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saintgoths · 5 months

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☾༺♰༻☽ ᴄᴇʟʟᴏᴘʜᴀɴᴇ ☾༺♰༻☽

mdni - angst, angry/risky sex and cunnilingus. +p!links

simon riley.

2423 words.

summary - as 141 and black dahlias join forces, you find yourself in a position where you’re surrounded by monsters that get taken care of by the masked man who doesnt know if he is pissed off at you or scared.

previous chapter - fool him once, fool him twice.

Once both the Black Dahlias and the 141 Soldiers have reached the nest of the Puma Formation, it was found to be abandoned, perhaps they had been given a heads up, that forces that had been against their projects that include “bio-medicines” that they had wanted to unleash into the world.

You, who had been second in command to the Black Dahlias, following Fraizer who had advised 141 Soldiers to search the opposite direction to where the Black Dahlias had been, before the separation you had looked back to see if Ghost would’ve shared a look with you, and he did, it was brief, but you weren’t sure what expression he had behind his mask.

The drive to the Puma Formation base was awkward enough, he hadn’t uttered a word to you but you could feel the way his eyes pierced into your skin, the awkward banter shared between AJ and Soap in hopes to uplift the intense atmosphere had barely worked, and truthfully it had felt like the short jokes had pissed him off even more.

“Focus Blade,” AJ muttered before gently slapping your shoulder, she had skimmed past you, machine gun against her chest as she over-took your pace and quietly you had cursed, you knew Fraizer did this on purpose, joining forces with 141, he knew how to get under your skin and you had wanted to wipe that permanent smirk on his face with your fist.

“Spread out in this wing,” Fraizer instructed and within seconds you had found yourself in a room with him, AJ in the other with two other Black Dahlias, perhaps doing the same as you, reading files workers in the Puma Formation had forgotten to collect within their moment of escape.

“The Z-Virus,” you muttered. “That’s a lazy name for a virus.”

“It doesn’t stand for zombie,” Fraizer clicked his tongue, “it stands for Zenera, named after the scientist who had founded it.”

With a short hum you had given the rest of the documents to him, searching through the rest of the room, noticing that the walls had been plain but behind a tall book-shelf there had been an entrance with no door, curious, you had pushed the bookshelf to the side, Fraizer, behind you and curious to the darkness the bookshelf once covered.

“Where do you think this leads into?” You asked, in thought that there must’ve been a floor in the dark abyss, you had gently touched the rounded edges of the doorless opening before walking into the darkness, easily being met by a hard fall, a large yelp forming from the back of your throat as you had fell down, Frazier, who had quickly looked through the doorless opening to see where you had must’ve landed; the fall was great, but you had still been able to get up.

“Blade?” He called looking down and as you had rubbed the back of your skin while you had stood to your feet, it had been darker than what you would’ve thought, the only light being metres up from where Fraizer had been at.

“Fraizer!” You responded. “Come down please!” You had pleaded, the light absence slowly putting fear into your heart as you had lightly shuddered in anxiety.

“I’ll find my way to you! You should focus on finding a light switch!” Fraizer responded before leaning backwards back into the room you once were in, disappearing into the lightness leaving you alone in the dusk, and with a slight stutter, you had cursed before clenching your machine gun while slowly taking steps through the gloom after switching on your flash that had been attached to your clothing.

The area had appeared empty, slowly taking steps through what must’ve been a corridor, being met with low growls that had caused you to catch air in your throat, keeping yourself quiet, you had quickly become aware with what had been hiding was not Human.

You had bit your lower lip as you had gently looked around, steering away from the growls as you had searched for the light switch that would help you with the rest of your adventure. Your breathing low almost to the point that you had almost forgotten to breathe, your eyes wide as you searched every edge of each turn you had taken, unaware of the presence that had slowly followed you.

Yet once you had heard footstep you had quickly turned around, the unknown figure grabbing you and dragging you into the closest room while you had attempted to fight them off, you had realised their strength had been challenging, but the way they had held you was recognisable.

“Stop!” The voice seethed, finally aware that it had been Ghost, you had dropped your shoulders, your flash finally flashing against his recognisable masked face and as you had pressed your lips into a thin line while you had clenched your fingers.

“We need to find the light switch,” you said.

“Doesn’t work,” he roughly responded. “Gaz and Soap are looking for fuses, heard you fucking fall attracting the monsters that lurk here, had to take them out for ya.”

Surprised, you had raised the both of your eyebrows, you didn’t hear any bullets being used so you had considered Ghost must’ve taken them out with stealth. “Kind of you, now let’s go and join them.”

“Fuck?” He questioned, “you’re not going out there.”

“Fuck I am,” you replied. “This is my job too; you know that right?”

“I didn’t,” he passively responded. “Great communication, lover.”

Pissed, you furrowed your eyebrows. “I didn’t want to do this mission, I thought they’d leave me alone for a while.”

“Evidently they didn’t.”

With your jaw clenched, you had looked away from him. “I…” you started. “I’m sorry, okay? That’s all I can say right now, I didn’t want to do this mission, but Frazier, he was so stubborn to not let me go.”

“Speaking of Fraizer, where is he?” Ghost investigated.

“He said he’ll find his way to me,” you answered.

“He didn’t follow you from where you fell?” He asked and with your silence being enough response, the man swore, irritated. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t fucking be here, you should’ve continued denying the mission.”

“Well, it’s too late now, I can’t just leave my comrades,” you argued.

With a short scoff, he had looked away from you. “How long were you going to keep this from me?” He asked and with a quick examination of your body language, he had helped himself from not rolling his eyes. “You weren’t planning to tell me, right?”

“I didn’t think---”

“You never think,” he snapped.

“Fuck this,” you responded before reaching for the door. “I’m not going to spend my time listening to you being a brat about the entire situation.”

“Being a brat?” He hissed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer to him. “You don’t even want to consider how it feels? Thinking that someone you care for is not associated with this type of world, but they are, someone who kisses death almost every day and someone who is a liar!”

“Well, I’m sorry that I’m not the innocent Babydoll you used to think I was, sorry I have depth in my fucking life that has nothing to do with you,” you spat.

“Nothing to do with me?” He thoroughly repeated, his grip around your wrist growing tight. “Your life has everything to do with me! You’re my responsibility! Babydoll, I lo---fuck!” He gritted before letting go of your wrist and pulling down his mask, his action quick as he pressed his uncovered lips against yours, surprised, you had allowed him to kiss you, his touch rough and angry as he carried you to the closest wall.

Eyes now closed you had clasped your lips with his, the embrace hot and rough as he began to rub his crotch against your covered heat. His behaviour animal-like, as if the control he had once had over himself had snapped.

“Ghost, they might need us,” you whimpered, your heat wet and coating your underwear with the thought of how rough Ghost had planned on taking you.

“They can do well without us for now,” he sharply answered, unbuckling his belt, his trousers and briefs falling down to his ankles revealing his large cock that had his pre-cum coating the head of his tip, he had been quick with how he had pulled down your lower clothing, his knees connecting to the floor as he had wrapped his hand around his cock, his lips finding way to your heat before roughly engulfing himself with your taste.

His licks had been wide, hard and quick, taking no remorse to what lurks outside the room, Ghost’s lips had drowned between your heat, taking you in and fucking you with his tongue, his eyes steady and trained on you as you had attempted to keep in your moans as he had sucked and blotted your sex, his hand quick with stroking his cock, fucking his shaft around his closed fist, he had gently growled, sending vibrations up your pussy which had commenced you to lightly yelp.

Your hips rocking in his rhythm as you had gently fucked your cunt against his face, your eyes swelled with tears as he had teased and nibble on your clit, punishing you with his mouth he would over-stimulate you with. How corrupted the circumstance you had been in, you had wanted to scream and whine in pleasure but you couldn’t, the only noise being shared were your short bratty gasps and Ghost’s hungry hums.

He had been so focused, so angry and eager to gobble you up, his mouth warm and wrapped around your opening, your juices coating his face as he rode and bobbed his face up and down your heat, his balls swollen as his length had twitched in his grasp, how shameless he was, taking you with his mouth, driving you into a lustful insanity as you had tried to keep your moans low, your juices squirting against his face while the texture of his tongue rubbed against your pearl, causing your knees to tremble as you were sent into a second orgasm, the rush quick and intense, your mind filled with fogginess as you could barely keep up with how Ghost had stood back to his feet, his hand covered with his cum from the motions of his masturbation.

His chest pressing against yours, pressing your back against the wall giving you barely any space to escape, the curved end of his shaft pressing against your clit, pressing against your wet openings as he had quickly held your leg up. His hand wrapped around your knee as he had focused on filling your tight cunt up with his size. He had looked furious, furious and erotic while a soft grunt emerged from his lips. “Such a naughty girl, keeping secrets from me,” he sighed as he began to rock his hips upwards, the first couple of thrusts painfully slow but had quickly been overtaken by a beastly speed.

“Such a naughty girl,” you repeated, brazen by the circumstance he had put you in, you had fallen weak to his bold advances, pressing your body against his, allowing Ghost to fuck his cock up your cunt like the devilish imp he was, the idea of being caught had riled the erotic lust between the two of you, you being punished by his heavy pushes while his gloved fingers dug into your legs. “I’m a naughty girl.”

“Love getting fucked by my cock, like the slut you are,” he whined, the warmth of your pussy gripping around his length, his knees gently shaking as he had continued to release his lewd frustrations onto you, the swift speed of his free hand spanking your ass while his swollen sac slapped against your skin; he knew he could never continue being mad at you, and that commodity irked him, angered him knowing that he had such a soft spot for you.

How could you? Keep this away from him?

All this time he had thought you were protected, all this time he thought that you’d never be in a circumstance where you could almost touch death essentially every second, and he had hated that, hated that you had deeply moved him, hated that he lov—“Fuck!” He whined, “You feel so good, fit just for me baby,” he grunted.

“My baby, my girl,” he moaned while fucking his orgasm inside of your hearth, stubborn to let you go, the man’s tip had resumed to brush and speck against your g-spot, adamant to make you cum he had returned his lips near yours, his mouth lightly casting against your red and swollen lips, his embrace possessive and fierce, his hips bucking upwards, falling weak to the pulses you had tightened around him.

“Your girl,” you unblushingly repeated, your eyes wide and cony as you could feel your third orgasm wanting to peak, “I—” you struggled, “I’m so sorry!” You whined, your eyes lowly shutting into a wanton and sensual aura.

“I know you are,” he responded, his nose gently brushing against yours ere he petted you one last kiss, milking your intense climax around his dick, “I know you are,” he repeated, pulling his size out of you and easily pulling up his work trousers back around his hips.

Stunned, by how abrupt he had been, you had followed after, pulling back on your garments and shortly forwards the lights had been turned on, Soap and Gaz must’ve found the fuse which had meant that you had to continue on your mission and behave that the rough intimate session the two of you had shared with each other had never happened, well for this current moment.

With a short look over his shoulder, Ghost had pulled his mask back up his face, his shade following through, reticently he had ordered you to follow him and so you did, aware that it wouldn’t be best to keep behind, comprehensive that once the lights had been turned on within this lower level, it would alert the zombies that had once hid themselves in the darkness, ready to lunge at whatever victim that would walk down the corridors, and the moment the two of you had stepped out of the room, the invisible wall Ghost had once put between the both of you in the car had returned and no longer have you been Babydoll to him but Blade.

masterlist

position reference 1

position reference 2

#ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #ghost smut #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon smut #simon riley #simon #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut

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thewayofthemandalorian · 1 year

Text

feels like home - oneshot

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: When your work visa expires sooner than expected, your only option to stay in Washington is to get married. Marcus offers to be your husband until you get your green card. Neither of you expect that your marriage will end up being more real than intended.

Word count: 11,527

Notes: I was thinking about marriage of convenience in stories and the first character that came to mind for “marrying their friend to help them but then falls for them” was Marcus Miguel Pike. These two are kind of idiots, but they’re idiots in love. Much love and thanks to the wonderful @ezrasbirdie for beta-reading and holding my hand when this fic was giving me the hardest time. Title from long story short by Taylor Swift.

This fic is cross-posted to AO3 under the same name and my taglist can be found linked in my bio as well as my masterlist which is linked below.

Comments/reblogs appreciated.

Warnings: Marriage of convenience, miscommunication, yearning, committing fraud, swearing, therapy, food mention, sharing a bed, friends to lovers, kissing, non-explicit sexual content (including female receiving oral), divorce mention.

masterlist (main) || masterlist (marcus pike)

Looking up from your menu, you look at the man sitting across from you. You really don’t have a connection to this man. Dan? Dean? You can’t even remember his name. Probably not a good sign about asking him to marry you.

“Are you guys ready to order?” asks the waitress who’s materialized from nowhere.

Daniel speaks before you can order the burger and fries. “I’ll have the steak, well done—” he misses the way your nose wrinkles. It’s a cheap diner, the consistency of the steak is already going to be that of a shoe — “and she’ll have the garden salad with house dressing.”

You have to force yourself not to gawk at him. Before you can correct the waitress, who looks bored out of her mind, she’s gone.

You’re starting to re-think this whole thing. Maybe being sent back to Canada on an expired work visa won’t be that bad.

“How much money did you say you make again?” Dieter asks. “Because I’m between jobs at the moment and I don’t think I can pay.”

You didn’t say how much you make. “No worries. I can cover it,” you offer your date what you hope is a polite smile. “I just need to use the restroom, I’ll be right back.”

Don doesn’t seem to care.

Pulling your phone out of your purse, you text your best friend. I need you to call me in three minutes with a fake emergency.

Lily is usually attached to her phone, so you expect the three dots to come up almost immediately. They don’t. A minute goes by. Nothing.

Your phone dings after a minute. Sorry babe, I’m in an important zoom call for work! Try Marcus maybe?

With a groan, you throw your head back. The one person you didn’t want to bother in all of this. He doesn’t know anything about your current predicament. Nor does he know about your hare-brained idea to get around getting deported because you didn’t realize that your work visa is expiring in three months instead of thirteen months.

In your defense, it had been Lily’s idea. You just hadn’t had any better ideas. No worries, you reply. Going back to the messages page on your phone, you tap out a quick text, basically a replica of what you texted Lily.

The bubble of three dots pops up immediately. What’s up?

I’m on the worst date!!! I need an excuse to leave.

Marcus’s reply comes in quickly. On it. Play along.

It’s not the best exercise to employ, but you get the impression that Dylan won’t let you go, no matter how much you insist.

“Sorry about that,” you smile as you sit back in the booth with the fake flower and the plastic checkered tablecloth. “I got a call from my mom and she worries if I don’t answer.” Making a mental apology to your mom for kind of throwing her under the bus, you offer a grimace that you hope is convincing and make a note to call her later tonight.

“Ugh, tell me about it. My mom drives me up the wall. ‘When are you going to get a girlfriend? When are you going to get a job? When are you going to move out of my basement?’”

Right on cue, your phone rings. “So sorry, I have to take this,” you say, not even looking at the screen. You know it’s Marcus. “Hello?”

Marcus is so good at saving you from pickles like this. “Hey, I’m so sorry to call you like this but… my plane landed about forty-five minutes ago and I’m wondering when you’re coming to pick me up from the airport? Should I just keep waiting for you at baggage claim?”

Not quite what you were expecting but you play along. “Oh, shoot! I knew I was forgetting something. I am so sorry! I will be right there.” To your date you say “You don’t mind if I go pick up someone from the airport do you?” You don’t even wait to hear a response. “I’ll just grab the check and be on my way,” you tell Marcus. Once you hang up, you turn back to Dom. “I completely forgot that my brother was coming today. I thought it was tomorrow, but I promised him I would pick him up from the airport.”

The waitress comes over with a charred lump of meat that’s supposed to be a steak and a wilted, sad looking salad.

“I’m so sorry to do this but can I get mine boxed up and get the check?” you ask. She nods and gets you a box and the bill. You leave a few bills on the table and say goodbye to your date. “It was lovely to meet you,” you lie.

“Can we do this again?” he asks.

Absolutely not. “Gotta go!”

You make a mad dash for the exit, making sure to toss the salad into the garbage on your way to your car. Unmatching with David as you go.

- - - -

You make your way to Marcus’s condo, picking up a pizza on your way over. You’re hungry and you want to thank Marcus for getting you out of that.

At some point you will have to tell Marcus what’s going on, but you don’t want him to pull any strings or do anything like that to keep you here. You want to stay, you just don’t know how outside of marrying someone who is already an American citizen.

It’s not that you disliked living in Canada. It’s where you’re from, where you grew up. Your life is here, though. Your job, your friends. Marcus.

Balancing the bag of soft drinks on the pizza box, you press the buzzer for Marcus’s condo. A second later he buzzes you up.

“Thank you so much for saving me,” you say by way of greeting.

Marcus takes the box of pizza from you. “Not a problem. What was wrong with him?” he asks.

You follow him into the cozy condo that he’s made his own in the past two years that he’s been in Washington. Art prints cover the walls, a floor to ceiling bookshelf with stacks of books in no particular semblance of order covering a wide range of topics and genres in the corner. It’s cozy. Homey. From the first time you visited his place, you felt at home, at ease.

