#Turns out they’re like almost opposites so I just nudged it to be better colors

[coconut530]

mARTch 15: Complimentary

[jaketsparrow]

Tending Part 4!

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f! Reader

Word Count: 9.7K

A/N: That last chapter was… a lot. A little change of pace this time :) I’m so very sorry this took so long, but I was captivated with one of my other 8 million hobbies. 

A special shout out to @gvfpal for being an amazing person and helping me with this chapter! 🫶

MINORS DNI

MENTIONS OF/ TW: Soft Jake (I’m sorry), fluffy stuff, fingering (F! Receiving), swearing, sexually explicit content, teasing/edging, *some* angst :)

MASTERPOST

It's hard to tell when the morning comes. The blackout curtains in the room offer no indication of the time. Your naked body still rests between the maroon sheets; cozied between the layers. You turned yourself away from him during the night; he chose a better spooning position that almost made you jump on him. He was so close, pressing himself into you with slow thrusts. If only his boxer briefs hadn’t been there…

You turn yourself to face Jake… Except… Like always- he’s not there. A sigh escapes your disappointed lips. 

Why is he always gone? 

You wish just one time you could wake up next to him and surprise him with your own sort of morning treat. You wish you could feel more than just the nights with him. Would that be asking for too much intimacy? Too much too soon? 

Maybe for him, but for you it was all you wanted. Sexual intimacy can be enough, but knowing someone like Jake, he was always going to leave you wanting more. This was a fun game to him, knowing you’d get worked up and upset by his absence. He was right of course, but you wish for once you’d have all the cards. 

After last night you finally thought you had turned into something worth his time. But in reality, Jake wouldn’t change that quickly, he just needed to do enough for you to forgive him. You fell for it and would continue to. He was your addiction, and you would continue being strung out for his attention. 

Jake’s house was the perfect blend of clean but disorganized. You imagined this space is exactly how the inside of his brain looked. Every surface was clean, but stacks of information and knick-knacks pile on bookshelves, and musical paraphernalia was placed everywhere. It was not messy, but actually strategic and logically arranged artifacts. 

The house opens directly into the mellow-vibed living room. The area is occupied by a luxurious and worn brown leather couch and an orange cloth armchair. The floor has been covered in a dusty blue rug that sat underneath the wooden coffee table, which was covered in sheet music. The opposite wall had a modestly sized TV and next to it a large stereo system. Speakers litter the floor around a turntable, and vinyls sit in a crate directly next to it. The walls house several different vintage posters; some movies, and some travel. All with muted color palettes of earth tones. 

There were no overhead lights in use, but rather a few soft lamps that provided an ambient glow to the space. A perfect cozy retreat… An artist’s cave. 

Nothing in the room matched each other, but it all fit seamlessly. Like an amalgamation of collected objects that he just had to have in his life. It was like he ran into an antique store and had to grab everything in sight as quick as he could. 

Jake ushered you further into the room, gently nudging you with his hand on your hip. Your eyes continue to wander the space, taking in every inch, trying to absorb every moment. This brief glimpse into Jake’s life is rare, and you spare no time trying to analyze it all. 

For the past week, you tried not to think about Jake. It was hard to imagine him not in your life, even though he had only been a presence for a short time. 

That’s the thing about obsessions, you rely on them to be there constantly. You can obsess over a band, you can also obsess over a favorite TV show or a celebrity, and the best part about it- they’re always there. You can always find them. With Jake, he was an obsession that could never really be yours. You would have to chase down any information out of him. It was practically an interrogation with him, playing good cop bad cop to try and fish anything personal out. 

He was your new addiction. It was sad to say that you could become addicted to someone like him, but it was easy to miss him. Every moment you wish would have lasted a little longer, every time you woke up hoping he was there with you, every shift you hoped he would be there. He was the strongest drug you’ve ever tried. You relied on his praise, on him noticing you. It was maybe unhealthy, but the need you had for him felt justified. 

Everything felt worth it in that moment. Being allowed into his home was like stepping into a new form of intimacy. The dark and mysterious Jake wasn’t as mysterious as he used to be. He was opening his world to you. It was like walking out of a dark room and into day glow. It felt like finally finding that stupid puzzle piece you searched hours for, that you finally found and could place. 

Today sitting in the field was the most romantic moment of your life, even if you were dragged there against your will. It made the possibility of you two seem real. You didn’t want to feel hopeful just yet, but the companionship you felt today did nothing but warm you.  

You decide it would probably be best to say something instead of being in your usual silent shock, “Wow… Jake, this is a… really nice space…” 

He squeezes your hip and blushes at your compliment. 

“Thanks, uh… like yours, my personality kinda just took over.” He abandons your side and walks over to the turntable in the corner of the room. He leans down to the box of vinyls; sifting through a few before turning back to you. He tucks the hair that falls in front of his eyes, “What do you like to listen to?”

“Um… Anything really,” You take a few steps further into the living room to try and get a better look at his collection. Pushing forward slightly, tucking your hands behind you to distract them from awkwardly moving about. You don’t recognize much of the music in the case; of course, he wouldn’t be the kind to collect anything too popular. It looks like a collection of old blues, rock, and well really the classics. 

Jake finally settles on what looks like a blues album and pulls the record from its sleeve. The jacket is old and tattered, well used most likely or second hand. He slowly lowers it to the turntable and starts it on a low volume. The crackles of the vinyl start and the first song echoes softly across the decorated walls. He takes a step back and rests his hands on his hips, admiring his choice. 

Jake has this look of pure accomplishment, like he just couldn’t stand how proud he was. It was honestly adorable. A huge smirk is creeping over him and his eyes are excited and wide. 

He stares at the spinning music for a moment, before turning his gaze back to you. You feel so awkward standing there in his home. Before, he had only been in your space, a comfortable option. But now you werre in his home, taking possibly the biggest step you two had taken yet. 

It still feels out of place for you to be somewhere with him other than the bar. The past couple of months that was the only place you were even able to see him. There were no outside events between you two, no mutual friends to visit, no one went out for drinks after work because you had already been drinking. Before that first night, Jake was like an enigma, only appearing behind the bar when called. 

That one night together changed everything. You saw the full range of Jake’s emotions in just a short time, and you saw your full range of feelings for Jake. There was no denying that you’ve already suffered the worst of your relationship already, and just hoped for more moments like this. Discovering and unearthing the man you knew he could be. 

“Do you recognize it yet?” He asks. 

“What? The song?” 

“Yeah!” He grabs your hand and brings you closer to the record player. He squats down and turns up the volume with a slight crank. He points to his ear, “Listen…”

You lean down to get a better look at the sleeve and hear the rhythm better. The melody does sound familiar, but you can’t place where you heard it. You tap your fingers over your thigh, trying to feel the beat. The artist nor album rings any bells, but you can’t place why you remember the song… 

Until it hits you. 

“Oh! Your band!” You exclaim, “This is the song you guys opened with at the bar!”

He smiles at your realization. He can finally trust that you have good ears. Jake lifts himself from his low position and grabs your hands to bring you up with him. He reaches for your waist and pulls you in.

“Yeah…” He gazes at your eyes and smirks at you, “This is one of our favorites.”

He has a different feeling than usual, his aura is warm and comforting. All the rough edges that you thought about this past week were smoothing out in front of your eyes. Its like he’s sculpting a new version of his personality for only you to see. 

You reach your hands out to wrap them around his neck, draping yourself over him. He returns the favor by reaching up the back of your shirt, caressing you closer against his body. 

These were the things you had missed most. Feeling special to him. His touch was warm… Gentle. He wanted you to feel cared for in that moment. He couldn’t bear to keep any verbal apologies going, but these soft gestures were enough to make you whole. It was like he was tending to your wounds. 

You felt like you finally were allowed to have some control over what happened between you. He wanted you. At least that’s what he said…

The flattery of knowing that he chose you over Mariella did something. You knew Mariella would have been anyone else’s first choice. She was a beautiful woman but lacked something compared to you. You try not to compare yourself to her, because right now, there was no need to. 

“Dance with me?” You ask.

Jake laughs softly and shakes his head, “No, no. I don’t dance.”

“C’mon!” You plead, you’re so giddy to get him to cave,  “It's the least you can do to make this week up for me,”

He throws his head back, laughing again. 

You reach your hands further back to hold his head in your hands; gently running your fingers through his scalp. His hair is soft between you, freshly washed, silky even. He purrs softly at your petting. He also craved this softness, but he would deny it. 

He lowers his head back down to look at you, smirking. His big brown eyes completely melt you every time you get to look this closely at them. It’s like that night in the bar all over again, back to a sense of normalcy. Joking and playing with each other, trying your best to awkwardly flirt. 

