#(was actually making some gifs about the clothes in the show when i stumbled across jakub pushing aniela aside to take her place)

[charlie-rulerofhell]

1670: siblings.

[griffonsgrove]

Hiiii!!! See your doing writing requests for Hazbin, Its my hyperfixation so I am in need of more content 👀 so I'd like to request maybe Vox general or NSFW headcanon ( either one is good lol-) with a afab reader maybe? This is my first time requesting something like this so sorry if I'm a little nervous or bad at requesting. I think this is how people are supposed to request? XD

General Dating Headcanons | Vox

a/n: You're totally alright dear! You said everything just fine! As I've stated before, I got early access to the first two episodes, and it's been so interesting to analyze vox's character! I hope I can do him justice!! He's starting to grow on me now. I'm gonna stick with a gn!reader just because these are general headcanons and I want them to be suited for anyone!

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

wordcount: 1299

cw: SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL, swearing, vulgar content, stalking, death and mentions of death/murder., toxic/absuive relationships.

(PLATONIC):

Vox’s got eyes EVERYWHERE in hell. There is no escaping his line of sight unless you go completely off the grid. Which is pretty difficult to do when the entirety of pentagram city is covered head to toe in VoxTech.

However, if you don't pose a threat to him, he really doesn't give a shit about you otherwise, and won’t pay that much attention to your life.

When you first fell into hell, you were mostly confused as to how you wound up here in the first place. That quickly subsided into fear as you noticed the large variety of demons and sinners casually walking down the sidewalk like it was an average tuesday. 

You’ll never forget the sight of seeing a demon gnaw off the arm of another and swallow it whole, like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet. 

You wander aimlessly down the streets, keeping to yourself and being very cautious of those around you. Your clothes were in tatters, and you didn't have any form of money whatsoever, what were you to do??

You had two options: Somehow find a job in this new horrific realm, or, die.

You didn't care too much for the latter.

This is how you stumble across one of the largest studios/clubs in hell, owned by probably the most feared overlords in pentagram city. The V’s. 

You get hired to be nothing more than a waiter/waitress, to serve the patrons of the club, mostly serving them their drinks.

You weren't too fond of the work uniform either. It left nothing to the imagination, and exposed alot of skin, far too much to your liking. The job actually paid somewhat decently though and it was enough to be able to sustain a living. You were quick to rent out the nearest apartment.

One day, while you’re out on the main floor, making your rounds, your eyes briefly lock with the TV demon across a sea of sinners. Call it cheesy, but it was almost like a spark went off the moment he laid eyes on you. Which is something that doesn't happen often with the tech-savvy overlord. Who were you??

He lazily beckons you over with a claw, to which you obediently follow, although it doesn't hide the sheer nervousness written all over your face, He gives you his drink order in that sultry, velvet voice of his, eyeing you up. You gulp slightly and are quick to bring him his order. He thought you were so cute trembling for him.

He begins to stalk observe you closer after that. If you have any electronic devices he’ll watch you through your screens, trying to get a glimpse into what your life was like outside of work. The things you enjoyed doing in your free time, favorite shows, foods etc.

He def goes through your search history.

He would start showing up more in the sections you worked at, oftentimes minding his business, but occasionally striking up a conversation with you.

You did have to admit he was quite the charmer, his smooth voice was hypnotic to you.

OBSESSIVE TENDENCIES. If he notices some creep won't leave you alone while you're working, he’ll take care of them personally, it’s never a pretty sight afterwards. He cant have anyone taking what's his.

You're oblivious to his stalking and possessiveness, you don't think much of it, maybe that's because he puts on a friendly face when you’re around him.

But after some time of getting to know you, He’s the one that eventually asks you out on a “date”. You’re skeptical at first, but decide to accept his offer. And also partially because you were afraid of what would happen if you said no.

(ROMANTIC):

Ngl it’s kind of a situationship in the beginning.

Vox is a busy man, it’s constant work maintaining the studios (especially valentinos temper) and managing the entirety of hell's technology. So, he may ghost you at first.

That being said, He will still keep an eye on you. He often watches through your phone while you sleep, just to make sure you’re safe. Hell is a dangerous place after all.

Speaking of, you’re now under the protection of the V’s, so that’s a plus! You never have to worry about another demon laying a finger on you. They usually never get close enough to anyways.

He very easily gets jealous. He won't show it on the outside because he has an image to uphold, but you can tell every time from that crazed look in his eyes.

Vox is a possessive lover; he wants to keep you all to himself. If he could, he’d keep you locked up by his side all day.

CONTROLLING. He HAS to know where you’re at, at all times, and who you’re going to be with (lest you face one of his tantrums). Also dictates what you wear, He likes to dress you up to his liking, like you’re his own personal doll.

Insecure much?

Say goodbye to privacy btw. He constantly has you in the back of his mind and a watchful eye on you. It can be kind of suffocating at times. The two of you have gotten into a few arguments because of this.

Valentino gets jealous of you too. How dare you take his boy-toy away from him? He’s often giving you the stink eye and will threaten you behind vox’s back. You’re too scared to tell Vox, because you don't want to face Val’s wrath.

You know briefly of his and Val’s “relationship” it all had seemed very one-sided and completely unhealthy.

You're often having to calm Vox down. The man has a very short temper and is easily provoked. 

Imagine you pressing little kisses to his screen after he found out about Alastor’s return. He remains stoic, but secretly enjoys your affection.

Some of the pet names he loves to call you include; Doll, Dear, Darling, Sweetheart, Babe.

Pretty old-fashioned ik, but he's a classy man alright?

He tends to be pretty touchy, always having a clawed hand on the small of your back, or an arm wrapped around your waist. It’s more of a possessive trait of his, to keep what's his close.

He loves having you sprawled on his lap while he’s in his screen room, you stay nuzzled into his side, often taking naps while he does broadcasts.

He TOTALLY spoils you btw. He’s one of the most powerful overlords in hell, ofc he has the money to show it. Whatever dingy apartment you had before, forget about it bc this man has you living in a penthouse suite in one of the most expensive apartment buildings. He sees you looking at something in a store or online?? Boom, it’s yours now.

He loves buying you clothes, as I’ve said before, you're his “doll” and he loves playing dress up with you.

And if you buy him something?? He’s taken by surprise at first, he’s never really been on the receiving end of that affection, so whatever it is you give him he’ll cherish it.

If you ever have someone bothering you, or want to get rid of, you just say the word babe. He’ll be feeding them to his sharks >:)

The man is emotionally constipated, ok?? All he’s ever known from relationships is what he shared with Val (and trust me that was a train wreck). He’s rough around the edges, short-tempered and isn't always easy to get along with, and he’s incredibly possessive which can be suffocating to deal with at times. This probably stems from him not wanting to actually be alone, He doesn't want you to slip out of his grasp, so he keeps a tight leash on you. But underneath all these flaws, he really does love you and care about you. At the end of the day, He just wants someone that will stay.

[eyesthatroll]

needy | jack hughes

pairing; jh86 x fem!reader

warning(s); fluff, established relationship, idk what else, smidge of angst (?), lowercase intended, not rlly edited.

word count; 1.1k

summary; jack comes home from a five game road trip

"can you please come to bed?" jack whines from across the hall, interrupting your concentration.

pausing the outline you were currently writing, you let out a deep sigh. "just a few more minutes, j."

you hear stumbling across the floor, and in moments jack is leaning against the doorframe, wrapped in a burrito blanket you got for your birthday last year.

his hair has gotten longer since that last time you’ve seen him, messily resting past his ears and down his neck.

"you said that ten minutes ago."

you look up, and meet jacks pleading gaze. "you look tired, love. why don't you try and get some sleep?"

it was a little after one am, you were growing tired, and you knew he was too.

he rolls his eyes at you. "i miss you. didn't you miss me, when i was gone?"

removing your glasses, you rubbed at your eyes with your palms, trying to rid the looming tiredness.

of course you missed him, you always did, but you had inventory at work on monday and an important deadline coming up, you couldn't just drop everything because he was home. you had a life without him, too.

"of course i missed you, jack. i just need a little bit more time to work without you bothering me every five minutes, please." you knew the moment you said it, that you shouldn't have.

jack's eyes widen momentarily, as if he can't believe the words that just came out of your mouth.

jack is normally needy, roadie's aside. that was actually one of the first things that made you fall in love with him, his constant need to show you how much he valued and cared about you.

your family is emotionally distant, you've only hugged your dad maybe five times in your life, and you don't think you've ever heard him say i love you to your mom.

jack said it everyday, multiple times a day. leaving to go to practice, "i love you". ending every phone call "i love you". you made him dinner, "i love you"

you had yet to say it back to him.

there was a time you wanted to, but then it passed, and now every time you think about saying it, it just feels forced.

jack hasn’t taken offense that you haven’t said it yet, he knows how you are with this sort of thing.

‘whenever your ready’ he says.

"sure, yeah. sorry for bothering you." jack turns on his heels, not giving you a chance to respond.

the door closes quietly, echoing throughout the quiet apartment.

you sit in silence, your brain not quite processing what had just happened.

you figured you might as well finish your work, then call it a night. you plugged your headphones in and chose a random spotify playlist to work to.

it's about two hours later when you finally give in and close your macbook with a curse under your breath.

shutting the lamp off, you make your way to your bedroom, opening to door quietly as you're unsure if jack is awake or not. part of you hopes he is awake, so you can form some sort of apology.

hockey plays quietly on the tv, while jack is laying down, his body turned towards the window, light snores escaping him.

you go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, too tired to bother with your skincare routine tonight.

stripping out of your day clothes, you throw on one of jacks t-shirts that he's left, and join him in bed. you spared one last look at your boyfriend, before turning the tv off.

turning so your back is facing his, you shut your eyes, and try and force yourself to sleep.

after hours of tossing and turning, you glance at the clock to see that only about 45 minutes has passed since you last checked the time.

turning back to jack, you shook his shoulder. "jack.. jack wake up."

groaning, he pushes your hand off him, turning to face you. "what time is it?"

"a little after three."

"oh.. did something happen? are you okay?" he gives you a concerned look, his face illuminated by the small nightlight in the corner.

"no, nothing happened."

his lips part in confusion. "i don't understand."

"fuck i just-i don't want you to be mad at me, okay?!"

jack jumps slightly at your outburst.

"i'm sorry." you add quickly, before he has a chance to speak.

jack avoids your gaze, seemingly unsure of what to say. "it's not-i should've just left you to your work."

you reach out, brushing stray fallen hair out of his eye line. "you know me, you know i'm not good with.. feelings. but im trying, for you. of course i miss you when your gone, maybe too much. that's why i'm always working, i guess. to distract when your not here."

jack watches you intently. the two of you have moved closer now, his hand palming small circles on your thigh.

"it makes it easier, to not have days off when all i can do is think about you."

"you can always facetime me, or text me when im on the road." he says.

"i know, i just-i don't wanna annoy you. and please don't say 'you could never annoy me' because i know that's not true." you tell him.

"i would love to hear more from you when i’m on the road. even if it's a text here and there, it'll be nice to know you're thinking about me."

you nod.

"and if, you start to annoy me, i'll let you know." he finishes.

you crack a smile. "okay."

jack pulls you into his side. "though, you could never annoy me, because i love you."

"me too." you say, out of habit, but you continue. "i love you, too.”

"you love me?" jack asks, his face, a mixture of adoration and awe.

"stop it." you mumble against his chest.

"i knew it." he's teasing.

"only cause' i just told you."

"luke told me."

you whip you head up to look at him. "when?!"

he laughs at your response. "not sure, maybe a few months ago."

your face contorts in confusion, then realization. "i’m never telling luke anything again."

you lay back down, wrapping your arms around him.

"you loooooove me."

"you're gonna sleep outside."

"you can't make someone you love sleep outside!"

—

mari speaks! emptying my drafts i guess. if this sucks—sorry, i just started seriously writing a few months ago, so any constructive criticism is always appreciated, thanks! 🙂

[feyhunter78]

Pink Pastels Pt 15

Description: Miguel is called away to work, so you spend some time with your favorite student.

Pt 16

Gabi’s over her fever, finally. Then Miguel is called into work, his actual job, not his Spiderman job, and now that you know the truth, and live next door, you find yourself in the O’Hara household after school the next day.

Gabi is delighted, dragging you around their large apartment, showing you every room in the house except—“and that’s papá’s office. I’m not allowed to go in there unless he’s here because his computer is super fancy, and there’s a bunch of his work stuff in there, so he doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

You glance at the sturdy looking door, it looks normal, not like a place that could potentially hide all his Spiderman secrets. Did Gabi know her father was Spiderman? In your haste last night, you hadn’t even asked Miguel who knew his secret identity.

“And this is my room, papá painted it for me last year because I didn’t like green anymore, I wanted it to be blue.” She pulls you into her room and has you sit down on the colorful rug in the middle of the room.

“That’s nice of him.” You say, admiring Gabi’s room.

It’s painted a light blue, with clouds on the ceiling. Her bed is pushed against the wall, and she has a dresser, a nightstand, and two bookshelves. Her walls are covered with posters, awards, and photos. You can tell Miguel put a lot of thought into her room, and you can see the love he has for her pouring out of every inch of her room.

“Let’s play telenovela, I’ll be Carmen and you be Bianca.” She pulls out a cloth crate full of dolls and digs through them until she finds the ones she seems to be looking for.

“Okay, but who is Bianca, tell me her story, remember what we learned in class?” You ask gently, wanting to make sure she hasn’t forgotten anything while she was sick.

Gabi nods and continues to pull out dolls. “Bianca is the pretty new wife who marries—she sets down a doll that looks strangely like Miguel—Raul, and Carmen is his daughter.”

You try not to read too much into that. “Okay, and who are the other two dolls?”

She points to a redheaded doll. “That’s Maria, she’s Carmen’s first mom, but Carmen doesn’t like her—Then she holds up a blond doll—and this is Daniel, he’s the guy Maria runs away from Raul and Carmen with.”

You swallow hard but give her a big smile. Surely this was just the plot of some show she’s seen, and not her reenacting her own life? She was a baby when her mom left, there’s no way she’d remember, it’s not humanly possible.

“Okay, I think I got it, why don’t you set the scene?” You say, picking up the doll she called Bianca.

Gabi is a smart kid. You’ve always known that, and you also know kids are more perceptive than most people think, which is why you shouldn’t be surprised and horrified by how much she seems to know about her mother abandoning them.

“I never wanted a kid, you did, so you take care of her, I’m not coming back!” Gabi had her voice pitched up as she pretended to be Maria talking to Raul.

“But wait, she’s your daughter, you should be in her life, Maria, please don’t just—” She deepened her voice to play Raul.

“No, I’m moving to California with Daniel, and I never want to hear from you or that thing ever again.”

You’re speechless, the venom in Gabi’s voice as she pretends to be Maria, is heartbreaking.

Gabi makes the Maria doll pretend to hang up a phone, then she chucks her across the room, the plastic impacting the wall with a loud smack 

“Now you come in, Ms. Y/N.” Gabi says cheerfully, waiting for you to say something.

You stumble for a moment, then pull yourself back together. “Oh Raul, I’m so sorry about Maria, she sounds awful.” You pitch your voice up, too, seeking a way to separate yourself from what you just saw.

“Girls?” Miguel’s voice rings through the apartment, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

“We’re in Gabi’s room.” You call back, smiling at Gabi as she springs up and races down the hall.

Your smile drops, and you stare at the small dent the Maria doll made in the wall. Did Gabi have superpowers too, or were the walls in this building just really thin?

You turn to see Miguel and Gabi. He’s smiling at you and Gabi is holding a snack sized bag of goldfish.

“Everything alright at work?” You ask Miguel as you stand and join them in the hallway.

“Just a minor biochemical emergency, they didn’t really need me, but I’m head of the department, so I have to be there to take the accident reports.” He’s still smiling, and you can’t stop your eyes from roaming his form. It should be illegal to look that good in a white button up and black slacks.

“We played dolls while you were gone, papa.” Gabi says, tugging on his shirt sleeve.

“Oh yeah, what story did you tell her?” Miguel asks, stealing a goldfish from the bag in her hands.

Gabi goes silent, fidgeting with the bag in her hands.

“¿Mija? Miguel squats down and your eyes flicker to his ass before you mentally slap and remind yourself where you are.

“La de tu llamada telefónica con mama.” She mumbles. Trsl: The one about your phone call with mom.

Miguel’s face falls, and he settles his hands on her shoulders. “¿Qué llamada telefónica?” Trsl: What phone call?

Gabi starts to sniffle, and you move on instinct, joining Miguel at her side.

“It was a long time ago, but I heard you and her, and you were arguing about me, and I hate her. I want Ms. Y/N to be my mom.” Gabi cries, flinging herself into your arms.

You stumble back slightly but Miguel catches you, one hand on your upper back.

“Oh, Gabi, honey that’s so sweet, but I can’t be your mom, your dad and I aren’t married, and besi—”

“Then just get married.” She demands through her sobs, clinging tightly to you.

You look at Miguel helplessly.

He looks just as helpless as you and begins to stroke Gabi’s hair. “Mija, I had no idea you heard that, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were sad, and I didn’t want to make you more sad.” She says quietly, burying her face in the crook of your neck.

Oh, there goes your heart, and by the looks of it, Miguel’s too.

“Gabriella, even when I’m sad I want to know what you’re feeling, especially when it comes to your mom.” He says gently, his eyes on her shaking shoulders.

“She’s not my mom, Ms. Y/N is.” Gabi protests. “You just have to get married, and then it’ll be true.”

Miguel sighs and mouths, “I’m sorry,” to you.

You give him a reassuring half smile and mouth back. “It’s fine.”

