#Timing Belt Market Share

[st4rbwrry]

𝒜𝑀 𝐼 𝐵𝒜𝐵𝒴?

✧｡˚ a shy nympho camgirl seeks a partner to help her film content on a dating app. soon, meeting up with a handsome man who's willing to do anything for the pretty girl he chats with.

𝒲𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 𓇼 14k. pwp, lowercase intended, age gap ꒰ toji is 36, reader is 24 ꒱ submissive reader, pleasure!dom toji, bondage ꒰ belt ꒱, check ins, heavy praise, overstimulation, aftercare, unprotected, videography, oral ꒰ f + m ꒱ , squirting + kreaming, spanking, choking, hair pulling, mild degradation, intimacy on high, toji is intimidating, manhandling, masturbation, daddy kink srry not srry, pet names ꒰ baby, girl, pretty, sweetheart, angel ꒱ minors aren't welcomed! reblogs & comments are appreciated!

౨ৎ — ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 ꒱: this took me so long to finish y'all but im super proud of it. one of my favorite works so far so i hope y’all enjoy. ♡

you hold your notebook in your hands, a bright pink color with numerous doodles sketched onto its cover, your pen on the back of your ear as you slowly cross off a list of things you needed to buy while browsing on your laptop. your room is quiet aside from the soft sound of music playing from your stereo, beyoncé’s cowboy carter album playing from start to finish while you slumped into your soft pink duvet hiding beneath a white canopy slip. the air is crisp how you like, a fresh, chunky strawberry is chewed between teeth, and your skin is freshly scrubbed and moisturized, only covered in a matcha green two piece short and tank set. a laptop sits on your thighs as you cross your legs, twirling your left calf as you bury your back into your mountain of plushies.

this was frustrating. you never realized how hard this would be to find someone to fuck, let alone film content with. you’d made a profile on hinge a week prior to now, and most of the matches weren’t close to peaking your interest. most of the men seemed like creeps, some too old . . . giving very much grim reaper. and others, too young, freshly adults at that. you think you’ve made yourself appealing enough. cute profile with full faced pictures, personality traits, daily interests even . . . but it somehow didn’t attract those you truly wanted.

as your sticker covered macbook’s motherboard screamed for air, warm on your thighs and now sliding on your tummy the further you leaned back. . . you were growing tired. huffing and puffing from literal exhaustion. am i wasting my time? should i just go out and find people like in the movies? but this generation made it so hard to even physically connect anymore. what happened to people running into each other at a coffee shop, a book store, a park? sharing interests and going on dates. granted, what you were looking for was strictly work related. you wouldn’t dare stare a stranger in the eye you bumped into at the farmers market and ask, “hey, wanna fuck me for content?” it’d be tasteless. you have self respect. others may think differently considering your side quests to fund the unfathomable reality of adulthood on top of just being a girl.

“this fucking sucks,” you groan to yourself, thumb aching from how quickly you hit the big ‘x’ on the bottom left corner of your phone screen.

maybe it was time to call it a night. you had an early shift at the salon, about five clients to be exact, booking either re-twists, goddess braids, or a wig install. so you had to save your hand strength. sighing, you shut off your laptop and set it aside on your nightstand, disconnecting the music from your phone before getting up to cut off the light. your fluffy cat that laid on the edge of your bed shooting her head up in alarm, ready to follow at any adventure you pursued.

“relax, mommy’s not going anywhere,” you smile assuredly, knee dipping into the bed as you lean over to smooch her on her tiny head, pointy ears tickling your cheek as you watch her tail sway. “good night, sweet — oh, fuck! i forgot to feed you. i’m so sorry baby.”

the alert in your tone has the black cat stand in attention, cursing to yourself as you slip on your heart printed slippers and make your way towards the kitchen, your studio apartment being on one level making this task easier. you listen to her tiny paws thud on the floor after she jumps off the bed in a hurry, dashing in front of you, damn near tripping you.

“oh my god, you’re so extra,” you shake your head, but couldn’t help but laugh. she meows at you violently, as if you hadn’t fed her in two weeks. rolling your eyes, you reach for her bowl off the floor to clean before opening a fresh can of fancy feast, using one of her plastic spoons to arrange her dinner.

whilst she awaits, you can’t help but glare at the screen of your phone as it suddenly dings, forgetting to turn off your ringer. hovering over it to activate your face i.d, it immediately opens the hinge app, reloading the page to see a new match. the air you inhaled suddenly catches in your throat as you stare wide eyed at your screen, the man in your view is just what you’ve been waiting for.

“oh, holy fuck,” comprehension wasn’t on your radar seeming as you lost the ability of the cat food in your hand, dropping it to the floor and flinching from the mess your fur baby began chowing on. sucking your teeth, you mutter, “goddamit. no, no. stop it.”

flailing your hand gently to get her to stop, you snatch the can and dump the remainder in the deep oval ceramic bowl. you try to ignore the rapid pounding of your heartbeat, unsure why it went so astray. maybe it’s because you’ve never seen a man so fucking fine. deadly fine, foul almost. as if it was such a disrespect to all beings. she’d cleaned up her own mess, so you take the time to grab your phone and lean against the sink to observe this man further. he had matched with you, of course, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so depressed a few minutes ago . . . unless you were waiting for him to like you back.

toji. it’s his name. simple, nice. he only has about three pictures, one of them a huge black cane corso with a gorgeous silky coat. it made sense given the vibe he was giving. dark, intimidating, sexy. jet black hair, slender smoke gray eyes, sharp jaw and a fascinating scar on the side of his mouth. another thing you noticed was how big he was. most of the clothing he wears sticks to his skin like glue. molding the outline of his muscles, the thickness in his arms, the heaviness in his thighs, the brick trail of his abdomen.

a certain feeling burns in your chest, and between your legs as you scroll to see the last image. he’s sitting on a beach chair, thighs spread in black cargo pants, matching tee, a yuengling beer in his hand and a cross dangling around his neck as he takes a sip of his beverage with a hungry look into the camera. it’s cocky, possessive, dominant. the dark brows above his eyes lowered with attentiveness. his shirt is half risen above his abdomen, and you can easily see the dark trail of hair leading into his crotch. it’s full there, clear as day. so it’s easy to tell he carries something serious.

fuck. “fuck,” you feel yourself growing hot, blowing out a breath of air before making your way back to your comfy bed to stare at him more. what a fucking man. honestly, you’d never seen someone so of your standard. exactly your type. before messaging him, you check his profile a bit deeper to make sure you’re not mistaken of anything. find some flaws, though profiles only express so much.

thirty-six, that makes you moan. that’s a twelve year age difference. though that only makes him hotter. not too old, nor young. he’s a . . . gynecologist.

“so he’s good with pussy,” you giggle to yourself. he makes a decent amount of money. he’s into fitness, clearly. cars, politics, sports. seemed like a pretty laid back man to you.

without even realizing, he had already messaged you, your heart dropping to your toes at his first response.

toji

i’ve seen you before.

you blink, fingers typing quickly.

you

mhm, where?

he takes a moment to reply, so you fiddle with your necklace out of anxiousness, laying on your stomach and swaying your feet.

toji

sounds a little embarrassing, but an adult website.

you

sounds about right. does that bother you?

toji

i wouldn’t have matched with you if it had.

you

so you’re saying if i wasn’t a porn streamer you wouldn’t even look my way?

those three dots prolong longer than you wanted, only making you aware he didn’t know what to say.

toji

i matched with you because i find you attractive. whether you want me in that way or not is up to you. i want you.

he’s straightforward. you can’t help but bite the tip of your acrylic, smiling like a stupid teenager, kicking your feet in the air. the attraction being mutual boosting your ego.

“i want you, daddy,” you joke to yourself.

you

i’m assuming you’ve read my bio. i’m looking for someone to film content with! if you’re down for it, we can meet in person and talk about it! i’m not really looking for a relationship. . . right now at least. ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

toji

of course, sweetheart. i’m free saturday’s and sunday’s. you don’t seem that far from me. let’s grab italian. my treat.

there’s something blunt and grown about him, you can practically feel his intimidation radiating through your fingertips. he seems just like the kind of man you knew would fuck you stupid. scream his name until the walls bled. until you’re trembling, and the sheets are off the bed, and his sweat is on your back so arched to the point where it’s painfully delicious. biting your lip, you had nothing else to lose. you needed his help, he’s offering lunch, you only live once.

you

you had me at italian. saturday at 2?

toji

saturday at 2. see you then, darling.

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the nostalgic scent of blue magic hair grease fills the air of the salon, your fingers working tirelessly to intricate detail into the woman’s scalp you worked on. your last client of the day in fact. you couldn’t wait to clock out and grab a bowl from chipotle, thinking about it your entire shift. fingers entwining artfully as braiding hair flicks from angle to angle, you finish up the final knotless braid with a hard working sigh. you tried to remain optimistic after she’d taken her seat, unfortunately arriving an hour late to her appointment. said she had ‘issues’ with her boyfriend, smelling like weed and partially slurring her words when she came in. but you could care less when you were on a time crunch.

you hated when people wouldn’t respect the clearly listed rules on your account. so, for that, she’d be paying a late fee. after you applied moose and rosemary oil to her scalp, she’d pay you through apple pay and be on her way. you thank her, and when she’s out the door, you instantly turn to your friend and roll your eyes.

“you’re too damn nice for doing her hair. i would’ve told her ass to kick rocks after showing up that damn late,” amethyst speaks, crosslegged and shaking her head as she digs her fork into her chinease platter, filled to the brim with shrimp fried rice and popcorn chicken. the smell alone makes your tummy growl. “did she even tip you?”

“not at all,” you brush off, not even wanting to think about it anymore. “still got my money at the end of the day.“

“hey, you’ve been off the whole day, everything alright?” amethyst proceeds to question, and your shoulders slump as you halt from sweeping up hair off the floor.

aside from tireless appointments, you couldn’t get toji out of your mind, super impatient, even anxious for saturday to come. it’s two days away until you finally meet him. you’ve texted here and there, shared a few updates on life or spoke of relating passions and wanting desires. you had told him your occupation outside of being a camgirl, and how dissatisfied with it you’ve become. this field wasn’t for you anymore. the passion for it is dying, the clients grow irritable, and you just wanted to breathe. you feel like you’ve been working your whole life. in conclusion, since fifteen. started from an early age dealing with responsibilities due to financial constraints within your family. your mother raised you on her own, along with four other children. and being cursed with the older daughter syndrome, you developed faster than you wanted to. barely having time to live your life until you moved out. even then, it’s been all about work. you needed an island getaway.

“this week just burnt me out. i’m just glad it’s almost over,” you reply, not having the energy for a full conversation. she was a sweet girl, albeit very nosey. you try to keep events in your life private, gossip to a minimum.

“awe, bookie,” she pouts. “what’s your plan for tomorrow? me and the girls were gonna check out that new club ‘sin.’”

shaking your head, you disagree. “now you know i’m not big on clubs. have an art piece to work on anyways before the weekend comes. so i’ll be busy.”

amethyst nods. “well, alright then. i guess i’ll just see you whenever you get booked again.”

you don’t know why that felt like a backhanded response. you’re only here three times out of the week, and most of those days you see about five to six clients. everyone else had a bigger following on social media, meaning more attention, more money. you believe because you aren’t so passionate for this major, your ability to promote and put effort only shows in your adult entertainment career. since it’s where most of your income comes from as of four months ago.

“guess i’ll see you.”

after packing your ballerina pink telfar bag with all of your tools, you wave goodbye to everyone before making your way to your white honda civic, interior a vast splash of pink matching the two-piece skims set you wore. shorts since the weather is about seventy-five degrees today. buckling yourself in, your only agenda is to head to chipotle and then home. ordering your delectable signature bowl of barbacoa, fajita veggies, guacamole, pico de gallo, corn, sour cream, cheese, lettuce, and refusing to eat the bowl without their vinaigrette and a side of chips.

it’s around 9pm when you’re finally cleaned off from a hot shower, curly hair pushed back from your face with a hello kitty headband as you finish your skincare, sitting at your vanity while scandal plays in the background. you’d already eaten your food about an hour ago, even taking a thirty minute nap to regenerate for this art piece you needed to finish. in total, you had about three jobs; hair stylist, camgirl, ceramicist. you had an etsy profile where people bought cute little things of yours you liked to sculpt. tea pots, coquette flower pots, plates, heart cake jewelry boxes . . you name it. you had a few orders for mini miffy trinkets you had to ship out by saturday.

saturday. the warmth in your gut swarms at the thought of seeing that man. quite frankly, you’ve been unable to relieve your mind of him. he’s like a poison, hard to get rid of, but desperate to stay bonded with you. and you wanted nothing more than to be buried in his embrace; small and fucked out. since he’s been busy with work, and so have you, there hasn’t been much time to even call and chat. then again, you wanted to wait to see him in person. to feel that magnetism stronger than it already was. two days away and you’re anxious to even hear a hello.

while patting your toner into your face, you gaze through your mirror to see a scene playing from your show where fitz and olivia fight before they fuck for the hundredth time. the way he grabs her, speaks to her, caresses her and worships her. it has you thinking of toji instantly. the burn for him aching more than normal. practically feeling his eyes on you the way he stared into the camera in that one photo, long fingers clasped around the glass bottle, craving for that lock around your throat. wondering how tight he’d make it. would you be able to breathe? would he kiss air into your mouth to help you? tell you it’s okay, to feel it all, to take it all, to cum on his dick till you're milking him dry?

your thighs squeeze together from your imagination, staring at your reflection . . . and it��s all in your eyes. deep arousal, and the harsh clench you currently held your moisturizer in, close to grinding in your seat to ease the buzz of your clit. there’s only one solution for this, and you might as well make money off it. standing to your feet, you think not a second more before retrieving your laptop from your closet, setting it on your vanity desk and logging into the domain of prettyfuckbunnies.com. it seemed to be the main site for growth, given your eight thousand dedicated subscribers. you check yourself in the mirror once more before going live, rolling your chair back a few inches so they could see your entire frame. dressed in nothing but a small red slip dress.

angelbwrry is live!

your subscribers were notified well before others, hundreds of them swarming the chat within seconds. you were a new favorite, a prized star of the platform. admiration from both women and men. people who tipped you just for being pretty. others here for the obvious. applying gloss to your lips, you stare intensely into the camera, the character you play going into affect.

“hi,” you mutter quietly, slowly titling your head to the side as you bite your lip and sink lower into your seat, back arching. “i’m so fucking horny, and i just need someone to watch me fuck myself.”

the black kuromi chair you sat in begins to sway as you gently swing yourself side to side, eyes trained on the chat to witness them praise you, some comments degrading off the rip that you chose to ignore, others demanding you get on with it. for the most part, you tend to be discreet with sharing much about yourself. technically, you weren’t hiding much, your face easily accessible and probably even less hard to track. you’d always pray that there wasn’t a psycho willing to go that far just to find you. role playing was your forte. writing ideas for new personas to please them. and you had fun doing it. you’d never do something you weren’t in to for the satisfaction of others. never took private calls, or meets ups for obvious reasons.

but, you had to talk about him.

“i met this guy i can’t get outta my head,” the softness in your tone making dicks go erect and clits beat, the chat asking questions and growing fond of your way of interaction. “well, maybe not met. we’ve texted, and i meet him in a few days. possibly someone you’ll see on the channel. and . . .”

the tenseness in toji’s neck bothers him as he groans and leans back into his office’s chair, fork in one hand as he chews on his salad from sweetgreen a coworker grabbed for him, reading through emails his secretary confirmed appointments of, needing to add it into his schedule to be aware of what he can fit between. needing to run a few errands this weekend. the white doctors coat clings to his body, one foot raised to rest on the front of his desk, manspreading and jaw shifting as he finishes his food tiredly, knowing he wouldn’t eat a thing once he got home.

“goodnight doctor fushiguro! get some rest tonight, yeah?” a body comes to view of his secretary; a woman with glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, a chunky face and beautiful red hair. she waves enthusiastically.

toji smiles, the older woman trying her best not to swoon. he’s young enough to be her son. “good night, miss thorn. thank you for today. you get home safe and enjoy your trip. i wanna hear all about it when you’re back.”

“you know you’re the first person i’m running to tell!” she chirps, toji chuckling. “i left my keys on the main desk. don’t forget or else you’ll have to break open the drawer for your patients files.”

“i’ll be sure to remember.”

twenty minutes pass and toji’s cutting off lights to his small facility and locking up. twirling the keys on his long finger, starting up the sleek black maserati ghibli gt sitting in the parking lot from his key. a black patent leather messenger bag hanging from his shoulder, doctors coat discarded and now attired in his usual black tee with matching slacks. setting it beside him in the passengers seat, he gets a ding! from his cellphone, resting his shoulders in his seat before checking what it was, perhaps it was miss thorn, she tends to leave things behind.

angelbwrry is going live!

toji raises a brow from the notification, checking the sapphire bulova watch on his wrist for the time. 9:54pm. why were you up so late? forgetting people have other schedules, he’s so used to being asleep around this time, much more having to be done today the only reason he was still in the office way past the hour it closed. part of him grows inquisitive, wondering if he should invade your privacy or what not. though, he’s not new to your escapades. he’s seen every inch of your body, memorizing it quite literally. he’s not ashamed to say you’ve gotten him off a few times these past months. he feels like he knows you on a deeper level now, so itching for that perverted behavior would be indecent to both of you. especially if he’s seeing you in two days . . . for a conversation about what you do and his potential participation.

nothing wrong with just watching, right?

as the engine to his car hums, toji finds himself in a devious act, clicking onto your feed and finding you displayed in your feminine bedroom. the videos on mute momentarily before he’s going full screen and turning his phone sideways. there you were, small and standing tall as the slip that barely clung to your body arose the more you moved. hips wide, thighs full, nipples taut and tits defying gravity. the strap on your right shoulder falls elegantly, your hair hoisted up by a claw clip and your brown skin radiating glow. the man openly groans from the sight, knowing you smelt so good.

“wait, i have an idea!” the cute tone of your voice blares through his phone, a smirk painting his stern features as he watches you scramble for something in your room, your slip riding up your ass. the hourglass shape of your body, to the pudge of your tummy . . he’s enamored.

he, and a thousand other people watch curiously as you lift the seven foot mirror that previously leaned against your closet door and position it on the floor at the edge of your bed. then, you’re digging into your bottom drawer for something else, toji catching a brief glance at the chat raving and thirsting from the view of your perky ass peaking out, a tiny birth mark under the left one. the cellulite in your legs that squish together from size, the stretch marks leading from beneath your ass cheeks down to the backs of your knees. so fucking soft.

“ta-da!” you wave the object in your hand courageously, an evil grin on your face as you show the crowd your confetti designed dildo, the brow on toji’s face raising. he almost wants to chuckle. you’re so silly, he thinks. watching you dance your way back towards the mirror where you hum a tune to yourself, swaying your ass in the air for dramatics before plunging your toy onto the center of the mirror so it sticks, watching it spring for attention.

“gonna pretend this is him, ‘till then. can’t wait any longer,” your hands slowly drift up your thighs to show your audience your bare pussy, hiding between those luscious thighs of yours. he wanted to suffocate his face there badly. what you say almost goes over his head. pretend who’s what?

toji ignores the flow of comments filling the chat, degrading you to some degree which he briefly clenches his jaw from, feeling somewhat protective. others praising you, acting like your cash pigs. pathetic, he thinks. he sees one comment in particular that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

prinxxxspeach

aren’t you seeing him saturday? call him now to come help you girl!!

don’t fucking call me, angel. i’ll nut in my pants right now if i hear you say my name. he’s slightly amused that you spoke of him. is that why you went live so late? thinking about him? so pent up, and impatient, you had to just fuck it out your system? he’d fuck you a lot better than that lousy toy you had, that’s for sure.

you giggle from the comment, contacts still in your sockets so you can read what people are saying from afar.

“he can wait for me. he’s making me wait,” it’s like an old film camera flipping to the next scene, or maybe his mind had gone blank from your response because now, now you’re sinking your tiny pussy onto your toy after coating it with lube, the reflection of your cunt for all to see in the mirror. watching as this toy splits you apart, pretty folds swallowing it deep as you balance yourself on the tips of your toes. fully sitting and rolling your hips to adjust, your mouth falls wide and a whimper escapes.

“nng, s’so deep,” that voice of yours is going to get you in trouble. the broken moans you release as you lift your hips to grind and bounce, face falling forward to look at yourself, seeing someone other than yourself. your imagination begins to run wild, and you forget a cameras watching you, dainty fingers caressing the mirror before laying your palm flat, as if you’re choking him. biting your lip, you occupy your other hand by molding at your chest.

you uphold your balance well, clapping your ass down against the mirror now coated with your slick, pussy squelching ridiculously loud aside from your weak moans and desperate whimpers.

“fuuck,” your breath hikes, sounds broken and almost pleading, eyes rolling back as you collapse to your knees and lazily rock back on your idea of a dick. by this point, toji’s eyes are malicious, and his dick is hard in his slacks. shifting in his seat uncomfortably from what you’ve done.

“lemme see your face,” toji whispers in the air, the heat rushing to his cheeks. the things you do to him truly fascinating.

“g’na cuum, mmph daddy!” a high pitched squeal you let out stuns him, your hips shifting back and forth hurriedly. the flesh of your ass moving like water, and he’s in a trance. daddy? what the fuck are you doing to him? he wonders if you knew he was going to purposely join your live. already talking about him gave it away.

“c’mon, angel. show me,” the blood swells in his cock rapidly, tip damn near dripping with precum, unable to help but palm his heavy hand with it, humming and widening his legs.

“too-jii,” it’s faint the words you falter, a pathetic whimper followed by drool covered lips and a cute squeak. your body trembles from the depth of your orgasm, riding out your high and giggling cutely to yourself. to others, the words were inaudible. but to him, he knew exactly what the fuck you said.

the way you smile at yourself in the mirror, as if you’re looking at his fucked out face, you slowly upturn your head to bring it back to the livestream, a drunken, and dangerous grin on your face. never in his years of life had a woman made him gulp. to fear for what you’d do to him. how bad you’d break him, make him go fucking crazy. yearn for your pussy on his mouth.

you were fucking ethereal.

              𓇼

of-fucking-course you’d be running late. you were supposed to meet toji at two and it’s two thirty. the location of c’est moi exactly twenty five minutes away from where you lived. you were close to the downtown area, not fond of parking down there but you’d drive faster than an uber can. you made sure to make toji aware of your lateness so he’s not getting the idea that you stood him up. never. not after the other day. you don’t know what happened, but your mind took over your body and you couldn’t help yourself. you only pray he didn’t see it, not expecting him to. it’s embarrassing now that you think back on it.

you manage to make it out of the house twenty minutes after, throwing on a simple white pleated cami dress with a ruffled hem, ruched bust, and pairing of olive green sandals that had tea rose shaded orchids clipped onto the forefront. a teri cherry printed coach bag tight on your shoulder after you sped sixty miles per hour towards the restaurant, finding parking and hurriedly making your way inside.

“hi, reservations for fushiguro. i’m extremely late,” as you approach the host, you make out the sight of the man you were here to see outside instantly. sitting alone sipping a cup of coffee. his side profile all you can see, that deep scar carved into the side of his mouth, his veiny hands big as he clutches the mug . . and your throat clogs up.

he’s fucking . . . big. fuck being nervous before, this made you want to run and hide and never show your face. he’s practically hunching over the table, making it appear smaller than it actually is. his hair is midnight black, his broad shoulders and muscles suffocating the sleek gucci button up he wore, a few undone, eyes studying his cellphone, awaiting your call. one thing about being a doctor, he’s learned to be patient. understanding your alarm forgot to go off, or rather you slept through it . . seemingly growing to become impatient. he needed to see your face now.

“right this way.”

your feet follow blindly behind the hostess, trying your best not to trip over your own feet, heart beating drastically against your ribcage. your palms are sweaty, feeling the warm breeze of spring air hit your skin as the hostess leads you outside to the table where toji resides. he sees you before you see him, the sun beaming on your skin not nearly as hot as your cheeks suddenly became when finally making eye contact. your right hand picks at the ends of your dress anxiously, toji taking a stand to welcome you like a gentleman. it’s like slow fucking motion the closer you approach him, and when you’re inches apart, you can see the stillness on his face. he doesn’t smile, his face is almost unreadable. not sure if he’s upset with you for being late, or he’s just not one for emotions.

“hi,” the hairs on your skin stand from the deep baritone of his voice, visibly swallowing as you stare up at him, height difference making you dizzy.

“hi,” you blink like an innocent doe. he’s hovering over you and the waiter whom sets the menu down on the table, his chest almost touching you as he comes around to pull your chair out for you to sit, finally getting so close to the point where he could breathe in your sweet perfume, the peony and white musk scent has him forcing down a groan. he’s staring intently at your backside, dark hair going to the middle of your back in wild curls, a bit frizzy due to the humidity outside.

“can i get you anything to drink, miss?” the waiter addresses you, politely waiting for toji to move out the way.

why is your entire body on fire? no man has ever had this affect on you. his aura exudes something sinister, overtly masculine even. “u-um, yes please. can i just have a frozen sangria?”

“of course, i’ll be back with that while you decide on your meal.”

“thanks,” you smile sweetly, trying your very best to avoid complete eye contact. once the two of you are alone, you build up the courage to look at him again. he’s seated once more, leaning back into his chair with a left arm resting over the back of the chair with his legs comfortably spread. he liked to do that a lot. his eyes are low, head adjusted somewhat to the left as he observes you.

“good to finally see you,” he’s the first to speak, again. that fucking voice of his; raspy and dominant. how are you supposed to carry out a conversation without folding?

“y-yeah,” you clear your throat, sitting up straight after shyly clamping your hands between your legs and trying to hide like a porcupine. “i want to apologize again for running late. out of all days my phone decides to not ring my alarm. i rushed here as soon as possible. i hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

his lips began to rise into a soft smile, and that eases your nerves. no one would notice you’d rush to get ready. so naturally pretty with your face glowing from rose water and petroleum jelly, hair brushed out, lashes only curled with mascara, lips lined with black liner and smothered with gloss while your prescription glasses sit on the bridge of your nose. too cute.

