#&. visual — life is tough darling / but so are you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cookie-waffle-art-and-stuff · 2 months ago

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Voyagers Chapter 3: A Day in the Life

Optimus is constantly stressed, trying to do everything he can to be there for the people around them. But even Primes have days where it all becomes too much.

Content warnings: sexually explicit content, PTSD episodes

Prominent characters: Optimus Prime, Jazz, Bumblebee, Rung, Megatron, Elita One

Sexy content 👀: Femdom, sub!Optimus, oplita, megop, Orion/D-16

Optimus sat alone on the bed of his dimly lit living quarters. His hand absently rubbed the back of his neck, hoping to find a little relief. He prayed to Primus nothing else crazy would happen— just for a while longer. He was so tired and so ready to give up. But he knew he’d just have to tough it out for a while longer until they got to the Theta System. He couldn’t give up, especially not now. Too many people looked up to him and too many people depended on him.

He needed rest, but insomnia gripped him nightly. Each day seemed to provide a new issue to disturb his sleep with.

As strong and stoic as he was, seeing Elita again had stirred feelings from the past that he had been trying to keep buried by all his other worries. He hadn’t seen her face-to-face since the voyage began. He thought he could handle it, but his spark had other things planned for him. It wanted—no—NEEDED to be merged with its conjnx once again.

Memories of Elita forcefully invaded his mind. He lay down on his bed and started reading a book on a datapad, hoping a few chapters would take his mind off her. But it was no use. His spark ached to reunite with hers. He remembered her touch as her fingers traced against the lines of his armor, and the way her smooth alloy lips felt against his metal skin. He remembered the way her voice sounded, almost as deep as his, yet feminine, and the way it resonated throughout his frame whenever she would whisper sweet nothings to him. The smell of her pheromones, where all her most sensitive hot spots were, the way her back arched when-

Optimus shook his head, trying to cause the increasingly unwanted thoughts to spill out of his audio processors.

Then he remembered the recording.

Elita One was the type of fembot who would have communicated that she wanted that recording deleted from Optimus’s system if she wished him to. But she hadn’t. He certainly would have if she had asked, but she hadn’t.

He projected the holo-recording out across his body, watching as a 3D projection of Elita materialized, straddling his hips.

He quickly shut it off, antennae heating up in embarrassment.

“I shouldn’t be doing this. She’s not mine anymore.” He told himself.

But the memory of Elita’s voice spoke, “Use it to your spark’s desire, my love. I’ll certainly be using my recording.”

The pressure of his spike hardening against its panel only increased his uninvited arousal. His spark pulsing at the thought of his lost beloved caused his physical urges to finally get the better of him. He turned the holo-recording back on.

“Have you started recording yet, my Spark?” Elita’s voice made his spark send a rare, euphoric jolt through his system.

He paused the playback, visually tracing his sparkmate’s armor. She polished more regularly than he did, so her armor was often quite shiny when not covered in dents and scars from battle. Her blue optics gazed down at him with such lust and affection that Optimus felt a sting of grief pierce his throat for a brief moment before forcing himself to swallow it down.

“Just this once… I’ll play it just this once.” He thought before unpausing the recording.

He could hear his own voice in the recording. “Yes, go ahead, darling.”

Elita’s projection slowly moved her hips up and down along Optimus’s spike. He stroked it in tandem with her movements.

“Hmhmm, I hope I’m not going too slow for you, darling. You know I love to savor every inch of you.”

Elita looked down at him and smiled mischievously. In the recording, it caused Optimus to start thrusting his hips into her.

The fembot cried out, “Yes! Yes! You’re such a big mech, aren’t you Oppie?”

Optimus could hear his voice in the recording, grunting and moaning as he grabbed Elita’s waist and rammed his hips into her valve with increased intensity.

Elita bent down and lay across his body, wrapping her arms under his shoulders. “I love you! I love you! Oh my god, baby! Keep giving me that big dick!” She moved her aft up and down, trying to match her partner’s pace. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I love you, Oppie! I love you! I love you!”

Optimus’s optics rolled to the back of his head, so overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion he could barely form a coherent sentence. “E-Elita! Ah! You’re so beautiful!” One of his hands began to travel down to the small of Elita’s back, right above her aft. One of her hot spots was placed there— one of several very senstive zones that every Transformer had— He firmly pressed the hot spot, causing his partner to let out a euphoric scream. He smiled into her neck upon hearing the heavenly sound. “You’re perfect! Everything about you is perfect!” He sunk his denta into her neck, causing only just enough discomfort to turn Elita on.

“Ah! SHIT! You’re doing so good, Oppie! Oh my God!”

She left kisses along his left-side entente— One of Optimus’s hot spots— from the base up. It caused the mech beneath her to shudder. She then placed her lips right up to his audio processor and whispered, “I want your spike inside me all night long.” She whispered. “I’m going to make you cum inside me over and over.”

Optimus’s venting grew heavier as his spark excitedly bounced off the walls of its chamber. He could feel his armor practically drenched in liquid perspiration. “I’ll make love to you however you ask, my spark.”

His conjunx sat back up and looked down at the mech wriggling and moaning beneath her. Optimus’s eyes glowed so brightly with desire that their color nearly appeared white.

Elita reached back and slid her fingers along his upper thigh, making his engine rumble loudly. The feeling of Optimus’s engine purrs reverberating throughout his frame increased the pleasurable sensation against Elita’s valve.

“Oh, you like that! Don’t you, big boy?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am.”

“Hmmm, good.”

She slipped her fingers into the joint between his groin and upper thigh, another one of his hot spots. Optimus’s engine roared. The fembot’s face lit up with a wide grin. She could feel her conjunx thrust into her with greater desperation. She slowly moved her hand to Optimus’s now exposed valve, which had opened the moment she touched his joint. She gently stroked the tip of his sensory node. His eyes flashed white and stopped thrusting to rub against her touch. His hands traveled to her aft and guided her hips up and down on his spike. She grabbed both his arms and roughly pinned them above his head.

Elita laughed playfully. “Hey! No cheating! We’re taking this nice and slow now, Oppie.”

She slid her fingers into Optimus’s valve and started pumping them in and out while simultaneously moving her hips.

“You feel so good, Elita!” Optimus moaned.

“I love the sound of your voice. Keep talking to me, baby.”

Optimus’s deep voice filled the room. “I love the way I feel inside you, Elita. P-Please go faster- AH!”

“Did you say slower?” Elita started to move at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Please don’t stop!”

“Beg.”

“Please! Please, Elita! I need you! I need you so badly!”

“Tell me exactly what you need, Optimus.”

“I need you!”

“You need me to do what?”

“I…. I need you to fuck me!”

Elita bent over and gave Optimus a deep, passionate kiss.

She whispered to him again. “I’m going to fuck you all night long. You’re going to stay in this bed till I’m done with you.”

*”Uhh, Prime! We could REALLY use your help in the brig right now!”* Jazz’s voice on the PA system startled Optimus out of his arousal.

He immediately shut off the holo-recording. Feelings of shame and guilt washed over him as his shoulders tensed in embarrassment. After retracting his spike, he lay still for a moment, pressing his palms against his optics, trying to push down the shame tightening around his spark like a hungry snake. After letting out a long sigh, he made himself get up to see what was going on in the brig.

Optimus scolded himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. He was a Prime. He should be a shining example of discipline, strength, and honor. Primus had chosen him, and the title of Prime held no room for weakness.

He noticed that many more people than usual bustling about and chattering within the hallways. He wasn’t paying attention to what anyone was saying, but he did hear the name “Starscream” come up more than once, and it took everything in the Prime’s power to not let out a juvenile groan.

“Oh no. What did he do NOW?” Optimus thought to himself.

He shook off his lingering emotions. Upon entering the brig, Jazz was there waiting for him with a summary of the situation. “Barricade, Thundercracker, and Skywarp hopped onto the ship yesterday and beat Starscream up so badly he had to be hospitalized.”

Optimus rubbed the bridge of his nose and deeply vented out. “Did you contact the Nemesis yet?”

“Yeah, someone should be coming to transfer T.C. and Skywarp to the Nemesis’s brig, but we still need to question Starscream before we send them out. Allegedly, this was all over some shanix and the two seekers only intended to rough him up, but then Barricade took it too far.”

“Oh, no what did Barricade do?”

“He snuck a knife on board, tortured Starscream with it. He also flayed one of the poor bastard’s wings with his own hands. Probably would have killed him if Skyfire hadn’t intervened.”

“Wait, wait— are you saying Barricade skinned him alive?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Primus! Did Rung already take a look at him?”

“Didn’t get the chance. Barricade threatened to murder him the moment he entered the room.”

Optimus let out another exasperated vent. “I didn’t want to bother Megatron on the day of his appointment about this but, Barricade is part of his crew and he needs to be here to help work this issue out.”

Loud banging on the metal walls came emanating from the room with the holding cells. “WHERE’S THUNDERCRACKER AND SKYWARP?! I’M GONNA RIP OUT THEIR COGS AND FEED THEM TO THEM!”

Optimus’s antennae ticked in irritation.

Jazz replied to Optimus after the interruption, “You might wanna make it quick Prime. That motherfucker is NUTS. I know Barricade was always a crooked cop, but this is a whole new level. I don’t know what the hell has gotten into him!”

“Is he on some sort of substance?”

“Blood-energon test came back negative. My best guess is that being stuck on the Nemesis for 6 cycles might have just driven him bonkers. But then again, I’m no therapist.”

Barricade’s banging and shouting started up again. Strongarm’s voice could be heard yelling at him, “Knock it off!” which only made him act up even more.

Optimus entered the holding cell room.

He walked up to the defiant Decepticon’s cell before his voice boomed, “That’s quite enough!”

Barricade backed away and looked up at the taller mech as his door wings flattened against his back in fear. “Aha! Ah… aha…” he laughed awkwardly. “I was reminiscing about my younger years in law enforcement with your cadet here.” He gestured to Strongarm, who did not look at all amused.

Optimus cut right to the chase. “Are you aware of how much time a crime like torture would get you back on Cybertron? And don’t think law enforcement gets off easy under my rules!”

Barricade fiend innocence. “I understand sir. But you have to remember, Skywarp asked me to do it!”

“I told you we were gonna just scare him and pull a few pranks, not rip him apart like sparkeaters!” Skywarp’s voice called out from down the other side of the holding cell hall.

“AH! THERE YOU ARE!” Barricade taunted the seeker.

“You idiot!” Thundercracker shouted at his sister. “Now he knows we’re here!”

“Don’t worry, he can’t get you!” Strongarm shouted back, annoyed.

“Barricade!” Optimus got back the Decepticon’s attention. “I don’t care WHO asked you to do it, you still did it!”

“Yeah, but…” Barricade scratched the back of his helmet. “It was Starscream.” He shrugged.

“Y’know, he’s got a point.” Strongarm quipped.

Optimus gave her a look.

Strongarm cleared her throat and stood up straight. “Apologies, sir.”

The Prime turned his attention back to Barricade and leered at him. “Now, here’s what will happen. While you sit here and think about what you’ve done, I’m going to get Megatron to come help deal with you. Then you’ll be answering to both of us.”

Barricade’s seemed to shrink down as he muttered a “Yes sir.” as he watched the Prime take his leave.

Jazz intended to follow, but Barricade saw an opportunity.

“Hey, Jazz! Haven’t seen Prowl in a while. How’s he been?”

Jazz stopped in his tracks. His doorwings tensed as he clenched one of his fists.

“Hey! Don’t make me put a gag on you!” Strongarm warned Barricade with gritted denta. She softened her tone for Jazz, “Just ignore him, man. He’s so full of shit.”

Jazz pressed the painful memories back into the dark corners of his mind. But he only made it a few more steps before another taunt was thrown his way.

“Sure hope he’s not having a BLAST without me.”

“Last warning, Con’!” Strongarm said.

Barricade kept pushing it. “By the way, do you remember when that star is going to pop? Ah! Now I remember! Only one more month! Sure, hope no one you know stayed on Cybertron.”

Barricade grimaced once Jazz punched the force shield that was separating them, causing it to reverberate loudly. “Shut the fuck up!”

“Woah! Easy, Jazz!” Strongarm said, alarmed at the uncharacteristic outburst.

Jazz stormed out, not saying another word. Prowl’s words kept repeating in his head over and over.

“You’re going to be a coward and run?! You’d rather go on a suicide mission that lasts 16 cycles than try?”

Jazz remembered trying to convince him. How the tears fogged up his visor too much to see Prowl’s face. “Prowler, please don’t do this! Just come with me! Even if we don’t make it, it’s a better chance than we’ve got here! Please, baby, I love you goddamn it, why won’t you just listen to me?!”

He should have tried harder.

Once Jazz caught up to Optimus, it didn’t take long for the Prime to notice his friend’s door wings tightly flattened back in anger.

“You alright there, buddy?”

“I’m fine.” Jazz replied, coldly.

“Don’t pretend I haven’t known you for most of our lives. You’re not alright.”

Jazz stopped walking. Optimus paused as well.

“Jazz?”

“There’s only one month left, Prime.”

Optimus stood silent. His spark dropped to the bottom of his frame, yet he still said nothing. He didn’t want to think about it. He had been avoiding thinking about so much in fact, that he had lost track of how close it now was. But alas, he was a Prime, and he had to be strong for his fellow Autobots. “I know.” He said in a calm, quiet voice. “I know.”

Jazz also stood silent for a moment before asking, “Prime, do you think-“ He paused again. “Do you think everyone else could’ve gotten out of there in time?”

Optimus let out a vent. “I hope so, old friend.”

Optimus rubbed the back of one of Jazz’s wings. He didn’t expect his friend to return the affection by pulling him into a tight embrace.

“We stick together, no matter what, okay?”

Optimus hugged him back, resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder. “Always.”

The two quickly snapped back to their previous composures and continued on.

The therapist’s office— which doubled as his quarters —Was right around the corner from the medbay. Jazz suggested they visit Ironhide for a little while they waited for Megatron. Optimus didn’t see why he couldn’t. When they entered Ironhide’s room, they noticed that—aside from Chromia —there was a red fembot standing by Starscream’s bed. She was a jet, like him, but not a seeker.

“Wait till’ those three jerks get a piece of my mind!”

“You wanna kill them?” Starscream asked with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Tempting, but I think you’re forgetting something.”

“And what might that be?” Starscream smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m Autobot Scum, remember?” The red fembot said with a smirk. “Murder is sort of against the rules in our faction.”

“Heheheh— I suppose not all you Autobots are entirely devoid of intelligence.”

“Is that so?”

Chromia gave Jazz a sidelong glance. “I will never understand how such a sweet femme could be all buddy-buddy with that maniac!”

Starscream suddenly yelped like a spooked cybercat.

“What happened?!” Windblade asked with concern.

“I’m f- I’m fine,” Starscream grunted quietly. “I just moved my arm the wrong way.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t speak too much. That animal, Barricade— He’s getting a kick to the face the moment I get the chance!”

Starscream laid his head down on his pillow and let out a small whimper. He felt a hand gently wrap around his. The unexpected touch made him jump, which caused him to hiss in pain.

“I’m so sorry!”

“That was you that touched me?!”

“Y-Yes? I’m the only one here, Star.”

“Oh, yes— I suppose that makes sense.”

Windblade scratched the side of her face and cleared her throat. “I should probably go back to Chromia and Ironhide now. You need to rest.

“Y-Yea… You go do that, darling.”

Chromia turned to Jazz, mocking a gag and mouthing the words “kill me” showing her disgust at overhearing Starscream address her friend in such a saccharine way.

Windblade took one last glance at Starscream before going back to Ironhide and Chromia.

“Careful with that one.” Optimus reminded her calmly.

“I’ll be alright, boss,” Windblade reassured. “Even Scream has his soft spots.”

“He’s only acting soft towards you because he wants to get under your panel!” Chromia warned.

“Our relationship isn’t anything like that, Chromia!” Windblade defended.

“Windblade, hun, he’s not looking to make friends. Trust me.”

Chromia turned her head to Optimus, silently asking for him to convince her friend to ditch the bird.

Optimus spoke. “Although we should be cautious of Starscream, he’s been relatively well-behaved on the ship. All of us need companionship, Chromia. And Starscream has been alone for a very long time. I do not believe that it is our place to intervene with any relationships he forms aboard the Ark unless it’s absolutely needed.”

Chromia let out a huff while Windblade looked at her with a smirk.

“I’ll be honest—” Jazz pitched in. “I always thought Scream only went for mechs.”

“He’s always been sweet on femme jets,” Chromia said, resting her elbow on Ironhide’s bed. “You remember that thing he had with Slipstream?”

“Oh, yeah. But that was like, so long ago I barely remember.”

“You are all aware that I can hear you, right?” Starscream called out from the other side of the room.

Windblade playfully waved one of her wings at him, which made an involuntarily soft smile appear on his face before he noticed and quickly did away with it. Seeing this caused Windblade to let out a little giggle.

Chromia rested her chin on the bed next to Iornhide’s face. “Please wake up tonight and kill him while no one is looking.”

“Cromia,” Optimus said sternly.

“Just playing, hon, just playing.” She responded while gently stroking Iornhide’s crest.

“Has he improved at all since I was last here?” Optimus asked, looking at his old companion.

Chromia’s optics dimmed. “His color has returned.”

“That’s something at least.” Jazz said.

“Yea… suppose it is…” Chromia placed a hand over Iornhide’s spark and gently rubbed his chest. She glanced at the covered injury on the left half of his face and winced. Though it was less disturbing to look at than before, the wound’s disfigurement was still visible under the patch. It was so large that half of Iornhide’s head looked reminiscent of a deflated ball. Chromia let out another sigh. “Doc told me he was gon’ fix up the big guy’s helm as much as he can once he’s healed up some more. But… he’ll most likely be blind on that side for the rest of his life.”

Not knowing what to say, Windblade placed a gentle hand on her grieving friend’s shoulder. Chromia gave a barely visible smile and returned the affection by placing her hand over Winblade’s.

“I really wish I had gotten to know him better…” Windblade said.

“You will. We have to keep hope, Windblade.” Optimus reassured.

“Uuuuuugh….” Starscream moaned from across the room.

Chromia huffed. “I really hope the big guy can’t hear all the racket that cons’ been riling up.”

“Oh, Chromia come on. He’s in a lot of pain.”

“Why should I care about HIM?! Why should any of us?! He’s an animal just like the rest of those damn cons!” Chromia stood up out of her seat.

Jazz tried to diffuse the situation. “Hey, now let’s all take it easy!”

“No!” Chromia snapped “Have all of you forgotten who he is?! He was the Megatron’s second in command! He’s a murderer! If I had even an atom of less self-control, by Primus I would have killed that bastard myself yesterday!”

“Chromia! Don’t say things like that!” Windblade accosted her friend.

“Why?! Stupid girl, he’s taking advantage of you!”

“Enough!” Optimus’s voice was imposing enough to halt the argument.

The room was filled with silent tension. Jazz caught Starscream staring, but the seeker darted his optics away once he noticed the Autobot looking at him.

The awkward silence was broken by the sound of the door sliding open and Knockout’s jovial tone. “Hello, Starscream! Here I am to save the day yet again!” He approached Starscream’s bedside. “I managed to get another dose of-“ he side-glanced at Optimus for a moment. “The exact amount of painkiller I am supposed to give you and definitely not any more than that.” He then proceeded to inject his patient with the syringe he brought.

The seeker let out a sigh of relief and sank into his pillow. “I think I gotta keep my optic on that blue one.” He lazily muttered to Knockout. “She might kill me in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t be foolish! I’m certain Chromia is far too concerned with Ironhide to have time to murder you.”

When Knockout left, Chromia sat back down, looking ashamed. “I’m sorry, Windblade. I don’t know what came over me.”

Windblade rubbed the back of her neck. “You’ve been through a lot recently. I forgive you.”

With the tension dialed down, Windblade left to go get Chromia some energeon from the vending machine outside the medbay. Jazz stayed with Chromia and Ironhide while Optimus approached Knockout and Starscream.

Starscream’s face twisted in disgust, but his optics gave away a glint of fear. “What does HE want?” He asked Knockout.

Knockout turned around to see Optimus standing behind him. “Ah! Hello, Optimus Prime! As you can see, I gave my patient only the rationed amount and nothing more!”

“Don’t mistake me for a fool, Doctor. I’ve known Starscream long enough to know a dose that low wouldn’t get him this high.”

