#Ignorance is bliss sometimes okay | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ki-yomii · 8 months ago

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baby, don't go | myg

➥pairing | ex!min yoongi x f!reader, mentioned f!reader x omc ➥word count | 5.1k ➥warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, squirting, hand job, finger fucking, porn w/ plot, angst w/ a happy ending, alcohol, exes to lovers, implied cheating (omc is a fuckboy), implied getting back together (reader & yoongi still low key love each other), idol!yoongi ➥summary | "hii can I request for an exes to lovers trope with yoongi 😭💖 lovee your ficss" you find out your boyfriend is cheating on you. thankfully your ex Yoongi is more than happy to distract you. ➥notes | hope you enjoy this anon 😘💚 omc & ofc are named after characters from one of my favourite k-dramas (personal taste iykyk)

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Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Standing beside you, your friend Kae-In takes a swig of whatever's in her cup - a sickly sweet concoction of fruity soju and Chilsung, most likely - and coolly surveys the backyard.

Small groups of people dot the manicured lawn, others lounging by the fire as they catch up with one another. It's been far too long since everyone's schedules aligned like this.

Years in fact, and there are several who came in from out of town.

Ordinarily you'd be over the moon, but as it were you can barely drum up enough false excitement for your best friend. Let alone others you haven't seen in forever.

Cocking her hip, Kae-In puckers her mouth. "The alcohol isn't even that good." She sighs, pretty face scrunching in disappointment. "Some party this is turning out to be."

Your hard cider, still more than half-full, hides an awkward, ill-fitting smile.

Having nursed your own drink for the last hour, whatever might've been enjoyable about it is long gone. Any refreshing coolness and bright, punchy taste replaced by amber liquid far past room temperature in your clammy palm.

In fact, the fizzy warmth and tart aftertaste of moldering apples turns your stomach with every half-hearted sip.

"At least there's cute guys here - some of them have really grown up."

Her breath ruffles the fringe of her bangs when she huffs, casting an eye to the glass bottle strangled in your grip.

"Are you sure you don't want something a little stronger?"

You shrug. "Yeah, I'm fine - gotta be the DD just in case, y'know?"

"Girl, you're ALWAYS the DD. C'mon, you gotta live a little sometimes."

The nonchalant scolding stings, even if it's meant almost entirely in jest but it's not Kae-In's fault. She doesn't know. No one does. You couldn't muster up the courage to tell her the truth.

Not yet.

It's still too fresh. The wound too raw to go poking around with clumsy fingers.

"Don't be like that," you say with a faltering smile. "I'm having fun."

LIAR.

In actuality, you're a few frayed threads away from snapping. Stuck clinging to the edge of sanity by the fingernails as you battle back tides of crippling grief and blinding rage.

Have been since the first few messages came rolling in; questions with videos attached. There's a part of you grateful they reached out, while another altogether wishes you hadn't seen.

At least not until morning.

Would one more night spent in ignorant bliss have been too much to ask for?

Now you're riding a corkscrew of emotion, one that roils and chafes as ceaseless images parade past your eyelids with every blink. Each one as crisp and clear as the first time you pressed play.

The swirling lights, the heady thrum of bodies. A darkened corner. Your boyfriend of three years who said he couldn't make it. His hand sneaking beneath the hem of a cheap, glittery skirt. The dip of his head as he tucks into the curve of a neck, mouth open and smiling against bare skin.

You shudder, stomach rebelling. When you swallow, it's like trying to down buckets of sand.

Kae-In, none the wiser, flicks her hair over her shoulder. "Well, that makes one of us. I guess." Shrugging, she turns to you and asks with a furrowed brow, "Are you sure you're okay? You seem... a little off."

Panic grabs you by the throat.

This was supposed to be a night full of fun and laughter. You're not supposed to be suffocating in a crowded backyard. On the brink of tears and trying to act like your life hasn't imploded.

Alone - by your own doing, which is even worse - to deal with the crushing weight of an inevitable breakup. The painful extrication of two lives entwined.

How a relationship three years in the making can be shattered in a minute and forty-five seconds is mind boggling. You had it all, and now...

You thought you were going to marry him.

The whiplash of it all almost makes you laugh but only so you don't break down in great, heaving sobs. A heartbreak you're not sure you'll ever recover from. Not for the loss of him but rather the decimation of your trust.

"I'm okay, promise! No need to worry."

The lie weighs heavy on your tongue. Tastes of ash as the words you really want to say hover in the back of your throat, a breath away. Only they can't make it past your lips, stuck to your teeth like hard candy.

"It's just been one of those days."

Your shoulders shoot towards your ears when she hums in response. Fingernails picking at the corner of the sweating cider label so you don't have to meet Kae-In's piercing gaze. You know she can see right through you, and you hate it.

What started as a fun night of planned mayhem turned into desperate distractions though this party has done very little in terms of brightening your mood.

Instead, watching everyone you know have a good time while you stand on the side lines, a stranger in a sea of people, feels more akin to rubbing salt in an open wound.

Miserable but acting like you’re not; waves of bitter loneliness threatening to pull you under because you don’t want to ruin the night.

“Is this because Chang-ryul couldn’t make it?” Kae-In pats your back sympathetically. “What bullshit excuse did he give you this time? I swear, he always does this. Just wait. I’m gonna hit him next time I see him.”

Oh, you don’t even know, you think. You’ll definitely want to do more than hit him.

Your heart throbs at the sound of his name, and isn’t that funny? Such a simple thing - nothing but syllables and letters strung together - and yet it has the power to unmake you completely.

Your tongue swells as you struggle to swallow. Words burn like bile as you force out a laugh; brittle, scraped up from the depths of your chest

“I’d pay to see that,” you croak. Your knuckles ache from how tightly you’re gripping the bottle. “But - no. C-Chang-ryul has nothing to do with it.”

You hate that you stutter over his name.

And perhaps that’s why you don’t want to tell Kae-In just yet.

She’s always hated him.

Always said he was no good. Just another fuckboy looking for beds to warm and hearts to break. And she’s right.

God, why does she have to be right?

You know she’d never hold it over you, but the thought of admitting it - out loud - makes you want to vomit all over your shoes. You need time to stitch your edges back together. Too raw and ragged.

You only just found out.

Your pride can’t handle any more hits right now.

She thumbs her nose with an inelegant snort. “Whatever you say. I could take him in a fight. That boy ain’t shit.”

Your laugh startles you - the first genuine one of the evening - and you shake your head fondly. A soft smile tugs at your lips.

“Oh, no doubt. But really, I’ve just been in a weird mood.”

The twist of her lips shows she doesn’t believe a word you’re saying, but she’s kind enough not to press. Instead, she spends the next while distracting you with tales of her various escapades of the week.

And it helps for a time, truly.

But then you feel a buzz against your thigh, a ding echoing up from your pocket. Your stomach turns to lead, drops to your feet. Without looking at the screen, you pull the cell out of your pocket with shaky hands and quickly flick the ringer off.

Meanwhile, Kae-In watches silently with sharp eyes, and an even sharper frown though she declines to comment on your behavior.

“Anyway,” she continues once she has your attention, “as I was saying, did you see little Ji-Seok? Dude shot up like a tree! Last time I saw him he was as big as a bean sprout.”

You hum, worlds away.

“You could at least act like you’re paying attention,” she sucks her teeth before a smirk starts to slowly tug at her lips, “How about we talk about something - or someone - I know you’ll be interested in?”

Guilt sparks but slowly gives way to dread. You know that expression. Have gotten into trouble more times than you can count because of it.

Heart tattooing a rhythm against your rib cage, you sputter, “Oh no. No! Do not look at me like that.”

“C’mo-on!” she wheedles. “You’re absolutely right. We should be talking about,” she points at someone across the yard with her cup, “Yoongi instead.”

Currently leaning back against a stone wall making up part of the fence, Yoongi nurses a beer. Sticking out like a sore thumb now that he’s making it big as an idol, no longer as mundane as the rest of them.

Hushed whispers follow his every move, his bleached hair and flashy outfit commanding all sorts of covert attention.

The sharp cut of his shirt flatters his lean frame, the black leather jacket over top emphasizing the width of his shoulders. Dark jeans cling to his legs, as tight as a second skin, and causing your attention to stray where it shouldn’t.

And his eyes - oh, how you ever forgot is beyond you.

Dark, hooded, deep, and hungry; intense as they drag over the planes of your face like the caress of his fingers.

Shit.

You shove Kae-In’s hand down with a loud smack before she makes an even bigger fool out of you in front of another ex.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hiss. “That’s so rude!”

Not to mention embarrassing as fuck.

“Y’know,” she pauses to wiggle her brows and shoot you an impish grin, “I bet Yoongi would be more than happy to remind you of how rude he can be.”

You smother a groan in your hands, heartache temporarily forgotten. “I can’t believe you. Seriously. We’re no longer friends.”

“Bitch, you love me. And anyway, you know what I can’t believe?” She asks. “You!”

She gestures towards him again amid your flailing attempts to stop her. “Look at him. Like goddamn, you had it good.”

You take a sip of cider to give your hands something to do, nearly blanching at the warm liquid. Refusing to respond or look up as the topic of conversation watches like a hawk, gaze heavy.

How can he still make you weak-kneed after all this time?

He wasn’t even touching you and you still feel his presence down to your toes, setting your teeth on edge.

You hear your own heartbeat, your breathing shaky, sparks of awareness dancing along your spine. Heat creeps into the apples of your cheeks.

“Knock it off, I’m serious.”

“No, when are you going to get that Chang-ryul isn’t good for you?”

You swallow roughly, all the moisture leaving your mouth.

“Yoongi was the best boyfriend you ever had and treated you the way you deserve. And you know he’s never been interested in anyone but you. Hell, he’s barely looked away from you since he got here and the break-up was years ago.”

You shift, perspiration breaking out on your brow. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“When will you give it up?” She blows a raspberry, shaking her head. “I know you regret how it went down between you guys. Now that he’s here - when you finally have a chance to make it right you just - just - ugh!”

Shooting her a weak half-smile and a shrug, you turn your attention to the small glowing fire pit.

Other’s are gathered around it, relishing in the glow of warmth that wars against the balmy summer breeze cutting through the air. Focusing on the dance and flicker of the flames is a needed moment of peace in entropy.

Though you know it isn’t going to last - not with a motormouth for a friend.

“So-o, what are you waiting for?”

“Sorry?”

She nods towards Yoongi subtly.

He’s finally busy with his own conversation, his gummy smile a quick flash of brightness. “When are you going to stick it to Chang-ryul and hop on that dick?”

“Oh my god!”

Kae-In shrugs. “What.”

“Don’t 'what' me. Seriously?”

A bony elbow digs between your ribs. You wheeze.

“C’mon,” she says, “You already know it’s good with him, and you deserve someone who’s there for you 110%. Someone who will treat you right. You know I worry about you.”

A wave of emotions threatens to completely drown you in that moment, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Her tender concern - her care - feels altogether too much and not enough.

As overwhelming as a tsunami; your heart a raw, exposed nerve.

All you’ve ever wanted was to be loved.

To feel like someone’s first and only choice.

You used to think Chang-ryul was someone who could provide that. What a fool you’ve been. Men like him don’t fall in love, they only pretend to.

They sneak inside your heart and take what they want from your bed. To him, you’re nothing but a fun little stop; a footnote, read and forgotten.

Your heart squeezes, shuddering from a pain your palm can’t soothe away.

It’s a terrible idea.

But maybe…

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to lick your wounds with someone you know cares about you. Has always cared about you, and probably always will.

Clearing your throat, you consider his profile from beneath your lashes.

Yoongi's always made you feel wanted. Looked after you as though you were something rare and precious.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt that.

Somehow, some way, he senses you looking because he pauses mid-sentence.

Turns to meet you head-on, tracing your face with what can only be called greed. Stopping short when they catch on the lip trapped between your teeth.

Something akin to hunger cuts across his face.

His brows dip low, a palpable heat flooding the inky depths of his eyes. Shadows deepen the lines of his face, the shifting firelight highlighting the flex of a jawline for days, burning halo gold in his hair.

It’s a look you’re intimately familiar with.

Usually preceding a hand-shaking, mind-numbing fuck session where his cock gets as deep as it can, rutting hard and fast, bringing you over the edge again and again until you’re left a wrecked mess.

Your heart jumps, gallops headlong into a rapid beat.

You feel the rush of blood in your chest, every breath stuttered, stomach lurching. Shaking. Jittery. Tongue tied in a thousand knots and you haven’t even said a word.

It was much easier to pretend you weren’t so magnetically drawn to Yoongi when you weren’t riding the single’s train. When he was away in Seoul chasing after his dreams.

Now that he’s got downtime and your relationship has hit a brick wall? His mere presence sears you to the bone. Drags you in like a black hole.

And that?

So not good.

