Tumgik
#Using a tiny ball of her own as a prop
alucarddear · 6 months
Note
Position anon again, would you please write a NSFW alphabet for Alucard? Pretty please? 🥺
Alucard N S F W Alphabet*
I'm personally offended that I haven't done this for Lulu before. Anyway, rather than just spelling out his name, I'll give you the entire alphabet. Heh. This is LONG! Your thoughts and keyboard smashes are welcome. 🤭
Tumblr media
P.S. I go explicit and specific; read at your own risk. I also tried my best to keep it as gender-neutral as possible, so this is [Alucard x You]. However, I did have a little self-indulgent fun with W: wild card, the only section with an obvious she/her indication. Just so you know!
A: Aftercare (what they're like after sex)
Aftercare is not optional to this dhampir. It's a must. It doesn't matter if you had a quick romp or a long night, he'd still take the time to treat you right, especially if he'd been rather rough with you.
Forehead kisses, soft caresses, helping clean you up—you name it and he's got it covered. It's all about making sure you feel loved, appreciated, and cared for.
Alucard is not one to just up and leave or make you feel used. In fact, it's noticeable how much more he dotes on you after actually using you up good and fucking you raw into next week. 😏
B: Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and their partner’s)
Your neck. Let's not even pretend that Alucard doesn't gravitate towards it. As you ride him, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and nips and pecks at your throat. There's a part of him that wants to sink his fangs into you then and there and another that wants nothing more than to whisper sweet nothings against your skin as you throw your head back in bliss.
Alucard likes his hands—the way they're so large against yours; how perfectly your hands feel in his own. He likes his hands gripping your thighs or hips, his hand coming down to slap your ass, his hands caressing every inch of you. The way his hand closes around your wrist, encircling it completely as if it was made to do nothing but. The way he pushes you down with his hand on the small of your back as he prepares to take you from behind. Most of all, all of the things his hands can do to make you cum.
C: Cum (anything to do with cum)
Alucard's desire to spill his seed inside you is next to nothing sometimes. If you'd let him, he'd bury himself balls-deep and cum inside you each and every time.
He loves to make you cum, loves the way you sound—the hitching of your breath, your begging, the way you can barely keep yourself from shaking as he coaxes yet another orgasm out of you. He loves to praise you for it. "God, you're fucking beautiful," is something you hear often. It just never gets old.
D: Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)
Alucard loves when you allow him to bend you over whichever way he pleases. Loves how tiny and pliable you look underneath him, adjusting and propping your arms and legs as he sees fit. Just the sight of you like that, it's enough to push him over the edge.
So, you know he draws you—you are his muse after all. You've seen his sketches. But not the ones of your beautiful, naked body. Not even the tasteful pieces he draws as you sleep. Not the ones where, try as he might, he just can't replicate how utterly divine you look when he fucks you. He's a talented artist, but nothing tops the real thing.
E: Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Is he very experienced? No. Does he know what he's doing? Hell yes. His mother was a doctor and his father is a man of science. He lives in a castle full of resources. He has deep knowledge of biology—he's got the theory down pat. Sure, he fumbled a little the first few times, but he quickly learnt how you like to be pleased.
Besides, being a dhampir, Alucard is in tune with your body's responses to his ministrations. When you're intimate, he can practically feel your heart racing, dear. He knows when you're close, can tell when he's hitting it good, need I say more?
F: Favourite position (this goes without saying)
Mastery. He sits on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor to support you sitting on top of him with your legs bent on either side of him, your feet flat on the bed. This position allows you to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss. It lets you start off slow, very intimate—with you grinding against and riding him. Once you're a little tired (or he starts growing impatient), he simply grips your hips and pounds up into you until you're a screaming wreck. His grip on your hips and his feet securely planted on the floor allows him to rut into you fast. And the view? Fucking fantastic. He loves watching you come undone like this, seeing you throw your head back and expose your throat to him. Yes.
For a quick romp, you can't go wrong with doggy style. When you're in his study and you both get a little too distracted? He’ll bend you over his desk and have his way with you.
G: Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Oh, he's very serious about giving both of you a good time, alright. He might do something that makes you giggle, sure, but for the most part it's probably accidental and not his intention. Sex with Alucard can be intimate and sweet or downright animals humping in the undergrowth (👀), no in between. He's not here for the shits and giggles, darling.
H: Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
It does match. Maybe not all the time completely bare, but he keeps himself neat and tidy. Do you see his luxurious hair? He takes care of himself down there too.
I: Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Alucard loves to see you and hear you. He's considerate and goes out of his way to find what works for you. So much so he probably has ruined you for anyone else. You'll never find a more receptive lover; it’s time to accept that.
When you make sweet love, he whispers sweet nothings against your skin. He peppers kisses all over you and makes you feel like the most gorgeous being on the planet. He's not afraid to voice his thoughts out loud too, praising you and urging you on.
J: Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
You remember those naughty sketches of you? Yep. He has used them a couple times while you were away. You're in his thoughts whenever he touches himself.
K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Edging. He not-so-secretly loves it when you beg. How are you to know how much more you can take? He'll just have to show you.
When you moan his name as you grip the sheets and quake beneath him? Yeah. He loves it, especially when you can barely even make out the words for “Adrian, please, please, please.”
When you take control and ride him like your life depends on it, it does something to his brain. You on top, taking control and looking absolutely beautiful as you do so... he could cum just from the thought of it.
There is a part of him that likes the thought of cumming deep inside you and breeding you. Maybe it's that loneliness that sometimes nags at him, maybe he yearns for a family, but he can't lie this feels utterly divine.
L: Location (favourite places to do the do)
The bed is cliche, but it works and is comfortable. Your kitchen counter, desk, against the wall or a tree, table, or out at some secluded clearing by the lake... Alucard is truly not that picky, as long as you're not out in the public for other eyes to see and you’re both comfortable.
M: Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Your reactions and enthusiasm. Knowing you're into it just as much as he is.
When you sashay towards him, crooking your finger at him to beckon him closer? He's right there with you in a heartbeat.
When you wear his shirt and it swallows your smaller frame? It turns him on more than he lets on.
When you moan his name and gasp and writhe in pleasure. When you beg for him to take you harder, faster, and deeper. It just about short-circuits his brain.
N: No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Any form of bondage or restrictions to his movement. It brings up unnecessary trauma and makes him feel that he's not in control or safe. He is mostly a switch, sure, letting you take control and dominate too, but tying him up is just a no-go for him.
He won't transform into a wolf. It's practically bestiality, which he's not down for.
Somnophilia or any other act where consent can be dubious. He's just big on consent and trust, for obvious reasons.
O: Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He loves having absolute control over your pleasure, knowing it's him coaxing the sighs and moans and screams out of you. He enjoys how easily he can make you cum and drive you mad.
That said, he also loves watching you pleasure him, taking as much of his hard length as you can, especially whenever you greedily swallow his load.
P: Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
It really depends. Sex can be whatever it needs to be in the moment. While he loves nothing more than to take his time and make sweet love to you, he also loves ravaging you and leaving you utterly spent. It's satisfying either way.
The usual case is he begins slowly and sensually, but by the end of it (and sometimes without warning), he's rutting into you like his life depends on it.
Q: Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He isn't above having a quickie if that is all time permits, but he would really much rather have his way with you properly!
R: Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Given that he's a dhampir, he knows exactly how to go unseen or unnoticed. It's likely his risk assessment is much more honed. You might think you're being risky, but he is well aware of the chances of you getting caught in the act.
As for experimenting—other than his hard reservations (the ones listed in N), he is game to experiment and try different things you may be curious about as long as you both feel safe and comfortable about them.
S: Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
He's a dhampir... need I say more? The chances of you exhausting him first is little. Sorry to burst your bubble. 😆 He's got stamina for days, honey.
T: Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Alucard is not above using toys to pleasure you. But what can a toy do that he can't do better? Hah. Chances are he will attempt to learn how it pleases you and try to replicate that with his own cock, mouth, and hands.
U: Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He can be such a little tease. You know the way he banters. That snark and sass can sometimes make their way inside the bedroom too.
"What was that, darling?" he'd ask, as if his amazing sense of hearing wasn't enough to register your begging as he edges you for the nth time. "Tsk. Patience, my love..." he would even dare chide you!
Alucard also loves to glide his fangs over your skin, just enough to leave a faint mark but not enough to draw blood.
V: Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He’s not shy to let you know he’s having a good time, but he’s also not overly loud. He gasps, moans, and curses, a tight-lipped “Fuck!” slipping out once in a while.
W: Wild card (a random headcanon)
He loves to praise you. His way of talking dirty is to let you know how good you feel around him. How ethereal you are, how perfect for him, how you taste so sweet.
He encourages you as he pushes you over the limit. “Yes, yes, darling, you can take it. Cum for me,” he would say. He’d place a kiss on your open mouth as you convulse around him as he rips yet another orgasm out of you. “My sweet darling,” he would groan, wiping the sweat off your brow. “How perfect you are. Good girl.” And just like that, he’s about to do it all over again. RIP. 😫
X: X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
He’s active and it shows. He’s well built without being overly bulky. It suits him—muscular/toned yet elegant and lean.
He’s packing a just-about-above average penis, but nothing you cannot handle. The man’s over six foot, it just fits.
Y: Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Alucard is the type to yearn and pine, so set the volume level up cause he cannot get enough of you. Enough said.
Z: Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Sometimes you drift off to sleep together, but you usually fall asleep first.
He’s a night owl. He’d take you in his arms and stroke your hair as you sleep, admiring the way you glow under the moonlight, and wonder how he got so lucky to have found you. 🤍🌙
889 notes · View notes
loupy-mongoose · 4 months
Text
Warning: Contains potentially heavy and uncomfortable subject matter.
PREVIOUS NEXT (DEATH WARNING)
ARC START | CHRONO
~~~~~~
Lavender crashed out through the floorboards and outermost wall of the mansion, following after the larger Mewtwo. Blinking against the sudden brightness of the full sunlight, she spotted him lying stunned in the mansion's overgrown backyard. He hastily shuffled onto his hands and knees.
Suddenly, Lavender's ears rotated back, catching creaks and crashing. Her eyes widened, and she spun around in horror; the mansion was collapsing.
MOM, DAD!
Before she could rush in, however, the two Mews appeared in a zap of light.
Seeing with a sigh of relief that they had escaped the mansion's collapse, she turned back to her target.
Nico was hovering now, giving a sad look to the three Lindens. He met Lavender's furious eyes, and returned with a look of sorrow and regret--a look that caused a sudden twinge in Lav's mind.
Then, he turned and dashed off.
Lavender's blood boiled
You're gonna hurt my dad and run??
She sped after him.
All the while, she ignored a tiny nagging feeling in the back of her mind as hot tears streamed from eyes...
~~~~~
Without warning, Randy transformed into his human form.
He laid in the yard, trembling, wide-eyed and gasping. Akoya nuzzled up into his neck, speaking gently to him and purring.
At first he didn't seem to notice her. But gradually, his breathing steadied, and he lifted a shuddering hand to seek out Akoya's warm pelt.
For a bit, they laid together as Randy slowly managed to calm down.
I don't want him to come back, Akoya...
She looked at him, her purr faltering.
Is that selfish of me?
Akoya laid her cheek on his.
...If it's selfish of you, it's selfish of me...
Randy went on as if he didn't hear her.
C-can he even come back?
...Was he ever gone...?
The blue Mew flicked her tail, uncertain what to think or do. M...Maybe we should try to get back to Fuji...
Randy placed his hands on his head and shook his head desperately. I can't transform... I can't risk losing Randy...
Akoya licked his cheek in understanding. Her ears went back as an unpleasant idea struck. I can try to teleport us there myself... O-Or to a closer Pokemon Center... It would be hard, but... I think I could do it...
Randy didn't respond immediately.
...
Where's Lav?
~~~~~~
Nicodemus flew over the ocean north of Cinnabar, keeping close to the island. His cloak flapped behind him.
As she rushed to catch up to Nico, Lavender readied another swirling sphere of energy. The gap between them closed, and he glanced back at her just as she launched the spere.
He braced for the impact, wobbling slightly in his flight with a grunt before steadying.
Gritting her teeth, she psychically "grabbed" a portion of the ocean in front of the fleeing 'two and launched it upward. Nico swerved just in time to avoid it, careening toward Cinnabar's shoreline.
Lav roared and launched another sphere at him, this one smaller and slightly looser as her anger grew, hijacking her control.
This time the force caught him off guard, sending him rolling and finally sprawling onto the island's shore. Groaning and gasping, he propped himself up on his arms.
Lavender halted and held her position over the ocean water, her teeth bared and face streaked with tears. Her breath was sharp and ragged, and her eyes wild.
Why aren't you fighting back?!
Nico looked up at her, meeting her eyes. His own still showed no signs of anger, but a deep despair.
You want me to?
Lav glared down at him. Her gaze turned downward as she prepped a Shadow Ball.
AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!
She launched it down into her own reflection.
Then, she hovered there, motionless. She was wracked with gasping sobs. Her attack bubbled back, splashing her with ocean water, but she didn't notice.
Suddenly, a voice spoke in her mind.
Lavender
She snapped to attention.
A hasty explanation was mentally run by her as she attempted to control her breathing and emotions.
She met Nico's eyes, now realizing what the nagging feeling had been...
Guilt and shame flooded through her. Fresh tears stung her eyes, and she sobbed again.
...I'm sorry, Nico... It wasn't your fault...
Then, she flew off.
It was mine...
~~~~~~
Lavender arrived to find her dad lying in the grass in human form. She felt her blood freeze, but had to remind herself that she could still feel him, and he was breathing. He was still with them.
At least...
She hoped it was him...
Dad...?
He looked up at her as she came into his field of view. He looked exhausted, his eyes shadowed by the feelings he silently grappled with. She was happy to see relief in them, but her heart broke all over again at the agony he seemed desperate to conceal.
His voice was hoarse and shaky. Lav, a-are you okay?
Lav struggled to control her own voice. I-I'm fine, Dad... H-he didn't... a-attack me at all...
She kept part of her thought to herself.
I wish he would have...
She took a sudden sharp breath, trying to distract herself. There were higher priorities now. S-so what are we doing? Dad can't transform, so how do we get back? It's half the region away, or more!
Akoya had a serious look on her face. I'll get us there. I have to. Whatever it takes.
She closed her eyes and sighed. It was clear she wasn't certain about her ability to get them from here all the way to Lavender Town...