“I’m not high, youuuuuu are!” Starscream childishly accused, pointing a talon at the Autobot leader.

Optimus raised an eyebrow at the seeker, who seemed to respond by slightly pulling up his covers.

Knockout began stumbling through his words. “Well, sir, I- er, you see- My patient wasn’t able to recharge due to the pain and-“

Optimus raised a hand to the medic. “You aren’t in trouble. His condition warrants a higher dose, anyway. But don’t go behind my back again. Understood, Doctor?”

“Really? Uh- I mean yes, sir!”

Optimus looked at Starscream again, who squinted at him suspiciously.

“How are you feeling? Jazz explained to me what happened to you the other day.”

Starscream just stared at him for a few seconds. Narrowing his optics, he said, “Why are you being nice to me?”

“We may not exactly be friends, Starscream, but you are still a part of my crew.”

“I’m not exactly an Autobot, you know.”

Optimus smiled. “Give it time.”

Starscream let out a sarcastic, “Hah!”

The door could be heard sliding open again with Windblade walking in after with her arms full of snacks. “Sorry, Jazz, they were out of sour cubes, so I got you some rust sticks instead.”

“That’s fine!” Jazz said, taking the bag of rust sticks and beaming with a smile. “Free food is free food!”

Windblade set the rest down in a tray on a table that was temporarily set up for Chromia. “Oh, and I ran into Elita. She should be here any moment.”

Optimus’s antennae twitched. “Well, I should get going.” He quickly called out, “Jazz, let’s get going!”

“No problem Bossbot!” Jazz replied with a mouth full of rust sticks.

Optimus passed by Elita soon after he exited the room. Neither said a word to the other, but Optimus could feel his spark produce a quick jolt.

Optimus couldn’t help but wonder; “Did you feel it too?”

Jazz may not have been part of their merge, but the awkwardness in the air in that brief moment was thick enough to cause Jazz to internally cringe. Once outside of the medbay, the Autobot sped up his pace a little to catch up to Optimus, a bag of rust sticks still crinkling in his hand. “Remember, man. I’m always here for you.”

Optimus only responded by giving Jazz a pat on the shoulder.

Outside the therapist’s office, Bumblebee was outside waiting for his appointment.

“Hello, son.” Optimus greeted.

“Heya Bee!” Jazz greeted as well.

Bumblebee smiled and waved at them with a doorwing. He walked up to his father and hugged him, then did the same for Jazz.

“Love you too, buddy.” Jazz said to the small Autobot, with a friendly smile.

Bee reached up and gently grabbed Optimus’s hand, signifying he had something to say. Optimus placed his palm up against his son’s.

“You’re here just in time! I was beginning to worry you forgot.”

Optimus’s optics widened and Jazz awkwardly rubbed the back of his helmet.

“Yes! Our appointment! Yes, that is why I’m here.”

Bee’s smile turned to a frown as he crossed his arms and gave the Prime a look.

Optimus let out a defeated sigh. “Alright, I forgot. I’m here to talk to Megatron. I’m sorry, Bumblebee.”

Bumblebee rolled his optics.

“Hey, don’t you- Ugh, fine. I may have deserved that.” Optimus patted Bee on the head.

“If Dr. Rung can give me a few minutes to speak with Megatron, I’ll join you. But there is something rather important I must discuss with Megatron first.”

Jazz chipped in, “It’ll be alright, buddy. He won’t forget again.” He jabbed Optimus in the side with his elbow, “Isn’t that RIGHT, Optimus?”

“Yes. I mean no— I will not forget again, Bumblebee.”

Bumblebee sighed a little and then nodded. Optimus pat him on the head again, prompting Bumblebee to smile and playfully bat his father away.

Moments later, Rung’s door slid open, and out walked the intimidating hulk of a mech, that being Megatron. Who was thus followed by a scrawny little orange mech wearing big, round glasses.

“You go on in, Bumblebee. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Guess I’ll have to go back to the brig with Megatron in your place.” Jazz said, not sounding very enthusiastic.

“You need not worry Jazz. Megatron has kept his vow against violence thus far. He shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

Jazz crossed his arms and tilted his head. “You sure we’re talking about the same bot?”

“You could always call me if there’s any trouble.”

“Ugh. Alright, man. Whatever you say. But if he kills someone, you owe me!” Jazz jested.

“Prime?” Megatron spoke. “Wasn’t expecting you here.”

“He’s here with my next client.” Rung explained.

Megatron looked down at Bumblebee, who squinted back at him, standing up tall with his chest out. “Heh. Careful not to bite off more than you can chew, kid,” he said to the much smaller bot.

“Please don’t.” Said Optimus.

Megatron chortled, slapping Optimus’s back a little too hard. “I’m just teasing him. Lighten up, you sad old fuck!”

Optimus regained his posture after Megatron caused him to momentarily stumble a step forward. He grumbled, “I need to talk to you briefly before I go in.”

“Do try to make it brief, sir. If you can, that is.” Rung requested.

Optimus gave the doctor a thumbs-up before walking to the end of the hallway with Megatron and Jazz. Optimus felt a pang of guilt watching Bumblebee step into the therapist’s office alone.

“What is it? Need more Starscream wrangling tips?” Megatron asked.

“Not quite,” said Optimus. “Barricade is currently being held in the brig for torturing Starscream.”

“Primus, I knew Cade would eventually snap.”

“You knew this would happen?!”

“The Nemesis doesn’t exactly have as many mental health professionals on board this ship, Prime. You think I risk bumping into Starscream once a week because I prefer it to staying in the comfort of my own ship?”

“I thought you did it because you liked seeing me.” Optimus bantered, allowing a glint of his past, less disciplined self the rare opportunity to poke through his hard exterior.

Megatron smirked at the remark before adding more context. “I won’t lie to you Prime, the few cons and neutrals that have remained loyal enough to follow me on the voyage are becoming, how should I say— Stir crazy? Most of them have gotten so sick of each other that they fucked off to the Minnow and Omega Supreme, caused too much of a shitshow for even the JUNKIONS, who then made most of them fuck off back over to my ship. Fights keep breaking out, I’ve already had two neutral jets jump ship and attempt to fly back. Oh, and of course half of the fuckin’ crew wants people in your’s and Omega Supreme’s crew dead, and are banned from the Ark. So I’m stuck with a bunch of ASSHOLES all goddamn day-“

“Wait! Two people tried to GO BACK?! Why didn’t you contact the other ships!” Jazz asked.

Megatron rubbed his temples “Because it happened a month ago and I didn’t find out till this morning!”

Jazz threw his arms up in the air and walked away a short distance. Optimus shook his head.

“Look, I don’t exactly have the same lovey-dovey one-big-happy-family relationship with my crew that you do. Most of MY family chose to stay behind and die. I barely know half of my crew’s names!”

“It’s been 6 cycles, my guy,” Jazz said.

Megatron shut his optics. “10… 9… 8…”

“Um, what are you doing?” Jazz asked. He turned to Optimus and whispered the same question. “What is he doing?”

“5… 4–I’m counting backward from 10 so that I don’t rip you in half— 3…”

“Megatron!”

Megatron took in a deep vent, before slowly letting it back out. “I apologize. It’s been a stressful week.”

“I understand, but please try not to threaten my crew.”

Jazz closed his optics and grumbled. “I can tell already this is gonna be REAL fun.”

“Megatron promises he is not going to rip you in half.”

“Hey, I never said- I mean of course not! I’m an ally now!” Megatron forced a grimace and held out a thumbs up.

“GOD.” Jazz pointed a finger at Optimus. “You better pick up if I call you!”

“Quit being so paranoid, Jazz. I’m not going to hurt you.” Megatron said, flicking off a tiny patch of rust from his chassis.

Optimus tried to hurry up the conversation. “We need to figure out what to do with Barricade. When I first set off on this journey, I admit I didn’t expect crimes of this nature to still be going on. I was a fool to think that.”

“I’ll take care of the bastard. He is part of my crew, after all. Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill him.”

Optimus narrowed his optics at Megatron. “I certainly hope you don’t let him off easy because of who his victim was.”

“Even if I wanted to, Barricade might still pose a risk to his crewmates.”

Jazz brought up, “He was threatening Skywarp and Thundercraker. Could have been bullshitting, but you might not wanna take a chance.”

Megatron let out an annoyed sigh. “Oh, yeah. Those two idiots.”

Jazz explained, “Allegedly, they didn’t intend for the violence to go as far as it did. Starscream still needs to be questioned, but those two don’t seem quite as nuts as Cade.”

“I’ll just drag all three of them back to the Nemesis when I leave, then take care of the rest from there. You can message me Starscream’s testimonial later. Though, I will warn you, that lying little shit is most likely going to exaggerate things a lot.”

“Who? Starscream? But he seems so pleasant!” Optimus allowed himself another moment of immaturity, causing both other mechs to snicker. “Now, I should really be getting to my son and I’s appointment.”

Jazz looked back at Optimus one more time before leaving, a tinge of anxiety in his expression. Megatron flicked Optimus in the back of the antennae before he walked away, pretending he did nothing. Optimus’s antennae flattened back as his engine revved in irritation. He could hear a mischievous laugh down the hallway as Megatron and Jazz turned a corner, out of sight.

Optimus quickly shook off his annoyance and headed back to Rung’s office. He knocked on the door, which slid open shortly after. Rung had a larger room to accommodate for his workspace. He had a sectioned-off area for appointments with clients. Rung was sitting in an armchair across from Bumblebee, who was sitting comfortably on a couch with his legs curled up.

#maccadam #transformers fanfic #transformers au #voyagers #pesty’s fics

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himi-wiz · 2 years ago

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Btw is no one talking about this on tumblr but Verbal Justice has been out for a week ago and I was waiting for a post to scream about it but no one made a post and I couldn't stand not talking about Nemu, Ichijiku and Otome-sama.

Immaculate vibes! Gosh the rhyming especially Otome's bars, I am worshipping. So. Hard.

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Here are some thoughts on favourite parts and screenshot with gorgeous visuals.

NEMU. BELOVED. MY GORGEOUS DARLING YOU ARE STUNNING IN THIS. TELL THOSE BOYS TO BUZZ OFF YES. 🥺💀🌹💕

Gosh her flower motive always gets me, such a beautiful world she strives for especially in comparison to her brother Samatoki's work as a Mafia Boss which is like, a life full of death, darkness and corruption.

ICHIJIKU <3333 PLEASE STEP-- I mean, please continue to tell us how you'll wreck wretched men and put them in their place, yes ma'am. Lash out at the despicable patriarchal system you despise with all your heart's content, I'll support your ventures. Muah. 🥰❤💖💖

THEY REALLY MADE OTOME A GOD AND I CAN'T I AM ON MY KNEES HELP-- Sorry Dice, your mom's way too powerful. Good luck, dude.😔

Jokes aside the visual editing for this is crazy good, especially how she's both coated in shadows and the amber glow of the sun while rapping about her rise to power? What a Queen. Urgh. 🧎‍♀️🙏🌅🔥🔥✨

Admittedly Verbal Justice is not my fave melody line, the verses slap but the chorus is a bit slow with a haunting mantra-like repetition that can get grating unlike Femme Fatale. I understand it's intentional considering like saviour/path to God references though and it was fun though not something I'll slap onto a playlist I'll listen everyday unlike Magic Transistor or Hoodstars. Also Giga-P's never known for having a bad chorus so tough competition to beat there.

BUT YOU KNOW THE CRAZIEST THING ABOUT THIS.

THE SONG WRITER. THE LYRICS COMPOSER IS THE QUEEN OF J-HIPHOP HERSELF URASAKI AKIKO AKA AWICH. AND CHAKI ZULU IS ALSO ONE OF HER TOP PRODUCERS SHE WORKS WITH.

I'M SO DAMN IN LOVE AAAHHH

KING RECORDS ALWAYS PICK SUCH GOOD CHOICES FOR COMPOSERS, CREEPY NUTS, GIGA-P & REOL, TEDDYLOID, SHO KIRYUIN.

If only I can figure out how to access the other composers too. Invisible manners for example are tad hard to find in English but they do have a tumblr and twitter updates at least.

Awich's recommended discography:

Queendom is an autobiographical song about Awich's life story here and it's well worth a watch, phenomenal storytelling and I adore it so much.

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And so it's like doubly amazing they got the Queen herself to make lyrics for Otome who's in a similar position of climbing to power with her own smarts, resolve and words for a better world in her homeplace like Awich returning to Japan where she moves hearts with her voice too. But well, there are clear differences there storyline wise when Otome is set up to be one of the top villains/antagonists. Very understandable sentiment tho.

And speaking of origin stories, Awich did do a collab with some Oikinawan youths, SugLawd Familiar and CHICO CARLITO called Longiness Remix. comments say they're (I think SugLawd Familiar in particular) in high school? Seriously?? And it's a jam!

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(Here's the full song MV, no eng subs yet tho.)

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And an article briefly explaining the video details!

I might do a couple of explanation posts on hypmic producers I adore sometime.

With that I'm out, cheers and stan women with amazing music hehe~

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loaprincessblog · 3 years ago

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Hey, Can I vent real quick? If not just delete this 😭

I feel stuck, maybe desperate idk. I’ve known about manifesting since April of 2020 and yes I started with Law of attraction(i know😭) but I’ve had this one desire for the longest and I’ve been using all these different methods trying to manifest it and it’s been two years and I feel like nothing is working. I know I’m not supposed to acknowledge the time but this shit gets frustrating yk, it’s like I feel like I’m doing everything right and my shit is still not here. And it makes me wanna cry sometimes because bro what else can I fucking do, like why is it not working? I know all the other law of assumption blogs are like the law is always working, which I believe but to like a certain extent. I’ve been doing all these methods and still nothing. I tried commanding my subconscious and that mf just doesn’t listen, like I tried being like “I’m god, it’s my reality, I tell you what to do” and that mf is like “Girl 🤣🤣” but I’ve gotten small shit (seeing numbers, cars etc) but it’s like when I wanna see bigger stuff that’s when the mf clocks out. I’ve tried self concept, I would affirm over and over for days maybe even weeks and nothing. I know I’m not supposed to check the 3D or whatever but that’s hard when it’s like right in your face. I’ve manifested something before(Health wise) and it worked like a gem, so I was like “okay I’m gonna do the same thing I did to manifest that with this new desire” and it like doesn’t work. And I know saying it’s doesn’t work is like a bad mind set but when I try to fake it till I make it or try to live in the end, I get nothing in the end, just time wasted. I’ve listened to subliminals, Nothing. Scripted, Nothing. Visualized, Nothing. It’s so frustrating cause I see people with their success stories and I’m like “Bro what am I doing wrong” I’ve tried so hard to keep that positive, I am god attitude but I feel like it doesn’t work.

Anyways so sorry for that long ass message also I hope you don’t mind if I curse too much 😭😭. 💕

hi darling 💓

i feel really happy you’re coming to me about this, it means so much to me. ur not cursing too much, i know i don’t cuss much but god i curse like a mf irl 😭 my blog is my biggest comfort, and it makes me so happy you guys find comfort in me 💞

i know a lot of u guys struggle with this (i did too for the LONGEST) so to me it was very important i answer this one ASAP. i first got into law of attraction. before September 2020 i had absolutely no idea what the fuck manifesting even was. so it absolutely blew my mind. and just like you i was applying technique after technique. and would rarely see results.

it’s perfectly ok to cry or feel frustrated. girl, i was just talking so much shit to my mom about what i already revised an hour ago. and you know what? that is perfectly fine. you shouldn’t feel like you have to suppress how you feel. but you should be immensely proud of yourself. you haven’t given up yet. and have you ever thought to yourself why?

please keep working on ur self concept. don’t give up on yourself. i never want to hear that from you again, ok? love yourself. pat yourself on the fucking back. self concept isn’t a technique or a method. and it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been at it. if anything it should mean all of that persisting and hard work will pay off.

you have to decide to break the cycle. no one can make that decision but you. tough love, but you can go to 50 million other blogs and ask for help but guess what? you still have to apply. all you have to do is ASSUME you have everything you want. Just BELIEVE. you don’t have to do a billion different methods. All I’m asking is for you to take a leap of faith.

do you want to keep struggling with the law for another 2 years? or 10? or do you want to live your desired life? at the end of the day it’s your decision. you can walk away right now from the law. i’m only here to tell all of you it’s real and that you absolutely deserve everything you desire.

#chloe answers 🦋#anon asks #pep talk #self concept

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bowlegsandbiceps · 3 years ago

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Suptober Day 6: Cemetery Boys

Mature | Biker!Dean/Castiel | Destiel | 5,285

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

Castiel was sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant when Benny slid into the seat across from him. He stuck out like a sore thumb in his rough jeans and flannel amid the midday lunch crowd all in skirts and suits. It took Castiel a moment to pick his jaw up off the table but when he did, he was livid.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Relax buddy I’m just here to deliver a message.”

“You can’t be here. I’m waiting for someone.” Castiel glanced around, noting that a few eyes flicked away, their interest peaked by the rough and tumble man who clearly wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Your boyfriend.” Benny rolled his eyes, hooking his elbow over the back of the chair, and gazed around the space. He smiled wolfishly at an old lady who immediately averted her eyes. “You find it ironic that you went from dating a man on one side of the law and then immediately jumped into bed with a guy on the other?”

Castiel grit his teeth. “I did not immediately - Look I didn’t like you when we ran in the same circles so if you’d be so kind as to show yourself to the door.”

“Right back at’cha, sweet cheeks.” Benny grinned. “But the prez sent me on an errand and I gotta complete it.” Benny’s face turned serious as he leaned over the table, lowering his voice.“Some shit’s about to go down.”

Castiel blinked then leaned in as well, his own voice a low rumble. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”

Benny snorted. “Look I dunno if your new boyfriend talks shop with you but the Demons aren’t taking too kindly to his new two strikes policy. They put out a hit on him.”

Castiel squinted at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

Benny examined his fingernails. “Figured you’d wanna know.”

Castiel bit his lower lip, thinking. “No. No, you wouldn’t come here-“

Benny sat up straighter in his chair. “You’re right I wouldn’t. But the VP gives an order, I follow it.” Benny leaned closer.

Castiel clenched his jaw. “Dean sent you.”

Benny lifted his hands and clapped loudly four times, drawing every eye in the room to them. Castiel sunk down in his seat. “Now you’re catching on.” Benny grinned, eyeing Castiel. “So, what is it like fucking the D.A. fresh off bein’ a biker’s old lady?” Benny gestured loosely. “So to speak.”

“You need to leave.” Castiel nodded towards the door. “Now. You have no right to interrupt my lunch-“

“Looks like I was interrupting you being stood up, but okay.”

“-with bullshit. I told Dean to stay out of my life and I meant it. Sending you instead is not a loophole. It’s a waste of your time.”

Benny snorted. “Don’t I know it.” He sucked his teeth. “But say I am right. And your shining beacon of civil obedience does have a price on his head. Would meeting him for lunch right now really be that good of an idea.”

Castiel grit his teeth. “If Dean thinks he can come in and disrupt my-“

“Hello, darling. So sorry I’m late.” A man in a dark suit, impeccably tailored, rushed by, leaning to peck Castiel on the cheek. When his eyes fell on Benny he barely even blinked. “Benny Laffitte, where’s your kutte, it’s not often you see a Man of Mayhem out of uniform unless it’s in my courtroom.”

Benny gave him a wan smile. “Crowley. Just passing on information to your beau here. I’ll be on my way.” Benny stood from his seat, towering over Crowley

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “What information is that, pray tell?”

Benny grinned down at him. “I ain’t no snitch, Mr. Prosecutor. Ask your boy.” Benny gave Castiel a nod before he swaggered away, a hush following him through the room so that the clang of his hand on the glass door rang out when he exited.

Castiel sat back, chewing his bottom lip as Crowley took his seat, grabbing the napkin on his plate and draping it in his lap. “You want to tell me what that was all about.” Crowley reached for the bottle of water on the table, tipping some into his goblet then topping off Castiel’s.

Castiel brooded for a moment. “Nothing. It was nothing. Just…”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Just?”

Castiel heaved a sigh. “Dean thinks the Demons have a hit out on you.”

Crowley blinked, setting the bottle back down. “Well, it’s a good thing you were never inducted into The Cemetery Boys because you fold like a cheap suit my love.”

“Oh shut up,” Castiel groused, reaching for his water glass but he was smiling by the time it touched his lips. Crowley gave him a smirk. “So… it’s ridiculous right?”