Flopping down on the plush couch that he’s had since his undergrad, you groan. “What wasn’t wrong with him?” you grouse. “It was every cliche in the book. He even ordered me a salad.”

Marcus Pike knows he’s made some blunders in his own love life in the past. Hell, they were such big blunders that he’s been in therapy since he arrived here to get to the root of it and ensure that he never makes the same mistakes in his love life again. But he would never, ever order a date’s meal for them. Especially not a salad. The only time he would make an order for someone, anyone, is if they’re in the bathroom when the server comes to take the order and he already knows what his date wants.

Dating’s been a wash for Marcus since coming to Washington. At first it was from the sting of Teresa’s actions and rejection, but since then, no one’s been able to spark his interest beyond a couple of dates and maybe a round in bed. But it’s been two years. And no one’s been able to catch his attention.

Well. No. That’s not fully true. His attention has been caught. But you haven’t picked up on it and he’s pretty sure that you just want to be his friend. Plus the fact that you were just on a date with another man kind of solidifies that too.

Marcus isn’t bitter about it. He knows how it is. The old him would have attempted to get with you, try whatever it took to get your attention. But he likes being your friend. Likes the easy rapport he has with you. And he doesn’t want to date someone he works with, even indirectly. Since you work in art restoration and conservation, you liaise with the art crimes unit quite often. That’s how you met. Marcus was new to the D.C. branch of the FBI and was in a new position. You met on his first job with the D.C. squad and just clicked right away. That had been two years ago. Since then, you’ve been thick as thieves.

“I thought you were going to give Tinder a rest for a while?” Marcus asks, grabbing some plates.

You shrug. “It was Lily’s idea.” You know you have to tell him. The fucking letter is still in your purse. It would be so easy to just tell him why you were on that date, why you’re more stressed out than he’s ever seen you be (and he has, especially on particularly tricky cases).

“Are you all right?” asks Marcus, almost as if on cue. He hands you a plate and you load it with two slices of pizza. “You seem a bit…” He shrugs. “...I don’t know. Under pressure? And not just from the date.” He sits down beside you, crossing his pajama pants-clad legs.

You don’t even know why you haven’t told him yet. It started out as you trying to figure out if you could extend it or apply for citizenship but those had both been denied pretty quickly. You know that Marcus would offer something and you don’t want him to feel obligated in any way. He’s sweet like that, always doing stuff for other people without complaint. You know he’s big on marriage and romance. You know he wants the real thing. Not some sham that would fool the government and only end in divorce once you get your green card.

“You know you can tell me anything,” Marcus reminds you.

You smile at him. “I’m fine. Just…” The tell-tale sound of your mother’s ringtone interrupts you. “Can you get that for me, please?” you ask him. “It’s in my p—” You remember what else is in your purse just as Marcus is digging into it for you. His eyes land on the letter, the IMPORTANT stamp in bold red letters peeking out from where it’s folded.

“Not to snoop, but what’s this?” he asks.

It looks like your mom is going to voicemail.

- - - -

“So you know how I’m here on a work visa? A transfer from the National Gallery in Ottawa?” you ask.

Marcus nods. “Yes. You’ve been here for six years. What does that have to do with anything?”

Your phone dings with a text message from your mom. You quickly tap out a reply that you’re with Marcus and will call her back later. She sends a heart and a winky face emoji. “So I was under the impression that I still had a year on my work visa. I don’t.”

“How long do you have?” asks Marcus.

“Ninety days. Well, technically, eighty-three now. And I don’t know, maybe going back to Canada and applying for citizenship wouldn’t be the worst thing ever to happen. But my whole life is here. My job, my friends. Everything I’ve worked for.”

“Can you extend your visa? Or apply for citizenship?” Marcus offers.

You offer him a rueful expression. “I’ve already extended it as many times as I can. And I think I can only apply for citizenship if I’m married to an American citizen since my work is contract based. I tried putting a feeler out to Larissa to see if any permanent positions were coming up, but she was non-committal.”

Marcus doesn’t know enough about immigration or custom laws to refute that. It sounds accurate based on the one class he took way back in the day when he first signed up to be in the FBI. “What are you going to do?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Outside of marrying someone until I have my citizenship, I can’t think of anything. That’s why I’m back on Tinder. That’s why I was on that awful date tonight. To see if I can at least attempt to hack it.”

Marcus doesn’t know what to think. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have probably helped you in some way.”

“I was going to. It’s… weird, you know? I don’t want you to feel obligated to help me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says gently. “It’s not obligation with you. Never. I’m just sorry you’re going through this. We’ll figure it out.”

The mood of the evening dampened, you head home shortly after that, calling your mom on the car’s bluetooth. “I thought you were with Marcus,” she says after answering.

“No, I had to get going. I just crashed at his place after a bad date.”

Your mother sighs. “When are you going to realize that that man has it bad for you? Or admit to yourself and him that you have it bad for him?” She never misses a beat.

It’s your turn to sigh. “It would never work with Marcus. Not now. Not with…” You trail off, not wanting to worry your mom with your work visa woes.

“Not with what, honey?” she asks.

You chew your lip for a second. “Nothing. It’s complicated.” Eager to change the subject, you ask, “What’s new with you?”

Your mom tells you about what she’s been up to in the past couple of days since you last talked. Gossiping about family and the new couple that moved into the condo down the hall from her and their antics.

It’s always nice to talk to your mom. You wish that she would consider moving down to Washington because you miss her greatly. But she is stubborn and likes living in Ottawa. “Mom, I gotta go, I’m about to pull into the underground parking and you know how reception is down there for bluetooth.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll talk to you in a little bit.”

“I love you, Mom.”

You hang up shortly after and park your car. You sit there for a while, thinking about the whole ordeal of this evening. While things hadn’t become awkward with Marcus after your bombshell, you wouldn’t be surprised if things become awkward. You like Marcus, really and truly. But you also know that he is a romantic. He’s had some bad experiences in romance, a failed marriage and a broken engagement under his belt already. You don’t want him to help you in this, admittedly, hare-brained scheme you and Lily have cooked up, fueled mostly by wine and desperation. You know that if you had told him from the start, he would offer to marry you and you don’t want him to experience anything but the real deal. If there’s anyone that deserves real, true, genuine love and not a sham, it’s Marcus Miguel Pike.

Your phone dings with a text notification. It’s Marcus. Your heartbeat picks up. Your eyes glaze over the notification on your lock screen, not really allowing the words to sink in at first. He’s going to offer to marry you. Or pull some strings. Or tell you that he finds things awkward now.

Hey, sorry to cancel on you but I can’t make it to our weekly diner night tomorrow. I’ve just remembered that I’m visiting my dad in Texas for the weekend. Would love to reschedule for when I get back.

It’s not what you were expecting. Marcus is close with his dad and step-mom and he visits them as often as he can. He says it’s the one drawback of the transfer to Washington, not being able to see his dad and his step-mom as much as he would like to, especially now that his dad is in his mid-sixties.

Sure, that sounds fine. I’m free most nights next week except for Thursday when I have to work late and Wednesday when I’m doing girls night with Lily and Nikki. You press the blue arrow button to send the text and then almost immediately tap out another message. Are we okay, Marcus? I didn’t make things awkward did I?

Marcus replies. Of course we’re okay, honey. Everything’s good. How does Tuesday sound?

Sounds great. Have a good weekend in Texas.

- - - -

The weekend passes with little fanfare; you go on a semi-decent Tinder date on Saturday, but your heart’s not in it. Brad is a nice enough guy, but he spends the entire date talking about himself and his venture into cryptocurrency. As the night progresses his intentions of going home with you become more and more clear.

You split the bill and go home, alone. Tinder gets deleted for the time being.

Tuesday rolls around and it’s so busy you hardly have time to get home and change. Marcus texts you to say that he’ll pick you up which is a huge relief.

You still don’t have time to change, but you’re able to drop off your lunch bag and your work stuff, trading it in for your purse and a heavier jacket. Autumn has well and truly settled in.

Marcus is right on time, waiting for you when you come down at quarter to six. He’s still in his FBI get-up, tie and everything.

“Busy day for you, too?” you ask.

“Huh?” Marcus looks down at what he’s wearing, as if he’s forgotten. “Oh, yeah. New case, looks like it’ll be a doozy from the details we have so far.”

He merges into traffic and you talk about your weekends. Marcus is less chatty than he normally is. “Is everything okay, Marcus?” you ask. “You seem quiet tonight. Did you not have a good day?”

Marcus shakes his head. “I’m fine. Just thinking.” He takes the next exit, not the usual way to the diner that you usually go to with him. At your look of confusion, he says, “We’re going somewhere different tonight.”

Somewhere different ends up being a higher-scale restaurant than you’re used to going to with him. “This is fancy,” you comment as you step into the restaurant. It’s dimly lit with candlelit tables and twinkly lights on the ceiling.

“Can I help you, sir?” asks the hostess.

“I have a reservation under Pike,” Marcus tells the young woman. She taps a few buttons on the tablet at her station before ushering you and Marcus to your table.

After taking your coat off and putting it on the back of your chair, you look at the menu as the waiter tells you the daily specials and soup of the day and pours you two glasses of water.

“This is really fancy, Marcus. Did you get a promotion?”

Marcus looks nervous but determined. “No. No promotion.”

“Then why—?”

He’s fiddling with something under the table. “I thought a lot about what we talked about on Thursday night when you were at my place. About your predicament and how the only feasible way you could stay.”

The waiter returns with a basket of bread. “Can I interest you two in a wine menu?”

Marcus nods. “Yes, please.”

A wine menu is pulled out from the waiter’s apron. “Do you need a minute to peruse the wine menu?”

“No, thank you. We’ll have a bottle of this one.” Marcus points to a vintage red halfway down the list. One of your favourites.

Taking the wine menu back, the waiter nods. “Very good.”

The two of you are left alone again for a few minutes. “You were thinking about what happened on Thursday?” you prompt.

Marcus nods. “Yeah. I thought about it a lot. As soon as you left, I knew what the answer to your problem was. That’s why I went to Texas. I needed to get something from Dad.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. “What’s the answer?” you ask.

“Marry me.”

You don’t have time to react because at that moment the wine is delivered to your table and you take that moment to order your meals as well. Marcus tells you that you can order anything you like. He’s paying and won’t hear any arguments.

The appetizers are brought out and you finally have a moment without interruptions. “I don’t think I heard you correctly, Marcus.”

“You heard me just fine, honey.”

Your face goes warm and you are absolutely blaming it on the wine that you’ve only had one sip of. “Marcus, you don’t want to marry me,” you argue.

“Yes, I do,” he counters.

“I know you, Marcus. You want the real deal. Something that’s real and true and—and, you know, not a scam?” You lower your voice so no one can overhear you.

Marcus isn’t swayed. “You know that I’ve been married once and engaged another time. You know that I’m a romantic who wants to sweep a woman off her feet. I also know that I’m impulsive — something that I’m working on with my therapist — and I think with my heart instead of my head sometimes when it comes to things like that.”

“Exactly, Marcus. You deserve something that is true. I don’t think you’re going to get that by marrying me–”

He’s still not finished. “All of that is true. But I can’t think of anything better to do than to help my friend, someone I care for very much. I thought a lot about it and I want to do this for you. With you. You should be fake-married to someone who cares about you, someone that you know and care about.”

You refuse to cry at this gesture. “What about your job?” you ask. “If it gets out somehow that you helped commit fraud with me so that I can get my citizenship, you could not only lose your job, but go to jail. You’re a federal agent.”

Marcus shrugs. “I understand the risks. I want to help you. Plus, I like being engaged,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “So, will you,” he pulls a small black velvet box out from under the table, the one that he was fiddling with, says your name, “marry me?”

You have to admit that it’s the best option you have at the moment. You love Marcus and you are genuinely moved by what he’s doing to help you. Marcus is, in your opinion, husband material through and through. You don’t really have any other answer. “Yes. I will marry you, Marcus.”

- - - -

You know it’s not going to be a real marriage, that you’re only doing this so that you can stay in the States. Still, you can’t help but be over the moon at the prospect of marrying Marcus. He’s assured you multiple times that he’s okay with doing this and that he wants to do this with you.

There are absolutely going to be ground rules. Like who to tell and what to tell them. Only Lily and Nikki know that you need to do this so you give them firm instructions the next night to use their discretion and ask that if they are interviewed by immigration officers that they play it that you and Marcus are in love.

Something that isn’t a stretch for you.

Marcus thinks that you should move in with him into his condo before your courthouse wedding that’s scheduled three weeks from now. It was the earliest the two of you could get. You agree, especially since your lease is coming up for renewal soon. You tell your landlord early that you’re not renewing the lease and that you’re moving out. She doesn’t care, only glad that she is able to increase the rent for the next tenant.

It doesn’t take long to move your things into Marcus’s place. For the time being, you’re going to sleep in the guest room.

The plan is to stay married until you’ve had your citizenship for nine months and then you’re going to file for divorce. Marcus doesn’t seem worried about it affecting your friendship. This is a favour he’s doing you. A very, very big favour.

You end up telling your mother a slightly modified version of events. You’re having trouble with your work visa so Marcus is helping you out. “How is he helping you?” she asks.

“He’s offered to… sponsor my visa,” you settle on.

“That’s so nice of him to do.” She pauses. “Hang on. I thought only spouses or partners could do that?”

Your silence is worth a million words.

Your mom says your full name. “Marrying Marcus? So you can stay there?”

“It was his idea,” you say. “And it’s very generous of him.”

Your mother sighs. “It is, honey. But I’ve seen that show, 90 Day Fiance. It never works out.”

“I know, but that’s a show. This is real life. I know Marcus. I… care about him. And he cares about me. We’re going to make it work.” You won’t tell her that you’re getting a divorce as soon as you’re able to and it no longer looks suspect.

“I just wish I could be there for the wedding, sweetheart.”

You sigh. “I know, Mom. But as soon as we are able to, we’ll hold a reception.”

Settling in at Marcus’s place is easier than you thought it would be. He’s easy to be around. Your schedules are similar enough that you have breakfast and dinner together most nights. Not much has changed since he proposed to you.

Marcus has always been affectionate with the people he cares about. He only increases it a little bit. Holding your hand, kissing your cheek or your forehead. It’s easy. Simple. You like it.

There’s a lot of things that you like—love, even—about this arrangement.

You’ve had your visa extended by another ninety days since informing the correct people about your impending nuptials. Your application process has been expedited as well: Marcus denies having involvement, but you’re sure you remember him mentioning having a buddy in immigration and you’re convinced that Marcus called in a few favours. Usually it takes at least a year, but your caseworker informed you it should take no longer than six months. Marcus still blushes when you kiss him on the cheek when you find out the process will be accelerated.

“Doesn’t it bother you that you won’t be able to date or flirt with anyone?” you ask one night about a week before your wedding.

Marcus frowns. “No? In case you couldn’t tell, I wasn’t drowning in dating opportunities before we decided to do this.” He pauses. “I kind of… I don’t know, scare people off.”

You squeeze his hand. “It’s their loss, Marcus.”

He smiles ruefully. “I know I can come on too strong sometimes. It’s something that I’m working on.” The two of you sit in silence for a minute. He looks at you after a minute, a playful look in his eye. “Why? Are you bothered that you’ll be missing out on dating?”

You chortle. “Please. Like I was doing so well for myself before this.”

Marcus taps your knee with his free hand. “What a pair we make.”

Another minute goes by. “Marcus? You don’t scare me.”

- - - -

The day of your wedding dawns. You never anticipated having a November wedding, but then again, you never anticipated having this type of wedding either.

You and Marcus have breakfast together in his nook. It’s oddly domestic and you can’t quite pinpoint why. He woke up early and made pancakes and bacon and eggs. “We can’t get married on an empty stomach,” he explains as he sets your coffee mug in front of you.

You twist the engagement ring around and around in the car ride over. You’re wearing the nicest dress you have; Marcus is wearing one of his nicer suits. “This is what I was going to wear to the engagement party I was going to have with Teresa. Now, I mostly wear it for the few times I’m needed to testify in a hearing,” he told you when you discussed what the wardrobe for today would be.

You have no one to give you away, so Marcus’s dad, here to be one of the witnesses along with his wife, offers to give you away. It’s a sweet gesture. You’ve always liked Jeremy Pike, so you’re lucky to be his fake daughter-in-law.

Marcus’s step-mom, Rachel, takes pictures. As you’re walking up the aisle, you’re trembling. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Jeremy murmurs so that only you can hear. “You’re in good hands with my son.” You don’t know how much Jeremy Pike knows, but he’s right. You couldn’t have chosen a better husband, even if it is a fraudulent one. You catch Marcus’s soft brown eyes and the look on his face calms your jittery nerves. Taking a deep breath, you make it to where Marcus is waiting with the justice of the peace.

“You look beautiful,” Marcus whispers to you, his lips right at your ear. Your breath catches at the contact and also at the compliment. It’s not a real marriage, you remind yourself. You and Marcus, while about to become husband and wife, are not going to have a traditional husband-and-wife relationship outside of what is necessary to get you your citizenship. Nothing is changing except your relationship status. It doesn’t have to change. He doesn’t want it to. Otherwise, he would have said so.