“sweetheart, no need for the sorry’s. i understand.”

he’s not mad, thank fuck. “kay,” you smile back, tucking pieces of flown hair behind your ear. “did you order yet?”

“was waiting on you,” he replied. “though i kind of lost my appetite. i’m craving something . . . else. so, order anything you’d like.”

that was surely a double meaning. now, you’re not so sure if you had an appetite anymore. you couldn’t bare to eat in front of this man right now. when the waiter came back with your drink, you downed half of it, toji chuckling from your anxiousness. you needed the liquid courage before uttering another word towards the man who watched you with motive, intention. the intimidation brewing from his body is corrupting you. you order a simple caesar salad, nothing too fancy.

“oh! i printed out the document we have to go over.”

toji’s eyes trail to your hands that reach for your purse, acrylic nails painted a peony pink pulling out your notebook stuffed with an arrangement of papers as well as a pen. “guess we can call it like an nda, affidavit . . whatever. i’m sure you’re aware of the obvious on why. um, we can discuss boundaries within the bedroom . . . things we will or will not condone. a safe word is a must. if you don’t feel comfortable showing your face i’d blur it out, but given i do livestreams most of the time that’ll be impossible. so i’d suggest a mask, which i’m actually in to so if that’s something you’re willing to do . . “

toji nods as you continue to ramble, carefully analyzing everything you say, though, his mind begins to drift elsewhere. he still couldn’t get that damn livestream out of his mind. killing himself these past two days just thinking about how fucked out he needed you to be, buried deep and crying underneath him. the cute expressions on your face when you moaned his name so publicly, as if you dared him to see. how desperately you fucked yourself on that pathetic toy of yours from the very thought of him. your whines, the illicit way you stared at your reflection in the mirror beneath your sculpture of a body you rolled seductively. he shifts in his seat, attempting to conceal the stirring of hunger within him as you continue to talk. he doesn’t need a fucking contract. he’d fuck you good and wouldn’t tell a soul.

his expression is firm yet tinged with a hint of something different this time . . anticipation. “why do you film content?”

the unwavering intensity in his gaze causes you to cut your sentence short, mouth forming an ‘o’ as you ponder on his question. was he even listening? “wha—what do you mean?”

toji chuckles. “i mean, why do you film? is it your main source of income? do you enjoy submitting to hundreds of people? does it make you feel confident, make you feel good? why?”

that should’ve been something you prepared yourself to answer. most of the guys you filmed content with didn’t have personal answers to ask, nor did they care. they were simply there to have a good time and go about their lives. you came into this situation thinking that’s what toji wanted as well. now you’re getting a gut feeling it’s more than that. or maybe you’re just an over-thinker. the whole point of making an account on hinge was to find better people to connect with for work, but most of them never got the job done, and you were tired of faking an orgasm and boosting a man’s ego. something about this one though, you can feel that he’s willing to worship you.

“well, i actually have three jobs. hairstylist during the day, which i’m growing to lose passion for. i’m good with pottery so i make little things and sell them. and then as for filming content . . . it’s fast money. the economy is shit right now. minimum wage jobs aren’t cutting it. rent prices are horrifying. i want to fund a new life for myself. to travel more, and just be a girl.”

toji smiles, admiring you.

“bali has been on my mind as a place to reside. it’s always been a dream of mine to be somewhere tropical. less breathing in polluted air and eating foods they pump full of hormones. mexico and puerto rico are also on the list. i really need to dip my feet in some sand or something. i don’t know. it’s also kind of sexually liberating to be in my own bubble and enjoy myself in that way. i do it for no one but myself.”

toji sits up in his seat, taking a piece of ciabatta and smearing softened butter onto the breadpicked up a slice of bread and smeared some butter onto it. “i think that moving to a place like that is a good idea. there’s a lot of bullshit in the world that’s hard to run away from. if you feel like it’s what’s best for your mental and emotional being, then go for it. you seem like you’ve worked real hard your entire life. you deserve a break.”

the heat in your cheeks rise as he leans himself closer, guiding the bread to your lips, waiting for you to take a bite. you smile softly, sitting up a bit in your chair before taking a bite. toji watches intensely as you moan from the taste.

“isn’t it much better when it’s given by someone else?”

“yeah, it’s good. real good,” you swallow, licking your lips to rid the breadcrumbs, reaching for your glass of wine to take another sip. “i have most of my savings in tact, so my plan is to be out of here by next year.”

the unadulterated pull between the two of you threatens to consume him as he stares at you, his body almost painfully yearning for your touch, your taste, your everything. toji can no longer resist. he reaches out and gently cups your chin, his fingers gently yet firmly tilting your face up to meet his smoldering gaze when you dared to look away. “how ‘bout you take me with you.“

the entire scene switches, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, filled with a raw mixture of lust and vulnerability makes you fall shamelessly into his trance. you feel your heart patter against your chest, scanning his entire face with small indications of panic, and excitement. you’ve been dying for his touch all week. you pray he’s as good as he looks.

“what’s the catch?” you breathe inordinately.

toji smirks. “we get fake married or something and change our identities.”

you shake your head at his joke. “i need to see a ring first, mister.”

“mhm, you look like a marquise kinda girl,” he tongues his cheek, in deep thought. “go to bali. i pay, you enjoy life.”

pairs of lips are mere inches away, toji ghosting his softly amongst your own, yours parting to follow. you feel like you’re in space, the feeling extraterrestrial. surrounded by depths of nothingness with only the two of you existing.

“i. . no, i can’t let you do that,” you shake your head dismissively.

“you deserve it.”

“you don’t know me.”

“good. that’ll be the perfect occasion for us to spend more time together,” he concludes, softly pecking your lips to coax you into giving him what he needed. you’re stunned, unsure what to say, or to think. so, he doesn’t make you think.

“fuckin’ kiss me,” his voice drops to a husky whisper, filled with a raw mixture of desire and vulnerability, eyes flickering from the plumpness of your lips to your eyes. “can’t wait any fucking longer.”

the heat of his breath mingles with yours as his lips brush against your own in a hungry, fiery kiss. his mouth devours yours with an intensity that borders on primal, each movement filled with a desperate need to taste and consume everything you have to offer. his tongue slips past your parted lips, eagerly exploring the depths of your mouth as if seeking to memorize every inch of you.

you were drawn in fully now and you didn’t think you’d be able to pull away even if you wanted.

within the moment of your passionate kiss, as toji’s rough hand trailed to grasp your throat, your waiter begins to approach with your salad, eyes widening as he noticed how deeply, and somewhat aggressively your make out session was. practically swallowing each others faces. deciding to mind his business and turn the other way. he’d come back in a few minutes. toji breaks the kiss abruptly, his eyes gleaming with a hint of reluctance.

“damn this table,” he mutters, his gaze shifting towards the barrier separating the two of you. his breathing is ragged, body practically trembling with pent-up need. even so, he manages to pull himself together enough to maintain some semblance of composure.

he’s left you breathless, feeling something in your chest you’d never felt before, this attraction for him otherworldly. your lips are pouted, hands bawled into little fists levitating in front of your chest, as if you were begging for him to come back. when he begins to rise to his feet, you wonder where he’s going, eyes coming into immediate contact at the bulge growing tight in his jeans. you swallow, shifting your gaze up to the tall man that hovers over you possessively.

“go home, send me the address. i gotta handle a few business calls then i’ll be there at eleven.”

you hadn’t noticed the way your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you give him those damn puppy eyes, as if you’re so fascinated by him, almost scared of him to leave right now. toji grabs the pen resting between your little pink book, signing his signature on the indicated line on the bottom of the page for your gratification. after, he’s fishing for the brown leather wallet in his pocket to place down a hundred dollar bill on the table to cover the tab and the waiters tip. then, he leans down, lips gently brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. he lingers just a moment longer, as if reluctant to let go.

“see you later, angel.”

finally, and with that, he steps back, his eyes lingering on your form for a moment before he turns and walks away, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoes in your ears, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a lingering sense of anticipation for the evening to come. starstruck entirely.

𓇼

a rush of arousal burned within you like wildfire as you lay in your empty bed, yearning for the man who's been gone for only a few hours now. caressing your collarbone while chewing on your lip, your phone rests in your palm, excitement brewing for twenty minutes now ever since he texted you to let you know he was on the way. a black baby doll is adorned on your soft skin. ruffle lace details at the neckline and hem with a satin waistband tie at the back into a cute bow. matching mesh g-string panty, and floral patterns along the bust and hip area.

you took the time to curl your hair, reminding yourself to actually put your contacts in this time. also keeping makeup to a minimum with just mascara, a bit of blush, and some strawberry chapstick. skin moisturized in baby oil and spritzed with miss dior. . . waiting. the camera’s set up across from your bed, trying to distract yourself by engaging in conversation with your viewers. the comments were raging about how impatient they were to see something, but how did they think you felt? you could barely walk out of that restaurant without feeling your legs shake.

he intimidated you beyond measure, and god knows what he’s going to do to you when he gets here. it’s a fear and form of greed you’d never felt before.

“my fucking hands are shaking,” you giggle anxiously, smiling to yourself and shaking your hands before dramatically breathing out.

as you waited, you did little things to keep your buyers entertained, showing your ass every now and then as you cleaned your room like a cute maid. call it foreplay. sitting on your knees now become uncomfortable, so you aim for lowering to your tummy and stretching your arms ahead of you, ass raised up. as soon as you get comfortable, your head pops up from the sound of heavy footsteps surrounding the small area of your home. it’s him. you’d hope, leaving the door unlocked so it’d be easier for him to enter.

“oh, fuck—y’all,” the anxiety is even worse now, mentally preparing yourself with steady breaths and shoving your face into the bed to scream happily. the emotions are bipolar. “he’s coming up.”

toji steps closer to your slightly cracked open door, pushing it open wide to see you. his demeanor nothing short of serious when he gets a good look at you, hearing you yap at your camcorder with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. he rests his right shoulder against the frame of the door, staring at you, admiring. his boots hit along the floor the closer he gets to you, and that cute ass you had perched up. the lights in your room are dimly lit, citrus candles spread around and led lights from your vanity illuminating the area. the vibe is nice, he likes it. like he likes you.

you continue to speak to your livestream and pretend he wasn’t there, trying to ignore your heartbeat picking up. the tension is in the air. you tried to steady your breathing as you continue to ramble about nonsense; animal crossing, sims you wanted to recreate and purposely wicked whim them. anything to distract yourself from the sparks shivering through your body. you prod the inside of your cheek trying to bite back a grin when you finally feel his hands on your hips, eyes watching the chat go wild from the brooding man behind you. what makes it all the more hot is that he hasn’t spoken a word, feeling like an intruder. stalking, waiting.

“so yeah, i’m thinking about dying my hair red. i feel like my face is kinda full to have a silk press so i’ll look . . off? maybe p-pin ‘urls,” a wave of pleasure shocks through you when you feel him press the outline of his dick against your cunt, dragging you back to air-fuck you once or twice. a few times. for the tease of it. his fingertips lightly flowing along the curves and contours of your body, your hips being the most sensitive. gasping and twitching from the feel, the thong you wore barely shielding how wet you were.

your breath became heavier, and you found it harder to continue speaking. you felt like moans would slip out of if you continued to react to his touch, the heat between you two rising. you were drawn fully into him. the reaction from him gave you a confidence boost, a slick smile showing on your face. while his body speaks of his own growing need, he remains a silent observer, his intense gaze watching as you maintain, or try, your playful conversation with the camera.

“i gotta admit something,” you smile into your hair that falls angelically around the frame of your face. his form, silhouetted behind you, takes on an ominous yet seductive presence. even though he remains hidden from view, his yearn is palpable, eyes locked on you as if he could consume you with a single glance.

“i fucked myself thinking of him,” a jolt of electricity runs down toji’s spine as he recollects the image. a low, involuntary groan escapes his throat as his grip on you tightens. “those of you who don’t remember. it was really, really good.”

that’s the final trigger. in seconds, a rough palm strikes the flesh of your ass, causing the cutest squeak to emit from you. toji’s wrapping his other fist around the softness of your hair and pulling you back to his hard chest. his cologne is strong, enrapturing even. your hand reaches beside you to catch his wrist in your grip, feeling the coldness of his expensive watch while he’s busy locking your jaw still and pressing his lips beneath your ear.

“really?” the tone is condescending, and as you nod frantically, pushing your ass back to feel him more, all you can hear is the unraveling of his belt. slowly removing it, the sound of the leather rubbing against the buckle and his pants. the anticipation fills you at an alarming pace. “i knew that, angel.”

how? wait, did he fucking watch the live you made that night? your legs nearly go weak at the possibility, sheer embarrassment consuming you. he wasn’t meant to see that. yeah, you told him about it. but him seeing that, then having lunch with you like nothing happened is crazy work. he noticed you’re frozen, chuckling darkly behind you.

“relax, doll. i can pretend i didn’t, ‘n you can show me all over again.”

he grabs your wrists, pining them behind your back with a rush of power fueling him, crossed hands sitting on your ass.

“this okay, baby?” he scans the side of your face for approval, using the smooth leather to bond them together. you hum, lips bitten and nodding obediently.

the look on your face in the camera is so worth the thousands of views from people who were just as desperate as he was to see you submit. your hands wriggle to touch him, laying your head on his shoulder and biting your lip as his teeth graze from your shoulder, to your collarbone, and your neck. your body’s completely on fire, and he makes it worse when he gently shoves you forward to fall on your face, back arched and ass high for his view, and theirs.

toji stared down at you as you remained there, fully surrendering yourself for the taking. his larger body leans over yours, fingers grabbing your chin to force your mouth to open. toji brushes his lips along yours, your desperate mouth sinking into him, feeling that same spark you felt earlier during lunch in your chest. he deepened the kiss to give you what you wanted, easily reading you, his tongue ravaging your mouth with his waist grinding into the shape of your ass. the kiss is so wet it has you mewling like a cat in heat, losing your breath.

“give me a safe word, hm?” toji sucks on his lower lip, the arousal in his eyes ruining you. a heavy hand rubs circles on your ass before hitting it again, another cute sound leaving that pretty mouth you had.

brushing your cheek along your bed set, dark curls dancing around your face and a pout on your lips, you whimper, “strawberry.”

“mhm,” your stomach flips when you felt his hand drift between your inner thigh, toji’s tongue skidding over your lips the same time his fingers apply pressure to your clit, rubbing in circles after he pulls your panties to the side, your babydoll resting pretty on top of the rolls on your back. your fists are balled tightly in your restraints, widening your mouth to suck on his tongue before giving him a deep kiss. the image on your face is pure dizziness. acting like your fucked dumb while barely being fucked. he couldn’t wait to see you crumble.

you squirm under his touch, breath growing short and shaky, toji maintaining eye contact with you dangerously. he’s big on it, and it makes you shy, yet brave enough to endure it.

“you hear yourself, girl?” toji hisses, pecking your lips hard, his fingers coated with your slick the more he rubbed. you whine, arching your ass even closer to his hand. “you’re so needy for me, it’s cute.”

it’s ridiculous that you can’t even speak, him turning you into nothing but a whiny, whimpering sub. “you’re desperate for my touch, for my tongue.” he whispered, his voice growing even rougher as his own need grew.

“mmm, yes. need it so bad,” you pout, mouth gaping after he spanks your clit lightly. “fuck, please eat it, baby.”

“i will good girl.”

he didn’t hesitate for another second, sliding behind you with one knee pressed into the bed and his big hands holding you still, spreading your cheeks further apart and cussing under his breath from how fucking cute your pussy was. fat, and glistening in your juices, clit hiding between your folds giving him something to search for. “g’na fuckin’ kill me, angel. pretty fuckin’ pussy you got.”

you scoot up as much as you can, hands still bound behind your back, wanting to cry from the inability to move, but loving that he had you at his mercy. his hair covers his eyes and he’s submerged into you, pressing his mouth to your pussy in a sweet kiss, like he’s knocking politely, before running his thick, long tongue over you slowly. a groan resounded devilishly, toji lapping at your dripping clit, tongue hot and your toes can do nothing but curl.

he’s slow and deliberate, enjoying the sounds and reactions he was getting out of you as you writhed and quivered under his ministrations. your pussy and his mouth makes up the loudest voice in the room, so fucking sweet and wet he’s salivating over you. spanking you, taking his time to devour you as he swallows your cunt whole, tongue gliding from your clit all the way to your hole. occasionally dipping his tongue into you to fuck you like that. your eyes cross, a broken cry making him lose it.

“keep bouncing that ass back, baby. fuck, fuck my face, angel,” he’s hitting you again, and you can’t take it, shifting your thighs to roll your ass back onto his gorgeous face. you’re panting like an animal, jaw dropping as he keeps his mouth on your clit, sucking it hard and groaning into your cunt, the vibrations traveling up your spine.

“oh . . god, oooh god,” the gasp in your throat became high pitched, toji licking you faster when he sees you giving your utmost effort. continuing his onslaught on your sensitive clit, swollen and satiating his taste buds. his fingers dug into your thighs, lowering himself completely to sit on his knees before you, rocking you back on his face as he eats it, unrelenting. sucking, licking, slurping, drowning his tongue inside of you . . . damn, it’s fucking good.

“c-cumming,” he can barely hear you as you stuff your face into the bed, toji’s head bouncing as you settle your feet on his shoulders and rock back on his face even quicker, groaning. “don’t stop, don’t s-stop, babyyy.”

“mhm hmm,” he’s moaning into your pussy, kissing and tonguing you down until you finally burst, your hands in their constraint balling into fists, getting the chance to latch onto his black hair once he pushes you flat on your stomach to bury his face completely between your ass and thighs. “let it out, baby.”

his chin glistened from your juices, toji groaning the rougher you tugged at his scalp, dick jumping in his jeans he needed to unravel soon. when you cum, you do this thing where you squeal and gasp at once, and he swears it’s the cutest thing he’s ever fucking heard. lifting his face, he licks his lips proudly, wiping his chin and patting your ass to watch it shake in his palm. you were a lovely display beneath him, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of ownership over you.

he reached down and traced a finger along the length of your trembling leg, his dominant presence still overwhelming. he brings his hand to the back of your neck which you arched into his touch, his eyes darkening at your silent plea. “you want more?”

“nn, yea,” a breathless giggle falls from you, toji dragging you to sit at your knees by the grip on your neck and around your chest with his forearm, back hitting his chest again, and your eyes come into contact with the camera, almost forgetting it was there.

“show them what i did to your pussy, angel. let them see how perfect you are,” toji whispers, tapping at your knees to help you sit on your behind.

“okay,” the words are small again, because that’s how he makes you feel. once you sit, you raise your knees to your chest, toji lifting your babydoll to show your soft tummy and the pink lights from your vanity mirror glowing on the angles and curves of your body. you look like the finest art.

it’s liberating seeing yourself like this, a sense of relief washing over you when he begins to unloose the belt, humming elatedly and arching into him, your periwinkle painted toes twinkling in the air playfully. toji laughs at you, your hand coming to your cunt to cover it out of fake shyness, rolling to lay on your side and giggling to yourself. you really did know how to play a role, or maybe you’re just naturally silly.

toji unfastened his button before drifting his zipper down, thick thighs spread and arms bulky as he kept them in fists into the bed, tilting his head in your direction as he sat beside you, body taking up half the bed. you sit on your knees next to him, your hands running across his stomach and lifting up his shirt, toji licking his lips when your nails delicately scratch at his hips. you moan when his hand comes into contact with your hair, your nails digging into the broadness of his thigh.

as he guided your head down, you could feel the heat coming off of his body. you could smell the unique scent of masculinity wafting off of him. the feeling of his fingers running through your hair sent tingles down your spine, his touch tender and affectionate despite his dominating demeanor. your chest fluttered when his thumb touched your lower lip, your breath stuttering and your body quivering, a heat rising in your core all over. you felt the need for him grow stronger, pulling your lip downward. he shifted his fingers and tilted your chin up further, exposing your throat and neck to him. then he leans over, his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head as his mouth latches onto your neck. pressing light kisses along the sensitive skin, his tongue grazing out and your skin pricks with fire.

“can’t stop tasting you,” he grunts, his lips and tongue on your throat licking hard, driving you insane with need. his hand holding the back of your neck in a possessive manner, keeping you in place as his mouth explored your sensitive skin.

“toji. .” your voice is weak, feeling your inner thighs drown in a puddle of your arousal. “wanna suck it.”

“i’m sorry, what was that?” he hums.

“don’t tease,” you roll your eyes and pout.

“mhm,” he lets out a little grunt as his eyes rake over you, his breath catching slightly as he stares at you. he runs his hand down to your waist, gripping fervently. “so pretty,” he murmurs.

“thank you,” you whisper, feeling a strong rush of affection for him. “you’re so handsome,” you say, your voice low and tender.

“g’na give it a good kiss, baby? real good?” he hisses, your hand pulling at his jeans to sit lower on his sharp hips, letting his dick free and watching it with a watered mouth as it sat against his tummy. heavy, thick, two veins protruding on either side. you fucking knew he was big. bless your intuition.

“yes, want it,” you plead.

a low growl escaped his throat. “show me you want it then,” he purrs, his eyes growing darker with desire and his grip on your hip tightening.

the salivation in your mouth gave you just what you needed to do the job, widening your mouth to accommodate his size, drooling over his dick as you pull him in as deep as you could to start. half of him enclosed by the warmth of your mouth and instantly toji moans from the feel, your cheek sucking in while you guide your head up and down, keeping your hands to yourself, one on his thigh for balance. your eyes are closed to focus, humming and dragging your mouth slow to make him feel it all. toji catches himself knocking his head back, pulling the sheets between his fingertips and scrunching his brows together, stomach caving in.

he can hear you slurp and suck at him needily, moaning around him and riding the air with your ass, spit gliding down to the base of his dick as your tongue sticks out to drag along the under of his shaft, bobbing your head and licking at him. something about giving him head in specific felt intoxicating. maybe it’s the sounds he makes; guttural yet whiny. the desperation begs to tug at his throat, shifting his hips blindly and cussing under his breath. eventually, his fingers find their way back to your scalp, toji sitting up and entangling both hands into your hair, face curated in pleasure with eyes wired shut and a gaped jaw.

“shit, ꒰♡꒱. that’s fuckin’ good, doll,” toji grunts, your moans around him encompassing him to briefly detangle a hand to spank against your ass in clear indulgence. “damn.”

your hand couldn’t help but travel to touch him, wrapping your hand around the base of his dick to stroke your hand according to the pace your mouth drags. that gravitational wave in his abdomen hit, a deep ‘your suckin’ it so good’ fleeing from his mouth followed by another harsh spank and a steady tug at your scalp to push you down only enough to follow your rhythm. when he hits the back of your throat, you force yourself to hold him there for a few seconds, purposely constricting your throat to hear him moan for you again, and again. his sounds addicting.

toji chuckles from how good you’re doing, raising your head to breathe before swallowing only the tip while stroking the remainder, your salvia being enough lubricant to quickly move your wrist. twisting and tugging while keeping it mostly on the head of his cock, the sensitive spot your toy to play with as you give teasing kitty licks, two hands covering him now.

picking your head up momentarily, you stare into his eyes with your siren ones, low and dangerous. pulling at his dick while you bite your lips before kissing him, mewling when he shoves his tongue into your mouth, pulling your body closer by your ass, the other grabbing the side of your face he practically swallowed into his own. the kiss is feverish, something straight out of a movie. he’s highly infatuated with you, tasting himself off of you with the mixture of yourself. toji sucks on your lower lip, and you find yourself positioning your thigh over his to sit and grind on his leg. you had enough of the foreplay, you needed him to fuck you.

“fuck me,” a whimper escapes, pressing your body down harder onto him, hand still stroking at him, that fucking voice of yours driving him mad. he doesn’t think he’ll last if you keep it up. “toji. . . toji.”

“stop begging,” he shuts it down quickly, the sound of his boots hitting the floor as he kicks them off exciting you. of course you couldn’t hide the smile, feening innocence as you pet at his jeans to help him remove them.

he's only in his black shirt now, your eyes following how his muscles swallowed the material, showcasing every sharp cut of his upper body. he made you dizzy, truly. that slit on the side of his mouth curving with his mouth as he smirks at you for getting lost in your cute little dream land.

“focus, love,” toji reels you back in, his hand on your lower back to arch your chest into his, dragging you to straddle him. if he could see the blush on your face he’d see that you were red as a tomato, his dick sitting right beneath you and you can’t help but shudder. “need you to lift your hips, help daddy out.”

“kay,” you nod like a damn bobble head, laying your hands on his shoulders and balancing yourself on your tippy toes, wrapping your arms around his neck for extra security. toji’s large arm his thrown around your waist to keep you locked to him, both of your body heat scorching.

he catches a hold of his dick, pumping it twice before he’s rubbing the fat tip against your drenched opening, collecting your flow before a soft gasp emits past your lips when you feel him gently enter, sinking you down carefully, little by little. the sensation from the stretch is . . like a fantasy. your foreheads are touching, breaths mingling as he removes his hand to balance the two of you on the bed, leaning back somewhat for your comfortability.

when you think he’s fully apart of you, that thought is knocked down the minute he utters, “c‘mon, girl. you gotta lot more to take.”

“oh my god,” the shock is out of, well, shock. he feels really good already, it’s gonna be hell if you handle any more. embedding your nails into his clothing, chin resting between the crook of his neck while you ground your ass back to make it easier for him to slip completely in. the two of you groan in sync, toji’s arm tightening around your waist from how tight you felt.

the more you rock, slow, steady, it fucks the both of you up. holding tightly onto one another while toji lets you take your time, the heavy breathing and hearts beating rapidly is fucking poetic. one might call this act making love. once you drop your ass entirely, that pressure in your sweet spot causes you to scream out softly, losing balance and sitting on your knees, holding onto him with an unexpected whine.

