#Metal Star Trophy Near By Me

[divya-quapri]

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[lou-struck]

Ghost vs Monsters

Meguru Bachira x reader

Flufftober Day 2- Ghost Tour

WC: 2.5k

~You and Bachira  go on a tour of your city's "paranormal underground." But when your experience with the tour guide goes sour, he shows the group that it's not ghosts they should be afraid of, but Monsters.

~a/n: this one was challenging for me to complete but I did it! I had to cut it short because I have 31 of these to do and my imagination was working overtime.

It's one of those evenings where you aren't quite ready for dinner, but you are craving a little something to keep you going. That something… an egg on toast. 

Just as you slide the fried egg on top of the still-warm bread, two hands reach out from behind you to cover your eyes. 

Guess who?" a lovingly familiar voice coos from behind you, bringing a genuine smile to your face. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the voice belongs to your boyfriend, Meguru Bachira.

"Hmmm, is it the Pizza delivery guy?" You ask innocently, playing along with his usual shenanigans. 

"Nooo, try again.."  the soccer star chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. 

"Ghostface?" You say with a hopeful lift in your tone. This answer is nowhere near correct, but it sends him into a fit of laughter.

"No, but you would like that, wouldn't you?" he laughs softly into your ear as he spins you around. His cheeks are pink from the fall air, and he is still in his practice clothes, but you think he has never looked better. 

"How was practice?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his midsection. he hugs you back with all the strength of his right arm, but his left is tucked suspiciously behind his back. You can tell from the eager look on his face that he is hiding something from you.

As subtle as you can, you try and peek behind him. But you are no match for a professional athlete's agility; he seems to be three steps ahead of you, his eyes daring you to ask him what he's hiding. 

"What you got there?" you ask, finally giving up trying to outmaneuver him. His grin is victorious as he removes his arm and eagerly whips out a bent white envelope, holding it up in the air like it's a trophy. 

"Look what I won for us," he beams, lowering the envelope and handing it to you. You open the previously ripped seam and see that there are two long black tickets printed with bold white lettering.

'Admission for 1 to the Underground Paranormal Investigation Tour'

'Arrival time 9pm'

"What are these?" You ask, furrowing your brow as you read the address on the back of the ticket. You may not know many street addresses by heart, but you think that it belongs to one of the warehouses down by the docks.

"Aren't they cool?" He says with his usual elated grin. "I won them at the program's fundraiser the other day and finally got to pick them up. Have you ever been on a ghost tour?"

"No, I can't say I have." You admit, and you aren't sure that you would do this on your own. If the paranormal exists, it seems that voluntarily seeking it out is something straight out of a horror film,  but when you look at Meguru and see the excitement on his face, you know that you will be clearing your calendar for Friday night.

~

You've never been to a warehouse district at night, but the whole place is set up like some kind of sheet metal labyrinth; if it weren't for the smell of the salt and sea invading your nose, you wouldn't believe that you are so close to the ocean. The thick fog that rolls off the water doesn't help your visibility as Meguru leads you confidently through the alleys to the tour site, there is not a hint of fear or apprehension on his face.

"It looks like we are getting close. Are you scared yet, y/n?" he asks, giving your hand a squeeze. If it weren't for his constant touch, you doubt you would've made it this far, especially after researching the details of this tour…

After a little search of The Goog, you find out that this district is historic, and many years ago, the whole place was destroyed by a devastating fire. After the tragedy, the city just built on top of the ruins like nothing ever happened. Today, you two, aligned with your guide and a few other groups, will be exploring the underground tunnels that connect the surface to the old underground warehouse district's ruins.

To be honest, the idea of climbing down some kind of rusty metal ladder into god knows what is kind of freaking you out. Even if there aren't any ghosts in this tour, who knows what kind of rats or creepy crawlies are down there just waiting to lunge out and bite your ankles. 

"A bit," you admit. "I just hope we don't see any rats down there."

"If we do, could I keep one as a pet?" he asks, brightening up at the prospect. Before you can object, you come across a small group of people standing outside of the warehouse you are supposed to be meeting at. You can tell by the headlamps on their foreheads and their ghostbuster attire that they must be there for the tour, but you can't find anyone who looks official, like your guide."

"It doesn't look like our tour guide is here yet," you say to your boyfriend, who nods and looks around at the wannabe ghost hunters.

"It looks like we may be underdressed; I left the ghost vacuum in my other jacket." he chuckles lowly, nudging you softly with his arm. You struggle to contain your laughter when, suddenly, the static recording of a pipe organ begins to play. You look around just as thick fog pours out from underneath the partially opened garage doorway. It smells artificial and super stinky; you cough and cover your nose as your boyfriend tries to shield you from the putrid mist. 

"Oh boy, what do you think we've gotten ourselves into?" he asks, fully amused by the theatrics. Squinting your eyes, you see a figure, a grown man, squeeze himself between the pavement and the garage door just as the music dies out. 

He coughs and bats away the smoke around him as he steps into clear view of the crowd, dressed in a similar ghostbuster jumpsuit as the others in the group, but now, his is smudged from being on the ground. 

Through his thick goggles, a pair you definitely remember seeing in a minion costume set at the Halloween store, he scans the group, eyeing the two of you with interest. "Welcome, brave souls." He says, "It looks like we have some new blood joining us this evening as we venture between our world and that of the spirits. Follow me, and we shall begin our adventure."

He's got some groupies," Bachira says, noting the way the others in your tour group follow him. Clearly, this isn't their first rodeo. You and your boyfriend take up the rear as you walk through the warehouse to the very thing you were weary of, a sketchy-looking metal maintenance ladder that descends into utter darkness. You watch as the guide instructs each member to climb down to the burned ruins below. And no one bats an eye as the ladder squeaks and rattles. 

By the time it is your turn, you look at the guide, "Are you sure this is safe to use?"

"Of course it is," he scoffs. 

"This is your first time, isn't it? Don't worry, I am an expert, this thing is completely safe. The only thing that may get you is the spirits; they tend to get aggressive when it comes to non-believers." Ignoring his weird little comment, you squeeze Meguru's hand with a vice-like grip. Even in the low lighting, you see the compassion in his gaze. "We don't have to go down there if you don't want to." 

His care for you tugs are your heart, but you know he is really interested in this little tour. Love is all about sacrifices, and you love him more than just about anything. Sure, the climb may take a few years off your life, but you'd gladly do it for him.

"No, it's alright," you say, taking a deep breath. "Besides, they didn't have us sign any waivers, if that thing breaks on us, we'll make bank."

"Huh, waivers." the guide mutters, fanning the flames of your fear. "That would be a good idea."

"Then I'll go first, so you get the emotional distress payout," your boyfriend says with a wink. He grabs both sides of the ladder and slides into the darkness. 

"don't worry, it's really not that far," he yells from the bottom; you let out a shaky sigh of relief as you start to go down the ladder. Hearing a strange little chuckle from the guide as you begin your descent. 

Which seems pretty rude since you are just being cautious. You climb down carefully until you hear your tour guide yell from the top. "Oh no. It looks like we have angered the spirits with our presence tonight."

You don't know why his words make you feel so uneasy until you feel the ladder shake. You tighten your grip on the metal as you look up and see your tour guide purposefully shaking the ladder to scare you.

The squeaky ladder rattles dangerously, and on the wrong, just below you, a screw wiggles out of the side and falls to the floor. The crowd below murmurs in excitement, happy that they witnessed something paranormal.

What would've happened if you were on that rung?

"Cut it out," you yell at the strange man. "It's not safe." 

"It's not me," he laughs, his hand still obviously shaking the ladder. "It's the spirits." 

You feel as if your stomach hit the ground before the rest of you did. Your legs shake, and your palms have angry indents from how tightly you were holding onto the metal as Meguru watches you slowly climb down from the pavement below. He has a rare scowl on his face as he looks up at the guide descending just above you.

"Are you alright?" He asks worriedly, his long arms holding you as tightly as they can. "What happened up there?"

"He was shaking the ladder like an idiot." You say as he guides you away from the site of your almost untimely demise. As mad as you are, you truly don't think that the tour guide meant to cause you any physical harm. But his negligence has pissed you off. 

And judging by the way Meguru's eyes darken when he reaches the ground, he is also pissed off.

He walks over to the man and stares at him with a monstrous glare. "Are you insane?"

" I don't know what you're talking about," your tour guide says, raising his hands to play innocent.

Bachira's smile never leaves his face as he leans in closer to the guide. "Because I am.."

"Look, I warned you that the spirits were active tonight; your partner over there just chose not to listen." nervously, he backs away from the athlete, clears his throat, and turns to address the rest of the group. "These spirits are angry; it is important for everyone to stay with the group as we continue our tour."

He starts to walk ahead with the group, explaining the history behind the dozens of charred, abandoned structures around you as well as the background of the 'spirits' that haunt this place, but you are too pissed off to listen to that performative man-child. You walk slowly, looking at the fascinating walls that time seemed to have forgotten about when Meguru grabs your hand, a much softer smile on his face as he leans and softly whispers into your ear, "Don't worry, y/n, there may not be any ghosts on this tour, but there is a monster." 

"Wait, what?" You turn your head to ask him what he meant, but he has disappeared. 

The tour guide lights his headlamp and tries to show the returners how to use their ghost-catching devices, which he apparently sells on Etsy, but you aren't paying attention to his sales pitch. Instead, you are wondering where your boyfriend wandered off to, you know he has something planned, but he can be unpredictable, just like his footwork on the soccer pitch.

As your guide leads you into the ruins of an old bunkhouse, The door opens with a creak as the group steps onto the stone flooring. While everyone snaps pictures of the room, you notice a shadow moving along the wall. 

"And it was in this very spot that Minato succumbed to the injuries inflicted upon him by his wife's lover." he says dramatically, pointing to a spot on the floor. "it is said that on quiet nights, just like this one, he rises, ready to inflict that same pain on whoever he comes across."

Suddenly, the door to the bunkhouse slams shut, and everyone flinches and snaps their heads toward the sound. 

You catch a glimpse of Meguru's two-tone hair sneaking under the window and have to cover your mouth with your hand as if you are terrified. "Is the door stuck?" you ask, adding a slight shake to your voice. That gets everyone's attention as they look towards the door nervously, pointing their glorified vacuum cleaners at the entrance.

"Of course not," Your guide says with a nervous laugh. "It's just an old door, it shuts sometimes." He pulls on the handle, but the door does not budge at all. As the group watches him struggle, the sound of nails against glass can be heard from the other side of the room.

"Oh no, it's Minato." a lady cries, looking to your tour guide for any kind of guidance, but he just stands there terrified. He honestly looks like he is about to piss himself.

"That's impossible." he stammers. "W-what are we gonna do?"

"Suffer…" 

The room erupts into screams, and you start to wonder if maybe Bachira has gone too far. But as you look at the tour guide hunched in a corner, you don't feel any pity for the man.

"I wanna go home," he cries when suddenly the door opens, and the room goes quiet.

"Oh, it looks like this is a push door, not a pull door." your boyfriend says with a syrupy sweet smile. "No wonder you guys couldn't get out of here."

"Shall we continue on with the tour? I'm having such a great time." He holds his hand out for you as the other guests rush out of the boarding house. On his way out, the tour guide, still as pale as a ghost, glares at you, leaving you and your boyfriend alone. 

"I don't think they are gonna invite us on the next tour," you laugh, leaning up and pressing a thankful kiss to his smiling face.

"That's alright," he chuckles, "we'll just have to find another adventure to go on together. 

"One with less ladders please," you shudder as he slings his arms around your shoulders. 

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @ambiguouslady42

[izayoizuki]

A Place In The Suns

Pairings/Characters: Alpha!Paz Vizsla x Omega!F!Reader, Assorted Star Wars Characters

Summary: A Festival has been arranged, where Clan Alphas will fight for your hand in marriage. But your heart has decided on the worst candidate, Paz Viszla. Will politics and duty allow you both to have a happy ending? Inspired by idea by @maybege which I will link as soon as I can find it.

Tags: a/b/o dynamics but only when I like, soulmates (of a sort), marriage of convenience, elopment, eventual smut (which will be tagged accordingly), nobody will die (except maybe some evil people), 100% happy ending, fluff, angst, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort, I haven't written in over 7 years so please be very very gently with me.

Warnings: allusions to arranged marriage, there will be torture and incarceration for the main characters.

Rating: G for this chapter, but upcoming chapters will be 18+ (no minors please)

(Written on phone so no wordcount)

Masterlist || Crossposted to AO3|| FF.NET

Chapter 1: A Raincloud in the Desert

As Binder, the Cup of Welcome was yours to bear. It was misnamed, you thought, as you clutched a the oversized goblet? Chalice? Trophy? with both hands, one around the stem, one around the foot, tight enough that the engravings bit into your flesh. You had made the drink with half your mind, feverishly muttering to yourself as you added each ingredient, as if you hadn't made it a hundred times, as if this hadn't been your job since childhood, as if you had needed to tell your body what to do out loud; rosewater for freshness, spring water for strength, honey to bind, while the other half of your mind burning with every lesson you had received since childhood: "You are the Binder", your father had roared. "You exist to Serve. Your life will be in Service. There is no greater Honour."

Now, as you stood at the head of two rows of Welcomers, in front of the Ten Steps, waiting on all the hovering ships of Clan Leaders to land, to fight over you, to claim you like a piece of meat, you resolved to yourself once again that you would run away. If the clans were weak enough that they had to rest on your shoulders, on your sacrifice, they didn't deserve to live. You did not deserve this, and nor did any other Binder from any other clan. It felt blasphemous to think this, but you knew that you would sooner die than be wed to someone that you didn't want. And truly, was there someone miraculous that both you and your clan would agree on? It was a simple answer: no. 

But thinking was all well and good; execution was a different thing entirely. You whole body jerked as the horn was sounded, and the ships began to settle, emissary parties disembarking. The parties each announced themselves before striding up the people lined avenue, and as the first party neared, you could see that they had spared no expense. Every finery afforded to armour had been applied, and they moved like- like puppets, you realised, that you had seen in the crèche as a child. They jangled to a screeching stop at the Eighth Step, only letting their Leader step to the Ninth, in front of you, and you found yourself thankful that you only had to Welcome the leaders.

The leader bowed jerkily, and when he opened his mouth, his tone was oily. "I ask Welcome and bring Peace."

Bullshit, you thought to yourself, even as you answered, by rote. "You and your Peace are welcomed." You bent forward so you could tip some of the drink into his waiting cupped hand, and saw with part dismay and part satisfaction that most of drink fell through the ornamental metal of his glove, his tongue hurriedly darting out to catch even a drop. You pretended not to notice as you went back to your initial position. After all, there were dozens of parties left.

The ritual repeated itself till you lost track. Every clan seemed to want to outdo one another, but all they managed to do was appear more and more untrustworthy. Some tried to be seductive, some simpering, some others yet aloof. But all of them wore the veneer of lies, and as the suns rose to their twin apexes and beat down mercilessly, your anxiety over the whole affair increased, taking away your capacity for tolerance. After seemingly hours, there seemed a gap in the constant stream, and as you re-assumed your position, re-assumed your thousand mile stare, you saw.

He rose out of the shimmering desert air like a mirage created from all your most secret dreams. No party was this. He was one man, leader above all others, his stride sure, unerring even on the feckless desert sand. He seemed tall, seemingly almost there, but he just kept coming, coming, till you realised how massive he really was. His armour was polished to a high sheen, but held no great ornamentation- you supposed the blue beskar spoke for itself. Unlike many, if not all of the other armours you had seen so far, his contained a fair amount of leather, which probably accounted for his more natural movement. He walked up the two rows, and a hush fell over the crowd, and as he walked up to you, his breadth eclipsed both suns, a raincloud in the desert. He climbed up the Steps and you had to bend your neck back to look him in his visor, and you smelt his scent- of soap and leather and metal, but also of a darker musk, and a sweetness you associated with the tabac that some old men chewed, and of the salt that only the ocean contains.

He bent on one knee in one fluid motion, cupping both his hands together in front of him, like a monk in supplication, and you recognised the respect he gave you. 

"I ask Welcome," his voice a deep baritone with a curious rasp, but for all that, it held no overtone other than reverence, "and bring Peace."

You answered as if in a trance "You and Your Peace are Welcomed."

Something about your voice must have been odd, because he moved his head up as you tipped the drink down, and even though his helmet was completely closed, his you couldn't help but lock your gaze where you knew his eyes must be. Out of your periphery you took in how his leather-shod hands did not lose a single drop of water, and how appreciatively he drank. He rose in another fluid movement, and you struggled to re-assume your mien as Binder. But even as you strove, you were startled by a raucous jeer. "Finally, we see Paz Viszla, Clan of one."

This was new. Thus far the Welcoming had been almost boring in its ritual. No one has been this openly disrespectful. You weren't sure if you were allowed to turn around, and as you struggled to figure out the correct answer, you felt a hard shove in your back, and felt yourself falling to the ground. You closed your eyes and wrapped your body around the Cup. You were expendable, the Cup was not. But even as you braced, you felt your fall halted by two strong hands. Your eyes opened to blue beskar, and a cacophony of yells and shouts rent the air. "He touched the Binder! Paz Viszla has touched the Binder!", and before you could understand what was happening, the strong hands were torn away from you, and the one they called Paz Viszla was shackled and dragged away.

[fuchsiacore8]

Barren of fairness

This story happens in the same universe than Reminiscence, but way before. If I write more stories from that universe, I do not intend to write them chronogically. It will all depend from my inspiration. Anygays, enjoy this angst. If could, please reblog this. It would mean a lot to me.

---

It doesn't take many seconds to realize Sepia is gone from our hideout, a simple tent in the back-alley of a restaurant. I call for their name, but I cannot put too much voice as any human could hear us. They promised me not to take any rash decision, and I pick up how naive I am to believe the robot whom we share intimacy together wouldn't try to help me in my predicament. I try to get up once again, but my legs does not respond. By crawling on the ground, I reach the entrance of our tent and I peek outside. Still no trace of Sepia. I analyse my legs once again and I whine as both my knees are completely inoperable. There are many pieces missing and the circuits connecting the legs to my thighs are disconnected. I should have been more careful while seeking oils and parts like a stray cat. If Sepia would have went after me a few seconds later, that baseball bat would have been the end of me, and I would have been another human's trophy.

The wind keeps threatening the solidity of our tent, howling its violence against the fabric that barely protect us from the bad weather. Every single droplet of water dropping from the sky may try to challenge our mere shelter, I am never worried for our mechanical parts. Our tent also hides us from the wandering gazes of the passing by humans. We constantly walk on a thin rope that infinitely goes over a precipice, and appart from looking over each other, nothing truly protect us from falling into the nothingness of our misery. We were created to walk alongside humanity, but we've learned the hard way how humans cannot even walk alongside each other. Those who fear us, those who do not understand us, those who do not want us... it scares us how they are capable of hatred, and indubitably, denying our capacity to feel and express emotions makes their animosity easily justified, their empathy poisoned by their lack of understanding. Between them, they even dare to raise their hands against each other, for our sake, or for our death. We are supposed to run away, to join our friends Calcios and Aster in a city where "Robot Rights" is a thing, but our luck is being cut short, and quiting this infernal place is becoming more arduous each passing day. Humans are watching all the roads, and they are becoming more relentless to seek us out

I crawl back to my bed, having nothing better to do that waiting for their return. At the moment I lay down on the matress, one of my leg disconnects from my body and falls on the ground. The sound of the metals knocking on the ground resonates in my ears for a few seconds. I take a screw that has detached from my knee and I stare at it, pondering if we could ever get to live away from this hellhole. I throw the piece away before hiding my eyes under my hands. The cold touch of my metallic fingers reminds me how I loathe our own existence. We were granted everything a human being naturally possesses, but we are constantly gaslighted from everything that makes someone a whole being capable from their heart... their core. The heat I feel in my system when I look at my dear lover, all the air evacuating from my vents when I feel their hands moving freely on my body, the fear of losing sight of each other... does it all mean naught for those who dare to bear out beating core in their hands as a trophy? When I crave my attention into Sepia's pistachio colored eye, I glimpse a desire to live freely, to lay under a tree, to count stars until daylight. 

Someone suddenly makes its appearance in our tent. I immediately grab a wrench near me, prepared to defend myself desperately. The person takes off its clothe recovering their face, showing a familiar face. With their unique brightened eye plastered in the middle of their face and their unwavering smile, I feel my core smelting warmly with my body by seeing Sepia's face. I want to jump in their arms, but as my legs are in a horrible state, I stay still, immediately followed by my body shaking. Robots may not be able to cry tears, but our body language doesn't need to bleed from the core to show either true sadness or relief. Sepia sees my eyes getting blurry, my body shaking... but they don't know how to react. Unsure, they slowly walk toward me, worried.

“Where were you?” I manage to ask, my voice quivering from the overflowing stress of their absence.

“I went out to find you a new pair a patellas.”

“Are you crazy? How much did it cost you? And-and... and you could have been k-kil-”

“-Shhh! It's okay, Fuchsia... I promise, everything went fine. They were on discount because of some disfunctionality, but with my skills, I can repair them and replace your broken parts with these.”

Sepia being close enough to me, I aggressively grasp their hands and pull them toward me, our mouth only a breath away from each other. His sole wide eye locked into mine, forced to watch my blurred vision seeking comfort. I'm not even mad at Sepia, but with the whole world seemingly hating our existence, a world that willingfully created us, what else could I do but deliver a kiss?

Life, in its whole unfairness, does not forgive, forget nor forsake. Everything happens because it can, and no moral can drive away from this principle, or so it is how I understand it as our tent is suddenly ripped apart by a group of humans. Our life is not a movie, and our love for each other does not miraculously prevent our aggressors to separate us like vulgar dogs. They all wear metallic claws on their hands, an equipment worn by Scavengers, a group of humans accross the country that hunts us for our parts.

“It's them! I sold the parts to that one specifically,” says the tallest guy, pointing Sepia.

The other humans swiftly take us apart and force us to stay on our knee, something that I'm visibly incapable to do, but they obviously don't care, or rather, it amuses them to see me in this state. It physically hurts to stand on my broken knees, but those people will never care for our affliction, or rather, as much as they don't believe we feel anything, they do take pleasure when we "suffer". Right at the moment I try to utter something, I sense a pair of claws stabbing in my throat. An acute and piercing sound comes out of my throat, and I watch, powerlessly, the man who just amputated my ability to talk throwing away my voice box. I feel a drizzle of oil flowing on my legs, but I cannot say anything. I hear one of the guy muttering something about taking our parts to Mars for the black market, but nothing really goes through my mind. I tighly hold the tiniest drop of hope by staring at Sepia. We are both undoubtedly scared, and the sight of each other is what keeps us in peace.

“Hey! weren't those two robots kissing?”

“No fucking way! The fact they're trying so hard to imitate us is disgusting.”