But, says a little voice in your head, that doesn’t mean that things won’t change.

Having no idea where that thought came from, you take Marcus’s hand in yours and face the justice of the peace. His hand is strong in yours, but gentle. Always a steady hand to hold at any time, including and especially now. This is not brand new information, but it’s something that grounds you in this moment. The ceremony is not long. The justice of the peace says some words, has you and Marcus make your vows, exchange the rings (courtesy of Marcus’s grandparents), and sign the documents. It’s quick. No-fuss and to the point.

“By the power vested in me by the District of Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss each other.”

You don’t catch Marcus’s expression before his lips touch yours but Rachel is quick with her camera, taking a few pictures before, during, and after your kiss. You’ve never kissed Marcus on the lips. On the cheek, yes. You’ve also received forehead kisses from Marcus over the years, but this is a first for you. His lips are soft on yours. It’s a gentle kiss, just a peck more than anything else. You want more. It makes you feel warm, good.

Marcus rests his forehead against yours for a few seconds. He’s smiling, you’re smiling. You’re married. To the man that you love. Only problem is, it’s not a real marriage and will be over before it starts.

Jeremy and Rachel take you and Marcus out for lunch. You and Marcus have the day off and the next few days. You are not going to do anything out of the usual, but you’re going to spend more time together. Get into the pattern of being husband and wife.

When you and Marcus return home that evening, you make dinner together. Sit together at the dining room table and talk about whatever comes to mind. After doing the dishes together (Marcus washes, you dry), you sit on the couch and watch a Nicolas Cage movie on Netflix. It’s easy, comfortable. You snuggle in under the blankie that he’s had for years, the really warm one, and he puts his arm around you, holding you close to him.

Once the movie is over, you say goodnight and go to your separate rooms for bed.

- - - -

Two weeks later, you receive a notification from the immigration department, saying to expect the first of four visits from an officer soon.

“I guess this ends our sleeping in different beds,” says Marcus. The plan is to start sleeping in the same bed, Marcus’s bed, closer to when the officer comes so that it looks less conspicuous and so that you are totally comfortable with each other. That afternoon when you get home from work (Marcus is working late on a case), you return the guest bedroom to its original state and move all of your stuff into Marcus’s bedroom. All of your clothes fit in well with his in the dresser and the closet; it looks like Marcus already made room for your stuff.

You decide to become more affectionate with Marcus. Not that you weren’t already affectionate, but in a way so that it doesn’t seem so scripted when your case worker arrives in a few weeks.

Setting a framed picture of yourself and Marcus on the dresser, you go to make dinner and let your mind wander. Marcus arrives home just as you’re setting dinner in the oven. Pressing pause on Broken Bells, you greet him at the door. “Hey,” you say, drawing him in for a hug and a peck on the lips.

Marcus is surprised. The hug he’s used to, since you always greet him with that, but the kiss takes him off-guard. “Hey to you, too. What was that for?”

“Oh, um, I thought, since the case reviewer is coming soon, we should be more comfortable with each other and physical affection,” you explain.

Marcus tries to hide his disappointment. A part of him hoped that he was doing this because you are starting to reciprocate his feelings. But of course, it’s for the sake of authenticity. “Right. Yeah. That makes sense,” he replies, swallowing down his disappointment. “But I think we need more practice than just that,” he teases.

Your eyes twinkle. “I think that’s reasonable.”

Marcus kisses you again and you nearly float away, forgetting for a second that this is only for the purpose of appearances; he makes it feel so real. “How was your day?” you ask.

“Long. Do I have time to shower before dinner?” he asks.

You point at the timer on the oven. “Lots. Take your time.”

Half an hour later, Marcus freshly showered and in a grey sweatshirt and some pajama pants, you sit down for dinner. He looks cozy. “I should have helped you with dinner. I’m sorry,” he apologizes as you set his plate in front of him.

You kiss his cheek. “It’s fine. I like doing this sort of thing. And you had a long day at work.”

Marcus digs into his meal. “How was your day?” he asks.

After dinner, Marcus helps you with tidy-up despite your protestations that he should sit down. You can tell that he’s exhausted. “I want to help,” he argues, brooking no denial. So the two of you wash the dishes in companionable silence. It’s nice. You wash and he dries.

“Can I?” Marcus asks, gesturing to your face.

“Huh?” Marcus reaches out and wipes soap suds from your cheek, wiping them from his hand with the dish towel. Your face flushes warm. “Oh. Thanks,” you say.

“You’re welcome.” And then he kisses you again. This one doesn’t feel staged or scripted, like it’s for the purpose of appearances and fooling the right people. This one feels like he wants to kiss you. That he’s doing it simply for the sake of kissing you. It could be for practice, but you don’t think so. His lips are soft against yours. Gentle but with a hint of neediness. Perhaps the neediness is yours? You can’t tell. His stubble tickles at your skin in the best possible way. The dish towel falls from his hand as he brings both his hands to rest at your waist. Yours grasp at the fabric of his FBI shirt.

After about half a minute of kissing like this, Marcus pulls away. His cheeks are flushed pink, his eyes are still closed. You have a hard time reading his expression, even when his eyes open. The question of “why did you kiss me?” is on your tongue, ready to be asked. But you find that you don’t want to hear the answer if it is what you fear. And you don’t want to shake this feeling that his kiss has given you.

You feel warm and cherished and you want to do that again. Not for the sake of the charade. Just because. You’re just friends with him. You just happen to be married to him as well. But friends don’t kiss their friends the way you were kissing him just now, even if it is just for show.

Uh-oh. You’re in trouble.

When it comes time for bed, you get into your jammies as Marcus is brushing his teeth in the ensuite bathroom. You know what side of the bed is his, so you take the other side, reading a book as he finishes getting ready for bed.

You’re both adults. Who happen to be married to each other. You can share a bed with your husband. You are not going to overthink this at all. Just like how you’re not currently overthinking the kiss from earlier.

Marcus comes out from the bathroom as you’re finishing your chapter. You mark your page, put the book on the night table and look up at him. He looks…nervous? Good to know you’re not the only one who’s overthinking all of this.

After a second’s hesitation, Marcus gets into bed. “If this isn’t okay I can go to the guest room or the couch or—”

“Shut up, Marcus. We’re both adults. We’re married for chrissakes. It’s just sharing a bed. Just sleeping.” You sound more sure of yourself than you feel, but it must work since Marcus, after another minute of deliberation, gets into the bed.

It’s late, you’re both tired. Marcus sets his alarm for tomorrow morning, plugs in his phone and switches his bedside lamp off. You follow suit and you’re plunged into darkness. “Is this okay?” he asks after a minute.

“Yep,” you reply. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, honey.”

It takes a few minutes of getting used to, but the bed is so warm and comfy. It feels slept in unlike the bed in the guest bedroom. In the darkness, the only light coming from the clock radio’s time display, you can see Marcus’s sleeping silhouette. He’s a side sleeper, currently facing you.

You can do this. You can pull off being fake married to him. You can sleep in the same bed as your husband.

With that, you fall asleep.

- - - -

When you wake up the next morning, the light is dim. You can hear rain on the windows. You’re warm and feel like you’re cocooned. You’re on your side, facing the wall in the opposite direction of Marcus’s side of the bed. The thick duvet is warm and plush, but that’s not the primary source of your warmth. As you wake up, you realize that your back is pressed up to something firm. Something that feels suspiciously like Marcus’s chest. Marcus is still sound asleep. His arms are locked around your waist.

Oh. You ignore the thought of how easily and quickly you could get used to this. All of it, really. The way his legs are tangled with yours right now. The way he cares. How easy it was to fall into a routine with him. If this wasn’t fake, you could see a life with Marcus Pike like this. How easy it would be—how easy it is— to love and be married to Marcus Pike for real.

With that sobering thought, you wrangle free from his hold, gentle enough that he doesn’t wake. He snuffles in his sleep and rolls over. You grab a towel from the walk-in closet and go to the bathroom for a shower. There’s not a lot of time until Marcus’s alarm goes off. You’re quick, knowing that Marcus will need to use the bathroom soon. You’re just finishing up when his alarm goes off.

He’s bleary-eyed when you come out from the ensuite bathroom dressed and ready for the day. “Morning,” you say.

Marcus’s voice is sleepy. “Morning, sweetheart.” He’s rumpled and he has a major bedhead. You resist the urge to run your fingers through his soft-looking brown locks. “Did you sleep well?” he asks.

It was the best sleep you’ve gotten in ages. You nod. “Mmm-hmmm.”

Marcus yawns and stretches. The bedclothes are around his waist. As he stretches, his shirt rises up, showing off a sliver of tummy. You avert your gaze before you stare for too long. Get it together, you tell yourself.

“Um… I’m done in the bathroom if you need to use it,” you say awkwardly.

Marcus nods and he gets up from bed. If you’re not careful, you could get used to this a bit too much.

After he’s showered, he comes into the kitchen where you’re making toast for yourself. “Let me drive you to work today,” he offers as you hand him a mug of coffee, made just the way he likes it. “Thank you,” he adds, kissing your cheek before taking a sip. You somehow make his coffee better than he does.

“Aren’t you going to be busy with the case? From the sounds of it you’ve got your hands full with it and I don’t want to take you away from your work if I don’t have to.” The idea is tempting, but you’d feel guilty if his work was slowed down because of you.

Marcus is unconcerned. “Nah. Most of what needs doing today is filing evidence and paperwork. And you don’t take me away from anything,” he assures you.

He’s just saying that to be nice, but it makes you feel better about it all the same. “All right, if you’re sure.”

It’s raining, which brings a dampness to the already cold November air, so you’re glad for the lift. Your car is a bit of a lemon, especially when it comes to heating. Meanwhile, Marcus’s FBI-issued SUV is relatively new and has almost, if not all, the bells and whistles; it makes for a warm ride over to the museum. He drops you off as close to the front door of the Smithsonian as possible. You clutch an umbrella in one hand, your purse in the other, hood already up. “Have a good day, sweetheart. I’ll see you later,” says Marcus.

“You too, Marcus.” Your hand is on the door handle, ready to get out, but something makes you turn back to face him. He has that tender look on his face and he leans in. You meet him in the middle.

It’s a quick, almost chaste kiss. If your hands weren’t full, you’d cup his cheek. He’s really committing to the bit.

“I’ll see you later,” you whisper when you force yourself to pull away. “Thanks for the lift.”

On your lunch, you get a phone call from the case worker for your immigration. There’s an opening in his schedule to bump up your preliminary meeting and subsequent meetings if that’s convenient for you and Marcus. “Um, sure. I think that we can get things organized for that as far as work goes. When are you thinking?” you ask.

“November 24. I know it’s only a few days from now and I apologize for the short notice. I can send a letter to your bosses if need be.”

Today is November 21. That only gives you two days, not counting today, to get ready. You clear your throat. “I–I think that can be manageable.”

The case worker—John, you think his name is—confirms it with you, gives you a window of time when to expect him and what to expect. “It’s just a preliminary meeting. Some basic questions and whatnot. Nothing to be worried about.”

Right. You thank him and call Marcus immediately after hanging up.

“Do you think you can get out of work on Thursday? I just got a call from the immigration agent. Says he has an opening for our preliminary meeting.”

Marcus pauses for a minute. “I think so. Yes. Let me just move some things around, re-assign some things and I should be good.”

“Okay. Thanks. How’s work today?” you ask.

He chuckles. “It’s fine. How about you?”

And that’s what starts your daily lunchtime phone calls with your husband. When he picks you up a few hours later, you’re chilled to the bone, both from the damp, cold day and the icy cold wind, as well as from working in the temperature controlled basement. Stepping into his car and into his world, warms you right up. Setting down your purse and wet umbrella, you greet him, cupping his cheek this time when he kisses you hello.

A savoury scent from the backseat greets you as well once Marcus sets the SUV into drive. “I picked up dinner on the way over. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like cooking and I just want to get under the blankets on the couch.”

It’s like he read your mind.

- - - -

“I think I’m in love with my wife.” Marcus sits back on the plush couch at his therapist’s office the next day after dropping you off at work again.

His therapist, Dr. Kate Solana, frowns. “You think you are?” she asks, pushing a lock of brown hair behind her ear. She’s a younger therapist than Marcus would have originally envisioned having for himself; he’s certain she’s younger than him. The first session, he thought that she looked more like a fitness instructor than a therapist. But she’s good at what she does. She’s helped Marcus change some of his ways of interacting with people for the better.

Marcus sighs. “You know why I married her.”

Dr. Solana nods. “Yes. To help her. But you were friends with her before marrying her.”

“Best friends,” Marcus clarifies.

Dr. Solana looks at her notes. “You said that you had an agreement that you would stay married until it no longer looked suspicious. Are you having second thoughts?” she asks.

He hesitates for a minute, thinking about his answer. “Not really? I’m still committed to the act. I just don’t think I can call it an act anymore. At least on my part.”

The therapist nods, contemplative. “What exactly is the problem?” she asks, taking a sip of her coffee.

Marcus opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again after a minute. Still thinking of how to answer. “I know that I’m… too much sometimes. I come on too intensely.” He says it as a fact. He knows it’s true, knows it’s why his past relationships have failed. Why he’s had a failed marriage and a broken engagement. He can feel himself coming on too strongly with you, even if you think it’s for the purposes of acting natural when the immigration officer arrives on Thursday. It isn’t an act for him; he doesn’t think it ever has been. Dr. Solana doesn’t say anything, allowing him to think out loud and verbalize his feelings and his thoughts. “I don’t want that to happen with my wife. I don’t want to scare her off. I made an agreement with her and I intend to keep that promise. I’m just not sure how I’ll take it when it comes time to file for divorce. I thought, stupidly perhaps, that I could do it. That I could just pretend, but I can’t pretend. It’s never been pretend with her.”

There’s a long pause. “Are you saying that you want to tell her how you feel or…?”

Marcus sighs. “I don’t know how I could. She thinks it’s pretend. It’s an act for her. Surely it is. My wife is a person who takes what she wants. She would have told me how she felt already, wouldn’t she?” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Dr. Solana waits a couple of seconds before she speaks. “The foundation for every relationship, romantic or otherwise, is communication and honesty. You can’t have trust without open, honest communication. My advice to you? Tell her how you really feel. It doesn’t have to be with some grand gesture or anything like that. It can be as simple as sitting her down and telling her that you have genuine feelings for her. Do you worry that she will reject you?”

“If she turns me down, the thing I would worry about the most is that we wouldn’t be friends anymore. Above all, what I want is for her to be in my life, in any capacity,” Marcus admits. And it’s in that moment that he knows that he truly loves you.

“Tell her that. Tell her the truth. It will only make things that much harder if you don’t. She might surprise you and feel the same way. It could be that she’s not telling you how she feels because she’s worried you’re just pretending.”

Marcus opens and shuts his mouth again. He hadn’t thought about it like that before.

The rest of the day goes by without any significance. He picks you up at five. Dr. Solana’s words of advice echo in his ears all day. He’s not going to tell you right now. Not with the immigration officer coming the day after tomorrow. Marcus knows you have a lot on your plate with that. He doesn’t want to add to the worry that you have.

He’ll tell you when the meetings with immigration are about to begin in just over twenty-four hours. He knows it’s prolonging everything, but he could see a life with you. Beyond just a green-card marriage. Marcus would do it again for you if asked. He’d do pretty much anything you ask him. Above all, he just wants you to be happy.

You lean your head on his shoulder. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” you ask, cutting through his ruminations.

“Huh?” Marcus blinks. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

Removing your head from his shoulder, you look at him. “Everything okay?”

Marcus smiles at you. Kisses your forehead. “Everything’s fine. Just a bit of a long day.”

It’s not a lie. He is fine. He did have a long day. He just hasn’t told you that he’s in love with you.

“You missed.”

He blinks. “What?” he asks.

“You missed,” you repeat, as if that clarifies things.

Marcus is about to ask what you mean when you press your lips to his. This one somehow feels different to the other kisses you’ve exchanged. Like you’re not pretending. Like you are kissing him for the sake of kissing him. It takes a few seconds for Marcus’s brain to catch up, for his lips to respond to yours.

Your husband can kiss. This isn’t one of those tender kisses, not one of those chaste ones. No, this one has heat and passion. His teeth graze your lips at one point, nibbling at them as he continues to kiss you. By the time you’ve broken apart for air, you’re practically sitting in his lap.

Letting out a bit of a shaky, breathy laugh, you joke, “We’re getting pretty good at this.”

Marcus’s grin is this side of devilish. “I think we need more practice.” And he kisses you again.

- - - -

Thursday morning dawns blearily. It’s cloudy and overcast, the sun refusing to come out from its grey shroud.

The condo is in tip-top shape. It looks lived in by both you and Marcus, like this is your home that you’ve shared for longer than three weeks. The case worker is arriving just before ten. Your nerves are on high alert.

Something’s changed with Marcus in the last few days. He’s still the same Marcus, but he seems more into committing to this act. You never knew he was such a good actor before this. Which doesn’t make sense. You’ve seen him act surprised at birthdays and such and he never gave off this Oscar worthy performance. This is a man who is an open book. Maybe he’s committed to this act because he knows that you have a lot to lose if the act isn’t bought.