“shit, baby, you alright?” he’s immediately checking in on you, bringing you up and make eye contact, hands holding either side of your face and scanning for signs. pushing away the fact that you’re convulsing around his dick and trying his best not to fuck you hard. yet, at least.

again, you can’t even speak. your mouth is wide open, nodding and breathing heavily, shifting your hips and grind onto him, flexing your ass when you arch your back deeper before lifting halfway and slamming yourself down. toji chokes, face copying yours as he grips onto the sheets and places his arm back around you, helping you lift yourself.

“you feel . . really good, baby. stuffing me full,” you moan, toji grunting and yanking you up and down faster, losing his patience now. it blew out the fucking window the minute he slipped inside you. he fixates on the sound of your pussy sliding and swallowing his dick, the slick making his tongue water for the taste all over. you’re so fucking sweet it’s insane.

“yeah?” he lets out a low, guttural groan and grips your hips even harder, his breaths coming out in deep gasps. “fuck me like you fucked that toy, thinking of me.”

that makes you smile, that insecurity of him seeing that video earlier disappearing as you take both of your small hands and wrap them around his throat, using your weight to push his body so he falls onto his back, his hands cupping the curves under your ass cheeks. toji usually isn’t one for submission, but he’s been thinking for a while about trying new shit, and a pretty girl like you choking and fucking him was only the start. you see the look in his eyes, and you feel heat sweltering inside of you even more, relishing the fact that you are the one in control, applying more pressure to his neck, loving the way his breath hitches.

“you want me to fuck you just like that?” you lick your lips and grind teasingly, the dangerous swirl of your hips making his head sink further into the bed.

“want you to fuck me like that, angel. gimme a show.”

and you won’t deny his wish. positioning yourself back on the tips of your toes, his hands are smoothing underneath your thighs, clutching on either sides as you with his eyes going dark, his hips bucking. he can barely string a thought together, his mind completely consumed by the sensations you’re sending through him. your pussy takes it all while you pounce your body above him, rolling your waist each time you dip your ass down and meet his thighs.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, his voice thick with pleasure, eyes never leaving yours before his voice rasps out, “keep going. fuck me for real. like you want it. it’s yours.”

you let out a strangled gasp, body jerking and mind almost slipping away, the pleasure he’s giving you overwhelming and consuming you completely. his hands on your body clench harder, the warmth from his body on yours killing you.

“just like that,” his hands move at their own possession now, slamming down on your ass repeatedly to bruise your skin, the hits vibrating straight to your clit and it’s making you drunk. your eyes scroll back into your skull, his appraisal driving you to work for it faster.

“t-toji, i’m so wet for you,” you gasp in shock from the slickness between you two. “look what you did to me. you slide in and out so easily.”

“f-fuck, doll. you’re killing me talkin’ like that,” he lets out a strangled gasp at your words, voice ragged and eyes filled with need. “you like it that much, baby?”

“y-yes!” a squeal sounds from you, bouncing heavier than before, your voice getting caught in your throat from the impact. you clutch any part of his skin you can grab, losing yourself in the way he fills you. “i love your dick, baby. makes me feel prettier.”

hazy eyes filled with pleasure admire your features, fucked out already when he still has so much he wanted to do to you. give you what you deserve. a smirk tugs at his lips, sitting up and leaning in close, missing the skin contact. his voice low and rough as he says, “you look prettier when you’re sitting on my dick.”

“yeah,” you drunkenly nod. “s��mine.”

toji raises a brow with amusement. “it can be yours. when you cum on it real hard.”

wanting him even closer to you, you keep only one hand around his neck, placing the other on his forearm and pressing your chest to his entirely as you gyrate your hips and tease his neck, hovering over his skin with your mouth and teeth before you leave little love-bites on his skin. toji guides your hips in a circular motion, the simple switch up making you gasp and whine into his ear, hitting that spot repeatedly.

“god, baby,” you feel his guidance, his grip on your hips firm as he moves you. you ride against him, the friction on your clit making you whimper weakly, his deep voice in your ear making your body shake, feeling another orgasm develop. “i love it. s’fucking me so good.”

“see you movin’ just like you did for me on that mirror,” he wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing firmly. your eyes lock, yours clouded by arousal, his with an agenda. “fuckin’ yourself like that . . ima fuck you real bad for that,” toji hissed, swiping his tongue across his lower lip before aggressively smacking your ass. “i feel that fuckin’ pussy squeezing me tighter. if you’re g’na cum then do it on me. gush all on it.”

the more your body reacts to his praise, and sprinkles of degradation, the faster your orgasm approaches you, washing over you hard as your body spasmes from the intensity of it. your teeth sink into his shoulder as you scream, riding out your high, squeezing hard on his arms. toji kisses your temple, keeping you close as he falls back and lays on his side while turning you to face your camera you’d both forgotten about, still did.

“you did so well,” the kisses continue around your face while your brains on autopilot, his hand clasping around your neck as he presses his hot chest against your back. his kisses are so aggressive it makes you feel small and wanting to obey. you jump when he spanks you, moaning weakly into your shoulder with your arms halfway hanging off the bed.

toji goes lift your right leg to adjust himself behind you, dick achingly hard and covered in your juices, slipping back inside of you fully before angling your knee towards your tummy, keeping a hand locked under the bend of your knee, your skin smooth to the touch. you smell good too. everything about you besotted him. your hand touches his face, tugging it closer to the point where his nose smushed against your cheek, dark hair clouding your eyesight as his big frame overtakes yours.

“you’re gonna kill me,” you whisper, eyes focused on each other, a giggle creeping up.

“not you,” he whispered back, rolling his waist back and forth, grinding deeper into you. the plush of your ass molding against his sharp hips. his lips brush on your neck as he kisses and nibbles at your sensitive skin. your hands roam over your body, touching and exploring every inch of yourself as his lips trail down your collarbone, darkly watching as your hand presses on your clit. “her.”

as he possessively holds you in place, he’s prepared you enough before he’s fucking you hard, knocking the wind from your throat completely. a hard gasp falls past your lips as toji slams his hips against your ass, knitting his brows together, squeezing his eyes shut while his mouth falls open. the utter silence both of your voices held at the moment was more powerful than the rough interaction of your skin. your eyes a ghost white as he pounds his dick into you hard. when a noise is made, it’s from equal parts, syncing your eager moans.

“ooh, fuck baby. you’re taking it,” he huskily whispers into your ear, his words punctuated by the way he continues to move into you. “sucking me so deep. m’not going nowhere.”

“to-ji,” his name is broken down by the harsh pounds he fucks you with, whining and moaning in his entrapment. your vision gone. “i love the way you fuck me. you fuck me so good.”

he fucks like he’s not letting up, his body pushing you deeper into the mattress, the grip around your neck remains tight, the feeling of his ownership only growing more intense. his body is hovering over yours now, digging deep as he can to fuck you real good, to make himself feel it all. your body remains to the side, only half twisted as he drops your leg and pushes his weight into you so your stomach is close to grazing the bed.

“s’too much, fuck . . i, i—” the words are caught in your throat from the overstimulation. breathing heavy, tears begin to fill your sockets, whining his name loudly in his face like you’d lost your mind for good this time. this pleasure was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. it’s everything you needed and more.

toji shushes you, kissing your nose as he grips your face, big hand almost covering it whole. “you like when daddy takes control? you like when he tells you what to do?”

toji will admit, you’ve got him fucking spent. it’s been a long time since he’s had a woman submit and cry under him, and you do all those things well. the gorgeous image on your face, to the salacious movement of your body. the softness of your skin and the equal relation of your voice. capturing and captivating him. you’d think he was on drugs the way he was talking. high off his ass from your pussy. his lips gently brush over your ear. your eyes flutter, his voice attacking your clit, and you swear it makes it gush even more, soaking the sheets underneath your ass. “when he makes you his? you like being my good girl, pretty?”

he knows you can’t speak anymore, but you’re still interactive with your body language. the slur of your nonexistent words to the way you try to roll your ass back to fuck him back . . but he’s got you trapped. even the tears falling down your face from overwhelming pleasure. he knows you’re okay, asking for a safe word prior for your protection. you’re a big girl, he knows you can handle it.

“nnng,” you can’t stop trembling, gasping for air and sobbing in his face. toji places his forehead on yours, looking into your eyes and nodding, cooing. you are fucked dumbed. toji hisses, hitting your ass and pausing momentarily to look between where you two collide, an ‘oh my god’ faltering out. he’s as gone as you are.

“you so fuckin’ creamy, girl,” toji drags out a frustrated hum, getting annoyed by how good your pussy is. you’re going to become a problem.

“please,” you don’t even know what you’re saying it for. do you need him to stop, do you want more, or are you just completely fucked out you’re saying anything that’s coming to your head? that butterfly feeling is back in your stomach, as well as a foreign one near your clit, knowing exactly what’s going to happen. “toji, m’ g’na c-cummm. oh my god, babyy.”

your hiccups and sobs only urge him to fuck you even harder, loving how the breath literally jumps out of your throat in shock.

“cryin’ on this dick. fuck, you got me going crazy,” he really doesn’t want to cum yet, he needed to fuck you in every way imaginable. but he knows you need a break, to breathe for sure. he wanted to edge himself so that when he finally came, it’d be the best fucking orgasm of his life. your moans are clawing at his soul, so filthy and dulcet. you’re making it really fucking difficult to obtain that.

toji finds himself slamming his palm over your mouth to bury them in a way, but you’re so damn loud it’s getting to him. ‘fuck fuck fuck’ he’s cussing repeatedly in a whispered hush as he fucks you as hard he possibly can. his hand doesn’t even work, because you’re consuming him wholly and the minute he feels that build up, he pulls out to cum and you’ve drenched the sheets as you squirt. an almost blood curdling scream surrounds the room, your body rapidly trembling as your mouth falls open in utter shock, gasping, whining, whimpering, moaning his fucking name while he moaned yours. toji nutting up the entire side of your body, wrist twisting as he holds you body still, mouth drawn open.

his hand reaches over to unclamp your legs, heavy hand rubbing your pussy to stimulate you further, your back arching and head sinking into your pillow, crying out. he watches your hand flail to grip his wrist as your wetness continues to spurt out of you like water.

“strawberry!” toji listens to you weep, choking on your cries and pleads. finally having enough.

“holy s-shit,” you’re laughing while also trying to catch your breath, not believing that just happened. he can tell by the shock in your face that you’ve never had it happen before, or that much.

“damn,” he laughs along with you, smacking your outer thigh before smashing his lips to yours in a deep kiss, gliding your tongues together while his hands massaged every part of your body after allowing you to lay on your back. caressing and soothing you to calm you down. “gonna grab a rag.”

you pout when he goes to stand, already missing the disconnect as you lay empty on your . . messy bed. absolutely disgusting you two, hawk puth! one things for sure, you can’t keep that wide ass smile off your face. he comes back into the room, one of your pink towels wrapped around his midsection covering up that demon of a dick he carried. toji smirks down at you, grabbing your ankle and tugging you down to the edge of the bed before he’s taking a warm rag that smelt of your dove beauty bar to wipe what he painted on you. you swallow your lower lip into your mouth, watching with hooded eyes as he drags the rag sensually along ever part of your skin. you flinch when it comes to contact with your cunt, toji kissing your inner thigh with a ‘sorry’. he admires the curves of your body even more, kissing your ankle adorned with a silver anklet after he finishes.

“how you feeling?” he asks.

“i’m more than perfect.”

he hums. “you’re something else.”

“i was good?” you ask seriously, batting your lashes shyly.

toji stares at you as if you’re deadass. “don’t do that. you know you were. you didn’t hear me? i fuck you deaf?”

that makes you roll your eyes, but not before giggling. “hate you.”

“you won’t after i tell you i got chinese in the kitchen,” he winks, the light in your eyes making his heart swell. “c’mon, sexy.”

you sit up, gasping. “i knew i fucking smelt that shit when you came in. i thought it was outside!”

“nah, i realized i didn’t eat shit at the restaurant earlier so i decided to get us both something. did you even eat your salad?”

“i did, had to after you dropped a whole hundred,” you shake your head. “how’d you know i liked chinese?”

toji blinks. “baby, we literally talked half of this week. for hours. i have good memory.”

that slip of a nickname outside of sex warmed your chest, burying your face in your hair to hide your shyness. “you’re right.”

“don’t hide now, i’ve seen it all,” he chuckles, tickling the bottom of your foot.

“oh, whatever!” you chuck one of your plushies at him, half of them had fallen to the floor. toji gets up to grab your robe he saw hanging on the bathroom door, draping it around you as you stood.

he kisses your forehead and you walk ahead of him into the kitchen, screeching when he hit and gripped your ass, the two of you forgetting about the livestream altogether as you warmed up the food, poured a glass of wine and reminisced about what just happened.

angelbwrry live : 1M viewers.

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡ 

[honestsycrets]

mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it. 

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free. 

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.” 

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--” 

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--” 

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.” 

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face. 

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets. 

“She likes it.” 

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.” 

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar. 

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.” 

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.” 

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,” 

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face. 

“As many as will make you happy.” 

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.” 

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?” 

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for. 

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father. 

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.” 

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."  

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable. 

 Low sperm count his ass. 

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it. 

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.” 

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.” 

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel. 

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them. 

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.” 

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly. 

“Sí, Miggy?” 

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so. 

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that. 

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place. 

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder. 

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.  

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck. 

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone. 

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day. 

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is. 

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready. 

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall. 

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.” 

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.” 

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.” 

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck. 

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.” 

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest. 

“Who would come in?” 

“Peter,” you answer. 

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see. 

“The balcony, then.” 

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?” 

“Maybe.” 

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter. 

“Bend over.” 

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now. 

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.” 

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”  

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth. 

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?” 

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again. 

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back. 

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability. 

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable. 

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach. 

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body. 

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs. 

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days.  “Like… not this.” 

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers. 

“I’m open to suggestions.” 

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.” 

“Don’t start.” 

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging. 

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--” 

“Let me guess. She told you.” 

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?” 

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”  

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe. 

“Are you sure? I know--” 

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.” 

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?” 

He leers. Peter scuttles away. 

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

[gothamundernightlight]

Random Shit the Waynes Do on Social Media

Dick:

- The white whale of D1 and Olympic gymnastics athletes; always stitches their stunts and challenges, executing them perfectly, but no one knows who he is or who trained him

- Shares pictures of random children, and the whole internet becomes a detective trying to figure out if Bruce Wayne adopted another kid or if his gymnastics students won another trophy

- Photo montages of Haley being the cutest, which slowly transitions into Haley in whatever cute hat the internet can send to Dick’s PO Box

- Random video of him skydiving while giving tips on what to do if your chute doesn’t deploy. He never deploys his chute doing the video and no one can tell if it’s a bit or not.

Jason:

- AI Voiceover text posts providing surprisingly insightful analysis into classic literature

- A full six part rant on the Broadway adaptation of “The Great Gatsy”

- Random selfies complete with wildly made up backstories of any and every new injury he has

- Prank war on Damian specifically (this was intended for Talia but his finger slipped and now the whole internet loves it)

Tim:

- Randomly goes live to do study/work/research with me sessions complete with an actually decent Lofi soundtrack that no one can find (He totally mixes it himself but won’t admit it)

- Did ONE social media vlog for WE’s marketing division and it went so viral he gets forced to do more. The dead eyed stare he gives the camera with every stupid dance the intern teaches him makes the video top-tier

- Cute couples videos with Bernard

- Skateboard tricks (and fails)

- Screenshots of text conversations between him and his siblings discussing the most random shit??

Cass:

- Dance routines/pre-show/GRWM videos

- Shakily filmed videos of her kicking Dick’s ass and everyone just calls her a baddie in the comments. She doesn’t know what that means but she appreciates the love.

- Her and Steph’s late night food runs with the two of them just belting out to a song in a dark parking lot

Steph:

- Posts riddles and puzzles and how to solve them. She’s really good at it. Riddler hates her.

- Apartment tour of all the purple shit she owns. She’ll never admit that the room she’s showing off is her Wayne Manor bedroom, so everyone believes she just has a moderately sized loft apartment somewhere and she just never shows the kitchenette

- Her and Cass’s late night food runs with the two of them just belting out to a song in a dark parking lot

- POV shots of her going up to the boys asking them random questions. Dick matches her energy. Jason tells her to fuck off. Tim is barely conscious. Damian always has an overly rational answer to take the fun out of it. Duke just stares blankly at her (he always comes back later with a proper answer now that he’s had time to think about it). Bruce just stares blankly at her

Damian:

- Art reveals that never get many views but he’s still proud of nonetheless. Dick always comments on them to hype him up

- Accidentally recreates a popular vine that went viral and it’s just him insulting fellow GA kids under his breath but one of them says hi to him and he’s instantly polite back. His most popular video

- The multi-part experiment of him trying to Pavlov Tim, and when it actually works, Tim just chases Damian around the manor. The video cuts to black frames after Tim takes a flying launch at him

- All the pet videos. There are so many. People try to cancel him for exploiting them, but Damian clearly demonstrates that he would never force his animals to participate for views and how they will just leave if they don’t want to do something. Batcow is in the background just two-stepping unprompted

Duke:

- Every morning without fail, he posts a daily sunrise pic of Gotham, with a positive affirmation caption. One day he’s sick and he wakes up to a thousand messages of people panicking because their favorite poster has disappeared. He never misses a sunrise again

- Passionate rants about local government. Will not shut up about it. He might be an anarchist, but he’s forever remain optimistic that one day the systems that define society will one day actually work for all people. Bruce has every single one saved so he can implement Duke’s ideas into reality

- Boxing videos of him training with Luke. It’s never meant to be a thirst trap…but sometimes it is

- Dumb selfies. Duke unironically loves taking them, no matter what face he pulls, what filter he uses, not even caring where he is. This gets him in trouble the one time he posts one of him leaning off the edge of a high rise roof

Babs:

- Constant lectures on cybersecurity and internet safety. She teaches this at the library as a volunteer but feels she can reach a lot of people by building a platform

- Computer build stuff. Brands reach out to her for her reviews and she thoroughly discusses each product in length

- Rarely posts about her disability, but absolutely tears people to shreds when they make ableist comments about her. The only time she brings it up first is when City Hall takes over a month to fix their elevator and she calls them out on it

Harper:

- Electronics repairs. She constantly takes things apart to teach people how to fix it, and this can range from toys to cars. On more than one occasion , her video has been interrupted by someone who planned to be using the vehicle she’s just taken apart

- 2 AM hair dye/maintenance sessions. She constantly gets comments from men being like “Therapy works too, y’know” or “No, you’re so beautiful? Why would you do that to yourself.” She responds to the comments with a video of a gun pointed at the camera with the sole caption being “Fuck Off.”

- Gym videos. She and Dick work out together and he’s the ultimate hype man

- Outfit montages of her getting ready for a random gala and she’s always pulling off the most masc-looking suits that look gorgeous on her

Helena:

- Target practice. She does all kinds of trick shots and crazy crossbow stunts in a wide variety of outfits. Her most popular video is of her in a corset and platform heels.

- Her and Steph bonding over all things purple

- Outfit of the Day posts. The girl has expensive tastes and she absolutely shows it off.

Bruce:

- Occasionally does promo stuff for WE (because Tim refuses to do all of it, and their social media intern won’t back down)

- Shares absolutely wild stories from his college years that somehow always get proven to be true even when the whole comments section is just like “this seems false???”

- Kid tour. He saw one mom do it and felt sad bc he’s never get the kids to agree, but somehow they all did (Alfred bribed them.)

- Shares everything from each one of the charities he’s involved with. Has reposted every single one of their posts on his own personal channel. It raises them hundreds of followers each time.

- One of the kids posted a video montage of Bruce being Brucie and it’s so utterly humiliating? But he won’t delete it because all of the comments say he’s their favorite billionaire and that’s more than his own kids will say.

- Random Pride Month post. Every year it catches people by surprise and every gossip magazine always wonders if Bruce is coming out. He’s just being an ally (and potentially is in denial).

Alfred:

- Prefers not to use social media, but one of the boys filmed him doing random things to teach the internet how to do things properly, like making the bed, doing laundry, etc. Is the internet’s favorite grandpa.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Student!Gun Park for the First Time: Part 1

Part 2! G/N. 3.2k. Remember when Gun wanted to get his GED? Well. Stranger to~ Masterlists

"How old are you?"

"20."

Press X for doubt, you think, and that's the exact meme you send over on chat.

"20 like 20 or 20 like you're mid 30s and planning your mid life crisis 20?"

You know you're being rude and making a terrible first impression. It's the first day of a new school year, of a new school in fact, and for some reason the class is held on video call and you're all forced to pair off with a classmate for an icebreaker introduction.

It’s already cringe worthy and awkward enough, icebreakers must have been created as a form of torture. To add insult to injury, you're sure this guy is bullshitting you.

"I'm 20." He deadpans.

Momentarily, you’re stunned into silence. It stretches almost a tad too long before you manage to choke out, “My bad. Sorry."

Wow. You're torn between thinking that's a rough 20, this guy has easily got 40 years under his belt and oh no, when is your puberty and hormones gonna kick in like that.

And that's also the exact moment this 20 year old Gun Park takes a drag on a cigarette and you decide that it's definitely a rough 20.

"So what do you do for fun?" You probe, and you have the distinct feeling he might say something like alimony, planning his third marriage, investing in the stock market - whatever someone in their 50s might say but-

To your surprise and glee, his body language turns shifty. 

He likes to game he says, like it's a dirty little secret. Amongst other things. Mentions something about training and martial arts and you fight to keep a straight face as it turns out you were also right about investing in shares and the stock market.

Gaming, however, is what you latch on to.

"Cute. I bet I could kick your ass."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes."

And this is how you ended up at 4am on a school night, playing Tekken with your new classmate and getting your ass kicked.

"One more!" You screech down the mic, after the KO sign appears on screen, mumbling something about cheating and how if you can time this combo just right-

There's a huff of laughter coming through your tinny headphones and an amused "Fine."

.

.

Dark circles under your eyes grow. It's been a week of straight losses.

You blame the sleep deprivation on Gun Park, though really you have your own stubbornness to blame.

He never tends to say much during the gaming sessions apart from the odd expletive and you rant enough after each of your defeats for the both of you.

Sometimes this will earn you a chuckle and he will snidely add that you asked for this, you were the one who was supposed to kick his ass. This would piss you off enough for another game or three in the hopes of defeating him and getting to gloat.

Which unfortunately has not happened yet.

With a sigh, you hope your camera quality this morning is bad enough and pixelated enough that your poor sleep habits don't show.

You scan over your classmates, the few that have their camera turned on and find him.

Gun looks completely fine. He looks completely fine in what must be 4k and ugh, you scrunch your nose up in annoyance.

You keep an eye on him through the class. Observe how he's usually paying rapt attention, scribbling and typing up notes every now and then.

It's impressive how studious he is.

In comparison, you're daydreaming. Thinking about lunch, other combos or characters to play to counter his own when you catch on to the back end of a sentence as your teacher mentions ‘this’ is something to pay attention to as it will be on the pop quiz.

Huh? You blink a couple times. What is ‘this’? Unfortunately she swiftly moves onto another topic.

You type out a direct message to the only person you know.

You: I missed that, what did she just say?

Gun: You should have been paying attention.

You: Fuck you man!

You see his eyes dip to the bottom of the camera screen, briefly moving as he presumably reads your message.

He smirks.

That night he kicks your ass again.

Then as consolation, reveals what will be on the pop quiz.

.

.

If Gun looked like that in 4k, nothing could prepare you for how he looked in real life.

You're setting up your laptop and notepad in the classroom, the first actual in-person session, when someone takes a seat next to you.

Initially you feel a surge of irritation that they could have sat anywhere else and chose to sit next to you, then you look at the offender and-

Hold on.

You double, triple-take-

Is that?

It must be.

Shit.

It's fucking Gun Park.

You don't entirely regret your initial comments on his looks because this guy definitely does not look 20 but goddamn he looks-

He chooses that moment, when your jaw is on the floor, to turn to you and give you a nod of acknowledgement.

"Y/N."

"H-hi." You manage, and even to your ears it sounds like a simpering fool.

He must have thought so too if the quirk of his lips is anything to go by.

The cherry on top is that you expected this guy to smell like stale smoke, instead all you get is fresh laundry and something faintly dark and heady like leather and cedarwood.

Fuck.

Control yourself, a disapproving voice in your head says. Even that sounds vaguely like Gun.

It does nothing to stop your wandering gaze, peering at him in your periphery when you think he's not looking.

After you have taken your chance to not so discreetly run your eyes up and down his form, the only thing that makes you feel better is his hair. Because yeah he might be hot, but holy shit that must be a gallon of hair gel in there.

.

.

The other thing, as it turns out, that makes you feel a lot better is that he doodles.

It’s utterly charming.

Someone like Gun Park doesn't look like he doodles, but in between lines of his chicken scratch (seriously, who can even read that), there's little stick figures.

Maybe all the time you thought he was being studious he was just drawing-

Wait. You squint at the picture.

Is this guy for real?

"Are they fucking?" You whisper, using your pen to point at the page.

He doesn't answer straight away. There's a moment of surprise as he reacts like this is another secret of his he has unwittingly let you in on before his nostril flares and his eyes narrow and you grin in response.

Your grin grows when he grits out an answer. "No. Fighting."

He doesn't call you a dumbass but you can hear it loud and clear tacked on at the end.

"Whatever, pervert." You counter. You guess if you squint even harder then you suppose they could be fighting. Although the way one is lying on top of another is very suggestive. You don't hesitate to point that out to him.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

Even without a seating plan, one forms.

Places taken by chance on the first day becomes a regular arrangement.

You exchange a few words with your classmates, familiarise yourself somewhat with their names and faces. Pieces of their backstory, why they're here studying for a GED but take your spot next to Gun regardless.

No one really talks to him, you've heard them saying he's menacing and intimidating. Yet when your first encounter of him was mistaking him as someone about to hit mid life crisis, how intimidating can he really be.

Besides, he still doodles his lewd figures that he insists are not in any way shape or form comprising sexual positions. So no, you don't find him intimidating at all.

.

.

Gun, as you have come to know, is a man of few words. He is also unsurprisingly not great at literature.