She began focusing. Alright, brace yourselves... Unlike the instantaneous teleportations they'd done in the past, Lav could feel her mother attempting to build up the power to accomplish this mission.
Maybe I can somehow share my power...
Feeling desperate to help, she began to focus her own energy toward the blue Mew. Akoya jolted very slightly, the only hint that she felt any change.
Then, after a moment...
They were gone...
~~~~~~
PREVIOUS NEXT (DEATH WARNING)
ARC START | CHRONO
I'm sorry.
This should've been a comic. This part deserves to be to be a comic, and someday I would like to come back and draw it. But right now, I just can't bring myself to, and I didn't want to let that stop progress.
I don't want to disappoint people, but... I dunno. I still have a slim hope of hitting my goal, and I don't want to get hung up and ruin that chance. I want to move on...
Anyway, I hope the read was enjoyable enough. And on the bright side, I've started work on the next part, so there's that at least! :)
355 notes · View notes
katsukiizmoon · 11 months
Text
╰┈➤ ꒰🍓💌🥛 ┊boba time ┊ Hana ꒱
Having a baby & Everything that comes with that. Katsuki loves you, adult diaper and all. unedited as always.
Your daughter comes out with a head full of curls. No doubt from somewhere in your gene pool. She’s tiny, with chubby cheeks and her fathers eyes.
Her little feet kick and squirm, fists balled, as she cries. Katsuki stands beside you with soft eyes and a clenched jaw, fingers slowly making their way to the pair of you. He’s hesitant but you take your time looking at him with awe-struck eyes. You see his chest shake and give him a slow kiss to the lips, whispering “we’re okay, it’s okay baby” and he breathes in deep.
Katsuki steadies himself after that, speaking to nurses about every little thing they do, and he orders you food.
She lays against your chest, hic’ng here and there as the nurses prepare you to deliver the placenta. She’s been cleaned, swaddled and is learning to breast feed. A challenge, but one you’re willing to take on.
When you hand her to Katsuki, he shakes. His voice quivers and he blinks rapidly.
“Hey little one, shhh..” he soothes, finger coming to touch the tip of her nose.
She smacks her lips together and returns sleeping.
Delivering the placenta is not fun, in any capacity. You grip Katsuki with hell fire in your eyes and he murmurs encouragement. The baby lays against his chest, finding comfort in the warmth of her fathers love.
-
Katsuki has known love. He has been well acquainted with hate, jealousy, envy, discouragement, joy, pride- and the list goes on. But never in his life has he felt so terrified.
You sway in the kitchen, humming, with your little one. She giggles at a face you make and you turn towards him with a wide grin.
Passing through the room, your fingers wrap under the babies arms, one hand coming to support the back of her neck. Your face nuzzles to her own and you give her to him.
“Hana~ baby girl, what are you giggling about ?” He teases smile settling on his cheeks.
She giggles again in response, mouth open, and he bounces her. She yawns, tiny hands coming to rub at her face. Beautiful tiny red blink slowly, taking in her fathers image. With one swift movement, he props her on his peck and forearm, kissing her forehead. She’s slowly falling asleep, ready for her umpteenth nap.
Katsuki walks through the beautiful living room and to the kitchen to assist. You turn on your heel and give him a kiss on the cheek.
“I knew you’d be a good dad, fuckin’ natural.” You comment, one last kiss on the lips.
You adjust the uncomfortable pump against your boob, grateful it can be used without holding it much. But fuck, no one told you it would hurt. Turning back to your task- throwing in seasonings into the pot, you smile.
Katsuki’s free hand comes down to smack your ass, gripping the flesh. He feels the padding of the adult diaper you’re wearing and makes no comment, still satisfied.
Your face heats and you scowl until you notice it had no effect on him. The consequences of labor are still causing major changes to your day to day. Your cooking isn’t the same, relying on premade food you’d stored in your freezer for this.
Sex isn’t possible, with stitches from tearing. Not to mention how horribly bad it hurts to pee. You have to use a peri bottle every time you go to the bathroom.
At first it was embarrassing, seeing katsuki’s face when you explained that yes you’ll need stool softener and adult diapers. But a lot of that faded when he’d come home one night with a haul.
For Katsuki, it was a no brainer. You were the love of his life and he would love you in every life after. Terrifying, he thinks.
He thinks the him in the past would have scowled, making angry comments about how stupid it was to need those things. He probably would have made fun of you, just a little bit.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Something about the way your eyes flicked to the side, as if worried he wouldn’t love you anymore. It made his chest ache, sink , to the deep ocean floors.
He’d stayed up that night, while you laid on his chest. He scrolled through every article, guide, how to, and YouTube video he could find. In the morning his mother woke to a couple texts requesting details.
There was nothing more beautiful than the relief on your face when he walked in. His arms hurt from carrying all of the bags, plastic digging into them and cutting off circulation for a moment.
You had opened them that day and kissed him so hard he thought you’d knock the breath out of him.
Pads, liners, adult diapers, aloe, cooling spray, perri bottles, heating pads- it was all there. He even took the time to find post partum specific vitamins.
After that, your embarrassment hardly made a peep. Even when he’d felt the padding of it beneath your night gown.
“Gimme a kiss, sexy” He rumbles, bringing your lips to his.
The two of you take your time, drowning in one another. Something about him calling you sexy, despite you looking like a train wreck, makes you want to jump his bones.
Your baby has other plans, however.
Little Hana wakes with a fit, screaming to the top of her lungs. The two of you stare at her for a moment and he flinches at first.
“She’s hungry, I think, go to the couch baby I’ll finish the rest.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
The baby is placed in your arms after a quick “shh” and some bounces. The blonde, tall and thick, stretches his back and presses the “bake” option on the stove top.
Your heart soars. As soon as you aren’t confined to peri bottles and adult diapers, you’re going to fuck him until he can’t go anymore.
501 notes · View notes
andypantsx3 · 1 year
Text
Deceiving the Duke | 6 | Todoroki Shouto
Tumblr media
pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader
length: 3.1k of 30k words | 6th of 9 chapters
summary: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.
tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut
Tumblr media
Over the course of the ensuing weeks, your certainty only grew worse: you were developing feelings for Lord Shouto.
You sent another letter to Camie, ashamed to tell her that not only had you continued the scheme against her express wishes, but now you were falling for the worst person possible. She wrote back, heartbroken to hear it, demanding once more you put a stop to things before they went too far.
But you couldn’t help yourself. You would never again get time with Lord Shouto–you wanted to revel in it as long as you could.
You reassured yourself that he meant to marry the princess–a rumor that was only growing stronger as the season crept onwards with no hint of a proposal to anyone from his corner–and he meant only to use you as a deterrent to the other scheming misses and matchmaking mothers crowding the parlors and assembly rooms of Musutafu.
You hoped that once your own scheme was uncovered he wouldn’t hold it against you–would understand that you’d liked spending the time with him, but had never desired to trap him in any sort of romantic understanding.
Lord Shouto made things so much more difficult for you by continuing to be so horribly good. He was kind and attentive, and so unexpectedly funny, you couldn’t help but fall harder.
He sought you out many times a week, taking you for several more promenades, insisting on a dance at every ball, and even took you riding in the park. He even let you take the reins when you’d reached an emptier stretch of road where no one might see you driving, showing you how to steer his set of bays and smiling that gentle smile when you got the hang of it and urged them to go faster.
He called several times more, bringing another bouquet of flowers for you–tiny bright jonquils tangled with orange winter cherries, and hedged with short-trimmed ferns–that you managed to squirrel away into your tiny bedroom without the Utsushimis seeing.
He was on your mind so constantly that you found yourself ducking into the haberdashery on an afternoon Miss Uraraka and Lady Asui had invited you out. An idea seized you as you had looked into the window, and you found yourself drawn over to the small selection of handkerchiefs for sale.
You didn’t have much in the way of spending money, sending most of it back to your family, but you had just enough to buy a linen square bordered in a dark blue. Miss Ochako and Lady Asui watched you almost too knowingly as you did.
You worked late into the night that evening, tucked up in your bed with embroidery thread and a book you’d ferreted out of the late Mr. Utsushimi’s study propped open in your lap–a Greek primer, with a tiny section on Ancient Greek. You found that their phonetic system did not align quite so neatly with yours, but you made do, stitching the closest approximation of Lord Shouto’s name in the Greek alphabet–how it might be spelled had he found himself there.
You hoped he would find it fun, and not too silly–-and that he would understand that you had liked him enough to think of him, even when your deception was uncovered.
Giving to him was another matter, however, as you found yourself too shy and girlish on the several occasions you saw him next. It stayed tucked away in your reticule, burning at your wrist.
You finally resolved to give it to him at a dinner party at Lady Cathleen’s, where you might hopefully be able to flee to the other end of the table and not speak to him for the rest of the night. Caroline had informed you that tables were set according to rank, meaning the Utsushimi family would find themselves at the foot of the table, with Lord Shouto all the way at the head.
In preparation, you donned the most secure of Camie’s gowns—which was not saying much—but you felt better for the more protective, higher neckline, the muted blue of its color which would draw little attention your way, for it almost bordered on the drab palette of married women or spinsters. You knew Camie had chosen it for the contrast it would draw to her largest, sparkliest choker of paste jewels, which you carefully ignored in favor of her smallest pendant.
You would be as well hidden as you could manage, at the other end of the table, and with any luck Lady Cathleen would dress her table with elaborately tall candlesticks and floral displays you might duck behind.
In fact, once you thought of it, you were almost certain you could hide Lord Shouto’s gift at the table itself, that you might not have to confront him in person with the full force of both your stupidity and your regard for him. You wouldn’t even need to witness his expression upon its receipt.
It was with that thought that you stuck to the edges of the drawing room as guests crowded into Lady Cathleen’s estate, drawing as little notice as you could. You requested the restroom as soon as you were able, instead sneaking off towards the dining room to scout out Lord Shouto’s place.
Except—as you scanned the head of the table–his place card was nowhere to be found. You knew he was coming–Mrs. Utsushimi hadn’t shut up about it, and besides that, Lord Shouto had told you as much himself. Brow furrowing, you wandered around the table.
A little shocked thrill went through you to see his name next to Camie’s, towards the opposite end of the table he should have been. Camie’s name also had managed to come unmoored from the Utsushimi block that occupied the end of the table, several seats away from Caroline and Mrs Utsushimi.
You wondered at the specificity of the mistake, and then a thought occurred to you.
Well–if there had been a mistake, it only made sense to use it to your advantage.
You quickly tucked your gift under Lord Shouto’s place card, very carefully that it might only be seen once he’d moved it. And then you took your own place card away and carried it down the table to Caroline’s spot. You’d just managed to replace hers with yours when a low voice carried across the room.
“I suppose I should be less surprised to find you in another deserted room.”
You froze, arm still outstretched over Caroline’s seat, your eyes darting up to the entryway. Lord Shouto stood there, looking as preternaturally handsome as ever. The candlelight glinted off the white of his hair, burnishing it gold, and the shadows danced in the hollows of his cheeks, the divot under his full mouth. He was dressed in a dark gray dinner jacket, a cravat tied immaculately at his throat.
He took a step into the room, a white eyebrow raised.
“Lord Shouto,” you said hoarsely, quickly whipping Caroline’s card behind your back. Perhaps he hadn’t seen what you’d been up to. “I—it’s not what it looks like.”
“Then you are not rearranging Lady Cathleen’s seating placards?” he asked in his smooth baritone. He continued into the room, circling the table to you.
A hunted feeling crept over you. “I–it’s funny it should look that way…but I, um…”
Lord Shouto drew closer, leaning in, and a gloved hand touched the place card in your fingers, tugging it gently from your grasp. He glanced down at it, a tiny smile touching his mouth. “You’d not been about to seat Miss Caroline next to me, had you?”
His gaze darted over to the middle of the table where his placard sat, like he’d already known there’d been some mistake with his placement.
Hot embarrassment burned its way through your veins, and you snatched Caroline’s place marking out of his hand. “As a matter of fact, the only empty spot is next to you,” you said, attempting to make your way around him to put it down.
“And that would not be because you had already moved another place card, would it?” Lord Shouto asked mildly, stepping in front of you so that you almost headbutted his chest. You backpedaled wildly, almost tripping over the hem of your gown.
“I—what proof have you?” you demanded, trying your best to sound as though you hadn’t just done exactly that.
Lord Shouto’s smile widened, a rare sight, and it sent a lick of heat right down your spine. You clutched a chair, aware of how stupid it was that a smile was about to send you into a swoon.
Those long fingers reached out and pulled Caroline’s place card from your grip again, and Lord Shouto produced your own, switching your places once more. “The proof that I asked Lady Cathleen to seat me here, with you,” he said simply.
A horde of butterflies exploded in your chest again, and your face went hot.
How could he say things like that so easily? An ask like that was a clear declaration of his favor–something you very much did not deserve, all things considered.
“Your Grace,” you said, in protest.
Lord Shouto’s smile flashed white in the candlelight, a clever half-moon. “It was you who doubted I might reign in my presumption by the end of the season. You should be pleased to find yourself proven right.”
Pleased didn’t quite cover the breadth of emotion you were feeling–embarrassment, guilt, and pleasure all warred with one another in your chest.
“Really, I was doing you a favor,” you insisted, gesturing at Caroline’s place setting. “She is a great conversationalist, and very pleasing to look at.”
“As you have said perhaps hundreds of times,” Lord Shouto acknowledged. “It is just as well I can look at her from across a table.”
You frowned up at him. “I am beginning to think you do not mean to find a wife, as you’d hinted.”
Lord Shouto bent his head so he could lean closer, and your hip bumped the table as you stepped back, nervous with his sudden proximity.
“Then you did take my meaning that day,” he said, his voice low.
Your skin prickled at the layer of intent in his tone.
“And I am only trying to help you now,” you told him. “You’ll get very little mileage out of me as your dining companion, considering I cannot wed.”
“Cannot,” Lord Shouto murmured, as if turning the word over in his mouth.
“Caroline can, however,” you continued as though you hadn’t heard him. “And I understand she is a very desirable match. She’s acquired several admirers, you know, and you won’t want to dally. There is a Mr. Awase who is very keen.”
“You say it as though you are not a desirable match,” Lord Shouto said.
His words were like a thunderbolt, striking through you. The very idea of you as a desirable match!
You laughed, but Lord Shouto’s face did not change, and he pressed even closer, close enough that you found yourself trapped against the table. Lightning zinged in your veins as you registered the heat of him over you, your blood singing with the thrill of a man so close.