It’s a bit heartbreaking you have to admit, knowing that this is all an act on his part. You’ve hoped that he would take the bait and realize that it isn’t an act for you. And maybe it never has been. You nearly broke down at girl’s night last night, lamenting to Nikki and Lily that your fake marriage is more real than you ever thought it would be, that you’re in love with your husband and he’s only pretending to be in love with you for the sake of your green card.

It’s a kindness he’s done for you, helping you obtain your green card like this. But you want it to be real so badly. You don’t want to get a divorce, but you know that Marcus will want one so he can be with someone he wants to be with.

“Just have sex with him!” suggested Nikki the night before. “That’ll definitely give him the hint that you want this to be a real marriage!”

You’d shaken your head. “No. That’s playing dirty, I feel like. Marcus, while he does deserve a good lay, needs to be told in an honest, upfront way. I just thought that he would not be so slow on the uptake, you know?” You sighed. “Maybe he doesn’t feel the way I thought he did. Maybe he’s just doing this so committed to better sell the story.”

Lily and Nikki both protested. They both argued that you just need to tell Marcus how you feel. “You always go after what you want. It’s a trait that I really admire in you. But I’m really confused as to why you’re not going after Marcus. Why you’re not telling him how you really feel and hiding behind this charade,” Lily said, not in an unkind way.

You’d taken a big, fortifying sip of your long island iced tea. “I’m just… scared,” you admitted. “I’m scared that I’m wrong about how he feels and that it’ll end the entire relationship, including our friendship.”

Nikki had placed her hand on yours, Lily following suit. “Or, he could feel the same way. And maybe he’s not telling you or taking the bait because he has the same worries that you’re having.”

When you’d arrived home later that night, Marcus was already in bed, reading a book. You’d quickly gotten ready for bed and curled up next to him, still slightly buzzed from your drink. Marcus kissed you on the forehead gently and tucked in next to you.

The buzzer distracts you from your reverie. “Ready?” asks Marcus.

You nod wordlessly.

Places, everyone.

The agent knocks on the door a few minutes later. You take Marcus’s hand in yours. Not so much for the act, but for reassurance. He twines your fingers together and offers a nod of encouragement before he opens the door.

“Agent Pike, Mrs. Pike, hello.” It’s the first time someone has referred to you as Mrs. Pike. You like it. “I’m John Turner, and I’m your assigned immigration officer.”

You and Marcus welcome him into the condo. You take agent Turner’s coat as Marcus offers him something to drink.

When you rejoin them, Turner is taking in the condo, a watchful, studious eye observing, trying to see if anything is amiss. There’s a folder tucked under his arm, presumably with your case information.

Marcus carries a tray into the living room with two cups of coffee for you and him and a glass of water for Agent Turner.

“So first things first,” says Turner as he sits on the chair opposite the love seat that you and Marcus sit down on, your entwined hands resting on your knee. “This isn’t an interrogation. Neither of you are in any sort of trouble. This is all standard stuff. Just to make sure everything’s accurate and as it should be so that you can get your citizenship. This is just the preliminary meeting. There will be an additional two meetings after this one, plus some discussion with the references you’ve provided,” he explains.

You nod. “Thanks so much for speeding up this process for us. It saves us both so much needless anxiety.”

“Of course. Shall we get to it?”

The questions start out basic. Full names, countries of origin, birthdates. Easy.

“When did the two of you start seeing each other?“ asks Agent Turner.

Marcus answers this question. “Five months ago.”

The immigration agent raises an eyebrow. “You got married after dating for four and a half months?”

You take this one. “Yes. We were going to wait to get married, but then I got the news about my visa expiring sooner than I thought and neither of us wanted to wait,” you explain. “And when you know, you know.” You look at Marcus affectionately. “I think I knew pretty early on.”

Marcus returns the smile. “I’ve been married and engaged before. It never felt the way it feels with her. There’s a clarity with her that didn’t exist with my ex-wife and ex-fiancée. I just want her to be happy, I would have gladly gone to Canada with her and joined the Canadian equivalent of the FBI if it meant I could be with her.”

You nod. “I know how it looks, Agent Turner. But I’m married to Marcus because I love him and didn’t want to be separated from him. It was his idea to get married so he could sponsor my citizenship application. My job is contract based and not permanent, so my boss couldn’t sponsor it. Being married to the man I love was the top priority. Him sponsoring my visa and citizenship is just an added benefit.”

Agent Turner scribbles down all that you are saying, his phone also recording everything that is being said. “I see. And what are your plans should you be accepted? Likewise if your application is rejected?”

You think for a second. “If I’m accepted and receive citizenship, I’ll continue what I’m doing now. Stay married to Marcus, do my work as an art restorer. If I’m rejected, I’ll go back to Canada.”

“With me,” adds Marcus. He doesn’t need to add more; you’d discussed it this morning, that his answer to this question would be simple and to the point. He feels the need to continue, however. “Truthfully, agent, I’d go anywhere if it meant being with her. She’s one of the best parts of my life. I can’t imagine a life without her. She makes me so happy and I love her more than I have loved anyone else. It feels like I have known her for years. To know her is to love her. And if she’s deported, there’s nothing that would stop me from following her to Canada. Yes, part of why I married her is so that she can stay here, her life is here now. But I married her because I wanted to. I love her. I want to spend my life with her.”

Your heart is about to burst with emotion and love for Marcus. He didn’t have to say all that. You just wish it was true.

All the same, you add, “Being married to Marcus is something that is just so wonderful. I’ve loved him for a long time. We’ve been friends for years, but being his wife is just so much sweeter because of it. I’m married to my best friend. He’s the love of my life and I’m just so lucky that I have him as my husband. He talked about how he would follow me anywhere to be with me and it’s the same for me. I’d go with him anywhere if it meant being together. Home is wherever he is.” You look at Marcus, the emotional look on your face hopefully saying everything that you can’t put into words.

Just because Marcus probably didn’t fully mean what he said, doesn’t mean you can’t mean what you say.

- - - -

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly. He’s there for about an hour total. When he leaves, your shoulders immediately relax; while Marcus was a calming influence during the meeting, you couldn’t help but be nervous and tense.

Marcus makes lunch in silence. You watch his back as he makes some sandwiches, the movement of his back muscles beneath his dress shirt. You can’t take it anymore. “Why did you say those things?” you ask.

Marcus turns, butter knife paused in midair between the bread and the jar of mayonnaise. “What things?” he asks.

“The things about following me anywhere and all that.”

Marcus pauses, his heart in his throat. “I said those things…” He takes a breath, sees you watching him intently. “I said those things because they are true.”

You gasp softly. “You did?”

He nods. “I did. I’m in love with you, I think I have been for a while. It just took a while for me to catch up.”

Your eyes narrow. “Is that why you offered to marry me?”

“Not entirely. I didn’t want you to get married to someone you didn’t know or like. My intentions were always platonic. But then… I don’t know. My heart and my brain caught up with each other. But I was just so worried that you didn’t feel the same. That this was still just an act for you.”

It takes a full sixty seconds to process what he’s said. Something finally clicks in your mind. And then you burst into laughter. At Marcus’s confused look, you explain, “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I thought the same thing. Because here’s the thing. I’m in love with you. And I was worried that you were just committed to the bit.”

Marcus’s look turns from confusion to realization. “You love me?” He’s still in a bit of disbelief. “All this time I thought you were committed to the act, but you’ve been trying to show me that you want more.”

You nod, realizing the same thing about Marcus’s actions. “So, we’ve both been thinking that the other is under the impression that this was still an act when we’ve both wanted more?” you surmise.

Marcus chuckles. “That’s about the long and short of it, yeah.”

“God, we’re a bunch of obtuse idiots,” you quip before closing the ever shorter gap between you and Marcus. The contact between your mouths is instant and electric. The butter knife that Marcus was still grasping clatters to the floor as he greedily kisses you, his arms wrapping around you, wanting you—needing you—closer to him. He takes you into his arms, his lips never far, and hoists you up onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist as you make out with him, sensual and sloppy and greedy. Your lipstick has transferred some to his lips. He doesn’t care. “Christ, honey, I’ve wanted you so bad for so long.”

You nod. “Me, too,” you gasp out. Marcus is pressed up enough against you that you can feel just how much he wants you, the effect you have on him. “I think we’ve waited long enough. I think it’s time we consummate this marriage. Make it real.”

Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice. Helping you down from the countertop, he leads you to the bedroom. (“As much as I want to fuck you on every surface in this house, our first time should be in our bed, honey,” he explains.)

He has you spread out on the bed. His shirt has been shucked off, his pants strewn across the room. You’ve seen him in just his swimsuit before, but in this context? Totally different. You’re practically salivating over the sight of your husband—your husband—like this, looking at you the way he is. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing kisses into every inch of skin he exposes as he helps you out of your sweater dress and leggings. “So fucking beautiful.” He kisses you on the lips with a toe-curling kiss. You haven’t even done that much yet and he already has you desperate. You grapple at his shoulders, sighing into the kiss.

“I love you,” you say in between kisses. “I love you.”

He kisses down your chest, taking extra time at the spot where your neck meets your chest, your breasts. His fingers toy with the hemline of your panties. You whine as he presses a kiss right above them. “I love you.”

The last layer of your clothing gone, Marcus goes straight to work, making you even more desperate. He’s generous and he’s methodical. He’s a giver.

It’s not very long before your husband has you reaching your first peak. Your fingers, which are twisted in his soft brown hair, tighten and he groans in pleasure. Satisfied with himself, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you.”

He doesn’t give you much time to recover, just enough time to grab a condom from the night table drawer. You are clean and on the pill but you’re still beyond words to tell him that. Next time.

Before you have fully processed what is happening, Marcus has buried himself inside you, inch by inch. He gives you a second to adjust (your latent suspicions about his size confirmed) and then he moves. “Marcus, oh my God,” you gasp, your voice reedy with need.

“T-take what you need,” he stutters, your hips snapping against his as you move together.

“You—you too,” you manage to stammer out.

Neither of you last long, all of the pent up feelings quickly coming to the surface. Your need for him supersedes everything else. Marcus stills and groans, kissing you through your collective high.

He’s still inside you as you both settle down. You kiss his shoulder, his neck then pull back, still breathless. “Why the hell did we wait so long to do that?” you ask once you’ve caught your breath a little.

Marcus shakes his head. “I have no idea. But we’re going to make up for missing out on it for so long. I promise, Mrs. Pike.” His eyes twinkle and you can see how happy he is to be able to call you that.

“I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Pike.” You kiss the tip of his nose.

Lunch goes forgotten until you stumble out of the bedroom a few rounds later to get something to eat and drink.

- - - -

Two years later…

“Honey, are we getting a divorce this year?” Marcus asks as he nips at your neck from behind you.

You reach back to touch his face. “Mmmm… I don’t think so. I’m too used to being married to you now. Maybe next year.”

Marcus spins you so that you’re facing him. He’s still warm and sweaty from what you were just doing a few minutes ago. “Mmmm…” he growls before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. “Me too.”

It isn’t long before you’re on top of him again; he’s still inside you so not much effort is needed. It’s been two years of absolute bliss. The rest of your application process went smoothly and it didn’t take long until you had received full citizenship (you and Marcus had been otherwise occupied when the phone call came). You took the last citizenship test needed and passed with flying colours.

Since then, you’ve left the Smithsonian and relocated to the Jeffersonian, acting as the official liaison to the FBI’s art department in a permanent position. Not long after receiving your green card, you and Marcus hosted a wedding reception where your mom finally got to meet your husband. It was there that Rachel finally gave you the wedding photos. The one she took of you and Marcus right before the kiss that made you husband and wife hangs in your bedroom, showing the mutual love and awe that you and Marcus share for each other long before either of you fully realized it.

Your honeymoon, taken a month after you received full citizenship, was nothing short of magical. Marcus took you to Mallorca and you spent two weeks soaking up the sun (that is, once you broke in the bed a few times together once you arrived at the villa you were renting).

You and Marcus are a team. A true husband and wife. Sure, you have problems every now and again, but it’s nothing that you can’t solve together. You’re a team, and nothing is hidden from each other, always on the same page as each other.

Divorce has become a running joke between you; it’s the last thing either of you wants. You’re happy together, you’re going to spend the rest of your lives together. He feels like home, he’s a steady, sturdy force in your life that you were missing up until marrying him. And you’re the same for him. You never thought it would end up this way, but you’re so glad and so lucky that it did. You are married to your best friend. Life can’t be sweeter than that.

The End

--- taglist in reblog.

#pedro pascal #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #my fic #my writing #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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undead-merman · 2 years

Note

I can't find the one where mc finds a harpy egg and takes it back to the brothers to raise (also harpies) can you link it for me? Thx

So the original post the asker no longer has their age in their bio so I want to delete the ask and post it here.

Poly harpy brothers with an abandoned egg GN-Reader SFW

Finding the egg

You have been on a walk through the tall mountain that you've called home for a long time now, and you decided to take a longer walk than normal. You head off the beaten path to a new patch of trees and cliffsides. You nearly trip after a big step down and tumble off the cliff when you grab a hanging root and pull yourself up.

You find a nest and it's barely even held together. The twigs and moss are ripped and broken, and a few eggs that sit inside are broken. Most likely, eaten by something. You are glad that whatever it is did leave one tiny egg.

It looked way too sad. You couldn't just leave it there, even if the brothers were the only ones allowed on this mountain top. You scooped it up and held it close and you made sure to go back carefully.

When you get back, everyone is still out, so you make your way to the family nest and sit next to it and try to warm it up.

When they came back and saw the egg, they all bickered and squawked over whose egg it was. When you reminded them that you're a human and told them how you found it and wanted to take care of it.

Satan told you it was likely the egg wouldn't hatch if it had been alone for too long and Lucifer agreed, but taking a look at it, sure enough it was a healthy egg.

Asmodeus was a bit uncomfortable with the idea, but if you wanted to take care of it he couldn't stop you. He couldn't think of an alternative anyway. He couldn't leave an egg all by himself.

Mammon hated the idea. He tried to see if he could pawn it on someone else, but when you gave him those big eyes he grumbled and kicked his talons around before curling his wing around you both.

Leviathan was scared, not exactly sure if he was responsible enough to help, let alone be around it without something going wrong. But you looked so happy. He couldn't take that happiness away.

Satan was interested in it. He wanted to see if it would act like a human when you raised it. He was also intrigued by the egg shape and color. He'd never seen an egg like that and was interested in the type of harpy that might hatch from it.

Lucifer didn't care either way. Just as long as you take care of it. If you couldn't, he'd find someone who could. It's a big decision. You better be ready for it.

Beelzebub was quite excited about the idea of making their family a bit bigger. His feathers puffed up as soon as he saw you with it, and now that everyone has agreed he's already thinking of names for it.

Belphegor didn't think too much of it but was happy he now had an excuse to sleep more. Warm an egg? No problem. And if it was with you that's even better.

Taking care of it

Some of them have helped rear eggs before. Beelzebub being the main one, with Lucifer right behind him. It's been a very long time so the process takes a while to get back into.

They take shifts watching over the egg with you. And with you being human they have to do most of the work.

Lucifer just has it sit in your lap as he wraps his wings around you to keep you both warm. He reminds you every once in a while to rotate the egg gently.

Mammon begrudgingly sits with it, grumbling about how he doesn't want to do this and how embarrassing it is. You can shut him up with a kiss or even call it Little Mammon for a bit and he gets attached. Maybe even to a point where he tries to take it from the others.

Leviathan tries his hardest to help, but with how small it is, he's convinced he's going to somehow fall over and turn it Sunny Side up. He has you hold it and wraps you both up as he fixes the nest more than warms the egg. Yes, he's excited to see it, but how will he cope? You look too adorable right now.

Satan didn't mind his duties. He took them rather seriously. He'd have it in his lap as he read and even had you sit next to him as he did it. He used the old candling technique to make sure it was developing correctly and even praised you for how well you're doing.

Asmodeus is fawning over you, his wings flapping as he gets a good look at you. Oh you're just so adorable with an egg sitting all pretty in the nest. It's a shame you could make more with him, but one is fine for now. He cuddles up with you and keeps the egg nice and tucked between you. It's hard to imagine he's ever had a problem with it before. Now he's polishing the shell and kissing it.

Beelzebub is brimming with excitement as he takes his turn. He ends up bringing back more food than he needs to, claiming it's for the chick. He sits with you. The egg in your lap and you are in his lap as you both hold each other. He makes sure to keep it clean and even gets a bit broody. He'll slap away his brothers if they are being too troublesome around it and finds comfort when he's around it.

Belphegor doesn't change much. He seeks it out only so he can nap with the both of you. Tucked next to him as his wing covers it and holds you close to his chest.

When they are all together, they leave a space for you and the egg, and for the first time since you've known them, they don't toss and turn. They lay perfectly still.

Hatching

When you're holding it, you can feel it wiggle and even a small cheap from inside, and when the others hear they all flock to you.