“Gabi, come on Mija, why don’t you come with me, and we’ll talk about this, let Ms. Y/N go home.” Miguel offers, already trying to loosen her grip on you.

“No, then she’ll never come back.”

Did you think your heart was broken before? Because now it’s shattered.

“Gabi, honey, listen to me, okay?” Your voice is more serious now but not cold or cruel, it’s a voice she recognizes from when you’re being serious during class.

“Okay.” She sniffles, wiping her eyes with her sleeves.

“I’m going to come back; you’re going to see me every day at school like normal, and now I’m right next door. So, if you get scared, your dad can just bring you right over, and I’ll remind you that I’m not going anywhere.” You tell her, brushing the hair back from her face.

“You promise?” She asks, bottom lip wobbly, her eyes still rimmed with tears.

You hold out your pinky to her, and she links hers with yours. “I pinky promise.”

Taglist: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars

[fandom-smutty-shots]

Charles Xavier X Reader: In Your Head (Smut)

Summary: Charles uses his powers to make you finish in front of everyone, then uses them again when he takes you back to your room.

Warnings: Smut, praise kink, daddy kink, public orgasm, orgasm denial, fingering, oral(f receiving), begging.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: This man can see into anybody's mind... he's gotta have had some kinky sex.

~

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to focus on the food in front of you. You and a few of the trainees were in the kitchen, eating your final meal of the day and joking around with each other.

Well, everyone else was joking around. You were squeezing your thighs together and trying to keep your breathing even as your boyfriend projected your fantasy of the day into your head.

Charles, I'm trying to eat.

You met his eyes at the table with a glare as he ignored you, chatting away with Erik while torturing you.

You could feel his fingers between your thighs, snaking up and down your heated core as you saw yourself in bed, hands in Charles' hair as he got you closer to your edge.

This was the worst part of dating a telepath. He could make you finish without even laying a hand on you, anytime, anywhere. It was embarrassing how he dove into your wildest fantasies and forced you to get off on them, something you only ever did in your bed alone before him.

"Y/n? You feeling okay?" someone called out across the table, noticing your discomfort. You didn't even register who it was.

You opened your mouth to say something back, but ended up letting out a strangled sound to cover the moan from your building orgasm. Charles spoke soft words into your head, edging you on to finish for him right in front of everyone.

I'll do anything just please don't embarrass me-

It was too late. You stood up from your chair and came at the same time, clenching your jaw as your legs gave out and you collapsed onto the ground. You were drenched in sweat, your vision was fuzzy, and you were panting from the release.

Erik was the first to your side, and you could tell from the amused look on his face that he knew what Charles was up to. He was the only one that actually knew about your relationship, and he kept it a secret, even when Charles pulled shit like this.

"Come on, I'll get you to your room," Erik sighed, using his arm to get you to your feet. "Charles, come on, make sure she's okay."

You relied entirely on Erik to get you upstairs, regaining your footing somewhere right before you reached your bedroom. Charles followed behind, laughing as soon as you were out of earshot.

"This is just plain mean," Erik shot at his best friend, opening your door and letting you stumble to your bed. "Poor thing doesn't need to be a show for everyone. Keep your... playtime... in private." He stormed out, shutting the door after himself, leaving the two of you alone.

"Sorry, Y/n. I really didn't think you were that close," Charles chuckled, sitting in the bed next to you.

"Yes, you did! You know exactly when I'm about to come!" You shot back, your face red from humiliation. "This isn't fair! You can't go into my head whenever you please!"

Can't I, sweet girl?

"Stop!" You pushed your arms against his chest, wishing you could throw him across the room.

"Oh I'm sorry baby girl," Charles purred, pining your hands above your head with his power. "How about you let your daddy make it up to you?"

Your clothes were off in an instant, leaving you squirming and exposed in front of your boyfriend. Your mind began dancing in circles as he lowered himself between your legs, pushing them apart with gentle hands and getting comfortable.

How about daddy gives you the real thing?

You forget why you're so mad as he calls himself that, his intimate knowledge of your desires making it impossible not to melt into his touch.

"Please," you whimper, bucking into him to try and get some friction.

Ask nicely.

You swallow your pride, "please, daddy, please lick me."

Charles hummed and dove in, his tongue swirling exactly the way you need it, exactly the way you pictured it for so long. You cried out when he gently sucked on your swollen bud, his tongue dancing along the edges in the way that made you cum in an instant.

"Daddy it's right-it's right-oh god lick right there-" your voice was a high-pitched whine, you knew you sounded pathetic as you begged for release. This time a release you actually wanted.

You wanna come all over my face?

Charles never had to stop licking to coax you into an orgasm. One of the many benefits of his power, he talked you through everything without ever compromising your pleasure.

You could feel him holding you still, keeping your wild bucking at bay as your vision became fuzzy again and you felt that knot in your stomach building.

"Please-please-I can't-oh god I'm gonna-"

You snapped upright as Charles released his hold on you and pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're right, I do know exactly when you're gonna finish."

"Charles!" Your eyebrows furrowed together and you felt yourself come down, losing the wave that was about to crash over you. "That's not fair!"

Oh but you come so much harder when I make you wait for it.

"Daddy please," you whimper, bending down to hungrily kiss him, your need for him building with every second.

"You just begged me not to make you come and now you want to?" Charles smirked at you, coming up and snaking his arm under your neck to hold you into him. "Such a confusing girl."

He moved his free hand to draw circles up the side of your thigh, the touch making you shiver. You tried to push his hand where you needed it, but he was stronger than you and simply brought his hand and yours to your lips.

Ask nicely.

"Please let me come on you daddy I need you so bad," you beg, pleading with him in your mind as well.

That's my good girl.

Charles dipped his hand into your wet folds, teasing up and down before sliding a finger inside, making you gasp. He found your spot easily, lazily rubbing circles on it, just enough pleasure to make you need more. You knew he would take it away if you got greedy, so as much as you were desperate for more friction, you stayed in his arms and took the teasing.

Does baby girl want her daddy to make her come now?

"Please, I need you," you whimpered, turning your head to look him in the eyes just as he pulled his finger out and replaced it with two, pumping in and out to hit where you needed. His thumb traced patterns across your clit, edging you on as he told you how pretty you looked coming undone for him.

He let you squirm this time, grinding against his hand in desperation as you chased your high, this time the knot building much faster.

Charles pumped into you, watching your eyes roll back as you hit the point right before you were gonna-"

"CHARLES!" You cried out as he pulled his hand away, that one second ruining your orgasm yet again. "This isn't fair, daddy."

"Oh, but it'll be so good when you finally do finish, sweetheart." Charles said with his stupid smirk, sitting up and slowly undressing himself.

You glanced down as he pulled his pants off, his cock springing free and leaking pre-cum. He pumped it a few times before grabbing your waist and pulling you closer, lining himself up with your entrance.

"You're drenched for me," he commented, not giving you time to respond before he filled you up.

You made a strangled sound at the sudden invasion, and he didn't give you time to think before he was thrusting in and out, fucking you so hard you felt like you could see stars.

Is that how you like it? Rough and fast?

"I-I can't-"

Shhhh, don't try and speak. Open your mouth for daddy.

You obeyed, and you felt a few fingers shove inside and shut you up. His thumb held your jaw and he gently explored your mouth, using his other arm to hold himself up above you.

Touch your clit baby girl, make yourself come.

You obeyed that too, your fingers shooting down to make desperate circles around your needy bud. Between the thick cock filling you up and the teasing he had already done, you unravelled in a matter of seconds.

You should have been embarrassed by the moans and groans and other colourful sounds that came out of you, but instead, you just relaxed into Charles' body, letting him fuck you through your orgasm.

That's my good girl. Told you it was worth the wait.

Charles wasn't long after you, the sight of you cumming always drove him to as well. He did a few sloppy pumps before pulling out and collapsing on the bed next to you.

"Did you come hard for me?" He teased, brushing a finger across your lips.

You knew you didn't need to answer, Charles knew exactly what he did to you.

[trueshellz]

A/N: This is based on something I did today, thankfully my mum had my spare keys to the back patio door so I could climb over.

"Nooooooooooooo."

Leaning your head against the door with a sound of frustration as your front door slammed behind you. The mocking sound of keys jangling inside still in the lock where you left them, somehow you had forgotten that your door can't open without the stupid keys. And now you were stood on your doorstep in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with your hair in a messy bun.

Another groan of frustration when you tried to stick your hand through the letterbox, if you could just... nope. Your hand did not fit and now you had a ring of red from the action. Stomping your feet you glanced around quickly and smiled awkwardly at a passerby who was walking with her son. She had a look of confusion on her face which quickly turned into shock as she saw your lack of clothing.

Oh great.

Sighing, you pulled your phone out of your bra where you had shoved it earlier and dialled a locksmith... who unhelpfully told you that they would be there in an hour as they were short-staffed. Next was your landlord, who was also unable to come out as he was out the city visiting family. And of course, since lady luck was not shining down on you at all, your mother and sister were both unable to come out for at least 2 hours since they were getting their nails done.

Which left you with one option... something you really didn't want to do, but honestly, sitting outside in your loungewear was really not it. Dialling the number for the police, you quickly explained the situation and apologised for the silly reason for calling.

"We actually have some pro-heroes patrolling the area near you so we'll ask them to stop and help you out. Just sit tight for now."

Murmured thanks as you planted your butt on the ground next to the door, keeping an eye and ear out for the pro-hero in question when suddenly a bunch of cursing and loud words caught your attention.

"-is that? I mean, who manages to lock themselves out nowadays? And why call the police? A locksmith would have been better. Do we look like Inspector Gadget?"

Oh great.

Dynamight.

A thud of boots as he neared you, suddenly you could hear Red Riot reprimanding him and a slap followed by a loud 'ow' from him. And them two pairs of boots in front of you where your chin was rested on your arms over your knees. Looking up, you could see Dynamight's frowning face and Red Riot's friendly smile and wave.

Katsuki was pissed.

Not only had he been called away from patrol to sort out whatever the hell this was, but to make it worse his dick suddenly perked up with interest at the most annoying time. Seeing you say on the floor, the way your shorts rode up your thick thighs, the poor excuse for a shirt stretched across your heavy tits almost made his jaw drop to the floor.

"The hell happened?" Instead came out of his mouth.

Fucking perfect.

"Got locked out."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

Reaching over and trying the door once, he heard your snort before turning around to glare at you but somehow seeing your arms crossed over your chest made him stumble. Closing his mouth quickly, he tried again but this time barged his shoulder into it until it popped open with a loud 'thunk' onto the wall.

Smiling politely, you quickly ran in and pulled in your hoodie, suddenly very aware of the size of the two of them and how very underdressed you were as they stood in your doorway.

"-ID?

"Huh?"

"Have you got ID showing you live here, sweetheart?" Red Riot's face was friendly, Dynamight was outside on his device mumbling to himself.

Nodding quickly you grabbed your drivers license and a bill that had come recently before handing them over to him to check. A look up and down, between you and the papers as he grinned again and handed them back.

"I'm sorry about him. He's been on patrol for almost the whole day and he's a little hangry. Have a good evening

Nodding again, you watched as they both left after handing their business cards to you. Just in case they said, flipping them over in your fingers you frowned when you saw dark writing on the back of Dynamight's, his number and a short message in neat handwriting.

Next time you're stuck, call me.

[coff33notforme]

Okay okay okay- I had this idea for ROTTMNT for so long and have wanted someone to write it and I’m curious how you’d take it-

Okay so I have a dog named Leo, and I ironically didn’t name it after one of the ninja turtles-

What do you think the main turtles reactions would be to a s/o (or friend if you only do platonic) who has a dog that’s named the same thing as them but were met before meeting the turtles?

Feel free to ignore if you don’t wan for write it ^^

A/n: ANON, I LOVE THIS REQUEST SM. I underestimated how long it would take to write for four characters though so this took longer than anticipated. Thanks for being patient!

Pairing: Donnie and gn reader, Leo and gn reader, Mikey and gn reader, and Raph and gn reader (can be read as Romantic or platonic, all separate by the way!)

Mikey

Would be ecstatic, hes flipping out as soon as he find out

You have a dog named after him? He feels so honored

Feels his chest fill with pride at the fact that your dog has the same name as him

But as soon as you explain how your dog wasn’t named after him exactly, and how you just liked the name, he feels a little sting of disappointment

But he soon perks back up when realizing that you actually like his name, his face will brighten up, a smile stretching across his face as he turns to you his eyes sparkling 

“You like my name?!” 

“Yes Mikey.” 

He is full of a lot of energy after that

No matter if your dog is named after him or not, he still very much enjoys playing and spending time with your dog

Sometimes they get confused when you call their name 

“Mikey!” 

They both perk up and turn to look at you with hopeful eyes  

“I, uh, meant the dog, Mikey.” 

Sometimes it gets confusing, so when Mikeys around you call your dog by a nickname like, pup, puppy, bud, etc

“I mean we're practically the same!” Mikey quipped, holding your dog's fluffy face in his green hands as he looked deep into his thoughtless eyes as if searching for something. You rolled your eyes, a light hearted grin spreading across your face, as you finished plopping the wet dog food into Mikeys blue bowl, placing it next to the turtle and dog sitting next to each other on your spotless kitchen floor. 

“Sure, Mikey. But do you mind releasing my dog so he can eat?” you giggled, Mikey removed his hands from the small dog's tangled fur as he scampered cheerfully to his bowl of food. You turned back around to the counter, turning on the faucet as you scrubbed your hands down, before drying them down with the wash cloth laying next to the sink. 

“I mean we both love food, we're both super friendly, and we both love art!” you let out a snort, turning to the young turtle. 

“I didn’t know my dog had such refined taste.” you teased taking a seat on the floor next to Mikey 

“Well, I’ll have you know little M and I are both on the same wavelength when it comes to art.” he spoke, lifting his head in the air as he crossed his arms smugly. You smiled warmly as your dog came racing back, making himself comfortable in your lap. 

“Well I’m just glad my two boys get along.”

Leo

Smug bitch

Seriously thinks you named a whole dog after him, and he is not letting it go

He’s not very subtle about it either 

“Leo! Come here boy, y’know I’ve always thought Leo was a very pretty name.”

You simply roll your eye to his endless banter, you knew that he was just fishing for compliments 

But that did not stop him from trying

When it comes to your actual dog though, Leo and him get along pretty well, he’s definitely not as enthusiastic as Mikey but the spirit is there

He’ll play and pet your dog but that’s about as far as it goes

Is what Leo told you, but one day when you stumbled into your dark apartment after a late shift to find Leo and your pup snuggled up on the couch fast asleep watching some sort of Cable show

You made sure to get as many pictures as possible to show Leo later, and the look on his face was so worth it

“Awe, it’s fine if you two wanna cuddle instead, I get it, I’m definitely not as soft.” you teased, Leo’s face bursting into a crimson red, you never saw the blue turtle this distraught, he never paused or fumbled over his words like this, and over a dog, nonetheless. 

“Would you just let that go, I’m not going to cuddle your dog.” he huffed, playfully rolling his eyes as he plopped down next to you on your gray couch, seeping into the cushions, this however seemed to alert your puppy as he turned his head excitedly, sprinting over to the couch before jumping up onto the sofa and burying his head in Leos lap as if on instinct. You snickered as Leo stuttered trying to find a way to justify the situation.

“Okay Leo, I get it you love my dog more than me, no need to shove it in my face.” you exclaimed, pressing a hand over your chest dramatically. Leo scoffed.

“Maybe I do love him more. At least he doesn’t take pictures of me while I sleep. Don’t you, boy? You wouldn’t do that to me would you?” Leo murmured  warmly to the dog now covering his face with loving kisses, you gasped, shoving Leo lightly with a grin across your face. 

“Whatever you dork, you know you love me.” Leo turned back to you, throwing an arm around you bringing you closer to kiss your cheek.

Donnie 

Bro has beef with your dog for some reason

Like as soon as they met Donnie had a clear look of disgust written across his face

“Y/n, while I’m pleased to know that you love my name so much to name your dog after me, this creature is no Donnie. It would be much appreciated if you could rename your dog asap.” 

He was not kidding, and was not amused when you laughed at his little monologue

“Wait, you're serious?”  

“One-hundred-percent.” 

“Donnie, I’m not going to rename my dog for you!”

Is super moody whenever he comes over, he side eye your dog

Very distraught whenever you shower your dog with attention when he trying to talk to you

Is incredibly salty about it 

“I just don’t get it. Why don’t you like Don?” you wondered aloud, as you continued to play with your dog, pulling gently on the knotted rope that your dog jostled around, shaking his head around as an attempt to yank the toy from your hands. You chuckled lightly, and to this you could hear Donnie groan, you could practically feel him rolling his eyes. 

“I just don’t see the appeal.” he muttered bitterly, an idea popped into your head to his response, a smug smile stretching across your face from ear to ear. 

“Or maybe you're just jealous that Don’s getting more of my attention.” you cooed, you had struck a nerve, because as soon as you had spoken Donnie had shot up from the couch abandoning the machine he had been tinkering with on your coffee table, as he marched off to you, a scowl present on his face.  

“If I pet your dog to prove I’m not jealous will you please drop it?” you hummed as if thinking hard about his little truce, Donnie let out another exasperated groan. 

“Oh come on, please y/n?” you shrugged

“Sure, why not.” to this Donnie let out a sigh. You picked up your dog, handing the puppy to Donnie as flinched, his body tensing. Slowly he became less tense as he began to pet the small animal, his look of discomfort melting away.

“Not so bad huh?” 

