had hurt, but you were back on your feet again.

Kakucho came by your gym a lot after that day, watching the fighters as they practiced their footwork or sparred their gym mates, as if you were all prized roosters. After a few weeks, he started hitting the machines himself. You remember double-checking his numbers on the leg press, unable to believe anyone but a giant could move that much weight.

Eventually, you got to talking. Nothing crazy at first, just an ask for the occasional spot or comment on your form in a practice match.

He loved the sport, you realized, and soon you were talking for thirty minutes at a time about the Rizin FF and the international leagues. You thought he would have made a hell of a mid-weight champ himself if he ever thought to get in the ring.

(He definitely had the abs for it.)

There was always something shady about Kakucho. Your coaches were too deferential to him when normally they chased groupies out of the gym. When he would leave the gym at the same time, you would spot at least four guys just waiting for him out on the curb, like an unwelcome entourage. Despite never joining in the practice spars, he sometimes showed up with bloody knuckles.

You knew he was shady. And, yet, when he asked you to grab a beer, you said yes. Maybe if he didn’t look so fucking good with his shirt off and sweat pooling in the creases of his abs, you would have told him to fuck off.

You got that beer, and then the next. And then, you were giving him a key to your rathole of an apartment, and he was buying you a new mattress after breaking the previous one.

You fucking love him.

Learning the truth behind his suspicious background didn’t do much to diminish that love. Yeah, it was fucking infuriating to learn that he was part of the Bonten – the organization that sometimes demanded you throw your matches or break a kneecap for the betrayal – but that wasn’t Kakucho’s fault per se. Pretty quickly after you sucked his dick for the first time, you were told you would win your next match. You haven’t been asked to throw one in the months since either.

So, you love him, and the love is turning you into an ooey, gooey cherry pie of a woman. Love makes you wait up for a text from him before you can fall asleep, to shave your legs, to spill your guts about your estrangement from your family back in Fukushima and let Kakucho stroke your neck as you cry.

In return, Kakucho has proven a near perfect boyfriend. He doesn’t scare off the guys you work with at the gym, brings you protein shakes after workouts, and shares his own harsh past as just another Tokyo orphan.

The only obstacle to your love story – and man, you could punch yourself for even thinking the words ‘love story’ – is that you don’t know a thing about what he does in the day. Your relationship exists within the limits of the gym and your apartment. His life outside those sanctuaries is a mystery to you.

He can’t tell you even vague details about his work in Bonten because you are uninitiated, and the knowledge could cost your life.

You did not leave behind a farm and six betrayed siblings to move to Tokyo with nothing but a dream because you are a cautious person. You want to know your boyfriend, your lover, and that just means you need to get initiated.

Fresh from the shower, Kakucho joins you in the locker room. A few words and a flick of the lock, and you are alone. You recently cut almost all your hair off – an undercut is less bother in the ring – so you don’t bother with a towel, little droplets spilling out onto your clavicles as you dress. Kakucho stands to the side, shifting his weight around, watching as you change.

“We can just forget about this whole thing,” Kakucho says.

You scowl at him as you lace up your boots. “Fuck that. Either I get read into your little gang or we break up. I’m done with this secretive shit. Never know where you are or who you’re with. It’s driving me crazy!”

“Even if you get in, there’ll still be secrets,” Kakucho protests.

A week of arguing, and he is still trying to change your mind. When he gets on this, you just tune him out. You developed a neat skill during your years of exercise; you can play a song in your head and hear it as clearly as if it blasted through your headphones. Internally, you listen to the square synth leading into a Gurugamesh headbanger as Kakucho whines about why this is a bad idea.

“I’m going home. If you don’t initiate me, I’m dumping you. If you are, come home with me, and I’ll ride your cock until you cry. Hell, I’ll even share my dinner. I’m making chicken,” you say, cutting him off. Bag packed, there is no reason to linger.

Kakucho sighs. “I want to initiate you. I just…we have to talk about what that means.”

“Ok, tell me.”

You sit down on a bench and gesture for Kakucho to do the same. He stays standing. He looks angry, but that is just Kakucho’s face. Hard to say how he feels.

“There are usually two ways for new guys to get initiated,” Kakucho says through gritted teeth. “We have to be careful, babe. We have to be sure that we aren’t sharing intel on our activities with undercovers. That means we have to have a trial of sorts that no undercover would ever pass.”

Made sense so far.

“The first option is…shit, I’ll just come out and say it. You would need to kill someone. And we’d need to tape it.”

The walls of the room pulse, shrink in close, until you are bracing your fist against the wooden bench for support. You knew what he did, and yet…

“I can’t do that, Kakucho!”

“I know. I know. I’m not asking you to do that,” Kakucho reassures you. He moves forward, palms wide as if you are a bucking horse in need of a gentle touch. “I’m just telling you your choices.”

“Well, that’s fucked,” you hiss.

You are no saint. You have stolen from people who have been generous to you, wronged your family, hell, for enough money, you might break a man’s legs in four places. But to murder someone? Your worst enemy walked away from you with nothing worse than a bruised rib and a bloody nose. You are not a killer.

“I know it’s fucked. But, undercovers can’t kill a person even with clearance, so that’s how we can be sure an initiate is not a narc. And, then, we can hold the video over them if they ever try to turn,” Kakucho explains. “But there are other options.”

“Well, what’s option two?”

You are immediately nervous when Kakucho shoves his hands guiltily into the pockets of his too expensive jeans. What could be worse than murder?

“For some guys, they submit to a public beating,” Kakucho says.

“That one! I choose that one!”

There are MMA fighters with better technique, more versatility, more power behind their punches. But, there are none who can take a beating better than you. Every time you fall in the ring, you grind your teeth through the pain and pull through, keep punching. A little beat down would be just another Wednesday to you.

Kakucho shakes his head, though.

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t mean a couple punches. I mean, ten guys beating you for a half hour. Almost no one chooses this option because it means hospital for a month at least.”

“I’m not afraid,” you argue. “And it’s not like I can kill someone!”

“I could not stand there and watch them beat the shit out of you,” Kakucho growls, and you realize he really would kill his own subordinates before withstanding that. “Besides, you might never fight again after a beating like that. You can’t just throw away your dreams.”

Is this what your father meant when he would caution about the devil tempting you into the fall? You always scoffed at his arrogant ministries, running through your family’s fields to escape from being shipped off to church on Sundays. Yet, here, your boyfriend stands, putting a price on the last piece of morality you have left. Your dreams or your soul?

Because you do dream. Dream of leaving Bonten’s fixed fights for a couple hundred degenerates and making your way through the Shooto league, getting some mainstream attention, and then, ultimately debuting in the Rizin FF. Just to fight in that league! You don’t even dare to dream of then winning the Women’s Super Atomic Championship, of overtaking Ayaka Hamasaki. Don’t dare to dream of it, yet you’ve practiced your victory speech in the shower.

These are pipe dreams for a country girl, but in the last few months, with Kakucho’s support and connections, they have started to feel a little closer.

“I ca-can’t kill someone,” you repeat shakily.

“I know,” Kakucho says, this time disappointed. “Which is why, for you, we have to talk about option three.”

“I thought there were only two?”

“Normally there are, but you are a woman…”

“Go on,” you say tightly. If Kakucho is not careful with what he says next, you are going to punch him in the mouth. Bonten has good dental.

“Because I’m so high in the organization, it would just be the top execs. But uh…shit, this is hard. It would be a one-time thing, ok. Just the once. They would just uh, fuck you, and then it would be done.”

Yeah, you are going to kick his teeth out.

Sensing the rising violence in your tensed muscles, Kakucho takes a few hurried steps back and adds, “It’s not like this is my idea or even Bonten’s. This is just standard practice in most syndicates. Undercovers won’t submit to being–”

“Gang raped?” you bite out.

“It wouldn’t be rape,” Kakucho says. “It would be your decision.”

His shoulders deflate, all helpless. You remember why you are discussing this in the first place. Kakucho has done everything he can to warn you away from this path, but you declared you would not stay in a relationship separated by secrets. This is your choice. Not his fault – not his job – to protect you from your own choices.

If you love this man, you will consider this.

“How many men are we talking about?” you ask.

“Um, seven guys other than me,” Kakucho says, and you whip your head up in shock. Seven! “But, uh, not all of them will do it, probably. Takeokmi and Kokonoi don’t cheat on their girls, and Mikey and Sanzu usually just watch.”

“Usually? How often do you do this?”

“Not often,” Kakucho rushes to say. “I just know these guys.”

“So, three guys…wait, you said Takeomi. Do I know these guys?”

“Err, yeah, some of them. You met Mochi before…”

The blonde guy with the resting bitch face. You remember him. Kakucho took you to watch an official match once, and the VIP section was filled with his buddies. You sat beside Kakucho, and on his other side sat Mochi, and not one, but two pretty pieces of arm candy he brought to seemingly ignore the match in favor of their phones. You didn’t much like the guy, but you got a little soft hearted seeing how Kakucho smiled and cracked dumb jokes with his old friend.

“How am I supposed to face these guys again – your friends – if they fuck me?” you ask.

“You wouldn’t be the first girlfriend to choose this. They’ll be understanding,” Kakucho says.

“Who else?”

“You met him, too – Benkei – his fiancé did it. Everyone’s real nice to her still. And, Benkei didn’t see her any differently…after,” Kakucho stumbles.

He has never been good with words, but you think the struggle this time is not him but the limitations of the Japanese language. No earthly language was built for this kind of proposition.

You for one don’t say anything.

Kneeling, Kakucho takes your hand in his. It puts him below you for once, when normally he towers above you. A humbling.

“It doesn’t have to be bad. It could maybe even be good. I mean, I can give you some pills that make you feel really good, so you’re almost not even there. Then, it’ll just be an hour, where you have to do what you’re told. And, I’ll be there the entire time to hold your hand through it or whatever you need. They aren’t bad guys, or well, they are, but not when it comes to this. They can make it good for you.”

Bile fills your mouth. You have to swallow to ask your next question, and it burns.

“How can you ask me to do this?”

And here, now, Kakucho looks at you and despite his harsh black eyebrows and menacing scar, he looks like a scared boy. The little orphan boy afraid to be left alone in the dark.

“Because I don’t want to lose you.”

You curl your fingers through his, cling onto the strength of him. You really don’t want to lose him either.

---

Every bite of food and sip of drink in the past twelve hours was a mistake. Your stomach gurgles and turns over threateningly with each step toward your fate.

True to his word, Kakucho has done everything he could to prepare you for this encounter. All day you limped around with an anal plug in case someone decided to use that hole. The afternoon was spent teetering on the edge as Kakucho worked your pussy up over and over. Under normal circumstances, you’d strangle him, but it had the desired effect of leaving you wanting and achy.

Your holes are prepped. Thoroughly. Mentally, you feel less fortified.

Half an hour earlier, you took a few pills of molly and Xanax, but you swear you don’t feel the side effects. You are just as nervous now as ever.

Safe Heaven – you scoff at the cheesy name – appears to be a gentleman’s club. Red satin couch cushions, a well-stocked bar, and well-dressed patrons greet you and Kakucho when you first enter. Women exist to serve here, strutting around on sky-high platform heels or twirling around a pole on the center stage.

Kakucho leads you further inside with a hand pressed to the small of your back. He whispers in your ear as you walk that the club is one of many that belongs to Bonten but is special as a regular base of operations for its senior executives.

You trip a little as you enter a massive office. Said senior executives are already there. Waiting.

A sectional couch, built into the wall itself, wraps around two sides of the room. Against another is a large desk, stacked with paperwork, a TV mounted beside it and turned to the local news. There is a bar cart and a rack of designer suits. The walls are decorated in paintings. You are no critic, but you can tell they are expensive, rare. They, along with the furniture, clearly reflect the taste of a single person, someone who favors gold brocade and violent bursts of color.

The top men of Bonten are seated on the sectional. They appear at ease with each other; some don’t even glance up when you stumble into the room at Kakucho’s side. Cigarette smoke clogs the air above their heads. It is oppressive.

“Close the door,” one of the men says.

You remember what Kakucho told you, that it is not enough to simply get fucked but you must also follow every order during your time in this place. You close the door.

Some of the men sprawled across the couch look less like yakuza than flashy account executives if you ignore the dyed hair and tattoos that peak through their suit jackets. Kakucho wears his upbringing on his face, always looking somewhat rugged even in designer jeans. You can simply tell he knows how to fight. These men are less intimidating, polished, even as their own scars stretch across their cheeks.

You recognize Mochi cuddled up with the women from the prize fight. The women’s respective blonde and pink dyed hair don’t stand out among this motley crew, but their scraps of clothing do. They are all tits and smooth stomach and ass, and in case you weren’t already looking, Mochi has a firm handful of each woman to make sure you don’t miss it.

By his side are Rindou and Ran – you think – and there, that must be Sanzu and Mikey. Kakucho drilled you on the various executives to prepare you for tonight, so you could at least put a name to the cock inside you at any given time. You have met Takeomi before in passing, which means the last man must be Kokonoi. As you assess them carefully, most of the men remain fixated on their phones or the TV news.

It is the single most awkward moment of your life.

You have never been one to crumble when things get weird. No, if anything, you get pissed.

“Well, I’m here. Are we going to fucking do this?” you bark.

“Everyone, this is [y/n],” Kakucho says, a proprietary hand on your shoulder. Now, every head turns to you, which is frankly better than being ignored.

Takeomi rises from the couch. “Well, that’s my cue to leave. Sanzu, I’ll send you the details on the Tsumigumi thing tomorrow.”

Sanzu scowls. “Shut it! There are outsiders listening.”

A genuine smile as Takeomi regards you. “Not for long.” He shakes Kakucho’s hand and then, oddly, yours. “We should have dinner sometime. I’d love to get to know you better.”

It’s a nice offer, like you are just the girlfriend of a friend and not about to get dicked down by a room of men. Still, you watch him go with relief. One down, six left.

Kokonoi is about to follow Takeomi out of the room when a voice stops him.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Sanzu says.

“Back to the office. NASDAQ is going to open soon.”

“Oh, I bet that’s the only reason,” the man called Rindou snickers.

“Yeah, okay, and what of it? Yumi will have my balls if I stay here,” Kokonoi protests. “I know your girl is sweet and understanding, but mine is not. She will kill me.”

“Yumi will remember who she works for,” Mikey says.

With Mikey in the center of the sectional and his men spread out beside him, he looks like a perversion of the Jesus in the Last Supper. He is a wraith, so thin in a black tee shirt that swallows him whole, dead eyes, deader black circles under them. A talking corpse.

A few words and you know he is the leader. Kokonoi does not argue back, immediately looks to Mikey for permission instead. Permission that Mikey does not grant.

“Sit down,” he says coldly.

Defeated, Kokonoi does, but he continues to look to Mikey with pleading eyes. “I was exaggerating about Yumi. She would understand, Mikey. But I would prefer to get back to work.”

Mikey is unmoved, and you think the night is about to get very weird if one of these men wants nothing to do with you, but then, he shrugs. “We need someone to hold the camera. Just watch.”

Kokonoi is as excited about your porn debut as you are, but he gladly sits down on the far side of the couch and pulls out his phone. Gonzo-style camera phone porn? Great.

Two down, five left.

None of the other men throw a fit about having to fuck you, but they don’t look particularly eager to jump you either. The situation is so fucked, but you are actually feeling insecure as they size you up.

Femininity is a sore subject. Never soft or pretty enough for your traditional family. Overlooked by guys for your three sisters, who all worried about their clothes and practiced giggling in the mirror. Your idea of dressing up for a date is jeans and washing your hair.

These ageless insecurities disappeared with Kakucho. Even standing drenched in sweat after a workout, a bruise purpling your chin, he has never made you feel anything less than beautiful.

These men are different.

The two women dangling off Mochi are what you imagine they would prefer. Smiley, smokey-eyed, lips and tits so pert they can’t be natural. At Kakucho’s suggestion, you actually tried to dress up a little, donning what constitutes a face-full of makeup by your standards, a little effort at appealing to these men, and still they barely look.

You expected humiliation tonight, but not this. It’s infuriating! These dickheads should be salivating at the thought of your pussy!

“Would you like a drink?” Ran offers, striding towards the bar cart. The acknowledgement is a relief, and you thankfully begin to accept.

“She can’t. She’s rolling,” Kakucho interrupts.

Ran nods to him, your drink forgotten, and then at the two women with Mochi. “Girls, why don’t you hit the floor? Mochi will be done in an hour.”

“Yes, Mr. Haitani,” they intone.

A whiff of strong perfume assaults you as they breeze past. You are wildly jealous as they leave the room behind and the door closes for good, trapping you with these men.

“My name is Ran,” the tall man says, and you realize he is going to be the leader in what happens next. “Why don’t you take your clothes off? Give us a little show. Okay, baby?”

Ran stands off to the side to give you space and gestures for Kakucho to do the same. You immediately miss the warmth of him at your back, but you signed up for this. Time to be a big girl.

Moving to the center of the room, you strip. You kick off your sneakers and shimmy out of your skinny jeans. Most of the men are watching you now. Ran asked for a show, and you don’t want to pussy out already, so you turn around before bending over to strip off your socks. Every one of them should have a perfect view of your ass and covered pussy. The tee-shirt comes next, no bra today, so your tits bounce free immediately. Panties last, and then you are naked.

“Beautiful,” Ran purrs.

He moves close and strokes the skin of your arms. Your body reacts, each nerve delicate and primed. The molly is kicking in. The anxiety that should be shattering your psyche is trapped somewhere in the back of your brain, unable to harm you.

The long line of Ran’s body presses tight to your back. He is much slimmer than Kakucho, but just as tall. His fingers tickle a line along your neck. He blows a puff of hot air along the shell of your ear.

You remember suddenly how Kakucho described Ran – a lover of women, a man who liked women not just for their bodies but as people, as company. The kind of man that women recall fondly years after leaving his side. A great seducer.

Whether it’s Ran’s experience or the molly, your body happily embraces his attentions, and your thighs rub together in anticipation. You no longer question if you are attractive enough for the men in this room, not with Ran caressing you like a prized pet.

“Such a beautiful girl,” Ran repeats as his hands mold around your tits. He weighs them, pushing them together to create cleavage, and then releases, again and again.

Your eyes flutter closed, but you can see the men watching the shape of you as Ran toys with your body. Rindou bends forward, elbows to his knees in rapt attention. You recall that Kakucho said he is a big fan of MMA, has seen you fight before. A fan of sorts. Maybe someone you can look to for support during this ordeal?

An embarrassing moan escapes you when Ran pinches your nipples. Pleased, he does the same thing over and over again, until they are inflamed, and you are fucking furious at the teasing. You grind your ass back intentionally, dragging along Ran’s thighs and dick. He grunts, a hand flying to take your hips and guide your motions.

“Take your pants off,” you order.

Ran laughs. “Bossy!”

“She speaks her mind,” Kakucho says proudly, and you turn your head to share a smile with him.

You didn’t think you would be able to bear to look at him during this ordeal, but you don’t know why you were so worried. He is your Kakucho, even in these strange circumstances. There is no judgment or jealousy in his eyes. Even now, you can see he wants to protect you, but also knows you don’t need his protection in the first place. All of this is for him, and he is grateful.

A large hand bends you in half. Your gym routine involves daily intense stretching, so your pliant body happily follows the direction. Your tits press tight to your knees, and you grip your own ankles for support.

The pressure on your hips makes it difficult to maintain your balance even with hands holding you in place. You wonder what the others are doing, but you can’t see through the hair fallen over your face.

Hot, hard, and twitching, you groan at the feeling of Ran’s cock gliding through your pussy lips. It disappears for a moment, then you feel a glob of spit land on your exposed hole.

Seconds later, he pushes in.

He is gentle abut it, but the intrusion still startles a shriek from you. Your body feels too small to accept the cock bullying its way inside you. It’s the angle, but Ran doesn’t adjust to accommodate either of you. If anything, he likes it.

“So good, so fucking good,” Ran coos sweetly. He uses his grip on both your hips to start thrusting into your tight hole. You aren’t very wet, so there is a mild burn to each thrust at first, but Ran doesn’t let that stop him either. He keeps telling you how good you feel until your pussy lubricates, and then he fucks you harder.

“Ah, shit,” you gasp.

A groan. “Fuck you’re beautiful.” That is Kakucho, not Ran.

Kakucho who can’t take his eyes from your tensed thighs, from your shaking calves. Kakucho who loves you.

Euphoria makes your brain go a little hazy. So much easier to just focus on the sensation of a cock stretching your cunt, of how deep and powerful Kakucho sounds when he tells you he wants you.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, keep talking to her, Kakucho,” Ran moans obscenely. “She tightens up like you wouldn’t believe. Shit.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Kakucho obliges. “My girl has such a tight pussy, and she knows how to use it. My fierce, beautiful girl. Love you so fucking much. Love watching you get fucked, just because I love to see you fall apart for me.”

The shakes start in your strained thighs and spread in every direction. You can barely keep your balance. Every time Ran thrusts, you worry you are going to collapse, but that worry is practically nothing to you. Even the fiery stretch doesn’t really hurt. You feel so close to Kakucho even as you are broken open on another man’s cock.

Ah, but the stretch really does burn.

Your legs buckle and you start to fall.

Before you can collapse and possibly break Ran’s dick in the process, a hand covered in rings is there, scooping up both your legs. A moment of vertigo as you are manhandled, and then you are in a new position: full body suspended upright and backwards on Ran’s cock, legs spread wide as he bounces you up and down. It is Rindou who supports you with his hands under your ass as his brother continues to thrust up into you.

“There you go, slut. Take that cock all the way,” Rindou murmurs, eyes trained to where your pussy is spread open.

At first, he appears less handsome than his brother, but you realize that is an illusion. Both men are equally attractive, just Rindou’s good looks are easy to miss when he is slouched and tired-eyed and bored by everything. He doesn’t look bored now as he licks his own fingers and brings them to your aching clit.

Instantly, your body starts seizing. It is like the barest touch has returned you to the last edge Kakucho gave you that afternoon, when he tapped your clit with his tongue until you wailed and then left you wanting. Your arms flail a bit, and then you are gripping the short hairs at Ran’s neck in a death grip and clutching Rindou’s shoulder just as desperately.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna…I’m gonna…”

“That’s it, slut, squeeze that cock,” Rindou hisses. “Cum all over that dick.”

“Good girl, good girl. Just keep taking it, just like that,” Ran groans.

“You look so fucking perfect. So fucking beautiful,” Kakucho calls.

All those voices singing your praises, the messy fingers on your clit, the fat cock drilling you, it is too much. You feel so connected to them all, so wanted, so full. You are cumming and you are cumming and you are cumming. Your whole body shakes, head whips back and forth wildly.

“Ah shit, I can’t –”

Ran pulls out of you abruptly, and you are falling, trembling, into Rindou’s supportive arms. Your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too weak to support you. Rindou’s solid chest is the only thing keeping you off the ground. Still, your pussy continues to spasm, and you pant at the brilliant aftershocks.

“Pretty girl! Got so tight you pushed me right out,” Ran laughs, hard dick in his hand.