Crowley raised his brows, hooking his elbows on the table and holding one hand in the other. “Oh know they have a bounty on my head.”

Castiel choked on his water. “Wh-what?”

“No need to worry, darling. It’s merely a formality so they look tough for all the other little gangs around town.” Crowley sipped at his water.

“The MC never put hits out on anyone just to look tough,” Castiel objected, looking horrified and Crowley lifted a brow.

“Oh did they put them out for other reasons?”

Castiel’s eyes went flat. “The Cemetery Boys are a group of motorcycle enthusiasts. The worst thing they’re guilty of is drinking too much on a weeknight.” Castiel scoffed when Crowley smirked.

“Drug trafficking, weapons trafficking, racketeering, sports betting-“

“Alright, alright,” Castiel huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked around the room for a moment before glancing back at his boyfriend. “You’re safe though?”

Crowley’s eyes softened, his hand reaching across the table. Castiel took it. “I’m touched. Yes, safe as houses.”

When Castiel pulled into his apartment complex that evening after work he couldn’t help but notice the Harley parked across the street from his building. A young man was sitting astride it, eyes on his phone. Castiel slammed the door to his car watching as the young man jumped and met his eyes before he immediately looked down again. Castiel sighed, striding over with purposeful steps.

“Hello, Sam.”

The young man looked up, his shaggy hair hanging in his eyes before he shook it back. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel looked around. “Where’s your brother?”

Sam shifted. “Dunno.”

“He wouldn’t have you here by yourself. Where is he?”

Sam’s face screwed up, indignant. “Hey, I’m a Prospect now!” He twisted so Castiel could get a look at the designation on the back of his leather vest.

Castiel’s brow creased. “I thought you were going to Stanford.”

Sam’s head dipped, fiddling with his phone again. “Nah, I belong here. With my family.”

Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sam, you wanted to be a lawyer.”

Sam shrugged him off. “Yeah well, now I wanna be a Cemetery Boy. What do you care anyway? You left.”

Castiel’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I was with Dean for a long time-“

“Yeah. And you left.”

“-and you know why I left. It’s why you left too.”

Sam leveled his gaze on Castiel. “Yeah. And I came back.” He paused. “It’s not safe for you right now. Crowley’s got a detail but you don’t. He should be protecting you.”

“I don’t need protecting, Sam!” Castiel sighed exasperatedly. “And if I did it wouldn’t be your job to do it. Or Dean’s.”

Sam shifted, his hazel eyes going soft in a way that Castiel knew was going to hit him right in the gut. “You could come back too. You don’t have to pledge-“

Castiel started to laugh. “Yeah, no. I’ve moved on.” Castiel made to turn away. “Tell your brother he should do the same.”

“He has!” Sam called after him, voice petulant. “New girl every night!”

Castiel’s eyes cut over his shoulder at Sam before heading up the stairs to his apartment.

The creak of his bedroom door woke Castiel from a dead sleep at 2:13 am. His eyes opened to his alarm clock, fluttered for a moment as his brain cleared. The sound of a hammer locking into place brought everything into sharp perspective and before he even took a breath he’d rolled off the side of the bed, the gunshot booming impossibly loud in the silent room.

He didn’t have a weapon, had always hated guns, but crouched between his closet and his mattress he would have given anything to have Dean’s pearl-handled .45. He’d give anything to have Dean here. The sound of boots on hardwood thunked closer and Castiel stood abruptly, grabbed a pillow and threw it.

It hit the intruder in the face and the gun went off again, the flash bringing spots to Castiel’s vision as he rushed the guy, knocking him hard in Castiel’s dresser. The intruder was trying to get the gun up and Castiel grabbed for the lamp, smashing it over the guy’s head as he made a break for the door. Pinballing off the hallway walls he tripped into the living room just as his front door was kicked in.

Dean Winchester charged forward, reaching for Castiel on instinct and shoving him behind him. The intruder emerged from the bedroom, gun outstretched and Dean brought the bat he held up and swung. The sickening crack of a wrist breaking, followed by an inhuman howl of pain turned Castiel’s stomach and he had to hold on to the back of his couch to keep from hitting the floor. Another sickening crack of the bat and the horrid sucking sound of a man trying to pull in a breath his body won’t accept.

“Dean.” Castiel turned his head, immediately snapping his eyes shut when he saw Dean raise the bat over his head but thanks to the sound of it cracking across the intruder’s back, Castiel’s brain unhelpfully provided him with a visual. “Dean! Please!”

Dean froze bat aloft and looked over, finding Castiel hanging on to the back of his couch, legs trembling beneath him. He was sucking in breath through his nose and letting it out of his mouth slowly as if trying not to vomit. Dean dropped the bat.

“‘ey Cas,” Dean grabbed his biceps and immediately pulled him to his chest. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“W-w-who was that. What….what’s happening?”

Dean petted his hair, sucking in a deep breath as Castiel’s arms went around him feebly, Castiel leaning all his weight against Dean. Dean pressed his face to the top of Castiel’s head. “Nothin’ for you to worry about. You’re safe now.”

“I want a uniformed officer on this building at all times. No one should come in and out of here without express clearance. Is that clear!?”

Dean and Castiel watched from where they stood leaning against the back of the couch as Crowley continued his rampage. Dean leaned towards Castiel.

“He’s pretty intimidating for a short guy. I’ll admit it.” Dean shrugged and Castiel cut his eyes at him.

“He’s not short. You and your brother are just freakishly tall.”

“He’s shorter than you.”

“I too am taller than average.”

Dean pounced. “Since when do you like average?”

Castiel’s head whipped to look at him. “Since it generally follows the law.”

Dean made a face. “A whole hell of a lot of good it did you tonight.”

“Winchester, what are you even doing here!” It seemed that Crowley’s tirade had finally turned to him and Dean gave him a placid smile.

“Oh just taking care of Cas here. You know. What you should have been doing.”

Castiel raised a hand. “Hey, hey now. This was no one’s fault.”

“Really,” Dean asked, his eyes ablaze as he glanced at Castiel and then lanced Crowley with a heated stare. “Last time I checked, D. A. Douchebag here had a security detail. Why wasn’t he protected, huh?”

“There were no credible threats on-”

“It’s the Demons, Crowley!” Dean shook his head, his face slack in disbelief. “They always make good on their threats. He should have had someone on him from the second you got the intel two days ago.”

“Wait, what?” Castiel looked to Crowley astonished. “Fergus, is he telling the truth? Did you know about this and not tell me?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, looking supremely satisfied as Crowley’s face soured. He looked from Dean to Castiel. “Darling,” Crowley took Castiel’s hands in his, leading him away from Dean. “I would never put you in harm’s way. I’m appalled you’d even think it. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to the intel. I thought…” Crowley pursed his lips. “I thought no one would dare go after you.” His eyes cut to Dean, gaze hateful. “I was wrong.”

“Damn right you were wrong,” Dean accused, pointing a finger at Crowley. “And it almost got him killed.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, holding up a hand.

“What? Cas you can’t possibly be giving him a pass on this.” Dean’s voice was indignant.

“Dean you can’t possibly think that he knowingly let this happen.”

“I think something stinks in here and it ain’t the biker,” Dean snapped.

Castiel sighed, reaching for Dean’s shoulder and forcing him to turn towards the door. ‘Thank you. For… for…”

“Saving you,” Dean supplied and Castiel fought the roll of his eyes.

“Yes, thank you for that, but I think the police have it from here.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder and leaned closer into Castiel. “I don’t trust him, Cas. There’s something really fishy about this.”

“You’re paranoid, Dean.”

“It’s not paranoia if you’re right.”

Castiel sighed again, rubbing his forehead. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“You should come to the clubhouse. It’s safe and no one would-“

“Good night, Dean.”

Den pressed his lips together, throwing one last scowl over his shoulder at Crowley before giving Castiel a pleading look that went unanswered. He heaved a sigh and left.

Castiel laid awake a long time after Crowley had fallen asleep, listening to his light snores. They’d talked after the police cleared out, Crowley apologizing profusely for not taking the threat more seriously. Something continued to niggle at Castiel, some deep-seated intuition that wouldn’t let him sleep.

Castiel: Dean?

Dean: Yeah, Cas.

Castiel: I wasn’t sure if you still had this number

Dean: Looks like I do.

Dean: Everything okay?

Castiel’s thumbs hovered over the screen as he chewed his bottom lip.

Castiel: Yeah. Yeah, everything is fine. I’m sorry for bothering you.

Dean: It’s no bother Cas. Message me any time.

Dean: Or call.

Castiel put his phone back on the bedside table and resettled but sleep didn’t come.

Castiel’s unease stayed with him through the morning and well into the next afternoon. Crowley had assured him that the threat on him had been neutralized but agreed to keep a uniform officer on him when Castiel didn’t let up. He couldn’t focus at work, his mind drifting to Crowley and what he was doing, who he was talking to. Was he safe? Was Castiel? By the time evening came, he had a pretty terrible headache and a determination to get some answers.

Rocky’s Bar is a ramshackle establishment off route 6 that Castiel had hoped to never set foot in. The fact that the Cemetery Boys ran nightclubs all over town was a well-known fact as was their reputation for keeping order in these establishments. Castiel just wasn’t much for strip clubs, especially those run by his ex-boyfriend.

Stepping inside he expected to smell cigar smoke and sex but instead was greeted by a pleasant, feminine scent, sweet and cloying but not overbearing. He spotted Dean immediately behind the bar, grinning at a scantily clad woman as he loaded drinks onto her tray. Castiel stamped down the flare of jealousy in his gut.

Dean was watching the show now, eyes on the girl spinning on the pole as he wiped down glasses behind the bar. Castiel sidled up and it took Dean a minute to look at him. When he did he dropped the glass he’d been wiping so that it shattered on the floor.

“Shit!” Dean hopped back to avoid glass spraying over the toes of his boots. “Cas? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I need answers.”

Dean had moved down the bar going for a broom that was tucked in a corner. He paused, looking back over his shoulder at Castiel. His jaw tightened as he turned away again, snatching the broom and coming back over to sweep up his mess.

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?”

“I did,” Castiel said, pausing to watch Dean methodically push glass into the dustpan. “Now I’m asking you.”

“What’d he tell you?” Dean set the broom and dustpan aside, crossing his arms over his chest and Castiel was not at all distracted by the flex of his biceps and the way his shirt stretched around his muscles. He wasn’t wearing his kutte, just a black v-neck and jeans.

“That I was safe. That the threat had been neutralized.”

Dean’s eyes widened just the slightest bit before his face went dangerously blank. He turned his head, looking down the bar, and then returned his gaze to the stage. Castiel huffed, annoyed, and stepped into his line of sight.

“Do you ever get tired of looking at tits?”

Dean snorted. “Absolutely not.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and turned to stomp off. “Never mind. I don’t even know why I bothered to come here.”

Dean was out from behind the bar in a microsecond, reaching for Castiel’s arm before worming in front of him, blocking his exit. “Sorry. I’m sorry. You want answers? I’ll give them to you. Just… “ Dean looked around and his eyes landed on something over Castiel's shoulder. He cocked his head back and Castiel glanced back to see Benny dutifully pulling himself up from an armchair and making his way over. He begrudgingly took Dean’s place behind the bar.

Upstairs in the office, Castiel couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. It was a tiny space, just big enough for the large desk and a few filing cabinets. Dean wormed his way behind the desk and Castiel forced himself into the small armchair across from him. There were posters of half-naked women on the walls and Castiel was once again struck with an extreme sense of inadequacy. Dean loved women, but Castiel knew Dean has also loved him.

“So you wanna hear word on the street or just straight facts?” Dean was pulling out a bottle of whiskey from one of the drawers along with two mugs. One of them was the one Castiel got him for Christmas two years ago that said “Send Noods” with a bowl of Ramen noodles.

“Let's start with facts,” Castiel said showing Dean his palm, declining the drink. Dean shrugged and poured himself one.

“The fact is that the Demons are going after Crowley and the people close to him.” Dean picked up his mug. “You.” He sipped. “They’re using out of towners, seasoned guys not prospects.” Dean’s eyes leveled on Castiel. “That makes it a serious threat.”

“Why?” Castiel asked, shifting in his seat.

“Prospects are idiots,” Dean waved a hand then pursed his lips. “My brother excluded.” Dean shook his head. “You don’t give important jobs to prospects. They’re meant for grunt work and low-level intimidation. That guy I clubbed in your apartment was a Nomad - an out-of-state-er, no home club. Meant to blow in and out of town, generally used for serious shit they don’t want traced back to the local club.”

“O-kay.”

Dean sighed, seemingly annoyed that Castiel wasn’t understanding something. “These guys are one step down from trained assassins, Cas. It was a serious threat.”

“Why would Crowley lie to me?” Castiel burst out and Dean downed the rest of his drink.

“I dunno, Cas. Why do you think?”

Castiel bristled. “Oh, I guess you have an opinion?”

Dean gave him a smarmy grin. “Oh, I have several.”

“This is stupid.” Castiel threw his hands in the air. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Castiel made to leave but Dean stood, gripping his wrist and refusing to let go. “Cas, wait. Come on. This is serious okay? I assume he put a uni on you?”

“Yeah but I ditched him,” Castiel settled back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean rubbed his face hard. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I didn’t want Crowley to know I came to you, Dean. Why do you think?” Castiel scoffed shaking his head and Dean set his jaw.

“What he got a problem with me or something?”

Castiel gave him a deadpan stare the lifted a finger, counting off each, “Drug trafficking, weapons trafficking, racketeering-“

Dean hissed waving his hands at Castiel. “Alright alright, enough.” Dean sighed. “Word on the street is that Alaistair put the hit out because your boyfriend,” Dean looked disgusted as he said it, “is trying to go maximum sentence when he’s only at two strikes.”

“Didn’t Alaistair maim and torture two immigrant women?”

“Yeah, but they were stealing his coke when they were supposed to be muling it.”

Castiel blinked. “So he tortured and maimed them?”

Dean gave a shrug.

Castiel felt his stomach go cold. “Do you do that?”

Dean gave a shrug then smiled. “We don’t run drugs, Cas. We’re just a group of motorcycle enthusiasts.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “That’s it? That’s all the information you have?”

Dean shifted in his seat. “There’s some other things. In-fighting and some club shit you don’t need to know but it’s not relevant to you or your safety.”

“But it’s about Crowley?”

Dean gave a short nod.

“What is it?”

Dean reached up to rub his chin, the scratch of his stubble barely heard over the thumping bass in the club below. “He’s paying off some officers on the force.”

Castiel’s brow crinkled. “What? Why?”

Dean shrugged. “No idea.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Okay so I have some idea but it’s just a gut feeling. And you only wanted facts.”

Castiel frowned. “Tell me.”

“He’s going to make a bid for mayor right?”

Castiel blinked. “Uh… yeah he’s been thinking about- how did you-?”

Dean waved a hand. “Guys like him only want power. And he’ll do anything to get it. He’s set all his pieces on the board. Stellar win record in court, charitable donations to all the right charities…” Dean eyed Castiel. “Wholesome, attractive man on his arm.” Castiel fought a blush, looking at his lap. “But he needs an edge.”

“What kind of edge.”

Dean tilted his head. “That I don’t know.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Are you going to continue to have someone in the club tail me?”

“Do you want me to have someone in the club tailing you?” Castiel hesitated. “I’ll keep Sam on you.”

Castiel was driving home from the club when his car was sideswiped by a large panel van. Dazed and dizzy he could barely process that he was being dragged from the car. A man smelling of whiskey and day-old sweat pulled him up before punching him solidly in the jaw. Castiel’s ears rang as something solid ran into his assailant, knocking Castiel out of his grasp and Castiel fell back against the fender of his car, trying to focus.

The sound of fists meeting flesh echoed down the empty highway. Castiel heard a shout and someone scuffling before two meaty hands gripped the lapels of his trench coat and began to drag him towards the back of the van. Castiel began to struggle, eyes trying to focus and he saw Sam Winchester fighting against two men in black hoodies and face masks, his wide reach the only thing keeping him up in that fight.

A twin engine sounded in the distance and Castiel felt his heart clench, struggling harder as two sets of hands tried to haul him up into the back of the van. He could barely see, the old two-lane road unlit except for the headlight of the bike as it drew nearer and the broken headlights of the van crunched into the side of his car. Castiel’s feet were leaving the ground as he was lifted bodily and he yelled out despite himself.

“No! Let me go! Get off me! Help! Help!”

“Get off him you son of a bitch!” Dean’s voice rang out in the silent night, the motor on his bike dying as he skidded to a halt and let it drop to the ground as he vaulted off of it. He fired off a round into the air, everyone around him cringing down and looking his way.

“Shit, Dean Winchester,” one of them muttered, dropping Castiel immediately and it was enough for Castiel to break free.

Without thinking he ran towards Dean, throwing his body at him and Dean accepted him with open arms, cocooning him in a tight embrace. Castiel clutched him close, fear pumping through his veins, heart galloping so hard in his chest he felt sick from it. He heard boots on gravel and one of Dean’s arms shot out, pointing the gun at the man who tried to approach.

“Stay out of this Winchester.”

The gun fired and Castiel gave a small cry, pressing his face hard into Dean’s shoulder trying to block out the distinct sound of a body hitting the pavement.

“Anyone else got something to say?!” Dean shouted, his other arm still wrapped tight around Castiel. “You.” Dean gestured with the gun. “Tell Alaistair he comes near Castiel Novak again, he’ll be shitting his own teeth for a week.”

A high laugh bubbled from behind Castiel and he gripped Dean tighter at the icy sound. “We don’t work for Alaistair. Don’t you know, Winchester? There’s a new God in town and he’s playing for keeps.”

The gun went off again and someone howled in pain. “I’m not much for riddles,” Dean spit.

“Dean…”

“Shut up, Cas.”

Castiel shut up, keeping his chin tucked over Dean’s shoulder.

“He calls himself Lucifer,” A trembling voice hissed. “He’s working with the prosecutor.”

Castiel’s breath hitched. He felt Dean swallow hard.

“How?” Dean’s voice was more a command than a question.

“To take over the Demons. Alaistair goes down and he’s the new leader. Anyone who stands against him dies.”

“What’s in it for Crowley?” Dean demanded.

“Mayor,” Sam chimed in, his voice astonished. “He puts Alasiatr away, the infighting stops and there’s peace on the streets again.”

“What does this have to do with Cas?” Dean redoubled his grip and Castiel tried to keep himself from trembling. Silence. Another gunshot, this time followed by rapid-fire speech.

“Jesus! Okay, okay! He wants him dead.”

“Lucifer? Why?” Dean asked.

“No, Dean,” Sam replied and Castiel knew before Sam even said it. “Crowley.”

“What?” Dean’s voice was astonished, his gun lowering a bit and Castiel merely closed his eyes, turning his face into Dean’s neck.

“You said it yourself. He needs an edge,” Sam’s voice was almost giddy with understanding. “What’s better than a dead husband?”

Dean’s entire body stiffened. “They aren’t married.”

Castiel curled in more, his throat feeling as if it might burst. “Not yet. I found the ring. He was going to ask soon.”

Dean growled softly. “Alright, you and you, listen up. Anyone comes near Castiel Novak and they’ll deal with the Cemetery Boys. You want a war you fucking got one. Now get your friend out of here before he bleeds out on the side of the road. Sammy, call a tow and wait with the car. Cas,” Dean’s voice softened as he turned his head, nose brushing in Castiel’s hair. “You’re with me.”

Castiel didn’t object.

Castiel wasn’t fully cognizant of anything that was happening to him until he found himself being helped into a pair of Dean’s sweat pants in the room above the clubhouse. Dean had practically carried him up the stairs, sat him on a chair, and chattered at him about anything and everything while he went about putting clean sheets on the bed.

Castiel shivered as Dean guided his arms through an old club t-shirt, one that Castiel used to sleep in when he and Dean had been together. Why had he ever left Dean? He’d been so mad for so long he couldn’t even remember why anymore. And given the night’s events, he was sure it was small and insignificant in comparison to everything he’d done for Castiel tonight.

“Dean.” Castiel reached for his hip and Dean placed his hands on Castiel’s biceps, steadying him.

“You need to get some sleep. You’re dead on your feet.”

Castiel acquiesced though reluctantly as Dean guided him over to the bed. The mattress was lumpy but the linens smelled like fresh laundry and Castiel curled up as Dean tucked him in. Castiel caught his wrist when Dean made to move away.