Swallowing roughly, you tear your attention away. You’d forgotten how intense and blindly bright he can be.

There’s a throb developing in your temple, sharp little darts of pain lancing through your skull. An impending headache if you don’t get some air that doesn’t taste like wood-smoke and cheap alcohol.

“I think I’m gonna head in for a bit. Need to get away.”

You shake your head and toss your bottle into the bin on the way inside, Kae-In shouting her acknowledgement with a thumbs up. Makes you promise to contact her in case of any change in plans.

Nearly everyone’s outside so it should be less crowded, more quiet. Most importantly, away from Yoongi and that penetrating stare which makes you more flustered than you care to admit.

Alas, the kitchen isn’t empty not for long.

You’re lounging against the counter, elbows bent, head rolled back and stinging eyes closed when the back door creaks open. Biting off a groan, you swivel your head to the side.

When you see it’s Yoongi who follows you in, you almost slip and brain yourself on the tile. Mouth dry, palms sweaty, heart beating out of control; scrambling into a more flattering posture while patting down your hair.

He chuckles, his nose scrunched and smile coy.

Seeing him happy always makes you tender, weak.

It seems that hasn’t changed a bit.

No amount of pictures or videos do it justice. Granted, Yoongi looks good any time, any day. But seeing his whole face light up like that in person? Utterly priceless.

It’s a struggle to breathe properly around the lump forming in your throat.

Of course, it has to be him.

Wiping your palms off on your thighs, you greet him with an awkward wave, “Uhhh, hey - hey there, Yoongi.”

Oh my god. Abort mission, I repeat, abort mission.

“Y’know what,” you say, “I was just about to head back outside…”

As you pass by, he catches your arm.

Long fingers curl around your wrist, callouses dragging across your pulse. Your gut clenches, an unexpected bloom of warmth shooting through your core at the sight of his broad palm holding you captive.

His grip is firm but loose enough that you could pull away.

All it serves to do is remind you of nights spent beneath his body, the slide of sweat-slick skin, the taste of him heavy on your tongue, pussy filled to the brim with cock. His rough voice music to your ears, prideful as he gloats about how well you’re taking him.

"Leaving so soon?” He asks silkily.

A hard tug sends you slamming into the wall of his chest.

Air rushes from your lungs, your hands trapped against his collarbones. Firm muscles contract beneath your palms, his body shoving into your touch.

Twisting your fingers in the soft cotton of his shirt, you look at him from beneath your lashes. Your voice whisper soft when you say, “Yoongi…”

His dark eyes, the colour of a rich espresso, track the path of your tongue as you wet your lips. Fingers drag over the soft line of your neck, tracing your fluttering pulse.

Touch feather light as it stops by the corner of your mouth, pressing down on the swell of your lip.

“I haven’t said hello yet.”

Eyes wide, all you do is watch and wait with baited breath. Stunned into silence at his proximity. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close, the smell of his expensive cologne nostalgic.

Your body recognizes his, responding all the same. The connection between you electric, overwhelmingly so.

His head bows, bleached strands brushing your forehead. The tip of his nose rubs yours. You get lost in counting his eyelashes, tracing the bridge of his nose to the carved slope of his cheeks.

Surrounded by him, the urge to resist what’s happening is nearly non-existent. Though you wish it wasn’t so easy to be caught by him.

“One of the guys said something interesting,” he says, his breath ghosting across your face; mint and beer. “It's about you actually.”

He flashes the smile that sends your heart soaring, your stomach flipping.

The slightest peek of a metal chain resting in the crook of his neck, surrounded by a very tempting patch of skin you want to taste, has you a little dumbfounded, absentminded.

“Oh?”

You really hope you don’t sound as frazzled as you feel but the haughty superiority of his slow appraisal of your body, the cocksure smirk on his lips states otherwise.

You really wish you could knock him down a peg but confidence looks amazing on him.

Always has.

“They said you have a boyfriend now. Is that true?”

You manage the slightest shake of your head in the negative - no, not anymore - your heart thundering in your ears.

Your breath catches in anticipation just before Yoongi closes the remaining inches between you with a hum of approval.

His head tilts to the side as he slots your mouths together in a kiss that’s got your toes curling. A filthy wet slide of lips, his the slightest bit chapped, send you under, liquid warmth filling your belly.

You inhale sharply, a moan vibrating against his lips.

Melting into the cage of his arms as his hands clamp down on your hips possessively, tugging you closer. Pressed stem to stern like this there’s no hiding the evidence of his desire.

He’s already half-hard in his jeans, his erection pressing against the zipper.

His eyes are hooded when he pulls away.

“Wanna take this somewhere a little more private, baby?” Yoongi asks, running his nose up the length of your neck and inhaling.

How is this my life, you think, dazed.

His hips grind forward against you so there’s no mistaking what you’re dealing with. “It’ll be just like old times.”

After an awkward fumble and an elbow to the side, you settle on the downstairs bathroom. He follows, quickly pinning you to the door while struggling to toss his leather jacket over the sink.

With a flick of the lock, you’re finally alone without any possible interruption. The door muffles most of the ruckus outside, leaving you hyper aware of every hurried breath, every low-throated murmur.

For a long while it’s nothing but a mess of lips, his body molding to yours. Easy to fall back into the old rhythms of your relationship as though you never left it.

He holds you down.

His fingers in your hair, on your jaw. His tongue gliding over your lip, sucking it into his mouth and letting it slide back out through his teeth.

You meet him kiss for kiss, your hands finding their way into his back pockets, tugging, groping, loving how he bucks up into the cradle of your hips in response.

A sweet ache settles low and deep.

“Yoongi,” you sigh. “Fuck, I forgot how much you like to tease.”

His thumb circles your nipple through your shirt, teasing it into a sensitive, stiff peak that shows through the thin fabric.

The caresses send soft pulses straight to your clit, the intensity getting stronger and stronger the rougher he is.

Before long, you’re aware of how achingly empty you are.

Yoongi nips the corner of your jaw.

“Never forgot how fun teasing you is,” he murmurs into the silk of your skin. “How wet you get for me.”

“Shit, you can’t just say something like that.”

“Can’t I?” His laugh, genuine and vibrant, sounds through his chest and into yours. “You can bitch all you want, but I know you love it.”

A smile, all teeth.

“Isn’t that right, baby?”

You glare at him weakly through half lidded eyes.

Two can play that game.

“Fuck!” Yoongi bites out, those impossibly dark eyes sliding shut when you reach down to palm him through his jeans.

His breath whooshes from him in a loud exhale, his jaw working back and forth. “That’s cheating.”

You smirk, feeling him throb in your hand.

”What were you saying, Yoongs?” Humming, you rub your chest against his, using a fingertip to trace the outline of his shaft. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Spearing you with a weighted look, Yoongi shoves you back into the door harder than before, the wood creaking under the pressure. Fist resting on the frame next to your head, his body cages you in.

Every shuddered inhale has the planes of his firm chest pressing into yours with the expansion of his lungs. His hips buck up into the softness of your palm with a grunt.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, pretty girl,” he cautions.

Competitiveness is a gift and a curse.

Not one to be outdone, you brush away any lingering reservations - which being honest, there weren’t many left. His relieved groan when you tug out his cock reverberates through you.

Shit, that’s so unfair.

Yoongi already sounds wrecked yet you’ve barely touched him. How the fuck are you going to get through this without completely combusting when he actually cums?

Thinking that maybe focusing on what you’re doing will help, you look down.

Big mistake.

Dark designer jeans circle his thighs, low enough for his cock to spring free.

Flushed, curved towards his belly, the head swollen and sticky with pre-cum. The shaft a decent handful that pulses when your palm skims the side.

Feminine appreciation at the sight has velvet heat pooling between your thighs, pussy clenching at the thought of him inside you.

Sex with him was always stupidly good.

All those veiled lyrics about his skill in the bedroom far too accurate for comfort.

Since you broke up, you haven’t been with anyone that comes close to his ability in getting you off.

He’s ruined you.

His face burrows into the crook of your neck with a low groan. His breath puffs across your skin, shivers racing down your spine.

Low voice full of grit, he says, “Shit, baby, that feels…”

Hot palms anchor themselves to your hips.

“Wait a sec,” he says, body twitching with aborted thrusts, strong fingers kneading. “Wanna do you too.”

Heart jumping, you let go of him long enough to yank your shirt over your head and kick off your pants before returning your hand to his cock.

In the meantime, he rucks his shirt up under his armpits. You can’t help but make a noise in the back of your throat as the length of his torso is exposed.

All that soft, smooth skin stretching over his stomach as he flexes. You have to fight down the urge to run your tongue along the outline of his hip.

Mouth slack, Yoongi pushes up the cups of your bra. Watches laser-focused on the bounce of your tits as they drop free, subtly swaying with every jerk of your wrist.

His hips fuck up into the circle of your hand while one of his own inches down to brush the crease of your thigh. Your hips tilt towards his touch, desperate for friction.

“Oh god.” He moans, calloused fingers dipping between your folds. “You’re so wet for me.”

You wiggle, whining against his lips as you meet in a messy kiss. His touch is light, gentle, barely there as he traces the length of your slit.

You’re trembling, skin too tight, body feverish. “Stop teasing, I want you inside me.”

Those seem to be the magic words because Yoongi gives a rumble of approval, using his thumb to spread slick over your swollen clit in tight circles.

Heat coils in your belly, electricity racing down your spine. Your thighs splay as wide as they can, making room for his hand.

His knuckles brush your skin.

Dipping down to your entrance, Yoongi works on spreading you open with shallow thrusts until you take three fingers comfortably.

Your needy sighs and soft moans bounce off the walls.

His low murmurs right in your ear as the pads stroke your walls, his wrist flexing. He’s hitting all the right spots, still remembering how to get you off years after the fact.

You’re quickly turning weak-kneed and wet eyed.

“Fuck, Yoongs, right there,” you keen, baring down on the digits nudging your g-spot, your grip tightening around his shaft.

You grind your palm over the swollen tip, gathering beads of pre-cum.

He hisses, thrusts off beat.

Fingers nudge up suddenly, pressing deep and holding in retaliation. White lightening crackles behind your eyelids, thighs twitching, mouth dropping open.

“Yeah, just like that, pretty girl.”

Your world narrows down to every filthy slide of his cock in your hand, every gush of slick as he stuffs fingers into you over and over again until you’re a writhing mess against the door.

Your nerve endings are alive with pleasure, the stimulation too much and not enough.

“Please, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, doubling his efforts, wrist working faster.

Dapples of sweat litter his brow, his eyes staring into yours, glazed over and lusting.

Fuck, he’s handsome like this.

It’s a little embarrassing how bad he’s got you but between the blissed-out expression he’s wearing, the weight of him in your hand, and how full you are, you know this orgasm is going to be quick, messy.

The pace of his hips pick up, his breath hitching in his throat, length twitching and thickening in your grip.

He’s getting close, his touch rougher, more force behind the snapping thrusts of his hips, teeth nipping at the side of your neck.

“Come on, baby,” you say, breathless, twisting your hand on the upstroke. He smothers a grunt in your shoulder. “Give it to me.”

It doesn’t take much more to bring him to the edge.

A particular spread of his fingers has you jolting, a sudden, intense spike of pleasure shooting right to your clit.

In turn, you unintentionally massage his cock, knuckles bumping the underside of the swollen head.

He’s a goner.

Cumming with a low, wounded whine and a shuttered thrust, Yoongi smacks the door with his free hand. Thick spurts of jizz make an absolute mess of his stomach and your knuckles.

Sagging forward like a doll with cut strings, all his dead weight bears down on you.

He pants, small tremors wrack his frame. “Baby,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw, “I missed you s’much.”

“Missed you too,” you reply, using nice, languid strokes to wring the last of his orgasm out of him. “More than I thought I did.”

In lieu of a response, Yoongi wiggles his fingers inside you, rebuilding the rhythm he lost. He flutters them, curls up against your walls, peppering kisses along the length of your jaw with a hum.

Slick drips down his wrist, the sloppy sound of him finger fucking your cunt blending with a surge of desperate moans.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Yoongi says against your chin. “So fucking hot, wanna see you cum.”

Your back arches, your fingers digging into the width of his shoulders, head smacking the door with a dull thud.

“Can you do that for me?”

Nodding frantically, you fall apart with a broken gasp. Clamping down so hard he can’t move, the cramps softened by the throbbing heat washing over you. Blood rushes in your ears as your pussy gushes around his fingers.

“Good girl,” he praises, tone heated. “You did so well for me.”

By the time your brain comes back online, you’ve forgotten all about Chang-ryul and the constant vibration of your phone where it’s shoved - forgotten - into your pocket.

The only thing that matters is Yoongi with his tender kisses and greedy hands.

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growth-opportunities · 18 days ago

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Absence Makes the Boobs Grow Bigger

(Wait, that's not right... This one was a request from @fenra-the-hucow, I hope I did it justice!)