There is a creak as Mochi rises from the couch. He straightens his suit jacket as he takes measured steps closer to your limp body. Knowing he is one of Kakucho’s closest friends, you were most nervous about him, but you can’t quite summon the care anymore. If anything, his angrily arched eyebrows are your biggest worry. He looks perpetually annoyed, and right now he’s looking at you.

“Want to try that mouth,” he says, speaking more to Rindou.

One of his meaty palms gropes your side, fondling a tit and pressing the soft flesh of your belly. Clipped short nails scrape a little pattern into your skin.

“Which hole you want, Rin?” Ran asks, returning to your back. He props his chin directly on the curve where your neck and shoulder meet. “You can choose whichever. I’ll make it work.”

Rindou groans. He runs a finger through the slippery lips of your pussy, and then, licks his finger clean.

After a long moment where he savors the taste, he grunts, “Can’t.”

“Oh, come on! You’re already here. What’s the harm?”

Through your haze, you think to yourself that there is a lot of peer pressure going on between the men of Bonten.

“It’s not cheating until I get my dick wet. I’ll pass,” Rindou insists. As he argues, he returns his fingers to your dripping hole and teases you open a little. You are still a little numb from the last orgasm, but the play is surprisingly gentle and nice. A little apology from Rindou for not using your properly.

“And whose convenient rule is that?” Mochi laughs.

“Yasuko’s,” Rindou says, defensive, definitive.

“Rindou can watch,” Mikey says from his seat on the couch.

And with that, the argument is over. Despite his victory, Rindou doesn’t retreat very far, lingering by your side. His definition of watch is quite…active.

“Why don’t you sit on my cock?” Ran suggests, breath tickling your ear.

He settles on the floor and spreads his legs in front of him. You see now that he never fully removed his pants, and the pinstriped monstrosity and his boxers scrunch at the knees. Your first eyeful of his cock is intimidating, not bigger than Kakucho, but longer, unfamiliar even if it was punching a hole in your gut only a minute earlier.

The three men all have hands on your body as they manhandle you into their preferred position, hovering over Ran’s cock and facing away towards the couch and your audience. You see Kakucho smile, and you wave at him like an idiot. He disappears from your sight as Mochi drops his dick into your line of vision. He is hairy and smells strongly, not bad, just strong. When you look up at him from this position, he looks like a giant.

Ran lifts your ass and hips high, so that you are level with Mochi’s groin and slides himself back inside your warm body from below. All you have to do is stay still and take it as his powerful hips thrust upwards.

You hum a little, relieved that this position will spare your aching clit for a while, relieved to be filled again.

There is still Mochi’s cock to contend with as he stands a bit to your left, and you don’t wait for some degrading order to take him in hand. The man shuffles forward so you can wrap your lips around the head of him. He isn’t fully had at first, but the seal of your lips quickly solves that.

The mildly salty taste is strangely delicious. You lap at the tip aggressively to earn more of it. A frantic flickering back and forth, and then a glob of spit right on the shaft, and your hand stroking the rest of him.

You hear a groan you recognize as Kakucho’s. “I love when you do that. Fuck.”

Mochi is less demonstrative in his appreciation, but he doesn’t try to instruct you, keeps his hands by his side as he peers down with those angry brown eyes. You match his gaze with a fury of your own and slurp your way up the side of him.

Somehow, proving your skills as a cock sucker has become a point of pride, and you barely think about the slow but steady thrusts into your body. They’re like a low hum of pleasure cheering you on, rather than a focal point. Tracing little patterns around the sensitive underside of Mochi’s cock takes all your concentration.

It feels like a victory when his eyes close on a sigh.

Your left side is suddenly crowded, and you pull off Mochi’s dick to see which man wants a piece of you now. Only, it is Kokonoi with his phone in your face. The angle captures the obscene stretch of your lips as they part to take cock, the fire in your eyes.

Furious, you flip the camera off.

In the tangle of limbs and hormones, you completely forgot that Kokonoi would be filming all of this. Maybe he has been filming the whole time. Only now he has invaded your debauchery, made himself obtrusive. He is unwelcome.

You open your mouth to tell whoever someday watches this video exactly what you think of them, but Mochi’s cock shoving back inside silences you. Rindou is there, holding your head down, forcing you to accept Mochi’s dick all the way to the back of your mouth. And the camera is there, too, centimeters from your face to capture it.

“There we go, just like that,” Mochi says quietly as Rindou draws you back by the hair. Spit connects you both even as you gasp for breath.

“Smile pretty for the camera, slut. Kakucho’s going to want to watch this later,” Rindou coos.

He forces your head back down again. Hard this time. So hard, that you cough around the intrusion. Your throat is a closed door, and Mochi’s cock a merciless battering ram against it. Tearing up, you forget all about the camera so close to your face.

“What the fuck, Kakucho? Never trained your girl’s throat before?” Rindou demands. No matter how hard he pushes, your throat does not budge, and you just choke uselessly.

Displeased by your pointless gagging, Rindou yanks your head back slightly, so Mochi’s cock lays heavy on your tongue but doesn’t choke you, and then he starts to push. Back and forth, fast and shallow on it. You can barely breathe. Your scalp stings from the not-so-gentle hair pulling. Slobber leaks from the side of your mouth. It’s better than gagging, but not by much.

“Ignore him,” Kakucho says, which is impossible when Rindou is treating you like a defective bobble head doll. “You suck my cock so good, babe.”

Well, that’s nice at least.

Your vision starts to go dotty as brain and blood slosh around your abused skull. Feeling the strength of these men, you know every one of them would be deadly in a fight. You have faith in your skills, maybe enough to survive them one-on-one, but the way they come together, relying on numbers to completely subdue you, it galls. And it frightens you just a little.

Helpless, you slap a hand on Mochi’s thigh in the hope he’ll ease up.

Rindou forces your head up and down a few more times as if to prove he can, hand gripping your chin and digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. Then, finally, he draws you back to waiting oxygen. Strands of messy hair fall in every direction, and you cough delicately a few times.

Pretty quickly, you are forced back under, though this time pointed to Mochi’s balls. This is something you can do, so you eagerly begin to lap and suck at them as Mochi jerks his own dick above your face.

“Not bad,” Mochi grunts. “Just try to look happier about it. I like a woman who looks happy in her place.”

You might have some choice words for that, but Ran speaks for you, “Oh, I’ll make her happy.”

The easy pace he has favored until now accelerates. His hips rise fast and hard to meet your raised ones. There is nowhere to escape with his hands holding your waist in place. The impact makes every soft bit of you jiggle. It also forces pathetic gasps from your lips as those hips grind so perfectly to ensure every one of your sweet spots is caressed.

“Fuck, look at that ass bounce,” Ran moans. “What a fucking view. Just beautiful.”

You decide you like Ran. It feels so nice to be complimented and wanted. Pleased you gurgle all over Mochi’s balls, bubbles of spit that you smear up the underside of his shaft with your nose. Now, he is moaning, too.

Someone pets your hair, and you glance to the side expecting Rindou, but it’s Kakucho. He’s risen from his seat for the first time to crouch beside you.

You are unprepared for the rush of love that expands your chest cavity. Your beautiful, caring man. Yours. You smile at him messily, and he smiles back.

“Think you can cum again, babe?” Kakucho asks in his deep growling voice.

Now that he mentions it…you can feel that little bubble of rising pleasure. Yeah, just there whenever Ran pierces through to your deepest parts. Each thrust is like a punch that knocks the air out of you and leaves you feeling a little lighter.

“Squeeze him tight. Hard as you can. Make it hurt to pull out of your hot cunt,” Kakucho orders.

“Assho–”

Ran descends into a muted mumble, his curse obliterated, as you obediently clench every muscle in your body. Your already tight pussy grips down like a submission hold around him. It makes it harder for him to thrust, so his cock lingers deep and heavy. It makes him feel bigger inside you.

You catch a glimpse of the camera as Kokonoi angles it over Mochi’s shoulder. You moan and gurgle around Mochi’s balls without a care in the world. The expression on your face is content, euphoric even, and you hold steady eye contact with the camera.

A smarting pinch to your nipple makes you gasp. There is Rindou to grope and squeeze with one hand as his other abuses his hard cock fast and rough.

All of these men around you, using you, pleasuring you. It’s too much. You start to cum again with pathetic little spasms of your hips and stomach.

You pop off Mochi’s balls so that you can screech and stammer through a litany of curses. “Fuck, yes, fuck, fuck. Harder, fuck me harder. Fuck!” A little slap to Ran’s lunging thighs to encourage him, and he speeds up even more.

You are filled with love and joy as you cum, like your body is made up of yellow light, a garden to grow and nurture every good feeling in the universe. You press pretty little kisses along Mochi’s tip to share this pleasure until he hisses and pulls away.

“Oh fuck, that’s it for me,” Mochi groans. A harsh yank of your hair, and he is cumming all over your face. The milky fluid smears across your cheeks and chin, some landing on your parted lips as you moan obscenely through your own orgasm.

“Sexy little girl,” Ran moans from beneath you.

His cock is gone seconds later, though his hands keep you firmly in place. You feel a stream of hot liquid splatter your back and then a second. Collapsing backwards finally, Ran drops your hips, and you fall backwards onto his prone body.

“Look at you making all the men cum. You are so fucking hot like this,” Kakucho praises from where he peers down at you.

“Yeah, slut can take a cock,” Rindou agrees. There is a sheen of sweat decorating his brown, intense concentration in his eyes.

It is odd, but you swear you can feel how desperately Rindou needs to cum. He has been so generous, to join you in this, to hold you steady and rub you to orgasm, when he himself can’t take any direct pleasure from you. You want to care for him in turn, wish you could do more, take his cock in hand or down your throat the way you know he likes.

“Cum all over me,” you urge, canting your hips up in invitation. “Cover me with it. Paint me white.” You mold your tits together in your hands to make an inviting cleavage, worry your lip provocatively.

Rindou jerks his cock faster, aiming down at your stomach. You are abruptly pushed aside as Ran, who has been lying beneath you, rolls out of the way. Bare and dirty on the floor, you pose your body until Rindou starts to grunt and his cum splatters down erratically. Some misses the mark, landing on the floor, but most collects in the pool of your naval and the divots of your hips.

Blissed out of your mind, you giggle up at the ceiling. Heartbeat thundering in your ears, you barely hear the sound of your own laughter. Your mouth is a bit dry, but that is the only complaint. Feels so good just to lie there, wet and satiated until your breathing slows.

Kakucho is there, too, sweetheart that he is. He sits on his butt, and strokes the ticklish skin of your inner arms, curls the short hairs at the nape of your neck, and peppers kisses through your hairline.

“You did so good, champ,” he says. “My fucking fighter. You did so good.”

You smile dreamily up at him. He is so lovely like this, pride in his milky white eye, love in his constant black eye. The juxtaposition and depth of his feeling as he regards you! This is how he looks at you after a fight. Never worried about the bruises that will heal in time but focused on your achievement.

“I love you so much, babe,” you murmur huskily.

“I love you, too.”

“Would do anything for you.”

“I know.”

Caught up in the depth of your love for each other, you could completely forget that there are still other men in the room, watching or cleaning up. That is, you could until someone calls out Kakucho’s name.

You turn your head and meet the fathomless eyes of Mikey, the leader. He is watching your interaction intensely. What is it you can see on his face? Boredom? Fury? Envy? You feel so close to Kakucho, to Rindou, to Mochi even, but Mikey feels like he lives on a separate planet.

“Clean her up, and then bring her here,” Mikey orders.

Kakucho stiffens a little, then nods. Glancing around, you see surprise on several faces. You scramble to follow what is happening, why Ran is now passing Kakucho a napkin from the bar cart, why Kakucho is wiping down your face and belly until you are almost clean again except for the sweat.

You stumble on shaky legs. If not for your experience taking punches and staying on two feet, you would probably collapse. Kakucho guides you over to the couch, over to Mikey.

Mikey sits in the center of the couch with Sanzu at his right-hand. The others are scattered around as well – Ran mopping his sweaty brow, Mochi checking his messages, and Rindou tucking his cock away – but all give Mikey a wide berth.

“Sit here,” Mikey says, patting his narrow knee. The man is smaller than the others, smaller than you even, but you feel the strength of his tensed thigh as you sit your bare ass there delicately. You try to keep some of your weight off him, coiled to flee. “You really love him?”

You look to where Kakucho hovers to the side, newly anxious. “Yes, I really love him.”

“And you would do anything for him?”

“Yes.”

Mikey nods. “Good. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

The whole exchange is bizarre, and you rise but are stopped by Mikey’s solid grip on your waist. The fingers of his free hand sweep between your thighs to play at the entrance of your pussy.

Kakucho said Mikey wouldn’t join in…

You are sucked deep into the vortex of Mikey’s gaze, unable to look away from how oddly colorless they are. He strikes you as the saddest boy in the world, and you want to kiss him. Beneath you, his hands are moving, but you don’t register much of anything. It is easy to be pliant in his hold, to drift off.

Until he drops you right onto his cock.

The sudden piercing against your cervix warrants a shriek of pain. He is so deep, too deep inside your swollen cunt, and you feel your walls trying to reject him. There is no room to slip away though, so you whimper instead, begging him for mercy with your eyes. Mikey ignores you.

Staring down at where you’re joined through blurry eyes, you see he didn’t even lower his pants, cock jutting out through the parted flaps at the top. No one has undressed for you tonight, but this is different; here, you feel more naked than ever before.

“Tell Kakucho how much you love him,” Mikey says tonelessly.

You start to turn your head, but Mikey grips your chin preventing you. It is while staring straight into Mikey’s empty eyes that you say, “Kakucho, baby, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he parrots back.

Despite everything, it feels nice. Just the sound of his voice brings you back to that euphoric place of peace. You squirm a little on the big cock inside you. It doesn’t feel half bad actually.

“Ride my cock. Hard. Hard as you love your boyfriend,” Mikey says.

The command paired with the impossible power of his stare has a hypnotic effect on your body. What he says simply makes sense. The harder and faster you buck your hips, the greater your love for Kakucho. He’ll be able to see it.

Confidently, you place your hands on Mikey’s waif-like shoulders for support. He doesn’t stop you as you put all your weight on him. Doesn’t stop you when you flex your powerful thighs to rise up high and then drop all that weight down again. A little umf of air escapes him at the impact. You are going to beat up his dick, and then Kakucho will know you really do love him.

Fast, fast, faster, you bounce up and down on the cock inside you. The feeling of it scraping your upper walls is fucking delicious, so good that it makes you bounce even harder, chasing more of that feeling. Your gummy walls are sore, and if you could catch sight of your face in a mirror, it would probably be split in a rictus of pain, but none of that matters when your clit catches against Mikey’s hard stomach.

The frantic bouncing in his lap puts your tits directly in Mikey’s line of vision, though he stays focused on your face. His tongue laps out and teases your nipples as they fly by impossibly fast. A hand gropes one and brings it more fully to his mouth. He sucks hard and mean.

It feels impossibly good. So good that you cry out, “I love you, Kakucho. Baby, I love you.”

Mikey smiles a little, toothy, and sucks harder. You keep calling out your love for your boyfriend. Your high is peaking, the room a little blurry as your eyes can’t adjust to your feverish movements. You are on fire, and you are glad to self-immolate.

Scooching across the couch comes Sanzu. His eyes keep flitting up and down to the cock swallowed up over and over again to…not your face but Mikey’s. Sanzu wasn’t supposed to want to join either, but apparently all of Kakucho’s predictions are out the window.

Looking at Sanzu is quite pleasant. He is like a cherry blossom in bloom, like bubble gum and strawberry candy with that pretty pink hair of his and the pretty pink scars that widen his also pretty pink mouth. Unable to resist your impulses, you card your fingers through his long bangs.

Lightning fast, Sanzu grasps your hand and pulls it away from his hair. Instead of pushing it away from him altogether, he brings the flat of your hand to lay across his throat. He presses your fingers to curl down around the edges of him.

“Squeeze,” he says, and then smiles brightly.

You hesitate, so Sanzu tightens his own fingers over yours until you submit to the momentum. As you use your free arm for leverage to keep up your murderous pace on Mikey’s cock, you choke Sanzu hard. Blood rushes beneath your fingers, a little fluttering.

“Not bad,” he rasps.

Then, Sanzu is wrapping both of his hands around your throat. You try to cry out a little in protest, but the noise withers to nothing as he squeezes down hard on your vocal chords. Most of the pressure is on the sides of your throat, restricting air but not denying it completely.

Your legs and pace stutter a little. It is difficult to continue to ride Mikey when a stranger has your throat – your life – in his hands. Two little swats that hardly hurt to your thighs from Mikey. He won’t accept second place. Even as air becomes sparser and tears enter your eyes, you force yourself to keep bouncing.

Sanzu smiles evilly.

Fuck that.

You adjust your grip on Sanzu’s throat to better cut-off blood flow and squeeze with all your strength. These fuckers forget who you are. You have years of experience with choke holds, the triangle, the guillotine, the gator roll. Maybe Sanzu is a killer, maybe he’s choked the life from a man’s eyes, who’s to say? But he is going to tap out first. You’ll make damn sure of it.

Your legs burn. Sweat slides between your breasts and down your sticky back. A gurgled moan echoes through Sanzu’s tightening hands. The lack of oxygen makes the strain worse. Worse yet delicious. Yes, like a tasty piece of namagashi fruit jelly melting on the tongue.

A crease appears between Sanzu’s eyebrows, concentration. Then, a starry faraway look enters his eyes. He looks like he’s the one rolling now. If you can just keep your body moving for a few minutes longer, keep going up and down, then he’ll…he’ll…

Red-faced and gasping, Sanzu knocks your arms away from his neck. Sanzu doesn’t cum, but he doesn’t reach for you again either. He slumps on the couch and just watches you. He is transfixed on the way your bodies move together. The look of an acolyte graced by God’s presence.

Released from his strangle-hold, a beautiful rush of oxygen enters your lungs. Your head spins. Mikey quickly grabs your hips as you start to tilt to the side in a rush of dizziness.

This is bliss.

Mikey’s cock is so good, and when you bounce just right, you can rub your fat clit all over his abs, through the thin cotton of his shirt. Feels so good. But you do wish it was Kakucho’s dick inside you now. Or better yet, Mikey and Kakucho. Yes, now that would make you cum again. You’re sure of it.

“Lub yew Kakuchooo,” you gargle out, giggling.

“Kakucho, she wants you,” Mikey says, voice unbelievably steady given the pace you are setting on his dick. “Why don’t you show her how much you love her, too? Fill her ass.”

You marvel that Mikey is a mindreader.

Kakucho undresses behind you. While he does, Mikey spits on his fingers and teases his way into your asshole. You are thankfully stretched from the plug you wore earlier that day, but the passage feels impossibly tight with Mikey’s big dick taking up all the space on the other side. Such an odd, intrusive feeling, but the couple fingers don’t burn as they fingerfuck their way inside you.

A moment of emptiness, and then you feel a lubed dick pushing against the ring of muscles. There is only one moment of rejection, where your body refuses to house both men at once, but then Kakucho’s insistence pays off, and he is fully seated inside you.

Full, full, full. Full.

How to describe the feeling? How to survive the feeling?

“Baby!” you keen.

No powers in the universe could compel you to keep riding now when you are stuffed fuller than festival yakisobapan. Your arms scramble backwards, wrap around Kakucho’s neck to keep yourself upright. Shirtless, your back molds into the firm, bared muscles there. The skin-to-skin contact denied you all night sends tingles erupting down your shoulder-blades. Kakucho presses kisses up and down your neck, dancing around the little bruises left by Sanzu’s fingers, sucking his own hickeys into the tender flesh.

“Fuck, you are tight. Too fucking tight,” Kakucho grunts.

“All for you baby,” you smile.

You kiss in a sloppy tangle of tongues, open-mouthed and hungry. All of these cocks have been an appetizer, and now you are ravenous for the main meal.

You feel so connected to Kakucho. You start to cry tears of joy.

Kakucho starts to thrust into your tight hole. It is the dirtiest feeling imaginable, and you stretch and burn around the hot cock. The best part of each thrust is how it pushes you back down onto Mikey’s cock, now pressed tightly to your upper walls and rubbing your g-spot cruelly.

Back-and-forth they penetrate you, and you, weakly, take it. Sometimes Mikey thrusts his own hips up as Kakucho moves forward, and they meet in the middle, where your walls separate them, and it is so earth-shatteringly much, that you feel your brains drooling out of your ears. You swear you do.

Mostly, Mikey stays still and lets Kakucho do the work of bouncing you up and down with his piercing thrusts. So much power behind each that your pussy milks the cock inside it greedily. Meanwhile, Mikey abuses your tits, pinching, plucking, and slapping as the mood strikes him. There are too many points of pleasure at once. Your brain doesn’t know where to focus.

Mikey looks deep into your eyes, into your soul. “If you love him, then cum. Cum all around my cock. Soak me with it.”

Here is what makes him a leader. The charisma to issue an order and know with certainty it won’t be disobeyed. A rip tears through your exhausted body as it forces up the orgasm required of it. Too soon, too fast.

The rush of pleasure is painful in its intensity, a bubbling as you start to squirt a little around the dick holding you wide open. Your pussy clenches tight, and the rest of your body spasms sympathetically, which tightens you around Kakucho in turn. Starbursts behind your closed eyes, flares, and signal lanterns; a cacophony of color, a symphony of light.

Kakucho mumbles something loving in your ear. The words don’t matter. You can feel through the thread of love that connects you that it is something sexy and beautiful. Your asshole becomes even hotter as he cums deep inside you. You shiver desperately.

Then, Mikey is pulling out of your clenching pussy, and cumming himself. Fat globs of cum land on your thighs and the top of your mound. You see his cock clearly for the first time, so unnaturally large on his small figure. It quickly wilts after emptying all over you.

Your own orgasm quivers through you for a few seconds more, elongated by the softening length of Kakucho still in your ass. Then, you too are returned to earth.

Everything is too bright, too harsh. Gingerly as you can, you lift yourself off Mikey’s lap. The motion causes Kakucho to slip out of you. The couch is there to catch your limp body as you sink into exhaustion.

You look up and see Kokonoi there, still with the camera trained at you. No, trained to your lower body. Cum oozes out of your asshole to stain the couch, and he captures the whole thing.

Fucking filthy. And you love it.

Kakucho folds right beside you on the couch. The sticky side of him presses against yours. He looks like he’s just finished up at the gym. If the gym kicked his ass.

“Well, then,” Mochi says from his own seat.

Everyone looks to Mikey, still slumped with his soft dick out. Already he looks bored again, like gangbangs are a regular occurrence for him.

Ran strikes a cigarette.

“Welcome to the family, [y/n],” Mikey says. The others are quick to chime in their agreement.

The family, huh? The strangest fucking family you’ve ever seen.

Still, you can’t help but think they have their uses.

As your eyes flutter closed for a well-deserved nap, you remind yourself that you’ll need to ask Kokonoi for a copy of that tape.

It just might have its uses, too.