“Stay. Please.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Cas, I-“

“I just want you to hold me.” Castiel knew he’d likely feel shame later but right now all he wanted was comfort. “Please.”

Dean was perilous to stop himself, toeing out of his boots and letting his jeans fall to the floor. He shrugged out of his kutte, hanging it on the arm of the chair before tossing his flannel aside and slid between cool sheets next to Castiel. Dean chuckled as he was immediately enveloped, Castiel latching onto him like an octopus, and god, how he’d missed this.

“Thank you,” Castiel murmured into his chest and Dean shivered at his warm breath on the bare skin of his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. Dean. I’m sorry.” He was starting to hyperventilate and Dean held him tighter.

“Shhh, calm down, Cas. It’s okay. You were just… It doesn’t matter. I forgive you okay. Don’t freak out, just breathe.”

“How could I be so stupid?” Castiel panted, his eyes squeezing shut. “How could I not see it?”

“Well Crowley is a slimy, lying son of a bitch and you’re… well… you trust people too easy, Cas.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, you do. It’s something I love about you but only when I’m around to look out for you.”

“I never should have left.” Silence stretched. “Dean?”

“I’m not gonna argue with you.”

Castiel couldn’t help it, he huffed a laugh. “You’re an asshole.” They were silent for a moment. “What do we do now?”

“Well, I got some lube in the drawer over th- OW!” Dean winced as Castiel pinched his nipple hard. “Easy on the goods.”

“I meant about Crowley.”

“Oh, you should definitely break up with him,” Dean nuzzled his nose into Castiel’s hair and received another, less severe, nipple tweak.

“We can’t go to the police.”

“Nope.”

“So what do we do.”

“We’ve got church tomorrow. I’ll bring it up.”

Castiel sat up, gazing down at Dean. “You’re gonna get the club involved?”

“Honey, we’re already involved. You fuck with one of us you fuck with all of us. They hurt you. They’re lucky I only blew out their knee caps and not their skulls.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped shut. “Jesus, Dean please don’t kill anyone.”

“Aw, Cas you’re no fun.”

“This isn’t funny!”

Dean’s face turned sober. “I know. I’m sorry, I know it isn’t. Look, we can’t do anything tonight, but I promise you, you’re safe here. YOu’re safe with me.” Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s.

“And we’ll just… figure out the rest?” Castiel gazed up at Dean, taking in the dusting of freckles across his nose. A small smile pulled at Dean’s lips.

“Yeah. We’ll make it up as we go.”

#suptober21 #biker dean #destiel #fanfic: supernatural #spn fic #writing by me

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ladyfogg · 4 years ago

Text

King of Wands

Fic Summary: When you first started with the show, Jimmy asked for a reading but you turned him away because it wasn’t time. Now that he’s sitting in front of you and the cards are all laid out, it’s time to tell him exactly what his future holds.

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Jimmy Darling/Female Reader

Warnings: Smut. Just, lots of smut.

A/N: Look, thought of this and wrote it in the last two hours. Just needed to get this gem out of my brain.

You’re a reader.

A tarot reader that is.

It started when you were a child and your grandmother passed away. She gifted you the set that belonged to her mother and hers before that. Your mother never bought into tarot cards and had refused the family heirloom. The moment those cards were placed in your hand, however, everything changed.

You were obsessed, pouring over the little instructional book day after day, memorizing each card and what they meant. It wasn’t until you performed your first reading that you realized the obsession went far deeper than you ever realized.

You began to see the cards just by looking at someone. You couldn’t explain it. It was subtle at first, just the card name floating through your mind. But then it became visual, sort of like when photographs were overlaid over each other. You knew exactly what card you would pull before you even started shuffling. And you were always right.

It scared people.

At first, you were labeled a fraud; shamed for a gift you had no control over. Then you were hated. People tended to get a bit cranky when you revealed their spouse was cheating on them or that you knew about the little money laundering scheme they had going on. But they were furious when you told them the depths of their character. They didn’t like when you peered into their soul and made them face the parts of themselves they kept locked away.

One day, they stormed your house, ready to run you out of town. You barely had time to grab your grandmother’s cards before fleeing into the darkness.

That’s when you met Elsa. And everything changed. See, she had heard about your gifts and had come to check you out herself. She was The Moon. You saw it the second you laid your eyes on her. Fear and anxiety, but full of intuition and illusions of grandeur. You liked her and you knew that you would be safe with her and her show. Though, you warned her that if she didn’t deal with her past trauma it would come back to bite her in the ass.

She laughed at your boldness.

That first night you slept more peacefully than you had in years. You were given a trailer, one that would act as your home and your workspace. For the first time in your life, you had a home that was all yours and you cherished it just as much as your grandmother’s cards. The house you lived in before with your parents never felt like home. Not since you started reading cards.

You didn’t meet everyone until the next morning at breakfast. Bette and Dot certainly were an interesting pair. Dot seemed indifferent to your appearance, Bette was nice and overly curious about your cards. Ma Petite was the sweetest person you ever met and Eve was an Amazonian vision. You met the others as well, but they were the ones who took you under their wings and showed you the ropes.

Well, them, and Jimmy.

Jimmy Darling.

From the moment he walked into the food tent you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Those deep brown eyes, curly hair, strong arms...he drove you to distraction. At least, that’s what you assumed it was when you didn’t see a card for him. You saw one for everyone else. In fact, the others insisted you read for them so they could see what you could do.

You humored them, mostly because you wanted to impress your new friends but also because you wanted the practice.

“What do you see?” Bette asked as drew three cards and laid them out before her and Dot.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Bette,” Dot said with her signature firm voice. “Tarot reading ain’t a skill. These people are just very perspective and use the cards as a way to swindle you.”

“You’re wrong and right,” you told her, still staring at your cards. “It’s a skill but most people do use it for personal gain. I however have nothing to gain other than getting these damn pictures out of my head.”

“What sort of pictures?” Bette asked.

“The cards. I can look at a person and know exactly what card I’m going to pull.”

“What do you see when you look at me?”

You tap the first card. “The Sun Reversed. Means overly optimistic and feeling down. You need to let your inner child come out and play. Have some fun in your life, honey.”

Bette smiled while Dot rolled her eyes. “I try,” she said. “But she won’t let me have any fun.”

“If I let you have the fun you want, we’d get pregnant,” Dot said.

You chuckled as you kept looking. “Next card is The Lovers Reversed. You don’t love yourself or respect yourself.”

At that, Bette's face fell and she pursed her lips together.

“You’re facing a tough choice with significant consequences,” you continued, now looking directly at her and not the cards. "Stop punishing yourself. Whatever you did, those consequences are behind you now, and dwelling on it isn’t going to change what happened.”

You tap the last card, still maintaining eye contact as you watch the card of Death appear behind Bette's head like the backdrop on a stage. “Something will be coming to an end. There’s a transition on the horizon and if you don’t deal with what’s in here,” you tap her chest where her heart is. “Then you’ll be blind to the opportunities in front of you.”

“Horseshit,” Dot muttered. “All of that was general. Nothing specific that would apply to either of us.”

“Those cards weren’t for you,” you told her, tearing your eyes away from Bette who was chewing on her nail in thought. “Those were for Bette. I don’t draw cards for people who don’t want them.”

“Well fine then, draw one for me,” Dot said, her voice tinged with challenge. “What card do you see for me?”

“Five of Swords.” You draw the next card in the deck, laying the Five of Swords right in front of her. “The recent battle you fought cost you more than you realize. It cost you trust, respect, and dignity. Moving forward is going to be more difficult than you thought. You should probably decide whether your point of view is so important to you that you’re willing to put your closest and ONLY relationship in jeopardy.”

Dot is unimpressed while Bette covers her smile with her hand. “Obviously you stacked the deck,” Dot accused. “I bet if another card were chosen you’d say something completely different.”

“Well, obviously. But another card won’t be chosen.” You shrugged and gathered all the cards, tucking them back into the deck which you then handed to her. “Shuffle yourself.”

With Bette's help, Dot shuffled the deck, twisting cards multiple times and being a lot rougher with the ancient set than you were comfortable with. You winced at the way she treated them, making a mental note to buy a set that your clients could handle instead of using your personal one.

Dot slammed the deck down on the table and waited. You smirked and gestured for her to draw a card.

The Five of Swords gleamed in the light of the tent. Dot's face hardened and she abruptly stood. “We have practice to get to. We don’t have time to sit around listening to a charlatan,” she declared.

Unfazed, you scooped up the deck and gently shuffled. “Whatever you say, grumpy.”

She stalked off, barely giving Bette a chance to wave goodbye.

Jimmy took her place at the seat across from you. he looked incredibly amused. “Day one and you’re already making friends,” he teased. “That was some reading. I saw the others you did too. Seems like you know your stuff.”

You smiled at him but your smile faded when you suddenly realized, you couldn’t see any card. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. All you saw was him.

Jimmy placed his hands on the table expectantly. “Alright, tarot reader. Tell me my future.”

“Sorry, I can’t.” You had never met someone who didn’t have a card and you suddenly worried that something was wrong with you.

“Ah, hey, that’s not fair,” he said. “I deserve a reading just like everyone else. Come on, doll face. What do you see?”

You considered the situation as you shuffled the card, with such ease and skill it was like the cards were floating between your hands and fingers. “It’s not your time for a reading,” you declared. “Sorry, Jimmy. Maybe some other time.”

As you stood up, Jimmy leaned back in his seat with a smirk. “Playing hard to get, sugar? That’s alright. I’m a patient man. I can wait.”

The circus became the place where you finally belonged. Everyone became family and over the years, your talent and act grew. Soon, your grandmother’s cards were only one of the twelve sets you used. You did most of your work while people were waiting for the show to start. Your trailer was set just next to the main tent so those in line or waiting could come in for a reading. You made decent money too, which of course went right back into the circus to help everyone.

Your powers grew as your act did. Soon you could see and learn things about someone that you couldn’t possibly know otherwise. The cards helped get things started but once you were deep in a reading, everything else came right from your own mind.

Every time someone tried to find a way to indicate you were cheating them, you made changes. At first, they said it was because you stacked the deck, so you started having them pick which one they wanted you to use. Then they said you cheated because you could see which one they picked right away and somehow used that the cheat, so you wrapped every deck in the same identical black silk cloth.

The table was left bare. No books or anything else during readings. You didn’t need the books anymore anyway since you knew each deck by heart. The person would sit and you saw the images just as clearly as you saw them.

Except for Jimmy. He was the one and only person who never had a card. It annoyed you but eventually, you came to cherish it. Because when you two were together, all you saw was him. You never got distracted by the pictures. Over time, you and Jimmy became close friends.

Often after a show, the two of you would sit outside and look at the stars, talking for hours. Your feelings for him grew, but you kept them to yourself. He was the first friend you ever had and you didn’t want to mess up the friendship by telling him how you felt.

Of course, the universe had other plans. As it often did.

It was nearly five years later and you were in your trailer, cleaning up for the evening when there was a sharp knock on the door. Not expecting anyone, you frowned and peeked out the curtained window before opening the door.

Jimmy stood on the steps, hands on his hips and jaw clenched. You immediately knew something was wrong and stepped aside to let him in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, heading to the small kitchenette to pour him some tea you had just made yourself.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Being called freaks and getting shit thrown at us,” Jimmy grumbled as he paced. “I get so fucking tired of it. We deserve to be treated with respect just like everyone else. And no matter how hard we try they never fucking see that.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I know how much this weighs on you. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Why do you stay with us?”

His question made you look over at him with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you could go anywhere you want. Do your act for yourself. Why do you stay here?”

For you.

“This is my home and my family, where else would I go?”

He collapsed into your kitchen chair. “You deserve more, you know. Someone—” He caught himself and paused. “Something else. Something better.”

You turned around to tell him that you had no intention of going anywhere when your vision was assaulted by bright lights and the image of the King of Wands. It was so sudden and unexpected that you gasped, letting the teacup slip from your fingers and shatter on the floor. The moment you staggered backward, Jimmy was out of his seat with his arms around your waist to catch you.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there, doll face. Don’t wanna bump that pretty head of yours,” he said. “You alright?”

Grabbing his biceps to steady yourself, you shut your eyes and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just give me a minute.”

This was the first time in your entire friendship that the two of you touched. Sure there was an occasional handhold or pat on the knee, but he had never put his arms around you and, in truth, it was the best feeling in the world. Unable to stop yourself, you stepped into the embrace, burying your face in his neck. Jimmy held you tight, his nose in your hair. You were so close you could hear his heart racing and when his hand made a slow trail down your spine, you shuddered.

“Take all the time you need, darlin’. I ain’t complaining.”

You smiled and pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “It’s time for your reading.”

He quirked his eyebrow in amusement. “That what the kids are calling it nowadays?”

Laughing, you reluctantly stepped out of his arms and patted him on the chest. “I’m serious. I can finally see your card.”

“Hot damn. Must be my lucky day.”

You stepped over the broken cup, too focused on other things to care. As you took your seat, you waved to the shelf with your cards. “Take your pick.”

No longer angry, Jimmy looked incredibly amused at the change of events. “You’ve got a strange definition of foreplay, but I’ll play along.”

You rolled your eyes in amusement as he walked up to the shelf, hands shoved in his pockets. He was as handsome as he ever was. His looks only improved with time and the white sleeveless shirt and finely tailored pants helped a great deal. Often you had to stop yourself from just staring at him. Unless he was on stage. Then, you tucked yourself in the back and watched him with shameless love and affection in your soul.

It took him a while to pick a deck, but when he did, he gingerly plucked it off the shelf and sat down with it.

“Unwrap the cards and shuffle,” you told him.

“I love it when you get all bossy.”

“For Christ’s sake, Jimmy, just shuffle the damn cards.”

He chuckled, placing the cards on the table and carefully undoing the ribbon that bound them. When the cloth fell away, you found yourself staring at your grandmother’s cards. They almost never were picked nowadays. Truthfully, you were the only one to use them in the last two or so years.

“So what card do you see for me, doll face?” Jimmy asked, shuffling the deck. His hands fumbled a few times but eventually, he got the hang of it.

“The King of Wands.”

Jimmy smirked. “I know I’m good in bed but damn, I didn’t know I was a king.”

“Not that wand, Jimmy. Well...maybe that wand but I don’t know yet. Just shuffle and draw a card.”

“Why now?” He kept his eyes on you as he shuffled. “We’ve known each other five years and you never gave me a reading. The one time I asked, you said it wasn’t time.”

“You know it’s because I didn’t see a card for you.”

“Yeah, but why do you see one now?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Jimmy placed the deck down and drew a card.

The High Priestess. No. No, that’s not right. You’ve never been wrong in your entire life. A chill ran down your spine and you frowned as you looked at the card. Jimmy’s card wasn’t the High Priestess.

“Looks like you were wrong, sugar,” Jimmy said. “That’s weird. I’ve never known you to be wrong.”

“That’s because I’m not. Draw another card.”

“Darlin’, it’s okay—”

“Humor me, Jimmy. Just draw again.”

Jimmy shrugged and drew another card, placing it next to the first. The Lovers. “Still not the King of Wands,” he said. “Look, it’s been a long day. I’m sure after doing all those readings you’re bound to be a little off.”

“Draw one more.” Jimmy said your name softly but you just shook your head. “Draw again, Jimmy.”

Jimmy sighed and drew another card and your heart lept. The King of Wands.

“There you are you sneaky bastard,” you said. “Now what the hell…” You cut yourself off when you realized what the cards meant. Images and sounds came rushing to you all at once and suddenly, you started laughing. Full on, deep belly, laughing.

Jimmy looked bewildered. “Have you lost your damn mind? What’s so funny?”

“You just gave me a reading.”

“Come again?”

You point to him. “You, Jimmy Darling, just read MY tarot cards.”

“But I ain’t no card reader.”

“Tonight you are apparently. See, this card is yours.” You point to the King of Wands before tapping the High Priestess. “And this one is mine.”

Jimmy looked down at the three cards. The High Priestess, The Lovers, and the King of Wands. His face broke out in a wide smile. “Well, shit,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “Looks like we have a long night ahead of us.”

The both of you were out of your seats in the blink of an eye. When your lips finally met for the first time, it was like your world exploded. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire and that only amplified times a thousand when Jimmy got his hands on you. He pulled at your shirt, tugging it out of your skirt so he could reach underneath. You gasped into his mouth the moment his skin made contact with yours and he groaned in response, palming your braless breasts with a rough squeeze.

“Fuck,” you swore. “Jimmy, I want you so fucking bad.”

“Oh, you’ll have me, doll face. All of me.”

He backed you against the wall of the trailer, mouth devouring yours like he was the hungriest man alive and you were the best meal he ever had. Teeth clashed together in your excitement and you were sure your lips were going to be swollen by the end of the night.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he went on, yanking your skirt up to bunch around your waist. His hands grabbed your thighs, giving them an excited squeeze as he yanked you against his chest. “You drive me damn crazy, woman. Always have. Seeing you walking around with this body and this mouth. The things I’ve wanted to do to you. Lost count of how many times I’ve touched myself thinking about you.”

You whimpered at his words, wet with arousal and lust. “Show me.”

Jimmy pulled back to give you that damn irresistible smirk of his. “Kinky. I like that.”

You tugged on his belt, undoing it and pulling it from the loops. “You have no idea, baby.”

Jimmy growled deep in his throat, giving you another kiss before taking over the task of ridding himself of his pants. God, he was magnificent. Long and thick and begging for your touch or mouth. Or both. Jimmy placed a hand on the wall by your head, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he started stroking himself. You wanted to look since that was the whole point, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from those dark brown ones.

You’d never seen eyes like his. They pierced into your very soul and saw you for who you truly were.

“Come on, darlin’,” he panted. “You said you wanted me to show you. The least you could do is look.”

So you looked.

Fuck it was hot. Seeing his hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off for you, was more than you could handle. You dropped to your knees, pushing his hands away and taking the tip of him into your mouth.

Jimmy’s hand fell to your head and he swore out your name followed by a loud, drawn-out, “Fuuuuck!”

It took you a moment to get a good rhythm going. Truth be told, you were severely out of practice. Ever since you saw Jimmy, you hadn’t wanted anyone else. You flirted every now and then with a client, but it never went further because you knew none of them would match up to him.

You sucked Jimmy off eagerly, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the heady taste of him. He moaned and grunted, urging you on with words of encouragement. You always loved his voice and could listen to him sing for hours. But this was a different kind of song. This was one you knew you couldn’t live without. His hips thrust along with your mouth, burying himself as far into your throat as he could go.

“Shit, doll face. Why the fuck haven’t we been doing this this whole time?” he groaned, tugging on your hair. “You better stop before this is over embarrassingly soon.”

Pulling off him with a pop, you dragged your tongue along the length of him before smirking. “Thought you would have more stamina than that, Jimmy-boy.”

He yanked you up onto your feet and shoved you back against the wall. “Oh trust me, darlin’. I have plenty.”

His mouth covered yours again as his hand disappeared under your skirt. Jimmy’s hands had drawn your attention but not for the reasons he would have thought. Even when he was self-conscious about them, you admired them. You had heard plenty of stories about his sexual exploits and wished that one day you would experience what he could do.

He rubbed you through your panties, drawing a gasp out of you as he filled your mouth with his tongue before biting your bottom lip as he pulled away. Jimmy wanted eye contact when he slid his hand under that soft fabric, his finger gently making contact with your clit before he pressed down hard. You shouted in surprise, lust coursing through your veins instantly.

“You’re already wet, baby,” Jimmy cooed, placing the gentlest of kisses on your neck as he continued to draw hard circles around your clit. “Sure know how to stoke a man’s ego.”

“It’s all you, Jimmy,” you panted, already breathless and eager. “It’s only ever been you.”

He paused, gaze softening. “Ever?”

“Well, not ever ever but definitely since the day we met.”

A second later, his finger slid inside you and with a gasp you grabbed his shoulders, arching your back in a futile attempt to draw yourself closer to him. He smashed his mouth against yours, kissing away what little breath you had and making your knees buckle. Dear lord, he was magnificent. His thick finger stretched you better than you ever thought possible, certainly better than your own had. And if you were this worked up from his hand alone, you couldn’t wait for his cock.

Jimmy rested his forehead against yours, watching your face as he pleasured you. Your eyes stayed closed but you could still feel the stare, sense his smile as your breaths mingled together. When he leaned against you, you could feel the hardness of his cock. Teasingly, you raised your leg to press your thigh against it and he groaned as precum leaked onto your skin.

