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slutforsilverfoxes · 9 months

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Oliver and His Company

[A/N: This can be read as a standalone, but if you want context on Aaron & reader’s relationship, find their story here and here! Enjoy 🖤]

4 times Aaron Hotchner refused to admit that he’s a cat person…

1) A Spicy Upgrade

“I swear, Em, it was like an out of body experience,” you tell your best friend through the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as you balance grocery bags in one hand and fish your keys out of your pocket with the other.

“So everything was just backwards?” Emily laughs.

“Yes!” you cry, equal parts miffed by your dream and excited to have somehow slotted the key into the lock in the correct orientation without looking. “Pen was, like, fifty shades of beige, and everyone else was super bright and colorful! Hotch was wearing a suit worthy of Elle Woods herself,” you assert.

“I would pay a stupid amount of money to see that,” your best friend snickers. “Can we please get him a pink suit?”

“Not gonna lie, he looked pretty hot,” you muse quietly as you shuffle down the hall to the kitchen. “I’ll work on…that…”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer immediately, sorry to have worried her. “Just found my man in an interesting position. Call you later, love you, bye,” you rush out in a whisper, ending the call and snapping a photo for your personal album before the opportunity disappears. Clearing your throat, you place the last of the grocery bags on the counter with a solid thud. “Whatcha doin’ down there?”

Aaron’s answer is muffled given the fact his head is currently in the spice cabinet, the rest of his tall form tucked under him, ass comically up in the air for better leverage. You bend down with a groan and open the adjacent cabinet to pop your head in, meeting his sheepish smile and reddening cheeks. Pressing your lips to his, you murmur, “I didn’t quite get that.“

“I said-” He pauses to capture your lips in another sweet kiss, and the butterflies that have taken up residence in your belly since the first day you met Aaron Hotchner stir to life. “I read online that it’s easier for cats to open doors with handles than knobs, so I’m fixing all the doors before you move in.”

“You’re what?” You bump your head against the top of the cabinet in shock, letting out a harsh curse that you’re glad Jack isn’t around to hear.

“Oh, honey,” Aaron tuts softly, unfolding himself from his spot to help you out and delicately rubbing the tender area on the back of your head.

“You- by yourself- you’re swapping out every single handle in this house for Oliver?” You don’t mean to sound incredulous, but there’s no way this man is real. Then again, he bought this house six months into your relationship so that you could each have an office space and ample room for Jack and one or two additional little Hotchners to grow up- although he hadn’t divulged the latter part of that plan to you when he gifted you a key.

“I know it sounds ridiculous-”

“No,” you cut him off immediately, molding your palms against his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss, your lips quirking up in a victorious grin. “It sounds like something a loving cat dad would do.”

Aaron scoffs before muttering, “Just don’t want him getting stuck, that’s all.”

“Right,” you draw out the word, one eyebrow raised playfully. “Totally not cause you’re a cat person. And that’s why I spotted an empty box sporting a picture of a cat tree as tall as you in the garage?”

“I never said I dislike cats, I’m just a dog guy!” Aaron insists, his words falling on deaf ears as you playfully hum a tune from The Aristocats while arranging the groceries in the fridge and he returns to his project.

2) A Sleepy Surprise

Toeing your shoes off in the mud room, you call out, “Boys? I’m home!” The novelty of getting to say those words has yet to wear off even though the last of your moving boxes are piled up on the curb, waiting to be recycled.

There’s no answering pitter patter of feet in the hallway nor voices greeting your arrival, but the sneakers lined up next to yours- one large pair in understated colors, one much smaller pair with Darth Vader on one shoe and Luke Skywalker on the other- tell you your little family is definitely home. You place your car keys on their designated hook before making your way down the hall, pausing at the threshold of the living room with a smile on your face at the sight before you.

Aaron’s lying on his back, his tall form taking up the entire length of the couch, with Jack tucked into his side and an orange ball of fur curled up on his chest, rising and falling with each peaceful breath of his. You let out a content sigh, warmth blooming in your chest from the overwhelming sense of comfort and love these three have brought into your life. Holding your hair back so it doesn’t tickle your darling boy’s face, you press a delicate kiss to his cheek and his mouth turns upward for the briefest of moments. Then you nuzzle your nose against the soft fur between your cat’s ears, and he stirs with a half-hearted chirp before curling up even tighter on his literal man-made bed.

“You’re home,” Aaron murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you whisper with a guilty pout, carding your fingers through his hair. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to make dinner.”

He grabs your hand before you can get too far, and you turn back to find just who exactly Jack inherited the puppy dog eyes from. “We can order in tonight. Stay with me?”

You gesture to the full couch and ask, “Where?”

Aaron tips his chin down to see Oliver purring contentedly on his chest, and he taps his head until the cat sits up with bleary eyes. “You’re in your mom’s spot.”

You stifle a laugh as your cat pointedly yawns in your boyfriend’s face, then takes his time using Aaron’s solid body to stretch before flouncing away in search of a bed with less attitude. Aaron looks up at you with a self-satisfied grin and pats the newly vacated space. Shaking your head as you ease yourself down to lay across his body, you chide, “That was mean.”

“Never too young to learn about sharing,” he pontificates.

“Mm, yes, what a poignant lesson from father to son,” you respond, voice muffled against Aaron’s chest.

“Step-cat, at best. And don’t you even say it- I’m not a cat person.”

“Sure, babe.”

3) A New Purr-spective

“Jack-Jack,” you call out with a knock against the doorframe to get the little Hotchner’s attention. He looks up from his latest art project with a smile and says, “Yeah?”

“Daddy washed your uniform so you’re all set for tomorrow’s game. And I wanted to ask you about…this,” you offer hesitantly, flipping the shirt in your hands around so he can see Hotchner displayed at the top and the number matching his jersey. “Would it be okay if I wore this so we can match?”

“Does Daddy have one, too?” His excitement- and nonchalance about you sporting their last name- has relief flooding through you, and you mirror his eager smile.

“Of course! Except his is even cooler cause it says ‘Coach’ on the front,” you respond with a click of your teeth. “I made one for Uncle Dave, too!”

“Awesome. You’re the best!” Jack proclaims.

“No, you are.”

“Nu uh, you,” he insists.

“Nope! You!” You let the word be drawn out as you make your escape down the hall, peals of laughter from Jack’s room echoing behind you.

“I have received official approval to wear my shirt,” you announce as you cross into the master bedroom, only to find the space empty. You can hear Aaron’s voice in hushed tones from the walk-in closet, so you approach quietly thinking that he’s on the phone.

“…not exactly your textbook psychopath, right?” He pauses, then continues, “Right. So there must be a piece of the profile we’re missing, something that explains the evolution of the kills with the alarming disorganization of the crime scenes. Do you think we could be dealing with two unsubs?”

Aaron’s phone is on the bedside table, and he’s using both hands to wrestle one of his dress shirts onto a hanger. Then, you spot his silent partner- Oliver’s sitting in his bed, in the nook that Aaron built into the closet for him, languidly cleaning his paws as your boyfriend theorizes aloud.

“So,” you start, crossing your arms and leaning against the wide doorframe, “you still maintain that you’re not a cat person?”

You can see the back of Aaron’s neck turning red at having been caught, but he studiously carries on putting the clean laundry away. Without turning to face you, he asserts, “I’m just… using him as a soundboard. Animals are excellent judges of character.”

“Congratulations, Ollie,” you offer proudly to your son, “you’re the very first cat to join the Behavioral Analysis Mew-nit.”

“Now that’s bad, even for you,” Aaron chuckles, and you bark out a, “Hey!” with faux umbrage. “When are you going to admit you love this cat?”

“I do love this cat,” your boyfriend counters, finally turning to face you. He curls his arm around your waist to pull you against him and speaks between kisses dotted along your nose and cheeks, “I’m just not a cat person.”

Smoothing your hands across his chest with playfully narrowed eyes, you mutter, “The Hotchner doth protest too much, methinks.”

4) Paw-sitively Whipped

“Bedtime, my little bubbas,” you raise your voice to be heard over the churning of the dishwasher as it starts up, drying your hands on a towel while you walk into the living room. Jack is sprawled out on the floor, flicking a feather toy on a stick back and forth that has Ollie frantically giving chase. You’re honestly not sure which little guy is more entertained by the game. “But I’m helping Oliver get his exercise! Daddy says he’s looking chunky lately,” Jack negotiates.

You and your cat turn to Aaron in unison, the man in question suddenly engrossed in an article on his phone. “Daddy’s lawyer genes certainly passed on to you, huh, Jack?” The little Hotchner grins proudly up at you in response, but even that sweet face doesn’t break your resolve. “C’mon, my love, we left off at a really good cliffhanger last night, remember?”

“You’re right,” Jack gasps, suddenly inspired to get ready for bed. “I’ll be ready in two minutes!”

“Make it three- you need to brush your teeth for a full two, Jack,” Aaron calls as he zooms past you to his bathroom.

“Okay!”

“Alright, Weight Watchers,” you snort, tweaking Aaron’s nose while he looks up at you sheepishly, “who’s on reading duty tonight?”

“I’ve got it,” he declares, tugging on your hand to guide you into his open lap. You settle against him with a sigh, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and pressing lazy kisses to his skin. Aaron turns his head to capture your lips in a sweet kiss that quickly grows more heated, and you let out a whimper when he cups the back of your neck to hold you more firmly to him until Jack’s little voice rings out down the hall.

“I’m ready for bed!”

“And that’s your cue, Daddy,” you laugh, patting his chest fondly before detaching yourself from him.

“We’ll pick this up later,” he declares in a murmur, and you can’t resist a smack to his shapely ass before parting ways in the hall.

You run through your own nightly routine, then make your way back to Jack’s room to say goodnight. You find Aaron with his son settled on his lap as he reads, and Ollie is settled on his favorite boy’s lap, purring up a storm. Your boyfriend is absentmindedly scratching his chin, pausing only to turn to the next page in the book. Then Aaron shifts to hold the book with both hands, and Ollie bats at his arm until he relents and resumes petting him. He looks up to find you standing in the doorway, the ghost of a smirk twitching at your lips, and you mouth, You are so a cat person.

He smiles back and shakes his head in response, refusing to give in.

…and the 1 time he finally did.

When you open the front door, you’re surprised to find the house dark. Given your shared line of work and healthy dose of paranoia, you and Aaron always leave at least one light on when the house is empty. But then you hear Jack giggle, “She’s coming!” and Aaron quietly shushing him, and a smile graces your face at whatever adorable surprise awaits you.

You flip on the light to find the foyer decorated with balloons dancing across the ceiling and streamers hanging down, each one adorned with pictures of you and Aaron, you and Jack, and your little family together. Your eyes immediately well up with tears seeing all the memories you’ve created and thinking about all the love you’ve been blessed with thanks to this family.

You walk through, awestruck, touching the Polaroids and printed pictures as you pass them. By the time you reach the living room and your eyes settle on Aaron with Jack standing pressed against his leg, your little boy holding your cat in his arms, you’re damn near sobbing.

“This is why you sent me to get my nails done, huh?” you ask through a half sniffle, half laugh. “You boys certainly were busy.”

Aaron smiles at you and holds out his free hand, and you grab onto him like a lifeline, letting him pull you in before bending down to press a flurry of kisses along Jack’s squishy cheeks. Ollie lets out a squeak of protest in the same timbre as Jack’s ticklish giggle, and you relent your attack with a pleased grin.

“Jack has a very important question to ask you,” Aaron murmurs, then winks at his son.

Jack raises Ollie up as high as he can, not unlike the scene out of The Lion King, and a glint of light flashes at you from your cat’s collar.

“Aaron,” you breathe out, moments before Jack excitedly asks, “Will you marry us, Y/N?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” you answer softly, looking up at Aaron as if he hung all the stars in the sky to find your adoring gaze reflected in his eyes.

—————

Lying in bed that night tangled up between the sheets and Aaron’s legs, you absentmindedly trail your fingers across his chest and muse, “Mighty interesting that a vehemently self-proclaimed not cat person would use a cat to propose, isn’t it?”

“You’re still on this, hm?” he murmurs from above you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Merely making an observation,” you answer back lazily, then roll over until you body is nestled between his legs, your hands pressed against his chest so you can look at him directly. “I lied, I’m still on this,” you concede with a playful grin. “Look me in my eyes and tell me you’re not a cat person, Aaron Hotchner.”

He hums, then leans up to capture your lips in a series of soft, slow kisses that nearly make you forget your name, let alone the challenge you’ve posed. “Can’t do that, honey,” he finally admits between pecking your lips.

“Cause you are!”

He laughs, his fingers ghosting up and down your spine. Aaron notices you shiver under his touch and pulls the sheets up higher on your body while you settle against the warmth and security of his broad chest. “Honestly, I have been since day one.”

“Oh yeah?” You attempt to goad him, but your sass come out muffled thanks to your lips pressed to his skin.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly as if you haven’t been lovingly arguing about this for over a year now. “He was your cat, and I’m a you person.”

Pushing against him to stretch up and level him with a raised eyebrow, you clarify, “Wait. He was my cat?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Now Ollie’s ours.”

“Everybody thinks you’re such a hardass, but you’re really a big teddy bear, Aaron,” you tease before pressing your lips to his.

“I’m admittedly both,” he concedes with a chuckle, pausing to kiss you again before adding, “and a reformed cat person.”

—————

[A/N: I absolutely adored writing these two and I enjoyed getting to sprinkle in a healthy dose of cat puns 😂 Thank you all for reading!]

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

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leiawritesstories · 9 months

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Stick Season (Part 2)

masterlist

Rowaelin Month, Day 7: Vacation/Outdoors

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: bickering cousins, couple of swear words, one healthy serving of angst

Enjoy! (?)

@rowaelinscourt

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Present

The Whitethorn horde blew into Doranelle, Vermont, like a Category 4 blizzard, albeit a very welcome one. Rowan felt like he’d barely woken up and downed his first cup of coffee before there was a rigorous pounding on his front door and he looked out the kitchen window to find an entire caravan of silver vehicles filling his front yard as if it was a parking lot.

“We know you’re home, Ro-Ro!” Sellene yelled from the porch. “You can’t hide from Christmas forever, and besides, you invited us!”

“Calm down, LeLe,” Rowan drawled, opening the door to a flock of bright green eyes, blonde hair, and layers of winter clothing. “Nobody said you had to show up at eight in the bloody morning.”

“It’s ten-thirty,” she retorted.

“Same difference.” He easily lifted the two large suitcases she was rolling and headed for the guest rooms. “It’s too early.”

“You never were a morning person.” She flicked on the bedroom lights. “Just leave them by the window.”

He put the suitcases down and made a quick stop to pull on his jacket before heading out to the neatly parked rows of cars, where he found his closest (in age) cousin struggling to maneuver luggage out of his SUV. “The dealerships called, Enda. They’re out of silver paint.”

“What can I say?” Endymion Whitethorn shrugged, far too charming for his own good. “We’ve always liked our family colors.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to drive around in matching cars like some kind of hippie mission church,” Rowan deadpanned.

Enda snorted with laughter. “Gods, I’ve missed you.” He pulled Rowan into a brief, tight hug. “How are you? How’s the property? How’s…everything?”

“Property’s fine, I’m too damn tired for this chaos, and everything is fine.”

“I’m sure it is.” The dryness of Enda’s voice rivaled the Sahara Desert.

“Don’t get any romantic ideas,” Rowan warned, only half teasing. Last Christmas, he’d lost a bet to Enda, who’d then set him up on a spectacularly awful date with a shrewish woman named Remelle– “but you can call me Remy”–an event that soured his memory every time he recalled that evening.

“I would never,” Enda said, drawing out the never into a long, supposedly innocent singsong.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “And I’m the Queen of England.” He snickered at the outraged expression on his cousin’s face and picked up a duffle bag and a couple of crates full of brightly wrapped gifts. “Your car won’t unload itself, you know.”

“Remind me why I put up with this bullshit,” Enda grumbled.

Passing by just in time to hear the curse word, Sellene swatted Enda upside the head. “There are children present!”

“Oh please, your kids were swearing before they spoke full sentences.”

