#commander mills x female reader

[bits-and-babs]

⋆ 𝐏𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃

Dark!Commander Mills x f!Reader

word count: 3.7K

warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove Do Not Eat; this fic may be unsettling for some readers. Dark!Mills, Chasing Predator/Prey, fear, tense scenes. DubCon [Non-Con Themes?]. Mentions of body hair, Size Difference/Size Kink. Pussy slapping, unprotected p in v sex, tummy bulge, claiming, cream pie

➛ mills masterlist I| main masterlist |I send an ask I| taglist

Jagged bark digs into the skin of your back through the thin, soft cotton fabric of your shirt. You feel the amber tree sap seep into the canvas, sticking uncomfortably to your back and clinging to you as you try to ease your hyperventilation. The cells of your lungs vibrate with alarm, stinging as you suck in mouthfuls of oxygen.

Get away.

The sunshine thrashes you, your skin slick with the sweat that rolls down your temples. Heat ebbs at the edges of your mind, teasing you with the promise of unconsciousness. Rest. It urges you to let your knees slump, to ease your aching body down to the forest floor and close your eyes for a moment– you can’t. You can’t be certain how far ahead you were or how much of a head-start he had conceded.

It had been freezing when you awoke, the cold biting your skin raw even as it thawed. A low hum deafened your ears, subconscious tears frosting your coarse eyelash hairs together and forcing your lids shut. Panicked, you had pushed the heels of your palms to your eyes in an attempt to melt the frosty glue, feeling something slippy and thick smear across the skin of your cheekbone.

The metal tang to the scent that pierced your nostrils indicated you were bleeding, pain leaping forward in your skull and forcing your eyes open in your discomfort. Like a mallet smashed over your head, the sounds of your surroundings cracked through your ear drums. A deafening siren screamed, blurring your vision with the intensity of its volume. Glass tinkled against the metal shell of the cryogenic chamber as you’d wearily pushed yourself from the leather seat you had called home for an estimated double solar-cycle. Your limbs were stiff, unused and preserved in ice for twenty-four months.

Green flooded your vision as you rose to your feet, a flashing light on the data pad of your chamber indicating your apparent survival following defrost. You’d been thankful to see your vitals displayed across the screen– you had felt so awful upon waking that you were almost certain you had died.

Relief that had flooded your veins curdled into distress when the data pad beeped, a cursor swiping across the pixels to dismiss the notification of your stirring.

You hadn’t given the scene much notice from then, jittery fear shuddering over your skin and forcing your feet forward. The ship that had meant to deliver you to Somaris was nowhere in sight, but debris pieces of the vessel had lay strewn across the forest floor. Orange embers still glowed within the metal of some large slabs of metal.

The realisation had been slow to arrive, the throbbing remnants of a concussion sweeping nausea throughout your body as you stumbled over the fallen trees. The piercing ring of the alarm continues to circle your agitated mind, tormenting you with the sinking reality of your plight. Stranded on a planet far beyond the solar system you had come from, surrounded by alien creatures you hadn’t seen stored in information holo-pads and without a ship to re-enter orbit– all while attempting to avoid the person who you had no doubt was hot on your heels.

Initially, you had assumed that the scaly, lizard-like animals were causing the snapping of the twigs in the thick treeline of the forest. While some were humongous, you noticed some were of a smaller size. Even the creatures that reached your hips posed a significant enough threat for you to avoid them by ducking behind tree trunks and bushes, their sharp teeth dripping with saliva when they caught your scent.

Whipping around at the sound of another ‘crunch’, you’d caught sight of him. Long, ebony hair fell in strands in front of his face; his brows pinched together in a stalker's concentration. His lips set in a grim, thin line, recharge-blaster aimed directly at your calves. The amber sap that had coated your skin from the trees appeared to have drenched his eyes, irises burning a bright honey colour in the brutal sunshine.

You hadn’t stopped running since, chest heaving as the cells of your lungs screamed at the intensity of your pace. The thick fabric of your flight suit, coated in leather around the collar, was heavy to carry, your legs aching as you’d lept over each of the fallen trunks in your way.

Shuddering at the memory of the hours you have spent evading capture, you inhale shakily in an attempt to ease your thumping heart. It threatens to crack your sternum, bludgeoning the bone with its rapid pace. Even though you’d stopped for some time, dread kept your heartbeat thrumming like the wings of the birds on your home planet, your blood rushing in your ears and drowning out the squawks of the flying lizards, their beaks long and sharp, wings leathery with clawed hands at the joint.

A stream trickles nearby, the running water rippling around the surrounding rocks. The breeze is cool against your face, tickling your cheekbones in a soft kiss. Despite the rustling of the leaves, the babble of the small brook, and the distant hiss of the hot spring geysers, it’s utterly quiet.

Foreboding chills you to the bone, wringing you dry.

It feels off, this delicate balance of stillness. Trepidation crawls up the vertebrae of your spine and prickles your skin with goosebumps. There’s an ambience; thick with something sinister. It coats your surroundings and lingers in the air like unsparked lighting, threatening to pounce.

Your hair stands on end, blood freezing along with the beat of your heart when you hear it; the zooming charge of a blaster.

“You can’t run from me forever.” It’s delivered with an alarming deadpan, his even voice ricocheting off the tree line. You can’t tell where he is like this, your neck reeling on its shoulders as you frantically search the area.

Darting your eyes amongst the bushes, you spot him- his footsteps cautious as he picks each footfall carefully. He’s learnt from his previous mistake, ensuring not to reveal his position with a snapping twig.

You swallow back a whimper, skirting around the trunk of the tree. Palm pressed to your nose and mouth; you hear your trembling breaths as you attempt to smother them. It’s terrifying, the level of noise you make. You’re certain your pulse gives away your hiding spot- that the vibration of the very cells of your being is connected to an amplifier and blasting through the woodlands.

In contrast, your pursuer is almost silent, barely making a sound as he picks through the undergrowth. You wonder how it’s possible for such a large man to make so little noise. He’s so careful, so silent that you pause your breath to listen for him better. Where-?

“Sweet Thing…” you hear him coo, a slight taunt to his voice that makes your nails dig into the tree's bark. Your lungs threaten to scream, ankles promising to buckle beneath the suffocating pressure.

Crouching as low as you can onto the balls of your feet, you attempt to shuffle around the trunk's circumference. You’re careful to test each footstep, feeling for fragile foliage beneath the sole of your shoe before setting it on the floor. You swallow thickly, wincing as the dried leaves rustle quietly.

It’s as though time momentarily stops. The rubber of your heel catches on the roots of the tree, slipping down the curved surface and sending your foot crashing through the sun-baked foliage with a sickening ‘crunch.’

Oh.

Tensing up all at once, your muscles pinch with fear. You fail to suppress the heaving breaths that rattle through you now, sucking in mouthfuls of oxygen and wheezing in terror when you exhale.

“Hmm,” a hum sounds to your left, loud to your ears. You bristle, the seams of your person screaming that you need to move, to run. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, fight or flight bested by the primal instinct to be still. To hide. The atmosphere shifts, the chill of the breeze twisting to an icy disquiet.

Don’t. Don’t move, be still. If you’re still, he won-

They crawl across the curve of your jaw at first, fingertips creeping along the line of the bone before gently grasping your chin. White hot fear holds you perfectly still as his thumb pushes into the soft flesh of your cheek, the scrape of his knuckles biting into your skin as they purse your lips together. With your feeble attempt to shake him, his grip turns solid.

“Got you.”

His gruff voice rasps against the shell of your ear, lips brushing the thin skin and raising goose pimples across your neck and down your spine. Breath caught in your throat, you barely manage a whimper of response– the sound cracks in your vocal cords and sounds more like a startled exhale.

Your resolve fractures into tiny shards as he uses the grip on your chin to tilt your head backwards. Tension cracks between your shoulder blades at the awkward angle, your muscles straining as he pulls them taut. There’s a tensity at your throat, too, the thew connecting your jaw and neck almost pained by the extreme flex.

Amber. The thin strips of gold lay stark against the pitch black of his dilated pupils, irises merely a slither as the abyss swallows them whole. An eagerness paints his expression, even as his thick, dark brows pinch together in concentration. The hulking frame of your hunter stands above you, neck practically folded over to stare down at your kneeling form. He’s scanning your face, assessing each aspect of your visage and taking in the details. The paw grasping at your face tilts it left and right as he searches for… something.

Again, you wail as you feel his thumbprint dig into the soft flesh of your cheek. It braces against the edge of your molars, prints embedding– branding itself into the skin beneath it.

“Shh-Shh,” He hushes you softly, voice somewhat soothing now as he sweeps his knuckles across your temple and over your cheekbone. “Quite the hunt. Chased you all over, 70652. ”

The five digits of your passenger number ring through your eardrums like the alarms that had alerted you to your crash landing. It flits across his expression, a smug, mocking look as the realisation strikes you between your ribs like a wet blade—the pilot. Commander Mills, you had been told before cryostasis, was a skilled enough aeronaut to deliver you safely to the destination of Somaris. It appeared he had failed his mission.

“I- I don’t-”

“Everyone in the cryo-bay is dead,” he speaks over you, matter-of-fact in his unwavering tone. Your eyelashes flutter closed, confident Mills can feel your pulse pump blood through your veins as he trails his fingertips down your jugular. It tingles, the feather-light touch, adrenaline rushing over your body in surging waves. “It’s just us.”

“Hngg-” you mewl as he crouches behind you, dragging his lips gently across your pulse point as he breathes you in- the scent of your evasion. Soil coats you in an earthy smell, the metallic tang of blood from the scrapes of the thorny undergrowth. Mills groans against your jugular, scraping his sharp incisors over the thrum of your heart while savouring you.

“Aren’t you lucky?” He whispers, gravelly voice barely registering at this volume. Mill’s hand slips down your throat, calloused fingertips tracing down your central points. Your throat, your sternum between your breasts. The deliberate trail has your breath quickening, an underlying threat of danger making the hairs on your arms stand on end. “Lucky that I found you before those creatures did? Hmm?”

The delicate intonation of his question is deceptive. He’s not being kind- he’s mocking you. Still, the enamel of his teeth sinking into the concave connecting your neck and shoulder has you crying out, wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Mhm,” he lathes his tongue over the indents his teeth leave behind, splaying his fingers wide as he trails his palm over your stomach. Need unfurls beneath the weight of his hand, twisting and coating your abdomen when his fingers dip just beneath the waistband of the joggers you had been provided before entering cryostasis. “This... Is thanks enough.”

Heat creeps across the apples of your cheeks as you feel his hand slip further into your pants and wedge beneath your panties. You can do nothing but turn your hot face away from him, squeezing your eyes shut when his fingers brush through the thatch of curls across the curve of your pussy. Mills hums softly, your only warning before he’s sliding the pad of his finger through your slick cunt.

“Shit,” he grunts softly, the tip of his nose trailing up the length of your jugular. “So wet for me already.”

Sinews in your jaw ache at the force with which you clench your jaw, trying desperately to swallow down the moans that threaten to bubble up from your throat. Mills is circling his fingertip just barely over your clit now, the delicate touch coiling a throbbing heat between your thighs.

It’s a subconscious response, one that bypasses your brain and jolts your hips forward onto his hand. You don’t mean to, your fingers sinking into the soil beneath you as your body tenses. It sends a bright, hot arc of pleasure through your body and you wail raggedly, the short-lived friction enough to blur your vision.

Mills leaps.

Ripping his hand from your pants, he grabs ahold of your waist in a bruising grip, flipping you over onto your back harshly. It’s so fast, the world careening sideways. When you land it almost winds you, your spine hitting the ground with a thud. Twigs and rocks dig into your flesh, but Mills gives you no real opportunity to complain when he pins your body down with the hulking weight of his own.

Urgency spurs Mills on, pushing his fingers under the waistband of both your joggers and your panties before yanking them down your thighs. He doesn’t bother to remove them, abandoning them over your shins. They bunch around your ankles, movements restricted by the fabric. Your body is trembling, buzzing with something far from the fear he had originally inspired in you.

Mills is huge. Broad and muscular, when he leans his body over yours he almost blocks your whole line of sight. His muscles shadow through the thin fabric of his shirt, sweat causing the material to cling to his damp flesh. The chase across the forest seemed to have had little effect on his athletic frame, the exhaustion that had afflicted you unapparent when he pushes your knees back against your chest.

“Just look at you. Trembling. Panting. It’s gorgeous.” Subtle cruelty drips from his tongue when he praises you, watching your nipples harden as your folds are exposed to the cool air. Honey irises drag over your sopping cunt, greedily lapping up the view. You shouldn’t be enjoying this, so exposed to a stranger you had been running for in fear of your life just moments before.

“Please,” you beg, pathetic sobs cracking in your throat at the desperation to be touched.

“You’re in no place to be directing me, Sweet Thing.”

Despite his apparent refusal, Mills is pushing the trousers of his flight suit past his hips to expose his cock. Again, he refuses to waste time in removing them entirely, removing just enough to ease himself out of the confines of the material. You only catch a glimpse of his cock before he hoists your thighs over his pelvis, but your heart seizes at the sight– an angry, red tip leaks precum that smears across the inside of your thighs, veins protruding across the large shaft. You can’t fit tha-

God, he pushes the pad of his thumb into your clit and you yelp, seeing stars. A steady, wicked throb of bliss pulses through you as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves, swiping his print back and forth. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help the way your hips jolt as you feel him attempt to breach your entrance with the head of his cock.

“Stop moving,” Mills orders, hand wrapped around his dick as he sweeps through your folds. You’re sobbing now, tears welling in your eyes as he continues to abuse your swollen clit. He slips again, dark eyes flicking up to your face when your hips jolt upwards to chase his touch, the build of your impending orgasm catching you off guard with how quickly it seems to blossom. The third time, when the tip of his dick notches the inside of your thigh rather than taking root, his patience snaps.

Mills suddenly draws back from you, removing his hand from your clit before bringing his open palm down on your throbbing cunt with a brutal slap. Pain bows through you, blending seamlessly with your bliss and causes a sharp, high pitched cry of his name to tumble from your lungs. In your shock, your hips momentarily still. Taking advantage of your dazed state, Mills quickly lines his pulsing cock against your cunt and drives home, swiftly ramming into you with an abrupt snap of his hips.

A haggard gasp rips through your throat at the sudden intrusion, the painful stretch of his cock cracking through you and making your eyes roll back. Dirt cakes under your fingernails as you grasp feebly at the damp soil, trying and failing to find any kind of purchase to ground yourself.

“Take it,” Mills orders, his gruff voice impossibly reaching lower octaves as he pushes his length further into you. He sits back slightly, his eyes almost pitch black with how his pupils swallow them up as they settle on your cunt. Fascinated, he watches your lips stretch around his girth and paint his protruding veins with your slick. “Make it fit— Shit!”

His crude growl scrapes your eardrums as he bottoms out inside of you, hips flush with your own. You can’t breathe, feeling as though he’s big enough to settle amongst your lungs. You heave shallow breaths, your head pulsing with mind-numbing dizziness.

Then he’s moving. He drives forward at first, reaching depths inside you that make your abdomen ache before pulling out of you. The stark emptiness he leaves you with is short-lived, thrusting forward and stealing what little oxygen you had swallowed down.

Heat simmers through you with each shred of the head of his cock against something blinding inside of you. It gives you no room to think, to move, the cruel pace Mills sets. It’s merciless, pummelling into you and driving you up across the forest floor. “Fuuuuck, that’s good,” Mills groans loudly, holding on tight to your hips to prevent you from sliding away from him. You sob brokenly, hitting his chest with the heel of your palm as you struggle against the orgasm that’s practically hurtling towards you. Christ, his dick is so hard, ramming through you and pushing up against your cervix and causing a delightful ache.

The wet sounds of him thrusting into you are obscene, slick and desperate as he begins to pull you down onto the snaps of his hips. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, collecting in your hairline as you sob his name over and over.

“Look at you,” Mills practically snarls, eyes set on the bulge in your lower abdomen and in awe of what he finds there. Fuck fuck fuck. You can see him, see the outline of his cock driving in and out of you through your abdomen. “Mine.”

Through your haze, you feel Mills press his giant palm against your abdomen, feeling himself twitch and thrust inside of you. His forehead drops against your shoulder, hips beginning to stutter as your walls flutter around him.