What you don't yet know is he likes to say what he means and mean what he says. His patience only extends to The Art of War, so all the flowery prose and poetry only serves to irritate him.

If Gun glared at you the way he's currently glaring at the textbook, you think you may either burst into tears or burst into flames.

Luckily you do neither of those things but you do take pity on him. Leaning over, you ask him quietly if he needs help.

He doesn't respond but the pen he's clutching in his right hand snaps in half.

Alright then.

Half an hour later, when the class empties out you ask Gun to follow you to the library.

He hesitates, and you add "if you've got time" to give him an out. In the end he doesn't take it and trudges obediently after you.

You very quickly learn that he really doesn't like literature. You're explaining and working him through the analysis and also mildly offended at the bored look on his face.

"This is a waste of time," he interjects and there's a sullen undercurrent to his words.

"Just memorise the analysis then." Exasperation tinges your tone, "That's all you need to do to pass."

He arches a brow at your words.

"They're testing your memory. So just remember what our teacher says."

There's an angry air of resignation as Gun nods, and you slide your notes over for him to copy.

.

.

Not long after, you have your first minor evaluation on the literature material.

You notice during the test that while the vein in Gun’s temple is prominent and he’s clutching his (new) pen tighter, there’s barely any pause as he fills in the answers.

A few days later, the graded papers are handed back. There's a sigh of relief from Gun.

He gives you a smile, small and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corner.

"You owe me one," you tell him jokingly though he takes it to heart and gives you a stern nod.

.

.

Gun repays his debt, with a coffee.

He places the paper cup on the desk in front of you. Logo of the coffee house to the side but still visible. It's new, expensive, and there’s regular lines around the block.

Of course it would be from there.

The issue is, who repays a debt with an espresso. He didn’t even ask for your drink of choice!

"Thanks for this thimble of coffee," you remark as Gun sniffs in distaste at your comment, placing his own matching cup in front of him and saying something about how it's the best untainted way to drink it.

Of course he would also be a coffee snob.

You tell him you usually like it with a bit more cream and a lot more sugar and he mutters that you sound like Goo.

You think that's an insult.

"Well, at least Goo has good taste," you snipe back with a grin.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

You: Are you doodling or actually writing notes?

You: Cos on camera you look very studious but I’ve seen your notepad

Gun: None of your business

You: Still drawing your disgusting pornographic stick men then

Gun: They are not-

Gun: Whatever

.

.

You: Ok, maybe that espresso wasn’t terrible

Gun: I know

You: Who’s Goo anyway?

Gun: …

Gun: No-one

You: Suuuure

.

.

You: Tekken tonight?

Gun: Aren’t you tired of getting your ass kicked?

You: >:(

.

.

You: Do you wanna go over the new lit material in the library this week?

Gun: Ok

.

.

Gun: Thanks for your help

You: :) 

.

.

Gun: You’re tired. You should game less.

You: Spoken like a coward!

Gun: Dumbass

You: Hey!!

.

.

Gun: I’ll bring you an espresso tomorrow. You need it.

You: Does it have to be an espresso?

Gun: Yes

You: …Thanks

.

.

To anyone else, the figure standing in the doorway is just smoking. To you, it suspiciously looks like they’re waiting.

It's not a crime. Gun Park can wait for whatever or whoever he wants.

What really throws you off is his smoking. You've seen him casually take one single drag before throwing the whole cigarette away. Even to you, it seems like a waste.

However, this time he smokes one all the way to the filter before stubbing it out. Then does the same to a second, and third.

Strange, very strange.

You approach him. Taking gentle steps, in case he might get spooked and bolt which is really a ridiculous notion for someone like him. Nevertheless, you keep your footsteps light, yourself clearly in view and you wander over to him.

"Hey," you say, with a somewhat forced smile. He doesn't acknowledge your greeting apart from a brief nod.

"... Everything ok?"

It's a perfectly normal question to ask but a vastly bizarre one for Gun. He doesn't look like the type of person where people casually enquire about his well being.

He must have thought so too if the look he gives you is anything to go by.

In response, he stubs out his cigarette (his fourth!) then asks, stilted and stiffly, if you want to come back to his for a game of Tekken.

At least that's what you interpret as he seems to be crazy cryptic.

"Are you interested in Tekken?"

"...Yes." You wonder what on earth this question is because did you hallucinate all those games you played together?

"Then meet me. After class." 

"Where? Here?"

"No. At mine."

"Where's that?"

"..."

He gives you another look, as if you're the one trying to coax a secret out of him despite him offering.

Gun dips forward, murmurs quietly into your ear his address and some vague directions like it's highly confidential information.

You nod along, thinking what is with this guy. 

.

.

So firstly, what the fuck.

Then secondly, what the fuck.

Don't think you hadn't noticed the designer brands Gun wears. If they're fakes, they're very convincing fakes. But you're almost certain they have got to be counterfeit when he brought you over to a junkyard claiming this is where he lives.

You've seen films like this. Granted, it's less in a junkyard and more in the middle of nowhere in America where college kids meet their gruesome ends in fantastical ways.

You never thought this would happen to you. You have sorely miscalculated. 

Is this Gun Park (if that even is his real name) going to butcher you and leave your body on top of a pile of scrap metal in the corner?

Instead of a night of gaming where you’re the one KO-ing him, he’s actually the one that’s going to chase you around wearing a mask and wielding a knife or axe?

"You’re here. Come in," Gun says, opening his front door just as your inner monologue begins to truly spiral out of control and you're considering doing a runner.

"Eh?" You grunt like an idiot, not noticing when the shack appeared nor when you stepped onto his porch, or the side eyes Gun had been giving you.

He gives you another look, likely regretting inviting you at all, and leaves the door ajar for you to either enter or turn back and go home.

.

.

"This is... nice," you lie, through the skin of your teeth.

Gun sees cleanly through your white lie and exhales a huff of amusement.

It's sparse. Peeks of luxury here and there - the extensive PC gaming rig, the entertainment system and consoles, to name a few.

Apart from that, it's barely a home.

"Take a seat." He offers, and it sounds more like an order. Obediently you sit on his sofa, feeling very much a guest.

"You're not in danger," he says, bemused at how awkward you are in his domain, how tense you hold yourself.

'That's exactly what a killer would say,' you think and when you hear a low chuckle, you realise that you said it aloud.

"Don't worry," Gun reassures and it doesn’t really help before he strides off to somewhere in his house and leaves you sitting alone.

He returns back minutes later as you’re in the middle of admiring his entertainment set up and going through his vinyl collection (because obviously someone like Gun has vinyls) with a coffee for you that looks much more milky and to your taste than the usual ones he offers. 

“Thanks.” you take your drink and return back to your seat.

Taking the first sip, you finally manage to relax. Sinking into a sofa that is much more comfortable than at first glance and you take in your surroundings a bit more.

Sort of. You actually take in Gun Park more. 

He’s casual, in a way you have never seen or even considered. Dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair floppy and the only styling is done with his hands running through his hair now and then to keep it back.

Even during the online classes, he is usually dressed up in an open collared shirt.

If you thought he was hot before, it’s nothing compared to now. There’s an air of domesticity, the drink he made for you cradled in your hands, and the distinct feeling that not many people have had the luxury to see Gun in his natural habitat, so intimate and vulnerable.

You wonder if this is how he looks all those nights you’ve been gaming together.

You catch his eyes, having been caught checking him out and he raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks as he chuckles into his own espresso and takes a sip.

.

.

"Holy shit, I won!"

You're familiar with the KO screen. What you're not familiar with is being on the side of victory. You're usually a hair trigger away from rage quitting, from throwing a tantrum down the mic.

Finally. All your hard work has paid off. Time spent thinking of combos, attacks and defences (which would have been better spent studying) is coming to fruition.

You peer over to Gun, expect the controller he is clutching to maybe have been crushed into pieces with his freakish strength. Expected nothing except for a vein throbbing on his temple.

What you do find is-

Gun looking at you, fondness in his eyes. He's taking in your grin, letting your gloating slide.

Doesn't do more than roll his eyes when you perform a victory dance of sorts around him.

And when you get in his face to tell him that you're the winner, you're the best-

(More words are on the tip of your tongue but your gaze drops to his lip, drawn to the small smile he wears.

It sinks in.

The patience he has, the attention he gives, the way he has opened his home to you.

From the very first meeting, the even-handed way he has dealt with your insults, entertained you to the early hours of the morning on Tekken.)

Gun reaches out, tugs your hand and pulls you into his lap and agrees.

"Yes. The best."

You think it's a lie, an embellishment.

But the way he holds you - tender and precious, and the way he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours - soft, like you might break - can't be anything else but the whole truth.

(Update! Part 2 here!)

[ayamohammed2024]

https://gofund.me/05039d3d

Hello, I am Aya, 26 years old. I currently live in the northern besieged Gaza Strip. I am a mother of two children, my eldest daughter Sanaa, who is 5 years old, and my youngest son Wasfi, who is 3 years old.

We were displaced from our home 🏠at the beginning of the October 7 war. We were displaced to schools🏫 and relatives’ homes. We left our home under the bombing, fire belts, missiles and terrifying shells in the Zeitoun area. We did not take anything with us. We left our food, belongings and clothes and left our beautiful home. We have not returned to it until now. I appeal to everyone and ask you to help me. There is nothing. We lost everything we own, our home and my husband’s only job. My husband and I suffer daily from the problem of providing food and what we will feed our children today due to its high prices. All our food depends on canned food. My children always cry😭, wanting fruits, vegetables and eggs,🍅🍏 and my young son tells me, “Mama, I want to drink milk.🥛” I do not know how to respond to them. My young children have suffered greatly from the spread of pimples that left a disfiguring effect on their bodies, like burns. Also, The shortage of gas led us to use firewood🔥, nylon and brambles for baking and cooking.

With the arrival of winter, I do not know what to do. Even the clothes in the market are very expensive. I went to buy used clothes to warm my young children.

I hope everyone will donate even a little.i am confident that you will stand with me and support me until I achieve my goal and save my family 👩‍❤️‍👨from from the danger of war share my story. Everythings help.

Can you share some of my posts from time to time?🙏🇵🇸🇵🇸

[purinfelix]

yes Ollie fics I BEGGG🙏🏻🙏🏻

sweet as sugar ⟡ ݁₊ . - ollie bearman

summary: it isn't everyday you see a classmate shopping at the grocery store you work at, especially not when he's buying the most expensive ingredients possible. w/c: 3.4k

a/n: your wish is my command !!! been binging the bear necessities vlogs so i felt verrrryyy inspired for this one (also bc i recently started a second job as a checkout chick HAHA)

Working at a grocery store was far from glamorous - but given that it was close to your university, you figured it was definitely far from the worst part-time job you could've taken up. In between stocking shelves and dealing with rude customers, it hadn't been too bad, and that was the reason you had stayed for over a year.

In that time, you had seen your fair share of things. Given that the dorms were so close by, it wasn't uncommon for you to recognise people from class. Often they were polite enough to start up some small talk or ignore you completely, leaving with several bags of instant ramen and frozen garlic bread, more than enough to last them the week.

But this, this was new.

"Oh, hi," he lets out, polite and a little shy as he piles his groceries onto your conveyer belt.

"Hey," you let out, a little drawn out to show your confusion at the multi-coloured produce headed towards you. You spot a couple radishes, a whole head of cabbage and several jars of spice amongst everything else. "Do you have your own bags?"

"Oh, yeah," he mumbles, reaching into his back pocket and producing several reusable bags, most of them from your grocery store chain - you find it a little cute, though you don't say anything.

"I think I've seen you around, you know," he says quickly, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room as he positions the bags. You drag your focus away from the items you're scanning and study his face instead - he's tall but boyish, and his eyes are round and innocent as he looks at you.

"Right, Professor Royce's class, stats right?"

His expression lights up, almost out of relief at you not asking about the groceries. "Yeah! It's tough, isn't it?"

"Yeah, and he marks really strict as well, a friend of mine got a quarter mark taken off because her power wasn't written high enough."

"Jeez, that's rough," he laughs, and his eyes flicker between yours and your hands as you bag the last of his things.

"Your total will be $75.80," you announce, pulling a face to show that you don't envy how much he's going to have to pay - but to your surprise, his expression doesn't falter as he reaches for his wallet, pulls out his credit card and taps it without another word.

"Thanks, see you around," he smiles, as he takes his several bags with ease and leaves, the automatic doors closing behind him. You find yourself watching him, gaze lingering as his lean figure grows smaller and smaller in the direction of the dorms. What could he possibly be using that kind of food for, how many people was he planning on feeding - and most importantly, what sort of dorm fridge would fit all that?

You hear an annoyed grunt from in front of you as you're once reminded of your job, turning to face a stern-looking woman. "Sorry ma'am," you let out, beginning to scan her items - though your mind doesn't leave him, not for a while.

Given how much he had bought, you didn't think you'd run into your classmate at your job for a while. To your surprise though, it's less than a week until you see him again, and for about a month he continues showing up weekly - and as fate would have it, always when you were on shift and at your register.

What's even weirder though, is the fact that the two of you barely make it beyond awkward small talk about the singular class you share in common or the weather lately. Still, you manage to glean some information - his name (Ollie), his major (marketing) amongst other, smaller, details like the fact that he normally comes in the mornings to get the freshly baked loaves of bread, or that he has an unusually large collection of reusable grocery bags.

For the most part, you don't mind, working at a grocery store register has made you vulnerable to over a year of awkward conversations. What seems to actually get to you though, is the gnawing curiosity of just what on earth he could be using all this for because, at the rate you see him, he can't be the only one eating it.

You're busy pondering this thought, mindlessly stocking shelves mere minutes before closing one night - until you notice a familiarly lanky figure creep up behind you.

"Oh!" you gasp out in surprise, but when you spot the full grocery basket in his hand you dart quickly behind the register to help him. For a minute it seems like your opportunity to get to the bottom of this mystery has reared its head.

However, from the awkward smile he gives you in greeting and the way he nervously shoves his hands in his pockets while he scoots up to your register - you're inclined to just mind your own business and leave the poor boy alone. That is until you break eye contact with him and turn to the items now moving towards you.

He seems to have replaced his normal fresh produce and meat for dessert ingredients, and you watch as several bars of dark chocolate - the most expensive brand your store carries, at that - cartons of eggs and sacks of flour make their way towards you.

"Okay Ollie I'm sorry, but I have to ask," you hold your hands out as you preface your question, "What on earth do you do with all this stuff?"

"Oh, I mean, a boy's gotta eat right?" He laughs shyly, causing you to furrow your brows to show your doubt.

"I don't mean to judge but, surely that's a lie."

He looks almost disappointed at the fact that you don't believe his obviously made-up excuse, as he looks down at his feet to avoid eye contact.

“Well, you see,” he starts, and you can hear the squeaking sound of his sneakers against the store floor. “It’s sort of embarrassing.” 

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad,” you reply, waiting for him to hit you with it, only to be met with a moment of silence as the two of you just stand there, even the conveyor belt refusing to move. 

“What, you cooking for a roster of girls every night?” You joke, desperate to diffuse the suffocating silence. 

“Wh- no!” he replies immediately, hands springing up in defence, causing you to let out a low laugh. 

“Well?” 

He takes a step closer to the register, looking around as if to make sure no one will eavesdrop - despite the two of you being the only ones in the store - before whispering to you. “I’m an influencer, like, a cooking influencer. 

You hear yourself let out a shocked laugh, and Ollie’s eyes widen in response as his cheeks burn up. 

“Sorry, that sounded mean, but that’s actually really cool!” you blurt out. 

“Oh,” he laughs in relief, “I mean it’s not that cool.” He shuffles around awkwardly to help you bag his groceries, though you’re pretty sure he’s just eager to avoid eye contact. 

“Home come I’ve never heard of you before?” 

“Well, I keep it anonymous,” he sighs, “not many people in real life know.” 

“Wow, you’re a proper Peter Parker.” 

“Yeah, if his superpower was stuffing up puff pastry for the third time.” 

“$32,” you read out his total, pausing before following up, “you know, I don’t know if I completely believe you.” 

“Wh- why would I lie?” he asks as he taps his card. 

“I don’t know, to hide the fact that you’re actually cooking for a never ending rotation of girlfriends.” 

“Oh please, I wish that was the case,” you quirk your eyebrow at his response, showing just how much you’re struggling to believe him. As he loops his arms through the several grocery bags, he catches sight of your expression. 

“Wh- look me up then!” 

“Alright, what’s your username,” you say, whipping out your phone. 

He seems to regret his words, his voice immediately shrinking to a shy tone, “promise you won’t make fun of it.” 

“Just tell me Ollie.” 

“It’s, @ bear in the kitchen.” 

You have to fold your lips together to stop yourself from letting out a laugh as you type the user into your search bar. However, once it pops up your eyes widen in shock instantly.

“Ten thousand followers? Ollie, holy shit!” He lets out a little chuckle as you continue to scroll through his posts. “God this stuff looks amazing.” 

“Alright, just don’t tell anyone about it okay? I don’t need this spreading around,” he sighs nervously. 

Lowering your phone, you feel an idea coming to you, “well what’s in it for me?” 

Once again, you watch his brows rise in shock as he chews on his bottom lip, thinking. You’re about to break the silence to tell him you’re only kidding, and that of course you wouldn’t tell anyone and that it’s totally f-

“What time do you get off?” 

“Wh- in about five minutes?” 

“Do you want to come watch?” 

“Watch what?” 

“Me cook, duh,” he says, making it seem like you’re the one being crazy here. 

“Huh?” 

“I live in the dorms so it isn’t too far and you could even try some of it if you want, unless you’ve got something on after this that is.” 

“I mean, not really.” 

“Great, then, help me with these will you?” 

So that’s how you ended up closing up a little earlier, and then helping your classmate Ollie - who a couple weeks ago had been little more than a stranger - carry his ingredients back to his dorm. If you had told anyone that, they probably would’ve called you crazy, and you would’ve agreed. But still, no matter how many times you tried to wake yourself up from this strange dream, you were still there - closing the store, in the elevator with him, even watching as he struggled to use his keys to open his dorm. 

“I got lucky with the dorm lottery this year,” he explained as he finally managed to get the door unlocked, “I think it’s supposed to be for special accomodation students but no one took it so, I figured I would.” 

“Woah,” was all you could say as he ushered you in and shut the door quickly behind you. And woah was correct, given that his 'room' was the size of a small apartment, and much much bigger than any of the other shoeboxes most students got. Aside from the usual bed and desk, he also had his own small lounge room and bathroom - and of course, a kitchenette, which you recognised from the background of his videos. "Lucky is an understatement."

All he does is let out a low laugh in response as he lifts the grocery bags onto the counter, prompting you to do the same. "Do you want my help?" you ask.

"No, I mean you're my guest if anything, so you can just pull up a chair and watch," he offers you a warm smile before turning to unload the bags, stuffing condiments into cupboards and tossing things into the fridge. You do as he says, finding yourself a stool and scooting it over to the counter so you can watch him.

You're amazed, obviously by the fact that someone as unexpected as a boy from your statistics class has a cooking page, but more so by the nature of his movements. After setting up his phone on a small tripod and clicking record, he falls into a rhythm that's mesmerisingly beautiful to watch. Every grab of a bowl or flick of his wrist as he whisks this and stirs that, like a conductor bringing together a symphony.

You don't realise how long you've been silent until he looks up at you, almost as if to silently ask if you have any questions, all the while he's separating a couple egg yolks from their whites.

"So, what exactly are you making?"

"Mille-feuille," he responds.

"Milly- huh?"

He laughs softly at your attempt to mirror his pronunciation. "It's a French dessert, basically just puff pastry with some cream but it's a pain to make."

"So why are you making it?"

"Well, it's fun, I guess? It's nice to challenge myself to do things, even if it takes me a while, the satisfaction of mastering it is really like nothing else." He turns to you, a slight sparkle in his eye and you're taken aback by the pure passion in the way he talks.

"Wow, you really enjoy this, why are you studying at university then? Why not do this full-time as a chef or something?"

"Don't be silly, this is just like a hobby there's no way I could make it a job."

"Ten thousand people seem to say otherwise," you say, and as he pulls a couple things out of the oven and places them on the counter he turns to look at you with an expression that's equal parts confused and surprised. "Well, ten thousand people plus me."

He smiles earnestly, though you can tell you've made him a little shy by the way his cheeks are flushed. "Well, you haven't even tried it yet."

"You're right, how much longer?"

"Maybe another five minutes, why do you need to go?" His expression morphs into one of worry, almost as if he's pleading you not to leave.

"No," you laugh, "I'm fine to stay for as long as you want me to."

"Okay, good, I just," he says, searching for an excuse, "I just want you to taste it before you go."

"Right," you hum, looking around his dorm, or more his apartment complex. "If I had a space as big as this I'd probably throw a party every second night."

"Oh nah, parties aren't really my thing." You watch as he looks down shyly and for the first time, you notice the way the dim kitchen lights illuminate his soft brown curls.

You notice that the only thing separating the two of you is a couple inches of marble countertop and that this is the longest conversation you've had with him, ever. You notice, when his brown eyes rise to meet yours, that the bashful smile spread across his face makes your heart rate quicken a bit more - and for the couple of seconds you're able to hold eye contact with him, you're thinking about how oddly intimate this moment is.

A loud ringing sound brings you back to the current moment - the timer that Ollie set a couple minutes ago signalling that his dish is ready to plate. You straighten up on your stool, eyes darting around as the boy across from you hurries to take out a plate. You pull out your phone, just to have something to do with your hands, but as you do you hear a couple soft groans coming from Ollie's direction.

"Hey," you hear his timid tone call out to you, "could you help me?"

Hopping off of your stool, you pad your way over to where he's bent at an awkward angle, trying his best to hold a broken sheet of puff pastry together.

"Just put your hands where mine are," he instructs you, and you do as he says, allowing him to let out a sigh of relief as he reaches for a piping bag. As he does, you notice the phone camera pointed directly towards you.

"Won't I be in your shot?" you ask nervously.

"Don't worry, your face won't be in it and I can edit it out if you want," he brushes you off, clearly more concerned with the structural integrity of his dessert.

"Oh, right."

"Wait, just-" his voice is just above a whisper and before you realise what's happening you feel his warm touch on yours as he nudges your hands slightly into position. You try not to overthink the fact that his touch alone makes you feel so flustered that you almost drop the pastry. "Okay, hold still."

"Yes, chef," you joke in as serious a tone as you can, trying to alleviate the suddenly intimate tension between you two. You watch silently as he pipes a couple of dollops of custard onto the pastry then nudges you once more to let you know you can let go as he reaches for the last piece of pastry to place on top.

The two of you stand back, and you hear him let out a proud huff as he rests his hands on his hips. "Finally," he breathes, reaching into a drawer to retrieve a spoon.

As you watch him break apart the pastry he spent the last hour trying to perfect, you catch the tender smile he gives you and feel your heart warm at the fact that he seems so different to the awkward, shy boy you first served a couple weeks ago. The image of your classmate, who you only ever saw shuffling out of class as soon as possible, melts away as Ollie confidently scoops some of the custard onto the spoon.

You wait for him to bring it to his own lips, but instead watch it take a turn towards you, his eyes catching yours.

"Here," he smiles, "a payment for your help."

"Wh-" You're taken aback, partially by him not wanting to taste his own food first, but mostly by the fact that he seems to be insisting on feeding it to you. Obediently, you open your mouth and he feeds you the dessert, other hand cupping your chin to catch any crumbs that fall - and you can only hope he doesn't feel how hot your face gets when he does.

"Holy shit Ollie, that's delicious!" You exclaim, watching as his eyes survey your expression.

"Really? That's a relief then," he laughs, taking his own serving of the dessert, nodding thoughtfully as he tastes it. For the thousandth time that night, the two of you stand in silence, just looking at each other - though it's less awkward than you thought and more comfortable.

Until you see your phone on the countertop buzz awake and you catch sight of the time.

"Oh crap, it's past midnight!" you gasp, reaching for it and sending a text back to your roommate, who's probably wondering where you are.

"Do you need to get back?" Ollie asks, brows furrowed.

"Yes, I'm sorry, and thank you for all this it really was amazing-" you ramble out as you try your best to shove your feet into your shoes by the doorway. He seems a little lost by your sudden movements, dropping the spoon and padding his way over to you.

"Do you need me to walk you home?"

"No, no it's fine, I'm just in the next building and you should probably get to cleaning up all this anyways," you gesture to the small mess of used pans and bowls waiting for him in the kitchen behind.

"Right," you catch a tinge of disappointment in his tone, "well get home safe okay?"

"I will," you insist, letting out small grunts as you finally manage to get your second shoe on, "oh, and send me the video you post about this, I want to see my cameo!"

He laughs, "of course."

You're just about to reach for the doorknob and bid him farewell when you hear his voice pipe up again, a little less sure this time.

"Oh and hey, do you think you'd want to do this again?"

"Come over and watch you cook?" You're a little confused by his request since you were sure you had just been in his way all night.

"Yeah, I mean it's nice to have someone keep me company, and help me out when I need it," his hand rubs the back of his nape as he looks at the floor.

"Sure, I'd love to Ollie, you know where to find me anyways."

"Checkout number 4," he laughs, "goodnight."

"Goodnight Ollie," you respond with a smile and a wave before opening his dorm door and leaving.

It's only once you're out in the night air, frantically rushing from his building to yours - that you notice the smile hasn't left your face.

(and as a little something extra, a mockup of ollie's account :)) )

taglist: reply/send an ask to be added!

@multifan-idk @presleycaudle @hadesnumber1daughter @monbear38

[benedictscanvas]

coat stays on - remus lupin x reader

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: it’s just sickly sickly fluff my loves

a/n: @burnthoneydrops encouraged me to post this weeks ago and honestly i totally forgot about it but she’s wonderful and i can’t deny her!! i hope you enjoy, it’s the first i’ve written for remus so i’m a little conscious of it! i’ve also just opened up requests and you can see the characters i’ll write for here, please send in all the fluffiest fluff your hearts can think of <3

- - -

If your hand was starting to feel a little clammy in the crook of Remus’ arm, you weren’t saying anything. The streets were lined with market stalls and lots and lots of people, more importantly, and you were pretty sure if you let go of him right now you might never see him again.