She huffed. “And it’s no wonder, considering that their uncles have such foul mouths.” Fondly, she rolled her eyes at Enda, who was still hopelessly attempting to maneuver one suitcase out from the bottom of the luggage piled in the trunk. “You’ll get unpacked a lot faster if you don’t try to play Suitcase Jenga. Here, let me.”

He grumbled something about her being interfering but stepped aside and let her expertly dismantle the pile of suitcases. “Thanks, Sel.”

“You’re welcome.” She blew him an air kiss. “How two men and a puppy manage to have more crap packed in their car than me and my whole family, I’ll never understand.”

“That’s because my husband and I care about looking our best, thank you very much.” Enda flipped his shoulder-length hair, picked up a few of his bags, and sauntered off towards the house.

“Would it be rude of me to say ‘yes, queen?’” Rowan murmured into Sellene’s ear.

She burst into shaking, wheezing laughter. “Oh gods,” she gasped. “I think I peed myself a little.” She smacked his shoulder, though between her winter gloves and his thick parka, it didn’t do much damage. “You’d better let that sense of humor loose at least a few times, Ro-Ro, or we’ll be forced to believe you aren’t actually human.”

“Piss off,” he grumbled, but he was laughing. “I’m glad you’re here, Sel.”

“I’m glad you let the horde of heathens come to your place again after what happened last year,” she quipped. “I thought for sure we’d be banished to Ellys’s place for Christmas vacation.”

“Ellys can barely host a birthday party, let alone multiple nights with the whole Whitethorn family. It’s better if everyone crashes here; there’s more space.”

“Plus we can always pitch tents in the yard.”

“This is true.” He winked. “I think we should make that the punishment for the loudest ones.”

“Deal.” Sellene bumped her gloved fist into his. “Fifty bucks says it’ll be Fenrys and whoever he brings home for the holidays.”

“Why do I let him come to my house?” Rowan sighed.

“Tradition,” both he and his cousin chorused.

Sellene snickered. “Alright, I’m going to go control my wild children.”

“Too late,” Rowan called. “They’ve already found the hot cocoa.”

“Thank you for visiting Orynth Shelves! Happy holidays!” Aelin waved cheerfully to the most recent customer, turned back to the mercifully empty desk, and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. The day had been absolutely insane, packed full of holiday shoppers ranging from sweet elderly ladies to rambunctious kids who tried to climb the bookshelves and tracked wet slush everywhere. She had just turned around to steal two minutes of peace and quiet when the bells on the front door jingled and she had to turn back around, paint her customer service smile on her face, and– “Sellene?”

“Aelin?” Sellene Whitethorn looked just as shocked as Aelin felt.

“In the flesh.” Aelin shrugged. “Here I am, back in my hometown. Crazy, right?”

“It’s…unexpected,” Sellene admitted. “But damn, it’s so good to see you again, Aelin.”

Aelin rounded the desk and accepted Sellene’s brief hug. “It’s great to see you too. Are you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?”

“Hmm, I think I’ll just browse.” Sellene grinned. “You never know what you’ll find during the holidays, right?”

“Right.” Aelin gestured towards the shelves. “Happy hunting! If you’re interested, though, there’s a special winter section in the feature corner, and I’ve stocked it with as many cute little holiday romances as I could find.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Say no more!” Sellene hurried off towards the seasonal display.

Aelin laughed to herself and returned to the desk. Even after a number of years, she still remembered how much Sellene Whitethorn adored holiday romances. It had been one of their shared interests when they’d first met–way back in high school–and she could recall the exact expression on Sellene’s face when she realized how many books (and book boyfriends) they had in common.

One Christmas, Sellene had even taken Rowan (her “hopelessly clueless cousin”) to the bookstore to buy Aelin’s present. With her guidance, Rowan had bought Aelin a complete set of her favorite small-town romance series and written sweet little messages in each book’s cover.

Aelin still had those books. They lived in an unlabeled tote in her spare room.

She shook away the ache of that memory, pushing it back into the deep recesses of her mind where it belonged, and grinned as Sellene walked up to the register with a small stack of books in her arms.

“I was expecting more than that,” she teased as she rang up the books.

Sellene laughed. “Well, I’m on a budget–”

“Bullshit, it’s Christmas.”

“Fair enough. I’m on a book-buying budget, and I can’t exactly gift these to anyone in my family.” With a suggestive smirk, she passed Aelin one of the books.

Screwing Mr. Scrooge, proclaimed the title.

Aelin snorted with laughter. “Yeah, maybe don’t make that someone’s present.”

“I’m only buying it because my husband and I–”

“And that’s where you can stop,” Aelin interrupted, pretending to gag and swatting Sellene playfully with the book. “My gods, Sellene!”

Sellene giggled. “Alright, I’ll spare you the details.” She winked as she took out her credit card and tapped it to the card reader. “You’re in publishing, right?”

“Yep.”

“Then you definitely know what happens when readers who have a significant other find a spicy scene they like.”

“Doesn’t mean I need to have firsthand knowledge,” Aelin teased. “There you go, Sellene. Enjoy the rest of your vacation!”

“Thanks!” Sellene zipped up her thick parka jacket. Almost at the front door, she paused and turned back to Aelin. “Hey, I had a thought.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I don’t want you to be here alone, least of all during Christmas–”

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Aelin waved off the protest. “I’m with Dad, and Aedion’s here too. I’m not going to be alone on Christmas.”

“Still, the invitation stands.” Sellene continued as if Aelin hadn’t spoken. “I want to invite you to come over to the Whitethorn place. We haven’t seen you in far too long, and the whole family is here, even the little ones. Plus, I’m sure Rowan wants to see you…”

She kept going, but Aelin no longer heard anything she was saying. The mere mention of the name Rowan had consumed her. Rowan wants to see you.

How could he?

Until the other week outside Staghorns, they hadn’t spoken in three years. How could he possibly want to see her?

She’d been the one to leave.

Three Years Ago

Aelin slowed down and turned onto the long, painstakingly cleared driveway of her family home and drove up the asphalt pathway until she reached the turnaround in front of the sprawling, elegant redbrick structure that was the Galathynius home. She parked, turned off the engine, and sat in the driver’s seat for a long, achingly silent moment.

Then she dried her tears, checked her reflection in the rearview mirror to make sure there was no evidence that she’d been sobbing for the last fifteen minutes, and exited her car.

With her suitcase behind her and her tote bag slung neatly over her shoulder, Aelin walked up the front steps and entered the two-story atrium of the house’s front hall. “Hello?” she called. Part of her hoped–desperately–that there would be nobody home.

But with a soft rustle of cashmere and a gentle tap-tap-tap of heeled pumps, Evalin Ashryver appeared at the top of the grand staircase. “Hello, darling.”

“Mother.” Aelin set her luggage aside and crossed the foyer, meeting her mother in the middle and accepting a perfunctory hug and air kiss.

“How was the drive?” Evalin inquired.

“Smooth,” Aelin replied. “The traffic disappeared after I left the city.”

“Funny how that happens.” Evalin pressed the buzzer on the wall, summoning the housekeeper that the family apparently still employed. “Clara, would you please take my daughter’s things to her room?” She dismissed the housekeeper and led Aelin towards the family living room.

Aelin bit her tongue to hold back all the things she wanted to spew. She’d been trying for years (without success) to convince her mother that there was no need to keep on a full-time housekeeper and butler. A cook she understood, and a groundskeeper, but Rhoe and Evalin were the only ones who lived in that huge house anymore. They didn’t need staff for everything they did.

“So pleased that you were able to come home this early,” Evalin said.

Aelin returned her attention to her mother. “Yes, I managed to take a more flexible holiday vacation.” Her lips quirked upwards. “I suppose the promotion helped.”

“The promotion?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I was promoted to editor in November.” Aelin couldn’t control the proud smile that curved across her face.

Evalin beamed. “I’ll never know why it took your firm so long to realize that you’re the most competent person there. Congratulations, darling.” She squeezed Aelin’s hand, her own hand cold. “An editor at only twenty-four. Next up, editor in chief, right?”

“Perhaps,” Aelin concurred. “But–”

“Rhoe, dear!” Evalin called, unaware that her daughter was speaking. “We have news!”

Rhoe strode into the living room with a broad, genuine smile on his face and pulled Aelin into a powerfully warm hug. “Welcome home, Fireheart.”

“Hi, Dad.” She grinned up at him. “I have news.”

“So your mother tells me.” He took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs. “Well?”

“I’ve been promoted to editor as of last month.”

“Congratulations!” Rhoe got to his feet and wrapped his daughter in an embrace, then went over to the bar built into one side of the room and retrieved a small bottle of champagne and three flutes. “This calls for a toast!”

“Really, Rhoe,” Evalin tutted, frowning at her husband as he poured the champagne and handed out the glasses. “It’s barely even four o’clock.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable occasion for a toast,” Rhoe returned. He pressed Aelin’s glass into her hand, giving her a look of reassurance. “To our Fireheart, the editor!”

Aelin grinned at her father, clinked her glass gently against his, and took a delicate sip of the expensive champagne; of course her parents would only stock the finest in their fridge. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Darling, haven’t we discussed how mature women ought to be past the point of referring to their parents in childish ways?” Evalin’s tone was cool, reproving.

The champagne curdled in Aelin’s stomach. Silently, she placed her glass down on the granite bartop. “I was unaware that there were politically correct terms for one’s own parents.” She kept her voice light, but her spine stiffened into steel, preparing for the inevitable onslaught of her mother’s disapproval.

“As an editor, surely you understand the value of adjusting language to fit the appropriate categorization and age range,” Evalin stated. “The same principle ought to apply to all areas of speech, darling. Furthermore, your father would never allow his employees to address him as ‘Rhoe,’ so why should his daughter address him that casually?”

“Perhaps for the fact that she is his daughter.” It was Rhoe who spoke, his words laced with the underlying note of command that marked him as the incredibly successful businessman he was. Subtly, he moved closer to Aelin, acting both as a shield between her and Evalin and as an extinguisher to the brewing flames of both women’s wrath.

Aelin exchanged a look of deepest gratitude with her father and turned to leave the room. Before she was out the door, though, she heard her mother whispering heatedly, tearing into Rhoe for the simple act of defending his only daughter.

“I will not have you come between my daughter and I when I am speaking!” Evalin hissed. “I am her mother, and you know full well that we hardly get the chance to see her. You cannot deprive me of the time I need to spend with her on the rare occasion that she’s home, you callous–”

Aelin wheeled around and stalked over to Evalin, fire blazing in the gold of her eyes. “If anyone is callous, Mom, it’s you.” Vehemence threw her words like spears. “Or were you conveniently going to forget that you interrupted my call with Rowan while I was driving because you needed to remind me that I’m a pathetic excuse of a daughter for wanting to see my boyfriend for two minutes before I come home?” Her breath was ragged. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know that I broke up with him.”

Evalin’s jaw went slack. “I–”

“You got your wish, Mother.” Aelin laughed, sardonically. “I’m home for dinnertime.”

Turning sharply on her heel, she stalked out of the room, leaving behind her shell-shocked father and her mother stunned silent for once as she processed the truth her daughter had just flung. She kept her composure all the way up to her bedroom, where she entered the room and locked the door behind herself.