Being long-distance with your girlfriend Demora is hell. The moments when the two of you meet up are fantastic, but being confined to the other side of a computer screen for the weeks in between is difficult. Sure, you make the most of it. Chatting every day, phone sex as often as possible (having her put her webcam between her impressive 36H tits always gets you off so quickly), but when the orgasmic bliss faded, you were left with a simple fact: you missed her. And she missed you. Just based on the way the trips worked out, you're in the middle of an almost eight week stretch without seeing, in person, the sexy, fiery woman you love. She tells you that it'll be okay, that the time will go quickly, but it only reassures you so much. The two of you trade loving sentiments over the phone until you fall asleep, still holding the phone in your hand.

The next day, a package arrives. You were expecting anything, let alone from Demora. It only gets weirder as you unpackage it and a small, plastic thing tumbles out. It's not very big at all, about the size to fit into your palm. Rectangular, black, matte, and with a button on the other end. Curiosity gets the better of you and you press it with your thumb. It makes a satisfying click, but, beyond that, it doesn't seem to do much. A moment later, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

I take it you got your gift?

Haha, I did! Not to be rude but, uh, what is it?

Oh, just a little something fun I found online~ I think you're really going to like it.

Your heart beats just a bit faster. Is it a remote toy? Like for a vibrator? The two of you had talked about something like that in the past, but this didn't seem like it had any controls. Besides, most of that was done through apps now.

Not quite~ You'll see. I promise you'll enjoy it. If it makes you feel better, click it when you miss me~

It wasn't like Demora to be so cryptic, but the device, whatever it was seemed harmless enough, so you might as well let her have her fun. And she was right, the next few weeks did pass quickly. For a week or so, you didn't give the clicker much thought, leaving it on your desk untouched. Almost by accident, you wind up using it as a fidget toy, clicking the button just to give your hands something to do. As far as you can tell, all it does is click, so there's no harm in it. Sometimes you'll do it when you're on the phone with Demora and she'll start making some... Distressed sounds (lots of sighs and little whimpers) and she'll ask if you're playing with the thing she got you. Still, she insists that it's not a vibrator or anything of the sort, despite the mounting evidence to the contrary. All you can do is shrug it off and be slightly frustrated that she hasn't been feeling up to turning on her webcam lately.

Finally, the drought comes to an end. The weeks have gone by, you've suffered long enough, and now it's time for a loving, passionate reunion. You wait by the baggage claim at the airport, checking your watch and Demora's flight status every few minutes, growing more impatient as each minute passes. You're given hope as the conveyor thunks to life and, moments later, a throng of people start coming down the escalator. You scan the faces for your girlfriend, tapping your foot to get out some of the anxious energy.

Your eyes widen as your gaze is ripped away from the faces of the crowd by the biggest tits you've ever seen in your life. A part of your mind attempts to beat the other part with a rolled up newspaper, reminding you of your girlfriend, but tits like those? Impossible to ignore. They're gigantic. Enormous. They take up almost the entirety of the woman's torso and forget about burying a cock between them; you'd be able to bury your whole arm! Every step sends wobbles and jiggles through the massive bust, making them all the more mesmerizing, the impact rippling across supple, sensuous flesh. That rational part of your mind makes one final effort before giving up entirely once you realize just how tight your pants have become. So much of your blood flow has been redirected away from your brain that it takes you a few seconds to realize that the tits aren't just headed in your direction, but directly towards you!

A pair of arms wrap around you and those enormous, mind-melting tits squish against your body. Being assaulted by such warmth and softness nearly pushes you over the edge on the spot, narrowly avoiding making a mess in the middle of the baggage claim. Demora looks up at you, giggling, not-so-subtly moving her shoulders to make her new tits rub against you.

"They're a 38W, by the way. Well, they were when I left. Someone got a little impatient during the flight, didn't he?" She winks, rising up onto her tiptoes to press her lips against yours. "I wasn't sure it would work, to be honest. I mean, come on, a thing that makes your boobs bigger every time someone clicks it? No matter what they are? I may have more tits than brains, but I'm not so dumb I don't see how that ought to be impossible." She leans back, using her upper arms to squish her tits together, deepening her cleavage. "But it was cheap and I figured we could laugh about it if it didn't work. I could feel it right away, from the very first time you clicked it. Growing for you... Because of you..." Demora bits her lip, glancing left and right at the people surrounding the two of you. Suddenly, she grabs your collar and pulls you down for a passionate kiss, her tongue pushing into your mouth. She used to be wary of PDA, but you can feel the desperation in her kiss. When she pulls back, firey need burns behind her eyes. "You. Me. Bathroom. Now. I need your cock between these huge things more than I need air." And who are you to argue with your girlfriend, the newly minted busty goddess?

#breast growth #breast expansion #demora avarice #GO requests #remote growth #the eternal struggle between writing short caption and fucking novels

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katiebblynne · 4 months ago

Text

~Denial~

SDV Sebastian ANGST/FLUFF

a/n: was gonna write sebastian smut but this scenario for the farmer x seb confession angst took over my hands srry :') happy ending tho!

pairing: Sebastian x Fem!Reader wc: 3911

Confessing to Sebastian doesn’t go well, just as you expected. But expectations can always be changed.

Days spent in Sebastian’s room were always your favorite ones. Sometimes you’d watch movies. Sometimes you’d play games in the company of Sam and Abigail. The time here never lets you down. But, there are certain nights that you look forward to the most – the nights you and him spend alone, talking about everything and nothing, for hours.

Tonight was one of those nights. You found yourself in a familiar spot on Sebastian’s couch, him occupying the rug on the floor next to you. You two have been laughing for what feels like hours, trading stories of what you’ve heard around town and showing each other rib tickling videos on your phones. When you say something that gets that less-than-often heard belly laugh from him, your feelings fill up every ounce of your body and seep out of your pores. You often hint your infatuations to Sebastian, but they go dismissed or ignored. The reality of things – what you’ve concluded from his disregard of your obvious advances – is hard to swallow, but you force the pill of it down anyway: he doesn’t feel the same.

You lay on your side, head propped on your elbow as you two decide the time passer tonight consists of lighthearted questions and answers. You toss around inquiries about his job, he asks you about your farm. You ask him about music, he queries you about your cooking. This goes well into the night, and you feel absolutely enthralled by the seemingly endless conversation. The way he moves his hands when he talks, the clink of his rings together as his fingers help portray his words… melodic bliss.

“Okay… would you rather live in Pam’s trailer or Elliott’s shack?” You ask to carry the conversation.

“Elliott’s shack probably… this basement’s just as dank anyways.” he responds. You both chuckle.

He takes his unspoken turn in the banter. “If you had to date someone in town, who would it be?” His voice is casual and unexpecting. You look at him with a confused expression. He glances back at you, the same tone taking over him. “What?” He asks with a small laugh.

“Well, you, of course.” You answer plainly. After all this time of advancing on him, it rots your brain that he would ask you a question with such an obvious answer. He looks at you and tilts his head. “Wait, really? Not like… Alex or Elliott or something?” You stare – surely he is pulling your leg. He returns your gaze with an unmoving, genuinely curious look. “Why me?”

This evokes an actual laugh out of your throat. “I mean, it’s no secret I have a thing for you.” Your voice carries nonchalantly, assuming he would have known by now. Sebastian’s heart starts pounding in his chest. He sits up and stares. “Wait, huh? You like me?” Your eyes widen a bit. “...yeah? You didn’t know? I’ve been pretty obvious this whole time, like when we’re hanging out and stuff.”

Sebastian is sincerely in a state of shock. He truly had no idea, or at least he didn’t think he did. He only ever saw you two as friends. His voice comes out hesitantly and it makes your stomach clench. You knew where the conversation was going to go, and most likely how it was going to end. “I don’t get it… when did you like, hint at it?” he asks. You reply simply. “I mean, I’m constantly complimenting you and trying to be close to you when we hang with Sam and Abby… stuff like that.” You see a slight concern on Sebastian’s face, not being able to read it past that. You quickly divert the tension building from your words, bracing yourself for the inevitable. You say, a feigned attempt to ease him, when you’re really just helping shield your own heart, “It’s no biggie. I know you only see us as friends. It’s all good, man.”

“Why are you trying to convince me it’s no big deal when you just… confessed your feelings for me? Don’t you think we should like… talk it out a bit?” He asks, his face filled with an awkward discomfort. The sight makes your heart drop, but you mock a relaxed state of being. “What is there to talk about…?” Your voice betrays you slightly, your tone uneven and guarded. Sebastian fidgets with his rings as he probes your confession from the rug in front of you. He keeps a respectful distance between him and the couch – almost a physical representation of the space he’s giving you to speak about your feelings. God, he’s so good to you. Sometimes you wish he was crueler. He asks you softly, cautiously, “How long have you felt this way?”

You take a deep breath to ponder the question. “Probably like… six months?”

“SIX MONTHS?” he immediately returns, a shock on his eyebrows. “How the fuck have you liked me for sixth months and I just now find out?” You give him a small shrug, “I guess I’m wondering the same thing, Seb.”

Sebastian was at a loss for words. He felt an urge to ask more about it, unfortunately not considering how it might be making you feel right now. His brain wasn’t functioning that way at the moment – he just needed to understand this news… really make sense of your feelings so he could handle them. “Why me?”

You let out a pained chuckle, having to reminisce on the foundations of your unrequited affections. You glance around the room as you think. “I dunno. At first, it felt the same to be around you as it did with everyone else. But then one day– I don't even know if you remember this–” You look at him for a small moment, a soft smile settling on your face before your eyes find moral support on the posters on the wall instead, “we were all meeting at the saloon, and you had already ordered my favorite drink before I got there. I had texted you earlier that I was having a rough day on the farm… For some reason,” you move your hands in an unknowing gesture “you kinda stuck in my brain after that and never left.”

Sebastian gazes over you, still steadying his thoughts as he wraps his head around this. “All because I bought you a drink…?” You shake your head slightly and laugh. “Well… no. That was probably just the moment I realized I liked you. It was small, yeah, but it was like… a catalyst. I started noticing all these intricacies about you after that, ya know?” You roll on your back and stare up at Sebastian’s ceiling, your thoughts taking over and causing a tender smile to caress your cheeks. He watches you, his stomach in knots as you continue.

“Like… how you tap out piano melodies on your thighs when you’re anxious… how you brush your thumb against your lips when you’re working. Or how you always roll your neck after you yawn…” Your voice trails off of Sebastian’s walls and settles into his skin. He looks at you as you speak, soft as a feather, your vulnerability crawling up his spine like a chill. He watches you, speechless. You continue with a sentence that makes his chest physically hurt. “You occupy my mind like you pay rent to be there… and in a room full of people, there’s only you.” A gasp strains on Sebastian’s lips, his heart aching. Your words spill out more, as if they are overflowing out of your chest. You laugh, stifling an urge to cry.

“It’s pretty annoying actually, thinking about you all the time like this. I hardly get anything done anymore. It’s really unproductive to be so hopelessly in love.” The words come out before you can stop them, but you don’t care. Might as well at this point, right?

Sebastian sinks into himself, an overwhelming anguish claiming his face. “...In love?” He asks, his voice approaching your confession as someone would a wounded animal. You look at him, your lips pulling into a closed line and your eyes softening to reaffirm what you said.

Sebastian’s very essence felt heavy. He didn’t return the feelings, but for some reason his heart was gnawing at his skin to reach you in a way he’d never felt before. He couldn’t stand himself in the moment – you being so open and saying all these beautiful things and his brain not being able to reciprocate. You sigh and look back up at the ceiling, his silence confirming your fears. “Sorry for rambling. Maybe I’ll be able to move on after this, yeah?” You chuckle dryly, sadness wrapping its hands around your neck. Sebastian so desperately wanted to comfort you. He wanted to pull you in his arms and make you feel better, but how could he? When he was the driving factor behind your broken heart.

As much as you fight it, a tear finds its way down your temple. Sebastian’s entire body is replaced with guilt as he sees it. You wipe it and force a gentle laugh. “I think I… should probably go now. I hope we’re still cool after this.” You lift your body off his couch, not making eye contact. You gather your things and make your way to his door. “Wait… y/n, I’m… so sorry… I-” You cut him off as you pull his door open. Your eyes meet his, glazed with tears that are just waiting to take over. “Hey, really. No big deal. I’ll see you later, Seb.” And with that, you leave. Sebastian is left on the floor, frozen in ache and a whirlwind of emotions.

~*~

Sam’s phone lights up, interrupting the competitive glint in his hands as Abigail demolishes him in the game they’re playing. He answers “Sebastiannnnn, what’s up?”

Sebastian sits on his couch, his phone to his ear as he stares down to where he was just sitting before. “Dude.”

Sebastian’s tone sends a spike down Sam’s spine. He sits up a little straighter. Abigail notices, pausing the game. Sam puts him on speaker. “Abby’s here too – What’s goin on?” Abigail listens in, resting the controller on her lap.