“Doing alright sweetheart?” he asked, leaning his head down to your ear so you’d hear him properly because the man refused to raise his voice even a little, “Still with me?”

You squeeze him tighter to you and rest your head on his arm briefly rather than answering. The two of you had long since lost the others in the crowd, likely because you weren’t clinging to them as you did Remus. It would make you feel silly if it didn’t make you feel ten times better.

It had been Lily’s idea to venture out into the Sunday markets in town, but she clearly hadn’t thought about the timing. Just days before Valentine’s Day and it was packed, almost shoulder to shoulder as you traversed the street. But the 5pm February darkness had enveloped the cobblestones and most of the stalls had decided to illuminate their wares with pretty fairy lights on strings, wrapped around the poles. All kinds of colours. There was a helter skelter a little ways down that was lit up in warm gold.

Despite struggling with the sheer volume of people, Lily had been right that it would be something you’d enjoy.

Remus steers you towards a stall with a blue and white striped roof, filled with fudge of every flavour you can think of. He’s quiet as he stares at them all in turn, but when his eyes land on your favourite, you watch him smile and point it out to one of the sellers.

“That’s not fair,” you murmur, nudging him with a sharp elbow, but either he doesn’t hear you or he ignores you. To get your own back, you signal to the other seller and ask for Remus’ favourite in return.

“Here we are,” he says, handing you the paper bag once you’re a little away from the stall. You’re smug as you hand him one right back. He looks inside before he pouts at you and its adorable. He’s adorable.

“Thank you,” you grin and he rolls his eyes but still thanks you back. Then he points over your shoulder, where the buskers are playing, to the little tables for resting shoppers. There’s an empty one. The two of you share a brief look before you scurry over to claim it. When you sit across from him, you have to let go of his arm and it feels all wrong.

Until, of course, he shuffles his chair around the table so you’re sitting next to each other instead, facing the band.

You’re both content to nibble on your respective fudge for a while, listening to the music, but Remus breaks the comfortable quiet.

“I’m sorry we lost the others,” he says, face close to yours in a way that makes your chest ache, “I know you and Lily were looking forward to this together.”

He’s right in one way, because you were. But it was also inevitable that you’d only get half of Lily’s evening and that James would get the other, something you were thrilled about, honestly, if it meant that during that other half you got Remus.

You couldn’t quite tell him that, yet, so you settled for the next best thing.

“Sirius was in one of his moods,” you shrug, “I think we’ve come out of this one on top.”

Remus doesn’t laugh. You find it quite hard to make him laugh and you used to be conscious of it. You’ve since found that the little smile he does towards his lap is even more gratifying, like he’s holding in a belting laugh out of something that looks like fondness.

He’s doing it now, bottom lip caught by his teeth.

“Right as always,” he muses, looking back up at you, soft as ever. You struggle to keep the awe from your face.

“I am often right,” you whisper back, breaking off another chunk of fudge and popping it into your mouth, “It’s really pretty here at night. Shame about the people.”

“They’re awful, aren’t they?” Remus says, only joking a little, “Although, I’d rather you didn’t come here at night when no one’s around, hm?”

You nudge him again just because you can. He catches your elbow as if punishing you but all he does is run his hand down from your forearm to your hand to see if you’re cold.

“Mr Protective, you are. As if I’d want to come here on my own, idiot.”

“You’re cold,” he says instead, mutters it like he’s talking to himself as he squeezes both your hands in his own. You wonder if he even heard you call him an idiot like he was your favourite person on the planet.

“It’s an evening in February, lovely, of course I’m cold.”

You watch his pink-tinged cheeks to see if the blush deepens at your best name for him, but you can’t tell if it’s just from the chill in the air. He starts unbuttoning his coat, leaning forward in the chair to take it off.

“Woah, slow down there Rem,” you insist, holding your hands out to him to stop him, “I am fine. Since when do you worry about me so much?”

He doesn’t answer straight away but he does put his arm back into his coat. He’s thinking about what to say, something you’ll always let him do, but it means he’s going to answer seriously. It’s worrying when you’d just been teasing him.

“I always worry about you, I think. Absentmindedly. Wondering if you feel alright, if you’re comfortable. You haven’t looked very comfortable this evening.”

He doesn’t lie to you, ever, but you’re pretty sure that’s the most honest Remus has ever been with you. He can’t even look at you either, just staring at the floor and scuffing his shoe against the chair leg.

“Remus…”

“I don’t like you cold. And I don’t like to think of you alone. Sorry. I know you don’t need looking after like that.”

And he sounds heartbroken enough to break your heart.

“No, I don’t need looking after,” you confirm softly, because it’s true. He’s always said you’re the most independent person he knows. But you still wind your arm through his and tug him into your side, “I’d quite like it if it’s you, though, I think. If you’ll let me return the favour.”

It’s always the returning that he’s not so adept with. Your affection and your time and your energy are all things he struggles to see he deserves. It’s mostly why you worry about him too.

“Don’t take your coat off for me though,” you warn, putting your head on his shoulder, “You idiot.”

This time he definitely hears you and he must hear how utterly smitten that word is. He’s your idiot. He has to know it by now.

“Okay. Coat stays on,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss to your crown and then place his chin there, gentle as ever, “Also, I lied. I’m very glad we lost the others, by the way. Not sorry at all.”

So maybe he did lie to you sometimes. It was a lie you didn’t mind, even if you’d pretend to.

“Yeah? Why’s that now?”

He slowly nods his head until his nose is nuzzling you instead of his chin, and you feel another feather light kiss, this one near your ear.

“Like you lots. Even more than them,” he breathes, and you try not to melt into him then and there.

“Oh lovely,” you whisper, “Like you lots too.”

[pinkmirth]

I think we need some headcanons of cowboy Reiner

— ( save a horse, ride a cowboy! )

༉‧₊˚. — synopsis: just a cluster of fluffy and smutty headcanons for none other than the love of my life, cowboy reiner!

༉‧₊˚. — contains: (2k words of…) cowboy!reiner x fem!reader, (black coded), fluff, nsfw/smut, modern au, southern setting, established relationship (married), fantasies of having a child, breeding kink (‘cause this is reiner we’re talking about duh!), mentions of pregnancy, bondage kink, oral (m!receiving/blowjob), cowgirl position, doggy-style, creampie, reiner calls himself “daddy”, use of the petnames (mama, sugar, darling, honey, cowgirl), reiner calls you “woman” once, lowercase intended, minors shoo!

༉‧₊˚. — mira’s note: oh absolutely, nonnie! here are some thoughts I have on cowboy rei-rei 💕 (check masterlist for other reiner fics!)

this man is always covered head-to-toe in classic cowboy attire— embroidered cowboy boots, blue denim jeans with a lasso hanging from his belt loop, and a trusty old cowboy hat. he’s got the whole getup, and he looks even sexier in it every time you see him! though, his best look by far is the shirtless one. it’s the highlight of your day when whenever it gets too warm outside, because he’s soon to peel off his top. from across the farm, he can feel your eyes burning into his lightly-tanned skin as he does the most mundane chores. his muscles tense and flex with every move, pecs gleaming with sweat. he shoots you a smirk, folding his arms across his bare chest. “y’like what ya see, honey?” you pray the weather’s even hotter tomorrow.

it warms his heart whenever you come around to watch him do his daily chores around the farm. your presence motivates him to work harder, so he can continue to provide for you and sustain your comfortable lifestyle. you try not to be too much of a distraction, but you can’t help wanting to be closer to your husband; so you tug at his leather belt and pull him in for a kiss. that gets him giddy like nothing else. “ya know how much i love it when y’do that… gimme another,” he puckers his lips, and you giggle. “i don’t wanna keep you sidetracked for too long, rei. you were busy before i got here,” you caress his stubbled cheek and he pouts in response, leaning forward to receive another pillowy kiss. “jus’ one more, mama.”

cowboy reiner loves to cook and bake! he often goes on farmer’s market dates with you, walking hand in hand as you help him pick out the freshest ingredients and spices. you chat and laugh amongst one another, dropping carrots and apples into the hand-woven basket that reiner made for you. after arriving back home, he allows you to relax in yours and his shared bedroom while he whips together a hearty southern meal for the two of you. he shouts from across the house, adorned in nothing but a short pair of checkered boxers and a flimsy apron, “supper’s ready, darlin’! come on down ‘n eat!”

he’s great with animals! reiner cradles an adorable month-old horse in his strong arms, feeding milk to the baby with a soft smile. it’s just about the sweetest thing you could ever see! all the little foals follow him around the ranch because they love papa reiner just as much as you do <3 he’s built something of a connection between himself and his beloved herd, which is why he’s able to bring the horses over to their stables with no hassle whatsoever. this man could practically be a veterinarian with all the animal knowledge he has!

he’s a locally known rodeo champion! reiner wins the prize for longest bull-riding every single year. he should allow someone else a fighting chance, at least 😭 but he’s just effortlessly good at anything he puts his mind to! he skillfully rides the beast with such ease, leaving the crowd in awe. courtesy of his natural-born strength, he hardly ever gets tossed off. reiner’s got medals galore hanging on his wall from every competition.

as a southern man, he’s very family-oriented. his loved ones are of the utmost importance to him, and he’ll always put family first before anything else. he utterly adores you, and can’t wait to start a tiny lil family of his own with you <3 when I tell you this man cannot wait to be a papa, I mean it! there’s no denying that reiner would be an amazing father, considering that he’s so caring and attentive. he knows the best tickle spots to target, and the silliest faces to make to get a child cracking up (both of which he discovered through spending lots of time with gabi when she was small.) he constantly daydreams about dressing up his little one in tiny boots and overalls and carrying them up on his shoulders. (yes, I’m pushing the daddy rei-rei agenda on this fine weekend!)

cowboy reiner has manners like none other— the epitome of a true gentleman! he’s a great listener, is always so patient, opens doors for you, pays for your things without hesitation, gives frequent massages, carries you when you begin to feel tired; the list goes on! he’s just so kind and selfless, and never fails to show it. cowboy rei-rei is truly the perfect husband. “your feet hurt? well c’mere, sugar. i’ll carry you. it ain’t too much for me, y’know i can handle ya! jus’ hold onto me. i gotcha, okay?”

cowboy reiner is a grown man who can wholly appreciate your body and every striking detail about it. he scrutinizes the small dotted beauty marks scattered across your skin, your cutely patterned stretch marks, the curves and crevices of your soft tummy and thighs, and he fucking loves it all. makes it a habit to kiss up and down your body, just to give you a well-needed confidence boost. this man right here surely knows how to make a woman feel special! “listen t’me— you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, y’know that?”

(nsfw) — reiner loves when you treat him to a surprise blowie during work. he’s up to the usual, arranging things around the barn and tending to the animals. you then make your entrance, wrapping your arms around his waist to hug him from behind. your plump lips curve into a sensual smile as you ask him, “can I steal you for a moment, baby? it won’t be for too long, I swear it.” in an instant, he's allowing you to pull him away from his duties, unknowing of where you’re taking him, but also uncaring because he’d allow you to do whatever you please. he follows you with the goofiest smile plastered on his charming face, because he knows that he’s about to receive the most knee-buckling blowjob of his entire goddamn life. you bring him into the hayloft, pushing him against the red-painted wall until he’s flat against it. you drop to your knees and bring his jeans down with you. “fuck, darlin’… kiss the tip ‘fa me.” he moans lowly. you do as he wishes, suckling on his cockhead with the most beautiful, glistening eyes. you’re so eager to please, and it makes him throb on your tongue. with a hand at the back of your head, he guides you further onto him until you’ve swallowed the entirety of his fat dick. reiner ruts his hips, fucking into your wet mouth. you always know just how to make him feel so good, so loved. he adores you like nothing else. “oh, that’s it, honey, right there… atta girl.”

(nsfw) — the bondage kink on this man is insane, I tell you! cowboy reiner loves to keep your hands tied behind your back and watch you squirm against the rope. “rei,” in a breathless whine, his name falls from your plush lips. you wiggle your ass in the air for him, anticipating his next move. he takes you from the back, raw-dogging your pussy with a merciless pace. you truly wonder where he gets all this unparalleled energy to drill you into the bed, especially considering all the hard work he puts into maintaining the farm every day. one large hand of his stays planted on your waist, hastily grabbing, while the other holds onto your tied hands for leverage. he delivers harsh, deep-reaching thrusts, with his firm hips sharply smacking against you from behind. your wrists struggle against the rope, and he can tell just how desperate you are to touch him. his gaze is fixated on your soft body; every jiggle of your ass and ripple of your thighs is more hypnotizing than the last. you mewl for him, stuttering out something along the lines of ‘t—too much!’ … reiner leans down until his chest grazes the arch of your back, so that he can say, “quit alla-that whinin’, woman.” he clicks his teeth, flooding your ears with that sexy southern drawl of his. “y’can take it all, you’ve done it before.”

(nsfw) — we all know it, the entire goddamn fandom knows it: cowboy reiner has a massive fucking breeding kink! he wants nothing more than to get you pregnant by stuffing your pliant womb with his thick loads of cum. giving you a creampie makes him go completely wild; he watches his seed drip down your slit with hitched breath. a sight such as that is enough to get him hard all over again. the lust takes over, and he’s thinking with his dick for the next three rounds. plowing into you and rubbing at your puffed clit with calloused fingertips, reiner asks, “want me to come inside you? hm?” he gently holds onto your chin, directing your gaze to him. you dazedly look at your husband, pulsing around his thick cock. seeing how fucked-out you are makes his chest swell with the utmost pride. his greatest achievement is being able to please you. “tell me how bad y’fuckin’ want it, baby.” he rasps. your pleading moans urge him to release for you. his warm, pearly arousal seeps into you for the nth time that night. all he wants is to fill you up until you’re walking funny, with your leg shaking from all the stimulation. or, at least until that little stick comes out positive one day. having you grow plump with his child is his ultimate fantasy. “you’d look so stunnin’ as a mama, carryin’ my baby… don’t’cha think so, sugar?”

(nsfw) — reiner likes to let you wear his cowboy hat while you ride him. mounting onto your husband with your legs on either side of his hips, you straddle him. your dainty hands are planted on his broad chest for balance. he pulls off his iconic hat, hair cutely tousled from wearing it all day, before sitting up to place it on your head. “since you’ll be the one ridin’ tonight. giddyup, cowgirl.” he teases with a slick grin. you tip the hat with a breathy laugh before sinking down on his fat dick, maintaining sharp eye contact with him as your throbbing cunt takes him in little by little, until your clit’s grounded and snug against the dark-blonde tufts of his happy trail. his warm palms rub along your body as you swivel your hips, slamming down on all nine girthy inches that he has to offer. he watches your tits bounce, one manicured hand of yours squeezing at your left boob while the other holds onto his hat that rests upon the crown of your head. you rock back and forth with fervor, and he swears he can feel every spongy ridge of your contracting pussy. he throws his head back onto the pillows and gazes at you with the prettiest set of honey-golden eyes, hooded and lust-blown. gravelly moans fall past his agape lips as he spurs you on, giving your ass a thorough smack, “bounce on it, jus’ like that— yeah, fuck daddy’s cock.”

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Return (part two)

AO3

PART ONE

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 8.0k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Chapter Summary: While Mando takes a trip to the market and gets what he needs, he ponders your relationship and what it means to him.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Switching POVs, post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of Grogu, soft!Mando, insecure!Mando (a smidge), helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, sad!reader for a little, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

A/N: Thank you all so much for the responses on the first part! This is my first fic that I've ever shared and it makes me so happy that other people enjoy my writing! Enjoy!

Mando handed his scope off to you in the worn down store. Wallpaper peeled from the ancient wooden planks of the walls. Cobwebs littered the untouched areas of the store. The work stations in the back, visible from the pick up counter at the front, were in complete disarray. Several projects started, but not finished. Several projects finished, but not retrieved.

You took the scope in your hand and twisted it in your hands until your gaze landed on the name of the manufacturer and the serial number. Your eyebrows shot up once the brand of the scope was revealed, it twisted in your hands once more. Hands raising the metal tube so it was level with your eyes, you looked into the scope. 

“Ah! I know what it is!”

Mando watched in confusion as you ran to a workstation and grabbed a singular tool. How did you know what was wrong so quickly? He sat in the hull of the Crest for hours attempting to fix the scope. The motions of taking the scope apart and putting it back together were etched into his brain from the number of times he did so. 

You returned to the front of the store with the tool in hand. “This manufacturer has been having these issues lately. They built their magnification system like no one else, but they didn’t seem to account for the need to recalibrate the scope every once in a while. Recalibrating too often causes the lenses to misalign.” 

Mando calibrated his every day. He had to. It was part of his job. A miscalibration could be the difference between a two hour hunt and a twelve hour hunt.

Your face twisted in concentration as you inserted the tool into the side of the scope. Jostling the metal, it popped open and allowed access to the inside. “For some reason they put these weird pins in…” You trailed off while you removed a total of three thin metal pins. Once the pins were removed, you clicked the top of the scope back into place and handed it to Mando.

Mando previously took the scope apart countless times. He never noticed any pins.

“Twenty credits, please.” You said with a smile. Your gaze met his–you somehow found it through his black visor–and you maintained eye contact.

The display on the inside of Mando’s helmet only progressed seven minutes after he entered the store. Inside of his helmet his eyebrows shot up. He was impressed. Not only with your efficiency, but with the reasonable price as well.

“I’m impressed.” He stated. Nodding at you, he retrieved a few credits from his utility belt and set them on the paint chipped counter. He turned and walked a few paces and then stopped in front of the door.

He’s been looking for a crew mate for weeks. The potential candidates he’s stumbled across were either annoying, rude, or incompetent. Throughout his time as a bounty hunter he’s been to countless repair shops. The service was always lack-luster, prices were too high, repair time much too long. 

Sure, he just met you eight minutes ago, but you had potential. He turned on his heel and faced you. Armor glinted in the low lighting of the run down shop. 

“Are you in the market for a new job?”

–

Walking to the market, he’d been reflecting on his decision to bring you onto the Crest as a crew partner.

It was the best decision he ever made, besides saving Grogu from the Empire.

You were intelligent. Friendly. Resourceful. Efficient. Brave.

You stared a Mandalorian straight in the eyes–well, visor–and didn’t even flinch. You didn’t even break eye contact, unlike everyone else. People would turn to whoever they’re with to avoid his gaze. They spoke like he wasn’t a meter or two away–and like he couldn’t amplify their voices with his helmet.

His tall, broad stance usually set everyone on edge. The heavy weight of beskar armor, a reminder of his skillset, didn’t aid in calming the nerves of anyone either. He was typically soft spoken around others, as he noticed people’s reactions when he spoke–eyes wide, speech stuttering, shaking hands–scared. 

Everyone was afraid of him.

Except you.

When you first boarded the Razor Crest, Mando was extremely careful in making sure you were comfortable. The majority of his days not hunting were spent in the cockpit or in his bunk. Whenever you crossed paths in the hull you offered him a small smile and quickly looked away. Did your bravery fade away?

He came back from a hunt one day, quarry in tow, and he was relieved to hear, “How was your day?” Fall from your lips once the bounty was in carbonite.

Still cautious–mindful of how the modulator made his voice sound–he kept his answers short and to the point.

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Hearing the four words you said after each return from a hunt, and being able to give you a response without you slinking away, made the hunts worth it.

One night always stood out in his mind. It was just like any other return from one of his hunts. Mando dragged the quarry up the Crest’s ramp by a cord tied around their ankles. He lifted the man to stand up, doing so effortlessly with a few grunts to spare. 

Your living space was in the hull, so he always tried to make the ends of his hunts fast. You didn’t have any choice but to watch. Mando didn’t want to make you watch for too long. Maker, he didn’t want you to watch at all.

His fist slammed the button to begin the freezing process. Breathing heavily, he stood and watched the bounty as they froze into the carbonite cell. A blanket of silence covered the hull once the hissing of the freezing mechanisms came to a stop.

“How was your day?”

There it is. His favorite part after the hunt. Knowing you were there, safe within the hull, and that you wanted to be friendly with him–even after witnessing him freeze a person he tracked down for several hours.

“Nothing you want to hear about,” he replied, his voice tinged with tiredness. The helmet’s modulator most likely didn’t register the sleep in his voice. Truly, he didn’t think that you would want to hear about it. The Mandalorian was afraid that hearing about his hunts would put you on edge. You already extended a branch of friendliness to him twice a day. He didn’t want to give that up by talking about the bounties he tracks down.

“Try me.”

Those words.

Those words have only ever been spoken to him by enemies. It always caused annoyance to wash over him, head to toe. He’s a Mandalorian. Confident of his skills in combat. No matter the odds, Mando knew he would like them.

But when those words tumbled from your lips, it was different. When his enemies weren’t scared of him, it was annoying. When you weren’t scared of him, adoration filled his body. And not adoration in a patronizing way, but adoration as a form of respect. 

It made him want you that much more.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Mando realized the crotch of his pants were tight. Nonchalantly, he clasped his hands together and rested them below his belt.

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out. Again, he was conscious of how the modulator warped his voice. “Not too fun,” he added in an attempt to make the conversation more casual.

You were silent. He whispered a curse to himself under his helmet, one that he was certain wouldn’t be picked up by his modulator. Was his answer too much? Mando quickly became nervous and started to shift his weight from one foot to the other. The silence you left in the air made him a bit anxious.

The T shape of his visor peered over to you. You stood still in shock, reminiscent of the people that saw him in public. Before his thoughts could spiral too much, you replied, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Dank farrik. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to comfort him. “You don’t have to be sorry,” his chest brushed against your shoulder as he swiftly hopped onto the first rung of the ladder up to the cockpit. “It’s my job.”

“That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” you said. He smiled underneath his helmet at your consideration. Your eyes widened and your mouth opened and closed as you realized what you said, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks.”

You weren’t wrong. Making his way through tough terrain, relying on a blinking red light on a piece of metal to guide him. Finding them was a task in itself, but dragging them back to the Crest was the other half of his job that sucked. Mando looked over his shoulder at you and replied matter-of-factly, “My job does suck.”

A giggle bubbled out from your chest. Every once in a while you would be reading a funny article on your Holopad and your laughs would echo through the hull of the Crest, making their way up into the cockpit. He needed more of them. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

If you were comfortable enough to stand up to him, and laugh at his awful attempts at jokes–after he just hauled a bounty onto the ship–Mando realized he was safe.

Not only were you safe with him. He felt safe with you, in more ways than one.

Kriff it. You extended a friendly attitude towards him–a faceless warrior covered in impenetrable armor–then he could extend a friendly attitude towards you as well.

You asked him about this day, both in the mornings and the evenings. He learned about what you like and didn’t like. One item stood out to him. Caf. He always entered into a cloud of caf scent when he sauntered into the hull in the mornings. Mando was usually up before you, so he figured he would start making you a cup every morning. Confident enough in knowing which kinds of caf you preferred, he would stock up on caf every supply run.

The Mandalorian got closer to you, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes he would catch his hands landing on your waist or your lower back when he passed you on the ship. You’d shoot him a small smile in response. The distance he kept from you only decreased. He wanted to see your smile more and more. 

One thing he didn’t see coming was your interest in Mando’a. He would mumble to himself in the ship while completing various tasks.

“What’s that word mean?” You’d occasionally ask. The Mandalorian would explain their meanings, sometimes struggling to translate the word to Basic.

He must have taught you at least two dozen words in Mando’a by now. Each time you asked you would give him your full attention. 

At night, if he amplified the sound with his helmet enough, he could hear you practicing the words and recalling their meanings. It motivated him to share more words with you.

–

All of these experiences have led to this day. He’s been planning it for a month or two now. 

He wants to ask you on a date. Nerves bubbled up from his stomach and throughout his body. They suddenly came to a halt. 

Not now. First, he needs to collect information on a quarry.

Lost in his thoughts, he looked up and the market filled his vision with you in his peripheral. It wasn’t too busy, part of the reason why he was comfortable enough for you to shop on your own. He clarified the meet up point to you and watched as you took off. You had a bounce in your step, probably due to your excitement at shopping alone. 

Once he meandered further into the market he began to collect information. This market was the bounty’s last location. Mando’s guess was that he either simply wanted to be in a small city, gambled their life savings away, or they paid for visit after visit with the workers at the brothel until they ran out of credits.

Only one way to find out. The gambling and brothels didn’t start up until later in the afternoon. To kill the time, and to possibly find the quarry, Mando wandered throughout the different sections of the market. 

He asked a few vendors about the bounty. Mando described the man to many market sellers and only got a slight lead from one woman donned in patterned fabrics. 

“I think he went that way,” the woman gestured with one of her hands towards an intersection, “Take the left path. I don’t know anything else beyond that.”

Mando dropped a few credits into her hand and gave her a polite nod, “Thank you.” He continued on and curved his gait to take the left path. From the signs and general merchandise displayed on each stall, he knew he was entering the clothing section of the market.

The helmet covering his head swiveled from left to right and right to left. No one matched the description of his quarry. Repeating his previous process, he made his way down the stall-lined alley and asked a couple different vendors.

Once the last vendor finished talking, and provided him with another lead, he dug his hand into his pocket and slid the credits on the stall’s counter towards them. Turning his back towards the vendor, his feet carried him two steps back into the market.

Then he saw you.

You stood hunched over a table of colorful bracelets. Tapping his fingers to the temple of his helmet, Mando zoomed in and the helmet displayed your face to him, deep in thought. Looking down, you were hovering your hands over a grid of various green bracelets. 

You stopped on one. Mostly brown, almost too much to be in the green section, Mando thought. Nonetheless, the green and silver streaks peeked in and out of the thick threads of brown that made up the bracelet. Your fingers sorted through the sizes of the bracelet and selected one that looked close to your size. 

Clutching it in one hand, the other hand searched for another of the same bracelet. It was larger than the previous size. You set the smaller bracelet down and tested the strings. The bracelet was adjustable, and you smiled at the discovery.