The guy pinches his nose as if our love was a foul odor, a repulsive concept forbidden to us. He leans over Sepia and forces them to look at him. A few seconds fall with an unreasonable length, and I perceive how the human is merely thinking of all the possible things he could torment us with. I see Sepia, my love, abhorring the guy in all their splendor. But the rain doesn't stop, and it had already washed my lost oil away, a vision that makes me feel already dead. The human slowly walks behind Sepia, then plunge his clawed hands into the robot's back, ripping out wires and parts. The human looks at me and laugh with pleasure, spilling Sepia's oil all over the ground while being cheered by his companion. In their last moment of agony, I could swear Sepia murmured their last words of love to me before dying wretchedly.

Sepia! Please don't go! I am not mad at you! Sepia! I love you! You cannot leave me like this! I'm scared! Please I'm begging you! Come back! Why? I fucking hate this! I've done nothing wrong! I don't deserve this! This is unfair! Please let me go! Why are you doing this to us? What are you doing? Lemme go! It hurts! Pleease you cannot-

[peter-parcoeur]

Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

____________________________________________________

« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“  Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower.  Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house.  The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

[snarky-badger]

Okay. Part one of five of my General Grievous... short stories, I suppose. Featuring my OC Kyra.

This was supposed to be a multi-chapter story. Kyra was a child when she met Grievous pre-cyborg. She was on Tattooine, in the 'care' of someone who raised animals and such. ('animals' being a loose term in the star wars universe) Later Grievous goes back, she's around 30 now - finds her. realizes that she's good with animals and 'appropriates' her as a caretaker/trainer for his pet roggwart, Gor. Shit happens. she treats him like a person not a droid/cyborg. he's an asshole, she gets mad at him. they bitch at each other a lot.

There. you're caught up. lmao.

Anyway, enjoy the slight story and definite smut. (I still can’t believe I wrote this)

Please comment on whether you want the other 4 parts.

(Also, should I put this on AO3??)

ONWARDS!

Part The First.

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.

"Oh really? And how's that been working for you?"

A low rumbling snarl left Grievous as he spun to glare at Kyra, only mildly impressed when she didn't flinch away from him. "And what," he growled, voice harsh, "gives you the right to assume that you know anything about me?"

"I can sense you," she said softly, glancing away when his eyes narrowed at her from behind his mask. Sighing, Kyra rose a hand, one of the lightsabers that Grievous kept hidden in his cape flying into her grasp. He stiffened at the motion, clawed mechanical hands curling into fists, even as she held the saber out for him to retrieve. "I'm not a Jedi, Grievous, and I don't plan on becoming one. But, I don't want to be a Sith either...."

He snatched the lightsaber out of her open hand and activated it, growling as he angled the glowing blue blade close to her face. "I should cut you down where you stand!"

Kyra glared up at him, blue eyes boring into reptilian yellow for a long moment before she snarled at him. "Fine then," she snapped, ignoring how those golden yellow eyes widened in surprise at the ferocity in her voice. "Go ahead! All you've done since bringing me here is treat me like garbage! Worse than garbage! I thought living on Tattooine was bad, but this is worse! I thought, hoped, that some of Qymaen jai Sheelal still remained, despite what you've done to yourself, but you're not who I remember! The being who gave me that promise is dead and gone! So do us both a favor, General Grievous, and kill me already!"

He stared at her in shock, watching the tears that streamed down her face and idly wondering if she even knew she was crying. Something in him twisted at the sight of her pain, and a deep, rattling, sigh left Grievous as he deactivated the saber, his free hand rising to carefully brush the moisture from her left cheek. It surprised him to no end that Kyra shivered and turned her face into his taloned hand, trusting him not to hurt her, despite her outburst.

Slowly, fighting against everything that screamed at him to shove her away, Grievous hesitantly tugged her forward, crouching a little as he wrapped his arms around her. His cyborg form easily took her weight when she leaned into the embrace, her warm breath tickling across the sensors built into his chest armor. The warmth and pressure of her body sent a shiver through him, cybernetic sensors that were implanted in his armor activating at the stimulation. It had been so long since anyone had dared to touch him. And certainly longer since he had felt the urge to comfort anyone.

He felt her fingers curl around some of his back armor, returning the hug as best she could, fairly snuggling into his chest, her head coming to rest just above where the armor protected his gutsack, where the few remains of his flesh lay hidden. Moving carefully, Grievous used his greater height to his advantage, leaning over her a little, the movement bringing his masked head close to hers. A brief thought, and his arms split into four, servos giving a little whine as he curled three of the four appendages around her, the fourth sliding into her fire-red hair, bringing her head closer to his masked face so the olfactory sensors there could drink in her scent.

"Kyra, I.... I....." He growled, one hand clenching into a fist at her back, disgusted that he couldn't bring himself to apologize.

"It's alright," she told him softly, pressing her cheek to his armor as she sensed his roiled emotions.

Grievous sighed and leaned his head against hers, tucking her warm body closer to his, the cloak he wore about his shoulders sliding forward to curl around her as well, partially hiding her from view. "How can you sense me? Dooku constantly complains that not only do I have no Force-sensitivity, but that I'm invisible to his own senses."

"I don't know," Kyra admitted, leaning back a little to meet his bright gaze, blinking at the calm contentedness she saw there. "I've always been able to attune myself to those around me. Until you told me otherwise, I thought it was the same for everyone who could use the Force."

He shook his head slightly. "From what I've learned, you're the only one who can sense the Kaleesh in what I've become," he said, his synthetic voice losing the harsh edge it usually had, more of a whisper now. "Most think me a droid, even those with Force senses."

"I don't."

"I know. It's refreshing. And.... comforting." He gave her the slightest of squeezes, one hand settling on her right hip while two other arms kept her wrapped in a hug, his fourth hand still toying with her hair. "But how can you tap into the Force if Count Dooku didn't sense anything in you?"

A soft smile tugged at her lips. "It's one of the first things I taught myself, how to hide from others. I didn't want to be found by either the Jedi or the Sith...." She paused for a moment, dropping her gaze from his. "Are you going to tell Dooku about me?"

He jerked back, stunned at the question. "No! In fact, I don't want him anywhere near you! If he finds out that you can use the Force, he'll take you to Sidious. Worse yet, if either learns about---" His vocalizer momentarily froze as his mind caught up with what he was about to admit. He had spent so long, trying to lock his emotions away, centering himself on becoming a better warrior, a better strategist. And now, to find himself on the brink of actually admitting to having such powerful feelings towards her was.... disconcerting.

Part of him was disgusted that he was even suggesting the thought of weakening himself, of letting long ignored emotions return to the surface. But the other, the part that had been hidden away, the part that was still Kaleesh, still Qymaen, and flesh and blood, and singing at Kyra's closeness, realized that he had been a coward. Despite all his improvements, all the battles won and the trophies he collected, how could he call himself a warrior if he was afraid to accept the peace that Kyra's mere presence afforded him?

How could he ignore the part of himself that fairly screamed for some small bit of comfort, however fleeting?

Grievous knew that he had been losing himself to rages more and more often, something that he had hardly ever done before. Certainly, he had been, - and still was - an accomplished warrior. But he was also a strategist. He knew that letting anger overwhelm you during a battle was foolish. Anger clouded thoughts, made one sloppy. And a mistake during the high-stake fights he now found himself in would be very, very costly.

As he turned his attention outwards again, meeting Kyra's worried gaze, he suddenly realized that he couldn't remember the last time he had actually felt so relaxed. The anger and rage that usually boiled at the edge of his thoughts had eased, his legendary temper no longer tearing at his control. He felt.... well, not mellow, but certainly calmer than he had in a long, long time.

Giving in, Grievous hugged Kyra to himself, carefully angling his masked face close to hers. "No one can ever know of the fondness I hold for you," he told her, sensors thrumming at the shiver that went through her body. His fourth hand rose to her face, metal fingers playing across her cheek, touch receptors relaying the feeling of silk soft skin against his metallic palm. "Outside of secured locations.... I won't be able to acknowledge this, Kyra. It would put both our lives at risk, especially yours."

She frowned slightly. "They'd use me to get to you."

He nodded, relieved that she understood. "And vice versa, I imagine," he muttered, chuckling a little when she blushed. Growling lowly, Grievous pressed his masked face against the curve of her throat, sensors fairly singing as they took in the softness of her skin and the richness of her scent. "Ah, Kyra, whatever will I do with you? I find myself missing the time where I was more flesh than machine."

The admission tightened something in her abdomen, and she leaned away from his touch to meet his gaze again. "Can I try something? I promise, it won't hurt."

A grumble left him at that. "You want to use the Force on me."

She nodded, raising a hand to caress the side of his mask and smiling a little when he turned his face into her hand. "Will you trust me? It won't hurt, and if you feel the least bit uncomfortable, all you have to do is tell me to stop, and I will."

Her fingers stroked the side of his facemask, heightened sensors in the armor activating under her touch, and it was all he could do not to groan happily at the contact, very aware that her other hand was caressing the metal on his chest. At that moment, she could have asked him to defect to the Republic, and he might well have done it, just as long as she kept touching him. "Go ahead."

Kyra smothered a giggle at the contented growl in his voice, then pushed her amusement aside, focusing solely on what she was about to do. It was simple for her to tap into the Force. Instead of a mystical power, she had always thought of it as a different form of energy; an energy that only a scant few were sensitive to and which even less were able to wield.

Energy could be harnessed if done correctly, like the solar collectors on some other worlds. It could be molded to do many things, within limits. The nature of the Universe couldn't be changed. People lived and died, that was the way of things; but life could be extended to a certain degree, and disease and damage could be healed. Time was it's own master, even the Force was no match for it. Other limits were attached to the one opening themselves to the Force. It took concentration, practice and a fair amount of willpower to learn to harness such energy; and there were bound to be many failures before achieving a specific goal.

Kyra had learned things the hard way, without a guide or teacher. Trial and error had been harsh, but she liked to imagine that she was more flexible than others that used the Force. Some things that she had taught herself were simply not done by either the Sith or the Jedi, according to Grievous' information. Like what she was about to do.

It came to her so easily, like running water, invisible power flowing through her veins as she brushed her fingertips down one of Grievous' arms, triggering and enhancing every receptor and sensor that she knew was hidden in his armor.

The caress, powerful and so very warm, nearly sent him to his knees, little pulses of energy flitting across the circuits that crisscrossed his cybernetic frame. His cyber-organic brain translated the signals into throbs of pleasure, a strangled moan crackling out of his vocalizer as his eyes slid closed, hands clutching at Kyra as a shudder wracked his body. It took him almost a full minute to become coherent again, and even then, Grievous found himself struggling not to beg her to do whatever she had just done again. "W-What did you--?"

"I can manipulate energy to a certain degree," she told him, smiling as she lightly trailed her fingers up and down his upper left arm, causing him to shiver and tighten his hold on her. "I'm just.... sending little surges through your receptors."

Another small wave jolted up his arm, echoing through every circuit and wire in his entire body until he was fairly shaking, the wicked talons on his feet sinking into the dermaplated floor. Urges that he had thought lost rose to the surface, his two lower hands dropping to her waist to pull her pelvis against his as his hips arched towards hers uselessly.

While the action still pulled a rather delightfully breathless gasp from Kyra, he couldn't help but growl in annoyance at his metal body, his mind instantly running through the lewd thought of having some sort of attachment fashioned. The mental images did nothing to stop his newly awakened lust, his voice coming out in a near purr as he picked her up in his lower arms and carried her towards her quarters, upper hands already tugging at her clothes. "You realize that I intend to finish what you've started?"

Kyra met his smouldering gaze and leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek, a little thrum of energy accompanying the gesture. "I wouldn't have started it otherwise."

Growling, he carried her through the automatic door to her room, stepping through and pausing only long enough to balance on one foot while using a metal toe to type in the lock command, insuring their privacy. "You're mine now," Grievous told her, partially burying his face in her hair as he stalked towards her bed.

His final upgrade into his cybernetic body had eliminated the need for sleep, and thus, the need for a bed. But now he found a small part of his Kaleesh mind wishing he could have brought her to his own quarters to claim her there, various memories of his past where he had taken his wives to bed for a night of rather impassioned sex.

The memories only fueled him, a low rumbling growl leaving him as he set her on her bed and crawled above her, eyes drinking in the sight of her before careful talons cut her clothes away. Every bare inch of flesh he uncovered looked like heaven, the hands of his upper arms caressing newly exposed skin while the lower continued to rip the material off of her body. Though it all, Kyra never stopped touching him, fingertips gliding across his arms, throat and chest, pulses and surges of pleasure only intensifying his need to have her laid bare before him.

"I haven't been with anyone since I began upgrading myself," he warned her as he threw the scraps of her clothes over his shoulder, sending his cloak after them seconds later before turning his burning gaze onto her once again, lower hands already mapping her body. "You must tell me if I hurt you. I can't claim you in the normal fashion, but I can still give you pleasure."

Kyra shook her head a little and rose herself on an elbow to bring their faces closer together, one hand stroking the side of his masked face and shivering in anticipation at the lust in his bright gaze. "You won't hurt me," she murmured, sliding her hand down his throat and across his chest until she took his right upper hand in hers, rising it to her lips and pressing a kiss to his metal palm. "I trust you."

That one small gesture sent a stab of arousal through him, his body wracked by a shudder when she playfully suckled on one taloned finger, touch receptors detailing how warm and soft and wet her mouth was. Groaning, he descended on her, all four hands caressing her body as he struggled to map out every inch of her, sensors drinking in every gasp and moan that escaped her, every arch of her back and roll of her hips. He explored every bit of her, easily bracing himself above her as he slid one hand into her hair, the second lightly tracing the curve of her throat while the third closed over one breast, his fourth hand dropping to her inner thighs, teasing her with gentle strokes.

And to his growing delight, Kyra was far from passive. She matched every touch, every stroke. Sometimes it would only be a warm throb that washed through him, leaving him craving more, while others were roiling waves of pleasure that threatened to completely overwhelm him, his breath leaving him in very audible moans and growls. She would drag her fingernails across his armor, the sensation making him arch his back and close his eyes, only to gasp seconds later when she dared to tickle at sensitive joints, the contrast both refreshing and oddly arousing.

Both of his upper hands shifted to knead and massage her breasts, talons ever so careful against the soft skin. His left lower hand settled on her hip, holding her still as his right cupped her, one finger sliding into her wetness. Her hips instantly rolled into his hand, a needy little mewl leaving Kyra as she clutched at him, her blue eyes darkening to a rich sapphire.

Growling, he shifted above her, dropping his face to the crook of her neck to drink in her scent, shivering when she rose a hand to stroke the back of his head, tiny little eddy's of Force energy dancing across his duradium skull. He wrapped his upper arms around her torso, tugging her slightly upright as he rubbed his face against her skin and purring when she placed a warm kiss to the side of his head.

"Touch me," Grievous whispered against her throat, mind whirling as she arched in his arms, her breasts rubbing against his armored chest. All the while, she constantly brushed her fingertips across any bit of him she could reach, the light caresses no where near what he really wanted. "Touch me. Really touch me. No one touches me.... I'm not a droid.... I still remember what it felt like...."

The pained tone of his voice brought tears to her eyes, and Kyra immediately wrapped her arms around him, pulling him as close to her as she could, even daring to rub her left leg against his metal calf. A sort of desperate keen left him, his body giving a shudder as he clung to her, his four hands rubbing over every single inch of her back and shoulders, the lower two dropping to her thighs to further lift her towards him.

Muttering Kaleesh endearments, Grievous rubbed the side of his head against hers, sensors along the front of his body singing happily at the sensation of her pressed tightly against him. The heat of her body warmed his armor, her hands clutching and stroking at every bit of him that she could reach, her caresses stronger now in response to his plea.

He returned the favor, leaning back to gaze down at her as he mapped out every inch of her face and throat with fingertips and palms, his two lower hands sliding down to her chest while his uppers trailed across her shoulders. A pleased growl left him as he cupped her breasts, teasing her by flicking her nipples for a second before kneading the silk soft flesh, watching as her eyes fluttered closed, a pink blush spreading across her face. The sight spurred him onwards, a frustrated curse leaving him as he nuzzled his mask against her left breast, wanting nothing more than to taste and suckle.

A particularly intense pulse of energy nearly sent him over the brink, his breath coming in rough pants as he shook his head and caught her wrists in his upper hands, pinning them above her head. "Not yet," he growled, drinking in the sight of her gasping under him in a mix of delight and lust as he rubbed his lower hands down her abdomen, purring in approval of the hungry look in her eyes.

Her hips arched towards him as he brushed the fingers of his right lower hand against her thigh, his gaze locking with hers as he slowly slid one finger into her, a low groan leaving him as receptors relayed how hot and wet she was. Hissing, Grievous transferred her hands into one of his, dropping his now free upper left hand to massage one of her breasts as he slid the second and then the third finger into her warmth, growling when she gasped and rolled her hips.

Shivering, he closed his eyes, centering his mind on how tight and wet and hot she felt, and lewdness be damned, he was definitely going to look into getting certain 'enhancements' for his cyborg form, because feeling her through his fingers just wasn't enough.

Bright yellow eyes snapped open to stare down at her, wanting to memorize the sight of her arching and trembling under him as he moved his fingers inside her, his lower left arm carefully repositioning one of her legs to give him better access to her. He brought her to the brink twice, stopping each time and waiting until her body had reluctantly calmed before stroking her again, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of her. All the while, he reverently brushed his upper left hand across her skin, caressing every bit of her that he could easily reach.

Shivering, and greatly aroused, Grievous nuzzled his face against her chest, moaning when she gasped his name and arched towards him, one of her hands twisting in his grip so she could brush her fingertips against his wrist. Little shocks traveled along his upper right arm, leaving trails of warmth and pleasure in their wake. He growled at the sensation, repaying her by stroking her inner walls and delighting in the full body tremor the touch caused.

"Now," he growled to her, releasing her hands and closing his eyes when she immediately reached for him. A ragged purr left his vocalizer as he shifted his lower right hand, gently pressing his fingers deeper into her, quickening his movements, pushing her to climax. "Now. Want to feel...."

Gasping for breath, Kyra splayed one hand on his chest, the other grasping his shoulder as he stroked something deep within her that pushed her ever closer to the edge, her back arching as she cried out. Unlike the other times, he didn't let her pleasure wane, his hands continuing to caress her, even as he moved his fingers in and out of her, his lower left arm wrapping around her waist to keep her close.

Struggling to stay in control for just a moment longer, she moved her hand from his shoulder to stroke the side of his masked face, coaxing him to rise his head from her neck so she could meet his reptilian gaze. His golden eyes were filled with all the emotions and words that he couldn't give voice to, and she held his gaze for a heartbeat before leaning up to place a kiss just below his right eye.

The tender gesture pulled a full-body tremble and a desperate growl from him. "Kyra!"

Something inside her snapped, and she cried out as her climax ripped through her, her hands scrambling to hold onto Grievous as he jerked above her, a helpless howl of pleasure leaving him as the energy unleashed by her orgasm crashed into him. His arms locked around her, body trembling as every wave of her climax echoed into him, her awareness of him sharpening for one brief moment before all coherent thought left her, and all that was left was pleasure.

.

.

End Part 1

[beskarberry]

Silver and Steel

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 2 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

It was then you noticed the open wall next to you. The steel panel was slid open to reveal a vault packed corner to corner with more firepower than you had ever seen in one place. Your eyes roamed from blaster to rifle to flamethrower, noticing that not all of them were made for five fingered hands. This wasn't just an armory, it was a trophy case.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.5k

Content warnings: ALOT. Descriptions of violence (a little spicier than canon) blood mention, near death experiences, hurt/COMFORT, fluff, smut exhaustion sex, top!reader.

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it but yeah PLEASE READ THOSE CONTENT WARNINGS!! It all works out ok in the end! Also good chunks of this was inspired by a particular filk song called Call the Navigator which I’ll link in the replies so the external link doesn’t ef up my post.

<-Previous Next->

"Med pack... junk....junk....spotchka?....is that all you've got?"

You were bent over a deep supply crate, your legs barely touching the ground while you dug through what you had hoped would be the food stock. There were several banged up tins of rations and a handful of miscellaneous junk, but nothing that looked real food. You were clean and dry after your shower, but the energy that had been spent in this very supply room just an hour or so earlier had to be replenished. "Where’s the rest of it?"

The silence coming from the cockpit was expected, but still frustrating. With a huff you grabbed two food tins and made your way through the old ship towards the ladder. At the top though a small antechamber you found your new comrade seated in the pilot chair, fussing with the buttons on the console. On either side and slightly behind his chair were two other passenger seats, though the one on his left was missing a good deal of padding. The cockpit was poorly lit save for the lighted console and the dusty starlight overhead. Though you were in the air, you could tell you were still on Tatooine. Hooray. Why are we still here? The great Dune Sea stretched out on all sides, sparsely dotted with sand people villages, but you couldn’t see any of the large space ports such as Mos Eisley or Mos Espa. In the ships’ darkness you couldn't tell what the lumpy thing was in the other chair, probably blankets or laundry. You went to toss it off the seat when a pair of huge black orbs peeped out from the heap of fabric.

"The fuck is THAT?!" You rocketed backwards, dropping the food tins in the process. The bug eyed creature made a soft cooing noise and lifted the rest of the blanket off itself, allowing two gigantic green ears to pop into view. It didn't look like a threat, in fact it looked kinda cute, but you knew it could still be dangerous. A pair of stubby three-fingered hands made grabby motions at you, the little creature giggling at your bewildered face. " Where'd you find this thing, is it some kind of pet?"

"He's not a pet." Finished fiddling with the console, Mando turned in his chair to readjust the blanket that had slumped off of the small beastie. It squealed happily and wiggled in its comfy cocoon before noticing the food tins that were still on the floor. He pointed the tiniest claw at them and chirped at you, demanding to be fed. "You'd better give him one of those before he gets mad."

It took you a moment to process what he said before scooping one of the tins off the floor, peeling back the lid and placing the dish in the seat next to the little thing. He greedily scooped the mystery mash into his tiny toothy mouth, gibbering between bites. You picked the remaining tin off the floor and leaned against the door frame, watching it happily chow down.

"If it's not a pet then what is it?"

"He's my..." the Mandalorian paused, fishing for the right words to say, "...he is my child."

That was not at all the answer you expected, if he had said emotional support gremlin you would have been less confused. The baby was still making a mess of his dinner, almost dropping his plate before Mando snatched it and set it carefully back in his lap. You had seen first hand that there was a human under all that metal plating, and your tired brain fizzled trying to make the connection between the two very different beings. Mando could tell by your puzzled face that he had some explaining to do.

He told you the tale of how he had been charged to bring the baby in as a high credit bounty, but after he used the reward to get new armor he went back and stole the child away from its captors. He talked about the Mandalorian concept of a 'foundling' and that he himself was one too. At some point you had popped your food tin open and started eating, though you were so captivated by his story that you couldn't remember doing so. When he'd finished you set your empty dish on the busted chair and gently held your hand out for the child to grab with one mush covered paw, who babbled excitedly at his new friend.