“You do not believe so?” he asked. He was close enough that you could feel the exhalation of his words on your mouth.
Your head swam with the ridiculousness of the question, and the press of him so close. You scrounged around for an appropriate ripost, but then Lord Shouto’s face drew even nearer.
Your breath seized in your chest, and you stared silently up at him, heart racing.
Outside, a loud laugh sounded, startling you, and you jumped, almost smacking your forehead into Lord Shouto’s nose.
He dodged neatly, smiling ruefully and stepping away. But there was a light in his eyes like he was strangely satisfied–as though he’d confirmed something.
“We should go, lest we are discovered here, and your reputation compromised,” he said. “You should take your leave first.”
You could tell he meant to prevent you from switching the place settings again once he was gone, and you squinted at him suspiciously. He looked far too pleased with himself, and his smile seemed to grow a fraction wider. It was your observation that his eyes slivered into little crescents when he truly smiled that finally sent you stumbling out of the dining room, your heartbeat tripping over itself.
You found your absence had gone unnoticed when you arrived back in the drawing room, though Lord Shouto’s entrance was intently noted by every single set of female eyes. Several fans came out, flapping back immaculately coiffed curls, and Lord Shouto’s face went politely blank.
You stifled a laugh at his expense.
Eventually you were let into the dining room and you found yourself at Lord Shouto’s side once more. Lady Cathleen’s eyes flickered interestedly over you and tried not to look too strange or suspicious under her attentions.
You were pointedly studying the table linens with avid interest when you felt Lord Shouto stiffen beside you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him draw the handkerchief out from under his place card, and you found you couldn’t lift our eyes to his face, too anxious of his reaction. You adopted a sudden fascination with the centerpiece to your opposite side–until a gloved hand touched yours in your lap.
You startled, almost knocking over your water glass, fingers reflexively seizing on the hand that had touched you.
You glanced up at Lord Shouto as his own fingers tightened on yours, and found him smiling that tiny, private smile of his. His gaze was almost molten in the candlelight.
“I see rearranging the place settings was not your only objective,” he said. There was a touch of pleasure in his voice, so rich and low. The sound made your blood fizz like a bottle of champagne had just been poured down your veins.
His hand shifted, his wrist resting on your thigh, and your breathing went shallow at the feeling of a man’s hand where it had never been before.
“I–you might think it’s silly—” you groped for something to say.
“I can think of no gift I have ever liked more,” he said.
The praise flooded through you in a warm wave of pleasure, and your ears went hot. “I…should like if you would think of me fondly, after this season,” you said.
Lord Shouto’s brows creased, and that full mouth pursed a little in thought. You tried very hard not to think of kissing it.
“You say that as if you do not plan we should ever see each other again,” he said carefully.
A hot stab of panic lanced through you when you realized you’d almost hinted at the dissolution of your scheme. You searched for some response.
“I–there is only one objective to the season,” you said. “After a match is made, I’ll have no reason to return to Musutafu, unless my husband’s estate is at a close enough remove.”
“I thought you did not mean to marry?” Lord Shouto asked. You almost jumped again when a server reached between the two of you to serve the first course–a pale soup swimming with carrots and rice.
Fuck, that was right. You had said you’d not meant to make a match. “Do not worry, Lord Shouto. You are safe from any attempts on your virtue.”
But Lord Shouto did not look at all reassured by this. “Then you do wish to marry?” he asked.
You did not see a way around answering truthfully. “I–well, yes, eventually,” you admitted. You had at least had hopes at one point, before meeting Lord Shouto, before understanding that no other man might ever measure up. Gentry though he might be, you’d never felt as light-headed, as happy, as surprisingly comfortable in another person’s presence.
You had not meant to feel quite like this about him.
“One day, I should like to,” you said, trying not to sound morose. One day, a long time from now, perhaps you would have enough distance that you might once again find the prospect of another man palatable.
Lord Shouto’s gloved thumb smoothed over your knuckles, and you realized you’d still been gripping his hand. You reluctantly let go, but he seemed to feel no need to move his hand.
“One day and the end of this season sound rather distant from one another,” Lord Shouto said.
You stared into your soup to avoid having to look at him, guilt settling heavily in your stomach. “It is complicated,” you said. “All there is to know, my lord, is that I plan this should be my last season in Musutafu. And that I should like you to think of me fondly, as I shall think of you. For all that you seem to insist on dwelling in darkened rooms, you have been a bright spot in this season.”
You pointedly studied the silverware, wanting to start in on your soup to halt conversation, but found that you could not remember how Caroline had instructed you to dine. Was it outward in, or inward out?
Your hand hesitated over the silverware, and Lord Shouto’s finally rose from your lap to press gently to the outward-most spoon.
“It’s this one,” he said, leaning in. “Outward in.”
That smile was back on his mouth, and it felt both private and conspiratorial, somehow. Like you shared a secret, though the only secret you had, really, was the one that he absolutely could not have known.
“Of course…” you said primly, like you’d just momentarily forgotten. But your heart warmed a little with his assistance and you couldn’t help the smile that wormed its way across your face in answer. “Thank you.”
Lord Shouto’s eyes seemed to linger on your mouth for a long moment, before he murmured, “Anything I may give you.”
And for a minute, it sounded like he meant more than just help with the spoon. Like he was offering something much larger, much more secret.
But of course that was nonsense. You waved him off, answering in turn. “You are kinder than you know, Lord Shouto. I will remember that too, always.”
You started in on your soup, feeling Lord Shouto’s eyes lingering on you still.
But for the rest of the evening, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just had a conversation with him whose parameters you did not truly fathom.
That Lord Shouto knew something he couldn’t.
But it wouldn’t matter, with the season so close so its end. You would just have to last a few more weeks.
359 notes · View notes
waitingonavision · 9 months
Text
Encanto Ficlet: Ladino Lullaby
For @wdtajn Week 4: Song! I had so much fun with these challenges. Thank you for running the event, and on a more personal note for helping me get back into writing!! 💚💚💚 Jewish Madrigals and pudgy Bruno ahoy 😌 To be posted on AO3!
Content warning: references to a major character's death (of old age, which should be a hint as to who it is) and the sadness that comes with it. Otherwise, the story is pure fluff.
...
The rocking chair in the nursery is a bit on the creaky side, though the sound is more soothing than anything else. Bruno’s set the chair in a gentle rhythm, halting at intervals with the balls of his feet pressed against the floor. In his arms, baby Mateo, Dolores and Mariano’s second-born, has begun to gum one tiny fist. He’s regarding his gran tío through long lashes; deep brown eyes rove over the man’s face.
“You hungry, kid?” Bruno asks as he watches his bissobrino continue to root. “Didn’t you just eat?”
Then, with a chuckle, he adds, “Or maybe you’re taking after your chubby ol’ gran tío, who’s always hungry, eh.” He dances his fingertips over Mateo’s fat little tummy.
Despite his easy tone, Bruno feels relieved when the baby releases his mitt, and even more so when he doesn’t show any signs of becoming fussy. The whole point of taking Mateo this time was to give Dolores a moment of rest. Of course she’d drop everything to tend to her son’s needs, but Bruno would rather not need to bother her. (“He seems alright,” he says aloud for her to hear.)
“Pbh,” Mateo grunts, brow wrinkling slightly as he stretches his drool-soaked hand toward his tío.
No visions are required to know what’s coming. Wiping away most of the goo with a well-timed burp cloth and slowing the rocking chair, Bruno tilts his head and lets his nose be captured. From there he maneuvers Mateo into a ‘standing’ position, maintaining support under the armpits and using his own plump tummy as a prop for those teeny feet.
“Ey, you! Respect the pancita,” he laughs when he gets frog-kicked in the belly. At no point has the burbling baby relented his grasp (with both hands, now) on his nose. But Bruno’s used to that. As an infant, Dolores showed the same fascination with his prominent snoot—all the sobrinos did: bopping it, studying it, and even, in Isa’s case, trying to suckle on it.
Eventually (and luckily), Mateo’s fingers start to slip from their hold. The yawn that soon follows makes his gran tío smile and give a small nod.
“I like the way you think, Maty.”
Cradling Mateo once more, Bruno reaches his free arm around to adjust the pillow sandwiched between his back and the chair. The years of odd sleeping postures have really been catching up to him. Resettled, he gazes down at his bissobrino, who appears as alert as ever.
“A-oh no, s-sorry!” He nestles the baby higher, and rocks more determinedly. “Let’s get you comfy again and ready for your nap time.”
For a second he wonders if offering his nose might help, but then he notices the burp cloth is still draped over his knee. Its hue, like that of a bright wine, sets in mind a different thought, a different idea.
Slowly, in the softest of tones, Bruno begins a nigun: “Lai da dai, da lai lai lai…”
As far as he knows, this particular wordless melody doesn’t fit the old Ladino lullaby that he remembers from his childhood. But it probably doesn’t matter. Surely, Mateo won’t judge either—not the mismatched tunes, or the off-key singing.
“…lai da dai,” Bruno warbles. “A la nana y a la buba…”
     Abuela’s lullaby
The baby blinks up at him as he does a refrain, voice hitching over part of the verse: “Da lai lai lai, a la nana y a buba…” 
“Se durma la criatura…” he continues.
     The child sleeps
At this line, he brushes a knuckle across Mateo’s pudgy cheek. Then, from the direction of the courtyard comes a cluster of muted but discernible sounds: a delighted giggle, a wet ploosh, and a baritone whoa—what can only be Mateo’s sister Felicidad practicing her watery Gift with their papá.
The mild commotion has Bruno suppressing a chuckle. But he quickly recovers and returns his attention to the lullaby and his bissobrino, whose increasingly sleep-heavy limbs had twitched in surprise at the noises.
Clearing his throat, he picks up where he left off, with the last pair of lines.
“El Dio grande que los guadre, los guadre…”
     May the great G-d protect, protect
Just like a blessing, a comfortable hush descends upon the nursery. It seems that Felicidad and Mariano decided to move beyond the courtyard (and that perhaps Casita intervened by pushing them along).
“…A los niños de los males.”
     All children from sorrows
Bruno lets the final word trail off before humming the nigun again. He can see that Mateo is truly drifting off now, the very image of innocent repose.
For the next few minutes, the loudest things in the room are the rocking chair and Bruno’s low humming. His eyes finally drift from Mateo’s sleeping form to the burp cloth. …A purplish-red, like his mamá’s color. The lullaby was something she would to sing to her trillizos, and to each nieto when they were babies. It turned out to be a Jewish song—in Ladino, a Judeo-Spanish language, which none of them can really speak but which had nonetheless been passed down through the generations of Abuela’s family.
Abuela Alma herself had known Mateo for only a short time. She was unable to lull him to sleep with the same song, vocal cords too weak toward the end of her life. As Bruno looks at the cloth, the memory of his mamá’s voice floods his senses. He hopes he’s done the lullaby justice in her place.
Tears wetting his eyes, Bruno turns back to the baby tucked sweetly in his arms. Fast asleep, still. He knows that Dolores and Mariano had wanted to follow Sephardic custom and named their son after Abuela, giving him a Hebrew name that honored hers, which was Nehama.
“Dulces sueños, Mattityahu Nahum,” Bruno whispers with a damp smile. This kid will be linked to the past in so many ways, but… he'll have a path all his own, he thinks. It's a promise. The urge to nap washes over him then, and he yawns, melting into the chair.
. . .
Fast asleep is how Dolores finds them. She nudges Bruno first, informing him quietly, “Wake up, Tío. I heard your stomach growling.”
...
Note: the reference to Isabela trying to suckle on Bruno's nose comes from this Tumblr thread (thanks for the HC, @sketchncanto and @princesa-pens-and-pizza 😁)
The Ladino lullaby is called "A La Nana." I first learned about it from The Ladino Song Project.
37 notes · View notes
beetoo · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Hormones + Howls ☾ :: the moon
[2485 Words] | WATTPAD | AO3 | [next chapter]
❝ Good mourning, Enid. ❞
After the attack on Nevermore, everyone was in shambles. The principal was gone, Thornhill plotted to kill everyone, and Enid almost lost a 'friend'. Bianca and the other Nightshades ordered everyone to go back to their dorms and rest for the night so they could situate what exactly is going on in the morning.
The girls, Wednesday and Enid find themselves in their room, calling their parents about everything, but tonight's misfortunes haven't ended.
"You know if you actually cared about my well-being, your first question should have been 'Are you okay?' and not 'Have you wolfed out yet?'" Enid huffs at her laptop. This felt like it was Wednesday's cue to move her meeting with her parents to the outside terrace. She didn't want to get stuck in between Enid and her mom's scuffle, knowing how it always ends. She wanted to get her affairs in order before being Enid's therapist for the night, unpacking all that trauma. Not that Wednesday was any good with feelings and words, but ever since Parents’ Day, Wednesday had no choice but  to be Enid’s teddy bear and tissues any time her mother came in contact with her.
And Wednesday isn't all that great with feelings but she does love hearing about people's suffering. Thing would say this is Wednesday's way of comforting the other girl but Wednesday would promise to kill, stab, and murder any of these notions–were they to come up.
Stepping out into the brash, March winter winds, Wednesday sat against the window and propped the crystal ball on her lap. She rang her parents a couple of times until they picked up, Gomez screaming in the background. "My daughter! My little wreaking havoc! How was it? Are you okay? We heard from Thing what happened—" Morticia cuts him off. "My wretched daughter, please. How are things there?"
The girl in black spoke in detail about everything she had gone through leading up to this moment. Sparing every detail on the mysteries encountered, mistakes made, and even a fellow friend’s death. Morticia procured too much interest in that topic, noting for another time to reveal that Larissa Weem’s body was never found.
The girl pursed her lips, reminiscing on the principal's care. Had that woman believed me in the first place, things would have been much easier for both of us. Perhaps that was Wednesday's way of desensitizing any woes she spared over that woman's life. "But Principal Weems is no longer around to put the school in order so the Nightshades took over."
Morticia's face darkened, sitting beside her husband who comforted her with a warm hand and a loving gaze. Gomez speaks up, "Wednesday, your mom and I are worried about you. Do you want us to come to get you? Do you need anything? More knives? A couple of bottles of cyanide? You know how I feel about showing up to a sword fight with no weapons." Morticia spared a tiny chuckle, reminiscing on their youthful memories.