“Shut up, y/n”

Raph 

This man is absolutely in love with your little dog

He fully believes that  your dog is just a tiny version of him

Treats your dog like his son

There be times you feel like its Raphs dog more than yours, sometimes you won’t get your dog back from him for hours at a time

He’ll spoil your dog with treats and toys, it’s a little overwhelming if your being honest

Is upset that he can’t go on walks with your dog because of y’know, his whole situation, but will do everything else he can to spend time with your dog

Bathe them, feed them, play with them, anything and everything!

“Raph, could you please hand me the soap?” you asked, the running water from the bathtub roaring over you as you reached for the faucet turning the hot water off. 

“Are you sure we can’t put bubbles in it?” Raph asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice as he looked at your dog with sad eyes.

“I mean, they just look so sad without any bubbles.” you roll your eyes lovingly, as you reach for the bottle of soap yourself. 

“Yes Raph, I’m sure. They don’t need bubbles, they just need to be clean.” Raph sighs as he scoots over to you getting on his knees as he begins to rub the soap into your dog's soft fur. You smile. 

“See it's not so bad, right?” 

“Yeah I guess.” Raph muttered as he stopped, dipping his hands in the water to rinse the soap from your dog's matted fur. Your dog let out a sad whimper, and to this Raph's eyes widened as he immediately babbled out a string of apologies to your dog before you intervened.

“Raph, it’s okay. They just don’t like being washed. You didn’t do anything wrong.”  you assured the red turtle, patting his back comfortingly. He gave a sad nod, still not quite convinced. You sighed. 

“How about if we finish this, we can all watch a movie together?” The offer seemed to brighten the oldest brother as he nodded, giving you a sharp tooth smile.

This was such a fun request! And to everyone else who has requested I will be working on the others later today!

[fangirlstorycreator]

Hey Bestie it's me again 😁 I would like to make a request about General Taligaro. Maybe we're in his army, really close friends and secretly in love with him. Some night we got captured by the enemy and he comes and rescues us. I really need to be rescued by him. Take all the time you need Bestie 🖤🖤🖤It's always worth waiting for your writings 🙏

Of course bestie! Thank you for sending me this, I hope you like it 💚

Ever since you were a little girl, you have had to defend yourself. You had no family and had to protect yourself from bandits and anyone who thought a little girl was an easy target. But they all learned the hard way that you were not to be messed with. You trained yourself with all the weapons you could think of, and by the time you were in your twenties, you were the single most skilled fighter that anyone had ever heard of. But travelling the world by yourself, fighting and helping people on your own, got very lonely. And you wanted to be part of a group, a family.

One day you stumbled across a tented up camping area and discovered many men and soldiers all chatting and having fun. And in the middle of them all was a tall, blonde, handsome man. You could see his piercing blue eyes and his gorgeous smile, and you knew he was someone of great importance. Apon approaching the men, you discover that the tall blonde stranger is actually General Taligaro, one of the strongest men in the country, and this was his army. You asked if there was any room for another fighter to join his group, most of the men laughed, but Taligaro didnt. He smiled at you, and he liked that a woman wanted to show her strength among the men. So he challenged her to a sword fight, blindfolded, and if she completed the challenge, she could join.

And of course, being as skilled as you were, you literally knocked him to his feet. And he was very impressed, from then on, you were part of the group and traveled around with them all, protecting the realm and helping those in need. You and Taligaro started to grow closer, you both understood eachother and even had banter together. He classed you as one of his closest friends, and after a while, his most trusted allies. You even had a nick name for him, the other soldiers called him General, or used his full name. But he loved it when you called him by his nick name, Tal.

However, being a part of Taligaros army wasnt all sunshine and rainbows. There was an enemy army who would try everything they could to take him and the group down, but luckily, Taligaro was a strong and clever leader, and was always able to keep them at bay. One day however, you and two other soldiers are walking through the streets of a local village, after hearing that a man needed help. But when you all got to his house, something didnt seem right. The man called about a break in, but when you all entered the house, it was surprisingly clean...too clean... "You said that someone broke in? So what was stolen?" You ask the man, but he just looks nervously around the room. "Oh its was ah-a jug and uhhhh.." You and soldiers can sence something isnt right, that's when 4 soldiers from the enemy army all came out of hiding spots in the house.

"Its an ambush!" You shout, and you and your men reach for their weapons. A fight ensues and your two men are killed, leaving you to fight 4 on your own, when one if them hits you around the back of the head with a metal bar, and you fall to the ground unconscious. Hours later, you wake up and discover your tied up to a chair, in what looks like a room on a large ship. Your hands are tied together behind the chair, there is rope around your abdomen and a cloth gag wrapped around your mouth. You struggle against the ropes, but it's too tight, you cant get loose. Then someone opens the door infront of you and approaches you, hes very tall, stocky and has a creepy looking scar across his face.

"You must be Y/N, you know...your a difficult woman to find" He says as he kneels down next to you. "You see...its nothing personal, but we need you to lure in your general. And we have been watching you. We know that he cares for you. And with you as our hostage, well....your just the ticket to bring him hear...so we can kill him" This frightens you, and you struggle against the rope again. "Ah ah ah, you should save your strength. We are going to be sending a message to your general later on tonight, and when he comes for you, I want you ready to scream for him, beg him to come and save you, and when you do...we'll be ready"

Just then, you both hear a loud thudding noise from outside the room, followed by a mans screaming in pain. The man with you stands up and approaches the door. "Hey! What's going on out there?!" And moments later, the door is being smashed down, hitting the man in the head, making him fall to the ground. That's when, in walks Taligaro brandishing his sword. "Y/N!" He shouts, you try and shout back but all that comes is a muffled noise. He tries to approach you, but your muffled screams warn him, and he turns back around just before the man can attack him. Using his sword to protect him, Taligaro starts fighting the man and backs him into a corner of the room, just before plunging the sword into his chest.

Once the man fall to the floor to his death, Taligaro runs back to you and removes your gag, and starts un tying the ropes. "Oh Tal thank god, thank you for rescuing me" "I'm sorry I couldn't be there to protect you Y/N, but dont worry, I'm getting you out of hear" He gets the last of the rope off of you and he takes you by the hand out onto the ship. That's where you see a few of Tal's soldiers fighting the enemy, but Tal's main focus is you. "Come on, let's get you off of hear, the men are nearly done" He leads you to the side of the boat, but your fear washes over you. "Tal wait, wait! I cant swim" "That's ok, I'm coming with you, im going to keep you safe"

Hes helps you over the other side of the boat, and hes about to climb over with you, when you shout out "Tal behind you!" An enemy soldier grabs Tal and pulls him back onto the boat, making him loose his grip on your hands, and you scream as you fall back and into the water below. Your completely submerged in the water, and you panic as you cant breath. You try desperately to swim back to the surface, but you cant swim strong enough. Your about to run out of air when you see Taligaro dive into the water above you, he swims down and pulls you back up to the surface by wrapping his arm around your waist.

The moment you reach the surface your gasping for air, and Taligaro holds you close as he pulls you to the shore. As soon as its shallow enough, Taligaro helps you stand up and leads you to dry land. You both colaps on the ground once your safely away from the waters edge, both of you are now able to get your breath back. You can both see the men jumping off the boat and making there way to shore. "Tal, you saved me, you have no idea how grateful I am, thank you" "I will always save you Y/N, I dont know what I'd do if I lost you" He looks at you with so much admiration, and a kindness in his eye. "Then lets not find out" You say to him, right before pulling him in for a kiss. He kissed you right back with the same passion and hunger that you had. You held onto eachother as you shared this amazing moment, just experiencing a wonderful moment of bliss.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters And Men

(Season 2)

Chapter 5 - The Way Of Swords And Blood

Summary: Deciding to have a little fun with Ciri’s training do you invite her to test her skill with you until Geralt shows up, roping you in for a friendly hand to hadn’t combat session. Then later does he gift you with a little surprise you hadn’t been expecting.

Warning: fighting (all in good fun), fluff, little angst, fluff again

Word count:7580

Masterlist - Of Monsters And Men masterlist here

The sky is bright and blue overhead, gifting a light breeze that blows small snowflakes down from the heavens and all across the yard of white as you sit on a piece of broken wall. A chunk that's undoubtedly been laying there since the sacking of Kaer Morhen when all hell broke loose and a real shit time had befallen upon the Witchers in their isolated fortress.

A time in history when the Witchers were at their lowest upon the land of the Continent all because of some insane mage who wanted their kind brought to extinction. Or so you've heard. When Geralt was just a young boy with his brothers trying to survive the trials with the guidance of Vesemir in his more youthful self.

A time when you were traveling as a rouge in the lands going from place to place, doing as you willed, taking part in things as you wanted, and sleeping with the most handsome faces to cross your path. You didn't give a fuck back then, well, when you have no one to give a shit about or anyone to give a shit about you. Who cares, right? A far far away life is all that it feels like now, so long ago when things where so very different and you had no soul to bring your heart to.

Concentrating on the old sword in your hand do you stare at the steel, you found this seemingly ancient artifact in the armory since you have no actual sword of your own as of now. Considering the only sharp weapon on your person being a dagger you were gifted to by Geralt that's rather too dull for your liking, you miss the one you'd lost in Sodden. Now that blade could cut through dragon hide if you wanted, a gift from your mother, one of your favorite gifts in fact.

Unfortunately now completely gone and lost to the wind, most certainly never to be seen ever again. So goes most things with life anyways, especially with being who you are and all, when one tends to never age does these things tend to happen. Losing stuff and moving on from things adrift, you try not to think too hard about the loss. It was just a dagger anyways.

Ciri grunts and thwacks at the straw man with all her might as you bring the dull white cloth down across the long shaft of the sword. Trying your best to clean it off of the stray minuscule specks of blood and rust and dust that has been covering it for many years. It smells old, like something valuable found in a tomb that should have just been left there. But it's all you've got until you stumble upon a new, better type of sharp weaponry, or someone makes you one since sword forgery doesn't happen to be a prominent skill you've acquired yet.

Ciri's wacking of the straw dummy goes silent as she takes a couple heavy breaths from the physical exertion of it all. She turns her gaze onto you who's still attempting to clean the old shitty sword despite how many times Lambert teased you about it being as sharp as a butter knife coated in honey. You truly do not relent; a sudden thought pops into her head as she begins walking over to you seated on the rock.

"You're good with a blade Y/N." Says Ciri as she takes a break from twirling around with her wooden sword to put her focus to you instead, "Who taught you how to fight so well?"

Observing your blurry reflection in the swords blade do you stare at your blood red eyes before setting the steel in your lap, now looking upon her as she walks over to where you sit. "My mother did. Among a few others of my kingdom." Your hand moves down the slick steel as you rub some flecks of dirt away, "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. I never had anyone at home offer to teach me."

"I did. That was a subject my mother was persistent upon, she wanted me to be able to adequately defend myself." You tilt your head at her, "Looks and status alone cannot do such a thing in this world. She believed that if you never figured how to defend yourself with a blade, then you're easier to die by one."

Ciri's face shifts into a thoughtful expression as she stops a couple feet in front of you, "How old were you when she said this?"

"Seven."

She hesitates a moment, clearly a bit surprised, "oh....interesting."

You shrug, "It was part of my life growing up where I did. And anyhow, by seven I was stronger then ten men and quicker then an arrow. I was havoc and spirit all in one, by the time I turned twelve could I bring down just about anyone in my path." You add with a little chuckle, "The guards were terrified of me."

She laughs as you smile, "Now not because I threatened them...oh no, it may have been that my younger self might of had a tendency to make a game of sneaking up on them at their post. I rather quite enjoyed scaring the daylights out of them just for my simple entertainment. I was an honest nuisance."

Ciri's green-blue eyes twinkle with amusement as she begins to speak, "I used to put pillows all over the floor next to my bed when I was six," She snickers, "...so that I could jump from the bed and pretend that I was flying." Explains Ciri as she crosses her arms over her chest, "I wanted to have wings like a bird. So all I could do was jump over and over again, I have no idea how I didn't end up breaking an arm."

"Now that reminds me of the very first time I flew. My many little selves all flapping around the gardens until I tried to shift back and ended up smacking into a wall. My mother was very proud of me that day, though all I wished was for my friends to stop laughing at me....it was rather embarrassing to be completely honest."

"Besides us, I thought you didn't have any friends?" Quips Ciri as you gift her a halfhearted glare.

"I did. But remember all who live in Alcatraz are pure vampire, and vampires at their heart are not all that well and good no matter of their proficient morals. And I am not all of what they are, human still resides in me no matter what, and that is why I am here and not still in my childhood halls with blood trailing down by face. But anyhow, it seems we have some more training to do on your part if you're going to be killing anything anytime soon."

"A lot." She mutters with a huff, "And I've been trying and practicing with Coen and Lambert but it can be frustrating sometimes. And don't get me started on Geralt when he makes me train with him. Y/N, I just feel like....I just feel like I'm not strong or fast enough yet."

You give the irritated princess a gentle grin, "You're not going to be like me or like a Witcher in a few weeks time. It took me centuries to become as skilled as I am today, centuries you will never have unlike mine, which is why I'm so incredibly dangerous and amazing." You muse with a wink, setting your sword on the rock to stand, "But as someone who's killed many a beasts, I've had my ass handed to me as well. More times then once."

"Hardly." She mutters unenthusiastically.

You rest your hands upon your hips, "I have indeed princess. You've ever heard of a Striga?" She shakes her head no as you nod, "Well, it's a cursed unborn child who's uglier then a banshee and angrier then a dragon. Which will absolutely beat your ass no matter who you are, or how powerful and strong and quick you might be. I almost lost Geralt to that creature."

She shows genuine shock as her dark brows furrow in puzzled concern, "Geralt could have died? Actually die?"

"He might have. But that's a story for another time when you're not procrastinating from your training."

She playfully scoffs with a roll of her eyes, "I'm not procrastinating."

"You're asking too many questions for this fine mid-morning for someone who wants to learn the blade." You snatch up the steel sword leaned against the rock as Ciri takes a cautious step back, "This sword is steel, it's a half decently sharp blade forged here in Kaer Morhen before your birth and probably even Geralt's... and now it's in my hand. Although I prefer daggers at a size about half this length, unfortunately, mine is somewhere lost on the battlefield in Sodden. So this will do for your lesson today."

Her brows crinkle in befuddlement, "But I don't have a steel sword."

You swing the weapon skillfully in your hand, taking a step closer, "The old shitty dagger of Geralt's at my hip now will be my weapon though I don't intend to use it. This, this is yours." She looks at you strangely as you reach a hand out for her to take the sword. Though confused and not sure where this is all headed does she take it anyhow. "Now with that in your grasp, set the wooden one aside. Show me your first stance as if I was to approach you now. If I was an enemy."

The wooden sword is tossed into the snow as she holds the old steel blade with both hands out before her, arms slightly bent as she concentrates on positioning her body. You take a step forward, "Very good stance, steel protecting your face, legs bent, focused. Now Cirilla....try and cut me."

Her expression appears perplexed at this request, "Cut you?"

"Now I did say try didn't I? That means attempt because the task may be more challenging then you'd anticipated." You explain casually, "So, cut me."

"I don't want to hurt you."

You chuckle in amusement, "Confidence is good." She appears even more confused at this as you begin to slowly encircle her like a caged leopard, you smirk confidently as you continue, "The way in which you believe you can hurt me. It's comical. But I like it, and remember, I'm no weak fleshed Witcher. That steel won't leave a lasting mark, so cut me or I'll give you a mark first."

Ciri swallows her nerves, you've never given her any kind of legitimate threat before and it's a bit intimidating. Especially now, considering you've just asked her to try and cut you with this somewhat heavy sword. You. Not Lambert or Coen, not even Geralt. Now how the hell is she going to do that?

Her enchanted irises follow your slow casual movements as you continue to walk around her, "You're not using the dagger?" She asks while following where you walk, carefully watching your body move.

"This is a test of skill. I want to see how quick you are." Suddenly have you taken a swift threatening step forward, she flinches back as you return to your place with a small chuckle for psyching her out, "Come on little lioness, you've been on the Witcher's training course. You shouldn't fear a thing."

Letting out an anxious breath does she suddenly get a burst of excitement, she can do this. She wants to beat this game more then anything if the goal is to impress you by getting at least a single hit in, anything really. This is a chance to prove herself. "Alright then." She mumbles, taking a calming breath, steadying her sword as she prepares herself for the first move. Smirking at the Cintran princess like a mischievous cat causes her to get a hard look upon her face before swinging her sword to the right in one clean motion as she moves her whole body forward.

At this have you shifted your body to the side, watching as the reflection of your scarlet eyes show bright upon the blade when it moves past you. She grunts, turning around quickly to meet you standing there like nothing even happened. Pursing her lips together in determination does she swing, you smoothly slip away as the blades tip just barely misses your shoulder.

Her boots press hard into the snow as she lets the blade sing on the air once more, frustration clear in her eyes as she tries again and again to even come close to nicking your side. To tearing a stray piece of clothing, to hit anything!

Breathing heavily now, Ciri huffs in irritation as she grips tightly onto the hilt. You tilt your head at her, "Don't fight with anger. You're doing well, and remember, this is to test your swiftness. I just want to see how fast your body moves and how well off your reaction time is."

"Yeah well I want to get you at least once." She mutters, disheartened. You're a lot swifter then she'd come to realize at first, but of course you are. Of course Y/N is going to be faster, thinks Ciri, really wishing right about now that you were completely human instead.

"Not even the most skilled swordsman can manage to do that." You muse, "However, you are a magical princess, I'd expected a little slice by now." You truly do live to tease.

Ciri scowls before fiercely running the short distance to meet you, she swings left and right and right again, missing you each and every time which builds to her already irked mood. She'd really thought that maybe you wouldn't be nearly as fast as you've claimed to be.

Maybe even give her a slight chance, just to slow down a minute. But alas, you're not a fan of making things easy. And when it comes down to it, you're not completely human after all which is glaringly obvious as she swings again, missing....again.