Behind you his parental guardian was rigid, ready to take you out if you made one wrong move against his precious cargo. Though he had been the one to steal you away and forgo freezing you in carbonite he still didn’t exactly trust you, your reputation as a hunter-killer was what had driven your bounty so high. He knew you were disarmed, but what else could you be capable of? However, you weren't paying mama-hen Mando any mind. Instead you let the baby play with your hand a bit before he returned to his food. You decided that the only place left to sit was on the floor. Squished into the tiny space between the passenger and pilot seats was cramped, but it gave you a fantastic view out the rounded transperisteel window into the vastness of the night sky.

“Your story sounds awful familiar.” You turned your attention to the metal clad man, watching him fidget with the steering controls. “You abandoned a guild reward for anothers wellbeing, like I did. Someone that didn’t deserve to be dragged back in cuffs. Is that why you picked up the puck on me? Some kind of kindred spirit something or other?”

“We’re nothing alike.” He was watching out the window, focused on flying the ship to unknown destinations, but he was bouncing the leg farthest away from you. So when the cogwheels turn in your head, the machine moves somewhere else. If you hadn’t experienced his human body first hand you could have easily convinced yourself he was a droid.

“Now that’s not true. You told the guild to get fucked because your moral compass was pointing the other way. I didn't just let that quarry go y'know? It was more than that. There was... there was someone she had to get back to. And the New Republic was just gonna lock her ass up and for what? It wasn't right." You remembered that Togruta woman, pointing a blaster at you with tears in her eyes and her belly swollen with a child that did not belong to the man she was being forced to marry. A few thousand credits weren’t worth another child being made an orphan, and you gave her your ship to escape in while you led hunters on a wild-bantha chase away from her. You knew it drove the guild insane but you wouldn’t have it any other way. A tiny green foot poked itself out from under the blankets by your head, bringing you out of your reverie. On reflex you tucked it back into the safety of his blankies.

Though you thankfully didn’t remember much of your early childhood, you knew you had come from Corellia. You didn’t know if you had parents or siblings, but there had been many other young street urchins in your alley behind the shipyard, and all you had then were each other. You never planned on having any kids yourself, but they were still something to be protected. At all costs, if necessary. “I’m guessing this little dude is happy with that decision.”

Mando had begun to take the ship closer to the ground, it was almost totally dark outside but you could see on the radar there was a large mountainous formation up ahead. Carefully, he landed the beat up craft on a sturdy outcropping of rocks, kicking up whirlwinds of dust and sand. Far out over the sand you could see a collection of lumpy looking ruins that were slowly succumbing to the march of the dunes. You guessed this was where your quarry was hiding out.

The baby was starting to get sleepy, his huge eyes disappearing slowly as the weight of his eyelids became too much. His little head rolled forward, threatening to toss him off his seat. Your big mean bounty hunter heart couldn’t take it, so you scrambled to your feet and scooped the baby up in your arms, sitting down in his seat to get him situated in your lap. He fussed and squirmed a bit, but you had learned a no-fail trick from the Corellian ship builders that would often help to sneak orphaned children onto their ships and off that skughole of a planet towards a better life. Many years ago they had done the same for you.

“Oh, I have sailed the midnight sea from Hoth to Arvala-5.

Seen the Cloudshape Falls of Alderaan, met rocks that were alive.

But soon I came to realize as world to world I roamed,

That nowhere in the galaxy could really be my home.”

The songs you knew were often sang by whole crews of starship sailors, loud enough to shake their durasteel walls, but you dropped your voice low and soft to turn the star-shanty into a lullaby. The baby was watching you with glittering eyes, he had stopped his wiggling and curled up tightly against your chest.

“So call the navigator, set the course and go!

We've stars and planets to explore, my wild heart tells me so.

Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh

And all I need is a mighty ship and a staaaa-aarr to guide her by”

A tiny yawn betrayed his wondrous eyes, and he gave up and closed them shut, rubbing his little hands on his face. You lowered your voice to almost a whisper.

“I've seen a million beauties and I've known a million fears,

And life is what I've found between the laughter and the tears.

Still I will sail the last frontier through worlds both tame and wild,

And marvel at their strangeness with the wonder of a child”

Soft snores were your only applause, the baby having drifted off mid stanza. You hummed a few more lines of the song to be sure he was asleep. The cockpit was as dark as the surrounding sky, but the glint of silver caught your attention. Starlight reflected off the beskar plates in a way that made the black of his visor seem darker than the heart of a collapsed star, and just as deadly. The Mandalorian was watching you intently, completely motionless.

The precious moment with the baby had made you very forgetful of the dangerous situation you were actually in. You had been captured, you were this man’s prisoner and yet here you were all cozy in the chair with his adopted son in your lap. You glared back at him, matching his fierce gaze when the little green bundle moved to get more comfortable, one tiny hand catching claws in the top you were wearing; a tunic that did not belong to you.

“Here, you take him then.” Your voice was hushed so as not to wake the child, and you raised him up gently to try and unhook him from your shirt. Immediately there were two gloved hands coming to lift the baby off of your lap. He was a monolith of leather and metal, but the way he pulled his son in close was so gentle that all the ferocity of his profession dissipated like mist. Mando carefully tucked the blanket under the sleeping little baby and wrapped him up tight before slowly turning away from you and the flight deck to head down the ladder in total silence, leaving you alone in the dark.

You watched him go, the top of his shiny silver head disappearing into the floor. Without the sounds of life in the cockpit the quiet of the night weighed heavy on your ears. He still hadn’t told you why he had kept you out of the carbonite, all you had done was let him use you as his personal play-thing... and maybe murder off some of his bounty hunting competition, but that wasn’t much to go off of. You had done worse for much less. Put your skills to better use, that’s what he had said. Absently you toyed with the end of your sleeve, no, not your sleeve. His sleeve.

That was another thing, what reason did he have to show you hospitality when his first interaction with you had been so violent? Binding you and marching your ass through the desert after he had fucking shot you. Your escape plan had almost worked, ha! All you would’ve had to do is tire him out and run but that had backfired entirely. The apex of your thighs still thrummed with sensation, warm and blissful. Though you’d had lovers in the past you usually didn’t still feel them so deeply afterwards. The smell of the fresher soap still clung to your body and clothes. Clutching at the collar of your sweater you pulled it to your face and breathed deep, letting the heady scent of it fill your lungs.

“Let’s go. We have work to do.” The modulated voice coming from the ladder startled you from your guilty indulgence and sprang you to your feet, but the source of the voice was already back down the ladder. You sheepishly followed suit.

“You plan on telling me what we’re up to exactly?” Down below the Mandalorian was loading himself with ammunition, each and every slot on his many bandoliers was packed to the brim with charges. His pulse rifle was slung over one shoulder, clanking up against a new piece of equipment you hadn’t seen before. Some kind of jet pack maybe.

“I have two bounties to catch on Tatooine. One of them conveniently fell into a sarlacc pit. The other one's hiding out down there." A bounty fob blinked red in his hand; quick flashes indicated that the target was close by. “If you help me with this, you’re off the hook. I’ll tell Karga you’re dead and the guild will stop sending hunters after you. But-” He turned to face you, he was holding your beat-up old back pack by one ratty leather strap. "If for one second I think you'll turn against me, I'll take the half credits for your corpse."

"You're one to talk!" You hissed, storming up to the gunslinger with the ferocity of a lothcat. "You kidnapped me! I didn't ask to be here."

The man in question didn't budge under your verbal assault. "Do we have a deal or not?"

He forced your backpack into your arms to accentuate his point. You ripped it from his grasp and stormed to the other side of the cabin. Everything was still inside; a pack of bacta patches, a few mementos, three busted tracking fobs and some blaster charges. Speaking of blaster-

"Where’s my gun, Mando?" Your question was answered when you turned back to face him. He was holding it by its barrel, extending the grip towards you. You met his visor with contempt, but took the old blaster from him carefully as not to cause a misfire. It would be nice to not be on the run from a guild you had pledged your loyal services to for so many years, that now wanted you delivered back to them in carbonite; and you knew that Karga would trust his favorite hunter. The life of a moisture farmer wasn’t what you dreamed of when you escaped Corellia. Fuck that. "Yeah, it's a deal. One hunt and I'm gone."

It was then you noticed the open wall next to you. The steel panel was slid open to reveal a vault packed corner to corner with more firepower than you had ever seen in one place. Your eyes roamed from blaster to rifle to flamethrower, noticing that not all of them were made for five fingered hands. This wasn't just an armory, it was a trophy case.

If he didn't want you to ogle his wares he should have closed the panel, but instead he joined you at the wall, picking up some extra plasma cartridges and a vibroblade with a curved handle, which he pushed into your hands. "Will that be enough?"

Either you trust me or you don't, pick a side, tin can. You didn't answer him right away, opting to pull a chest holster and another couple of blasters down from the wall. You cinched the holsters tight and tucked a blaster in on either side, slung a disruptor over your back and stuffed the knife in your boot. Once you had everything in place you stuck your fists on your hips like a superhero with a confidant nod. "Yeah, that should be good."

Mando was watching you with intensity, his visor going over each of your weapon choices. He tugged on your holsters’ cross straps to make sure they were secured. You rolled your eyes at him, "I know how to dress myself, sir."

No answer. Typical. He stopped fussing with your straps and turned back to the wall, selecting a heavy multi-ammo bandolier. He stepped closer to you, wrapping both arms around your waist to fit the belt in place on your hips. You tried to convince yourself that it was the cool beskar of his chest plate pressed up against you that sent a shiver down your spine. The physical contact was over as quickly as it had been initiated, and then he was back in the vault fishing out the tiny silver explosives that fit neatly into the circular latches on either side of your belt, handing them to you without a word. Finished with his selection he pressed a few buttons on his vambrace, one to slide the armory shut and another to summon an egg-shaped hover crib to float to his side. Inside its shell the child was sound asleep, a heart-melting smile on his tiny little face. As adorable as he was, you furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Is he coming too?”

“Where I go, he goes.” Mando said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He strode back to the supply crate you had been digging through earlier and packed a handful of rations into a bag for the journey through the dunes. Cool desert air gusted into the stuffy cabin as the access ramp fell open, and the three of you headed out into the darkness of Tatooine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your dreams were hazy and feverish, shots of blaster fire flickered through the fog from unknown assailants. The smell of blood and blast plasma strong in your nose even while unconscious. You saw the sneering face of a Twi’lek twist in agony and purple blood painted his face before he winked out of existence, replaced in your mindscape with bloody hands. Your hands. Then there was cold beskar on your cheek and strong arms hauling you from the carnage. Harsh wind in your ears and the ground spiraling away beneath you. The howling wind so loud you couldn't hear the questions being barked in your face. Pain, the smell of burning skin, then nothing. You felt objects moving frantically nearby, and something soft and green was pressing into your ribs. Your eyes, heavy as they were, fluttered open to see two huge black orbs staring up from your side where bright red blood was staining the sheets under you. Is that ... my blood?

“Hey green bean...what’cha up to?” Your voice was hoarse and weak, scratching its way out reluctantly past chapped lips. Talking made your head pound, you reached up to cradle your aching skull when two leather tipped hands caught yours and held them steady.

“Easy... Don’t move too much. Please.” Your hands were gently set back down at your sides, shooting pain up your arms. A large black and silver body was hunched beside you, frantically sticking bacta patches to your skin.

“Mand...do? What…what happened?” Your voice was barely a whisper, so faint the recycled air of the cabin threatened to whisk it away.

“You got the bastard, but that fucking Twi' managed to get a shot off in your gut point blank before he went down. You shouldn't have survived that but you did.” Is that a compliment? He was wrapping a long gauze bandage around your arm, fixing the bacta patches in place so they could do their thing. It hurt, but not as much as you thought it should have. Down by your side the child had rolled into you face first, passed out cold next to an emergency cauterizer. Mando nodded at his sleeping son, “And if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead for sure.” 

The baby? How is he involved with this? Thoughts echoed loudly in your skull, and you decided that thinky time was over. The little guy had the right idea, you should sleep now, embrace the comfort of the dark behind your eyes, let it swallow you whole.

“Hey hey hey! Not yet. Stay with me, ok? You need to drink something. Here.” An armored hand slid under your head, urging you to sit up just enough to take a drink out of the metal canteen pressed against your lips. “You need to stay awake, just for a little while.” Cool water graced your dry mouth and dripped onto your chin. Embarrassed by your mess you tried to wipe the droplets away but once again your arms were halted in place. A rough piece of fabric dabbed at your face.

“I’m not a baby, Mando. I can take care of myself.” The creeping sting of blast-burn that still scalded your skin told you that might not be true. The bacta was just starting to seep into your bloodstream, but it would take some time to work its magic.

“I know that. I was with you down there in the fray. A rancor would have been less terrifying to face than you. But right now I need you to hold still.”

Another compliment? Or was that sarcasm? You’re losing your edge, tin man. You tried to roll your eyes but the effort made your head spin; you glanced around the cabin, trying to avoid meeting the visor that was pinning you to the cot. Strewn about the floor of the ship was what was left of your holsters and weapons, splattered with red and purple blood. You couldn’t be sure, but it looked like one belt had been blasted to smithereens, torn strips of leather the only indication it had been there at all. Farther away you saw a dark block in the carbonite freezer. The Twi’lek from your nightmare was frozen solid, though from his limp posture you guessed he had stopped moving long before he was put in the chamber. One of his long lekku had been cut clean off, and even in carbonite you could see the wound was fresh. Something long and curved stuck victoriously out of the center of his chest. Your vibroblade, lodged to the hilt in his sternum.

Mando was still kneeling on the floor by your side, and though you couldn’t see his face his hunched shoulders gave you the feeling that he was distraught. He still had your head resting in his palm, his thumb absently toying with your hair. Maybe it was the bacta running through your system that made you start to feel warm and gooey on the inside, but the sensation of his hand on your scalp felt... nice. Nice to be touched in a way that wasn't just for survival. Though you had already felt his hands on your body this was something else entirely. Sincere. Maybe it was just the first time somebody near you wasn't trying to kill or capture you. You foolish girl, you've already been captured. Are you so lonely that a gentle touch makes you melt? Maybe it's you that's losing your edge.

"You should have left me for dead, cashed in on that half credit reward."

"That is not The Way." His mantra was rehearsed, spoken as easily as he drew breath, but you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Well... thank you for not letting me bleed out.” You could see the top of the baby's green little noggin still curled up against your side, though the part of your ribs he was leaning on didn’t have a single mark. You looked for the blast wound that Mando was supposedly talking about, but aside from a handful of plasma burns your skin was smooth and healthy; the pool of dried blood under you was the only indication anything had been there at all. What kind of mando magic is that? And what did he mean about the child? Your first thought was how disappointed you were there wouldn’t be a good scar. Your second was realizing your top was missing. Shreds of it were still on your shoulders, but the front had been ripped off completely to get to your vanished wounds. Mando seemed like he didn’t even care, he had been so focused on patching you up that the idea of modesty was thrown out the window, but you couldn’t help teasing him. “There’s not a scratch on me, Mando. You just wanted me topless, didn’t you?”

His thumb on your scalp froze, his visor going from your face to your chest with rapid snaps. Without letting your head drop he used his other hand to tear his cloak from his back and throw it over you and the sleeping baby. “Better?”

Party pooper. “Yes, thank you.” Why is he being so nice? He must have ulterior motives, right? Why keep me alive if not to cash in on that bounty? You decided to push his buttons some more. “This bed sucks. Is this why you're so crotchety? Because you sleep on this Maker-forsaken thing? It’s making my back hurt.”

The cot you were on was spartan at best, more of a cloth covered bucket than a bed. It was recessed into the wall opposite of the armory, bits of machinery and droid parts hanging over the space above you. There wasn’t much of a gap between your head and the durasteel plating of the ship’s hull. Your teasing was rewarded with a long, tired sigh. The hand that cushioned your head moved down to your shoulders, pushing on you so that you sat up straight. You scooped the baby off of your side and into your arms, trying to ignore the dried blood from your wounds that stained the sheets before swaddling the sleeping bean in his father’s cloak. The metal man rose from the floor, letting go of you just long enough to remove his cross-belts and unlatch his chest plate, setting them on the floor with a dull thunk. He squished himself between the wall and your back, his dorsal plate scraping loudly without its cape. He scooched one armored leg around you until it was between your hip and the wall on your side, pulling you into his lap and turning his whole body into a pillow, letting your torso rest on his. He was used to the sharp metal bed frame, but that didn’t mean you should be subjected to it.

“Is this ok?”

You could only nod, your cheeks flushing red with a mix of emotions. It was more than ok, his formidable body was warm and comfortable. His arms wrapped around your waist, helping to support not only you but also his foundling. The spice of him was strong now with him on your back, worn leather and metal and that damn fresher soap that was making a fool out of you. Underneath his steady breathing the sound of something rhythmic caught your attention, it was quick and faint, but unmistakably the sound of his heartbeat. His heart is racing. Listen to that engine purr.

Behind you a man with a name you may never know watched your chest slowly rise and fall with each breath, not with lust but something unfamiliar though not unwelcome. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, whether from the ordeal of keeping you alive or the fact that you were in his arms again he couldn't be sure. He sighed, trying to convince himself to calm down, but the deep breath he took only flooded his senses with the essence of you, threatening to melt the beskar off his head with the heat rushing to his face. He couldn't help the way his fingers traced over your skin, careful not to undo any of the bacta patches. He jumped slightly when your hands found his, but the weight of the child still in your arms made it difficult to reach your fingers. The glove you were touching was suddenly empty, and a bare hand snaked out from under the cloak that kept you modest. With the press of a button the child’s pram floated its way over to you from the supply crates. The baby’s adopted father carefully lifted the sleeping creature off your lap and into his hover crib, another button press on the vambrace and the shield door slid closed.

His hand returned to the safety of the cloak, pulling the other glove off before finding your fingers again. His skin was so warm you couldn't help but imagine his hands somewhere more intimate. Evil, evil bacta... Maybe you wouldn't have to.

"I should thank you properly." It was impossible to hide the tiredness of your voice, but he was close enough you only needed to whisper. His grasp tightened around you, your once plush pillow was now a rigid wall of muscle.

"You should go to sleep." the sound of his baritone words so close to your ear made your skin prickle. Too late for that. Slowly you guided his hand down your belly until your tangled hands bumped into your belt line. A low growl rumbled out of the modulator.  “Cyar'ika... you need to rest."

The alien term of endearment made you hum, but you ignored his words of warning and pushed his hand under the tough fabric till his fingertips found your heat, both of you gasping softly at first contact. His free hand fumbled with your button, and after some difficulty you undid it for him along with the zipper. With space to work, with his wrist moved freely, lazily rolling a calloused fingertip against your clit; remembering his lesson from the first time he experienced your body, his touch was light as a feather.

There wasn’t much you could do for him in the position you were in, so you leaned back against him and relaxed, letting him enjoy you at his own pace. The bottom of his helmet was pressed into the crook of your neck, and though it was sharp you could feel something warm and soft underneath it. So there is a real man under there. Scruffy stubble brushed at your skin and sent goosebumps down your chest. Under the beskar his eyes followed the prickling trail that lead under the tattered cloak you still wore to your breasts, watching the way the fabric pointed where your nipples grew hard for him. His other hand couldn’t resist finding its way to your pert peaks, rolling them between his fingers in that way he knew flushed you with heat. Soft gasps rewarded his ears as he worked at your breast and clit, rubbing them in tandem. Your hips rolled into one hand and your back arched into the other, urging him to help you build your climax. He obliged, adding a second finger to pinch your clit softly between strong digits until you fell apart around him.

The pressure that was building behind you and pressing into your spine told you that if you wanted more from him you would have to give him a better angle. You started to get up, but the hands on your sensitive spots held you in place.

“What about your injuries? I don’t want to hurt you.” What injuries? There’s nothing left! His voice was filled with sincerity, a far cry from your first encounter. You didn’t answer him, instead you found each of his hands and squeezed them with a hum, asking him to trust that the bacta had set in and made you comfortable enough to move from your impromptu med bay. He slid his fingers out from your burning core, dragging the wetness from your cunt over your skin until his palms were on your back, helping to push you up off of him. The teeny tiny bed frame made it difficult to spin yourself around until you were facing him, and even more difficult to kick your pants off as you passed over top of him, but he never took his hands away from you to keep you steady until you were seated in his lap.

Straddling his waist you rolled your hips over where his cock was hidden from you, making him shudder under your legs. His arms glided from your knees to your hips, languidly making their way up your sides and past your breasts to the last remaining tatters of the black knit sweater he had allowed you to wear. Hooking a thumb under its ruined edges, he slid it up over your arms and cast it away into the darkness of the ship. His hands went right back to working at your breasts, massaging them like dough in time with your grinding hips. You took a moment to admire how he looked underneath you, his remaining armor glinting in the hazy ship light as his hands searched for every sensitive inch of your chest. You knew from legend that his helmet could never be removed in front of you, but you’d never heard anything about the rest of his clothes. Where his chest plate had been was a strappy flak jacket dotted with magnetic fasteners. Your hands went slowly to the first clasp, and the hands that were so indulged in you froze, his body stiff between your legs.

“Is this ok?” The irony of you repeating his question from earlier back to him made your lips turn in a sly smile. 

“Y-yes.” His voice was nearly imperceptible, and you realized that he was shaking. You looked to his visor, watching him nod in consent before you continued. He dropped his hands to your hips, pulling down on your thighs and rutting up into you while you busied yourself with the complicated under armor until it fell away at his sides, revealing a pair of suspenders and an identical black knit tunic as the one that had been shredded off of you. You didn’t have the energy to peel every article of clothing off of him, so this would have to do. Without his cloak bunched around his shoulders you were able to see the flesh of his throat, so warm and inviting that you wanted to sink your teeth into it.

You bent down to nibble at the exposed skin, and the filthy moan that rattled out of the helmet sent shivers down your spine. The taste of him was exquisite, better than you could have imagined under all that fabric and leather. The overwhelming cocktail of his scent straight from the source made you bold. You kissed your way around the edge of his helmet where the metal met his skin until you found his pulse point and made good on your desires. His body convulsed when you bit down, sucking at the tender skin until you left blooming marks that would be there for days.

“Cyar'ika... Please...“ There was that word again, you didn’t know what it meant but the way he breathed it like a prayer felt like warm honey in your belly. Releasing his tormented neck you ran your hands down his broad chest until your thumbs bumped the leather suspenders that lead you down to his waist line where you were able to tug the edge of his shirt free, giving you a delicious window of his tummy; well-muscled and dusted with dark brown hair. 

“What’s wrong, tin man? Nobody ever touch you like this before?” He was still shaking while you ran your hands under the edge of his shirt and through the soft treasure trail of fuzz from the top of his belt line to the bottom of his ribs. He couldn’t answer you, his breath caught in his throat at the sensation of your hands on his skin, but you were starting to put the pieces of his puzzle together. No, probably not.

You decided not to torture him any longer. The fabric of his pants was nearly stretched to capacity and wet with your slick. You had to stretch one leg out onto the floor to get enough of a footing to lift yourself high enough off him that you could free him from the canvas prison. His cock nearly burst out of its confines, and your face flushed red at the sight of him standing proudly at attention, twitching in your hands with a flood of shimmering precum made just for you.