Jake is so handsome tonight, you think to yourself. When is he ever not though? He was quite possibly the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, with intrusive tendencies that make your heart go wild, which might not be the best. There is no such thing as perfection, you remind yourself. He was going to try his best, and you would try yours to be patient with him.

“Maybe another time,” He answers, “Just listen to the music.”

You giggle at him and move your hands back down around his shoulders. They’re strong and sure. He’s at the perfect height that you don’t have to lift yourself too high to rest on him. You lay your head in the center of his chest, molding yourself to his body. You can hear his heartbeat gently beating. Oh, thank god, you had worried maybe he didn’t have one. 

“I don’t listen with my ears,” You whisper

You use what little force you carry and gently sway him between your arms. Rocking your hips back and forth. He tries his hardest to fight your movements, but you can tell he wants to give in. Soon, he subdues his fighting, and leans into the swing. Shuffling his feet tightly; lightly stepping around yours. 

You try your best to be sultry and coy, “I like to feel the music and do what it tells me,” 

He lets out a faint chuckle and gives in further to your swaying. You rock back and forth across the floor, each step moving you further into the room. You try to help him lead the way, but ultimately take control of the movements. 

He lets you take control in this moment; finally letting you show him how to be gentle. He rests the edge of his jaw against the top of your head, nuzzling into your mane. You wished maybe you had time to shower before he picked you up, but you’re sure the dry shampoo you use smells just fine. 

Being close to him like this is pure bliss. Butterflies stir in your stomach, each one fluttering with the excitement of this new start. Each spot where you meet each other sparks with the heat of passion. It was like a scene from a movie, how silly. 

Like the couple who just moved into their first apartment, and theres absolutely nothing set up yet except their record player that they unpacked first. The man walks over to the record player and puts on ‘their song’ and the woman can’t help but blush. He reaches his arm out to her, inviting her to be with him. She raises herself off the floor and swoops into his arms. The two of them moving about the empty apartment floors, unwinding after the long moving day. The stress of it all meant nothing to them though, because all they needed was already unpacked… Each other. 

You wanted that with Jake. A familiarity. Your song. Which you suppose could be this song. You imagine your future together, wishful thinking. Life would be filled with movie moments, and you hoped he would be the star in each one. 

You look over to the nightstand and see a glass of water sitting on a coaster. The fresh condensation drips down the side of the glass. 

Did he put this out for you? He actually had a caring thought before he left and brought you a glass of water…?

You gather yourself up to reach for the glass and take a few cautious sips. The cold drink slides down your dry, rather exhausted throat. It quenches your thirst and instantly pulls you into an awake state.

Instead of his striking body lying next to you, there sits a lump. You lift your head slightly off the pillow to examine the objects to your side. It's a pile of folded clothes- your folded clothes. Not all of them though, just your sweatpants, your thong, and… a new item?

You reach over to the new t-shirt and pull it out from under the sweatpants. It's a white cotton shirt, soft and well-worn. You bring it to your face and inhale the fabric’s scent… It's Jake’s shirt. No doubt his gift is an apology for ripping yours last night. He would never apologize with his words over such behavior, but the gesture is still as nice. 

You pull the sheets off of your body and begin to dress yourself on the mattress, starting with your gifted shirt. You want every second to smell like Jake, especially when he’s not there with you. Next the sweatpants, until you’re finally in your completely lazy outfit again; this time with an extra piece to your ensemble. 

You slide your legs off of the mattress and touch your feet down to the cold wood floor. That truly is the most sobering part of getting up. You hesitate fully getting out of bed and choose to admire the room just a little longer. Last night presented no opportunities to survey the room. There was nowhere to look but him. 

Jake’s room truly is as mysterious as he is. Dark, closed off, and has an air of calm and refreshing easement. There’s a vintage, timeless touch to his design. You wouldn’t expect him to put this much effort into his home, but it's clear that he carries a sense of pride in his spaces. 

The room is quite vast, but caves in with the decor. The tall mahogany bedroom set is clunky in the space but fits well with the vibe. Under the bed sits a beautiful black rug with subtle detailing carved into the yarn. The nightstands are ornate; detailed with wood carvings along the edges. The corner of the room has another orange chair, different than the living rooms, it’s more cozy and comforting. A bookshelf sits next to it, with autobiographies of artists, historical pieces, and of course, classics. 

There are a few different light sources in the room, but no overhead lights; he must have a distaste for them. The lamps are covered in cloth shades, adding a dull glow to the room. You wonder what it would look like if it were brightly lit and could see every detail around you. 

There’s no TV in his room. Clearly, he hasn’t yet given in fully to modernity. You imagine his nights here alone, playing guitar, sitting in this room. Moving about the house like a shrouded figure of moodiness, taking in the space step by step. You imagine him lying in bed, staring at the objects that stack on each surface. There is nowhere for your eyes to rest; every little knick-knack is an object worth wondering about and admiring. These objects fill up his space, where a person has not. 

You snap out of your snooping stare and make your way out of the bed. 

Figuring Jake has left the house, you try your best to tidy up after yourself. You pull the sheets back into their rightful place, bringing each layer up into a tight spread. The bed has been erased of both of you, of your acts, of your…

“Look what you did pretty girl,” He whispers in your ear. 

Ugh. 

You creep towards the bedroom door, remembering the rest of your items wait for you in the living room. Your phone and shoes were simply an afterthought last night. 

Jake takes his hand and reaches up to the back of your neck, gently wrapping his fingers up into the base of your scalp. His touch relaxes you; it heals you. After the anger and pain of this past week, you knew you needed some release. The tension that had built up from all the uncertainty was vanishing.

His other hand slides and relaxes across your back, embracing you. It’s hard not to notice the bulge growing between the two of you. You’re so tight against him, feeling him press himself into you, almost needing to be sure that you know of its presence. 

The song tapers to the end and a new one begins. You nudge your head up, and Jake lifts to meet you. The contours of your noses barely touch each other. The desire sits heavily between you; your breath is the only thing separating you from him. 

He brings his hands down to sit across the band of your sweatpants. It’s fucking devious how horny he can get you in a matter of moments. Feeling him with you, knowing all is forgiven, leaves little room for hesitation. You reach your lips up to meet his, but he pulls away from you. 

Devastated, you pull back to look up into his eyes, “Jake, I need you.”

“Not here.” He whispers. 

“Yes, here.” You beg back to him. Reaching your hands to hold his face, pawing at him to let you continue.

He runs his hands down over your ass, palming his hands on you. They move past your curves and reach underneath your thighs. In one swift lift, you find your legs around his hips, enclosed against his torso. 

You bring your head to his ear, gently kissing the brim of his pierced lobes. He takes a few small steps towards the hallway, having to pace himself through heavy whining breaths. 

“I said not here…” He repeats. 

You continue to tease him, peppering his neck and profile with soft pecks. The warmth in your core is starting to take you over. A frenzy of lust cradles between the two of you. The soft pressure of the spreading hold he has you in makes you wish you weren’t separated by your clothes. 

“I’ve been thinking about all the things you’re going to do to me,” you whisper.

He continues down the hallway, choosing to ignore your statement, wanting to follow through with his mission. You are completely unaware of where in his house you are being brought to.  Most likely, his bedroom; it was going to be the ultimate insight into Jake’s mind. 

Your nuzzled state into his neck left you limited vision to stare at your surroundings, but you were more concerned with the man holding you than the objects in his house.

Your moaning had become louder too, sounding like a starved animal, ready for a feast you’ve been waiting a week for. 

“I need you,” You purr into his ear. 

“Don’t worry pretty girl, I’ll give you everything you need.”

He backs himself to the door of the bedroom and leans to open it. 

The room has a soft glow, although there isn’t much light present in the room. There are a few fixtures emitting an orange light, just enough brightness to outline the shape of the room.

“I want you in here,” He says. 

He shuffles the both of you slowly over to the bed, bringing his knee to the edge of the mattress and slowly lowering you down into the center. Your head just barely rests on the pillow, and the comforter around you consumes your boundaries. Jake’s body hovers over you, his hair falling on the sides of his face, shrouding him slightly. His knee still rests between your legs, splitting yourself around him. The way he looks at you at this moment isn’t full of the usual fire and lust, it’s more caring; almost loving… 

“Jake…” You mutter through hushed lips. 

He sweeps your hair away from your cheek and leaves his hand there for a moment. You both have a habit of lingering. 

“Tonight,” He leans in close, kissing the edge of your jaw, “I want to show you how special you are. Give you everything you deserve.” 

“I want to be the only girl you remember,” You snap. 

Some strange form of lingering jealousy that you almost regret. Here he is trying to make up for the behavior, showing you kindness, and yet you still let the bratty personality wash over you. You can’t help it. Being in his presence makes you this way. You’re trained to respond to him the way he’s wanted it previously. As much as he may deny it, he loves it when you fight back. 