“Fuck me, Jimmy,” you begged shamelessly.

“Oh, I will, doll face. Once you cum first.”

It didn’t take long for him to make that happen. Just a few more deep strokes and you convulsed against him, still trapped between his body and the wall. Stars exploded behind your eyelids and as you threw your head back, Jimmy latched onto your neck, sucking greedily. He was still at it when you came back down from your high.

“You’re gonna leave a mark,” you slurred, reaching down to grab his wrist so he’d give you a second to recover. His finger slipped out but he kept his hand on your thigh, his thumb stroking the soft flesh.

“That’s the plan.”

Laughing softly, you dragged your eyes open when he pulled away, only to be met with the beautiful sight of a disheveled and red-cheeked Jimmy Darling.

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen,” you said.

“I take it you don’t own a mirror. Because you’re far more beautiful than I am.”

“Actually, I do. In the bedroom.” You smirked and nodded over your shoulder to the beaded curtain that separated your sleeping space from the rest of the trailer. “Wanna take a look?”

“Been waiting for you to ask that for years.”

Giggling like school children, you grabbed Jimmy’s hand and pulled him into the room. He stepped out of his shoes and pants along the way, leaving them behind. Your room could barely be called that. It didn’t have space for anything other than your bed and a few decorations on the wall. One of which was a large ornate mirror you had found at an antique shop some time ago. Its bronzed frame shone in the moonlight that filtered in through the tiny window.

Jimmy admired it briefly, staring at your reflection as you climbed onto the bed. “Clothes off, doll face,” he said, yanking his shirt off. “Let me finally see all of you.”

You stripped slowly and deliberately, taking off each layer with careful movements if for no other reason than to give Jimmy the show he deserved. When you were finally, naked, he let out a strangled moan, reaching down to touch himself again. “Fucking hell, you’re just a pretty as I always thought you were.”

“I’m even prettier up close.” You spread your legs for him as you settled against the mound of pillows behind you.

Grinning, Jimmy climbed onto the bed, crawling towards you with catlike grace. As you leaned up for a kiss, he granted your desire, cupping your cheek to hold you there for a moment. A second later, his hand grasped your neck and he shoved you onto your back before burying his face between your legs.

His roughness thrilled you right down to your core, which he drank from excitedly. Those lips. That mouth. You knew he had a quick tongue but fuck you never knew how quick it was. He had you soaked from his spit in no time, his tongue switching between flicking at your clit and licking slow stripes along your seam. The teasing didn’t last long. He was too worked up and ready for more. His finger slid into you again as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

“Jesus, Jimmy!” you exclaimed, clamping your thighs around his head and burying your hands in that wonderfully curly hair. “Baby, you have no idea what you do to me.”

He drew back just enough to smirk up at you. “I’ve got some idea.”

His fingers and hand were drenched in your arousal and you weren’t even the least bit ashamed about it. After all these years, to finally be able to touch him and have him touch you was too much to handle. You were never one to play coy and you sure as hell weren’t going to start now.

“Fuck me already!”

“So damn impatient,” Jimmy teased, still fingering you as he kissed your inner thigh. “You really want it that bad, don’t you?”

You yanked his hair so his eyes met yours. “You do too. I know it.”

Eyes dancing with lust, Jimmy’s hand slipped out from between your legs. He crawled up the rest of your body and pulled you into a harsh kiss. You could taste yourself on him and a sense of possessiveness washed over you. It disappeared and was replaced by instant pleasure a second later when he pushed his cock into you.

You both groaned so loud, you knew the others could hear you outside.

Jimmy took you so hard, you could feel the trailer rocking along with his trusts. Not that you minded. Nope. Quite the opposite. You wanted more. You wanted all of him, everything he could give. Five years was too damn long to hold back. You never felt so stretched and full before. The world around you melted away and all you were left with was Jimmy finally claiming your body for himself.

“Perfect. Such a good girl,” he praised into your ear, his hips jerking against yours with a hard steady rhythm. “Always knew you’d take it well. All mine now, darlin’. No one else gets this sweet pussy but me, we understand?”

“Only you, Jimmy,” you cooed, more than happy to give yourself to him completely. On one condition. You grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you. “And you’re mine.”

He grinned. “If you say so.”

You pushed against him until he sat back on his heels and you were able to climb onto his lap. He slid back into you with ease as you rode him, his hands gripping your ass so tight you knew he’d leave marks. Jimmy turned his head and it was your turn to attack his neck with kisses and love bites. You saw how women looked at him, you weren’t stupid. When they saw the way you marked him, they wouldn’t look anymore. Not if they knew what was good for them.

“We look good, doll face,” he panted, watching your reflections in the mirror. “Like we were made for each other.”

You pressed your cheek against his and also watched, your bodies grinding and writhing, begging for sweet release. “We were.”

You came not too long after, too tired and worked up to hold back. Jimmy fucked you through it, biting his lip as his own orgasm overtook him. With a groan, he threw his head back and came inside you, filling you up with his release until he was spent and both slumped against each other panting.

Sloppy kisses were exchanged as Jimmy laid the both of you down. You remained in your sweaty, tangled embrace, neither one of you wanting to pull away now that you could finally touch each other. Even when you caught your breath, you stayed there, you stroking Jimmy’s chest and him running his fingers through your hair.

“You never told me what my card meant,” he said after some time had passed. His voice was soft from fatigue and he sounded more relaxed than he had been in days.

“The King of Wands represents pure, fiery energy. He’s a natural-born leader, a visionary. But doesn’t go forward alone. He’s all about caring for those around him and enlisting their help to realize his vision. He’s someone who’s here to leave a legacy.”

“Hmm,” Jimmy hummed in amusement. “I like the sound of that.”

“You create your own destiny. You create the outcome you want. Now, the only question is, what is it you want?”

Jimmy smiled down at you, reaching up to cup your cheek. “Already got what I want right here, sugar.”

With a smile, you kissed him. The both of you remained that way for some time, each kiss getting softer and gentler, until you both fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

#jimmy darling x reader #jimmy darling #evan peters #ahs freakshow #american horror story

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spvce-cowboy · 4 years ago

Text

songbird

ch. 4 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 3: “reunion”

next-ch. 5: “the hero’s shoulders”

rating: mature

11.3k words

warnings: PERIL!!!, violence, alcohol and drug use, jealous/protective mando

a/n: apologies in advance for the slight cliffhanger—this chapter got WAAAYY too long so I had to split in two. luckily means I’ll be able to get the next one out to you all asap ! <3

summary: you are forced to go undercover in order to help Mando capture his next quarry, the lionized Tyreus Cavill.

You’re most nervous about remembering the proper steps to a waltz. You know, instead of being worried about aiding one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy on his highest profile mission yet. Because that totally makes sense, right?

At the Estate, you and Febhana were taught dancing in order to entertain the Lord’s guests. Digging up any memories from that period of your life is enough to have the taste bile flood your mouth. You do your best to swallow it down, keeping a cool face for your sake and everyone else’s.

Honestly, you’d trade being afraid of the known over the unknown any day. The anxiety of remembering your time at the Estate was more familiar, something you could deal with, and have been for years now.

Thinking too hard about the severity of the current situation, about how you had absolutely no idea what you were doing, that was the kind of fear you avoid at all possible cost. So you settle for being nervous about a waltz, nothing more and nothing less.

Mando is seated beside the driver. He doesn’t turn back to address you and Febhana directly, instead tilting his head slightly in order to look at the two of you through the rearview mirror. Before the three of you left, he gave you a small listening device that you now have tucked against the edge of the undergarments you have on. The dress is too exposing to hide it anywhere else.

He debriefs you on the specifics of the mission the entire ride there, showing you multiple images of the quarry, plans of action, a blur of different scenarios and how you should react that you have already quickly forgotten in the haze of your building anxiety.

“The main rule is no secondary locations,” he concludes. “We can’t risk either of you being alone with him. It’s too unstable of a situation as is.”

You nod, staring at him through his partial reflection. From the back of your mind there’s a quiet glimmer of endearment, how you’ve never seen him this thorough about a hunt—Mando seems more like a wing-it-and-figure-it-out-from-there kind of guy. You’re not sure if you’re getting special treatment because he doesn’t like involving someone like you in his job or because this quarry is too valuable of a target to botch. The former doesn’t add to your anxiety, so you run with that.

You tear your eyes from the mirror when Febhana digs through her purse and plops a set of papers in your lap. You examine them closely, trying to bring the little details to memory as best you could.

“Is that even a real name?” You ask, face screwed up slightly, pointing where it’s listed on the fake ID.

Febhana cranes her neck over your shoulder, looking down at the papers with you. “Sophste Wilkbail? Sure, sounds like a poet or something. You can play that up.”

From the front seat, Mando gives a sardonic huff of air. It’s such a cruel sound you can practically visualize the scowl he’s put behind it. Febhana rolls her eyes.

“Listen, darling, believability is just about the last thing we need to worry about, right now,” Febhana settles back into her side of the speeder’s velveteen cabin. “Hiding who you are is more important. As soon as we get past the guards it’ll be easy. Just try your best to pretend like this is any other party.”

You neglect to tell her that you have not been to any parties besides the ones at the Estate. Instead, you nod, training your gaze out the front windshield.

The driver lights another cigarette as he pulls the speeder into a line of idling vehicles that border the streets outside the Tagge mansion. You can tell that you’ve arrived by the bright lights and banners flooding from the building’s open face, an intimidating amount of guards tucked away at every discernible outpost. You drum your fingers against your knee to the song you can faintly hear playing from the radio.

Febhana’s soft hand against your arm breaks you from your reverie. Her words are far more gentle now. “Are you ready?”

You nod. It’s a sharp, curt movement of your head. Steadfast. You’re kind of scared shitless, but determined. She smiles at you, widely, and it’s enough to have you smiling back.

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

The first thing you are certain of upon entering the Tagge’s mansion is the fact that this isn’t a home. It’s a cathedral. Possibly the biggest, most extravagant place you’ve ever been in.

The entranceway alone is enough to have you clinging to Febhana’s side a little tighter than you had initially intended to. It looks like… it looks like a marble maw, stretched open, fangs bared. You and Febhana follow the tongue-like carpet down the hall in small, measured steps. She takes to ducking her head in greeting to those she recognizes, you

It only takes a few moments for you to realize the awe you’re feeling is a strange combination of genuine wonder and pure intimidation. You think that’s the point. It doesn’t help with the uneasy feeling that’s situated itself in the cavity of your chest since getting into the car.

“They like to play pretend royalty here, don’t they?” Febhana mutters under her breath, giving a polite smile to a passing guard as she does. “Stars, you’d think they’d try to lay claim to Naboo itself with a place as decked out as this. Tasteless.”

You huff a laugh as she continues to lead you down the main hall. You try to look as dignified as possible, as if environments like this were an everyday occurrence. It’s difficult to do, but with the assurance of her at your side and Mando a few rigid steps behind you, the anxiety pressing from within your chest is somewhat quelled.

The main dancehall is filled with people. Everything—from the tall curtains to the paintings on the walls—is in cool tones of green and gold, interrupted by great expanses of marble. At the far end of the room are two twisting staircases leading to a platform where the band is playing. The ceiling has some kind of intricate mural you desperately want to examine, but when you try to crane your head back Febhana tugs at your arm slightly, reminding you to play it cool.

You square your shoulders as Mando sidesteps to remain pressed against the walls with the other guard droids, the movement a little too fluid for someone who is supposed to be a robot. You pray everyone is too drunk to notice. They are.

With Mando’s presence lost you sink a little further into your anxiousness as Febhana begins introducing you to a flurry of different people. She delicately places a drink in your hands from a passing server, murmuring a word of encouragement in your ear before moving to the next group. It all passes in a blur, but smiling and graciously dipping your head seems to get you through a lot of the interactions without having to actually pay attention.

You quickly realize she is strategically maneuvering her way towards the stage—or, rather, those who are gathered beneath it. There are a collection of small tables lining the perimeter where people are seated if they are not dancing. Below the stage are three larger tables that overlook the entirety of the ballroom. It’s too crowded from where you’re standing to see any of the occupants.

What you really notice, right after taking in what you can of your surroundings, is that there will be no feasible way for you to pull this off. Not here in the Tagge house at least. Every entrance into the private portions of the house are heavily guarded, cameras everywhere. You do your best to swallow the mounting sense of dread, keeping a smile on your face while Febhana continues to lead you through so many introductions all the names and faces blur together.

You tug at Febhana’s arm slightly between introductions to signal your need to speak with her. She eventually pulls you into the cubby of a towering window after disentangling the two of you from another meaningless conversation.

“Febhana,” you lower your voice and maintain small smile on your face to keep prying eyes and ears disinterested. Better safe than sorry. “There’s no way this is going to work. Not here. I’ve counted at least five guards around every possible entrance.”

“I know, I saw,” Febhana takes a deep breath, eyes wandering out the window. “Let’s just… tough it out. See what happens. I don’t really want to get on the Guild’s bad side, or your friend’s for that matter.”

You wince slightly as the idea that this plan could affect her in any way but nod, trying to swallow your guilt in not fully thinking through how much you were asking of her to help you and Mando out like this. You step out of the little alcove and move your way back to the perimeter of the floor.

From this vantage point, you can see one of Febhana friends wander up to the main tables and hug a seated boy in greeting. The contact leans down and says something in the boy’s ear before turning back to glance at where you are standing.

You’re close enough, now, to realize the table the contact just approached is where the Tagge siblings are sitting. The playboys surrounding them have such a loud presence you’re surprised you didn’t notice them earlier.

They’re all practically kids, at least a year or two younger than you, but they act in that way where they knew they were untouchable. They have lived and breathed an entire lifetime of knowing that they are people who could get away with absolutely anything—and have, more than once. It radiates off of every movement they make, from the way they throw their heads back in obnoxious laughter, to the cruel tilt of their mouths as they speak. Everything about them set off some deep-seeded instinct in you to stay away.

Scanning their faces, you recognize the quarry almost instantly.

The photos Mando showed you didn’t do him justice. Tyreus Cavill is wearing a crisp black suit and has skin so pale it’s nearly opalescent. His hair is slicked back close to his scalp, the severe nature of his bone structure combined with some of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen gives him the appearance of a leering jackal.

Cavill stares up at the ceiling, tracing the rim of his wineglass with long fingers as the person seated beside him speaks. He looks bored--they all do, a kind of lax slant to their gathered bodies that stands in stark contrast to the tight, aloof postures of most everyone else around them.

You tear your eyes from Cavill as the boy that Febhana’s contact is talking to begins to stand. You look at the new boy evenly from where you’re standing, holding his gaze as confidently as you can, before turning back to where Febhana is standing behind you.

Febhana flashes you a sly look. You can practically see the gears turning in her head as she flicks her eyes in the direction of the Tagge brothers and Cavill. You quickly put two and two together.

Whoever it was that’s approaching you right now is your invite to the table. Possibly the only one you’d be getting all night.

“I’ve got eyes on him,” you murmur to yourself, hoping Mando’s device can pick it up. You glance to where he is positioned against the wall and see him dip his head slightly in response. Feeling a little more confident, you pull your shoulders back and pretend to make conversation with Febhana.

The boy enters your periphery shortly thereafter, standing at your side as he greets Febhana first.

“Febhana,” the boy tucks his head in greeting to her, then turns his gaze to you. His hair is a thick mop of curls, nose slightly twisted in a way that suggests he isn’t too good at fighting. The crooked smile he gives you is warm enough to push off your initial feeling of disquiet concerning his friends. “And who is this?”

“Lucius, this is my old friend, Sopheste Wilkbail,” Febhana introduces you by your fake name, then motions to the boy. “Sopheste, this is Lucius Laycam, his father owns the racetrack we went to earlier.”

“Dreadful business,” Lucius’s eyes glint, keeping his head tucked slightly in that way men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You don’t like the fact that he knows to say something like that, it demonstrates an ability to read you too easily.

Lucius takes your hand delicately, leaning down to kiss the ridges of your knuckles. He straightens to say his next words directly into your ear, getting unnecessarily close to do so.

“I’d like to treat you to a dance, if you don’t mind,” his voice rumbles. Your eyes flick to the table from over his shoulder. You make brief eye contact with Cavill, who has leveled his head to take a swig straight from the decanter at the center of the table, entirely disregarding the glass already in his hand. Cavill actually looks at you this time, and holds it, albeit briefly. Lucius finishes his proposal as you train your gaze back to the floor, “And then another drink.”

You give him your best smile and nod. It’s just a small dip of your head, but he eagerly pulls you away from Febhana and towards the center of the dance-floor.

Luckily for you, Lucius isn’t a flashy dancer. He’s amicable in a way you weren’t expecting, considering the company he keeps. He reminds you a lot of the village boy you were having a bit of a fling with before you left Am’ile’s planet: slightly empty-headed, but cute, and very enthusiastic about whatever task he’s put to. There’s a certain goofiness to him that pushes away any residual anxiety with the fits of laughter you tumble into as a direct result of his antics.

It’s kind of… exciting. You don’t want to admit it fully, but there’s something thrilling about someone taking so much interest in you. You’ve been so touch-starved that just the feeling of his hand partially cupping your exposed back in enough to send butterflies straight to your stomach. A different kind of anxious butterflies. Good butterflies.

Maker, it’s only been a few months since you left Am’ile’s and you’ve already been reduced to a giddy schoolgirl at the very brush of someone’s hand against your bare skin. You don’t know how Mando does it, you really don’t.

Lucius pulls the two of you to a halt when the band dies down, the singer murmuring something unintelligible into the mic.

“It was a pleasure, Miss Wilkbail,” he steps back, kissing your hand again and bowing. By this point you’ve figured out that his exaggerated, gentlemanly manner is just another shtick of his. You press your lips together to poorly conceal a giggle, giving him your own mock curtsey in turn.

“And you, Mr. Laycam.”

“Now if you’d like to join me, I’m on a mission to get absolutely plastered before these blowhards,” he motions to the others on the dancefloor with a twirl of his finger, “find a way to make this night even more suffocating than it already is.”

“Sounds just about perfect,” you say as you take the arm he offers you. He pulls you toward the table and you try to keep up with his long strides, bunching some of the skirt of your dress in your hand and lifting the fabric to prevent tripping.

Lucius pulls out a seat for you, introducing you to the playboys seated beside him. You’re directly across from Cavill, who is still nursing the table’s decanter, completely disengaged from the conversation occurring between the two friends that are seated on either side of him.

“Are you new to Canto?” The playboy who asks is a Tagge twin, one of the three brothers who are currently seated at the table with you. You can tell by the signature white-blonde hair.

“A friend of mine wanted me to stay with her for a while,” you say, graciously taking the champagne glass that Lucius plucks off a passing server’s tray to offer you.

“Febhana, you sister’s friend,” Lucius clarifies for the Tagge boy.

“The visiting court singer Heresta was telling me about, before?” The Tagge brother directs the question to Lucius, when his friend nods he raises both eyebrows and shoots you a grin.

“I’m still in training,” you clarify with a nervous laugh, finding it easier to talk if your eyes are trained on the glass in your hand. “But yes, that’d be me. The court singer.”

“What did you say?”

Cavill’s voice quiets the conversations of the other playboys almost immediately. The other Tagge brothers glance over but quickly resume a normal volume. The hierarchy of the table becomes very clear, after that.

“I’m training to be a court singer,” you repeat yourself, sliding your head towards the quarry with your best stab at a cool, practiced gaze of utter ambivalence. Cavill’s eyes remain trained on you, utterly serpentine.

Ah. You press your lips together and look down at your hands folded neatly in your lap, initial resolve broken.

“A court singer?” His voice is a low purr. You raise your gaze again. It seems as though once he takes interest in something, most of his buddies do too. A few of them glance away from their conversations to give you a scathing examination. It takes everything within you to not crawl out of your own skin. So much for the ease you felt back on the dancefloor. “Will you sing for us?”

Your cheeks fill with a heat that quickly travels to your chest. Didn’t expect that. Maybe you should have.

“I... Not here. The singer the Tagges have hired is so lovely, I’m afraid they far outshine me,” your eyes flick back up to his at your last word, you do your best to mask your burning revulsion as shyness.

“That wasn’t a request.” Cavill’s response is so blunt and immediate you actually flinch a little.