Sebastian’s voice takes on a shape they’ve never heard before – it’s shaken, soft. “Are you guys free? I need to fuckin talk man.” Sam and Abigail send each other a wide eyed look, concern – and a curious itch – settling in their stomachs and across their faces. “We’re at my house. Door’s open.” Sam responds. Sebastian doesn’t hesitate to make his way there, his steps fueled by anxiety. As soon as he arrives, he slumps on Sam’s bed and just stares at the two sitting on the floor facing him. The look in his eyes simultaneously speaks volumes and says absolutely nothing at all. Abigail prompts him to speak with an enthusiastic ‘spit it out’ gesture.

Sebastian takes an uneven breath. “Y/n… just confessed to me, guys.”

Sam and Abigail immediately do a little cheer, high-fiving each other. Sebastian is taken aback, and his words come out small. “What?” Sam and Abigail take turns speaking, Abigail taking the lead. “We’re excited for you guys!” “Yeah, we’ve known you like each other for months now – this is great, man!” Sebastian’s anxious face creates room for puzzlement. “Wait… what? I don’t like y/n like that… Guys, I had to reject her tonight.”

A silence befalls Sam’s room. They both share the same expression of disbelief as they take in Sebastian’s words. Abigail bursts out laughing and Sam leans forward with his palm on his face. “Dude, you have got to be fuckin’ with us right now.” Abigail settles her laugh just a bit to add “Yeah, like, you’re joking right?” Sebastian looks bewildered at their reactions. He shakes his head slowly – of course he’s not kidding. Why would they think he has feelings for you?

Abigail and Sam both roll their eyes in different tones of exasperation – one true and one playful. Abigail looks at Sebastian, her voice deadpan. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Why would I be joking? We’re just friends, that’s how I’ve always felt. I don’t understand what gave y'all the impression I felt differently–” Sam cuts Sebastian off. “We’ve seen the way you stare at y/n when you think no one’s lookin’, my dude. You’re constantly talking about her to us, always textin’ her when she can’t hang out or making sure she’s having a good time when she can. Hell, she’s the only one out of us that can get a belly laugh outta you and she’s only known you a third of the time we have!” Abigail nods in agreement, both of their eyes piercing Sebastian’s. Sebastian retorts, a sprinkle of annoyance on his face. “So? That doesn’t mean I’m in love with ‘er.” Sebastian feels a cold wall encasing him, pushing away the strange mix of feelings coursing through his veins. Abigail leans forward, her elbows on her thighs. Her and Sam are steadfast in what they believe – no, what they know – unconvinced that he doesn’t feel the same. “Seb, you are genuinely crazy if you are in this much denial. I think you are in love with her and don’t even notice.” Sebastian stares at the two, frustrated at their adamant claim. His fingers burn with confliction. Sam ends the conversation with a simple sentence that rings in Sebastian’s ears in resolute. “You definitely need to go and reflect for a bit, man – before you miss your chance.”

~*~

Sebastian lies in his bed, staring at the ceiling that still clings onto your words from earlier. He tosses and turns, unable to get you out of his head. The image of you lying on his couch, your tear that has seeped into the cushion at this point… it replays in his head like a film. Guilt, confusion and… something else he can’t quite place makes their home in his chest, his stomach, his throat. He huffs, trying to expel the feelings for just a moment as he closes his eyes.

Suddenly, that film of you is replaced by vivid, dream-like memories of your smile, your giggle. The way you hum to yourself while you lay in his bed with him. The goofy faces you make when you’re sleepy. The way your fingers feel when they accidentally brush against his own. His eyes slowly open as the thoughts flood his mind. When his gaze fully settles against the ceiling once more, he feels it – uh oh. Sebastian clenches his bed sheets for stability when the realization hits him like a train, the impact crumbling down the cold wall around his heart in an instant. His heart starts to race, as he mutters to himself raggedly. “Do I… like y/n?” No, it’s… more than that. “Fuck! Do I love her?”

He doesn’t believe it. He is absolutely, desperately, in love with you.

Then, Sebastian thinks about tonight. He sits up straight in his bed, as if struck by lightning. He feels his heart drop to his stomach as he thinks to himself. ‘Idiot! I rejected her? I broke her heart! How stupid can I be?!’ He groans in agony as he flops back into his mattress. “How can I fix this… how could I be so dumb?”

You lie in your bed, chest sore from sobs. Your body feels almost numb from the exertion of emotions and rejection tonight. You saw it coming. You knew how he felt. But something in you clung to hope anyway. Hearts really just suck like that sometimes. You sigh and roll over, turning off your light and closing your eyes. You’re out in an instant, drained from the despondency.

~*~

Weeks go by. At first, you tried your absolute best to feign contentment around him, hoping that if you fake it long enough it’ll actually happen. But eventually, when you discovered the heartbreak had sublet your mind for the unforeseeable future, you let yourself distance. And boy, did Sebastian notice. Your eyes lost their spark. Your skin lost its glow. You stopped hanging out in the group as often, coming to the saloon as much. Alone time with him ceased altogether. When you’re around – which is rare now – Sebastian sneaks glances at you as much as he can – his heart just as shredded up as yours.

Abigail had convinced you to come out tonight. It was a Friday, and everyone was gathered at the saloon. Its liveliness was a stark contrast to you. You and the others gathered in the billiard room, sipping on drinks and shooting pool. There was an undeniable tension in the air, one that Sam and Abigail tried to cut through as best they could with jokes and small talk.

Sebastian had been looking for the right opportunity to talk with you forever now, but at this point it felt like he’s missed his chance. Guilt and love battled for more space in his brain everyday. He knew he was far gone when Sam started beating him at pool. Sam noticed it too. Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, Sam shot Sebastian strident looks, gesturing discreetly over to you – silently urging Sebastian to just talk to you about it already. His pleas are met with a simple, sad head shake from Sebastian. Sam rolls his eyes and continues getting through the awkward atmosphere.

After finishing your one drink of the night, which took a couple hours due to your lacking appetite for… well anything lately, you set your glass down and stand up. “I think I’m gonna head home for the night, I’ve got a lot of farm work in the morning.” Abigail and Sam didn’t dare try to stop you, their recent negotiations for you to stay out always being met with hesitancy or denials. They nod and hug you goodnight. You and Sebastian just wave, your eyes not meeting his. God, what a pathetic feeling that was. You leave the saloon, and Sebastian is met with angry stares from the other two. Abigail crosses her arms, and Sam points at the saloon exit. “Go. Talk. Now.”

“Guys… I can’t… I don’t know what to say–”

“NOW.” They both say in unison, their word firm and dominant. Sebastian sighs, reluctantly setting down his poolstick and making his way toward the exit to follow you. He anxiously catches up with you as you walk through the town square. “Hey, y/n, wait up!” He says as casually as he can muster, even though his heart is screaming. Your body tenses at the sound of his voice. You stop and turn to look at him, a measly smile forced on your face. “What’s up, Sebastian?” He comes up and puts his hands in his hoodie pocket, his last line of defense against his overwhelming emotions. “I uh… wanted to go on a walk before I head home tonight. Been stuck in the basement working a lot lately. Figured I could walk you back and take the long way from the farm?” You nod slowly in understanding, every ounce of your body buzzing with misery. Despite this, your words come out cordial and light. “Oh, yeah… no problem.”

The air that surrounds you two as you walk together is almost dense enough to make you sick to your stomach. Not a single word is exchanged the entire way to your house. You pray for a sudden heart attack, for a swift death would be better than this level of discomfort. Sebastian watches you as the trek continues, his pace slightly behind yours. With each step you two take, his feelings grab hold of him more. His legs burn with the ache. He gazes as the setting sun enraptures your hair, making it almost glow with vibrancy. His stomach is in knots. He watches your top flow in the evening wind, dancing on your hip. His arms are on fire. He takes in how you dainty fingers flex ever so often as you stride. His chest feels like it's going to explode. He sees your eyelashes flutter as your gaze hangs low onto the path. Pained ardor strangles his neck, cutting the air supply to his brain.

You reach your house. Sebastian looks at you as you head to the stairs up to your porch. He can feel it – the words fighting his tongue to get out. His essence rapidly surrenders to it. “Well, see ya later Sebastian.”

You place your hand on the knob of your front door – and that's it. That’s the moment the words blurt out of Sebastian's lips, catching you before you go in.

“I love you!”

The words hang in the air, surrounding you. They possess your joints, stopping you from opening your door. They turn you around to look at a broken, lovesick Sebastian at the bottom of your porch stairs. His hand is stretched out shakily to you, his foot on the first step of the stairs. He breathes rapidly, as if his bones themselves are trembling under his flesh. Your face is pained, shocked, addled. “W-what?”

Sebastian had meant to be more graceful in this moment, but his heart acted clumsily in yearning for you. He takes another step up, his hand seeking your warmth of which he missed so desperately. “I… I love you.” You gawk at him, your face so full of emotion it takes the opposite effect and becomes almost unreadable. Sebastian’s next words tumble out of his mouth as he approaches you… oh so softly, need floating at his fingertips.

“Your hair… when it glints in the sunlight. Your laugh, how… how it infects me. And how you smell after you use my shower… my shampoo. It’s my favorite smell in the world.”

Your eyes widen and your heart tightens. Tears fall down your cheeks, your hand drops from the doorknob and hangs limp at your side. Sebastian lets out a strained whimper, tormented by the sight of your tears once more. “Oh… y/n, don’t cry… please don’t cry. I never meant to hurt you like this. I’ve been such an idiot all this time, denying my feelings and pushing you away…” His foot rests on the final step up to you, his movements hesitant to go further. “I should’ve let myself feel this sooner… oh god… please–”

His words are cut short, silenced by your lips crashing on his. You pour all of your emotions into him, your kiss deep and pining. His being stutters, but almost involuntarily responds with equal passion. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in and kissing you like it’s his last moment on earth. Love and regret surround the both of you, bonding you together. The rest of the world is quiet, giving you both center stage.

You eventually break the kiss, hardly pulling away. Your tears paint Sebastian’s cheeks, his eyes locked on yours with an upward furrow on his brows. His lips remain slightly parted, stuck between wanting to say something and needing to claim yours once more. You speak, your voice cracking in overwhelm. “I am so in love with you, Sebastian. It will always be you.” You two share a smile, gasping in relief.

You kiss once again, catching up with all the lost time in this single, consummate moment.

#sdv #stardew valley #fanfic #ao3 #sebastian sdv #sebastian stardew valley #angst #fluff #romance #sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian angst

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bijoutarot · 1 year ago

Text

Singles Reading: What’s Next?

Pick An Image

Image 1

“YOU DESERVE LOVE: YOU ARE LOVEABLE!” (REVERSED)

Image 1 you have been blaming yourself about what happened in your last connection. There was deception, third party interactions, and secrets. You blame yourself for what took place and not seeing the signs. The red flags you ignored in the beginning ended up being the reasons why you ultimately left. This anger has been stagnating your healing. In order to fully move on and be happy you must first heal. It is okay to feel down but this is not your fault. This situation is haunting you. You have been through a lot but there are still more beautiful experiences out there. The next step is to open your heart. Your doubts have blocked potential suitors from taking you out or going on a nice date. You count them out before they even had a chance. It is time to view dating differently.

Image 2

“SOULMATE: YES, THIS IS YOUR SOULMATE” (REVERSED)

Recently you were involved in a fwb connection that did not go in the direction you wanted. In the beginning things were light and fun then feelings developed. This person started to get jealous when people began hitting on you whether it’s under your selfies online or a post. This person’s feelings is starting to grow more and more. They do not want to compete with others but they are unsure if they are ready to be tied down to one person yet. This is very selfish. Although no one else is on their radar they can’t help but to think “what if.” This person is all about options but they are worried you are thinking the same way. The next thing is you looking better than ever. Your skin is glowing, your style is evolving, you just have a different air about you that is causing people to gravitate towards you. This is your baddie era!

Image 3

“HONEYMOON: ENJOY THE BLISS OF HOLIDAY TIME TOGETHER” (REVERSED)

For quite some time, the holiday season have been difficult for you. This time around there is going to be a shift. You will have time with the people that you love in your life. The next thing is going to be abundance. Something new will be kicking off for you that will be a financial blessing. You will have stability. This is going to be a first time in a long time that you got to celebrate and have a great time. Before you were always working too hard and spreading yourself very thin. Now will be a time to let loose, be silly, and enjoy yourself. Someone that has passed on is watching over you. This is your time to shine!

Image 4

“Flirt: EXTEND YOUR LIGHTHEARTED ENERGY ONTO OTHERS!” (REVERSED)

Image 4 many of you have been very selective with who you love and open up to. You are a very private person that hardly lets anyone in. Your heart is heavily guarded which can be lonely sometimes. The next thing is an ex returning into your life. This person is at a distance but they are willing to travel to see you. They are excited to see you even if it is just for the holidays. They may use it as a reason to be in the same space as you. They are excited to catch up with you to see what is new in your life.