He lets out a disappointed ‘tsk’ in your ear, and backs himself from your face. “I need you to be a good girl for me tonight… My good girl.” He cups the side of your cheek and looks down on you in a stern and endearing manner. Those words ring through you ‘my good girl’. You were his, finally. Even if there were no official relationship titles, you were his. His plaything, his girl, the one he chose. You weren’t expecting such sweet words to be the kind of thing to turn you on this much, but you find yourself writhing underneath him. 

“I can be good.”

“I know you can, sunshine.”

You swing the door open and stroll into the hallway, taking your time to walk through. Seeing Jake’s home in the daylight is a completely different vibe than the night. The whole house is brighter, letting in diffused light from the shades. 

The artwork in this hallway is different than the living room. It’s not even artwork really, it's concert posters. You stop to admire the biggest one hanging by the bedroom door. It's a gig poster with his band written in small letters under some other local bands. The colorful squiggles and designs resemble a 70’s music poster. There are streaks of orange, purple, and yellow cascading underneath the lettering. It's nicer than the usual band posters you see posted up at the bar. It’s bright, eye-catching, and honestly pretty. 

How cute, you think to yourself. It's nice to see he’s proud of his band. 

You turn to head back down the hallway towards the living room, but pause when you hear whispers. Voices speaking on the other side of the wall in the living room. You can make out Jake’s voice, but there’s another male voice with his. The two sound comfortable talking together, like old friends… Maybe he has a roommate that he didn’t tell you about? 

Well, that would be awkward considering how loud you both had been last night. 

You stand there stuck at the edge of the hallway, unsure of whether or not to take a step further and introduce yourself into the situation. Did he want you to stay back, hidden away? Was this a private moment amongst men? An after-hook-up catch-up? 

Let’s be honest, men don’t do that like this. 

The confusing limbo of the moment pushes you to just take a step, and try to creep past as silently as possible. Maybe you can get Jake’s attention. You take your first step, successfully staying quiet, but the second step screws you. As soon as your foot presses into the hardwood, a loud creek echoes below you. 

“Is someone here?” The unfamiliar voice asks. 

Shit. 

He leans back down into you and enters your mouth. His tongue lapping over yours. Both of you are too concerned to stop for air, kissing each other over and over; trying to make up for the time that was lost. Tasting each other ferociously, like you were trying to practically inhale each other. 

Without hesitation, a hand is reaching up to your breast. You’d completely forgotten that you weren’t wearing a bra when you left the house earlier. Granted, you hadn’t really worn a bra in days.

“I have been looking at these all fucking night,” Jake mutters through breaking breaths. He pulls away from your entanglement and lays his tongue across your jaw, licking up to the crest of your ear, “Such a fucking naughty girl leaving like this. You wanted to tease me, huh?”

You let out a guilty sigh, taking accountability for your teasing. 

His hands run over your already sensitive nipples, toying with them between his fingers. Rolling the buds over the pads of his fingers. 

Being here in his control again is invigorating. Just thinking about being so close to him again sends shivers of lust through your needing body. 

He releases you from his tease and reaches up underneath your shirt to the collar. He yanks forward, pulling you close to him. The sound of cloth ripping alarms you both, breaking the intimacy for a moment. 

The collar had stretched and snapped from his tight grasp, a tear present where stitches used to be. A look of apology flashes over Jake’s eyes. The moment is entirely unsettling to him, but for you, it just made you hornier. Knowing how strong he is… He actually ripped your clothes off of your body. 

You laugh, allowing him to be rid of any true guilt, and lift the shirt over your head. 

“It had to come off anyways,” You throw the shirt to the end of the bed, not breaking your eye contact with Jake, “Plus, it was kind of hot.”

“Maybe you need some new shirts,” He jokes. 

He places one hand around the crook of your neck, and the other at the soft point on your waist. You collide back into each other, pretending that the accident didn’t even happen. It’s unlike Jake to be so stunned by something like that; you’d think maybe he’d even done it before- on purpose. 

You reach your hands under his shirt, lightly caressing his back. It feels so soft, smooth… Comforting. You’re not sure if he’s ever let you be this cuddly with him, and it might never happen again, so you try your best to make the most of it. Reaching up over every inch of his body, trying to feel every muscle, every warm inch of his skin. 

Your hands move to the front of him, nudging at his shirt. 

“So, should I rip yours now?” You ask, teasing him. 

“You better shut up before I have to make you,” He says through a smirk. 

He balances his legs beside yours and leans back to take off his shirt. You can’t help but blush to see him undress in front of you. He is truly the perfect specimen- the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. His skin is golden in this light, god-like even. He has these soft formed muscles, not incredibly chiseled, but enough padding to know that there’s a real strength to him. 

He perches back over you, inches away from your face. There is truly nothing keeping you from tearing back into him. His face seems gentler than ever before, caring and intimate. It’s incredibly hard to not want to step into your usual games, but feeling this new side of him is even more enticing. Instead of a feverish lust growing over you, it’s a soft blooming need to be close to him. 

His brown eyes are deep and beautiful. His hair falls perfectly past his face, draping down in soft tangled curtains around him. And his lips… Look more inviting than they ever have to  you. 

He slopes down to your jaw and places caressing kisses along your skin, moving down to your neck. Each kiss is placed with more intent than the last, and then each one getting sloppier as it moves down your chest, around your breasts, and to your stomach. A growling excited moan comes from within him when he reaches your pant line. 

Jake tugs his fingers on the elastic waistband, teasing you in the worst way possible. 

All you’ve thought about since you’d first seen him today is how he looks going down on you. The sweat that perspires on his forehead, the grunting moans that he can’t hold back, his tight grab around your thighs. It’s what you need. 

“I’ve missed this,” He tugs again slowly on the waistband, pulling it down just enough for him to see how wet you’ve already gotten in your thong, “Looks like you have too naughty girl.” 

“Jake please,” You beg, “You know how bad I need you.”

He stops his pulling, and looks up to you, with a devious look plastered across his face. 

“Why don’t you tell me how bad you need me?” 

You rock your head back and whine to him, upset that he still can’t resist being a tease. You drop your eyes back down to look at him, staring intently. 

“Jake… All I can fucking think about is you tasting me.” He continues to pull your pants off of you, “I keep thinking of that first night together. How special you made me feel…”

Your pants finally are strewn aside. 

“Yeah?” He eggs on. 

“It was honestly the best I’ve felt in a long time. No man has ever-” 

The pad of his thumb is teasing your warming clit. Jake is resting by your knees, head propped up by his opposite hand, watching you feverishly try to beg. 

“Go on.” 

“No man has ever…” You look down to him, watching him slowly slip your thong down over your thighs, “Ever made me feel like that…” You lift your legs slightly to help him take them fully off of you, “And I need that again.”

With your thong to the side, he’s allowed the full sight of your needy cunt. You’re practically dripping before him. Just thinking of him devouring you is causing your body to fill with lust and desire. 

“I want to try something with you,” He states. Your body instantly tenses up. You sit up and look at him, puzzled. “Don’t worry, nothing bad… I just think it will help.”

He crawls up to meet you and sits you up. You prop yourself up, completely in awe of how he couldn’t have picked a worse time to stop the momentum. You were so close to being attached to him again, but he has to keep you waiting. 

“C’mere,” He says, wiggling himself behind you. He yanks at your hips and pulls them back to meet his. You feel something else pressing into your lower back, practically twitching with excitement. You try not to put your full weight back into him to protect him. 

He snuggles his arms under you, running his hands around your body, still careful to avoid the areas you need him most. Soft whining moans escape your lips, you can’t hold them back at all; your body is aching having to wait. 

“Can you show me how you play with yourself again?” He asks. 

You lean your head back into his collarbone and look up to him. A serious yet cunning smile is already waiting for you. 

“Jake, I thought you were going to take care of me?”

“I am sunshine. Just do what I ask… Please.” 

The last part seemed painful for him. It was unlike Jake to use manners in the bedroom, but because of his politeness, you obey. 

You reach down to your deprived clit, and start to swirl the pads of your fingers over yourself. Feeling some sort of touch, even if it was your own, made it clear to you that it wouldn’t take very long to get you anywhere. You try to be easy on yourself, not allowing yourself to get too far without feeling him.  

Your back arches away from him and desperate moans break free. 

“Please Jake, sir… Please.”

“You don’t have to call me that tonight sunshine. You’re my good girl tonight.” 

He truly must not know how much the praise is killing you, or he does, in which case he is truly vile. 

His hands still move unhurried around your torso. Each pass of him over you is breaking you down, pushing you further to a release in your own hands. Kissing and licking are happening on your neck, a nice distraction to what you’re feeling below. 