“C’mon Tyreus,” Lucius’s voice is quick to intervene. “Leave her alone, she just got here.”

Cavill blinks slowly, as if his eyelids are too taxing of a weight for him to bear. He hums, leaning back in his seat slightly and stretching his arms out to rest on the backs of the chairs on either side of him.

When it becomes clear he has nothing else to say, the other conversations at the table continue as a normal. As if there were no previous interruption. You gradually return to the sense of ease you’d begun to develop earlier, the feeling is seemingly dependent on Cavill’s lack of attention.

Eventually, one of the playboys taps Lucius on the shoulder in passing, quickly murmuring something in his ear before leaving the table to chase down one of the serves for another decanter. Lucius nods, then turns back to you.

“Tyreus wants to extend an invitation to a club we’re going to in an hour or so, if you’d like to join us,” his fingers graze over the peak of your exposed shoulder from where his arm is resting against the back of your seat. For some reason it does not feel as nice as his touch had previously. It’s more intentional, all his playfulness gone. You think that’s why. “Way better than this shit, not so fuckin’ rigid. More private.”

The emphasis he places on those last words is so overt you have to resist an eye-roll. You nod, trying to keep your expression light and ditzy while straightening slightly in your chair. “Tell him it would be an honor.”

Lucius smiles, the fingers that were tracing the line of your opposite shoulder coming up to brush against the shell of your ear. You blink at the touch, vaguely aware of his face inching closer to yours.

You stand without warning, mumbling something about having to use the bathroom before quickly maneuvering your way around the tables and through the arching marble columns that line the ballroom. You walk as briskly as you can into one of the adjoining hallways, following it down and into the women’s bathroom.

Taking a shuttering breath, you place your hands on your hips and close your eyes. Your brain runs at a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to adapt the plan as Mando communicated it to you, considering the fact that Cavill’s posse was leaving within the hour.

You reach your conclusion quickly. You’re the one with the invite, with the way into the inner circle. No time to try and bring Febhana along with you. Honeypot it is.

The bathroom door slamming open breaks you from your thoughts. You gasp, hand pressed to your chest as you whip around. There’s a second of blind panic at the decorated droid stiffly stands at the door’s threshold, both fists clenched at its side, before you remember Mando’s disguise.

You open your mouth indignantly to scold him for bursting in like that but he holds a finger up to shush you, entering the bathroom in one long stride, checking under the stalls for people then briskly locking the main door behind him.

He’s furious. It’s the most blatant display from him you think you’ve ever seen.

“I—” Mando grits out. “Your singing. He doesn’t deserve to get that. None of them do. They’re just using it to get to you.”

You blink twice, completely baffled that that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

He makes another frustrated sound, obviously recognizing your shock, and tries to clarify. “They were… clearly making you uncomfortable but they just kept pushing you—you shouldn’t have to just sit there and take that—"

“Yeah, Mando, that’s kind of how flirting works when you’re dealing with a bunch of entitled assholes,” you snap, finally finding your words. Out of any other possible thing he could be angry about and this was it? “I’ll have to play into what they want to get closer to Cavill. Lucius seems sweet, a little overbearing but sweet. It’ll be fine.”

You’re already hovering the fine line between tipsy and just plain tired. All you want is to get home at this point—your feet hurt, the dress is uncomfortable, and, by your book, making conversation with these silver-spoon pricks could be comparable to pulling teeth. You love Febhana, and you could see the fun in a night like this, but you’re also trying to help Mando do his damn job and if he doesn’t start cooperating—

“He doesn’t. Lay. A finger. On you.” There’s an anger in his voice you’ve never encountered before, not while directed at you, at least. It stops any other thoughts from entering your head. He takes a deep, quivering breath to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “If you’re… if you don’t want it. He will not even look at you. The second—I don’t care if it makes a scene I’ll—"

“Mando.” You lay a hand on his chest. He instantly freezes. “I know that. Thank you. I’m a big girl, I can hold my own. It’s okay.” Trying to lighten the mood, you lift your chin up a bit, smiling at him as brightly as you can manage. “Can we please just talk about how we’re gonna pull this off?”

He gives you a tight nod.

“I… I know that you’ve been doing this for a lot longer than I have, which is the understatement of the millennia, but just… hear me out here. Lucius just invited me to go with them to a club—like, right now.” You feel like if you stop talking he won’t listen to what you have to say, so you keep plowing forward. “I know you made a point about no secondary locations. But, if we have the time I think the best plan of action would be for me to split off, go with them to the club and draw him out to you in some way. The security here is so tight, there’s no way I think we could pull this off without it blowing back on Febhana. She’s important to me and I would appreciate if we could get her out of this scot-free.”

You take a breath, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction thus far. When he doesn’t interject, you continue, keeping your hand on his chest as you speak—for some reason you feel like he listens to you better when you do. “Lucius mentioned that things are way more lax there, so I’m thinking that’ll translate to security measures too. I’m sure Febhana is familiar enough wherever they’re going. She can give you enough intel to be able to get an idea of the place on your way over. Then we can go home.”

“I agree.” His reluctance is palpable, but his next words are far more level-headed than you expected. “You’re right, we shouldn’t jeopardize Febhana. Try to get one of them to tell you a specific location and I can meet you there. I just—” he flexes his hands. “I need to get off this planet.”

“I know,” you sigh, giving his chest a reassuring pat before turning away to go back to the line of mirrors stationed above the sinks, checking your makeup. “Me too.”

You turn on the faucet and lean down to drink straight from the tap. You’re stone sober at this point and the icy water is potentially the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The headache pushing at the back of your eyes has increased to a dull throb.

Mando’s voice from behind you. “Ladylike.”

You turn off the sink and straighten, rolling your eyes. “Oh bite me,” the sharpness of your voice is negated by the laugh you have to push through to get the words out. Relieved that the charged air between the two of you has dissipated, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Let’s get this over with, I’m exhausted.”

Mando escorts you back down the dimly lit hall, the low hum of the party forms a gradual crescendo the closer you get to the intricate archway where the hallway breaches the ballroom. He pulls you to a stop with a hand on your forearm before you are able to enter.

Despite the heels you’re wearing, he still has to lean down to speak to you.

“Be careful,” he murmurs. Unexpectedly, he swipes his thumb across your elbow before turning heel and rejoining the other droids against the wall.

It’s such an unnecessary motion you can’t help but freeze, unsure how to process that small display of… well, if you didn’t know any better you’d describe it as intimacy. And not the unique sort of platonic camaraderie you’ve started getting used with him. It feels too much like a stolen gesture for that. Something he’s only done out of a pure disregard for his usual utilitarian ethos.

You swallow and square your shoulders, putting on the best smile you can before heading back to the Tagge table.

Biting your lip as you sink down onto the seat beside Lucius, you drag the knuckles of a relaxed hand down the length of his arm.

“Could I say goodbye to Febhana before we go?” You say as innocently as possible, still figuring out a way to organically ask where the fuck they were going to be taking you without acting too suspicious.

Lucius’s eyes flick over the table, only a few of the seats have emptied. Cavill is gone already.

“Yeah, that should be fine. Just find me when you’re done.”

You stand back up, stretching your neck to find your friend among the crowd. Quickly spotting Febhana, you navigate your way back through the crowd. Just as she has predicted, the uptight façade of the event is quickly dissolving as glasses empty and bodies inch closer together. The crowd you are now navigating through seems completely different from the one you’d encountered upon first entering the dancehall. The heady breath of the gathered crowd leaves a different crackle of energy over the room—considering Cavill’s circle wants to leave this for something “more exciting” is foreboding. Wherever you end up, you’ll deal.

Reaching Febhana’s side, you gently touch her arm to get her attention. She turns, smiling as she sees you.

“There you are! I thought I’d lost you,” she aligns her inner forearms with the length of yours, gripping you lightly in greeting. Touch was once meant survival for the two of you. Back on the Estate, sometimes the only communication you would be able to engage in for days on end, the smallest of reassurances are sometimes the most solid. Old habits die hard. You reciprocate the motion, grasping the inner portion of her elbows.

You duck your head in the direction of the person she was speaking to in a small apology for interrupting. Leaning in to quietly inform her of the change of plans, you tell her that Mando is going to try to meet you at the club. Febhana keeps a straight face as you do, but there’s a glint of worry in her gaze.

“Alright,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll tell the driver to wait outside. He can pick you up and take you back to the apartment when you’re ready to call it a night. I’ve prepared the guest room for you, the service droid can lead you there.”

“Febhana—” your brow furrows as you pull back, unwilling to take advantage of her kindness more than you already have, let alone her only way home. She interrupts you before you can insist.

“I’m going for drinks with friends after this, I’ll ride with them. Please, darling,” she kisses your cheek. “Good luck, and be safe,” she says softly as she pulls back, still gripping you by both elbows. You squeeze her forearms, giving a curt nod.

“I’ve learned from the best,” you manage a confident smile and disentangle her arms from yours. You tell her you’ll update her over the comlink and turn to rejoin Lucius, who was in the midst of his own farewells.

Febhana leaves as you wait for Lucius to finish his conversation. Mando has long since disappeared from his place at the wall. Taking a deep breath, you keep your shoulders back and your head high. You were completely alone.

There are five neat lines of spice on the mirrored platter. The Tagge twin is the one to offer it to you, pushing the surface in your direction before sinking back into the velveteen material of the curved couch.

You are in a private room at the club, one of a series of pod-like structures suspended over the dance-floor. The private pod opens into an expansive piece of curved glass that fills out the rest of its intended, ovular, form. If it weren’t for all the plush carpeting, the liquor and smoke and sultry lighting, it would make a decent observation deck. The room makes you feel like the surrounding world is a fish tank, all those people below you just interesting little creatures to look down at and inspect.

There’s something about the very nature of the space that drips luxury—but it’s a kind far removed from the crisp marble lines of the Tagge mansion. This is all seduction. All contours. All darkness and deep tones of amber, starkly contrasting against the pulsing blue lights of the dance-floor below.

The table before you is cluttered with empty glasses, bottles, as well as a few personal items owned by the boys who had already left to chase down the bodies below: a tuxedo tie here, a watch probably worth more than the Crest itself there—you know, the usual things you abandon in search of a warm mouth.

Lucius and Cavill are sharing a cigarette, the burning cherry one of the brightest sources of light in the room. Everything else is illuminated by low shades of red and orange from the warbling fixtures woven against the solid portion of the wall, which then part to trace the curved edges of the observation window.

The music is subdued at this height, yet the grinding pulse of a guitar still sends vibrations through the floor. Through you. The boys’ cigarette traces patterns between them as they exchange it, back and forth, saying very little in between.

Taking a deep breath, you glance down at the platter on the table. You press your lips together, glancing up at Lucius, then Cavill, who has gradually started to pay more attention to you the further into the night you descend.

Pretending to take another sip of your drink, you push the platter towards Lucius. Trying not to draw too much attention to your refusal, you move a little closer to his body as a potential distraction. Either it works or they didn’t care to begin with. Lucius curves into himself, pressing a finger against his nostril to inhale a line. Cavill does two.

Genuinely, there’s no way they could find any kind of appeal to this. You just can’t fathom it—they barely talk to one another, this group. And when they do they seem just as bored in the act as everyone else is. You’d take a night spent with Mando and the kid over this any day.

The Tagge boy jolts back awake, blearily rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion is so sudden it startles you, jumping slightly as he pushes away from the table.

“M’gonna go downstairs,” Tagge’s legs wobble like a newborn calf’s might. “Getta girl.” His departure is unceremonious, just like the others had been. You have a feeling the only thing keeping Lucius at this table is you, and the only thing keeping you at this table is Cavill. Fuck doesn’t really cut it.

As the two of them work on what remains on the platter, you carefully shift out of the circular booth, pacing over to the glass wall to look down at the crowd of writhing bodies.

“Have y’ever been to this place before?” Lucius asks after a moment. He stretches over the top of the couch to look down at the crowd with you. As he does, because you think the universe genuinely hates you, you notice Mando’s disguised silhouette—he’s barely concealed by the darkness of the dance-floor’s periphery. You look away as to not draw too much attention to that one spot.

“No. Never. I’ve been cooped up at the conservatory for most of my life,” you say as angle your body towards the couch, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. Like this, you’re able to keep Mando in the very edges of your periphery.

What you just said was true for your mother, you knew that. Honestly, you’ve gotten through most of the night by just adopting what you remember about her. It was far too natural of a mask to adopt—maybe that should have creeped you out, but the ease of being able to do so is comforting considering the scope of the mission before you.

You take a breath to clear your mind, needing to get ahead of the conversation before either of them can corner you in a story you’re not able to fabricate. You need to give Mando a clue about where the hell you are.

“How far up do you think we are?” You ask, cocking your head slightly, praying that Mando’s comlink can hear your above what you’re sure is a raucous crowd. It works, you see his head jerk up to finally notice the private rooms above him. Thank the Maker.

“I dunno,” Lucius turns his head to look where you’re looking. “You afraid of heights or something?”

You give a nonchalant laugh, shaking your head slightly. By the time you look back up to scan the crowd one more time you’ve lost track of Mando. Either he’s disappeared in the mass of bodies or he’d gone completely. You have absolutely no clue, and you don’t want to draw attention by continuing to search for him.

Leveling your gaze back to the two boys, you look them over in a way you hope will draw either’s attention. Both are belligerently intoxicated, the glasses before them long since emptied, the smell of spice thick. It gives Cavill the air of a cat luxuriously stretched in the sun, as if it were just some kind of a natural, comfortable state for him.

As if he can read your thoughts, he speaks.

“Why wouldn’t you sing for us, earlier,” Cavill’s voice alone is enough to make your skin crawl. He ashes the cigarette he was smoking. There’s a loud sound of inhaling from Lucius, whose shadowy form is hunched over the table as he finishes what is left on the platter before him.

“Could you quit it,” Lucius mumbles as he rubs either side of his nose, head thrown back as he sniffs indignantly. “She obviously doesn’t want to.”

“If you were shy earlier, it’s just the three of us now. Completely different,” Cavill says, reaching over to wipe his fingers over the platter’s surface. He rubs his gums with the residue. You expect Lucius to defend you and divert the conversation like he’d done earlier. He doesn’t. Cavill sucks his teeth, leaning back once again. “Sing. I want to hear you.”

“It just feels strange is all,” you bite your lip, voice admittedly a bit brisk in how absent-mindedly it disregards what Cavill is asking. Your turn your gaze back out over the club, mainly to get Cavill’s off you.

You’re worried about Mando, about how long it’s taken him to give you some kind of sign that he’s ready. Maybe he’s waiting until you’re completely alone with Cavill? He pushed that in the car, how this whole thing has to be done as quietly as possible. The problem is that you’ve got absolutely no idea how to get Lucius out of the picture.

“Before there were too many people and now there are too little? What do you want?” Cavill’s words float in the air behind you as you pace to the bar cart, determined to busy your hands by remaking the drink you hadn’t touched since entering the room. “Isn’t that what you’re training for?”

Maybe Mando has been stopped? Your eyes flick to the circular doors partitioning the enclosed room from the catwalk hallway. You remember loudly greeting the guards that were there when the posse first entered the room, giving him the best heads up you could organically muster. Could he take both of them out on his own? Quietly?

“Um, yeah I suppose. It’s just different, there. In conservatory.” Dropping ice into your glass, you hear Cavill scoff. Lucius mumbles something. You bend slightly to get some of the bitters from the cart’s lower shelf.

And an explosion of glass shatters right where your head just was.

You whip around in shock, only to see Cavill already standing, swaying a bit on his feet, dress-shirt partially unbuttoned and messily untucked. It’s almost like some kind of switch went off, transforming him into something utterly unrecognizable.

He’s a fucking mess. Eyes nearly black. The empty decanter from the Tagge mansion in his hand.

“In conservatory,” he mocks, his lips pulled upwards in a vicious snarl. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Before you can react, the decanter is being flung at you—it misses, again. Shattering on the ground in front of you this time. You press yourself as far as you can against the bar cart, eyes wide. Cavill spits, then wipes his mouth with his hand, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Kneel.”

Horrified, your gaze flicks from Lucius back to the tantrum-throwing, wolf-eyed aristocrat standing in front of you.

“What?” You ask incredulously, browns knitted together in complete confusion.

“I said kneel,” Cavill jabs his finger to the ground. “Pick that shit up.”

Lucius does a poor job of concealing a pained grimace. Or maybe you’ve grown far too good at reading the tiniest expressions from your masked companion that you’ve become hyper-aware of these kind of things. He gives a small: “Maker, Tyreus.” If it were supposed to be a warning it was a shitty one.

Survival instincts set in immediately. You turn your eyes to the floor and make your breathing as small and quiet as possible. Obediently, you comply. Kneeling on the ground and reaching out a shaking hand to begin plucking the shards from the carpet.

Cavill stalks behind you in an instant, one hand sealing around the back of your neck and pushing your head down to immobilize you. Simultaneously, his other hand wraps around your wrist, twisting your arm back and making your body to fold in on itself, pressing you into the ground.

You can’t help but cry out, the sharp motion forcing you to quickly catch yourself with your free hand. Your palm lands directly in the broken glass. You’d give anything to erase the wet sound it makes from your head forever.

It takes you less than a second to realize he’s trying to force your face into the carpet. Into it. Fuck.

“D’you want to tell me, huh?” He’s folds in half to speak directly in your ear, his spit hitting your cheek. He twists your arm further, grinding the hand supporting the rest of your body deeper into the glass. You grit your teeth to prevent another pained sound from escaping. “Wanna tell me who the fuck you think you are? Too good for me, whore? Too good for all this?”

The doors burst open. Cavill lets go of you in shock, it gives you time to crawl away from him as Mando levels his blaster at the boy. You scrape one of your knees in the process, you don’t notice it over the adrenalin pulsing through you.

Lucius swears loudly, standing.

“Don’t move.” Mando’s words are more of a growl than anything else.

In the pause this creates, you’re able to kick out your leg and take Cavill out from the back of the knees. It’s not graceful or pretty but it works. Cavill falls to the ground and you quickly clamber on top of him, forcing his hands behind his back, keeping him down with a bloodied knee to the spine.

Mando throws you the cuffs, training his blaster back on Lucius as you work on securing the binds around his quarry’s wrists.

“The spice,” Mando barks out the order. Lucius, eyes wide with terror, looks from the bounty hunter, to you, back to the bounty hunter.

“W-What?”

Mando shoots Lucius in the leg. The boy screams a curse, folding into himself in pain. The air smells like burnt flesh and coins. You swallow, looking back down and busying yourself with keeping Cavill still as he struggles against the floor.

“The. Spice.” He repeats. Choking on his sobs, Lucius reaches a shaking hand into his suit jacket’s pocket, throwing the little bag on the floor. Mando stalks over to him, Lucius cowers.

“Listen, man I—I’ll give you anything you want, ok? My father—”

Mando pistol whips him, the force behind it is enough to also slam Lucius’s head into the table as a result, knocking him unconscious. The bounty hunter turns, snatching up the spice on the ground and crossing over to you, kneeling beside Cavill, whose face is pressed into the ground.

“Mother fucker,” Cavill snarls, the first coherent set of words he’s said since Mando entered. Without reacting, Mando pinches Cavill’s nose shut. You’re confused for a moment, then Cavill opens his lips to either breathe or continue his litany of abuses and Mando takes that opportunity to empty the rest of the spice directly into the quarry’s mouth.

Cavill’s eyes widen, then almost immediately roll back into his skull. He jerks once, then lays still.

It all happens so fast you barely process Mando’s gentle order for you to stand. You do eventually, your legs a bit shaky as you cross back over to the bar cart, holding your palm up to the light in order to puck the largest pieces of glass out before wrapping your wound with a decorative napkin.

When you turn, Mando is pacing the room’s glass perimeter, looking down at the dance-floor to see if anyone noticed the commotion over the pounding music. His takes two brisk strides to cross the room, back to you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice curt and professional. You duck your head in a nod, still pressing the napkins to your bleeding hand. Mando then turns to deal with Lucius’s body, stuffing his mouth with one of the tux ties on the table, binding his wrists. Buying the two of you time, you guess.

You look down at Cavill’s crumpled body. Unconscious, like this, you realize he couldn’t be more than twenty years old. Maybe even nineteen. “They’re all just kids, aren’t they?”