When you suddenly shift left just out of her swords grasp does she return the sly favor with a harsh jut of her elbow to your side unexpectedly.

And with that have you repaid her compulsiveness with a light yet semi-harsh boot to her back leg, she immediately yelps in surprise at the sharp painful sensation, falling to her knees as the sword slips from her hands and into the snow. Her palms hit the cold powdery white, catching herself from face planting into the chilly earth does she suck in a quick breath when her steel is placed at the side of her neck. She gasps in surprise.

All happening so fast. Too fast.

She then nervously swallows before raising her apologetic gaze up to meet your sharp eyes of scarlet, you raise a brow at her, "As much as I agree with how fighting dirty will keep you alive longer. This was a test of swiftness and skill, you're not an impulsive young child anymore, and I know you wouldn't do that to Geralt." She swallows again as you tilt her head up with the tip of the dull blade at her soft chin, "Do that again, and I'll throw you halfway across the yard."

The sword is gone from her chin as you rest it in your hand by your side before tossing it to the snow, Ciri slowly returns to her feet, feeling embarrassed and frustrated with herself for disappointing you like that. She didn't mean to cheap shot, it just sort of happened. "I'm sorry Y/N. Won't happen again." Softly admits Ciri as she lowers her head, "I don't know why I did that." oh, Cirilla.

"I provoked irritation. Understandably I tend to do that, however you must learn to control yourself when that happens. If you let your emotions interfere with your senses when in combat will you find a swifter death....you will lose control and that is not going to help you." She purses her lips together, flustered and ashamed, you reach down to pick up her wooden sword, "Let this be a lesson then instead. Find your control first, then everything will flow into place as it should naturally."

She pauses a moment, pursing her lips together, green-blue eyes shifting from the ground up to you, "I'm sorry." She mutters.

"Forgiven. Now take this and let's see what Lamchops been teaching you recently." The ghost of a smile returns to her pink lips as you nod towards the open yard covered in white, "He does teach you now doesn't he? Not just show off his swordsmanship and boast about all the monsters he's slain?"

"He does that too."

"I thought as much." You muse as the sounds of footsteps across the snow draws your attention up to the sight of Geralt walking over the courtyard with nothing but himself in all his handsome glory. A sight you could watch forever.

"Y/N." He calls, "I was wondering where you went off to. I thought Lambert was training her today?"

You raise a brow as he approaches, "Miss me that much? It's not like we've known one another almost fifty years or anything."

He shakes his head at your dramatics, "Was in search of a training partner myself actually."

"Oh?" You break out into a fangy grin at this, "You want to clash swords with me? But where's your steel?"

"I was thinking a little more on the hand to hand then steel."

"Huh. Well if your intention is to get flung across the yard then you've come to the right person." Ciri snickers as Geralt stops his walking to stand in front of you both, resting his hands upon his hips as he looks to you.

Giving you a knowing look, "Be careful. Your hand is still healing, remember?"

Rolling your eyes do you cross your arms, "My hand is fine, now fight me like a man you old fuck." Geralt snorts at your cheekiness that's never too far from your tongue, especially when he's around.

"No tricks." He says in a halfheartedly serious tone as the two of you unfold your arms to prepare for combat.

You scoff, "I never trick. When do I trick?"

He gives you a look, "All the time."

You gasp in fake shock, "I do not! When do I do anything remotely trickery-like? That's not in my simple nature to do such deeds against an opponent so how dare you say such a vulgar thing about me, your dearly beloved...you, you bastard! I have never done such things in my entire life..." You turn to your right, "oh hello Lambert come to watch the show?" Geralt turns his head to nothing in the vacant yard as a quick white hot stream of lightening strikes the ground right below him from out of your fingertips. Causing an electrically buzzed sensation to fly up his legs, he grunts before jumping back at the sharp weird pain.

He scowls at you, "Y/N." Grumbles your Witcher in a deeply warning tone, "That's exactly what I was referring to."

You wiggle your fingers in front of your face teasingly, "You must be ready for anything."

He points a finger at you, "No vampire magic."

You hold up a finger, "Ah, ah, ah...not magic. Dark gift, yes most certainly. Magic? No."

"Whatever. Just me and you, no powers, promise?"

"Oh fine, if you insist." You assume a fighting stance, legs bent, staggered apart as your hands keep as flat blades instead of the balled up fists of Geralt who looks like he's ready to start a tavern brawl.

You on the other hand have been taught a contrastingly different style of hand to hand combat where your movement will be much more graceful then his. He fights with forceful power, you fight like a sly river dancer, a beautiful flow that tends to confuse and befuddle your many opponents in your time.

He takes a step forward, hands fisted and close to his face as you stand like a mountain cat, watching, studying your prey's every move. From the way that his muscles contract beneath the skin, to the placement of his feet upon the earth, moves calculated and precise. His hits will hurt immensely if they catch your flesh. His golden eyes hold his truth, where he's going next in the way that they flicker like candle flame in the wind.

It's barely noticeable to the untrained eye, yet your enhanced vision could spot it from the top of Kaer Morhen's highest tower. And better yet, he doesn't even realize he's doing it, all you have to do is watch for when his gaze carries even a little. That's all it takes for you to know precisely where he's planning on going next, what he's preparing to do to catch you off guard. Too bad for him though, you're never off guard.

His legs move quick, arms quicker as they flow outwards towards your chest like an arrow in flight gone from the bow. At this does your opened palm launch forwards, making contact with his balled heavy fist that you let flow off to the side, using his own momentum to carry him past you as your hand releases from contact with his. Geralt stumbles a bit as you swiftly turn to meet him though he's already at you again.

Your bodies move swiftly, he throws his punches with great strength and skill yet he's not quit sharp enough to land any solid hits to your flesh. However, he's skilled enough for the moment to keep your hands from landing anywhere worthy of damage or even a bruise. Ciri watches on from the sidelines out of the way, entranced by your rhythmically elegant style against Geralt's more rougher boxy motions. Both forms doing well enough on their own, she's never seen anything so remarkably thrilling in her entire life.

Not even when Sir Eyk would train with her grandmother or the soldiers, you and Geralt aren't just fighting like trained killers, you're practically dancing. You're not scowling when he narrowly punches your cheek, he doesn't appear irritated when you slip from his grasp and laugh at his fault. You're both smiling at one another brightly, highly enjoying this time together to show off and be with each other captivated by the riveting moment.

Ciri's eyes do not simply witness two deadly people here, she sees two lovers who've known one another for decades teasing and laughing as they block and hit and flow. You throw an arm out just as Geralt throws his own forearm with the intention of hitting your shoulder, yet he is diswayed by your quick skill. Your arms block off one another before you move a couple inches back when he readies his fist, it flies forward for your face as you duck underneath.

He grunts when your elbow gets him right in the side of his upper back where the wing of the scapula is set, causing him to stumble forward a little. He whips around as your foot leaves the ground to find it's place right on his broad chest, he grunts, falling back into the snow with a huff. Though to Ciri's surprise is he ready for your incoming hand as he rolls abruptly to the side and away from where your fist would have landed.

In an instant has he thrown a leg out to knock you off of your two feet and into the thin snow below, landing on your back, immediately rolling out of the way from where his fist was about to crash down upon and no doubt knock you of your breath. Now kneeling lowly to the cold earth do you stare at him with blood red eyes to two brightly golden ones, faces about a foot apart. Both of you breathing heavily as you refuse to break first.

His lips slowly turn into a smile as yours does the same, "No trickery." He muses, heartbeat thudding quickly from within his chest.

"I don't need deception to best you, my love."

"Indeed, you are right." He says between heavy breaths.

"Use your power to bring me down, then we go inside. If not, Ciri stays out here another hour." You give her a glance.

"Y/N." She wines, looking from you to Geralt, "Don't let her."

Palms still pressed to the snow does he smirk, "Not with intention."

His golden irises twitch a second before his right hand reaches out with two fingers pointed at you. He calls a sign to action just as you push yourself into the air with sheer supernatural force as the quick blast of silvery white energy flies past the ground from where you just were a moment ago. He misses. You land triumphantly directly behind him.

"Quick as an arrow, wise as the string. A hand steady like a nervous boy's." You tease as he jumps to his feet, twisting around to send another blast your way. You're gone in a reddish blur right before Ciri and Geralt's eyes, promptly returning right behind him as you throw a hand out to send him tumbling into the snow. Geralt goes rolling like a tossed log down a hill until he lands at the feet of both Coen and Lambert a short distance away from where you and Ciri stand.

Letting out a pained grunt does he open his eyes up to the amused faces of his two brothers, he sighs as you keep away near Ciri, laughing like a deranged old bat at his expense. Bent over and holding your stomach as you try and contain yourself but failing miserably, Cirilla on the other hand is holding her mouth to keep from bursting with laughter. Lambert snorts, lending out a hand for him to take.

Standing once more does Geralt let out a breath as he shakes his head at you, Lambert pats a hand upon his back, hard. The white haired Witcher grunts as the red haired one chuckles, "Now that was worth the price of admission." Muses Lambert as he laughs, failing terribly to spare Geralt his amusement.

Coen snickers, "Brother you flew like a raven. How's it feel being the first Witcher to sprout wings?"

"Yeah! You see us from all the way up there?" Howls Lambert as he holds his side that's beginning to ache from how much Geralt's little tumble across the yard made him laugh.

Geralt simply shakes his head, "Who's made lunch?"

----

Feeling well satisfied from the fulfilling meal of leek soup and bread do you watch as Geralt and Ciri exit through the side entrance way on their way to learn about more monsters and what elixirs do what. Not her most favored subject, but she's had an eventful afternoon and needs a break from swinging that sword around.

You set your cup down upon the table, wiping your lips with the back of your hand before reaching for the hilt of that old sword Geralt gave you to have, though it's really you who found it when the two of you where snooping around the armory. The blade is still a bit rusty, smudged by times will when it was held on a rack simply collecting nothing but dust. Holding it in your strong grasp do you put a leg to either side of the long bench as your crimson eyes carefully study the sword.

Turning it in your hand can you see the grip that's a dull old reddish color, the texture like small dragon hide so that your palm can hold it easier. The guard is a duller red color like the round pommel at the very end though in its center is a wolf's head colored silver, you cannot tell if it's true silver or not. Against your better judgment do you let your finger drift closer to it when the voice of Lambert swiftly draws your attention away from possible pain.

"You say something?"

Walking across the evening hall from his table does he give you a lopsided grin, "I did. You want to go another round? See who's the better blade?"

"I know who's the better blade."

He snorts, "Not with that one." Pointing to the sword in your hand, "Mine'd be able to slice that old bastard right in half."

"It matters not who's sword is stronger when I know how to kill a man with or without it." Lambert chuckles as you rest the swords shimmering blade in your lap, "Now what was it about fighting me? Have you not tasted the ground enough this week by my doing?"

Standing a couple feet away does he playfully scoff while crossing his arms over his chest, "Doesn't count if I don't remember it."

"Ah yes...but I do. More then half of Kaer Morhen remembers it, they also remember you letting that blade clatter to the floor when I knocked it out of your hands. But I'll let it slide since you were not in the right mind nor apparent body...as I must be honest, and you moved like an old dog ready for death."

"Alright princess, now that's a plain exaggeration."

You blink, absolutely unbothered, "Ask anyone."

Lambert gives the vacant evening hall a once over as he looks back down at you with a shrug, "Seems there's no comment."

"Well it seems you have watch right about now. So why not leave me to peace and blessed silence?" You deadpan as he snickers looking from your face to the blade in your lap and back to your unenthusiastical face once again, "I am extremely busy." You're not, however messing with Lambert is always fun, he's like the Jaskier of Kaer Morhen.

"Oh I can tell. Forgive me then my dear, never meant to keep you from your dealings." He presses his palms together like he means to pray, looking playfully apologetic as he starts to walk away though still facing you, "I'll just be going now....alone.....in the cold.....all by myself. No one to talk to.....no one but the ravens....no one to keep my old bones warm."

Resting a casual arm against the table do you shake your head at him, "Oh you poor fox. Grow a tail, that'll warm you right up." Lambert waves you off with a dramatic scowl as he pouts.

"Fine! I'll freeze then. If I don't arrive at dinner come break the icicles off of me." He says while turning around, walking off towards the big front doors of the evening hall. You watch as he goes across the short distance, reaching them, he opens the wooden doors. But not before looking at you longingly over his shoulder one last time before giving you a theatrical bow and with that does he leave. Closing the door right behind him.

Blinking slowly do you shake your head at his dramatics, wondering if that's how you are around Geralt? Always ever the flirty satirical woman you are, how does he deal with you? That mystery you'll probably never truly know, same goes for the whereabouts of your lost dagger in Sodden. Oh well, life goes on and he's still entirely in love with you anyways so it all works itself out in the end.

You do miss that damn dagger though.

Your scarlet irises trail down to the old dull sword still in your lap, you purse your lips together, troubled, "You're not going to do at all. Sorry to tell you that." The sword says not a word; you watch the flicker of the hearths dull flames through the reflection of the steel. The arm resting on the table parts from the wood as your hand moves to touch the tips of your fingers along the smooth side of the flat end.

You cannot tell if it's cold or not as the sensation of feeling any sort of chill cannot register in your body, though you can assume it probably would cause someone's skin to prick. Suddenly you catch the sight of white movement in the distorted image seen through the steel by the doorway to your far right, your gaze snaps up to make swift contact with Geralt. He stands there in the entrance way just looking at you sitting on the bench alone.

His brightly golden eyes study you fondly, the corner of his lips rising into an earnest smirk. You tilt your head at him, a small grin finding itself upon your own lips just at the sight of him, "Lingering in the shadows now? You lost?"

Geralt snorts before pushing himself off the side of the opened doorways wall with the side of his arm, "If my intention was to get turned around and stumble upon a rare beauty within the cold of this fortress then I have done just that." He says while walking the short distance, "I was in fact on the hunt for you actually. Figured if you weren't with Ciri or on the ledge out front you'd be here."

"Not like there's a whole lot of places to go." You watch as he finds himself a seat on the tabletop, resting a bent leg on the same bench you sit upon as you look up at him, "This place isn't exactly a riveting carnival if you haven't noticed."

"It's not all that bad." You make a face as he chuckles, "What?"

"Not all that bad you say? Geralt you'd find more excitement at a funeral."

"Oh Y/N, now you're being histrionic. Was our little spar session not exciting enough for you cause if I remember correctly, you found my tumble quit amusing."

You point a finger up at him, "Yes. However, I like to do things. I like to get out into the world and get myself into shit, I'm restless with nothing to do but fix up this stupid old sword." You hold up the blade dramatically before resting it in your lap once more, "Being here is nice, it's safe and where we need to be right now, I understand this. However, again, I am who I am and I cannot help my wild spirit. So, please tell me something interesting or I may throw this sword into the wall."

Geralt snickers, chest rising under his dark shirt in a couple rapid beats at your words. This happens every single time you both come here, things are fun the first few days as you do enjoy a good rest, then you get restless when there's nothing to do in the following weeks as the Witchers here only ever eat, sleep, and train most oftentimes. Talking to the ravens you can only do so much until they start pestering you for bread.

He gives you an adoring look paired with a curiously looking grin, you rest your arm against the table, eyeing him up, "What is it?" You ask, knowing all too well that he's undoubtedly hiding something.

His smile grows as he reaches down into his tall black boot for something unseen, "I got you something." He pulls out a long thin object wrapped in faded white cloth, he holds it in his hand as you study the mystery, "This. This was given to one of my brothers a long time ago on a hunt as payment. It's elven made and has been collecting dust in a special locked box within the armory for far too long, and now, I give this to you." Geralt hands you the wrapped up object that you slowly take from out of his opened hand.

With steel sword balanced in your lap do you hold the cloth covered item in your two hands, crimson eyes trailing down the faded white fabric as you feel it's weight. Not heavy at all; the tip of you pointer finger then lifts up the edge of cloth but you pause a moment, Geralt sees your hesitation, "Y/N, it's yours. You don't even know what it is yet."

Letting out a soft sigh do you give him a small glance, eyes back on the wrapped up item once more, "I know....it's just. Alright, I'll see what it is. Relive myself of the anticipation, and yours." Your finger lifts up the edge of the cloth, it falls slightly undone, then you begin to gingerly unwrap the whole thing until all that remains is a thin sheet covering your view from what it is. You touch the last edge piece before pulling it over to reveal a beautiful elven dagger.

Its the perfect size too, not as large as a common sword, but not as small as a simple butter knife either. A perfect balance. Your eyes trail over the weapon; the grip is an almost faded golden color with a texture of dragon scales made most definitely by skilled hands. This golden grip of dragon hide flows up the blade from sharp triangles into smooth gold that turns into an eagles wing, fading from the wings tip into more blade. A solid sharp edge that begins at the quillion and curves up into a tip.

The dagger is absolutely stunning, no doubt worth more then a farmer's orchard....and all yours. You slowly reach down, picking up the dagger to inspect it, "No silver." You whisper while shifting your gaze to Geralt, "But this is a debt to your brother. I...I cannot accept such a valuable piece of beauty like this. It's not mine to take."

"It is." Assures Geralt as he moves to find a proper seat next to you, reaching over to take the sword out of your lap and set it onto the table, "This is from a Witcher who was found dead with it still in his hand, covered in Warg blood, right next to the dead beast who died by his hand. This is an honorable weapon which should be given to an honorable warrior deserving of such, not to be hidden and gone unused. My brother would have wanted it given another life."