"Father, the trouble has been well taken care of. I would however appreciate a new pair of boots. These… Are dirty." Wednesday muttered, looking at her bloodied shoes with chunks of the unknown matter still stuck, smiling to herself in pride over solving this ridiculous case. But there was a part of Wednesday that didn't feel at peace with the outcome. I feel like there is more to it. This ended way too easily. Things just... Don't connect.
"We'll bring lots when we come to pick you up for spring break! As a gift for my beautiful oleander and bringing pride to the Addams family. You give me so much joy in mourning." Gomez says, as he looks to his wife, asking for approval to leave their beloved daughter at Nevermore for just one more week. With Morticia's nod, the woman utters her own farewell, and the crystal ball clicks off, leaving Wednesday alone with the full moon.
In crude timing, Wednesday's peace and quiet was disrupted by a dreadful cry, for some reason it felt more abhorrent knowing whose voice it sourced from.
"Fuck off! Don't bother picking me up if all you care about is that!" Enid screeched, as she slammed her laptop shut—followed by another curse word, realizing her newly awakened strength might have broken her laptop.
As Wednesday was climbing back into their room through her window, Enid plops herself into bed, screaming nonsense into her pillow. Wednesday looms over her with an amused but impatient face. If only I could smother her now. Some peace and quiet for a change would be nice.
"Enid, we must rest so your body can recuperate from turning tonight," Wednesday says monotonously, folding her arms. "If you keep crying like that you'll develop more wrinkles than an expiring dead body."
Enid throws an innocent pillow at Wednesday, which the tired girl in black dodges.
"Enid, please. We've both had a long day, you need to rest."
"I preferred if you just told me to shut up, Wednesday."
"Well, I've been told my bluntness can be quite hurtful."
"Since when did you care about people's feelings?"
Wednesday was taken aback by the other girl's hostility. Usually, it's the other way around. "I only care about yours." Wednesday quietly says, truthfully.
Enid sits up, looking at Wednesday with shock in her eyes but tears rolling down her cheek. "Don't say that right now Addams I'm too hormonal and sad for this shit." She yells, while burring herself back into her sheets and crying even more.
With a discourteous grunt, Wednesday gave in with a more emotional tactic to get the werewolf to stay quiet for the rest of the night. She wasn't up for staying up all night listening to sad dog whimpers when tomorrow was sure to be a busier day.
Wednesday sits onto Enid's colorful bed, right beside the other girl's torso. She pulls her hand and rests it on Enid's shoulder, gently urging, "Do you want to talk about it?" Wednesday felt the other girl tense beneath her touch.
For the first time this semester, Wednesday Addams is initiating skin-to-skin contact with Enid Sinclair—and she hated it. This felt unfamiliar to her, having someone ask for her thoughts on things. It was always 'do this' or 'be more like...' and spending your whole life as if you never belonged to your own pack made this moment even more horrifying—let alone it's Wednesday Addams being concerned. Of all people.
This moment would have been romantic had there not been hormones and howls plaguing the air between Enid and Wednesday. Enid’s ear twitches, feeling the bodily urge to join her people to do the same.
And Enid didn't take into consideration the key changes that occur after turning for the first time; which honestly made 'Wolfing-Out' a nightmare to female werewolves. The werewolf groans. I don't know how I feel about this. She felt a familiar itch covering every inch of her skin as her heartbeat raced to match that of a werewolf’s. The first turn should always be endured alone. If not, whoever gets to witness a female werewolf’s howl will be eaten up along with every memory of it.
In human anatomy, people with a uterus usually experience a menstrual cycle due to their bodily need to ‘reproduce’. If the body isn’t holding a child, the walls of the uterus shed, causing bleeding, cramping, and horrific pain for 3-7 days. But for werewolves, depending on their bloodline whether it be alpha, beta, or omega, their first turn prepares them for their innate need. In the werewolf caste system, alphas are the hunters and leaders of the pack. Their first wolf-outs tend to be the most violent due to their inherent nature as alphas.
Enid’s bloodline is of alphas, which is why wolfing-out is such a big deal to her infuriating mother.
"I need to go." Enid shoots up from bed meeting Wednesday eye to eye, first looking at Wednesday's lackluster eyes which were uncharacteristically not as dead as they usually look, then down to her full lips. Enid panics even more. "Crap. I really need to go."
What makes it even worse is that if she’s around someone she really likes… It makes the hormones worse.
The girl in the pink coat scurries out through the window with her heart right in her throat, not listening to Wednesday's pleads of curiosity about the situation. Without looking back Enid did what she was always taught to do when this time finally came. Ironically by her obsessed mother—which Enid couldn't help but resent for finally having to use the information that's been drilled into her mind since her status as a 'late bloomer' became apparent.
Past the Nevermore property was the woods. Enid sped through the timber and with a pass by another big oak, Enid found herself in werewolf form. She kept running, past the bee keeper's hut, past the docks, until she reached the end of Nevermore's estate—determined by a wrought iron fence, garnished with white stone bases.
Enid laid on the cold, leaf-ridden forest floor and howled into the night sky, then blacking out and letting her inner wolf rise to her consciousness.
Wednesday who had followed her down, rolled her eyes, thinking how the dope was so stupid for doing that. Way to tell me where you're located, you fool.
The girl in black found herself running after Enid, following the howls between the wolf and the moon. Like a cry for help. Music to my ears. Wednesday pushed deeper into the woods, stopping her sprint once she saw the campus edge. Coming to a halt, she waited for another howl.
Standing in the middle of the woods, Wednesday was armed to take on any animal or danger that seemingly hates their own lives enough to even think about harming Wednesday Addams. But one thing she was not prepared for was a werewolf's first heat.
The winds blew into the trees as they whispered a warning into Wednesday's ears. For someone so high maintenance, she sure picked the worst spot to get away from me. Another howl mingled with the wind's songs, leading Wednesday straight to Enid. The girl ripped out of her clothes from turning—besides her pink coat, once. She was shivering, but asleep. 
And surrounded by dead carcasses of nearby small animals, as if she drew a safety line in their blood.
Wednesday scoffs away a blush, trying to respectfully work her way around the genocide before her to cover Enid’s exposed body.  Taking her coat off and setting it on Enid, she right beside her and leaned against the wall. Wednesday rests her head on Enid's shoulder, resting for a bit. Between her own recovering heaves and the sound of the forest sweeping the leaves about, nothing came close to how loud Wednesday's mind was.
Why did I run after her? It's not like I care—Naturally, she would be safe. I mean, it's in her very nature to do this during her first turn. Why did I feel the need to come here in the first place?
Wednesday found herself inching closer to Enid and shuffling her body for a more comfortable position.
It's your fault. I don't understand why you were so mad when I brought you with me to check out the Gates' house or why you were so adamant about making me your friend when I've warned you so many times that I do not fancy company. Yet you foolishly risked your life for me. I don't get you, or your dull-witted life choices.
Wednesday realizes her thoughts were contradictory and hummed a pleasant sigh. Your stupid rubbed off on me since I'm out here against my own better judgment. God, you're insufferable, Enid.
"You're so much more tolerable when you're not speaking and making loud noises." Wednesday huffs. "But yet, you make me hate the silence."
Picking up the other girl's hand and intertwining their fingers together, she continued. "Why would you risk your life for me? Why do people let me hurt them..."
Wednesday looks up into the night sky, reminiscing on the events leading up to this morning. "Today I realized that I was a terrible friend. It's just, I have warned the path I'd chosen would be a lonesome one. I was prepared for that. I just wasn't prepared to deal with how much that choice would hurt the people around me."
"Then again, I don't really care for people around me much anyways." Wednesday hums, turning to Enid to examine her. "Yet you are different." She whispers while tucking Enid's loose hair behind her ear. "So different from me..." She trails off, taking a deep inhale of the forest's musk mixed with Enid's perfume.
"My hands are never warm, yet yours are. Very much. And your touch makes me nervous, in the same way, my heart drops when I'm about to die. I look forward to it. I would never admit to it but your hugs are comforting the way coffins and dark spaces are for me." Wednesday was starting to feel ridiculous admitting this all out loud, but she felt so confident her conversation was simply between the moon and her. "And how your presence is the loudest thing in the room even if you're sleeping, I've come to prefer it over the grating sounds of people screaming in horror or the crackles of incinerators burning bodies."
Wednesday cringes. God this probably sounds like a confession. "It's crazy how you've managed to change small things about me in due time. I've been more content with myself—yet you somehow manage to make me feel guilty for being a ruthless, unfeeling bastard."
"I thought I would find peace knowing you'd be safe for the night and I could sleep finally in peace," Wednesday continues, "but why does my heart feel so heavy about leaving you? Why do I feel so many things when it's about you? I hate it."
Enid was resting her eyes when Wednesday sat beside her. She was plotting a plan to figure out a way to flee from Wednesday's grasp until Wednesday started talking. Relaxing her body she let the girl speak her mind, not knowing Wednesday would say the things she said. Enid waited until the girl finished, and sleepily curled closer into Wednesday to keep the warmth.
Wednesday realizes Enid might not have been sleeping and feels embarrassed for the first time in her life. I would not at all mind if she turned into a werewolf and mauled me in my sleep. This is beyond shameful.
The girl in black didn't know what to do. Enid managed a way to get on Wednesday's lap, snaking her arms around Wednesday's waist and laying her head onto Wednesday's chest. Wednesday was frozen into position, panicked by a large amount of skin-to-skin contact escalating in a matter of seconds--Realizing the only thing between their skin were Wednesday's clothes. Swallowing her heart back into place, Wednesday grabs Enid's coat to lay over her bare back.
The two slept in each other's arms, enveloped by the forest musk, Enid’s fruity perfume, and the welcoming scent of fresh blood. To Wednesday, though she would never admit to it, this was pure bliss. That is, until some uninvited visitors finally answered Enid's confusing midnight texts.
Coupled with the sound of a familiar voice and snickers trailing it, Wednesday awoke to the sound of cameras flickering and the words, "Yoko, you better take a picture for blackmail."
[next chapter]
46 notes · View notes
neqeyam · 1 year
Text
excerpt from a neteyam fix it fic i was writing that i’ll probably never finish:
Someone was stroking his hair. Neteyam found himself leaning into the touch, knowing exactly who it was. The way she methodically carded her fingers through his braids, careful not to tug on them too hard. The tiny bit of nail that itched his scalp just right. Neteyam would know his mothers skillful hands anywhere.
As he turned into the touch, he became acutely aware of the steady thump of a heartbeat that was not his own in his ear. He realized then he must’ve been propped up against his mothers chest, as she would do when he was a child and had nightmares.
He turned further into her, breathing in the comforting scent of his mother. He tried to move his hands only to find that they were full. One was held up, squished against something soft, no doubt Tuk’s cheek. The other was held low, sandwiched between two more hands. Kiri no doubt.
He made a noise of contentment as he opened his eyes. Above him, his mother, father and siblings were gathered, each touching him in some way or another.
“Mom?” Neteyam’s voice was raspy and weak, he needed water. His mothers eyes burst open, she moved to grip his cheeks. She stared at him, her eyes searching his.
“My son!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him and wailing. He wrapped his around her, doing his best not to fall victim to the tears he so desperately wanted to shed. Behind him, Tuk squeaked and threw herself on him as well. He couldn’t see who all else hugged him, but he figure it was all of them.
After a while, and a cough from Neteyam, they released him one by one. His mother whispered many thanks to Eywa, for returning him to her. Neteyam looked around, his father wore a soft smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. Lo’ak stared at him, his eyes wide in disbelief. Neteyam opened his arms, inviting his younger brother in, a more personal hug than the first.
Lo’ak was in Neteyam’s arms in a second, burying his face in his shoulder, repeating apologies over and over again. Neteyam finally let the tears fall, he’d missed them so much. He hadn’t realized how much guilt he harbored over leaving them.
But he was back, and he planned on staying.
“Lo’ak,” he began. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. I’m not mad, I was never mad. I would do it again and again and again if it meant you were safe,” he said, low enough that only Lo’ak could hear him.
Lo’ak’s cries turned to sniffles, but he refused to let go.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I should’ve never gone back. We should’ve left Spider and saved ourselves when we had the chance,” Lo’ak said in between sobs. Neteyam was taken aback, leave Spider? Who is this kid and what has he done with Lo’ak?
“What do you mean?” Neteyam asked. He pushed Lo’ak lightly, urging him to sit up and talk to him. Lo’ak didn’t budge.
“Spider is a dirty traitor!” Tuk declared.
Neteyam looked to his father, who dropped his head.
“Spider saved Quaritch after the fight… so the fighting continues. We’ve honestly reached a stalemate but he won’t let up,” his father said, looking anywhere but him.
Neteyam felt many emotions bubble in his gut, but most of all was anger. How dare Spider hurt his siblings in such a way! He’d sacrificed himself, and it was all for nothing because he saved Quaritch?! He’d pay for this.
Neteyam felt his jaw clench and his hands ball into fists.
“Don’t worry son,” his father said, resting a hand on his own. “You don’t have to fight.”
“I will,” Neteyam declared without any hesitation.
Lo’ak’s grip on him tightened. “NO! Don’t Neteyam, please we already lost you once,” he begged.
“I’ll be okay lil bro,” Neteyam assured. “I’ve got the power of Eywa on my side.”
“Eywa has forsaken us,” Kiri stated, her ears drooping.
“You know just as well as I do that that statement is a lie, Kiri. She’s doing everything she can,” Neteyam argued.
“She’s hiding! I felt her when I pulled you out, she’s afraid of the Sky People.”
“We all are,” Neteyam said, his voice barely above a whisper. “They have better weapons than us, better armor… it’s a miracle we’ve even survived this long.”
“Neteyam!” His mother scolded.
He went silent and the family sat together, comfortable in the sounds of nature around them. Lo’ak eventually climbed out of Neteyam’s arms, sitting off to the side, hugging his legs to his chest. Tuk replaced Lo’ak, hugging Neteyam around the middle and began updating him on the things that had happened since his death.
Neteyam found out it’d been three years since he died, meaning he should’ve been 18 now. Lo’ak and the Metkayina chiefs daughter, Tsireya had officially started dating. Tuk was now 11 and had began the rite of Iknimaya. Neteyam couldn’t be more proud.
After what felt like an eternity of sitting and listening to Tuk ramble on about what had happened she finally climbed off of him and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him up.
Neteyam stood with the help of his father. He tested his legs, they held his weight just fine. He looked to his father, realizing he was now looking him in the eyes.