The tiny egg hatches, and it's unlike any other harpy they've seen. They’ve never seen one with such an interesting pattern. It must be from a different land. It falls right on you and when it opens its eyes, it just cuddles up to you. Some of them are jealous but the others smack them for being ridiculous.

The chick is perky and ready to run after a few days, and it follows you everywhere. It never leaves your side and the way it runs is almost comical with how it tries to flap its tiny underdeveloped wings to keep up.

Your family grew a little. And while it's hard to adjust it seems like everything is moving along well and everyone seems to be happy.

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joelmillersdumbslut · 9 months

Text

I took your matches before fire could catch me

(joel miller x f!reader) 18+ part one

summary: Who knew meeting Joel Miller on a dating app would turn into the world's worst first date? (no outbreak. no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors do NOT interact) warnings (for this chapter): age gap (reader is in late 20's, joel is mid 50's), dirty talk, pet names, fingering, dubious consent, p in v sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, drinking, hand kink, referenced cheating, degradation, angst, orgasm delay/denial. word count: 2.4k a/n: this is my first ever fic, please be gentle :')) a03 link

Another Friday night with a bottle of wine and shitty reality tv to keep you company. It suddenly hits you. Pangs of loneliness. You’re nearly 28 years old and you’re destined for the single life. Relationships never seem to last with you, or at least make it past the honeymoon phase. You take a sip straight from the bottle as you curse the boys who pretend to be men. The ones who’ve fucked you over, the ones who “aren’t ready for a relationship” after declaring their love for you and fucking you for six months, but will change their status and post a picture on Facebook with their arms wrapped around a new woman days after your breakup. When will it be your turn?

You’re soon drunk enough to make questionable decisions. You download that new dating app your friends keep gushing about. Lily. You tap on your phone screen, a picture of a flower loading up with the catchphrase “Are you ready for your love to bloom?” You groan at that alone, tempted to turn right around and delete the app already. But, something inside you tugs at you to give it a try anyway. You upload pictures, some selfies, some with friends, some candids at the beach, at a concert, at the park. Your bio is hard to come up with though. How can you use 400 characters to describe yourself to a stranger? You settle with including your name, a generic title of your occupation, some of your hobbies, and ending it with an open invitation for drinks. There. Easy enough, right?

Now, it’s time to swipe. Apparently when you like someone’s profile, you send them a virtual flower. A lily, to be exact. In order to message someone, they have to send you a lily back. You start to wonder if this app can get any cornier when your first profile appears in the queue. He’s an older man. 56 to be exact. You don’t remember setting an age limit, but you’re intrigued by his handsome appearance. His dark hair appears to be graying, his brown eyes sinking into you from beyond the screen. You swipe through his profile. He has nothing written so you have to guess his personality and hobbies from the pictures alone. There’s a picture of him with a teenage girl. Maybe his daughter? Another one of him playing guitar. Maybe he likes music. Maybe he’s a rockstar. He looks rugged enough to be one. A picture of him sitting at a table in red flannel with a beer in hand, a small smile emerging from behind his facial hair. He’s… hot. And too old for you. Fuck it. You send him a lily. Then you throw your phone down and pace all night wondering if he’ll send you one back.

In the morning, you're matched with Joel.

—

You ask Joel out for drinks. Immediately within your first message. All the dating advice given to you by the Internet says not to wait. Get to know someone as fast as possible for best results. No time to get attached if it doesn’t work out. You’re not much of a texter anyway, so you ask him if he wants to grab some beers at your favorite dive bar. You hate beer. You hate dive bars. But, you’d be willing to drink a thousand pale ales if it meant you got to share this attractive man’s air supply.

Joel simply says, “Yes.”

—

You realize you stand out at the bar. And not in a good way. You wanted to wear something to reflect your personality. So, you picked out a baby pink bodycon dress that stops at the middle of your thighs. You paired it with your favorite white ankle strap heels. Perfect for a night club. Not for meeting a middle aged dad at a dive bar. You decided you’d worry about that later.

You’re early. Like always. You belly up to the bar, unsure of what to order. You assume they don’t have your favorite brand of white wine, so you ask for your dad’s go-to. Whiskey on the rocks. It’s bitter, and you begin to gag as a man comes up behind you, resting his hand on the small of your back. The smell of sandalwood and dirt pierces your nostrils. You turn to see Joel. He’s wearing jeans and that red flannel from his picture.

“I like women who can hold their liquor,” he states, looking you up and down.

“Well, that’s not me,” you wince, eager to change the subject. “You must be Joel?”

You choose to go for a hug, he holds out his hand instead. The two of you stare at each other, reaching a stalemate, the jukebox in this shitty ass bar blasting a country song you hate. You shake his hand. Noticing his fingers are rough, calloused, and thick. Probably from the guitar playing. Maybe he really is a rockstar.

You sit down on the bar stool, crossing your legs as best as you can. It’s probably not wise to flash a man on the first date. Joel requests a beer from the bartender, and the two of you look anywhere but each other. You start to ask questions.

“So. You play guitar?”

“Yeah.”

“What music do you play?”

“All kinds.”

“Okay. What’s your favorite song to play?”

“Don’t know.”

You pound back your whiskey, slam the glass on the counter, and motion the bartender for another.

“Is that your daughter in your picture?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s her name?”

“Sarah.”

“Oh, that’s nice. How old is she?”

“Sixteen.”

“Cool. You a single dad then?”

“Yeah.”

You squint at him. This is worse than pulling teeth without Novocain. You decide to launch the ball into his court.

“So. Is there anything you wanna know about me?”

“Yeah, actually. Ain’t you the one who fucked Tommy? While he was still married?”

Your skin ignited. The wind completely knocked out of you. How does he know about… that? How does he know about the guy you slept with one time in college? And even worse, does he know how much you enjoyed the affair, even though you ruined that guy’s marriage and, ostensibly, the rest of his life?

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” you muse, trying to keep your cool.

Joel slams the beer bottle on the counter, its contents flying out the neck and hitting your dress. You stand up, wobbly deer in headlights.

“How do you know?” is all you can whisper.

“Because he’s my brother.”

Tears began welling up in your eyes, your hands shaking. “I was 21, I didn’t know any better.”

“Whatever.” Joel says, turning away from you.

You grab your purse and sprint to the bathroom. Congratulations, you’ve just set a new record for the world's worst first date.

—

You stare in the mirror. Tears streaming down your face. Your makeup is ruined. You’ve accepted that. You’re so angry that this old memory is bubbling up to the surface. The one you’ve tried so hard to push down for the past six years. You met Tommy at a bar while out with your college friends. You noticed the wedding ring, the framed photos on the walls of his living room, but you fucked him anyways. And you left your underwear behind for his wife to find. You enjoyed every moment of it. You even got off to the memories of that one night stand for months after the fact. You’re a goddamn monster. You’ve accepted that.

But, what you can’t accept is that Joel just ruined your favorite dress.

You take a deep breath between sobs, scrounging through your purse for a Xanax. The bathroom door is kicked open, and you turn to yell at the intruder to get out.

But, it’s Joel.

You stare at him with a blank expression while he locks the door behind him. Something you were too distressed to do.

“What are you doing?” you whisper. “Haven’t you had enough from humiliating me in public?”

“No,” he exhales.

Joel quickly shoves you up against the wall. Your purse and its belongings clatter against the dirty floor. You gulp as his left arm leans against the wall, the other reaching up to caress your cheek.

“What was it like?” he asks.

“What was... what like?” you counter.

“Don’t get smart with me.”

You feel like you should be scared. But, you’re not. If anything, you’re super turned on right now while the brother of the man you had an affair with all those years ago begins to fondle you in the bathroom of a dive bar.

Joel’s right hand grabs your breast, he toys with it while staring into your eyes. You can’t help but moan and he pinches harder.

“Answer me,” he growls.

“It was… It was stupid. I was a dumb college girl and what I did was wrong.”

“Then, why’d you do it?”

You swallow. His hand moves down, brushing against your stomach, heading towards the hem of your dress.

“Is this how you treat every girl on the first date? Corner her and interrogate her li-li-like a creep?” you try to sound venomous, but your words are shaky. He notices.

“You can leave any time you want, babygirl.”

The word “babygirl” causes a sensation to ripple through your core. You feel a wetness spreading between your thighs. What the fuck is wrong with you?

You finally answer, “I just wanted his attention. I’ve always liked… Older men.”

Joel pauses, his hand hovering over your thighs. He meets your gaze again.

“Do you now?”

Then he pounces. Before you can even comprehend what’s happening, his fingers are inside your underwear, rubbing your clit. Your head hangs forward as you moan against his touch.

“That what you sounded like when Tommy touched you?”

“N-no,” you sputter, your hips bucking up involuntarily.

“I wanna hear what you sounded like.”

Joel spins you around so you’re facing the wall now, his fingers still groping your pussy. He hikes up your dress and pulls your underwear to the side.

“Wh-why do you wanna hear? You a pervert?” you shoot back at him, but your body betrays you and a gush of wetness secretes from between your thighs.

“You’re a naughty fuckin’ girl, you know that?” Joel mutters in your ear. You hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, something prodding against your back. Something big.

“Someone needs to teach you a lesson,” he adds, his fingers now tracing your entrance.

“For what? Fucking your brother? Sounds like someone’s jealous,” you spit. “Like you can still get it up anyway.”

And with that, Joel’s fingers pound into you, a whine fleeing your throat. It hurts at first, but the enjoyment you’re experiencing is quickly overpowering. You shudder at the way his fingers glide in and out of you at a rapid pace.

“Too quiet,” Joel grumbles, biting at your neck. “I wanna hear what you sounded like.”

“You wanna hear me? I’ll make sure everybody in the fucking bar hears me,” you hiss back at him and begin to wail with pleasure.

You quickly feel a pressure growing inside your lower belly. You feel startled, your hands grasping against the wall for anything to hold onto.

“Did Tommy make you cum like this?” Joel whispers in your ear.

You shake your head violently. How does this man know you’re so close already?

“Wanna hear you, babygirl.”

Fuck. There it is again.

You moan Joel’s name as loud as you physically can while your body tenses up and you ultimately surrender to its release. You glance in the mirror on the other side of the room. Watching yourself get finger fucked by this strange old man in a bar bathroom sends you over the edge. What kind of person have you turned into?

Before you can even catch your breath, you feel the tip of his cock plunging into you. You let out a yelp, and you feel Joel’s hand on top of yours. He’s still covered in your cum, and his fingers interlace with yours.

“If you can fuck Tommy, you can take daddy’s cock.”

Your eyes are nearly bulging out of your fucking skull. You try to distract yourself from how turned on you are, how your pussy is already throbbing for more. Especially at the mere mention of Joel calling himself, “daddy.”

“Daddy, huh? You really are a pervert,” you cough as Joel pushes into you.

“You need to be punished,” is all he says. You feel his cock sitting inside you, but Joel doesn’t move. You start whining, rocking your hips back and forth in an attempt to get friction, something, anything. Joel’s hands are immediately on your hips, forcing you to sit still.

“You ruined my favorite dress, the least you can do is make me cum,” you snap at him, squirming in place.

“And you ruined my brother’s life, the least you can do is take your punishment like a good girl.”

This was the most you’d heard him speak all evening. Was he really this hung up on something that happened years ago? And not even directly to him?

Before you can unleash another quip, a heavy groan escapes Joel as he begins to pump relentlessly. Guess he had enough of trying to punish you too.

“You’re a brat, you know that?” he snarls, his fingers digging into your hips again, bruises already forming underneath your soft skin.

“I always get what I want,” you murmur, feeling the pressure building inside you again. Your body starts clenching down on his, you begin to pant against the wall. You’re so fucking close.

“Don’t think so, babygirl,” Joel grunts, quickly pulling out.

Instinctively, you whine, and are about to call him a two pump chump when you realize he’s cumming all over your back. His sticky essence dripping down your skin. Your pussy throbs, dissatisfied with the neglect he gave you. Turning around, you see his pants already buckled again and he’s taking off his flannel, tossing it at you. Before you can process what is happening, you glance in the mirror realizing there are now not only beer stains, but also cum stains all over your favorite dress. You catch the shirt in your hands and stand there, mouth agape, as Joel leaves the restroom in a huff.

—

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel x you #joel x reader #joel miller #joel tlou

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bowsellie · 8 months

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better than revenge - pt 2

fic warnings: cheating, angst, love triangle. abby x reader, reader x ellie, abby x ellie kind of. MDNI, smut

part 1 part 3

warnings: not proof read! ellie x reader, smut without feelings, kind of toxic!reader, manipulatey!reader, SMUT, MDNI. oral (r! receiving), face fucking (e! receiving), praise, pet names.

The rest of the night was spent internet sleuthing. Going through the girls Abby followed named Ellie--of which there were three--and finding the only one with a pride flag in her bio. Requesting to follow and scrolling through her posts to confirm that she was exactly Abby's type. Liking a few of her recent posts to show her you've been looking, then going through your mutual friends to figure out your common link.

After some time gathering information, you decided to send her a message.

hey, idk if you know me but we have a couple friends in common. I can't believe we've never met, you seem so cool!

Shortly, a response came.

oh, hey! yeah I've seen you around but never had the chance to introduce myself haha. well, I'm ellie (obviously).

You let yourself fall into the comfortable lull of flirting with Ellie. Complimenting her appearance, her vibe. Mentioning your queerness. Bringing up the potential to meet up in person. Everything that had worked on Abby seemed to be working on Ellie.

oh, are you still dating that abby girl?

Shit.

oh, her. idk honestly haha. we're on a break or something, but I don't think we'll get back together. I kind of have my eye on someone else.

who?

You looked at her message, considering for a moment before the three dots on Ellie's side popped up again.

do I know them at least? I won't say anything if I do--swear.

how about we go out to coffee and I can tell you then?

Nervousness and excitement danced in your gut as you watched for her response. When the little "yes" appeared, you smiled to yourself and began to make plans to see Ellie.

---💗💗💗---

"You're so pretty, baby."

Ellie's mouth was against your ear, breathing hot and humid as you whimpered. Her knee grinding against your cunt, pressing into the seam of your jeans and expertly growing a pressure there that you knew would pay off sweetly.

Her soft mouth moved to kiss your face all over. Cheeks, brows, lips, as she whispered praises in between. "Prettiest girl I've ever seen. So perfect. I bet you're so sweet." At this suggestion, your hips bucked upwards and elicited a louder groan out of your mouth. "You want me to taste you, sweet girl?"

You nodded quickly, somewhat dazed already. Sex with Abby hadn't felt this good since the very beginning of your relationship, when sparks were still flying and the fire in your bellies was bright. Before the domesticity, and the comfort, and...

You should probably stop thinking about your girlfriend while fucking another girl.

Tuning back in, you noticed that Ellie had pulled your jeans and panties down in one swipe and was resting her cheek on your thigh, looking up at you with hungry eyes. Making eye contact, she leaned forward slowly until her warm mouth attached itself to your cunt. You closed your eyes as you moaned, immediately overwhelmed by how warm and wet and good it felt to have Ellie's tongue playing through your folds. She teased at your clit before moving back down and giving long licks to your pussy, listening attentively to what made you pant and groan and squirm underneath her. She focused more and more attention on your pulsing clit, sucking it between her teeth harshly and applying pressure that made your back arch and thighs clasp around her head. Your hands took two chunks of her hair and began to pull her closer to you, pushing your hips against her mouth as she sucked and lick at your clit. Tensing up and practically shouting her name, you came messily over her mouth.

Ellie leaned away and looked up at you with a grin, wiping her mouth on her hand. "You are sweet." She leaned forward over your body to kiss you sloppily, the tangy taste of pussy on your tongue.

“Ellie,” you whined. “I wanna taste you.”

“Want me to fuck your face, pretty girl?” You nodded enthusiastically, reaching to pull her close to you. Ellie discarded her jeans, moving to position herself above your face. She held you by your hair and lowered her wet cunt over your mouth, holding you still as she ground over your extended tongue.

The girl above you was a grunter. Between praises of how good you were doing, she was breathing out carnal pants and groans that grew louder when she began to increase the pressure. Your jaw was sore, but you knew Ellie was close as your teeth bumped against her clit one, two, three times. As her rhythm stuttered and the grip on your hair loosened, Ellie’s thighs squeezed tight around your head as she came right on your tongue. Your tastes blended into something strong that stayed on your tongue as Ellie climbed off your face, kissing your hair and heading towards the bathroom to grab a washcloth and clean you off.

Wiping down your legs and chin, you sat up and began retrieving your discarded clothes. Ellie sat on the edge of the bed, shy in a contrast to her precious persona. “Have somewhere to be?” she asked. She placed her weight on one hand behind her in an attempt to look casual, but a crease sat between her eyebrows.

“Yeah, it’s late and I have to get home. This was great though. I want to see you again.” Your words came out rushed, and you glanced up at Ellie.

“Yeah, let’s do this again. Should I, I don’t know, walk you home or something?”

You shook your head, already halfway out the door. “No no no, don’t worry about that.”

Suddenly, your plan was getting risky. Yes, you wanted Abby to find out and be jealous. But how were you planning to tell her? How would she actually react? The foundation began to crumble and you bit the bottom of your lip raw on the way home.