Then Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, unflappable editor, crumpled to the floor and sobbed.

~~~

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#my writing #rowaelin month #rowaelin month 2023 #rowaelinmonth2023 #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #but is it lollllll #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #stick season #stick season the fic #warning there is ANGST in this #sorry not sorry teeheehee love frederick #the angst monster tag

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sadboyeddie · 2 years

Text

Fright Night Friday

October 13th: Public

Kinktober 2022

Summary: Eddie has the perfect plan for Friday night

Warnings: (Minors DNI 18+ only) smut, blow job, semi-public sex, fluff

A/N: I want Eddie >:(

3.2k Words

Masterlist

You’re in the middle of a conversation with Robin when Eddie comes bounding through the door and crash tackles you back on the bed.

You land backwards with an ‘oof’ as the receiver slips out of your hand.

“Eddie!” You slap his back as he giggles into your neck, clearly in a playful mood, “I’m on the phone.”

He sits back, legs straddling yours as he reaches for the receiver, you can faintly hear Robin calling out to you on the other end, he holds it out to you but when you go to grab it he holds it above his head.

“Kiss,” he demands with a pout of his lips and you roll your eyes with a smile.

You lean in and peck his soft lips before he cups your cheeks and deepens it, you were expecting that.

When he pulls back you’re both a little dazed and breathless but Robins screech on the other end of the phone draws your attention.

“You got your damn kiss, now fuck off,” you laugh and push him off your lap.

“Wow, how rude,” he scoffs but stands up, “and even after I got you a gift,” he dramatically huffs and your face lights up in excitement.

“Sorry, Robin, gotta go! Bye!” You end the call in record speed not even giving her a chance to speak, you’ll make it up to her tomorrow.

Eddie laughs at your antics before turning to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” You follow after him.

“I’m fucking off,” he states plainly but there’s amusement present in his tone.

“Edddddiiiiee,” you grab his arm and shake it but he still ignores you, “if you show me the gift I’ll blow you.”

He instantly stops in his tracks and you let out a snort, of course that’d get him.

He turns to you with a smirk, “two, I want head twice,” he holds up two fingers.

“Now?” You giggle.

“One now, one later,” he shrugs, “we have a deal?”

He holds out his hand to shake and you slip yours in his grasp with a roll of your eyes.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, instead he leads you over to the couch and takes a seat before spreading his legs.

“Get to work, princess,” he nods to the spot in front of him.

You happily oblige, you start to undo his jeans and tug them down his thighs before kissing over his clothed cock. There’s a damp patch on his boxers from his precum, this boy is able to get hard in seconds.

You suck on him through the material before he huffs in slight annoyance, not enjoying being teased and wraps your hair around his hand and tugs it back.

“Be good, baby,” his voice dark.

“Sorry, sir,” you playfully grin and he intakes a sharp breath and glares.

You pull him from his boxers and wrap your lips around the head, flicking and teasing his hole, he lets out a sultry groan and adds more pressure to the back of your head.

You open your mouth wider and stick out your tongue, Eddie was very thick so it was often a tight squeeze.

When you felt him nudge the back of your throat you swallowed around the tip to help stop from gagging, it was working until Eddie decided to pull out a few inches and thrust his hips up.

You splutter over his cock, drool sliding from around your lips and down your face, Eddie curses in delight at the mess you’re making, loving when it gets a bit sloppy.

You moan around his length, the vibrations making it twitch on your tongue, before hollowing your cheeks. Eddie groans out your name and pulls your head back a bit so he can lock eyes with you, you maintain eye contact as he continues to use your mouth like a fleshlight.

“Close, baby,” he grunts, thighs flexing under your grasp.

He lets out a small cry and holds your head down on his cock, ropes of cum painting your throat and causing a tickle to rise up.

You start to choke and gag around him but that only adds to his pleasure as he spasms in your mouth.

When you tap his thigh he pulls you off him instantly, breathlessly apologising as you cough up a lung.

“Sorry, baby,” he grabs your hand and gently pulls you onto his lap, brushing the strands of hair that stick to the mixture of slobber and cum around your mouth and cheeks.

Eddie gives you a cheeky little smirk before leaning forward and licking your face clean of the remnants, making sure not to leave any behind, before slotting his lips against yours and forcing your mouth open with his tongue as he shares the spit with you.

It’s filthy and downright disgusting but my god your stomach clenches in arousal.

“Gross,” you giggle when he pulls back.

“You love it,” he nudges his nose with yours.

“Sooooo!” You bounce on his lap and he hisses at the contact on his sensitive cock, “what’s my gift?”

“Calm down, princess,” he laughs as he reaches into his jacket pocket and produces two movie tickets.

You’re momentarily confused, you go to the movies all the time not really a big surprise but Eddie smiles and quickly clarifies.

“They’re to the drive in, babe,” he grins as you snatch the tickets.

“Get out!” You slap his chest with a barely contained grin, you’ve been begging for months to go but he kept making excuses that the van wouldn’t be comfortable.

You kiss his cheek before taking a closer look at the movie stubs, only now do you realise that the tickets are handmade with the title ‘Labyrinth’ scribbled across it, when you turn it over ‘Fright Night Friday’ is scribbled in messy writing. Friday being your designated ‘Fright Night’ day.

“Ah, Eds,” you start, “as much as I adore your delinquent ways, I don’t think we can sneak a whole ass car into a drive in.”

You give him an amused, if not slightly disappointed look at the fact these aren’t real.

“No, I know that,” he rubs his thumb over your tiny frown, “I couldn’t actually get the tickets before they sold out.”

You really wanted to see Labyrinth at the drive in when it was released months ago but you missed out, because it was so popular they were rereleasing it in a few select cinemas and drive ins.

“So what’s this mean,” you squint in confusion.

“It means I had to improvise,” he stands up with you in his hold and you let out a small squeak before wrapping your legs around his waist.

He lets out a laugh as he pulls his pants up deciding to forgo redoing the zipper.

He walks you out the door of the trailer before walking around the back where he’s parked his van, you furrow your brow as you take in the scenery in front of you.

The tv from the living room, that you didn’t even notice was missing, is sitting on a table at the back of the van, an extension cord dangling out of Eddie’s room.

You’ve been in his room all afternoon how did you miss that?

When he walks you to the opening of the van the first thing you notice is the fairy lights, the second is the foam lining on the floor of the van.

“It’s not exactly a bed but it’s comfy, I promise,” he follows your gaze.

He sits you down on the edge of the van and your eyes sting with tears, this is probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you.

“Say something, baby,” Eddie scratches his arm out of habit, very nervous about your reaction.

Instead of answering you stand and fling yourself into Eddie’s chest, squeezing him tight and repeatedly mumbling ‘thank you thank you thank you.’

He instantly reciprocates the hug and gently sways you until you make the decision to pull back.

“I gotta get the blankets from inside, but there’s snacks on the front seat and I got menus from your favourite takeout shops so dinner is all sorted,” he explains, nerves dissipating when he sees excitement light up your face, “we also have a few selections of movies,” he gestures to the pile of vhs tapes next to the player.

“Eddie, this is amazing,” you bounce on your heels with excitement, “when can we start?”

“Now, if you want?” His excitement mirroring yours.

“Let me get changed into some comfy clothes!” You don’t wait for an answer as you race around the trailer and back into Eddie’s room.

You strip down until you’re just wearing your panties and look around for one of Eddies shirts.

“Woah,” Eddie’s cheeky grin pops up from the window, that you didn’t realise was open.

“Eddie!” You slap your hands over your chest.

“Aww,” he frowns, “bring ‘em over here, I wanna say hello.”

You giggle at his request but you’re feeling playful so you decide to give in, you walk to the window and drop your hands, Eddie is standing on a box so he takes up most of the window.

“There’s my favourite girls,” he coos at your breasts, “I missed you,” he reaches out and strokes a thumb over your left nipple, the nub instantly hardening at the contact.

“I think she wants to play, sweetie,” he smirks at you, he leans in and sucks the nipple into his mouth, suctioning his lips and swirling his tongue around it.

You’re suddenly very aware with how turned on you are, you didn’t cum earlier and sucking Eddie’s dick really gets you going.

“Eddie,” your moan is quiet, being mindful that the window is open and his neighbours could see at any moment, but there’s a thrill that spikes through your spine at the thought.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he kisses the stiff peak before pulling back to eye level, “you’re gonna be filled with cum before the night is over.”

With that last comment he slips his shirt off and tosses it to you, you catch it with a stunned silence, eagerness building inside you like an active volcano.

When you’re dressed you fill your arms with pillows and blankets before walking out the room, Eddie meets you half way and takes the comforter with a laugh.

He dumps the blanket in the back and runs back inside to change into a pair of red and black plaid pyjama bottoms before returning to you.

By the time you’ve set the van up to you’re liking, Eddie letting you take full control just happy to sit back and watch with a serene smile, the sun is starting to go down.

“What should be watch first?” He asks, sifting through the movies.

You crawl your way over to the edge of the van where he is sitting and press your chest against his back and let out a thoughtful hum.

“Maybe we should start with the really scary ones first,” you offer, “that way we can finish off the night with something nice that won’t make me scared to go to the bathroom.”

“Aww don’t worry, babe,” Eddie leans some of his weight back against you, “you can hold my hand while you pee.”

You slap his chest as he laughs and pops ‘The Fog’ out of its case and slides it into the vcr. You shuffle back into the safety of the van as Eddie pulls the back doors slightly closed so it gives you a little more privacy.

When Eddie slides in behind you he leans against the back of the front seats before caving you in between his legs and pulling you back against his chest.

You let out a content sigh as he brushes his fingers through your hair and traces patterns on your skin.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The movie doesn’t go for long and while you’re rewinding the tape Eddie runs into the house to call for your favourite Chinese takeout. You put in the next vhs tape, ‘Gremlins’, and wait for Eddie to return.

Thankfully the food doesn’t take too long to arrive, Eddie offers to get a camping lantern but the cool glow of the fairy lights is more then enough.

When you settle in to continue watching the last half of the movie you lean back against Eddie, mimicking your previous position, although this time he’s lounging more comfortably back against the pillows.

Eddie, who has already watched this movie many times, is not paying attention to the screen at all, his eyes are downcast as he watches your chest rise and fall with every breath, he traces his fingers along your skin and silently chuckles every time you gasp and seek him out when there’s a jump scare.

Getting a little bolder with his movements he starts massaging the skin of your thigh, not too high to arouse suspicion but just enough that you melt back into him.

When he does start to trek closer to your heat you haven’t even noticed, he’s moved the shirt out of the way and idly rests the tips of his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties.

This time his chuckle is more audible as he kisses your temple, you subconsciously smile at the attention but still don’t pull your view away from the screen.

Only when the rough pad of his index finger makes contact with your clit do you jump in his hold and snap your head to look to him.

His eyes are trained on the movie as he completely ignores your gaze, continuing to leisurely stroke your folds.

When you continue to stare at the man, desire written all over your features, he brings his spare hand up and tilts your chin until you’re facing the screen again.

“You’re missing the movie, baby,” he playfully scolds, “you just keep watching and let me take care of you.”

You nod your head and let out a breathy sound of compliance as Eddies hand moves from your chin, over your clothed tits all the way to the hem of the shirt.

He bunches up the material and pulls it up until it’s resting above your breasts, the cool, fall breeze instantly hardening your nipples.

Eddie holds one of your tits in his hands and gently massages the soft flesh as his fingers spread your folds and tease your entrance.

He gathers some of your slick and spreads it over your clit and pussy before pinching the throbbing nub between his fingers.

You let out soft moans as you sink further into his body, thankful the movie is loud enough to cover your sounds.

Not that the trailer park wasn’t used to that. There always seemed to be some sort of orgy happening somewhere in the park each weekend.

You hold onto Eddies thigh with one hand as the other tangles in the blanket now sitting lowly on your legs. You grind your hips upwards slowly and instead of being scolding like you thought you would be instead you receive a kiss on your temple.

“Take what you need, princess,” he holds his hand stiff and firm as you start to gyrate your hips against his fingers.

“Eddie,” you whimper as his hand on your chest starts to tug at your nipple.

“Feel good, baby?” He knows the answer but he loves hearing your wrecked voice.

“Yes, fuck,” your hips start rubbing against him harder and within seconds your biting your lip to muffle your cry as you clench around nothing.

Eddie cups your pussy as you subconsciously continue to grind against his hand, riding out your high as you slowly come down.

When you sag against his chest, spent and exhausted he pulls his fingers from your panties and holds them up in front of both of your faces.

You watch with heated cheeks as he spreads his digits and your sticky cum spiderwebs between them.

“Always cum so much,” he praises, “smells so good too.”

You let out a tired huff, “Eddie,” you halfheartedly scold, his intrusive thoughts always winning out as he says something perverted.

“What?” He chuckles, the vibration warming your chest, “if I could bottle this stuff I’d wear it as cologne.”

You cover your face with your hands and muffle out laughter at your boyfriends absurd comments.

In the moment you’re not paying attention Eddie pulls his pyjamas down his thighs and slips his cock out, hissing slightly at the cool air before nudging your panties aside.

By the time you realise what’s happening Eddie’s already balls deep in your pussy.

“Fuck,” you gasp at the intrusion, your moan loud enough to be heard over the movie.

“That’s right, baby,” he encourages as he grinds up into your slick heat, “let the whole park hear you.”

“Eddie,” you whimper, too quiet for his liking.

You let out a squeal when he brings his hand down and lands a swift spank to your clit, your thighs automatically going to close but he grabs them and splits your legs open.

“Louder, pet,” his voice is deeper as he snaps his hips into your tight hole.

You let out an embarrassed whine, noting the doors to the van open wider with each heavy movement of Eddie’s thrust and if someone happened to walk by there would be no denying what you were doing.

Eddie bounces your lower half on his cock, moaning as your walls constrict tighter around him when he hits that spongy spot inside you.

You throw your head back and close your eyes as he pounds away inside of you, your coherent thoughts are starting to go hazy and you’re only slightly noticing how loud you’re starting to get.

Eddie’s heavy breathing in your ear mixed with his grunts and moans have you teetering along the edge of your second orgasm, you just need that one extra push.

“Can I—, fuck, can I cum, Eddie,” you’re question followed by a broken moan no longer silent, the noise rebounds off the van walls and makes Eddie twitch inside you.

“What’s the magic word, princess?” he teases, though he’s just as close as you at this point.

“Fuck! Please, Eds, please please,” your voice is strained as you grind your hips down against his.

“Do it,” he gives permission and your hand instantly connects with your pussy as you press down hard and rub over the bundle of nerves, your hips convulsing with every flick of your fingers.

With Eddie hammering into your core, so deep you can feel him in your stomach, you cry out one last time in ecstasy as your pleasure overwhelms you.

You tremble in his hold as he follows you over the edge, cum sticking to your walls as he slows his pace down to a gentle stop.

Eddie rubs his hands soothingly up your waist before taking the edge of your, his, shirt and dragging it back down your torso.

“For your modesty, babe,” he chuckles at your small whine.

Your blissed out peace is interrupted by music coming from the screen as the end credits roll, and you can’t help but let out a sad sigh.

“I missed the movie,” you pout.

“Aww poor baby,” Eddie mocks and blows a raspberry on your flushed cheeks.

You giggle before turning and flicking his forehead he lets out a dramatic whine as you move on trembling legs to rewind the movie and slip ‘Labyrinth’ in and move back to settle against your warm boyfriend.

“Don’t forget I still have one more blow job to get from you,” he laughs into your hair as you burrow deep into his chest.

The stamina on this boy.

#stranger things #my writing #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fluff #kinktober

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gamerbearmira · 9 months

Note

AU idea: werewolf AU but Isabela and the other grandkids are the only ones currently with the werewolf curse, so Isabela and Dolores have to teach the rest of the grandkids how to live because the adults can’t know (since they were all raised without any knowledge on werewolves at all).

I think it would be Isabela angst all around to be honest but also everyone else

I'VE WAITED YEARS FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME ABOUT THIS AU. HOLD ON. I MADE A DRAWING❗❗❗

No but seriously. I have an au like this thay's pretty much the same. It was one of my first of two aus (the first being a vocaloid au). And. It was mostly Isabela/Dolores angst. Mostly on the pressure of having to hide all of the situation from the family, specifically Alma. Isabela felt really pressured to hide. She hated it at first, but, at least with Dolores, she wasn't alone. She didn't like it anymore, but at least she was with Dolores during the whole thing. And both of them thought it would just be the two of them.

You know until Luisa. After her gift ceremony, around a week or two later, Isabela found her terrified in her room. So ok, there was Luisa. That was it. Until Camilo. And it was clear it was the curse, because Camilo can only shift into people, not animals. But after Mirabel's failed ceremony, Isabela was actually relieved; she thought that in order to get the curse, you had to have a gift. So when Mirabel didn't get one, she was more than happy. Well---turns out she was pretty much wrong. Far from it; Mirabel still did get cursed, just later than the usual one or two weeks, around a month.