Which image resonates ?

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dadsbongos · 4 months ago

Note

Hi!!! Hope you’re doing well - I just want to take a moment to gush before I ask something, because I’ve really enjoyed your blog since finding it:

1: your writing is SO good I’ve reread your dunmesh fics several times now & just eat them up every reread. I’m stoked you also have funger content & can’t wait to eat those up

2: your blog’s aesthetic is just 🤌🤌 chefs kiss

3: your chilchuck’s wife fic - I’m convinced you are the chilchuck expert you characterized him so well (& the bit in the 3some fic when he choked the reader ? gulp)

OKAY on the with the actual question: I was wondering if you have any chil thoughts for the chilfuckers? Maybe some sfw / nsfw?

thank youuu :] i'm so glad to provide for the dungeon community with both meshi and funger <3 and also extra glad to make the chilchuck people proud, he's my fav lil man

i have so many chilthoughts bc i am a verified chilfucker i need that middle aged man

nsfw chilthoughts

MEAN mean man

Likes to make his partners huff and whine, especially if they start haughty or mouthy

Facefucking, especially, for the mouthy ones. Wants to shut you up and make you drool

Lately the thought of Chilchuck fist-fucking a bigger race has been making me sweat… like yeah lil man, get up in that thang… I need to write it. Maybe some dwarven wench who keeps mocking Chil, or an ogre that feels its appropriate to pick n lift him up while working

Schrodinger’s breeder kink - sometimes its all he’s thinking about and sometimes the thought is entirely uninteresting

Touched on it a BIT in my body swap fic but i think Chil has a really sensitive neck and likes being held there (maybe not choked, but grabbed and stroked for sure)

Has a secret goon for younger partners but doesn’t like admitting to it, the taboo of it makes him all hot especially since he knows most other races can’t tell. Like a VERY poorly kept secret that could ruin his distinguished reputation

i also have chilchuck fic ideas that i haven’t fleshed out, but thought it’d be a shame if they sat in my ‘puter unseen:

Idea 1: Reader is a young elf, only about 72, and against all odds began dating Chilchuck. On his 30th birthday, it's brought to attention that you’ll be in your 90s when he dies. Leading to a spiral wherein you’re just trying to live in blissful ignorance to your races’ lifespan difference, and Chilchuck assumes you’re mature enough to handle his death, move on, and remember him fondly… lol… anyway. When Chilchuck dies you study how to maintain your own mana without a dungeon and practice minor healing spells until you can do a full revival, which fails on Chil, so you have to turn to dark magic. Basically rewinding his life until he’s the same age as when you two met and he’s upset you brought him back because YOU could get in major trouble and that’s when you confess you didn’t tell anyone when he died bc you knew you’d bring him back -- and you’re a nutcase that keeps doing this every time he dies despite knowing he wants to die peacefully. Omg loving someone so much you need them at all costs even ruining their perception of you…

Idea 2: Chilchuck helping a 20-ish(+?) y/o half-foot negotiate a contract for themself and he thinks they’re soooooo cute so they get together, and he’s kinda nervous to bring them around cuz you’re crazy young compared to him. Not even a child to speak of GASP. The party doesn’t notice at ALL cuz they have no idea about anything about half-foot aging and customs -- but his daughters look at him sideways lmao

and this is literally not even a full fic idea but i have a note from my chilchuck master doc for you lol

im so normal about him

#chilchuck x reader #dunmeshi.🍈#bongos.answers.🥝

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loveinhawkins · 2 years ago

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Part 1

Steve had thought he already knew what delirium meant—remembers laughing hysterically in a Russian bunker with little say as to what bullshit came streaming out of his mouth.

But this is different. At least back then, the haze of the drugs made the pain temporarily float away, let him drift off into some form of blissful ignorance.

Now he feels it all. He’s hyperaware, can pinpoint each and every source of agony lancing through him; can even pick out the fact that the cut on his hand still throbs, the tar-like mud of The Upside Down stuck under his fingernails.

Sometime after he had fallen, the bats stopped coming. He doesn’t know why. Maybe they’ve had their fill. Maybe there’s nothing more of him left to take.

Sound comes to him as if filtered through a megaphone, loud and echoing. He hears a series of swears, yelling. Panting. The crash of a bicycle being thrown to the ground.

Eddie.

The words come pouring out, quicker even than the blood leaving him, a desperate chanting.

“Dustin, Dustin, Dustin—”

“He’s okay,” Eddie says. His face comes into view, pale and drawn, slick with sweat. No blood though, Steve thinks. No blood on him. That’s good. “He’s okay, you hear me? I didn’t leave him alone; the girls, they’ve—they’ve got him. Hey. Hey, Harrington, eyes on me. Dustin—he’s gonna be all right, man, I stopped the bleeding.”

“Good,” Steve gets out. I knew you could, I knew you could, you’re fucking incredible. “S’good. Hey, Eddie, he’s—think he’s gonna be really upset, ‘kay?”

“What do you—”

“But he has you,” Steve says. He hates the fact that his voice is slurring. If he can’t speak, how else is Eddie supposed to know that… “He has—you’ll help him, right? You can… play D&D, an’…”

Eddie’s laugh splits through the air. It sounds something like grief.

“Harrington, that’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve insists. There’s blood in his mouth, in his throat; he tries to swallow without choking, to talk around it. “It’s—you make him happy, Eddie. Don’t you know? You make him s-so damn happy.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie’s breathing has an odd, thick sound to it, and Steve realises with a distant wonder that he’s crying. Crying over him. What a strange thing…

A series of sharp claps cut through everything; Steve blinks, can’t remember his eyes closing to begin with.

Eddie’s face is suddenly very close. His lips are shaking.

“Wake up. Now you’re gonna fucking listen to me, Steve Harrington. We didn’t go through all of this fucking bullshit, just for it to end here, you understand? I said, do you understand?”

“Are you mad at me?” Steve breathes. A far-off part of him insists that this is such a silly thing to ask, but he can’t help it. Everything hurts, and he has a sudden, awful burst of clarity: that he doesn’t want to die thinking that Eddie hates him. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Eddie’s face crumples. “No, Steve,” he says haltingly, like he’s trying so hard to keep his voice from breaking. “I’m not mad at you. J-just. Scared.”

And then for a terrible moment, Eddie disappears. Steve tries to turn his head to search for him, but he can’t—

The sound of someone retching.

Oh, Steve thinks. Oh, it’s because of me.

“H-hey. Hey, Eddie, it’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t look.”

He hears Eddie spit harshly.

“Jesus Christ, stop talking, Harrington.”

And then Eddie is right there again, his hands just hovering, not touching.

“Steve,” he whispers, but Steve gets the feeling that he isn’t actually talking to him, not really. “God, I don’t—don’t know what to do.”

“You’re back,” Steve says, almost dream-like, and when Eddie laughs, this time it’s a pretty sound.

“Yeah, I’m back. Like a bad penny.”

“No,” Steve murmurs, feels like he’s floating somewhere—feels perhaps that he shouldn’t be, but he can’t help it. “You’re beautiful.” Eddie’s eyes soften, and that probably should be a nice sight, Steve thinks, except for the fact that, for some reason, Eddie also looks like his heart is breaking.

There’s something soft being wrapped tightly around his hand, and it stings, but that’s okay, because when Steve glances down, he can discern just enough to see that it’s Eddie’s bandana.

And it’s a nice thought, that he can still feel this. Can still feel something of Eddie’s trying to heal him.

“Right, big guy, up and at ‘em.” Eddie’s hand in his, the clack clack clack of the metal rings.

Oh, he’s shaking, Steve thinks.

Then he realises what Eddie’s planning to do.

“Eddie, m’sorry, can’t—can’t walk, jus’—”

“Shut up,” Eddie says again. “I’m gonna carry you.”

“But that’s—s’too much. M’too heavy.”

“No,” Eddie says simply. “C’mon, on three.”

But Eddie’s a liar and moves him on two. That’s all right, Steve thinks. He knows that kind of trick, knows that Eddie’s pulling out all the stops for him.

Doesn’t stop him from screaming, though.

“God,” Eddie whispers, and Steve already knows this isn’t for him to hear, but he can’t shut it out. “Fuck, I think I’m killing you.”

You couldn’t, Steve wants to say. Wants to tell Eddie not to worry. You couldn’t ever hurt me.

But he can’t stop screaming.

“S’too much,” he moans.

“No, come on,” Eddie says. He’s straining, still walking. Not giving up. “Hey, Steve, just a few more steps. We’re almost home.”

Oh, you liar, Steve thinks. Wants to smile. Wants to cry. You beautiful, beautiful liar.

“S’too much,” he says again, and he hopes Eddie gets what he means, this time. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says, and there’s a whine in there that hurts—like Eddie’s crying again. “Steve, don’t—hey, just keep talking to me. Don’t—please.”

Another step. Eddie tugs, pulls him closer and—

Steve gasps, feels a tear, right through the centre of him, through all of him, hears a dreadful scream—

And then nothing at all.

#goddamn i knew this would happen lol 3 parts then???#the universes in which steve is self-sacrificing are never ending #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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bi-writes · 2 years ago

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in silence | the mandalorian

it is in the silence of us that i know where we are.

type: one-shot word count: 10k (holy moly im sorry) pairing: the (dark?)mandalorian x afab!fem!reader warnings: mature language and content, mature (but soft) written sexual content (read at your own discretion), 🔞⚠️ summary: you are unable to spend another day without the mandalorian knowing how you truly feel. complete masterlist

It was quiet, for the first time in a long time. Quiet in the sense that there was no noise around you. There was no hum of a ship, no loud sounds of alarms or radio transmissions from far acquaintances or the press and click of buttons and levers and lights. No, at this moment, it was quiet. The only sound was the slight whirr of wind outside and the gentle sigh leaving you. It was peace, and it was quiet; so why didn’t you like it?

You looked down into your lap, smoothing your hands over your legs. It was too quiet for your taste, perhaps? No, that wasn’t it. Quiet was good; but it was this quiet that wasn’t good.

You had gotten very used to having a presence at your side. For a long while now, a towering, heavy wall was your shadow. They did not speak much; in fact, for the months you had spent sitting beside them, you thought perhaps you could count the amount of words they said to you on both hands. While that was a stretch, it didn’t ignore the fact that the words spoken between you were usually from you and you only.

The helmet was his way of communicating. A slight tilt to the side, a heavy nod, a firm stare. You had become accustomed to this way of speaking, and you even were able to read his silence. Sometimes if you asked a question, he said nothing at all. You recently realized that you knew if his answer was yes or no just by the feel of the air around him. He seemed to realize that, too, and he seemed content at the fact that he could speak to you without speaking at all. It was a quiet, comfortable companionship; a quiet that you adored. A quiet that, at this very moment, you missed very much.

A shared quiet. A quiet that I spend with him, and only him, staring into the stars and wondering where he’ll take me next.

Will we be here a few more days? A quiet linger, a gentle sigh. You understood, preparing yourself to settle down for a little longer. Did you find what you were looking for? Nothing said, but he flicked several switches on the console in front of him with ease, very sure of his movements, and you smiled as you sat beside him. He had indeed found what he had been searching for. Is it okay if I borrow this? No response, but his absence of a protest meant you could do as you pleased.

That quiet was bliss.

You stood up from the small bed you were occupying. You found refuge at a local inn, and he had given you your own room. You had given him wide, wet eyes at this realization. You were rarely apart from him, and when you were, you were left in the protection of his ship, one that had yet to fail you. When you had climbed the mud clay stairs to the lodgings, he made it obvious that your room was right beside his. It was a silent declaration of if you need me, I am beside you. He had even slipped a small device into your hand, one curved in a way that could fit snugly in your ear. Communication, even if you only had to walk a few feet to his door. You looked at the device now, sitting on the bedside table, and your heart ached a bit. He thought of every fear you might have, and he accommodated each one of them.

He would not be far away from you; his room was beside yours. You would not have to sleep without saying goodnight to him; he had left a way into his ear in your hand.

You slipped the blankets back from the bed, getting inside of it. It was a comfortable bed, but you still were not at ease. You wanted to see him. In the dark, sometimes you saw flashes of lights as the buttons and panels of his ship reflected off his armor. It always put you at ease. Now, you stared into complete darkness, with nothing but an ugly quietness that left you breathing shallowly. You reached for the device on the table, fitting it into your ear.

A small beep sounded in your ear, a sound to indicate the connection had been made. You closed your eyes, biting your lip hard.

“Are you still here?” You asked suddenly, very softly. If he was asleep, you hoped your soft voice would not startle him. It was silent for a few long moments, and you sat up as the panic already started to flood your insides.