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #abby anderson #ellie smut #ellie tlou #ellie williams smut

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graytrailcam · 2 months

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Indie Xenofiction; Data Lion

"Data Lion is a short visual novel about a lion who gets a camera collar put on him by a group of scientists wanting to document his journey. It has choices, 2 love interests, and many alternate endings including bad ends (game overs)!

The idea was inspired by masterpieces like The Lion King and the manga/anime Kimba The White Lion."

Found this game while searching around on Itchio, the game is completely free to download and can be completed within just a few hours. It is described by the author as being unfinished in its current state, but I think it can be played through completely with a feeling of some satisfaction. Here is the link for those interested

More in depth review under the cut featuring spoilers. If you're looking to play I do recommend going in blind, it's fairly simple and the fun is really found in unlocking the CGs, which isn't too hard to do.

This is a short game that reminds me a lot of media I grew up with on dA back in the day, so it was very entertaining. I can definitely tell this takes a lot more inspiration from Kimba than it does TLK with a lot of its story concepts and overall character design. The game itself runs on a seven day cycle so it's fairly short.

I enjoyed the main character's design, he's an intersex, mostly maneless lion that you can name, though the default name that pops up is 'Lion McLionface' (your character was supposedly named via an Internet poll made by the scientists attaching your radio collar)

You're also able to choose your stats, as this game does have (extremely basic and limited) combat. For my playthrough I named the lion 'Lasaga' to be a bit silly and I dumped all my stats into strength.

I'm not really sure what the stats of Skill and Speed do for you. I completed the game by getting all the CGs and didn't encounter anything that was explicitly skill or speed required, perhaps it has a factor in combat that I'm unaware of.

You make a series of choices, some meaningful some not as most of them lead to the same exact events playing out. You can acquire the only pickable item, a thorn you can use in combat, in the game earlier on based on where you choose to make your home if you pick the Acacia Tree.

At some point a Safari Car will come by and observe you, if you make the right dialogue choices you can get some exposition on the setting you're in.

The animals in this particular section of Africa are apparently Bio-Engineered to have heightened, near human intelligence. The author of the game, Caveboy Tup has elaborated in a comment on the game's itchio page which I'll leave below;

This is definitely something that shows a lot of Kimba inspiration though it goes in a different direction that has some interesting implications. I would have been interested to see this explored in a more elaborate narrative.

The two love interests in this game are Jetsway and Rrred;

Their routes are very straight forward, I'd say you would have to really go out of your way to not pursue either of them, which makes it easy to pick and choose which one you 'romance', as it's also pretty bare bones in that regard too.

The one most advertised is definitely Rrred the lion who is featured more prominently on the game's page. He's not got a whole lot of depth, you have the choice to fight him or join up with him in a coalition immediately upon meeting him.

I do like the game's expression work, I find the animals emote in ways that are fun to look at and easy to read.

If you defeat him he will simply retreat and will show up again later to give some brief exposition on Jetsway's character.

Joining up with him starts his short route, which mostly consists of him scaring off crocodiles at the watering hole for you, which you are able to avoid without him regardless (The only time my character got a bad end was when I chose the wrong evasion option at this point in the story) The other portion is an encounter with a clan of hyenas that was pretty comedic, this got a good laugh out of me. It was the only time the game was particularly vulgar.

You escape the hyenas, as you are outnumbered no matter how high your strength stat is. The rest of the route is pretty uneventful, you travel together and it's implied there's some romantic interest between the two of you.

I will admit I found Rrred to be the less interesting of the two routes but I can see what appeal they were going for here.

The other route is Jetsway's which I found to have slightly more meat on its bones.

You meet Jetsway first in fact while looking for food but he only says that the radio collar you have on means you aren't one of his 'targets' before sprinting away.

Encountering him later finds him injured in the middle of the night after a fight.

There's more lore exposition with Jetsway regarding the largely left out bio-engineering aspect. He's some creature part of Glo's work that was created by them, it's specified he has some sort of Tech in his eye that isn't explained very much.

Poking around the dialogue options with him will give you the option of fighting him once he reveals he got these injuries fighting and killing lions, which explains why he specified you weren't a target earlier.

Upon defeating him, you can kill him here which I found interesting. But you can also choose to stay the night and nurse his wounds until he recovers.

You are given the option to walk him back home, and doing so will trigger an interaction between you two and Rrred, who calls Jetsway a murderer. Pushing Jetsway for more answers will only get you this in response.

There is no further elaboration on this plot point after this. I assume given the larger narrative that was mentioned by the creator that he's killing lions that are either human aggressive or resistant/unsuccessful in the Bio Engineering stuff. But that's only an educated guess.

Walking him home will after lead you to Utke town, where he says the humans will give him more medical treatment but that your character cannot stay.

You're able to stay the night, where you'll find Jetsway gone in the morning, but you are spotted by a Glo operative prior to this who takes this photo of you and Jetsway to 'share on the internet'.

After these two CG's, the final day is always the same. Your radio collar falls off on the seventh day and the scientists come to retrieve it. You have two options after this, to hide in wait to observe the humans at first, which will lead to you being tranquilized again while they retrieve your collar.

You can also attack the scientists, which will result in you ripping off the arm of one of them, the one named Saito.

They escape you after this, and leads to the final CG where Saito has been given a replacement prosthetic arm.

This concludes the game as currently published. I found it very charming to play and a nice way to spend part of an afternoon. It was definitely worth sharing since I haven't seen anyone discuss playing it or knowing it exists.

#data lion #visual novel #lions #xenofiction #video games #gray plays #gray plays data lion

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disneydreamlights · 29 days

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New scam going around. Url censored so people don't accidentally donate.

Red flags:

OP does not follow me at all.

OP's blog is less than 24 hours old.

OP only has a few reblogs. Only original post is this.

Other blog's with OP's bio exact quote. "luckily the air I breathe is still free" is a common one for pulmonary fibrosis patient scams going around on tumblr.

Google reverse image search leads to an actual go fund me style campaign (which positively, the person OP stole their pfp from does appear to have reached her goal.) They also stole several pieces of text from her campaign bio itself, except of course without the name attached to the campaign.

(I did not click the paypal link. I know better than to check random links on the internet, though I'm sure the name attached to the paypal doesn't match that of the go fund me as well.)

And then as a final warning the blog has blocked me after I linked the actual gofundme, while I was in the process of writing this post.

Remember when you get sent asks to always verify the information first. These guys have a pretty good guide to it that holds up well today.

Learn the signs of a tumblr scam when you see one. Don't get duped.

#personal stuff #I decided to just put it in my personal tag #Still posting the warning to my followers but not posting it in main tags #Don't want to invite more of these in

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15minlatewithbatbucks · 5 months

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untitled janet/talia, Bruce's bio kid Tim AU -> no choice but to love you pt. 4

AO3 Link (a little behind, but better edited)

---

“This is outrageous.”

Bruce sighed, head propped up on a fist and still looking through the results of his last hour or so of intensive research. He felt more than he heard Talia move behind him and begin threading sharp nails through his hair soothingly. He might be tempting to take the comfort at face value, but knew she was likely only reading over his shoulder again.

Bruce hadn’t handed Janet’s little gifts off to any of his people. He could do it himself, after all, and something about her story had rang true enough that Bruce wanted to initially limit the number of people that knew. He couldn’t justify not telling Talia, however, and had called her on his way down to one of the labs on the lower floor.

Talia dealt with things best after she got her initial gut reaction out of the way and could be logical about the whole thing.

She strolled into WE even before the rapid DNA test was finished, not a hair out of place. She sat with him until the results came back confirming that the owner of the provided DNA sample was definitely the biological child of Bruce Wayne. And then she started pacing while Bruce got to work.

For her benefit, he clicked over to the basic background he’d run on Janet Drake. Talia sniffed derisively at the attached photo, the one she’d provided for her passport.

“You really laid with her, beloved?” she asked, voice appropriately morose.

Bruce didn’t believe it for a second. “What, like you wouldn’t have?”

“You are avoiding the question,” she said, similarly avoiding the question. “Why her?”

“We weren’t together at the time. I was traveling without Dick or Alfred and ended up in Cypress for a few days. I witnessed her get off the phone and throw her wedding band into the pool and offered to buy her a drink,” he explained and shrugged. “We were both from Gotham and homesick. I asked, but birth control can fail.”

“Or she lied.”

“She didn’t.” Bruce began pulling up medical files for Talia to peruse. Her hair dragged across his neck as she leaned in to see better and he couldn’t resist tilting his head to rest against her. “I pulled her medical files. She had an IUD at the time of conception and had to fly back to Gotham to have it removed. He ordered bed rest and even so the chance of a miscarriage was so high that she was warned not to name the- the fetus.”

“The baby,” Talia corrected for him. “Your baby.”

Wordlessly, Bruce straightened and pulled up a picture of little Timothy Jackson Drake. Unlike most heirs of Gotham’s elite, pictures of the boy were few and far between on social media or in the press. So, naturally, Bruce hacked into Janet’s cloud in hopes of finding more.

He did, but not by much. Travel logs put the Drakes out of the country for a good chunk of the year and only a very broken trail of nannies left to mind the little boy while his parents were off globetrotting. Only their housekeeper had been with the family for more than a year.

And they wanted another, Bruce thought despairingly.

“He looks like you,” Talia said, an almost sad twist to her mouth making Bruce want to lean in and kiss it away. “Exactly like you. Jack Drake must be a fool.”

“I was bigger at his age,” Bruce said carelessly, carefully spinning around to face her. She let him take her hands and look hard into her eyes. “Listen to me. This doesn’t change the love I have for you or Damian. This was an accident, yes, but there’s no reason being angry with Janet or Tim.”

Talia’s own piercing green eyes searched his face while he tried to work against his training and remain open and honest. He owed her transparency. He owed her the world for sacrificing her entire life when she abandoned her family and the League.

“What does this Janet want with us?” she asked after a long moment, taking her hands back from Bruce. She instead wrapped them comfortably around her baby bump.

“She said that Tim’s parentage came into question when she and Jack tried for another baby.” And because if he could be petty with anyone, he could be petty with Talia, he added, “Because I guess having a child fixed their marriage so well in the first place.”

Talia’s eyes strayed back to the screen where Tim’s picture was still prominently displayed. “He does not look like a miracle worker, but I suppose I will have to reserve my judgments until I meet the boy at least. I notice that he does not, in fact, have any siblings.”

“Jack’s infertile,” he said. “Or close enough. When he found out, he ordered a paternity test and filed for divorce the next day.”

“Quick. Efficient.”

“Janet tells me that he’s the one that wanted children and that she doubts her ability to care for Tim on her own.”

“He means to leave her destitute?” Talia asked, leaning over Bruce to click back to his profile on Janet. She scrolled through to look for other pictures, faculty IDs and visa photos and whatnot. “She’s attractive enough. She may join my harem if she so chooses.”

“But it was a problem when I slept with her,” Bruce complained. Talia flashed him a dangerous grin. “No, the divorce proceedings do seem fair to her. I think that it’s more that she doubts herself as a mother. I think she fears what damage she could do to him as a single mother that didn’t want a child in the first place.”

“She knows of your other rescues and seeks to leave him on your doorstep, then.”

“Talia,” he growled. She patted his cheek condescending.

“Relax, beloved. Jason was the one to label himself as such and Richard already loathes me,” she said. “I mean them no ill will.”

“He doesn’t loathe you.”

“He does and it works for us.” She gave an elegant shrug. “And what of Jason? You’ve only just acclimated him to our lifestyle and now you mean to add another right before Damian arrives.”

“I’ll talk to him tonight before patrol,” Bruce promised. “Jason likes other kids and it isn’t like Tim is moving in tomorrow. Janet and Tim are still living with Jack for now. With any luck, we can figure out a joint custody agreement that works for everyone. In the future Janet wants to give me primary custody, yes, but she wants to be a part of Tim’s life.”

“So we will be co-parenting with this woman,” Talia sighed dramatically and Bruce very lovingly didn’t point out that five minutes ago she had been inviting “this woman” into her harem. “While you no doubt ply her support at every opportunity. I implore you to wear a condom this time, beloved.”

Bruce straightened in his chair in indignation.

“You impregnated her through an IUD last time,” she continued. “Who knows what you could do with the woman if she’s not using birth control this time.”

Bruce, very lovingly, did point out her hypocrisy now. “Talia, you were just inviting her into your harem. I feel like you’re projecting.”

“I would never turn a straight women even if they were truly beautiful. If they are happy settling, who am I to take that from them?”

“I don’t know for sure how Janet identifies, but I can say for sure that she’s slept with at least one woman,” he said. Talia looked delighted. “Apparently she was out of the running for paternity pretty soon, though.”

“I can work with that,” she declared and gently lowered herself to his lap. He took her added weight effortlessly, wrapping his arms around her to secure their precious cargo. She kissed him, long and sweet. Against his lips, she whispered, “I am angry. I know you do not place much value on blood ties, but I…”

“I know,” he whispered back, pressing his forehead against hers. “But thank you for trying.”

“I am,” she said. She tried to breathe through the lump forming in her throat, but pressed together like they were, Bruce must have known. “I do try. It doesn’t come easy for me, but I try.”

“You make the choice to be here with me every day. You’re working so hard and I see it, Talia, I do.”

She had no words for that, so she just curled against him as best she could with little Damian between them. Not the first of Bruce’s blood sons anymore, but the first of hers and cherished all the more for it.

#tim drake #bruce wayne #talia al ghul #janet drake #my writing tag #janet doesn't know yet but talia is already planning to make janet her little meow meow #bruce is the exception but talia strikes me as mostly a lesbian #fic: no choice but to love you

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axewchao · 5 months

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Decided to turn a couple of my OCs into Zelda races!

Why? Because I know for a fact that I can't just draw Dal n' Rev all day. One day I'll branch out, and that means I need more practice with everything else Hyrule has to offer =w=

'Specially the Zoras. Those damn fish... head... tail... things =_="

I'll be sticking their mini-bios under a readmore :3

Makani

A Gerudo journeying across Hyrule. Blessed with fire magic, she left Gerudo Town to learn how to properly control said power, mainly via fighting as many monsters as she can. She hopes to one day return to the desert and challenge the legendary Molduking. Has an affinity for baking, and has considered establishing her own bakery somewhere pleasant and pretty.

While Makani has a number of goals on her mind, one she struggles with revolves around her eventually finding a voe. She doesn't want to just... have a kid for the sake of adding to the next generation, then waltz off to continue pursuing her own desires like her mother did. She wants to find a husband and start a loving family, but still has dreams, and only has so much time to do either. Subconsciously, she feels like she's being rushed to pick one thing and stick with it forever, which stresses her out.

Dusty

A Goron traveling with Makani. He considers Makani his sworn sister because of the matching heart-shaped marks (okay Dusty's is a rock) on their necks. Like his name implies, he's known for leaving large trails of dust clouds whenever he rolls around. He uses this to his advantage when fighting monsters; blocking their vision with dust, then striking from behind. He can also use the spikes on his back to scale up various walls.

Dusty is particularly fond of crashing into things. Monsters, large rocks, ore deposits, you name it, he'll crash it. Like most other Gorons, he doesn't like the taste of gems, but still collects them to make easy rupees. After hearing about the powers each gem can hold, he's kept one of each type for himself, as he's now debating over whether he should just attach them to his weapons and call it a day or keep more and have them converted into jewelry later. That "diamond circlet" thing sounds pretty badass, after all...

Tuno

A young Zora that was found washed up on the shores of Hateno Beach by Symin some time prior to the events of BotW. Rather than let the child swim back out to the unknowns of the sea, Tuno was instead brought to the Domain, where he was taken in by Laflat. Much like Link, Tuno never says a word, but can communicate with other Zoras by wiggling his fins.

Tuno has abilities similar to that of a puffer fish, in that he can puff up his tail and raise a set of spines to stab/scare any would-be assailants or threats. However, unlike puffer fish, he isn't poisonous in any way. He rarely puffs up, both because he's difficult to scare, and because it looks embarrassingly silly. The one thing that does scare him, however, is Octoroks. It's possible that some kind of Octorok had terrified Tuno in the past, maybe even drove him away from the sea entirely.

Tuna

A Hylian boy who lives at the Woodland Stable. He's Tuno's best friend, and the two are as close as siblings. Tuna often wonders if it's possible for a person to turn into a Zora, and likes to daydream about what his "Zora form" would look like. Prefers playing with the horses rather than actually tending to them, and is often begging his parents to let him start his riding lessons.

For reasons unknown, Tuna is prone to falling ill on the night of a blood moon, often left bedridden by sunset. He's become a sort of alarm at the stable because of this, where if anyone is wondering when a blood moon will rise, they just check on him. If he's feeling dizzy, that means one's coming. He'll recover the following morning without fail, but this doesn't stop his parents and fish bro from worrying about him.