It’s overwhelming; the intense pace, the brutality of his thrusts, the way your clit brushes against the pubic hairs on his lower pelvis. You sound fucking wrecked, wails spluttering with each devastating rock of his hips.

“Aha-ah- ohfuck,” you babble, eyes rolling back as your body curls inwards. You’re burning, tightening, your orgasm creeping across the pit of your stomach. “I-I’m gonna-“

Mills groans loudly, and your back arches suddenly when he bites into your collarbone. His teeth sink into your flesh, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain shoves you right over the ledge you’d been dancing over. You cum with a scream of his name, clamping down around his cock as ecstasy surges through you from head to toe. Your vision blurs, hearing cuts out.

“Shit,” you hear him spit distantly, despite the close proximity to your ears. Mills’ hips push up deep inside of you, his body lurching and trembling as he cums inside of you. It feels, even in your altered state of consciousness, like it takes forever. Milking him endlessly, his breath shuddering against the wound on your clavicle as he gently grinds into you to ease himself down from the high.

There’s no movement, no sudden release of your body and flopping to the side. Mills stays stuffed within you, your mixed cum dribbling down the inside of your thighs as he squeezes the flesh of your hips with his palms.

Your sobs of his name had been loud, noisy enough to draw in all kinds of lizard creatures, but Mills seems insistent on remaining like this, scraping his teeth across the curve of your shoulder and beginning to rock into your swollen cunt again.

“There’s a few hours before nightfall,” he talks over your garbled string of noises, overstimulated and exhausted from the hours of running and the brutal way he had fucked into you. “You can take me again before then, can’t you, Sweet Thing? Before we head back to the ship?”

Your body resigns to his question, already far too wearied and submissive to argue what feels more like an order than a question— besides, bliss is already pooling in between your thighs when he pinches your clit with the pads of his forefinger and thumb.

“Good Girl.”

END

Join the Tag List Misc Character Taglist: @glassbxttless, @peachyproserpina, @pansa-1-san @htccu7gho9

Gif belongs to @zachsnydered

#commander mills #commander mills x you #commander mills x reader #commander mills x female reader #commander mills x f!reader #commander mills fanfic #65 #65 movie #adam driver #adam driver x reader #adam driver x you #adam driver x y/n #adcu #adcu fanfiction #adcu smut #adam driver smut #adam driver fanfic #adam driver fic #mills x reader #mills x you #mills x y/n #deaddovedonoteat #dddne

[rachoxpotato]

🦕 Commander Mills x female reader 🔞 NSFW ⚠️ CW // skinny dipping, praise, waterfall sex ✏️ 2.8k words

-

Between securing shelter, exploring your surroundings, and running from creatures you still can’t believe exist in this world, it has been an endlessly stressful, restless three days since the crash.

"This way," Commander Mills says. He marks another tree as you both turn right down a semi-clear path lined on either side in trees, palms, shrubs. You follow and walk together for another half-mile or so.

You hear it before he does.

"Oh my god," you gasp, reaching for his wrist.

Mills steps in front of you, gun ready. "What?"

His instinct to protect you makes your body vibrate. A warmth spreads throughout you that you haven't felt in years prior to crashing in this god-forsaken place. You know it's wildly inappropriate fantasizing about a man who spends every second of every day and night protecting you and trying to get you home...

"Through here," he says, using his corded forearm to push a palm frond out of the way for you.

...but then his eyes do that thing when they look at you, and then that sexy strand of hair falls into his eye, and his hands are just so /so/ big. 

"Mills," you gasp, but he's already a step ahead, slipping out of his gun strap, and dropping it to the ground.

Before you... is paradise. 

It's a blue lagoon shaded by a canopy of palm leaves and lush, greenery. It's crystal-clear water and ample protection provided by the mountain behind. It's several thin streams of rushing water cascading from the cliffs above and into the pool below. It's...

Mills's chiseled back as he strips his shirt while approaching the water.

He falls to his knees at the shore and cups water into both of his massive hands, then lifts them to his mouth.

"It's fresh," he announces, looking over his shoulder. "I think it’s a cold spring."

He turns back to the oasis and you take the opportunity to drop your own pack, your gun, your knife. 

He must hear you unzip your pants because he turns to look, but stops himself. 

"S-sorry," he mutters, his attention returning to what he can gather in his paws and slurp down. (It's a lot).

"Don't mention it," you say, shucking your shirt and padding toward the water in just your bra and panties... the same ones you'd been wearing since the crash. 

And you know a bra is impractical in a post-apocalyptic, dinosaur infested, Jumanji-land, but... surely he'd notice that despite the heat, humidity, and relative discomfort of this location, your nipples are consistently as hard as diamonds.

"How is it?" he asks as you wade deeper into the lagoon.

You turn, just as your breasts disappear beneath the cool water, and clench when you realize his eyes are mid-snap from your chest to your face. Despite the naturally cool spring, you're warm all over again.

"It's perfect," you moan, dunking your head under.

"I'll keep watch," he says when you resurface. "Enjoy."

"No, come in!"

He clearly wants to. A bud of hope blooms inside of you that the cool water isn't the only reason he's considering joining. "I can go after you're done."

You frown and without warning, slap your hand across the water to splash him.

Mills feigns offense as you do it again and he wastes no time in unzipping his own pants. 

You squeeze your legs together like you do when you talk yourself out of letting your hand wander at night. When it's his turn to sleep and you're taking watch. When his soft snores consume your thoughts and make you wish you were lying next to him, against him, with his arm caging you in, keeping you safe. 

His black boxer-briefs and happy trail disappear beneath the water as he wades closer. You float onto your back, close your eyes, and attempt to picture anything over than the definition and contour between each abdominal muscle. 

"Please tell me you remember how to get here," you say, dropping your feet to find the sandy bottom. It's a bit shallower than you remember, and standing upright, the water only reaches your ribs.

Mills's eyes drop and his jaw clenches when he takes in your soaked bra, water droplets racing over the swells of the tops of your breasts, and getting trapped in the lace at the top.

All things considered, if you were doomed to one bra for an apocalyptic eternity, at least you're wearing a cute, lacy black one.

He clears his throat and looks at your face. "Yes, I remember."

His voice is low, eyes dark. You don't hide beneath the water.

The closest waterfall is just off to the right and as much as you'd love to stand there and have the sexiest man you've ever seen ogle your t!ts, a natural waterfall might be just what you need to truly cool you down.

"Where are you going?" he asks as you swim away.

"To check this out!" you reply, reaching the cascading water and giggling as it beats down on your head. The sandy bottom supports your feet as you tip your head back and let it pull your hair away from your face.

He smiles and makes his way over before placing his hand beneath the cascading water to catch it in his palm. Then, he ducks his head under, groaning as it beats down on his head, neck, and back.

You practically watch his tension melt away as his shoulders drop away from his ears.

You swim a little closer. 

You crouch down until the water reaches your neck and take some into your mouth, maintaining eye contact as you spit it out. He watches you intently but must not notice your arm bent behind your back because as soon as the cups of your bra float to the surface, his eyes widen.

"Is this okay?" you ask, removing the straps from both arms. "I'm just sick of it."

"Yeah," he says immediately. "I get it. I mean... I don't but... fine. 's fine."

His voice breaks when he says 'fine,' for the second time and you begin to wonder what he thinks of you.

Admittedly, when you fling your bra onto a nearby rock, you hope he thinks you have nice tits.

Mills clears his throat. "Any chance you're sick of your panties?" He jokes.

"Now that you mention it," you say, already working the elastic around your hips.

He notices your arms shifting. He says your name. His gorgeous mouth over-pronounces every syllable. "I was kidding, I... it was a joke. I never want to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," you assure him, kicking your legs free.

You lift your panties out of the water with one finger before tossing them to the side. The tiny garment clops loudly against the rock and he clears his throat.

"They're pretty wet."

"Yeah, well," you start. "The lagoon is only partially to blame."

That's all he needs.

Suddenly, you find yourself wrapped around him as he grabs your hips with both hands and pulls you close. His body is so hard, so solid.

"Commander!" you say with a smirk. 

Mills growls, pressing his face to your sternum, his nose preventing his lips from reaching your skin.

"Tell me. What else has you so wet?" he asks as you lock your ankles around his lower back.

"I think you know," you whisper.

"Say it." It's a command.

You swallow and look into his eyes. "You."

Mills groans and lifts his head to kiss your lips.

You can't help it. A moan immediately escapes from deep in your throat as your body processes what's happening:

Mills's big body holding yours secure, his plush lips working yours open so his tongue can find yours, his hands digging into your hips and pressing you down so your bare pxssy rubs against the bulge you'd spotted earlier.

"Please, Mills," you beg into his mouth, shaking from how desperately you need him, as you pull away.

You dip down to capture his mouth in another kiss and his hands immediately roam to your ass, making you whimper as he squeezes you, holds you steady with one hand, and lets the opposite wander up your torso to cup your breast.

His mouth catches your moans as he massages your flesh and gently pinches your nipple. You're helpless as you grind your center against him, desperate for some semblance of friction to ease the incessant ache that shouldn't even be there considering you've been fighting for your life the past three days...

But there's something about him.

"Mills," you gasp as he releases the hold on your breast and shifts down to rub between your legs.

"You're fucking soaked," he says, fingers slip-sliding through your folds.

"Uh huh," you agree, grinding down onto him.

"Who did this to you?" he demands.

"You."

"Did I?" He smirks. “I only kissed you, Baby.”

"Thinking of you," you amend. 

"Thinking of what?" A finger grazes your entrance and you gasp as you attempt to line yourself up. He manages to pull away, his teasing finger shifting to trace the crease where your thigh meets your hip. 

"Your hands."

"My hands?"

"They're so big and strong," you admit. "And your fingers are so thick. Makes me wonder what they're capable of. And how they'd feel..."

"Where?"

"On me. In- inside me."

He hums thoughtfully as a finger finds your entrance once more, barely applying pressure. 

You moan. He smirks.

"These fingers?" Mills confirms. "Here?"

"Yes!" you gasp.

"Fuck," he groans into the crook of your neck as he slides a fingertip inside. "So tight, Baby. Not sure how we're gonna get my cock in this tight little pxssy. But we'll make it fit."

It's embarrassing how close you are, considering he's barely touched you and only has half of a finger inside of you. But between the stress, the chaos, and the inappropriate pining, your body is so /so/ ready to feel good.

"Please, more," you moan. 

A second finger joins the first beneath the water and you gasp, moan, and cry out all at once when he pulls them back and thrusts them inside.

He keeps his rhythm consistent as he kisses your neck, your collar bone, your breasts. You've more or less surrendered your entire body to whatever he wants to do to it, so you're grateful he's holding you tight.

"Come for me, Baby," he coos when you start grinding against his hand. "I can feel you're close... squeezing my fingers with this perfect, hot, tight pxssy. Fuck, Baby. My c0ck is so jealous right now."

That does it.

"Ohh!" you cry out as his fingers curl forward toward your front wall and the heel of his hand rubs your c|it just right. Desperate to keep the angle, you lean into him, grinding down on him, moaning, panting, heart racing, as your orgasm tears through you, sending pleasure into every last bit of you.

Mills slows his hand but keeps moving, bringing you down from your high as your head falls back and he takes the opportunity to wrap his hot mouth around a nipple, sucking at it and injecting more pleasure into your already convulsing, overwhelmed body.

"Atta girl," Mills coos against your breast, lifting his eyes to look up at you. "Think you're even wetter after that. Wish I could taste ya, Baby."

"Later," you say hurriedly as you reach between you for his underwear. He shucks them down one-handed as best he can and as soon as your hand wraps around his thick, hard, ready c0ck, you gasp.

"I told you we're gonna have to make it fit," he says with a smirk. 

And something about this talented, protective, humble man admitting he knows he's got a huge d!ck just… does something to you.

"Please fuck me," you purr in his ear, letting him shift your pelvis back so he can line up his length. “Commander.”

He growls when you nip at his earlobe and the tip slides inside of you.

"Fuck, Baby. I'm gonna split you in two," he says, taking a bracing step backwards. 

Suddenly, you find yourselves beneath the cascading waterfall, clinging to his shoulders, and giggling as he kisses you, pressing in a bit more.

He stops to look around briefly and ultimately decides to carry you up onto the shore at the backside of the waterfall. You groan as he slips out of you and he chuckles. "Gimme one second, Baby. I gotcha."

Carefully, he lays you down in the sand and crawls between your legs, planting a hand on each knee to spread you wide. Instinctively, you want to close them. He's staring so intently, you almost feel self-conscious, but then he presses his thumb to your slick flesh and swallows as his eyes scan your body.

"You're beautiful," Mills tells you. "Fucking gorgeous, I'm... I can't believe you're letting me touch you like this."

Your back arches and the sand collecting in your hair will be well-worth it.

"You can touch me anywhere," you tell him. "Everywhere."

He slides his middle finger inside of you and it feels thicker, longer than it had in the water. When he pulls it out, it's covered in your slick, and he makes eye contact with you while popping it into his mouth.

He savors it while you remain laid out in front of him, your own gaze locked on his huge, hard c0ck bobbing, teasing.

"So sweet, Baby," he says.

Then, he's wrapping his arms around your spread thighs and yanking you closer. His massive hands support your ass as he lifts you to line your entrance up with his c0ck.

"Ohh, god. Yes," you pant as your walls struggle to contain him.

The stretch as he bottoms out is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

It’s  a tight fit, especially when he plants a hand on your lower abdomen and allows you to truly feel the pressure of every movement.

"Don't stop," you tell him as he picks up the pace, both of you keeping an eye on the bulge in your lower abdomen. "Do this to me forever."

He chuckles as he readjusts, planting one hand on the sand next to you and keeping the opposite on your ass so he can pull your body in every time he thrusts. 

He's hitting you so deep, you're not convinced he isn't hitting your lungs. At least, it feels that way, with the way he's forcing air out of you.

"So good, you... you feel so good, Commander," you purr and he seemingly loses his mind at that.

Mills's eyes darken as seemingly every muscle in his body bulges simultaneously. His fingers dig into your ass cheek as he thrusts harder into you. Spray from the nearby waterfall mists you both as his body pleasures yours, leaving a shiny sheen across your skin.

"You feel fucking incredible," he grunts as the sand beneath you caresses your body.

You can tell his rhythm is faltering a bit as he picks up the pace.

"Can you come again?" he asks, panting.

"Uh huh."

"Do it," he commands. "Touch yourself, Baby. Come on my c0ck."

Mills gaze is focused, intently zoned in on his c0ck as it slides in and out of you, and your fingers drawing circles into your swollen, throbbing c|it.

"That's it, Baby. Doing so good. You feel perfect.... I'm close, Baby. I'm close. Come for me..."

With his encouragement and deeper-than-ever thrusts while he chases his own release, you soon find yourself barreling over the cliff of pleasure as your orgasm crescendos. Your intimate walls squeeze his c0ck tight as he fights to stay inside of you, uses every ounce of strength within him as his face turns red, his jaw falls open, and the veins in his neck bulge over you.

"Yes!" he roars, accentuating each word with a deep thrust. "Fuck... Baby... god... so... fucking... good... UNGHHHHH."

You moan as his hips fuse to yours and hardly pull back before pushing deeper, deeper, deeper. The pressure is insurmountable but your waiting c*nt takes all of his warm cum as deeply as possible until he collapses over you in a hot, glistening, panting heap.

"Mmmm, Commander," you purr. "That was-"

"Yeah," he agrees, still out of breath, but suddenly more desperate than ever to kiss you. 

"Aren't you glad you joined me instead of taking watch?" you tease, dragging your nails up and down his back.

He chuckles against your sweaty neck and presses a kiss there, too.

“So glad, Baby,” he coos, nudging his nose against yours. “I’ll be joining you every time.”

#commander mills #commander mills x you #commander mills x reader #commander mills x female reader #65 #adam driver #adcu #adcu writer #adcu fanfiction #adcu smut #adcu fic #rachwrites

[mrs-gucci]

Intimacy with Commander Mills (NSFW alphabet drabble)

anonymous: I’d love to know I from the NSFW alphabet for Mills please 💛

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

warnings. SMUT (18+), fluffy/soft smut, pretty much just descriptions of sex [oral sex (f recieving), unprotected p in v sex]

word count: 375

written as part of my welcome back celebration // nsfw alphabet template

He tries his best, but Mills isn’t a natural romantic. His idea of romance is having sex in an actual bed and not, well, wherever you two can get a quickie in. Usually the cockpit of whatever ship he’s flying. 