You transferred the bracelets onto the table of the stall and used one hand to dig into your pockets. Palm held out flat, Mando guessed that about twenty credits sat in your palm. He followed your gaze to the sign listing the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

Shoulders falling, you dropped the credits back into your pocket and returned the bracelets to their original spot in the grid of green. Ground crunched beneath your shoes as you turned and continued wandering through the market.

Mando noted it was the third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Not wanting you to realize he saw you, the Mandalorian walked in the opposite direction you took. After twenty minutes he noticed that the stalls became much more strange than the stalls in the clothing section of the market. Peering at the different products for sale, he saw a potions shop offering “super strength elixir” and a vendor selling various pet-like creatures. A few more vendors passed his peripheral vision as he continued his strides. They came to a stop once a building larger than the surrounding stalls came into view.

His helmet tilted upwards to read the sign displayed front and center on the large building: BROTHEL.

Tapping the side of his helmet, the time on the helmet’s display indicated that the brothel and gambling scenes had just begun. Mando tapped the temple of his helmet once again and the warm bodies within the building lit up, like he had x-ray vision. He counted a dozen in total. One body stood in the same spot inside near an entryway–the bouncer, Mando thought.

The bouncer was the individual that allowed access in and out of the building. If their memory was decent, they would be like a living guest book. Mando figured he could bribe them to reveal information, which was his usual plan with most of the beings he spoke with.

He sauntered over to the side of the building the bouncer was standing at. A singular light flickered over the side door, the sun was still out, so Mando was confused why it was on. The beskar helmet observed the side door.

Metal. Double deadbolts. Keypad on the left side. Small slit at eye level–neck level for the Mandalorian.

As soon as he crouched down to look near the slit, it slid open and revealed a thick pair of black eyebrows. Black eyes bore into the brow of Mando’s helmet, as the bouncer couldn’t seem to find his eyes. 

“Do you have an appointment?” The bouncer asked. The voice behind the door was gruff, as if the words had to crawl from the depths of his throat. 

“No,” Mando responded.

Black eyes blinked and then disappeared when the bouncer closed the metal slit. 

Mando was taken aback and furrowed his brow. His fist pounded on the door. He just wanted this hunt to be over with. He wanted to get back to you.

The slit in the door revealed two black eyes once more.

“I have credits and will pay you if you give me information on a client your establishment may have served.” Mando’s modulator gritted out loudly. Straight and to the point. All business. 

Eyes disappeared again, but were then accompanied with the sounds of the deadbolts unlocking. The metal door swung open to reveal a man dressed in all black with a silver name tag. Black hair matched the rest of his ensemble. 

Still holding the door, the bouncer asked, “What’s the bounty look like?”

An eyebrow raised inside Mando’s helmet, but he figured the bouncer knew the drill by now. Even other bounty hunters knew that brothels were what many bounties visited. A gloved hand unbuttoned a pocket on his belt and retrieved a bounty puck. Clicking the side of it, the puck displayed the quarry. 

The man stepped out of the doorway and onto the pavement, pulling the door closed behind him. His black eyes slightly squinted when his gaze trailed up and down the hologram.

“Ah yeah, I’ve seen this guy. He has a type, always goes for the blondes.” 

“Does he have any upcoming appointments?” Mando questioned.

The bouncer sighed in thought and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. Mando mirrored the man’s motion and produced a pen and notepad from his pocket. 

“The guy has an appointment in two days. He just asked to see a blonde. Figures.” The man shrugged and opened his notepad. Mando noticed it was a planner, and the bouncer flipped to the pages for the appointments two days from today.

“Which workers would take him as a client?” Mando’s modulator churned the words. His pen clicked as he readied himself to write.

The man donned in black made a fist with one hand and raised a finger with each name, “Ari. Taima. And Nomi. They would be in rooms one, five, or seven.”

Wow, Mando thought, this guy really knew the drill. He quickly finished up writing down the names and room numbers of each worker. The pen scratched feverishly against the cream colored paper, leaving behind black strokes to form letters and numbers. Notepad folding closed and the pen clicking, signifying the end of his notes, Mando returned the pen and paper to their place in his pocket. His opposing hand reached into a different pocket and produced a sizable amount of credits. Feeling generous, thankful that this hunt was going to be quick, he compensated the bouncer handsomely.

First task done. Second task on the horizon.

Creaking produced from the hinges of the metal door as the bouncer disappeared behind it once more. Flickering light gleamed off the beskar armor that protected the Mandalorian in combat. Although he wasn’t going into combat, because he wouldn’t be nervous if he was. 

Mando trained most of his life with the greatest warriors in the galaxy. Combat flowed through his blood easily. It was a part of him. 

But he was never trained on how to ask people out on dates.

On top of that, he was never trained on how to ask you out on a date.

He didn’t want to misread the situation. You could just be friendly. Who would want to date a man and not know what he looks like? Who would want to constantly live on a ship, without a permanent home? 

Being Mando, he prepared for the worst. If you said no, he figured that you would be uncomfortable living with the man who asked you out on a date. Knowing that he’s attracted to you. He would fly wherever you wanted and give you some credits to get started. Kriff, he’d send credits for however long it takes for you to get on your feet. Then he’d leave you alone. 

Admittedly, the Mandalorian would probably keep an eye on you to make sure you were safe. You just wouldn’t know he’s there.

But if you said yes.

Mando’s chest bloomed with anticipation. Firework-like tingles trailed up and down his limbs at the thought. He bit his lip within the confines of his helmet when he realized his pants had gotten tighter. Thankfully he was a Mandalorian, because heat washed over his face, half due to arousal and the other half in embarrassment.

The brown eyes underneath the helmet widened. If he wanted to do more with you and you agreed, he didn’t have protection.

Turning on his heel, cape whipping behind him, he made a quick pace back to the brothel.

Once he arrived at the gray building, the light at the side of the building having more of a purpose, Mando glided towards the same door as before. Bringing a fist up to the metal, he knocked three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Clink. Shhhkt.

“Do you sell condoms?” the modulator quickly blurted.

All business.

—

He arrived at the meet up point before you. Leaning against a nearby tree, Mando checked the time constantly, as if he was devoted to the action more than his Creed. If you were late, he always went looking. 

Thankfully, you trudged up to the food stall on time with a hefty bag full of purchases. Fine, brown gravel grinded against the soles of Mando’s shoes as he made his way over to you. His gloved hand slipped the bag from your grasp and the pair of you began walking back to the Crest.

Both of you carried on with your normal post-supply run routines. You and Mando, but this time just Mando, piled the purchases from the market onto the hull’s floor. From there, the items could be sorted through and put in their respective places around the Crest.

As Mando finished unloading the large bag of purchases, he quickly dug around for the receipts. He knew how much you liked to review the shopping haul each time a supply run was completed. Mando enjoyed seeing the satisfaction wash over your face after you read over the receipts.

But this time was different. You froze once you got to the last receipt.

Mando’s helmet tilted in confusion. He took a few steps closer towards you, “What’s wrong? Did we forget something?”

You remained still while your eyes darted over the lines on the receipt. With your back turned to him, Mando found the opportunity to zoom in on the ink printed on the flimsy paper.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

Oh. Fuck. FUCK.

He hasn’t even asked you on a date yet and now you probably already think he’s a perv. Nerves took over his body as you continued to stand still.

Your hand quickly crushed the receipts and threw them in the trash, “Nope! The last receipt didn’t look familiar but,” you trailed off slightly but recovered, “I remembered what I bought from the place.” A nervous laugh–obviously fake, Mando knew what your real one sounded like–escaped from your lips.

He fucked it up. You knew he was interested in you like that. And you didn’t feel the same. He hasn’t even asked you on the date yet. It’s all screwed up now.

But he also felt like he didn’t have enough evidence. What if you did like him but the idea of…needing to use the condoms…made you nervous.

Mando had to at least try. The least he had to do was ask you.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the bag off of the floor. You stood away from him, biting the inside of your cheek, nervously watching his movements. 

“I’m going to go to the night market,” he informed you, “I have some business with a bounty I need to take care of.” 

The bounty wouldn’t be captured until two days from now. In reality, he was really going to go and purchase snacks, takeout, and a pair of those bracelets you admired. It would have been suspicious if he met you back at the meet up point with bags full of snacks. The beskar man figured it would be best to hold off on buying them until later, and tell you he was getting a bounty, so you wouldn’t catch on.

He should’ve waited for this second trip to buy the condoms, he thought.

–

Mando left to, “Go to the night market,” he said. You saw the condom listed on the market receipts, you knew where he went tonight. What he’s going to do. 

The brothels.

Yeah, sure, he’s paying a worker to give him a service. No feelings attached. But you didn’t want him to be with anyone else. Was Mando necessarily yours? No. Have you ever had sex with him? Also no.

That didn’t stop you from getting jealous.

And it wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear. What if he fell in love with one of them? Or what if he was going on dates? He could have a romantic interest you don’t even know about. Next thing you know, they’re going steady and you’re kicked off the ship. Or worse, you have to watch him love someone that isn’t you.

No more silence with him in the cockpit, watching as the hyperspace lights soar past the windshield. Feet tapping down the ladder as you both began your nighttime routines. He’d wait in the hull near the door of the fresher in just his helmet, undershirt, sleep pants, and socks. As he lifted off the wall from his leaning stance he’d ask you, “Are you done?” Holding his own hands in front of him, trying to seem relaxed, as if he was trying to look less intimidating. “Yeah,” you’d quickly respond, leaving the fresher and brushing past him. Sometimes his hand found your waist as he passed, or the small of your back. “Thank you,” he’d grunt gently as he closed the fresher door. 

No more of Mando letting out a small, “Good night,” before lingering on your closing eyes and watching as your lips smiled, forming your response, “Good night.” 

Falling asleep, you knew you’d wake up to him. He would be up before you on most days, leaving you a fresh cup of caf and your favorite ration pack (when he had them). The short chatter between you two, going over the logistics of the next hunt, telling stories from your past, or just thinking out loud to each other. Gone.

You would be banished from home.

The fear struck your chest. Heat searing through your ribcage and meeting your spine, the visions repeated over and over in your head. Tears fell like waterfalls from your eyes. Most streams connected underneath your chin and trailed down your neck. Your back met the hull’s wall as you sank down onto the floor. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Your head was heavy and numb.

Just breathe. You knew you weren’t going to die. Go through some heartbreak? Maybe, but you knew you’d be alive. It helped. Your breath slowed and the fear dissipated into the air around you. That didn’t stop the flow of tears down your cheeks as your eyes were fixed on the closed ramp.

–

Mando’s footsteps set a steady pace back to the market.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

He displayed a map of the marketplace as an overlay on the display of his helmet. Mando usually reserved this practice for combat to aid in determining exit strategies and the best plan of attack.

But now he was using it to calculate the most efficient route throughout the marketplace in order to see you again sooner. 

Closing the overlay from the helmet’s display, he was met with the sight of the market. Long strings of lights decorated the different stalls. Many vendors took advantage of the dark and used different, bright combinations to reel in customers. Some lights were multicolored. Some flashing. Some huge and some small. He thought of the “ooh”s, and, “ahh”s that you would let out at the brilliant display.

The Mandalorian started in the food section of the market. Carefully examining which vendors carried your favorite snacks, he made purchase after purchase in quick succession. His helmet remained on a swivel, scanning the stalls from right to left and left to right. 

A stall offering your favorite kind of takeout came into view.

Once Mando arrived at the stall he ordered two takeout meals. The vendor looked startled and confused as he ordered. They shakily accepted the credits for the two meals. Gazes drifted away from Mando and quickly returned as he stood waiting for the meals to be prepared. A bell rang and he retrieved two warm containers, placing them in his bag alongside the snacks.

One last stop. The bracelets.

Marching through the food district, he came upon an intersection at which the left path led him to the clothing district. Yet again, his helmet pivoted on his neck from one side to another. 

The third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Mando continued his steady pace until the bright green stall came into view. The brightness of the exterior paint was exaggerated by the warm light emitted by lanterns, which decorated the outside of the shop. He didn’t notice before but the store sold children’s clothes. Onesies. Small shoes. Tiny hats.

A small tunic. Small enough for a human child younger than one year old. The tunic reminded him of Grogu’s. Mando’s bare hands brushed against the material countless times as he cradled The Child in his arms.

The last time he spoke about Grogu was with you. You listened and offered support. He’s never had anyone do that for him.

His visor turned to his left. The soft fairy lights of the stall reflected off of the beskar helmet on his head. As if the beskar reflected a dark sky decorated with bright stars. Various fabrics hung from the side of the vendor’s stall to cover the old wooden planks. Little accessories were placed throughout the shop on different tables and displays. 

Mando wasn’t focused on those items, he was focused on the long table of bracelets organized by color. His feet carried him to the green section. The helmet turned downwards to allow him to observe the selection. 

Shit.

There were so many bracelets similar to the pair you held, just all in different combinations of green, silver, and brown. Was it the bracelet with the large green cord and the small silver and brown threads? Or the one with the large silver cord and green and brown threads? Or thick brown cord with streaks of green and silver? His hands hovered over the options, doing his best to recall the details from earlier in the day.

“It’s this one,” a woman’s voice said.

A bit startled, the Mandalorian looked up and found a woman standing on the other side of the table. She wore long robes with intricate patterns. Jewelry decorated every limb and part of her body, like jewels were dripping down from her skin from a storm of gemstones. Hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. Her smile was kind and her gaze met Mando at his eyebrow.

A good try, he thought.

“I’m sorry?” He replies. She couldn’t possibly know which bracelet he was trying to find.

“You were watching them earlier. From across the street,” she let out faint exhales as she let out a short laugh, “Maybe you should hide a little better next time.” 

She reached out and picked two bracelets out of the display grid. “I remember the sizes too,” she said, “The person you watched held onto them for so long, they seemed pretty attached to them. I kept track of which bracelets they were just in case.” The robed woman shot him a friendly wink.

“In case of what?” Mando questioned. He was still in shock that the woman noticed him staring at you from across the street. 

The woman glanced up at him like that was a dumb question, “In case you came back to get them, Mandalorian. This isn’t my first day on the job.”

It saved him the time and stress of trying to remember which one it was, so he shrugged and watched the woman’s jewelry dangle as she typed onto the register. 

Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Ching.

“Okay sir, twenty credits please!” The woman extended her hand out and waited for Mando to place credits into her palm. She was met with the tilting of the black T shape on Mando’s beskar helmet. 

“I thought the price was thirty,” he stated as he began to reach into his pockets to retrieve his credits.

The woman let out another small laugh, “Oh, I suppose I should have made the sign larger,” her decorated fingers pointed to a small sign above the one that displays the bracelet prices.

$10 OFF WHEN YOU BUY TWO OR MORE

Mando’s shoulders dip in realization that you could’ve bought the bracelets in the first place. A sigh escapes his modulator and he hands the credits over to the intricately robed vendor. The credits clink into her palm, and then into the register.

He waits silently for her to package them up in a small bag. 

“They like you, you know,” the woman mentions, “No one like them would be deciding on which bracelets to buy for that long if they didn’t.” She paused as she was about to place the larger of the two into the small bag, “And look at the size of this one! It’s definitely for you.” 

The Mandalorian nods, “I appreciate that,” he pauses before turning away, “let’s hope they do.”

–

Mando sets a faster pace back to the Crest than the one he took from the Crest to the market. He’s impatient, he can’t wait to walk up the ramp and see your body curled up, comfortable and safe, while you sleep soundly in your bed–if you can even call it that, he thought. You usually went to bed early when he went on hunts, otherwise you would be awake talking to him.

Slipping the bag from his shoulder, an ungloved hand rummaged through the contents searching for a small bag. His fingers found the familiar texture and he pulled it out from between the snacks and the takeout. 

Mando slung the bag back over his shoulder, pulled the larger of the two bracelets out of the small bag, and slipped his hand through the ring of brown, silver, and green. Grabbing one of the ends with his fingers and pinning it to his palm, the other hand tightened the bracelet to a comfortable size around his wrist.

Once the small bag was returned to its place inside of the larger one, Mando peered around him to get a good look of his surroundings. 

The sun was about to set, leaving only a sliver of light available to provide dim light to the landscape. Rocks littered the ground. Shadows from each one making them appear larger in the light of the impending dusk. He reached up and tapped a finger to the temple of his helmet. No living thing was around him.

He paused and set the bag on the ground. Doing one last scan of the area, one of his hands gripped the chin of his helmet and lifted the beskar from his head. The hand held the helmet at his side while he marveled at his wrist.

He caught a good patch of remaining light and watched as the green and silver threads gleamed against the thick brown ones. The bracelet was beautiful. Not only because of the design, but because you picked it out. And it was for him.

Becoming paranoid, the Mandalorian quickly slipped his helmet back onto his head. He waited for the seal of the helmet to engage before continuing back towards the Crest. This time, at an even faster pace.

–

You sat there until you heard heavy footsteps approaching from outside, the hydraulics of the ramp coming to life. Thinking fast, you stood up and made your way towards the fresher to start your nighttime routine.

“Why are you still awake?” Mando’s voice was confused. He stood in front at the top of the ramp with his helmet tilted, hands resting on his hips, but his shoulders were slumped, a bag slung around one. He looked…worried.

Mando was right. Usually when he went on hunts you went to bed early. Nowadays the only thing that kept you awake was him. Talking with him was how you spent most evenings on the Crest, your voices echoed and bounced back to each other in the hull.

He’s used to seeing you curled up on the sleeping pad covered in blankets. Soft breaths came from your body and radiated throughout the Crest. Just like a minute ago, his footsteps would come up the ramp with his bounty in tow. Soft grunts could be heard kitty-corner from your spot in the hull. A hiss of mechanisms as they froze the bounty in carbonite. Then a bit of silence. 

The absence of the carbonite freezing stood out in your mind. No bounty, even when he said he was going to go and find one. Your eyes teared up slightly again as the realization truly set in. Mando really did go to the brothel.

You just wanted this night to be like any other night he came back to the Crest with a bounty.

After the bounty was frozen, heavy footsteps made their way across the floor of the hull. But they always stopped a few paces away from your bed, halting for a moment. Mando would complete his nightly routine. Setting the Crest’s coordinates for the next planet and showering in the fresher if he needed to–he usually did.

No matter what the events of his nightly routine were, it always ended with him standing in the doorway of his bunk–the sound of his footsteps always stopped partially inside.

“Good night, cyar'ika.”

You didn’t know what the Mando’a meant, since Mando never used that word around you, but you knew that the, “good night,” was all you needed to finally fall asleep.

You always waited up for him, only until reasonable hours of the night, of course, but he didn’t know it.

The sound of his footsteps in the present snapped you out of your hazy state. Crying really does a number on your brain.

“Just…couldn’t fall asleep,” you offered him a small smile as you pulled some products out of the tiny fresher cabinet. You wet your face and applied a small amount onto your fingertips, tapping them together for both hands to have the product. As you lifted your face and your hands to the mirror to begin washing your face, you were met with swollen lips, puffy eyes, and slight tear trails dried onto your face, despite the water you just splashed onto it. You froze.

There goes any of your chances to get away with how you spent your night. Staying up late staring at the Crest’s ramp. Waiting for Mando to come home. At least what you thought was home.

“What’s wrong?” Mando’s voice got clearer as he approached the fresher door. His strides long, footsteps clunking, as he removed his leather gloves and tucked the pair into his utility belt.

You went to turn away from him but he got there faster than you could. His ungloved hand rested on your shoulder, grip slow yet firm as he turned you to face him. He rubbed tiny circles onto your skin with his thumb once his eyes beneath the helmet noticed yours.

Your reflection on the silver beskar of his helmet stared back at you. Could you even get away with a lie at this point? What else would have made you cry? It’s not exactly like you could have said the truth either.

Oh yeah, I was sitting here having a panic attack as you participated in a perfectly normal service that is offered on this planet. Then I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you, and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.

Mando’s hand waved in front of your face and it brought you back into the present moment. “Did someone come onto the ship while I was gone?” His voice gritted out from the helmet’s modulator. 

“Maker, no,” you huffed and tried to look less suspicious, hoping he’ll just drop the topic.

“Then what is it?” He murmured, his modulator barely picking up his syllables. His wide shoulders took up most of the fresher’s door frame. The grip on your shoulder tightened slightly.

“It’s…I don’t think you’ll want to hear it.” You shrugged and repressed the heat of anxiety creeping down the back of your head. Turning to wash and dry your hands, you let out a sigh and started to walk towards the main open space of the hull. Your shoulder gently bumped him as you slid past his large frame in the doorway. 

Suddenly your hips were being snapped backwards and dragged back towards the fresher. His damn finger was in your belt loop again. 

He pulled you close to him, feeling the heat from his knuckle dig into your hip and spread throughout the rest of your body. His helmet leaned down to look you in the eye and tilted once again.

“Try me,” he paused. He brought his hand up to grip onto the valley where your neck meets your shoulder, slowly enough so you could back away if you so desired. His large palm and thick fingers were calloused and warm. The grip he had on you was still gentle, slightly squeezing. “You know you can tell me, right?”

You let a deep inhale permeate through your lungs. The words flowed through your individual cells. Thoughts of lying escaped your body with each breath. The debate inside your head would end. Whether he had those feelings for you or not.

“I got upset because you went to the brothel.” You told him. Lips trembling and eyes squinted open in an attempt to meet his gaze.

“The brothel?” He held both of your shoulders and brought his visor closer to your face. Thumbs rubbed your shoulders yet again. He sighed as your name left his lips and traveled through his helmet, “I didn’t go to a brothel tonight.” A titled T-shaped gaze met yours. You knew he was looking you in the eyes, and yours into his.

Brows furrowed, you sniffled slightly, “I-, I saw that condoms were on the market receipts.” The thumbs on your shoulders stopped, his chest didn’t rise and fall. He froze. You made Mando freeze. 

“Look I know I’m just being dramatic and paying for that kind of thing is completely normal. I just,” you trailed off and thought of a quick replacement for your worry, “I was worried you would get hurt there.”

Mando’s shoulders fell and his helmet cocked to the side. “What?” He questioned. “How would I get hurt? None of the workers there had weapons.”

“How would you know that if you didn’t go?” You whispered to him. Your gaze left his and it dropped to the shape in the center of his chestplate. The crystal shape rose up and down slowly.

“I got information on a bounty there earlier,” he sounded like he was talking to a hurt animal. Gentle. Slow. Calm. “What's the actual reason you’re upset?” 

Kriff it.

“I had a panic attack because I thought you went to the brothel. Maybe you would like the worker there more than you like me, I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you,” your chest heaved and as you listed off your previous thoughts of worry. Your hands shook as they landed on top of Mando’s, and you took a deep breath, eyes meeting his gaze like before, “and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.”

Mando is quick. He flipped his hands to grab one of yours and tugged you into the hull. Kneeling, he opened a cloth bag, one from the market, and dug into it to search for something. 

He actually went to the night market. You thought, now you look so clingy. So needy. He was just going to show you what he got to prove he went.

He turned and held his hand out. Sitting on top of the golden skin on his palm was a bracelet.

The bracelet from the market.

“I saw you looking at these, you looked for a long time and then put them down,” He stood up and set his gait to slow steps as he made his way over to you.

You laughed nervously, accompanied by a small sniffle, “Sorry yeah, I know I just should have been getting the stuff we needed. You didn’t have to go back and get it for-.” Mando raised a finger to halt your speech and continued what he was saying previously, “you put them down. You had two bracelets.”

“They had lots of them that I liked…I had two that were a tie and I just decided to get neither-.” Mando cut you off again.

“You were holding one bracelet consistently and then picked another in a bigger size,” you froze at his words. Dank farrik. Now he was going to think you’re super clingy. 

“I wasn't completely sure who you wanted to wear the bracelet, but I took a guess.” He pulled his long sleeve past his elbow and revealed his bare forearm. Strong. Capable. Solid. And a matching bracelet was donned on his wrist.

Your cheeks radiated with heat as he took your wrist and put your bracelet on you. His warm fingertips brushed the soft skin of your wrist, sending chills throughout your body at the meticulous skin-on-skin contact. 

Once the bracelet was secure around your wrist, Mando dipped his head and looked down at the floor. One of his hands gripped the underside of his helmet, and the other held onto your wrist. Your breath caught in your throat at the gesture. He quickly lifted his helmet to release his mouth, and he pressed three kisses on your wrist where the bracelet was. Mando’s lips were soft and timid, his hand caressing the skin on yours. Silver from his beskar helmet blocked your view, but Mando sealed his helmet and brought his eyes underneath the visor to look into yours.

“This means everything to me.”

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Carve Out A Place For Me to Sing

Okay so, I had an idea for a story a long time ago and I was going to write this out, but I figured I'd try a hand at making this into a fanfiction first. I think y'all will really like the idea though. Hear me out:

Exectutioner!König

I know others have done the idea, but this is a world I've been building for ages with its own established lore and history. I think you'll all find this to be pretty fun.

CW: public execution, mild descriptions of gore,

Wordcount: 4.8k

Art from This Post

Story below the Cut

Carve Out A Place For Me to Sing

You hated execution wakes*. They were miserable, wretched shows of viscera and torment for the insatiable masses below. You despised the way the crowd roared and cheered as the criminal’s severed head was held up to the crowd, eyes still fluttering with prayers for forgiveness on their trembling lips. You were revolted by how judge Holten would laugh like a great, bellowing tracker* as the criminals would writhe and beg for mercy at his feet. What chilled you most of all, though, were his eyes. Not judge Holten’s, most certainly not Father Kim’s, but his.

Cold blue eyes like the hold of Criah’s-turn* on your heart. A chilling draft through thatched roofs. His blank stare felt like stepping into a frozen forest, lost under a pale sky without neither a hearth or home in reach. Whenever he looked at you, you could feel the cold chill winding up your spine. You were a good, honest woman. A good, honest woman was always afraid of a bad man. Any woman would be afraid of a beast like him.

You shuddered as you kneaded the sourdough bread beneath your hands. Your aunt clucked her tongue at you.

“Well come on! We don’t have all day, now do we?” she shook the dark curls that framed her face, “daylight’s fading fast!”