Mando’s sighs, crossing the room again to lean out the open doors to gauge the best way of getting back to the driver. “Pel kar’ta.” Whatever he just called you, it sounds like an accusation “That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” you murmur to yourself, gaze still fixed to the boy on the floor. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

The napkins you use on your injured hand manages to somewhat stop the bleeding. You wait in the backseat as Mando and the driver stuff Cavill’s body into the trunk. You manage to pluck the last of the shards out of the meat of your palm once Mando silently slides into the seat beside you.

The driver leans over to the seemingly empty passenger seat, plucking a bundle of swaddled fabric and passing it back to Mando. It’s the child, sleeping deeply.

“Febhana said she had a feeling you’d want to get off planet as fast as possible. She sends her well wishes,” the driver grits out. He pulls the speeder off the roof of the club, quickly maneuvering the vehicle into Canto Bight’s weaving back alleys.

You take a deep breath, leaning your head against the window.

“I’m sorry,” you manage after a few minutes of driving, the words so soft they break slightly as they leave your mouth. “I… I didn’t think it could get that messy. I should have stuck to the plan.”

He says your name softly, it crackles over the speakers of the modulator. You take too much comfort in how he says it, the way it fills the space between the two of you. “Jobs like this are never clean.”

“You said this needed to go quietly,” you turn your head to look at him directly. “That wasn’t quiet.”

“I should have interfered earlier, that was my fault,” his response is immediate. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and resting your head against the window. “I am not trying to make this about me. I just—I know it was a leap of faith involving me in this. I screwed it up, I want to apologize.”

“I didn’t think you were. I was making a clarification. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The kid makes a small sound in his sleep, you know he’s stretching and nuzzling into the crook of Mando’s arms without having to look over.

“Okay. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He says your name again. You shake your head.

“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen like that, if that’s okay?” You keep your gaze trained out the window, watching the city as it passes a good distraction from the pain pulsing from your hand up your wrist. “I’ll be fine once we get home.”

From your periphery, you see Mando nod.

Arriving at the hangar, you scoop the child in one arm and open the speeder door with a slight wince. You thank the driver and make a beeline for the Crest, busying yourself with tucking the little one in his cradle while Mando deals with the body.

By the time you shed the dress Febhana leant you—now ruined, thanks to that asshole—and quickly shower, you’re starting to catch a second wind of energy. You’re wide awake by the time you pull on a sleep shirt and a soft pair of shorts, catching yourself on the wall as the Crest rumbles into hyperspace.

Settling at your med station, you examine your injured hand under a small portable light, making sure you didn’t miss any pieces of glass due to the dim lighting of the landspeeder’s interior. You hear Mando step behind you.

“Let me see it,” he says. You straighten, looking up at him. Mando is holding a hand out, for yours. He’s back in the clothes he sometimes wears during your long stretches of travel, no armor save for the helmet on his head. His gloves are removed.

The first time he’d done this it had nearly knocked the wind out of you, stopping your words mid-sentence as you entered the cockpit to feed the kid breakfast. He was reclined in the pilot’s seat, the sturdy fingers grasping a rag to oil the pauldron he held in his other hand. You only caught the brief glimmer of a thick beskar ring on his thumb before averting your eyes, stuttering an apology.

At this point, you’ve seen enough of his hands to have memorized every scar and callous. You know it all, from the broken mountains of his knuckles to the small tattoo below the web of his thumb, so weathered by age you still cannot make sense of what it’s supposed to be.

This is different, though. He’s asking to touch you, skin on skin. That’s what makes you pause, looking at him blankly. Mando tries again.

“It’s my fault you got hurt—please, let me take care of you this once.”

There’s something in his voice that sounds incredibly pained, it’s enough to break you from your thoughts. You hesitate, then shift to face him on the crate you’d pulled over to sit on.

You offer him your hand, palm up, in wordless agreement.

He starts his work there, diligently giving it one last look over for glass before slathering it in bacta and firmly wrapping it with gauze. His hands feel just as you thought they would, rough but warm, hesitant at first but firmer once he gains the confidence to really touch you.

Mando then begins to examine your shoulder, delicately asking you to lift your arm, shift it in different directions and tell him when it hurts. You comply, easily succumbing to his little, light touches.

Maker, if Lucius had managed to give you butterflies on the dance-floor this… this couldn’t even be qualified at anything close to that feeling. The flight of birds, more like. A whole flock. A force only rivaled by the quick beat of your pulse.

“I got you something.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think his voice has a certain tinge of shyness to it. “A few days ago. I kept forgetting to give it to you.”

“Do tell,” you manage a casual yawn, then wince when his fingers dig into your scapula. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he removes his hands from you, turning and walking to the other side of the hull. He rifles through a crate and emerges with what looks like a little box, offering it to you. You balance it in your bandaged hand, recognizing the object the second you see the speakers affixed to either end of it.

A wide grin breaks out over your face as you look up at him. “Is this a radio?”

He nods, plucking the tube of muscle warming agent from the med-kit and spreading it against your shoulder. His gloves are still off, the rough feeling of his hands against you enough to steal all words from your parted lips.

“Thank you,” you manage. “Mando—this is so nice I—”

“It’s nothing,” he says it frankly. You gladly don’t continue your sentence, turning the object over in your hand. “The woman told me it should work just about anywhere. If it loses signal it’ll just play some kind of recorded catalogue.”

You nod, bracing your forearms against your thighs and fiddling with the radio’s controls as he continues to talk, his thumbs working against every part of the joint they can. The feeling is far too easy to give into, you allow yourself to close your eyes as he continues, placing the radio beside you and leaning back to rest your elbows on the table to your back.

“I thought it was the least I could offer you. You seem so happy whenever there’s music,” Mando says as he kneels in front of you, wiping off your injured knee, rubbing away the scabs that were already forming with a disinfectant-soaked towel. He disregards the hiss you give and begins applying the bacta to the scored surface. “Especially tonight, when you were dancing. I didn’t realize you could.”

You laugh, smiling to yourself. “I was most nervous about that, as ridiculous as it sounds.” You muffle a relieved groan at the numb warmth that begins to spread as soon as the bacta sets in. You turn over what you want to ask for a long time before you muster the courage to say it. Why not? “I could teach you.”

A pause. “What?”

“I could teach you to dance, if you want me to,” you open your eyes to look down at the man kneeling before you. His fingers are frozen against the bandage he was in the process of tying off—incorrectly, you might add, but you can fix it later. You can’t help but smile at him. “Put this radio to use.”

He pauses for a moment longer, then shakes his head and goes back to adjusting your bandages. “Don’t mess with me like that, I’ll take back the compliment.”

“Hey! C’mon,” you bite your lip, stretching out your uninjured leg to faux-kick his side. He grabs your foot before it can make contact, gently guiding it back to the floor. “I’m being serious. Gotta blow off some steam before I can sleep.” Heat shoots up to your face, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them through. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Alright.” Mando stands, crossing his arms over his chest to regard you.

You genuinely don’t believe it. Your smile widens. “Are you serious?”

His head cocks to the side. “If you make a big deal out of it I’ll purposefully step on your toes.”

It’s hard to contain your glee. You push yourself up to your feet, Mando’s arms shooting out in a protective gesture to catch you when you wobble slightly.

“Relax, I’m fine,” you gently push his hands away, walking over to the other side of the hull to place the radio on top of a stack of crates. Fiddling with it for a moment, you find a station playing something slow.

Turning back around, you see that Mando has turned off the med-station’s light, the brightest source of illumination now coming from the radio’s tiny interface behind you. The rest of the hull’s sconces are in night mode, the dull orange glow just enough to see what’s in front of you.

“Okay,” you begin, standing in the middle of the room and motioning Mando towards you. He complies. You hold out both hands. When he doesn’t get it, you press your lips together to suppress a smile, taking them for yourself where they rest limply at his sides. “So, you’d start by approaching your lady and holding her hand up, like this.” You bend your right elbow, your loosely interlocked hand forcing his left arm to do the same.

Mando nods, head bowed to you in observation, a diligent student.

“Then,” you continue, guiding his right hand to the curve of your waist. “You’d place your other hand here, or mid-back, whatever feels most appropriate for the situation.” He doesn’t move his hand. It sends a bit of a thrill through you. You place your left hand on his bicep, looking up at him and grinning. “See? You’re a natural.”

The both of you laugh at that one. His comes out as nothing more than a hoarse release of air from the modulator, but it’s enough to have you absolutely elated.

You start to sway slightly, to the rhythm of the song now playing from the radio’s speakers. Mando picks up the hint, taking up the role of leader while you gladly follow. He’s actually okay—granted, the two of you are just swaying in place, but still.

“I meant that, you know.”

“Hm?” You ask, partially distracted in trying to figure out what move to teach him next. The waltz you and Lucius did would be far too complicated, maybe there would be some kind of way to simplify it…

“What I said earlier. You looked beautiful, tonight,” Mando says, chin still tucked to look down at you. You blink, only actually processing what he’d just said a few seconds after he said it. You purposefully keep your eyes trained to his chest in order to keep your thoughts straight. “I um… I didn’t know how to tell you. Earlier. In the car. But I wanted to.”

“Hate to inform you, but the dress is in tatters and I am way too lazy to put all that makeup on again,” you chuckle, using the side of your foot to nudge him into a bit of a wider stance. He has the resting state of a soldier at attention—fitting, you guess, for a Mandalorian. It’s something so natural about to him that you’ve only really noticed the rigidity of it now.

“No, no I’m not… That’s not what I meant. You look that way always just—tonight, especially.”

“Well, Mando, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you sound a little bashful right now,” you joke, trying to move on as quickly as possible to cover up the fact that you had no idea how to take a compliment. You turn your head a little too quickly to look back down at his feet, ready to instruct him on the next steps, and your forehead collides with him helmet.

It fucking hurts.

You wince, cursing slightly under your breath and screwing up your face, trying to laugh off the heat burning in your cheeks and across your chest. “Ow.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Mando mutters, releasing your hands and cupping either sides of your jaw with his hands. His thumbs press along the underside of your chin, tilting your face up towards him as he inspects it for damage. “Are you okay?”

You close your eyes and nod, swallowing. “Yeah, just surprised me is all—never had to teach a tin can how to dance before, forgot I had to be conscious about the...” one of his thumbs traces a curved line against your chin before he removes his hands from your face. The motion is quick and then gone immediately, just as he had done in the hallways of the Tagge mansion. It has a far more vivid consequence of completely scrambling your thoughts, this time around. “Helmet,” you manage.

After a moment, Mando tilts his head.

“Close your eyes,” his voice is husky, from the modulator or something else you don’t know.

You comply without question, pulse increasing as you feel Mando step away and rummage through something. He returns, standing behind you this time. Fabric is wrapped around your eyes—once, then twice. You reach a hand up to touch it, recognize the slightly rough texture of gauze almost immediately.

There’s some kind of a hissing sound, then the clank of metal being placed on something solid. Then he’s back in front of you.

“Think you can teach me like this?” And it’s his voice. His voice. Rough but warm and unobstructed. Just as his hands had been. It takes the wind right out of your lungs.

“Mando,” if you could think of anything else to say, you’d cringe at how breathless you sound. What are you, a locked-away damsel in distress?

“When I was younger I was… a bit more lax. Running with the wrong people. I relied on… technicalities, in our code, a little too heavily back then.” You never want to stop hearing his voice. There’s something about the modulator that doesn’t do the light lilt to his words justice, the low but crisp resonance of his voice. “But I’ve… this is new. But okay. Within the rules.”

“Are you—” clearing your throat, you try again. More firm this time. “Are you sure?”

“Just don’t touch my face with your hands,” his voice remains clipped, slightly cautious, but resolved. Typical. “If you—I can put the helm back on, if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You interject, placing both hands on his chest in reassurance. “No, I… no. I feel honored and happy, really happy, that you’d trust me like this. It means a lot.”

You hear him hum low in his throat, a sound you know he makes sometimes when he nods. He takes your hand, again, the other going back to your waist. “Okay, start over.”

“So,” you begin again, trying your best to run your mouth enough to distract from how… serious this feels. You know it most likely isn’t a huge deal, if he’s willing to do this after one accidental collision—but, well. Still. “When you’re ready, you’ll step forward and I’ll step back. And… uh…” you bite your lip as his hand drifts lower, just an inch, to rest at the small of your back. You look up at him through the blindfold out of habit. “You lead, I follow, simple as that.”

“Simple as that?” His words have a rare, palpable heat to them. You can never be certain, of course, but you’re convinced there’s a small smile behind his question. It’s easier to tell, now.

“Yeah,” your chest feels tight with an emotion so close yet so different from the joy you’re used to feeling. Your smile is uncontainable, if barely visible in the hull’s dim light. “It really is.”

He’s a fast learner, easily taking you in slow, looping circles around the room for the next few songs. The silence between the two of you is comforting.

The longer the radio plays, the deeper you sink into one another, your entwined movements eventually spiraling back to the center of the space, settling into an easy, sedentary sway there. You only really notice this as Mando’s hand drifts from your lower back to wrap around the curve of your opposite hip, the length of his sturdy forearm braced against your body. After a beat, you let go of the hand you’re holding onto and wrap both arms loosely around his neck, leaning into him fully.

The two of you don’t acknowledge it, playing it off as an incidental thing, this gradual enclosure of your bodies. The equally quick thrum of your hearts betrays the known secret behind the little game you are playing.

“What did that phrase you use mean, when we talked earlier?” You press the side of your face to Mando’s chest. He props his chin against the crown of your head in welcome response.

The hand previously holding yours moves up your spine in order to gently cradle the back of your neck, gently holding you in place. His thumb traces repetative arcs against the sensitive line between the corner of your jaw and your earlobe. It feels like a salve in its own right, erasing the feeling of Cavill’s skin pressed against your own.

“What did what mean?” Mando asks innocently enough, as his hand continues its serene movement. It’s the most he’s ever touched you, and you suppose he keeps his tone completely casual to make up for the fact. As if the two of you were conversing from other sides of the room, not entangled in each other. You’re more than willing to play into the charade if it means you can have this, the ability to close your eyes and take in the rumble of his voice against your ear.

“Pel… pel kar-ta?” You wince at your gross mispronunciation. “What you called me back there, at the club.”

“Oh—” he seems surprised, like he didn’t even remember saying it. “That’s—that’s Mando’a. It means… well it’s the closest expression to kindness we have.” He keeps rubbing the corner of your jaw with his thumb, keeping rhythm with your movements. If it could even be considered that, at this point. “A more direct translation would be ‘soft hearted.’ Someone who is unapologetically forgiving towards others, even to those don’t deserve it. An ability to love that clouds greater judgment.”

“I have the feeling it’s not the most complimentary nickname for Mandalorians.”

“No, no it isn’t,” the breath of his laugh ruffles your hair. You can’t help but hide your smile in the warm fabric of his shirt, laughing with him. Mando shifts slightly, curving over you, your cheek against his, rough with a well-developed five o’clock shadow. “But, um. I mean it as a compliment, for you. As stupid as you can get.”

If someone punched you in the gut it wouldn’t have left you this breathless. You try to disguise the euphoric feeling it gives you in humor. You’re worried that if you give too much away he’ll stop touching you. Stop holding you like this. Like you were the one gentle thing he’d succumb to.

“Well, it seems hardly fair that you get to call me a nickname and I get nothing at all,” you huff in playful offense, barely able to keep the smile off your face. “Totally unfair.”

“Give me your best, then.” He’s still smiling, you don’t know how you can tell but you just can. It’s infectious.

“What about… hmm… I dunno—tin can?”

“That one’s taken.”

“Oh, have some lady in waiting I should know about?”

“That’s probably the exact opposite way I’d describe him.”

You laugh. “Bucket head?”

“Not very original.”

“Well,” you give an airy hmph. “I’m stumped. You win. Mando it remains.”

Continuing your sway as the music maintains its soft tumble from the radio’s speakers, the two of you go so long without speaking you think the conversation has ended--until:

“Din.” He says the word so softly it wouldn’t have been picked up if he were still speaking through the vocoder.

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, what?”

“Din. Din Djarin. My name. When it’s… when it’s just us, you can use it. If you’d like.”

You cup your hand around the other side of his neck and pull back slightly. His hand automatically lifts to press against your cheek, a refusal to allow you to move any further despite the fact that you’re wearing the blindfold. Pure habit, you think.

You blink against the fabric stretched over your eyes, trying to quell your burning desire to do something absolutely disastrous.

So you say his name instead.

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar @mandoandyodito @kyjoraven @ineffableloveforyou

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed !!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mandalorian and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch4 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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darthwheezely · 4 years ago

Note

Okay so BY NO MEANS DO YOU HAVE TO WRITE THIS IF YOU AREN'T UP FOR IT!!! BUT- can you write something where Jimmy holds the reader down and just overstimulates them with his fingers and whenever it gets too much he kind of teases them about it (in like a sweet way but still not stopping). IDK- it's a hot thought if you're up for it!!! AGAIN YOU DON'T HAVE TO IF YOU DON'T WANT TO! Thank you and I hope you have a wonderful night/day💗💗

Finger Lickin’ Good - Jimmy Darling x Reader

Jimmy’s way too pent up to let those beautiful hands of his go to waste...

Warnings: NSFW/18+, if you’re a minor plEASE do not interact w this I know you wanna be spicy but sis please do not, okay? cussing probably, soft dom!Jimmy, possibly awful writing, my kink for Jimmy’s hands and heart and body and mind and-

a/n: lindsey, miss ma’am, you literally know i’m a whore for this man and besides, you could request the most whack shit and i would still prolly write it if only to see your reaction ajsjsjs

To say that Jimmy’s balls were blue was an absolute understatement. The man was honestly lucky enough to have balls at the rate (or rather, lack of) things were going. You and Jimmy’s sex life was always - well something neither of you ever needed to worry about, but lately with Elsa running around covering all her legal bases, she had sent everyone in a frenzy.

Unfortunately for you two this meant less than satisfactory time together. It was always something. And to be quite honest, Jimmy didn’t know if he could go another two weeks without touching you. And to make matters worse he knew you weren’t making it any easier.

It started with little things, light touches on his shoulders, something usual in your relationship. Then jaw kisses before going onstage. Then wearing The Dress.

Yes. That dress. The a-line that managed to not only show off a small but still good amount of cleavage, the waistline elastic bow on the back sinking into where your elevated waist hit naturally, and the worst? It was white. Jimmy had a thing for you in white.

That morning he couldn’t take it anymore. I mean, clearly, you wanted to act that dirty with him knowing he couldn’t touch you, right? So what was he gonna do about it?

He was gonna show you exactly who had the upper hand.

*your POV uwu*

You would never say it out loud, but you only wore The Dress for days exactly like this: to torture your boyfriend. And honestly? You didn’t think you could go a day without imagining those intensely gifted fingers on (or in) you for another goddamn hour. But you also couldn’t say that.

So you had decided that morning to show him instead - he always was a visual learner...

You had been talking to Evie and eating your plate of bacon and hashbrowns when you felt two large, calloused hands collapse on your shoulder blades.

“Evie, mind if I steal the lady away for a second?” He drawled lowly. The way he said it combined with the weight of his hands on your body hit your core instantly.

Eve rolled her eyes, smirking. “If ‘a second’ is all it’ll take.” You smiled tightly at her as you allowed your boyfriend to guide you, albeit rather roughly, back to the van. Immediately as you got inside he pushed you up against the fridge and you winced from the pain.

“Jimmy, what the-” He stopped you with his mouth on yours, open and hungry, his hands working up the back of your thighs, causing a moan to erupt from you on impact into his mouth.

“You knew exactly what you were doing to me out there, and you thought it was a fuckin’ okay idea to tease me?” He lowered his mouth to your earlobe and downward, light nibbles on hot skin turning to harsh bites. You could feel his fully hardened cock against your heat and you wanted more than ANYTHING for those jeans to be off his body.

“I-I’m sorry, baby I just thought you’d li- oh fuck, Jimmy” You gasped, as he’d found that place right above your collar bone that (as he came to found out) was one of the most sensitive spots on your torso. Smirking against your skin, he traced the area with open mouthed kisses and began to bite again, leaving you attempting to stifle breathy high pitched whines.

“What was that, babydoll?” His hands picked up your thighs and brought your legs around his waist, pressing you harder against the fridge.

“I said I’m sorry” you gasped, pained by the feeling and the need for him. He smirked, bringing his thumb up to your chin and kneading it lightly.

“Aw, princess, I’m not mad at you. But the way I see it is that I’m gonna split that sweet little pussy of yours open with these-” he dragged his two fore fingers across your bruised collar bone, and looked back up at you.