Everything in his life is fast-paced, he’s constantly going going going, so it’s hard to get him to slow down sometimes. But when you do manage to get him for a prolonged period of time...it’s usually pretty incredible.

Mills doesn’t always show it, but he’s pretty in-tune with his emotions, which makes for some amazing intimate sex. He really takes his time with you, kissing what feels like every bit of your skin, making sure to let you know how much he wants you. He pays special attention to the parts of your body that you like to be touched the most, caressing them with his calloused hands, lips, tongue and teeth. 

Once he’s done with that, he usually manages to find his way between your legs, expressing his passion and desire for you with his mouth. You never have to ask him to do it, he just does it.

Soon enough, after a mind-melting orgasm, he’s more than eager to be inside you. He’s the perfect size for you, long but not too long, and oh so thick. It almost feels like he’s meant for you, like a key is made for a particular lock. His noises are always quiet but gruff, which turns you on more than you would ever care to admit. You turn your attention to worshipping him however you can, and you know that his favorite things are neck kisses and some tugs on his hair. 

As soon as you start doing those things, he’s putty in your hands, losing the rhythm of his hips as he loses himself in pleasure. After a little while, he’s finally ready to let go, kissing you desperately as he empties deep inside of you.

Sometimes you can’t help wondering if he forgets all the things that make you tick since you two go so long without having anything but quickies, but then each and every time you two have more time together, he manages to remind you.

Over and over and over again.

****

general taglist: @mrs-zimmerman

mills taglist: @safarigirlsp @queeniebee @lumberjack00fantasies​

◆ liked this work and want to be tagged in future works? join the adcu taglist ◆

#mrs-gucci #65 movie #65 #commander mills #mills #commander mills x reader #commander mills x you #commander mills x female reader #commander mills smut #mills x reader #mills x you #mills smut #adcu #adcu fic #adcu fanfiction #adam driver smut #adam driver character #adcu smut #adcu fluff #adam driver movie #adam driver fandom #adam driver fluff #adam driver fanfiction

[glassbxttless]

For your follower celebration, Commander Mills fluff 1 prompt "You're not alone, you never were" Thank you!!!

Seashells

Commander Mills x f!Reader

summary: Mills is home from a mission and he can’t take another night without you promising to be his one.

word count: 1.9k+

warnings: fluff, proposal, some pining, female terminology (use of the pet name, “darling girl”)

The lights are dim as your fingers circle the smooth skin on his back. Freckles and moles delicately covering the vast expanse of skin. Your fingers trace along his spine until they settle just above his dimples. His face is buried into the throw cushion beside you— tv long forgotten and just used as background noise. Curtains drawn tight, just like he likes them at this hour. Mills.

The three years you’ve spent together have been blissful. The laughter you share has filled the rafters of your home on more than one occasion. Each moment you spend with one another ignites a new flame. Something deep in your belly that lets you know he’s the one. He knows it too. He feels it in the way you smile. The way you hold his hand at dinner, reassure him in front of your family, the way you have his back in front of his friends and coworkers. He sees it in the way you leave silly little notes in his lunches and on his desk in the spare room.

Your fingers— sitting idly at the base of his spine— begin to make their ascent back up to his hair. You twist the curls at the base of his neck between them, savoring the moment. His lashes lay delicately against his cheeks, breath soft and steady as he sleeps. His heart is the heavy thud against your thigh, keeping you grounded to the moment. But the second your nails begin to gently scratch at his head, he starts to shift. His position sprawled out over your lap changes, his neck craning as he opens his eyes. A sleepy smile donning his features. “Hey.” His voice is raspy, laced with sleep and something so unique to Mills— it takes all of you to keep yourself from pressing a kiss to the pretty pink lips that are pouted up just for you.

“Hey.” You smile softer in return, his chest leaving your thighs as he sits up, pulling you in for the gentlest kiss on your forehead. “Have a nice nap?” You ask him softly. These moments you’d never want to lose. They’re the most precious to you. Your heart skips out of your chest when you watch him stand, walk over to the refrigerator, and retrieve a bottle of water for himself that he drains within moments. Dehydrated and exhausted— The way he always returns from missions. “Do you want to go grab some dinner before we turn in for the night? I haven’t had the chance to do the shopping.” You remind him as he turns, the muscles in his back flexing under his skin as he reaches for another bottle of water.

“We can just do the shopping and maybe make something together?” He suggests, stepping around the island counter to grab the hoodie that was draped over the barstool. Upon slipping it on, he notes your nod in response to his suggestion and he smiles brightly. “I’ll go grab some shoes then, yes?”

You nod, smoothing the dress you were wearing over your thighs. Remembering the warm body you had just had sleeping safely against you. Mills ducks out of the room, heading upstairs to your shared bedroom. Reaching for the shoes he had tucked away earlier while you pull yourself up out of the sofa and slide into your sandals. You notice the sand tracked into the front of your home, clinging to the soles of Mills’ work boots. You’ve never thought that you’d be happy to see the sight. The mess they’ve made is reassuring. It lets you know he’s really here. It’s not a dream.

“I’ll clean it up as soon as we’re back, okay?” His voice has lost the rasp of sleep. His hand clamping down on your hip to bring you in close, another kiss being placed against your temple. Your heart skips a beat. Hand in hand, Mills insists, against your many protests, on walking to the grocery store on the other side of the beach. The one you cross two streets after the edge of sand to get to. The one that’s easily thirty minutes from your quaint home.

And the walk goes fine. He finds seashells, ones he knows you’d like to add to the jar you keep on the table by the door. The shells that remind you of him, having been brought to you after each date and each time he returns home. He stuffs them into the pocket of his hoodie, watches the way you cover your face when you feel your cheeks begin to grow hot. After so much time, the thought of seashells still entering your home under the guise of a loving gift to show his appreciation, his devotion, still brings a smile to your face. And his hand returns to yours. Holding the door of the market open, he smiles politely, He’s happy to just be home. He’s doing normal things, on the ground, with his girlfriend. No 6 month trips looming over their heads anymore.

He watches you pick fruits and vegetables. He makes note of the flour you select and what not to buy as he follows you around, holding the basket close to him. He has a plan for tonight and if everything goes how he thinks it will, it’ll execute itself perfectly. He watches as you begin to check out the groceries, the quiet chatter you make with the cashier. He watches you pull out the shared card the two of you use. The one with Mills salary directly partially dispensed onto it. He feels a sense of pride, knowing he’s taking care of you even when he’s away. The way he always took care of Alya and Nevine. He appreciates every moment— never takes anything for granted anymore. The small things. He watches you gather the bags, reaching out to help himself, and he hopes she’s doing well. He’s heard she’s remarried now, Alya, and she should be. There was never any malice between the two of them— they simply had grown apart. And Mills found you, sitting pretty across the room. Answering phones and hoping for the best.

He follows you home, listens to your voice but he’s too caught up in his thoughts to know what you’re really on about. That small velvet clad box burning against his thigh. And he just can’t help it. He can’t go another night without knowing you’ll marry him. Make him the happiest man on this planet. But for now, he just needs a little more time. He pulls his keys from his pocket, letting you into your home. The sand from the beach is clinging to both of your shoes as you kick them off and head towards the kitchen. He takes his time taking in the scene in front of him, before he’s pressing up against your backside, lips against your ear as he sways gently. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “I’ve missed you.” He’s repeated the mantra since stepping in the door. His voice is raspy and laced with something that’s so uniquely Mills— but it’s one you’ll never get tired of hearing.

You can hear the shells in his hoodie pocket scraping together ever so delicately and you let out the happiest sigh, the quietest giggle. “I’ve missed you too.” Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. Remembering the months you’d spent away from each other. How the only contact you’d get were quick video messages at random times of the day— how everything was so far out of touch. But now he’s here, his arms wrapped around you. You’re turning towards him, hands against his chest. Your eyes meet. Lashes long and thick, brown eyes sharp in the setting sun shining through the blinds. The two of you fall into a shared silence. Something you’ve both grown rather comfortable in. His hands are leaving your waist, drifting down your thighs and across the expanse of your backside. And he holds you tighter, face buried against your neck. Your heart thumps in your chest so loudly you think you can hear the ringing in your ears. Your hand presses against the back of his head, nails scratching his scalp lovingly.

“Please don’t go again.” You tilt your head slightly, lips touching the shell of his ear as you whisper, “I don’t know if I can handle being alone again—”

“You’re not alone.” Mills is quick to cut you off. His voice is stern, but it’s not any louder than it has been since he’s come home. “You never were alone, darling girl. You’ve always looked for me in the stars, huh? You’ve kept me in your thoughts and dreams. I know I think about you more often than I’d like to admit.” He says softly. You feel the hot burn of embarrassment starting at the base of your neck. “After Nevine… I thought things were never going to be the same. I lost her, I lost Alya. Things almost ceased for everything I am, everything I loved. But here you are, in all of your glory… Your beautiful smile, pretty eyes. The hands I get to hold every single day.” The corner of his lips turn up in a smile as he releases his grip on you to reach into his pocket. He pulls out the small little purple velvet box. You watch as he drops on one knee. When he opens the box there’s a small diamond band placed so delicately inside. Tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I couldn’t imagine going another moment without knowing I’ll have you by my side for the rest of my time here on this planet… Marry me, by any chance?”

Your heart feels like it may be too big to fit properly in your chest. And you sit back as your body begins to move on autopilot. Your hands cupping Mills cheeks as you nod ferociously, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Of course I will. Never wanted anyone else.” You whisper to him as he tugs the ring out of the box. You catch sight of the inside of the band being engraved, unable to make out exactly what it was. But as Mills slips the ring onto your finger, he pulls you into the tightest hug imaginable. Your face buries against his chest, knowing you’ve never been alone, not one day since Mills has been in your life. Your eyes catch the darkness beginning to fall and settle outside, stars twinkling as you both sway with one another.

That evening when you’re climbing into bed, Mills is already quietly asleep next to you— you take off the band to look it over closer. To see every thought and detail Mills put into selecting it for you. And that’s when you see the small seashell engraved on the inside of the band. You feel hot as your smile begins to grow. You’ll always love and appreciate him, more than anything. The shells from hours before lay in wait on the top of the dresser, just wishing to be added to the coin jar downstairs. Your cheeks begin to ache with how much you’re smiling as you slip the ring back onto your finger. Flipping the lamp next to the bed off, you curl up against Mill’s bareback. Something you’ll forever be indebted to, remembering how much you owe him. How much he needs you. How much you need him.

tag list ;; @peachyproserpina

#glassbxttless #commander mills x you #commander mills #commander mills x reader #commander mills x f!reader #fluff #cw: proposal #commander mills x female reader #adam driver #adam driver fandom #adam driver characters #adam driver fanfic #adam driver character

[blurredcolour]

You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Epilogue

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

The end of the war is just the beginning of the rest of your lives.

Photo Credit: East Islip Historical Society

Warnings: Discussion of War Hardships, Permanent Injury/Disability, Holiday Party Setting, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 1244

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

Nixon, New Jersey – December 20, 1946

The sprawling home of Stanhope Nixon was overflowing with guests, alcohol, and music as the annual Nixon Nitration Works holiday party was in full swing. Catering staff were milling about with silver trays of canapés and champagne while the management staff and their wives ate, drank, and made merry amongst the millwork and art that adorned Lewis’s father’s New Jersey home.

Lewis himself was busy playing host alongside his father, with his British war bride Irene in tow, as Dick kindly introduced you to his immediate supervisor. The modest diamond engagement ring and matching wedding band on your left ring finger refracted the light against the glass of champagne Lewis had planted in your hand upon your arrival, snagging your attention as it still tended to do, even eight months on.

The end of the war had come around the same time for you and Dick, with the Japanese surrender for him and with your discharge from Major Wilke’s command upon the arrival of the Allied prosecutorial team in Nuremberg furnished with a fleet of translators freshly released from Bletchley Park and other frontline duties. It had been bittersweet to be no longer needed, but as you had admitted to Dick that dreamy summer day in Austria, you were quite finished with your time in Europe.

It had taken over five months for Europe to let you go, however. Returning to England had been the easy part, your uncle’s widow in Oxford welcoming you back with open arms. With your more ambiguous service record under CWAC, however, return to Canada had taken rather longer. Priority on troop ships was naturally given to the boys in uniform, and then the girls who had enlisted in Canada. You had waited impatiently for your turn, working with your aunt to alter the wedding gown she had squirreled away from her own marriage in 1936. It had been her hope for her own daughter to wear it someday, but she had insisted as you were the closest thing she would ever have to such a person now, you ought to have it. So, it had become your joint project to turn it into something more modern for whenever you could find yourself standing in front of Dick Winters again.

That chance had not presented itself until March of 1946. Dick had arrived by train in your hometown in Canada, insistent on asking your father’s permission to marry you in person. He brought a ring, as promised, and married you one week later. Immigration paperwork had taken six weeks to clear, but you were grateful that it was nothing like the delay women from overseas endured. By the time you arrived in Nixon, New Jersey, Dick had a modest house and a car waiting for you, true to his word again. By the fall, you’d started offering private French lessons and you and Dick were seriously discussing whether or not you would attend vocational school to become a public-school teacher. Life was good, better than you could have ever imagined.

This party, however, had begun to drag on. Your feet were beginning to hurt as you stood around in your heels and you were feeling the strain of trying keep up with the myriad of conversations swirling around you amid the din of music and laughter. Dick’s hand on your lower back had you turning to him as he leaned into your left ear. “Let me show you the library.” His thumb swept along the fabric of your dress soothingly and you nodded gratefully as he excused you both.

Leading you down the hallway confidently, you wondered how many times he had been in this house, but felt your shoulders relax as the oppressive wall of sound faded away behind you. Guiding you around a corner, you couldn’t help but gasp as you stepped into a room filled with an expansive collection of leatherbound books, a fire laid in a stone hearth with a cozy seating area in front anchoring the space.

“Did we just find heaven?” You whispered conspiratorially and he chuckled as he kissed your temple, leading you to sit on an overstuffed leather sofa.

Setting down your now-empty glass on the low table in front of you, you sighed as you pressed a thumb between your brows. “I’m sorry it was so obvious I was having a hard time in there.” You apologized softly.

Sliding an arm around your shoulders, he gave a gentle squeeze. “Only to me, honey.” He assured you.

The sound of footsteps in the hall had both your heads turning sharply, concerned your sanctuary was about to be disrupted, but it was only Lewis who appeared in the doorway. “I thought I saw you two sneak off here.” He smirked, a glass of whisky in one hand and a bottle of Canada Dry ginger ale in the other. Kicking the door shut behind him, he came to sit in one of the armchairs across from the pair of you.

“Apparently we were not as subtle as we hoped.” You laughed as he poured half the bottle into your empty glass before handing the remainder to Dick, raising his own glass of amber liquid in a toast.

“Happy Holidays.”

“Happy Holidays, Lew.” Dick replied before your glassware came together in an awkward symphony of mismatched ‘clinks’ before you each took an appreciative sip.

“And to think we spent the last few scattered hither and yon.” Lewis remarked.

“Eating potatoes…” you muttered.

“Or nothing at all.” Dick added thoughtfully.

“Couldn’t get beef, Vat 69…nylons…” Lewis gave a nod in your direction, and you glanced at the closed door before eyeing him over the rim of your glass.

“Oh, I suppose it was a bit of a nuisance, but I honestly did appreciate having silk in my parachutes.” You took a leisurely sip, waiting for his reaction.

It unfolded slowly, his eyes widening before he sucked in a breath laced with droplets of his treasured whisky before coughing violently, pointing at you. “I knew it.” He wheezed eventually as you tried not to laugh too brightly at his expense. Dick held no such qualms, laughing richly beside you.

“Of course you did, you saw my last day firsthand.”

“But you finally admitted it! Please, you have to tell me everything…” He leaned forward eagerly, and you swallowed, wishing more than anything that you could.

There was still a great deal you hadn’t even shared with Dick; The Official Secrets Act preventing you from divulging anything. How you longed to share everything with them – the training schools in Scotland, the slosh of an aggressive amount of rum in your belly as you had fallen no more than ten seconds to hit the ground outside Lyon, your harrowing journey across the Andorra mountains into Spain to find passage back to England with your fresh side wound nagging at every step. The determination that had driven you back to Normandy just weeks after you return to London, and the eight months of exhausting, tension-laced work that had preceded their arrival. How you longed to share everything, to commiserate and to laugh. To be honest.