Your eyes fall back down to the golden blade in your hand, "A noble craftsman created this, a gift or stolen or passed from generation to the next I will never know. But it is a fine dagger of elven skill that does not deserve a sedentary life, I will accept this honor to carry a blade by one of your brothers. Thank you my love." You turn to find his adoring gaze already upon you as the corners of your lips rise into a small grin, "This is a wonderful gift, and I will treasure it till my death."

Geralt smiles joyously as he rests a gentle hand on your shoulder, "I'm glad you like it. I've been meaning to give it to you actually, just had to clean it up a bit first and get you alone for a minute. I didn't want to keep it in our room or face you possibly finding it...so, here it is."

Biting your bottom lip do you lean in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, "Geralt of Rivia you sly wolf." He appears rather satisfied with himself as you look at him like he means the actual world, "I will miss my old dagger, but I love this one just as much. I still can't get over how sharp this blade is, look at that edge. It could cut through pure metals, and it's elven made too, that means this weapon will be proficient for centuries more."

"That's why it's yours. We have others like it in size and relative shape, all human made though. This one was made for a dhampir to wield, it was meant to find you I think."

You let out a breathy laugh as his brows furrow at this, "Like destiny?"

Geralt shakes his head, "Perhaps a little. It is my fault you lost your dagger after all, I was the one who caused you to follow Yennefer to Sodden." He says regretfully as his eyes part from yours, "My fault." He whispers.

Your smile fades as you think about your time there and all the shit you saw, all the pain and blood and death. The men who died by your hands, the last of the light in their furious gazes going out as you led them to their death. The screams of the other mages you were there to help aid in the fight against Nilfgaard, the common people and their courage to push on. You saw children die that night, and you watched many more pass violently from steel.

"No Geralt." You rest a hand on his thigh, expression honest and soft as he looks to you, "I have forgiven you from all of that. And now since I've had time to think over it, maybe I was meant to be there. I know many more mages would be dead if not for me......for...for Yennefer too." You whisper solemnly before swallowing hard, "She was, she was incredible."

Geralt frowns as your pensive gaze shifts into a deeply troubled one, "I know Y/N." He says quietly in a means to comfort you, he knows all too well how this is a deeply heavy subject for you to discuss. You haven't openly said a thing about her or anything focused on Sodden in a long while.

You don't say anything for a long time but remain remorseful as you stare at the stone covered ground, Geralt gives you your time to let your mind process things over and think. After slowly blinking back your sorrow do you speak, "I do miss her. I didn't believe I would, I didn't believe I had that power in me to care about anyone else but you. But then fate would have its way....and that damn wish, that damn djinn...but that doesn't matter anymore. The wish you made doesn't matter, that magic link that bound our souls was broken the second she died."

You swallow again, "I cannot feel her. Not since Sodden. And I guess some part of me thought that when she was gone I wouldn't care anymore, I'd feel like I did before. She'd just be a fond forgotten memory again and I'd move on as I always do, but that hasn't happened this time." You explain, lips in a deep frown, "She was my truest friend so very long ago, when she was still just a farmers daughter, a young mage...and even after all that. I've never hated her you must understand, how she chose to live her life is what upset me. But I never hated her."

"I could tell she liked you."

"Yeah." The ghost of a smile dances across your lips till it's soon gone, "I wanted to travel the Continent with her at one time, but she wanted more then what that life offered. A rouge life like mine was never in Yennefer's plans, but I don't blame her, I'd rather have had her do as she wished then pull her into my world. I guess if there's anything I can thank destiny for...its that we got to be together one last time, I got to see her one last time."

Geralt doesn't say a word but rub your shoulder affectionately as you look into his golden gaze, "This pain doesn't want to leave me...and I think....I think I'm okay with that now." You give him a reassuring grin, though a small one at that, "Her memory will stay with me in it's own little place, right here," You point towards your heart, "and if I know anything about her. She'd want me to stop being a sad little bitch about it and go rip off a monsters head or something. And that's what I intend to do, so my love, shall we find a way to distract ourselves?"

"We can rest if that is what you want, I know you are tired from your heavy thoughts." Bastard knows you too damn well. He gives you a telling look as you sigh, "Y/N."

"I do not want to sleep. I'll just see her....and my mother." You whisper as he nods in understanding before taking a breath and getting up from his spot next to you on the bench. You watch as he does this.

Geralt stands tall before you, he tilts his head, a moment goes by then he holds out an opened hand for you to take, "Want to test your dagger out?"

You glance from his outstretched palm to his gentle gaze, pursing your lips together in uncertainty do you take his hand, "Can we watch the sunset instead?" Voice just a soft saddened whisper Geralt has to restrain himself from pulling you tightly into his arms and squeezing you until all your troubles and heartache goes away forever.

You, his dearly beloved should never have to ever feel sad, not while he's around to make you smile. He pulls you to your feet, looking into your dreary gaze does Geralt gently squeeze your one hand.

"Of course."

-

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[lokifantasies]

Oval Office (President!Loki/Reader) SMUT

Requested by anon.

Word count: 3195

He had won...well, he had put the fear of death into every one to vote for him, but nonetheless, he won. Loki was now in charge of the void – the president over all those who could survive Alioth.

The wrong president won an election, so to Loki's absolute joy, he was able to make use of the actual White House – the home of a real president. He walked through the halls, admiring the high-class decor that lined them, glancing into each room he came across. Finally, he arrived at his much-desired destination – the Oval Office. A mischievous grin appeared on his face as he walked over to the large desk and sat down in the comfortable leather chair. With a sigh, he propped his legs up on the table, but something felt off. He wrestled with his thoughts before finally calling out to one of the many pledged to guard him. An order from President Laufeyson was to never be ignored – no one wanted to know what would happen if it were. Loki paced around the room with a bit of anxiety and waited while the guard went to fulfill his command.

"Finally," he groaned, hearing the guard bring you into the office. He grabbed your arm, and the guard let go. "Leave," he ordered the guard, who left immediately.

You were shaking – nervous about standing in front of the new president. Your hair was matted, full of knots and dried blood – you had been fighting for your survival. During the "campaign" Loki had been running, he stumbled across you and the group that you had been hiding with. You looked like a scared, wet kitten in his eyes – looking up to him with large, innocent eyes. To your surprise, he showed you kindness, and the two of you had a different type of friendship. But now, he was the president – this was his land. You tried to hide away, crossing your arms over the filthy outfit you were wearing, but Loki's eyes never ceased roaming your body. You were shaking, nervous as to why he was piercing you with his bright blue eyes. Sure, you thought he was cute...Okay, you may have become slightly, and by slightly, I mean absolutely, obsessed with him, but there was no way in Yggdrasil he could think the same. After a few moments, he began to walk – startling you immediately. He circled your body, humming as he scanned over you like you were some sort of broodmare he was debating over with himself whether to keep or not – examining your legs, your ass...the width of your hips. Curiously, you began to turn your head to look at him over your shoulder but yelped when Loki jumped for you.

"Absolutely not!" he growled in your ear, holding you by your cheek and forcing you to face forward. "You do not look at me unless I allow it."

"Please," you managed to pathetically sigh, unable to take the uncertainty any longer. "What do you want?"

Loki let out a dark, seductive chuckle. "You," he purred before placing a bite on your neck and sucking it gently.

"What?" you tried to fight him off. Your attempt was laughable because even though you were terrified out of your mind, you couldn't deny that this man immensely turned you on – caused your desire to pool in your panties. It was his demeanor – his authoritativeness and stature that demanded respect. With a wave of his hand, Loki had you cleaned up. Your hair was clean and brushed, and your clothes were pristine – as if they had just been picked up from the laundry mat. Still holding you from behind, Loki moved his hand from your cheek down to your throat – bending your head back to his shoulder.

"Is that really what you want?" he spoke in your ear – bringing a moan from your lips. Loki began to snake his free hand down your body – softly caressing the skin on your stomach and unclasping your bra that was hooked in the front before throwing it across the room. You gasped upon feeling his large hand fondle your breasts. "Mmm," he moaned, "I might need both of my hands to hold your glorious breasts." His appreciation of your breasts brought forth another moan. Before you could process what was really happening, you felt his hand slowly play with the button on your jeans. "Are you certain that you want me to stop?" he asked, knowing full-well that no matter what you said, he wasn't going to. Loki knew you. He saw the way you watched him, but you were oblivious to the way he watched you. Something like this could only happen in your dreams...at least, that's what you thought. It didn't matter if this were a dream or not – you were happy to be putty in his hands.

"President Laufeyson," you moaned. He hummed in response, marking your neck so everyone knew you were his First Lady. His breath – the seductiveness in his voice drenched you even more. Your breaths were already short, and your heart was trying to explode from your chest. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you grabbed his hand that was playing with the button on your jeans with one and reached up to grab the horns he wore with the other – desperately trying to hold him to you – never wanting to lose contact. "Fuck me."

That was all Loki needed to hear to allow him to give in to his carnal lust. Quickly, he picked you up and threw you onto the large desk – his body soon hovering over yours. He made quick work of your top – finally releasing your breasts for his eyes. You were shaking as you tried to help him get your pants off, but eventually, he grabbed both of your wrists and held them above your head, keeping them there before releasing them. Your jeans slid down in one swift motion, and you felt his hand cup your soaked, throbbing, burning core.

"Oooh," he purred. "Seems like my little whore is dripping for me."

"Yes, Mr. President," you replied with heavy, lustful eyes. "Only for you, Mr. President."

Loki chuckled and slipped his finger into your panties to rub your soaked cunt and already-throbbing clit. He began to devour your perfectly-sized breasts – making sure to worship them as much as he could. He began to laugh – the lust clear in his voice, but at first, you didn't know why, and you honestly didn't care – the vibrations on your breasts were making this situation all that much more pleasurable. However, you quickly noticed that you had been trying to force him in between your thighs – grabbing his horns and pushing him down your body.

"Is my whore impatient?" he growled in your ear, slapping the side of your left breast and watching it jiggle before capturing it again in his mouth. "Does my delicate toy want me to break her on this desk?" Your words were gone – only able to respond in moans. Desperately, you brought your hands to the green vest that he wore under the ripped jacket and started to unbutton it. To your surprise, he didn't stop you. With one layer undone, you reached to untuck his dress shirt from his pants – having to undo his belt as well. Loki was hard – the straining bulge of cock in the front of his pants told you that much. Curious as to how he would react, you cupped the hump and massaged it carefully. He moaned onto your nipple once again, and the two of you went around in this circle for a few seconds before needing to take him out. You tried not to laugh at this situation because there was one thought that kept coming up – you were about to fuck the president in the Oval Office. The only thing you could think about was studying the Presidents of the United States. They were always older men – never attractive, and it had never occurred to you that you may one day have your own president. A deep bite to the top of your right breast brought you out of that thought – screaming with pleasure from the act. Your hands finally undid Loki's belt, and you untucked the shirt beneath. Not wanting to waste any more time, you took both of your hands and ripped it open – needing to see the body it hid.

"So, we're playing rough today, are we?" he moaned while your hands explored his sculpted body. "Luckily for you, rough is a two-player game."

Loki guided your hands to the button of his pants, and he guided your shaking hands in unbuttoning them, but you managed to pull his zipper down by yourself – it's the little things that matter. However, what Loki took out was anything but little – it was god-sized. He chuckled at your reaction to his godly, erect cock. Subconsciously, you licked your lips – wanting nothing more than to take him into your mouth at that moment – claim him as your own.

"Follow me," he ordered – looming over you and waiting for your compliance. Of course, you found your body doing as he demanded, and you followed him over to one of the couches that decorated the large room.

Loki sat on the couch as spread his knees so that you could kneel in between. Keeping eye contact with him, as you slowly went down to your knees, you placed a small peck on his tip.

"Do not tease me, kitten," he ordered through gritted teeth, grabbing your hair in a tight fist before force-feeding you his cock. "I know you've been starving, my little one, so eat up," Loki commanded. "Take it all."

There was no way you could take all of him in. Once he hit the back of your throat, he let up a bit, and you grabbed what wouldn't fit in your mouth with your hands – tightly stroking his veiny shaft and massaging his balls all at once. You moaned at the taste of his precum – the delicious proof that you were breaking him and driving him further into the abyss of pleasure.

"That's it," he moaned, beginning to buck himself into your mouth. "Right there."

You felt his legs begin to shake, his head fell over the back of the couch, and he tightly grabbed your hair with both of his fists – taking over and fucking your mouth. You felt his cock pulsate, and with a gorgeous sounding moan of pleasure, Loki's cream found its way down your throat, and you happily swallowed all you could. Whatever you couldn't swallow dripped down your chin and onto your breasts.

"Are you hungry, Mr. President?" you asked innocently, looking up at him with his cum dripping down your chin. He sighed at the sinful sight before him.

"Famished," Loki moaned, standing up, picking you up, and carrying you back over to the desk. He sat you down and pulled your panties off – his fingers immediately stroking your wetness. After coating his index finger in your juices, he sucked his finger – completely devouring the fluid. "Oh, dear," he moaned, reaching his finger back down, "have a taste," he ordered, bringing his finger to your lips for you to taste yourself. You grabbed his hand and greedily wrapped your lips around his finger. After releasing his finger, Loki chuckled and pushed your thighs apart.

Loki went down far enough to throw your legs over his shoulders, and once he opened your folds as much as he wanted, he dove in and drank from your core. He already had your legs shaking, and your body fell flat on the desk as you gasped for breath and reached for something to grab hold of. You could feel yourself squirting on his tongue, and he happily lapped it up – moaning at the sweet taste.

"Pres-," you began moaning but were cut off when you gasped at the little nibble he gave your clit – sucking it like it were a straw – trying to get all he could. "-ident," you finished through heavy breaths. "Ple," you yelped as you felt his long finger enter your core, "-ase." Ignoring your pleas, he slid a second finger in – stretching you a little more. "Please," you finally managed to moan.

Loki looked up at you with a raised eyebrow. "What does my toy want?"

"Fuck me," you cried out. "Fuck me, please."

Loki grinned and quickly crawled over your body – teasing your entrance with his heavenly cock. He chuckled and found your aggravated expressions amusing. Desperately, you tried to pull him down onto you and force him inside you, but you should have known better. This was Loki, and he was far stronger than you could ever be. After he had his fun teasing you, he captured your lips with his and roughly slammed his cock into your cunt – almost forcing its way into and stretching the opening to your uterus. You screamed his name as loud as you could – the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. Loki's hand wrapped around your throat just tight enough to add some adrenaline to the pleasure. Your head fell back off the other side of the desk, and your nails scratched his forearms, and he let out a groan. The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping, moans and screams of pleasure, the desk being roughly pushed back and forth against the floor, and the smell of yours and Loki's sweat and cum mixed together.

"Am I breaking my toy?" he growled in your ear as he ruthlessly continued to plow himself into you. "Or does my little one need some more of her president?

"More," you somehow managed to breathe out.

Loki stilled inside you, pulled your head up with the hand that was squeezing your throat, and forced you to look at him. He had a villainous grin on his face – one that sent shivers of fear and excitement down your spine. "Turn over," he demanded through his gritted teeth.

Without question, you turned over so that you were lying on your stomach. The president's hands began to roam your plump behind – one that he couldn't help but caress. You jumped a little when you felt him place a kiss on each cheek, and then his hands began to spread them apart. This was completely new to you. Loki was huge, and there was no way he'd fit in your tightest tunnel. You were excited, however – wondering how he would feel. Loki took his time and spread your juices to your backside – trying to give him some sort of assistance. He entered a single finger into your virgin tunnel, and you gasped at the sensation. It was a different feeling, but it was also magnificent – your vision blurring just from the single digit. You could hear him chuckling behind you, and he forced a second one inside. Instinctively, your body tried to buck away from him, but he held you in place – making you feel two of his fingers destroy you. Loki finally took his fingers out of your backside and reached for something. It was his green tie, and he threw it from behind you and in front of your face – turning the gold clip into a bit and holding the ends like reins. "That's my good girl," he praised, stroking your hair with his hand.

Loki spread your cheeks apart even further and held the tie with one hand as he lined himself up to your backside. He was pulling the tie tight, making sure to keep the golden clip in your mouth...and it was a good thing he did. Loki started breaching you, and you immediately made use of the clip – biting it as hard as you could and screaming into it. If it hadn't muffled your screams, someone would have thought you were being brutally murdered by the president. Loki was breathing heavily as he continued to force his way in – having to stop after a few seconds to catch his breath. "Oh, my kitten," he purred in your ear and wiped a tear off your cheek. "You're so, so wonderfully tight around my cock. Please...let your president in." You tried to relax your body for him – needing him to be inside you already. It must have worked because as you felt your body so lax, Loki was able to slide himself in with a little less resistance. He only had to stop one more time before finally pushing his cock in the rest of the way. Once he was sheathed inside your tight tunnel, you both let out a moan, and you reached your hand back to make sure he was done. He didn't move for a few seconds – opting to lean down to your ear and brush your hair aside so he could whisper sweet nothings to you while you adjusted to the feeling. Finally, you signaled for him to move a bit, and he did – slowly. The feeling started to become familiar – pleasure soon taking over from the pain. As Loki felt your body relax, he sped up his thrusts a bit more, and he had you coming undone on him multiple times – always causing your cream to coat his member. "Where do you want it?" he breathed heavily. You knew he was getting close – his movements becoming sloppy, and his body starting to shake.

"Would you allow me," you started to whimper out but had to stop to catch your breath, "Would you allow me to, to give you an heir, Mr. President?"

Loki stopped his movement and stared at the back of your head with wide eyes even though he knew you couldn't see him. You felt him pull out of your backside, and he turned you over to face you.

"You would...do that?" he asked, clearly shocked at your boldness.

You nodded with a small smile and reached up to remove his horns and brush his sweat-soaked hair behind his ears before holding his cheeks in your hands. "Yes," you simply whispered.