“Jake…” You moan. 

Your body is heaving from your touch. Feeling the soft skin run over your fingers, shooting waves of excitement down your legs. Your breath begins to hitch and you can feel the building begin. 

Before you realize what is happening, Jake’s fingers enter you. He rests his chin on your shoulder to watch the mess you’re making. His fingers move in unison, gently running over your sensitive spot. It doesn’t take much movement for him to almost completely push you over the edge. 

“Do you know why I wanted to do this?” He asks. You shake your head, unable to talk in fear that it may exert too much energy. “I can see all of you from here, I can feel your body get closer, I can feel your pulse against me, I can hear every little moan…”His voice is beginning to fade. Your core grows tighter in preparation for the orgasm you’ve been waiting for. You can feel his cock growing against your back- each moan that you gush causes a jump within him.  

“C’mon good girl, are you going to come for me?” 

You moan loudly this time, hoping that no one else in this house- well maybe even the neighborhood, can hear the pornographic noises coming from you. 

Your cunt is practically red hot, feeling the pressure of him touching you, nudging you to finish for him. You can feel the wave forming within you, growing stronger and stronger with each stroke of your hands. This build was like nothing before, it was intense, almost too much for your body. You feel the overstimulation crawling through you. 

Soft distressed gasps echo in the room, but Jake doesn’t let up on his movements. His fingers are practically going right through you. It’s too much, you try to slow yourself, to hold his hand in an attempt to slow it all down. 

“Keep going.” He commands. 

You try to keep moving your hands, but the bracing movements are pushing your body into an unknown state. Jake takes his free hand and takes over for you, completely shrouding your frame with his arms. 

You can’t help but just watch him artfully manipulate you. He knows what you like- what you need. He pushes his wrist into your lower stomach, holding you down in between him. The rush is sweeping you. Hearing him- feeling him, you couldn’t hold on any longer. 

“Come for me, baby.” 

It all happens faster than you can even process. A rush of euphoria washes over you, each muscle contracting from the ecstasy. A loud blissful wail accompanies the feelings. Your whole body tenses, wanting to crumple itself, but Jake removes himself from you and holds you back, trying to relax you. Your legs shake, your core tightens. You spill out on to the sheets, feeling each wave of the orgasm pulse out of you. 

You crash back onto Jake, turning your head into his chest. You rest your eyes and nuzzle into him. He pets the hair out of your face and squeezes you gently between his arms. 

“Look what you did pretty girl,” He whispers in your ear. 

You open your eyes with apprehension, unsure of what you could have possibly done. 

The comforter is completely soaked beneath you. There is more of you there than there has ever been. You jump up and stare at Jake, completely embarrassed. 

“I-I I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Are you seriously apologizing for that?” He says with an excited grin, “Do you realize that is the best outcome of this?”

You look up to him with your doe-eyes, still feeling unsure of how that even happened.

“I’ve never…” 

He takes your chin into his hand, “That’s because I’m the only one that can make you feel this special sunshine.” 

There’s no hiding your presence now. You look down at your lazily dressed body and try your best to lift your boobs up in the shirt. Walking around with no bra when it was just Jake would’ve been fine, but around an unknown man… probably best to try and seem somewhat modest. One quick shove upwards, and you move down the stairs. Each step lets out a pained creak in the floorboards. 

You peek around the corner, like a timid child, and see Jake sitting on the sofa. Across from him is a curly-haired man with his back to you. 

Jake seems cautious to invite you into the room but nods to allow you into the conversation. You take a step forward into the living room, letting your presence be known by the guest. 

The other man turns around to face you, and instant confusion sets in. The man is eerily similar to Jake, other than the hair. It sits in a wide curly mohawk, barely dancing down the front of his head. He has a different glow than Jake, it’s brighter- more welcoming. Their faces have similar qualities, features, and even mannerisms. Maybe their brothers… 

The suspected relative leans back into his shoulder to get a better look at you, staring at you harder than you are at him. His mouth slowly starts to open, admiring your confused and revealing stature. 

You pull your arms up and cross them in front of your chest, trying to hide your breasts behind your forearms. The staring was flattering, but also… a lot. I guess you know how it feels now…

“Jakey…” He plays, not removing his eyes from yours, “Whose this?”

Well, Jake hasn’t been telling him about your sex life together, so that’s one positive. Or is it? Why didn’t Jake say anything? Why wouldn’t he tell his guest that he has someone else here? He could have turned him away and told him to come back later, but he didn’t.

You take a step forward to introduce yourself, “I’m-”

“She’s a friend, Josh…” Jake cuts you off and runs over to your side. He rests his hand flat on your lower back and nudges you to sit back on the couch with him. You sit on the cushion next to where he sat and remain stiffened, trying to avoid eye contact with Josh. He still has yet to break his gaze at you, except now, Jake is included in this amusing sight. The stunned gaze resembles one of someone watching a boxing match; watching the tension thrown back and forth between the two of you. 

Jake lowers himself onto the couch and turns to match your eyes, “A very good friend.” 

Josh raises his hands in defense, “Oh, oh, you don’t need to give me much more than that. I get it,” He giggles, “Just hard to believe such a nice-looking little lady would have interest in you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You and Jake echo together. You both glance a confused look at each other. What was this weird defensive synchronization that was happening? Why would it be abnormal for you to be with Jake?… Maybe Josh knew the other woman Jake had pursued. 

“Oh now now,” Josh adjusts himself more comfortably into the seat, almost perching himself on the edge. He gestures at you, “It was not supposed to offend you, but my twin has never been known for being a solid gentleman,” He leans further in and covers the side of his mouth that faces Jake, “He’s too rough and tough for that-”

“Josh-” You can see the anger mounting inside Jake. He’s already giving in to the stereotype Josh has put out. He doesn’t see it, but you can clear as day. 

“Me, on the other hand, I am quite the gentleman,” He laughs, “if I do say so myself-”

“Josh!” Jake snaps. 

Twin rivalry. The worst kind of sibling rivalry. It felt like being right back in your living room on holidays, watching your family bicker back and forth at each other. Knowing how to dig into everyone’s worst insecurities. Like an old married couple who’s known each other for far too long, knows every good and bad thing about each other, finding the perfect ways to jab in their soft spots. 

Josh giggles at himself. It's blatant that pissing Jake off is a favorite pastime of his. I guess you share something in common, but at least Jake gets to take out his frustration on you in a far more… exciting way. You try to cut the tension and ease Jake. 

“Well,” You reach over to place your hand on Jake’s thigh, trying to soothe him with a touch. He gingerly reaches back to place his hand over yours, “He’s working on the gentleman part, but I think he makes a great lover.” 

Both of the twins turn to look at you, shocked looks expressed on their faces. Jake’s gentle touch on your hand becomes a grasp, crushing your knuckles between his fingers. You flash a remorseful grin at Jake, who isn’t having it. Josh cuts his giggling with a clearing cough and sits himself up properly in the chair. 

“Well, that’s…” Josh covers his mouth with his hand, pondering the words he just heard, “That’s just great.”

Jake has still yet to break his glare at you, clearly being funny in that moment wasn’t the kind of soothing words he needed. It was your bratty side coming out again, embarrassing him in front of his brother. You’d be sure to pay for that later. 

“So you guys are brothers?” You ask, trying once again to break the tension less bluntly. Jake loosens his grip on you, letting his fingers heavily weigh over the top of your hand. 

“Well, to be particular, twins, bandmates… Sometimes roommates.” Jake grumbles.

“Well, we’ll always be womb-mates!” Josh jokes. 

It was interesting to see Jake be put up against someone so close to him. 

Josh is quite the opposite of his twin, very outspoken, and chaotic. It's almost like they split their personalities at a young age, neither one of them level human beings. One energetic and spunky, and the other moody and brooding. You imagine them as children, were they both once spunky and energetic, but took different roads, different paths, somewhere down the line? Imagining Jake with a childlike heart was melting you. 

“So you’re the funny one, huh?” You joke back at Josh sarcastically.

“Precisely dear! You have to at least have some personality if you are the lead singer.” Josh raises his hand in a preachy theatrical matter, trying to play up each word he says. 

“You don’t remember him from the set?” Jake asks. 

He’s trying to belittle Josh and make him seem inferior. And he is. You don’t remember him. Shit.  Watching Jake play caused a weird form of tunnel vision. Well, watching him and drinking those exceptionally strong whiskey sours. You try to find the right words to say, trying not to offend Josh and also trying not to reveal that you were staring at his brother’s dick all night. 

“I’m sorry,” You say, “I don’t- not that you weren’t rememberable! But my focus was… elsewhere.”

Jake smirks. He liked catching you off guard at that moment, a slight torment for your quick remarks. 