#tokyo revengers smut #kakucho x reader #kakucho smut #mikey x reader #mikey smut #ran x reader #ran smut #rindou x reader #rindou smut #sanzu x reader #sanzu smut #mochi x reader #mochi smut #in the belly of the beast #heed the warnings please

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eiswig · 7 months

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I decided that since I keep coming up with obikin scenarios on the daily, i might as well post them. Today’s idea— the classic amnesia trope. But what if both of them forgot who they are? That’s right, it’s double amnesia!

Obikin Drabble

10.9.23

Rating: G

He was on his back, against solid ground. It was quiet, only the sound of chirping birds could be heard. He was breathing, thankfully, smelling chilly, thin air, and plants or trees of some sort. The bright, overwhelming light of the sun streamed into his eyes, he raised his arm to shield his face, and was surprised to see his knuckles were bloodied.

Blood? Am I in danger? His mind struggled to keep up, he didn’t hear any commotion, he didn’t feel pain- well, much pain. He did feel pain- his back, ribs, but it didn’t seem urgent. It was dull, and he had a distinct thought that it was something he was used to. There was something shiny next to him as well- a ship, grounded, slightly tipped forward with its nose stuck in the dirt, but in good shape otherwise.

“Hello there,” a voice sounded, from not too far away and he sat up, not sure if he could stand yet, but still ready to defend himself- but the man was just sitting, cross legged on the ground, hands empty, with auburn hair swaying in the wind.

“Who are you”- he asked- “where am I?”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure” he said, with a wry smile, “who are you?”

Eyes wide— the realization hit him that he didn’t know. He was himself, of course… but he couldn’t conjure up a name. He looked down at his body again, it seemed familiar, but, “I— I don’t know.”

Sad, blue eyes met his. “Ah. I was hoping you would.”

They held eye contact, and somehow, though the words went unsaid, established they both didn’t remember their identities, but knew they were close- with an integral trust between them. He couldn’t place their relationship but he knew they hadn’t been fighting each other.

Fighting. Looking down, he recognized the telltale signs of a fight, and on the ground between them were two cylindrical metal objects with handles, but no blade. They were wearing similar clothes, his own were just a darker shade.

“Are we fighters? Have we been… using these…” what were they called? “light, light—“

“Sabers!” The other man finished, “lightsaber, that’s what these are then,” coming to the resolution at the same time.

“Huh. Lightsabers,” that seemed right. Somehow he could tell which one belonged to him, and he grabbed it, also realizing the same arm was metal- but whose blood was it then? “Well, it seems we lost.”

“Perhaps. But we’re not dead, which is good I suppose,” the other man stroked his beard, which seemed a familiar gesture; but sparked annoyance.

“No. This is not good…! Who are we, what are we doing here?? Does anyone know we’re here? Will.. whatever we were fighting come back? Are we stranded?”

Anger, irritation, fear, and profound confusion swirled through him. It felt… dark, but the world around him was still so bright—

“We’ll I’ve only been conscious for a few minutes—” the other man snapped back, “you don’t have to be so rude.” The man looked so disappointed, an expression that seemed endemic to his facial features. The man seemed to be older, muscular of course and, handsome. Very good looking, with shining blue eyes, which made something in his chest clench up.

The thoughts of darkness faded, instead he felt small, subdued, hollow—

“Ugh!” He rocked forward to get on his hands and knees before attempting to stand, but something around the other man’s wrist began crackling with static, so he sat back on his knees. They both watched it as it activated itself and shone with blue.

“General Kenobi, do you copy?” came from the unit, but the other man looked confused. They made eye contact, and held it again

“I- I- yes I suppose that’s me” he said, and adding as an afterthought, “Copy.”

“You suppose?”

“Well this comm unit is on my wrist, is that my name? And who night you be?”

“This is Cody, sir. And yes you are General Obi-Wan Kenobi What happened? What is your status? Is General Skywalker with you?”

“Describe him for me?” General Kenobi said back.

“Brown curly hair, scar across his eye, dark clothes, metal arm—”

“Ah yes, but more of a golden brown color though, don’t you think?” Kenobi’s eyes were twinkling, regarding him.

“I don’t really think—” cutting himself off and sounding resigned, he continued, “yes, that’s Anakin Skywalker, sir”

“Anakin Skywalker,” he, Anakin, tested out, bringing a hand to his lips. It seemed right. “We’re generals?”

“Yes you are,” the voice, Cody, sounded annoyed, “where are you? Are you harmed”

“I couldn’t tell you where we are but we don’t seem harmed,” General Obi-Wan Kenobi said, “we are near a ship, but don’t know if it still works.”

“There’s been a fight,” Anakin interjected. Somehow he trusted the man on the comm, too. “But it doesn’t seem like we’ve been fighting each other,” he pointed out.

“Of course you weren’t- what is the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t… I don’t remember anything,” he replied.

“Same here” Obi-Wan said. “But we aren’t bodily injured.”

“All right, well we have your location, we should be there in a manner of hours, just stay there, sirs.”

“Wait, wait, don’t go—” Obi-Wan said, bringing his comm closer to himself like he could grab onto the disembodied voice. “Who are we? What are we doing here? Where are we?”

As if this vital information was just general knowledge, Cody replied “You are Jedi knights. Obi-Wan, Anakin was your Padawan. You were sent to find and capture a night sister, but… it seems she found you first. She must have cast some sort of memory spell on you. Kix and Ahsoka are already researching it… oh you don’t know who they are —well I’ll have Ahsoka comm you to explain. I need to coordinate—”

“What are we to each other now?” Anakin asked, “now that I’m no longer his Padawan?”

“I, ugh,” Cody replied “Really? This is what you ask..? Ok listen, no one really knows ok? You are close, closer than friends…? Familial, but not actually related? You two fight and bicker, but you’re always together, you are a team— I don’t know. Undefined. I just do my job” he sounded increasingly frustrated.

“Okay, okay, thank you, Cody,” Obi-Wan said, shooting Anakin a chastising look, “Really, I’m sure we’ll figure things out and remember soon.”

“Just please stay there and be safe; go inside the ship, there should be supplies and cots- please don’t do anything risky. Just. Don’t do anything at all.” He pleaded. “Cody out”

“Seems like he really wanted to avoid that question, hm?” Obi-Wan regarded Anakin, blue eyes twinkling again, before looking back at the ship.

“We should explore!” Anakin blurted out- and shot up to stand. He thought about being in close proximity to Obi-Wan, someone he’s apparently ‘closer than friends with,’ —how close?— tending each others wounds, cots around… and felt his stomach flip over.

“No, Anakin- we’re going in.” Obi-Wan said firmly, standing up himself and dusting himself off to turn to the ship. Even covered in dust, and blood, he looked good. Strong. Almost regal. Anakin felt his eyes stray to strong looking thighs, a toned ass, as Obi-Wan turned toward the ship’s side door. His former master. How close were they, really? Was past Anakin getting to experience this man in bed? If so, good for him. Or was he just hot for teacher? Had they ever spoken about this need he felt deep down? Or was it only now that whatever other stuff filled their relationship was gone, that Anakin’s mind could shift to romance and sex?

He found himself not really caring. And suddenly he desired nothing more than to be in close quarters with a handsome stranger.

#obikin #drabble #fanfic #amnesia #tropes #double amnesia

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imjusthereforironwood · 7 months

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That Chaotic Night

Cardin Winchester was breathing heavy as he slammed Executioner into a Creep's skull, the heavy mace cracking the Grimm's head with a sickening thud. Black ichor drips off the titanium flanges of Executioner as he removes the mace from the monster's shattered skull.

The Fire Dust crystal inside Cardin's mace had been drained of it's energy, and now he was left with a regular titanium mace. The only thing keeping him alive was his wits. He had been using his Semblance, Dreadnought, on and off, trying to conserve his Aura and only using it only when absolutely necessary.

The world had fallen apart in less then one hour. Cardin was in a burger joint when the final match between Penny and Pyrrha occured, and he watched on in horror as Penny was torn apart. That woman, that strange black-haired woman gave a speech about something or other. It seemed so long ago, but what she said stirred up panic and fear.

And that drew the Grimm in. On top of that, these airships flown by what looked like White Fang dropped off more Grimm! What was wrong with those animals!? To make matters worse, something was happening to the Atlas ships, it looked like they were fighting each other! Did the White Fang infiltrate them too?

Cardin hadn't been able to find or contact Russel, Dove, or Sky, and panic for their safety had begun to set in.

The young student heard the sounds of a kid calling for help. He may be selfish, he may be a bully, but he's not a monster. He starts running towards the voice, his exhausted, burning legs aching with pain, but he couldn't stop.

Rounding the corner of a bombed out building, he found the source of the voice: a small family, backed into an alleyway by a Beowolf and an Ursa Major. The father was standing in front of his family, a rusty pipe held in his shaking hands as he tried to keep the beasts at bay. His wife was standing in front of their daughter, a broken board in her right hand as she gripped her daughter with her left. They were scared, terrified.

Cardin Winchester refused to let them die. Steam escaped his lips as Dreadnought was activated. He could feel his strength increasing, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Cardin bellowed a feral roar as he charged in. The Beowulf and Ursa turned to fight the intruder, teeth bared and claws extended.

The red haired Huntsman-in-training allowed the Ursa Major's claws to glance off his plate armor as he closed the distance on the Beowolf. One quick swing, and Executioner knocked the wolf Grimm's head from it's body. Pivoting on his foot, Winchester raised his sturdy mace to block heavy paws of the Ursa. Usually, the raw strength from the bear-like monster would be enough to knock anyone off their feet. But Cardin's natural strength, combined with Dreadnought, allowed him to block the blow and parry with a mace to the ribs.

The Ursa stumbled back, growling and snarling, swiping with unexpected speed. The claws scraped against his breastplate, leaving large scratches and knocking the wind out of the brash fighter. The Ursa swung again, the claws just missing him, but the paw slammed into his face and torso. His Aura sparked at the contact.

'I'm pretty sure one of my ribs just cracked,' Cardin thought painfully.

Undeterred, however, Cardin moved in close and slammed Executioner into the Grimm's left forleg, causing the beast to stumble. Wasting no time, Winchester brought the heavy weapon down into the Ursa Major's neck, killing it instantly.

The indigo-eyed student took a moment to catch his breath, and he glanced up at the family he had just saved, and for a breif second, he paused in shock.

The father was a Faunas. Though Cardin hadn't noticed it before, the man had a raccoon's ringed tail flicking behind him. The wife was human, and the daughter had black markings around her eyes, like the mask on a raccoon.

If he had seen them on the street earlier in the day, Cardin probably would've made a snide comment, or rolled his eyes in disgust.

But right now, that seemed so unimportant. This family was fighting to protect each other.

Cardin wiped a bit of blood from his busted lip as he narrowed his eyes.

"What are you just standing around for?" he barked out loudly as he waved his hand at the family. "I saw the police set up an evacuation route in this direction, get a move on!"

The family began to follow, the father and mother giving Cardin looks of eternal gratitude. The small half-Faunas girl looked up at the red-haired teen like he was her guardian angel.

"You saved our lives," the husband murmered gratefully, his racoon tail flicking behind him.

"Yeah...sure," Cardin said quietly.

The police had set up a barricade as they attempted to establish an evacuation route.

"Hey, you!" Cardin shouted at an officer as he led the family up. "We've got three civilians. Get them out of here!"

The officer didn't protest, he simply led the family behind the barricades. The little girl turned around, her blue eyes exaggerated by the dark mask around them. She gave Winchester a small wave.

Cardin glanced back at the street he came from. He could evacuate right now, but he knew that there were more civilians out there.

So, the bully went back into the fray, Executioner becoming stained with Grimm ichor as he looked for more survivors.

Bu as Cardin chased down an Ursa Minor and killed it, he saw some Atlas Knights stepping out. These robots had been helping clean up some Grimm, protecting people. Which is why Winchester froze in shock when the Knights turned their guns to him.

Time seemed to slow.

Bang. Bang.

Cardin opened his eyes to see two of the Atlas Knights missing heads and sparking. His jaw dropped as he watched a man in a torn shirt absolutely destroy the group of robots in the span of a few seconds. Half of his torso looked to be prosthetics, and a large white revolver was gripped in his hand. It took Cardin a moment to recognize his savior as General James Ironwood, the Headmaster from Atlas.

"This area is secure," General Ironwood said in a commanding voice. "We need to-"

His words were cut off by a dark-haired Huntsman pulling out a mecha-shift scythe with an intense glare directed at Ironwood.

"Qrow, this isn't my doing!" the general called out as the scruffy Huntsman began to charge.

Cardin was still frozen in shock as he watched Ironwood flip his gun around, prepared to fight this Qrow guy as he jumped. But instead of going for Ironwood, Qrow went for the Griffin behind him, slicing the flying monster in two.

As the two halves hit the ground behind him, the scraggly man let out a dry chuckle.

"You idiot, I know you didn't do this," Qrow muttered. "So, what now General?"

Ironwood stiffened up, and and began giving Glynda and Qrow some directions. The initial shock had worn off for Cardin, even as one of the Atlas warships crashed into a field outside the city, just a few blocks away.

Cardin Winchester took a deep breath, and stepped towards General Ironwood, Ms. Goodwitch, and Qrow.

"Tell me what I can do to help."

#au: reforming bullies #rwby #james ironwood #cardin winchester #team crdl #angst #Fall of beacon #AU #fanfic

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graveyard-ghoulish · 2 years

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I shift, roll, talk, kick, twist, huff and turn in my sleep. I’ll get in straight like a log then wake up like I just fell off a cliff. Spets reaction to a s/o who is a sleep fighter (warrior) (Bonus if one night my toe ends up in their mouth)

Put those grippers away 🤨

Kapkan:

His go-to move is to roll to the other side of the bed well away from you, especially after a few incidents of quite literally tangled limbs and you punching him in the face while you were asleep. Or just move to the couch entirely.

The first few times it happened Maxim swore you were doing it on purpose and shoved you off the bed onto the floor, until he realized that no, you’re just an awful sleeper.

If he feels that you’re about to have an active night he just moves away. His sense of self preservation is high when you’re squaring up with your own pillow in the middle of the night.

Tachanka:

Annoyed old man. Why tf are you upside down with your feet in his face? Why did you kick him in the ribs?

Hauls you up and just traps you in his arms with yours crossed together. Not much Alex can do about your legs other than hope you don’t somehow get him in the nuts. He’s basically got you in a straight jacket hold.

Thinks it’s a little funny when you sleep talk, probably teases you about things you’ve said.

Fuze:

Good luck moving around with him. Shuhrat always ends up on top or somewhat draped over his partner, and he’s heavy. He’s also found this is a good solution to keep you in one place for the majority of the night.

The first time you’ve hit him on accident in your sleep he wakes up shocked and offended. Like Kapkan, he’ll just straight up push you off the bed and go back to sleep himself. He loves you but he’d rather only get beat up during training. At least then it’s a fair fight

Glaz:

Upset because he’s the most cuddly yet he doesn’t want a repeat of getting mauled while you were dead asleep.

Your posture worries him as does your sleep mumbling. Timur thinks you’re having nightmares and you keep having to reassure him you just sleep like you’re possessed.

Literally looks like a hurt dog when if you somehow beat him in your sleep. Rolls over like “:( wtf”

#x reader #r6siege #r6s x reader #rainbow six siege #kapkan x reader #fuze x reader #glaz x reader #tachanka x reader #anon ask

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gumpistol · 6 months

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@king-and-his-consorts // a plotted starter for zoro

❝ oh maaan, that one looks good too! bring me all three!! ❞ the raven-haired man snickers with a toothy grin and scrunched up eyes. he already had three other plates in front of him, two empty and one with a pile of french fries that was quickly depleting. yet, luffy felt he could still eat every item on the menu twice (except the veggie dip — no thanks, ew). but he didn't care, a satisfied hum vibrating in his chest.

there had been no hesitation in quickly ditching ace and the rest of his coaching team upon arrival, making a beeline to the bar top to order some hard-earned food. the night's fight was a challenge, undoubtedly leaving the young combatant with bruised ribs and various aches and pains that would surface in the morning once adrenaline wore off, but luffy also left with a satisfying success — a unanimous win as determined by the judges.

so excitement outweighs, leaving the fighter beaming and actively chatting with patrons around him between scarfing down food, split lip and all. with legs swinging beneath the bar top and cheeks full of deep fried potato, the cheerful man turns to the next person in his immediate vicinity to pester, a goofy chipmunk-like smile plastered on his face.

❝ oh hey! how's it going? ❞ his voice is somewhat muffled as he speaks around the mouthful of food, barely giving himself the chance to chew and swallow before engaging with the stoic-looking man beside him. ❝ i'm luffy! what's your name? i like your hair, it's cool! ❞

#king and his consorts #❝ screw the plan ❞ — ic #❝ hee hee hee! you can’t escape! ❞ — closed starter #❝ eye of the tiger ❞ — v: fighter au #oh dang this got a bit long aha #setting the scene gets long whoops

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dragonsruby · 3 years

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Do you like mozenrath gettin redemption and being Al brother (or just gray moral) or are you against it and prefer him evil and trying to kill Al?

Btw I know it’s always younger alladin but imagine the fury of being the little bro mozenrath would feel 💀

Oh, you poor thing, you don't know what you've just opened.

I feel like either would be perfect if pulled off correctly! On the one hand, Mozenrath remaining unflinchingly and stubbornly violent in the face of kindness seems very much in character for him, as we've seen many times in the show. He's had plenty of oppurtunities to redeem himself to Aladdin and each time he chose to spurn the oppurtunity or the quite literally most hurtful option ("Take my hand!" "I'd much rather TAKE YOUR LIFE!") The fact that he keeps only the undead (and Xerxes) in his company and thieves in his employ seems to imply that he's more comfortable on his lonesome anyway. Finding out that his family is not only nearby but someone he actively antagonizes would likely drive him to the same violent conclusion, which, when handled well, could make for an excellent story and show that some people just may not change for the better, no matter how hard you try to help them through.

I previously shared one of my favorite examples of that concept from the fanfic Brother Dearest by PrincessMaylin. In the story, Aladdin, Mozenrath and Cassim discover the familial connection they share, and while Al and Cass are shocked and heartbroken over the fact that they didn't have a better life with the sorcerer, Mozenrath goes beserk, bludgeoning the woman who gave him the news to death in a fit of anger. His response is immediately a competitive dilemna, seeing the oppurtunity to kill Aladdin and Cassim as not just his chance to prove himself the superior fighter, but the superior in all of his family. Al and Cass reach out in kidness to Moze, which results in Cass being further spurned and Al getting his ribs and leg broken in retaliation. The fact that their confrontation only ends with both Aladdin and Moze passing out from physical shock and blood loss probably says best what condition Mozenrath's mind was in from that revalation. Having a family made Moze inferior in his own mind, and he couldn't stand the thought of anything taking precedence before him. That is a very interesting take to me.

On the other hand, anyone who knows me at all knows that I am a sucker for any and all family or found-family tropes in media. Aladdin and Mozenrath's personalities clash so well that any less negative interaction between them would be a gold mine of unpredictable and clever content. Two sarcastic forces of nature who both fancy themselves as unstoppable forces but with very different moral idealogies teaming up against the greater force that stands before them would be a gift with more oppurtunities than I could imagine. They... they could get the Thor: Ragnorok treatment. They could do Get Help.™

Moze could be the Token Evil Teammate, they could be protective brothers, Vitriolic Best Buds... the most likely start to a slightly more friendly relationship between them would be for them to be Fire-Forged Friends, first assisting each other when one comes under fire from a shared opponent. The story that forges that unusual and likely strained friendship has so many oppurtunities in itself! It could be humerous like The Emporer's New Groove, bittersweet like Over the Garden Wall (my personal favorite concept for any familial character arc,) personal like Zuko and Sokka's bond in Avatar: The Last Airbender, or even like the odd rivalry to friendship between Aladdin and Hercules from the Hercules: The Animated Series episode Hercules and the Arabian Night.

I fully believe that friendly interactions of any type between the street rat and sorcerer would be a gold mine of humerous moments and a very deep well of character development and exploration.

Aladdin may struggle with forgiveness but he is ultimately loyal to his friends and family. Mozenrath is completely unforgiving and a force that lashes out against anything that opposes his comfort. What happens when any force comes in to break the barriers between them would be a driving force for so many stories, and I love just about every one of them.

For your other question... oh gosh, could you imagine... Moze would still find a way to flip it on its head.

Moze: "Aladdin, my little brother."

Aladdin: "Wh- I'm not the little brother."

Moze: "Yes you are. You inherited Mother's genes."

Sorry for the long post! Have a live-action underwater Xerxes!

#aladdin #aladdin the animated series #aladdin the series #disney #mozenrath #brothers au #family au #au headcanons #enemies to brothers au #reference: sherlock #reference: Thor: Ragnarok #reference: Tumblr

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captainrexforever · 3 years

Text

Trials and Tribulations 1/2

Rating: T

Word Count: ~4k

Summary: The reader discovers that she has formed a force bond with her Mandalorian companion. This has some unforeseen complications during the events at the Imperial refinery on Morak.

Warnings: cannon typical violence, reader is seriously injured, mentions of blood, Dad! Fett, fluff, angst

Notes: I was planning for this to be wayyy more angsty, but I just couldn’t bear to put poor Din through any more hurt. I hope you enjoy! Don’t forget to comment if you have a suggestion or an idea.

Pt. 2

It seems like only a moment ago Din disappeared down the mountain to assist Fennec. You grab a hold of the child, thanking the stars that he has finally emerged from his trance-like state, and cradle him gently as you check over his vitals to ensure he is not injured.

Once the sound of blaster fire begins to fade, you prepare to make the trek down the mountainside as well. It looks as if the remaining stormtroopers are in full retreat, their transports blasting off from the surface in a hurry. A final explosion-wait, was that a rocket? did Din have a rocket launcher and not tell you?-wipes the ships out of the sky, and you let out a sigh of relief. Although it would be best to leave the planet as quickly as possible, you can’t resist enjoying the view for a moment. It’s been a long time since you or Mando have been able to take a break. There is always a new danger, a new threat, that compromises the safety of your small group.

A red laser bolt screams past your ear, slicing through your peripheral vision like an omen of death. You can only stand there, helpless, as you witness the bolt strike the motionless Razor Crest. The ship that has served as your home for months is suddenly reduced to a smoking crater of ash. There is a good chance that you’re in shock, and by the time you notice the dark troopers descending on your position it’s too late. Before you can draw your blaster, a droid sweeps your feet out from beneath you and you fall to the unforgiving ground, cursing as stones pierce into the skin of your back.

Mando is still running up the mountain side when he notices your body crumple to the ground, and he’s overtaken by blind rage, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he wills himself to move faster. Blaster shots ring out in the silence and his whole body seizes up in pain when he hears your screams.

You grit your teeth as you fight the pain flooding your body. There’s already blood flowing from the blaster shot in your chest and the one in your left leg, but you refuse to give in to the pain. Your fingers close around the child’s robe, struggling to secure their hold as a droid tears him from your arms. Biting back another cry of pain, you will yourself to stand, only to come face to face with the barrel of a wrist-mounted blaster.