“Someday, Lewis. Someday it won’t be treason to talk about it and I will tell you everything.” You promised.

“To someday, then.” He grinned, raising his glass in another toast. “And believe me I will hold you to that.”

Laughing warmly, you raised yours in return. “To someday.”

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

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Tag list: @allthingsimagines, @bcon24

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers

[imeternallylove]

Moulin Rouge Sous le Ciel Bleu - S.Strange

Red Mill under the Blue Sky: the roaring '20s era

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Genre: angst and fluff, mostly bittersweet 💔✌️

Warning: forbidden love, sexual content

Word: approx 4k

main mastetlist | request | prompts

theme song (im very rec to listen while reading this)

A brilliant red mill stood out among the other buildings in the Jardin de Paris, at the foot of the hill in the Montmartre neighborhood, commanding attention with its vibrant color and unusual façade. Large metal letters spelled out the word Moulin Rouge over the entryway to the colorful venue. The Red Mill, because it was exactly what the building looked like. It certainly drew attention to itself, and Monsieur Strange had no doubt that this was the proprietors' goal. Moulin Rouge had grown infamous in Paris, and he had no doubt that it was also infamous throughout the rest of France.

The building's bright scarlet façade contrasted with the pristine blue of the sky above it, making it stand out even more on clear days like today. Stephen would not have imagined, looking at the red mill, that this was the edifice known as The Bastion of Pleasures in the city of love. It wasn't visually appealing, but it was a novelty, and the mill at the entryway was one of the reasons for the establishment's notoriety. That, and the female cabaret performers.

Stephen Vincent Strange, heir of an eastern trade enterprise and an expert in oriental goods, was known as "young Monsieur Strange." He had been sent to France by his father a year before starting university to acquire the French language, and now, years later, he was studying for a degree in Orientalism at the famed Sorbonne. He'd become a go-to man for Parisian socialites, advising them on real Chinese and silk textiles, among other things, all sourced from his family's import business.

But, underneath the elegant and wealthy heir, he had become enthralled by the revolution, a movement that began in the middle of the last century, a stride towards freedoms and liberties that he had never known in his own home of New York.

That's how he ended himself in the Moulin Rouge cabaret. Stephen adored it. The excitement of doing something that would be considered inappropriate in his own nation was exhilarating. He wished he was an artist or a poet some days. Of course, he was brilliant at both due to his considerable schooling, so it wasn't that he couldn't do either. Nonetheless, he wished that he could live off his riches and do whatever he pleased, composing poetry, creating watercolours on rice paper, and attending the cabaret.

Most crucially, in those crazy daydreams, he could freely love you.

You'd met when he came to consult with you about some costumes you were working on for a Moulin Rouge performance. The surroundings were supposed to be inspired by the Orient, interesting, exotic, and beautiful all at the same time, and you required assistance with the designs. Young Monsieur Strange had paid you a visit in your sewing chamber as an orientalist. He was impressed by the attention to detail you had placed into the costumes and was eager to help you in perfecting the ideas.

He was back in your workrooms a few weeks later, checking the finished product as well as the music hall stage set. Because your lodgings were close to the Moulin Rouge, he stopped by to see you and your fellow seamstresses on his way back. He had admired your outfits and had recommended you to the proprietors.

That's how you met and then kept meeting, each one ending with you smiling a little brighter, his smile getting cheekier and cheekier.

Stephen often assumed that falling in love with one of the dancers would be simple. Monsieur Strange, on the other hand, was not one to take the easy way out. He had been unimpressed by the dancers' charm, flirty manner, and womanly figure. He was an orientalist visiting Paris from his hometown, and he had no interest for the loud women of the cabaret, famous for their cancan. 

Instead, he had chosen the difficult path. He fell for you.

It was an impossible love. Hopeless in more ways than one; not only had he fallen head over heels for you irrevocably and explicitly, but there was no future in which he could do so. Your love was ephemeral, not because the sensations vanished, but because you couldn't freely love each other in this world, neither in France nor anywhere else. It was a forbidden love. 

Something forbidden. 

It's a hopeless love.

You knew it wouldn't last, you wouldn’t; but nothing does, so you loved him the same way he loved you.

Stephen would never marry a mere seamstress. He was a class above you, and he was certain his father had already picked a merchant's daughter for him, one from New York, just like him, just like his father wanted.

Tonight, he could spend naked in your arms, snuggled in the warm sheets of his bed, listening to his heartbeat while his long fingers combed through your hair.

"The sky was falling," you said as his heat cock finally came out, weary, clogged, and squeezed all the air out of your lungs. The palm of his hand lingered warmly on your exposed breasts, like a boy's toy.

Your hair is wet, and so is his. You look at the mess on the bedsheet, it's like a war, so criminally. Unless, of course Stephen's sharp smile, the top of his chest breaths heavily, and the bottom is buried beneath his blanket, but you pull out it to cover yourself so you can glimpse his entire body again. "And I'm falling for you, amour."

It was a quiet night. He'd snuck you into one of his smaller homes, where no servants could spy on you two. You had a glass of dry red wine and a baguette with camembert and red grapes. It was a basic dish by his standards, but it was everything the two of you could have desired for dinner tonight.

You had been kept busy by the continual repairs of Moulin Rouge costumes, as well as other work sent to you by higher and middle-class women, in the heart of balmy summer, with the sun shining down in all its splendor, warming you up and making all proper ladies sweat under their garments. You made no complaint. It was good job, and there was always additional money, which you could never have enough of.

Stephen did all the whining for you, about how you didn't have time for him, about how he felt neglected, about how you were too gorgeous to spend the days in a workroom instead of on the garden outside, enjoying in the sun and definitely keeping him company.

Finally, your work was completed, and you decided to take the day off, and now, at the end of the day spent in his arms, you were falling asleep in his arms, his gentle breathing feeling like a summer breeze in your hair, and his golden skin was warm on yours. Because of your body heat and the warm night, you couldn't sleep beneath a blanket, so you slept on a light linen sheet.

"Mon plus cher amour," he said into the air, that’s the way he called; "my dearest love." And you had responded to his call through the thin veil of sleep, turning in his arms to face him, your lips brushing against his as he spoke, the delicate touch sending thrills down Stephen's spine.

"Mon cherrie?" You'd wondered, laying a sly kiss on his pouty lips.

"I cannot imagine living without you." He engaged, his eyes staring into yours with such affection that you wondered if a mortal man could be filled with so much love. Such deep feeling was surely destined for something more holy than you; for ladies whose beauty lived on in legend, a kind of beauty caught by poems, songs, and prayers. Not you, mortal, frail, and average.

"Don't say such things." You murmured softly, your tone echoing Stephen's love in his gaze. His breath caught, and you could feel his heart rattling against your chest, its steady beat matching the pace of your own. "They make me fall in love with you even more." Your lover grinned at your comments, his long fingers reaching to gently hold your hand before bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles delicately, his lips smooth like rosebuds, flushed a deep pink as blood flowed through him, red and strong. His aquatic eyes never left yours for a second. 

Hopelessly, you loved him so badly, too.

The days passed without him, and eventually, after all work was finished, Stephen decided to take you to the premiere of the new cabaret show, the one you had spent months sewing costumes for, and now he would allow you the pleasure of seeing the fruit of your labors, and you had a feeling it would be sweet.

Tonight, he had taken you to the cabaret. The moulin rouge was full with patrons, their cacophonous banter before the show was like the beginning of a birdsong, someplace deep in the rainforest, their words, not always French, rang throughout the room like a flock of tropical songbirds, unorganized but cheerful. You sat at a table for two, he in a magnificent black suit, you in your best dress, your hair done up in a stylish style you had seen many of your clients wear. When you looked in the mirror before leaving the house, you couldn't believe the lady in the reflection was you. You wondered if he had always thought you were beautiful.

"You are lovely to look at. Never forget that, mon amour." He leaned in to whisper into your ears, the dim light shimmering golden against his skin, making the shape of his nose and the plushness of his lips even more refined, even more seductive. Your heart skipped a beat despite your will. As the dancers entered the stage, the flock fell silent, leaving only the melody of the orchestra. Stephen relaxed in his chair, entirely at ease, sipping champagne.

The show was spectacular, but no one expected less from the legendary Moulin Rouge. The dancers glided around the stage in perfect synchronicity. Even their most frantic routines were carried out with beauty and precision. others gowns were shorter than others, and others were more scandalous. You hadn't skimped on the feathers and sequins. Each costume was meticulously fitted, with every thread perfectly in place and every color carefully chosen.

"Something like this would never be tolerated where I come from." Stephen whispered in your ear. Even without looking at him, you could tell that his gaze was drawn to the dancers and his lips formed a sneer against your ears. You knew he wasn't talking about the cabaret. "I'm glad it's allowed here." When you didn't react, he whispered, and you felt a delightful chill down your spine.

"They look gorgeous." Instead, you stated that your gaze never leaves the stage. The dancers span, their skirts swirling with them, exposing more of their legs, and the audience couldn't stop gasping.

He questioned as he took another sip from his flute. "The dancers?"

"Pretty women look good in pretty clothing." When another round of cacophonous delight rippled through the audience, you responded with a nod, a smile on your lips.

"Are those your dresses?" Stephen smiled, his eyes twinkling as he examined the colorful outfits, feather plumes, and embroidery on the bodices and skirts. 

“Oui.” You sipped your drink, allowing the buzz of alcohol to enhance your enjoyment of the evening. "What's the point of staring at me?" After a while, you said, the feeling of Stephen's deep ocean eyesight staring at you becoming uncomfortable as the night progressed, your second flute of champagne now standing empty in front of you.

"I can't stop myself. You are like the moon." He smiled, turning his head to look at you from a fresh perspective. "So attracting me." He spoke, and his hand moved across the table to grip yours, his long fingers weaving through yours.

You stayed like that till the end of the show.

When the night was done and he had draped your coat over your shoulders like a gentleman, a cheeky smile graced his lips, his eyes bright with mischief.

"We went to the pleasure palace, and yet my greatest pleasure was watching you." He told you, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, savoring the crimson that warmed your cheeks, both from the champagne and from him.

Another week passed, and you were again in his chambers, laying among the lovely covers, holding a book as Stephen dressed. He was dressed in a suit identical to the one he wore to Moulin Rouge, but he had changed the jacket to something more suited for dinner. You liked his straight brows and heavy lashes as you combed his hair back away from his face. 

"How do you think I look?" He approached, tying his black bowtie in front of the mirror above his dresser.

Looking at his tiny figure over your book, you told him. "Handsome as always." You said that when he turned around and winked at him. "You will be fine, Monsieur Strange."

"Whatever you want to say, Mademoiselle." He smiled as he walked over to the bed and knelt down. His plush lips were on yours in an instant, and you melted into the kiss. 

When he turned to slide into his jacket, he looked back at you, his eyes filled with concern. You could tell he was tense by the clench of his jaw and the strain in his shoulders. 

"Enjoy yourself." You smiled at him, attempting to cheer him up. Whatever was on his thoughts was weighing heavily on him. Enough to make him wary of telling you about it. It was a rare occurrence. 

"It's just another business meeting; I'm recommending teapot purchases." He muttered, presumably to himself, and you sprang from the bed, wrapping your arms around his torso and staring into his eyes. Their maritime blue reminded you of hot coffee and chocolate in the morning. "New York ceramics have grown in popularity among those who can afford to import them." He spoke, his arms wrapping over your shoulders. Stephen buried his face in your hair, and you gave him a minute of silence. He pressed you against him, and you listened to his heartbeat, sure and steady like him. 

"Selling a lot of teapots, then, mon cherie." You told him, and he let you go with one more farewell kiss.

"Don't worry about missing me too much, mon plus cher amour." He called out as he walked out of the room, and you couldn't help but smile as you watched him go.

Sadly, you do.

The dinner was drab. The hosts were rich, as they always were, and they loved to gossip, as they always did. Normally, Stephen avoided the ladies' gossip, preferring to sit and drink whiskey with the males, but tonight he found himself in the center of it. Not because he was really interested, but because he was the topic of it. 

Many guys stood around the room conversing, and some women avoided the host's wife, who was a nasty gossip who could run her mouth like no other. Unfortunately, Stephen was on his way to meet his business partner, Monsieur Holmes from England, when he overheard the conversation.

The guests sat on luxurious sofas, with a tiny wooden mahogany coffee table in the center, containing a lovely tea set, white porcelain with delicate lotus blossoms painted in red for adornment. Last summer, it was one of the models they carried. Surprisingly, it was not a high-end set.

"I heard he went to the cabaret with his mistress last week. I'm curious who she is." The harsh voice of one of the ladies pierced his eardrums. Stephen could tell she was one of your clientele based on her attire. In your shop window, a similar dress, however green rather than the caustic salmon color this woman was wearing, was shown. He could recognize your work from anywhere right now.

"There will be no high standing." Another woman interrupted him, and he wanted to stop listening. Morbid curiosity kept him quiet, listening to those women criticize you, his blood boiling under his skin. 

"A Frenchwoman and a New Yorker. In public!" Stephen tried to stop himself from cursing after hearing the woman in salmon scream. 

"How are you doing, ladies?" Instead, he put on a happy face and walked right into the women's chat, interrupting their gossip. "I heard you ordered two tea sets, Madame." He turned to gaze at an older woman sitting between the two who were chatting about you.

“Yes. My daughter is marrying into a good family, and I want to make sure she brings only the best to her new home." She had spoken, her nose turned almost comically high as she tried to gaze at him with contempt. 

"I hope you will be pleased with the quality of our products." He had bowed lightly, a sickly-sweet smile lingering on his lips, as rage had no doubt poked through his eyes. When you glanced into his eyes, you stated you could tell he was upset. He would have spoken more, but Shrr had come to his rescue, his cheerful attitude brightening the mood of the women.

"Ah, Monsieur Strange, I was looking for you." He talked, his rich voice filled with joy as he tried to pull Stephen away. 

He pushed him to the side and handed the shorter man a tumbler of scotch. Sherlock's massive body towered over him, hiding him from the gossips' gaze. His huge hand reached out and squeezed Stephen's shoulder in reassurance.

"Young men are young men regardless of where they come from." Do not listen to old rumor." Sherlock's powerful voice slowed to a mumble, and Stephen assumed his companion was growling rather than speaking.

"Thank you, Sherlock." He mumbled, gulping the scotch down, too frustrated to taste it. He found the burn of alcohol to be a pleasant distraction.

"Better to love one woman than to hate one woman." When his pal looked down on him, his teal eyes were soft.

Stephen asked shifting the conversation from one unpleasant issue to another. "Any news from my father?" 

“None yet. I’m not sure he even knows about her.” Sherlock reassured him, a small smile playing on his lips. He sipped on his scotch.

"If he knew," Stephen said, his heart pounding wildly against his chest, making him dizzy, before Sherlock cut him off. 

"You'd have been on a ship back by now, and that merchant's daughter would have been waiting for you at the docks." He finished for him, gulping down the rest of his scotch before proceeding to refill their glasses.Stephen received an increasing number of inquiries for imported pottery as the evening continued. Tea sets, plates, and bowls were among the items requested. By the end of the meal, his notebook was full of names and catalog numbers. 

Stephen had removed his coat and unfastened his bowtie when he returned home. His white shirt had a few buttons undone, displaying his golden collarbone. He sat on his living room sofa, sipping more scotch from a crystal glass. When he arrived, you tossed the book and sat alongside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder. The fabric beneath you was velvet, far more expensive than you could possibly afford. You could see he had it built to order.

Stephen had remained silent other than greetings and a couple brief kisses. Despite the drink he consumed, the worry shown on his face had not subsided. From the corner of your eye, you noticed his jaw clenched and relaxed.

"Are you ready to tell me now?" You asked him, and he turned his chin towards you. His gaze was drawn to your lips first, then up into your eyes. He'd always assumed they were sapphires. Not because they were blue, but because they reminded him of the sea, deep and uncharted. They hid your heart, so they gleamed like valuable stones and reflected light like the tumultuous waters of the sea. Deep, so deep that he lost himself in them and found himself in them as well. 

"I'm worried about my father." His heavenly voice broke, heavy with uncertainty, and he mumbled.

"We knew about your father from the start,” you told him as you pressed your palm against his cheek, allowing Stephen to sink into your contact and relish in how warm he felt against you. “We knew how this was going to end before it even started."