“Auntie, my arms feel like they’re going to fall off!” you complained as you dropped the dough into a bowl to rise again.

“Well I’ll knock them off if you keep up with your whinging!” she squawked and threw another tray of buns into the oven.

“You know, if you’ve got this sort of energy, you’re free to go out to market tomorrow in my stead,” you tried once more as you drew out another batch of dough to knead.

“I’ve got three young’uns underfoot,” your aunt scolded you, “I don’t have nearly enough time to go out hawking bread to those animals.”

“Animals” you scoffed, “I didn’t think witch Rozlin was an animal.”

“Witch Rozlin is a good woman, but anyone going out to one of those blood shows is naught much more than a pig out back,” Auntie sniffed.

You rolled your eyes as you got to kneading the next batch. It wasn’t like you disagreed with your Auntie, but you were rather nonplussed by the idea of going out and selling buns to the rabid mob that was sure to form in the town square next Brak-Hah’s-watch*. Your Auntie had a point. The three rapscallions that currently out at school would be a handful on a Hollinwake, but all god-watch you’d been looking forward to having the day to yourself. After all, Hollinwake was the one wake in a god-watch devoted to caring for yourself and for your family. It was meant to be a day of peace, rest and personal growth. As such, it figured that judge Holten would schedule an execution for the final day of a god-watch. It was just another tally onto the ever-growing list of why judge Holten was the most deplorable man in Mormonia.

It wasn’t like anyone else disagreed with you. Judge Holten was a miserable toad. He was a stout man sporting a grotesque belly overhanging his gilded rope belt with a pugnacious air to him radiating off him with the scent of his tobacco. He’d walk around town in his blessed scarlet robes, scoffing as he whacked small children and animals alike out from under his foot. It was a wonder that any woman willingly shared a bed with the man. You just wished that Halax* might take a shine to you and smite the bastard from existence.

Alas, Halax had long-since turned her back on you when your uncle had fallen ill. Normally, he’d be in your place to prepare the bread and buns for tomorrow, but he had been struck ill at the start of the god-watch. He’d been bed since last Dandorwake*. You’d prayed at church with Father Kim, who’d kindly offered you a cup of mead and a fresh cabbage from the church’s gardens, but you’d declined and urged him to keep them for someone else. He’d tried to insist while gardening, but by the time he turned to hand one over you were already out the door. Maybe it was a sin to turn your back on a priest when he hadn't finished giving an offering, but you knew full well that he needed that cabbage far more than you ever could.

Last cycle* had been cruel. This turning-time* had been fruitful in harvests, but it didn’t make up for an entire cycle of suffering. There had been nothing but torrential rain to drench the ground followed by ages of heat that left the earth splitting with cracks and coughing dust. Most families had to turn to their own reserves, but of course, Father Kim and the church had no such stores. The church, as any good church ought to be, was entirely dependent on donations to run. With families unable to feed even their own children, Father Kim had to make do with an entire cycle of kitchen scraps and meager growth from their garden. Even now, Father Kim was still bony and frail in frame, a mere shadow of the power and might he’d carried the cycle before.

Maybe it was because you’d denied Father Kim’s offerings that your uncle still lay sick, but you weren’t too concerned. Just last wake, witch Rozlin had come with the town apothecary, Darnell to your door. On seeing your uncle, they laughed and told you he’d be up and on his feet within a couple wakes. They still charged you for their time, but you were glad to only be giving over a handful of brass coins rather than paying full price for some balms. So, with the reminder to wait, your uncle had been urged to rest and you had gone out to give the good news to your cousins.

A spark of embers caught your attention. You realized your Auntie must have left to go grab the children from the school master for the evening, leaving you alone in the bakery to work on the next batches. You heaved a sigh and straightened your aching back momentarily before turning back to your work. After all, you had plenty of work to do.

The next wake had started with you loading up the market wagon.

“Auntie, are you sure you want to sell the salted buns?” you asked as your Auntie piled in another load of bread.

“I’m sure of it,” your Auntie declared, “they’re the best thing I’ve made in moons!”

“But-”

“No buts!” she held a roughened finger up to your lips, “just go! You’ll be lucky if it’s not over by now.”

“I hope it is,” you muttered back.

“And just you be careful about The Axe, alright?” your Auntie worried over you as she adjusted your head scarf.

“Worry about The Axe? Why?” you asked.

“He’s a mean one, he is,” your Auntie warned you, “barely talks but… Well… He’s an executioner, dear. He’s not a good man. You’d best keep your distance if you can.” 

“Doesn’t my uncle deal with him?” you frowned.

“Oh he’s nice enough to your uncle, but to a young lady?” your auntie clucked her tongue, “I don’t like thinking about it. He’s not right in the head. If only I could I’d go with you, but with the little ones…”

You smiled warmly, “I understand. Don’t worry Auntie, I promise I’ll be safe.”

“Make sure you have someone with you when he comes to get his rations!”

You barely heard her as you picked up the handles of the wagon and set off to to the Criahlin’s* stone. It wouldn’t be more than a half watch* to get there by foot, less by beetle. You’d always tried to get your uncle to buy one, but he’d stubbornly refused each time you brought up the idea, pointing out the cost of feeding such a thing.

At the very least, the walk was a good one. The warmth of Brak-Hah’s turn had a spring in your step as you moved down the dirt path, formed by generations of beetles, turtles and lizards drawing wagons from town to town. Being on the outskirts had its benefits, that couldn’t be argued, but you sometimes found the walk to be tiresome. At least today the skies were bright and cheery, much like the sun god himself.

As you pushed the wagon, you let yourself focus on the growing wheat of your uncle’s fields. They were slowly turning a nice, bright golden yellow with the coming of Hanndoal’s-turn*, which was heralded by the trees in the distance turning a rugged burgundy splattered with patches of golden yellow. And as you’d noted earlier, the sky above was bright and blue, a glorious day for an outing. It truly was a beautiful day for an execution.

You rolled the cart through the cobblestone streets to the Criahlin’s stone, where the red splotched platform had been dutifully erected. Already, a crowd was milling about in their fine clothes, all shades of bright yellow, soft green and pastel blues, a fond farewell to the warm sun of Brak-Hah’s-turn* and welcoming in the cool winds of Hanndoal’s-turn. You smiled at the sight of it all.

Already, a few others had set up their stalls in preparations for the day. You saw the farmers arranging their Brak-Hah’s-turn’s crops and hanging up garlands of spices to draw in patrons from the crowd. Across from that roughened few, a cobbler was setting up a place to clean people’s shoes of the blood. Today looked like it was turning out to be a beheading. If nothing else, it was an easy death.

You spotted a familiar dark head of hair and hurried to her side.

“What’s the crime?” you asked as you came up to Salvatrice.

She glanced back at you, the scar on the left side of her face bunching with a grimace.

“Why’re you out here?” she growled.

“Is that how you’re greeting a friend?” you laughed.

“Well, it’s how I greet you,” she snorted as she turned to face you properly, “but where’s your uncle? Usually he comes out to these sorts of things.”

“He’s sick as a tracker right now,” you laughed, “but he’ll be up on his feet soon. We had Darnell and witch Rozlin come out to take a look at him.”

“Why didn’t you get your aunt to come instead of you?” Salvatrice scowled.

“It’s almost like you don’t want to see me!” you put your hands on your hips accusingly.

That at least brought a smile to her scarred face, “I just didn’t think you’d like being here. I know you’re not too big a fan of what we’ve got going on this wake.”

“Eh,” you shrugged, “I can look away. But I already know what I’m doing, what’s the crime here? Who’s getting whacked?”

“Judge Holten found Cramus Wright guilty of murder,” Salvatrice explained, “he punched some poor bastard in the back of the neck so hard that their spine cracked.”

“Wait,” you shook your head, “why’d he do that?”

“Beats me,” Salvatrice shrugged, “but he did it, so here he is. Or, well, will be.”

You looked up at the platform where Father Kim was reciting his prayers to the crowd. Most of the crowd looked at him blankly, only a few bowing their heads with his. Beside him, Judge Holten was scratching his stomach and yawning. His great book of law was tucked under his other arm like a fat black slug.

“Where’s the executioner?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly.

“Leading Cramus, I’d think,” Salvatrice fiddled with one of the skinning knives on her belt.

“So it should take a while to get here,” you surmised.

“You should start selling that bread before he shows up,” Salvatrice reminded you, “people might not be so hungry after.”

“Oh you know they always are,” you groaned, but wheeled your cart back to a spare stall and laid out your goods.

It only took a couple of shouts for people to starting making their way over to you. You rolled your eyes when your Auntie’s salted buns sold out first, but vowed to tell her what a great success they were when you got home. Sadly, your uncle’s browned beetle meat buns weren’t quite so popular, but at the very least your crisprunch buns were selling well enough for you to feel confident in your experiments. Of course, the salted turtle buns sold well, but so did anything your Auntie made. You didn’t quite have the talent for coming up with recipes like she did. At the very least, what you lacked in useful creativity you more than made up for in technical skill. You knew your lattice pies were always sure to win over the crowds.

You passed a turtle bun to a small girl when you heard the yelling from behind you. You turned to look, and immediately wished you hadn’t.

There in the center of the road was a great monolith of a man carrying the soon to be departed Cramus Wright, wailing like a mowler on his back. You shuddered as he neared the square, his heavy footsteps slowly trudging by you to make his way to the great platform. The crowd split silently for the man, not a soul daring to step within his radius. Children huddled into their mother’s aprons and men shuddered at the sight of him. Up on his back, Cramus Wright threw his meaty hands against the giant and bellowed like a swamp toad. His eyes bulged so that even from afar you could see the whites of his black eyes as they whirled round and round in their sockets.

“It ain’t me!” the man’s voice carried through the crisp air, “I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!”

Judge Holten rolled his eyes as Cramus was strapped into the stocks. He begged and cried until his voice went hoarse as he thrashed against the black iron chains. His neck strained as he tried to move his head from the chopping block, but eventually his body gave out and he slumped down over the wood.

Judge Holten sighed and turned to the crowd. He pulled out the black and gold leather book and started up his readings, calling out with a pious voice that grated on your ears. You ignored his callings to focus on Father Kim, who sensing his opportunity, had kneeled by the prisoner’s side to give him his final prayers. He painted the man’s face in pigmented oils, forming complex patterns that linked and looped across his cheeks up to his forehead, where Father Kim painted a bright and glorious eye in red. When he’d finished, he kissed the man’s forehead and stepped back to stand beside the half-giant and speak to him. The crowd roared and cheered as Judge Holten whipped them up into a fury, but you saw past them to the silent duo who stood waiting by the edge of the worn wood platform.

There with his cursed black hood stood the half giant only known in the village as ‘The Axe’. He was a horrendous man, what with his tremendous body and his hulking pose. He stood out in any crowd he stood in, a shrouded wraith covered in dark cloth from head to toe, save only for a tan tunic he tucked in with a girthy black leather belt. He lorded above Father Kim, and yet there was something so tender in seeing a man born of blood and death bowing down so that a chosen holy spirit could whisper into his ear. You couldn’t see his eyes from here (and thank Halax for that), but you could see the man’s shoulders shake with a good laugh.

Eventually, Judge Holten closed his book and tucked it back under his left arm, turning to face the unfortunate Cramus Wright.

“Cramus Wright,” Judge Holten’s voice boomed around you, “you are found to be guilty of murder in the highest degree. Additionally, you are charged with the theft of four-hundred gold coins, thirty-eight silver coins, forty five bronze coins, and ten copper coins. You are hereby deemed unfit to live amongst common man, and are to be beheaded with a blunt axe. May Forruxik* have mercy on you.”

Your knees felt weak. A blunt axe? That seemed absolutely barbaric, and yet the crowd cheered all the same.

From the back, you saw The Axe take his namesake axe from his side, rusted red with a grotty hardwood handle. He twirled it expertly in one gloved hand as he walked forth, ignoring Cramus’s screams and the cheering of the crowd. He leisurely sauntered to the side and looked down on Cramus. He bent in half to lean down to the man’s ear. A brief exchange was made, and The Axe rose back up to his full monstrous height and raised the axe up high above his head in his tremendous hands. The crowd was silent as The Axe took a deep breath, momentarily soaking in the moment, then swung down with all his might. You turned away just in time to hear a fleshy thud.

The crowd screamed with wild delight as Cramus’s head was raised up his, painting The Axe’s creamy tunic in bright scarlet red as blood rained down upon the crowd. They eagerly surged forward to try and catch some of it on any piece of clothing, anything to keep as a memento of the event. The Axe looked down upon them with those cold, cold eyes. You could see the sheer hatred and disdain from where you stood at your stall. You shivered as The Axe took the head and hurled it into the crowd to be torn apart. They grappled over it like wild lizards, teeth gnashing and spit flying as they tried to get a piece for themselves.

When you looked back at the stage, Father Kim had his hand on The Axe’s bicep and was speaking to him. Judge Holten was stepping down the platform stairs to make way for the morticians that crawled up from the earth to take their prize. They’d get the head in about an hour, when all was said and done. If they were lucky it’d be picked clean by then.

You sneered at the display, and instead focused your energy on making your sales to the now-ravenous mob.

You made your sales easily. It was sometimes easier to turn your brain off and just take the coins, tuck them into the pouch on your belt. You worked quickly, efficiently, not fully realizing how many you’d gotten through until the sky started to turn and the crowds dwindled to nothing.

Only once all the patrons had left for the day did you notice a shadow crossing your stall.

You looked up, only to immediately freeze under the watch of those frozen eyes.

“Hallo?” his voice was strangely accented, “I am here for my rations.”

You blinked as you took in The Axe. You’d never seen him this close before, where you could actually see the red trails that hung below the holes he cut out for his eyes.

“Your rations?” you whimpered as you trembled.

The Axe nodded slowly, almost as though you were stupid.

You looked around your stall, but it was bare of any goods. Everything had been sold that day. What did he mean?

“What rations?” you managed to squeak out.

“My bread,” The Axe said as though that might help clarify his meaning, “I want my bread. The provisions bread.”

You blinked up at him.

“What provisions bread?” you asked, now confused more than afraid.

“For my duties I am given rations by the council,” The Axe explained in his whispery voice, “your uncle always puts them aside for me.”

Oh! The rations! Surely your auntie had packed them somewhere.

You turned and rummaged through the cart, but there wasn’t so much as a bun to give over. The shelves under your stall held naught more than a coating of fresh crumbs. You turned up to him with a frown, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any bread for you. Are you sure that you’re meant to get rations from us today?”

“There is no other miller in the village,” The Axe grunted, “do you not have my rations?”

You cringed at his accusations and subtly tried to shift your coin pouch away, ever so carefully creeping from him as you told him, “I don’t have your rations. I’m sorry.”

The Axe stood still. You couldn’t help but freeze under his icy eyes. You swore you saw rage like no other in those Criah’s turn eyes, cold and billowing out like a hailing gale. He looked you up and down with those frosted eyes before letting out a puff of air, making his black mask billow out before resting back on his face.

“Then next time,” he said quietly.

You turned to leave but he coughed to grab your attention.

“What?” you asked, a bit ruder than you intended.

“Is your uncle alright?”

You lowered your tensed shoulders, then scowled, “Why would you care? You’re not looking for him, are you?”

The Axe swung his head back and forth slowly, “I just want to know if he’s alright. He’s kind when giving me my rations. What happened to him?”

“He’s sick,” you said tersely.

“A shame,” The Axe said quietly, “I hate to hear that a good friend is suffering.”

Your scowl deepened, “What do you mean? That’s literally your job. You kill people all the time. You make people suffer for money. If you don’t like hurting people, then why are you still here?”

“It pays well,” The Axe muttered, “and it’s all I’m allowed to do, anyways.”

You paused. What in Mormonia* was he talking about?

“Couldn’t you get a job as a tailor? Maybe a glove maker?” you offered.

“Who would take an executioner’s son as a journeyman?” The Axe chuckled, “you see how the others are afraid to even be near me. Nobody would take me in.”

You drummed your fingers on the counter, “Why don’t you go to another town?”

“With what work history? Nobody will hire me,” The Axe supplied.

You nodded slowly before grimacing and offering your final solution, “Why don’t you become an adventurer? Somebody as big as you would make a good fighter, right?”

“And leave my home?” The Axe shook his head, “I love my home. I could never abandon what little I have. And anyways, what if I lose it all? What if I lose more than what I have now? Nobody likes me here, but this place is safe. I’m happier here.”

You leaned on the top of the stall, curling your fingers into a fist under your chin as you thought carefully. The Axe didn’t seem quite so scary now. You’d always figured him to be rude and abrasive, a beast of a man, but now that you spoke to him he seemed just as nervous of you as you of him, if a bit (understandably) melancholic.

You tried to think of another solution, but all that came up was, “Why don’t you make somebody else do your job?”

“Hah!” The Axe barked, “nobody can do my job as well as I can. They would draw out the pain, make the prisoners suffer. I make it quick! I try to make it as painless as possible. After all, it might be my head on the stocks one day,” his eyes softened, “I can only hope whoever’s next is as forgiving as I am.”

You nodded slowly. In the end, he managed to take a man’s head off with one sweep of a dull axe. There wasn’t another man in the village that you could imagine being able to pull off the same feat. He easily could have drawn out the killing, had every excuse with a dull axe, and yet he chose to make it as quick as possible. 

“So, you really don’t have a choice,” you concluded.

The Axe shook his head mournfully.

“That…” you slumped a bit, “that’s terrible. I’m so sorry you have to do this.”

“It’s not so bad,” The Axe offered, “just lonely.”

“Lonely?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Lonely,” The Axe nodded, “only a small few are willing to speak to me, and only because they must. I am friends with Darnell, Witch Rozlin, and Father Kim. Occasionally, Sister Callisto or Sister Mila will speak to me. But if they are not forced to speak with me? Nobody speaks to me. Everyone in this village hates me. If they don’t hate me, they are afraid of me.

“So,” The Axe shrugged, “I am lonely.”

You frowned at the thought. It sounded like a miserable existence. You’d always known the community to welcome you with open arms. You laughed with neighbors, chatted with vendors, haggled with patrons with ease. Life was always busy with five nieces and nephews running underfoot in at home. 

The Axe, though, was a different case.

You knew The Axe to be the only son of a waif of a woman and a giant man that had hung himself after his wife passed. For at least four years, you knew the Axe to live on his own out in a cottage deep in the woods, father from town than even your uncle’s mill. Supposedly, it was to protect everyone from the butcher’s rage. Now, you were starting to think the reverse might be true.

“That sounds awful,” you admitted, “I can’t imagine everyone in the village hating me.”

“You get used to it,” The Axe offered.

You frowned, “You shouldn’t have to ‘get used to it’. You should be able to have friends like anybody else.”

“Well, would you be friends with the man who kills for a living?” The Axe snorted.

You looked the man up and down carefully. The blood on his tunic had turned a maroon red. In the dying light of the sun, you could make out some flecks that had made their way onto his slider belt buckle. You flicked your eyes away from his crotch to look down at his thighs, each one thick as tree trunks and just as sturdy. Looking back up at his face, his cold eyes now seemed less dour, severe. Instead, you wondered if he was lost in his own frozen forest.

“I think I would be,” you offered.

The Axe’s eyes widened.

“You would be?” he parroted.

“I think if he let me,” you gave him a small smile.

The bells of the church rung out, indicating the late hour. You hissed as you scrambled to grab your wagon and pull it out from behind the stall. When you turned, The Axe was still standing, looking completely shell-shocked.

“Hey,” you caught his attention, “if you come back tomorrow at the start of the tenth watch*, I’ll get you your rations.”

“But won’t that be after sundown?” The Axe shifted his weight.

“The moon will be up by then,” you agreed, “but it won’t be too late. I can still make it out here and back before my Auntie and Uncle go to sleep. Do you wanna meet up then?”

The Axe looked down at his hands and shuffled awkwardly, “If you’re willing to do all that for me…”

“I’d love to,” you cut him off, “anyways, it’s getting late. I should probably get him before my Auntie gets worried.”

The Axe nodded and sent you off with a wave.

You walked down the path, following the glowing blue and white blossoms of moon flowers. A few patches of luminescent moss growing across the wood fences helped keep you on course when you finally made your way home.

When you did manage, your Auntie was waiting in the living room for you.

“You’re back!” she exclaimed and threw her arms around you before pulling away, “I’m so sorry! Was he mean to you? Did he try to hurt you?”

You screwed up your face, “Auntie, what’re you talking about? Who would’ve hurt me?”

“The Axe!” she exclaimed, “I forgot to pack his rations for you today! Didn’t he yell at you for them? I only noticed once you’d left! Surely he got upset, didn’t he? Was he too scary? I can tell your uncle he needs to find another baker if he tried to hurt you.”

“No, no,” you shook your head, “he was fine. I just told him I’d get them to him later.”

Your Auntie shrieked so loud you had to cover your ears.

“You told him you’d see him again?” she screeched, “what in the realms* were you thinking, girl!? Oh what have you done?”

“I told him I’d meet him at the tenth watch,” you explained, “out by the Criahlin’s stone.”

Your Auntie looked like she’d keel over and faint right then and there, “Oh by Halax’s name, what have you done?” she paused and shook her head, “no, you’re not going. I can’t have you seeing that dangerous man on your own, and especially not after dark!”

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, “I made a promise! You can’t have me breaking a promise, can you?”

“Oh I most certainly can!” your Auntie huffed, “it’s what’s best for you!”

“But Auntie he wasn’t that bad!” you tried to reason with her, “he’s nice! He’s just lonely!”

“Lonely?” your Auntie scoffed, “pah! That’s ridiculous. Now you listen and you listen close: you’re not to go and see him tomorrow. You stay right here with us. If I see you skeeving off, you’ll be in for a realm of trouble!”

You glared at her, but you were too tired to argue. You simply closed your eyes and nodded.

“That’s a good girl,” your Auntie sighed, “now, off to bed with you. We’ve got a busy day of baking tomorrow!”

You tromped up the creaking wooden stairs to go to bed.

You brushed out your hair in the window, thinking about how lonely The Axe must have been out in his cottage. You could see him now, sleeping alone in his thatching, shivering without so much as a fire to warm him. As you settled down into the straw, you vowed to make sure you’d change that.

Glossary

Wake - Day

Tracker - Type of lizard used for hunting (Mormonia's version of dogs)

Criah's turn - Every turn is a season named after a god. Criah's turn is named after the god of death, grief, hope and forgiveness. This turn is effectively winter

Next Wake - tomorrow

Hollinswake - tenth day of the week (there are ten days in a week), named after the goddess Hollin (diety of dreams and nightmares)

Halax - Creator goddess

Dandorwake - fifth day of the week, named after Dandor (diety of aspiration and responsibility)

Cycle - year

Half Watch - half an hour

Brak-Hah - God of the Sun, Light, Children and Joy

Hanndoal's Turn - Fall season, named after Hanndoal (diety of Trickery, Fun, Truth and Creativity)

Forruxik - God of Justice, Order, Wisdom and Intelligence

Mormonia - World

Tenth Watch - Days are split into 12 watches, each lasting 2 hours 24 minutes long

The Realms - There are an undetermined amount of realms of reality, with the three most pressing ones being the Looking Realm (our realm), the Feeling Realm (the realm where the otherworldly live) and the Highest Realm (the realm where Gods live)

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[arsenicflame]

steddyhands modern au inspired by this post:

(1828 words, themes of kink but nothing explicit, established blackhands & gentlebeard-centric. Happy Pride!)

Stede picks up leatherworking in the wake of his divorce. He's not exactly sure how it ended up being such an important hobby for him, only that he had always admired the intricate designs on his horse's best bridles, and with little else to do with his time, he decides to give it a go.

It's rocky going at first, but he's having fun working with his hands for the first time in his life, and there's a sense of satisfaction in seeing the design come to life as he works. With practice, his skills improve, and he learns how to make things that are truly one of a kind.

He starts off posting his pieces online, as a way to reach fellow enthusiasts, but quickly finds himself with a rather large audience. Stede’s style is unique, and, after many requests from his followers, Lucius encourages him to make some more basic pieces he can sell. It's not about making money for Stede, but another way to meet new people who share his interests- as Lucius keeps telling him, it's sad that his personal assistant is the main person he talks to these days. 

So Stede sets out on a new adventure, and has quite the time designing a new range of patterns for the market. He makes purses, belts, bracelets, and, most importantly, dog collars- all still with his unique designs embossed into them, of course. He rents a booth at his towns monthly craft fair, and very quickly finds himself with a new group of friends in the other regulars- Pete, his usual neighbour, who sells an array of wooden figures he carves, Roach, who runs a stand for his bakery, and Frenchie, who isn't actually a stallholder, but is almost always busking near his friend Wee John’s stand of knitted goods, bringing life to the market even in the pouring rain. There's also Buttons, another regular at the market. Nobody is exactly sure what he does there- he doesn't sell things, or seem to buy anything either, but rain or shine, he's there with the birds.

Stede’s been doing this a few months by the time June rolls around. As he's setting up his stand, he notices that the area is much busier than it’d normally be at this time of morning. Lucius, who got roped into helping run Stede’s stall somewhere down the line (despite his protests that this is not what personal assistant means… But hey, he got a boyfriend out of it, at least), reminds him that there's the parade today, too- not realising that Stede had no clue there was a parade today, and especially not that it was pride. Stede immediately jumps to fretting about the amount of stock he’s brought, and Lucius takes the cue to escape, saying he’ll go and grab them coffee (but really, he's off to flirt with Pete)

Lucius is still missing when Ed stumbles across the little leather stall. Stede’s just ran back to his car to fetch his last boxes of inventory, and by the time he returns, Ed’s already begun to narrow down his choices. Stede greets him, starting to tell him that they're not actually open yet, but before he gets more than a couple of words out, Ed’s exclaiming “You're a Kiwi!!!”