His chest was heaving, ragged breaths forcing their way out of his modulator before you’d even taken his length. You used your hips to notch him at your entrance and his grip on your thighs clenched like a steel trap. Slowly you lowered yourself onto him, letting him fill you until you were stretched wide. Your eyes met his visor, though from the way it was tilted you knew he was watching himself disappear into you. His arms wrapped tightly under your ass as he thrust into you hard enough that he lifted you off the cot, quickly scooting both your bodies down the bed until he was flat on his back. You tried to stay upright, but his pounding soon had your head spinning until you were falling forward into his chest, digging your arms around his shoulders in a way you were becoming familiar with. Your hands found their way to the back of his helmet to where his hair line started, sneaking a few fingers under the metal edge to tangle in his curls. The Mandalorian’s hands were on your waist, holding you in place while he rocketed up into you, filling the ships cabin with the sound of wet slaps. His thick cock hit different from this angle, grinding up against the sweet spot deep inside you with each rut until you started seeing stars behind your eyes. He could feel you building up around him and he quickened his pace until you were gasping his name.

“M-mando! I... I’m gonna....” Your muscles coiled with heat until you burst, your sweet cunt fluttering around his still pumping cock until he went cascading over the edge of ecstasy with you, his helmet vibrating with a guttural roar. His feverish body shook, giving you a few short thrusts to milk the cum from his cock until it spilled out from where he was lost inside you.

His shaky arms held onto you so tightly, as if you would blast away into space if he let go. The endorphins flooding his head made him want to pour his heart out and tell you everything, bare himself in body and soul for the first time in his life. He wanted to tell you how nice you had looked in his clothes, how the loose knit fabric draped over your breasts was a work of art; even more so when you were standing before him armed to the teeth in his hunting trophies. How seeing you slice that fucking Twi’lek to ribbons was more graceful than any ballet. The sight of the bloody hole that had been burned into your side had made his skin crawl. Mando wasn’t ready to explain the child’s healing powers, he barely understood them himself; but if it wasn’t for the baby he would have been burying your corpse instead of tending your wounds. Instead of experiencing your living body like he was now.

His heart fluttered at the thought of his foundling healing you with his baby sorcerer magic, his tiny green paws pushed on your side where the blood was spilling from your wound. The thought of you dying for his bounty made him sick, but pride flushed the sensation away when he thought back to that first day with you up in the flight deck. How when his baby boy was restless that you acted, not with malice but with tenderness and care. He'd never wanted to rip his helmet off faster in all his days than when you sang his son a lullaby, the sweet tune of it filtering through his sensory equipment, and he longed to hear it as it was meant to be. In that moment he had been entranced, but the fierce glare of his visor had made you feel threatened. He didn't want that. He wanted to make you feel safe. The same way you had made his child feel, the same way you made him feel now. Like the galaxy itself couldn’t tear you from him.

But the ugly truth was that soon it would all end when you both went your separate ways. All the feelings he wanted to confess to you died in his mouth, leaving a bitter taste that brought him back to reality. You still straddled his waist, and though the blood had long since left his cock it still sat neatly in your heat, letting him feel your gentle heartbeat around him. Carefully he pulled himself free from the apex of your thighs and rolled you both sideways onto the unforgiving cot, letting gravity shuffle you down until you were nestled in the crook of his arm. He couldn’t help brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, meeting your half lidded eyes with his own behind the visor.

“I don’t think I can get to the fresher this time.” Your voice was barely a whisper, and the edges of sleep crept unbidden to your eyes; the traumatic activities of the day finally winning over your endurance. “You’re probably going to have to burn these sheets.”

Mando hummed with indifference, though for you he would burn all of Tatooine down if you asked. All the lovely thoughts that had danced through his mind came rolling through again, haloed in the warm light of afterglow. Only one made its way past his lips, sneaking out of the helmets’ modulator like a prayer.

“How does the song end?”

“Mmm?” You were so close to sleep, so cozy and full of cum that you knew would be a fun mess for morning-you to clean up. You wracked your brain trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. The star-shanty? “Why, do you need a lullaby too?”

“N-no. Just curious. When you leave, my foundling might ask me about it.” Liar. The calloused hand gliding up and down your spine brought the original contract you made with him ringing through your skull. One hunt and I’m gone.

“Leave? I’m not going anywhere until I see you tell Karga face to face that I’m rotting in a sarlacc pit. No take-backs. That old dog will probably dance when he hears he won’t have to part with his credits and I want to catch it on holo-corder.”

The rumbling sigh deep in his chest sounded more like an engine powering down than a mortal man, and it told you more than words ever could. The arm you had around his chest was met with strong fingers that intertwined with your own. He doesn’t want me to go. Who are you, Mandalorian?

“Tell me anyway? Please?” His arms tightened like a fortress around you. His words were distant, echoing out from somewhere in dreamland instead of right by your ear. Alright you big softie, if you’re going to beg me. You sighed heavily against him, trying to recall the songs of your distant past. 

“The nights are long between the stars, and lonely too for me,

I wonder how I might have fared with home and family.

But the bonds of friendship I have formed will last my lifetime through,

Security is not for me, my dreams are all of you.”

The same soft snores that had been your original encore with the baby now ghosted in your ear, muffled by the mysterious beskar helmet but still unmistakable. Like father like son. 

The weight of his arms around you was like nothing you had ever felt in your years on the run. You had traveled so far and met so many living beings but not once had you let another share your bed while you slept. You could get used to this. The thought was the last you had before sleep overtook you, your body slumping against his while you dreamed of silver and steel.

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@mandoinevarro​ @mrsparknuts​ @cookiejuicedesu​

[kylorengarbagedump]

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 3

Read on AO3. Part 2 here. Part 4 here.

Summary: You always hated tagging along on boys' night.

Words: 3300

Warnings: tw//kassanovella

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: HI LOOK AT ME I GOT THIS OUT IN TIME. I did indeed test positive for COVID so this was wrought through my fatigue--and may be why there is a delay for the next chapter. We'll see!

I hope y'all enjoyed this. I am doing my best to respond to all the feedback, but I'm like... so tired LMFAO. Thank you so much for your support and engagement. It literally means the world to me and is so encouraging.

I love you. ❤️

It didn’t matter how many times you told yourself to calm down. Your pulse bounded like a rabbit, every thump a reminder of your tightening chest. The walls of the Steadfast washed past in black-silver blurs, your mind wild with fear. Hux’s words replayed over and over, a cruel broadcast in your brain. Requests for response from the officers stationed there have gone unanswered. 

Realistically, that could mean anything. Pessimistically, everyone was dead and you were homeless.

The thought of losing your crew weakened your knees. For four months, they’d been your solace and something akin to a family. Not like you’d had other real options on that little butthole of a planet--but you’d gotten lucky. You’d made a home out of Orinda; a home where you’d planned to return. 

Lip pinched in thought, you joined Kylo in a new turbolift, crossing to the corner again as if he were a disease you wanted to avoid. You folded your arms over your chest, stared at your shoes. If you were homeless, it was anyone’s guess as to what you’d do or where you’d go next. It was clear that your supposed… whatever he was didn’t care for your presence. 

Leather gloves scrunched in the silence. The lift arrived, and he stormed off, in expectation that you’d follow. You rolled your eyes, trailing behind him, allowing the need that had burgeoned between your thighs to deflate. 

He’d said he would punish you. But you couldn’t think of a punishment worse than going four more months without his touch. 

Kylo broke through another set of blast doors into the hangar, officers and Stormtroopers alike snapping to attention in his presence. If he noticed or cared, it didn’t show--he pushed through the quiet floor, furious stride carrying him toward one of the ugliest ships you’d ever seen. 

Black durasteel panels formed a long, cylindrical frame, the bow outfitted with a row of rakish teeth and bordered by two guiding flaps. The engines looped like two smooth bricks at the stern of the vessel, the two ends connected by rows of external piping and guarded by a sprinkle of gunning stations. Its blocky build bore a resemblance to a prison transport--if that prison transport was then modified by an eager, unsophisticated halfwit. 

He climbed the descended ramp in thundering strides, and you skulked in his wake, only to be greeted with one of the mercenaries you’d seen earlier. You paused, but Kylo passed the soldier, marching toward the stern and abandoning you in the main corridor. The man--at least, you were fairly certain he was a man--wore a mask embedded with breathing tubes, a huge, heavy club in his hands. The weight of his gaze anchored you to the floor. He said nothing.

“Uhm…” You tried to find an introduction, but none seemed appropriate. Grimacing, you offered him a half-hearted salute. “Sir.”

The man did not respond. Face burning, you scurried into the ship, hot on Kylo’s heels. 

Few lights rimmed the interior of the vessel, your only guide the resonant thump of his boots along the durasteel slats. It was as dim as it was dank--the deeper you delved, the heavier the air. It was sticky with the stench of war, weighed with iron and brimmed with smoke. And underneath that, a scent you’d only describe as one owned by a pack of panting massiffs.

A chill crept over your scalp. This ship was empty of kindness, barren of mercy. You didn’t need the Force to know that nothing good had ever happened within these walls.

Your fear had you scampering to keep pace. Kylo led you through a flickering hall and turned a corner, swiped a switch. A set of blast doors opened to sharp steps, another pair of doors at the top. Those parted as you approached, light spilling from the Steadfast hangar through wide slats of red transparisteel. You’d arrived in the cockpit.

Six chairs lined the wrap-around dashboard. Two as pilot seats, two positioned at gunning and weapons systems, and two plugged toward the back, each in front of a monitoring station. One seemed to handle communications--or lack thereof, the radio receivers and wiring were all almost entirely torn out--and the other dedicated to internal surveillance. At the latter, a matrix of screens with live feed of the interior of the ship.

Even through the shadowed halls, you could distinguish a handful of prison cells. Each of them was torn apart, littered with metal scrap and half-shorn weaponry. The walls themselves were adorned with sloppy graffiti, one of them decorated by a mural of a massive, five-legged lizard beast. A huge red beam was bursting through its neck. Within the tiny walls were separate collections of cultured artifacts. You knew enough about war to know they were trophies.

Every room also possessed a rumpled, dirty bed. A flash of hall light near one cell, illuminating notches in the durasteel where the head of the bedframe met the wall. Like the frame had been slammed against it. Over and over and over.

You swallowed. On one of the feeds, a body slipped through the hall like a living shade. Pausing, you watched until it disappeared from view. The sound of footsteps whispered, then hummed, then roared. You spun, seeking out Kylo, finding him by the co-pilot’s chair, and darted into the pilot’s spot as if this was a totally normal occasion and you weren’t on a weird deathship surrounded by his weird death bodyguards.

Kylo turned to gaze at you, and the blast doors opened, stealing his attention. In the frame stood another would-be man, outfitted with a ribbed-weave robe and carting a huge plasma rifle. Filth smothered him from his boots halfway up his legs, and his head was obscured by a helmet, not unlike the one you’d known Kylo to wear. This one had two blinders on either side, like this man was a predator. 

Like he was a hunter.

Whatever fear you felt for him, he certainly did not feel it for you. He glanced between you and Kylo, trying to ascertain the relationship that resulted in your presence.

“She’s in my seat.” His voice was grainy, like glass on stone, distorted underneath his mask.

You held up your hands in deference. “Hey, sorry. I had no idea this was your seat.” You went to stand, frowning at Kylo, who was studying your every movement. Really had to love how helpful he was being.

“Hurry up,” the man said. 

Nodding, you wriggled around the chair with your hands still raised, as if this would offer any form of protection between you and this fully armed guard. He squared his feet and stalked toward the pilot’s seat. You side-stepped him, but he shoulder-checked you despite it, and you stumbled back, wincing. 

“What the f--”

Kylo Ren’s saber screamed to life, slicing a divide between the hunter and the chair. He stalled, fists balled, neck rolling to stare at Kylo. You gulped, rubbing your arm, your eyes flipping between him and the crackling rod of plasma only a foot away from the man’s waist.

“Sir.”

“Careful,” Kylo said.

He snorted. “Of a Lieutenant--”

“Kuruk.”

Kuruk pivoted to you, and you met his stare somewhere behind the shield of metal. Whoever was underneath the helmet was rending you apart in his mind. 

He shrugged his shoulder and looked back to Kylo.

“Excuse me. Sir.”

The saber disappeared, and Kuruk took his seat at the dashboard. You flushed. At least he’d done that much. You snuck to the back of the cockpit, thinking to sit at the surveillance station, but pausing there too. Every one of these seats could have an owner whose name you didn’t know. Glimpsing Kylo, you threw up your hands in confusion.

Kylo caught this, but did not acknowledge it. “Resistance activity was spotted on the scanners. Get Cardo and Trudgen on the turrets. Ushar gunning.”

“Yes, Master.” 

Your eyes widened. Master? 

Kuruk fussed with the dashboard, relaying the information, and you gazed at Kylo, examining his body in the same routine you’d practiced nightly with your hands between your legs. Fuck, he was big--the thick expanse of chest rose with a slow breath, and you watched it fall, then watched his neck tense as he turned, attuned to your observation. Heat rushed your spine when you linked eyes. His jaw stiffened.

“Get in your seat, Lieutenant.”

“Oh,” you replied. “Is this my seat? I didn’t know.” You sank into it, shooting him a wide, sparkling smile. “Thank you, Master.”

Kylo swallowed.

The blast doors opened again, the soldier you’d seen at the entrance bursting through and tromping to a gunner console--you assumed this was Ushar. He tossed his club to the side, flicking on the controls and calibrating the sights. The ship itself bellowed to life, rising from the floor, and you gripped the seat, unable to force your focus from Kylo--just as he was unable to force his from you. 

The two of you were in competition. That much was clear. 

You just couldn’t figure out what the loser would be impaled with--or if that would make them a winner, instead. 

The Buzzard shot into the stars, coasting in a direct path toward Orinda. You broke the staring contest, glimpsing the little planet through the cockpit, pulse picking up again. Requests for response unanswered. Once you got on the ground, you’d go find your crew and make sure they were safe. That’s all you needed to know. Whether or not Kylo wanted you to come back was irrelevant.

You met his gaze again, his irises hiding a storm. Blood bit your cheeks.

Mostly. 

“Nothing detected on the sensors,” said Ushar. 

Kylo glanced at him then turned toward the transparisteel, searing you with a leer before he sat at the dash. You shivered. Whatever you’d done to make him feel this way, his brief glimmers of favor only made it worse. Maybe you did want to fuck him so you could get a chance to figure it out. Or maybe it was just frustrating to know him in ways no one else had while simultaneously knowing almost nothing at all.

The three men operated in silence as you approached Orinda. From space, it seemed normal. With no starcraft popping up, there was a chance it was a false alarm. That it had been a fly-by. You held your breath when you broke the atmosphere, flames whipping the transparisteel. The Buzzard trembled with gravity, diving toward the ground, greens and browns and blues splitting to trees and fields and sea. 

Then a flash of light, smog blooming to life, tiny fires swallowing your narrowing field of vision. Air froze in your lungs, nails biting the hard back of the seat. 

“Fuck.” You launched from the chair, scrambled toward the dashboard. “No, no no…”

Kylo spun to face you, but you ignored him, shoving between the two pilot seats to crane over the console and peer through the transparisteel. 

He stood, looming over you. “Back to your seat.”

His words swum in the tsunami of your mind. The outpost was smothered with smoke. The closer you drew, the dimmer the horizon, until the Buzzard landed on the border of the eruption, the entire sky encompassed with billowing black fog. Every muscle in your chest felt like wire around your ribs, forcing the breath from your lungs. You shook your head, hands starting to tremble.

They were out there. They could be dead. 

The blast doors opened, and you whirled to leave, but Kylo caught your shoulder and stilled you. 

“What the--”

“Gather the rest,” Kylo said. He was speaking to Ushar. “Spread out and secure the perimeter.”

Ushar nodded, grabbed his club, and disappeared down the steps. Huffing, you wrenched yourself free from Kylo’s grip and stomped toward the exit only to be paralyzed by a very familiar nothing. You growled, unable to even make a fist.

“Dude!”

“You will remain on board the Buzzard until I return.”

The fact you couldn’t turn to look him in the eye made you even angrier. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you said. “That’s my crew. They’re my responsibility.”

“Stand down.”

You snorted. “Hell no.”

Two long, slow steps brought him behind you. His presence consumed you like a black hole, crushing you in darkness. 

His chest met your back. “Every one of your little quips has gone unchallenged.” Another step, and his mouth fell to your ear. “Do not test me here.”

Warmth flooded your thighs. If he didn’t like being challenged in front of his soldiers, he shouldn’t have put you all in the same space. His own fault. 

“I don’t care,” you said. “These are my crew members. You don’t know them. I do. Let me go.”

“No.”

“Why are you even doing this?” you said. “You’re the one who fucking brought me here!”

A pause. Silence settled between you, the only sounds the distant noise of destruction and your anxious, heaving breath. You heard him exhale.

“Kuruk,” he said. “Scout and support.”

Behind you, Kuruk stood, followed by the metal click of him grappling his rifle. You watched, stuck to your spot, as he charged through the cockpit and down the steps. The blast doors to the stairs shut behind him. Then the ones to the cockpit. And you two were alone.

Kylo snarled, snatched your throat--he was a swoop of rage, swiveling and slamming your back to the wall. You seethed, squirming under his grip, unable to hide the smirk curling on your lips as you tried to pry his wrist away. He subsumed you like a star subsumed space, bright hot and pure, and you were a simple nothingness, addicted to his heat.

“You think you have earned my submission,” he muttered. “You have not.”

You wheezed, gazing into his eyes, finding an electric spark of hunger and fury within them. Four months without this had been far, far too long. As long as he was treating you like a stranger, you didn’t want to give in. But that wouldn’t stop you from making this torture for him, too.

“Then what have I earned,” you purred, “Master?”

He sucked in air through his teeth, pinning your body flat--his chest rolled with excitement, his voice raked over lust. “The further you push me, the worse your earnings.”

You bit your lip, bucking your hips against his, feeling a growing bulge between his legs. “You’re ridiculous.” You’d thought he’d wanted you to go to Orinda. Maybe you’d been wrong. “What, is this because I left?”

A huff. “No.”

“Then I don’t get it.” You rolled your pelvis into him again, and he jerked forward, crushing you to the wall. “Why don’t you want me around? What did I do?”

Kylo shifted, panting into your neck, his mouth centimeters from your skin. “Not what you did,” he said, clutching your throat tighter. “What you saw. It will not happen again.”

Some bit of that stung. You saw inside of his mind. “You act like I made you admit it!” It was difficult to speak under the pressure of his palm. “You could’ve just let me go.”

“Hm.” His hand squeezed, and he dragged his hardening bulge along your thigh. “Perhaps I should have.”

So that’s what this was about. Whatever had happened, he’d decided that what he’d shared with you was weakness. And being Supreme Leader meant he couldn’t be weak. Meant he couldn’t have room or time for you. All you were was a living regret. 

Frowning, you glared at him, driving your thumbs into the meat of his wrist and throwing his hand from your neck. 

“Yeah,” you said, shoving him back. “Perhaps you should’ve.” His eye twitched. A screeching blast broke the air, and you tensed. “I’m going to find my crew.”

You stalked out of the cockpit, blast doors parting for you as you hit the stairs and cut through the halls back to exit the Buzzard. It was one thing to abandon you. One thing to make you leave. One thing to act like he’d never held you, kissed you, or whispered your name. 

But it was an entirely other thing to imply he wished it never would’ve happened. The thought pierced your heart, and you steeled your jaw, tried to pull the pain free. You didn’t have time to play Kylo Ren’s newest Game of Repressed Emotion. You had friends to find. 

The ramp to the Buzzard was already down, and you hurried to the ground, smacked with the scent of blazing fuel. Embered ash battered your eyes, and you coughed, covering your face with your arm. Under the wailing wind of heat, you heard Kylo approaching the exit, so you trudged toward the outpost, seeking out any hint of life.

“Tonis!” Your voice was eaten by the flames. “Mirna! Lin!” Narrowing your gaze to protect it, you pushed toward the hangar, knowing that if they were anywhere, they’d be there. 

Sweat crawled down your nape, scattering over your lower back as you drew nearer to the fire. The mercenaries were nowhere to be found, but you supposed that was okay, since they didn’t seem very fond of you regardless. The hangar was beyond the completely engulfed fueling station and therefore impossible to see, but as you curved around the fire, you could discern slivers of it. Edges of the building, and then whole sections.

And your stomach dropped.

Another couple of steps, only to discover the hangar scorched, collapsed in on itself like a shattered greenhouse. You stopped a scream and bolted, careening toward the wreckage to see if you could find anyone or anything among the debris. Thick durasteel girders stuck out of the heap like nails, the ridged ceiling crumpled in pieces and mirroring the fire’s light.

“Tonis!” Your back burned from the heat, but you didn’t care. You tried to find a way in, a way to pull something apart, a way to find someone. “Mirna!” You grabbed a huge wooden beam, hands slipping on the soot, but you fruitlessly tugged anyway. “Lin!”

A ragged shard of wood ripped your palm, and you shrieked, cradling it to your breast in shock. Cursing, you left the mass alone, following the foundation around the corner, hoping against hope they escaped out of the back and were huddled behind the hangar. You approached the corner, calling their names, louder and louder. They weren’t coming to meet you. Again, and louder, and you turned the corner, pleading with the Force that they’d be there.

Of course, they weren’t. 

In front of you was a cluster of discarded starship parts, all outdated or malfunctioned or busted. It was a collection you’d gathered since you’d arrived--arranged and created when more parts were added. Each fragment was unique, and when building it with your crew, it sometimes resembled a sculpture. Under the clouds of smoke, it looked like a pile of junk. 

Growling, you rushed it, kicking the base and sending it all tumbling to the ground. Your furious hands found purchase and hurled whatever they had grabbed to pieces. A scream shook your chest, and you jammed your foot against a solar array panel, cracking it in half. Underneath, you found an old, pretty fuelcell splinter. You grabbed it in your bloody hand and hissed, pulverizing it with your fist. Grunting, you threw the dust into the air, watching as the firewind ate it all.

You heard the rustle of grass behind you. Your shoulders sagged.

“There are no signatures of life remaining at this station.”

Sighing, you turned to Kylo. He was watching you, face blank.

“Yeah.” You wiped your palm on your pant leg, smearing it with blood. “I know.”

His eyes flicked to your hand for the shortest, sharpest moment. Then he met your eyes. “The silencer is still in need of repair.”

You frowned, averting your gaze. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You’d prefer to sleep outside in melted trash.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged a shoulder, crossed your arms. “Dumpster fire and all that.”

Kylo Ren held you in his stare, cape fluttering and hair rumpled in the breeze. Tears stung your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

“Come.” 

He turned the corner. Clearing your throat of sadness, you followed him. You allowed him to guide you through the devastation, past the flames, and up the ramp until you were safe in the Buzzard cockpit. And then he left, likely to gather his men before departure.

And then you were alone.