“Ah, don’t fret,” Josh muses, “You should come to our next gig! I’ll sing especially for you,”

“Hey…” Jake warns. 

You turn to look at Jake, snapping a glaring look. Why shouldn’t you? Why would he try to quiet Josh’s invitation? The brat in you is filling up, taking over your mind. There would be no playing around or trying to hide from Jake. If he wanted you, he could at least act like it. 

“You know what? I’d love that!” You exclaim, “When is it?!”

Josh starts to catch onto your tone and joins in, “Next week! At this bar a few towns over, but it's got a really great vibe and a dance floor!” 

You perk yourself up and place your hand over your heart, resembling a shocked Southern belle. 

“Oh! A dance floor?” Your tone is trying to be mocking to upset Jake, but it is nice to feel invited by his brother, “Too bad Jake doesn’t dance…” 

You pout your lip out and turn to Jake. He won’t even look at you now. His eyes are locked on Josh; who is living in Jake’s discomfort. The anger is creeping through him, starting to fume. Josh and you both are piling it on, pushing him past where he’s comfortable. 

To be fair, this is an extremely awkward situation. His twin is here, having a normal conversation with him, and you show up here, his… his lover? His… Not girlfriend. That’s very clear. Why not be fun and break the tension? Jake could have easily told his brother that now wasn’t a good time, or he could’ve tried to warn you. But he didn't. 

You’re sure this was not how he expected the morning to go. 

Josh leans forward and drops his head in fake dissapointment, “It’s really too bad for him…” He perks back up to engage with you, “Guess I'll have to save a dance for you when our set is over.” He winks and smiles at you, with a wild resemblance to Jake. 

“Why thank you,” You reach your hand out and wave it at him, “You’re such a gentleman for offering.”

By this point, you both are fully aware of the game you’re playing. It's the ‘who can push Jake the furthest game’, and you’re both winning. 

“Alright, alright,” Jake sneers through gritted teeth, “Josh, why don’t we plan the set tomorrow, okay?”

A furrow has appeared across Jake’s brow. He’s embarrassed, but too prideful to admit it. He’s being shown up by his twin, no doubt his previous rival in endeavors like this. You both are cutting into him, trying to make him vulnerable, but he won’t budge. 

“Aww Jakey,” Josh whines, pouting at him, “We weren’t trying to hurt your feelings, little brother,” 

You try to hold back laughter, but a small choking giggle escapes from within you. 

“And, that’s enough of you today,” Jake snaps. 

He stands up from the couch and paces over to the door, gesturing at it, ushering Josh to go. A disappointed and frustrated look is painted across his face. Instead of standing up for himself, he’d rather cut the whole conversation short.  

“Jake…” you scold. You don’t mean to sound so demanding, but he is taking the jokes too seriously. 

“No, no, It’s quite alright,” Josh stands from his seat and walks over to you, grabbing your hand from your lap, “It was a pleasure darling.” He lowers his head to place a soft kiss across the top of your hand. 

You meet eyes as he releases his lips. He has that same devious smirk as Jake. You know he means no harm, and by no means does he want to pursue you- he just wants to get under Jake’s skin. Still, the gesture leaves you blushing.

You both linger there for a moment, trading secretive glances, knowing what turmoil you’re creating inside Jake. Before Josh can even release his hand from yours, he’s pulled away by Jake, yanking at him from the back of his shirt. 

“C’mon,” Jake pulls, “You’ll have plenty of time to woo her at the show…” 

Josh is giggling at himself, knowing that he’s leaving a mess for you to deal with. The realization of this situation is settling in your stomach now, knowing that once that door shuts out Josh, the angst will continue within these walls. 

Bad behavior has consequences. 

“I’ll see you!” Josh yelps before being shoved out into the daylight. 

“You must be pretty tired after that, huh?” Jake asks. 

You hate to admit how tired you were, but it was true. You wanted to keep going, to feel more, but you were completely overstimulated and feared what might happen if you were to continue. 

It was already a long day full of emotion, some turmoil, and newness. Despite spending most of the past week in bed, resting, you still felt exhausted. 

You drop your head, disappointed, “I’m sorry, I can-”

“You don’t have to do anything. It’s been a long day. Get in bed.”

You oblige, sneaking yourself under the sheets. He’d already taken the comforter off and assured you further that what you did was completely normal, and incredibly sexy in his opinion. A new blanket was strewn over the bed, and you were snuggling into the mattress. 

Jake unhooks his belt beside you and takes off his jeans, getting himself comfortable. He lifts his side of the sheets and slides in beside you. 

Both of you were face to face, just blushing at each other. He places his hand on your cheek and rubs his thumb back and forth over it. The most gentle and kind gesture. 

“Just so you know,” He says, “No woman has ever felt as good as you… No woman has ever been as beautiful as you.” 

You turn your head to meet his palm and place a kiss in the center of it. 

He runs his hand to the back of your head and nudges at it to move closer to him. You scootch yourself into him, resting your head in his chest; bringing your legs up to sit around his. 

Despite already seeing so much of him- having the best sex of your life with him- this was the most intimate moment you had shared. 

This moment was everything. This night was everything. It was proof that Jake could try. That a future with him was a very real possibility. That you truly meant more to him than just sex. He could trust you enough to be comfortable with him. You never wanted this time together to end. Just laying here together in bed. 

Jake slams the door behind Josh and immediately turns to you. He looks utterly ruined. Far past embarrassed, actually quite upset. 

“Really?” He asks. 

“What?” You snap back, settling yourself further on the couch. You cross your arms, trying to come across as nonchalant; as if nothing bad had happened. You truly believe nothing that bad has happened. 

Jake matches you and crosses his arms, “Do not what me. Why would you act like that?”

“Hmm,” You mockingly ponder, “I don’t know, maybe it’s because I was surprise attacked into meeting your brother?” 

Jake loosens his arms and walks back to the couch, positioning himself in front of you. Putting you in his perfect line of fire. 

“Yeah, well he wasn’t supposed to be here. I would assume that you might behave if you came down.” 

You purse your lips, trying to remain calm in this moment. Behave? Really. What were you? A twelve-year-old? You’re a woman who was put in a situation you weren’t expecting and was trying to get along with his brother. Setting good impressions for the family is supposed to be a good thing. At least you know that you and Josh would get along swimmingly but at the expense of Jake’s sensitive feelings. 

“I was just trying to be funny. You’re just jealous of him.” 

Jake chuckles softly, not believing the words you just uttered, “Oh I’m jealous? You seem to forget you didn’t talk to me because-” 

“Jake that’s different-”

“Oh so you can be jealous, but I can’t get a little bothered by you flirting with my brother?” His tone is changing. The frustration is evident in his voice, the hypocrisy is getting to him. And he’s right, you have been jealous. You have had a hard time sharing Jake or even thinking about him with anyone else, or doing anything else. 

But this is different. 

Jake slept with someone who was a friend and tried to hide the information from you. You on the other hand were jokingly playing around with his brother. Maybe it was a revenge tactic… Maybe you were flirting, but it felt good to make Jake just as uncomfortable as you once felt. The toxicity between you is what sparks all the good things. The back and forth, the teasing, and the accusations, all lead to physical apologies. 

“This is all completely different and you know it… If I’m being truthful, you haven’t always put me in the most comfortable situations Jake.” 

That last part was cold but honest. You promised yourself you would be honest with him. 

You can tell you struck a chord with him. The anger is still within him, and you thought telling him the truth would maybe help loosen its hold on him. But of course, it didn’t

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He scoffs. 

He may have anger inside him, but there is a much stronger force of annoyance pushing through you. For him to ask that question is equivalent to a slap in the face. Does he seriously not know what you mean? Mariella, confronting you at work, showing up to your apartment and dragging you out into the middle of a field, inviting his brother into the house knowing you were just upstairs sleeping…

All he does is push you into an uncomfortable place, but the moment you start to play around and make a few jokes, that’s completely unacceptable? 

“Jake, you know what I mean. I want this to work out, but you have to consider how I feel sometimes too… I think that’s pretty reasonable.”

He scoffs again, crossing his arms in dismay. Your attempts at pleading are useless, mostly because he already knows what he wants you to say. He will always get his way. “You think I don’t care how you feel?”

“Oh, my god.” You throw your hands up in the air. Defeated. “Can you not be so defensive over everything I say? Can you have a little fun sometimes?”

“You think I don’t care, you think I can’t have fun…” Jake leans down towards you and pulls your face up to meet his. He stares deeply into you, his gaze burning. The arguing always gets the both of you going, it’s like a foreplay of sorts. It would be wrong to deny either of you the release you both crave. Neither of you are truly mad, but it's a game you play. You’re ready to let him take you, let yourself forgive him with his touch. 