"What if I don't want this to come to an end?" He asked whether and you were the one to lose yourself in the depths of his irises this time.

You kissed him with your other hand on his cheek. Passionately and uninhibitedly. It didn't matter if the end was coming or if it was already here. You had feelings for him. You were hopelessly in love with him. 

Stephen went violet when you touched him. He felt it seep into him when he pressed his lips to yours with bruising force, and again when you grabbed him in his bed, and again when you left purple marks over his collar bones, each one a visible stain on his body; something to remind him he was yours, something to remind you that you were his. 

Days flew by in a blur of color. You awoke in his bed, went to work, and spent the evening at Moulin Rouge. Every night was spectacular; every night was the same. You had grown fond of Moulin Rouge. Stephen could sit by you in public and flaunt your devotion for him. In Montmartre, most people were preoccupied with the concept of liberty and freedom. You shared their hopes, that the world will be a better place to live one day. Both you and he fit in. It was simple to be at the Bastion of Pleasures.

After one of the shows, when you had finally returned home to recuperate, an unexpected guest appeared. 

Sherlock had come in one evening, just as Stephen was falling asleep in your lap, your voice calming him. The British man had arrived with a letter. It was obvious that it was from Stephen's father. Because the characters were strange, you were illiterate and blissfully unaware of the contents. 

"Not good." Stephen had risen from your lap and was pacing as he read over the letter. Sherlock had taken a seat near you, his form looming over you. You weren't bothered because you were used to being in his shadow, but the expressions on both men's faces made you nervous. 

Sherlock told them. "He wants you to return by the end of the next year." His strong voice boomed through the room, and his loving brown eyes looked down at you, and then at Stephen, with such sadness that you couldn't tell who was more saddened by the news.

"I understand." Stephen paused his pacing and requested that one of his assistants bring them some cognac. "To one more year." When the vodka was poured into crystal glasses and delivered to the three of them, he toasted.

You raised your glass with a cheeky smile, toasting with him. Sherlock raised his glass reluctantly and witheredly, the amber liquid shimmering in the faint light, before taking a gulp.

You lay wrapped in Stephen's arms that night, a pleasant breeze blowing through the open window, drifting over your naked shoulders as you glanced up at your sweetheart.

"Let us leave. Just… Run away with me." Stephen mumbled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of his room, more pensive than you had ever seen him.

"Is this? …New Americana proposal’s? Where’s my ring?" You commented, a broad smile on your face, as though pondering of the possibilities, soon, your shoulders jolted down. "Where shall we go?"

"Wherever my father won't find us." You pressed closer to him, further into the protection of his arms, as he aware you. “Italy?” You sought out, considering locations too far away for the Strange business to pursue you to.

“Britain? Erm-”

"French Indochina?" You kissed his forehead, with an awkward smile on your lips.

"I don't care… literally. Where we go; my heart goes to loving you everywhere." He spoke softly, and you knew he loved you now more than ever. 

Stephen was ready to leave everything to be with you, where his father could not intervene, and you were ready to leave with him, you knew you would; for anything even your cabaret flora life here; for one condition… just be with him.

"Then let's go anywhere." You gave in, putting a kiss to his lips and whispering love words into his ears as he held you. He whispered them back, breathed love into you with his kisses, was firm and soothing alongside you, and despite the frost in the air, you were warm. 

His lengthy fingers knead over yours, enveloping them. You know he staked his entire future on it. You are mindful of this. "Whether it's an ice-covered world or warfare, I'll be the one that burns it." Your lips curled together, his words so sincere, and his rich tone melt with every emotion you've ever beheld. "Like frost and flame; hot and cold both evaporated."

You draw stars on his chest, another one, another one… Attentively paying attention to his heartbeat. The galactic cosmos feels incredibly near whenever you're with him, your Monsieur Strange, yours.

"Trust me?"

"Always have."

Love was occasionally hopeless, but maybe this time, just this time, there was hope.

And this is hope that you want would be go on survived.

For everlasting. 

a/t: how was it 🥹 idk why but the plot comes while i listen this so bitter, tortured but sweetener so it’s challenging me to write 1920’ era. Well… in fact, the forbidden love is my first time writing… so erm yk what i mean? just please give love to it bc Monsieur Strange is watching you 😂🥹🤭 the core of this story is foreign man who has love affair with the owner of cabaret and he bet everything on it to stay with his heart, so fucking romantic yeah? this side is so rare to see from Stephen x reader ff and that’s why, so sorry to bring him out of character again bc it’s not my first time actually HAHAHAHAHA xD well next story we will see new youtuber Stephen who open YouTube channel so bright the boredom of quarantine by corona, he’s doctor right? let’s go romantic comedy yahooooo

#multiverse of madness #doctor strange #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange fanfiction #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange one shot #stephen strange one shot #marvel fanfiction #stephen strange #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange smut #stephen strange smut #dr strange smut #mcu x reader #doctor stephen strange #benedict cumberbatch #imeternallylove

[vibrantbirdy]

Asks for Character x Reader Fic Requests Now Open!

Hi Tumblr,

My Asks are currently open for Character x Reader Fic Requests.

IMPORTANT: Before requesting, please read the Guidelines below.

Thank you everyone who has given me amazing prompts so far and for your kind words and your interactions. Guidelines Characters I will write for: Star Wars - Kylo Ren or Ben Solo - Cal Kestis - Cassian Andor - Obi-Wan Kenobi (any era) - Anakin Skywalker (pre-Vader) - Luke Skywalker (any era) - Din Djarin - Poe Dameron - Finn Other Fandoms - Dr Daniel Jackson (Stargate SG-1) - Commander Mills (65) - Tenth Doctor (Doctor Who) - Any character (Lord of the Rings Trilogy) - Main crew (Star Trek TNG)

More guidelines under the cut...

How to Request:

Please request through my Asks here (which can also can be found under my blog header)

Request descriptions will be posted with the fic

You may request anonymously

If you choose not to request anonymously, please let me know if you do not you want to be tagged in your fic request when it is posted

I will try to answer as many requests as possible but please understand that I probably won't feel an affinity with every single prompt that comes in. Please don't be offended if it looks like I haven't picked your request up and feel free to try again with something different in the future.

I will try to get to requests as soon as possible, but please remember I do, unfortunately, have real life to contend with too.

What do you want?:

Type of fic: Generally for requests I will write Character x Reader. However, if you want something that focuses on a Character x Canon/Implied/Potential Pairing or a Character x OC just let me know and I'll see what I can do.

Specify Reader Type: Default will be Character x Female Reader just because that's what I have most experience writing, but if you would prefer Character x Gender Neutral Reader or something different please let me know and if I pick up your request, I will try my best!

Length: Most of my fic will be between 1000 and 5000 words. If you have a length in mind please let me know, otherwise I will just go with the flow.

Prompt: Remember to give me information on what you would like the basic details of the story to be. These can be specific or general but I need something as a starting point.

Genres I will write for:

Action/Adventure

Romance

Gen

Fluff

Enemies to Lovers/Allies/Friends

Hurt/Comfort and mild Whump

Mild Angst

Smut (please, don't be shy to ask - ask anonymously if you want! - but bear in mind I may be a little more selective about smut than other types of requests. If you request adult content you must be 18+.)

What I won't write about (this is not an exhaustive list):

Sexual Violence/Non-con

Severe Trauma

Heavy Angst

Extreme Violence

Infidelity or Love Triangles

All my fic will be clearly labelled with warnings and anything 18+ will be clearly marked so please heed these indicators before reading.

Thank you all so much!

-Birdy

My original Character x Reader fics

Title: No Survivors Fandom: Star Wars: Skywalker Saga Genres: Sci-Fi; Action/Adventure; Enemies to Allies; Whump; Hurt/Comfort and Romance if you squint. Setting: Pre The Force Awakens Characters: Kylo Ren x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: 3347 Warnings: Detailed descriptions of injury/aftermath of injury (non-fatal impalement); descriptions of emergency/makeshift medical treatment; mild descriptions of death from a crashed ship; mild sexuality; mild/canon typical swearing Pairings: Kylo Ren x Female Reader

Summary: You are Resistance fighter who has been captured. You are in transit aboard a First Order transport destined for an Imperial prison on the swamp moon of Delka 6. When a violent electromagnetic storm brings down the ship, you appear to be the only survivor. That is until you come across Supreme Leader Snoke's primary warlord, Kylo Ren, amid the wreckage. The volatile Ren is injured and you have to decide whether you can put your reservations aside to help him in the aftermath of the crash.

Completed Reader Requests Title: Crush Fandom: Star Wars: Skywalker Saga Genres: Sci-Fi; Romance; Fluff Setting: Sometime later on in the Force Awakens Characters: Poe Dameron; Female Reader Pairings: Poe Dameron x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Warnings: None :) Perhaps extremely mild, fluffy, sexuality Summary: You working for the Resistance on D'Qar, and Wing Commander Poe Dameron has a crush on you - he's surprisingly awkward about it.

Title: Charade Fandom: Star Wars Setting: Between Andor and Rogue One Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Enemies to lovers; Action/adventure; Fluff Warnings: in keeping with tone of Andor/Rogue One - moderate sexuality; moderate swearing; mild violence/peril; brief mentions of loss of family/friends by Reader. Pairing: Cassian Andor x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: approx 10k (oops) Summary: You and Captain Cassian Andor have to negotiate your personal differences and difficult history when you are both assigned to go on an undercover operation to the Galaxy's playground for the super-rich, Canto Bight, as a married couple.

Title: Relics Fandom: Star Wars: The Skywalker Saga Setting: Pre the Phantom Menace to post the Kenobi Series. Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Minor Angst Warnings: mild/moderate sexuality; mild references to Reader family losses due to old age; mild references to the Empire being baddies and doing baddie things Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.5k Summary: You and Obi-Wan Kenobi have a connection that spans decades as your lives intersect throughout the years. Will you find each other again in the most unlikely of places?

Title: Proximity Fandom: Star Wars Jedi Fallen Order/Survivor Games Setting: Prior to events of Jedi Survivor Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Fluff - This is tooth-rotting fluff with a little added spice as requested ;) Warnings: This fic is 18+ so please heed and respect the adult rating. Descriptions of sexual longing/arousal; strong consensual sexual content - nothing too descriptive but probably on the borderline of (hopefully still sweet) smut. Pairing: Cal Kestis x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: approx 5.5k (Because I have no self control) Summary: You are an accomplished Coruscanti thief who has been recruited by the Rebel Jedi, Cal Kestis. As you join him and his crew on their adventures aboard the Mantis, you and Cal have to navigate your growing feelings for each other.

Title: Familiarity Fandom: Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order and Survivor games Setting: Prior to the events of Survivor Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Action/adventure; Fluff; Angst; Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Canon typical combat violence; canon typical death/angst/survivor's guilt relating to Order 66; mild sexuality; one claustrophobic scene due to ruined temple adventuring; SPOILERS for Jedi: Fallen Order and minor ones for the set up to Survivor. Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.8k (this one got away from me!) Summary: Believing each other lost to the brutal purge of the Emperor's Order 66, ten years after you were separated from your childhood best friend during the systematic eradication of the Jedi Order, you and Cal Kestis are finally reunited amid the strange Temple ruins of an ancient civilisation.

Title: Frequency Fandom: Star Wars: Skywalker Saga Genres: Sci-Fi; Action/Adventure; Enemies to Allies; Hurt/Comfort Setting: Post The Last Jedi, Pre The Rise of Skywalker Main Characters: Kylo Ren x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Warnings: Mild/canon typical battle violence; mild/canon typical swearing Summary: You are Rey's long lost sister - a powerful force wielder - and you encounter Supreme Leader, Kylo Ren, as you both search for something.

In Progress

Cassian Andor x Reader (Original)

#star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars x reader #star wars fic #fic requests #star wars fic requests

[bits-and-babs]

Would you possibly consider doing a sex pollen fic with Commander Mills and the ☁️ prompt 6? 💛💛💛 thank you

“𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭…”

pairing: Commander Mills x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+. Sex-Pollen, so Dub-Con by default. Oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, cumming in pants, lalala Jasmine’s a slutttt

mills masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist

Dread drips from your pores, manifesting in sweat. It should have been obvious not to touch the bright red petals of the flowers blooming from the bush in the forest. Red equals danger, after all- but it had been so pretty. 

Being childish, trying to bring a smile to Mills’ stern face, you’d pushed the flower into his ebony hair. He’d scowled at first, but kept it tucked behind his ear. 

The sweats had started not long after, heat blooming through your body and roasting you from the inside. Then the arousal. It crawled across your body, ripping you up internally. Fuck, you’d never been so horny, and Mills looked so fucking good— the perspiration settled in his clavicle called to you, tongue desperate for a taste. 

The aloof personality of the Commander had dropped away almost instantly, pushing you into the forest grass and undressing you with an animalistic force, seams of your cargo pants tearing. 

Tongue buried in your dripping cunt, Mills groaned loudly as he pushed his erection into the forest floor, grinding his hips for purchase. Each delighted hum from his chest vibrated against your cunt, and you came with a shriek of his name. Again. 

“Oh my god- ohmygodohmyghohhhhh-“ you ramble, falling into a pathetic wail of bliss as you push your hips up into his face, clit bumping his nose. He plunges his fingers deeper inside of you, tracing your g-spot with deft fingers. 

“Fuck,” he pants heavily, looking up at you through his lashes with those eyes, dripping like honey. His mouth is soaked, glistening in the sunshine. “Your pussy tastes so sweet…”

“Ugh-Hah-Hah- Oh fuck,” you squeal, feeling everything pull up tight. “I’m gunna fucking cum again, oh my god, ImgonnafuckingcumaGAIN-“

“C’mo-“ He cuts himself off, wrapping his lips around your cunt and swallowing you down, flicking his tongue over your clit viciously. When you cum, it rattles your bones. Rips through you like liquid heat that makes you sob loudly, body trembling with the force of your tears. 

“Hah- Oh shit-“ Mills’ shoulders stiffen beneath your palms, his hips rutting into the soil beneath him. He’s panting heavily, letting out pained groans and rambling to himself. 

“Fuck, Baby’s pussy is so wet, isn’t it? So fucking sweet and tasty. Could fucking drown in it- ohfuck,” he spit out, his hand splayed over your abdomen. “Just another taste. Just one more tas-“

You try to escape it, pulling your hips away from the overstimulation, but Mills swipes his tongue through your folds once more, body seizing up as he cums with a devastated groan, his nails digging into the flesh of your stomach. 

“Oh- Mills-“ you sob out, eyes rolling back into your skull as an orgasm rocks you again.

#commander mills fanfic #commander mills x reader #commander mills x you #commander mills x female reader #commander mills #mills x reader #commander mills x f!reader #commander mills smut #65 movie #65 movie fanfiction #65 million years ago #65 movie fanfic #adcu fic #adcu community #adcu fanfiction #adcu x reader #adcu smut #adam driver #adam driver fanfic #adam driver smut #adam driver x y/n #adam driver x you #adam driver x reader #adam driver fic #જ⁀➴ mail: received #✩‧₊˚ 6k follower celebration ˚₊‧✩

[rachoxpotato]

🦕 Commander Mills x female reader 🔞 NSFW ⚠️ CW // somno, cunnilingus, p in v, praise, hickeys, possessive Mills ✏️ 1.5k words

-

It's been 11 months since you’ve slept.

Eleven months without his large, warm, protective body beneath the duvet next to yours.

You’d spent your nights tossing, turning, praying, hoping, crying… but nothing helped.

Until finally, finally, he’d returned home to you.

He’s just as large and just as warm.

But his naturally protective nature had evolved into a primal possessiveness. As though you are his lifesource and he needs to spend every second of every day ensuring your safety, your comfort.

Your pleasure.

“Ohh,” you hear yourself moan before you fully come to consciousness.

Instinctually, your back arches up off the mattress and a distinct pressure increases on your thighs.

You thought you couldn’t get any rest when he was gone, but now that he’s back… you’re getting even less sleep than you were before.

“Mills,” you whimper, his nickname rolling off your tongue easier than his first name ever had.

His hair tickles the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as your body gradually wakes, his hot tongue lapping at your core incessantly.

“Go back to sleep, Baby,” he coos. “I just needed to warm my girl up a bit.”

You can hear the smirk in his tone as a thick finger slides inside of you and your eyes blink open only to shut tightly seconds later when his lips wrap around your clit.

You’re close.

How long had he been doing this?