In one movement, Loki planted his lips on yours and entered your soaked cunt once more. For the first time, the two of you explored each other's mouths and swallowed each other's moans.

"Is my toy broken yet?" he asked again with a chuckle through his heavy breaths.

"No," you mischievously grinned. "You can never break me."

"Oh, my kitten," he purred, "that sounds like something your president might have to have a meeting with you to discuss, but for now..."

Loki sped up a bit and made you come undone around him one last time before moaning your name and emptying his seed into you as your well-fucked cunt milked every drop from him – needing all of him in you. Once he brought the two of you back from the abyss, he let himself soften in you and pull you up so that you were sitting in his lap – lips hovering over each other as you both tried to catch your breaths.

"So," you panted and let a lazy grin spread on your face, "when can we have that meeting?"

[heresathreebee]

The One Where She Got A Dog

Yelena Belova X Reader

Summary: how Yelena became a dog mom Masterlist Part 2

Tags: E | 1.8k words | scary movie, winter, secret pasts, sapphic

AN: Black Widow movie really got me in my feelings about those characters, Yelena in particular. I havent watched The Thing in almost a year please look the other way if movie events are out of order.

Pretty Russian girls are not usually your type, but fuck if you weren't absolutely obsessed with this one. You laughed when she told you she was from Ohio.  She laughed when you said you were too. 

Aquavit and your grandma's biscuit recipe brought her into your cabin on the edge of the world where she admitted to you she had never seen John Carpenter's The Thing before. You turned it on just as the snow storm set in and wrapped up in your thickest blankets with her. You're trying not to get your hopes too high but she's not shy about asking you to scoot closer. 

"Skäl," you cheer just as the ominous opening credits end and they find the mysterious ship in the frozen wasteland of antarctica. 

"Have you ever been?," Yelena asked. 

You grimace at the strong taste of aquavit. It's like vodka but with caraway for 'flavor'. You look at her from the side and poor yourself a second shot. "Been…?" 

"There." She points at the screen. 

"I have actually," you admit in a way you hope is flat and uninteresting, "have you?" 

Yelena shook her head. It's possible she might think you're being sarcastic (you cross your fingers under the blanket and hope she does). She's smiling at you, thinking something (but still watching the screen with interest). 

She drops the subject until you have to pause the movie to pee. You unwrap yourself from the cocoon of blankets and as you stand she asks you another question. 

"What were you doing there? in Antarctica, I mean." 

You sigh and pretend to brush something off of your pants. "Science trip with my parents. Shitty vacation for me I'd rather be in the Bahamas." 

You resist the urge to look at her. After taking care of business, you come back just in time to put the biscuits in the oven. You hear Yelena lean into the kitchen archway as the floors creak immensely here. 

"No timer?," she asked. 

"No timer," you confirm. "I use the timer of my heart." 

Yelena scoffs. "Please don't burn them, I'm curious about these… what are they– pastries?" 

"Something like that." 

The two of you went back to the movie just as the gang on screen is trying to decipher who is human and who is not. You feel like something between you has changed and sadly not for the better. 

But she can't know. 

"I hate this part," you say, making absolutely no move to avert your gaze. 

Yelena is startled when the doctor's arms become trapped in the bear trap belly mouth of the "man" on the table. She quickly covers her eyes and giggles manically, slapping your chest for the vague and unhelpful warning. You realize she's not as close to you as before…

There's 20 minutes left of this movie and you haven't seen a single thing on screen. Yelena stopped asking you questions when you stopped being coherent with your answers. All you can think about is telling her. 

But you can't tell her. She would never understand. You barely understand and it's about you. 

"I lied." Your heart beats in your throat as you see her face you but you can't look at her directly for fear of losing your nerve. "About the science expedition? That's not why I was in Antarctica…" 

Yelena seems to wait for you to continue but… 

"Eh, no offense but, " you gesture with your hand, "I don't really know you like that." 

Yelena gave your reply a single nod. "I suppose that's fair." 

You can't help but fidget in your seat. "Idliketo" 

"What was that?" 

You cleared your throat. "I said… I said I'd like to. Know you like that, I mean…" 

Yelena gives you a smile. "I would like to know you like that, too." 

The movie ends, the biscuits are not burnt but buttery soft and golden brown, and the blizzard outside has subsided some. It's still going but at least it's not buffering the doors and windows like before. 

"How can you watch that film in a place like this?" Yelena cannot get enough of those biscuits, stuffing them in her mouth 2 at a time. "Does it make you paranoid?" 

"Yes it does," you say, putting your coat on, "I think that's what makes it so much scarier–  looking outside and being scared every person you come across ain't who they say they are. Sometimes its not a bad thing though... I think it is rather… poetic, too." 

Yelena's eyebrows furrow. "Where are you going?" 

You put on your boots and hope the duct tape stays on the hole you covered earlier. "Dogs are out in the shed. It's heated and they have food, but not for days and I'd rather have 'em in the house where I can take care of them." 

As you finished your sentence you reached for the door,  but stopped when you noticed Yelena getting dressed too. She gives you a nod as soon as her hood comes up, and you give this brave thing an appreciative once over. 

The snow that nearly all melted before is up to your knees now. Fresh, white, and fluffy. It muffles sound like the world's sidelong turning. The odd snowflake wafts lazily from the sky, but for the most part it's died down. You teach back and take Yelena's gloved hand to keep from staying too far apart. 

"You know I always wanted a dog," she said. She could have said it in a whisper from 100 yards away and you still would have heard her–  that is how eerily quiet it is. 

Yelena squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. She's probably remembering the movie. You try to distract her by saying, "Oh yeah? You can have one of mine then." 

Yelena laughs, then stops. "You serious?" 

"As a heart attack." You finally reach the door to the shed and unlatch the door. A chorus of barks begin and you charge forward to nudge them back to give Yelena space to come in as well. "I do some breeding up here–  just a side job. They're usually working dogs but they can be pets too." 

Buck licks your face from chin to forehead and you push him back. "Down, boy! Show some respect!" 

Yelena has two of the mongrels circling her, sniffing all her clothes and demanding to be pet. "That's Burt, Barney, and Bella. Buck's my stud, but these heathens are going to a farm. They've got sheep to watch." 

Yelena chuckles as her hands get covered in slobber. "I love them." 

They're almost grown, three quarters the height of their father. Buck didn't even look in Yelena's direction because he knows you give him treats. You take your scarf off as the heat of the shed threatens to smother you and search your pockets for jerky.  

"She's in there with the new puppies." You point to a darkened closet. "Don't get too close now, she's still a little protective." 

Yelena creeps closer. You see her look at you from the corner of her eye. Probably terrified by the morphing dog scene from the movie. You give her an encouraging smile and tell her where to find the light. It's a pull cord and it bathes the room in a warm golden yellow light. 

Yelena's heavy, controlled breathing turns into a coo. Mama dog is laying on her side watching the newcomer closely. There's a pup asleep in the nest of her legs, another chewing on the hay that litters the ground, and the last one is biting their mother's ear. Yelena looks back at you with an adorable pout on her lip. 

"So cute…" 

You chuckle and put your arm around her. Buck knows to steer clear of mama dog and slinks off. You make your guest walk closer with you to show mama she's got your confidence. 

"Yelena, this is Beyonce." Mama dog's ears perk at the sound of her name. "Beyonce, this is Yelena. Be nice." 

You reach down and scoop up the hay eating puppy at your feet. "This one's always hungry." 

You put the pup in her arms and scoop up the biter. "This one likes to play. All the time. Got more energy than the blue Energizer bunny actually." 

The pup in question is literally trying to wriggle out of your hands in its eagerness to climb you and eat your hair. 

"And that one sleeps a lot?" Yelena nodded her head at the last pup. 

"Pretty much." You put the writhing excited puppy down before it hurts itself and look up into the rafters. "And then there's the climber…" 

You both turn your heads when you hear a tiny bark. A cute little face stares down at you from the rafters and there's a feather stuck to its nose. You shake your head knowing this pup got it from ripping up pillows in another part of the dog house. 

"Better go get her," you said, not moving an inch to do so.  

Yelena sees your challenge and rises to it. As if trained to do exactly so, she assesses the wooden interior for foot and hand holds. You can see the wheels turning in her head as she calculates what will and won't support her weight. In the sweep of a single moment, she rises from the door and swings herself into the rafters using a build up a momentum to propel her fast in an upperward direction. She completes the climb and balances with ease, reaching out to collect the happy wagging miscreant from her mountain top, tucks her in her jacket and climbs a different way down. 

You stare at her. "Were you raised by trapeze artists?" 

Yelena laughs. "I thought everybody was." 

The pup is safe and happy and eager to explore its new friend. Yelena lets her lick, sniff, and scratch at her skin, her clothes, her hair. The pup catches Yelena with a tiny lick right on the tip of her nose and Yelena looks back at you with adoring eyes. 

You smile. "Got a name for her already don't you?" 

"Yes," Yelena whines, "no, are you sure about this? I should probably tell you I've never had a dog before…" 

"I can tell your good people," you reply. "And smart as a whip. You'll adapt, just call me if you ever need anything." 

~

Three weeks later you get a phone call from an unknown number. It's Yelena giving you an address and making you swear never to tell anybody about it. You don't have any friends so it's an easy secret to keep. 

You drive a few miles south and stumble upon a stationary trailer in the middle of nowhere, nothing but clearings and trees and sky. Actually very similar to your own home. 

The door opens and Yelena greets you with a beer and the pup under her arm, already almost a foot bigger than she was before. 

"Her name is Fanny." You both laugh yourselves hoarse and pile into the trailer to puppy proof the place. 

[writteninkat]

Kitten | Nanami x Reader

summary: Nanami smiles, manhandling you to flip you around. His gold plated name on your neck glistens under the red light. He parts your legs, watching as your cunt oozes out greedy amounts of slick.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: name calling (kitten, daddy), clit slapping, ass slapping, deep throating

a/n: here's a little gift to all my Nanami sinners out there lmao

<500 follower event>

Nanami noticed that you've been ordering online too much already. Just this week he found eight average sized boxes from kittenbasics. Were you planning on getting a cat?

Today has been very tiring for him. Not only has he been stabbed on his side but he also came home to an empty apartment. You had sent him a message saying you were going out with some friends tonight.

Just as he was about to close the door behind him, something caught his eye. He turns to his side and sees three more brown boxes on the floor. Frowning, he picks them up, already knowing they're uour orders. He takes them to the kitchen counter, setting them on it as he grabs a quick glass of water for himself.

As he gulps the water down, his eyes doesn't look away from the packages, curiosity getting the best of him when he sets the empty glass down and walks towards the boxes.

What shit had you been buying online that it has you glued on your computer screen almost every night?

He reads the package's description, frowning when it doesn't explain the contents inside the box. Only your address, name and contact number. Did she buy this from somewhere illegal or something?

He takes a small fruit knife from one of the drawers, pushing the blade through the packaging tape and swiftly running it across the box, cutting the tape open. He proceeds to cut the redt of the sides, softly placing the knife on the counter when he's finished.

Long, slender fingers open the covers of the box and digging through the packing peanuts, looking for the item. Alas, the pads of his thumbs and index fingers touch a velvet-like box. Nanami takes it out, furrowing his brows when he reads the intricate cursive writing on the top of the box.

Kitten basics.

He opens the box slowly, careful as to not damage what was inside. The product his gaze sat on had his heart dropping to his stomach. On a silk-covered miniature pillow inside the box rests a pink collar with his name, Nanami, sculpted in uppercase letters in gold. He takes the collar out, his member already stirring in his pants as he runs his thumb across his name.

A smirk tickles at his lips as his eyes move towards the other two boxes. After opening them both, he finds that one box had cat ears and knee socks in it while the other had a butt plug in a form of a cat's tail.

You definitely knew Nanami likes cats. And you definitely knew he loved it when she begged for him.

You come home to a dark apartment. Guessing your husband hasn't come home yet, you kick off your shoes rather drunkenly, stumbling your way to the kitchen where you gulped down a glass of water. You turn off the lights after placing the glass on the sink.

You stumble your way to your shared bedroom, furrowing your brows when you see that your led lights have been turned on and your actual lights off. Your eyes scan at the items on the bed; cat ears, a cat's tail buttplug, and- your eyes widen at the sight of the special pink chocker with your husband's gold plated name on it.

You feel strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back to his body as he breathes into your ear. "I was wondering what you've been buying online since I've been receiving many packages throughout the week." He runs his hand down your side, fingers teasing the hem of your short, black, bodycon dress.

"Care to explain what these are, kitten?" He whispers into your ear, fingers hooking under your dress, pulling it up to reveal the pink lacy thong you have on. "Leaving the house with such lewd underwear on? Were you planning on showing this to someone else?" He asks, pressing two fingers against your cunt. You press your thighs together as you shake your head, "No, daddy. All of you." You moan loudly, letting him push you on the bed.

"If you won't explain to me what these are..." Nanami picks up the buttplug, shoving it in your mouth before pushing you to lay on your back. He pulls your legs up, slender fingers hooking themselves onto your panties, pulling them down. He brings your underwear to his nose and he closes his eyes, unshamedly breathing in your scent as he looks down on you.

He pulls the buttplug out of your mouth, pressing it against your hole, teasing you. You bite your lip in anticipation, closing your eyes as you feel the plug slowly enter your ass.

"Sit up." You follow his command, pulling your legs back to sit on your heels. He takes the cat ears, putting them on you before taking the collar in his hands. "Why'd you buy this one specifically? Hmm? Kitten?" He asks, padding his thumb over your lower lip.

"Cause I belong to you." You answer, your tingue slipping out of your mouth as you sucked on his thumb, your eyes looking up at him as you hallowed your cheeks, showing him exactly how you'd suck his dick.

He growls, pushing you back down on the bed. He takes the collar, quickly putting it around your neck. He takes his time appreciating the masterpiece that is you, on his bed like this, all for him.

Slowly, he slips your dress off of you, skilfully unhooking your bra with one hand as he peppers sweet kisses all over your neck and chest, slowly traveling them down your breasts. He plays with your nipples with his tongue as his fingers twist and tug at your other one.

His tongue laps up your hardened nipples, taking them in between his terth before sucking red and purple splotches all over your soft skin. Slowly he gets up, pulling you along with him. He sits back on the bed and pushes you down onto the floor where you kneel obediently for him.

Nanami unbuckles his belt, taking it off of the hoops of his pants. He takes your hands, placing them on your back and using the belt to keep them there. He looks at you with such lust-filled eyes, his thumb playing with your lower lip.

"Put that mouth to good use, kitten." He says, leaning back as he lets you do what he asked. You look down at his pants, still buttoned and zipped up, however on the side you could see just how hard he currently is.

You lick on your lips, swallowing as you bite on his pants, undoing the button of his pants. You tug on it, pushing the button back with your tongue to take it out of the hole. You then continue to bite the zipper, your nose poking on his pelvis as you pull the zipper downwards.

You didn't want to wait any longer, you buried your face on the area where the zipper exposed your husband's boxer briefs, inhaking his musky sent as you lapped your tongue on his clothed and erected cock.

"Mmmmm so impatient I see. You want daddy's cock that bad, hmmm?" He teases, his voice so low you feel your cunt clench around your slick and nothing else. You nod your head, looking up at him with meedy eyes.

"Mmmff-fuck, okay kitten. I'll give you your reward." He takes his cock out of his underwear, his tip an angry red. You watch as he strokes his member a few times before pulling your head closer to him. You stick out your tongue, starting from the base, you like the underside of his cock, as you reach his tip you wrap your lips around it and start taking as much of his length as you can. Your fingers begin to tingle, wanting nothing more than to fondle and play with his balls at this very moment but the belt keeping your hands restrained is preventing you from doing so.

"Oh yeah baby, oh yeah... Just like that... Taking daddy's cock like the good little cockslut you are..." Nanami growls, tangling his slender fingers through your hair, tugging on it as you hear him suck in a breath.

As soon as you feel his tip press the back of your neck, you shake your head and get on your knees, pushing yourself even lower, making it your goal to reach his pubic hair with your lips. Nanami moans loudly as his cock pushes through the walls of your throat, feeling as you swallow around him. Once you feel you've taken his entire length inside your mouth, you pull away, gasping for air.

Once your lungs stop feeling like they're burning, you take him in his mouth once again, hallowing your cheeks as you bob your head up and down. Nanami throws his head back, moaning loudly as you feel him start to buck his hips upward. You push yourself lower like before a few times, when you swallow around him this time, he bucks his hips up and pulls your head down, creaming inside your throat and mouth.

You waste no time in swallowing his load. He pulls out of you and parts your mouth open, checking and then smiling to see it empty. "Such a good kitten. Love daddy's cum so much? I don't see a single drop in your mouth." He chuckles, pulling you up and throwing you on your stomach. He pulls your hips up, slapping on your ass, his eyes watching the slap causes a ripple. He slaps your ass again, and again, and again and doesn't stop until both your cheeks are a fiery red color and tears are running down your face.

"Does it hurt kitten?" He asks, rubbing a hand on your swollen bum. You shake your head, looking at him through your side. "Then why are you crying?" He sounds as if he were genuinely concerned.

"It feels too good," You sob, "Daddy."

Nanami smiles, manhandling you to flip you around. His gold plated name on your neck glistens under the red light. He parts your legs forcefully, watching as your cunt oozes out greedy amounts of slick.

Nanami lowers his face in between your thighs, his eyes trained on you as he dips his tongue in between your wet folds. You moan loudly at the feeling of his hot tongue finally against your needy cunt. You roll your hips impatiently, causing Nanami to pull away and slap your cunt.

"So impatient, kitty. Good kittens wait for their daddies to finish their meal. Now stop moving and let me have my dinner." He goes back to your cunt, lewd slurping noises fill the room along with your loud moans and mewls.