He runs his calloused fingers across the edge of your jaw. The burning exasperation lingers inside of you, but slowly erases with each second his skin is on yours. His thumb extends down to your neck, carrying his fingers to wrap around your neck. He squeezes you in his hand, careful to not let his displeasure translate to physicality,  “Why don’t I show you how much I fucking care?”

“Yes sir,” You reply. Immediately, you assume your role. The softer Jake that was present with you last night has subsided, he needed to be himself again, and you needed to take your place as the submissive. 

Your heart is beating in your chest, excited to be in this roleplay with Jake again. You feel the heat rushing down your between your legs, ready for more with him.

“Pants off, now.”  

Taglist: @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @gvfpal @lipstickitty @anythingforjtk @giraffehippy @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @gretavansara @sanguinebats @awkwardlyamazing2000 @pinkandsleepy1934 @bajabule69

[darks-ink]

Spark

Prompt: How does being constantly exposed to high amounts of ectoplasm affect the citizens of Amity Park? Prompt by: @robotbeowulf Word count: 2,487

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

---

Danny shrugged, shifting his backpack to lie a little more comfortably on his shoulders, and pretended very hard to be a regular student. It wasn’t easy, but it hadn’t been easy for the last two years. The constant secret-keeping from everyone was wearing on him.

Not to mention the constant ghost attacks, of course. He was pretty sure all of Amity Park was covered in a thick film of ectoplasm by now, considering how much of it he and the other ghosts spilled and fired during the almost-constant battles. Sure, his parents said that the stuff evaporated and then returned to the Ghost Zone, but his parents also said that humans couldn’t have ghost powers, and Danny was the (mostly) living proof that that wasn’t true, either.

He was jerked from his thoughts—literally—by a fist, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him against the lockers he had been walking by.

“Hi, Dash,” Danny muttered, trying to hide away his weariness with apathy. “Good morning to you too.”

“Fentonia,” Dash growled back, leaning in close to Danny’s face. A little too close, thank you, ever heard of personal space? “Finally.”

Danny bit back the automatic reply—aw, were you waiting for me?—and settled for grimacing at Dash.

Not that that went over well, of course, because Dash’s other hand found its way to Danny’s shirt as well. With Danny well in his grasp, Dash lifted him, slamming him against the lockers again, this time with his feet off of the ground—no easy way of getting out. Not without using his powers, at least.

“What’s wrong, Fenturd?” Dash asked, pressing Danny against the lockers even harder. “Ghost got your tongue?”

Ha ha, how creative. How funny. Danny was sure he’d come up with funnier jokes in his sleep. “Fuck off,” he grunted at Dash as his back was slammed against the hard metal behind him again.

“Ooh, he’s got bite today.” Dash leaned back a bit, a vicious grin on his face, then crowded Danny against the lockers again. “Oh, no, never mind. Looks like he’s all bark.”

Danny snarled back at Dash before he’d really thought about it—before he could stop himself, really. It wasn’t even words, really, just an animalistic snarl and the pulse of his core that meant his eyes were glowing.

Oh, fuck. And Dash was way too close to miss that.

“Hey, there you go!” Dash… cheered? The fists clenched in Danny’s shirt released, and his feet thumped down on the ground before he’d really caught on to what was happening. Dash was already turning away from him, nudging Kwan. “See, I told you Fenton could do it too!”

That… was not the reaction he’d expected to get to ghostly glowing eyes. What the fuck?

Kwan laughed audibly, and Danny wrenched his eyes away from Dash and towards the other boy. The… the laughing, visibly cheery boy.

Seriously. What was going on?

“So, uh… No bullying anymore today?” Danny asked, and then felt like he could kick himself. Absolute moron. Who asks that sort of thing?

Dash snorted, apparently amused (amused???) by Danny’s idiotic question, and waved a dismissive hand. “What’s the point? I got what I was after.”

Okay? Good? That explained absolutely nothing. If anything, Danny felt even more confused. Had Dash seriously been bullying him trying to get him to glow eyes his? To snarl at him?

What???

Apparently he vocalized that last thought, because Kwan’s eyes turned back to him, a hesitant grin on his face.

And then Kwan’s eyes flashed a bright, glowing, cyan.

Danny, still leaning against the lockers he’d been pressed to, froze up automatically. He knew what that meant. Had spent enough time combing through his parents’ research—and with his own experience—to know that briefly glowing eyes couldn’t be caused by ordinary ghostly causes. An overshadowing ghost altered the eye-color of their host, but that was constant.

And, if there had been a ghost, Danny would’ve felt them. He’d grown more than strong enough to sense ghosts even if they were hidden in a host.

“He’s had them for a while.” Dash spoke casually, like this wasn’t a big fucking deal. “We couldn’t find anybody else with that brand of ecto-contamination, y’know, so Kwan was feeling super down about that.”

“Dash,” Kwan groaned, sounding put-upon. As carefully as Danny listened, the only thing he could hear was the undercurrent of care Kwan held for Dash. For his friend.

“Shut up, man.” Dash nudged his friend, then picked up his explanation that didn’t explain anything. “See, but I knew I had seen you do them too. The glowy eyes, I mean.” Dash underlined the latter with a vague gesture at his own eyes. “So I just had to push you into doing them while Kwan could see, to prove that he wasn’t the only one.”

“Uh.” Danny blinked at them, feeling like he missed everything Dash had said after the words “ecto-contamination”. What?

No, seriously, he knew he’d uttered that word a lot these past five minutes—even if only in his head—but what?

“You had to get him angry, though,” Kwan muttered, bumping shoulders with Dash. “You know that’s not the only way to make them glow.”

“Yeah, but it was the easiest to push him into,” Dash easily admitted.

And then, while Danny was still reeling, feeling like he’d missed at least seven steps in this conversation, Kwan stepped in closer and shot him a bright smile. “Thanks, Fenton. I feel a ton better.”

“Uh, yeah.” Danny blinked, watching the two of them wander off like nothing happened. “You’re welcome?”

“Man, what was all of that?” he muttered to himself, staring at the empty hallway for a moment before pushing himself away from the lockers. He desperately needed to talk to Sam and Tucker, see if they had any idea what all of that was about.

Somewhere, he kind of wished that Jazz was still in Amity. She would definitely know what the hell all of that was all about.

Seriously. Dash had just casually muttered the words ecto-contamination, and then suggested that it was common enough for there to be accepted variants of it.

How had Danny missed all of that?

!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

“There’s Val,” Sam whispered, leaning in closer. Danny followed her gaze and, indeed, there was the girl they’d been looking for all morning.

Well, it figured that they wouldn’t manage to pin her down until lunch, but it was frustrating nonetheless. Sam and Tucker hadn’t known what the stuff with Dash and Kwan had been about, either, so they had decided to ask the only person they could reasonably ask: Valerie Gray.

But that, in turn, meant that they had to just sit on the knowledge until lunch.

At least she had picked a distant enough seat that they could talk in private. Small blessings.

“Let’s hope she actually knows what’s going on,” Tucker muttered, before nudging Danny forward. “You go first, dude.”

So quick to sacrifice him to the ghost huntress. Danny shook his head but walked over, slipping into the seat opposite of Valerie. “Hey, Val.”

“Danny,” she greeted him back, raising an eyebrow at Sam and Tucker, who sat down on either side of him. “Well, this feels like an interrogation all of a sudden.”

He shot Sam a meaningful glance, but she just grinned back, pushing herself to sit more squarely on the seat. Rude.

“Danny had a weird interaction with Dash and Kwan this morning,” Tucker started explaining, breaking the tension before it could really go anywhere. “We were hoping you could offer… I dunno, some clarification, since you know them better than we do.”

She snorted, leaning back slightly. “They’re Dash and Kwan. Every interaction with them is weird.”

“Well, yeah, but they were…” Danny paused, briefly hesitant to mention it—what would Valerie think of ghost-powered humans?—before powering through. “They were talking about ecto-contamination, and known variants of it.”

The look they got in response was flat. Flat, and clearly confused.

After a long and exceedingly awkward moment of silence, Valerie cleared her throat and asked, clearly hesitant, “None of you noticed?”

“Noticed what?” Tucker frowned, glancing between the three of them and Valerie.

“That pretty much everyone in Amity Park has ghost-like traits?” She raised a questioning eyebrow at them. “Everyone, but especially the kids here at Casper High, has ecto-contamination so bad that we’re all, well. Becoming a little ghost-like.” She paused, shook her head, then asked. “None of you seriously noticed?”

Danny drew back, considering his words, but before he could really think about it, Sam had already flapped a dismissive hand. “The three of us spend so much time in and around Fentonworks that we’re already contaminated to hell and back,” she dryly explained. “And honestly, Valerie, how much time do we really spend with anyone outside our direct circle?”