“I need my baby girl,” he murmurs, tongue flicking out against the swollen nub. “So bad. So fucking bad. God, I missed eating this perfect pussy.”

His finger slides out enough that a second joins the first and he holds you steady with his other massive hand on your lower abdomen, keeping you pinned to the bed.

You attempt to adjust to this new fullness, this intense pressure, by tilting your hips but he holds you steady.

“It’s okay, Baby. I know you’re close already. Come for me.” His voice is so deep, so desperate. As though this is the first and last time he’s ever given you an orgasm. “Can feel these tight pussy walls squeezing my fingers, Baby. How do you even take my cock? Fuck… my girl, my perfect girl.”

“Mills, Mills… MILLS!” you scream, hands running through his hair, holding his head steady as your shaking legs frame his head. You’re squirming, babbling, gasping, sucking in your breath and holding it until your scaling orgasm crescendos.

His mouth is relentless, sucking your clit as his fingers pump in tune with his lips.

A gush of arousal floods the space between you as his fingers curl up toward your g-spot and he prolongs your orgasm even further.

Or makes you come again. You’re not sure which.

“I… I…” You’re unable to form words, still partially asleep, but mostly fuck drunk.

“I know,” Mills says with a smirk, kissing his way up your tummy and abdomen, leaving a trail of your essence in his lips’ wake.

He nuzzles his beard against your breast, tickling your nipple, and soaking the surrounding flesh before growling.

“Mine.”

He makes your tit taste like your pussy, then his mouth descends, takes your nipple and most of your breast into his mouth and sucks there, too.

He suckles hard enough to leave a mark, the pain morphing into pleasure as it races through your system and pools in your core.

“Need you, I need you,” you finally manage to gasp, subconsciously spreading your legs even wider for him. “Please… Commander.”

The title stops Mills in his tracks.

When he looks up at you, his gaze is poignant and intense. The darkness of your bedroom pales in comparison to the black in his eyes.

You smirk, but he seems hellbent on wiping that clear off your face when he reaches down to hook your leg in his elbow and presses your thigh to your chest.

Reaching between you, you attempt to help guide him to your entrance, but he’s already there, already pushing in, already stretching you wide open.

“Fuck, Baby,” he groans. “How is my girl so tight when I just fucked her an hour ago?”

You moan simultaneously when he bottoms out, your intimate walls pulsing as they attempt to accommodate his girth. He’s so big, you’re so full, you’re not sure how much more you can take.

Then he starts moving.

“You were fucking made for me,” Mills says, pulling back and thrusting into you. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you agree.

With his massive biceps on either side of you, holding up his huge frame, he gets you stretched before pulling out and sitting back on his haunches. Instead of scooting closer to you, he grabs your hips and yanks your body until the bottoms of your ass cheeks are flush with his knees.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his cock in one hand, and your ankle in the other to throw it over his shoulder. “Wanted to see all these pretty marks I gave you.”

Without warning, he thrusts into you all at once and glides his hand up the center of your torso before grabbing one of your breasts and squeezing so hard, his fingertips likely leave even more bruises.

You cry out when he pinches your nipple and whimper when you glance down over your abused breasts and take in the purples, blues, and reds.

“Mills,” you gasp.

“I know, Baby,” he coos, hand stroking your skin as it slides down your abdomen. It’s so big, it covers nearly the entire expanse of your torso until it continues to your thigh, still bent on the bed. Mills pushes your leg deeper into the mattress, and opens you up even more. “Fuck, look at you.”

His opposite arm wraps around your other leg and secures it against his chest before he begins pounding into you with reckless abandon.

A chorus of your slapping skin harmonizes with the constant thuds of the headboard against the wall.

“Yes yes yes!” you gasp. “Harder!”

“Fuck,” he grunts, his hips snapping into yours with a punishing pace. “Fuck. So tight.”

“Mills,” you moan, vision blurring as you begin losing your senses.

“Come again,” he orders. “Come on my cock.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Commander.”

Mills growls.

He adds a flourish to his hips to increase the friction of his cock against your front wall. Your breasts jiggle wildly with his violent thrusts and when you lift your hands to grasp at them, he grunts.

“I’m close, Baby. Need ya to come for me. Be a good girl and come on my cock. Come on.” His expression is desperate, thumb unrelenting until you suck in a breath of air and let go.

You scream as he pulls your orgasm from you, your own fingers pinching your nipples while your wail falls silent.

Your voice had already been strained from the past week of making up for lost time, but this likely did it.

“Fuck yes, look so pretty under me, Baby,” he praises, his own voice strained. “Screaming my name so loud, you lose your voice. That’s my good fucking girl.”

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch his biceps bulge as he holds your legs open and where he needs them. Beads of sweat drip down his massive pecs as his ladder of abdominal muscles contract with each motion.

“Pretty pussy squeezing me so tight… good girl. My good girl.. fuck!”

Mills pumps into you hard as his own orgasm peaks, the first ropes of white, hot cum filling your tight channel. His thrusts grow sloppy and desperate as your fluttering walls milk his cock and you take every drop he has to offer inside of you.

“Christ,” he groans, pulling out carefully once his balls have drained.

Mills wraps his long fingers around your calf and presses a kiss to your ankle before gently dropping your leg to the mattress.

“Come here,” he growls, collapsing next to you and pulling you close, your sweaty, heaving bodies colliding. “I maybe went a little overkill on the marks.”

His thick fingers circle and press into the bruises on your breasts, drawing swirls around the darkest ones.

“I like them,” you say with a giggle. “Commander.”

He growls. “Don’t call me that unless you’re prepared to go again.”

You whimper, knowing it’s not an empty threat. His refractory period seemingly disappeared since returning home to you.

You’re tired, but can think of no better reason to stay awake. So you hoist your exhausted body up, straddle his hips and smirk down at him.

“I think I wanna go for a ride, Commander.”

His massive hands find your hips as his eyes take in your gorgeous body.

“Mine.”

#commander mills x female reader #Adam driver #ADCU #commander mills #rachwrites #adcu smut #commander mills x you

[mrs-gucci]

I’d love to know I from the NSFW alphabet for Mills please 💛

it has been posted!! link to the post is here

thanks so much for requesting, anon <3

#adcu #adam driver #adam driver character #adcu fanfiction #adam driver fanfiction #adcu community #adcu fic #adam driver smut #commander mills #commander mills smut #65 movie #commander mills x female reader #commander mills x you #commander mills x reader #mills smut #mills x reader

[glassbxttless]

Commander Mills Masterlist

Thank you for checking out my work! I appreciate it a ton! Remember that all of my fics are 18+ and Minors are NOT permitted to interact with ANY of my content.

Smut is indicated with *

( FICS )

Moon Magic*

-> 1.8k+ ;; You’ve missed Mills entirely too much and find yourselves relaxing in your favorite place, just past those old trees.

Seashells

-> 1.9k+ ;; Mills is home from a mission and he can’t take another night without you promising to be his one.

Little Poppet

-> 1.3k+ ;; Mills really loves being a dad, and tonight he’s so tired but he soaks up every single second.

( MINI-FICS )

#glassbxttless #female reader #commander mills #commander mills x reader #commander mills x female reader #commander mills x you #commander mills x f!reader #masterlist

[eloquentreverie]

wips list.

i have no schedule when any of these will be released. feel free to send me thots, concepts or headcanons about any of these, if you'd like!

oneshots.

title: untitled

summary: TBD

pairing: lumberjack!werewolf! curtis everett x human!female reader

title: bound by the moon

summary: TBD

pairing: werewolf! curtis everett x vampire! female reader

title: beautifully wrong

summary: after a few months after landing back on his home planet, somaris. Mills struggles with the memories and the loss of his family.

pairing: commander mills x female reader

warnings: tbd!

outlined wips.

title: tbd!

inspiration:the first knives out movie & my love for stalker romances.

summary: After serving a lengthy prison sentence for murdering his grandfather, Ransom Drysdale returns to claim what he sees as rightfully his. He is surprised to discover that Y/N now resides in his grandfather's home and becomes consumed with a need to possess both the house and Y/N.

pairing: stalker! ransom drysdale x female reader

warnings: stalking, dark! ransom drysdale, somnophilia, dub-con, non con, knife kink, p in v sex.

title: tbd!

summary: As a human, Y/N’s always been aware of the existence of gods and other supernatural beings. But when she’s engaged to Thor, the God of Thunder, to become the future queen of Asgard, she finds herself in a world that's both exciting and daunting. She’s filled with awe and wonder as she gets to know the various gods and mythological creatures that inhabit Asgard, but she also feels nervous and out of place.

As the days count down to her wedding, she starts to feel something unexpected for Thor's charming brother Loki. At first, it's just a slight attraction, but soon it's something more. She finds herself drawn to Loki and his wild and untamed nature, which is in sharp contrast to Thor's noble and regal demeanor.

Just when she thinks she’s made up her mind, her world is shattered into pieces. On the eve of Y/N’s wedding, she finally admits to herself that she’s in love with Loki. She knows that telling Thor the truth would hurt him more than anything in the world, but she also knows that keeping it a secret would ruin her marriage and the lives of her loved ones.

Now she stands at a crossroads, torn between love and duty, between the truth and a lie that would tear her heart in two.

pairing: loki laufeyson x female reader

warnings: tbd!

requests!

title: tbd!

summary: After getting dumped by your boyfriend in the worst way possible, you seek shelter at your best friend, Ransom's house.

pairing: ransom drysdale x female reader

warnings: protective!ransom, jealous, best friends to lovers, language.

title: tbd!

inspiration/prompt: 'You come and pick me up, no headlights.'

summary: After you get stranded at a party, your dad's best friend comes to save you.

pairing: dbf!ari levinson x female reader

warnings: tbd

#my wips. #ransom drysdale x reader #curtis everett x reader #ari levinson x reader

[willow-darling]

Wake up call (regina mills x female reader)

!! WARNINGS !! READ THIS FIRST BEFORE READING AHEAD !!

This is smut. The following kinks are in it: morning sex, mommy kink, fingering, dom and sub, and other things.

It's basically lesbian smut.I wrote this out from my dr, I shifted to ouat and got an idea for the smut. There she can read my mind, it's a soulmate thing I added. This was also the first smut I ever wrote so don't be too harsh. I write better now, but I still love this one.

Enjoy!! You have been warned!!

I wake up in my usual position, laying with Regina, her holding me while I lay against her chest. But this morning, I woke up a lot more, needy, than usual, and since it was quite peaceful, I thought it’d go away. Until I noticed Regina’s leg being right between mine, intertwined in a way. I just look at the sleeping goddess in front of me, unsure of what to do, I just lay still and try to fall back asleep.

Until she suddenly moves, pulling you a bit closer and moving her leg against your panties, making a whimper come out. You now know she’s awake, or at least, a little.

Because of the friction, she was making with her leg, you couldn’t help but moan softly, and giving in to your own instincts, slightly grinding on her thigh, trying to stay silent. Suddenly you heard a low and raspy voice saying, “Well good morning, princess. This certainly is a nice surprise.”

“Shit she’s awake!” you thought, forgetting that she can hear that and getting the immediate response: “I am, darling. Although you seem more active than me, so early in the morning, too! How scandalous of you.”

You looked up at the woman, seeing a big smirk on her face, along with the look she gave you, very pleased with herself but also a look filled with lust. If your breathing wasn’t shaky enough, it would be now.

“Oh don’t let me stop you from finishing what you started. I wanna see it too, princess.” She whispered, “Or do you need my help because you can’t do it yourself?”

The way she knew the right things to say to get you going, was amazing, but also so bad. Because you knew it’d be a thing she’d be repeating today. So, you just kept quiet, unsure of what to say or do, until Regina grabbed your hips and pulled you further towards her, saying “Don’t lie to me, I can feel it, remember? You’re not that good at hiding your needy eyes, not at all. Perhaps we should do something about that,”

She chuckled lowly, this usually scared you, but in an exciting way. Only, right now you didn’t feel that exciting, scared feeling, you just needed her, so bad. The only thing you could mutter out was: “please, mommy...”

You knew very well what was going to come next, and on queue, “Please what, princess? I can’t help you if I don’t know what you need.” She said with a smirk, softly stroking your hair. This gave you that false feeling of her being soft, knowing damned well what would happen the moment you told her what to do. No more softness, not until after. And yet, you still melted into her arms, obeying her commands.

“Please help me, mommy. You know I can’t do it by myself.” You said, blushing, still embarrassed at these moments, but immediately getting a reassuring kiss. “You know I don’t judge you for that, princess. It just means you’ll always need me to finish, which feels nice.” She smirked, now paying attention to the mess that was you on her thigh, soaking, already.

Deciding not to torture you with her leg between yours, she flipped you over. You being on the bottom, her on top. Getting a questioning look, “Are you sure you want this, you don’t have to, don’t do it because I want you to.” You reassured her it was something you wanted by grabbing her face and kissing her, getting a chuckle and a big smile. Because you rarely do this, but she loves it when you do.

She pulls away, wanting to put down some rules. Saying “You know the basics, tell them to me.”

You repeated the rules she had set, feeling safe with her, because she did take good care of you, even with this. “I can only cum when you tell me to when I ask and you say yes. We use the traffic light system or the bandana system.” “what do those two mean?” She asked, testing you on it,

“Traffic light system is where you name a colour after telling me an action, or during an action. If I say “green” It means I’m okay with it and you can go/continue, if I say “orange” it means that you need to pause for a moment, and when I say “red” it’s me telling you to stop. The bandana system, one we frequently use, is where you give me a bandana to hold, and if I need you to stop, I drop it.” You say, having gone over this quite a lot because she wanted to make sure you were comfortable, not just her.

“Good girl,” Regina said, smirking, as you kissed her again. She takes over, kissing you deeply and trailing her hand up to your chest, not needing to take off a shirt, since you slept shirtless. She started playing with one of your nipples, knowing the sensitivity they had.

A quiet moan escaping your mouth as she stopped kissing you and moved her mouth over to the nipple, expertly using her tongue, knowing all the various movements to drive you crazy. And they did.

You needed a lot more than just that, you wanted a lot more than that. Your neediness bubbling up and moaning out, “Mommy, please… I need more… touch me, please.”

She looked up, going to your face again and kissing you. “Of course, princess, since you asked so nicely, it would be cruel of me not to do anything.” She smirked, locking eyes with you to see your reaction as she started playing with your nipple again, while her left hand was slowly trailing down to your core. Leaving little marks with her nails until she reached the inside of your thigh, where she felt you through your panties. “So early and already soaking wet? Poor baby, mommy will help you out.”

You never broke eye contact, keeping her intense look on you, feeling every single thing she did. She had a mischievous look in her eyes, that she was planning something.

Regina knew exactly what to do, something you hated and both loved. She moved her hands onto the side of your panties, removing them quickly as she noticed it was something she bought for you. “feeling special, with that particular underwear?” She smirked, slowly rubbing through your folds at a torturous speed, making you needier and wetter.

Without a warning she slammed two fingers into you, still watching your look, which shifted as you broke the eye contact. You moaned loudly, bucking your hips into her hand, needing so much more than she was giving. Your breathing became a bit erratic, resulting in the woman giving you a more calming look, laying herself on top of you, syncing your breathing.

She loved you too much to make you have a panic attack, even if it was a very gay one, it could always turn into an actual one. But she knew that this would work because this happened a lot, you needed to concentrate on what was happening, so you wouldn’t be surprised. She kissed you again, calming you down effectively as she looked at your eyes asking if she can go. You said “green” meaning she could start.

She nodded at the colour, starting to thrust in and out of you slowly, making you moan and whine. Because she thrusted at a torturously slow pace. In… out… in…. out…, you thought, accidentally looking at Regina again, seeing her enjoying every second of your whines.

“More...” You managed to get out, mind fogged by your neediness, but Regina understood, nodding at picking up her pace, finally going at a nice and stable rhythm you liked.

You moaned loudly as the woman kissed you, saying “Don’t want to wake up the neighbours now, do we?” She joked because the walls were extra thick, purely for this purpose.

You couldn’t think, except for the part where she was fucking you, your hips bucked in the rhythm Regina was pumping in, she used her thumb to play with your clit, rubbing slow circles, at a very different pace. You liked this a lot and you were very close to the edge already. Remembering the rule and getting out “Mommy… please… I-I’m close, can I cum, please?”

She looked at you with a sympathetic look, “You have been a very good girl, so I’ll let you. Cum for me, princess.” She cooed, still pumping your fingers but moving herself to your core, wanting to taste it.