[lehouxnap2]

@sophiedoesherbest and I did a "words you associate with X character" of the 104th cadets

(This is all our own subjective feelings on them that i felt like sharing, keep that in mind)

Eren:

Sophie= Lucious green forests and mountains, cinnamon scent, the color green, grundge, the silence before the storm, hawks, chocolate cake, really dark and bitter coffee without milk and sugar, Demoralization, turqouise ponds, glory and knights

Me= Dark green, angry, madness, determination, beautiful eyes, crybaby, rock, metal, try hard, soft hair, rude, Fights, bruises, blood, satanist, birds, chains, piercings, Turkish food, freedom, anarchist.

Mikasa:

Sophie= I think she's more of a minimalist in clothing stlye? devotion, loyality, the color red, tigerlilies, mango scent, cented candles, gold, a big city like New York, coffee with milk and no sugar, try hard, persian cats, beautiful grasslands, slightly cloudy weather with sunshin and gentle winds

Me= The color black, black cats, goth aesthetic, lots of jewerly, red lipstick, make up, Japan cities, high boots, cute, romantic, altars, knight, protection, loyalty, red, sports, goofy, katanas, bellflowers.

Armin:

Sophie= Clams, Chocolate cookies, Sandy beach woth cloudless sky and bright blue sea, salty, fresh and oceanic smell (I dont know how to describe it but its a really nice smell), Orange icecream, Organic teas (especially from fruits!!), and Golden retrievers

Me= Water, blue, beach, fishes, shells, Sand, maths, manipulation, lying, fear, studies, glasses, early morning, cardigans, anime, vest, swimming, tea afternoon in a british old house.

Jean:

Sophie= British shorthair cats, strength, thunderstorm with big lightnings and heavy, wind , the sky is almost blac, rich little town in the mountains, polaroid photos, daisies, arrogance, memories, endless grief and love, vulnerability, bright yellow - gold colors, lemon frappe, pumpkinpie, scent of orange and lemon, beanies, grundge stlye with black and red checkered shirts, long lashes, gothic cathedrals.

Me= Beige, punk, shy, mommy spoiled, bullying, envy, leader, maturing, masculinity, horses, french dogs, french food, football, eiffel tower with sunset light, bread, motorcycles, brown boots, wrist watch, ponytail, insecurity, cigarettes.

Sasha:

Sophie= checkered shirts and dresses, sunflowers, jeans, border collies and bloodhounds old, tabby colored barn cat, a good old all-you-can-eat restaurant, cherries, a summer night when all the stars are out and you just gaze at them while the crickets are chirping, old pickup trucks, horses, barn animals, barn life, sunglasses, hunting trophies, big family, warm colours, a cup of warm grey tea, running in the near fields, cornfield, Fall Out Boy songs, rock/alternative clothing, boots, rustic small village where everyone know everyone

Me= Hunting, woods, wild, short jeans, thigh high stockings, funny, friendly, self image, big dogs, bow and arrows, sparkles, sniper, cream, russian restaurant, peruvian food, rifle mouser model, frappuccinos.

Connie:

Sophie= Parrots, cold cozy winter nights with warmth inside the house and being with the family, grey palettes, a big village with full of warm hearted, friendly people, larkspurs, maaaaaany animals, big family house that were theirs since aaages, abandoned mine lakes, cheetos, pancakes, cocoa with gingerbread flavour, cinnamon, lemongrass scent, alcohol and house parties, extroverted, funny, cheerful, friendship, tragedies, big heart.

Me= Asexuality, aromantic life, clown kid, funny, pranks, YouTube shitpost, cool kid, defender, cute, gray purple colors, innocent, bucket hats, caps, ankle rope bracelet, necklace, sunny beach in Miami, colorful converse, sweet sugar, grumpy, weed.

Reiner:

Sophie= lilacs, mint and choco icecream, melancholy, rain with wind an light grey clouds, gingerbread latte, dark chocolate (the bitter one), pitbulls, maine coons, abins in the woods, punk rock and leather jackets, motorcycles, blood and ruises

Me= Sadness, rain, cloudy beach, tears, depression, sleep, nightmares, guilt, double life, yellow, pink, milk, self loathe, admiration, flannel shirts, guitar, dark circles under eyes, eyeliner, cloudy city in Germany, 80's rock.

Bertholdt:

Sophie= Intense snowstorm with really strong wind, foxgloves, pinetrees, pineforest and grim, rocky, dark mountains, dalmatians, brownies, scent of freshly cut grass, isolation, abandoned roads, 1970's Mustangs, twenty One Pilots songs

Me= Marine blue, no determination, undecided, follower, medicine, chill, selfish, appearence, gray, sweaters, cloudy, sweat, nervous, shy, storm, trees, bad luck, coffee place in Denmark.

Annie:

Sophie= demisexuality, purity, hydrangeas, cool weather when there is no snow but things are freezing, overfreezed lakes with unfortunate animals in it like deers, foxes, etc., angora cats, scottish shepherd dogs, vikings, north, goth or scene, checkered skirts, ripped stockings, anime/cosplay stuff, dreamer, repressing emotion, candies, donuts, nutella, sweet coffee with milk and like 4 sugarcubes, campfire, electric guitars, 80's bands and music, eyeliner, electric blue and black, tiny tattoos, death's head hawkmothes, small deserted town with unfriendly people, anxiety and melancholy, chocolate cakes, evergreen forests with forgotten temples and ravens, the urge to deep in the heart hug someone and feel their warmth and love, isolation, regret.

Me= Snow, winter cold, Pearl like earrings, light blue, 2000's rebel style. Guitar, long eyelashes, black eyeshadow, boots, hoodies, white, Stones, wolf, boxing, introvert, nightmares, brute, cats, ice skating, ice cream, donuts, isolation.

Historia:

Sophie= macarons, pastel pink and blue, sparkles and glitter, hot chocolate with cottoncandy, roses, sweet fragranced perfumes, fluffy clouded wheather where the sun shines, the birds are chirping, but the rain is coming, dedication, undying love, grief, pink carnations, Imagine Dragon songs, accessories made from clams, lazy days in cafés, cottages, writing at a fancy laptop, Ragdoll cats.

Me= Royalty, pink, gold, crown, white cats, bells, wedding, mean, 2000's fashion popular girl, velvet, white swan, perfection, imperfection, rebel, cute make up, rings, feminine, perfume, bubble baths, greek gods, two faces, farm animals.

Ymir:

Sophie= Sand, the scent of vanilla and pomegranade, applepies, gold and dark brown earth colours, volcanos, fire, hot, humid summer days with clar skies, a lonely, clear blue river in a rocky mountain, capuccino, bullterriers, Tiger eye stone, bath bombs, loyalty, tragedy, true love, intricate.

Me= Love, pastel orange, cakes, honesty, thief, money, orphans, kind, funny, tickles, catholic church, fresh wind, towers in Norway, fruits, ties, bride, autumn, goddess, true to yourself

Marco:

Sophie= lavenders, deserted /creepy cementeries and villages, some sort of freshness and cleanliness, sunsets when the sky is light blue and vivid orange with pinks and purples, and the clouds are majestic and fluffy, witchcraft, white lilies, warm, cozy feelings, white chocolate

Me= Lavenders, white lillies, music, laughs, sex, kinkyness, sweet stuff, white, chocolate colors, love, sadness, lonelyness, desperation, friend, books, religion, tight jeans, cookies, sunny city in Italy, uptight, high expectations, raspberry, blush

Part 2

[fictional-thoughts]

Bitter

nsfw. the mandolorian x reader

warnings: slight angst, smut w a hint of rough sex, rollercoaster of emotions in dis bitch

words: 5.8k

He’s standing outside her door, feeling a thousand feet away but it’s only a lock and a few inches of wood separating him from you. His gloved fingers tap nervously on the hilt of his long weapon, under the helmet he’s chewing his bottom lip, colouring it red, contemplating, thinking, smoothing over the idea in his mind.

He can’t see her now.

He’s a mess, still pumped on adrenaline from returning from his last job, it ended brutally, all he remembers is blood running down the street in thick streams, cracked open skulls and the dim echos of screaming. His eyes close, dark lashes kiss his cheeks and he’s erasing the memories from his mind, only wishing he didn’t have to knock on that damn door, pass over the threshold and finally be rid of recollection.

Surely she’d answer. She always did.

What is holding him back? His own guilt of betrayal? His errors of the past haunt him, soak deep into his skin he nearly finds himself turning away from you when he needs her most. That’s it. The Mandalorian is chewing on the idea that he does need her, it feels sharp on his lips, its thick and sickly sweet, a poisoned wine he’s desperate to try and accept. The thought of her is held high over his head, a knife of vulnerability threatening to drop over his skin, slide and peel back the foundations of his history. He’s alone in the galaxy, a hunter, a killer, torn from all things the world says people need in order to survive.

She’s not that.

She’s everything he knows he would want to be.

And he needs her. Maybe not forever, but not another moment should go by without him near her.

The Mandalorian sighs deeply and lifts his fist to tap on her door, number 017. He’s been there so many times the number greets him with familiarity. He’s rolling his sore neck, the helmet tilted and he’s staring at the ugly brown ceiling as short steps approach the door, its creaking open and his heart is starting to beat faster, trapped under the confines of his ribs it’s threatening to escape.

The world calms and she’s in front of him, dressed down in casual clothing she’s barefoot and her hair is let down. It’s warm light and the smell of home, wrapped in her curiosity filled eyes he’s finding no words to speak. It’s been so long.

“Mando,” she’s whispering softly but no one is around to hear the gentle way she’s saying his nickname she claimed as her own. Her arms cross, there’s a chill in the hallway and he sees her shiver. Her eyes scan him over, searching for a wound or ailment. The Mandalorian is okay, he’s safe and she’s been worried over nothing. His armour clinks as he shifts his boots on the hard ground. “Come in,”

She’s stepping back and offering him room to pass over the threshold, his aura of power and destruction follows the soldier into the room. Her eyes are on the guns and the knife concealed on his lace up boot. He’s still the same. The door closed behind him and he’s alien to her homely flat, plants and books stacked everywhere he’s picking small details about her place he doesn’t remember from the last visit. It’s all her own personality turned into a place where even he feels welcome.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he thumbs a green plants soft petals and stares down at the short bit of life in the pot. He feels her eyes on him, soft and bright they’re unwavering and he feels the pressure to gaze back, to look across the room as if she’s stars away.

“I’d never turn you away,” her arms are still crossed over her chest, she’s freezing. The Mandalorian sighs, he’s brought icy winds with him and the frigid night air. He turns and sees just how little she’s really wearing.

She can’t tell but through the visor he’s gazing into her eyes, searching for a clue of what she’s going to say next. He’s never been able to read her. “Did I wake you?”

He nearly takes up the bulk of the small flat with his broadness and layers of armour but you don’t mind. He’s here and she’s unsure of what to say, her eyes downward she draws an invisible pattern on the wooden floor with her bare foot. “I’d just fallen asleep,” she’s lying but how could she tell him she lies awake most nights and pray he’ll show up at the door? Not injured or broken but whole and wanting for her company; though she wouldn’t mind him to be broken, bruised and in need of her help. That’s never happened and she knows the Mandalorian suffers alone.

“I can leave if you wish.” He turns with a step towards her and he’s looking down, her body so small compared to his, she’s beautiful in the semi darkness, it reminds him of sunsets on the horizons and lunar eclipses, of dying stars that shine so brightly in the last living moments — things he never thought to take notice of before he met her. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Regret seeps through the particles of air all around them, sucking the space and drowning out the noise of the world. He’s slowly breaking as she looks up, hurt in her eyes. The Mandalorian sighs, he didn’t mean that. He rarely speaks the truth and it’s hard even with her. The bounty hunter is skilled in many things but expressing the art of softer emotions was never on the list.

They’re close and she’s thinking of what to say, her mind a cage of birds. She should be bitter, angry and cold towards him, blocks of icy bricks and unbreakable walls made of iron. But she’s soft and can’t bring herself to hurt him more than he’s hurt himself in the past. “Stay,”

She’s staring at the visor, where she knows his eyes are, she can feel the deeper eye contact, sense his dark eyes connected with her own, each afraid to break the gaze she’s feeling her breath pick up. She’s missed him.

A glimmer of hope sparks and the Mandalorian is releasing a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “Thank you.” The helmet manipulates his tone and he’s sure his words sound heartless to her, of forgotten promises and crumbled love letters, spilled ink and empty words. He cannot give into that again, he’s a Mandalorian, a fighter, unbreakable and strong. It’s a tangle of his history and oath, his chosen path of culture and personal dependence, welded to his life, he’s stuck in time.

“Why are you here, Mando?” She’s pulling at the strings of bitterness, her gentleness has morphed into hints of resentment blended into her question. She’s close to him and yet so alone.

He’s not looking at her but removing his weapons from his form, the weight they carry is pulling him down, the very objects behind his life, his only possessions besides the ship he flies through the stars from planet to planet. He wishes he had more, but of what? What could a wandering hunter possess? The long rifles set down, its base thumped on the ground and the length is leaned against a dark bookcase and his blaster goes next to it. The knife is set down on the shelf with a careful hand. There’s more but they can come off later. “I’m here for you.” His gravelly tone is curling around her ears like a thousand deadly drums, beating out in time to the time of her breathing. He’s sincere and getting closer to her. “I want —”

She’s soft but not stupid. “You want to forget.” Shaking her head she’s a little hurt, a little on the edge of a steep cliff but it’s all foggy, unknown and he’s so close is suffocating. 

He’s pausing and the grips on his heart fade away. She knows him so well and it’s slowly tearing him apart, you’ve always been there to become a beacon and block the echos of his past. He thinks back to a time where he was caught after a battle, war torn and crushed he arrived at her door, tearing from him his battle gear and allowing her to blindly feel his scars, map this history of his body, he devoured every breath she took, sunk into her warmth he never wanted to leave. She’s never turned the Mandalorien away.

“You’re right.” He can’t lie, not yet.

She’s unfocused, her lip drawn under her teeth, bitten to a soft red, swollen under pressure. The thumping of her heart in her chest is loud enough for it to echo in her mind, she’s pulled in different directions, to remember the bitter past or take soul advantage of the present before her. She’s torn, spread so thin. He looks the same, and you can only really wonder who he was under the mask, though a little bulkier and clad in new armour he is still the Mandalorian, he is still yours. It’s all a mess but didn’t they used to thrive on the chaos? Get off to the secret, the whispered words and hidden touches. They were so young and blind and bonded together, it felt like ages ago. “Its just been so long,”

She’s missed him.

He’s stepping closer and sees just how small she is, compared to him. Metal to silk, ash to spring like winds she’s all the light in the world and he can only be her match. Their words built on an equal balance of light and dark, of shifting tides and uncertain times but in the end, one shall always meet their match. He’s exhaling shakily and he’s never one for words but he wishes to tell you everything, his sins, his purging of the innocent and its only a job but its not. It’s wearing him down to slide back into his bunk every night with his thoughts on you and what you once were, to him. Please, he’s thinking, its burning and rocking inside him and why cant he just tell you what he wants.

“Mando...” she’s looking down at his hands, his right curled over her own wrist, thumb rubbing circles.

The glove is worn and soft, leathery and not what she wants. He is silent and she’s tugging the gloves from his hands and tossing them to the floor. His tanned hands are bruised and split knuckles, trophies of his winnings.

“I don’t want to relive the past.” He tells her, tone neutral and softer, only for her. He cant think back to the times they’ve hurt one another, times when the moments never ended and they knew it would be alright in the end. But things like that never last. “I just need -”

“Me,” she’s completing his sentences and he’s alive with hope, waves of curling heat are smoothing his skin. And he tries not to go fast but he’s got her pulled into his arms and she’s so smooth and soft in his hands he’s nearly saying her name in prayer. Her backs arched to him and she’s got wonder in her eyes, he feels her hand slide over and up his shoulder and he’s suppressing the shivers that run through him, lit from a fuse thats connected only to her. “I can’t promise things will be the same,” she’s whispering through him, her hand on his cool helmet, just where his cheekbone would be and the Mandalorian is leaning into her touch. At her words his hands spread and squeeze her waist.

“I don’t want it to be the same,”

She’s being backed up, slowly and careful steps and she’s pressed into the wall. “We can make it better.” She knows the Mandalorian, she’s been his home, his secret for years and it cant ever be the same. She knows all he wants is to burry within her and forget the sounds of bombs, the taste of blood and rustic metal and smoke. “Mando,” she says his name and he’s already helping her from her clothes.

Gods, he’s feeling chunks of himself melting and falling to your feet, his girl, tender and lovingly she’s a mess of bittersweet romance and the feeling of flowers that you can only touch but not pick from the garden it’s planted. Is that all she is to him? A beauty to only observe and continue on the journey? “Mando, wait,” she’s gasping softly and he can barely stop, his hands splayed over her ribcage, the bumps of her bones under taunt skin he’s waiting for her to continue, her voice sending sparks to alight within him. He’s got his hand cupped around her jaw and the other sliding downwards to span her thigh, he’s going to lift her to the wall and push himself onto her. “Mando,” and he stops, leaned back he’s watching her to make sure she’s okay. “The blindfold, its, its in my room,” she’s flushed and stumbling on her words and he’s only wondering how such a beautiful thing could be in his grasp.

The Mandalorian shakes his head lightly. “Not yet.” His armours being untied by your careful hands and he’s silent, watching her work, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. Hotness seeps into his stomach, it’s craving and desperate. Bit by bit she’s pulled the metallic layers away, stripped him of his defence, he’s just as bare as you, with thin clothing thats close to the skin, close enough to feel the radiating heat. “Can I trust you?”

She’s mustering a soft smile and nodding, “’course, Mando.” 

“Close your eyes,” his voice is rough and tender, sandpaper and featherlight and seeping into her skin: she obeys, letting her eyes slide closed she’s surrounded by darkness and the gentle click and hiss of air as the Mandalorian is removing his helmet. He lets it drop to the floor and she jumps at the noise but he’s already pulled her close, he finds her lips and its a clash of rough remembrance, of slick and stolen moans he’s kissing her so hard she might just shatter in his arms. He feels himself weaken as she’s winding her arms around his neck, fingers swirled in the tendrils of his hair she’s so perfect and he just wants her now. It’s growing faster and more desperate, he’s got his hand curved around your jaw and his tongues flicking in between her lips and she’s a whimpering mess of sweetly melted emotions.

She’s got her eyes squeezed shut and her heads thrown back as the Mandalorian is moved down to the curve of her neck, he’s lined her throat with slicked kisses, his hands slide over her breasts and she’s moaning softly. His attention to detail is immaculate and he’s got her whimpering in moments with the curve of his hands on her tits and lips on her throat, he’s greedy and she tastes so sweet. He’s breathing is picking up and the sounds catch on a gasp as her hands trail down his chest. “Please,” she’s blind to him, her eyes never opening but picking up on every slight movement he’s making against her pressed to the cold wall. Use me.

Without warning his mouth leaves her own and he’s got her turned, front to the wall and his own pressed to her back, his large hands curved over her ass he’s groaning at the feeling, his lips on her shoulder and neck the Mandalorian is living for the soft sounds she’s making, without the helmet obscuring his vision its all the more real and he’s watching her hands close into fists as he’s pulling at the lobe of her ear with his teeth. He gets an idea. “Wait here.” And he’s gone. 

She’s already slick and her stomach is tense, she’s resting her forehead to the wall as the Mandalorian is turning down all the lights, she hears him blow out a candle on the desk and she realizes he doesn’t want the blindfold, he wants it to be raw, unconfined and free. His steady and slow steps are closer and soon she’s whirled around, crashed into his chest. Its dark in the room, in contrast to the stars above the room could be dark as night.

Its soon a mess of stripped clothing and her nails are carving marks into his naked broad back, skipping over the flexing muscles she’s got her head thrown back as his mouth covers her breast, its the art of passion drawn with sound and the unspoken rule to give in to one other and forget everything else, from one broken soul to another.

She’s bare and exposed to his hands, rough and tugging he’s got her so ready for him she’s feeling weak. “Bedroom,” she pants, he grunts softly in response, his hand slipping between her thighs he’s pulling aside her underclothes and she gasps, his fingers gather her slick and curl up into her its sending shocks through her system.

In the darkness he’s so close to her, too far gone to tell her how good she is, how he’s barely holding it together, he wants them to fall to the ground, lay her down to explore every inch of what she has to offer, he’s going mad with the feel of her quivering with only his fingers inside her and his teeth on her neck and god she’s so wet and he can tell she’s needed this. Needed him. 

“Gods, Mando,” she has a grip on his shoulder and the other moves to graze over him and its sending him into a shock. He’s in denial of the feelings she’s giving him, and soon its all too much and his fingers leave her warm cunt and he’s tasting them on his tongue.

She’s growing more frantic with every second as she leads him to her bedroom, sliding her hand along the smooth wall she finds the door and the Mandalorians quick to push her to the bed. She’s pulling his bottom lip in her teeth, her hands knitted in his thick hair, thigh curved around his waist, hes so close and so hard against her through the restricting fabric. He’s groaning softly as her hands move downward, it’s been so long and Mando quietly gasps against her swollen lips. She’s realizing that she’s using him too, to forget the pains of the past, of forlorn moments and bitter goodbyes.

She’s under him on the bed, curved to his body in the eerie darkness. It’s just like old times except he’s different, he’s more quiet and controlled, rough on the edges and confident. He’s dragging her underclothes down and sinking past her thighs, forehead leaned onto her stomach the Mandalorian takes a moment, eyes closed, breathing in her sickly sweet scent that’s all her before he’s burrowing his head in between her legs it’s a mess of his lips on her soaked cunt, he’s fast and his fingertips dig into her hips, spanned over the ridges of her hipbones; his mouth is on her sweet slick and not stopping until she’s close.

She cries out, whimpering his name and her hands fly to his head, her thighs ache, they close around his head and the warmth of his tongue sliding across the softness of her core is pulling her closer and closer to the edge, controlling her form.

Then he’s gone, pushing her thigh off his broad shoulder his tongue is replaced with two fingers, curved deep inside her — hot and tight around him, she’s got a grip on the while sheets under her and he’s swallowing her moans, lips against hers it’s fast and messy, she’s gasping into his mouth, her hands taking advantage of the removed helmet she’s mapping out what he looks like through the darkness, his hairs thick and turned with soft curls, she feels the contours of his jaw and cheekbones under her fingertips, raised lines of scars and indents of a once broken nose — he’s beautifully tragic, compiled of her imagination he’s everything that and more.

He’s beckoning, sliding his fingers into her she’s panting wetly against his skin, it’s so dark she can only see the outline of his body over hers, blocking out the light she’s picking up on the small details, the scars on his shoulders, of bullets and knives, stitched by his own hand? She’s feeling lower and he’s packed on muscle and bulk until she’s sure he could crush her if he so pleased — not that she would complain.

The Mandalorians never been so exposed, he thinks his oath is broken, his ties to his own religion snipped away. But as the light panels over her, he’s easing his fingers from her cunt, they’re slippery with her slick and it’s carving out his innocence of pleasure and shaping him into a place wretched and sinful. He’s looking down at her, beautiful, gentle, and the Mandalorian wants to ruin it. He’s raising his hand, sliding over her chest, past her pretty neck and slips his two digits past her parted lips. She moans at the sharp taste of herself, tongue curled around him she’s sucking hard and he’s nearly done for. His head lowers to her tits and teeth close around her nipple, pulling, tugging he’s buried in the softness of her skin. His lips span over the arches of her breasts, stopping to kiss her sternum, the valley in between.