“Fair enough,” Valerie allowed with a shrug. “Right, so, it mostly seems to be caused by the Portal and the constant ghost attacks. I mean, obviously, right?”

“Right,” Danny agreed, ignoring the way his stomach was turning. He’d tried so hard to keep everyone safe, but had the presence of ghosts been endangering them all along? Had the spilled ectoplasm really affected people, and so badly too?

“Now, what we started noticing pretty early on is that people generally only display a single ghost power, once they become contaminated enough to actually have a discernible ghost power. Some people consider them distinct variants: people with invisibility, with intangibility, flight, etcetera.”

Sam and Tucker both hummed, thoughtfully. Valerie raised her other eyebrow at that, then shook her head and continued on.

“Generally people don’t get contaminated enough to display more than those basic powers, but exceptions exist, I guess. And your contamination is probably way worse than anyone else’s, except maybe actual ghost hunters like the Fentons.” She made a face. “And that’s assuming their jumpsuits don’t protect them, which I doubt.”

“I’m pretty sure they do,” Danny mumbled, trying to inconspicuously watch both of his best friends from the corner of his eyes. The more Valerie explained about the ecto-contamination that apparently haunted all of Amity Park, the more their expressions twisted into something they usually called “suddenly understanding weird shit that had been happening”.

It was, unfortunately, a somewhat common expression these days. What with ghosts becoming a common thing, and all that.

“I… Some of the plants in my greenhouse grow unusually well whenever I’m near. Some even seem to react to my presence…” Sam admitted, her voice quiet, uncharacteristically reluctant. After a moment of hesitation, she tacked on, “And sometimes, when I really really don’t want to deal with my parents, they just… overlook me, like I’m not there at all.”

Like she was invisible, they all heard, despite the fact that Sam didn’t say the words.

Seemingly encouraged by Sam’s admission, Tucker added on, “I rarely, if ever, charge my tech. Their batteries just don’t seem to empty as long as I have them on me. And sometimes when I’m digging into code, it feels like… like I can alter it directly, like I’m tapping into some inner world that doesn’t—shouldn’t—exist.” Just like Sam, Tucker also paused for a moment. “When I’m running from a ghost or whatever, sometimes I run into an alley that I know has a dead end and never hit the wall.”

Like he was just phasing through it, going intangible before he hit it.

Danny swallowed through the clog he suddenly found in his throat, watching Valerie turn a meaningful look to him. She wanted him to tell her about his— his ghost powers. But he couldn’t just pretend all of his powers came from the contamination of living at Fentonworks, could he?

And he definitely couldn’t pick certain powers as acceptable and others as not.

“I… I guess weird shit has happened to me too, yeah,” he finally admitted, cautiously, hoping she guessed the source of his reluctance wrong. “But I never really thought about it, to be honest. Anything I could blame the ecto-contamination for could just as easily be caused by actual ghosts.” And in a way it was, of course. Anything caused by his ecto-contamination was caused by an actual ghost: Phantom.

“But,” he tacked on, knowing Valerie wouldn’t just let that lie. She was far too stubborn not to investigate. “Dash and Kwan apparently saw me with glowing eyes?”

Valerie hummed, then nodded. “That makes sense, I guess. I know Kwan has the glowing eyes variant as well, so that would explain why they’ve been targeting you.”

“It’s been around that long?” Sam asked, leaning forward, clearly curious despite herself. “I figured it would’ve taken longer than that to show up.”

“Oh, no, that was long after I got kicked out of the group,” Valerie said dismissively. “But Kwan saw me with a ghost scanner one day, and he begged me to scan him. I guess he was seriously worried that he had been overshadowed, even if overshadowing doesn’t work like that.”

“I don’t think he got rid of that fear, to be honest.” Danny shrugged, uneasy. “At least, he seemed pretty cheered-up when I, uh, glowed my eyes at him and Dash.”

Tucker snorted, and Danny could see Sam crack a grin as well, probably at his word choice. Well, fuck them. What did you call it, if not “glowing your eyes at them”?

“Anyway, I can’t help but notice that we all told you, but you haven’t said a word about what you can do,” Sam prodded, nudging Valerie. “Come on, Val.”

“Yeah, that does seem a little unfair.” Tucker leaned forward as well, an expression of genuine curiosity on his face.

And, honestly? Danny kind of wanted to know as well. Her ghost hunting suit probably hadn’t protected her, and her new suit definitely didn’t. If anything, the Technus-made suit probably had just worsened it.

“I…” Valerie visibly hesitated, then gave in. “I can fly, a little. It’s not really all that great, but at least I won’t break anything if I ever fall out of a tree or something.”

She said it with a light tone, like it was just a casual joke. All Danny could think of, however, was all the times he’d seen Valerie fall off of her hoverboard, especially at the start.

He carefully does not wince.

“That’s pretty neat,” he forced himself to say instead. “Less lame than glowing eyes, at least.”

Valerie grinned back at him, but before she could say anything the bell rung.

“Guess we’d better head to class,” Sam said with a grunt, pushing herself off of the bench.

“Yeah.” Tucker got up as well, then nodded at Valerie. “Thanks for the explanation, Valerie.”

Danny followed suit, shooting her a smile. “Same. Thanks, Val.”

She had given him a lot to think about.

[mandoinevarro]

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough” is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It’s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

≈

Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago—and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @lola-wolf @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical​ @pascaliprincess​ @geannad​ @coaaster​ @frietiemeloen​ @yourbucky084​ @brynnstudies​ @elfwoodfae​

im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

[fruitcoops]

Strawberry Blond

Coops fluff Coops fluff Coops fluff!! I highly recommend listening to Strawberry Blond by Mitski, which was the direct inspiration for this fic! This wasn’t based on an ask, but it’s been in the back of my mind for a little while now. Hope you enjoy!

Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“This might be your best idea yet,” Remus mused as they laid next to each other, staring up at the fluffy clouds crossing a robin’s-egg sky. In his periphery, Sirius watched him pick small bits of grass with his free hand. The other of course, was warm in his own.

“Okay, Blondie.”

“Shut up,” Remus laughed, nudging him with his shoulder. “I’m not blond yet.”

“After all this sunshine?” Sirius turned on his side and fluffed the front of his curls over his eyes, making him scrunch his nose up like a cute little bunny. “You are, sweetheart.”

Remus Lupin existed in all shades of tawny gold—tinged with pink on his cheeks and the backs of his arms, deeper across the expanse of his back and chest, and woven with bronze for his soft hair. Sometimes, Sirius woke up in time to watch the sunlight make him glow, and he would count every new color he found.

But after the near-constant summer sunlight due to their broken air conditioning and inability to find a fan that didn’t spontaneously combust, Remus was almost strawberry blond, and it was driving Sirius out of his mind. Remus let his head fall to the side and smiled when they made eye contact, squeezing Sirius’ hand. “Want some water?”

“Don’t get up, I’m comfy.” Sirius stuck his lip out in a pout and Remus snorted, kissing the tip of his nose.

“I’ll be right back, I promise.”

The light breeze rippled through the whole field, save for the pressed-down grass where Remus had laid mere moments before. Their shoes were…somewhere. Sirius hoped they had left them near the picnic basket, but his mind was too muzzy with bliss to make an effort to remember.

Remus’ bare ankles were pale against the rolled-up cuffs of his jeans and Sirius took a second to admire his ass when he bent to get their waterbottles—as Remus’ fiancé, it was his court-appointed right to appreciate the familiar curve. That law was definitely written down in some dusty old book.

“Do we actually need buildings?” Sirius asked as Remus settled back down next to him.

To his credit, Remus didn’t miss a beat. “What?”

“In the grand scheme of things, do we need skyscrapers? They’re kind of useless, and they block all this.” He gestured widely with his free arm and took a sip.

“Huh. I’ve never thought about it that way.” Remus cocked his head to the side and looked out over the beach below, his gaze distant as he watched the point where grass turned into sand and pebbles. “I don’t think so. Concrete is ugly, anyway.”

“Maybe people would be happier if they all had low houses and big backyards.”

“Fuck hockey. Become an architect.” Remus looked over at him with a small smile. “You’d be good at that, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, you’re terrible with paint colors, but shapes—"

“You are so mean to me!” Sirius laughed, bumping him until they both fell over and laid cheek-to-cheek in opposite directions. “Unfortunately, I love it.”

“Yeah, you do. And I love you.” Remus turned his head to kiss Sirius’ cheekbone. This time next year, they would be married—they had an entire life of these moments ahead of them.

“This is everything I need,” he said quietly, watching a cloud shaped like a duck fade into wisps. “Right here. This is it.”

“Pots isn’t here.”

“Hmm.”