By this point both Isabela and Dolores were used to it. And they did their very best to help the younger three (later four) hide their werewolf side. And it definitely was hard on them, especially when they were younger and didn't have half as much control. They were little kids, and the last they wanted to do was hide and keep it a secret. But, Isabela and Dolores knew better, so they listened, obviously.

But that didn’t lessen the pressure. Isabela was around Alma a lot, so she couldn’t always keep an eye on the others. She gets paranoid sometimes. The last thing she needs his trouble because of a 15-16 year long secret. But you know. Little lies can snowball. Bigger lies cause an avalanche 🤕

Now after Antonio was born, they was really stressing. Isabela was already protective enough of Mirabel. And that was thing about their dynamic. At a glance, they might seem a little distant, but if you watched them enough, you could see Isabela was way overprotective of Mirabel. Mostly because she had no gift and thus had no cover up if something happened. A common excuse they would use was "oh it must be the magic acting up". Mirabel didn't have that excuse, so Isabela watched her like a hawk in her younger years, and only really let up a little to keep an eye on Antonio, though Dolores had that covered.

And Dolores. She struggled enough with Camilo, but after Antonio, she was struggling even more. Sure he was only a baby, but it was obvious they couldn't delay the inevitable. Because of that, they let him in on the secret early; so he was expecting it. And he was more than excited, seeing that he was such a big animal fan.

Now imagine how horrified Isabela and Dolores are when Antonio gets cursed before his ceremony.

Ok I’ll shut up now.

Antonio tryna act like he not excited:

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ahdraftingco · 2 years

Text

Chapter One: Never Sleep With A Thief | Series: Lesson Learned

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

AO3 Crosspost: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40653303

Rating: Explicit, readers are advised to read the warnings below before proceeding.

Series Warnings (in no particular order): Porn with Plot, Dark!Din Djarin, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, Master/Slave Relationship, Knife Play (Minor Cuts/Blood), BDSM, Rough Sex, Genuine Fear, Sexual Coercion, Power Play, Degradation, Face Slapping, Spanking, Choking, Gagging, Enemies to Lovers, Possessive Behavior, Spit, Forced Orgasms, Hair Pulling, Multiple Orgasms, Threats of Violence, References to Death/Suicide, Book of Boba Fett Spoilers

Chapter Summary: The Mandalorian is tired of your shit. You're nothing but a low-life thief, constantly plucking parts off his ship or stealing weapons off his body or credits from his pack. How do you keep running into him and why have you made him your target for this kind of persistent harassment? Well, your reign of terror ends now. When you're imprisoned in Mos Espa, it's finally time for the Mandalorian to get his revenge.

Word Count: 9.6k+

A/N: Please read through ALL the series warnings before deciding to proceed and note that all of my work is for adults only so minors DNI.

You can't hear what they're saying. It's all hushed murmurs. All you can assume is that they're making a deal. The Mandalorian wants you, after all. He has been trying to catch you this entire time and yet you've evaded him on every single occasion.

If only you had realized he actually had friends and that one of those friends included the Daimyo of Mos Espa, Lord Fett. There's some regret coursing through your veins, though it mostly involves you cursing yourself over not planning your heist more diligently. Had you known the full extent of the possible consequences of your actions, maybe you wouldn't have gotten greedy and tried to steal more than you needed from Lord Fett.

You watch as the Mandalorian strolls over to your cell and you know he has a smug expression on his face under that helmet of his. You didn't need to see it to know how satisfying it must be for him to see you in chains like this.

"You're mine now, thief." His modulated voice spurs a bit as he spits those words out to you.

Your lips curve into a smile, the kind of smile you put on just to annoy the shit out of him. If he has a smug expression on his face, why can't you too? You deserve to have a little fun, especially considering what's in store for you.

"It doesn't really feel like I'm yours." You take a stab at him with your words. "The truth is, you could never catch me and you're just lucky Lord Fett did. How much did you pay for me?"

"You were on the house." He draws an uncontrollable laugh from your lips. That's funny. Of course, not only can he not capture you on his own, he gets gifted you for free!

What a laughable scenario.

It's obvious he doesn't like that you're laughing at him because the moment he opens the door to your cell, his hand finds its way around your throat, slamming you into the rock wall.

"I don't want to hear another sound out of you." He grips your neck so tight that you're genuinely afraid he might snap it. "You aren't allowed to speak anymore, unless you want your tongue ripped out."

You open your mouth to say something but that slight action is met with a slap in the face. His leather glove lands a blow right across your left cheek and you can already feel it start to swell.

"Don't fucking test me or I'll make it hurt worse than that." The Mandalorian is deadly serious and you squeeze your lips together until they're practically a straight line, not daring to make even the slightest of sounds. "That's better. Now, walk."

He lets go of your neck and you drop back onto your feet, gasping for air. You expect him to give you a second to breathe but you instead feel the barrel of his blaster against your back, making you stiffen up. He bends down to grab a hold of your chains then he presses the barrel harder into you so you know to start moving.

You try not to stumble on the chains but it's hard to walk on the sandy stone floors with bare feet. You were stripped down to nothing but a plain tunic and distressed pants when you were captured. They didn't give you the luxury of shoes. Cheap bastards.

The sun blinds you as you step out from the underground prison and into the hot desert sands of Tatooine. Your feet burn with every step and you realize that's the point. Every breath you take, you taste sand on your tongue. You normally have a mask on but you weren't given that either. You just have to suffer through the sunburns and sand scratches.

It's a long trek until you and the Mandalorian make it to some cave. There's a N-1 starfighter parked outside of the entrance and you're a bit surprised to see that he owns such a nice ship. He used to have this tacky Razor Crest which was all too easy to pick apart. You kind of miss it. It was easy to stow away on. He never checked the storage room.

Your feet are finally freed from the torturously hot sand and you step back onto cold sandstone floors. The cave seems to be a makeshift home of sorts, though a bit dingy. There's just enough stuff for a man like the Mandalorian. Nothing more, nothing less, though you did like the natural oasis. It's a small pool of water but enough to bathe in if needed.

Is that the point of him dragging you all the way here? You wonder as he unlocks all your chains except for your handcuffs. However, he doesn't give you much time to think when he puts his blaster away and pulls out a blade.

"If you don't want me to hurt you, stand still." The Mandalorian walks up to you with the sharp knife and you hold your breath.

He grips the collar of your shirt and ever so slowly, he drags the blade downwards, ripping through the fabric. The tip of the blade grazes your skin so lightly that you don't even realize he pierced some of it until the air hits your newly formed cut. You look down and there's just the tiniest line starting from between your breasts and ending right above your belly button. It starts to ooze tiny specks of blood and you shiver as the Mandalorian drags his gloved finger alongside it. He doesn't touch the cut directly, but it's close enough that you forcibly bite back a whimper not to react to the feeling.

"I like this look on you." His helmet shifts from your chest to your eyes. "Afraid."

You want to tell him to go fuck himself and that you aren't afraid of him. He's nothing but a hunk of walking metal that can easily be pickpocketed. However, you value your life more than insulting him so you keep your mouth shut like he wanted you to.

"Take off your pants." He presses the flat side of his knife against your chin, lifting your face up to look at his helmet. "Keep your eyes on me."

You go to unbutton your pants, wriggling out of them as best as you can while handcuffed. Eventually, they drop to the ground and you step out of them, kicking them aside. Now, you're left in just your underwear and a shirt that's been torn straight down the middle. It's becoming fairly obvious what he intends to do with you now.

"Tell me, thief. Will this be your first time?"

Does he expect you to answer?

After a long stare down, you feign ignorance to ask, "first time doing what?"

If he didn't have the helmet on, you are sure he's smiling menacingly at you as he drags the blade down your body once again, only this time, he held it by the metal, letting you feel the hard shaft until it rested right up against your underwear. He glides it back to front before pressing the hilt where your clit sits and you try your best not to squirm at the feeling. You expected the grip of the blade to be plastic or metal, but it's actually lined with a softer material, possibly the same leather as his gloves, black and rounded at the base. He swirls it in place as he taunts you.

"I can't tell if you're inexperienced or not. It would be more fun to break a virgin but I'll break you either way." The Mandalorian is trying to instill fear into you now.

What does he mean by break?

"I'm not a virgin." You state aloud, answering his question.

"Hmph." He sounds disappointed, which is why you said it. "Then, how many have gotten to use this body of yours?"

That's just fucking demeaning of him to ask like that. However, he's allowing you to speak so you choose your words wisely to make up for it, "are you asking because you want to know or because you're jealous none of them were you?"

The Mandalorian pushes into you with the hilt of the blade and you jolt upwards instinctively. It wasn't a hard shove but it was definitely enough to cause panic to run through every nerve in your body.

"You're going to wish you had just answered me politely." He flips the blade in his hand and you are suddenly brought to a complete freeze.

You can feel the tip of the blade against the fabric of your underwear. Your breathing starts to get uncontrollably erratic. The panic is really setting in now. The genuine fear.

You squeeze your eyes shut the moment you feel the cold steel of the blade sneak beneath the fabric of your underwear. The flat side grazes your skin and you can't breathe anymore. You fear that if you let out even the tiniest breath, the blade will stab you somewhere incredibly unpleasant.

The Mandalorian basks in your terror. "Aww, look at you. A pretty little thief, all shaken up. Not so confident anymore, are we?"

A rip echoes through the silent cave as he pulls the blade through your underwear on one side, tearing it to shreds. The remaining fabric doesn't sit long on your other thigh as he digs the blade through that portion as well. You feel the fabric drop down your legs and now you're exposed completely from the waist down.

Your hands tremble and you don't realize it until you hear it for yourself, the rattling of your handcuffs making your nerves fully apparent. You open your eyes and you're met with the blade staring right at you. You hiccup involuntarily which draws a frightening laugh from the Mandalorian.

"Who knew you were so scared of sharp objects? Maybe if I had tried stabbing you instead of shooting at you, you wouldn't have become such a bother." He moves the blade to brush along your shoulders and you watch him tear into the sleeves of your shirt until both sides are torn apart enough to fall off your body completely.

Now, you're bare in front of the Mandalorian, wearing nothing but the handcuffs you were imprisoned with. You ball your hands into fists, trying to stabilize yourself, while the blade makes rounds along your bare skin. He takes his time, dragging lines across every inch of your skin with the flat side of the blade. It's only when you flinch or move that he pricks you just a tiny bit with the sharp side. Enough to draw blood, but not enough for it to actually hurt. They're all small, superficial cuts. He's marking you in his own way, since he can't use his teeth. The blade does the work for him and you're forced to stand and power through it.

All the while, the Mandalorian degrades you, "what a pathetic girl you are. Always getting on my nerves, always causing me trouble. Look at the way you cower before me at the sight of a tiny blade. Do you want to see something even scarier, little thief?"

He plucks the blade from your skin, leaving a final nick before placing it back in his boot. Then, he pulls out something else and you can't contain your gasp while he activates it.

That's…the DarkSaber.

The Mandalorian is holding it firmly in his hands. It glows that pure black, radiating a kind of power that sends shivers all over your body.

Suddenly, he brings up the blade, as if he's going to slice through you. And, he does. He slices right at you. You let a scream out from the depths of your stomach, filled with pure fear, as you hear metal hit the floor.

Your heart leaps out of your chest as you look down and see that he has broken through your handcuffs and you're now free from them. They sit, melted partially on the floor. You slowly tilt your head up to look back at the Mandalorian, who puts the DarkSaber away.

"You shouldn't have moved. You could've lost your hand." He taunts you and you shudder at his words.

What did you do to deserve this? Yes, you were a nuisance to him. You stole from his ship. You stowed away on his ship. You pocketed his credits and sold some of his weapons. You did a lot of things you're growing to regret now.

You didn't know the Mandalorian was a madman. You assumed he wasn't because he had that child creature thing with him. He was softer, easier to swipe stuff from when the kid was around. Did you happen to piss him off at the wrong time? Did he lose the kid and now he's taking his frustrations out on you?

Fuck, you really shouldn't have been greedy in Mos Espa…

"You're filthy." He shoves you slightly and you have to catch yourself before you land your bare ass on the ground. "Go bathe. You wouldn't want those cuts to get infected."

The Mandalorian says it as if he gives a shit, which you know he doesn't. You have no idea how clean that blade he used was. For all you know, you could already be infected with something.

You manage to walk over to the oasis and get in, submerging yourself in the water. You debate, for just a moment, taking a deep breath underwater, but you know you wouldn't drown that easily. He probably wouldn't let you drown. You're more valuable to him alive right now. He can't fuck with you otherwise.

When you resurface, the Mandalorian is there, knelt beside the pool of water, holding a bar of soap. You take it from him and he nods at you. He watches as you wash up. You hand him back the soap when you're done and he leaves then. You soak for a minute longer until he comes back with a towel. Wow, he's letting you dry off. How courteous. You stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him when you take the towel, helping yourself out of the bath.

You dry yourself off as best as you can, then you give him back the towel, since you know he's not going to let you keep it.

"I guess you are smarter than you look." His praise comes off more as an insult and you hold back the desire to glare at him. "Go sit on the bed."

You glance over at the makeshift bed set up he has. It's just a mattress with several loose sheets on top of it and a larger comforter for the colder nights. He doesn't even have any pillows.

What kind of person doesn't sleep with a pillow? A madman.

You do as you're told because you'd rather not be sliced in half by the DarkSaber. You sit on the mattress on your knees, since it's the only position that lets you hide at least some of yourself. He definitely doesn't like that because he towers over you and snaps his fingers, gesturing for you to open your legs.

"Do I need to say it or are you going to listen to me?" His words have a bite to them and you chew the inside of your cheek in response.

You aren't trying to be defiant. You just need some time to weigh your options. If you listen to him, you'll be giving in and there's no telling what he's going to do. If you don't listen to him, you run the risk of dying by the hands of a Mandalorian.

After deliberating, you lean back on your hands, bending your knees and spreading your legs open for him. You look away because you feel terribly exposed. This is unlike anything you've ever done. There's something about the way you can't see how he's looking at you that lights a fire inside of you. You don't know what this feeling is.

Is it shame? Embarrassment? Arousal?

Are you seriously getting the hots for a man you've never even seen before? You can't say you don't know what he's packing beneath the armor. You've felt him up on multiple occasions in the middle of crowded bazaars to pickpocket him. You know what's under there but do you actually want to know?

You wish he would say something. Or at least do something. It's filling you with such an unbearable heat just laying here like this.

"Interesting." That's the word he says when he finally speaks up again. He doesn't say anything except for that.

Not until he gets on the bed too, filling the space beside you. You turn to him then, looking at him once again, and you're immediately yanked towards him. The Mandalorian isn't holding any of his strength back as he seats you in the space between his legs with your back pressed up against him. He has his back resting on the cave's wall and his hands settle at your thighs, keeping your legs open so he can stare at you.

You know he's staring because his helmet is in the crook of your neck, shifted downwards. It's cold but you strangely don't mind it because your internal temperature is so hot. You feel the beskar plates against your bare skin and all of them are just as cold as his helmet.

There's a shine to them, like he's just polished the beskar. You like shiny things. You have an affinity for stealing them but you've never thought of swiping an armor plate from the Mandalorian. Beskar is rather valuable, but he would track you down too quickly for you to be able to pawn it at a good price.

"Why are you staring at me?" He asks and you can't hold in a small chuckle. You want to ask him the exact same thing.

"I never realized how pretty beskar is up close." You reach up, touching the side of his helmet with your hands. "It sparkles ever so subtly."

"You're sitting naked in my arms and you're thinking about my armor?" He's amused, at least that's what you think his tone is depicting.

"More or less, I was thinking about why I've never stolen a piece of your armor before." You smirk, even though you know you shouldn't.

"If you stole any of my beskar, I would kill you the moment I found you." His words are as icy cold as his chestplate feels against your back.

"Why kill me?" You ask genuinely. "It seems like you're having more fun with me alive."

"You don't seem all that scared of me anymore if you're asking questions. Have you forgotten what I can do?" He snaps at you and you bite back your next set of words, straightening up. "Ah, there she is. Just needed a little reminder of who owns you now."

"Do you own me now?" You know you shouldn't talk back but you want to know what kind of situation you're in. "Did Lord Fett give me away in some kind of slave contract?"

"He gave me two choices: kill you or take you. So, I guess that answers your question."

It would've been equally unpleasant to die in that cell but…to be given away as a slave? You can't live life like that. You value freedom. That's why you're a thief. You liked not depending on anything but raw skill. No attachments. You don't take jobs, you don't deal with people. You just steal from them.

But now? What are you now that you're a slave?

"What do I call you then? Master?" You say it teasingly which you regret instantly because his hand catches your throat, choking you all too quickly.