“You’re taller,” his dad noted.
“No fair! Eywa gave you an age correct body!” Lo’ak whined. Neteyam figured Lo’ak was hoping to be taller so he could tease him.
“It seems she did.” Neteyam looked at himself in the reflection of a nearby stream. His shoulders were broader, arms toned and legs more muscular. His face looked more mature and his eyes were wiser. He smiled, even his fangs were more pronounced.
16 notes · View notes
baby-grayson · 2 years
Text
Summary: Sleepy saturday morning with Will and Dove (single dadbur)
Dove’s tiny cheeks were painted red and swollen with sleep as she burrowed further into her father’s side. Nex to his large stature, she was a small ball topped with a mess of brown curls. Will snored lightly, fast asleep on a Saturday morning with his baby girl. 
Dove had her own room: complete with a child sized wrought iron bed, paintings of bunnies decorating the walls, and a fluffy, green teddy bear larger than her propped up against the corner. Despite all of her amenities and toys, Dove slept in the crock of Will’s arm every night. Since she could remember, bedtime meant curling up with Papa, asking for stories, and then falling asleep before his second sentence. 
Internally, Will knew his little angel would have to graduate to her own bed one day. But today she was small, precious, and fit between his shoulder and his elbow. Seeing her little pursed lips as her head nodded to the side, he would kiss the top of her head every night and whisper, “I love you, my sweet girl.” 
A dynamic duo, their morning routine was a beloved practiced ritual. Will woke up first, groaning lightly and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Using his free arm, he would reach across for his glasses on the nightstand. Looking down at Dove, he would hold her tiny, curled form closer to his chest and plant small, feathery kisses on her forehead. When she started to stir, he would careful tuck her into the covers and wait to hear her deep breaths before silently climbing out of the bed. 
Yawning, Will ran a hand through his hair and made his way to the kitchen. He prepared a pot of coffee and filled a glittery, yellow sippy cup with juice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he returned to the bedroom. 
Dove smacked her tiny pink mouth, rubbing her eyes with small balled fists. “Daddy? Mornin...” her voice low as WIll climbed into the bed with her. 
Instinctively, she crawled into Will’s lap. He took a sip from the coffee cup and placed it on his nightstand. WIll handed her the sippy cup, Dove did not wait a second before laying back and sucking down as much orange juice as she could. 
Will clicked on the television to play cartoons and took another sip of coffee. Patting her head delicately, he tried to make sense of the little girl’s mess of curls.  Dove’s lips released from the cup with a loud popping sound. She looked up at her father, unaware of the bird’s nest of hair on her head. With hopeful eyes she asked, “S’school today?”
“Not today love,” Will smiled, “It’s Saturday”
“Oh,” Dove’s mouth curled in a miniature pensive moment. “What’s today?” 
“Today I have rehearsal,” Will shared, “So you know what that means”
“Uncle Tommy!” Dove jumped to her feet on the bed, Will dodged to avoid her head colliding with his chin. 
“Yes,” he laughed, “Uncle Tommy.” 
Dove grinned, “Dovie Tommy Time!” 
26 notes · View notes
rcdiostcrs · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media
no one stopped me. so now here’s wyoming heidi white y rivera aka saw dust.
one of the lost boys.
looks ~fifteen.
madison reyes fc.
why is her lost boy name “saw dust?” that’s a weird name. well, she made a bunch of props from the dust from their swords’ carving.
all those videos of people using saw dust, ramen, & super glue to fix their sinks? that’s wyoming.
yes, her parents did name her after the state. she’s just as confused about it as you are. were they high? maybe. it was the 70s after all. & they did meet at a rave.
she’s not even from wyoming. she was born & raised in florida.
has two last names, following the puerto rican tradition (which in turn, follows the spanish tradition) of giving a child the father’s first last name & the mother’s first last name.
(source, if you want to read a bit more about this phenomena.)
when she writes her name, she signs it “wyoming rivera.” so don’t worry if you can’t remember the whole thing, she certainly doesn’t expect you to. it is a mouthful.
left for the lost boys in 1986, at fifteen.
as expected from a child of the 70s & 80s, wyoming is all about bright colors & glitter. even on neverland, she made an effort to have sparkle in her wardrobe.
and now in auradon, she can buy glitter eyeshadow or sequined tops or tiny stars to stick to her skin or colored eye liner. half of the time, her clothes don’t match each other or her makeup. be prepared for a headache from all the glam when she walks down the halls.
has an african grey parrot as a pet. its name is “minim.” as it came with wyoming to neverland, it was in age-stasis for quite a while. minim will live much longer than the 50-60 years pet parrots usually get thanks to this fact.
spends way too much time trying to keep fairy godmother from taking minim away. fg regrets letting the lost boys become students since they all give her a massive headache. this bird is the biggest headache of all the lost kids.
since she’s a product of the 70s & 80s who wasn’t around as the world was advancing, you can bet that wyoming falls hook, line, & sinker for phone & emails scams. it’s like watching your grandparents talk to the lady on the phone about their car’s extended warranty.
such a naive kid.
one of the “older sibling” lost kids (much like my other lost boy oc, rowan) since she joined up later than most. they others follow her lead & look to her for guidance.
even if she has a pirate’s pet.
even though she never got to participate, she is in love w/ roller derby. she’s got her own skates & everything. she will take full advantage of any long & flat surface to slap on her skates.
they are a neon pink monstrosity w/ mismatched laces & dulled wheels from all of the use.
begged fairy godmother to put her in shop class where she could continue to make random junk out of saw dust she scooped up from the floor.
her second favorite class is “history of woodsmen & pirates” w/ tinkerbell!
kind of upset she can’t room with the rest of the lost boys. they’re either too young or too male. however, this does mean she gets to decorate her room however she wants. neon lights? check. a disco ball? check. led light strips? check.
adults will describe her rambunctious. peers will call her sweet. it’s all about perspective.
since coming to auradon & resigning herself to growing up slowly but surely, she doesn’t use the name saw dust as often. really, only the other lost kids use it. every time she hears it, she gets nostalgia pings.
2 notes · View notes
Text
Volume 2 Is done! Man this Is the one with my second favorite opening <3 It's just so epic it pumps my blood!
Anyways, thoughts with no order whatsoever!
Emmerald is another of those characters I love to see the progression of. We must protect. Emmerald baby you're insuferable and you deserve the world<3
Burning the candle is the moment <3 that was when we knew. It was also the moment Yang was cemented as my fave and she never stopped being it, props to Barbara for that classroom scene, it holds a special place in my heart.
As a side note, I can't think about Burning the Candle without remembering Explosivesky's Hollywood AU <3 that fanfic is on another level. Even during my angry-about-Penny era, I would read it from time to time because it's that awesome fg
Glynda and Ironwood's talk is one of my favorite scenes in the volume. Honestly, I miss Glynda, Glynda is a badass.
Cardin bullying Velvet makes so little sense after meeting CFVY lmao! Like, you expect me to believe Coco, Yatsuhashi and Fox didn't beat those idiots to a pulp just for existing around her?! How?! How are they alive?!!!
Also while we're on the CFVY note... Coco please step on me, please.
I will keep believing that Summer, Taiyang and Raven were in a poly relationship for the rest of my life, that's just how my brain works. Don't try to change it.
While on the STRQ note... Raven is a bitch but she can also step on me anytime she wants, thank you.
Seriously Penny being a robot being a 'secret' will never not be funny lol!
"I don't really know how to... Girls" Jaune, honey, so true 🙌 me neither honestly.
Neo <3 God how I've missed you you tiny tricolor sociopath! Honestly, she and Roman will be one of my OTPs forever
Also do you guys know Chuuya Nakahara from BSD? Look at him and tell me he is not Roman and Neo's child. Seriously.
Speaking of OTPs, you know what my NOTP for Weiss has always been? Neptune... Like, I'm not part of the 'Weiss is a lesbian' train...but god why is that ship so boring? So glad that never went anywhere
Also I am on the 'Neptune is gay train'... Like... It just makes so much more sense...
The JNPR dance™ Iconic, perfect, just one of the many reasons I was hoping for another Dance/Ball down the line in the story.
Speaking of Iconic: The. Food. Fight. Just that. What a way to start the season.
Watching this volume really makes me miss Pyrrha... Not just her as a character which I do miss she is awesome in every sense BUT HER FIGHTING STYLE!!! God fights with her were always such a treat to the eye!!
James Ironwood, I had so much hope for you, but I get why your story progressed the way it did. The signs were everywhere now that I look into it.
Ozpin's 'I hope they never have to (win a war)' and 'right now they're only children, it's not a role they will have forever' hurt so fucking much...
Jaune has listened to Weiss singing. I feel the unexplicable need to know in which context this happened. Does Weiss sing while studying? Did they had some kind of recital? Did they go karaoke-ing on a missing scene? Is Weiss secretly a popstar who's writting songs about her partners and travels and Jaune owns one of her albums??? Yes I'm still into that dumb headcanon lol.
Jaune wearing a dress:
Tumblr media
I hope more boys wore dresses, boys in dresses are awesome.
ZWEI!!!! Also cat blake lmao
Roman and Cinder scenes were always a treat to watch, look at my two dumb villains who share one single braincell with Neo and she has it 99% of the time. I really had such a great time with villains in the early seasons. Also, once v3 happened Neo took the cell hostage and Cinder hasn't seen it ever since. makes sense.
Yang's dance dress missing it's pattern is another thing that will never not be funny to me lol poor girl was stuck dressed as an extra!
Tumblr media
The Oobleck Zwei combo fight is one of the best things ever lol always one of my favorite parts when watching reactors lol.
Team CFVY, my beloved<3 I hope we get to see more of them in the Vaccuo arc. Bring us the return of Caffeine!!!!!
Weiss' Ice flower to shield the team from the train crash is still one of my favorite moments of her. Weiss excels at the support mage role in her team, and it always delights me seeing her taking care of her team <3 they're the family my girl needed.
I've seen so many critic viewers complain about thr girls leaving Yang fighting Neo because it was clearly a bad match (which doesn't make sense because it literally was the first time we saw her fighting????) But honestly, it wouldn't had made sense any other way. Yang had some kind of personal vendetta against Neo at this point, just like Blake had against Roman. I get the logic conclusions, but characters in the heat of the moment don't usually get to logic conclusions before acting. They are friends, they trust eachother, they had no reason to fight any other way.
I gotta give a shout out to the v2 soundtrack. I love every soundtrack of this series, but v2 is supperb in every sense. Sacrifice is still on my Top3 songs in general (War and Smile being the other 2 and Miracle barely behind). Boop? Amazing, unparalled, that's how you take a beloved character and ship and give them an anthem. Dream come true is just lovely, Jaune, I wished you had seen it sooner... Caffeine? I listened to that song non-stop for a month after I first saw the finale, and it's still that awesome~ All our days holds a very special place in my heart because I used to sing it to my niece to sleep when she was a baby, and it's just the perfect Yang to Ruby song yes I know it's Jeff to Casey and Taiyang to the girls, but it will always be Yang to Ruby for me.
Raven is such an interesting character to me. It's said personality influences semblances or the other way around, and hers is a way to check on her family no matter how far away she is... We're missing so much about her story.
Anyways, that's all for today! Join us next time to take a trip for PTSDland with V3! Damn that Volume seriously traumatized the whole FNDM, and keeps doing it lol
6 notes · View notes
keaalu · 1 year
Text
Remember Me, chapter 8
Title (chapter): Remember Me (08)
Series: Transformers, G1-based “Blue” AU
Rating: PG-13
Notes: if/when her family get her back, Skydash is going to have a very interesting vocabulary.
---------------------------
In Nemesis’ monitoring room, it had been quiet for a while. Ramjet wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. He wondered for an instant if the brat had actually died? Or vanished somehow – wouldn’t be the first sparkling with the annoying ability to walk through walls, after all.
Not sure he’d like what he’d find, it took a few moments to summon the desire to lift the databoard.
In the bottom of the bucket, Skydash was cuddled down into a ball, hugging her knees. Still alive, fortunately.
Ramjet waited an astro-second or two for a response before prompting: “Are you gonna behave if I let you out?”
Threads of frightened static emerged from the depths of the pail, but she didn’t respond otherwise.
The big jet vented a terse sigh, optics tightening, and glared down at her. “Fine. Stay in there then.”
Alarmed, the sparkling suddenly came to life – scrambling out and tipping the container over in her haste. “No bucket-!”
“Does this mean you’re gonna be good, now?” Ramjet hefted the pail in one hand, meaningfully.
“No bucket,” Skydash blurted out, scuttling backwards until her back impacted the side of the terminal. “No bucket!”
“I’m assuming that’s a yes.”
She disappeared into a small gap at floor level, still repeating the words like a mantra. “No bucket. No bucket.”
“...frag sake.” Ramjet covered his face with one hand and counted inwardly to ten thousand, before giving the slot a cursory examination. It was too low and awkwardly-angled for him to get much more than a hand into it, let alone grab for the runaway. Getting the sparkling back out would require a plasma cutter, unless she decided to emerge of her own volition.
Although by now she’d picked up a new noise that seemed to make every single last armour plate vibrate against its neighbour, and he didn’t want to get that much closer to it to be able to experiment.
Almost as bad as Dirge. “Am I being too complicated for you?” At least that horrendous siren-scream was still offline. “Come on, Tiny. Please. If you don’t quit making all that fragging noise, Megatron will come down here and silence the pair of us, permanently.”
“No bucket.”
“Fine.” He flipped the can over and propped his thruster against it. “No bucket. Are you gonna finally come out of there now?”
Little blue optics peeked out from the crevice into which their owner had wriggled. She gave a single questioning chirp.
Ramjet wondered briefly if he should attempt a grab, or if that’d just trigger more noise. Instead, carefully, slowly, trying not to spook her, he put out a hand.
Skydash inched closer to it, and stared at it for a very long time before finally climbing into his palm. He could feel her vibrating very subtly as he lifted her back up to the top of the terminal.
When he opened his fingers, she slithered limply off his hand like a rag doll, flopped out across the top of the terminal, and just lay there, unmoving.
Ramjet watched her, and pinched the bridge of his nose. A mixture of relief (because damn did the silence feel good) and concern (what new horror was the tiny brat cooking up?) washed over him in equal measures. “Yeah. That looks like a good plan.”
No new horror was forthcoming, though. Perhaps those tiny batteries were finally depleted? Her dim blue gaze slipped briefly sideways. “Sorry bite.”