Nanami pushes his tongue in between your walls, teeth grazing against your clit, taking you by surprise. Your walls clench around his tongue, squeezing it as he furrows his brows at your orgasm.

He pulls away, scowl evident on his face as he pulls his underwear and pants down. "You came without my permission, kitty." He begins working with the buttons of his shirt, undoing them. "And you know what happens to bad kitties right?" He lines his cock against your hole, hands on each of your thighs. "Tell me, what happens to bad kitties?"

"They don't get to cum." You answer, moaning loudly at the feeling of his member entering your wet and greedy cavern. You've been married with and have been getting fucked by this man for years, and yet your tiny cunt still couldn't get used to his size.

Everytime the two of you fuck, he always stretches you open and has you feeling so full. And your little cunny always squeezes around him, making him feel every inch of your walls.

He pushes his entire length inside you, his pelvis pressing against the back of your thighs. He thrusts inside you slowly a few times to get you at least a little bit more stretched out before his pace increases and the bed is creaking.

Nanami's hands slowly run up from your stomach to your tits, playing and fondling with them before his left one retreats back to your thigh while the other creeps towards your neck. He runs a few fingers over his name before his eyes look at you- your expression.

Your eyes are glassy and your face is flushed, you have a shit eating grin across your face with your tongue lolling out of your mouth. "I feel that good, kitty?" He asks, his thrusts becoming slower but much deeper. You nod your head, unable to use proper words.

"Use your tonge, kitty. Come on. Answer daddy. Do I feel that good?" All the comes out are mashed up words and slurs, making Nanami laugh loudly. He thrusts deep inside you, feeling your walls clench around him.

"I'm fucking you so dumb right now aren't I?" He asks, frowning when you don't reply. He slaps your clit and it takes every single atom in your body for you to not cum right then and there.

"Answer me. I'm fucking you so dumb right now, aren't I?" He growls, his balls slapping against your ass, creating lewd noises. You nod your head and your response encourages him, he slaps your clit just a few more times before he's reaching his own orgasm.

"Don't you fucking cum." He creams inside you, your toes curling as you try your best not to cum. He pulls out, the satisfaction leaving your body along with him.

He watches his cum drip out of you, his fingers teasing your folds, dipping into his white release, pressing his fingers inside your mouth. You suck on his fingers, licking them clean.

He pulls out his fingers and presses his lips on yours, his tongue pressing against yours, tasting himself. He hums in satisfaction, nodding his head. "Okay, you've been a good kitty. I'll let you cum under one condition." He pushes himself inside you once again, "You cum together with me."

His thrusts this time are a bit harder, much more maddening. He rolls his hips as he thrusts deep inside you, his head pressing you g-spot again and again as you cry out how good he makes you feel.

He leans his body towards you, his hips snapping as he presses his lips on your neck. "Who do you belong to?" He grumbles, licking your jaw. "Daddy..." You moan out, closing your eyes as you feel your orgasm slowly creep up to you.

"Mmmm-mmmm. That's not my name. Since I'm fucking you so dumb right now, I'll give you a little clue. The answer is what's written on your neck." He mumbles, hips never ceasing.

"Mmff- Nanami!" You moan loudly, your orgasm already so close to you. "That's it!" Nanami roars loudly, pushing away from you as he slaps your clit, "Who do you belong to?"

"Nanami!"

"Who?"

"Fuck, Nanami!"

You clench around him milking him as he rolls his hips while insde you, helping you ride out your rogasm. You press your head against the soft pillows, his name coming into view as he cums inside you once more, painting your walls white.

The two of you stay silent for a moment, your heavy breathing the only thing that can be heard. Slowly, Nanami pulls out of you making you whimper, the overstimulation causing your body to become more sensitive than you wanted it to be.

"Shhh, shhh... It's okay baby, I got you..." Nanami coos, skillfully undoing the belt from behind you, pulling the restraints away from your hands. You pull your hands from behind you, immediately pulling Nanami closer, breathing in his scent.

Nanami presses soft kisses all over your face as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. He carries you in his arms, walking over to the bathroom where he has already prepared a bath with your favorite bathbomb.

He sets you down on the water, carefully taking off your catears and your choker. "Okay baby, I'll take off the plug now okay?" You nod, wrapping your hands around him as you hiss as the plug is slowly being taken out of you. He continues peppering kisses all over you as he washes you hair and face, he doesn't stop even as he's pulling you out of the tub and walking you back to your bed.

He walks away towards the closet, coming back with the comfortable panties, sweats and one of his shirts. He helps you get dressed, drying off your hair and combing it soft as he constantly kisses you, whispering praises as he does so.

Once he finishes, he sets you down on the bed and he leaves to wash up himself. When he comes back, he joins you on the bed, pulling you into his arms as he presses one last kiss on your forehead.

"I love you baby." You mumble out.

"I love you too."

"I love you more."

Nanami tightens his arms around you, burying his nose on your hair, "I love you most."

Navigation

[farfromharry]

I like it when you hold me | Roommate!Harry fic

Summary: the three times you needed harry to hold you and the one time he needed you to hold him.

Word count - 3,251

Warnings - language? anxiety attack, brief mention of painkillers

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Your day today didn't consist of much. You’d gotten up early this morning along with your roommate to help him prepare for a high profile photoshoot he’d had booked for weeks. You knew he was nervous, panicking so much for the past few days as the day grew closer.

You made sure he ate breakfast and checked he had all his equipment before he left, helping to take that burden off of him.

He’d kissed your head as a thank you for the help just as he left, and then you were left to yourself for the rest of the day.

“You’re an angel, I’ll see you later.” You forced another hug out of him, wishing him good luck again, not that he’d really need it.

“Can’t wait to hear all about it.”

After that, things started to go south for you around eleven, your stomach beginning to cramp painfully as you tidied up the mess you’d left in the kitchen with Harry the night before. To try and settle the boy's nerves you may have had one too many alcoholic drinks while having a film night, but now being the one to clean it all up you were definitely regretting your drunk selfs actions.

You didn’t normally track your periods as frequently as you should, so this definitely caught you off guard, but you knew now any plans you had for the rest of the day were ruined.

After you sorted things out and took some painkillers, you crawled into your bed with your heating pad, pressing it up against your lower stomach with hope of at least some relief.

You didn’t even get a wink of sleep, the painkillers not working strong enough or long enough to make sure you were deep into a nap before your cramps began again.

You ended up spending most of the day staring at the different views of your room, just waiting and counting down the seconds until your roommate got home.

When he arrived back a few hours later, Harry expected to find you somewhere about the apartment, possibly expecting to find you watching a film on the couch where he’d be able to tell you all about his day.

When he didn’t find you he called out for you, getting a quiet ‘here’ in response from your room. He trudged to your room with a grin on his face, ready to see his favourite person’s face after a long day of going without, but he was instead met with the sight of you curled up in bed with a look of pain plastered all over your face.

He pushed down any excitement he had for the job he’d done today that he wanted to tell you about, deciding it could wait and you should instead be his priority right now.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, kneeling beside where you were laid in bed, gently stroking your hair. You gave him a weak smile, lifting your blanket to show him the heating pad you had pressed against your abdomen.

He pouted sympathetically, knowing exactly the time of month when you’d get that out, placing his lips onto your head lovingly.

“Do you need anything?”

You adored how attentive Harry was to you at this time of the month when you really just needed some extra loving.

“Painkillers and cuddles, please.” He thought you looked so innocent wrapped up in the covers of your bed just asking him to give you love and it made his heart ache.

“Coming your way.” You smiled as you watched him walk out of your room, leaving you to your own devices for a few minutes. He came back no longer than five 5 minutes later. A mug of tea in his hand, some painkillers and a change of clothes for himself.

“Take two of these, ‘m just gonna change and I’ll be back.” You nodded your head, shifting from your comfortable position to do as he instructed. He came back in much comfier clothes than early in no time, climbing underneath the covers of your bed beside you.

“Now, someone said they needed a cuddle?”

You laughed, curling into the man’s body as his arms snaked around your form. You had to wait a while for the tablets to begin to do their job, so your stomach was still aching despite the little things Harry had done for you.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, looking so softly into your eyes. You smiled, taking the hand that was resting on your cheek and guiding it to your lower back.

“Can you just rub my back please? Hurts there too,” you explained. He hummed, carefully slipping his hand just under the bottom of the hoodie that was swallowing your body. His thumb rubbed circles across your skin and just the heat coming from his hand was enough to soothe you.

Your eyes began to feel heavy again, your head nuzzling against him, his chin resting on top of your head.

You were in that headspace right between being awake and falling asleep, completely in a daze when you remembered that Harry had come straight from his work, reminding you to ask him how things went.

“How did your photoshoot go?” you asked, burying your head closer to his chest. He could hear how tired you were in your voice, especially since you hadn’t been able to get any sleep during the day due to the continuous ache in your lower abdomen.

“I’ll tell you when you’re feeling better, get some sleep.”

He didn’t allow you time to protest and with one last kiss to your forehead you were out like a light in the man’s warm arms.

»»——⍟——««

You were a frequent guest at the Holland family events due to being so close to Harry, and it was a plus that his family loved you. This time around you’d been invited to a garden party, showing up with Harry and instantly being whisked away by his mother.

You didn’t get a chance to speak to him again until around an hour or so later, stumbling over to him feeling much more bubbly than when you’d arrived due to your constant intake of alcohol.

Your arms wrapped around the man with no hesitation, your body leaning against him for extra stability.

His arm wrapped around your shoulders, placing a greeting kiss on your head that didn’t go unnoticed by the men he was talking to.

“Hi,” he mumbled, confused as to why you’d suddenly become so clingy. You flashed him a happy smile, tightening your arm around his waist as the two of you broke from his previous conversation into your own little bubble. “Hi,” you giggled.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, chuckling towards the end of his sentence when your smile just got wider.

“I love your family, d’you know that?” You rested your head on his shoulder, your eyes scanning the garden as the party progressed. You finally noticed that Harry had been talking to Sam and Harrison, the two watching you both now with smirks at how close you were being.

“You do?” You nodded your head, a silly grin on your lips as you looked up into those warm brown eyes. His attention was torn when he heard a snicker from his twin, his head turning to look at the pair in front of you.

“What are you two looking at?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows in slight annoyance. He barely went a week without hearing from them at least once how whipped he was for you, and they were never happy when he didn’t do anything about it.

“Nothing, nothing,” Harrison mumbled, hiding his smile behind his beer bottle. Harry rolled his eyes, swallowing the last swig of his own beer.

“Come on,” he mumbled, tugging you in the direction of the drinks. “‘m too sober to deal with them.”

By the end of the night you were more than a little tipsy, clinging to Harry’s arm with a certainty that you’d fall over if you didn’t. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen you in this state, having had many nights at the pub with a much worse result than this.

“I think we need to get you home,” he said. You pouted like a child, wrapping your arms around his waist again.

“Don’t wanna go home yet,” you whined. He placed his hands on your cheeks, gently lifting your face and looking into your slightly glazed over eyes.

“You’re drunk, bub.”

You seemed upset at his accusation, shaking your head against his chest. You couldn’t see the amused smile on his face as he watched you try and work your way around his words. You did give up after a few seconds, your intoxicated mind finding it too hard to form a well thought out lie right now, so you took the easy way.

“‘m not drunk.” He rolled his eyes, running his fingers over top of your messy hair.

“D’you wanna know how I know you’re drunk?” he asked, flashing you a smile that made your knees weak. “You get clingy when you’re drunk.”

You gasped, feigning offense as you realised he was right. Not wanting to further prove his point, you willed yourself to pull away from him, but right now all you wanted was to be in his arms.

You eventually sighed, accepting your defeat when his thumbs stroked your temples.

“Fine, but please just keep holding me.”

Harry’s heart swelled at your words, his arms snaking around your neck to hold you close to him. He had absolutely no issue with holding you close to him for the rest of the night, even if he was getting those looks from his family.

“I’ll always hold you,” he promised. “Whenever you need me.”

»»——⍟——««

You startled, jolting awake in a cold sweat as you stared into the darkness of your room. Your heart was racing against your ribcage, making it difficult to catch your breath, especially through the few stray tears that rolled down your cheeks still.

Every tiny sound you heard had you jumping in your place, the fear surrounding your nightmare still very present in the front of your mind. It took a few minutes for you to gather the courage to actually up and move enough to turn on your light, but even that wasn’t enough.

You were still shaking even as the lamp illuminated most of your room, scared of being alone where anything could get you when you closed your eyes.

It took you short of a minute to decide you needed Harry right now, but psyching yourself up to move the distance to his room took a little bit longer.

“You can do this, there’s nothing there,” you whispered, reassuring no one but yourself. You took a few deep breaths as you opened your door, staring into the intimidatingly dark hallway that housed Harry’s room.

You could see the faint light under his door, hoping he was still awake and hadn’t just fallen asleep with the light left on. You raised your hand and knocked quietly, trying not to disturb him if he was sleeping.

“Harry, are you awake?”

Now if the boy hadn’t been on his phone, still sorting some things out for his older brother, then he probably would’ve missed your ever so gentle knock on his bedroom door.

“Yeah, come in.”

You pushed open the door to his room with shaky hands, spotting the man laid in his bed, the light from his nightstand and his phone illuminating his face. He noticed the distressed look on your face, pushing himself into more of a sitting position to help you feel more welcomed.

“What happened?” he asked, rubbing his tired eyes as he watched you nervously shift your weight from your right foot to your left in his doorway. You sniffled quietly, adding on to the man’s worry about your wellbeing.

“Nightmare,” you simply mumbled. He frowned, shifting slightly under his covers to make more room for you to climb in. He lifted them up and with a ‘come on,’ you were already crawling in with him. You laid with your back to him, not wanting all the sympathy you’d surely get if he saw the dried tears on your face. Harry put his phone down and turned off the light, making the decision himself that you’d probably just want to go straight to sleep.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, letting you get comfortable in his arms and against his chest. He was always glad you were able to feel calmed by his presence, and he would never turn down helping you after a nightmare because he knows you’d do the same for him.

“No,” you whispered, nuzzling your face in his arm. “But, thank you.”

You adored being Harry’s little spoon, for the sole purpose of feeling the way your bodies perfectly molded together. He was happy to tangle your legs together, one of his arms being thrown over your waist and the other being used as a pillow for your head. It often meant he was left with an ache in his arm but seeing how comfortable it made you was enough for him to deal with it.

You didn’t fall asleep straight away, neither did Harry, the two of you just laying in one anothers embrace. You felt him pull you even closer, your heart swelling as he did so.

“Harry?” you said, catching his attention. He could hear how shaky your voice still was from your nightmare. He heard you let out a whimper, tears now threatening to roll down your cheeks.

He cooed, letting you roll over and hide yourself in his arms. He ran his fingers through your messy hair, careful not to catch and accidentally hurt you.

“You’re okay.” He didn’t let up comforting you until he was sure you’d at least stopped crying. Your thoughts were now overwhelmed by Harry, your nightmare being pushed further and further to the back of your mind.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered, pressing a final kiss to your head. You smiled softly, allowing yourself to drift off in his arms and in his bed once again.

“Goodnight Harry.”

»»——⍟——««

The slamming of the front door let you know that Harry was home. For the past week he’d been working extra late with Tom, always coming home tired and almost always going straight to bed with as little of a greeting and a goodnight to you.

This was his final straw though, he and Tom had gotten into an argument today that left him mentally drained for the rest of the day. He was at his breaking point and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold it together.

He was unusually quiet as he strode into where you were sitting in the kitchen working on some things for your own work.

You watched as he headed straight to pour himself a glass of water, the glass almost slipping from his hands at how sweaty they’d become.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked, you didn’t have to be a genius to notice that Harry clearly wasn’t feeling himself. He barely even spared you a glance, the man was much too caught up in trying to calm all the racing thoughts in his mind.

“Harry?”

“‘m fine,” he choked out.

You could see the way his hands shook as he tried to take off his jacket, tears of frustration building in his eyes the more difficult it got. You watched as his chest began to rise and fall much quicker.

Harry felt like he was suffocating, his body temperature trebling in such a short span of time that he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore.

You’d seen Harry have a few anxiety attacks in the few years you’d been roommates, so you knew the obvious signs of when things were happening in his mind, usually happening after he’d overworked himself.

You headed over to him and helped peel the jacket off of his body, helping lowering him to the floor when his knees buckled beneath him.

“Hey, hey,” you whispered, taking his shaky hands in yours, holding them close to your chest so he couldn’t hurt himself. Your eyes were focused on his face as he teared up, nervously biting his lip to try and contain the sob threatening to escape his mouth. “I’ve got you,” you promised.

He let out a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut as the tears began to fall. You placed a kiss on the back of one of Harry’s hands, keeping your distance so he didn’t feel as though you were overwhelming him too much.

“Like we practised bub, need you to tell me three things you can see.” You needed him to open his eyes, trying to coax him into doing so. It took a few moments of you rubbing your thumbs along the back of his hands for him to finally look at you, a look of uncertainty and fear in his eyes.

You hated seeing him like this purely because of that scared look you could see in his eyes. It broke your heart how scared of everything and himself he became in these situations.

“There they are, there are those pretty eyes,” you said, flashing him a warm smile. Your smile seemingly being enough to encourage him to listen to you. His eyes darted around nervously at first before trying to find somewhere to settle for a second or two.

“I-I can see my phone, y-you and um-“ he paused, taking a few deep breaths.

“Take your time, it’s okay.”

This attack seemed to be resolving itself quicker than the ones you were used to helping him through, his breathing beginning to slow rather rapidly. “And m-my jacket. Can see my jacket too.” You grinned, making sure to tell him how proud of him you were.