It didn’t take long for you to come undone, the woman quickly removing her fingers and expertly used her tongue to help you ride out your orgasm, making you come a second time. The moment she started fucking you with her tongue, it had made you feel all wet again.

This time, when you were done, she kissed you, “Taste yourself, princess, you’ll love it.”

She was right, and you enjoyed every bit of it as you sneakily slid your own hand down her panties, knowing she had a need too, that needed to be taken care of. Regina looked at you in surprise saying “Baby, you don’t need to do that.” You admitted you wanted to and immediately slipped two fingers in, making the woman whimper. You loved pleasing her, the sounds and faces she made at you made you so happy, she reassured you were doing well. Guiding your hands as to where to place them, successfully thrusting into her with your two fingers, picking up the pace as you heard her moan, uncontrollably. All you could hear was “Good girl, making mommy feel good.”

You carefully slid her panties off, throwing them into the room. Wanting to do the same, taste her, which Regina encouraged. You did as you were told, seeing her throw her head back in pleasure, with her gaping mouth open, a moaning mess. You decided you were going to tease her a little more, by putting your mouth on her clit, sucking and using your tongue to move the small nerve bundle, making everything 10x worse.

With a few last thrusts and licks, she came with a moan, that pulled you closer, biting down on your neck, to muffle herself. After she had ridden out every last bit you went down and “cleaned” her, using every single trick you knew, wanting her to come a second time, now that the sensitivity was high. You did it quite easily, the woman grinding on your face, and you slightly moaned at the feeling. Suddenly she came all over your face and into your mouth, you cleaned her up for real this time and kissed her.

“You taste so good, mommy,” you said, being tired, “I need some more sleep, I’m a bit tired.”

The woman kissed you and handed you a small drink, taking care of you, “I know princess, thank you” She cooed, laying down next to you, and falling back asleep together again.

#smut #ouat fanfic #regina mills #lesbian #gay #wlw #once upon a time #fanfic #ouat #morning #mommy #it was the first smut i wrote so its short #willow-darling

[starfinss]

Intrigue — Tartagalia 1 / 2

Requested by @magshenn

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Summary: You’re a new Fatui recruit. You manage to catch the Eleventh Harbinger’s eye. You’re not sure if this is a good thing or not.

Pairing: Tartagalia (Childe) x Reader

Rating: Fluff (SFW)

Word Count:  4,615

Characters are depicted as of age for future reference.

The Fatui barracks were cold.

Of course, this wasn’t much of a surprise, you were in Snezhnaya, after all. The cold was something most commonly associated with the country. But still, for a military force so revered, you’d expect them to have some kind of heating system.

You were warm enough, the harsh climate was more than taken into account and soldiers were given goose down blankets to keep warm, but you could barely stick so much as a finger out from beneath the covers without feeling like you were on the verge of frostbite.

As a Snezhnayan, you should be used to this. And really, you were. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of your new surroundings that was getting to you, or maybe it was the more than inevitable thrashing you’d get in combat training in the morning. You were among eight or nine other female recruits. You’d counted at least fourteen male recruits.

Sure, you could fight, you were adept with hand-to-hand combat, you even had a vision to boot. You could thank an avalanche while you were out hunting for that. The Pyro Archon had been gracious to you, and you found yourself cracking a rueful smile at the fact that you’d been rewarded a vision by the Archon who commanded the element exactly opposite of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

Well, c’est la vie. Put your talents to good use, they all said, and you were packed up and shipped here without any room to get your own opinion in or to grow familiar with your newly acquired vision.

You wrapped your comforter around your body, pulling it up around your head like a hood and curling in close, hoping sleep would come. You still had a good while before the sun rose, and if you were going to survive combat training, you’d need to be rested.

After what felt like a millennia of tossing and turning, you fell into a dreamless sleep.

————

“Up! Everyone up! Do not keep Lord Harbinger waiting.”

You were jolted awake when the sun was barely filtering through the high barrack windows, and you groaned as you turned over in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Come on, (Y/N), get out of bed.

“You,” came the officer’s voice, “up. Now. Are you deaf, girl, or just stupid? The Lord Harbinger does not like to be kept waiting.”

You sat up in bed quickly, climbing down the ladder that led to your bunk, and brushing past the officer with a quiet, respectful ‘yes ma’am.’

After wrestling yourself into your coat and boots, you pulled your hood up and crossed the yard to the locker rooms with your fellow recruits. There was a snowstorm brewing, you cloud smell it in the air, but you knew if you couldn’t train outdoors, indoor facilities were available.

You were Snezhnayan. You adapted.

The women’s locker room was milling with other women in various states of undress, and you hustled in with the stragglers, finding your name printed on a card in neat font and pasted to one of the lockers. You opened it, finding a uniform inside.

It was the typical women’s uniform, a purple bodysuit with the Fatui emblem emblazoned on the right thigh, a long black coat lined with fur, tights, and a pair of tall black boots with purple embellishments. You dressed quickly, fumbling with the various zippers and buttons, and you almost left the locker room before another recruit caught your arm.

“Mask,” she said, “you forgot your mask.”

You paused, smiling sheepishly.

“Right,” you said, “my bad.” At the bottom of the locker was the mask. It was a simple thing, silvery grey with a red line going through the right eye. The material was sturdy, the fabric lining smooth and cool beneath your gloved fingertips. A cord was connected to either side of the mask, used to fasten the object to your face.

Concealing who you were. Marking you as one of them. You swallowed your questionable apprehension and tied the mask on, hiding the cord beneath your hair. The woman in the mirror was still you, just masked. You looked crisp and polished. Like you were a part of something.

You felt the warmth your vision permanently radiated against your right hip, hidden beneath your coat. The feel of it, though still a new one, was comforting. It was too much of a talking point, so you preferred to keep it hidden. Keep your head down and do your job. That way you could get time off to go home and see your family.

The black mesh that covered the eye holes of your mask darkened your vision somewhat, but you could still see well enough. You looked around the locker room, but found that you were the last one in there. You made a squeak of surprise and rushed off towards the mess hall.

Breakfast passed in a blur, and because you were a little late getting there, you were one of the last ones eating. You scarfed down your food before rushing off to the training grounds, just as the first snowflakes began to fall. There was already a blanket of snow on the ground, crunching beneath the thick soles of your boots as you hustled through the courtyard, almost shouting in frustration when you heard voices coming from the training fields. You could see a few other recruits scurrying up to the gathered group, but you were the farthest behind.

Great, you thought, I’m late on my first day.

You didn’t know much about the Harbingers personally, but you knew they were absolutely no joke. Some were known to verbally abuse, beat and even kill recruits who disobeyed or disrespected them. The thought alone filled you with fear even icier than the winter air. You didn’t know if you could handle that, and you didn’t want to die. If you did, though, you’d go down fighting. You felt your vision flare at your hip, its heat filling you with comfort.

You approached the group last, and the only spot was your own established one… on the end of the first row. You were screwed. There was no way you’d be able to squeeze in unnoticed, but you couldn’t just turn tail and run. So you took a deep breath, focusing on the heat of your vision as you took your place, standing ramrod straight at attention.

There were a handful of Skirmishers at the front of the crowd, as well as a few high ranking Fatui officials, and one more person.

He was tall, dressed in a long, heavy white overcoat lined with furs. The coat was worn open despite the cold, and beneath that was a high collared grey shirt done up with silver clasps, as well as a red scarf, worn undone so it hung loose down his shoulders. Trousers that matched the shirt were on his legs, sturdy black boots that reached his knees on his feet. Around his waist were a pair of black belts. Attached to one was a Hydro Vision. There was a holster on his thigh with a small dagger attached. Finally, he wore a pair of black gloves on his hands.

His face… He was one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen in your life. He was young, maybe a year or so older than you at most. His features were sort of impish, like a smile was always on the verge of showing on his lips. He had pretty, round-almond blue eyes, their color a little dull. His hair was cropped short, worn messy around his face, coppery ginger in color. His nose was straight, the curve elegant and noble. A single earring hung from his left ear, beaded with gold and ending in a red gemstone. Perched on the left side of his head was an intricate red mask, different than other Fatui mask you’d seen before. His nose and ears were tinged pink from the cold, but he didn’t seem to notice.

You took a moment to realize he was looking straight at you. Your eyes went wide behind your mask. He must have registered your surprise, because an easy smile appeared on his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He pressed a single finger to his lips before turning away. Your shock turned to confusion as you watched him begin to walk, circling the small group of recruits with the grace of a panther, ocean hues calculating. The chatter among the recruits died quickly, all of your peers standing at attention, their unease palpable in the chilly air.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye until he’d crossed behind the group and out of your line of vision, but soon enough, he was standing beside you. You only knew he was there when the young recruit beside you nearly jumped from her skin, causing you to do the same.

Up close, his height was even more evident, and he stood almost a full head over you. There was a light dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks, which only added to his charm. He gazed at you with those dull eyes, though they were now sparkling with something that made you somewhat uneasy. He leaned in close, subtly, his voice low when he spoke.

“You will explain your tardiness to me later, recruit. There is no need to make this an issue, hm?”

You blanched. “Uh. N-no, no sir.”

A firm pat on the shoulder. “Very good, comrade.”

He walked away as if nothing had happened at all, and from the way he moved, how he carried himself, you could tell he wasn’t a man to be trifled with. He was calculating, powerful, intense.

Dangerous.

Everything about him spelled danger. Behind that kindly facade, that good natured smile, you could sense a vicious wolf.

“Good morning, recruits,” the man said with an easy smile, crossing his arms over his chest, “I am Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui. On behalf of her Majesty the Tsaritsa, I bid you welcome to our ranks. From this day forward, you will honor the oaths you have made to Her Majesty, and you will stop at nothing to being victory to Snezhnaya.”

He kept talking, but your own fear wrapped icy fingers around your heart, blocking out his words. Harbinger. He was a Harbinger. Had you offended him with your tardiness? You had heard horror stories from other soldiers about dealings with the Harbingers. You heard they were ruthless, bloodthirsty, merciless. The Sixth was subject of many of these tales, the Eighth coming in a close second. Tales told of recruits struck down for smaller infractions than your own, as aforementioned.

Was the Eleventh going to kill you?

Your fear muddled brain remained in overdrive until recruits began to break off into teams of two for sparring, snapping you from your trance, and with another jolt of terror, you noticed Tartaglia approaching you.

“L-Lord Harbinger, sir, I—”

“Follow me, recruit,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, giving you no choice but to do as he asked.

He led you to a small building, opening the door and ushering you inside. You looked back over your shoulder and noticed your fellow recruits watching you go, their masks hiding any sort of emotion they may be feeling. It felt cold and impersonal. You swallowed thickly as you followed the Harbinger inside. The building was a supply shed, but there was a desk stacked with files and writing utensils shoved in the corner as some kind of makeshift office. Tartaglia flicked on the lamp on the desk, flooding the room with soft yellow light.

The light illuminated dust particles hovering in the air, as well as the contours of Tartaglia’s face, making him seem even more intense. He was watching you expectantly, those calculating eyes studying your face with a vigor that made you incredibly nervous. He shifted his weight, flakes of snow falling from his hair and onto the furry collar of his coat, disappearing into the pristine white fluff.

“Lord Harbinger,” you said, breaking the silence, “sir, I’m deeply sorry for my tardiness. P-please, don’t hurt me.”

Your plea felt pitiful, but you didn’t know what else you were supposed to do. You pressed your hands together in prayer, head bowing, but to your surprise, Tartaglia began to laugh. You looked up in surprise, watching as the Harbinger covered his mouth, mirth rising in his eyes and making them glitter with humor. You felt your own uneasy smile form on your lips, and you let out an awkward chuckle.

“Hurt you?” Tartaglia repeated, his laughter still leaking into his voice, “oh, no, comrade, I am not going to hurt you, I promise you that. I merely want to know the cause of your tardiness. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You hesitated, shoulders relaxing just a little. “You… That’s all?”

He nodded sincerely. “That’s all.”

So you told him. Having his full attention on you was more than a little overwhelming, but you somehow managed. You told him about the locker room, then breakfast, and about trying to get to training as fast as you could.

“Well,” Tartaglia said, “no harm, no foul. It could have happened to anyone. I’ve been late to things before, the best of us have. Just try not to let it happen again.”

You were taken aback by his benevolence, and he must have sensed this, his mouth quirking upwards at the corner. He gazed at you like he was seeing something for the first time, but as soon as that appeared, it was gone so quickly you were unsure if you’d seen it at all.

“What is your name, recruit?”

He… He wants to know my name?

“It’s (Y/N),” you said, “(Y/N) (L/N).”

“Charming,” he said, “a fine, strong name. Befitting of a Fatui recruit.”

You were unsure of how to respond to the praise. You’d never expected a Fatui Harbinger to be so… Normal. Sure, he still radiated power and his very presence commanded respect, but underneath that he was just a man. Perhaps there wassome kindness in the wolf you sensed he was.

“Er, thank you, sir,” you said finally.

“I do not doubt you’ve heard of other Harbingers treating their men poorly, and you do not have to worry about that with me, (Y/N),” Tartaglia assured you, “I may not be a great guy, but I do not mistreat my subordinates. No harm will befall you at my hand.”

“I am… very relieved to hear that, Lord Harbinger,” you said after a beat of silence.

A short, friendly chuckle. “Let’s get back to training, yes?”

You took a deep breath, standing at attention. “Yes, Lord Harbinger, sir.”

He placed a hand on the small of your back as he led you back outside. You broke off from him, aware of his eyes following you as you walked towards the group to find someone without a partner. You eventually spotted one of your lone classmates, Anya, who was standing awkwardly and looking very out of place. She brightened a bit when she noticed you. You and Anya were friends, having met in boot camp and bonding over shared favorite authors. You were comfortable sharing information with her.

Anya was a pretty young woman, tall and slim with white blonde hair braided down her back. She hurried to meet you as you approached her, hands catching your upper arms.

“(Y/N), are you alright? What happened with Lord Harbinger?”

You sighed. “Nothing. He let me off with a warning. It was… surprising.”

“You’re not hurt? Not at all?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m fine, Anya. Lord Harbinger Tartaglia is… benevolent.”

Anya would have said more, but one of the officers sent the pair of you a sharp look.

“We should start sparring,” she said, and you nodded, getting into a fighting stance.

You blocked Anya’s first punch with ease and ducked under her kick, swinging your leg out to knock her off balance, but she jumped at the last second. You barely had time to roll out of the way before she tried to bring an axe kick down on your head. She was good. Strong. As expected of any healthy Snezhnayan. But you were also Snezhnayan.

You sprung to your feet, blocking her next kick, and knocking her fist out of the way when she attempted to punch at you. Instead, you grabbed her arm as she was caught off balance, twisting and sending her sprawling onto the snow, stunned. You extended a hand to help her up, and she accepted with a chuckle.

“Not bad,” she said, “still as sharp as always, I see.”

You offered a smile. “Of course. So are you.”

“Well played,” came Tartaglia’s voice, “good attack power, good execution, flawless form. Who taught you to fight?”

Both you and Anya jumped, turning to face the Harbinger.

“My mother,” you said.

“Your mother taught you very well,” Tartaglia said, and coming from a Harbinger, that was high praise. You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Thank you, Lord Harbinger, sir.”

He studied you head to toe, a luster of intrigue in his eyes. He stepped closer to you, a grin finding its way to his lips. You shared a glance with Anya, but didn’t move away from Tartaglia.

“Train hard and you will be unstoppable. I look forward to seeing what you become.”

You could do no more than nod, watching as he stepped back a few paces, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well,” he said, inclining his head in your direction, “don’t stop at my expense. Please, continue.”

So you did. You sparred with Anya for what felt like hours, until your muscles were burning and sore and your breath was thin and the snow was falling in flurries around you. And Tartaglia watched you, interjecting with pointers, praise, and every so often stepping forward to demonstrate a move. It wasn’t every day you get personal attention from a Harbinger.

And then, he put a hand on Anya’s shoulder, whispering something in her ear. She gave you a glance, its meaning indiscernible because of her mask, but she stepped aside, taking Tartaglia’s place at the sidelines. And he took hers in front of you.

“L-Lord Harbinger?” You stuttered, and Tartaglia smiled.

“Try and hit me, comrade.”