“Yes.”

You sighed a deep breath of relief, laying back down. “Are you crazy?” You breathed. “Why didn’t you answer me sooner? Geez…”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head as you brought the blankets back up. You wished he had just gotten one room with two beds, you wished you had said something; but you supposed even Mandalorians needed their privacy. You supposed he might have wanted to take off his armor and breathe in fresh air, and guilt crept in you as you thought about how your intrusion of his space probably kept him from being at ease, completely at ease.

“Are you alright?”

His voice brought you out of your thoughts, and you swallowed hard.

“No,” you whispered. You wanted to be honest. You weren’t capable of lying to him. He would know if you were lying, anyways. “I hate it here.”

There was a slight pause. “Are…is the room not to your liking?” He asked. He sounded confused and unsure of himself. He thought he had found a place that seemed comfortable enough for you. He had left a few days prior to find somewhere he deemed appropriate.

“The room is fine,” you said softly. It wasn’t the room. You could sleep on the cold dirt floor just fine, without complaining. “I just…” You closed your eyes tight, squeezing your eyes shut. “I…I’m not used to being without you. I’m…I’m sorry.”

You winced at how pathetic that sounded. Not used to being without him? You had slept many nights without him. You weren’t sure how to voice what you were feeling inside.

“No, I’ve…” You laughed nervously. “I’ve been without you a lot, it’s just…” You took a deep breath, but you hated how shaky it was breathed out. “This place is new, and I’m…I-I—”

“It is safe here,” he interrupted you. You brought the blankets up more, over your face.

“Can…” You turned over onto your side, clutching the blankets to your chest. “Can you get us a room together next time?” You asked quietly. You hoped he would understand the heaviness in your tone. It was your unspoken plea to tell him that you needed him.

There was a long pass of silence, but it was one you were used to. He hummed lowly, but not in a bad way. He was acknowledging your worry, you anxiety, the discomfort you felt without him.

“I miss you,” you said suddenly, your voice clear and soft. “That’s all.”

He did not reply. You smiled to yourself at the comfortable silence. You had no way of knowing how heavy his heart felt, the ache inside of him. Being away from you, even though you were only separated by a thin wall, had him on edge. He enjoyed where your sleeping quarters were on his ship; he could see you always, and this line of sight comforted him to no end. With you apart, there was a voice in him that almost convinced him to take to the wall and break it down just to relax your worries.

“Places are not safe, Mandalorian,” you continued. “You…you are.”

Your eyelids drooped, your conscious slipping a bit as you relaxed into the bed. Knowing he was listening to you made you feel the warm, familiar togetherness that you normally felt with him.

“You make me feel safe,” you finished groggily. It was the last thing you said before drifting off. He said nothing on the other end, but he knew you were asleep when he heard the evenness of your breath. He did not take the device out of his ear. He refused to, in fact, and he had been wearing it all night to make sure he would be able to hear you if you needed him. He closed his own eyes so he could let your words melt into him. He wanted to remember these words forever.

He was never going to get separate rooms ever again. He would appease any request of yours. He did not think he was capable of refusing any wish of yours; not when you asked him in that honeyed voice of yours.

When it was morning, you awoke to the bright sunlight that came in through the window. It was right in your eyes, and you turned over to move away from it. You looked at one of the screens in the room, touching it to reveal the time. It was early in the morning, earlier than the time he had told you to be awake, but you felt rested enough. You didn’t want to be away from him any longer.

You got out of bed and rummaged through your bag for something to wear. You picked out an unfitted white dress, just long enough to skim the tops of your thighs. The sleeves were fitted until your elbows, and then they belled out until the end of your wrist. You grabbed a dark pair of pants to put on underneath and reached for the leather thigh holster you wore over it, and then you bent down to tie up your boots. You had many dresses, but your wardrobe quickly adapted to the lifestyle you now led. The countless times you needed a quick getaway, to bolt into a fast sprint, to face a new adversary, were endless, and simply wearing a dress quickly became unfit for life with a Mandalorian. He had given you the holster you now wore and suggested these pair of boots; you had cooed at him when he bought them for you, and you remembered being restless when he secured the holster on your thigh for the first time.

You always pretended you didn’t know how to secure the holster. You enjoyed the way he was careful to put it on you. You had seen him do this for you every day; if he knew you were lying every time you told him you needed his help to secure the leather, he never said so. Perhaps he wanted to do it for you; maybe he even liked it.

The dress was not fitted to your frame, so you reached into your bag for the leather corset there. You held the corset and the holster in hand before leaving the room, making the short way to his door. You raised your hand, knocking gently on the metal of the door.

“Are you awake?” You asked, shifting from boot to boot as you waited for him to answer you. The door suddenly slid open, making you jump a bit backwards. Before you could fall back enough, a leather glove shot out and held your waist to keep you still. You smiled sheepishly, laughing a bit as he brought you closer. “You’re awake,” you nodded to yourself. Your eyes trailed up gleaming beskar to his helmet, where you looked into the dark visor and smiled wider. You held up the leather items in your hand, tilting your head to the side. His hand had yet to move from your waist. “I was hoping…you could help me.”

It was your usual morning routine. You padded into his room, and his door shut behind you. You noticed, for the first time, that he had yet to put all of his armor on. A pauldron and his belt of shiny rifle rounds and small detonators lay on the bed, and you turned to face him once you did your once-over of his room. He just stared at you, and you moved the items to the side before taking a seat on his bed. He took a chair from the side of the room and placed it in front of you, taking a seat as he took a hold of the thigh holster. You scooted closer to him, lifting your leg for him. He took it into his hands, laying it over his lap as he wrapped the straps around your thigh.

You leaned back on the palms of your hands as he did this. You watched him carefully, your eyes gentle as he worked of the leather straps through its belt buckle, securing it. The Mandalorian was in a well-acquainted place. This procedure was as it always was, and his movements were methodical. He was easily able to find the notch of the belt that he usually put the prong through. The leather was worn there more than the other notches, and it was so familiar the way he secured the strap and pulled on it to make sure it would not come undone. He continued with the next strap.

The silence was warm again. The setting was different, but you were still spending your morning with the Mandalorian, getting dressed with him.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked. He did not respond, still focused on pulling on another secured strap. You reached over gently, putting your fingers on the chin of his helmet and using enough pressure to make him look at you. Perhaps he wasn’t looking at you, but the visor made it seem so. He gave a curt nod, and you hummed with a smile. “I’m glad.”

He finished securing the holster, smoothing a gloved hand down the length of your leg before letting it fall back from his lap. You wished he would’ve kept you there, but he reached over and picked up the corset from your lap, standing to help you put it on. You didn’t completely register the fact that the Mandalorian was touching you; his hands had slid down your leg, he had held you close to him as he had secured the leather to you. He was touching you, more than necessary, and if you had been thinking correctly, you would have realized the significance of it. You weren’t; you were distracted by watching his broad frame sit so close to you, care for you, help you.

You stood up, your eyes now level with the bottom of his helmet. You looked up, keeping this moment still. You stared into the visor for a long while, and then you finally turned your back to him, lifting your arms a bit so he could fit the leather around your middle. You helped move the corset into place. It was comfortable, just a structured piece of leather solely to act as a fashionable overlay. You had, however, sewn a fibrous piece of flexible armor on the inside of it to protect you. Many times, it had stopped an angry blade from sinking into your side.

You let out a soft breath as the Mandalorian put a finger between the first set of laces and tugged firmly, tightening it. You put your hands on the front of the leather to keep it in place as he started to tighten more laces at your back.

Neither of you ever spoke about this routine. It was intimate. In the early hours of morning, with few words spoken, you would get ready for the day together. Fastening armor, tying dresses, fixing holsters, slipping weapons into place; it was a scheduled dance that you both were very used to, and no matter what events had transpired in the hours before, in the sleep or anger of the night, you always got up in the morning and had something for him to fix onto your person. Sometimes, it was just the holster. Other times it was your dress, or you would pretend to struggle with securing your blaster in your belt. In truth, you needed an excuse for the Mandalorian to touch you. He was pure and professional and respectful, always. You had found a loophole in his never-faltering demeanor. It was gearing up, getting dressed, tripping over your feet in front of him. In those times, his touch was never hesitant, nor did it ever shake. His touch was faith and security, supportive and strong.

His touch is fire, and I am ice, and even though it burns, I want more.

You remembered a night long ago; you had gotten hurt because you let your guard down. An ugly bruise had been blooming on your jaw, and he had scolded you like a child, angry that he had to turn his back away from his quarry and get to you. He had trusted you to keep yourself safe, and now he was coming to your aid in the middle of securing an important bounty, a valuable one. You remembered sitting on your bed that night, with tears in your eyes. You had not been hurt by his words and your wounds did not ache; you were embarrassed and feeling miserable that you had let him down. But in the morning, when the suns came out again, he had reached over and secured your holster just as he always did. He had gone slower, soothing your leg with soft touches and squeezes, and when he finished, you felt those gloved knuckles skimming the bruise on your jaw so softly. It had been his silent apology, and the tension simply evaporated when you leaned forward, your cheek against his cuirass as you hugged him.

It was a touch that kept you awake at night. It was a touch that made your skin hot and your toes curl and your brain liquify until all your thoughts were only him and the leather hands he had on you. Even now, with his dexterous hands fixing your outfit, you knew your legs were weakening. The Mandalorian was pure death and smoke in one terrifying hunter, but you had never, ever been afraid. He only made you feel pure desire and unfaltering reassurance.

“This is my favorite part of the day,” you said into the quiet. The Mandalorian continued without pausing, and your breath hitched a bit as he pulled particularly rough on the next set of laces. “It’s…quiet, and…” You looked out the window at the sun rising higher, telling you it was getting later into the morning. “—and it’s just us.”

You let your hands fall to your sides when he had tied most of your corset. You bent down and picked up his pauldron off the bed. The beskar was shiny and incredibly heavy in your hands. It looked freshly polished, and you smiled at the thought of the Mandalorian seated on this bed, a careful hand rubbing a cloth between the crevices of his armor. He was simple, and he did not need much to keep himself together. His armor and his weapons; the Mandalorian needed little more to thrive.

He tied off the last of the laces at your back, his hands smoothing around to touch your waist. It was his way of telling you he had finished. You turned in his grasp, meeting his visor again. You tilted your head to the side a bit, training your eyes on the dark material there. You thought maybe if you stared long enough, squinted hard enough, you might be able to see his eyes, but there was nothing but your sweet face staring back in a distorted reflection. You knew you had his eyes though, since he was unmoving and quiet.

You reached up carefully, breaking eye contact as you lifted the pauldron to his shoulder. You fit it where you thought it might go, moving it around gently until it seemed to drop into place. You heard a satisfied clicking sound that told you that his armor was in its place, and then you smoothed your hand over the front of his chest plate. You stared up at him again for just a moment before reaching behind yourself and picking up his heavy belt of ammunition. His hands left yours to help you, putting the belt around his waist as you brought the strap over his helmet to sit across his front. As he fastened it around his waist, you fixed it to sit properly around his neck. You realized that the strap and his cape were tangled together now, and you laughed a bit sheepishly as you had to lean on him to fix it properly. There were many things the Mandalorian was, but unkempt armor and imperfect dressing was not one of them. You wondered now if perhaps you had gotten him dressed in the wrong order, but he had yet to correct you.

Some of the slots for his rifle rounds were empty, so you simply reached into his open pack on the bedside table and grabbed a handful of them. It was a blissful calm as you began to refill the vacant slots carefully.

“I like it when it’s just us,” you murmured. You fit another round into its place, laughing a bit. “I know it doesn’t make sense. We don’t really…talk,” you shrugged a bit. “But you…you know so much about me already. And…I…” You kept your hands busy, too nervous to meet where you thought his eyes might be. “I-I would like to think that I know a lot about you.”

You might not have known his name. You might not have known his favorite song or where he came from or what the soft words were that he whispered when he was asleep meant, but you hoped that your observations were enough that you knew him in ways that others did not. In danger, you would curl knowingly around his defensive side without being told. He could tilt his helmet just right at you, and you would know if he wanted you to stay or to go. If he used his hands a certain way, if he reached for an extra bite of rations, if he stepped fast or slow or sideways, these were all ways you had learned to observe him and gauge his mood and memorize his likes and dislikes. You had an unspoken, unwritten bond, one that no amount of distance or separation or time apart could break.

“You do,” The Mandalorian admitted. His voice was low and careful. “You know…you know more about me than anyone else.”

You finished refilling his belt with ammunition, and you looked up at him through your lashes, biting your lip gently.

“Is that right, Mandalorian?” You asked, keeping your hands on his chest. The metal was cold under your fingertips; your skin was too hot. He simply moved his helmet just enough to tell you yes, you know me unlike any other being in the galaxy.

You stood on your toes, one hand leaving his chest to cup the underside of his helmet, your lips close to where his ear might be. “You don’t let just anyone put on your beskar?”