“-and then you’re going to come so hard you can’t breathe. Sound good, baby?” He smiled softly at you. You bit your lip to hold back a moan and did your best to nod without moving any part of his body out of place. He chuckled watching you, and without a moments notice lifted you with toned tensed biceps and carried you to the bed, an array of heavy kisses being exchanged on the journey.

He dropped you on the bed watching as your breasts moved from the impact and groaned at the sight. He looked into your bright/dark eyes and flipped the lower half up, breath hitching in his throat. God, was he the luckiest fucker this side of the Mississippi.

“Jesus, baby, you’re so goddamn beautiful,” he breathed, a dopey smile plastered on his face as he attacked you with kisses on your face, making you giggle at his soft demeanor.

“For someone so mad a second ago you seem to suddenly be pretty forgiving,” you laughed.

“I can still be mad but have eyes, Y/N, don’t get your panties in a twist” he scoffed, smiling into the crook of your neck.

“Oh, so I still get to keep my panties on by the end of this little argument?” You purred dragging your hands slowly down the back of his white tank top, barely touching him. And just like that, he was back to the state he was before. Instantly, he sat up and unbuckled his jeans, taking the brown belt in his hands he forced your wrists onto the headboard.

“Now, just when did I say that?” He growled, tightening the hold on the belt. You knew your wrists would be raw as hell after however long this escapade took but strangely enough - that only got you more slick.

“JImmy, please” you whimpered, pleading with his whiskey eyes. He leaned back on his knees and began to slowly creep his tough and warm hands up and down your legs, inching his perfect fingers to your thighs at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Angel,” he purred “you know I can’t help you if you don’t use your words.” You moaned at the idea of his fingers getting closer to where you needed them, tugging on the belt but forgetting (this bastard-)

“JImmy, please gimme”

“Give you what, baby? Tell me what you need, yeah?” He slid his fingers right outside of your clothed core and gently kneaded the skin there, pushing lightly, sending your back upward as you let out a loud moan.

“Jimmy, please, give me your fingers” you pushed out. He bit his lip at the sight of you, red faced, needy, and ready to be torn apart. His breath hitched as he slid two fingers inside you, not being able to tease you for very much longer. He needed you to come apart, to be unraveled as soon as possible - but not without a price.

“There you go” he whispered roughly, his fingers working against you the way you needed them to. You felt like your core was getting pried apart and hearing his fingers only sink deeper into your heat made you even more wet. He moved his fingers in you faster once he was completely in you, and started to jut his hips toward you involuntarily as he imagined how you would feel around his cock since it’d been so long-

“God, you’re so tight for me, Y/N, fuck” he choked out harshly, ghosting his thumb over your clit, tracing circles where you needed it. “Almost like this pussy was made for me, isn’t it baby?”

The sudden gentleness, however, retreated as fast as it arrived, as he picked up the pace, curling his fore fingers in you at an iron-hot speed. You felt your wrists becoming rawer and rawer by the second as your body strained for release to touch him, to imagine feeling your hands clawing his back and feverishly running your fingers through his coiffed hair. You screamed out harshly as he found your most sensitive point. You felt the white hot tension in your stomach as you approached your release.

“JIm, baby, please I’m-I’m so-” and then you felt him pull his fingers out, whining at the loss of contact. He cocked his head at you, eyeing you up and down biting his lip.

“You always want things, so easy, lovebug,” he said softly. Leaning all the way back so he returned to his knees at the edge of the bed. He pulled his shirt off and started to unbutton his pants, his fully erect cock straining against his boxers. You drooled at the sight of him almost completely naked.

He dipped his head once he knew you were calmed down enough, pressing sloppy kisses on your calves up to the lower part of your thighs. He hitched a leg up on his shoulder, looking up at you first for consent and licking a stripe up your folds.

“You taste as good as you look, little girl” he growled against you, the vibrations sending your head flying backward a squeak erupting from your lips.

“Should I taste more of you? I don’t know if you deserve it little girl. You looked like you wanted one of the boys to take a turn with you before me. Or did you act like a whore today all for me?” he bit your inner thigh lightly, sucking on the skin there like it was gold. You cried out hoarsely, desperately pulling on his hair.

“Only for you, Jim, I promise” you feel him smirk against you as he began sucking onto your sensitive bud, your arousal building in your stomach like a fire pit. His fingers continuing to work against you as you felt release inching nearer again.

“Please, Jimmy, please” his tongue curling pressure where you needed him, the weight of him against you pooling what felt like everywhere in your system.

“Go on, honey, go on and come for me and tell me who this pussy belongs to” he pressed your hips to the bed as you cried out his name in release of everything he’d done to you.

“Jimmy, that was-“

“Good? Don’t sound so surprised” he teased softly winking up at you. His hand slid to the back of your dress, dancing along the zipper.

“But you didn’t think you were done here, did you, little girl?”

#ahs freakshow #ahs imagine #imagines #jimmy darling #Jimmy darling headcanons #jimmy darling x reader #Jimmy darling smut

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sonnetthebard · 4 years ago

Note

Owen doesn't really like horror movies and he gets paranoid pretty easily because of them. He hates that it happens and never tells anyone about it, he thinks its embarrassing for someone like him to be set off by something as simple as a movie. Curt also didn't know, until he proposed watching a horror movie one night. Owen went along with it because he knew Curt wanted to watch it with him and tried his best to sit through it, but Curt picked up on how uncomfortable he was -S

I know this was supposed to be headcanons, but... I had to write this as a oneshot. I absolutely love it.

Genre: Fluff/ Romance/ Angst

Words: 3171

TL;DR: Owen is not a fan of horror movies.

TW: Anxiety/ Triggering, brief mention of violence, panic attack, minor implied ptsd.

"Darling, I'm home!" Owen called into his shared hotel room teasingly.

"What, you're done scoping out the venue already?" Curt smirked, making his way out of his room, already dressed down to just a dress shirt (with a few buttons undone) and dress pants.

Owen smirked at that. Evidently Curt had decided his work for the day was over. They were in the primary stages of a small mission- one that should be simple. Intercept the passing of information from the French to the Russians- no matter the cost. If they had to kill someone, so be it. It may be an easy mission, but it was a crucial one. It was set to happen at the ballroom in one of the biggest estates in London during a gala hosted by its owners- set to happen in two days. The owners weren’t royalty, but they were rich- which probably made them more powerful than royalty either way. The event was going to be massive. Royalty and dignitaries from all around the world would be there- and, of course, the informants they were there to stop. If they didn't intercept this information... well, let's just say the Soviets would have a rather large military advantage. And that wasn't something anyone wanted.

Earlier in the day, Curt and Owen had gone out and met the family hosting the gala- who were in full support of their work. They’d even offered to be so good as to give them a discreet signal when their marks arrived. Of course Owen had turned that down because, even with good intentions, the utilization of untrained assets was always a risk. Once they were done with that meeting, Curt and Owen had done some genuine espionage. They were lucky. Their informant had told them when and where their marks would be in preparation for the gala. So they'd alternated locations to watch their opponents. That way no one got suspicious seeing the same two people watching them everywhere they went. Then Owen, being the keener that he was, had gone to the ballroom and scoped it out. He always loved that part of planning. Plus, the house was practically a castle, and it was old. Owen just wanted to see it. It was a marvel of architecture. But it was at least a productive visit. He had a good sense of the place.

Now, though... Now Owen was exhausted. He'd had a big day preparing for not only his physical game but his mental one. So he was more than happy to be back with the man he loved. And he really did love Curt, in spite of his flaws. Owen was well aware of those. He would have to have been dull not to take them into account when preparing for their romantic relationship. Owen knew he was the more fit spy. He knew Curt could be a bit... careless at best, reckless at worst. And boy, did Curt’s ego ever get the better of him sometimes. But Curt was one of the most affectionate people Owen had ever met. His heart was massive, and he was as loyal as a dog. That was more than enough for Owen. They would follow each other to the ends of the earth. Owen may not have the smartest lover in the world, but... he had never felt more loved by one person. Not even his own parents.

"Already? Love, I was there for nearly three hours." Owen chuckled softly.

"You must be exhausted." Curt rolled his eyes playfully.

"As a matter of fact I am!" Owen scoffed, smirking and setting his jacket on the rack. Curt walked over to him, wrapping his arms over his shoulders and kissing him gently. Owen hummed into it, snaking his arms around Curt's waist. "What are you up to, Mega? Trying to breathe some life back into me?"

"No... I just missed you." Curt blushed lightly, still smirking and trying to play this off as cool as he could. "Am I not allowed to kiss my favourite partner after a long day of work?"

"Oh, you're more than welcome to..." Owen winked, giving him another gentle peck. He rested his forehead on Curt's, sighing. "I would say you could kiss me any time you’d like, but... well... we both know the world isn't quite ready for that."

"I know." Curt sighed. "One day..."

"We can only hope." Owen agreed. He gave Curt one more small peck of reassurance before, pulling away, walking into their room. "So what have we got for plans tonight? I was thinking maybe we could grab a bite at the fish and chips stand down the street. It's quite good. Then... maybe we could go to the cinema?"

"Actually... I was thinking maybe we could stay here." Curt bit his lip. "We've got a television here, and... they're showing Creature From The Black Lagoon on one of the channels we pick up. I missed it in the theatres while we were in Germany, and I've been hoping to see it for a few years now. It's a horror movie, and I've heard the special effects in it are great! We could watch it together!"

"Oh..." Owen bit his lip, breath hitching a bit at that.

Now... there was a bit of a dilemma. Owen came off as very suave, very tough, and impenetrable but... he had a bit of a problem with horror films. That, and films surrounding espionage. He didn't know what it was about the visual medium of storytelling that was becoming so popular, but... it affected him deeply. It was as though it set off something deep inside him, and brought up all his own fears. Even if they weren’t the fears discussed in the movie. As tacky as the movies were with their corny monsters and questionable acting they sparked his anxietes. Even worse to Owen was the irrational paranoia that came with it. The fear of something that didn't even exist. Even the things that very clearly could *never* exist. Like Dracula. Still, if Curt wanted to watch one with him, he would do his best to sit through it. Maybe he could focus his attentions on Curt and not the movie. Or maybe this movie wouldn’t get to him so badly.

"Oh what?" Curt checked, the smallest trace of concern riddling his features.

"It's nothing." Owen chuckled, trying to mask his lie. He didn't want Curt worrying about him for something so trivial. "I would love to. What are we doing for supper though?"

“I didn’t think that through.” Curt admitted. “We, um... well, we’ve got half an hour before the movie starts. Maybe we could grab fish and chips and eat it here while we watch?”

“Sure thing, love.” Owen sighed. “You want me to go and get it, then?”

“That works for me.” Curt nodded.

“And do you want me to get some crisps for later in case you get a bit peckish?” Owen checked.

“Can a get a translation of that?” Curt teased. He knew most of what Owen meant, he just loved bothering him and he knew how much his boyfriend hated Americanisms.

“Do I really have to?” Owen groaned. Curt just raised his brows in expectation. “Fine. You’re lucky I love you... Do you want me to get you some ‘potato chips’ for later in case you get the ‘munchies’?”

“I would love some potato chips.” Curt smirked triumphantly.

“‘Potato chips’...” Owen grumbled, grabbing his jacket again. “Bloody Americans butchering our language...”

“Love you too!” Curt called out the door teasingly as Owen left.

The fish and chips place wasn’t far down the street. It was one Owen knew well- his parents had even taken him there as a child. He remembered those days... Things were simpler. Not nearly as complicated as his life had become. But that wasn’t why Owen was so eager to get out of the hotel room. No, Owen wanted the space alone to brace himself and prepare himself for this movie. Because he’d always been strong for Curt. He didn’t want Curt seeing him weak. So he just needed a bit of fresh air. That’s also why he’d volunteered to get the crisps (no matter what Curt wanted to call them). Extra time to steel himself. He took his time, but even then he only spent twenty minutes out of the house. Still... it was better than having had no time at all to prepare. He took deep breaths, making his way back to the hotel room.

“Alright, darling. I have the food.” Owen called him, taking his shoes off and walking into the hotel. He set the food down on the coffee table. Curt walked out, dress shirt completely gone now. In it’s place, a white tank top. He was in denim jeans now, likely so that he didn’t ruin his dress pants. Owen smirked. “I thought we were supposed to be watching a movie, love...”

“We are.” Curt furrowed his brows, confused. He sat down on the couch, taking one of the meals for himself. Owen shrugged his jacket off, hanging it back up. He then joined Curt on the couch, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Well... you’re very distracting...” Owen hummed. Curt blushed.

“I can put my shirt back on...” Curt mumbled.

“No, darling. Don’t do that.” Owen sighed contentedly, taking the meal Curt hadn’t taken and setting it in front of himself. Curt had taken out his multi-purpose hunting tool and a pocket knife to eat with, but Owen stopped him. He pulled out the provided cutlery. “Here, darling. We can eat like civilized people”

“Right.” Curt flushed again.

“You’re adorable when you’re all worked up.” Owen chuckled.

“You’re a bully, you know that?” Curt grumbled, getting up and walking over to their in-room television. They were lucky. Not many hotels had them, but... this one did. Their superiors didn’t mind splurging a little on their accomodations, because it usually meant they were better rested for their job.

“I’m not a bully...” Owen chuckled, his heartrate picking up again at even the thought of what he was about to watch. “I’m just a tease, doll.”

“So you admit it?” Curt smirked triumphantly, fiddling with the knobs to adjust the channel.

“Only this once.” Owen rolled his eyes playfully.

“I think I... there we go!” Curt beamed as the television crackled onto the right station. The scoring to a typical horror movie started. Owen gulped, already not liking this. Curt seemed to pick up on that. “You okay?”

“Absolutely fine.” Owen lied. Curt sighed, coming back and sitting down.

Both men sat in silence, eating and watching the movie. Owen tried to focus on his food, blocking out the movie and his surroundings. But... that was unfortunately very hard to do. Especially when Curt was so invested. The man was leaning as far forward onto his knees as he possibly could. He thought Curt might have said something about Owen being right about the fish and chips, but Owen didn’t really hear it. He was caught in his head, in a way. And in many other ways, he was totally and uterly absorbed in the movie, trapped without consent the the saga being recounted on the screen. He didn’t even notice when he finished his food, caught up in everything.

And then... then came the moment Owen was dreading. The one that had his palms sweating and his body tense the entire night. Even with all that awful anticipation it caught him completely by surprise. Just as it was meant to. For some people, that was the thrill of the game. To him, it wasn’t. To him, it was not just truly terrifying, but also... humiliating. Totally and utterly humiliating. Especially in front of his Curt. Curt, who thought he was this suave, impenetrable rock. Curt, whom he was the foundation. Curt got to watch him cower like a child. The moment of dread was, of course, the first jumpscare. And just as Owen had predicted, he had jumped right out of his seat, yelping. Curt saw him and... he started to laugh.

The world caved in for Owen. It was a mix of the genuine fear he’d experienced watching the movie, the fears that fear alone had resurface, and the humiliation. He felt in a way that he was disappointing Curt already. And the laughing... it rang in his ears even once Curt had finished. Because this time Curt wasn’t laughing with him- he was laughing at him. He tried to mask it, but he was far too caught up in his head to have any control over what his face did. He shook a little bit. He couldn’t even fear anything around him. He had tunnel vision, and everything sounded like it was underwater. Owen hated it. He knew then and there that trying to be tough had not been the right move. That he should have said no to Curt. But it was far too late for that realization to be any good.

At first, Curt had admittedly thought it was funny that Mr. Tough Guy Owen Carvour himself had fallen victim to the classic jumpscare. And he would be the first to admit he had laughed a long time- especially when he thought that for once he had been the one to fluster Owen and not the other way around. But then, when Owen neglected to come back with any snide remarks... When he didn’t tell Curt to shut up, or even chuckle along with him... That was when Curt knew that now was not the time to be laughing. That something was genuinely wrong. That was when he finally took the time to notice that his lover was shaking, and the fear that had been in his eyes when he jumped had not vanished- even though the protegonists were safe. Curt took Owen’s hand’s carefully. Owen twitched in what could be a flinch, but put up no fight. That was the final tip-off for Curt that sommething was very wrong. He got in front of Owen carefully.

“Hey... Hey, Owen. You’re okay.” Curt soothed. Owen seemed to snap a bit out of it- enough to see Curt in front of him and look him in the eyes. Curt suppressed his concern and put on a comforting smile for Owen. “That’s right, babe. Look at me. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

There was a moment of Owen just staring into Curt’s eyes and reminding himself that Curt had his back. That he was safe. Once he had calmed enough to speak, he took a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry.” Owen mumbled.

“No... no, don’t be sorry!” Curt shook his head, giving Owen’s hands a squeeze. Immediately as thought that had awakened something in him, Owen was squeezing back as if it were the only thing keeping him on the ground. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do.” Owen spat, almost as though the words were poison. Self hatred oozed from his tone. “I’ve been lying to you. I’m a coward.”

“You are not a coward...” Curt stated firmly.

“I bloody well near shit my pants at something I saw on the telly!” Owen pointed out, incredulous. “Something imaginary, on the other side of the screen where it could never harm me.”

“That’s what these movies are made to do, O.” Curt assured him.

“They’re meant to give people a quick fright.” Owen shook his head. “But... that terrified me. Genuinely scared me.”

“Well... we’ve got pasts.” Curt bit his lip. “We’ve seen stuff. We’ve been the victims of real jumpscares where we could have died. Maybe it reminds you of those. Maybe the lines blurred.”

“Curt, it wasn’t anything we’ve been through that scared me.” Owen softened, nearly whimpering, both scared and embarassed but also pleasing for Curt to listen. “It was that that creature was going to show up behind us and do the same, or... take you away. That poorly dressed, hokey monster that could not be any further from being real. I’m not just a coward. I’m a bloody idiot.”

“You’re not a coward, Owen. And you’re not an idiot. Everyone’s brain is built a bit differently.” Curt soothed him. “You want to protect me... just like I want to protect you.”

“From something that could never hurt us either way.” Owen pointed out.

“Sometimes that doesn’t matter to the mind.” Curt sighed. “I don’t know if this happens to you when you read all your books, but sometimes someone will tell me a story and I get so invested in it that I’ll feel like I’ve lived through it myself.”

“I know what you mean...” Owen nodded.

“Well... maybe this movie did the same thing for you.” Curt reasoned.

“I... suppose.” Owen blinked, realizing Curt made a lot of sense.

“Just like you feel things when you read... you’re feeling things watching this.” Curt sighed.

“Right...” Owen nodded, letting that sink in.

“You think you can take a few breaths with me, O?” Curt soothed. Owen nodded, following Curt through a few deep breaths until he had stopped shaking and his grip on Curt’s hands had lightened. Once Curt was satisfied, he got up and changed the channel. I Love Lucy was on. He smirked, sitting back down on the couch. For once, he was the one pulling Owen close to cuddle. “We’re going to watch this channel for the rest of the night, okay? I think it’s got some of the good family shows on it.”

“Are you sure?” Owen checked. “I can go lay down. I know you really wanted to watch this film.”

“Yeah, but... not as much as I want to spend time with my handsome British boyfriend.” Curt teased.

“I love you.” Owen sighed, resting his head on Curt’s chest.

“I know.” Curt winked playfully, running a hand through Curt’s hair. “Hey, if you’re ever uncomfortable with what I want to do... just tell me, okay? No judgement.”

“Alright.” Owen nodded.

And so they spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms. Eventually they did switch and Owen was back to holding Curt. He found immense comfort in that- and that Curt didn’t judge him. It was lovely to be totally and utterly enamoured with someone. And that was what he was with Curt- what he was certain they both were. He didn’t focus on the telly (though it did give him a few laughs- that Lucy was always getting into trouble). Instead, he focused on Curt’s hands running though his hair, or the little kisses he was being adornerd with. In other words, he chose to focus on how much he was loved. And that put him in an entirely better place. There was, at least, one thing they could take away from the whole fiasco: no more horror movie nights. They had enough horrors in their own life without needing to worry about anything on the tv.

#tw: swearing #tw: panic attack #tw: implied ptsd #tw: anxiety #tw: triggers #spies are forever #saf #curt mega #agent curt mega #owen carvour #agent owen carvour #joey richter #curtwen #gay #lgtbtq #oneshot #tin can bros #tcb #tin can bros fanfiction

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