Ramjet shrugged. “Eh, no big deal. Had lots worse than bites before.”
“Day say bite bad.”
“Figures that the master slaghead would be the one to teach his sparklings what’s good and bad.” Ramjet snorted. “He's probably right.”
She was silent for a few astroseconds, before adding, in a watery voice; “No bucket.”
“Sure. Whatever. No bucket.”
Peace reigned for a few breems. The sound that finally broke through the quiet was one of subtle movement – a little scuffly noise, as of someone trying not to draw attention to himself. Ramjet glanced behind to find Thrust lurking in the hallway, trying not to make it too obvious that he’d positioned himself within lunging distance of a strategic doorframe.
“So, Dirge said you smashed a mop over his helm and kicked him out,” Thrust said, warily, by way of greeting. “Is it safe for me to come in there?”
Ramjet’s expression flattened into a tired glare. “Well that all depends on why you’re here. If it’s just to heckle and make my life difficult? Then no, probably not.”
“Well, I’m meant to be on duty now, so I guess I’m here to relieve you? Buuut I can just go back to the galley if you’d rather, the Triples broke out some high grade and y’know.” Thrust jerked a thumb in a backwards point over his shoulder. “Ain’t gonna say no to that.”
Ramjet snorted, and stood up. “If anyone deserves the high-grade, it’s me. No way am I gonna stay here and let you scurry off to have fun while I do all the work.” He offered Skydash his palm and she climbed uneasily onto it.
Thrust slipped into the unoccupied chair. “You’re taking Tinybot with you?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna go stash her with her bro, assuming Hook managed to get the kid to finally stop bleeding.” Ramjet let Skydash perch on his arm; she clung to it unsettlingly tightly, turning her face away from Thrust. “Why; you wanna look after her?”
Thrust actually leaned away, subtly. “No-ot especially?”
“Then there’s your answer. Good job.” He gave his wingmate a condescending pat on the helm; Thrust swung a half-sparked return fist at him but missed by several miles. “Besides, you’d only end up scaring her into running off. There’s plenty of derelict bits on this tin can and I’m not keen to go hunting through all of ‘em.”
“That’d make being on sparkling duty pretty easy, though.”
“For you, maybe. Personally? I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life tearing the ship apart looking for a friggin’ sparkling that you couldn’t even keep one optic on.”
“Yeah yeah, fine, whatever. Don’t go blow a fuse, Captain Overwound.” Thrust put his hands up in surrender. “Anyone would think you were worried about it.”
Why was he being so careful with it, anyway? Ramjet shooed the niggles away before speaking; “Just taking a sensible precaution. Don’t wanna think about what might happen to us if we go and break it.”
“Dude, seriously – why would it matter if we did?” Thrust turned to scowl up at his wingleader. “You’re not actually scared of that bunch of cowards back on Cybertron?”
“I… didn’t say that?”
“Megatron’s not gonna care, ’specially if it gets the Screamer over here quicker.” Thrust blew out a loud sigh and let his arms flop down. “Can’t believe you, sometimes. We’ve got the upper hand for a change and you’re assuming we’re gonna lose already.”
“Hate to remind you that losing is kind of a habit, for us? Even when we do have the advantage, someone will take time out to gloat, or work on their own little scheme in the background, and oh, will you look at that, it’s all gone to slag again.”
“Right, except the usual reason it all goes to slag is sat there on Cybertron, smirking at us from a distance.” Thrust’s voice descended briefly into unintelligible mutterings. “I just wanna see the traitor get a decent punch in his ugly face, all right?”
“And when we screw up because you’re too busy trying to punch him, then what? You think Megatron’s gonna pat you on the head and say ‘never mind, at least you tried your hardest’? Or d’you think he’s gonna maybe kick you into the closest smelter?”
Thrust sulkily pursed his lips and didn’t reply.
“If we have to go plead our case with those guys, I don’t wanna be shot on sight for breaking Tiny.” Ramjet tried to swallow the words but they mostly blurted out anyway: “I don’t know about you but I’m not feeling like the most happy, fulfilled little Seeker right now, having seen how nice home looks right now.”
“Well I’m sure happier than I would be playing beast of burden under Acid Trip’s command.” Thrust’s sneer chased him across the room. “When did you get so scared of a couple of ex-Cons, anyway?”
Ramjet paused in the doorway, and looked back to meet his wingmate’s glare. “They’re ex-Cons, right. Ex-Decepticons. Traitorous slaggers, granted, but we fought alongside ‘em long enough to know they’re not that woolly in the struts. Do you seriously trust them not to run you through a mill a few times when they get their claws in you?” He shrugged, one-handedly. “Three fit, healthy, well-built mechs with a whole army behind them. How long do you reckon we’d last?”
Thrust made a psssh sound. “An army of dirt-crawling non-warriors, sure, and even they’re not scared of that blowhard slaghead. Who, by the way, hasn’t had to fight anything ’cept his own spreading aft in vorns. So y’know. Whatever. Forgive me for not immediately lubricating myself in fear.”
The white jet sighed and covered his face with his hand. “You’re worse than Dirge. Do you seriously think that’s it? There’s a reason they let the Screamer keep his helm bolted to his wings, and it wasn’t ’cause they liked his voice when he asked nicely not to be executed.”
Thrust gave him the world’s most condescending long-suffering look, and it was only the idea it’d get the kid squalling all over again that squashed Ramjet’s urge to punch him in the faceplates.
“When all you have are your wingmates, and one’s dense as slag while the other couldn’t make a decision to save his spark? The Strutless Wonder was outnumbered,” Thrust explained, sounding like a teacher with the world’s dimmest pupil. “What other option did he have except squeal and beg for mercy, like he did every time with Megatron?” He directed his glare back onto the monitors. “…Sucks to find out my wingleader’s scared of a glitching slagmunch that even a bunch of dirtbots aren’t even afraid of any more.”
“Thrust.” Ramjet leaned his head against the doorframe, letting his free arm dangle. “Primus. I just wanna be able to go home, some day. My life right now revolves around mud, and you guys, and there’s only so much of either a mech can take without going completely barking. Right now I’ve had it about up to here with you guys, today.” He waved his hand in the air as far above his helm as he could reach. “So if you’ll excuse me…” He bowed, steeply. “There’s some high-grade with my name on it, and I think I actually deserve it.”
Thrust grunted a dismissive goodbye, and sat and stared at the monitors for all of ten astroseconds, before blowing a tired raspberry and letting his arms flop down at his sides. “This is such a fragging waste of time.” He rocked his chair back onto its rear legs and propped his thrusters on the bank of terminals in front. “What are we even meant to be monitoring for these days anyway.”
He directed his attention up at the ceiling and tried counting tiles to encourage his brain to cycle into a dormant state, to take away thoughts of the high-grade his wingleader had made him miss out on. But there were only a half dozen really big tiles up there and it didn’t take very long.
“You really suck sometimes, RJ.”
The chirping alarm became the unwanted topping on Thrust’s personal slag-pile. He covered his face with both hands and tried to ignore it, for a few seconds, but it felt particularly shrill. “Agh!” He used the rim of one thruster to deliver a sour-tempered stomp to the terminal’s speakers. “What’s a mech gotta do to get a few fragging breem’s peace and quiet around here, anyway!”
The kick jogged the terminal out of sleep mode, and a fast-moving blip showed up on one of the screens. Thrust eyed it uninterestedly for a second or two, then frowned and rocked his chair back onto all four legs, leaning closer for a better look. “Oh, hey. What are you?”
The blip didn’t seem to just be passing; it drew a series of wide, flat loops through the air above the sunken Nemesis.
Thrust toggled the display to a live satellite feed for a better look.
Skimming low over the ocean like a giant black alien albatross, drawing big circles and throwing up spray from his wingtips, broadcasting an array of threatening insults on as wide a frequency range as he could access, was a former comrade.
Thrust promptly lost all desire to nap. His lips widened in a smirk.
“Mighty Megatron, sir? We’ve got company…”
-------
Starscream looked nowhere near ready to back down, doubly infuriated by the chastisement by Skyfire, of all people, so when the communications terminal in the corner of the room chimed, it was only having Thundercracker sitting in the way that stopped him outright shooting it. He let loose a volley of inventive curses instead, stomping across the room and punching the accept call dialogue hard enough to break it in half. “What?”
The screen came online to reveal a single Autobot, sitting primly at his desk; Prowl. Nobody seemed willing to commit to a decision on whether the fact it was just Prowl was a good sign, or a very, very bad one.
Unfortunately, the Bot’s politely inscrutable half-smile made everyone fairly confident that Prowl himself wasn’t entirely sure that this conversation was going to be a good thing, either.
Starscream threw up his hands, and resumed pacing. “What do you want, Autobot.”
Almost anyone else would probably have stammered their way into an apology, but Prowl was far too habituated to the red Seeker’s histrionics, and didn’t so much as flicker. “Would you like to explain why Skywarp just came through the spacebridge?”
“No.” Starscream folded his arms and lifted his chin, just a little. “Was that everything? Because we’re quite busy here.”
“Allow me to rephrase, as you seem to think I’m giving you an option. Why did Skywarp just come through the spacebridge?”
“Changing the way you ask the question doesn’t change my answer.”
One brow came up. “Am I to assume he’s flying solo for some reason?”
“Assume what you like. I have far better things to be doing right now than stand here talking to the likes of you-”
“To what end, Starscream?” Seeing the blue palm descending onto one of the buttons, Prowl hastily added; “Do I have to come and confront you in person so you can’t switch me off?”
A microsecond away from ending the call, Starscream caught himself with his fingers hovering just above the broken control panel. “It’s none of your concern! We have precious little time as it is without you wasting it all for us-”
“Then explain why your wingmate has just flown back to your former base! Reassure me you aren’t about to follow him!”
“Just tell him, mech. Primus!” Thundercracker snarled, feebly, from underneath his icepack. “They’re meant to be our allies, now. And we need all the damn help we can get.”
Starscream gestured grandly at the terminal with a swoop of one arm. “There’s a difference between being an ally, and expecting to be privy to all our private trauma-!”
“It’s hardly private if they’ve already spotted him, is it. And I’m pretty sure we can trust Prowl not to let the entire Autobot army get themselves involved until we invite them to be.”
A flicker of blue and white in the periphery of his vision caught Starscream’s attention. He turned just in time to focus on Celerity as she stepped up close enough for their static fields to mesh uncomfortably together. Before he could react, the giant lifted a hand and firmly pressed a big finger to his lips; so startled by the unexpected invasion of his space, Starscream actually just complied.
“Please,” she said, faintly. “Keep them in the loop. Just this once. Just until we have our family back.”
Starscream backed out of range, visibly puffing up, wings flaring. “We don’t need-”
“We do need. Please. Even if it’s just for them to keep us informed. They’ve already proved they can see what’s going on better than we can.” Celerity drew in a long draught of cold air and folded her hands together, straining to keep her self-control squeezed between them. “If you let our tiny ones get hurt because you’re too proud to accept Autobot help…”
They were all looking at him, now.
“Fine! Fine.” Starscream jerked his arms folded across his chassis, huffily. “So long as Prowl gets to the point sometime this Vorn.”
Prowl’s expression flattened into an unimpressed glare. “I see why Thundercracker handles most of the calls to Earth, now,” he drawled. “Fine. Let me use short words. When an ex-Con arrives unannounced through the spacebridge, fails to respond to greeting hails or transmit his own, and flies directly towards the site of his former base, concerns are immediately raised. Even you should understand the rationale behind that.”
“You don’t seriously think he’s defected”
“It’s a reasonable assumption to make. He always was the most loyal of the three of you.”
Starscream’s optics tightened. “It’s funny that you notice Skywarp come through, within mere breems of him slipping away from our attention, but don’t notice three fully armed Coneheads making a return trip, with hostages.”
Prowl sat quietly for a while, his gaze slipping to one side to check a display screen just out of view. When he spoke again, it was with an anxious, measured quiet; “I’d not been made aware of that.”
“Well, consider it a favour. Perhaps Red should spend less time spying on us, and more time upholding your end of our agreement. Now perhaps you understand our urgency to figure out what to do?” Starscream resumed pacing.
Prowl let the professional mask slip, just a little, swallowing a sigh and resting his chin on his laced fingers. “What can we do to help?”
“Stay out of our way. We’ve already been pushed off-balance. I don’t need the added stress of wondering what a bunch of overzealous Autobots are going to leap in and do.”
“Slipstream is one of us, remember? He has plenty of friends here who’d be willing to help you if they knew he was in danger.”
“That’s the whole point.” Starscream ground the words out from between gritted teeth. “Warp may be renowned for his lack of brains but you’re not short on idiots either, over there. It’s halfway to the Pit already. It’ll turn into outright war if Prime’s Merry band of Morons decide to try and leap to the rescue.”
One eyebrow crept up, ever so slightly. “Well. I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to keep our ‘merry morons’ from taking it upon themselves to defy you if they find out.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Starscream flapped his hands, exasperated. “Just… give me a heads-up when Warp starts back. If he starts back. I don’t know.”
“Of course. We’ll keep you informed if anything else meaningful happens.”
The instant the call ended, Starscream plonked down next to Pulsar on the couch, smarting, features compressed in a glare, almost bouncing her into him. The bike hastily scooted herself back into the furthest corner, leaning away but unwilling to relinquish her spot.
Starscream gave Thundercracker a loaded glance. “That icepack looks really good, right now.”
Thundercracker found a tiny smile from somewhere. “You can have my icepack when you prise it from my dead grey fingers.”
After much gentle cajoling from Celerity, the blue Seeker finally acquiesced and allowed himself to be led away to his room, to defragment and let the medical patch finally take.
...leaving just Starscream and Pulsar in the lounge. For almost a whole breem, they studiously ignored each other. The sour feeling of stressed electric fields saturated the entire building; even the potted maple had pulled in on itself, folding its leaves into staticky needles.
Finally – unexpectedly – Starscream broke the silence. “Sorry.”
Pulsar glanced up at him. “…what?”
The bigger mech rearranged his folded arms and glared off into a corner. “I don’t have a lot of people I consider friends, so it matters when they seem intent on inadvertently killing themselves. Taking it out on you was probably counterproductive.”
“Uhm, apology accepted.” She felt a little lost for words and for an instant nothing would come. She rebooted her vocaliser. “For the record, I don’t particularly like Skywarp’s idea.”