"You really can't learn your lesson, can you?" He shakes his head in disappointment, tightening his hold on your throat.

The Mandalorian is squeezing so hard that you might actually black out. You gasp for air but the air doesn't make it to your lungs. Your body is flailing, in desperate need of some kind of oxygen to your brain because you're suffocating. Tears start welling up in your eyes and you know you're going to pass out soon.

"Please." You whimper, unable to say anything but that, clawing at his arm with both of your hands. He's so much stronger than you…

"The next time you speak, it better be an apology." The Mandalorian loosens his grip with those words.

You dry heave, trying to suck up as much air into your lungs as you can, tears pouring out of your eyes. You hiccup again, biting back a sob. It's a real one. You actually want to cry. You've been close to death before but you feel more vulnerable now because you're completely naked.

"I-I'm sorry." Your voice is shaky but you manage to get the apology out as sincere as you can. "I won't do anything to upset you again."

"I wish I believed you." His fingers brush along your bruised neck and tingles run through your whole body in reaction to it. "But you can be such a bratty little thief, making promises she can't keep."

Is that what this is about? You already told him it wasn't you. "I didn't steal it."

"Liar." His grip tightens once again and you squeeze your eyes shut, stopping the tears before they threaten to fall. "You're the only one who could have taken it."

"I…didn't…take…the…ch–" You're fighting for your life to stay awake but your body is growing limp from the lack of air. You can't finish your sentence. You don't have the breath left to.

The Mandalorian allows you to breathe again all of a sudden and there's a tinge of something in his voice when he says, "why won't you admit it?"

You try to catch your breath but you're afraid he'll cut the air off again before you can tell him the truth so you explain through raspy breaths, "I promised I wouldn’t steal anything that belonged to your kid. I never broke that promise. I didn't take the chainmail shirt, I swear."

You lean forward, grasping at your neck, and the Mandalorian doesn't stop you. He moves his hand away, giving you the space you need to refill your lungs. Every inhale you take burns a little, every exhale coming out in a huff.

"But you knew of it." He still doubts you. Is this why he's treating you so harshly?

"The last time I saw you, you had it. I didn't take it though. Even if I wanted to, pawning it would've cut into my plans and I didn't have the time. I only had a small window to rob Lord Fett…" You don't know if he'll believe you but what you're saying is the truth.

You don't normally bargain with the people you steal from but you knew the kid meant something to him, so you agreed that while you wouldn't stop bothering him since he always had fun shit to swipe, you wouldn't dare to take the kid's stuff. It's not in your nature to rob a child anyways.

"You don't have to believe me but just…don't kill me over it." You plead for your life. "I'll be whatever you want me to be, I just don't want to die like this."

You turn your head back to face the Mandalorian and you hope he can see that you're not lying. You will do anything as long as it means you aren't going to die while naked and afraid in some cave in the deserts of Tatooine.

"Then, you'll be my thief." He pulls you against his chest once again and his hands settle back on your inner thighs. "I own you now. You don't get to do anything unless I say so. Do you understand?"

"Yes." You say with a nod.

"Address your Master correctly." He demands.

"I understand, Master." You look at him directly as you tell him, "I won't do anything unless you tell me to. I'm your thief. You own me."

"Good girl." You can almost hear the smile in his voice. "For once, I might actually believe you. Shall I reward your obedience so you'll continue being good?"

Oh, there's not a correct answer to this question, is there? A reward is probably better than a punishment though so you nod in response.

"I need to hear you say it." He's practically holding you on a leash right now.

"Please reward me for being good, Master." You find the words you assume he wants to hear and you must have guessed correctly because you can feel something hard pressing up against your back that isn't beskar.

"Open your mouth." He commands as one of his hands lays over your neck again. His fingers hold your chin upwards, so you can't look down anymore.

You obey, parting your lips. The taste of leather fills your mouth as he shoves his fingers in, curling to feel your tongue.

"Bite, little thief. Steal my glove."

You sink your teeth into the leather and tug on it. The Mandalorian slips his hand out and you don't catch a glimpse of it because his other hand is holding your face so firmly. You go to spit out his glove but then his hand moves from your throat to your mouth, stuffing it all the way in. You gag a little on it before it settles in your mouth. You can already feel the drool building up.

"That'll keep you nice and quiet." He couples those words with a pat on the head, like he's proud of you for taking a glove in the mouth. Before you can really react to that, he already moves on to his next demand, "wrap your arms around my neck."

You lift your arms up and do as you're told, clamping your hands together behind his neck. This gives him quite the view of your breasts from the way you're arched against him.

"Eyes up here." His hand goes back to your throat, holding your face in place so you're just staring at his helmet. "Don't you dare linger anywhere else while I do this."

You nod, wondering what he's going to do. Though, you should've guessed when he freed his hand from his glove what he was planning to do. His bare hand starts to roam your skin, touching every inch of exposed flesh. You swallow sharply when his hand drags over your breasts, grazing your nipples with the rough calluses that have built on his fingertips. Your body quivers at the feeling, which only makes him do it more.

"Someone's getting excited." He mocks you and you bite the glove in your mouth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of coaxing a moan out of you. "You're so cute when you try to hold it in. Are you not liking your reward?"

The Mandalorian must be a sadist. There's nothing rewarding about having your nipples pinched and teased only to move away to touch another part of your skin before the feeling amounts to anything. You try not to get turned on by his touch but your body betrays you as his hand dips between your legs, spreading your folds with his fingers.

"Do you know how wet you are? Here, I'll let you feel it." His fingers drag along your inner thigh and…fuck, you are wet. It completely coats his fingers and it takes him a while to smear it all off on your skin. "You must be aching for an orgasm."

You want to tell him to eat shit but there's a glove in your mouth. Being taunted like this is infuriating and you know he's doing it on purpose to piss you off.

"I like this look on your face, all pent up. I like the way you pretend you don't want it." His fingers move back to feel how slick you are again, tracing upwards until the tips of his fingers find your clit.

You chew on the glove in your mouth, refusing to react but fuck, it feels good. He's applying just the right pressure and rubbing only enough to get a rise out of you. If he keeps this up, you might not be able to hold back. The tension is coiling up in your lower stomach and soon, it'll be desperate to burst free.

"This is supposed to be a reward, so just enjoy yourself. Unless you don't like that I'm the one making you feel good. Is that it?" He growls through the modulator and it comes out with a bigger bite than it should. "You can't stand that your Master is the one giving you this pleasure. Well, pretty little thief, get used to it. I'm going to break you, just like I said I would. One orgasm at a time."

You close your eyes then, trying to focus on not coming. You can't come. The moment you do, he'll use it against you. Or worse, he'll make you come again. It's just frustrating when he's touching you like this.

"Aww, you're trying so hard not to come. It's almost admirable." His sadistic voice vibrates in your ear and it gives you the chills.

You grit your teeth against his glove. You're hurtling towards your breaking point. The pressure building in your body is getting so unbearable to the point where your vision is glossy from the tears in your eyes.

"Stop holding it in." The Mandalorian orders you, his fingers rubbing your clit relentlessly. "Come for your Master."

The moment his hand tightens around your throat again, you can't stop it. You can't. He absolutely broke you because your body forcefully releases all the tension when your breath gets taken away. You lean your head against the side of his helmet, crying out as your orgasm slices through you like the DarkSaber did earlier. It's intense and the pleasure surges through every fiber of your being, causing you to spasm. His arm holds you securely in place, making you feel every second of the orgasm he gave you. You can't run from it. Your vision grows hazy and you're lightheaded from the constant waves of bliss.

That was the hardest you've ever came. You edged yourself for far too long and completely bursted under the pressure of getting choked. You can't breathe, not even when he lets go of your throat. Every breath you swallow is strained and you stare up at the Mandalorian with a tear-stained face. He pulls his glove from your mouth, watching as you have to lick up the drool that threatens to escape your lips.

"Now this version of you, I quite enjoy." His gloved hand caresses your face so gently, wiping the tears away. "So beautiful."

The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, "I hate you."

He pinches your cheek in response, tugging you towards him. You're so close to him that your nose is squished up against the visor of his helmet. You glare at him because you know his eyes are in there somewhere.

"I was mistaken." His tone is eerie all of a sudden. "I quite enjoy this version of you much more. Tell me that you hate me again."

"I hate you." You spit on his helmet with every word.

"Then do a better job and don't come this time." His bare hand slides back down your body, finding its way between your thighs yet again. "It would be tragic if the man you hate gave you another full-body orgasm."

You nearly bite your tongue off when he thrusts two fingers inside of you without warning. He chuckles with amusement at your tensed expression.

"You'll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that." His gloved hand stays caressing your face, contrasting so much from his bare hand which is curling inside of you, digging around to find that spot that makes a moan slip from your lips. "Now, that's a better face to make. Am I in the right place?"

You clench your jaw as the Mandalorian starts to drag the tips of his fingers along that spot that you know will shatter your willpower with every thrust. You pinch your eyes shut, the intensity of his movements bringing tears back to your eyes. It's so strange, feeling the leather softly brush away your tears as his fingers fuck you mercilessly.

It's like you're being touched by two different men. Maybe that's the point. He's attacking your vulnerability on both ends. There's no comfort in his gentle touch. If anything, it's lulling you into a false sense of security and you have to battle with your own mind to remind yourself that you cannot come right now.

You can't let him win. You can't…

The Mandalorian's voice lowers and your resolve melts ever so slightly at his words, "you'll feel so much better once you give in to your Master. Don't you want to feel good, my pretty little thief?"

"No." You bite back, your voice strained beyond belief. "I hate you."

"You can hate me all you want and let me give you an orgasm." He's trying to sway you. "There's no rule that states you have to like me in order to come on my hand."

"I don't want to." You push through, sweating like crazy, your skin set aflame.

The tension is excruciating. You're digging your nails into the back of his neck because it's so difficult to contain yourself. You just want the release. You want to come but you shouldn't. You really shouldn't give in to him but fuck, if he keeps fucking you with his fingers just like this–

"If you can hold on for one more minute, I'll let you take a break." He proposes an alternative to your suffering. "But, if you come in that minute, I'm fucking you right here, right now."

One minute.

You can hold it in for one more minute.

At least, that's what you thought. It got much harder when the Mandalorian started to count down from sixty. Every number lingers on his tongue, purposefully lengthening it to torture you.

Fifty-one.

…

Thirty-seven.

…

Twenty-four.

…

Eleven.

…

Three…Two…One…

If only you realized it was a trick all along.

The moment after he said one, your body completely let go as if the countdown was meant for your orgasm. You came harder than you did earlier, moaning uncontrollably now that you were no longer silenced by his glove. His fingers keep a steady rhythm, prolonging the waves of pleasure that are crashing through you. You sob from the relief of finally getting that sweet release and it isn't until you feel his gloved hand wipe the tears away from your face that you understand why he offered what he did.

The Mandalorian forced you to come again, only this time, it was under the guise of giving you a break from the torment. Why did you come? Why did your body writhe against his fingers? And why do you feel so relieved?

You can't hold your arms up anymore so you drop them down to your sides. You can't really hold your body up anymore so you lean back, letting him bear your weight just a bit. He wraps his arms around you for a moment before laying you down flat on the mattress, scooting over so you can rest your head on his lap. You blink a few times, staring right up at him almost in disbelief at everything that just happened.

"Did you know?" You begin to ask what's on your mind. "Did you know I was going to come right when you finished the countdown?"

He brushes the flyaway hairs out of your face with his gloved hand, hiding his bare one behind him as he answers, "I assumed you would but I placed my bet on you coming right as I said one. You held out longer than I thought. Impressive."

For the first time, you actually believe he's genuinely praising you. You don't know why your heart skips a beat. This man just forced you to come twice. You shouldn't be ogling him but it's hard to differentiate feelings when you're winding down from an orgasmic high.

"Break." You breathe out that single word, hoping he'll know what you're trying to say without you needing to spell it out.

"Yes, you're getting your well-deserved break." His words almost fill you with as much euphoria as the orgasm did. "Try to enjoy it."

You watch intently as he keeps brushing his fingers through your hair, his helmet tilted down to look at you. Why is he staring at you like this? Why are you letting him? The way he pats your head is so soft compared to his rather violent previous actions. You almost close your eyes and ease into his touch.

Almost.

The Mandalorian gets up before you can, his bare hand still out of your sight, tucked in his pocket this time. You assume he's going to grab a fresh glove and you're right. He comes back to sit on the edge of the mattress looking completely the same as he always does, as if he didn't just make you into an absolute mess.

Out of compulsion, you ask because you feel way too bare when seeing him so clothed, "can I put on a shirt?"

"Ask properly and I might consider it." His tone is oddly gentle.

"May I please put on a shirt, Master?" You formulate what you believe is the correct response.

"Better." He pats your head softly again and your heart skips a beat once more.

It takes him a while but he eventually brings you a shirt to wear. It surprisingly fit well, which makes you think he took the time to look for something that would suit your body. You shake that thought away. Why would he think anything like that of you?

"Just don't steal it." He tells you and you can't contain your chuckle.

"No promises." You lay back down on the mattress, cuddled up in the new shirt, feeling much more comfortable.

"Always a thief." He shakes his head at you and you smile for some reason.

"You forgot the pretty little part." You jab at him with your words.

"That's not the only part I left out." The Mandalorian nudges you until you're laying on your back and he's on top of you, holding you down with his body weight. "I also omitted the fact that you're mine now. My pretty little thief."

Your heart needs to stop pounding over him. He's your Master now. You need to find a way to escape, not daydream of staying. He really fucked with your head by making you feel so uncontrollably good.

"I still hate you." You remind him of the reality.

"For now." He says it almost like it's a promise that he'll change your mind.

"Forever." You state firmly and he must view that as a challenge because his hand goes back to your neck.

"Such a bratty girl." He shakes his head at you. "When are you going to learn your lesson?"

Your reflection stares back at you in the shine of his helmet. Wow, you really look freshly fucked. That's…something. You don't know what to do with that information. All you know is that the Mandalorian is seeing exactly that too.

"I assume the break is over now." You grab a hold of his arm with your hands, wanting some kind of control in case he starts choking you.

"Your break is over, but I'm not done breaking you." His words make you roll your eyes at him and he welcomes that with a firmer grip around your throat. "I'd really like it if I didn't have to snap your neck today."

"Tragic how we can't always get what we want." You can't help yourself. You were never that good at being submissive.

"First, you're afraid to die and now, you're asking for it. What a strange girl you are." His tone is indecipherable. Was he berating you? Or, is there genuine confusion there?

"Says the strange Mandalorian." You pull a soft chuckle out of him with that.

"What makes me strange?" He wants you to humor him.

"Everything." You glance up and down, observing the way he's settled on top of you right now, fitting himself well in the space provided. "I don't get why you're so fixated on me."

That draws a louder laugh out of him. "Shouldn't I be asking you that same question? You're the nuisance I need to subdue."

"I like shiny things." You reach up, running your fingers along the curves of his helmet like you had done earlier. "You're a walking hunk of very shiny metal. It's almost too good to resist."

"There are other Mandalorians." He rebuttals.

"There are other thieves." You counter.

"None as pretty as you."

You blink when he says that. Did he just say that? His words linger in the air for a moment because you…you don't know what to say back.

Is he being serious? Or is he just fucking with you?

"Is this the part where I act flattered or cuss you out?" You decide to go the comedic route, since it's easier to hide behind humor.

"This is the part where you flip over and I fuck you until our bodies are imprinted into this mattress." He lets go of your neck at that moment, waiting for you to listen.

You don't, obviously, because you feel like pushing the limits a bit more. "What if I say no?"

"Then I'll fuck you until you start screaming yes." A sort of thrill sparks through you when he says that. It shouldn't, but it does.

"Is that your Master plan? Fucking me into submission?" You throw in a little pun, grinning to yourself over it.

"Your Master has a lot of plans for you." His voice deepens into a tone so chilling, you get goosebumps. "This is just one of them."

"You won't break me." You stare up at him, brimming with confidence. "I'm going to hate you no matter what."

"I look forward to you choking on your own words. Now, flip over, or I'll make you." He threatens and an electric shock surges through you.

You shouldn't, but you do. You say, "make me" and that's all it takes for him to flip back to that sadistic side he's been suppressing this whole time.

The leather smacks you immediately, swiping you right across the face like it did earlier. You groan, your jaw aching from the contact. That's going to sting later.

"Flip. Over." He repeats his command.