You were more than happy to let him crawl into your arms, his head tucking itself under your chin. You stroked his curls for a while in a comfortable silence, the pair of you still not moving from your space on the floor.

Your other hand ran up and down his back while he clinged to you. At one point he shifted slightly, brushing your cheek with his hair, creating a ticklish sensation that had you holding back laughter.

You moved your hair out of the way so it’d stop, but he only seemed to do it again and you weren’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or not.

The next time it happened you couldn’t contain the snicker, prompting Harry to glance up in your direction.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, burying his head in your chest insecurely, thinking you were laughing at him.

“Your hairs tickling me,” you admitted with a small giggle, pushing his hair out of your face for the third time. You saw the ghost of a smile threatening to form on his lips, warming your heart a little bit.

“Come on, we’re going to go watch a movie and take your mind off of everything.” You left no room for protest from him, and he didn’t seem to mind one bit.

“C-Can we still cuddle? I like it when you hold me,” he muttered innocently, blushing shyly under your gaze.

You grinned, nodding your head. “I like it when you hold me too.”

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harry holland taglist → @euphorichxlland @theliterarymess @call-me-baby-gir1 @icyhollands @hollandbroz-n-haz @hopelessly-harry @siriuslyslyslytherin @musicalkeys-blog @itstaskeen @zspideyy @spideyssunshine @givebuckyhisplumsnow @hollandcrush @wizkiddx @hopeless-romantic-baby @thehumanistsdiary @dummiesshort @itsbieberxholland @lillucyandthejets @piscesparker @bvttercupbby @kujokura @jess-holland23 @captainamirica @tomsirishgirlx @annathesillyfriend @sunwardsss @messedupmyfuckinglife @bi-lmg @tomhollandismyhusband1996 @multixfandomwriter

[doriana-gray-games]

Hey, not sure if my ask got eaten (if not feel free to ignore) but I sent it a while ago and am really curious for the reactions: how would the ROs react visiting Sherlock and he is so happy they are scared for a second until it gets clear he manages to play a really hard musical piece? In general I am in love with the fact that MC can play an instrument, I simply love a musical talented Sherlock lol... "Oh in my spare free time I sing in the opera! I am quite good actually"

Honestly I am just really bad at procrastinating longer asks that I don’t immediately think of an answer for + I am slow writer, so a long asks will probably take away from writing the game. I was going to answer you (and all the other asks at some point. But I am sorry that I made you wait so long. I’m just not able to write as much and as fast as a lot of creators I think).

But I really like getting asks, so please don’t feel discouraged that I am so slow—I will get to most of them (There are some that might be spoilery that I avoid.)

I think this was your first ask, yes?

🥰 🥰 🥰

Music ask 1:

(I don’t know why I picked the platonic route with Watson for this, but I did. C'est la vie)

Sherlock being giddy and a show off seems appropriate for the character, when things are going their way. They would probably start shouting from their apartment upstairs for everyone who’s at home (Watson, the maid, a visiting RO, Mrs Hudson.)

They all huddle to the room thinking there is some danger—another imminent explosive experiment, an angry client, Sherlock took in a stray animal and it is destroying the room, again.

But instead they are met with a smiling Sherlock:

—who carefully makes sure everyone has arrived, yet keeps them all in suspense by revealing nothing.

Sherlock makes a stage practiced ahem, and dramatically sits down at the piano bench.

Everyone sighs and relaxes at the reveal. It’s just another musical piece. But despite the shared glances of annoyance at the false alarm, none leave. They all listen to the beautiful music. Mrs Hudson sheds a tear. The RO wonders where the melancholy on display had been hidden in the usually stoic figure.

Watson claps the loudest once it is done. “Bravo!”

Sherlock grins widely now, seeing the awestruck faces of their chosen family. One hand still on the keys, another in their lap, the relish approval and the accomplishment.

The moment lingers, until—

“Oh, shoot! I forgot—I left a pie in the oven!” Mrs Hudson scurries off in a hurry.

“I, I have to—I was cleaning the fireplace. But it was a lovely piece. Some very pretty notes, not that I know anything of music...” the maid stumbles awkwardly away, a blush over her pale face.

Watson stays a moment. Both thanking you for the piece and scolding you for the overtly alarming call. And once they leave—only you and the RO remain.

“Would... Would you like to hear it again?” Sherlock asks.

H: “Nothing would please me more.” and they mean it, the honesty clear in their voice. Their green eyes convey such attention, until they finally close them to lose themselves in the sound. Between the plays of new music, they ask you about the piece with evident interest and musical knowledge. The feeling of shared interest and mutual appreciation warms the heart of even the genius detective. 

L: They nod and take the seat closest to where you are sitting. Their eyes never leave your face, figure, and fingers during the three following performances. Perhaps they have little understanding of music, or of taste, but they like to see the contentment on Sherlock's face. And as they sit, for hours, they find a sliver of contentment for themselves in the melody that you play.

A: “may I join you?” They take a seat next to you. The bench is small. Their closeness feels intimate, despite the layers of clothes and decorum. Starting the piece over, they join in. Their fingers dance across the keys, not in the same way yours does, but arguably not worse. A symphony emerges from the one piano in the room. Both players have small smiles across their lips, as songs pour from talented hands.

Music ask 2:

Yes. Well, at times. 

If there is a moment where the instrument is relevant, and it is more a slice of life scene or free time in the apartment, then yes. But there might be a scene where the song Sherlock plays is used to signal the emotional state of the character and then the answer would be no. (But those determined scenes would be more likely to be in a melancholic tone.)

Music ask 3:

(Clarification, we are talking about the triangle instrument, not love-triangles. Love-triangles are still in the game.)

This is how I imagine the reactions 😅

L: 😐 🤨

W: 🥰 👏

A: 😅 👍

H: 😐 😑 😐

[bi-bard]

Chick Flick Moments - Sam Winchester Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Chick Flick Moments

Pairing: Sam Winchester X Reader

Requested: by an anonymous reader

Word Count: 2,363 words

Warning(s): violence, cussing, Sam embarrassing himself, spoilers for any movie/show listed in the author's note

Summary: (Season 11) Gabriel takes a break from hiding to teach (Y/n) and Sam to forgive each other.

Author's Note: I had so much fun putting this request together! Also, if I remember correctly, this reader wanted to remain anonymous.

Here are links to all the scenes that inspired parts of this imagine:

1 (Princess Bride), 2 (8x12 Criminal Minds; can't find just the scene to link), 3 (Moulin Rouge), 4 (The Notebook), 5 (The 10 Things I Hate About You), 6 (Gilmore Girls), 7 (La La Land)

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

I rolled my eyes as I walked through the bunker.

Sam was still ranting about the most recent hunt. I was just tired of listening to it. Dean had long since given up trying to control his brother, who had shown no sign of listening to anyone.

"You can't just throw yourself into every single enemy," Sam yelled. "Fun fact, you're not Superman!"

"Oh my god," I finally, turning around. I had been halfway through the library at this point. Dean continued through the bunker, ignoring us. "I ran up to one extra vamp because you were about to get your throat ripped out! Yes, I put myself in danger but it was to save you!"

"Why are you so desperate to be a hero," he asked.

"Why are you so pissy that I saved you," I shouted back.

I let out a yell before turning and leaving.

"Where are you going?"

"To bed," I shouted from down the hall. "Maybe you'll be nicer in the morning! You're welcome for saving your ass!"

I stormed into my room and slammed the door shut. I changed quickly, throwing my old clothes into the corner before curling up on my bed. My emotions got the better of me. I started crying into my pillow.

Imagine saving the man you secretly loved... and then he got mad at you about it.

I fell asleep crying that night.

--time skip--

I shot awake, cringing at how bright it was.

I looked around, letting my eyes adjust to the light.

I was on a hill. I was on a hill, lying in the grass with the sun shining on my face. This is not good.

I stood up and did a circle to look around the long stretches of grass. Nothing looked even slightly familiar.

"For fuck's sake," I muttered.

I decided that the best option would be to try to climb down and find a person... somewhere.

I was just about to start making my way down the hill when I felt a hand grab me.

Out of pure fear, I grabbed the person and pulled them from behind me. The person went flying down the hill.

"(Y/n)," I heard Sam's voice yell as he rolled down the hill.

I put my hand over my mouth. He soon stopped rolling and then he stood up, scrambling to pull the black mask off of his face. I sighed, dropping my hand when I saw he was alright.

"Sam," I called.

"Your instinct is to throw some down a hill," Sam asked.

"When a masked man tries to grab me, definitely," I replied. "Fun fact, Sam, I can actually defend myself."

He gave me a sarcastic smile. I shot it right back to him.

Sam looked down at his outfit before sighing and shrugging at me. He had just started to move back up the hill when my visions went dark.

I opened my eyes a few moments later.

What had been an open field was now a dark warehouse or factory. I saw Sam across from me, but also a group of people behind him. I recognized them. They were characters from Criminal Minds, a guilty pleasure I watched when we weren't hunting.

I tried to figure out what was happening.

Then, I became all too aware of the barrel of a gun pressing into my neck.

"No," Sam yelled.

It clicked.

Sam was supposed to be Spencer. I was Maeve. This was Zugzwang.

My heart dropped.

"Wait, please, don't," Sam yelled as the gun pressed harder on my neck.

"Sam, shut up," I snapped.

"Me for (Y/n)," he shouted.

"You would do that," Diane- the unsub of that episode- asked.

"Yes," Sam replied.

"No," I yelled. "Sam, shut up."

"You shut up," Diane growled at me.

"One difference between me and her...," I growled back.

I grabbed the gun, pushing it forward, away from my neck. The bullet she tried to fire hit the brick wall. I turned, bringing an elbow down on her arm. Her hand dropped the gun into my grasp. I pointed it toward her.

"...I'm not scared of a simple gun."

The others walked over and arrested her. I looked at Sam.

"If you continued, she would've killed herself, which would've killed me," I explained. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I watch this show when we aren't hunting."

He walks over, going to hug me before the scene changes again.

"Holy...," I trailed off as I looked around.

Around us, we could see the tops of roofs and a beautiful night sky. It was almost a dreamy setting.

"Where are we now," Sam asked.

"Only the great Moulin Rouge," Sam and I both twirled around to face... Gabriel. "I know, I know... I'm not dead, anyway!"

I rolled my eyes.

"You two need to learn a lesson," he pointed at us.

"It's like back in 2010," I mumbled. "Play our roles to get out. Probably why we were pulled out of the last two."

"You'll fall into them naturally, I promise," Gabriel smirked. "And yes. Stop ignoring the plotline."

"Alright... sure, I was gonna get shot for your crappy game," I snapped sarcastically.

Then, he was gone. I rolled my eyes.

"So, what are the roles," Sam asked as I walked around the top of the elephant.

"Well, Christian and Satine," I pointed between us. "Maeve and Spencer. The Princess Bride and Westley. It's all romance."

"Why," Sam scrunched his face up.

"Because Gabe wants to get his rocks off," I said sarcastically, "I don't know, Sam!"

I walked down the stairs of the elephant. It was gorgeous here. It was just as vibrant as the movie made it look.

"Wow," I look back at Sam. "This is awesome."

I chuckled and nodded.

"What seen is it?"

"The Elephant Love Medley," I said. "Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman sing this mash-up of famous love songs as his character tries to convince her that there is nothing more important than love."

"I'm not gonna sing," Sam shook his head.

"I was not gonna ask you too," I chuckled. "I've heard you sing."

"Rude."

I just shrugged.

I looked around at the room, trying to figure out how to play these roles without the singing.

"Wait," I said. "Come on."

I grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the stairs.

"What is it," Sam asked as we made it to the top.

"At the end of the medley, Christian and Satine are dancing and they walk out onto this field of clouds and are held up in the sky."

"What-"

"This whole movie feels like a fever dream the first time you watch it."

"Come on," Sam held a hand out to me.

"Can you dance?"

"Not well," he chuckled. "The role didn't say I needed to be good."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me closer to him.

I tried to lead his steps and laughed as he stumbled into a pattern.

"Come on," I moved back so I could grab only one hand.

I led him a few steps forward and onto- what seemed to be- steps in the clouds. I let out an excited laugh when it worked. Sam looked at me and grinned at my excitement.

As soon as got to the top of the steps... it was gone.

We were in the middle of the street now.

"Aw, that was just mean," I mumbled. I glared at Sam when I heard him laughed.

He held his hands up jokingly before extending one toward me. I furrowed my eyebrows at him.

"I know what movie this is," he shrugged. I motioned for him to continue explaining. He walked over, hand still held out to me, "The Notebook. Noah and Allie dance in the street. So... will you dance with me? Even without the sequence where we dance in the clouds."

I bit my lip as I smiled.

I took his hand and let him pull me into the street. I laughed as I stumbled into his chest.

We fell into the scene naturally.

Sam held one of my hands in his and held my waist with the other. I placed my free hand on his shoulder. I looked up at him. It felt strange that we so casually fell into the scene but I was happy.

Sam jokingly twirled me around before pulling me back to his chest. I closed my eyes and chuckled.

"What," he asked.

"Nothing," I shook my head. "I just never saw you as such a romantic."

"Well, don't tell anyone, you'll ruin my reputation," he said sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes.

Sam spun the two of us in a circle before going to dip me. I didn't think I'd ever get to experience something like this. It always just felt like something I should forget about as a hunter. I was starting to forget why I was so angry with Sam in the first place.

I barely noticed that Sam was leaning in before the scene around me changed.

I was on a football field.

I looked around.

There was no sign of Sam.

"Crap," I mumbled, trying to figure out where to look first.

Then, there was a voice going over the field's speakers.

"You're just too good to be true... can't take my eyes off of you..."

I looked around toward the stands to see Sam walking with a mic. Can't sing, my ass.

"You'd be like heaven to touch... I wanna hold you so much"

"Oh my god," I muttered.

"At long last love has arrived... And I thank God I'm alive... You're just too good to be true... Can't take my eyes off of you."

I tried to bite back my laugh. He shrugged at me with an embarrassed smile and stepped into the actual stands.

We both jumped when the marching band started playing. I looked to see Gabriel smirking and leading their march.

Sam and I shrugged at each other. He continued on with the act.

Now, Sam Winchester pretending to be Patrick in "10 Things I Hate About You" was a treat... and was exactly what you imagined it would be.

He was almost stumbling down the steps as he continued on with the act. I was laughing hysterically by the time I saw the security guards starting to run in.

"Sam," I yelled, pointing behind him.

"Crap," I heard through the mic (which made me almost double-over in laughter) as he tried to take off running.

As soon as he was grabbed, the scene changed.

We both took a deep breath when we realized we were sitting together in a car.

"Thank god," Sam mumbled.

"That was a great performance, by the way," I said, still chuckling.

"Shut up," he muttered, laughing along with me. We fell silent after a minute. "So... what scene is this?"

"I have no idea," I replied.

"It's Gilmore Girls, dumbasses," we heard Gabriel's voice but saw no sign of him. "Season 1, Episode 16... absolute idiots."

"Didn't peg him for a Gilmore Girls fan," I said. Sam laughed.

"Me neither."

We fell silent again.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, looking over at me. "You were right. You can defend yourself and you were just trying to help me. I'm sorry for being such a dick about it."

I grinned, "Thanks... I forgive you. I know you were just worried about me."

Sam smiled back.

"I... umm...," Sam looked down for a moment, clearing his throat and collecting his thoughts. "I just... I love you."

My heart leaped up into my throat. I blinked at him a few times and forced a chuckle out. Which was the wrong response but I panicked. Hunters... we could face the devil but emotions were a no-no.

"(Y/n)," Sam's smile dropped slowly when he realized I wasn't responding.

I was just about to respond when the scene changed again.

Sam was gone again and I was on a city street.

"Dammit," I muttered.

I ran down the street, turning the corner. I looked at the wall of the building I was by. Was this a jazz club?

I walked through the door and was guided to a table so I could sit down and watch the performance.

"La La Land," I said.

Sam and I watched this together. Dean had gone to bed. We weren't tired and just turned this movie on because it looked like it was mostly happy.

Big dance numbers, beautiful effects... and the epilogue that made me hide tears from Sam.

I looked at the stage. Sam was sitting there, wearing a suit, looking at the audience nervously. He hesitantly reached toward the piano. It was like it was a prerecorded track. It sounded just like the movie.

I smiled.

I just wanted to talk to him.

Soon the performance ended.

I stood up and started walking over, seeing Sam starting to walk out.

I grinned at him, "Sam-"

He cut me off by cupping the sides of my face and kissing me softly. I touched his sides lightly, smiling against his lips. It was... magic. Absolute magic.

Then, I shot awake, back in my bed in the bunker.

The game was over. Thank God.

"(Y/n)," I heard yell through the bunker hall.

I ran into the hall and ran toward his room.

We stopped as soon as we saw each other.

"Please tell me that wasn't a dream," I said. He shook his head, smiling widely at me.

I ran over, pulling him down to kiss him again. It was softer than our last kiss and I loved it. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me closer. I buried my hands through his hair.

"Woah, what did I miss," we pulled away when we heard Dean.

I could basically feel Sam chuckle against my lips before he moved to look at his brother. I turned around in Sam's arm.

"A chick flick moment," Sam answered.

"Alright," Dean gave us a weird look before leaving without another word.

I looked back at Sam with a smile, "I love you."

"I love you too," he grinned and leaned in to kiss me softly again.

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

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[mandoinevarro]

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k 

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun. 

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose.  Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.  

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”  

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”  

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga.  “Who’s they?”  

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.  

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”  

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.  

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you.  You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames  your knees with his legs “—armchair.”  Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.  

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.  

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.  

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”  

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.  

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you?  Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

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