He snorted a curt laugh. “That wasn’t difficult to work out for myself. You didn’t even try to call it a plan, this time.” He finally glanced down at her. A little of the overt sneer had gone from his expression. “When we eventually get him back, you can punch him first,” he offered.
“That’s… rather generous of you.”
Starscream curled his lip. “There might not be much left worth punching if I get to him before you do.”
She smiled back, although her denta showed through a fraction and it looked somewhat like a snarl. “You’re assuming there’s going to be much left when I’m done with him. I’m pretty persistent, for a small bot.”
“Touché,” he accepted. “Let’s just hope we get him back in one piece, then. It’ll be very unsatisfying so find someone walloped him first.”
The silence drew out between them.
“I have to kill him,” Starscream said, quietly. “Megatron. And I’m not sure how.” He studied his fingers. “You’d think all those millions of vorns of failure would have given me a few ideas on what might not be a total disaster.” When Pulsar didn’t reply, he found a sour smile. “Still surprises me a little when I’m seriously discussing killing someone, and even a committed pacifist Autobot doesn’t argue about it.”
Pulsar looked back, unflinching. “Surprises me a little that we’re discussing the only way to stop the greatest threat our world has ever seen, and you think I’ll argue against it.”
-------
Megatron heard them approaching long before the origin of the infernal noise appeared in his throne room. He settled more comfortably in his seat to watch as his loyalists half-marched half-carried their new prisoner through the doorway.
The teleport was definitely making them work for their prize – fractionally smaller than the warlord remembered, with lighter armour and a sleeker build, but no less spirited, and definitely no less violent. It took four mechs to control him; everyone was equally covered in black and purple scuffs of paint already.
For almost half a breem, Megatron just studied their new prisoner, chin propped on one hand.
Skywarp glared back, optics blazing, no hint of fear in his bearing. He glowed with the faint purple nimbus of personal shields, making him difficult to keep a good grip on – almost slippery. His cuffed wrists kept his arms pinned at his sides, but he leaned forwards in the restraining hands, like a prizewinning terrier waiting to be released into a dogfight.
A few vorns of being allowed to fly solo had filled the mech with undeserved confidence. It was obviously going to be necessary to remind him why anyone with half a brain still feared him.
Of course, Megatron noted, not everyone in the room actually possessed half a brain.
Finally the old warmech straightened, drawing himself up to loom more effectively over the small assembly. “Skywarp. Good to finally see you again,” he drawled. “Rumours of your untimely death were obviously somewhat exaggerated.”
Skywarp wasn’t interested in pleasantries. “Where are they?”
Megatron shrugged one shoulder. “Somewhere safe. While I decide what to do with them. What value they may provide. Although I won’t make the same mistake of allowing them to live, seeing what a noble little Autobot you allowed your offspring to turn into.”
Skywarp made a strangled little noise of fury and struggled briefly in the retraining hands, almost succeeding at jerking himself free.
Thrust kicked him in the back of one leg and took him heavily down to his knees. A little ripple of jeers followed him down.
“And where is your pathetic excuse for a wingleader, I wonder. Trying to sneak up on us with force, no doubt. With his, ah.” Megatron chuckled. “Army.
Skywarp glowered up at him, darkly. “I punched him in the head and locked him in a box because I didn’t trust him not to come after you, Megatron. He’s a liability.”
The warlord actually laughed out loud at that. “I would be more inclined to say you coming here on your own was the liability. Now I only have to wait for two more idiots to come and join the party.”
“You better hope they don’t come here. I came alone to give you the opportunity to end this peacefully, Megatron.” Skywarp used his best ‘official’ voice. “You know who we are. You know what we can do. Release my family, and it won’t go any further.”
“I remember a bunch of cowardly, poorly-organised thugs who couldn’t have co-ordinated their way out of a wet paper sack if you gave them directions.” The warlord smirked. “Yes, Skywarp, I know you very well. And I don’t think I’ll be running from you in terror just yet.” He leaned down, just close enough for the trapped Seeker to hear the low throb of the big generators in his broad chassis. “Perhaps I need to remind you why you all followed me so loyally for all those vorns…”
2 notes · View notes
xxiamtiebrousxx · 2 years
Text
Chapter 5 "It's a Date Or Two" (The Woman in Red | Spy x Reader)
Hannah watched as her friend returned from the club with last week’s stranger. She chuckled, putting down her mini paddle. Tiny ping ball tables were entertaining for someone stuck in a car for about four hours.
“You came back sooner than I thought,” Hannah said. “What happened?”
“Nothing much,” Y/n replied. “This gentleman wanted to escort me back and I agreed.” Hannah chuckled.
“Uh, Y/n, can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked. Y/n nodded and Hannah pulled her to the side, out of ear shot. “What are you THINKING?!?” she yelled softly. 
“Why are you whispering and yelling at the same time?” Y/n asked. “We’re out of ear shot, there’s no way he can hear us.”
“That’s the point,” Hannah answered, returning to her normal voice. “Guys don’t walk around wearing ski masks. That’s very suspicious.” Y/n rolled her eyes.
“So you can date a man with the ability to pull a rabbit out of his rear end and summon ducks, but I can’t date a guy with a ski mask?” she asked. Hannah put her hand on Y/n’s shoulder.
“I’m just looking out for you,” she replied. Y/n groaned.
“If you were looking out for me,” she said, “you’d let me be with whoever I wanna be!” Hannah fumed.
“Fine!” she yelled. “Walk home!” She jumped in the car and sped away, the tires screeching as Hannah tried to hit Spy, but completely swerved at the last minute. Y/n groaned, pulling at her hair. 
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“My friend just left me without a ride back home, I almost got mugged!” She kicked the gravel.
“Calm down,” Spy said, placing his hand on her shoulder. She turned around, inhaling deeply.
“Okay, I’m calm now,” she replied. She inhaled one more time, exhaling. 
“Now, how do you feel?” he asked.
“Better,” Y/n said. Jacques smiled. “Maybe next time I should bring my own ride.”
“Perhaps I could take you home,” he said. Y/n smiled.
“That would be sweet of you,” she replied, “but I don’t want to trouble you.” Spy shook his head.
“Nonsense,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind driving you back.” Spy grabbed Y/n’s hands. 
“Are you sure?” she asked. ”I live kinda far.”
“No mountain will be a challenge, nor will the distance,” he replied. Y/n bit her lip, blushing just slightly.
“Sure,” she said. “Just, don’t be taking me over any mountains.” Spy chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist.
“You won’t have to endure any hardships with me.” She blushed brighter, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Spy walked with Y/n across the street to his car. She couldn’t stop admiring his facial features as they crossed. “Alright, we’re here.” The red cadillac glistened in the street lights. Y/n was awed.
“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed softly. 
“Do ‘ou like it?” Spy asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 
“I haven’t seen a nice car like this in forever! It’s a classic!” She ran her hands over the hood of the car. “Is it a convertible?” she asked, looking at Spy. He chuckled.
“Of course, let me show ‘ou,” he replied. He took Y/n’s hand again and led her to the passenger’s seat in the front. Like the gentleman he was, Spy opened the door for her. He closed it as soon as Y/n was in. He went around and joined her in the car, taking his seat as the driver. Y/n grinned as Spy inserted the key into the ignition. The car came to life. He pressed a button on the dashboard and the sunroof opened up. Y/n giggled as the star filled sky was revealed. “‘Ou seem to like automobiles,” Spy said. 
“I love cars,” she said. “My dad was a mechanic. It’s cool knowing how a car operates. I think this is pretty amazing!”
“Perfect, non?” Spy said, taking her hand.
“It’s more than perfect!” Y/n exclaimed. “There’s no better word to describe it.”
“I can make it better.” Leaning over, Spy reached for the seat’s slider and it went back. Y/n was now facing the sky. Spy took off his coat, folded it nicely, and propped it under Y/n’s head. She blushed as his thumb came into contact with her cheek. “Comfy?” he asked. 
“Yeah,” Y/n replied. Spy smiled and turned on the radio, switching the channel to the classical station. He leaned back into his seat and took the same position as Y/n. Spy reached for her hand. His gloved fingers grazed her skin.  He blushed as Y/n grabbed and held his hand. She looked at him and smiled. He smiled back.
“Y/n,” he said.
“Yeah?” she replied.
“Would ‘ou like to go out sometime?” he asked. Her heart skipped a beat. Either tomorrow or the following weekend, Jacques would arrive. Y/n liked him and hoped to get to know him better. But she was uncertain about going on another date. It would be betrayal! Yet, she wanted to know more about Spy.
“Sure,” she replied, hesitating a bit. “How does tomorrow afternoon sound?” she asked. Spy smiled.
“I can do it tomorrow,” he answered.
“You’re going to have to know where I live,” Y/n said. “So let’s get going.” She fixed her set so that she was upright. Spy did the same. Y/n closed the sunroof, hitting the same button Spy pressed from before. He chuckled.
“Fast learner,” he said. Y/n smiled. He shifted the gears and backed up from the parking lot. “Alright cherie, where to?” Spy asked. 
“Make a U-turn here and drive all the way to Lavve Road, then make a right hand turn to the Parolt Apartments.” They stopped at the red light, making the U-turn as the green light turned on. Spy drove down Lavve Road for a while before turning right like Y/n instructed. The Parolt Cariolen and Ms. Carmen walked up the stairs as Spy pulled up to the sidewalk.
“Thanks,” Y/n said, unbuckling and exiting the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Goodnight cherie,” he said. “Until tomorrow.” Y/n closed the door and Spy drove away.
“What a handsome lad,” Cariolen said.
“Agreed,” Ms. Carmen replied. “Y/n, you should bring him around more often.”
Another a/n: I wonder if any of you guys can find the hidden Easter eggs. I'll give you a hint. A company, one of its products, and a character from their product. They're spelled differently so have fun searching!
9 notes · View notes
sage-wilde-va · 11 months
Text
Gargoyles X TMNT: The Shadows of New York Chapter 3: As Above
“I’m just saying, our leader could stand to lighten up!” The red gargoyle said loudly. “We’ve been in this castle for almost two months, and he still hasn’t let us leave!”
The TV babbled in the background, some commercial for a new dish soap. Two of them were draped across the furniture in various poses of comfort. The red one hung upside down from a heavy stone rib in the arch of the ceiling. The green one cuddled against an enormous pillow nearly his size, chin propped up under his elbows. The blue one lay like a boulder in the midst of an entire forest of plates, bowls, cups, and takeout containers.
The TV room was once the armory, now converted into a surprisingly plush living room, with a three-seater couch and a rocking chair that creaked just the right amount. 
The red one surveyed the room, his tail curled tightly around the rock, his talon feet buried like hooks in the stone. So expensive. So well-made. None of this was supposed to be here. And neither were they. 
He released his grip on the ceiling, flipping over and landing on his feet with the grace of a cat. The TV hopped on its stand as his weight shook the floor. The commercial rattled on, the human in the box more enthralled by how magically her dishes were wiped clean than the gargoyle that shook her tiny home.
There was surprisingly little response to his outburst. “To be fair,” The smallest one bobbed his bald green head. “It took us a month to even understand Modern English, let alone stop trying to kill the TV. We haven’t even found out a fraction of the things that have happened since the Spell was cast. I’m just as anxious as you, brother!” He put a hand, wide and lizard-like in the spread of his fingers, just on the folded wing of his white-haired rookery brother. “But how do we expect to be safe if we don’t know what’s out there? Come on. Sit down, we’ll finish watching the History Channel, and see what else is on after.”
The young gargoyle looked at his usual place on the couch next to his brothers, heart tempted for a moment. But he snarled, yanking his shoulder away with a sound deep in his throat that would make most men cower. “Will you even listen to yourself? You’re supposed to be the smart one, and that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!”  He roared, fury building in his throat as he loomed over his smaller brother, wings spread wide. “We aren’t safe! We never were, never are, and never will be! Safety isn’t real anymore!” He flapped his wings open, the cinnabar lips of his grotesque beak curled back to reveal his long, sharp fangs. 
The smaller gargoyle shrank back. But not by much. His huge, round eyes narrowed at his larger brother. Eventually, he spoke. “You woke up at sunset like usual tonight, and not in a pile of rubble.” He said with ponderous measurement. “I think that means, at the very least, we can trust that we’re safe for now. ”
All three of them let that single ‘for now’ hang in the silent lull of the conversation. The smallest one had a point. It was an idea that had been swimming in their heads every single night since they first awoke in 2001. The feeling of inevitability, the weight of the knowledge that it wasn’t an ‘if’, but a ‘when’ that underscored their relationship to this King in a Kingless World, Xanatos. When he would betray them. When they would wake up as mixings for concrete. Their very own tower wasn’t safe, not after they watched the one across the horizon fall in a ball of flame and smoke.
“Oh, come on.” The blue one, about half as wide at the shoulder and the gut as he was tall, threw up his claws with exasperation. “This isn’t helping us. Any of us, least of all our leader or our mentor. Besides, humans can’t have changed that much! They’re still small, pink, and wingless.” He thumped his fist into his dense, barrel-like chest, eyes alight with a gentle and encouraging cheer. “I say we do what gargoyles are supposed to do at night, and fly! Forget about what the humans will think, and just… live again.”
“You’re right. Gargoyles may protect the castle like they breathe air. But we still owe it to ourselves to live and thrive. We can’t go back.” The red one pulled a piece of string from out of his belt-pouch and tied back his long, white hair. His beak set in a grim line, he sat up straight. “We can only go forward. Are you with me?”
“Yeah!” The blue one replied. The green one sighed. “Fine. But only if I can bring my notebook. I want to be able to show Goliath what we’ve seen and learned while we’re out. You know, for… reconnaissance.”
“Reconn…?” The red one scratched his head.
“Like that movie we saw last night! James Bond! It means spying!” The blue one answered.
The eldest of the three rubbed his chin. “Yeah, good thinking! Xanatos must have a spyglass in this place somewhere, we can say we’re scanning the horizon for more… Vikings?”
“The Vikings are a football team now.” The broad one pointed out. “Unless we wanna go see a real live football game! Oh boy, I’ve always wanted to see one of those!”
The cunning one smiled. “Easy enough excuse. I think I saw on the news that there’s a New York Jets game going on. If we’re lucky, we can catch it before the game ends! See it for real this time instead of on TV!”
“Yeah!” The blue gargoyle’s small eyes lit up, his earfins perking up with his smile. “They’re supposed to be fighting the… Saint Francis Foreigners?”