"Fuck. You." You remain defiant.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" The Mandalorian sounds frustrated now. Did he really think one slap was going to sway you? That's laughable.

"I don't know. Are you trying to be a little bitch?" You smirk at your own response and it's met with yet another slap. You dart your eyes straight to where you believe his are in the helmet and say, "wow, you really are a little bitch. Can't flip over a pretty little thief on your own?"

"Oh, I can. I was just giving you the opportunity to make things easier for you, but if you want to be a fucking brat, I'll treat you like one."

Without a sliver of hesitation, the Mandalorian lifts you both up in one go, before throwing you across his lap. Your chest connects with his thighs rather roughly, winding you in the process. Before you can even catch your breath, his hand collides with your ass and you scream because fuck! That hurt.

"Aww, did I hit you too hard?" He rubs the tender flesh with his hand as the other hand grabs both of your wrists, pinning them to your back so you can't worm your way out. "Should I be a little gentler?"

He's toying with you so you don't dare give him the satisfaction of your scream again. When you end up not answering him, he slaps your ass again. You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood but you don't scream from the impact this time.

"Are you trying to keep quiet? Well, I can help with that."

You should've seen this coming. The familiar taste of leather invades your mouth as he stuffs his glove in, silencing you once more. You don't know if you feel thankful or not. He won't get to hear you scream but he's the one who gagged you. You chew on the glove in frustration, hoping to tear it to shreds and force him to get new ones.

"It looks like you forgot what my bare hand could do." His fingers press up against your entrance and your eyes widen. "Oh, there she is, remembering."

In a single fluid motion, he thrusts three fingers inside of you and you muffle a scream into the glove. Fuck, his fingers are so thick and they're deep inside of you at this angle. Your mind wanders to how his cock must feel and you have to shove that thought away.

Somehow, the Mandalorian catches you, like he can read your mind. "Are you imagining the way my cock will feel? Because I'll tell you, if you think you feel full now with my fingers, just wait until my cock is buried inside of you."

You muffle another scream into his glove as he starts to curl his fingers again, finding that spot that makes your body quiver. How does he know exactly the right pace to get you to whimper and convulse at his touch?

"Hmm." A pensive sound leaves his helmet. "I realize you're having all the fun. We should change that."

The Mandalorian shifts slightly and you don't understand why until his hand lets go of your wrists. You can, theoretically, push yourself off him right now but your hands have lost all feeling from being squeezed at the wrists. It doesn't matter to him that you can't feel your hands. All he cares about is that you have one of them stroking his hard cock while he fucks you with his fingers.

"Hand out, now." He instructs and you face the hand closest to him with the palm up in front of him. You hear him lift the helmet slightly but you don't dare look back.

The Mandalorian proceeds to spit on your hand and you get the shivers each time he does it, which only compounds with the feeling of his fingers thrusting inside of you.

It feels…degrading.

Once he thinks you've had enough, he drops his helmet back on and guides your hand to his cock, showing you how he wants to be touched. You don't know why you actually obey. You're just too curious, finally feeling his cock between your fingers. You can't see him, not when you're sprawled over his lap like this, but you can gauge the size based on your hand and fuck, he's huge. Not just in length but the girth too. Your hand barely closes around him.

"All you have to do is say please and I'll give you my cock." He tells you in such a low whisper that you have to parse his words out between the wet sounds filling the air.

Over my dead body is what you'd say if you could but you have a glove in your mouth and moans overtaking your every breath. You're getting close to coming again and you know the moment you do, he's ramming his cock inside of you. You hate how secretly excited you are to be fucked by him. You know you shouldn't want it, but your hand is wrapped around him and you can't help wondering what he'll feel like pounding inside of you just like his fingers are right now.

The Mandalorian is going to split you in half and you're desperately trying not to look forward to it, but the closer you get to your orgasm, the more your body craves him. It's instinctual, this innate primal desire. You love how overpowering he is, even if it scares you.

Maybe that's why when you can no longer hold it in and you come all over his fingers, you mumble out the word please in your daze. You're still riding the high of your orgasm when the Mandalorian picks you up and positions you where you're sitting on his lap with your back against his chest and his cock beneath you. He lowers you slowly until you feel his cock line up with your entrance, pushing just the tip in.

Then, he reaches up, pulling the glove from your mouth. You take in a deep breath as he goes, "if you want my cock, do the work yourself."

You let out a laugh at his words and then say, "fuck you."

"Are you being ungrateful? I'm offering for you to take me at your own pace and this is how you act?" He sounds more angry than usual. "You must really want to be fucked into submission."

His hands grip your hips and before you can utter a single word in response, he forces you down onto his cock. Tears spill out of your eyes all of a sudden as he stretches you out, his cock throbbing inside of you. You've never been this full before.

Your hands reach forward, holding onto his thighs for leverage. You can't move. If you do, he's going to move inside of you and you don't think you can handle that.

That doesn't matter to him, though. With your hands clinging onto his thighs, he lifts your hips, pulling you off his cock just a bit before ramming you back down onto his lap. You scream when the tip of his cock hits a spot so deep inside of you that you couldn't believe it actually happened until he did it again.

You're on the cusp of another orgasm and you don't know how. Penetration has never felt this good. There's something about him that makes it different than all the others you've experienced. It must just be being treated harshly by him that has you seeing stars with every stroke of his cock.

After a while, you manage to move on your own. Your body adjusts to him and it starts feeling substantially better, especially since you've been given control. You aren't as demanding as he is, lifting your hips and sinking down onto his cock at a reasonable pace. You don't force yourself on him hard enough to hit that spot but you would rather build slowly to an orgasm.

Again, that doesn't matter to him. He sees the way you're stalling, which is why he goes, "if you don't come in the next minute, I'm pressing you into this mattress and pounding the fuck out of you until you're begging me to stop."

The Mandalorian sets you up for failure and you can't say you didn't see that one coming. He counts down once again starting at sixty, but he doesn't linger on the numbers this time around. He spits them out in rapid succession and no matter what you do, you can't finish before he says one.

A silence washes over the both of you. The calm before the storm. It doesn't last long. He flips you both seamlessly until your whole body is buried as deep in the mattress as his cock is inside of you. You claw at the sheets, biting them as moans ripple through you from how rough he is with you, slamming into you without an ounce of remorse. He knows you love it. You know you love it, even if you refuse to admit it.

You tilt your head to the side because you want to see. You can't see the way his cock is pounding inside of you but you can see the fully-armored Mandalorian that's fucking you. That sight is enough to make you want to burst.

You try your absolute hardest not to come too quickly because you know the moment you have that very first orgasm from being fucked roughly like this, it spirals from there. It'll only get more intense, more frequent, more mind-numbingly good that you'll lose yourself in the feeling. He'll have truly broken you then.

It feels like the Mandalorian has already broken you now.

You can't stop yourself from moaning when his hand finds its way into your hair, tugging it backwards. You tighten around his cock and that's the only signal he needs to connect his other hand to your bare ass. Your body can't keep it together after that. The subtle pain only amplifies the impending pleasure that floods your every sense. He fucks you through the orgasm and your eyes roll back and he can see it happen.

"It feels good being fucked by your Master, doesn't it?" The Mandalorian couples his question with a smack on your ass.

You're too far gone to even realize you said yes. All you can recall is him giving you the tiniest room to breathe before fucking you into the mattress yet again.

Each time you come, he asks you that same question and every time, you say yes. You start saying yes so much that you repeat the word when he's ramming his cock into you.

That's when the praises fill your ears. You hear him call you "good girl" and "my pretty little thief". You hear him tell you how much he loves fucking you and how you're absolutely perfect for him. You hear him claim you over and over again.

"I own you."

"You're mine."

"I'm never letting you go."

You don't know when you started saying yes in response to those words. Did you mean to or were you just so fucked out of your mind that you mumbled whatever felt right? Did he mean any of the words he said or was he just so deep inside of you that they spilled out?

This goes on for…you can't recall. You black out somewhere in between, the immense pleasure too much for your tired body to handle. In the darkness, you remember getting bundled up in a blanket after a while. Did you do that, or did he? You wonder if you're remembering correctly, but you're certain the Mandalorian pat your head until you both fell asleep.

You wake up sore, with so much of him dripping down your inner thighs. How many times did he come inside of you? You couldn't count. You came way too many times to count. How much of the slick between your legs is from you and how much of it is from him?

You turn your head to see that you did indeed fall asleep beside the Mandalorian, who somehow is still fully dressed. He even managed to put on a new glove somewhere in the haze of last night's events. Out of curiosity, you poke him in the shoulder but he does not wake. He's sleeping soundly, as one would after such a lust-filled night.

You crawl your way out of bed and find the strength to stumble into the oasis. You don't even remember when you took off the shirt you were wearing. So much of last night mashed together for you. You can only really remember bits and pieces.

Wait, why did you and the Mandalorian fuck so much? Why…didn't you ever say stop? You just kept wanting more and he delivered.

Why did he…

You splash your face with the cold water, trying to comprehend the whole situation. Doesn't he hate you? Don't you hate him? Was that hate sex? That's the only explanation that makes any sense. You both were pent up in more ways than one and vented out all that frustration in a rather rough fashion.

As much as you hate him, the sex was…well, you'll be wearing this soreness for a while. That says enough about that and you won't give yourself the time to think deeper than that. You might open up a series of thoughts that are more dangerous than the Mandalorian himself and your racing heartbeat isn't something you want to deal with right now.

You do, however, give yourself time to scheme a little. The Mandalorian is fast asleep and it doesn't look like he's going to wake any time soon. Even with his surprisingly impressive stamina, he's probably as wiped out as you are.

Thank the stars you woke up before him. He'll surely live to regret trusting you to stay put.

With a smile on your face, you get up quietly out of the water, finding a towel to dry off with. You sift through more of his stuff, pulling out some clothes that fit you decently. You swipe some credits, rations and other miscellaneous supplies into a spare satchel he had laying around.

Then, you steal the key to his N-1 starfighter off his body and he doesn't sway an inch in reaction, filling you with such joy.

Lesson learned: never sleep with a thief.

The next time you see the Mandalorian, you're certain he's going to do a lot more than just fuck you and you couldn't be more excited about it…

A/N: So, this was supposed to be a oneshot but ngl, after I finished writing it, I was like wow, there is the potential for a very chaotic series here. So, I wrote more since so many people wanted more ~ ♡

If you enjoyed this and want to read more of my work, be sure to check out my oneshots, I’ll Take Care of You, Let Me Help You & A Simple White Lie and/or my series, What Color Am I!

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian smut

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daughterofyourdarklord · 7 months

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"Foolish girl."

Her words cut through air like a dagger, despite that she still wears the marks of His infliction - of hers. Bellatrix's skin is marked by her own nails, four lines coming from just below her ear and down the side of her throat from one of her more sudden jolts of pain beneath Delphini's cruciatus curse. It was agony.

"You hesitated."

Still, it's not the worst she's had, for that she should be grateful.

"You didn't try hard enough."

She is not grateful.

"You didn't mean it."

She is disappointed.

"I have taught you better than that, have I not?" she asks, grey irises flitting over amber in silent demand for an answer, usually loving fingers coming to grip her chin almost too hard, "you do not hesitate, not with this curse." Words are hissed between grit teeth. "And most certainly not when your father demands it of you."

Even if it is to hurt her.

". . .Do you understand me?"

“You think I don’t understand!?”

Delphini screeches, shaking her head violently to yank her jaw out of her mother’s grasp while taking a step backwards. “I understand perfectly!” Her voice is ringing with a resentment she had not intended on taking out on her mother.

“He knowingly put me in an impossible position! What if He demanded you turn your wand on Narcissa? On Draco? On your own father? On me? You think you’d find that so effortless?”

She should never be speaking of Him in such a way; should never be speaking to her mother in such a way. It doesn’t help that half of her anger is directed at herself. She failed him, she let her emotions get in the way of casting a truly effective cruciatus. He knows she can do better. He was testing her.

“You think I don’t know exactly what game He’s playing at!?” Delphini has to run both her hands through her hair to stop herself, biting her lip so hard it draws blood.

“There’s just no need… I would lay my life on the line for Him if he asked! Loyal to the point of my own detriment - to both of you! And that’s the issue isn’t it?”

She has to remind herself to breathe for a moment, her lungs are on fire. Her heart is on fire, a crescendo of rage blooming inside her still.

Why is He trying to make me choose?

Delphini can’t bear to ask.

“You know… I wish I inherited his glorious disposition to be so apathetic. What a gift it must be.” She nearly laughs. “How unfortunate for me I got your temper instead - and everything that comes with it!” She cements her statement with an open palm to her heart.

Is it so horrible that she loves her mother too much to torture her?

“You know just how eager I am to prove myself to Him! Give me a mudblood to rip apart, a traitor to push to the brink of insanity. As if I’d ever shy away from the blood and gore of it all. Please.” She scoffs. “I’ll relish in their screams - there is little in this world I look forward to more! I just can’t - It can’t.. Not you.”

#meh what's a little cruciatus at the end of the day?#kidding #stick around if you want to see delphini have a minor emotional breakdown #dademort and his power trips #what a fun time #family bonding fr #delphini #delphi #bellatrix lestrange #mama bella #(might be about slap tf outta you del)#rip #maybe not #up to you maneater <3

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darlingpoppet · 2 months

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As a writer, how detailed do you imagine scenes in your work? There is that aphantasia test, and for example I can imagine things at 1-2, I see things as a movie, which can be a gift and a curse for an artist. But I met many people who write/draw but just can't imagine anything, and it's really interesting to read how do they manage to write/draw something from imagination

So - how detailed is your imagination??

Hi! <3

I’m an extremely visual-thinking person, I relate very much to that meme that’s all like “the amv inside my head will be LEGENDARY!” when you hear a cool new song, lol. That said, the images in my head do tend to have a bit of a faded & foggy quality, like a realistic image painted with watercolors, perhaps. So I’d say I’m probably a 2, or somewhere between 2 & 3 on the chart? My mental images have color and are vivid, just not perfect clarity, perhaps.

This definitely helps me with writing, at least… a lot of times when I get stuck because I’m not sure yet “what happens next”, I’ll close my eyes and let the scene play out in my head, perhaps “rewinding the tape” and playing out the scenario a few different ways. I often do this before a nap or bedtime so I fall asleep to lucid dreams about the characters, also perhaps stringing together words and sentences in my head (which means I sometimes have to wake up and write them down before I forget)! So, usually by the next day I have a good idea of what direction I’m headed in. I also do this sort of thing while I’m taking walks or on the train or basically whenever I have an opportunity to “zone out”… and as a result I’ve often been told I’m a bit creepy because I always completely check out when I’m daydreaming (this is even before I got back into writing haha I’ve always been a big daydreamer since I was a kid uwu) Also when I read stories too, I visualize in my head pretty vividly what’s going on, the characters’ actions as well as the entire environment (like room interiors, floor plans etc) appears with it and everything, it’s interesting!

Anyway this was so interesting to think about, thanks so much for asking!

#emica chat #i should also add that if I’m imagining a particular memory or closing my eyes and imagining something I was just looking at #it’s more of a 1 on the chart #it’s only scenarios I’m imagining out of whole cloth that aren’t perfectly vivid ykwim?

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queenofnabooty · 1 year

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Ficlet Week Challenge (schedule here)

Day 2: One Fine Day - real, dream sequence, hallucination, whatever... the character(s) get a perfect moment

Anon Request for Lyra, Marisa & Asriel, His Dark Materials

Lyra can’t see their faces. They are sliced in half right above the mouth so that looking them in the eye becomes impossible. All she can see is their bodies and their smug smiles cast down upon her. Even their daemons are conveniently out of sight. Pantalaimon is hiding in her blindspot too and though she reaches for him he does not come out of it. But Lyra doesn’t need their face to know who these people are supposed to be.

It’s a warm summer day and it’s Christmas Eve and it’s a rainy day indoors all at once.

They’re in a garden of house Lyra doesn’t recognize. Mother is pouring herself a second cup of tea while directing her face pointed directly to the zeppelin disappearing over the horizon. Father kicks Lyra’s shoes under the table before sliding gift across the table cloth.

The three of them are inside in three layers on this chilly evening. It’s already dark and the only bright color comes from the crown sat atop Lyra’s head. She shakes a present in her hands and suddenly she sees how much smaller she has become. Only the legs of her parents are visible now, both crossed and seated on the couch watching her enjoy her gifts. They laugh, but it sounds like it is echoing from down the marble hallway.