He nearly choked on his breath at the tone of your voice. Low, sultry, cooing as it sang along the edge of want and desire. He slid his hands up your back, his fingers ghosting over the laces of your corset he had just tied nice and tight. He moved his head just slightly, angling his neck to get a better view of the knowing expression on your face. You were smug, as if you knew what you were doing to him. As if you knew your words were absolute fire and smoke, and you had just pierced his heart head-on with it. He shook his head slightly to answer you, and he leaned in even closer, the front of his helmet skimming the plush curve of your bottom lip.

“I don’t let just anyone take it off, either.”

Oh.

Your knees nearly buckled at the admission. You swallowed hard, your hand curling around the neck of his cape. You gripped him tightly to keep from collapsing, your mouth suddenly dry and completely devoid of a quick comeback. You stared at him, mouth agape as you registered his retort. He liked this reaction from you. He was never completely confident that he had an effect over you, but the way your body clung to his for support just by a few choice words told him there was a warmth in you that rivaled his own.

“Well,” you laughed breathily, in disbelief almost. You stepped even closer, your hips suddenly flush against his. “Was that…are you flirting with me?”

You broke out into the brightest smile, leaning back a bit to get a better look at him. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling steadily, staring down at you as piercing as ever. You adored him like this; you always wanted his attention on you and only you.

“The Mandalorian flirting…” You bit your lip. “I like it.”

He tilted his head to the side, and you giggled, getting up on your toes to press a kiss to where you hoped his mouth was under the helmet. You nuzzled your nose against the metal for a moment before moving back. You took a step or two back away from him, his hands forced to fall from your waist. Your hands never let go of his though, and you squeezed his palms gently before letting his hands finally fall to his side.

“I had no idea Mandalorians could flirt,” you said as you started to help him pack up his room. His rifle was leaned up against the wall by the bed, and he had other weapons and supplies strewn about. “Is that something you learn during your training?”

“No.”

You laughed at his response, shaking your head slightly.

“I suppose not,” you sighed happily. “I’m sure everything with Mandalorians is very serious. I bet you court each other with a strict protocol.” You made a little salute with two fingers to your forehead.

“I…am not too familiar with Mandalorian courting rituals,” he said lowly as he put the rifle around his shoulder. “I have never felt the need to abide by them.”

“And why is that?” You asked casually, stuffing some credits into a small pouch so he wouldn’t lose them.

“The rituals I’m acquainted with are subtle,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I did not think you would notice them. I have had to resort to other methods.”

Your paused your movements for a moment, frozen in your spot. You swallowed hard, shaking your head again and continuing to organize the bag in your hands.

“Ha, ha,” you said sarcastically. “You’re hilarious. I didn’t know Mandalorians told jokes either.”

“I would never lie to you,” he replied simply. You suddenly had a lump in your throat. Your mouth was dry, so dry it hurt. Your heart tightened in your chest, and you clutched the bag to your middle. You had your back to him, and although he moved quietly, you could feel him stepping closer to you. You trembled just a bit, feeling your hands shake.

You thought this had just been teasing. You thought he was just entertaining your flirty remarks, letting you giggle and laugh and joke because it was what you needed to feel comfortable. You thought Mandalorians were the greatest warriors in the galaxy, and there was no room in their Creed for courting or love or romance, at least not with someone like you.

You did not swear on any Creed. You did not wear any helmet. You were not bound to any covert or Tribe or people of any kind. You were technically not even a warrior. You knew only what the Mandalorian had shown you, and while you could hold your own at his side, you did not grow learning how to make a blade an extension of your hand or the intricacies of a blaster. You were you, and that was all you had to give, and you did not think that would be enough for a Mandalorian. A solider, a warrior, however you wanted to call them, they were master hunters and avid fighters and women like you did not belong with them. In fact, you really couldn’t picture anyone belonging to a Mandalorian except perhaps another warrior of equal standing. You pictured, at the Mandalorian’s side, a woman who perhaps could spar with him and win.

A woman who could understand him in ways that I might never be able to.

When you turned to face him, your eyes were wet with tears. You looked up at him with a quivering bottom lip, and the Mandalorian tilted his head to the side, examining the defeated expression on your face. You were in love with him, more than you had ever been with anyone else before. You had never seen his face, you had no idea the name he was given by his mother, but you were in love with him. Despite the past you knew he had, the Mandalorian was noble and honorable, at least with you and those you had encountered. Every day with him was an adventure. New planets, new people, new languages, incredible experiences, a new skill here and a beautiful view there. Your life was color and vibrance and noise and wonder, and you had never slept more peacefully than in your small cubby in his ship, layered with pillows and blankets that he had bought for you. The Mandalorian showed you, time and time again, that he was not the murderer he once might’ve been. He was care and protectiveness and safekeeping incarnate in impenetrable armor, and you were in love with him.

You had loved him since he first touched your face after you watched him kill his first adversary for you. One green, slimy hand had touched your waist, and that was all he needed to sink the blade from his boot right through the creature’s middle. His violence in response to your wellbeing should’ve terrified you, but it pulled you right in. He had touched your face in a silent question, to wonder if you were okay, and you had just nodded up at him, letting his leather glove sweep over your lip and rub the smudge of blood away from it.

The Mandalorian was not good. In fact, he had a past that followed him darkly, a grey cloud that flooded his mood with rain when you met someone he once knew.

The things Mando used to do…has he ever told you about the bounty we captured in the Outer Rim?

Mando, have you gone soft?

Mando always needed target practice, isn’t that right, Mando?

He took down an entire platoon with just that blade. What he would do with that rifle of his…

You admired the stories, but you could tell they did not soothe him or fill him with any sense of pride. The Mandalorian said nothing about those comments, only moved the conversation forward. He never wanted to be reminded about who he once was; that, or he did not want you to know who he once was. If you discovered the shell of a man he used to be, he feared you might still find him worthy. Worthy of what, he wasn’t quite sure, but he knew he was unworthy, nonetheless.

“I thought…” The Mandalorian paused. He did not want to say the wrong thing. “I know I am not…it is not easy to feel a certain way for me—”

“To love you?” You scoffed, letting a tear finally fall. “Just say it. It’s not easy to love you? Is that what you meant to say?”

Your voice was shrill and hurt. You put his bag down, your fingers fiddling with each other to keep yourself occupied. The Mandalorian just moved his helmet in just a way to agree with you. You shook your head at that, looking away from him as you sucked in a deep breath.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” you murmured. “Not easy to love you? You’re…you’re impossible!” Your voice came out as a curt yell, and you surprised yourself with the heavy anger there. “You’re impossible to love. It’s like…sometimes I feel like I’m talking to the wall…” You closed your eyes, your cheeks wet now as your tears fell and fell and refused to stop. “I feel like I’m talking to the wall, and you still manage to drive me insane.”

He stepped even closer, shielding you from the rising sun. His broad figure cast a dark shadow over you, and despite the heavy ache in your chest, his closeness was welcome.

“You’re—” You continued, and he let you. “You barely talk. You barely tell me anything about yourself. I don’t even know your name…” You nearly whined when his hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb wiping the wetness of your tears from your skin. “But I can’t help it—” You relaxed when he brought both hands up to cradle your face in his hands. You were at peace here, so tranquil in the silence of his company. “I have never…I have never felt this way before. And I feel it with a kriffing Mandalorian…”

“What do…what do you feel?”

You opened your eyes again, staring up into his visor. He sounded nervous. It was a tone of voice you were unfamiliar with. The Mandalorian was never nervous; and he certainly was never insecure nor unsure of himself.

“Are you kidding me?” You breathed, putting your hands over his on your face. “You know, for a Mandalorian, you suck at reading the room.”

He tilted his head to the other side, and you squeezed his hands under yours. You slid your hands down the back of his own, over his wrist. You traced the beskar of his vambraces, up and over his elbow and along his biceps. You slid your palms over the pauldrons on his shoulders and then brought your arms around his neck. You stepped even closer, close enough that your hands pushed on the back of his helmet and dipped his head down to yours.

You closed your eyes as the sweet, cool kiss of beskar touched your forehead. You knew the significance of such an embrace; you had asked a member of his covert once, when you and he sought refuge, if Mandalorians were capable of showing affection when they never showed each other their faces. They had mentioned the act of polishing armor, of securing it to each other’s bodies, of giving each other gifts of their signet, but the one that stuck the most in your mind had been the kiss of their helmets. You noted the fact that none of these were words of affection; like your Mandalorian, their rituals were silent in manner and deep in meaning.

You had no way of knowing how wonderful the shake that ran through the Mandalorian all the way through his toes felt. He was warm all over at your kiss, and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, the only sound that would come over the vocoder would be a groan, a sound of relief at the fact that his all-consuming love for you was in fact not unrequited.

You had learned a meaningful part of his culture and were using it to tell him everything he needed to know about how you felt. It was as if you could peer directly into his heart, as if you knew exactly how to communicate with him. You were so clear and pervasive, and at this, the Mandalorian knew you understood him in ways not even his Tribe was ever able to. This was a union that he would never find anywhere else, an invisible link he shared with you that no one else could ever imitate.

“I love you,” you whispered. Speaking love, this was your way of life. He listened, not daring to speak, to allow you to share your thoughts without interruption. “I…I can’t remember how long it’s been. I’ve loved you for so long, that I…I don’t even remember what it was like to not feel this way.” Your hands curled around the back of his neck again, feeling the rough fabric of his cape there. You had patched this cape many times yourself, sewing up the holes left by blasters and the singed hem from fire. “And I never want to forget this feeling. Ever.”

You stayed there for a few long moments with him. His arms were wound tight around your waist, holding you to him. Your own were wrapped around his neck, your forehead pressed to the helmet as you breathed warmly against the metal, your lips kissing it lightly as you breathed in the moment. He was quiet, and so were you, and it was in the silence of your embrace that you could feel the joy radiating off his armor like heat. The Mandalorian was happy, and you smiled the longer you held each other.

“We should get going,” you said finally, lifting your forehead off his helmet and letting out a content sigh. “Shouldn’t we?”

He was quick. He bent slightly at the knees, his hands falling from your waist to grab at you from under your knees. He lifted your legs to wrap them around his middle, and you gasped in surprised as, with incredible grace and strength, he planted you on the edge of the dresser. You looked down at him easily in this position, and he took his place between your legs, so close that your lips bumped against the forehead of his helmet as he got comfortable here.

You laughed a bit, your hands moving up to hold where his cheeks would be. You had never seen his face, but he was beautiful in ways you couldn’t describe. Physically, the broadness and firmness of his unyielding figure were enough to have you weak in the knees; but his sweltering physique was coupled with a tender heart and skillful hands, and it made the Mandalorian a physical amalgamation of every need and desire you had ever dreamed about.

The Mandalorian was far from perfection; but on the stars, he was perfection in your eyes, and you would change nothing about him. You would not even change the fact that you did not know what his kiss felt like or what color his eyes were. You welcomed the idea that the Mandalorian you knew was faultlessness and loveliness inside (at least to you), and no matter how many layers he was unable to shed for you, you were familiar with the most important part of him all, the part that rested underneath all of the heavy beskar and warm skin.

You knew him. That was all that mattered, and that was all that would ever matter to you.

“There are…” He did not know how to voice the ache in his chest. “There are things I can’t tell you, things that…I might never be able to—”

“Shhh,” you rested your cheek against his helmet, closing your eyes as you hugged him as close as possible. “I…I love you as you are. I…I will never ask for more than you can give me. You are enough. This is enough.”

If he never showed his face to you, you would still be content. If he never told you his name, you would still love him more than anything in the galaxy. If he never let you feel his skin or kiss his lips or understand what colors his eyes were when he voiced his own love, you would still be the luckiest woman that ever lived. There was no need to wonder. You never wondered, in fact. None of it mattered to you; the Mandalorian was enough just like this, staring up at you with firm hands holding the pieces of you together.

“You deserve more,” he said gently.

“I don’t want more,” you shook your head, breathing in the scent of him deeply. He smelled so good; he smelled like warm sand and a spring waterfall, just a hint of smoke and fire. It was more comforting than anything to fill your senses with him. “I want you.”

You said it as if it was the simplest answer; you said it easily, smoothly, with no hesitation or shake or fear. You said it as if it was the easiest announcement you ever gave; and truthfully, it was. You were certain no creature or being anywhere among the stars could ever make you feel this way again. You had discovered your person. Your person was a Mandalorian. This Mandalorian—adorned in sparkling silver beskar, smelling like blaster fire and pretty skies, with an arsenal around his waist and a heart of pliable steel.

Pliable. Not rigid, not unfeeling. Pliable. At least in my hands.

“Did you hear me, Mandalorian?” You asked, a bright smile widening over your face. You leaned back a bit to look at him better. “I want you.”