The two of them smile at the shared recognition, and Stede says he’ll make an exception, just for Ed, and asks him what exactly he was interested in. Ed tells him that he's looking for a collar “for his boy”, and points out the particular design he was looking at. It happens to be one of Stede’s favourites from this latest run of work, a fact he mentions to Ed. It leads them into a discussion about Stede’s craft, and Ed’s Izzy, and then everything in between. Ed’s listening intently to the things Stede’s telling him, completely drawn in by the process, and by Stede himself. He watches as Stede stamps Izzy's name into the collar, and Stede even lets him have a go at one of the stamps. 

Lucius reappears sometime in the middle of this- only to immediately retreat again, seeing Stede engrossed with Ed. He sets up camp at Pete's booth opposite, watching this man flirt intensely with his boss- and Stede flirt back just as hard. Does Stede even realise he’s doing it? Lucius had known Stede was gay since before Stede even admitted it to himself, but this is on a whole other level.

The pair stand there so long that Izzy comes to look for Ed- the two of them are manning a float on the parade with their crew, and it's past time for them to get geared up. He's already worked up, frustrated to have been left to set up everything alone, when Ed had just gone to see if he could get them both coffee. So maybe he's a bit of a prick, approaching with a brash “where the fuck have you been, Edward”, to which Stede brings the same energy, giving a bitchy “Ed! Do you know this guy?” Izzy tenses, ready to snap, but then Ed cuts in, excitedly telling Stede that this is “his Izzy!” Which confuses the hell out of Stede. 

Forgetting his earlier attitude, he asks Ed if he “really named his dog after his friend”, only to be met with confusion right back from Ed at where the hell Stede got the idea he had a dog from. Stede gestures at the bag with the collar in it, to which Ed has to tell him, “oh, no, that's for him.” Ed tells Stede that they're here to run a float for their local leather society, and while Stede is certainly shocked by what Ed’s saying, he's not finding himself… uninterested. It's simply that he’s never even considered any of this before, especially not that people would use the things that he made for this, but Ed sounds so enthusiastic about it all. He tells him about how his friends would love to see Stede’s work, about how classic leather gear is always so fucking boring- but not Stede’s stuff, no, Stede’s stuff is “fresh” and “fascinating” and unlike anything Ed’s ever seen before. 

Ed's enthusiasm is incredibly infectious, so when he invites Stede to come back to see their float, he readily agrees. It’s a concept Izzy’s less than enthusiastic about. He doesn’t really want to bring this man who’s dressed like he just walked out of a HOA board meeting to their kinky little corner of the world, but he is having a lot of fun watching Stede squirm, so decides not to raise a protest. He does demand he gets his long-overdue coffee first, though (Stede pays for it- as “compensation for him distracting Ed from his job”, he says, not giving Izzy a second to process before he's tapping his card)

By the time they return to the float, Fang, Ivan & Jim are waiting for them, all already geared up. Stede is stunned silent at the sight for about 5 seconds, before he starts actually looking at the quality of Jim’s harness, and proceeds to go off about the poor quality of the craftsmanship, about how the hardware is tacky and completely the wrong choice with this leather, how his “ten year old daughter could do a better job!!!” 

There's complete silence from the group, until Izzy, of all people, bursts into laughter at Stede’s audacity (and, the fact he was staring at Jim's tits completely unabashedly, like he hadn't even noticed them in the first place). Izzy's laughter sets Ed off as he tells the group about Stede’s misunderstanding- “you didn't say he was a person!” “I mean, he's my dog”- and soon everyone's having a friendly giggle at Stede’s mistake.

It's somewhere in the middle of the retelling that Ed remembers that this whole thing happened because he was buying Izzy a gift. After a moments fumbling, he presents Izzy with the collar-  It's a rich, deep black, embossed with a rolling pattern that resembles waves. It’s made from a firm enough leather to take the tooling, and to remind Izzy that he’s owned while he’s wearing it, yet still soft enough for long term comfort. Izzy's eyes immediately lock on to it, an unreadable expression coming over his face, and Ed turns it; first so he can really see the design and Izzy’s name embossed into it, and then so he can see the small “Ed ♥” on the inside of the collar, right over his swallow tattoo. 

“I did the heart,” Ed says to him softly, intended only for Izzy’s ears. Izzy's eyes flick up to Ed’s, and he raises his chin to give Ed the room to put it on. Ed buckles the collar around his neck almost reverently, a test of the tightness turning into a caress of Izzy's neck. It's a perfect fit.

It's as though something comes over Izzy; so twitchy and abrasive earlier, now silent, staring at Ed with a look akin to worship in his eyes. He obediently tilts his head for a kiss as Ed's fingers move to his chin- It's a sight to behold, and one that has Stede intrigued. He wants to know more about this lifestyle, and these men in particular. He wants to be the one to put that expression on Izzy's face.

The moment breaks as Ed and Izzy pull apart, and Ed calls for the crew to finish the last bits of set up. Izzy shakes himself a little before running off to bark orders again, but even still, there remains a softness to him that wasn't there before. 

Ed turns back to Stede with an apologetic smile, already obvious that he has to get going. Before he can speak, however, Stede jumps in -“My business numbers on the card in the box… I'll be around all day”- Ed’s smile turns more genuine at that, promising to stop by if he gets a moment, and that he’ll send his friend's Stede’s way- “if he wants that kind of business.” Stede says that he does, actually- that he's seen a whole new world already today, and, while he was a little taken aback at first, he can feel the passion Ed and his friends have for this life. If there's one thing that's ever mattered to Stede, it's other people's enthusiasm. Maybe he doesn't completely understand yet, but he would like to try.

One year later, Stede’s back at the market on pride weekend again, far better stocked for the crowds this time around. Lucius is finally free to spend the day flirting with Fang & Pete to his heart's content, now that Stede’s roped his own boyfriends into helping him run the stall- and into modelling the merchandise. Ed loves that part, while Izzy needs a lot more convincing, but the puppy eyes Stede & Ed weaponise against him make a very good argument.

[kindaasrikal]

Zane, Jay, and Skylor in my art style (sketches) plus a cute headcanon i came up with:

Headcanon: the ninja, for years, have accidentally been wearing each other’s clothes by pure accident, and no one realised until Pixal began living with them. You suddenly have a weird spiky jacket with the letter C in the corner? Mustve been a hand me down!

You suddenly have a shirt thats way too small on you? Must’ve grown out of it!

Oh? You suddenly have clothes with fire insignias on it? Must be some merch you got alongside your own as a two for one deal in ninjago market.

You have a rlly ugly sweater you’d never actually buy? Oh its must be a gift! Might as well wear it.

No one realises. Not a signal person realises, because they didn’t know what belonged to who in the first place. This was all caused by Wu trying to enforce discipline into the ninja (and Nya) by making them do chores. But when the chore of laundry came around, it became pure confusion for whoever was doing it because who is wearing bright pink tank tops dammit???

So, as teenagers do, they decided they did not care enough and threw the clothes into one of the random 5 (later 6 (Lloyd) and even later, 7 (Pixal)) baskets and call it a day.

And because the ninja can be rlly dumb, they don’t realise.

So in my drawing, you have a shockingly sick Zane (he caught a virus) wearing a shirt that belonged to Jay and not questioning why it doesn’t reach past his waist, a Skylor wearing Nya’s overalls and Kai’s belt as she tries to help Pixal and Nya fix a car or smth (she may know how to cook, but she has no idea how to build) and being annoyed by not getting it, and a Jay wearing Pixal’s purple shirt as he simps over Nya doing smth rlly cool.

Later, it’s Pixal who joins the group and lives with them, and feeling out of place she wonders where her clothes are going off too. When Pixal sees Jay wearing her shirt, she asks why, he acts rlly confused, the other ninja are baffled, and Pixal proves her point by showing the tag with her name on it. Slowly, the other ninja check their clothes and realises they’re wearing each other’s clothes too. They’re all embarrassed and don’t say anything, until Pixal laughs and says she actually finds it sweet and it made her feel more comfortable there.

From there on out, the ninja began ‘claiming/accepting’ friends through mixing their clothes together and waiting for the other to wear them.

Vania stays over and the next day shes wearing an oversized black shirt, internally confused where she got it from but it’s so damn comfortable. Cole is excited.

Benthomaar lives with the Ninja for a bit and one day he’s wearing Nya’s swimming shorts and he wonders why ‘his’ shorts are so…short. Nya has to hold back her laugh when later she sees Bentho wearing a tight blue shirt, and a Jay yelling about not being short.

Skylor wonders where she got collection of red tank tops, and never realises Kai freaking out in the back every time she wears one.

In a resurrected AU, Morro is seen wearing a white shirt alongside a golden ribbon wrapped around his waist. Zane and Wu share a glance when they hear Morro mutter about where all his dark coloured clothes went.

Edit: plus harumi and echo zane they were unknowingly manipulated into wearing clothes that aren’t theirs

Anyways i love these lot theyre so cute sushwhwh

[ayamohammed2024]

Vetted by butterfly nu #1133

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #230 )✅️

https://gofund.me/05039d3d

Hello, I am Aya, 26 years old. I currently live in the northern besieged Gaza Strip. I am a mother of two children, my eldest daughter Sanaa, who is 5 years old, and my youngest son Wasfi, who is 3 years old.

We were displaced from our home 🏠at the beginning of the October 7 war. We were displaced to schools🏫 and relatives’ homes. We left our home under the bombing, fire belts, missiles and terrifying shells in the Zeitoun area. We did not take anything with us. We left our food, belongings and clothes and left our beautiful home. We have not returned to it until now. I appeal to everyone and ask you to help me. There is nothing. We lost everything we own, our home and my husband’s only job. My husband and I suffer daily from the problem of providing food and what we will feed our children today due to its high prices. All our food depends on canned food. My children always cry😭, wanting fruits, vegetables and eggs,🍅🍏 and my young son tells me, “Mama, I want to drink milk.🥛” I do not know how to respond to them. My young children have suffered greatly from the spread of pimples that left a disfiguring effect on their bodies, like burns. Also, The shortage of gas led us to use firewood🔥, nylon and brambles for baking and cooking.

With the arrival of winter, I do not know what to do. Even the clothes in the market are very expensive. I went to buy used clothes to warm my young children.

I hope everyone will donate even a little.i am confident that you will stand with me and support me until I achieve my goal and save my family 👩‍❤️‍👨from from the danger of war share my story. Everythings help.

Can you share some of my posts from time to time?🙏🇵🇸🇵🇸

[arcane-vagabond]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Three

Fool's Fare: Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Triggers: Language, Excessive alcohol consumption, Talks of the supernatural. Think that's it.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Here is Chapter Three! I hope you all enjoy! I'm hoping to start working out the timeline for the DPU again so I can post an update for Outrun the Devil here soon, but I might update Meet Me at the Sea again before I do. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! 18+ ONLY!! You can also find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I post my updates as well!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

The town of Port Royal was crowded with men of different ilk the likes of which you had never seen. The Hangman had docked in the early hours of the morning, and once you had finished helping Bob prepare and serve breakfast, you had dragged the young man down the gangway and onto the street, heart hammering away with excitement.

“We can’t be gone too long,” Bob said, grinning at your clear excitement. “We have to be back in time to prepare supper.”

“What’s the point of traveling if we can’t even see the sights?” you scowled, pushing your way through the heavy throng of people around you. A few men gave you dirty looks as you did, but you paid them no mind. Men were rarely able to back up their bark with enough bite, in your experience, but you pressed onward without so much as a second glance at them.

“Pete, we are seeing the sights,” Bob chuckled behind you.

You turned to fix him with a scowl. “We’re seeing, but we aren’t appreciating. How can we when we only have a few hours?”

“I think you’re overestimating how much there is for us to do around here,” he laughed. You paid him no mind as you neared the market of the old pirate hub. Men bargained with each other at several of the different stalls, and groups of women were scattered along the streets looking for paying customers to share their bed for the evening.

“Ahoy, handsome,” a pretty redhead grinned at you as she leaned over the railing of the brothel. “You look like you’ve hardly reached manhood, and I don’t suppose you have much experience under your belt. Can I interest you in some lessons?”

“I, uh,” you stammered, blinking up at her nervously. “No, thank you, miss.”

“Shame,” she smirked, eyes looking behind you. “And what about you, sailor?”

You turned to see Bob looking as red as a tomato as he glanced nervously at you. “No, I’m fine.”

“Well, I’ll be here if either of you change your mind,” she grinned, tossing her long curls back to show off her ample cleavage. “Just ask for Lucy when you come back.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” you blushed, hurrying to move forward with Bob hot on your tail. The two of you continued on a little farther until a glint of light caught your eye. You walked slowly up to the stall, several men grousing at you as you crossed right in front of their paths, but you paid them no mind. Your eyes were locked on a beautiful necklace that lay on top of a small wooden chest at one of the stalls. The golden chain held a six-pointed star, tiny diamonds encircling a burning opal. You had never seen something so beautiful before.

“I see you’ve found the soul of Polaris.”

You jumped, looking up to see an older man with a salt and pepper beard staring down at you. His accent was foreign, and if you had to guess, you’d say the man was from somewhere in Scotland.

“Is that what this is?” you asked him, looking back down at the jewel.

“Aye,” he continued, folding his arms. “They say a sea witch fell madly in love with a sailor long ago. When the two finally met face to face, the witch proclaimed her love for the man, but what she didn’t know is that the man was disgusted by her form. You see, the sea witch was also a mermaid, a siren of the sea. For while the witch was fair of face, the sailor knew what monster lay beneath the surface. So, he told her that he would only accept her love if she offered him something valuable.”

“And that was the gem?” you asked him, eyes wide. The old man chuckled with a shake of his head.

“No, lad. Wasn’t the gem,” he explained. “Was what the gem holds. There’s nothing more important to a sailor than the north star herself. Every man worth his salt knows that much. No, the gem holds an ancient magic. A magic to calm the sea and guide men to what it is they need most.”

“Which is what?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It’s different for every man.”

“Why are you selling it if it’s so valuable?” Bob chimed in, eyes narrowed at the man.

“Because it showed me that it’s time to pass it along, and I’m nothing if not a man who loves a proper sale,” he grinned. “Are ye interested?”

Before you could answer, Bob grabbed your elbow, pulling you away.

“No, we’re not,” he huffed out. You let out a cry of protest as he dragged you through the crowd. It wasn’t until the merchant faded from view that he finally slowed down, and you jerked your arm out of his hand.

“What was that about?” you griped, glaring up at him. He looked around the crowd wearily before shaking his head.

“Just didn’t like the look of him, is all.”

“Oh, that’s all?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “What if I wanted to buy it?”

“Yeah?” Bob bit out a sharp laugh. “With what money?”

You were silent for a moment, and he nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“You don’t have to be such an ass, you know,” you muttered, looking away dejectedly. You heard Bob sigh before he placed a hand gently on your shoulder.

“Look,” he began, “I’m sorry. I just don’t like anything having to do with magic or witches or anything of the sort.”

“Why’s that?” you asked him.

Bob didn’t answer you, instead looking somewhere off in the distance before grinning down at you.

“C’mon,” he said, once again pulling you through the crowd. “There’s something I want you to see.”

You allowed him to tug you along, the crowd thinning as the two of you moved closer to the edge of town. Finally, the cobblestone streets gave way to white sands and the stunning blue of the ocean. You felt your breath catch in your throat as you looked out onto the horizon. How you hadn’t noticed it when you departed the ship earlier, you didn’t know, but now your gaze was transfixed by it. This blue was so different from the blue you grew up seeing every day. Where your home’s waters were usually a dark, stormy blue, Port Royal’s water shined like topaz.

“I didn’t know the sea could look like this,” you breathed out.

“I knew you’d like it,” Bob smiled, turning his focus to the water before you. The two of you stood there in silence for a few moments before Bob turned to you once more. “C’mon, we best get back to the ship.”

“What’s all the commotion up there?” you asked Bob, hearing the stampede of footsteps above you on the main deck. Bob glanced up, a smile crawling onto his face.

“Sounds like they’re back aboard,” he grinned, rushing towards the door.

“Who is ‘they?’” you called after him, but he was already gone. You sighed, eyeing the ingredients for dinner before making your way after him. A crowd had gathered by the gangway, and you stopped at the edge where Bradley stood.

“What’s going on?” you asked him.

He shrugged. “Guess we’re here to pick up two other crew members from what I’ve gathered.”

You hummed, craning your neck to try and peer over the horde of men. You managed to catch a glimpse of two figures on the other side of the crowd; one man and one woman.

“Natasha!” You heard Bob cry. You saw the head of sandy hair bounce up to the woman who smiled at him. “How was it? How did it go?”

“Bob!” Natasha hollered as she pulled the young man in for a tight hug. “It’s good to see you. It was great!” She gestured to the man beside her. “You should have seen Mickey haggling with that old codfish! Thought we might get away without payin’ a cent there for a second. And then just when we had him, the codger backed out.”

She grimaced at the memory. “Couldn’t for the life of us figure out why he would back out at the last second. Just as we were headed back here though, he stopped us and offered another deal, one too good to pass up.”

“And so you took the deal.”

Everyone turned to see Jake, having just come from his quarters, at the edge of the crowd. He strutted towards the pair with a cocky smirk.

“You bet your ass we took that deal,” grinned the man, Mickey, as the captain approached. “We were leaving with it one way or another.”

“Lucky for the old man, he came to his senses,” smirked Natasha, arms crossing in front of her. Jake hummed as he stopped in front of them.

“And where is our little treasure?” he asked them. Mickey rifled through his pockets before pulling something out. The chain dropped to reveal a six-pointed star with tiny diamonds surrounding a burning opal. You gasped as Mickey handed the necklace over to Jake, who quickly pocketed it. He turned back to the rest of the crew.

“Alright, you lot. Show’s over. Get back to work! We set sail in an hour.”

The crew clambered to prepare the ship for launch, but you continued to stare at the small group on the other side of the ship.

“I’m going to freshen up in my quarters,” Natasha told the two with a smile, already making her way to where the cabins were housed. You gaped before looking over at Bradley.

“Bradley,” you hissed at him. Bradley swallowed thickly.

“She’s a woman.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s got a cabin on the ship.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s a member of the crew.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

Before you could say more, Bob had come bounding up to you. “Are you ready to get back to cooking?”

You shot one last glare at Bradley, who looked everywhere but back at you. That idiot.

“Yeah,” you grumbled, turning to head back into the hull. “I’m ready.”

“Why is that woman a member of the crew?” you asked Bob as you scrubbed at the pot in your hands. “I thought woman weren’t allowed on ships?”

“On most ships, yes,” he told you as he finished dishing out portions for the crew. “But Jake doesn’t really care who is crew is made up of as long as they carry their own weight and don’t cause any problems.”

You hummed. “So anyone can just join, huh?”

“I suppose,” he mused. “Jake doesn’t let anyone join the crew unless he thinks their worthy and have something to offer. A lot of men were skeptical when Nat first joined, but she quickly made a name for herself as the Phoenix.”

“The Phoenix?” you questioned, pausing your scrubbing to look at him. He nodded with wide, excited eyes.

“Yeah! Whenever we come upon a ship to plunder, she does this thing where she’ll light the ends of her coat on fire. It smolders, giving her this terrifying look like she just rose out of the flames. That’s why, ya know…”

“The Phoenix,” you finished for him, turning back to your work. “Do you all have nicknames like that?”

“Some of us, sure,” he replied. “But our names work just fine. Now help me pass these out to the crew.”

You moved to help him and the two of you began taking the dishes out to where the crew had gathered around the massive tables.

“Cabin boy!”

You turned to see Natasha waving at you with a mug of ale.

“Come join us,” she grinned. You glanced at Bob who nodded.

“Go, I can get the rest,” he smiled. You nodded back at him and made your way over to where Natasha sat with Reuben and Mickey.

“Take a seat, cabin boy,” Natasha grinned, taking a sip of her ale. You did as she commanded, eyes darting between the three sailors as they stared at you.

“Is it true?” she asked you with a raised eyebrow.

“Is what true?”

“That your dad is Maverick Mitchell!” Mickey grinned, leaning in closer to you. A large figure slid in beside Reuben.

“What are we talking about?” Bradley asked, glancing between you and the other three.

“We were just starting to ask the cabin boy here about his father, Rooster” Reuben told him, taking a bite of his food. Bradley’s mouth set in a firm line as the three turned their attention back to you.

“What was he like?” Mickey asked you, practically bouncing in his seat. You shrugged noncommittally as you took a bite off your own plate.

“I don’t really know what you're expecting me to say.”

“Well, was he just as daring as the stories say? Did he take you out on his trips? Did you help him plunder? Did he ever find the treasure he was looking for?”

“Alright,” Natasha groaned, setting a calming hand down on his shoulder to stop him. Bob chose that moment to join the lot of you, sliding in next to her on the opposite side of the table. “Settle down, fanboy.”

“I can’t help it!” He hollered. “It’s not every day you meet the kid of one of the greatest pirates known to man.”

You stilled, seeing Bradley tense up on the other side of Reuben.

“What?” You whispered, eyes wide as you stared at Mickey who stared at you uncertainly.

“Pete Mitchell was your father,” Mickey said slowly, glancing around the table. “Right?”

“Yes, he was,” you said firmly.

“Pete Mitchell, better known as Maverick,” Reuben rattled off, “was a world renowned pirate of the highest order. His very name struck fear into the hearts of many a ship’s captain and crew. He was respected both far and wide by civilians and sailors alike.”

“Until one day he just disappeared,” Natasha added, studying you curiously. “Said his life’s mission was to find the greatest treasure the world could offer, and he plundered and stole for decades before dropping off the face of the earth.”

You felt like you were going to be sick. You didn’t know this man they were talking about. You knew the man who told you stories before bed, who showed you the proper ways to tie different knots, who always treated you kindly and had a smile at the ready for you, who never once raised his voice in anger at you or your mother. The man they were talking about was a stranger.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest cup to you, Natasha’s, and downed it. The ale did little to ease your comfort, and you grabbed Reuben’s next and did the same.

“Woah there, cabin boy,” Reuben called out as you reached for Mickey’s. “Slow down there.”

You didn’t want to slow down. You wanted to forget. You downed Mickey’s cup and searched for more. The men to your right had watched the scene unfold, and one of them let out a low chuckle before pushing his cup towards you.

“There ya go, cabin boy!” He laughed. “Drink up!”

You happily obliged him, downing the nearly full mug in only a couple of gulps. You stood, head already beginning to feel both light and heavy all at the same time. You had never had more than one cup of ale before, but you weren’t worried about that fact in that moment. You stumbled on your feet as you made to move towards the barrel that had been opened for that night’s dinner.

“No,” Bradley said from behind you, having gotten up when you did. “You’ve had enough.”

You whirled around to face him, nearly falling on your face in the process. “I’ll decide when I’ve had enough,” you hissed up at him, trying and failing to push past him as he gripped your arms.

“That’s enough,” he growled down at you, but you continued to push at him until he gave you a gentle shake. “I know you’re upset, but this is not how you should be handling it.”

You stared up at him, studying him. Why was he being so calm about this revelation that had just been dropped into your lap?

“You knew,” you breathed, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

Bradley stiffened, hands tightening ever so slightly on your shoulders. He looked defeated as he let out a sigh. “He didn’t want you to know.”

“Bastard!” you screamed at him, your struggle renewing with a vengeance.

“What’s going on here?”

All of you stopped and turned. Javy stood at the end of the stairs, eyes scanning the room and the scene before him. He frowned when he saw the state you were in.

“Cabin boy,” he said slowly, eyes always studying you. “Go get some air.”

You took a breath before pushing at Bradley who stumbled back half a step. You staggered toward the stairs, hearing Javy address the crew. You didn’t hear what he said, too focused on making it up to the main deck.

The air had grown cool as the sun began to set, and you staggered towards the edge of the boat. You grasped onto one of the ropes, feeling your resolve start to break. The tears started to fall and you let out a shaky sob into the wind.

“Rough night, cabin boy?”

You turned, vision hazy from the ale, to see Jake standing a few feet away from you.

“What do you care?” You muttered, frowning at him. He let out a low chuckle before walking over to lean against the side of the ship next to you. The two of you stared at one another for a few moments, but said nothing.

“He was a pirate,” you whispered, almost inaudibly, the tears still flowing down your cheek. Jake nodded.

“Aye,” he said. “He was.”

“But he was a good man,” you frowned, more of a question than a statement. Jake cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Can’t a man be both?”

You shrugged, head starting to feel even heavier. “I suppose so.”

Jake let out another chuckle, leaning into you a little more. “You suppose so?” he teased.

“Yeah,” you nodded sleepily. “S’pose so.”

Jake reached up to cup your cheek as he watched you. “How much did you have to drink down there tonight, Guppy?”

“D’unno,” you muttered, subconsciously nuzzling into the palm of his hand. “More than I’ve ever ha’ before.”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment before your eyes shot open, staring at him. What did he just call you?

Jake watched you with a knowing smirk as you struggled to form a coherent thought through the alcohol induced haze.

“You catchin’ up there alright, Guppy?” he asked you, a grin breaking out over his face.

“How long have you-?”

“Since you walked up to the ship behind Rooster, sweet girl. You think I’d just forget a pretty face like yours?” he laughed as you scowled up at him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you snapped.

He shrugged. “Figured things would be much more interesting this way. Besides, you looked so cute thinkin’ you had fooled me into thinkin’ you were a boy. Wanted to see how long you’d play into it.”

“So why bother saying anything?” You grumbled. His grin dropped as he stared at you with a stern expression.

“Cause you went and did a stupid thing like gettin’ too drunk. Now I gotta worry ‘bout you ‘round some of these men.”

“You don’t trust your own men?” You asked him, eyebrow raised. He chuckled lowly, placing a large, warm hand to the small of your back.

“While I believe they aren’t stupid enough to try anything with me or your brother on board the ship, I’d sleep much better tonight havin’ not taken the chance.”

“Wait,” you said, his words catching up with you. “They know?”

Jake laughed at that. “Darlin’, everyone knew the moment you set foot on the ship. That brother of yours needs to work on his disguises.”

You scowled up at him as he helped you towards the cabins. He beamed down at you, eyes twinkling, and you could have sworn you saw a blue mist twirl in his pupils as he stared down at you.

“C’mon. You can bunk with Natasha from here on out.”