It would have been your last breath if Mando hadn’t arrived at that exact moment. The droid standing over you wirrs in distress as a searing laser bolt catches it in the throat. With every last ounce of strength you crane your neck towards the direction of the blast, vision swimming as you register the presence of a familiar beskar-clad figure.

Din curses his poor timing as he rushes towards your prone figure. One finger is already bare, falling to your neck to check for a pulse even as the digits of his other hand connect with his helmet to activate long-range vision. The child is too far gone, he’ll never be able to reach him even if he retrieves his jetpack. His ship is nothing but a pile of ashes, the medical equipment necessary to assist with your condition lost along with the Crest. For just a second Din allows himself to feel despair, loss, anger...love. A tear rolls down his cheek, concealed beneath the beskar that shields the world from his emotions.

What is a man with nothing left to fight for?

In the next second he is back to his impassive, stoic self. He needs a plan. Fennec, where’s Fennec…

“They’ve got the baby, don’t let them get away.” She’s speaking into her comm.

“Affirmative, I have a lock.” Fett answers.

Din can feel his heart seize, threatening to break through its emotional barriers again. He can’t suffer another loss. “Stop him, I don’t want the child hurt.”

She gives him a terse nod. “Abort pursuit, disengage, do not harm the child.”

“Copy, I’ll do a loose follow, see where they’re headed.” A pause. “They’re back.” Fett’s tone is clouded in disbelief.

“Who?” Fennec questions, but Din already knows the answer.

“The Empire, they’re back.”

“That can’t be, the outer rim is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic.”

“This isn’t a spice dream. I can see the imperial cruiser with my own eyes. Heading down.”

A ship, Fett has a ship. “Tell him to hurry, my companion might not make it without immediate medical attention.” Din demands, realizing he’s taking liberties, but it’s your life on the line damnit.

“The girl’s been injured, she needs medical attention.” Fennec relays.

“Copy that. I’ll prepare the med bay.”

Din breathes a sigh of relief, perhaps this man really is a true Mandalorian. He brushes several stray hairs out of your face, grounding himself for a moment before he checks how bad your wounds are. He chokes on a breath when he lifts your duraweave tunic up slightly. There is a fist sized hole in your abdomen, and although he’s treated wounds far worse during his career as a bounty hunter, the sight of the wound of your body has him feeling light headed and nauseous. He’s spitting curses under his breath as he moves to check the wound on your thigh. It’s not much better off.

Shit.

Fett better have some damn good medical supplies on his ship, because there is no way Din is going to allow you to be patched together with machinery like the ex-mercenary currently standing to his left.

As gently as he can manage, he slides an arm underneath your torso, desperately trying to ignore the way your blood coats his vambrace and the duraweave cloth beneath it. His other arm slides underneath your legs, settling into the bend between your thigh and calf. As gently as Din can manage, he lifts you from the ground, panicking when your head lolls backwards at an awkward angle. He feels awkward, out of place, and completely unequipped to be handling a situation like this. Fennec must decide to have pity on his poor soul because she steps over to him with a knowing glance.

“I know you’re a damn good fighter, but I can’t help but notice that you’re not accustomed to holding a woman in your arms.”

It’s true, and he shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but it still makes him flush red underneath the helmet.

“May I?” She gestures towards your still form.

A possessive growl rises in his throat at the thought of Fennec carrying you instead of him.

“Relax Mando, I’m just going to adjust her positioning.”

She’s muttering under her breath, low enough that not even the microphones within his helmet can detect the syllables, but he does catch her mumble ‘what a couple of lovesick fools’. The words have his face erupting into flames once again.

Din stills pins her with a glare as she reaches for your head, tilting it up so that you can rest your cheek against his arm, right below his left pauldron. Then she takes a hold of your left arm, which currently hovers in the air, and sets it on your abdomen.

“There, I’m sure she is much more comfortable now.” Fennec finishes.

Din just nods, still half-heartedly glaring at her from beneath the helmet.

“Let’s go, I’m sure Fett has landed already.”

He nods again, gesturing for her to lead the way. His gaze falls to you and he can’t help but notice that your face is twisted in discomfort. That’s the last thing he wants right now.

“Are you certain she is comfortable?”

“Mando, stop fussing, women love to be held. It’s probably your stiff posture that’s making her uncomfortable.”

He feels like growling at her retreating figure, but resists the temptation. Instead, he drops his visor back towards your face, scrabbling for something-anything-that will help you feel more comfortable.

“It’s alright, I’m here ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) You can rest, I’ve got you. Don’t worry about the kid, we’ll get him back, I promise.”

Maybe it’s coincidence, but the moment he finishes speaking you let out a breathy sigh, the frown on your face relaxing into a neutral expression as you nuzzle further into his shoulder.

You wake up later in an unfamiliar location, startling yourself into full consciousness as you try to take in the surroundings. Tears sting at your eyes and you bite back a sob. The Crest, your home, it’s gone.

“I heard you had a rough day.”

Your gaze snaps forward towards the doorway, and you feel like crying all over again. Cara, your lifelong friend, is propped up against the doorframe. You’re not usually one for sentiment, but you open your arms as wide as you can manage, meeting her eyes as you plead for a hug. She rushes towards you, wrapping you up in an embrace so tight that you think she might crack a rib.

“You had us worried for a while. It’s been a few days.”

A few...A few days. A choked out ‘huh?’ is the only response you can manage with her arms crushing your frame.

“Sorry.” She pulls back, releasing you from her grasp. What the kriff, is she wiping a tear from her eye? “You had us worried. Your condition was so poor that you needed a blood transfusion.”

“What? That’s impossible. The chances of finding someone with my blood type within 100 parsecs are slim to none.”

“Well…”

Why is she hesitating?

“Turns out you and I have the same blood type.”

Kriffing hell! Your heart jumps into your throat. There have only been a handful of times where Din has made a dramatic entrance without practically frightening you into cardiac arrest. This is not one of them. A quick glance around the remainder of the room reveals the Mandalorian seated in a booth in the far corner.

“You frightened me half to death Mando!” There’s a spike of surprise-not your own-that tickles at the back of your brain, and the feeling leaves you a little tense.

“Well that’s not a very nice way to greet your saviour.”

“What?” You inquire.

Mando grunts at you, impassive as always. The visor of his helmet betrays none of his feelings. “I said, you and I have the same blood type.”

Beneath the helmet he’s a little worried, you’ve never asked him to repeat himself. Don’t panic, he instructs himself. It’s probably just because you’re still a little out of it after the anti-pain stim you received. That’s all. He decides to jump straight into business before his worries get too far out of hand.

“We’re going after the kid.”

You nod in response, you figured as much. A fuzzy memory plays out in the back of your mind like a worn out holotape, ‘don’t worry...we’ll get him back...promise.’

“What’s the plan?” You ask, looking to Cara.

“The kid is on Moff Gideon’s cruiser. We need to acquire the coordinates for his position.”

“Ok, whatever you need, I can do it.”

“I know,” she shoots you a grateful glance, “but we are going to need imperial help, ex-imperial help, to be specific. We’re on our way to pick up a New Republic prisoner who is serving a sentence in the Karthon Chop Fields. You might remember him, Migs Mayfeld.”

“Oh, I remember him.” Specifically, you remember wanting to dropkick him into the nearest star system for being such an arrogant bastard. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you get your ass out of bed and get dressed.”

You sputter indignantly, hurtling the nearest object in sight-which happens to be a roll of bandages-at her head. She just laughs at you as she sidesteps the projectile and darts out of the room.

Huh, there’s that tickle in the back of your brain again. Annoyed, you scratch at your head for a second, puzzled when the sensation doesn’t go away. You decide to opt for a different tactic, concentrating on the feeling until it becomes a little clearer. It’s a sound you realize, the sound of...laughter?

Wait just a minute. Why that no good, beskar wearing nerf herder! You swing your head around, so quickly that you can hear the bones of your spine crackle in protest, and pin him with a deadly glare. Only to realize he’s not even looking at you. In fact, he’s in the process of polishing his blaster.

You shake your head, baffled. You must be imagining things. A moment later Mando re-assembles his blaster with a practiced ease, twirls it lightly in his hand, and then holsters it as he stands.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Then he too is stepping out the door with a swish of his cape.

“Oh, and I think you’re gonna like Fett’s ship.”

By the time you open your mouth to respond he’s already gone.

“So what’s your story? How’d you and the big guy meet?”

You glance up, hoping to catch Cara’s gaze, an unspoken question radiating across your face. She nods her head subtly in silent confirmation.

“Cara and I were both New Republic shocktroopers. We grew up together, enlisted together, fought together, eventually went into early retirement together. (The last part was only mostly true, but Fennec didn’t need to know that). That’s how we ended up on Sorgan, where we met the Mandalorian. He enlisted our help in mopping up a group of raiders for a job he’d taken on. After our payment we were planning to go our separate ways, but the kid formed quite an attachment to me, so I decided to tag along with him and Mando for a bit. At the time, neither of us understood why the kid was so attached. I’m not very good with children anyways.”

Fennec nods her head as you continue.

“Well apparently, according to this Jedi that we came across a couple weeks ago, I have a connection to some magical force, similar to the child. That’s what drew him to me."

“Huh, interesting.”

“I know, right.”

Here’s the thing though. What you hesitate to tell Fennec is that Ahsoka also informed you that you possessed a special gift as a result of your connection to the Force. Although your gift had not yet presented itself, she was certain that it would become apparent in your near future.

Sure enough, after the struggle on Tython and the resulting blood transfusion, you have started to hear voices in your head. You are sure that they are thoughts, since they are often disjointed and oddly phrased. And, maybe you’re crazy, but the voices sound oddly similar to the modulated voice of your beskar-clad companion.

For example, if you concentrate really hard right now you can hear noise, not like that of an engine (because you’re on a ship), but that of a conversation. Right now the voices are chattering about...ammunition charges? You snort in amusement. That sounds like something Din would be thinking about. Fennec gives you a funny look, but you just play it off, saying that the filtered air in the ship was irritating your airway.

It makes you curious though, is it possible that he may be able to sense your thoughts as well? If you concentrate really hard on one single idea, will he notice? It’s definitely worth a try, and you’re really bored right now. Hmmm, what about a...jetpack. Ok, no response from Din. What about...beskar. Oh, that’s a good idea! After five whole minutes of thinking solely about the metal there is still no response from Din. Ugh, fine. Your obviously imagining things. Typical.

“What are you doing?” A voice echoes.

You let out a squeak, quickly cover it up as a cough, and then glare at the Mandalorian seated across from you. This time he’s looking right at you.

Fine, two can play at this game. You keep a straight face and then will your voice to travel across the space between you and into his mind. “What are you doing?”

He just stares at you and you think maybe you are still imagining things.

“Sigh.”

Oh no he did not. He did not just...just sigh at you through his mind! Why that little…

“Relax, you’re jumpy. And bored.”

If looks could kill, he would be a pile of sizzling beskar right now. “It’s not my fault you’re boring.” You huff back. And without warning he’s laughing at you through the bond. Full-hearted, chest-rattling laughter, but without the ‘chest rattling’ you note dryly, as you glare even harder.

“So that was you laughing at me earlier today! You are in so much trouble Din. Just wait until we land, we’re gonna fight this out like warriors and I’m gonna kick your ass.” That shuts him up and you are feeling quite smug about your comeback, basking in your victory for the space of a few seconds until something else starts tickling at your brain.

It’s another voice, one that is slowly growing louder, but it seems...guarded. You nudge harder, eager to solve the mystery, and the answer becomes a little clearer. It’s a feeling, you realize, a powerful feeling. As you weave closer and closer, Din’s other thoughts attempt to sidetrack you, to distract you from your self-proclaimed mission. Just a little closer...

You don’t even notice that Din’s physical body has tensed up, his hands balling into fists, telltale signs of his nerves. More thoughts whiz by you, trying to knock you off your narrow path, but you’re persistent as you trudge forward. The feeling abruptly smacks into you like the rays of a thousand suns, blinding you, and you’re gasping, suddenly ashamed of your curiosity.

“We’re here.” Fett’s voice rings through the hull, breaking your concentration for only a second, and you feel Din forcefully throw you out of his mind. He’s out of his seat in a second, making a beeline for the cockpit without throwing so much as a glance your way. You’re left to wallow in your seat as Cara and Fennec shoot you questioning glances, but you just shrug.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” You offer, choosing not to elaborate on what just took place. But your blood boils. You know exactly what happened. You just ripped away the most important barrier Mando possessed. The one that guarded his heart.

The feeling you laid bare?

Affection.

You don’t even leave your seat as the others step outside to recruit Mayfeld. “Just wait until we land, we’re gonna fight this out like warriors and I’m gonna kick your ass.” You spoke those words to Din only moments ago. Now, after what you’ve done, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to look him in the face again, much less challenge him to a sparring match.

It’s not until everyone but Din and Mayfeld re-enter the hull that you realize there are only four seats in the hold. You curse your bad luck, there’s no way you are gonna share a seat with any one of these clowns. Oh sweet springs of Tabet, if you remember correctly there’s an extra seat in the cockpit. Before anyone can question your behavior, you’re rushing towards the ladder that Fett is still scaling. With a little luck, he won’t question your presence, and you might even be able to learn a few maneuvers.

Din sucks in a breath as he enters the hold once again, just in time to catch a glimpse of your back as you disappear into the cockpit along with Fett. He scowls, if Fett wasn’t such a good man, Din would probably be jealous. He takes his seat once again, except this time instead of looking up and being rewarded with your face, he’s greeted with Mayfeld’s ugly mug. There’s no way this day could get any worse.

It is only after everyone takes a seat that he remembers there are only four chairs in the hold. He curses himself over and over. He had already factored that into his original plan. The original idea was to invite you to share his seat with him after Mayfeld joined the crew. Then he would be able to bask in your closeness, your liveliness, for just a short time before his mind began to dissect the details of the mission.

He knows he hurt you earlier, unintentional as it may have been. He hadn’t meant to throw you out of his thoughts so quickly, but you scared him. If you had been allowed to peer into his emotions for just one more millisecond you might have seen his most closely guarded thoughts, the ones that keep him lying awake at night.

Within the confines of his mind he often pictures you and him, the kid, and sometimes children of your own. In those fantasies he doesn’t hunt anymore, learns instead how to be a father and a husband, a family man. The intensity of his feelings frustrate him, and rightfully so. As a hunter and a Mandalorian, any emotion he feels can easily be turned into a deadly weapon. This situation involving the kid is a perfect example of how quickly his affection can twist into desperation.

“I’ll go.”

Those two words are all it takes for you to know that Din is absolutely desperate. Mayfeld blathers on, ridiculing Mando again, so you just shut his voice out.

“Mando, I can go.” You speak up, fuming a little at the thought that he hasn’t yet offered you the mission.

“No, it’s too dangerous for you.” He doesn’t even look at you properly, gazing instead towards the juggernaut that passes.

You pin the side of his helmet with a glare. Not wanting to start a scene in front of the others, you dare to brush delicately against his thoughts, and you want to cry in relief when he immediately let’s you in.

“Din, I can go. Let me have this mission.”

“No, you barely made it out alive last time. Besides, the New Republic will recognize you.”

“I don’t care about the New Republic, it’s not like I currently hold a position of importance like Cara. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you’re not going. You haven’t even fully recovered, and there is no way you’re going if you’re not 100% combat ready.”

“You of all people should know better than to tell me what I can and cannot do. I will not, I repeat, I will not let you go in there and risk your Creed when I am perfectly capable of taking this mission!”

“My decision is final.”

Then for the second time that day, he shuts you out.

“You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you, but I won’t be showing my face.” Din announces aloud to the rest of your crewmates.

You growl under your breath, furious with his decision. You want to scream at him, ask him what exactly he is thinking, but you know you can’t. You have never been able to change his mind. Instead, you resign yourself to your allotted role, begging the stars that nothing goes wrong even though you know that is a fool's hope.

Once Mayfeld and Din are seated within the juggernaut, you and Boba prepare to split off from Fennec and Cara.

“We’ll head back to the ship while you two make your way to the ridge.” Boba Fett speaks up as he shoulders the canvas bag holding Din’s armor.

“Alright. I’ll inform you on when to begin your run.” Fennec responds.

You exchange a glance with Cara, then move to follow Fett through the forest. As you trudge back to the ship alongside Boba, numerous questions spring to mind.

“Fett, you are a Mandalorian right?”

“You could say that.”

“Why is it that you can remove your helmet and go by your real name, but Mando can’t?”

“How do you know that Boba Fett is my real name?” He questions.

Well that shuts you up.

He continues on as if expecting that response. “Mandalore has a complicated history. Often the very people who call themselves Mandalorian are not even born on the planet itself. My ancestors believed that any man, woman, boy, or girl could imbue the spirit of a Mandalorian warrior, it didn’t matter who they were or where they were born. From what I can gather, your friend was not born on Mandalore either.”

“Well, I wouldn’t really call him a friend, but yes that’s true, he mentioned it once. That still doesn’t explain the helmet thing though.” You gesture to your face as you finish your sentence.

He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he’s dealing with an overly inquisitive toddler. “The helmet thing is harder to explain.” A beat of silence passes. “Mandalorians live in clans, as groups of warriors that are bound together by a common name and a central ruler. The clans all support different beliefs, or Creeds, as they call them. The beliefs of one clan may be wildly different from that of another clan.”

That makes sense. There is a long tick of silence, and you’re certain he is finished so you ask the one remaining question that sits at the tip of your tongue.

“What clan do you belong to?”

He obviously doesn’t expect that question. Surprise envelops his features, then it morphs into fondness. “I belong to Clan Fett.” Another pause. “Why, would you like to join?” It’s accompanied with a head tilt and a humorous tone.

You just laugh. “I don’t know if I will qualify.” It’s freeing to let some humour slip into your tone after your recent argument with Din.

“Well, it seems like you already forgot the history lesson.” He chastises you, but he’s still smiling. “Now, let’s prepare to pick up these friends of yours.” He adds, as the ship becomes visible in the distance.

Ending Notes: Originally this part was going to be much longer, but I made some changes to my original plot. I had also planned to end it on a more angsty note, but let’s be real, we want to avoid angst as much as possible. Part 2 is already written and will be coming soon, give me a follow if you don’t want to miss it!

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #mando x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fluff #mando reader fluff

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cactusnymph · 3 years

Text

Prompt fill #5 for @dimension20alphabet:

Escape

[part two to this]

Usually it goes like this:

The Bad Kids eat lunch together in the cafeteria and otherwise Fabian doesn’t talk much to any of them over the course of his day. It’s not like he’s actively ignoring them, but he’s more on the side of the popular kids. The cool guys. The jocks.

Meanwhile, the others—well, maybe except for Fig—don’t exactly fit the bill.

Sure, Fabian would die for any of them, but somehow the social structures at school still feel restrictive in a way that gives him a hard time moving against them.

Now though, now the unthinkable has happened.

The Ball is ignoring him.

Well, not as much as ignoring Fabian as he’s actively fleeing from him the second Fabian comes into view. At first Fabian thought that The Ball had just forgotten something in his locker when he turned around and ran—ran—in the opposite direction of Fabian.

But it happens again during the first break and Riz is not at their usual table when Fabian joins the others for lunch.

Everyone is looking at him.

“What?”, he asks.

His mood was bad all weekend. After the ridiculous dare he received on Theo’s party The Ball was nowhere to be seen. Both Adaine and Theo—Theo of all people, as if he was The Ball’s friend—followed him out of the room while everyone continued to stare at Fabian accusingly.

Even Gorgug looked somewhat perturbed, like it was Fabian’s fault that a room full of people had chanted about him kissing The Ball. That hadn’t been his idea!

“Hey man, you know, you could’ve said ‘no’ without making it sound like, you know, Riz was like, a slimy ghoul or whatever”, Ragh had said to him quietly.

As far as Fabian knows, Theo and The Ball had ended up making out in one of the empty rooms or behind the house. Those pictures in his head didn’t lead to his weekend getting any better either.

He trained way too much with his mother. He ate so many kippers that Cathilda asked him if he was feeling alright—which he wasn’t, but he couldn’t exactly explain why. He went for a run three times on Sunday and was still feeling on edge about everything that had happened.

In the end he crashed on his bed with sore muscles and a scene of The Ball and Theo kissing playing on repeat in his mind that followed him into his dreams.

And now his friends were looking at him as if he had personally murderer The Ball. With his bare hands. For fun.

“Did you talk to Riz?”, Adaine wants to know.

“No.”

Silence answers him and he looks around the table.

“What? He saw me in the hallway, turned around and ran away!”, Fabian exclaims angrily. His face is getting hot. He hates all this emotional bullshit and almost wishes he could just go back to being his father’s darling boy instead of his own man, because somehow that seemed way easier.

“Oh no. Poor Riz”, Kristen says and Fabian almost loses his shit right there.

Why is it ‘poor Riz’? Why is no one acknowledging what a shit weekend he had? And how fucking dumb that dare was? And how it’s offensive to consider that Riz and Theo made out behind the house while Fabian was being stared at like someone who strangles puppies? And also, he fucking hates it to be ignored.

He is Fabian Aramais Seacaster.

He refuses to be ignored!

“Did you try to text him to apologize?”, Gorgug asks.

Fabian stares at him.

“For what?”

“I mean. You know, because. He looked pretty hurt and like. Isn’t he your best friend?”, Gorgug says quietly and Fabian feels like someone has dropped an iron weight into his stomach.

“I mean, I guess we’re friends, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, you know—best friends is maybe a little—“

A voice in his head whispers “Why would you say that, isn’t that a lie?” but Fabian doesn’t get to listen to it as Fig lowers her fork and looks past Fabian at someone right behind him.

“Oh, no”, Gorgug says very quietly and Kristen gets up halfway from her chair which leads Fabian to turn around just to be faced with The Ball’s very pale and very unhappy face. For a split second Fabian has the opportunity to notice that Riz looks as if he hasn’t slept or eaten for the past two days, but then he notices Fabian looking at him and escapes immediately.

“Okay, Fabian, I know talking about your feelings is super fucking hard and everything, but get a grip, man”, Fig snaps at him.

“My feelings are perfectly fine, thank you”, Fabian grits through his teeth but he doesn’t touch the rest of his food and instead spends the rest of his lunch break cursing the universe for having The Ball turn up right at that moment when Fabian announced that them being best friends might be a bit of a stretch.

Fabian never really had a best friend before.

Fuck if he knows what that’s even supposed to mean.

Riz always just went ahead and announced it to the whole world after they’d barely known each other for a week and back then it had been completely ludicrous.

Now, though.

Fabian doesn’t know.

He might have announced that toxic masculinity is dead, but the truth is that it’s still hard dealing with all this emotional bullshit when no one ever really taught him how it works. And he’ll rather be shot than admit that. At least for now.

It was hard enough to deal with the fact that he never really did anything on his own and was nothing but a pale shadow of his father, but now that he managed to work through that, everything else was still as difficult as before.

And who the fuck are you supposed to talk to about these things?

His father is a madman flying a dead dragon through hell.

His mother heats up whole cantaloupes in hot pans, because she doesn’t even know how to cook some fucking scrambled eggs.