Father’s laugh comes closer and rough hands are toweling off Lyra’s soaking wet hair. Her body shivers and he wraps her up in attempt to warm his child. Lyra relaxes into the embrace before her senses are overwhelmed by the smell of warm chocolatl in the air. Her mother’s long finger rubs her cheek. It’s as if Lyra’s neck is paralyzed, she can’t turn to look at either of them; not clear if that is a blessing or a curse.

“Here, it will warm you right up,” mother puts the cup of chocolatl to Lyra’s lips. Then in the warm summer day her face turns down to Lyra and the corner of her mouth twitches up, “Do you want a cup of tea, darling?”

Lyra’s voice is soft, “With sugar please.”

Father interrupts, “Too much will stunt your growth.” Then it’s Christmas and Lyra is looking down at a new pair of shoes, boots with a sole meant for rough terrain. Father’s foot taps against the ground, “You’ll grow into them. And once you do, we’ll go. All three of us.”

Lyra thinks she has never received a better present in her life.

The sun is back and Lyra opens the small present slid across the table to find a small dagger in a leather sheath.

“A knife, really?” mother sighs.

“I’ll keep it in my safe,” father responds, “But Lyra, you and I are going to practice with that thing. That little thing can keep you alive if you understand what it can do.”

Lyra thinks she has never received a better present in her life.

The wet hair is being smoothed down. The chocolatl is already warming her up from the inside out. There seems to be no intention of letting her go.

“We need to draw you a bath, get you in some dry clothes,” mother redirects her words to father, “Why was she outside? I thought you were watching her.”

“You know Lyra, you take your eyes off her for two seconds...”

The dark, the sun, and the rain continue to happen simultaneously. How is it possible that Lyra feels so warm and so chilled at the bone at once? How is it that she feels closer to these two than ever and also so far away? If only she could see their eyes...

A snow leopard’s tail comes into view the fur reflecting the sun and artificial light creating a dazzling pattern of shining slivers of silver. It disappears behind the Christmas tree, under the garden table, around the doorway to the tub. The golden back of the monkey follows and Lyra can’t help but be drawn to them. Still, Pan is nowhere to be seen but she can feel him, she must. She shuts her eyes in each place and tries to tap into that sensation but the best she can conjure is nibbling at her fingertips.

“Sleepy?” mother asks.

Father laughs, “Do your numerous presents bore you?”

“She’s like an old woman caught in a sun beam,” Mother added. There was something about the afternoon light that was putting Lyra into a daze. The bath water rose up suddenly from her toes to her neck. “Now don’t fall asleep in the bath darling.”

Each scene fell quiet. As Lyra flitted between each world they became less distinct, while the outlines of her parents combined into a fuller picture. Still, it never reached the level of their eyes. The nibbling at her fingertips increased into biting pains as if her skin was being punctured.

“Where did you go?” Pan demanded.

Lyra’s head was throbbing. She wasn’t sure exactly when or where she was, but she was older than she had been in any of the scenes, by about a thousand years it felt like. “I don’t know.”

“You were basically catatonic. I couldn’t get you to look at me.” Pan sounded hurt. “We’re going to be late if we don’t go now.”

The clock read fifteen minutes to noon. Lyra’s heart thudded hard in her chest and she sprung into action grabbing her bag and slipping into her shoes. It would take at least twelve minutes to get to the Botanic Gardens and she wasn’t willing to miss a minute of her time with Will. If her mind didn’t wander, she could make it feel like he was actually there, even just about see his face.

#lyra belacqua #mrs coulter #lord asriel #marisa coulter #asriel belacqua #lyra silvertongue #hdm #hdm fanfic #ficlet week challenge #chaos family #i refuse to give an explanation for how this happened and i think... that's magical haha #mine

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kedsandtubesocks · 7 months

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HAPPY THIRTIETH MY SPOOKY LOVE !!!! i'm so so proud of you !!! and admire you so greatly!!!!! you inspire me so much and i hope to bring as much warmth and love to the world as you do!!!!!

for your birthday i'm going to go with 💖 and 🍬!!!! i was looking up dialogue prompts and found this post and the first one is PERFECT for gojo: ❛ i could keep you safe. they’re all afraid of me. ❜

ERI THIS IS ME RIGHT NOW WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO MAKE ME CRY?!?

Your friendship your love and all the moments we’ve shared together have blessed the last year of my 20’s and to know i get to greet my 30’s with you in my life is such a gift thank you I LOVE YOU!!!

Now no more tears! Party games only!!! 🥺🥳

💖 let’s get you a Pedro boyfriend babe

I’m sorry but you and Marcus Pike are married in my mind LOL

That man is a pisces and you being a pisces too? Like I am the strongest believer in water/water relationships and I believe he would be your ultimate champion for LIFE! The way you and him would enjoy watching so many fun movies along with having cute art date evenings where you both just paint things together or even do cute DIY projects?? He just radiates this warmth that melts so easily with yours Eri I can see it so clear! You and him are patient, so fully loving while also not putting up with anyone’s shit and I can’t wait to say this whole again speech at y’all’s wedding reception heeheehee ☺️

🍬 Oh look! The piñata dropped a surprise!

…i shouldn’t be surprised you picked Gojo yet here I am still shocked you did LOL 🤡

Gojo + ‘I could keep you safe, they’re all afraid of me’

All the higher ups, those crusty elders, you know are displeased with you. You shouldn’t be afraid.

Yet, you are. You are still under the crushing pressure of jujutsu society, of your family, of your position. An acidic venom pools in your mouth as you steel your nerves.

You need to go inside the temple. But you body feels frozen, as if your true fears have taken over.

“Are you trying to do an impression of a tree? Cause I’d you are…You’re doing a pretty good job.”

Gojo’s voice comes out like a strike of lightning.

You want to screech at his sudden presence but the sight beside you closes your throat. You rarely see him in civilian clothes. The green jacket suits his shoulders well, adds so much color to his face. And without the blindfold, just wearing those sleek deep black sunglasses of his, he looks like just walked off a photo shoot and it’s not fair seeing someone this attractive.

“Shut up.” You glare back and he smiles wide.

“Still haven’t gone in huh?”

“Maybe I’m trying out this new curse technique I learned where I’m in two places at once.” You whip back.

He laughs. “Well if you master it let me know. I’d love to learn it myself.”

He’s awful. Too charming for his own good. But, he’s drawing your nerves away.

“Want me to go in with you?” Gojo offers. “I could keep you safe. They’re all afraid of me anyway.”

The thought, the prospect, makes your heart flutter something awful like a moth caught in a porch light.

You sigh. “No, I have to do this alone.”

Gojo boos lightly, but you know he understands too.

“Well then…guess I’ll just wait out here as back up. Just in case.” He says casually with a wink.

True to his word, after you leave the temple holding what little bit of your spirit you have left from the meeting, Gojo is right where you left him.

Eri I love you but also I am chasing you with a pitchfork

#THANK YOU AGAIN DARLING I LOVE YA SO SO MUCH!!!!#Eri’s tag 🐝✨#Erika’s birthday bash 🍰✨#asks and such things 💌

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denimbex1986 · 5 months

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'If you’ve been a Doctor Who fan for a while then you for sure weren’t looking forward to saying goodbye to David Tennant‘s version of the character yet again. The first time was a gut punch and the end of an era with showrunner Russell T Davies departing as well. What followed has been decidedly mixed with great Doctors (Matt Smith, Peter Capaldi, and Jodie Whittaker) and uneven creative direction. It’s to the point that Davies’ return as showrunner (to the show that he rebooted 18 years ago) feels like a rescue mission designed to excite the fan base.

Bringing Tennant back for three special episodes (the last of which aired Saturday) was surely phase 1 of that plan, but it came with some risk, specifically that the audience would predictably fall in love with Tennant again and want him to stay, creating a potential barrier for the incoming Doctor, Ncuti Gatwa (Sex Education, Barbie). In the wake of Saturday’s episode, “The Giggles,” those worries have mostly disappeared thanks to a bold move that messes with over 60 years of established continuity.

Big, explodey, and emotional regenerations are out, bi-generations are in, allowing Time Lords to branch off from one another as opposed to having to essentially die so the other can live. The ultimate 2-for-1 deal. A little confused? Us too. A little miffed at the continuity shakeup? No. To hell with tradition. It’s a 60-year-old TV show. Old words are for politicians and Sunday school teachers to cling to. Everyone else should enjoy a good resorting from time to time.

But what does it all mean? The bi-generation makes a lot of things possible, from a narrative standpoint. Most obviously, there’s the possibility that Tennant’s legendary run as The Doctor may not actually be over. He’s just off in the garden having a wonderful time being happy and surrounded by his best friend Donna Noble (Catherine Tate) and her family while Gatwa’s Doctor draws all focus while skipping across time and space. But what if he needs a hand? Or what if Tennant’s Doctor takes his TARDIS out for a spin of his own, falling into familiar trouble in the occasional special episode that’s divorced from the show’s main story?

It’s not just Tennant. Smith, Capaldi, Whittaker – they could all make an appearance, theoretically, because according to Davies, the bi-generation wasn’t just about Gatwa’s 15th Doctor and Tennant’s latest iteration of the character.

From an episode commentary recorded by Davies and reported on by The Radio Times, Davies is saying, essentially, every single past regeneration has been retroactively made into a bi-generation:

“I think all of the Doctors came back to life with their individual TARDISes, the gift of the Toymaker, and they’re all out there travelling round in what I’m calling a Doctor verse.

“Sylvester McCoy woke up in a drawer, in a morgue, in San Francisco… and Jon Pertwee woke up on the floor of the laboratory,” he says.

This is absolutely chaotic and I love it. I’ll say this, though, while Davies opened the seal with this one and while it gave Tennant’s Doctor a wonderful ending rooted in the idea that every once in a while a warrior gets to claim a reward and some peace, I do wonder if he will someday be called back into battle to help close that seal and forfeit that reward. That would be very Doctor Who. It would also acknowledge the blessing and curse of the Time Lord’s lifespan. It’s something that was conveniently explained away the last time Tennant’s Doctor (or a version of) got such a reward with the mortal half-human/half-time lord version living in another universe with Rose Tyler. But this Doctor can’t spend the rest of his lifetime being happy in the garden with Donna. He can only do it for the rest of her lifetime, if that.

While the bi-generation and Davies’ tease hints at the possibility of bigger adventures and returning favorites, it may not qualify as the most important moment from the episode. Before we discuss that, though, can we just take a moment to talk about the energy, light, and confidence coming off of Ncuti Gatwa as The Doctor? So commanding right from the start. Remember when Tennant’s Doctor burst into existence after Christopher Eccleston’s Doctor regenerated? How he had to have a lie down in his bathrobe. Gatwa’s Doctor is ready to roll out of the box and a breath of fresh air. I can’t wait to see what he does within this wild sandbox Davies has constructed.

Alright, the most important moment of the episode was the hug between Gatwa and Tennant. After the bi-generation and the defeat of The Toymaker, Tennant’s Doctor is filled with grief over the lives lost and his role in inadvertently inspiring The Toymaker’s appearance. But Gatwa stops the spiral, grabs him, locks eyes (like Tennant did with Tate in the previous episode to reassure her), and tries to free him from all this burden. It’s a beautiful moment, but also symbolic for what may be on the horizon week to week.

I don’t want to make it like Doctor Who didn’t operate from a place of grief and worry about the impact of his actions during Davies’ run. There was a certain haunted quality to both Eccleston and Tennant’s portrayals over all the devastation and carnage they had seen, but Steven Moffat, who took the showrunner baton after Davies left, leaned into it a bit more, focusing on The Doctor’s identity and the hard choices he had to make to save existence, even while destroying his own people. It was a lot to wrestle with. A lot of angst and sadness (with some joy too), which is referred to in the specials when Donna checks in on what The Doctor has been up to for 15 years. And so it was nice that someone offered him absolution while at the same time, creating a clean slate for Davies to remake the show (again) with Gatwa’s Doctor being somewhat lighter without all that weight on him. The regenerated Doctor has always been new, but this Doctor is newer than new, it seems, and we are here for it and everything else Davies has planned with or without a few extra Time Lords from time to time.'

#Doctor Who #60th Anniversary #David Tennant #Ncuti Gatwa #Catherine Tate #Donna Noble #The Giggle #Russell T. Davies #Bi-generation #Matt Smith #Peter Capaldi #Jodie Whittaker #Sex Education #Barbie #Sylvester McCoy #Jon Pertwee #Christopher Eccleston

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star--joy · 2 years

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Artist’s Muse - Perc’ahlia

Percy, unsatisfied with Vex's refusal to buy the pair of earrings she wants, makes some himself. Somehow, he lands himself a date in the process.

Day two of the AU-gust challenge. Prompt: Artist's Muse.

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: None

Words: 2273

Originally posted: 8/5/22

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40815714

Percy wouldn’t normally consider himself an artist. An inventor, yes, and a brilliant one at that. The word artist, however, holds certain connotations that he doesn’t feel are accurate. Art isn’t meant to be purely functional, which his inventions are. Even his drawings are more meant to document than to perform.

It doesn’t bother him. He’s far more suited to a practical life. Always has been, even as a royal child. So, no, it doesn’t bother him that he's not an artist.

Most of the time, at least.

Vex’ahlia, though, always seems to make him break his own rules. Like right now, as she eyes the pricy piece of jewelry from across the boutique, envy swirling in those mesmerizing hazel eyes. For her credit, the set of earrings are beautiful, dazzling blue gems embedded into glittering gold. They would suit her perfectly.

Of course, she won’t buy them, not with that price tag. Even her bargaining skills wouldn’t be able to bring them down to a reasonable cost. So Vex settles for letting her gaze linger every time she gets a moment.

Percy doesn’t like it, the pucker between her brows as she walks out of the shop. He could, of course, buy it with his own funds as a gift, but Vex might never forgive him for paying such an atrocious price, so he tries to push it out of his mind as he trails behind the rest of the party.

That proves to be a challenge. He can’t stop thinking about how beautiful she would look in them, in large part due to the smile she’d no doubt wear. It makes his fingers itch.

“I’ll be right back,” he announces to the party, taking a sharp right at the next turn. “I have a few errands to run.”

“Oh,” Vex says, looking at him curiously. She’s too good at picking up on subtleties. “Anything interesting?”

Percy shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. I need to get a few parts for my Pepperbox.”

Keen eyes stare into his soul, definitely aware that the gunslinger is lying through his teeth. Vex doesn’t push, though, and he thanks the gods for it. “Have fun, Darling,” she simply says, throwing in a sly wink.

A red hot blush rises in Percy’s face, but he walks away before Vex can catch sight of it.

His errands don’t take long, and he arrives at Greyskull keep before the rest of his party is done with their shopping. Good, that allows him to slip into his workshop without interruption. Pulling out the items he’d purchased, Percy gets to work.

It’s harder than he expected, crafting jewelry from scratch. Perhaps Percy should have done some prior research. After his sixth or so failed attempt, he’s almost ready to throw in the towel, suck it up and just buy Vex the goddamn earrings. Surely she won’t mind that much if he uses his own funds?

Percy rubs his chin thoughtfully, feeling the growing stubble under his calloused fingers. This is all foolish. Vex has probably already forgotten about the damn earrings.

But, fuck, Percy wants to make her smile.

“Percy, Darling, are you alright? You’ve been down there all day,” Vex herself calls from outside the door to his workshop, startling him so much his knee jerks up and hits his work table. “Won’t you come get some food?”

“In a minute, Vex,” he responds, grabbing some more supply. Surely one more attempt won’t hurt.

But Vex isn’t done, apparently. “For someone who prides himself on being polite, you don’t tell the truth very often.”

He snorts. “Being polite is the opposite of telling the truth.”

“Seriously, dear, you can’t hole yourself up forever.” Curse her and her persistence. “If you’re not up in ten minutes, I’m coming back down,” she announces, followed by the sound of her retreating footsteps.

Ten minutes. Percy can get a lot done in ten minutes. Surely he won’t lose track of time.

Except it only feels like it’s been seconds of crafting the earrings when the door to his workshop slams open, Vex not even bothering to knock. “You’re so stubborn, Percy. It’s really quite a flaw.”

Trying to hide his current project by hunching over his workbench, Percy scoffs. “You’re not exactly one to talk, Vex.”

“Hush,” the archer demands, stepping around his workbench and wiping away a spot for her to sit on the opposite side. Two plates are set down. “Now, because you’re such a loner and refuse to eat with the group, I have to make sure that you actually do get enough nutrients to keep yourself alive. Eat up.” One plate full of steaming food is passed in his direction.

Percy blinks. It’s such a small thing, one that he might have found offensive if anyone else did it. He does not need a babysitter. With Vex, though, he feels flattered that she cares enough to make sure he’s taking care of himself. “Well, thank you.”

She softens, eyes crinkling around the edges with her smile. “Of course, Darling.” Leaning back in her chair, she throws her legs up onto his workbench and begins eating.

“Did everything go smoothly today? I do apologize for not being there to try and tame the lot, somewhat,” Percy says in between bites of food.

Vex laughs. “Percy, you are a man of many skills, but I do not believe even you can tame them. On the bright side, we only got kicked out of one pub.”

“That’s certainly an improvement.” Their last outing without Percy had resulted in three bar fights and one permanent ban from the nearest tavern. Perhaps next time, they'll manage to get through the whole night without issue.

Probably not, but Percy can dream.

“You know, you provide much better dinner company than Grog. Or Scanlan,” Vex says.

“I’d imagine so, yes,” Percy says through a chuckle. “You’re not half bad, yourself.” A pause hangs heavy in the air, making his throat dry up. Was that the wrong thing to say?