“Yeah, the Jets have a skirmish against the Foreigners!” The green one hopped up, toe and claw in the wall, and kicked off. He glided away over the rabbit ears of the TV and over the back of the couch. He landed lightly at the table on the other side of the old armory. “I mean, we’re supposed to defend our home against foreign invaders. Right? We’re just finding out what we’re defending against!” He began shuffling through drawers, hunting for his notebook and a pencil.
“It’s not ‘Foreigners', it’s ‘49ers’, guys.” The ruddy one rolled his eyes. “The New York Jets versus the San Francisco 49ers, at the Giants Stadium. It’ll be their first home game since… since the Twin Towers.”
The green one belted on a small fanny pack, weaving it through his pierced underarm wings. “Don’t worry. We’re only going to a football game, it’s not like we’ll run into trouble.”
“Do you have to say that?” The blue gargoyle moaned.
0 notes
generaljinjur · 3 years
Text
Tumblr media
Enrichment time!
:|
:P
:|
13 notes · View notes
erodasfishtacos · 3 years
Note
has harry ever come before yn? and how did he react to it
warning: um this is straight up filth, sorry (not sorry)
CEO!H
-
“Baby, c’mon,” He huffs in frustration, his thumb slips once again because she’s just so wet for him.
“M’trying!” YN bites back, “You’re expecting me to come in two seconds all because you got yourself worked up by rubbing your dick on my tattoo.”
Harry can’t deny even after a few years of the ink being on his wife’s bum doesn’t make it any less hot to him.
It takes one more harsh pump of his hips before he’s groaning and coming, his fingers faltering on her bud once again.
YN is whining - these displeased, spoiled little noises that prickle the skin on the back of his neck and grit of his teeth.
“Y’sucha god damn brat,” Her husband spits out, not even enjoying his release because of his impatient, perfect wife.
“M’not,” YN retorts as she flips onto her back and lays down, not even disgusting her pout.
“Out of the hundreds and hundreds of times I’ve fucked you and made sure y’finished first - the one time y’dont you want to get all huffing and bent out of shape.”
YN squints at him, because he’s not wrong, she chooses to bite back with a bit of attitude, “Well you had some clumsy fingers tonight.”
Harry barks out a laugh, spreading her legs roughly, and muttering, “I’ll fuckin’ show clumsy fingers.”
Then continues on to make her come twice if his fingers along just because.
-
MLBrry
“Oh my god,” YN giggles loudly when Harry curses as he spills inside her - legitimately after only about three minutes of being in her.
“Shut up,” He whines, ego bruised a bit as he pulls out with a look of betrayal at his already softening cock, “Y’looked so good in m’jersey at the game tonight. Flauntin’ y’tits like tha’.”
YN smirks widely, turning around from where he had her bent over their bathroom counter, “I know, I saw how many times you had to ‘adjust’ yourself in your uniform.”
Harry hauls her up until her bum’s on the cold marble and her legs are spread to show him where she’s dripping from him.
“Can’t help it. It’s nearly impossible not to come the second I’m in you,” He pouts, it was the truth - usually he had amazing stamina but every once in a while his body was a traitor.
YN let’s out a quiet sigh when he tucks two fingers back inside her, twisting and curling in the way that make her toes crinkle.
“You amaze me. I’ve given you four babies and y’still as horny as ever,” YN giggles pleased and confident because of her husband’s constant want for her.
Harry pushes forward to lick into her warm, sweet mouth before he’s resting his forehead against hers and watching his fingers work into her perfect heat.
“Only horny f’you, mama. Course s’just for my wife, m’so fuckin’ in love with you. In love with your body, this beautiful thing has given us our babies - how could I not be obsessed?”
YN comes panting in his mouth and a smug smile on her face when he hardens back up against her thigh in the process.
Deaf!Harry
Harry’s lips are bright pink and swollen, his narrow hips pushed against the tiny counter in the frat bathroom as YN kneels in front of him.
“Baby, baby, want to fuck you. If you blow me I’ll come,” He signs in warning, attempting to coerce her into standing up but she doesn’t budge.
Her hands are quick on his belt and skinny jeans, letting his thick length rest towards his tummy as she leans forward to lick at the head.
He wasn’t joking, right as she suckles harshly on the head with her hand stroking the rest - he flexes and released with a loud loud moan.
“Didn’t know my mouth was that good,” YN gestures as she stands up with a teasing lift to her lips, thumbing a lose drop.
“You know when you grind on me it gets me going,” He accuses to justify his short span, “Don’t act like you don’t come in a second when I have my mouth on your clit and three fingers up in you.”
YN swallows harshly at the dirty talk, startling when someone bangs on the door, stating the need to use the toilet.
“I’m totally telling Niall you came in legit two minutes,” YN signs before swinging up the door and disappearing into the crowd - leaving behind her flabbergasted boyfriend.
Vamprry
“My leg is cramping, H,” YN complains noisily as he keeps her leg lifted a she fucks in from behind as they lay on the bed.
Harry is so so close.
His annoying little creature wasn’t going to find her end because of a god damn leg cramp.
“Bat, just let me - oh fuck,” Harry snarls loudly as he can’t control himself any longer, fucking harshly into her a few more time before he comes.
Ad soon as he’s lowering her leg, he’s met by her displeased, grumpy whimpers that make him want to bite her until she’s limp or kiss her sweetly - sometimes he can’t tell which.
He drops her leg, planning to finish her off but she pushes his hand away which has him baring his fangs and snarling fiercely at her.
“No, I’ll finish myself,” She grunts, rolling onto her back and propping up her legs, one hooked over Harry’s thigh.
Every time he tries to reach over to help as she rubs quickly and precisely at her bud with short puffs of air - she smacks him off which makes him hiss angrily as he watches on.
“You’re like a million years older and you can’t control yourself still?” YN teases breathlessly as she feels a ball of fire start to pool in her stomach.
Her grin gets wider when his eyes blacken and his lip curls completely back to reveal his glimmering white canines.
“Pest, you are not doing it correctly. Let me make you come,” Harry demands with agitation, his hands clenching to not just grab her.
“Shut up,” She snaps back, two fingers rubbing in languid circles that have her hips bucking - it really shouldn’t turn her on that her vamp boyfriend is threatening her with his fangs.
“I rarely ever come before you. Please little human, you are annoying me and I wish to make you come now,” Harry tries to use a more gentle tone.
YN finally gives in, letting him take over with his own fingers, two tucking inside and his thumb right on her nerves.
His fangs ascend back into in gums as he admires his squirmy mate who is restless until she tense and releases on his hand.
It’s only a matter of second before she is coaxing his fangs back out - because she loves to torment him, “Better luck next time champ.”
“Enough,” He growls at an ear-shattering volume before he’s biting at her mating mark to get her to submit.
Works everyday.
Influencer!H
Harry was getting himself overly worked up, as soon as YN pressed record for a little something that she could watch when she had to leave tour for two weeks.
“Honey bee, c’mon,” Harry rasps, voice as deep as it goes as he sits in the armchair in their hotel room - legs spread and feet planted on the floor.
“Hold on, just want a shot of this,” She replies, he was so fucking hot - couldn’t grasp that this man was her’s sometimes.
He had a firm, lazy grip on his cock - thumb circling his extremely sensitive tip every so often which made him shutter.
“Slower, tease yourself,” YN murmurs as she films him, watching raptly as he slows down his strokes but fucks up into his hand.
“Want t’be in you, bee,” Harry tells his with a wrinkle between his eyebrows as he twitches in his palm.
“Then listen to me,” She orders in a voice she rarely uses - a authorative voice that has Harry moaning as he squeezes himself.
“M’listenin’, I promise.”
“Stop,” YN replies, eyes following when he releases his grip and it sways before resting on his taut belly - pink and swollen.
She props the camera on the desk, shimmying down her underwear, and straddling him on the chair - letting herself sink down.
“Oh fuck - baby, m’gonna - bloody hell,” He moans as he comes within seconds, hand squeeze her plush hips.
His forehead is sweaty, lips puffy, and YN is so pleased with him, whispering that he’s so fucking good for her, she can’t wait to watch it when she’s away.
-
Cheating!H
“Y’takin’ it so good, darlin’,” Harry grunts out, teeth gritted and hand grasping her jaw to keep her mouth against his.
YN was in a mood tonight.
“C’mon, we don’t have much time before Anna comes looking, H,” YN goads coyly, her plush hips digging into the counter where her bum is pressed against.
“Hush up, pup,” Harry scolds, biting at her swollen bottom lip before hiking her up a bit more to hit her spot right on.
“She’s gonna be so bummed, y’can’t get it up for her tonight after fucking me,” YN doesn’t stop with the filth.
“Y’act like I have ever fucked ‘er. I’ve only been givin’ it t’you for the past ten years,” He mutters, tongue licking into her mouth to shut her up.
When someone knocks on the door, they don’t stop, Harry determined as he pounds into her with hard, meaningful strokes.
“Harry, are you in there? Are you feeling alright?” Anna asks from the other side of the door - it was super loud because of the party.
He comes right then on the spot.
“You’re sick,” YN giggles, pleased as he pumps in a few more times to fill her up - claiming her as he always did.
Gang!H
It started with the god damn fucking teasing.
Rival gang members, the police, literally nobody gets under his skin - just his bloody nuisance of a wife and she took full advantage.
She got in these moods were she would fuck with him, tease him, wind him up until he had her pinned down with a sore arse.
He loved her so fucking much.
It started at the bar, she had leaned over with way too much cleavage on display as she fluttered her eyes to get men to buy her a drink.
Harry who was currently in the middle of a lucrative deal couldn’t concentrate as a man offered to buy her a glass of wine.
He didn’t care who saw, he excused himself and pushed her harshly into the bar until it would bruise her hips.
“Cut it the fuck out now, m’busy,” He hisses menacingly in her ear, ignoring the men who were staring wide eyes at the exchange.
Her hand comes back to subtly palm at his crotch before humming, “All these nice men are willing to pay attention to me.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Harry rumbles, gripping her wrist and moving it away from his groin with force.
“Whoa, man! You can’t talk to a lady like that!” A brunette gentleman squawks after watching the interaction.
Harry steps back, a sly smile rising the corner of his lips, and he purposefully lifts his shirt just a bit to flash a shining gold desert eagle tucked in his waistband.
The man’s eyes widen in horror which makes Harry chuckle darkly, “Don’t tell me how to treat m’fuckin’ brat of a wife, she fuckin’ loves it anyways.”
With that, Harry storms back to continue his meeting and YN grins, a little flushed as she sips on a glass of water - aroused beyond belief.
After a bit, YN disappears down the hallway to the restroom, and sends Harry a text that has him excusing herself.
Please help me. Woman’s bathroom, hurry.
Harry’s reaching back for his gun, not hesitation as he rushes down the hallway - heart pounding at the thought of his love in trouble.
He slams open the single stall bathroom, gun drawn but all he sees is his beautiful wife, on her knees with lust obvious in her body language.
“Y’tha’ fuckin’ desperate?” Harry scoffs, locking the door and placing his gun on the counter - already reaching for his belt and zipper.
“Please sir.”
It sends a harsh, electric zip down his spine as he hisses when his wet tip hits the cold air, he bends down first - forces her mouth open and spits.
But his words are soft and loving after, “Brat, love you s’much. Y’the love of m’life.”
Her eyes twinkle but she can’t speak because he’s guiding himself in her mouth with a long push that has her breathing heavily through her nose.
Harry surprises himself when he ends up spilling right after she pulls off for a breath and jerks him, rasping out, “I love living life with you.”
Yeah he comes at words and he isn’t fucking ashamed.
It has him pushing her up against the wall and licking her out until she’s teary from sensitivity and legs quivering pathetically.
-
👁👄👁
1K notes · View notes
jangofctts · 3 years
Text
Tumblr media
Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)
Rated: explicit 18+
word count: 7.6k
warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)    
a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT  
There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace. 
Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy. 
Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.    
The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.   
The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.” 
“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”
She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”
Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.
Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.       
Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—
Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it. 
Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.     
Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“
The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.
You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”
The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”
The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…  
You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”
As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”
Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.” 
He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.  
“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“
He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.” 
You smile. “Lovely.” 
On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like  a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.  
                                        -=-=-=-
Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality. 
Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.     
That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.” 
You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”
The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—  
There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home. 
You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.  
His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.
You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”
Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”
He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare. 
“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”
Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“
Din tips his head in acknowledgement. 
“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.” 
Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors. 
“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.” 
The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.        
“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”
Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.  
Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—   
With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.  
Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot. 
Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away. 
Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle. 
You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder. 
Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”
Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.   
“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.” 
A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”
Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.     
Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”
He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”
Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.” 
Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat. 
You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.      
Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”
Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”
With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—        
“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."
Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder. 
“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”
Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind. 
You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile. 
Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.  
You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll. 
It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit. 
“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“
“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”
The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak. 
“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement. 
You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses. 
Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short. 
Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”  
You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more. 
Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains. 
“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”
Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.         
Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his  calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself. 
Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist.  Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”
He nods and utters a breathy yes. 
Fuck yeah.    
Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock. 
Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh. 
Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—    
Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge. 
It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.     
Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.   
He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.” 
Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.   
Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.   
“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation. 
Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.” 
Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”
“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from  your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.   
“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark. 
Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now. 
Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.      
You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.  
Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?   
Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs. 
“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question. 
Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command. 
Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.   
As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.    
You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff. 
Fuck, you need more.   
Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.    
He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight. 
That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you. 
You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 
“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 
Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.    
“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.        
You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.  
Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”
You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“ 
His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.” 
Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs. 
Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.  
Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days. 
Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.          
Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs. 
“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”
Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much. 
“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”      
You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.” 
Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.       
You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”
The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.   
“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”
Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.    
The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat. 
“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“
“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“
Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.” 
There we go. 
You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes. 
You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness. 
“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile. 
You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep. 
taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb   @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeaches @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @maybege @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c @vesperstalksclones @cmakars @cptnbvcks @whewchiles @leias-left-hair-bun @astrochellie @angryares @rise-my-angel @stardust-galaxies @phoenixhalliwell @samhollandssweaters @blue-writes-a03 @hdlynnslibrary @darthadeline @calamity-queen @luxurybeskar @justanotherblonde23 @book-hoardingdragon @fahrenheit-not @princessxkenobi @skdubbs @ben-is-a-hoe @3strogen @chasingdreamer @weebblossom @bobaandthefetts​
sorry if I missed you AH!!!!
1K notes · View notes