Cathilda would probably know a thing or two about this stuff, but Fabian has yet to fully grow into the whole Cathilda-is-basically-his-surrogate-mother-and-not-just-his-maid-thing.

And how is he going to explain this whole mess anyway?

“Hey Cathilda, I went to this party and someone told me to kiss The Ball and I was like ‘No, that’s ridiculous’ and now everyone is acting like I’m a complete asshole and The Ball doesn’t talk to me anymore, which is quite frankly offensive, because he always says that I’m his fucking best friend.”

Even to Fabian that sounds ridiculous. And it doesn’t take into account his obsessive thoughts about Theo and Riz kissing or how The Ball might have overheard Fabian saying that they’re not best friends. And his bloodshot eyes with dark shadows under them. And his pale green face with all those freckles.

And...

Fabian decides that school can suck his dick on this terrible Monday and he leaves the Aguefort Academy directly after lunch break instead of going to his fighter class.

It’s not like he needs it, anyway.

He could probably wipe the floor with his teacher at this point.

On his way home he receives multiple text messages from his friends.

“Hey Fabian, where are you? Are you okay?”, from Gorgug.

“Just text him”, from Adaine.

“Maybe Jawbone can help you out, he’s really good at this relationship stuff”, from Kristen.

Relationship stuff?

What relationship stuff?

The Ball is not his boyfriend.

Fabian laughs as he passes a mother with her two kids and she looks slightly concerned about his well being and tugs her children further down the sidewalk.

What if The Ball wants Theo to be his boyfriend?

Fabian stops in the middle of the road and stares at his phone. He doesn’t want to talk to Jawbone. Sure, Jawbone is cool and everything. But talking to Jawbone feels too much like admitting that he might have a serious problem, more so than if he maybe just talks to one of his friends.

For a split second Fabian thinks that wants to talk to Riz until he remembers that that’s not possible right now.

Because Riz doesn’t talk to him. And also Riz wouldn’t want to talk about anything related to kissing or—or—

Fabian stuffs his crystal back into his pocket and turns a corner that leads him towards Mordred Manor instead of home.

Ragh is outside in the vast garden of the manor, wearing a straw hat and some shorts and nothing else while he waters some plants.

“Hey, what’s up, bro?”, he calls over to Fabian, turns the hose and hits Fabian square in the chest with a jet of cold water. It only takes a few seconds until he’s completely drenched.

Ragh laughs loudly while he turns off the water and throws the hose down into the grass.

“You good, man?”, Ragh asks as he walks over to him. Fabian feels like on any other day he might have simply punched Ragh in the face for getting his expensive sneakers wet, but today it just seems like maybe he deserved a shower of cold water.

“Um—yeah. No. I don’t really know”, he says and his voice reminds him of the time when the whole Leviathan debacle went down. He clears his throat and wipes some water out of his face. “Do you—uh. Have some time to talk?”

“Sure, dude. Let’s find a spot with a little more shade.”

Fabian hates the feeling of water in his shoes, so he takes them off and follows Ragh through the garden and into the shade under a big maple tree.

“What’s up, dude?”, Ragh asks and throws himself down into the ground, pulls the straw hat off his head and leans against the thick trunk of the tree. Fabian sits down cross-legged and puts his sneakers to the side.

“So—uh”, he starts and then closes his mouth immediately because he hasn’t actually thought this through at all. Ragh looks at him curiously and Fabian wonders if there is a good and nonchalant way to ask the things he wants to ask. Instead of acting cool and composed how he wants to, what comes out of his mouth is:

“Do you think The Ball and Theo made out?”

There is a beat of silence in which Fabian considers just getting up and running out of the garden and into traffic. This was not what he is supposed to ask.

This is not—

“Dude”, Ragh says and he leans forward to look at Fabian. “You look like you’re about to puke, man.”

Fabian doesn’t feel great. His chest feels like someone installed iron clasps around it and is pulling his ribs tight and his stomach is doing some acrobatics that it’s absolutely not supposed to do.

Why did he ask this?

And what if Ragh says yes?

Why the fuck does it even bother him?

The Ball can kiss whoever the fuck he wants!

“I’m—sure. Fine. Yeah. It’s all—uh. Fine.”

“Yeah, dude, no offense, but like, it doesn’t look particularly fine to me. So—what you’re asking me is. If Riz and Theo got it going after that whole Truth or Dare thing?”

Fabian takes a deep breath, which seems particular hard for some reason. This is ridiculous.

He’s Fabian Aramais Seacaster. He knows how to fucking breathe.

“I—guess?”

“Hm”, Ragh says and leans back again. “Not sure if that’s my story to tell, bro. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sorry you feel like shit, but, like. Isn’t that something you should talk to Riz about?”

Fabian thinks that, if one other person tells him to talk to The Ball, he might actually commit cold blooded murder.

“Great suggestion, seeing as to how he keeps running away from me like he’s afraid I’m going to breathe fire at him any second”, he growls and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Ragh sighs and cocks his head from side to the other.

“Would it like, bother you if they actually had made out?”

Fabian wants to snort and say “No”. What comes out instead is a garbled noise as his brain is bombarded with pictures about Riz and Theo kissing.

“Woah, dude, okay”, Ragh says and he looks alarmed. “Breathe, man.”

Fabian can do that. Breathing is really easy, except that it’s not.

“Okay, dude, Imma just say it now, okay? It’s like ripping a band-aid off!”, Ragh says loudly, grips Fabian’s shoulders and stares at him very intently. “I think you’re totally into Riz.”

Fabian’s brain feels like it’s suffering from a bad case of frostbite. His thoughts turn sluggish as he tries to process what Ragh just said, but it doesn’t make any sense. Fabian is not into The Ball. He’s not in love with Riz. That is insane.

“Okay, so, hear me out, bro. Remember how I was totally in love with Dayne? And it took me like a million years to like, get that? Feels pretty similar to what’s happening with you right now, right? Because we’re like, these manly dudes and we’re supposed to be into hot girls and all that stuff, right? So it doesn’t really fit the picture, but it’s totally fine, dude. It’s all good. You can be in love with Riz.”

Fabian blinks at him. He can hear the words and he can feel the corners of his mouth turn upwards as if to try to form into a grin.

“Don’t be insane, Ragh. I’m not—That’s—“

“It bothers you when he’s with other people because you’re fucking jealous, dude. I’ve been there, okay? And it’s like this weird thing of—you’re not allowed to be jealous because that’s fucking weird, right? Because that’s like, your best bro and everything. But then you keep obsessing about him making out with other people and then it’s like, okay, but what if he kissed me and then you feel really fucking bad, right? Because you’re brain shouldn’t go there?”

For the very first time Fabian imagines what would have happened if he, instead of saying “No, that’s ridiculous”, had actually kissed The Ball.

He thinks about Riz’ sharp teeth and how he keeps chewing on his bottom lip when he’s nervous and the second Fabian’s brain arrives at Riz’ bottom lip it feels like there is a dam inside his brain breaking.

He imagines grabbing Riz and pulling him into his lap, pressing his lips against his and hearing Riz make a choked noise against his lips—

“What the actual fuck.”

Ragh lets go of his shoulders and nods.

“Yeah, dude. Intense, right?”

“But—why?”

Ragh shrugs and rubs the back of his head with one of his hands. Somehow the cold water drenching Fabian’s clothing feels like a blessing now because his skin seems to be on fire.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

“Because, dude.”

“But like—what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

“I mean. Sounds to me like you should totally kiss your Ball, bro.”

Fabian’s stomach does multiple somersaults.

“But he’s not—into that kind of stuff.”

Ragh chuckles.

“Dude, I love Riz, I really do, but I feel like now that you figured this part of the whole deal out I can just tell you, that like. Riz doesn’t want to make out with Theo or pretty much anyone, right? Which is totally fine, bro, don’t get me wrong. But also, like. I’m a hundred percent certain that he would totally kiss you, man.”

Fabian’s first response is “Of course he does, why shouldn’t he” but then his brain catches up and his skin starts to tingle.

Maybe this is why kissing Aelwyn for the second time wasn’t really working out. Maybe this is what Aelwyn meant when she said “Well, I suppose we’re not a good match after all”.

“Riz... wants to kiss me?”

Ragh nods and grins.

“Yeah, dude.”

“Okay. Well—uh. I have to go.”

“Don’t forget your shoes!”, Ragh shouts after him but Fabian doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his shoes as he takes off.

Maybe he can unpack all of this shit later. Maybe he should actually talk to Jawbone. Maybe this is going to be yet another thing that makes him different from his father and as soon as he has some time to think it through he can maybe arrive at the conclusion that that isn’t a bad thing.

At some point he stops running because he actually has no idea where Riz is. Is he still at school? At home? At his damn office? Fabian pulls out his crystal and hastily types a message to Riz.

“Where are you???? We need to kiss!”

He deletes the last word and types “talk” instead. Fabian watches with his breath held as three dots appear on his screen very shortly before they disappear again. He waits in the middle of the street, no shoes on, dripping wet. People passing him by look as though they’re concerned for his mental state but Fabian couldn’t care less.

Maybe now is not the time to be manly about his feelings if he actually wants to fucking kiss his damn best friend.

“I need to talk to my best friend”, he types.

The dots reappear immediately.

“at the office”

Fabian stuffs the crystal back into his pocket, considers calling the Hangman to drive him over there but then decides that he doesn’t want to wait for him to arrive.

The last time Fabian was in Riz’ office there was a terribly creepy doppelganger of Riz trying to kill him, but he pushes the thought to the side as he rushes into the building, dripping water everywhere as he heads up the stairs.

Fabian doesn’t think he can manage another emotional talk today because the last one left him completely drained and exhausted, but the second that he spots Riz behind his desk ripping some papers in a nervous craze his heart leaps into his throat and goes into overdrive immediately.

Fuck.

He rips open the door and Riz flinches so hard that he sends all the papers flying. Then he stares at Fabian with his huge, yellow eyes.

“Why are you wet? And where are your shoes?”, he wants to know, looking completely confused.

“Doesn’t matter”, Fabian says, rounds the desk and grabs Riz by the shoulders. “We need to talk about Saturday.”

Riz turns his face away and there is a dark green blush on his cheeks and the back of his nose. Now that Fabian knows what his damn problem is he realizes how fucking badly he actually wants to kiss Riz.

“Oh—well. Yeah. Haha, weird, right? Don’t worry about it, it was totally ridicu—“

“I should have done it”, Fabian interjects. Riz’ eyes grow impossibly wider.

“Wh—what?”

“I should have done it. Kiss you, I mean. We should have kissed.”

Who would have thought that the son of the famous Bill Seacaster would die of a heart attack at the age of eighteen while wearing no shoes and dripping wet clothes.

“Wh—why?”

“Because I—“

Fabian didn’t actually get that far in his head. He grabs Riz’ shoulders tighter and fuck, he can’t bring himself to say the words.

“Because I don’t want you to kiss anyone else”, is what he manages in the end and he watches closely as Riz’ swallows and the dark shade of green on his face grows impossibly darker still.

“Did you mean it?”, he asks quietly, his voice raspy and hoarse.

“Mean what?”

“That—in your text message. About—you know. Being best friends or whatever.”

Fabian takes a deep breath.

“Yeah.”

Riz makes a very small “Oh” sound and then, all of a sudden, Fabian stumbles backwards with his arms full of Goblin. It occurs to him that this is the first time they actually hugged.

“So—uh. Can I? Um—kiss you?”, he asks and his voice sounds like he swallowed a bunch of sand.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

It turns out that kissing someone you’re actually into is better than winning a Bloodrush game, better than dancing, better than pretty much everything he’s ever done before. Riz holds onto him as if his life depended on it and Fabian feels like he won’t let his best friend down anytime soon or he might just fall over and die.

It occurs to him that this must be Riz’ first kiss and something inside him purrs contently at the thought of that as he lets himself sink down into Riz’ chair so Riz is sitting in his lap.

“Thought you were into that Theo dude”, he mumbles against Riz’ lips.

“’m not.”

“Yeah, I get that now.”

“I’m uh—pretty much only into you. So...”

Fabian’s heart is doing a very silly little dance in his chest but all he can bring himself to say is “Yeah”. All the other words that he probably should say get stuck somewhere half the way up his throat because his heart is beating too fast.

“So... no more Truth or Dare”, Riz says sheepishly.

“No, definitely not.”

“Cool.”

Very cool indeed, Fabian thinks, as he kisses Riz again.

#fabriz #d20alphabet21 #fantasy high #fanfiction #mi writes #fabian seacaster #fabian aramais seacaster #riz gukgak #dimension 20

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch7: Eight Letters, Three Words, One Meaning

Summary: Katie and Steve’s relationship is blossoming, but they’ve still not come out to the rest of the team. Well, not yet anyway…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Bad language, spiders (yeah, okay, I need a warning for those eight legged freaks) Smut (NSFW, 18+)

A/N: More credit to my edit partner, @angrybirdcr

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 6

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

June 2013

Katie was trying to listen, she really was, but the warmth of the June sun was lulling her to sleep, despite the fact she had only gotten up two hours or so ago. She was trying to focus on the intelligence that had come out of the Department of Damage Control, that a Warehouse in Columbia was housing a load of the alien based weapons for sale on the black market.

Maybe if she just closed her eyes….

She found herself daydreaming. About her favourite thing to day dream about. Steve. It was now five weeks since they had started dating and two weeks since they had been caught by Tony. Since then they’d spent pretty much every other evening wrapped around one another post making out. Sometimes it would just be a bit of heavy kissing, sometimes there would be a little more. Like when he had lain over her on the bed, kissing her neck, lips, chest, before slipping his hands into her panties for the first time as he’d coaxed her to completion that way before she’d returned the favour, wrapping her palm around him, bringing him off.

And then yesterday had been her birthday, which had brought her one hell of a present.

Katie had been on at him for as long as she could remember for a ride on his motorbike so, amongst other presents, Steve had Clint help him research the best helmet he could get and he’d bought her one, much to her excitement. She’d squealed and then squealed some more when he had revealed they were off out for the afternoon. He’d packed an evening picnic and taken her up to Rock Creek Park where they’d eaten subs, muffins and were now laid back on the blanket, her head resting on his chest.

“Your hair smells different…nice different…” He nuzzled his nose into it.

“Oh, it’s a different shampoo…” She grinned “It was in the hamper of ridiculously expensive toiletries and make-up that Tony sent me. Or should I say Pepper, as he will have had no idea about any of that stuff…”

“Smells of cookies.”

“It has oatmeal in so you’re not far off.” She smiled, looking up at the sky.

The pair of them stayed still, his hand straying into her hair before he broke the calm silence.

“You know, when I was a kid…me and Bucky used to play a game, spotting shapes in the clouds” he said

“Tony used to do that with me.” she smiled, shifting her head so that the back of it still lay across his chest but she could see upwards “See, there’s a dog…”

“Looks more like a cow to me…” He cocked his head to one side.

“A cow?” she snorted, “Where have you ever seen a cow look like that?”

The two of them stayed like that for another hour or so, playing shapes and making conversations before the sun began to stray behind the trees. Reluctantly Katie agreed it was probably time to go home.

“I’ve had,” she undid the strap on her baby blue and silver helmet, pulling it off with a flourish as she stepped off the bike outside her apartment, “the most amazing birthday, thank you…”

She reached up and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it doll.” He said gently as she reached into her back pocket for her key card. Smiling he dropped his hand to her waist as they walked to the elevator. When the doors opened, Katie tugged on his hand gently and led him in after her. Once in her apartment, he allowed just enough time for them to remove their jackets and for Katie to hang her new helmet in pride of place on the hooks before his lips crashed onto hers, the kisses growing deeper, and he hooked his hands round the back of her thighs and easily picked her up. She giggled, wrapping her legs round his waist, her nose brushing against his as he carried her up the stairs, dropping her gently on the bed. She spread her legs making room for him so he could settle his hips in between the space they made as she wrapped her arms round his neck, his hands gently running up the side of her ribs, pulling off the t-shirt she was wearing, cupping her face in his hands. He let out a soft moan as her hands started to slide down his chest and it was clear she had intentions of using her hands, if not her mouth as well, on him again but that wouldn’t do, not on her birthday.

“Uh-uh not tonight baby girl.” He said, gently grabbing her wrists.

She frowned and looked genuinely pissed off that he was stopping her. As she pouted at him, he simply smiled “It’s your birthday, after all.” He whispered into her mouth before setting her hands down on the pillow on either side of her head before turning his attention to her chest, sucking and biting through her bra, listening to the sounds she made right by his ear. He continued his affections downwards, pressing small kisses all the way down her body until his nose was skimming along the waistband of her jeans. She let out a groan of delight as he brought his hands up to undo them and started guiding them down.

The idea of tasting her like this had been on his mind since she had first done it to him but he was utterly lost, with no idea on what to do next. He glanced up at her, swallowing slightly and instantly understanding that he needed encouragement, Katie reached down to tangle her fingers in his hair, raising her hips to help him remove the jeans and her underwear. She knew he had never done this before, but now, as she gently bent her knees to allow him access she heard him let out a soft moan of his own and watched him as he snuck one glance up at her and then set his mouth on her.

It took a while, her guiding him gently, telling him what she liked, what was working and what wasn’t but she didn’t really have to give him too much direction. What he lacked in skill he made up for with dogged determination and eventually, her breathy directions died in her throat and then she was moaning and writhing in pleasure as his mouth worked her over, one hand in his hair and the other gripping the sheets. Her sweet, salty tang on his tongue set every nerve in his body on edge and the more he tasted the more he wanted.

Katie could hear and feel him groaning with each lick and suck he gave her. He was aroused, really aroused and surprised to find the warm feeling across his stomach was getting harder to ignore the more he worked her. When he focused his attention back on her little bundle of nerves, licking at it before closing his lips around it and sucking it into his mouth she was done. Her body convulsed, her back arched and she let out a strangled cry, his name on her lips and it made him slightly smug to hear. Steve held her down gently, one strong arm over her small waist and as her hand gripped his hair harder and she groaned brokenly once more, he felt himself go, tipping over the edge and he shuddered gently as his own release washed over him. Katie pushed her hand into his hair, having become too sensitive, gently moving his mouth away from her. Taking the hint, he obliged, kissing his way back up her body, pressing his mouth onto hers.

“Good?” He asked breathlessly, staring at her, seeking confirmation despite the fact she lay completely and utterly undone beneath him.

“God, yes.” Her voice was gruff, as she kissed him, the fact that he could still clearly taste her on his tongue meant that she would be able to too, and the fact that she didn’t care made him shudder, though that also might have something to do with the mess he’d once again made in his pants like a horny schoolboy.

As they kissed she began to trail her hand back down his chest reaching for his buckle but he stopped her again, pulling away.

“I err….” he trailed off, dropping his head slightly embarrassed. But he needn’t have been. The fact that he’d gotten off on giving Katie what was, frankly, the best orgasm she could remember having made her grin and she cocked her head to one side as she eyed him, tipping his head up to look at her.

“Best birthday present ever.” She smirked, drawing a laugh from him before he kissed her again.

“Agent Stark!” Fury barked, jerking her awake. Damned, had she actually fallen asleep in briefing? Steve was perched on the edge of Fury’s desk, and Katie could tell he was fighting to keep a smirk off his face.

“Sorry Sir, didn’t get much sleep last night.” She avoided looking at Steve as she spoke, her mouth tugged upwards at the corners.

Besides her she heard Clint give a snigger which he hastily turned into a cough. Of course he knew about the pair of them. Him, Natasha and Evans being the only people on the team that did although Katie and Steve had both admitted they didn’t really know how much longer they could keep it clandestine.

“So as I was saying,” Fury shot Katie another look as Natasha played along, patting Clint harshly on the back. “Salaad Ali.” Fury pointed at the picture of the main man responsible for the arms ring we had been tracking over the middle East . “Do we know much about him?”

“He’s a sick bastard” Clint sat up, suddenly all business. “Came across him on an op in 2009. Apparently when he was active as part of the regime under Sadam Hussein he was tasked with taking out a Kurdish fighter cell that was stockpiling munitions. He was undercover for a month. Then one night he kidnaps a guard, peels off the skin from his right hand, completely, and wore it like a glove to gain access to their stores using the biometric scanners.”

“That’s about power.” Katie took a breath as she rose from her seat. “Mocking and goading the people who he’s stealing off. Look at me, not only did I infiltrate your organisation, I maimed your security guard in the process.”

Fury invited her to take the floor and she stood up and spoke confidently. “From what I’ve read he’s obviously an organised offender.” Steve had to smile, before she had trained as a sniper after Clint had discovered she had a natural eye for a shot, she had joined STRIKE as a Mission Analyst-slash- Target Profiler. And she was good at it. “He’s sophisticated in his approach, and is a meticulous planner.”

“You have to be to pull off the sort of crimes he has, these are big jobs.” Clint said. Katie nodded as she paced slightly, the way she always did when she was thinking.

“I also believe from the other things he has allegedly done, the murders, rapes…he’s a control freak, a sadist, type of person who will always want the last word in the argument so to speak. Therefore, if he knows someone is on to him, he won’t come quietly.” She stopped by Steve and looked at Fury, then round the room at the assembled team. “We should be prepared for a fight. And they’ll be fighting to kill, not wound.”

“Can’t the air force just blow the place up?” Rumlow asked as Steve adjusted his stance slightly, his hand’s dropping to the buckle on his belt as he studied the man before his attention turned to Fury.

“If it was that simple we would have already sent in an air strike.” The Director shook his head, pushing a button to show a map. Besides him, Steve felt Kate shift a little and he stole a glance at her to see she was concentrating on the screen, her chin resting on the closed fist of her left hand, elbow supported on her right arm which was crossed over the front of her body. Steve watched as her eyes flicked over the details and he turned to the screen as well, immediately spotting what the problem was.

“There’s a civilian village less than five hundred yards away.” He sighed. “That place goes up so do they.”

“Exactly.” Fury nodded.

“Not to mention those weapons are really volatile.” Katie took a deep breath. “If they have as many as we suspect, then if they go up, it’s gonna leave one hell of a hole.”

“Which is why you need take the base and clear out the weapons.” Fury nodded. “And bring Ali in, I have some questions for him before we turn him over to the Authorities.”

*****

They decided to operate under the cover of darkness, to give them the element of surprise. Once they had some form of plan- a heat scan as they hovered over the building told them how many people were in the building and once they had established that they moved in. They operated as a well-organised unit, quickly and meticulously flushing out the hostiles.

It was all going too smoothly, especially as Ali was still in the building. Capturing him was surprisingly easy, even if it was Natasha that found him. In hindsight, that should have been a warning sign they probably should have spotted. As Rumlow and Natasha were leading him away, the team already having dispatched the rest of the hostiles, Steve, Clint and Katie headed deeper into the warehouse to locate the weapons themselves when, just as they found a hidden room off the main service corridor, there was a loud clicking noise and Clint stopped dead.

“Shit.” He muttered and Katie wheeled round and he held his hand up to her. “Don’t move.”

“What…” Katie followed his gaze and swallowed when she saw his foot resting over a small metal pad on the creaking floor boards of the first floor room they were in.