“Yes,” he swallowed hard. His voice was so low, barely audible over the modulator. “Yes, I heard you.”

You gave him soft eyes as you felt his hand slip low, over the outside of your leg. Your breath hitched as you felt his careful fingers slip over the edge of your thigh holster, undoing the first buckle. Your hands dragged around his neck, your palms pressing flat against his chest plate, letting the cool metal soothe the heat in them. He had spent some time fitting you into your armor, and now he was taking it off just as carefully, just as slowly, just as teasingly. He had to know now what his touch did to you.

He had to.

Once the holster was undone, it fell to the floor, and you both stared at each other wordlessly. You continued to say nothing as you reached around him to undo the ties on your boots and toe them off until they fell with a thud onto the floor. You kept your gaze fixed on his visor as you moved his hands higher up on your waist, hooking your fingers into the sides of your pants and tugging them down and off your legs, discarded haphazardly over your boots on the floor.

This was an invitation. It was a silent offer of you can have me and I am yours. You were perched up in his grasp, sitting pretty in his arms, and while the Mandalorian could not give you all of him, you could, and you would. His resolve was faltering at your request; it was selfish to give into you when he could not give you the same in return, but he could feel himself physically hurting the longer he tried to resist his intense cravings of you.

It was almost saddening to think that he did not know how much you didn’t care. You didn’t care about how much he was able to give you, or for how little time. You wanted him in whatever way he would allow, and you would savor that for the rest of your days. Love was unseeing, and it was not patient, but weakly, you hoped it would be forgiving.

“Din,” he murmured lowly, so quiet, you barely heard it. He could at least give you this; it was a sacred word, but he felt this would be enough for now. “My…name is Din.”

His name. The crackle between his words warned you enough. His name could only be spoken like this; in the quiet of your presence, with no one else around to hear it. He had let you have of piece of him, and you promised, silently, that you would hold it so tight and keep it safe. You would never say his name to another, not even in death.

Is that how far you will go for him?

Your head lulled back against the wall when you felt him for the first time. Filling you to the brim with a warmth and heaviness that you had always longed for, he was perfection in one man, you were convinced of that now. His voice gave in, uttering a broken groan of utter pleasure and relief that made your insides feel as if they were on fire. You were so mistaken before; you thought him flawed to the outside stars but perfection in your eyes, but you knew now that there was nothing the Mandalorian lacked. He was perfect, so perfect, and gods, he felt like he was going to break you in two with how good he was making you feel.

I would do anything for him; and yes, I think I’d even die.

You cradled his head to your chest as you pressed your hips flush against his, your eyes closing tight as he grasped at your waist. He was pawing at your back, his gloved hands clutching onto the fabric of your dress and corset as he tried to calm the feeling of unhinged pleasure that was rippling through him. It was no use; you were so tight and welcoming around him, and the feeling was forcing him to lose all sense of focus. The Mandalorian had never felt so helpless to one single thing; you were breaking his resolution without even trying. No, that was lie; the sudden, aching grind of your hips against his was agonizingly effective.

You didn’t remember how you made it from the dresser to his bed, but suddenly he was on his back and your hands were fixed on his chest plate, and you were pushing your hair back as you kept up the grueling pace he had already begun. His knees bent, supporting you from behind, and you bit your lip hard to keep yourself together. The firmness of his thighs were only heightened by the beskar secured around them, and the metal was digging into your back deliciously. Your teeth biting down into your lip muffled the sounds you might make, and he couldn’t have that. Sitting up to support you even more, he reached up with a gloved hand and used his thumb to open your mouth wide, a high-pitched gasp leaving you as soon as you could voice it.

I want to hear you, the action told you. I want to hear how you sound when I make you mine.

You looked into the depth of his visor, your hands sliding up onto his shoulders, finding the space between his neck and the pauldrons he still wore, squeezing the firm muscle there. You had slowed your movements to look at him, to get comfortable again in his arms, and you both were having a difficult time trying to breathe properly. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his helmet, whimpering as you sank down even further on him. He was nestled deep, and you were clenching hard. You thought it might be awkward to fuck the Mandalorian with his helmet still on; the thought of not being able to kiss him made your heart ache. Instead, it was an intimacy that comforted you to no end.

You could not know what he looked like, but you knew what he felt like. You would learn what every ridge of him felt like, what every curve of him touched inside of you, how hard he remained even with the relief of how tightly you squeezed him. There was not another woman or creature in the galaxy that would ever memorize this; you were determined not to allow that. The Mandalorian was yours now, and you would fuck him blind to make him understand this.

“Promise me this won’t be the last time,” you begged, tugging his chest to yours, kissing the metal of his helmet wherever your lips touched. “Promise me I can have you…please.”

Gods, he’s making it hard to breathe. I can’t think.

“Please, Din.”

You did not get a response. Instead, he gripped your hips tight and guided them back into a rhythm, a pace that started slow and gentle and climbed in stride as your own desire climbed in you. His touch was soft, but the tormenting feeling of him hitting you deep again and again and again was anything but gentle. The Mandalorian was skilled in not just combat, and you grew jealous wondering how a man such as him learned to be such a capable, intense lover.

“Din, promise me,” you whined. Now that you knew his name, you did not stop. It felt so good to say it, and he seemed to fuck you harder each time you said it. He liked the sound; your sweet, soft voice saying his name like a prayer. You were beginning to think your Creed was this, the panting cry of his name as you met each of his thrusts with just as much fervor, the—Din, Din, gah—please!—it was the mantra you wanted to say for the rest of your days. The Mandalorian had whittled you down to this; a half-naked woman who was beginning to forget every word in her vocabulary just at the feeling of her lover’s touch.

But he wasn’t doing much better than you. His jaw was slack beneath the helmet, his visor fixated on the beautiful bounce you carried as you met each grind of his hips. He memorized the way sweat clung to your skin, beading along your hairline and a little down your neck, and he refrained from the urge to smear it around you and make you sparkle with your own desire. The Mandalorian was fully clothed, gloves still fastened and armor clanking together and digging into your soft skin, but he felt utterly naked at this moment. It was daylight, and the love of his life was whimpering his name—his fucking name—and he had nowhere to go and felt no other sense of purpose except for getting you to that sense of haven and watching you let go. You were tighter than he imagined, taking him so deep he thought he might feel your throat, and the way your body enveloped him made him realize just how much you wanted him in the same way he wanted you.

You were bound. There was nowhere to go. No matter what the Mandalorian did for the rest of his life, this was where he would always end up. You could leave, he could leave, there could be lightyears between you, but somehow, he knew, he would end up here again. He could see it, as if he could see some distant future, visions of himself coming back to you. In some of those visions, he saw his own eyes, brown and blown wide and starving for your touch.

“Din, stars—” You choked out, bracing yourself against his chest. “Focus on me…” You laughed a bit, leaning down and nuzzling your face into the fabric of his neck. Even fully donned in armor, you knew his mind was somewhere else. You needed it to be on you. “I need…ahh…I need more.”

No, that wouldn’t do. The thought of you needing more from him was too much to bear. He took a hold of your throat, gently, but you seemed to enjoy the grasp, and with a startling burst of strength, the Mandalorian flipped the two of you, your back hitting the bed as he curled your leg around his waist. You stared up at him, lifting a hand and putting it to the curve of his helmet, stroking it gently with your thumb.

“Need you,” you whispered, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. You were drunk on the presence of him, feeling as if he had already taken you over the brink of bliss, and yet you were still needing to feel a release. He was driving you crazy, and you hadn’t even come yet. You had never seen his face, and yet there was no one in the galaxy that had ever made you feel quite this lustful; wet, dripping onto him like spring rain, staining the dark of his flight suit, a sinful, gushing reminder of what he was doing to you.

He kept his hand at your throat, soothing your pouty lips with a smooth leather finger. He gripped your face roughly, his forehead to yours as he continued the pace you had both set. Now, he was stuffing you full of him, his weight pressing into you and drilling you into the bed deliciously. You wanted more of him, all of him, heavy and broad all on top of you. He was holding your gaze and gripping you tight and fucking you with the control and determination of a true Mandalorian. He had promised you this, and Mandalorians were true to their word.

It would be against his Creed to do anything else besides make you his.

You let out gurgled moans, your eyes rolling back a bit in your head as he started to hit that warm, spongey place deep inside of you. He could feel how you responded, the way your stomach tensed, thighs trapping him against you, your nails digging into fabric around his neck. You were seeing stars, real stars, blinding your vision of him as you said his name again and again and again. He was so focused on you, starting to lose control of himself and fuck, how he wanted so badly to kiss you. He almost dropped the helmet and forced his mouth on yours, but both your hands rose up and gripped the sides of his helmet for support as you felt that cord ready to snap, ready to break, ready for him.

“Din—” You whined. “Din, I-I…I’m gonna—”

“Take it,” he spoke finally, and you moaned so loud at the heaviness of his tone, the desire in his voice. “Take it…take what you want—”

That was his promise to you. Whatever you needed, whatever you wanted, the Mandalorian would give it to you. If you wanted this moment to last the rest of your days, he would give it to you. All you had to do was take it.

All she has to do is ask, and I will do whatever she says. Whatever burns her, I will set on fire. Whatever hurts her, I will make nonexistent. Whatever wound of her cries, I will mend.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, trying to hold yourself together. It was impossible. You closed your eyes and clawed at the fabric around his neck, shifting your head close enough that you revealed the skin beneath it and kissed it, your lips wet and eager to touch any part of him. You bit down gently, sucking soft, bruising the skin there as he took you to another place entirely. Someplace bright and euphoric and never-ending, someplace where your entire body shook, your thighs closed, your moans never ceased. He was taking you to another planet maybe, at least in your head, and you soothed the bites you were leaving on his neck with wet licks and sweet kisses. He would be bruised when he looked in the mirror. Your insides turned at the thought that when he took off his helmet later, alone, he would be the only one to see your marks littered there.

Even as the searing pleasure faded a bit, you kept your legs tight around his waist. You let out quiet whimpers as he kept up his intense rhythm, your hips still trying desperately to meet his own. You wanted to feel him, needed to feel him, and you pulled away to look into the depth of his helmet, hoping he would see the pure want in your eyes.

“Yeah?” He asked lowly, squeezing the flesh of your throat. You licked your lips, nodding hurriedly. He lost his composure, a few sloppy thrusts before he choked out a low groan, right into your ear. You thought maybe you fell over the edge again as he filled you to the brim. You shut your eyes tight, a soft moan escaping as you reveled in the feeling of being so full and so elated. You felt your thighs become sticky as he pulled out just slightly, wetness pooling between you, and then you yelped with surprise as he pushed right back in, squeezing your throat possessively.

You giggled in a daze, lifting a hand and dragging your fingers down the side of his helmet. You both were panting hard, drinking in the fog of pleasure. You smiled up at him, leaning up and kissing the helmet wherever you could.

You hummed softly when he left you, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to relax. You heard the rustle of clothing, the heavy clank of beskar. You steadied your breathing as you heard him move around the room, and then you sighed deeply as you felt his hands on you, gentle as they wiped you down and got you dressed. You sat up slowly, finally opening your eyes, and you grinned up at him again, feeling warm all over as he fixed your corset again. His thumbs grazed over the swell of your cleavage, and you bit your lip at the feeling. The Mandalorian was touching you now, and he was not shy about it. It drove you wild inside to know he couldn’t help himself.

He picked up your thigh holster off the floor, taking a seat in the chair again. You stood up, on wobbly legs, and you took a seat in his lap this time, one arm going around his shoulders as he fastened the first buckle around you. You were being affectionate now, leaning your head against the side of his helmet as he continued carefully, silently, contently. He did not push you away or tense at your touch. He liked having you close.

“You know…” You said hoarsely, watching him buckle another strap, “I know…how to do this. I…just…I like when you do it. For me.”

He rested his hand on your thigh when he finished, turning his head to face you. You swallowed hard, nervous as he stared at you.

“I…want to do it for you,” he said lowly. You smiled at him, framed by sunshine and soft wind, and he had to tell himself to breathe as he looked over you.

You leaned forward, closing your eyes as you rested your forehead against his. He closed his own, savoring the kiss you so easily gave him, the love you had no problem expressing. You were so at ease like this, as if you were made solely for the purpose of giving the love you held so dearly. In truth, you had bottled up these feelings for so long. You feared crossing a line with him, doing something that went against his sacred religion or the vows he had made to wear the beskar he had become. Now that you had crossed the threshold, you feared not showing exactly what you felt. The Mandalorian made you feel new again, whole again. You would not go another day without showing him the very parts of you that ached to be seen.

Because he sees me. He does not look through me, he sees me. I have no idea what his eyes look like, but I know they are on me, and I know he’s looking at me, and I know he sees me.

In the silence of this room, on a planet you could not remember the name of, you made your own vows; a Mandalorian as your Creed, his name your prayer, and his touch the salvation that brought you home.

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