#botw #loz botw #tears of the kingdom #Gerudo #Goron #Zora #Hylian #Makani Corey #Gerudo!Makani #Dusty Corey #Goron!Dusty #Tuno Beetles #Zora!Tuno #Tuna Beetles #Hylian!Tuna #i think out of all of them Tuno's my favorite #he just looks so cute as a fish kid! XD #axewchaoscribbles

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tillthelandslide · 7 months

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Same For You (2) : Your Very Own Mirror Visual

When Matty grabs her phone to take pictures of the pair, some miniscule part of her brain tells her that the situation is weird... They hadn't known each other that long, yet they were acting like they were best friends. She pushed the thought away and allowed him to take funny pictures of them both, posing in typical 'Instagram model" poses when instructed by him. She allows him to change his contact name in her phone and allows him to change his contact picture to one of them, one where they're looking at each other and sticking their tongues out. She smiles at the picture but it doesn't feel like she's looking at herself, instead she's looking at this new version of herself and she doesn't hate what she sees. Matty clicks on his contact number, attaching some of the photos they had taken and sending it to himself. He slides the phone back over to her and turns to face her again, placing his hand in his palm as he looks at her. "I like hanging out with you, you're just like me" he says and she nods. "Your very own mirror" "I like that... You should write that down" he says, sliding her notebook towards him and scribbling the words on an empty page.

Taglist: @scooby-doodoo @thereisaplaceintheheart @theoriginalwhatsername @eaglestar31 @thefrontofmymind @fallingforel @partoftheairforce @procrastinatinglikeapro @poisonmedaddy13 @xthe1975 @all-things-fic @jstbeeingme @rossgirly @juliardk @you-muppet @moodyyyychickx (add yourself using the link in my bio 😊)

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the-final-sif · 2 years

Note

Thanks so much for that overview and also providing that link to the transcript. I was distressed with the sudden bomb drop and people running around declaring he was a groomer.

But after looking over the DMs, it's very dry on his part? And he's not really initiating things?

Like I don't entirely see the smoking gun now. I also can no longer see the original thing where dream notes she's 18 (likely based on her bio) and she corrects him in a few messages to 18 soon which did make me uneasy I get that adults can also be groomed but I just see none of the manipulation on Dream's end. I don't see any pushiness. I don't see any drive to keep a conversation going, it's all on her end. And if anything she seems to be manipulative with the 'I have no friends' or 'I'm lonely' or mentioning the stuff about wanting to be a starting streamer. All of which read to me as 'Emotional Manipulation' and her trying to see if she can latch onto him and help rise. I dunno maybe I'm still missing something since I do no longer see a thread that includes that exchange of Dream noting she was 18 and she corrects him to 18 soon. Is that thread maybe saved somewhere else or is there a piece I'm missing? Sorry if you were about done with the discourse, but I've appreciated your thoughts and directing to information.

I think you're mixing up two different accusations.

To form a more clear timeline of events, there where two separate accusations against Dream.

The first set of accusations happened during the face reveal but only got attention afterwards. The accuser (Oxe) showed a screen recording of twitter dms, and in that appeared to have 18 in her profile. Those twitter dms took place back in 2020 when Dream was 20, and she was 17 ("18 soon" as she put it). Dream did say/appear to believe she was 18, and it was in the context of discussing school/the legality of dropping out. Those messages are also fairly dry.

Oxe alleged that Dream gave her his phone number, and then attached screenshots of flirty texts where the contact name/number were hidden, claiming they were from Dream. They claimed to show a recording of Dream being a contact on Tik Tok to prove this. People quickly pointed out that the texts in question didn't read anything like how Dream texts, and that it wouldn't make sense for Dream to still be using his old phone number from 2020 on his current tik tok. Some people looked at the tik tok recording, and there was some evidence it was edited.

Oxe did not accuse Dream of grooming, nor did she ever claim that she and Dream exchanged sexual messages/photos. She did claim that Dream had face revealed to her and she could prove it, but then backed down and admitted she couldn't before deactivating. Nothing has been heard from her since. It's worth noting her bf was engaged with leaktwt pretty heavily as well, and believed the minecraft sex mod allegations.

Dream stated in his twitlonger that he "did believe the twitter dms were real" (not confirmation, but also not shocking given there really wasn't much to them). But he refuted that he had ever texted/had further contact with the girl in question, and stated that his tik tok uses a google voice mail number which can't do i-messages like she showed. I'm inclined to believe him, because frankly the idea of him using any of his real numbers for his tik tok account is absurd, let alone a past phone number that has been doxxed.

The second accuser is Amanda, and her case is different. Her exact claims are somewhat hard for me to follow because they switched up between tweets, but this is my best understanding. Her allegation is that in the few weeks she was 17 between mid Jan 2022 and mid Feb 2022 (when she woud've turned 18), Dream sent her sexual photos on snapchat. She's claimed this, and has shown instagram dms (what I linked to) and snapchat dms that she claims are from him. We have no word on whether or not Dream contests the validity of the snapchat dms, but the snapchat dms shown don't offer much evidence on their own.

Regardless of validity, there is only a single snapchat message shown by her from before she turned 18, which is just a comment on snap score. Past that, all messages she showed were from after she turned 18. All of the snapchat messages shown are, at worst, flirty, and there aren't many. There's nothing overtly sexual or any kind of sexual photo that has been shown as evidence.

She's claimed that she and Dream were planning to meet up for sex in August 2022, but has also claimed that she got a boyfriend in April 2022 and that anything sexual between her and Dream stopped at that point. As best I can tell. The timeline/specifics for that part has been confusing for me too, so I am open to correction and please do not quote me on that.

There are no snapchat dms shown (regardless of whether any of them are real), that reference this meet up, there are no snapchat dms shown that reference anything sexual, or that reference her age at all. She's claimed she told Dream that she was 17, but no evidence of that has been provided.

Amanda stated several times on twitter that she had proof and that she was going to show it, but later backed down on that idea and instead said she "had no physical evidence" and she was no longer going to post on twitter because she was instead going to the police. She posted a photo of what appeared to be the inside of a police station, and hasn't posted much since. Her boyfriend said he was calling lawyers, and requested help finding one, but there's been no word on that since, and he has since deactivated his twitter account,

Since then, everything's been fairly quiet. There was a person named Bee who was able to provide what did appear to be a yearbook photo of Amanda. They stated that they went to school with Amanda and she had in the past (spring of this year I believe) made fake sexual instagram dms from Dream, that she got caught for. While the yearbook photo does provided evidence that Bee likely attended school with Amanda, they haven't/cannot provided evidence other than their word that Amanda faked the sexual instagram dms in the past. Bee stated that they don't know anything about the current situation or if anything is faked there, but they wanted to put out there that (according to their word) she had done this in the past.

That's about a rough & dirty summary of the two different situations. r/dreamwastaken2 has everything pretty well documented, sorry for not linking sources but this is a very long post already.

#sif answers #Anonymous #dream discourse #discourse

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laufey-delia · 9 months

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My DBH headcanon(s)

So I recently received DBH as a gift, after years of being obsessed with this game, lol AND, so I thought, why not share my post game headcanon(s) here. Just to be clear, I will base my head cannon after the peaceful revolution ending.

This is a(n incomplete) list of all of my HCs !

1st HC : Connor’s siblings

I like to think that after the revolution, Connor will go back to the cyberlife tower and then discover several things: first off, in a rush, most remaining androids were destroyed, including all of his “replacements”. But, in one way or another, he will find an abandoned android that look like him. A forgotten project, if you will: RK900. The project wasn’t 100% finished, resulting in RK900 having issues; mostly sort of seizures and other problems in direct or indirect links. (I still hesitate to HC him as mute, not sure, though it is a nice concept)

In my head cannon, RK900 is like we see in the Machine Connor ending, where he replaces Connor. His name is Nines (given by Gavin, though people always call him Niles instead, assuming a typo or mispronunciation). Though, they can be differenced, especially because their personalities are very different. Connor is a puppy. Nines is a raven.

Another surprise, Connor find Connor-60 still alive. Hank had sloppily shot him right in the right-eye, effectively knocking him out for quite a long time. Maybe another bio-component was broken that led him to be knocked out for so long. Any way, he’s alive and not deviated yet, but luckily, Connor does that for him.

At first, everybody at the DPD had a hard time differentiating the two Connor, if they weren’t face to face with them. The only different was Connor-60 had a quite big scar from the bullet wound, and a permanent decolourized pupil/optical bio-component. Connor-60 slowly started to hate his name and thus opted for being called Conan (and it’s easier to know which is being called). Hank and him still have an iffy relationship, and he prefers Sumo’s company. He also joined the SWAT team. IDK, it just suits him (Captain Allen is sceptical at first, though he sees how Conan has potential) Of course, their personality is quite different. Thanks, deviancy. While Connor is a puppy as previously stated, Conan is very cold and quiet. He’s still very much like Connor’s initial personality when he hasn’t deviated yet.

They all live in Hank’s house, but it’s quite small for 4 people and a dog. That’s why Hank is secretly searching for a bigger house. Nines wants to get his own house, though, but Conan wants to stay. Who’s going to rightfully spoil Sumo if he isn’t here, after all?

Also, Hank is 100% their dad now. Go away hankcon shipper cuz this relationship is 100% father & son(s).

On a (not so) unrelated, note, Hank’s mental health also improved, as his sons really do take care of him. He still does get drunk from time to time, especially after a hard day, but it happens less and less.

2nd HC : The C-bling’s (pun intended) fashion senses.

Connor’s fashion sense:

He got that fashion sense from Hank’s own wardrobe, but with his own twist. Colourful opened flannel with usual neutral shirt under it, dress pants & shoes. Though, he recently developed a taste for ripped jeans. If he doesn’t wear his colourful flannels, then patterned sweatshirts are his must-go. Music band names? Sure. Sweatshirts with dumb jokes like: “Who needs hair on a body like this?” ? Yes. Prints like houndstooth, waves, or simply bicolour? Why not !

Conan’s fashion sense:

He doesn’t really care for such things. He’d happily keep the clothes provided by Cyberlife if it wasn’t ruined by his Thirium and very taboo for free androids!! To keep wearing such garments. So, he’d resort to any shirt found and pants, though he usually has jeans. He also has grown attached to his SWAT sweatshirt and can often be seen around the DPD wearing it. The colours are kept neutral: different shades of grey and black, very little white.

Nines’ fashion sense:

Having been deviated recently with no memory beforehand, Nines hasn’t got the chance to really explore himself. Perhaps he’s too scared for that, perhaps he’s too busy for that. So, his usual go-tos are buttoned-up shirts, or turtlenecks. He does appreciate long coats to go with everything. Like Connor, he prefers wearing dress pants. His palette is still neutral, but perhaps a bit more colourful than Conan’s: white (esp for coats. It reminds him of his Cyberlife jacket), black, grey, and if he’s feeling like it, deep blue, emerald or dark green, crimson or dark brown.

3rd HC : Nines and Gavin

Yes, I ship them. Yes, Gavin is an asshole. Yes, it is because he has issues. Luckily, Nines also has issues and is having none of his partner’s shit. Their relation get better with time passing, and their “I’m going to kill you before you kill me” slowly morphs into playful banter and inside jokes.

That’s all i can think of for now.

Byeeeee

#dbh #dbh connor #detroit become human #headcanon #dbh headcanons #nines rk900 #dbh nines #dbh sixty #connor rk800 #my headcanons #gavin reed #hank anderson #personal headcanon #fashion sense #post peaceful revolution

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thewayofthemandalorian · 2 years

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dreams dashed and divided - chapter four

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series Rating: M

Chapter Rating: M

Word count: 4,873

Notes: We’re at the halfway point! Four more chapters after this one. I’m particularly excited for this chapter because of the, ahem, developments, in their relationship. Thanks so much as always for the lovely feedback and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

This fic is cross-posted to AO3 under the same name and my taglist can be found linked in my bio as well as my masterlist which is linked below.

Comments/reblogs appreciated.

Chapter warnings: Scars, discussion of injuries, insecurities, nudity (both sexual and non-sexual), kissing, non-descriptive sexual content (including fingering, female receiving oral), quick discussion of virginity, implied unprotected sex (practice safely in real life!), the helmet stays on and the helmet comes off, confusion, feelings, angst, age gap: older man/younger woman (in flashbacks reader is 20 to Din’s 27, and in current day is 29 to his 36)

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist (main) || masterlist (din djarin)

Present day, 9ABY

When you next wake the following morning, you feel well rested for once. In a way that you haven’t felt in years. Your bed is warm next to you, but Mando is gone. His imprint still lingers in the bed, in you. The bedsheets are rumpled where he was, and if you make a point to, you can smell his distinct scent. Gunpowder and leather and something inherently Mando. It was a smell that you once loved. Inhaling it now, you realize that you still love it.

You realize that, once you fell back to sleep, you didn’t have any dreams. At least, any dreams that you remember. Usually when you are able to get back to sleep after waking from your nightmare, you’re very likely to have it again.

Something to think about later.

You can hear Mando and Kuiil getting ready to leave, the child cooing from his new and improved pram.

He’s patient. And caring. Empathetic. Away from Zarah’s influence, this is exactly how you remember him being, for the most part. Maybe he was a bit more rough around the edges when you knew him nine years ago. Is it possible that you had been very wrong in holding a grudge? Especially one born from another person’s perception and your own hazy memories from a time of a bacta- and medicine-induced fog?

Still, you can’t forget that last fateful day. What was said by whom and when. And you especially can’t forget what happened after. Or what didn’t happen.

It’s another thing to think about later.

With a stretch and a groan, you sprawl out in bed. You can’t linger this morning. There’s a time crunch that you must adhere to. Sure enough, as you’re getting out of bed, pulling out of your makeshift sleeping clothes, the door opens. You instantly cover your exposed body with your hands “Hey! There’s someone in he—”

It’s the droid. “Time is running short,” he says. “I am here to collect you.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe knock next time.”

“I am a droid,” IG-11 counters. “These things do not matter to me.”

There’s no reasoning with droids sometimes. Maybe Mando is right to be annoyed by this one in particular.

“You have a scar on the left side of your ribs,” he indicates, like this is brand new information, taking his deliberate steps closer to you.

You feign shock. “No! Really?” you quip sarcastically. IG-11 likely will not recognize the sarcasm you realize.

“I put this injury at being nine years old, received by a poisoned vibroblade.”

You nod. “Yup. You can ask our Mandalorian friend all about that.”

“I sense anger and pain in your voice. Perhaps you would like to speak about your feelings?” offers IG-11.

Is there anything this droid doesn’t do? “I’m gonna pass on that for the time being. The whole timetable and all that.” In addition to you not wanting to talk about things like that, especially with a droid. A fine mist emerges from one of his attachments. “This is an enhanced bacta spray. It will not completely remove the scar, but it will help it heal properly. My reports indicate that it did not heal correctly.”

That’s what happens when you live on a planet like Kijimi. “Thanks,” you say. You put your shirt on and follow the tall, erstwhile bounty hunter droid out into the main room. Mando, the kid, and Kuiil are all waiting for you.

“You ready to go?” asks Mando. He says nothing about last night, something that you’re grateful for.

You nod. “Yeah. Let’s do this,” you reply.

Kuiil leads the way, followed by IG-11, with you, Mando and the baby taking up the rear. “How did you sleep?” asks Mando in an undertone. Kuiil and IG-11 settle with the Blurrgs on the lower deck of the ship while you, he, and the baby go into the cockpit.

Better than you have in years. You lick your lips and look him in what you estimate to be his eyes. “Really good.” You pause. “Thank you. For doing what you did.” Your voice wavers but you manage to maintain your slightly aloof nature.

“Nothing to thank me for,” Mando says. He sets in the coordinates for Nevarro. You itch to ask him about what you found in your quarters the night before last but he’s already sending a message to Karga.

- - - -

Nine years ago, 0ABY

Since your chat with Mando a week or so ago, and Zarah’s subsequent warning, you’ve kept your distance. He’s not here to make a friend. He’s here to do a job and move on with his life, in more than one way. Besides, he doesn’t want or need a distraction, something to hold him back. And, as you begrudgingly concede, maybe Zarah’s right. You don’t really know Mando that well.

Doesn’t mean you don’t miss him.

You see him around town, waiting on the part for his ship. For being a planet that has many people who come and go, it didn’t get its reputation for being a rough and tumble planet for no reason, and there are many reasons for its reputation as such.

You hear through Sylar that Mando’s staying in the inn that you recommended to his ersatz crew two months ago. Apparently now that they’re gone, he’s comfortable staying at the inn. Or maybe it’s because it’s warmer there than on the ship.

There’s so much you don’t know about him. You don’t even know what he looks like. But you know what he is like. He’s all rough exterior and gruff, clipped words. But beneath the exterior, beyond the reputation, he’s kind. He sees you and he doesn’t judge you for your mess. And that’s all you would bring: a mess. Something he’s actively trying to avoid.

He sees you staring at him from across the starport and stops what he’s doing. You curse to yourself but stay where you are as he crosses the small starport in four long strides. “It’s been a while, cyar’ika. How are you?” he asks.

You still don’t know what cyar’ika means, but he still says it with such gentleness. “I’m fine,” you manage to get out.

“Did I tell you that Greef Karga with the Guild of Bounty Hunters is trying to get me to join the Guild?” he asks you.

You don’t know why he’s asking you this. Shaking your head, you say, “No. Who’s Greef Karga?”