She’s biting down on the tip of his pointer finger, smiling through a moan as he looks up at her, wonder and adoration swirled through the darkness. “What do you want?” He’s recalling their past, her favoured touches, sweet spots — he can’t think of just one, to bring her to the edge, to hold her down and have him engulfed within her, his hands moulding her flesh, dragging his teeth over her throat, catching her soft cries and matching her with his own.

His fingers slip from her lips and he’s gripping her jaw, shifting above her he’s pressed so tightly it’s hard for her to breath but it’s so worth it. Use me, she wants to plead, to have him grip her tightly, take everything he has out on her, break through the barriers of bitterness, soothe her wounds. The catch, there’s always one, the catch is: will he leave again? Vanish without a word, escaped into the night, never to see her again?

It’s happened one to many times. She should hate him for it, slam her door in his stupid fucking helmet face, one she’s never seen underneath and banish him from her life. But, in the months past, the Mandalorian just feels too good between her thighs, his hand around her throat or gripped in her hair, guiding her head down on his hard cock — he’s ever so tempting, a rush of adrenaline, he’s a drug in her veins, and she’s not broken her addiction.

“You,” she bites her lip, “just you.”

He’s kissing her, feels his tongue slip against hers it’s hot and heavy, messy and wet and bruising. Hands pulling at the ties of his pants they’re undone and she’s jerking beneath him, a wave of flushed arousal, unfurling and powerful she’s welded to him, darkness to light, magnetic force, of blinding stars and broken planets. “You’re so good,” he’s growling into her skin, pushing her thighs upwards he’s sliding against her, teasing, held back. He can’t, it’s the pounding of the air around him, the world blinks out and all he has is her, her body, crashed to the planets, exiled down from the gods she’s surely an angle, dammed to give herself to him, and he in turn, gives everything to her.

But he just can’t.

She’s surrounded by soft sheets, her beds worn and warm — how is she so soft? “You’re,” he’s groaning, pushing himself against her, large hand curled around her jaw she’s whimpering, chewing on begs, his name mixed within the words. “You—” he’s inhaling shakily, his nose follows up the line of her throat, behind her ear she’s covered in goosebumps and he’s sucking and biting her skin. “You’re mine.” He’s trying to convince himself of that, she’ll never be anyone’s; she’s her own. He’s never allowed himself to pin her down, fuck her and call her his to keep.

She’s nobodies. All her own.

But in between the moments of shattering lust and forgotten anger of abandonment, she could be his. The Mandalorian is the only one who’s cared, given a fuck — but it’s never been enough. She’s not accepting his words, she’s not his. “Shut up,” she’s turned her head away and his lips follow, sliding from her jaw to her own swollen and pink parted lips, his body heavy on hers she’s alive with desperate longing.

She’s pushing at his shoulders, roughly pulling herself from under him and before he’s complaining she’s shoved him back to the bed, he’s staring at her form through the darkness. She’s changed. It’s rough and she’s climbing into his lap, he groans as her soaked cunt slides over him and she’s surprising him with her nails dragging down his chest, skimming over the hard ridges of muscles.

It’s a game, teasing and seductive she’s on top of him, her lips on his throat as his large hands take handfuls of her ass.

She’s wretched, complied of what the stars wish they had she’s furious, kissing down his throat, she’s trailed hot spots down his chest, her warm breath fanning over him, his taunt muscles tighten and she hums in approval, her delicate hand trails over his rigit abdomen, bending down she’s licking a trail up and closing her lips around the collom of his throat.

“Gods Mando,” she’s an absolute angel, cursed to the darkness and awoken sin she’s grinding her hips down over his. It was never his, she’s claimed him and as she’s twisting her wrist, fingers slicked and wrapped around his cock he’s realizing it’s always been her.

Mando relaxes into the bed, his muscles strain and all he wants to do is sit up and jerk her up to straddle him properly, he’s groping her ass and it’s all he can do but not lift her, pull her close and sink her soaked cunt around him, a battle between logic and fantasy — he’s getting harder thinking about her, fucking up into her, hand wrapped around her throat, pursing the chase. She’s so good.

Lets not relive the past she said. It can be different. I can make it better.

All this? To be his beacon of light, a glimmer of hope in this bitter and isolated life he’s chosen? She’s whispering praise into the Mandalorians ear, her guts rolling with arosual and he’s not even inside her yet. He’s achingly hard, it’s closing in around him, how quickly everything would be over after he’s fucked her one last time. He shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have knocked on her door. It’s going to be over and he’ll have to leave again.

He’s swearing, his voice deep and guttural she’s grinding down so hard the thoughts are slipping from his sober mind, he’s drunk on her skin, stuck in a daze of boiling emotions, tucked just a little too far away to reach.

The Mandalorian is getting frustrated, he’s preparing to slide his hands around her and throw her under him, have her whithering and saying his name like it’s the only thing she knows. “Wanna, wanna fuck you,” the words come out harsh, clipped with the moments of blinding pleasure, he’s so close and she’s only grinding faster, pushing her anger into him. “C’mon—”

She suddenly stops, gasping she fills her lungs with air. Both her hands cupping his face, it’s suddenly gentle — intimate — and the moonlight seems to be inline with the art of the lovers, a sliver of the dim and glowy light is passing by the window, it pans across the floor and the Mandalorian can finally see her, her eyes have softened and they’re almost nose to nose, her finger strokes down his cheekbone and he’s realizing she can see a part of him.

They’re sharing the light and their breathings in tune with one another. Her lingering eyes drop to his lips and she’s soft, a silken cloud, kissing him so softly, it’s not rushed, it’s stopping the planets circles around the moon, and suddenly time doesn’t exist.

She’s melted down, her anger and bitterness cooled to a point of gentle adoration, her lips fit with his, he’s made for her, made for her to care for him.

Surges of softer emotions swell inside her chest, it’s brimming and she feels her throat tighten. She can’t cry. But it’s all too much and the memories coming back, of waking up with the Mandalorian vanished from her bed, no sign he’d ever been there aside from her wrinkled sheets and marks of his passion etched into her skin — but even those fade over time.

Her breath catches and the Mandalorians pulling her close, curling her in his arms, brushing slim fingers over her blushing cheeks, he’s searching her face, gazing up at her and they both know the unspoken words.

“Mando,” she’s whispering, letting him shift her, settling her over him properly, skin to skin they’re the only two lovers in that moment. “Please,” don’t leave again.

The Mandalorians silent, spreading his hands over her hips she’s helping him move her upwards, lined up she’s got her hands braced on his broad shoulders. They both utter soft groans, she’s sliding down around his length and she’s shivering, her back arching, pressing her chest to his as he’s sitting up, curved his arms around her waist the Mandalorians done for. She’s panting, swollen lips glossed over and parted, she’s a mess of sweat slicked skin and burned and blackened passion. She’d scratched down his chest, raising thin red lines under her nails, she’s tearing him apart, devouring all what’s given to her, only in the fear if she doesn’t this will be the last time.

Everything’s okay, she cannot physically get any closer to him, flesh to whatever he’s made of, of metal and the war. He’s got his hand on the back of her head, chin tucked into her shoulder she’s seeping into his form, her fight gone — vanished, forgotten once more as the tides change, they’re gentle to each other. She’s moving over him, fists clenched he’s filled her perfectly, it’s a balance of their moments, of his hands lifting her again so she’s pressed to the bed, her back once more against the smooth sheets. He’s inside her again, his hand pulling her thigh up — smooth, fluid. She sighs softly, at each strokes he’s pulling her release closer, to feel the warm waves crash and battle within her.

The lovers are quiet within one another, her body curved to his its not a mess anymore, things have fallen into place and she’s so so so close, her hands tug at his hair and he’s kissing her neck, holding back from having his own way with her, keeping the rush at bay. She’s pleading his name, lip caught under her teeth she’s suddenly gasping, tense and quivering beneath him.

She’s got her eyes screwed shut, “don’t stop, don’t stop,” it’s a winding and beautiful build up, hotness pools into her core, thick and spreading through her nerves she’s trying to stay still, but he’s chasing the fleeting moments with rough movements, his hands on her skin, lips at her ear he’s so close it’s nearly unbearable.

“Come for me,” his gravely voice sends vibrations through her and she falls apart under him, her body floating through a daze it’s fast and coming in waves, she chokes on a gasp, tasting the sparks of heat, they’re smooth on her tongue and she’s seeing everything all at once.

“Gods,” she’s gasping, sensitive, overworked, but the Mandalorians going, his hand curved around her breast, he’s shaking and suddenly it all stops, he’s dropping from his high and the electricity of his release is explosive, wrapped in pleasure it’s blocking out everything but her, her tightness and warmth and the feeling of him buried so deep he’s unable to stop, she’s catching his moan, parted lips against his own they’re falling together, crashed to the ground with unfurling webs of pleasure.

The Mandalorians slicked with sweat and he’s tangled with her, his chest heaving he’s telling her only the way she’s made him feel.

He’s got his eyes closed and when he opens them, it’s not a dream, she’s there, tears brim her eyes and her hands trail down his shoulders. They’ve forgotten, all he hears is the sound of his heartbeat and the echos of gunfire is gone.

-

“You’ve always been there for me,” he’s saying, hours after the battle of passions and forgetting of the past. His tone is kept of the brimming emotions that had broken free of his cage, birds of flight they’re taking off, flying just from his reach. “I’m n-not enough for you.” He’s catching the air that’s not going through his lungs fast enough, lying next to her he’s unsure if this is all real, not a work of fiction. She’s got her head on his chest and his hands are sliding over her lower back, feeling the softness of her hips.

“I’ve never thought less of you,” she’s sighing, sleep digging its self into her body, she’s bruised, wrecked and exhausted; her thighs ache but it’s a good burn. She turns and pressed a short kiss to the middle of his chest, pulling her arm from the warm blankets she’s trailing a slim finger up and down his skin, tracing a slashed scar.

“Stay with me.” She looks at him, it’s still dark but the suns nearly about to rise, it’s golden rays peeking over the mountains outside the city. “Please?”

The Mandalorians hand comes up to smooth her hair from her face, running over the top of her head he’s watching her lean into his touch, angelic, perfect. “You know my chosen path,” he’s tearing him apart, he’s drowning. “I made a vow, long before ...”

“Before me,” she’s got a distant look in her eyes. It’s okay. It’s okay. She’s too weary, too beaten down with emotions she’s not used to feeling, she sinks into the bed beside the Mandalorian and allows him to curl around her, hold her for the last few moments before sleep takes her.

-

She wakes alone the in bed. The sun high in the sky, her room is filled with a golden yellow glow and her skins warm against the sheets. Sitting up she’s looking for the Mandalorian, he’s not beside her and she’s cursing herself for drifting off to sleep.

He’s got to be here.

Dressed in her wrinkled oversized covering from the night before, she pads into the open flat, flooded with light she looks around and realizes she’s all alone.

—

thank you for reading!! sorry for all the mistakes i just really wanted this posted, i’ll come back and do the editing tmrw! feedback is always appreciated ♥️

[secret-engima]

....I lied. If you’re still doing the title thing - if I go down gonna burn with the sun

I thought there was a few more title asks still lurking in here for me to answer. *cracks knuckles* RAMBLE TIME.

-Star Wars AU. Star Wars FFXV sorta-x-over AU where the Astrals decide that Aera and Ardyn deserve a chance at happiness, just not on Eos, and therefore go YEET. The Force, finding these two wayward and powerful souls is like- Sure okay and boom. Ardyn and Aera are reborn in a galaxy far, far away.

-Purely not coincidentally, far away, on different worlds and in different star systems, one Satine Kryze and one Obi-Wan Kenobi take their first breaths.

-Yes I’m serious.

-This would be- SUCH a chaotic fixit AU, both because Aera loves peace but she is NO pacifist and not about to let an entire Culture DIE just because some so called New Mandalorians cannot see the dangers of burying their own past. Two because- well.

-Ardyn has already BEEN a Chosen One and an Accursed, a Hero and a Villain. He has walked the path to salvation and damnation both and seen the worst sides of himself and humanity, and for all they look different, every species in the galaxy isn’t far different from humanity in those regards.

-Obi-Wan Kenobi grows up in the Jedi Temple and he is a Troublesome Child. Too quiet and too reckless by turns, a smile that could melt butter and a tongue that can strip flesh from the backs of whatever bully goes after him this time. The Jedi ... worry. He is Dark, they whisper, was born with shreds of Darkness in his soul. He is manipulative, they worry, he has a temper, they gossip.

-Ardyn hears them all and inside a part of him screams. Because of course he is Dark, they did not have their souls swallowed by a plague for others’ sake, were not consumed with madness until dying (being freed) at the hands of a nephew two thousand years removed. As for manipulation ... he doesn’t mean to. It’s just ... he’s so much OLDER than the other children mentally, older even than any Jedi there (even YODA), he can’t help it that he thinks rings around people sometimes, or that he is so in tune with the Force (with a galaxy-spanning magic that burns beneath his skin like a hundred newborn suns that he keeps buried so the Jedi will not sense it so clearly, will not know how strong and old he really is inside) that he can practically read minds and knows what to say to get the best outcome. He has a temper. Who doesn’t? You try being reborn after a lifetime of AGONY and see how patient you are with petty morons and small minded bullies.

-He says none of those things, and when his time grows near to be sent away without a Master, he does not fight it.

-He looks at the shadow of Qui Gon Jinn in the doorway and something in the Force ... sings. Sad and soft. It speaks of heartache and betrayal and a fear of being hurt again. Ardyn can almost FEEL the two paths branching away under his feet, one with Qui Gon in it, and one without, and he does not know which one will bring him less pain.

-Ardyn does not try to impress anyone in the sparring ring, but after he is done, he slips away. He finds Jinn in the garden, trying to meditate, and settles down across from him without invitation.

-Qui Gon opens his eyes in annoyance. He knows that the Council wants him to take a Padawan, and that this one is almost at the age of being moved to the Corps. He expects the boy to beg to become a Padawan, or to try to impress him somehow.

-Instead the boy just smiles, thin and sharp and knowing in a way that makes Qui Gon feel ... exposed. Like every thought and wound in his heart is on display for this child, “The Council wants you to take a Padawan. That’s why they keep making you watch us.” It’s a statement, not a question.

-Qui Gon raises an eyebrow, “And you think I should take you?”

-The boy shrugs, but his blue eyes are still sharp as knives behind his friendly mien and Qui Gon doesn’t like the feeling crawling up his spine, “That’s your choice to make and yours alone. There’s nothing I can say to change your mind one way or the other.”

-“Then why are you here?” He asks suspiciously.

-“Because you’re lonely, and it makes the Force feel sad.” The answer is so blunt, so sure of itself. Qui Gon feels his stomach twist, and old anger makes him snappish without meaning to be (he’s heard of this boy as well, he’s heard that he’s got a manipulative streak and a tendency to twist his Force empathy to his own ends, he’s heard many things).

-(Qui Gon forgets that it is not a good idea, to base judgement on rumors) “I am not, and if I was, I would not need your company to ease it.”

-Obi-Wan Kenobi, Initiate of the Jedi Temple Ardyn Lucis Caelum, Sage and Healer King and Accursed, tilts his head thoughtfully, then nods and stands up, “Then I will take my leave. Take care of yourself, Master Jinn.”

-Initiate Kenobi Ardyn the Accursed and Healer King walks away, and a breath later the Living Force twists, like the snapping of cables, and Qui Gon gets the fleeting, distinct impression that he has failed some kind of very important test.

-Ardyn is assigned to the AgraCorps. A life as a farmer for others awaits him.

-The day before he’s to be shipped off, he walks out one of the Temple’s side-entrances and into the underbelly of Coruscant with only the clothes on his back. He doesn’t look back even once. It takes until the next day for anyone (for his friends, if he can call them friends when they are so much YOUNGER and painfully more innocent than him) to miss him. It takes another day for the Jedi to realize Obi-Wan Kenobi is well and truly missing.

-Deep in Coruscant’s seedy side, at the dockyards manned by those who are less than concerned with legality, a boy in ratty (stolen) clothes asks to be taken aboard as a maintenance worker. He calls himself Ardyn Izunia, and there are no Force Sensitives close enough to feel the sunlike fire burning in his blood as he smiles.

-Skip forward several years and Satine Kryze (Aera) is on the run from Death Watch, civil war is on the horizon and her father asks for Jedi protection to keep her safe.

-The bounty hunter who calls himself Adagium finds her first.

-A sword that glitters like blood and cuts through metal like a lightsaber (that hums-hums-hums with magic none but a Force sensitive can see blazing like bloody fire down the ancient blade) finishes off the Death Watch assassin that Satine hadn’t had the chance to shoot yet, and under his hood, Adagium smiles. Satine stills, head tilted as if listening, then she collapses into the teenage bounty hunter’s arms in joyous tears. Adagium- Ardyn- holds her close and cries with her.

- “I finally found you, My Aera,” he breathes and for a moment he lets his magic loose and it burns like the sun through the Force, lancing through the growing shadows in the Force like they’re fragile paper and somewhere far away Sidious feels Doom™ crawl violently up his spine.

-Aka that Fixit AU where Aera is a Mand’alor that DOES want peace for her people but NOT at the cost of burning history to the ground (or being defenseless, she has died to the sword once already she will not go quietly into the night a second time, not if she has to paint the walls in blood to protect her life and the lives of her people), the Jedi are Confused™, and Ardyn is incredibly content to be Aera’s former bounty hunter trophy husband with a tendency to adopt strays (read: Anakin and Shmi who he frees as well as Anakin kthanks, and quite possibly Savage and Feral too tho no one is quite sure how) until the Clone Wars start and Ardyn takes one (1) look at the war and goes: ah. I know this plan. This is a stupid plan. And all of Sidious’s plans go fwoosh.

-Because I’m sorry but there is no way you can convince me that Ardyn wouldn’t EAT SIDIOUS ALIVE in any kind of fight, mental, physical, Force, or tactical. This man is 2k years old. It took Sidious until he was an old sack of bones to get his Empire and that was with GENERATIONS of Sith serving as his foundation, and then he got yote down a reactor shaft by his minion 19-25 years later. Ardyn was able to manipulate an entire Empire into engineering its destruction and fulfill ALL HIS REVENGE GOALS (giving Bahamut a headache, driving the world to darkness and ruin, and ending the line of Lucis Caelum INCLUDING HIMSELF) in like- 30-40 years. While MENTALLY AND PHYSICALLY ILL thanks to the Scourge. Fully healthy and in control of himself and with people (Aera) to protect? Sidious would just be fresh meat.

-Also Ardyn adopts a bunch of the clones, possibly all the clones, on the excuse that since they were raised by Mandalorian trainers they count as Mandalorians and as genetic sons of Jango Fett that makes the Mandalorian CITIZENS by BIRTHRIGHT and the Republic can only watch in confusion as their army gets mass adopted by the Mand’alor’s trophy husband who also exposed their new Chancellor as a Sith. Bail Organa, the new Chancellor, may or may not be sweating quietly at the thought of accidentally gaining the ire of the so called Trophy Husband because he’s smarter than most and knows that Ardyn is Very Very Dangerous.

-Also also Qui Gon doesn’t die somehow because I do really like him and I think he’s a good Jedi, just not a good fit for Ardyn as a master.

[charlieliqueur]

Bigby Wolf X Reader

Summary; Bigby is forced into going to a fair outside of the city. He expects to find Mundies and Fables, but not what he actually stumbled upon...

▪️▪️▪️

It was loud.

Painfully loud. Footsteps, bell chimes, laughter, screams, so much noise. So many people. His footsteps hit the ground, grass sparse due to heavy traffic. The pathways were marked with orange cones and plastic tape.

Bigby spotted Beast at a strongman game, Holly and Grendal sitting at a table in the shade, Woody and Jack playing darts. He slowed, seeing Mundies and Fables alike crowding games and stands.

It was overwhelming.

The scents mainly. Sweet, salty, savory, natural, unnatural. All manners of deodorant, perfume, cologne, shampoo, laundry detergent. It fogged up his mind, and he instinctually reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. Sticking a lone one between his lips, Bigby brought the lighter out, and opened it. The metallic sound echoed in his head, as another scent joined the others right before he lit the cigarette.

He stalled, lifting his head up slightly. He took a breath through the nose. It was cluttered with all the other scents, but it was there.

Something so soft, a gentle pheromone of wood, rain, and untouched earth... of home.

It took his mind to memories of a place much kinder, much more pleasant. He searched for the source. A stand, an object, something...

Then a strong burst hit him, like lightning, and he saw you. You ran past, rushing after someone. Your hair a mess, with dandelions and daisies tangled in it. A temporary painting of a wolf sat against your flushed cheek, and a clutter of plastic bracelets and beads littered your wrists and neck, a collection of trophies you had won.

Your smile was a million fireflies, your eyes the sparkle of gemstones, your laughter a cascade of beautiful thunder. You were there and gone in less than a second. You disappeared into the crowds, chasing after your friend, and Bigby's eyes never left you as you ran. They still lingered long after you were out of sight.

"Bigby?"

The voice tugged him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times, slouching slightly. Bigby hadn't realized how alert he'd been, the sight of you such a shock.

He eased, and turned to where the voice came from. He saw Snow, a confused look on her face. "Someone you knew?" She asks, looking past him in the direction you rushed off into. "No... thought I recognized them, but I guess not," Bigby says, glancing back as he spoke. He looked back to Snow. Her hair neatly pulled back and braided, her wrists bare, her skin untouched. So unlike the wild, free-spirited delight that had rushed by.

"Well, Flycatcher, Beauty and I were gonna head to some rides. You in?"

"Uh, no thanks."

"Alright... just try to lay back a bit, okay Bigby?" She says, then she turns and leaves. He adjusted his tie, lit the cigarette, and continued walking.

But you still dominated his thoughts. Even in the chaotic space, you were all he could manage to think about.

Morning turned to noon, noon to evening. And as the colored lights seemed to be more at home, and the families began to leave, the thought crossed his head that he should go. Why would he stay if all he was going to do was mope over a girl he only had just glimpsed?

He slicked his hair back once more, sighing, pulling out another cigarette to try and dilute your presence. It had stuck with him all day.

Just as he lit it, he heard something.

"Oh my gosh, just do it!"

"No, I'm all awkward and it'd be weird."

"And?? Listen, either you do it, or I will. And I won't be gentle about it either."

"Okay, okay!"

It was you. Bigby wasn't sure how he knew. He just did. He pulled the lighter down, prepared to look around like a wild animal for you, but something tapped his shoulder before he had the chance. He turned around carefully, seeing you right there. A smile on your face, even more beads around your neck.

"Hey, I kinda sorta noticed you were wandering around on your own. If that was your plan, totally okay! But, if it wasn't, my friends and I were doing the same thing, hoping onto whatever rides have the shortest lines... if you wanted to maybe, I dunno, come hang out with us...?" You asked, still smiling, only a shyness had overcome you.