“Yeah…we have a problem.” Clint sighed, looking at her then to the Captain “Should have seen that one coming.”

He’s the type of guy that will want the last laugh, so if he knows someone is on to him, he aint coming quietly

Steve scanned the floor and spotted another trigger a few feet away from Katie. Pulling her to the left away from it he looked around the room.

“What’s going on?” Rumlow asked over the coms.

“The son of a bitch has the place rigged.” Clint wiped his brow “ I’ve triggered some kind of sensor pad.”

“If he’s laying traps in here then the weapons have to be nearby…” Steve said, as Katie dropped to her hands and knees, torch shining through the dirty, well-worn floorboards.

“The device has to be under here…” she said, and she began to follow the wire across the floor, keeping her eyes peeled for more booby-traps, as Steve carefully made his way into a small room off to their right avoiding another trigger as he went. His eyes scanned the various crates of the familiar shining metal weapons and he sighed.

“Found the jackpot…”

“So have I.” Katie said, stopping crawling as the wire ended. She could just about make out the metal box, a red light flashing ominously through the gaps.

“Ok, we’re coming to you.” Rumlow spoke again

“No!” Steve hastily turned and walked back into the main room. “We don’t know how many of these he has laid around the place. Wait for my instructions.”

He glanced over at Clint who was stood, motionless, his eyes focussed on his foot.

“Barton, you okay?”

“Peachy, Cap” he said, looking up “Guess my Hawk eyes let me down”

“Happens to the best of us.” Steve looked at him as Katie stood up, pointing to her foot.

“It’s under there.”

“How big is it?” Steve asked.

“It doesn’t matter how big”. She said gently “It explodes then those weapons go up…” She trailed off.

And Clint dies no matter what, and as they wouldn’t ever leave a man behind, so did they.

"We need to start evacuating civilians.” Steve took a deep breath, “Rumlow…”

“We can start clearing the village but how many we’ll clear before-“

“Do what you can.” Steve cut him off. “Romanoff, have a chat with our prisoner, see if you can get him to talk, tell us how we turn this thing off”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.” She replied, not a trace of her usual biting sarcasm in her voice. “He’s out cold. Suddenly decided he didn’t fancy being captured after all and got a bit rough on the way up. I had to take him out.”

“Shit.” Katie muttered as Steve let out a long sigh, turning to face her as she stood, thinking something over. It wasn’t a great idea, but was the only chance they really had. So she decided to roll with it.

“Can you help me get the floor boards up?”

“Won’t that disturb the bomb?” He asked, frowning a little.

“Not if you do it here.” she moved about six foot to her left. “I can get underneath, see if I can disable it.”

Steve looked at her, then to Clint before sighing. It didn’t look like they had a choice.

“Alright.”

A minute later, Vibranium shield and steel knives had worked their magic as Katie and Steve had prised a space big enough for Katie to lower herself into, head first, torch in her mouth, phone held in front of her, on her stomach. She crawled over to the bomb and looked at it.

“It’s on a fucking timer too!” she sighed, swallowing as the timer had less than 5 minutes on it.

“How long?” Steve asked.

“Long enough…” she said, deciding not to tell them. She snapped a photo before dropping the torch to the boards beneath her so that it illuminated the dark space in front of her.

“Someone patch me through to Lawson …now.” she spoke

Less than forty seconds later Lawson’s British accent hit her ear.

“Nova.” he said.

“We have a situation.” She spoke calmly, although she was anything but. She didn’t like tight spaces at the best of times and there was a huge spider sitting to her right. And she fucking hated spiders. And she was facing a bomb, now with three minutes left on the clock. Swallowing her fear she sent the photo to Lawson’s computer, her hands shaking “Hawkeye triggered this, can we disarm it?”

A moment’s pause.

“Yeah, we can. I can talk you through this…”

Steve swallowed and looked at Clint, the man seemed surprisingly calm considering, but then he was used to staying still for long periods of time on stakeouts. He gave Steve a slight shrug and the Captain looked back to the hole Katie had shimmied into.

“You’re gonna need a knife or something sharp to cut the wires”

“Got it.” Katie wriggle to free the standard issue Swiss Army Knife which contained every single gadget known to man from her thigh pocket.

“Ok so first thing is first, you’re going to need to lift it out slightly to get to the wires ok. There should be 3…blue, white and red….but this is important Stark so listen.”

“Listening”

“The blue wire has to remain intact and in contact with the sensor under Hawkeye’s foot. So don’t cut it or pull it ok?”

“Don’t pull or cut blue, right.”

“You need to gently lift it out towards you, watching that blue wire, and turn it to the side so you can see the red and white wires…”

Taking a deep breath, with trembling hands she gently reached out and slowly, carefully turned the bomb to the side, letting out a small squeak of fear as the huge black spider moved closer.

“You okay?” Steve asked, hearing her noise.

“There’s a spider in here the size of a fucking Chihuahua.” Her voice was a slightly higher pitch than normal. Steve sighed, any other time her fear of spiders would amuse him. Not now.

“It’s gonna be more scared of you than you are of it.” He tried to placate her, but as he spoke he knew that was utter bullshit.

“ Lawson…I’ve got it…what now?”

“Cut the white wire first and then the red.”

Katie took a deep breath, her hands really where shaking now, and she took a deep breath trying to focus, ignoring the timer which was now counting down from one minute thirty. She reached out with her left to hold the white still and her right clutched the knife as she went to work. The wire was tough but in 3 cuts it was severed. She moved to do the same to the red, but on the third cut the knife slipped and slashed into the palm of her left.

She let out a yell of pain. “Shit”

“Katie?” Steve dropped to his knees, trying to see into the space but all he could see was her back.

“My hand slipped, I’m okay.” She assured him. Taking another breath she took another three slashes at the wire and eventually it gave. The light on the bomb went out and the timer stopped on twenty-five seconds.

“Boom.” She exhaled, her head dropping in relief, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Nice work Nova.” Lawson let out a breath.

Katie swallowed, “Thanks Lawson…errr boys, a little help?”

Steve moved first as she shuffled backwards and managed to get one strong arm round her waist and gently she folded herself up so that he could lift her out.

“You alright?” He asked and she nodded, breathing heavily, but he could see from the tears in her eyes she wasn’t. Before he could say anything, Clint had pulled her into a hug as Steve instructed the team to move in for extraction of the weapons.

“Thanks Nova.” Clint said as she stepped back.

Steve gently moved towards her and turned her to face him, “It’s okay, Doll, you did it.”

“Guess I did.” Katie’s breathing was still deep as the magnitude of what just happened overwhelmed her. She began to shake and Steve simply wrapped her in his large arms and she pressed her face into his Kevlar clad chest and he rest his chin on her head, looking at Clint who gave him a little jerk of the head, before he wandered out into the corridor to find the team.

Steve pulled back and gently took her hand, looking at the place her knife had gashed through the leather on her palm gloves. It looked fairly superficial, the leather having protected her in the main “That doesn’t look too deep but we’ll get the medic to look at it.”

Katie couldn’t feel it. She was numb, numb from how close that bomb had been from going up.

“Seconds…” she said, swallowing “Seconds, that’s it, we were seconds away from going up.”

“Hey…” Steve moved back slightly so he could look at his girl. “That doesn’t matter now, you stopped it. Everyone’s okay.”

The blood was pounding in her ears as she looked up at his helmet clad face, his eyes warm as they locked onto hers. She was starting to lose it, and if she didn’t find a way to ground herself she knew she was going to break down into sobs, and she didn’t want that. Not on a mission. Steve watched as she reached up to undo the clasp at the side of his chin strap and before he could say anything, although he really didn’t have anything to say, she’d pulled his helmet off. She looked at him, hair tousled, bottom half of his face slightly grubby compared to the top.

“Baby,” he said quietly but his words died as she ran her non-injured hand up the side of his jaw and then leaned up, catching his lips, hand on the back of his neck. Steve was surprised, but didn’t push her away, he never could. His arms instinctively pulled her closer as he kissed her back, everything else zoning out, until they heard footsteps and a voice which was slightly amused.

“Ok, nothing to see here.” Clint spoke. Steve instantly pulled back and looked over Katie’s head at the assembled team of STRIKE agents, Rumlow, Rollins, Evans and Nat stood at the front. Rumlow’s face was a picture and Steve, despite the fact he was kind of embarrassed about being caught snogging his girl in the middle of a mission, felt a smug sense of satisfaction.

My girl, asshole.

“Told you Rumlow.” Rollins was next to speak as Katie closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into Steve’s chest, the moment of adrenaline fuelled passion ebbed away and was replaced by a sudden worry of her effectively outing them without asking him first.

“Fuck me sideways.” Rumlow muttered “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Rumlow, you’re an idiot.” Lawson’s voice hit their ears “I aint even there and even I could see that a mile off. Mate, Fury only has one eye and I bet he could see it all the way from DC.”

Steve let out an exasperated sigh, but his arms didn’t let go of his precious charge as he issued an instruction. “Alright, wrap it up. Let’s get those weapons and move it out.”

His grip on Katie released as the team bustled into the room and he stopped to pick up both their helmets, handing Katie hers.

“I’m sorry…” she stuttered. “I didn’t mean to do that, I didn’t know they’d see.”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” He spoke gently, brushing her face with his gloved palm

“You’re not mad?”

“No.” He shook his head as she took her helmet off him with an air of surprise. “I mean they had to find out eventually, right. Maybe it isn’t exactly how I would have chosen to do it but…”

Katie snorted “Better or worse than being caught in the kitchen?”

He gave a small laugh “Undecided. Come on, let’s help them pack up those weapons and we can go home.”

******

The two of them were careful to keep a distance for the rest of the mission and trip home, a professional front was imperative to Steve and Katie was also keen to keep it that way too. She didn’t want anyone saying that either of them were impartial or unable to keep themselves objective. That said, on the flight home they took the inevitable teasing that naturally was always going to come their way when the team found out that its Captain and Sniper were together on the chin. It was all well natured though, and there were no smutty remarks beyond Evans asking Katie if she’d had her bed reinforced now she was sharing it with a super-soldier. In response, she hit him square in the face with a well-aimed granola bar, as Steve flushed at the back of the jet when he overheard. The Captain’s sharp eyes, however, clocked that one person who wasn’t joining in the joking and teasing was Rumlow. He looked like he’d been slapped in the face, and all Steve could do was hope he wasn’t going to be a complete prick going forward.

At the debrief Fury was pleased they had gotten a result and surprised the entire team by handing Steve a wad of notes and instructing them to go celebrate a job well done, but the wink he gave the Captain as he left the room before looking at Katie in that way he did, with a smirk on his face left them both in no uncertainty that he knew what had gone down.

The team hit their favoured bar, Loris. Katie and Steve sat together, Steve casually resting his arm round the back of the bench they sat on, as the drinks flowed, food arrived and Clint and Rumlow organised a pool tournament. Pool was one thing, along with art, that Steve had been pretty good at before he got the serum so after a bit of coaxing he joined in, eventually winning after thrashing Lawson in the final. Declining the money, he told Clint to use it to get the team another round of drinks, but they were drinks he had no intention of partaking in. He wanted to take his girl home because he could tell she was still a little shaken from the day’s events.

He wasn’t wrong. Whilst she had sat and eaten and drinking, she wasn’t really listening. The sight of that bomb timer in front of her eyes, and that fucking spider… she gave an involuntary shudder and looked up to see the tournament was now over and Steve was making his way to the table she was sat at, Natasha nodding to him as she headed to the bar.

He dropped onto the seat next to her, leaned forward and whispered “Wanna get out of here?”

She looked around, glancing over at the bar where Rumlow and Rollins were chatting up a group of girls. Clint and Natasha were sat a few seats down, in discussion with Lawson about something whilst Evans was leaning on the bar talking to a few of the other STRIKE team. She nodded. Steve stood up, took her hand and pulled her off the bench, the pair of them making their exit quickly and quietly, jumping into a perfectly timed free cab.

They sat in silence, his thumb skating over the back of her knuckles on the short ride home, his hand releasing hers only when he had to pay the driver. He caught up with her inside the lobby, just as the elevator door was opening and he stepped in behind her, her breath catching as he dropped his head, nose nuzzling into the side of her neck below her ear before he placed a single, soft kiss on her neck. Her arousal was obvious as she bit her bottom lip and let her eyes fall closed as his lips grazed her neck a bit higher. Then higher still until they placed a chaste kiss on her jawline, and that was all she could take.

She turned round, eyes dark with lust and lips met his gently at first before the kiss grew more urgent and she brought her hands up to his face, sliding them back to tangle her fingers into his hair. The way she did that set every one of his nerves on edge and he found himself pressing closer and moved quickly so that he had her pinned against the metal wall of the elevator. His left hand gripped her hip tight, his right winding its way into her hair giving a gentle tug as he pressed his lips against hers, causing the kiss to deepen, a small whimper escaping her mouth. The doors opened to the elevator, and the two of them stumbled out, lips locked, her hands clawing at his hair still, the pair groaning as they went.

His lips started to stray, kissing the corners of her mouth, dipping down to her jaw and neck but she always pulled his face back to hers, kissing him encouragingly, and he knew there and then that there was only one way this was going to end. Which right now was absolutely fine with him, but he needed to know it was with her too. He pulled away and looked down at her, his eyes bouncing between hers.

“You sure?” He whispered, wetting his lips slightly.

“Stevie…” she replied, her voice barely audible over her deep breathing. “Shut up and take me to bed.”

And he knew then he was a goner.

He surged forward again, spinning them both round, pinning her to the panel in the wall which hid the closed elevator doors with his body. His mouth trailed down to her neck, softly kissing, drawing a sigh from her at the sensation as he continued to skate his mouth gently across her collarbone which was exposed on one side due to the slouching top she was wearing. His hands reached down to her thighs and he effortlessly hoisted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, nuzzling into his neck before kissing across his jawline and his cheek as he carried her across the apartment and up the stairs. He was aware vaguely of two small thuds as she shucked off her boots as they went, before he reached the bedroom his lips back on hers, urgently kissing her as he carried her inside, kicking the door shut before he crossed the room and gently fell forwards, depositing them both onto the bed.

His lips claimed hers again, a moan of his own escaping into her mouth and his hands strayed to the bottom of her top. She nodded eagerly, hands going to run through his hair, before she shifted and held her arms up so that he could pull the top over her head. He tossed it to the floor as she reached for his before he pulled back, allowing her to slide it up and over his head, both of them smiling into the kiss as he settled back down on top of her, his hand running up the side of her torso.

She pulled away from him this time and he watched as her eyes followed her hands downwards before she looked back up at him as her fingers gently grazed his stomach, lingering there before moving down to his jeans. He bucked at the touch as she slowly undid his belt, taking her time as she locked her eyes onto his again, lust had turned into softness as she looked at him. He stared right back at her, her eyes reminding him of emeralds, deep green, speckled with dots of brown, the slight ring of amber surrounding her pupil reminded him of the sun. Telling him of the power she exuded over him and the warmth she brought to his life.

He was aware that his breathing had quickened and he let out a low growl before he kissed her, harder and his hands moved down to her jeans, deftly undoing the button at the front. He moved, pulling them down in one go over her legs before he stood slightly, ridding himself of his, the sensation of finally being free was a God send. Katie sat up, eyes trained on him and he swallowed thickly as she undid her bra. He took a second to take her in, he loved her tits, he’d always had a thing for a good “rack” as Bucky put it, and she was a sight to behold. All soft pink curves and rose bud nipples. He was achingly hard now, and he needed to do something about it. In a flash he was on her again, mouth hungrily covered hers as his hands trailed up her legs, to her hips, up the side of her body and then onto her breasts teasing gently. She groaned, rolling her head back on the pillow at the sensation, her hips bucking upwards.

“Fuck.” He seethed out at the feeling of her grinding up against his rock hard crotch, and he nuzzled at her neck with his nose again. She dragged her fingers up his spine as he buried his face in the side of her neck working at the pulse spot beneath her ear, the little noises of pleasure she was making were music in his ear. Her hips moved again and he decided to help her out, his hand moving down and dropping below the waistband of her panties making her gasp as his fingers worked her. She was warm, wet, and he loved the fact he had this effect on her.

Her hips began to move in time with his motions, groans falling from her lips at the sensations lancing through her body as he nipped slightly at her neck and then moved his mouth to her chest, taking her right nipple in. Her groans were growing louder now and Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to be in her, surrounded by her, feel her. His hands both shot to the side of her panties, completely forgetting his strength and he heard them tear. He dropped his forehead onto her sternum, letting out a groan at his stupidity before he heard a laugh, his head shooting up in surprise at the fact she found it funny.

“I’m sorry…” he blurted out as she continued to giggle.

“You literally just ripped my pants off”

“Guess I forgot my own strength.” he offered as explanation, looking at her, an apologetic look on his face.

“You know they were Victoria Secrets?” She quipped, looking at him. Steve had no idea what that meant, but he assumed it was some kind of expensive lingerie shop. A sudden joke popped into his head and before he could stop himself he shot it out.

“Sucks to be Victoria then.” and this made her laugh even more.

Eventually their laughter died down, and they shared another quick glance, and then her lips were back on his, still smiling as she flipped the waistband of his boxers down, and he shimmied out of them, before settling into the space in between her hips. She moved underneath him, telling him exactly what she wanted and he was so ready to oblige. He kissed her hard, his right hand tangling into her left as she reached down with her right, grasping him in her hand causing him to hiss slightly. She guided him to where she wanted him and he gently pushed into her. The feeling caused both of them to gasp and groan, Katie leaning back against the pillows as he stretched her, his girth and length filling her completely.

“God,” Steve breathed, temporarily paralysed by the way her tightness gripped him. His arms shook and he dropped down to his elbows, the hand around hers tightening as his entire body felt coiled tight like snake ready to strike.

The stillness gave Katie time to adjust to his size, but one she had she was aching for him to move, needing to feel him. She whimpered a little, her fingers digging into his lower back urging him on. “Stevie, please?”

He started moving his hips, slowly at first, building up speed as he gained more confidence, their hips rubbing together with every thrust. With every rock into her, moans of delight and pure pleasure filled his ear as his head rest in the crook of her neck, every inch of their bodies pressed as close as they could get. When she groaned his name, Stevie, the pet name that sounded so much sweeter coming from her, it was like a hot wire to his groin and he felt the tell-tale heat striking across his lower stomach he groaned again, wanting to hold out longer, wanting to get her there first. He brought his lips back to hers plunging his tongue into her mouth and she dug the tips of her nails into his back and he was completely overwhelmed by her. Not the sex, but her.

“Katie, I’m not sure how long I’m gonna…” He began to try and explain but then groaned again as she pushed up against him, his head dropping slightly as he struggled to fight it.

“Let me see you.” she said, nudging his nose with hers, her voice ragged. “Wanna see you let go baby…”

At her words he groaned and raised his head to look at her, her eyes soft and shining. He managed a few more shallow thrusts before he lost himself, stiffening and groaning as Katie watched him, his lips slightly parted as he bit his bottom lip, and then the eyes that had been locked on hers fluttered shut before he pitched forward to bury his face into her neck.

She held him running a hand through his hair as a final shudder ran down his body, the waves of pleasure finally began to subside. Her own heart was pounding with affection for her man. She didn’t particularly care that she hadn’t gotten off, nor did she care that it hadn’t lasted very long either, but he had made her feel good. He took his time, had tenderly caressed and loved every part of her, had appreciated her in a way no one else had before.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out before he could stop himself, “You didn’t even – I’m sorry.” He said again still kicking himself.

“Steve, stop. Just enjoy the moment. Please.” She whispered, kissing his temple.

Steve sighed as dropped his head to her chest, still inside her, as she ran her hand through his hair and down his neck. He stayed still for a while before he rolled off her and onto his back, pulling her with him so she could lie her head across his chest.

“It doesn’t matter you know” she spoke again, hand running through the soft smattering of dark blond and light brown hair on his chest “It was perfect because I was with you.”

“I just wish it had lasted longer.” he said, her words like a talisman in his chest as he cradled her close.

“It didn’t need to.” she looked up at him and felt her cheeks burning. She wanted to explain to him, exactly how she felt, but wasn’t sure she could find the words. She dropped her gaze from his face and he gently reached out with his spare hand.

“What is it?” HHhe asked, gently reaching out to tilt her face up to look at him.

“Just…no one’s ever made me feel like that, like this before” she said gently, her eyes shining. “You were so soft and gentle and…well I don’t think I’ve ever felt so wanted…” she trailed off, shrugging.

The band tightened across his chest slightly, how could anyone not want her? Gently he dropped a kiss to her lips.

“I like being your first.” he said, and she smiled.

They lay still for a while, his fingers gently combing through her soft hair before an idea suddenly hit him and it made him swallow nervously.

“We err…we didn’t… you know, use any…protection?” he said, stilling and Katie turned her head up to look at him.

“I got that covered, don’t worry…”

“How?” he frowned, confusion filling his features.

“Stuff has moved on since the 40s Steve.” she said, simply.

Her head returned to its spot on his chest and she gave a soft yawn. He dropped a kiss to her head and closed his eyes, pulling her closer, relishing the feel of her skin against his as their legs tangled together, the pair of them satiated and completely at peace

****

He was aware of her moving. He had his face pressed into the back of her hair, breathing in her gorgeous smell, revelling in her warmth and softness as her bare back was pressed to his chest, his arm wrapping around her, laying just under her breasts. It was all he could do not to moan as she untangled herself and he cracked an eye open, watching her bare ass and back as she made her way into the en-suite. Smiling softly through his tiredness he rolled onto his back, one hand straying to his hair as he lay still. Eventually he heard her make her way back into the room and felt the bed dip again. He could feel her eyes on him, simply watching. And it was all he could do to keep the smirk off his face.

“You get a good look?” he mumbled, shifting slightly, voice thick from sleep, eyes still closed.

“Sorry…” she said softly and he felt her finger gently tracing his jaw. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Well he was awake now, her touch igniting that desire once more. He shifted onto his side and cracked one eye open, taking in her appearance. Her long hair was cascading in slightly tangled waves round her face, and she looked absolutely stunning.

“I can think of worse things to wake up to.” he said honestly before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She responded willingly, his hand dropping to her hip before moving to her back and pulling her closer to him, the other arm snaking under her neck and angling her head to deepen the kiss. He rolled her over onto her back, one leg positioning itself between hers and he dropped his lips to her neck, nipping at that magical spot again. She let out a soft moan before she sat up slightly, pushing on his shoulders. It was just a hard enough shove to make him understand she wanted him lay on his back, and he was more than happy to let her take control this time. As she straddled him his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her face down to kiss him and as he did so she reached down between them, taking him in her hand and stroking him into full hardness which didn’t take much. He groaned but didn’t release her mouth as she adjusted position to take him in.

Slowly she slid down onto him, groaning into the kiss as she stayed pressed against him, and she began to work herself on top of him. She was quick to find a rhythm and her mouth fell open against his lips and she let out a shaky moan before sitting up fully.

This was another first for him and the sight of her on top, illuminated by the early morning sun sneaking in through her curtains was divine. He wanted to touch her, so he did, bringing her hands up to run them up her sides until his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs running over her nipples as she let out another moan. As she picked up the pace his hands went to her hips, pulling her down onto him harder, thrusting upwards to meet her for every move she made. She continued to move, quickening, her eyes never leaving his.