When he finds the courage to glance at Vex for a better gauge of her reaction, she’s observing him with a considering look, eyes trained on him in a way that makes him feel like her prey. He wants to ask if everything’s alright, if he had offended her in some way, but all the letters and words jumble around in his brain.

“Perhaps,” Vex murmurs, finally looking away and letting Percy breathe again, “we could make a habit of it, then.”

Oh.

Percy’s smile is nearly boyish. “Yes, I think that would be lovely.” The soft and saccharine tone he uses is a rare thing, the novelty of it causing a light blush to brighten Vex’s face.

“Alright then. Tomorrow, six o’clock. Meet me at The Oaken Tavern,” she demands, stretching her sore muscles before standing. “Don’t be late.”

“I’ll be right on time,” Percy assures her, collecting their plates. His back is turned towards the half elf, so he doesn’t see her approach behind him, but he does feel her lips, soft and plush, brush against his cheek in a barely-there kiss.

Every muscle in his body goes taunt, eyes growing to the size of the plates in his hand. Vex chuckles behind him. “Have a good night, Percy,” she hums, turning and walking up towards the main room as if she hadn’t just rendered him useless and flustered.

It takes almost a minute for Percy to remember how to use his body, and another after that to actually follow through and sit back down at his work bench.

The broken earrings stare up at him, glittering in the dim lighting.

He sets his face in determination and gets back to work.

Four hours and several cups of coffee later, Percy surveys his work. He’d had to go out and get more supplies, after ruining all his own, and he’s pretty sure that he’s now spent more on materials than the original earrings cost. At last, though, he has a set that looks good. Not perfect, not identical to the ones in the store. But passable.

If he weren’t worried about sleeping through his date (holy shit his date) then he might stay up and try until he’s created better. As it is, he wants to be well rested and completely attentive tomorrow, so he quickly flops down into his bed, not even bothering to change out of his daytime attire.

*LINEBREAK*

Percy checks his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. He’s still got a bit to go, but it was better to be early than late, he’d decided. Vex’s earrings are in a small golden box that he can’t help fiddling with relentlessly.

Maybe he shouldn’t have made them. Too late now, though. Besides, she’ll surely like them more than a bouquet of flowers, which was his other idea.

Perhaps a bouquet of enchanted arrows would work best. Unfortunately, Percy doesn’t have time to procure those at this point. The earrings will have to do.

“Hello, Percy,” Vex greets from behind him. He doesn’t jump, but it’s a close thing as she takes his hand in hers. Turning to look at his date, Percy’s remark dies on his tongue. Oh, dear Gods, she’s going to kill him .

Her dress clings to the curves of her body, the navy material accentuating every little dip. Golden gemstones sparkle in the lamp light of the street, creating the illusion of a starry galaxy, contained in her dress. Red-painted lips smile sharply at him.

Percy, for all his training and refinement, lets out an undignified choking noise. “Vex, you look-- stunning,” he breathes, suddenly feeling very inadequate, despite the effort he’d put into dressing up. How can his plain suit compare to the beauty that stands before him? It clearly can’t.

Vex smiles, all too pleased with herself, and does a little twirl. The golden gemstones shimmer and flicker with the movement . “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” He wants, so badly, to reach out and grab her hips, pull her in close and press their lips together. A proper kiss. If he did that, though, Percy wouldn’t be able to make it through the date, and would surely try and drag her back to the keep for an early night in, one spent deliciously alone together.

“Percival? You’re staring, dear. Is everything alright?” Vex asks, all faux innocence and concern as she steps closer and cups his face in one hand. Her calloused fingers stroke comforting circles into his skin.

“Everything is fine, darling,” he assures her, but when he tries to focus on taking deep, calming breaths, all he can do is smell her spicy perfume and that just makes everything worse.

Vex grins, slowly letting her hand drop from his face and gripping his arm, instead. “Well then, shall we eat?” It’s almost comical, how she has to almost drag him into the restaurant as he tries to remember how his muscles work.

Somehow, they end up sitting at a table in the corner, ordering off a menu. Percy comes back to himself just as the waiter asks, “And your order, Sir?”

Swallowing, he forces himself to look at the menu and rattles off the first appealing dish; a shrimp and garlic pasta. All throughout, Vex is just grinning deviously, especially when he catches her eye and blushes deeper.

When the waiter finally leaves, Vex leans across the table so she’s closer to Percy. “You seem a little distracted, Darling. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

He laughs, looking at the ceiling. “This is going straight to your head, isn’t it?”

“I can’t say I don’t enjoy it,” she admits in turn, hand reaching out to take his, which, he notices, is still clutching the golden box. “What’s this?”

Percy forces himself to stay calm. “Ah, that would be a gift. Something to celebrate our first date.”

Curiously, she takes the small box, inspecting it closely. “First of many, I would hope.”

“That is-- yes, I hope so, too.” Gods, where did his charisma go? He’d grown up as royalty, learning how to speak to others with dignity and grace and charm, yet here he is, nervous and stuttering like a lovestruck teenager.

Vex seems pleased at her effect on him, though, so he can’t be too upset.

Carefully, she begins to open the gift. The cocky, suave smile is wiped off her face when she sees what’s inside, but before Percy has time to worry about her reaction, she’s looking back at him with awe. “Percy, did you make these?”

He adjusts his glasses. “Well, yes. I do hope you like them?”

She doesn’t break out into a grin, or thank him profusely, or overdo her reaction. Instead, Vex just stares at him with a gratitude that makes his chest flutter. “Thank you, Percy. They’re very beautiful,” she murmurs, taking one out of the packaging to further inspect it.

“Ah, it was nothing.”

“Don’t be modest, you dick. They’re a great gift. Own it,” she demands, unhooking her current golden studs to put in the new pair. Percy thanks his lucky stars that they match her dress so well.

Looking down to hide his proud grin, Percy says, “You deserve it, Vex. I’ll have to make you more, sometime.”

She smiles again, but it’s nothing like the sharp, seductive grins she’d sported just earlier this evening. This one is soft and gentle and Percy wants to look at it forever. “That would be lovely.”

And with her as a beautiful source of inspiration, Percy has no doubt that he will follow through on that.

#Percy #Percy de Rolo #Percival de Rolo #Critical Role #Vex'ahlia #Vex #Vex'ahlia Vessar #Perc'ahlia #Percahlia #Percy x Vex #Percy/vex #Au-gust #AU-gust 2022 #AU_Gust #AU_gust 2022

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hahahahahangst · 1 year

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Irene (Be The Young 20)

GIANT TW which will be valid for each episode for suicidal thoughts, self-h*rm, violence, cursing, relatives dying, mentions of s*x, s*xual assault

All chapter titles are song titles, some of them translated from Italian songs. We start from the first season and make out way through the series. I will break canon (mostly from the S2 finale) but will try to get back into it for the sake of ✨ lore ✨ .

Summary: Emily's life used to be normal. Until one day, her family died, leaving behind just one letter.

"After reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. [...] He’s your real father."

MASTERLIST

Irene

Irene the future I wanted to gift you I had to exchange it for the vinyls I keep in the attic I’ll gift them to you when you’ll be out of hope and you’ll feel defeated

They had been hunting a Djinn. Emily made a wrong move and the last thing she had seen before waking up in a different place was a bright blue light. When she opened her eyes, she was in a familiar place. A baby cried in the background.

Not any baby.

Alex.

Emily’s eyes shot open. She was home. Her actual home. In Portland.

And Alex was crying. He was alive.

Maybe it had all been a nightmare.

Maybe it was finally over?

She ran out of the room and inside Alex’s room. He was there, crying. She had wished to hear it once more many times. She took him out of his crib and rocked him a bit.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” She said, caressing his head and trying her best not to cry.

“Is he hungry again?” Asked a familiar voice behind her. When she turned, Dean came into the nursery. She stared at him, suddenly brought back to reality.

It wasn’t over. She was hallucinating. None of it was real.

“Your mom will be back in a couple of hours, but I think dad mentioned she pumped some milk before she left.” Smiled Dean. “Are you okay? You seem sad.”

“Yeah- No, I’m fine. Thanks Dean.” She hesitated, admiring his calm and his stress free state, something she had rarely seen in Dean before. He seemed way younger than he looked in real life, more relaxed, more happy. He smiled back and left. Emily went down the stairs and reached the kitchen. She had not seen that place in so long it felt like forever. Everything was exactly like she remembered it. The fridge was still covered in the silly magnets her mother brought back from everywhere they went, the wall still had all her childhood drawings on it.

Next to the front door, her school backpack was flopping on itself, half empty. The living room still had the signs of a movie night.

Emily put Alex down in his high chair and opened the fridge. Her mom had baked her some carrot cake and next to it, apple pie. She found some pumped milk in the back of the fridge and fed it to Alex, with a gesture so familiar, yet so distant. She quickly started crying. It felt good. Too good. But it wasn’t true. She knew she had to leave and yet, she didn’t want to.

If she stayed too long, her body was going to die, but being able to live in her own house, holding her brother again, feeding him like that again… Maybe it was worth letting her body die to experience all of it once again. Alex happily drank his milk and the front door opened.

“Mom’s back!” Emily quickly dried her face from her tears and ran to her mother at the door. She hugged her. “Woah! What’s with all the love, honey?” Asked her mother, hugging her back.

“I love you mom.” Answered Emily, unable to let her go. “I missed you.”

“I was just out for the day, Emily, are you okay?” Her mother checked her whole figure, trying to find out if she was hurt or if there was something wrong. Emily enjoyed the warmth of having a parent again for two seconds. Dean also arrived in the entryway.

“Girls, I’m gonna go see Sam today, will I see you after dinner?” He showed them the car keys, indicating he was about to leave.

“Sam?” Repeated Emily, smiling. “Can I come with you?”

“Really?” Asked Dean. “I think dad will be there.”

”...and?” Emily already had one arm in her jacket. “Why wouldn’t I want to come?”

“Well, you.. and dad, you were never exactly in good terms. It’s the first time you ask me to come along.”

“Me? Not wanting to see Sam? I highly doubt it.” Smiled Emily, closing her jacket. “Come on, let’s go.” Dean, clearly confused, exchanged a weird look with Emily’s mother and then left. Emily followed him, expecting to sit in the Impala.

Instead, Dean unlocked a family van.

“Wait, you drive this?” She asked, confused.

“We all do, dumbass. Come on, visiting time doesn’t last all night.” He said, turning on the engine and looking at Emily entering the vehicle, impatient.

“Visiting time?” Repeated Emily, progressively putting pieces together.

Dean exhaled. “Emily, are you high again?” He questioned, disappointed.

“What? No, I’m-” Dean entered a street that Emily knew very well: it brought to the hospital.

Visiting time doesn’t last all night.

“Dean, why is Sam in the hospital?” Her eyes filled with tears again.

”...so you are high- Emily, there was a car crash, remember? You drove into a tree.”

Emily inclined her head, not understanding, and kept looking at him, waiting for an explanation. “Emily, I thought you were finally sober.”

“Dean, I-”

“Nevermind, you never change. You just traded alcohol for weed.” He got out of the car, leaving her behind. Emily followed him.

“Wait! Really, I’m not high or… drunk, Dean, listen!” She caught up to him in the hospital lobby. “I was captured by a Djinn, I’m stuck in this hallucination!”

”...a what?!” Dean rolled his eyes and entered the elevator. “Whatever you smoked, kid, it’s not the good stuff.”

“Dean, I’m not high! I’m on the job!”

“Sure you are.” Dean left the elevator shaking his head. Emily kept following him until he entered one of the rooms.

Sam was lying on the hospital bed, perfectly still. He didn't have as many machines as Dean had when he almost died. He was there, the monitor beeping rhythmically, slowly, almost peacefully, keeping him alive.

Sitting next to his bed was John. Emily looked at him and smiled, but he didn't smile back.

“What is she doing here?!” He asked instead, angry.

“Dad, now's not the time. She just wanted to see Sam.”

“She's the reason he's here! She's a fucking drunk and she killed my son!”

Emily, shocked, took a step back, bumping into a table. “Wait, is… is this my fault?” She asked.

“Of course it is, you-”

“DAD!” Interrupted Dean. “I don't think she remembers any of it at the moment.”

“Are you telling me she's drunk again?”

“I'm not drunk, listen!” Emily pleaded. “This is not real, it's created by-” Emily looked at Dean and John. They didn’t know what a Djinn was. They weren’t hunters. John shot out of his chair, aggressive, but Dean was quicker and he accompanied Emily outside of the small room. He took her face into his hands. Emily closed her eyes and started crying. It was probably the most affection she had felt from Dean since they had met.

“Kid, listen, I know the crash was- it was the worst thing at the worst moment, but… You can't slip into it again. Think about how much it took you to stop drinking- don't make us go through all of that again.” Of all the things Emily wanted to ask, she chose to say nothing. She could have asked if Sam was really there because of her, if they had ever been happy, but she chose to enjoy the hug Dean was offering and cried. “It's okay, kid. I'm sorry. I should not have brought you here.” She felt his lips on her hair and then Dean's chin, resting on her head. Emily knew she had to leave the hallucination. If it felt extremely good to have her mom Alex back for a little, there was another side to the coin and it was a very painful one.

All she could think about was Sam’s lifeless body, her father’s voice repeating over and over how it was her fault.

When they arrived back home, Emily went directly to Alex and her mother, who where still in the kitchen finishing up dinner. Emily stopped her mother from doing the dishes.

“Don’t worry, I got them.” She kissed her. Her mother seemed surprised and went to take care of Alex. As she did the dishes, she tried not to think of any of the bad things. To just tap in her old life, where she didn’t know the Winchesters, when everything was easy, when everything was always clouded by the familiarity of being safe, at home. It didn’t come too difficult, despite Dean sitting in the living room watching a soap opera felt a little out of context.

After doing the dishes, she insisted she took everyone out to get ice cream.

“Emily, what is going on with you today?” Asked Dean as he sat next to her in the van.

“I guess… I’m just grateful for what I have left.”

”....alright? Are you sure you should be driving?”

Emily raised an eyebrow and looked at her mother, who was sitting behind them. She looked worried. “Of course, uh- I’ll be shotgun.” Emily rolled her eyes and went out and around the car, leaving the driver’s seat to Dean.

They calmly drove to the Portland mall. Emily took Alex’s stroller and pushed him around for the whole night, occasionally making faces at him to make him laugh. She got her mom ice cream and insisted on getting Dean some apple pie with an ice cream scoop, which they ate while sitting on a bench. “Is it good?” She asked, stealing a piece of cake from Dean’s plate.

“Very good. Thanks kid.”

“Ah-” Exhaled Emily, slouching back on the bench to take in her surroundings. “I really wish I could stay here forever.”

“Why, where are you going?” Asked her mother, confused.

“Mom, do you know… how if you are about to die in a dream, you wake up?” She asked. Dean and her mother assumed a more worried expression.

”...I guess, yeah. Why are you asking?”

“No reason.”

She could not wait any longer. She spent the rest of the night playing with Alex and having a good time with her mother and the most caring, loving version of Dean she would probably ever encounter, knowing that it was going to be her last night. She wasn’t sure it was going to work, but there were two choices: she died in the dream and woke up alive in the real world, where Dean was an asshole and Sam was alive, while everyone else was dead, or she survived in the dream and died soon after in real life, ending the dream. She went home and kissed everyone good night. She entered her room and locked the door behind her.

She knew exactly what to do. She had to die. And if she knew herself, she probably had something to do it, right in her room, and that something would have been razor blades, well hidden in the same double bottom she used to hide cigarettes in.

“Bingo“ she whispered as she extracted a pack of blades. The second she actually felt the cold metal on her skin, she started doubting her plan.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe the time passed slower in the dream, and she could have been there forever. Grow old and see Alex learn how to read, defend him from bullies, drive him to college. Maybe she could have stayed and she could have had a happy life, even if it was a fake one. Even if she only had ten days left in the hallucination, ten days are better than no days. She moved the blade away from her arm and put it on her desk. On it, she saw an open book, with a highlighted quote. We live alone, We die alone. Everything else is just an illusion.

Right. An illusion. She wasn’t living, not really. Her body was most likely tied up somewhere and the djinn was using it to have a thanksgiving feast. The people she loved were really dead. Her house had really burnt down. And Sam and Dean were waiting for her on the other side, the only one that mattered, as painful as it was.

She took the blade in her hands again and pressed it on her forearm. She traced a long, vertical line. She was weirdly calm as the blood started flowing out, surprisingly painlessly. As she did the same on her other arm, someone knocked on her door.

“Emily, open the door!” Said Dean’s voice. She closed her eyes and prayed he wouldn’t have a key. That he wouldn’t enter, not at that moment. It didn’t take long for her vision to get blurry, her pressure becoming lower and lower as she felt her body become heavier and heavier. She fell on her side and saw the blurry shape of Dean entering the door and running towards her. The last thing she felt was Dean’s warm hands on her face, then, everything started to re-focus on Dean, who was actually trying to get her to wake up. She grunted, in pain, as she realized the pain she felt in her wrists were actually the ropes she was hanging from. Dean’s face became more focused as he kept calling her. “Emily! Come on, wake up!”

“Oh god- where’s the djinn?” She opened her eyes.

“Took care of it. Dude, we thought we lost you for a second.” Said Dean, trying to set her free.

“Oh my god, you know what a djinn is… It worked-” She fell to the ground. Sam appeared in front of her as she sat back up. When she saw him, she stood up and jumped to hug him.

“Woah, okay- Missed me or something?”

“Of course I missed you.”

#am i going insane #yes probably #but anyway #supernatural fic #supernatural season 2 #djin #sister winchester fanfic #TW #be the young #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural angst #supernatural sister fic #spn #spn fanfic #ao3 #supernatural a03 fanfict #sister fic

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