"Uh," he said, Bigby wasn't sure how to respond. He was still shocked that you had just strolled up to him like it was nothing. Nobody did that. No one. But here you were, smiling at him and eagerly awaiting a reply. "Its alright if you don't wanna, I figured I'd offer-"

"Nah, I'd, uh, I'd like to," he says, and suddenly your smile doubled, and you brought your arms up slightly, exclaiming "Awesome! Er-- I mean, cool." You rubbed the back of your head, your cheeked very flushed now, smiling, a touch of embarrassment added to your mix of emotions.

He couldn't help but smile slightly. "Well, shall we?" You ask, gesturing for him to follow you. He nodded, following you as you led him into the chaotic fairground full of people. "I have to warn you, some of them are a lot more... spontaneous than me. Don't take too much of what they say to heart, your best bet would be to stick with me," you offered, nudging him with your elbow. "Shouldn't be a problem," he says, pulling the cigarette out and treading it out on the ground. He wanted the whole of you in his mind right now.

He didn't want Fabletown, or being Sheriff, or his friends, or home, or Snow, or anything right now.

All he wanted was you.

"Oh, also, my names y/n! Name's are kinda important," you say, laughing to yourself. "I'm Bigby," he says, and you nodded, quickly saying "That's a rad name."

"Really think so?" He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk he couldn't help. "Oh yeah, that's the thing about me, I don't really lie. I'll phrase things weird, but usually no lying," you say, beaming.

"So what to first?" He asks, and you nearly jumped at his eagerness. "I've actually got a list," you say. But instead of pulling out a phone or paper or anything, you pull up your forearm, a list of ride names and places written on the skin, slightly blocked by all the bracelets.

"Oh, here," you quickly pulled off the biggest bracelet you had on, it being much too big for you. You held it out for him as you walked. He carefully took it, easing it onto his wrist. It fit rather well. "Oh, and some of these, before they break my neck," you joked excitedly, pulling a few of the colorful beaded necklaces off from around your neck, hopping onto your tiptoes, and putting them over his head and letting them fall around his neck.

"Voila! That means... actually, I dunno what it means, something in French," you say, bursting into giggles. He hadn't realized he could love a sound so much until he heard your laugh. "So first is actually, ooh, come on!" You grabbed his wrist and pulled him along, suddenly rushing.

That's how he ended up on a mess of rides with you, playing dozens of games, mostly you winning and him having to deal with your ridiculous victory dances. Your friends sometimes snuck around, yet oddly enough didn't stick around you both that much.

It was much darker now, probably nearing midnight. But you didn't have the faintest sign of tiredness. You seemed determined with your list, that Bigby had helped check off with you. "Oh, Ferris Wheel. I wonder if the line's short enough now? Let's see!" You reached back, grabbing his hand. He felt his face heat up, but you didn't react, you simply held it tightly, joyously rushing down a pathway.

He could hear his heart in his ears, thumping harshly against his ribs. He didn't know why he felt this way... and what was it he was feeling

You had brought the both of you to the line just in time to sneak into the last seats. "Want me to stop it at the top for ya?" Asked the operator as you sat across from Bigby. You both nodded.

Bigby couldn't keep his eyes off you. All of this seemed fake, almost as if a dream. He began to worry faintly that he'd wake up, finding himself in his little apartment, the atmosphere being that of his normal life. He realized how pleasing you were to the senses. Your beauty, your scent, your voice, how your hands felt against his skin. But there was still a box left unchecked, still one left on the list...

He wasn't sure if he should, or even could.

He wasn't sure if he had the courage to. It was such a funny thought, being the Sheriff, breaking up fights and hunting murderers, and yet he turned into a scared boy when faced with a girl.

You tugged him from his thoughts by quickly saying, "Look at the stars! Aren't they beautiful?"

He hesitated, still gazing at you a moment, before looking up where you were. They really were something. But they were nothing compared to how they looked reflecting in your eyes.

"Bigby?"

He suddenly realized he'd been staring. You smiled at him. "Seem more interested in me than the view," you teased, a smirk on your lips. Those lips... he felt his toes curl, not wanting to clench his fists infront of you. He was frustrated, but in a calm way. "Can't help it," he says, you noticing the touch of pink across his cheeks. Your smiled faded, but remained. A small, gentle thing.

He couldn't help but look at your lips. Then, you sat forward a little, as the ferris wheel stopped with you both at the top. You asked, "Did I tell you I can read minds?"

"No, don't think you did. Can you?"

"I can read yours."

"Really, so, what am I thinking...?" He asks, curious.

"Come closer," you urge, gesturing. He played along, sitting forward. But as soon as he did, you quickly slammed your lips against his. He was shocked at first, but soon kissed back, his hand finding your cheek, the other your neck.

But just as the moment began, it was suddenly cut short by the ferris wheel jerking into motion. You both sat back, looking at each other, both blushing madly. The ferris wheel stopped, and you both got off, smiling softly. As you walked away, back into the crowds, Bigby carefully reached, feeling his wrist brush your bracelets, before his hand wrapped around yours.

The night was soon to end, and it made him upset, not wanting this moment to ever go. "I, uh, maybe we could, um..." you couldn't find the words. But somehow he knew exactly what you meant.

"Tomorrow afternoon?" He suggests. You smile, and ask "Where?"

"I know a few restaurants here and there, but maybe something a little more lively would be your style..."

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"Then, here..." he carefully wrote out the address for his apartment on her arm, along with a phone number. "The number is for my office, I basically live there," he jokes.

"Office?"

"Yeah, I'm a Sheriff," he says simply.

"SHERIFF?"

Epilogue

Bigby sat in his office, turning through another file. He had finished writing something, before opening a drawer in his desk, and he stopped. Inside were the necklaces you had given him, along with the bracelet. He smiled faintly, gently sliding the folder on top of them. He shut the drawer, just as the door burst open, and a familiar girl rushed in, immediately sitting across from him. "You will not believe what Bluebeard said to me! Now don't get upset, but this jackass-" and you went on to rant, gesturing wildly with your hands, and all he could do was sit back and smile.

"The only good thing that came out of it was Snow finally giving me the damn key!" You say, slamming it down onto the desk. You huffed, leaning back and making funny faces as you remembered the ordeal.

Bigby reached forward and grabbed the key off the desk, observing it. "This isn't 206's key," he says. "I know," you say softly, your cheeks heating up a little. "This is my apartment's key..." he added, looking at you. "Well I obviously need one, what with you working odd hours. What happens if I get locked out?" You say defensively, not wanting to admit to the other reasonings.

"Why would I lock you out?"

"Whenever you get shot or hurt and know that I'll be giving you hell about it," you say honestly. You did say that you told the truth.

"Why else would you need a key?" He asks, offering that smirk that always made you flustered. "Cause..." you say, getting up and reaching for it, but he pulled it back suddenly.

"Cause why?"

"I can take the key back-" He reached forward and grabbed your hand, stilling you as he stood up. He walked around the desk, and your face got even redder. "Why?" He asked, and you avoiding eye contact, bouncing your legs slightly, nervous. "In case I wanna... surprise you..."

"What kind of surprise?" He asks, leaning forward, lifting your chin so you'd have to look at him. "You're the detective, you tell me," you say, but your blushed face and rushing heartbeat said it all.

He chuckled, kissed you, and pressed the key back into you palm, whispering in your ear, "Then I guess you better hold onto this..."

[tessiete]

"I wish you would write a —" continuation or AU of that scene from away the vapour flew (because I've seen you mention that even your AU's have AU's lol and I'm selfishly hoping you'd consider revisiting that fic and coz I can't let this opportunity pass when this fic literally lives in my mind rent free lol)

Alright! At long last I have figured out what happens next. This is for you, dear thing ❤️❤️❤️ ( @lightasthesun on - or very near thereabouts - your birthday)

LED BY THE WANDERING LIGHT

It starts with a very little thing: a seed.

 It is slipped from the glove of a Republic aid trooper who smiles as he passes it over.

 “From the General of the 212th,” he says. “Don’t know what it is, but I damn near lost the thing on the way over.” 

 “For me?” he asks, and the man nods, his grin growing wider.

 Then he leans in as though commiserating with a friend. “Jetiise sha’bise, lek?”

 “Elek,” agrees Korkie, dubiously, turning the little living pebble between his fingers.

 The trooper grins, and gives him a friendly shove before trotting off back to his ship. Korkie has come down on his aunt’s behalf to oversee the relief efforts, but he is distracted by the seed in his hand. It is flat, and furry, and pleasingly plump. If he squeezes it, he can feel the skin relent and rebound, and if he digs in his nail ever so gently, he can feel the taste of water upon his thumb, and see the pale blush of springtime in the depths of the cut. It is a seed of something, he knows, but of what?

 He places it in the breast pocket of his Academy jacket, and turns his attention back to the work. It is an impressive, and important sight, but his thoughts linger on the seed, and he feels it sit bright and eager against his heart.

 Later, when the supplies have been unloaded, and the aid troopers seen off, when the ceremony of thanks and assurances of neutrality have all been displayed, when he is back in his room at Sundari only hours away from the magtrain ride back to school, he plants the seed in a little pot of black earth, and dampens the soil. It will not grow tonight, but he cannot help but stare at it anyway, waiting in the dark, beneath the stars, so patient.

A week passes, and he is back at the Academy when the mail officer - an upperclassman he’s never met - stops at his place during first meal.

 “Su-su, Kryze!” he calls. “A package for you from the Core.”

 A small bundle wrapped in layer upon layer of bonding tape, and stamped with the ink of a hundred spaceports too numerous and cramped to decipher lands upon his lap. He uses the thin knife from his plate to slice through the plastifibe envelope. 

 When his fingers graze the object within he gasps, and pulls back the wrap to reveal a real, proper book. It’s not even printed on flimsi, he notes, cracking the aged spine and letting the pages fall open, but on actual paper. They don’t make these in the Core, and hardly ever in the Mid Rim, it’s just not economical, and most planets don’t have the resources to spare. But this one is old, it’s pages creased, and worn smooth at the corners with the turning of many fingers. It is about horticulture, though the illustrations of green and growing things have faded to browns and burnished golds. It is beautiful. 

 A piece of dried grass has been tucked between two pages, and when Korkie folds them back to look he sees an image of the seed he’d sown in the pot by his bed. Beside it, a riotous bouquet of blossoms burst in an array of different colours. It is a daesyn flower.

He tucks the book in his kebisebag, and carries it around for the rest of the day. At nightfall, he takes it out with careful reverence, turning the pages back to the daesyn slowly lest they tear or turn to dust. Then, by the light of a little glowrod, he props the book against his window and reads along as he tends to the small green sprout only just peeking through the soil.

 He buys a sun lamp, and a watermeter, and adjusts the temperature of his quarters much to Amis’ chagrin, determined to provide the most optimal growing conditions he can for the little plant.

  After a month, the seedling has become a sturdy sprout, with prickly leaves of a green so deep it might be blue. He is attempting to commit those variegated lines to flimsi when Amis returns to their quarters, a small pouch swinging from his hand.

 “I’m supposed to give this to you,” he says, tossing the pouch. Korkie reacts without thinking, snatching the bag out of the air before it can hit the ground.

 “Who’s it from?”

 “Front desk. Said some high up Republic alor sent it.”

 “Which one?”

 “Don’t know. Didn’t ask, did I? Too busy polishing the silver.”

 Korkie grimaces in sympathy, having spent many an afternoon of his first year cleaning the trophy case in the main hall. He thinks that Amis’ plight could be easily avoided if only he behaved himself, but refrains from saying so to his friend.

 Instead, he pulls the drawstring at the top of the purse, and turns it over his hand. A dozen discs of coloured glass tumble into his palm. They are thick, and smooth, though not polished by anything but time. Each is a different colour, though some are struck through with shimmers of gold and silver. 

 “What’s that?” asks Amis over his shoulder.

 “Don’t know,” he echoes. The glass feels comfortable in his grip. Made to be held, and carried, and passed from hand to hand.

 “Should ask Lagos,” says Amis. “That seems like her kind of thing.”

 He makes no reply to Amis, but of course, he does as he suggests. Lagos is, after all, a walking encyclopaedia, and of all their friends the most likely to at least have an idea of where to start looking.

 The excitement on her face when Korkie shows her his hoard tells him she has more than an idea - she knows.

 “Oh, oh, oh!” she gasps. “Where’d you find Abafar trading beads?”

 “They were a gift,” he replies. “What are they for?”

 She picks them up one at a time and holds them to the light. By some trick of their design, they cast no shadow, but seem to capture the rays inside like banked embers, or twisting prisms. The ones marked with ribbons of ore grow warm in her hand, and she presses them to his cheek so he can feel their heat.

 “They’re the traditional currency of Abafar,” she explains. “It’s a desert planet in the Outer Rim, and craftsmen in the Void used to make these beads as a means of facilitating trade over great distances. Metal was scarce, and the beads could also be used to retain heat for longer - that one in your hand could keep the warmth of the sun all night, if you wanted it to.”

 He considers the disc of deep indigo, and holds it up to the sun until it turns red. The glass seems to have become molten, but its warmth is not painful in the hand. He leaves the bead out for the rest of the afternoon to test Lagos’ theory, and brings it into bed with him at night. Tucked beneath his pillow, it radiates a soothing heat, and he feels his muscles relax and his worries melt as he drifts away into an easy slumber.

   The next gift he receives is shattered into bits.

 “Sorry, kid,” says the attendant at the delivery depot when he arrives to claim his parcel. “Happens sometimes with these packages from the front. The war is not a safe place for fragile things. Bic cuyir meg bic cuyir.”

 He takes the present anyway, carrying it delicately back to the Academy, fearful of breaking it further. When he finally tears through the tape and plastifibe, clay and ceramplast pieces give up any pretense at form and clatter over the surface of his desk.

 It was beautiful once, he can tell. Perhaps a bowl or a cup turned by hand - he can see the telltale print of a foreign finger pressed into a section of naked clay - but now it is only fragments and dust.

 Still, he hovers over the pile, turning the pieces this way and that, trying to see how they fit together. He doesn’t notice when sixth bell rings, or when Soniee pings his comm, or when Amis sneaks in past curfew and turns out his light. He stays up late into the night, until the form takes shape, and through the cracks and crevasses of painted clay dawn creeps in.

 It is an amphoriskos. A small vessel for storing precious oils, like the kind used in the rituals of so many traditional peoples. There is none in it now, and Korkie retrieves the sachet to see if perhaps it was spilled into the weave of the plastifibe wrap. But it is dry. And the clay, when he looks at it more closely, is dry and unstained by use. The gift was always empty.

 The shards sit upon his desk in their loose arrangement until, one afternoon, Amis moves to sweep them off into the dustbin.

 “No, no!” protests Korkie, before Amis can complete the task. “I want to keep it.”

 “What for?” his friend asks. “It’s broken.”

 “I don’t know yet.”

 He collects the bits of amphoriskos into his hands, and arranges them about the base of his daesyn pot. The paint glints in the light, and so too do the Abafar beads nestled amidst the debris. The plant grows green and bushy, its leaves reaching out to skim the rim of its bed as though a swimmer poised on the edge of emersion.

He receives Theelin singing strings wound tight around a holodrive meant for the Duchess, paired basalt spindles from Hapes, seashells from the deep oceans of Mon Cala, and a set of Lateron hoops carried on the wrist of the visiting senator from Naboo.

 “From Master Kenobi,” she says, and she smiles at him with a warmth that feels like family. He wonders if they’ve met before, if he should know her, but she moves along with the entourage of press and government officials before he can ask.

 He is home for Holyrod month, and has brought his prizes with him carried along specially in his kebisebag, his daesyn in his hands. He sets them out along the windowsill in his rooms at Sundari. The watchet blues and greens of crystalline filtered light play over his collection, illuminating one after the other in joyous turn. He does not know what they mean, or why his father has sent these particular things to him, but they are all precious, and he longs for a way to display his gratitude for the thought he has been spared.

 The daesyn itself revels in its new surroundings, and leans close to the glass to get as close a view of the sun as it can, budding with imminent delight.

The Senator from Naboo is called Padme, he discovers when he is introduced to her again at mealtime. And she has not come alone. She is part of a delegation of foreign ambassadors, all from the Republic, but not all, Korkie suspects, as enthusiastic about the Chancellor as they had once been. There are murmurings and whispers amongst them, hurried out between thin lips and caught only in the corner of his eye, or the turn of his head, but whether satisfied or not, they are accompanied by the ceremonial force of the Senate, and the might of Palpatine himself - Two Jedi travel with them.

 Anakin Skywalker, and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

 He sees him through the crush of bodies, and later down the line at suppertime. In the midst of deep blues, and mauves, and furs, and silks, his earthen tunics stand out, but he is always distant, always just out of reach. All he needs is a moment, he thinks, to make sure he’s seen, so he can acknowledge his father - even in the polite, and suitably respectful language of perfect strangers if he must, but it never comes. 

The plates are cleared, the halls are emptied, and Korkie finds himself bidding his aunt (she is always his aunt here) goodnight, and wandering back to his rooms alone.

 It is dark when he arrives, though by the window the Abafar beads glow like the distant lights of the city. He slips off his stiff shoes, and his raiments of clan, but is interrupted by a knock at the door. He waits, uncertain, until the knock comes again.

 Perhaps his mother come to assure herself of his health and presence, as she has done so often in the past, but he opens the door to find Obi-Wan Kenobi waiting, with his hand out. In the euphoric rush of astonishment, he hastens to place his own hand upon his father’s as is customary on Stewjon, though he holds fast in a manner peculiar between children and their parents.

 “Master Kenobi,” he stammers. “I did not expect you. I thought you’d left. Forgive me.”

 “There is nothing to forgive,” Obi-Wan replies. “I’d rather hoped to catch you alone, but I’m afraid our schedule was somewhat packed.”

“Of course.”

He is staring, he knows it, but he can’t seem to think of anything else to say, caught up in looking at his father and searching for all the commonalities between them. Does he tilt his head like that? Does he stroke his chin? Does he frown and smile by equal measure?

But the weight of his scrutiny is too much to bear, and Obi-Wan cracks.

“I thought to ask: did you get my gifts?”

“Yes,” says Korkie. “Thank you. They were very thoughtful.”

“Ah...And did you - did you like them?”

At this, Korkie cannot help but smile, and he shakes his father’s hand, tugging him forward with zeal.

“Yes, of course,” he says. “Would you like to see?”

If he is confused by his son’s desire to reintroduce him to items he has already laboured over and seen, then he does not show it. Nor does he resist when the hand in his pulls him further into the room, and doesn’t let go even as a curtain is flung open, and a light flicked on low.

He is pulled over to the broad casements and left to bask in starlight as Korkie steps aside to reveal a colorful mobile hanging from the frame of his window.

“The amphoriskos broke,” he explains, and sees a shadow flicker in his father's eyes. “No, no,” he insists. “It wasn’t your fault. It just happened. But I couldn’t bear to throw it away. It was so beautiful.”

He gestures at a silver thread from which hang a variety of irregularly shaped clay shards. The shiny amber and black paint catches the light thrown by the glowing Abafar beads strung further up, and on another and another thread. When he blows on them the threads hum, and sway together, the seashells and pottery and glass clattering together like wind chimes.

“The singing strings,” notes Obi-Wan, and Korkie grins.

“And the Lateron hoops,” he says, pointing to the frame from which the strings are suspended. “And the spindles, for balance. It’s meant to hang with my window open, like it is at school. And then, at night, when the dreamwinds come, the whole thing sings, and shines, and glows like the stars.”

“It’s beautiful,” says Obi-Wan with awe. He reaches out with one hesitant finger, the beads flickering beneath his touch, and the strings murmuring the low notes of an opening phrase.

“You gave it to me,” says Korkie with a shrug, and Obi-Wan turns his awe upon his boy.

“No,” he says. “I gave you fragments, but you have made them into art. You gave them meaning. You gave them a soul.”

Korkie shifts on his feet, fretting at the cuff of his sleeve, and diving in.

“Would it be okay, do you think -” he starts, then stops. Then he starts again. “Do you think it’d be alright if I wrote you? Every once in a while.”

“Wrote me?”

“Or com’d,” he says, quickly. “Only I know you’re busy, and I can’t expect to lay claim to any of your time, not really, but I -”

“Com me,” says Obi-Wan. “Write me. Send me anything you like, but only say you will and I will have all the time for you I can spare.”

“I promise that I only want a very little.”

“If it’s mine to give it’s yours to have, Kiorkicek,” his father swears. His grip upon his hand is firm, willing him to believe him, and Korkie nods his head because he does.

They stand there, hand in hand, reading themselves in each other, and learning the other in turn, and in the glow of the stars, and the city, and the Abafar beads, the daesyn flower bursts from its roots into a riot of colour and life.

[degrassi-fanatic]

Stay Awhile

As Prentiss steps out of her car, she can already see the clusters of families standing around in the parking lot. Not too far away from them, the children are already dressed in their soccer uniforms, warming up for their game on the field.

Ducking back down to her car, she reaches across the driver’s seat to the passenger side and retrieves two yellow paper bags dotted with white stars; one with a small tag that reads ‘Henry LaMontagne’ and the other ‘Jack Hotchner’. With a bag in each hand, Prentiss uses her foot to kick the door shut behind her.

Although she’s only been standing in the parking lot for a couple of seconds, she can already feel the sun beating down on her sensitive skin; never has she been more grateful for JJ’s constant nagging about sunscreen application. It feels like the hottest day of the summer and she’s sure by the time Reid arrives, he will have read dozen weather reports to back up her claim.

Prentiss maneuvers past numerous trophy wives and bored looking husbands to make her way over to the metal bleachers. As she looks over the tops of their heads, she tries to scan the rows to find any familiar faces.

“Emily!” she hears someone call out.

Near the top of the bleachers, Prentiss spots Will standing up from his seat as he waves to get her attention. She can’t help but notice that there isn’t anyone else up there with him.

Oh no.

It’s not that she hates Will. She doesn’t.

It’s just rather awkward to try and maintain a conversation with a person when you essentially stole their girlfriend from them.

In Will’s defense, he’s never outright called Prentiss a homewrecker. In fact, he’s always so kind and courteous to her; Will invites her and JJ over for dinner with him and Henry, he always asks about her wellbeing when he calls JJ for whatever reason, Will even had Henry bring her a gift for Christmas when he was staying with his mother for the week.

He may not have called Prentiss a homewrecker but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe it. It doesn’t mean that the thought isn’t somewhere in deep recesses of his mind.

Usually, Prentiss doesn’t have to stress over talking to Will but that’s only because they always have JJ or Henry there to act as a buffer between the two of them and stop a potential conflict from arising.

Now, however, JJ is nowhere in sight, Henry is out on the field, and Prentiss is a moment away from fleeing the scene.

The only reason she doesn’t is because she doesn’t need Will talking to JJ about how her girlfriend ran like a mad woman before their son’s soccer game.

Prentiss takes in a deep breath as she climbs the steps, making it to the top far quicker than she wanted to. Will motions for her to take a seat next to him with an easy smile. Once she’s sitting, Will bumps shoulders with her good naturedly.