“Steve…”she groaned, as he tilted his hips up harder and he let out a groan himself, increasingly determined to get her there this time. As he felt himself beginning to tip over the edge, his hand moved from her hip to stroke at that spot between her legs and that did it. He felt her tense up and tighten around him, crying out loudly and unbridled as she shook. The sight of her coming undone on top of him, her cheeks flushed, lips pink, mouth open in a now silent scream, was simply incredible and quite possibly the single most exquisite thing he had ever seen. All of that, coupled with the force of her heat tightening even more made him lose himself again.

“Fuck, Doll…” the curse fell from his lips as he thrust upwards, before he spilled himself inside her again, the wave of pleasure deeper than anything he’d felt before. Katie collapsed forward onto his chest, her tremors subsided, both of them panting. He held her close, his fingers running up and down her spine as she let out a soft “hum” of contentment and he sat up, wanting to see her face to face. Still cradling her close he pushed the hair that had fallen over her face back behind her ears and she reached up, running her hands through his, causing him to close his eyes at the sensation of her nails on his scalp.

When he opened them again and looked at her something flashed in her eyes as the slight gleam of light through the curtains caught her face. She was looking at him, features soft, almost as if she was seeing him for the first time. His breath quickened slightly and he knew then that he was head over heels in love with her. No one had come close to ever making him feel like this and as he gazed at her, seeing the adoration in her eyes, he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Katie,” he said quietly, almost nervously, as he pulled her closer, his nose rubbing up against hers, “I love you.”

She didn’t hesitate to reply, she didn’t need to. If she was honest she’d loved him now way before they’d even started any of this. So without missing a single beat, she spoke in return as their noses continued their lazy dance, the words coming easily.

“I love you too, Stevie.”

Her reply lit a fire in his chest and he kissed her softly, grinning like a total idiot as she was smiling too, the kisses growing softer and shorter until she pulled away completely, her hand on his cheek, her eyelids heavy. He glanced at the clock, it was little past 6 and they could sleep in today. He had no desire to run, no desire to leave at all, so he set them both and slid a hand under her neck and pulled her to him, chest pressing into her back. He swept her hair to one side and placed a soft kiss on the back of her neck before he pulled the covers back up over them and closed his eyes.

Right there Steve would have challenged any man on the planet to prove they were happier than him.

**** O/S Phobias

Chapter 8

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #katie stark #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #chris evans #chris evans characters

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

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Hi can I request something where jaster picks up obi wan early in his apprenticeship like on bandomeer or melida/daan and just adopts him and jango and obi grow up as like childhood sweethearts? Love your work, thanks for writing! :)

(**because they get together as teens, i’ve adjusted the age difference to 2 years instead of 9 because just like. no. they’re 17 and 19 in this!

hmm also i feel the need to say the true mandalorians being chill about showing their faces is super intentional in all my works, i have so. many. headcanons about different clans, and why the covert is so careful about their helmets, and i just never seem to find the time to talk about it (๑o̴̶̷̥᷅ㅂo̴̶̷̥᷅๑) sigh someday)

“Stop smiling, you smug bastard,” Obi-Wan grouses as his would-be suitor awkwardly shuffles away under Jango’s feral grin.

Endlessly pleased with himself, Jango leans against their starfighter and watches the Chiss mechanic disappear into the crowded spaceport. “That’s three you owe me, ‘Nobi.”

Obi-Wan glares at him and snatches Jango’s buy’ce from his hands to shove it on his stupid vod’s head. “I can take care of myself, Vhett. I don’t owe you banthashit.”

“It’ll be easier when you finish your armor,” Jango adds unhelpfully, righting his helmet and strapping it on properly as if nothing had happened. “Only drunks and spice-addicts try to hit on with Mandalorians in full beskar’gam.”

“That’s very reassuring, thanks.”

“If you two are done flirting,” Bosoloc cuts in, their Arconan pilot smirking down at them from the primary cockpit, “we were supposed to meet your buir hours ago.”

Obi-Wan says, “That’s Jango’s fault,” just as Jango grumbles,

“‘Nobi’s fault.”

Bosoloc levels them both with a world-weary look that has them scrambling up the rusty ramp stairs to the secondary cockpit. Obi-Wan helps Jango over the edge and kicks away the ramp, before pulling the lever to close the blast canopy over their heads. With only minor grouching, he lets Jango tug him onto the edge of the seat between his legs, because this starfighter is absolutely not made for three pilots.

“Hands to yourself, spacer,” Obi-Wan says as he follows Bosoloc’s lead to get the ‘fighter ready for the short flight to the nearby moon where they’re to rejoin the Haat’ade and, hopefully, avoid a lecture about safety. Again.

Jango chuckles, impossibly close, and slips Obi-Wan’s own helmet onto his head. “You’re the one that got us into this mess,” he reminds him, somehow managing to fasten the strap under Obi-Wan’s chin without looking.

Bosoloc signals for takeoff, and Obi-Wan elbows Jango in the ribs, leaning over to calibrate the astronav system. Practically oozing his amusement, Jango innocently sets his hands on Obi-Wan’s hips, but doesn’t otherwise bother him until they’re out of atmo, properly refueled this time. Which had maybe sort of, yes, been Obi-Wan’s fault that they had not been when they left Concord Dawn.

Not that he would ever admit to it.

The Haat’ade camp on Aslo II is a whirlwind of activity, commandos in various states of beskar’gam running back and forth from tents to their ships, blaster cartridges exchanged faster than words as supercommandos bark orders and direct the foot traffic, and Obi-Wan lives for this.

The energy, the excitement before a battle, the way his people leak every thought into the Force until he can’t feel anything else. The way this is the closest he’ll ever come to being a knight.

Jango takes one look at his expression after dropping from the starfighter, and shakes his head. “Alright, come on, adrenaline junkie,” he snorts, grabbing Obi-Wan by the arm to tug him right into the heart of the whirlwind.

He senses Jaster before he sees him, their Mand’alor all but glittering in the Force compared to the more muted signatures of the other Haat’ade; Jaster will swear up and down that being Mand’alor has nothing to do with the Force, and Obi-Wan can’t really remember much of what he’d learned in the Temple, but he knows Jaster’s full of it. The whole camp orbits around one nondescript tent, as if pulled by a physical gravity to their leader, and what little he does remember tells him the Force is just as much a part of the Mando’ade as it is the Jedi.

“Buir!” Jango calls as he drags Obi-Wan into the tent where Jaster is standing before a dataterminal with one of the supercommandos. He looks away from the graph Obi-Wan wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of, and visibly sags in relief.

“And we thought we’d actually have to hold a funeral this time,” Ezovaq says from Jaster’s side, smiling benignly as Jango unclips his buy’ce and bounds forward to accept the hair-ruffle Jaster gives him.

But Kyr’tsad is closing in, and they don’t really have time to discuss the, arguably obscene, number of disappearances the Mand’alor’s foundlings have managed.

Obi-Wan joins them at the terminal, leaving his own helmet on. Jaster settles for knocking his knuckles on his forehead in greeting, and Ezovaq respectfully looks away; some things are not meant for anyone but clan.

“I’m glad to see you both in one piece,” Jaster sighs, turning back to the holoscreen and adding a datachip to the terminal so a map of Aslo replaces the graph. “When we did not hear from Bosoloc, we worried.”

“We needed to stop on Aslo to refuel,” Obi-Wan says on external comm, still unsure about how to speak with other commandos around. “A tropical storm had communications out until we were out of atmosphere. Sorry, Jas’alor,” he adds sheepishly, because of course Jaster knows who would have fueled the ‘fighter on Concord Dawn. Or not fueled, as it were.

Jango shoehorns himself against Obi-Wan’s side, the familiarity of the action catching Ezovaq’s gaze, but they say nothing as Jaster gives Obi-Wan a tired smile. “It is nothing, ad’ika. It is only a mistake repeated twice.”

“Bosoloc is finding another pilot,” Jango butts in, dropping an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders as easy as breathing. “She said Montross flew ‘Nobi’s and my fighter in?”

And Obi-Wan feels a swell of pride at that, that Jango is finally admitting they share custody of the rustbucket Jaster had gifted Obi-Wan for his fifteenth nameday, and at the implication that his and Jango’s repairs and advancements had been deemed worthy enough for an actual battle with Kyr’tsad. He isn’t an ace mechanic by any means, but Obi-Wan is still ridiculously proud of their S3 Y-wing – even if using it in combat puts Obi-Wan in the gunner’s chair and Jango behind the wheel.

To be fair, Jango hasn’t crashed them in over a year.

Jaster’s mouth moves as he responds, but Obi-Wan doesn’t hear it. White-hot fire races up his spine, and it feels as if all the air is sucked from the tent all at once, and Obi-Wan has only a moment to try and identify what the Force is trying to warn him of before a light flashes on the terminal and Myles’ voice cuts through the muggy air.

“Vizsla’s dropped out of hyperspace,” he reports, and Jango tightens his arm. “Contact in ten minutes, Mand’alor.”

Jaster looks to them with a parent’s resignation. “You heard the man,” he says, jerking his chin to the tent flap. “Contact in ten.”

“Mand’alor!” they return in unison, and duck from the tent to rush to the Y-wing.

Mando’a: buy’ce — beskar helmet vod — “brother, comrade, sibling”, pl. vode, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother”. used here to denote that they are both jaster’s foundlings. Vhett — original form of the Basic-transliterated surname Fett, lit. “Farmer beskar’gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy buir — “parent”, gender neutral Haat’ade —lit. “true children of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians (slang shortened to Haat'ad/e) Kyr’tsad — Death Watch, lit. “Death Society”

#two updates?#in one day?#to be fair i'm not sure of the quality #but it feels good to be writing again #jangobi #prompt #ask box is closed but will be open again soon!#fanfiction #prompt fill #haat mando'ade obi #jaster mereel #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #jango fett/obi-wan kenobi #crispy writes #ask #anon #au #i forget how to tag things

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droidrights · 3 years

Note

For your writing prompt... A scene from always red or stay the black but in Cals POV?

Ask and you shall receive! Thanks so much for the prompt, Anon! This was fun!

Sometimes Pink

This here is the scene at the end of Chapter 9 of Always Red where Cal first wakes up after the escape from Nur.

2nd person/ present tense like the rest of Always Red except Cal is “you”.

Inquisitor Cal Kestis x Jedi Reader

Words: 1918

Warnings: Description of Injury and near death

“Now you'll be what I make you.” Her voice rings in your head. Somehow over the roar of the flames, over the howling sea wind and even over the crash of thunder, you hear her claim you in a whisper.

Laid flat on your back, soaked through to your bones, you blink the raindrops from your eyes and through bleary vision you dare to take in the sight of her. Writhed in the towering flames that engulf the Fortress Inquisitorius she stands over you in victory; small strings of blue electricity blink between her flexing fingers. The memory of those fingers pressed on the side of your face, even to deliver a brain rattling Force blast, becomes something you find yourself clinging to. Those hands, you've thought, the things those hands could do.

It's the last thing you recall before things go black.

Fuzzy and indistinct, you imagine the brush of those deadly fingers over your forehead. Most certainly imagined, in a moment burst with brightness shining behind your eyelids. Blazing and uncomfortable before the comfort of the black seeps back in.

You've always hoped that when you died your spirit would scatter, made to rejoin the living Force. There would be a loss of consciousness surely, a kind of oblivion. Force users are taught to believe they live on through connectivity to the Force and they do but...not as they were. You consider that this could be death. The Black, this endless float peppered with visions of this and that. Her. Could be worse.

Later you are slowly stirred to consciousness by the astringent scent of bacta gel stinging your nostrils, and more gentle touching though less imagined this time. When your eyelids become unstuck you spy a world much different from the one you had been imagining.

In a heartbeat the comfort of the black is banished. The place that allowed you to drift carelessly and linger on your memories of thunder and lightning evaporate in an instant, replaced with an air of the urgency to live. In the here and now you are a prisoner, confirmed bu the metallic clank of durasteel cuffs at their limit. Blazing overhead lights are blinding and your instincts are the only thing you have, aside from an intense throbbing ache on the right side of your head. You have survived many times before by allowing your instincts to take control and so your rational mind takes a backseat to an animal impulse toward survival by any means necessary.

There is a muffled crack as you fold your thumb inward, making one hand more amenable to slipping its restraint. It hurts, of course it hurts but you tell yourself it doesn't.

A startled medic bounces from his seat at witnessing his patient wake so suddenly and commit violence on himself. With one free hand, you bolt upright and the twi'lek gingerly, mistakenly presses his hands on your shoulders. No touching.

“Be calm, you mustn't aggriva-!” the twi'lek's words are cut short when you raise your open fist. His breathing become raspy and short as you draw your fingers closer and closer together.

The decision to attack had been simple for you. It always is. What you hadn't known is that you had been asleep for the past four days in recovery from grievous wounds. Against his better judgment, Byt Ilan agreed to treat your injuries as best he could, despite the fact that he witnessed your role in the battle that had lead all of you to this point. Despite the fact that you had been an active member in the institution that tortured and imprisoned him, because he is good. Truly good.

Byt claws at his throat uselessly as you get to your feet. To you there is nothing, no one, other than this obstacle before you. The only sound that matters is the hiss and wheeze that escapes this twi'lek's lips.

It's not even that much pressure, honestly. To think that most living things have a soft little spot for you to squeeze and wrench the life from. It is both dazzling and intoxicating to exercise this power. Your vision tunnels and you move with the intent and purpose of a predator that has not been unconscious for days but waiting. Your trembling fingers, broken thumb included, curls into a tight fist as you move to cross the room.

In your battle fervor, you fail to release the restraint fastened to your other wrist. Your fervent pursuit of the medic causes the heavy metal gurney to overturn. Your balance is thrown immediately and the thing brings you back a ways. There is a loud and muted pop and you know right away that your arm has become dislocated from your shoulder. It's happened several times before, each instance more unpleasant than the last.

Byt's legs scramble in the air haplessly, far from the ground. He knows he's near finished when a darkness begins to creep in from the edges of his vision. Until he is suddenly dropped to the ground like a sack of grain.

Years of training within the Empire has given you the singularity of mind that allows you to pour your focus into your goals, and exactly nothing else, until they are achieved. Discomfort, pain, your very limbs are second only to your gain. In this moment nothing matters beyond dispatching the nearest jailer.

Byt uses the brief pause in your assault to scream for help, though the wracked sound produced by his broken throat is nothing like the alarm he had intended. When he cries out a second time it is for horror at watching you drag the overturned bed, dislocated arm and all, in his direction, renewing the fight.

Byt struggles to his feet in time to be hefted again into the air. When his back hits the opposite wall of the small cargo area the twi'lek loses a lungful of air he could not spare. Your pupils triple in size as victory grows nearer and your connection to the dark side spreads its wings inside you.

“Cal, no!” A voice cries out. Y/N arrives in a flurry and immediately places herself between you and your opponent. You don't see her. There is only you and Byt Ilan's final breaths.

“Cal, stop right now!” She roars again, this time with more menace.

You hear nothing, you see nothing. You are dead to the world but for the quiet symphony of blood vessels popping in the twi'lek's eyes. The hard thump of his heart against his ribs, so rapid and vital until the blessed moment of silence that will follow. Any second now.

A loud crack echoes off the walls of the hold and every nerve on your face lights up in a spark when she strikes you with the flat of her hand. You recognize the feel of that hand across your face instantly. A bright stinging throb blossoms across your cheek and the hard contact of skin on skin breaks the kill's hold over you. The things those hands can do.

Blindsided by the sensation, you loose your grip on the poor creature by unclenching your fingers. He hits the ground hard and his breath does not return immediately. The twi'lek's rosy pink cheeks and lips have turned gray

More and more of your surroundings come to light. Gathering crew and guests become shadows around this drama in the cargo hold. Someone rushes to the medic's side and slaps him hard between the shoulder blades until he gulps in a shuddering breath. Another figure moves in the space around you but goes unnoticed. Your tunnel vision has fixated on someone new.

After the dazzling white light clears your vision you still can't quite believe your eyes. You see her before you the way she looks in your memories, the way she looks in your dreams. Framed in fire, windswept, tired, bloody and gloriously furious.

“Y/N?” you whisper, confused. You blink hard and this time she is a more realistic version of herself. Still tired, still angry. Your hand stays hefted in the air, unsteady.

You don't believe what your eyes are telling you. You died and this is a sick joke, which normally you might appreciate, but for the look on her face. You would never understand the combination of emotions you see there. Your shoulder, your head, your hand, they all pulse in various octaves of pain. It's disorienting.

It's not her, it can't be. You lost and she killed you. Shaky, you lurch forward keeping your hand outstretched. You have to be sure.

There is a swift movement from the shadow behind you and in a flash there is a sting in your neck. So minor compared to the other aches, throbs and stings but you were unprepared for the suddenness of it.

A normally welcomed old companion, the blackness, creeps in again. Your heart cries out to wait, just one more second while you figure this out. While you reach out to her.

Before you hit the ground the very tip of your longest finger connects with her chin, just below her lip, before trailing its way down her chest and belly. The hem of her shirt snaps up when the crook of your finger tugs and releases it.

As your head hits the metal flooring you decide it really was Y/N. You are indeed still living and for some reason she had decided to spare you in the rain on Nur. The fool.

You've tried to tell her since Zeffo that she's yours, from the second you saw her on Bracca, whether she knew it or not. When she inched closer to you step by step, siding against the Ninth Sister she was yours. When you touched her Master's lightsaber and saw her as a frightened and defenseless padawan she was yours. Hands and feet fastened together, jammed in the back of your TIE fighter she was yours. Until you handed her over to the Empire...and she was theirs.

What you had not anticipated were all the myriad moments that led to you belonging utterly and madly to her. Starting with the hard resolve in her face when she went for your throat in your first rain-washed clash. Again when she teased you in the industrial caverns of that Zeffo mountain. Especially when she was bubbling over with wrath and vengeance even lying weak on the floor of her cell, imagining the demolition of Imperial control. You were more hers then and completely when she made good on her promise by conjuring destruction from the air like a goddess. It's like you never had a choice.

That's a lie. It's a choice you've made repeatedly. You embraced it, fought it, misinterpreted it but you never denied it. Fool that you are.

Y/N will be your undoing, she makes you weaker than anything the Empire has put you through and nothing is scarier than to know that you will lose every time.

Yes, you tried again to kill her but it's only because you are the one who does what others will not. It was your final attempt at releasing you both from this thing. Y/N is strong but not stronger than what's between the two of you. You tried to be but it turns out you aren't either.

Now you are doomed to each other. For your part at least, you commit yourself willingly to the flames.

She really should have killed you.

#always ask #always red #stay the black #jedi fallen order #calquisitor #cal valeska #writing prompt #thank you for the suggestion #star wars jfo #star wars jedi: fallen order #inquisitor cal x reader #he is a puppy #cal kestis

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obscureoperations · 3 years

Note

Ehhh,I have to admit that a slut for Michael x reader x Martin,I loved every single one you made It,so here we are again...What about a Martin x F!Reader x Michael where they are both in a relationship,sfw and nsfw If possible😩✨

Yesss! I'm glad you're a fan of this pairing as well... it's just so much fun to imagine. Martin with his residual Catholic guilt. The actual Antichrist assuring him to simply let it go. I've always felt that Michael would feel some strange protectiveness over Martin. He can see the effects that religions left him with. He wants Martin to stop feeling so afraid. Act on his desires, every single one of them. After all, humanity as a whole was already damned.

This is sort of a cluster fuck I'm sorry.

Being in a relationship with two equally gorgeous men was almost easier than you would have expected. The two were polar opposites in such a way that they balanced each other out. Martin was often moody and elusive whereas Michael was exceedingly blunt. You never had to wonder what he was thinking. You didn’t have to question his motives, or walk on eggshells in fear of saying the wrong thing. Martin on the other hand kept you on your toes. He was sensitive in a way that was nearly baffling. In tune with your moods through some strange form of telepathy. God forbid if he wanted to get his way, he could find it in him to ignore you for weeks.

They managed to get along exceedingly well, despite in the beginning it was difficult to leave them in the same room. They danced around each other like cats--well Martin did. Michael never really seemed to notice or care. After a while Martin became resigned to the fact that Michael was sticking around for good. It was a quiet sort of agreement--they finally settled on sharing your affection, under the condition that neither of them would have to sacrifice time with you. Sometimes you wondered how you managed to get so lucky-- especially when it came to Michael. But then again you had to remember, you knew him since you were kids. When he disappeared you figured you’d never see him again.

Michael was the first to come to you with intentions of getting closer to Martin. At first you thought he was extending some sort of olive branch.The boy had been acting weird and cagey for the past month-- almost as though he was actively avoiding Michael. He kept his responses short and brief when he wasn’t silently staring him down from across the room. If you didn’t know any better, the man had accidentally crossed him again-- but you knew full well that wasn't the case. You could see the careful attention Martin paid to Michael’s movements, the faint blush spread across his face. The way his eyes would linger on the other man’s hands as he carried out the most mundane tasks. Michael would ask him a question, and he’d grow increasingly flustered before finding an excuse to leave the room. The boy was so transparent, it was completely adorable. All he had to do was ask.

And then there were the dreams. Martin sometimes talked in his sleep, but managed to avoid that problem for several months. One night, luckily when Michael was away, you could clearly hear him murmuring in his sleep. You couldn’t deny the flicker of excitement as he began to press himself into the mattress. Gently rolling his hips in a way that caused the temperature in the room to increase. Faint moans stifled by the pillow-- small breathy whimpers that died in his throat. You lean in with the full intention of assisting him, that was when he began to speak. You couldn’t make out much of what he was saying, but you explicitly heard him call out for Michael. At first you thought you had misheard him but he soon began to rut himself against the bed. The volume of his moans increasing, you clearly hear his name once more.

“He’s a fighter..I like that about him.” Said Michael.

“What do you mean?”

“His intentions are written all over his face. I’m flattered.”

You had to fight to suppress your grin, with the knowledge that Michael clearly tapped into his thoughts. You didn’t blame him-- you would have as well. You often envied that ability.

“You’ll have to be careful, he's wary. ” You shrugged.

“What does that even mean?

You fix him with a warning stare.

“You know how he is. The two of you have been getting along so well.. I don’t want you to go back to hating each other.”

“I’ve never hated him.”

“You know what I mean..”

Michael begins to laugh, you can feel your irritation rising-- your promise was to Martin, not him. He was the one who decided to re enter your life, and when you were in a relationship no less. To this day you still had no idea why Martin even agreed, he was always so afraid that he might lose you. At times you worried that you had bullied him into this--left him feeling as though this was his only choice. Deep down inside, you knew that wasn’t the case, Martin knew how much you loved him.In fact, he seemed enamored with Michael the second he stepped through the door, love struck gaze dancing over his features..

“Michael..this is serious. Are you just fucking around? So you read his thoughts, and? He’s obviously attracted to you.”