“He used to be a magistrate. Now he’s an agent for the Guild. Runs his delegation out of Nevarro. It’s kind of a scughole of a planet.”

You gesture around you. “We’ve got competition it seems.”

Mando chuckles. “Anyway, he’s been courting my presence for a while. Might take him up on it. Pays well. More respectable. I’d have conditions of course.”

You nod. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Din frowns, his helmet masking his expressions. All you see is a tilted helmet with an expressionless face. He wants to ask if everything is all right. “You seem distracted today,” he says instead.

“Just busy,” you deflect, wishing you could just talk to him about what Zarah said. What’s the use? He’s leaving soon.

Did he say something? Was he too forward? Maker, why isn’t he better at just expressing himself? He is a Mandalorian, he reminds himself, and Mandalorians, above all, are stoic. “Right,” he clips. He knows rejection when he sees it. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.”

It feels wrong. You were just getting to know each other. You like him and you think that he likes you too.

You wrestle with logic and emotion all day. Mando and you are from different worlds. He’s not going to take you with him when he leaves. He’s a mercenary and has more than likely killed people. On the other hand, he’s trying to change, trying to leave that part of his life behind. You remember how… broken he’d sounded when he spoke of his parents’ sacrifice last week. And he sees you. All of you. Makes you feel in a way that you’ve never felt before. He’s gruff and tough and has little patience for things at times, but he also makes you feel hopeful. For what, you don’t know, but you want to know him more. Even if it’s for a short period of time.

That night, as always, Zarah sneaks out with Arden. “Don’t wait up,” she says with a wink. She seems different tonight. Jittery. Anxious and excited. She never tells you not to wait up.

It seems you’re on your own tonight. Not wanting to be alone with your thoughts, you go outside. Even in summertime it’s absolutely frigid on Kijimi.

You wish that you could take your speeder bike out, but it’s not safe to do so after night falls. There’s not much that is safe after dark. Especially with the Imperial forces on this planet ruling with an iron fist. Since you’re still on the property, you are safe from being questioned.

Something rustles behind you and you startle, turning around at the sound. “Who’s there?” It’s Mando. “What are you doing here?” you ask.

Mando shrugs. “Wanted to see you.”

You can’t help the emotion that fills you with that simple statement. “Well, here I am,” you say, almost self-consciously. “Do you, um, do you want to come in? So we don’t freeze? I don’t want your beskar to rust.”

“It isn’t real beskar, but sure.”

You bring him up to the flat above the cantina, not wanting people to think that it’s still open after curfew. “It isn’t much, but it’s…” Home doesn’t feel like the right adjective. The sentence dies, unfinished. Mando seems to understand. “Can I offer you anything?” you offer before remembering that he doesn’t take off his helmet in front of people to eat or drink. “Right, nevermind,” you say sheepishly.

Din feels himself staring at you. He finds himself staring at you a lot. You’re amazing. Kind-hearted and caring and gentle and good. Everything he wants to be. Instead of angry and gruff and brusque. He wants to be a better man.

“What?” you ask, noticing him looking at you.

Caught. “You,” he manages to say.

To hell with being sensible. “Careful,” you tease. “Xi’an won’t like that.”

“Xi’an wants something from me that I’m not offering to her.”

You swallow, suddenly aware of his proximity. Aware of the way he is looking at you like you’re the prey to his hunter. “A-and what’s that?” you manage to ask.

In one swift motion he has you up against the wall just outside the bedroom, your bodies very nearly touching. Your head is tilted back against the wall, his hands are beginning to roam, moving their way down your body, one hand hovering closer and closer to the hem of your pants. How did this happen?

“C-can we take this somewhere a bit more—” You don’t want this to be done in the hallway. It seems too open. You need something less open where it can be just you two.

Mando takes you by the hand and leads you over the threshold into the bedroom you usually share with Zarah. He shuts the light off with a resounding click, and turns you to face him, his hands resuming their earlier roaming. Your own hands come up to his helmet. Surely his rule doesn’t extend to—

Mando’s hands move up to yours, almost abruptly. He yanks your hands away, a forceful rip. “The helmet stays on,” he grounds out. “This is the way.”

You’re taken aback by this sudden change in attitude. “I-I’m sorry,” you manage to get out, embarrassed.

Din wants to tell you that you have nothing to be sorry for. But he is a Mandalorian. Steadfast and stubborn. Mandalorians do not apologize. The counterapology dies on his lips, sour and stale. Din, for all he wishes to be, is not a gentle man. He doesn’t know how to be. Doesn’t remember how to. It’s a half-forgotten dream, the concept of gentleness.

Instead, a gruff nod is all you get. “Do you still want to do this?” you ask in the darkness. You cannot see him, but you feel his warmth, he’s still practically on top of you.

“I do. Do you?” He needs to be sure. You nod. “Your words, cyar’ika. I need to hear you say it.”

On a shaky breath, you say, “I want this, Mando.”

“Good.” And then he’s ripping his gloves off before taking your pants off in one clean motion, taking your panties along with them. He’s… to the point. “Have you done this before? I can’t— I don’t want to go into this without you having experience.”

You nod again. “I have.”

Satisfied, Mando returns to the task at hand. One hand begins to explore, lower and lower. His other hand finds one of your breasts and gives it a firm squeeze and combined with what his other hand is doing, you almost see stars right then and there. He adds a second finger, curling it just right.

It’s clear that Mando hasn’t had much experience either, but he’s enthusiastic. It’s contagious. And he’s oddly enough more attentive than the last person you’d done this with. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs into your ear, giving his fingers another curl inside you and you don’t know how you’re not on the ceiling from his words and actions.

He doesn’t give you a lot of time to recover. It hardly seems fair that you’re almost completely naked, your shirt rucked up at your shoulders. “Can the armour at least come off?” you ask once you catch your breath.

Mando’s quiet for a second. Then, pulling away from you for a second, begins to unclip his armour. He won’t let you help him. It’s sacred to him, you realize. This is the way.

He’s left in just his flight suit. Adjusting it, he looks at you. You can see his question even in the expressionless helmet in the darkness, the only light coming in through the window. “Yes,” you say.

Mando’s big. He takes his time pushing into you, allowing you to adjust. The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces. You grip his shoulders and he starts to move and this time you’re not even on the ceiling. You’re in the stars. “Mando!” Your voice is almost guttural.

Maybe one day you can call him by his real name. “Feel so good, pretty girl,” Mando grunts into your ear, hitting a spot deep within you so good you forget your name for a second. Since you can’t kiss him anywhere on his face, you make do with the small slivers of skin that are available. His wrists, primarily, but also his neck beneath the helmet. He likes that. His movements begin to get sloppy. You’re close, and so is he. You cross your ankles against his back, pulling him in deeper.

He’s first to break, grunting into your ear as he spills into you. You’re not long to follow. He keeps going. “I know you got another one for me, sweet girl.” His voice is dark and deliberate. As it happens, you do have another one for him, one that almost takes you by surprise. “Good girl,” he murmurs, helping you through it, and you nearly disintegrate from the praise.

After, you cling to him on the narrow bed that barely fits two of you. Mando curls in tight around you. You stare at him through sleepy eyes. He stares back through the helmet. Neither of you say anything, just watch each other in the muted light that your lamp and the lights from outside have to offer.

If the idea of him leaving Kijimi wasn’t hard before, it certainly is now.

- - - -

Present day, 9ABY

“It’s going to take a little while to get to Nevarro,” says Mando. “Maybe a day or so.”

“Even with hyperspeed?” you ask.

Mando shrugs. “It’s on the opposite side of the rim. Even with hyperspeed it’s going to take a while.” There’s a lull in the conversation. You twiddle your thumbs.

“What is Karga like?” you ask. “I never did meet him.”

He pauses. “Slippery,” he settles on.

“Slippery?” you repeat in confusion.

“He’s charismatic and charming and says all the right things. But he’s only looking out for one person. Himself,” explains Mando.

You chuckle. “You just described, like, three-quarters of the people I have to deal with on a daily basis at the speakeasy.”

Din is curious. “How did that come about? You becoming the head of that whole operation.”

You wince. “Apart from the obvious?” you ask.

Din cringes. That was thoughtless of him. “Yeah. Apart from that,” he rasps.

“Remember Zarah? My friend?”

How could he forget? “Yes.”

“Well, she had a baby. Maybe a year or so after…” You don’t need to finish that sentence. Mando knows what you’re talking about.

He’s surprised. She didn’t seem the motherly type. Then again, he didn’t seem the fatherly type until quite recently. “Huh,” he says.

“I know. It came as a bit of a shock to everyone. Especially the father.” From the tone of your voice, Din can tell you don’t think much of the father. “She’s eight now. Sweet enough kid. Stays out of trouble only because I tell her to. Zarah was supposed to take over from Zella—that’s Zarah’s mother—when Zella retired, but then Zorii was born. So I offered to step in until the time seemed right to let Zarah take it back.”

From the sound of your voice it doesn’t sound like the life you wanted for yourself. Combine that with how you told him about your dreams of leaving Kijimi. He is about to say something, but you continue. “Anyway, it is what it is. I’m curious about something. What made you decide to go back for the kid? You never did say.”

And so Mando explains the entire story from beginning to end. IG-11’s involvement, meeting Kuiil, going on the run and what led to him making that choice to go back for the baby who easily made his way into Mando’s heart.

“You’re like a father to him,” you say. It’s not the first time that someone’s said that, but it’s the first time that Mando actually agrees.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Mando helps Kuiil with something and you’re left with the child. The severity of what lays ahead of you tomorrow and possibly beyond that doesn’t escape you. If the child knows what’s about to happen, he doesn’t indicate it.

All day, there’s been an underlying tension between you and Mando. It’s different from the tension that existed between you when your paths crossed again. This one is charged differently. If anything, it’s similar to that night in your flat on Kijimi nine years ago. The night that you still think about whenever Sylar’s the one in your bed.

It’s confusing and frustrating. You like things being simple, always have. Nothing is simple with this Mandalorian. All through dinner (which he eats alone in the cockpit), he stares at you. You are still good at deciphering Mando looks as you called them. And it’s not a stare of animosity.

You try to wave it off as some sort of concern, worry that you might double cross him. Or trying to gauge your feelings. But you know him as much as he knows you. Neither of those are the case.

After finishing your meal, you excuse yourself to your room, hoping to get some sleep. But it’s not coming. Too wired for tomorrow. The thrum of electricity that still exists between you and Mando courses through your veins.

Without thinking, you let your body guide you. You get up from your pallet. The entire ship is asleep. The kid is resting just outside of Mando’s own quarters. You’ve never seen his quarters. The pram is shut and if you strain your ears you can hear little snores. Below, Kuiil is also snoring. Or maybe that’s the Blurrgs that you hear.

Regardless, you and Mando are the only ones still awake on the ship. You knock on his door. After a second it opens. “Hey,” he says, his modulated voice rough.

“Hey. Couldn’t sleep,” you offer, as though that explains why you’re standing outside his quarters at such a late hour.

“Me too.” You stare at each other for a second. “Do you wanna come in?” he offers.

“Sure.”

It’s bigger than you expected. Automatically the door shuts behind you, plunging the two of you into darkness again. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. “Why did you keep my things?” you ask suddenly.

“What?” asks Mando.

“My things. The stuff I packed when I thought I was coming with you.”

Din doesn’t say anything, confused by your word choice. You were always supposed to go with him. That only changed after… everything that happened after. And that came as a shock to him just as much as your willful naivete about it is now. He remembers. “They’re yours. I wasn’t going to get rid of them.” He couldn’t bring himself to get rid of them. He held onto them because he hoped that he would see you again, that you would find a way to come back to him, despite knowing that he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Not after what happened, after what he was told.

You sigh. It’s strange how quickly your guard was lowered around him. Both this time and the last time. And sure, some small part of it might have to do with the truce, but that’s just how you are with him. The picture you had painted of him for the longest time doesn’t add up with the person you remember, the person standing in front of you.

And also? You’re tired of maintaining that facade. He sees right through it anyway. Though you’re loath to admit it, you’ve missed him, missed this. It doesn’t change the fact that he hurt you and you will absolutely have to deal with that.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Mando.

You say the first thing that comes to mind without even thinking it through first. “I’m wondering if we were meant to find each other. If this was meant to happen.”

The magnetic pull towards each other isn’t just emotional, it’s also physical. This time it’s your turn to get into his space, your hands reaching up his chest, fingers dancing on the shiny beskar of his chest plate.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Are—” He says your name. “Are you saying what I think you are?” he asks. “Because I don’t… I’m not going to do this if you aren’t sure.”

It might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. But right now you don’t care. You’ve missed this. And you’ve never claimed to be a particularly smart person. “I’m sure, Mando.”

It’s Din, he almost says. “What about…” He pauses, not remembering your friend’s name. “Your friend on Kijimi?”

It takes a minute to realize who he’s talking about. “Sylar? A nice distraction; someone to pass the time. He’s a friend, but nothing more. I want this, Mando. I want you.”

All you can hear for a long minute is his breathing and your heartbeat, both echoing loudly in your ears. “Okay,” he says, his hands landing on your hips, pulling you close. “I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs as he helps you out of your clothes, leaving them in a haphazard pile on the floor. You’re more nervous this time than you were your first time with him.

It’s a surprise that he can’t hear your heart pounding. You keep your hands at his shoulders, knowing not to take his helmet off.

Din notices. He cares about you a great deal. And he’s not the same person he was nine years ago. He wants to do this. Properly.

His hands meet yours in the darkness; the only light in the room comes from the console by the door. It is too dark to see more than just the barest of silhouettes. His hands are still rough and calloused. Gently, he brings your hands up to his helmet, not saying a word. And together, slowly, you take his helmet off. It falls to the floor, joining the rest of his beskar with a defining clang.

“Mando…” you say, your voice choked with emotion as you realize what he just did. The impact of it resonates in your chest, deep inside you.

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps your hands on his face, getting used to the unfamiliar contact of your fingers mapping his face. No one’s touched his face in almost thirty years.

Mando has the beginnings of a beard that’s patchy stubble more than anything. Your fingers brush his lips and they graze your fingers gently. You move your fingers out of the way, feeling him lean in to kiss you.

His lips are chapped, soft against yours. It’s a very clumsy kiss, and you wonder if you might be his first in his entire life; a question for later, maybe. You can’t think about it too much right now. His stubble tickles against your skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His voice sounds different without the modulator. It’s still his voice, but it sounds more human.

You still can’t see him. But it’s a start.

You help him take off his flight suit before he returns his attention to you. Wandering hands in the dark as always.

Very gingerly, his fingers brush your scar followed by his lips; it very nearly undoes you, even if he doesn’t linger for too long there. Will you ever be able to breathe correctly again?

Mando was always good with his fingers. You’re glad to see that hasn’t changed. This time, however, he has the added benefit of his mouth. He pushes you into the mattress with his big broad body, making a quivering mess of you with his fingers and mouth as you bury your hands in his hair. It’s different than every other time you did this with him all those years ago. While you still can’t see him, it’s much more intimate than it ever was in your room or in his room at the inn.

His skills haven’t improved much, but he’s more generous this time around, much more gentle. Paying attention to how you respond more. You’ve missed this so much, missed this man so much that it made you angry and resentful and hurt. And as he pushes himself into you, it feels like coming home after being away for years.

All the years of resentment and hurt and pain and sadness at what transpired melts away for the time being. Nothing else exists but you and him. Nothing else matters right now. That will be a different situation entirely tomorrow, but for right now, all you want, all you need is him. You’re finally able to do one of the things you wanted desperately to do all those years ago — kiss him. And kiss him you do. Anywhere your mouth can land. His chin, his cheeks, his jaw, his lips. Your hands grapple at his shoulders as both your movements become more and more jagged, your hips stuttering against his. You’re the first to reach that peak, Mando right behind you. He stills and moans into your ear before kissing down your jawbone, clearly making up for lost time.

You’re tired now. So is he. He holds you close against him, very nearly asleep. And you are too, just on the precipice of sleep, until he says the three words that make your heart very nearly stop. Three words he never said once in all the time that you knew him nine years ago.

“I love you.”

The words to say it back to him are right there on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t say them. Something’s blocking them. You don’t say anything; you don’t know if he expects you to say anything. If he does, he’s not hearing it. He’s already asleep. Mando’s arm is an iron grip around you. Very carefully you move his arm so that you can get up. Getting dressed in the dark, you creep out of his room like a thief. Everyone’s still sleeping and you are wide awake, alone with your racing thoughts that will not slow down for anything.

You tiptoe up to the cockpit and sit in the passenger’s seat, taking in the streak of stars and distant planets outside the viewport. You still can’t believe he said it after all this time. You have so many conflicting thoughts and feelings about the whole thing, you have no idea what to think. It’s all just a mess. There’s missing information, missing context and motivation. One thing is absolutely certain, however. You love him. It’s as true as can be. Even after everything.

You bury your face in your hands and, for the first time in nine years, you allow yourself to cry.

--- taglist in reblog.

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin #mando #pedro pascal fanfiction #my fic #my writing #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #dreams dashed and divided

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