Your eyes widened behind your mask. Most recruits would absolutely jump at the chance to spar with a Harbinger. It was an absolute honor to spar with one. And you were honored, but you were also terrified. You stared at Tartaglia blankly until he spoke again.

“Are you refusing a direct order, recruit?”

You straightened. “No, Lord Harbinger, sir.”

With a deep breath, you got into a fighting stance, and Tartaglia did the same. You looked over at Anya, and noticed that a few other recruits had stopped to watch. You swallowed your fear, your apprehension, and remembered what your mother taught you, what she’d continued to teach you until you left to join the Fatui.

Let the opponent strike first. Let them show their hand, then exploit that weakness.

But Tartaglia knew that too, and he watched you with practiced ease, eyes scanning for any opening you’d give. He knew what he was doing. You were not a Harbinger. You were not an elite. But you’d been taught by one of the top martial artists in Snezhnaya, and the fact that you were her daughter didn’t stop her from training you harder than even her most skilled students. So you knew what you were doing, too.

And you were going to use every weapon in your arsenal.

You were smaller that Tartaglia, so you could use your own speed and his momentum against him.

“Hit me,” he repeated, and you took a slow breath, completely calm now.

“You first, Lord Harbinger.”

His eyes widened, just a fraction, at your sudden change in demeanor, but a sort of manic glee took over his face for a split second when he realized just how seriously you were taking this now. You watched him sweep your body with his gaze, eyes scanning for weak spots, anything at all. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips, making you realize the extent of his hunger for battle.

You were probably going to lose, you knew that much. But you’d sure put up one hell of a fight.

It was clear he was growing impatient from the restless shuffling of his feet, which was almost comical in a rather dark way. So you let that impatience brew until he struck.The kick was so fast you barely had time to duck beneath it, using his momentum against him to meet him with a high kick of your own, sending him toppling into the snow while his balance was off.

The training grounds were utterly silent, save for the whistling of the wind and your own heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Have… I done something wrong?

“L-Lord Harbinger—”

Tartaglia laughed, rising to his feet. His eyes were wild, but intensely focused. He shrugged his coat off, and an officer rushed to collect it from the snow, then clearing away from you and the Harbinger.

“(Y/N),” he said, his grin growing, “you intrigue me more and more every second. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You blinked, taken aback, but you answered earnestly. “I have been training my whole life, Lord Harbinger, sir.”

“You have a warrior’s spirit,” he said, “show me more, would you, comrade? This time, I won’t let you surprise me.”

You let your own smile overtake your face. “I count on that, Lord Harbinger.”

Sparring with Tartaglia was nothing like sparring with Anya. He was quick, precise, calculating. You were doing all you could to keep up, ducking, dodging, blocking and trying with all your might to land a blow, and you did land a few, but his form was even more perfect than your mother’s. He quickly adapted to your momentum based fighting style, using power based hits instead of momentum based ones, making it harder for you to counterattack. You noticed that your fellow recruits had stopped sparring to watch your battle with awed silence, but you pushed the anxiety having an audience brought to the back of your mind.

“Having trouble keeping up?” Tartaglia huffed, blocking your kick, and you shook your head.

Confidence is key. Don’t let the enemy see your doubts.

“Not at all, Lord Harbinger, sir.”

“Good,” he said, grin wide and bordering on manic, “give me all you’ve got.”

You were panting, growing tired, and you were pretty sure you were covered in bruises, but your veins were singing with adrenaline and you felt alive.  Every strike and block left your body stinging with aches and your mind buzzing with energy. You were sure you’d feel it later, once the rush faded, but right now, you were running on pure instinct and the pain was secondary.

The sun had begun to sink and the cold had dropped to biting levels when you finally stopped, chest heaving and sweat sticking your hair to your temples despite the frigid air.

“Every morning,” Tartaglia said, clapping a hand on your shoulder, “you will meet me for training. You, comrade, are one of a kind. And with my guidance, you will bring glory to Snezhnaya.”

You were stunned by what he said. The other recruits who had remained to see your sparring match were muttering amongst themselves, looking at you like you were a Harbinger yourself. And with the praise Tartaglia was heaping onto you, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be treated as a mere recruit any longer, not when someone like him had taken a special interest in you. You knew Tartaglia had been going easy on you. You knew restraint when you saw it. If he were to go all out, you most likely could have been killed. No, scratch that. You would have been killed.

And yet, why had he held back? Was he afraid of hurting you? The other Harbingers didn’t go easy on their men. But Tartaglia had promised you no harm would come to you, and from what you were quickly learning, Tartaglia was different from the other Harbingers.

You were also starving. The last time you’d eaten was at lunch when you’d had a brief pause from sparring to have a meal, and after that, you went right back to it. But that was hours ago. And as soon as you came to that realization, your stomach growled so loud it started you.

“Go eat,” Tartaglia said with a huff of laughter, “shower. Take care of yourself. And do not keep me waiting tomorrow morning. At least, not for too long.”

He said the last bit with a mischievous smirk, making your cheeks flush.

“Y-Yes Lord Harbinger, sir!” You said, standing at attention. Tartaglia waved his hand dismissively.

“At ease.”

You did as he said, but didn’t have time to say any more before he was collecting his coat and walking away, leaving you to watch his retreating figure.

You headed off to the mess hall after that, scarfing down your dinner and then heading to the locker room to take a shower. You had to get under the spray off water in increments since your chilled flesh wasn’t used to the heat, but once you were fully under, the water felt heavenly on your sure muscles. You were correct about the bruises, they covered your skin like patchwork and we painful to touch. You’d have to visit the infirmary to get some solvent for the abrasions, you figured. You’d do it tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow morning.

You felt your nerves gather into a tight knot in the pit of your stomach. You had no idea what sort of training Tartaglia had planned for you. It was probably harder than general training, which made you nervous, but you took a deep breath, focusing on the positive. A Harbinger had taken you under his wing, which was a huge honor. You’d receive training from one of the Fatui’s elite, and that would in turn make you one of the Fatui’s elite.

It was frankly a lot to take in.

You switched off the water after finishing with watching your hair and body, dressing and drying off as best your could before going back out into the cold. You took your sweaty uniform to the laundry room, leaving it on the table for the cleaning staff to take care of. You had a few uniforms, so that was covered for tomorrow. After that was taken care of, you went back to the barracks.

The barracks were full of your fellow recruits, some gathered in broken circles and chatting, some curled up in their beds, asleep. The chatter died when you entered the room, careful eyes studying you, and you dropped your head as you climbed the ladder to your own bunk, ignoring them. You tucked yourself under your blankets, running your fingers through your still damp hair, which had frozen when you went outside. It had begun to thaw once you were indoors, leaving it cold and wet. You tucked the blanket up around your head, curling in on yourself.

You were unable to fall asleep until lights out was called, and everything was quiet save for the howl of the wind outside. You had no idea what to expect tomorrow. It scared you as much as it excited you. You sighed, closing your eyes, feeling exhaustion tug at your consciousness.

You supposed you’d have to wait and see what happened.

#I’m so sorry this is late #I was writing something else and wanted to finish it first #genshin tartagalia #childe #tartagalia x reader #childe x reader #fluff #well #for this part #we’ll get to the smut eventually #don’t worry #fanfiction #My writing #genshin impact #genshin x reader #Let’s get funky

[forever-rogue]

Crimelord Boba Fett proposing to female reader and promises to protect her with his life. :)

Did someone say King of the Underworld Boba Fett? Don’t mind if we do. Goodbye Bib Fortuna, long live the King.

Boba Fett x Fem!Reader; warnings: egregious use of little one

Part 2

Star Wars Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

The air is acrid and thick, feeling like it was suffocating you rather than helping to you live. Raising a hand to your face, you looked around the desolate Dune Sea, wondering why on earth you were being summoned to Maker forsaken Tatooine. And who the kriff was summoning you?

All you knew was that you had been summoned from your home on Corsucant - rather forcefully, and dragged back to this hell hole. Under any other circumstances you would have fought back or questioned what was actually going on, but something about the small but imposing woman that dragged you with her caused you to keep your mouth shut. She hadn’t given you so much as a name - hers or your mysterious summoner, and you hadn’t asked.

She’d watched you closely on the hours long ride to Tatooine, seeming to study and observe you with curiosity. At one point you had wanted to snap back at her but the weapons holstered to her side and stowed around the ship made you bite your tongue and bide your time. The woman didn’t say a single word; neither did you.

If you were being taken to your death, then that was that. You’d made that much up in your mind as soon as you’d stepped foot onto the ship. Harsh and cruel as it was too say, there wasn’t much you would be losing, nor would many people miss you. It was a quiet life you led these days, keeping to yourself and your humble abode in a small, but safe corner of Coruscant.

You’d been there, waiting, hoping, wishing ever since - no.

No, no, no. You weren’t going to let your mind back to that dark, haunted place. It was something that still managed to seep into the front of your mind, no matter how many years you tried to suppress them. It was when a man with dark hair would come into your little shop and you’d only catch a glimpse. When you heard deep, rough laughter that was all consuming. When you’d see a hint of green armor. When you’d hear a voice even remotely similar to his...

Boba Fett might have died many years ago, but he had never left your heart. He was still in everything you did, so many little things reminding you of what was and what could have been.

You hadn’t been back to this living hell since the day he’d died, lost to the sarlacc and left only to become memories that would fade away over generations. You’d wanted to stay there, to wait and see if somehow he would come back to you, but you couldn’t.

You’d left the next day and never looked back. You hated yourself for it, but you also...your heart had been broken into hundreds of millions of tiny shards of transparisteel. Ever since, you’d hoped that maybe one you’d come across your lover.

But the day never came. And while you went along with life, you still held onto the slight hope that maybe one day...maybe, maybe, maybe.

A soft sigh escaped your parched lips as you felt immediately all consumed by the sand, like it was becoming a part of you or you were destined to become a part of it. Either way, it was enough to frustrate you as you shielded your eyes from the harsh heat and blazing light of the twin suns.

“Keep up,” it was the first time she had spoken to you since she’d first called your name and instructed you to come with her. She was commanding for a figure so slight, but you had a feeling she was much deadlier than she looked - and she was already a sight. Biting back a groan you picked up the pace and trailed after her, confusion clouding your features as you began to realize where you were headed.

This was Jabba’s Palace...well no - Bib Fortuna’s. Just like Boba, Jabba, the disgusting, foul, loathsome leader of the galaxy’s biggest syndicate had been dead for some time.

What the kriff would Bib Fortuna want with you?

You’d cut off any ties you’d had with any of them long ago, before Boba was even dead. There was no way you could ever provide anything useful to him...

Autopilot had completely taken over and you were barely aware of the fact that you’d reached the palace and were headed towards its inner sanctum. Your stomach lurched as you walked through the walls you hoped would forever be a memory as you realized just how clearly you remember it all. Sure, the place had seen better days, wearing down from the harsh sandy winds and the hands of time, but it was ever the same.

Except this time - few people were milling about, no workers to be seen and it felt surprisingly...tame. Not something you thought would ever be possible for his place. Something had to have happened... something was off-

“Down,” the woman pointed at the stone staircase, her hand on the small of your back as she gently nudged you towards the top step. You were half surprised that she didn’t just completely shove you down to the bottom, but the energy you were getting from her wasn’t mean or negative...just curious.

“W-what?” you managed to stammer, your throat dry and scratchy the heat and lack of water. She quirked a dark brow and pointed at the stairs again.

“Down,” she repeated, “it’s best not to keep him waiting.”

Kriff. You were going to die at the hands of Fortuna. He was a weak man, bolstered by those he keep around him, ego inflated beyond measure. On his own he was a pathetic little thing, but when surrounded by his goons, he was cruel and merciless at worst.

Accepting your fate, you started your slow descend down the stairs, your heartbeat screaming in your ears with each foot fall. Your chest was thumping so wildly you were sure that it would burst through your chest at any point.

But nothing met your ears, there were no sounds, no talking, no music, nothing. It was almost deafeningly silent.

When your feet hit the soft sand floor, you did a quick survey of the almost empty room. A few torches lined the wall, but that was about all. The throne was in the center of the room as it always was and -

Maker. The Throne.

As you looked at it, you swallowed the lump in your throat as you looked upon the singular figure in the room besides yourself.

The man was in armor from head to toe. Green armor. With red accents. You knew those colors, those colors you once considered your own, those were his colors.

But no - it couldn’t have been. No, no, no, this was an impostor, this was -

“Hello little one,” that voice. You knew it more intimately than anything else, you know that voice inside and out. That voice that had laughed at you a million times, that voice that been in your ear during the heat of passion, the one that teased you, the one that scolded you when you did something dangerous. That voice.

It was his. Boba’s.

“No,” you shook your head as you refused to move closer to the man that was surely a pretender - a great one, but still not your Boba, “y-y-you aren’t...no.”

He remained silent for a long moment, the dark T of his visor trained on your as he refused to look away. You stared right back, as if you were seeing a ghost - in some ways you were.

Slowly, he rose to his full height, stepping down from his throne, imposing as ever as he slowly walked over to you. You stilled in your actions, wondering if you should run away or fight or something. Instead you watched as he came closer and closer and closer - right until he stopped dead in front of you.

“You’re just as pretty as then,” his voice was soft as he reached a gloved hand up touch your cheek. He hesitated before making contact with your skin, stripping the worn leather gloves off and tossing them mindlessly onto the sandy floor. He watched you closely before finally touching your cheek to his see if you would stop him or flinch out of his touch.

But you didn’t; despite believing he was gone all of these years, a small bit of you still had hope.

“Boba?” it was a weak, pathetic little whimper as you keened into his touch. He stalled for just a moment, his heart almost stopping at the sound of his name from your lips. It was even sweeter than he remembered, “is it really you?”

“I told you I’d never leave you, little one,” he rasped as you worked to blink back tears that had started to well up in your eyes. You looked at him with wide doe eyes as he made a small sound in the back of his throat. As a single tear pearled up and ran down your cheek, he tenderly wiped it away, “it just took me a little longer than planned to get back to you.”

And then you laughed; despite the situation and the overwhelming onslaught of emotions, you just laughed. Before you knew it, he was laughing as well, a warm, rich sound that you remembered like it had been yesterday.

“Boba,” you couldn’t believe it. This whole time, all these years, your hope wasn’t wasted after all, “you’re alive. You’re here - I’m here. I-I...I dreamed of this day so many times.”

“As have I,” he promised, “I’m just...I’m afraid that I might be a little different than you last remembered - the sarlacc was not a kind friend to me.”

“I don’t care,” you promised him, “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. You’re alive and that’s all...I...please, let me look at your face. I need to see you, Boba.”

He gave a curt nod before dropping his hand from your cheek and exhaling deeply. Slowly, he put his hands on either of the helmet - newly painted, you noted - and tugged it up and off. You swallowed nervously, anxious to see the eyes of your lover once again.

Boba let the helmet fall to the ground, the thud dulled by the pillowy sand, nervous for you to say something, anything. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, but this? This was nothing; scarred and more weathered than when he had been a younger man, he was still the same as always. Boba - your Boba.

“At least one of us is - “

Before he could say anything in the negative, your put your hands on either side of his face before crashing your lips onto his. He was taken aback for a moment at your sudden action, but it didn’t take more than a beat for him to wrap his arms around you and hold you tightly against his chest. It was like no time had passed at all, and you still knew each other just as you always had.

Only when you needed a breath of air did you pull apart, staring back into his soft brown eyes.

“Boba,” it was soft - reverent - and worked to thaw the icy harshness that had settled over his heart, “I love you. I’ve always loved you so much. I never stopped. I always hoped that somehow you would make your way back to me.”

“Always, my little one,” he promised with a gentle kiss to your forehead, “I will always protect you. No harm shall ever come to you so long as I live and breathe.”

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” you wrapped your arms his neck and held him, just held him, as the two of your synced your breathing and become reacquainted with each other’s bodies.

“Will you stay?” he asked quietly as you pulled back and nodded. For Boba, you would have done anything and gone anywhere in the galaxy, “w-with me?”

“Yes,” you promised him softly as you traced over his features delicately with the tip of your finger, “always. There’s nothing that would make me happier.”

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered as you nodded, “I promise we’ll never be apart again.”

“I’ll hold you to that Boba Fett,” you sighed contentedly, “I love you, Boba.”

“I love you too, little one,” he kissed the top of your head, “come on, we have much to talk about.”

“And now have all the time in the galaxy.”

#boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba is my king 😌 #the Mandalorian #star wars #temeura morrison