Michael grew silent for a moment, a nearly unreadable expression washes over his face. He glances over towards the bookshelf, absentmindedly adjusting his rings. You knew Martin would want to kill you if he knew you had said those words aloud.

“I’m sorry.. y/n. I’m just--I’m curious. I just want to know what makes him so special? I don’t understand why I keep.. Thinking about him. Do you remember the last time that we were together?

You cross your arms over your eyes as you lay back against the sweat drenched sheets. Heartbeat hammering against your ribs as you struggle to catch the remnants of your breath. Something had clearly gotten into Martin, the boy was nearly insatiable. His actions were almost theatrical in a way as he bends you into nearly impossible positions. He knew he had an audience, Michael sat back on his knees perched at the edge of the bed. Hungrily drinking in the sight in front of him, unsure of where his eyes should land. Your long toned legs wrapped around the boy’s slender waist, delicate fingers grasp aimlessly at the sheets.

It wasn’t rare that you all shared the same room during nightly activities. In a way, it made sure that everything was fair. No one was starved from your attention, they each waited patiently for their turn. They stayed at opposite ends of the bed, gauging your reactions to see ‘who could do it better.’ You hated it, but it was the only way to keep these beautiful boys together in the same room. Still tied to the staunch rules of Catholicism, you were surprised that Martin even agreed to get undressed in front of another man. Michael made no attempt to hide the way he blatantly leered. Your boyfriend’s cheeks burned bright red as he climbed on top of you, burning his face at the crook of your neck. When he was with you, Martin felt completely absolved. He was able to ignore the weight of the man’s unwavering gaze.

He didn't wonder how it would feel to have those full lips pressed against the juncture of his thigh. He never imagined the sensation of the elegant jewels on Michael's fingers lightly brushing across his cheek.

His eyes began to roam over Martin’s back, faint muscles shifting beneath porcelain skin. A notion suddenly popped into Michael’s head which immediately caused his cheeks to burn. “No no no .. not now…” The images continued to play through his mind. Martin was beautiful, he realized that from the very beginning. He wasn’t surprised that you wanted him-- the boy was lovely in a delicate sort of way. Much to his dismay, even when they were at each other’s throats-- he felt this strange sort of protectiveness over Martin. He would watch him enter the door once he got home from work, cheeks singed pink from the late afternoon heat. He always looked so broken and overwhelmed, he often wanted to ask him what was wrong. But he never asked, he didn’t want to interfere, or risk breaking the peaceful spell that overcame the three of you.

As he continued to watch the scene unfold in front of him, He found himself inching closer. He wanted to brush the stray tendrils of hair away from Martin’s neck as his lips trace along his shoulder blade. He wanted to flip him over onto his back and finally press his lips against that ever present pout. Kiss him silent, he was always complaining. He could surely give him something to whine about. The sounds that escaped the young man’s lips caused something inside to ignite. He didn’t have to wonder what he was feeling now, he held you in the same position only nights before. Only now his attention wasn’t on you, but instead on the motion on his hips as he pistons you against the bed.

You were breathless, aimlessly grasping at the sheets as he drew another release from your core. Your cheeks burned, you could feel dampness soaking into the mattress and Martin seemed to have no intention of letting up. His hand was poised over your throat with just enough pressure to hold you still. Every now and then he would lean in, kissing you breathless as he whispers your practiced nickname against your lips. You could feel the weight of Michael’s stare-- the bed springs groan as he inches closer. You already feared the weight of the repercussions, Michael never liked to be second choice. The boy was spiraling, threatening to actually spill, still buried deeply inside you to the hilt. He quickly withdraws as his teeth dig into the flesh of your neck.

“I-I’mm so sorry.. “ he whispers against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to take care of you for a while alright?”

He swiftly ducks between your thighs, causing more beautiful noises to escape your throat. Michael’s eyes were glued to Martin, and the way the faint muscles of his back would contract. Leaning closer, gaze traveling over the faint dusting of freckles littered all across his shoulder blades. Like tiny constellations, he wanted to trace over each one of them with his tongue.

Michael allows his hand to freely roam down his chest, fingers ghost over every unhealed line and mark. Raised bits of flesh from failed rituals-- some of them summoning Martin himself.. But the majority of them were aimed towards his Father.

In a way, Martin’s attention seemed to quell some of the aching disappointment. He was no longer listening to his cries. He had failed. He no longer understood his purpose in life. Was he even actually the Antichrist?

He was acting on pure instinct now, as he allows his palms to lightly ghost over Martin’s back. Much to his surprise, Martin didn't recoil... a nearly sinful moan escapes the young man's lips. So it was true? His thumbs began to graze over every dip and curve. Each small shiver and breathy sigh left him craving more.

Martin’s lips continue to move over your heated flesh, as Michael smooths his hands over his back.

“Don’t you feel…”

The sigh beneath him causes his heart to skip a beat, he lifts his head for the briefest moment. The boy was practically shivering on top of you, head buried against the crook of your neck. He seemed to curl in on himself for a moment, beneath the weight of Michael’s words.

“Her intentions washing all over you--”

The young man gasps aloud as Michael’s fingers bite into his flesh. Lips warm and inviting, they manage to leave a lingering sting in their wake.

More well placed kisses along his spine as Martin continues to work you over.

He can clearly see Martin shake his head in disagreement as Michael’s fingers press into the indentations on his lower back. He leans in, tracing his lips along the curve of his ass, the boy practically convulses against you.

Despite himself, he was completely receptive to Michael’s every touch. Shivering against you as warm breath ghosts across his skin. Arching his back in an attempt to get closer, all the while Michael places feather soft kisses against his ear.

It was too much. All his dreams and fantasies seemed to muddle together in a gray and grainy blur. An icy blue gaze that seemed to pierce through his very flesh, in a feeble attempt to truly see him. A wolfish grin and pearly white teeth all hidden behind plush lips that he desperately longed to taste. All that was left to be aware of was the lingering sweetness on his tongue and the sensation of Michael pressing against his back. He could faintly feel strong and calloused fingers slipping around to his front. Lingering against his hip bones--biting into the smooth flesh of his stomach. He needed more.

Please touch me…

The words seemed to linger in the deepest recesses of his brain. He could never know. He could never say it aloud.

“Martin..turn around.”

#Martin 1977 #Martin/reader #martin/fem reader/Michael #this is so bad...#I'm sorry #I am obviously a bit uninspired #But.. on the plus side...there's Michael!

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constilationn · 4 years

Text

Fire and Rain || Part 8

A/N: sorry about the delay guys!! I've lost my inspiration recently but we’re back with a vengeance!

Rating: T??

Warning: bad words, sexual innuendos and a lil bit of dominant Poe

Summary: Poe takes you out for a lesson in his ship and it’s safe to say, you’re a natural

Part 7 🔥

You woke a few hours later, head pounding lightly as you forced your aching body up and sank against the pillows resting against the headboard of the bed. The low buzz of activity lay just behind the door in front of you but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to try and stand up, not when there were waves of nausea washing over you as you looked down to the plain white shirt and pants you’d been caged into. Gently, you lifted the hem of your shirt, examining the cut on your abdomen. Six hasty stitches ran from your hipbone up to the outline of your ribs and, judging by the depth and sizeof the gash, you wondered how you’d survived so long.

“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” You looked up to Poe who leant against the doorframe, arms crossed and his eyebrow slightly raised as he watched you lower your shirt. “Personally, I’m not sure how you lasted so long.”

You smiled, wincing a little as you moved. You hadn’t noticed the pain before, or the ache in your bones eveytime you moved. “I couldn’t go passing out and leaving you to fend for yourself, now could I?”

He shook his head, closing the door with a soft click and moving to sit next to you. You moved over so he could slide easily next to you, slipping his arm around your shoulders as you rested your head against him. “I’m sorry.” He murmured.

“What?” You frowned, looking up at him. “Why?”

“I should’ve taken more care of you. i didn’t even check your cut until we got back here.”

“You had other things to worry about,” you answered, taking his hand in yours. “Like getting us home?”

“I know but—“

“Poe.” You raised a finger to his lips, feeling his grin agasint your fingertip. “You took excellent care of me.” You shivered as he kissed your finger. “And I’m all better now.” It was true, there was a dull ache around your cut but nothing you could handle and, honestly, Poe made you forget all about it. “I’m all better now,” you whispered, “you patched me up out there in the stupid desert. I’m pretty sure you saved my life.”

“You’re giving me too much credit.” He laughed, “My first-aid is shit.”

“Oh? Thats why I’m sitting here, healthy and alive then?” You nudged him gently and he laughed.

“I think that’s more on you.” his fingers grazed across the exposed skin of your arm and you leaned into his touch. “You’re strong, you know. You’re a fighter.”

“Shut up.” You laughed, pushing against his side gently. Poe chuckled, pulling you back into him with soft ferocity, keeping you close to his side. You loved the way his skin felt again yours, how safe you felt in his arms. Fuck, you couldn’t figure this man out.

“I’m serious. You should come out on missions more.” You met his eyes, surprised to find no trace of a joke in his eyes. “I could teach you.”

“Teach me what?”

“Teach you how to fly.”

You gaped at him, “you mean fly a ship? Like an actual ship?”

Poe laughed, “Yeah , sweetheart, that’s usually what we fly.”

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

You looked down to your hands, down to your wound, straight down to your fee that had only stepped off of the base three times in the years that you’d been there. Just thinking about made your heart speed up, exploring the galaxy, having an unparalleled freedom that you’d never experience. And having Poe by your side through it all. You gave a slight nod. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Poe’s grin could’ve lit up a thousand different cities.

“Yeah,” you smiled, pulling away from Poe and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold on your bare feet and you shuddered, the thin white shorts and shirt doing little to give you any warmth. Tentativley, you put your weight on one foot, then the other and took you hands off the bed until you were standing up, ignoring the pain that bloomed across your stomach. “Okay, lets go.”

Poe slid an arm around your waist, both of you prentending that you didn’t need him to help you stand. “You sure, sweetheart?”

“Of course.” You shivered again and Poe waisted no time in draping his jacket around your shoulders. “I’m keeping this.” You grinned, slipping your arms in and wrapping it tightly around you.

“Sweetheart, it looks a thousand times better on you.”

You gave him an almost sarcastic grin trying to draw attention away from the blush rising steadily to your cheeks. “Aw, bless.”

🔥

“Try again.” Poe clutched the bottom of his seat, knuckels white as you gripped the joystick, narrowing your eyes at the empty landing stip in front of you. “Please be careful.” He added, giving you a cheeky smirk and trying to hide his panic.

“Listen,” you forced the joystick towards you, ignoring Poe’s wince as you slowly destroyed his ship. “I’ve got this. It’s like riding a bike.”

“It’s really not.”

You punched the button on the panel for what seemed like the millionth time, pushing your foot slowly down onto the acceleration and holding down the lever on your right until the last possible second. “Okay,” you muttered, “lets go.” You let go of the lever, pushed the acceleration all the way to the floor and the ship shot from the Hangar and across the landing strip until you pulled the joystick up and you were in the sky, cheering as you finally, finally, mastered Poe’s ship and, as gently as you could, landed back outside the Hanagr.

“You fucking beauty, baby!” Poe finally let go of his seat as the engine silenced beneath you, pulling you onto his lap as you kissed him, smiling against his lip. “You did it.” He murmured, kissing over your nose and cheeks.

“We did it.” You corrected, grinning broadly as he kissed you again. “I couldn’t have done that without you.”

“I’m sure you would’ve got there eventually.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Dameron.” You laughed, “C’mon, I almost destroyed your ship at least three times.”

Poe winced, running a hand along the panel, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

“It’s not like you can fix it.” You swatted his arm playfully as he shook his head, pressing kisses to your jaw and neck. “Maybe I can be the pilot and you can be the technician.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Bit late for that.” You giggled, slipping out of this lap and swinging your legs over the ladder to climb down.

Poe gaped at your retreating figure. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

You waited for him to join you back on the Hangar floor, pulling his jacket tighter around you to combat the draft from the Hangar door. You leaned closer, lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “I’ve already taken your cock, remember?”

You barely heard the low growl from Poe as you leant back, crossing your arms as he bit his lip in frustration. “Baby,” he warned, eyes darkening every so slightly as you grinned smugly, “don’t go starting something you can’t finish.”

You ran a teasing hand along his arm, watching as he shivered and fucking revelling in the look that he gave you. “And what if I want to?’

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” He growled, ctahcing your hand and pulling you tight agasint his side.

“I’m a dangerous girl.” You murmured, tracing his waistband with your fingertip. His eyelids fluttered closed for a fraction of a second as he tried desperately to collect himself. “Shame I can’t show you.” You pulled away, giving him a sweet smile.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He murmured as you took a step away from him, watching Poe’s chest rise and fall unevenly.

“Do you remember on the ship,” you titled your head as he ran his tongue along his teeth and laughed in frustration, “that whole thing? Yeah. You brought this on yourself I’m afraid.”

“Sweetheart,” he shook his head with an infuriated smirk, “you have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“Oh I think I do.” You gave the tip of his nose a final, teasing kiss and sauntered away, not bothering to hide the grin on your lips.

#star wars #Star Wars Fic #star wars imagine #poe dameron #poe smut #poe dameron smut #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fic #The Force Awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker #Fic #fanfic #series #fire and rain

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letarasstuff · 4 years

Text

I like it

A/N: Ok ok, this is like my first Poe Fic (and Star Wars tho) ever, so please don’t be mean to me :c Also, English isn’t my first language

Summary: After having your whole family slaughtered by the First Order, Poe takes you in. Suddenly the base gets attacked by them, when he is not there. How will he react?

Warnings: Language, mentions of death, anxiety, panic attack and bad grammar

father figure!Poe Dameron x Teen!Reader

On your homeplanet there weren't many options to make money. You are either good with mechanics and motors or you look good enough, that the greasy men like you. As one can say, you were lucky.

Your parents owned a workshop. This isn't anything unusual, given the fact there is one at every corner in the bigger cities. But yours was the best. You don't wanna sound cocky, it's just the truth.

So your mother and father taught you the inside of every thing, that has a motor. Before you were even able to form a proper sentence, you could repair any ship on the planet. Still you had a nice childhood, playing with the kids in the neighborhood, going to school and learning new stuff. You are happy to say, that your parents did a damn good job at giving you the best memories a kid can ever have.

But anything good comes to an end, so does this. You were 14 years old, when the First Order came down to your homeplanet. Even though your leaders weren't that nice people, they still refused to be in an alliance with them. Initially they wanted to stay neutral in the war, but as soon as they declined the offer, they tried to get into contact with the Resistance.

Unfortunately, they were too late. When they got their pilots on your ground, nearly everything was burnt down. They swarmed out to look after survivors. Even though they did their best, they couldn't find anyone, who has a beating heart. The sight was heartbreaking. This once living planet was now the aftermath of the First Order's wrath.

The pilots gave up eventually. Nobody agreed to it, but they didn't have many options. The last one to leave the planet was a man, who is known as the golden boy of the Resistance. Poe Dameron. Especially to him it was unacceptable to leave this planet with bare hands.

So he started a last desperate attempt and looked into one of the most destroyed buildings. He shoved a bit of rubble to the side, when he saw a leg. Hope began to rise inside of him. Quickly he put another rather big piece of rubbish to the side to expose a face. It was a young kid, their eyes are closed.

Poe rushed to their side and checked the wrist for a pulse. The sigh he let out, when he felt a light one, has to be the loudest the galaxy ever witnessed. Happy to be the messenger of good news, the pilot told his squadron about his found. All of them cheered, it was kind of a miracle for them.

Now they have to act fast. Poe picked the kid up and rushed them to his own ship. He knew, that a team of nurses would take too long to get to the both of them. So he put them on a seat and secured them with the belt. He was quick to make his way back to base. He told the ground team about the only survivor and let them prepare a team of doctors and nurses to help the kid.

Luckily the kid made it. Just a few broken ribs, a concussion and a few bruises were what they got as a punishment for their leader's decision.

You are a lucky kid.

You spent a few days unconscious in the medical wing, before you woke up to a steady beeping. To be honest, this noise really got on your nerves. So you opened your eyes to be met by blinding lights. After shutting and re-opening them you got used to it. Then you had the time to take your surroundings in. There were a some machines, that monitor your vitals. Seemed like you were still alive. But why were you here?

Out of all sudden it hit you. The First Order attacked your homeplanet. Your parents, who tried to bring you into safety. Then another missile hit the building and everything goes black. What happened to them? What about all your friends, neighbors? Where were you?

Your breath began to quicken. The beeping got faster. This added to your panic and made you more and more frantic. Your throat tightened as did your chest. Everything seemed to break over you and you don't know what to do.

Then you feel another presence. The person put their hands on your shoulders and spoke in a calm and warm voice:"Hey, hey. Breath, ok? Just take a long breath in, hold it and let it out slowly. Try to feel the way it enters your body and leaves it again. We can get through it, but you have to work with me here, buddy."

You do as the someone told you and mimicked their breathing as they showed you the exercise. Your breathing steadied again as did the beeping. Finally you were able to face them. The person, who talked you through your mini panic attack, has dark brown locks and brown eyes. There were also the shadow of a beard on his jaw.

"Better?", he asked you and gave you a glass of water. After savouring every last drop of it, you answered:"Yes, thank you..?" "Poe, Poe Dameron. The Resistance's best pilot." Well, this is an introduction only he can do.

"Then hello Mr Dameron. I'm (Y/N), the best mechanic my age you can find in the whole galaxy." Actually, you were never the person to be cocky around strangers, but with this Poe guy it felt right at an instance.

"Hello (Y/N), just call me Poe and if you want to address me by my last name, do it right. It's Commander Dameron." "Thank you for this information. Where are my parents though? Why are you here, not them? Also no offence, but it seems pretty weird to wait for a random teenager to wake up."

The first answer were a sigh. He explained the whole situation to you, even though he didn't want to be the one to bring the bad news. Your only reaction was crying. You felt so many things at once and this was your only way to let it out.

While holding your crying form, Poe promised himself to take care of you from now on. He partly did it, because he felt like it was his fault, that your family was dead. If he was there earlier, he could have saved them. But the other part was you. Even though he only knew you for a few minutes, he felt a connection. Now it's upon him to protect you.

And he does keep his promise until the very day. The both of you share a room, you and BB-8 get super good along, he helps you to make yourself a name as the best mechanic the Resistance has to offer. Hell, he even teaches you how to fly an X-Wing. To say he is impressed by the skill you already have is an understatement. But neither he nor Leia allow you to tag along missions until you old enough. This also counts for training and wearing a blaster.

One time you ask Poe which age this should be. He answers with:”It’s the same age you are allowed to kiss somebody.” It is this moment, when you realize, that you will never be old enough.

It is another rather calm day on the base, which is quite suspicious. The First Order hasn't pulled any stunts recently. Still everybody has something to do, except for the majority of pilots. There aren't many missions for them now, That's why Poe sits next to you, while you repair an astromech. "And then I saved the whole galaxy", ends the older man yet another of his heroic stories. "Again", you add with an eye roll. He nudges your shoulder with his own and exclaimes: "Well, somebody has to do it!" Laughing you tighten another screw and knock gently on the astromech's head.

"Now you are all done, buddy. But be more careful next time while playing with the others tag, ok?", you speak softly to BB-031. Happily she nods and drives off to her pilot. You turn back to Poe. "When do you have to leave?" "Not in another two hours, that means we can grab lunch together. It's just an abandoned outpost with new activities. I don't even think that this has something to do with the First Order", he reassures you.

You sigh. "I know, but still. So many things can go wrong and I don't wanna be alone again." The both of you walk towards the mess hall. The brown haired man throws an arm around your shoulder. "We are soldiers, as sad as it may sound, it's the truth. We have to keep in our mind that death is always right beside our side. But as long as you are on this base, you will never be alone. Leia is going to take care of you. Always."

You look up to him and smile, a warm and fuzzy feeling bubbling inside of you. The last time you felt like this was with your parents at home.

Before he boards his X-Wing, Poe gives you a last hug and says:"Be good for Leia, ok buddy?" "This sounds like I am four!" "Well, when I think about it, you are like a four year old!", he jokes. With a pout you punch his arm. "Good luck out there and come back in one piece or else I hunt your dead ass down!"

When the Black Squadron left the hangar, you turn back to your own work and get totally engrossed into it. It's just you, your tools and the project infront of you.

That is until a blaring alarm sounds over the speakers. Confused you look up, only to see everyone in the hangar running around like chickens in panic. People throw stuff into bags, others finish their work up hastily and the remaining just run out. And you don't have a kriffing clue what's happening.

You try to stop one of the other mechanics. But to no avail. Nobody wants to explain the situation to you. But then you see the reason for all the commotion:

Outside at the sky are countless TIE-Fighters and it won't take long until the first one reaches the ground.

You begin to scramble and run, but get pushed into a cart with tools on it. With a loud yelp you land on it and get pocked and cut by wrenches and such. Again, nobody pays attention at you. The own safety is the only present thing at the moment.

When you hear the TIE touches the ground, you get up as quickly as possible. Even though your legs hurt from the fall, you run like your life depends on it. And it does.

The hangar is deserted. No pilots, no mechanics, no one is there. Expect for you. You can hear the stormtrooper enter the building, while you dash for the gateaway. Their steps are getting closer and closer. It doesn't take long for the enemies to spot you. Sooner as you want, you have to dodge shots from behind. But this isn't your only problem.

As a kind of safety guard the gateaway closes. You run faster than you ever did before. A quick look behind you tells you, that there is a stormtrooper too close for your liking. So you reach into your utility belt and throw the first thing you can grasp at him. Turns out it's one of your favorite wrenches, but it's not the time to mourn the loss. Saving your own life is way more important right now.

When you are close enough at the gate, you throw yourself on the floor and slide under it before is closes completely. But there is no time to catch your breath. You make your way through what feels like the whole base to get to the safety ships.

When you finally reach them, there's only one left. Leia stands at the entrance, looking for someone. As soon as her eyes set on your form, she seems relieved. The General grabs you by your arm and drag you inside the ship. Once you left the base, she pulls you into a hug while scolding you: "Never ever scare me like this again, (Y/N)!"

The Black Squadron is already on the new base. The news of the attack were spread fast to them, so they were quick to react. After your ship's landing the hatch opens. You emerge out of it into a crowd of nervous, scared and clamouring people. But there is one voice shouting, that stands out.

"Where is my kid? Where are they? Has anyone seen my kid? (Y/N)?!"

It's Poe, who is looking for you. You try to make the direction out from where he shouts. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you see his dark locks. You push your way over to him and so does he, when he catches a glimpse of you. As soon as he is able to he pulls you in for a hug.

Poe strokes through your hair and makes it a mess, but you can't care less. "I was so scared, that I lost you, kiddo." "I'm fine. I'm fine", you assures him. "I don't care, let us get you to the medical wing, kid." "Ok, Dad."

"Did you just call me Dad?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, I like that. Love you, kid."

"Love you, too, Dad."

#star wars #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #father figure!poe dameron x reader #father figure! poe dameron x teen!reader #x reader #x teen!reader #poe dameron x teen!reader #fanfic #fanfiction #please be nice c:#i'm a small bean c:

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