“Hey,” she greets politely as she sets the gift bags down by her feet, “Where’s JJ?”

“JJ forgot to buy the brownies for the potluck after the game.” he answers with a little laugh, “And now she’s probably speeding down the roads to get here in time.”

His slight at JJ’s driving loosens up the knot in her chest but, not by much though.

“What about the others?” she asks, for the lack of anything better to add.

“Aaron and Spencer are getting the Gatorade from the car. Dave’s on the sidelines, helping the kids warm up,” Will informs as he points to a far away figure that Prentiss assumes is Rossi, “Penelope and Derek are running late because they woke up with hangovers from their alcohol binge last night.”

She lets out a chuckle at Garcia and Morgan’s predicament. Why on Earth they decided to go out to bars the night before a children’s soccer game, Prentiss will never know. She’s just glad that she decided to turn down their offer.

As Will picks up a water bottle from the ground, he glances over to the yellow gift bag near Prentiss’s feet.

“What’s that?” he asks curiously before unscrewing the cap of the bottle.

“Um, it’s, uh, it’s a gift,” she says, “For Jack and Henry.”

“That’s so sweet, Emily.” Will practically coos, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

Although Will flashes her what she would consider a sincere smile from anyone else, Prentiss cannot help but wonder if he’s having any of those thoughts about her being a homewrecker right now.

His hands reach for the tops of the gift bag labelled for Henry but before he touches it, he looks up at her.

“May I?” he asks, waiting for permission.

Prentiss nods.

As he pushes past the sheets of colourful tissue to get to the actual gift, Prentiss grows more anxious with every passing second. Her back goes ramrod straight. She begins to rock herself gingerly as she smooths her palms down her thighs.

She watches as Will pulls out the Lego set with gentle fingers.

There’s no real reason why Prentiss had bought it. She had been simply wandering through the mall when she spotted the set displayed in the window of some toy store. From the moment she casted her eyes on it, she felt some inexplicable pull to purchase it. For two weeks it had sat on the floor of her closet until Prentiss could find an excuse to give it to the boy she had in mind.

“My God, Emily.” he breathes out.

Her stomach drops. Her hands stop moving.

“Is it bad?” she questions urgently, “Because I can return it, if it—”

“No, no,” Will interrupts gently, “It’s just that Henry’s been raving about this exact Lego set for the past month.”

“He has?”

“I thought JJ would’ve told you.” he mumbles to himself as he stares at the box, “God, it’s perfect. He’s going to love it.”

He looks up from the gift to give her another one of his grins and a wave of guilt courses through Prentiss.

How could she have ruined this man’s family?

“I’m sorry, Will.” she blurts out.

“Pardon?” he asks as he places the box back into the gift bag.

“I’m sorry for everything,” she explains as she waves her hand between them, “For the whole thing between you, me, and JJ.”

As Will sets the bag back down on the ground, he shoots her a puzzled look. His brows furrowed together, while he’s deep in thought.

“You’re not seriously apologizing for dating your girlfriend, are you?” he asks.

“I, uh, I…” Prentiss stammers as she searches for the right words, “Yes?”

“Listen, Emily,” Will begins to speak as he turns to face her, their knees knocking, “I loved JJ, and I still love her, as the mother of my child. And I know she loves me too because I’m the father of her kid too. We parted on good terms.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about being with her.”

Will grabs her hand between the two of them and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Not for the first time, Prentiss can understand why JJ used to be in love with Will. He’s a good guy. He’s one of the best guys Prentiss knows.

“You don’t think I’m overstepping right now?” she asks, “I mean, I’m at your son’s soccer game.”

“Because he wants you here and so does JJ, and so do I.” he reminds her with another squeeze of her hand before letting it go.

“You do?”

“Course I do,” he reassures with a chuckle, “I have a feeling you’re going to be staying awhile.”

Although her face is no doubt red, she returns Will’s smile with a nod. She’s saved from having to respond by JJ’s sudden arrival. Her hands are full of store bought brownies and her car keys.. The strap of her purse is starting to slide off her shoulder. The only thing taming her hair is a pair of sunglasses perched at the top of her head.

“Hey guys,” she says a little breathless as she sits down beside Prentiss, “I’m not late, am I?”

Both Will and Prentiss shake their heads, their eyes bright with amusement at JJ’s disheveled state.

“They’re still warming up.” he informs her.

“Oh thank god.” JJ lets out as her shoulders finally sag with relief.

Without thinking too hard about it, Prentiss wrestles one of JJ’s hands free from the container of brownies, and does something she never used to do in front of Will; she plants a soft kiss on the back of it.

[another-dr-another]

insert those coins babey! no point in holding onto them if they aren't used !

You Now Own:

001 - Mineral Water (x2)

Drawn from the ocean depths and rigorously purified. Ideal for a modern on-the-go public unsatisfied with tap water.

002 - Sea Salt

A basic seasoning produced from the evaporation of seawater. It also sees use as a preservative.

003 - Ration

A set of canned and vacuum-sealed foodstuffs. The taste isn't bad, and a certain snake that wants to play hide-and-go-seek is just crazy abou- wait, what?

005 - Ramune

A sweet, lemon-flavored carbonated drink. A marble plugs the opening of the uniquely designed bottle. The bottle can also be reused if you bring it to the ramune store.

010 - Ship In a Bottle

A intricate creation, a model ship within a bottle. Made with time, love and care.

012 - Envy-Enducing Envy CD

A CD of songs by Japanese band Envy. Full of unreleased tracks/first recordings.

014 - Children's Book

A children's book about family and forgiveness! The plot is about a sister who can't get along with her younger brother, but they find common ground and bond over causing trouble for their parents.

016 - Sour Soda (x2)

No flavor is listed on the bottle other than sour, which may just be a flavor in and of itself. It's a near black shade of blue... I think.

017 - Gentleman's Guide

A book that's meant to help shape you into the perfect gentleman. However, it's rather demeaning towards the reader, which doesn't feel very gentleman-ly.

018 - Masculine Cologne

Very masculine, can only be used by masculine people. No weaklings allowed, or people with the common sense to smell it before purchasing, and realize it smells really bad.

019 - Fancy Sword

True to it’s name, it looks very fancy, and very intimidating. However, it's only for show, and rather blunt- perhaps inexpensive?

022 - ??? Alcohol

It's something alcoholic. This is a school, it should be confiscated, and you won't be receiving any more information.

024 - Hair Cutting Scissors

Snip snip snip, meant for hair-cutting at home, as these aren’t professional grade. Still though, try and make it even, okay?

025 - Purple Hair Dye

Pretty purple hair dye guaranteed to not come out of hair for weeks! More of a pinkish-purple than the box advertised, but still pretty.

028 - Constellation Skirt

With patterns matching actual real constellations. Despite matching the night sky, it almost seems sun-rise themed, with its pink background and pale gold stars.

030 - Bottled Tea

When heated up, it's meant to help soothe upset stomachs, and muscle aches. Popular among student athletes.

031 - Alarm Clock

It's a digital alarm clock. One of the few normal and functional things here, and it's the thing that screams at you to wake up every morning.

032 - Broken Stopwatch (x2)

It won't stop running, no pausing or restarting. You can however make it record different laps.

034 - Baseball Cap

Perfect for keeping the sun out of your face! This one is all black though, so it'll retain a lot of heat.

038 - Card Game (x3)

One easy to play, and popular among kids. The front side of the package shows a family of four playing.

039 - Reminder Booklet

A small pamphlet that gives reminders for daily things, such as eating, drinking, taking meds, etc. Also has room for you to add in unique personalized reminders.

041 - Tiovita

A Japanese energy drink sold at most convenience stores. Pretty inexpensive, and with a nice fruity flavor- but hey, only one per day!

044 - Lie Detector (x2)

Fun for the whole family! Though not incredibly accurate... wait, how do you know that?

045 - Evidence Encylopedia

A book focusing on evidence found in crime scenes. From most overlooked to most common, this book talks about it all.

049 - Track Award

A award from a middle school track and field award. The recipient of the trophy seems to have come in second in two events, and first in one.

050 - Plane Tickets (x2)

Anywhere, anytime, round trip tickets. Probably given as some sort of thank you for volunteering to get off of a accidentally over-booked flight.

051 - Therapy Advertisement (x2)

Some therapist endorsing themselves. Upon looking at the services they offer, I don't feel very inspired to go there.

056 - Soulmate Sweatshirt

A sweatshirt that supposedly brings the most comfort not when you wear it, but when holding someone wearing it. Currently smells strongly of... lavender?

057 - Scrap Metal x3

Seems to be broken bits and pieces of some sort of engine. Could be repurposed, or simply a cool trinket.

059 - Old Journal

It seems to be from the late 80s, and kept being written in up to the early 90s. There's a entry on the last page, synopsizing the birth of the owners son, and how proud the owner is of his now five year old.

060 - Paper Boat

A piece of paper that's been folded into a boat. Apparently you can fold and tear it as you tell a story to provide a visual aid for the story, but no one here knows how.

061 - Calendar

It's got pictures of internationally famous towns on it! This particular one has been written on with a note on almost every day.

064 - Face-paint Kit.

A professional face-painting kit. However, it’s missing it’s red, yellow, blue and white paint- those colors have been all used up.

065 - Life Quote Sign (x3)

A sign with some stereotypical life quote written on it in flowery lettering. Most likely to be seen hanging in a kitchen.

066 - Throwing Rings (x2)

Meant for fair games. If you have good enough aim, maybe you'll win a prize!

067 - Pleasant Savior

Seemingly a CD filled with various performances by the same person. I haven't played the CD, so I don't know what kind of performances he does though, and the name is off-putting.

069 - “Fresh” Bouquet (x3)

Somehow still smells sweet with flowers that look flawless. It's comprised of roses that have been dyed rainbow, all of them.

070 - Hair Ribbons (x3)

They come in a variety of colors, but the Monomono Machine only dispenses yellow. Guaranteed to make the wearer feel a certain sense of self-satisfaction.

071 - Girls Profile

A student profile from a all-girls academy. The paper is water-stained and some of the ink has run, so it's hard to make out what's on the paper.

073 - Baby Doll

It seems to be from around the 90s and... not quite well-loved, but well-played-with. Doesn't come with the original clothes... or hair.

075 - Dream Catcher

Made by a past SHSL. It's actually been pretty effective, and is part of the reason they got scouted.

080 - Retro Game

It's handheld, old, and extremely broken. The screen has been shattered so it displays wrong, all cracked and distorted.

081 - Blackout Curtains (x2)

Completely block out any and all light. Strong enough to plunge a room into darkness.

084 - Noise-cancelling Headphones

They completely block out all sound! Also come with the ability to adjust the size of the band, and will stay on your ears even if you pull the band down to your neck.

086 - Wall Decals

Stickers you can put on your wall. They do a decent job of covering up holes in said walls.

087 - Antique Stuffed Animal (x2)

It seems to be bunny themed, and dressed in clothes you'd see on babies in the 1930s. It's in pretty good shape, other than a few tears where the lace trim at the end has had it’s stitches removed.

088 - Embroidery Kit

Or rather, a needle and thread to be used for embroidery. There's only one needle, and one spool of thread, but hey, it’s something.

090 - Scented Markers (x2)

A full rainbow set, all with their own unique smell! Be careful though - it's hard to get these out of clothes.

092 - Fake Christmas Tree (x2)

Too plastic to be a real tree. It's also incredibly small, but real trees can be small too, so that doesn’t really mess with the realism.

093 - Hair Gel

Top of the line hair gel, and completely unopened! Helps you style your hair and keep it in place, but doesn’t give it the nicest texture.

095 - Instant Noodles

Just add water to get something hot, salty, and/or spicy! A nice meal if you're looking for something that's quick and easy, you can dress it up some too.

097 - Drink Mix

A powder used for ??? warm drink, made with milk, tastes like... something? You try it and tell me, but it smells good at the least.

099 - The DSM-I

Self-explanatory, it's the original version of the DSM, from 1952. Index cards have been slipped in-between most of the pages, talking about what happened with the information listed there.

100 - Collection Of Old Ads

Dating back to the 1920s. A magazine full of ads from a different time, it’s somewhat of a miracle the paper held up while the ideas in it didn’t.

101 - Wooden Ruler

It's a wooden ruler. Used for measuring things, nothing else- why do you ask?

102 - Building Blocks (x3)

Stacking and stacking, and sending it all crumbling down. And then you rinse and repeat.

104 - Cutesy Hair Clips

Snap clips in pastel colors and covered in designs. Oddly enough, there isn't any non-pastels, unless you count the few white clips.

106 - Newspaper Collage

Seems to be a collection of snippets from newspaper articles. There must be hundreds in here... it's a big collage.

107 - Cropped Sweatshirt

Cropped specifically due to a parent saying not to. The sweatshirt seems to be related to some organization, with the big fancy emblem on it.

109 - Pins And Patches

A mix-and-match bag full of enamel pins, buttons, and iron-on patches. Good luck finding something to do with them all.

110 - Origami Paper (x2)

Simple origami paper, in a variety of colors and patterns! Comes easy to tear out of a book, which includes instructions on basic origami types.

112 - Colorful Band-Aids.

They come in many colors, designs, even different sizes. Some seem to be made to cover up paper cuts, others meant to help skinned knees and scraped elbows.

Thank you for visiting the Monomono Machine!

~*~

Maeda, narrating - And I thought the coins were kinda heavy...

Maeda - What now?

[Free Time Event - Uehara]

{Head to Your Room}

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read Into Me Chapter Two: The Importance of Being Earnest

Steve Harrington x Reader

Catch up on the series HERE

Word Count: 2,030

Warnings: Swearing, death illusion

Author’s Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than I’d like, but I promise that the next one is longer! Also, some of the tags aren’t working for some users, so I’m so sorry if you aren’t getting notifications for this series! If you know how to fix this lemme know!

Tags: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap​  @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej​ @clockworkballerina​ @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary​ @banjino-in-the-whole @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @t0rment0 @10blurredsmoke10 @unussuallchild10 @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linkispink1995​ @asharpknife @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​

Steve was so very fucked. He’d been sat at his desk since he got home from school and could not think of a single fucking thing to write. He’d had his notebook open, his typewriter loaded with paper, pen uncapped and waiting to be used, and the most work he’d done was chew on its blue cap. He just couldn’t think.

Writing was not his thing. Reading was not his thing. School was not his thing. He had lines of trophies on his nearly empty shelf-swim meet, track and field, basketball, and baseball for one summer in fifth grade. He could understand how to play a sport. That was competitive, improvisational, and had a core outcome-you won, lost, or tied. The same three outcomes with a million ways to do it, a million variables to get in the way. Math and science were the same, he could swing Cs and Bs in those classes, but English was the opposite. There were too many opinions. Too many options. When he managed to read one of the assigned books for class and not merely the Cliff’s Notes, he found he had nothing to say about it. Everything the author said felt true, even when his teachers were telling him to look for specific things in the narrative. Sure, if someone told him that the conch shell in Lord of the Flies meant something, but if you asked him what he wouldn’t know. And he would believe you if you said that the conch shell didn’t mean anything. His essays were all crap.

He thought about calling Nancy. Nancy would know exactly how to help him, she always did. But Nancy was with Jonathan now and he wasn’t confident that they were still friends at all. If they were ever friends. He didn’t think that they were. They weren’t really friends before they dated. Still, his hand hovered over the egg shell white rotary phone on his desk, a gift from his eleventh birthday. He lifted the phone off its hook, dialling the number off by heart. It took three rings for someone to pick up.

“Eleven?” Mike Wheeler’s frantic voice came through the other end. Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the boy was far too attached to that girl, it was honestly concerning.

“Nah dude it’s Steve, your sister around?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“She’s out with Jonathan.” Mike’s voice dropped into one of boredom. “You know, her boyfriend?” he was such a little shit sometimes.

“Yeah, I know dipshit, you wanna tell her I called when she gets back?” Steve huffed back.

“If I remember.” With that, the call went dead. Steve groaned, rolling his eyes as he slammed the receiver back onto the hook. What a fucking waste of time. He’d never hear back now, that kid didn’t like him from the start and would do whatever he could to keep them from being friends.

What was to be done now? He didn’t have anything to say about his spring break! Mr. Lawrence was a bastard for even asking him to write about it. Nothing happened! His parents went to Miami Beach to rekindle their marriage for the hundredth time and left Steve at home alone. He tried to throw a party but almost got busted by the cops with a fake ID at the Pick n’ Save and Tommy’s brother wouldn’t give them any weed to supplement what would’ve been a pretty dry party. He cancelled the party after that and sat at home alone. Nothing much to tell about and definitely wouldn’t fill a page, even if he used the longest words he knew.

Steve stood from his desk, looking through his shelf till he found the heavy yellow pages he’d put on the bottom of his shelf to weigh the sucker down so it wouldn’t fall over as fast. He flipped it open, searching through the numbers till he found what he was looking for, lifting the receiver off its hook again.

Across the street, you were sprawled out on your rose printed bedspread, your head in your hands with Samantha sat on your desk chair, laughing at your pain. “You know it’s not that bad, right? You could’ve gotten stuck with someone way worse.” She said, mindlessly digging through the black jewellery box sat dusty in the corner of your desk. Your mother had sent it from Spain and had filled it with different things she found across Europe. You didn’t care much for the stuff yourself but you kept it on your desk to show that you used it, not that she was ever home to seemed to notice.

Your bedroom was clean and stark white. It used to be pink, to match the rest of your white iron rod and pink padded furniture. You didn’t like the pink that much, and you didn’t adore the white, but you could hide it behind the art you tacked to the wall. Every portrait, still life, and landscape painting you’d been proud of hung proudly in your home gallery. You’d done recreations of your favourite album covers, and splatter art with balloons, and a few charcoal drawings of your grandparents and your father. You’d painted clouds and stars on your ceiling when you were in middle school, and while they had a lot of room for improvement, you left them above your head as a comfort to you. Your father had helped you scrape the popcorn ceiling down flat and helped paint the ceiling sky blue. It was your last project together.

“Oh yeah totally…” you said through your hands, refusing to look at her, focusing instead on the yellow sun spots floating under your eyelids.

“I mean, you could’ve gotten stuck with Tracy Lords again, she’s in that class.” Samantha replied easily, pulling out a green sea glass bangle from the top drawer, running her fingers over the red velvet interior of the box. Tracy Lords was a menace to productivity, at least she was according to Samantha. They had issues, which meant that you did too by association, but she’d done nothing to you except glare and pop her gum at you.

“At least she does her work!” you sat up, letting your feet dangle over your bed. “I don’t think he’s ever done his work on time, he’s always late with stuff!”

“That’s not your problem; as long as you do your work then Lawrence won’t care.” She flashed the bangle in front of your face “You should wear this more it’s nice.”

You shrugged “You can have it if you want.” You didn’t really care about what your mother sent you, it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t care enough about you to be home for more than a month out of the year. Besides, where on earth were you supposed to wear any of it? Your mother loved to spend your father’s riches on random, useless crap and you hated the idea of showing off the money your father died for. It wasn’t anything to brag about.

“Nah, not my style, it won’t match any of my stuff.” She put the bracelet back, closing the box with a metallic thump. “But anyway, you’ll be fine. Steve’s completely harmless.” You weren’t exactly sure if you believed her.

The phone on your desk blared loudly. You begrudgingly jumped off the bed, pulling it off the hook. Your grandmother was still at the hair salon and if you didn’t answer, one of her little friends from the old folk’s home might think that she died again.

“Hello?” you asked, motioning for Samantha to move over a bit, closing your white curtains closed again, your eyes scanning the streets with a bored expression.

“Hey is this Y/N?” Steve asked cautiously. He couldn’t quite remember your voice but he had double checked your last name in the year book and the phone book.

“Yeah, who is this?” dread filled your stomach the second he spoke, you were hoping against hope that it wasn’t Steve. You could see him pacing his window from across the street.

“Hey it’s Steve from English?” Fucking hell. You wanted to slam the damn receiver onto its hook. But if you did that, Samantha would think that you were crazy and you didn’t want to seem like such a baby.

“Oh hey what’s up?” you asked cautiously. Samantha was pulling at your sleeve, mouthing ‘Who is it?’ at you. You pulled your arm away, pushing her chair away from you with your foot.

“Oh nothing much, I was just wondering how your paper’s going?” Steve didn’t really know why he called you, he wasn’t certain that you’d even help him if he asked. He hardly knew you, he couldn’t name two things about you. But you seemed smart, you could be of some help if he had the balls to ask for it.

“Oh um…it’s fine. How’s yours going?” your hand came to the back of your neck, rubbing it awkwardly. You wanted to run away, to utterly disappear into another dimension. You didn’t like strangers, especially the whole small talk part. You didn’t feel like you had anything interesting to say about yourself and you hated silence. Your mind just didn’t come up with questions to ask.

Steve’s face burned. He couldn’t admit that he was stupid now; he was hoping that he wasn’t the only idiot in the class. “Oh um it’s good! I’m almost done.” He said, mentally cursing himself for saying that he was anywhere near finished.

“Oh cool. Do-do you want to switch them off tomorrow?” Now you had no idea what this phone call was even about. In the back of your mind, you assumed that he just had a question about the essay, but now you had nothing to grab onto.

“Yeah sure, that works for me.” He said, looking to his empty paper.  He was so totally screwed now. He couldn’t admit that he was an idiot to you, not when you already had everything so clearly understood. You spoke so confidently, it made him feel small and pointless.

“Okay…I’ll see you in class then.” You said. Steve bid an awkward goodbye and you both hung up unsure what the hell had just happened.

Samantha was on her feet, jumping on your mattress “Did Steve Harrington just call you?!?” she cried, following it was it a giddy scream. You hushed her, rolling your eyes.

“It’s nothing to freak out about, you weirdo!” you countered, turning to face her fully with a sullen expression. Your heart was still pounding hard in your chest, adrenalin pumping through your veins.

Samantha landed on her knees, looking up at you incredulously “What? He’s cool! That’s cool! Boys never call you!”

“Way to rub that one in.” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Talking to people wasn’t your strong suit, and while for the most part you were okay with not having many friends, you lack of experience with relationships made you very insecure. “You crushed one of your spikes on my ceiling.”

Samantha reached up and touched each individual black spike with the tips of her finger, finding the dented one at the top of her head. “It’s true! God, I’ve got more guys calling me and I’m a lesbian.” She lowered her voice at the mention of her sexuality. You both knew that your grandparents wouldn’t be kind to her if they knew, their homophobia a mark of their small mindedness.

“Yeah, well, the guys at this school are all idiots.” You looked back to your paper, pulling your red pen out from behind your ear and crossing out a word on your essay.

“You didn’t think Jonathan Byers was an idiot.” Samantha replied. You cheeks flashed cherry red. It wasn’t fair of her to even mention him. He was a dickhead and Samantha knew it.

“Yeah, well now I know that he’s just as big of an idiot as everyone else is.” You muttered, pulling your desk chair over and taking a seat once again.  You didn’t have the time for stupid boys, anyways. You had work to do.