“Hattie’s tormenting Reg, who also isn’t here.”

“I have everything I need because no matter where I go, you’re there.”

Remus went still with a soft exhale. “What?”

Sirius shrugged. “We’re apart sometimes, yeah, but you’re always there somewhere. Either I’m wearing your shirt, or your hat, or you left yet another hickey—” Remus laughed at that, and he smiled. “—or I’m thinking about you. That’s what I mean.”

Remus sighed heavily. “Dammit.”

“What?”

“I really have to kiss you, but I’m so comfortable.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Oh, yes I do.” Remus pushed himself onto his elbows, then turned around and threw a thigh over Sirius’ hips, bracketing his face with his forearms. “You’re so beautiful in the sun. What was I saying again?”

Sirius draped his arms over Remus’ shoulders and grinned. “Kiss me stupid, Loops.”

And he did. Not quite lazy—Remus, for all his languid stretching, was never lazy—but steady. Easy. Drawing Sirius close with each press of his lips and stroking the curls just above his ears to smooth them back until Sirius could hardly think straight. Remus had kissed him like that a number of times since they started dating: in the car, in his old apartment, on the kitchen counter while dinner threatened to burn but neither of them could be bothered to check it.

Sirius deepened the kiss as a particular memory rose to the front of his mind. Remus was sitting in the passenger seat of the car with one hand out the window and the other buried in Hattie’s soft fur. She had been smaller the day they drove her home, but still big enough that she oozed over the sides of his legs.

I love her already, Remus had said as he made gentle waves with his palm, riding the wind current of the open road. She’s ours.

Sirius’ chest ached in the best way and he leaned upward a bit, angling his chin to pull Remus’ lower lip between his teeth lightly. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. And this is our forever.

Remus pulled back, his eyes still closed as he smiled and took a slow breath. The afternoon sun lit his hair in a halo and Sirius was struck speechless by the sight; he was barely able to fold his hands over Remus’ and press their foreheads together without melting into a puddle. “That’s better.”

“Uh-huh.”

A bumblebee buzzed past them and they both jumped a bit at the sudden noise before bursting out laughing. Remus bit his lip and beamed down at Sirius, placing one more kiss to his forehead before climbing off and grabbing his hands. “Come on!”

“Where are we going?” Sirius asked as they took off running toward the beach, barefoot and sun-warmed and deliriously happy. Remus glanced over his shoulder with a smile; his eyes widened slightly when their feet hit cold, wet sand, but he didn’t slow down until they were ankle-deep in freezing salt water.

Sirius immediately reached into the surf and flung a handful of water at Remus, pulling him close enough to get a direct hit to the chest. “Hey!” Remus yelped, dropping his hand like it burned and flinging his own counterattack at Sirius.

The spray hit him dead in the face and he stumbled backward, nearly falling on his ass in the water as he windmilled for balance. Remus laughed until he was gasping, hands on his knees and making the fatal mistake of taking his eyes off Sirius for a second too long.

The first bit of seaweed stuck to his arm with a satisfying slap; the second missed by a mile as Remus sprinted away, leaving uneven footprints in the sand while Sirius chased him down and tried not to lose any toes to stray barnacles. “Get back here!” he shouted around his smile, feeling the skin of his hands stiffening with salt.

“You’ll have to catch me first!” Remus called, running backward for a few steps until Sirius threw another clump of seaweed that just barely missed his shirt.

They ran and ran and ran until their picnic was out of sight, but Sirius didn’t care. A million moments, he thought. We can have a million moments of this.

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 18

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 18

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4326

Summary: Dean gets a better sense of what Sam and the reader’s new life is like.

Warnings: FLUFF, swearing

           Barbie opens the door with an honest to god plate of pigs in a blanket as though she just had them going and you have to remind yourself you’re in a dream. “What a nice surprise! Come in, come in. And who’s this?” she asks, hugging Sam with one arm while holding onto the plate and offering for you to take one. It’s as buttery and salty as you ever could’ve hoped.

           “This is, uh, this is my brother Dean.”

           “Well hello, Dean! What a handsome pair you two are.” She offers the plate to the brothers. Dean grabs two with a pincher, tossing both in his mouth. Sam politely takes one as Barbie yells over her shoulder. “Mike, we have company!” She motions for you three to follow her into the house and Sam has to practically clothesline his brother to get him to take his shoes off before he trails blindly after the plate full of sausage.

           Mike stands up from one of those leather armchairs, folding back the magazine he’s reading to greet Sam with a bear hug. “This is my brother Dean,” Sam offers as Mike hugs you with decidedly gentler back pats than he had for Sam. Dean holds his hand out as if to shake but Mike curves his big paws around Dean’s shoulders and pulls him in for a hug with enough force that Dean almost falls into him.

           “You didn’t say anything about a brother!” he bellows to Sam over Dean’s shoulder.

           Sam and you both freeze, and you can only speak for yourself but you suspect Sam is also worried Dean will be upset to hear that. Instead, finally released from Mike’s binding embrace, Dean rocks back to holding up his own weight with a big smile. “Crazy private, these two, right? You’d think they were in the witness protection program.” For another second you’re worried about how you’ll do damage control, how you’ll talk to them about Dean after this, and then you remember this isn’t actually Mike and Barbie, they won’t actually remember anything.

           Mike leans into Dean conspiratorially. “You can say that again. Now, what can I get you three to drink?”

           “Whatever you’re having works for me, sir,” Dean answers, charming as ever with his most clean-cut smile.

           “You’re going to regret saying that,” Mike laughs, heading over to the kitchen where Barbie is fiddling with something in the oven. He fills a row of pint glasses with dark beer out of a growler you know is the extremely strong beer he brews himself and hands one to his wife with a kiss on her cheek, motions for you and the Winchesters to each take one. “To a pleasant surprise and finding out there’s another man in the world like Sam.”

           “I think you mean another man like me,” Dean says cheerfully as you all clink your glasses together.

           “So you’re older?” Barbie asks, handing Sam a stack of plates to go make the table with.

           “Four years, yeah. It was easier to tell when I had a foot on him.” Dean reaches up to ruffle his baby brother’s hair, and Sam generously waits a half-second before swatting his hand away with a sheepish flush.

           “A foot? Really? I wouldn’t have thought anyone would ever have had a foot on this behemoth,” Mike laughs, catching Sam with a jokey punch to his bicep when he comes back for silverware.

           “Oh, yeah. Sam was a little squirt until he was like 17.” Dean continues.

           “How’s Luke’s basketball team doing?” Sam asks, color rising in his cheeks and desperate to have the focus shifted off of himself.

           Barbie grants his wish with a knowing smile. “Going to the playoffs! He’s very excited.” She hands Sam a huge bowl of salad to carry to the table and takes out a hot casserole dish from the oven.

           “They do playoffs for middle school?” you ask, about to trail into the dining room after Barbie with Sam and Mike like a chain of ducklings. Dean stops you with a hand on your arm.

           “It’s going to make it weird if you’re not yourself with him,” he mutters, low so the Kaisers and Sam won’t hear. “I’m okay, kid, I promise. This is…awesome, but I know you’re holding back. You don’t have to.”

           “What’re you talking about?”

           “You touched Sam more when I was topside and we were together. You’d think he has leprosy the way you’re dodging him now.”

           “Dean, we’re always going to be togeth—”

           He rolls his eyes in frustration. “Okay, fine, yeah, we’re together now. But you know what I mean.”

           You bite your lip. “I thought they’re just my mind’s projections, who cares if they think it’s weird.”

           “Babe.” He holds firm, his gaze steady.

           “Jesus, Dean, it is weird, okay? The whole thing is bizarre!” Your whisper has turned into a bit of a hiss and he glances to the dining room to make sure you haven’t caught anyone’s attention.

           He wraps his fingers around your hand and swipes an arc into it, looking down as he does. “I know it is, I’m sorry. Can you try, just a little bit? The whole thing is only going to get less awkward if we keep at it.”

           “Fine, yeah. I’ll try.”

           Dean holds your eyes for a moment, not seeming to buy it, before staring back at his feet. “For you it’s a dream but this—this is the closest I’m going to get; to being part of your lives. I just—I just kinda want it to be as close as it can be, you know? If you’re acting different then it’s not really—”

           “Understood.” You swallow hard against the lump forming in your throat, willing it to dissolve, not about to keep feeling sorry for yourself when he’s clearly putting so much aside to be present.

           Too quickly for you to react Dean lifts your hand to his lips, and the warmth of the kiss on your skin sends a shudder through you. He follows you into the dining room, where Sam and the Kaisers are about to sit down. You grab the seat next to Sam, leaving the head of the table opposite Barbie for Dean as the new guest.

           “You okay?” Sam asks, quietly enough you’re sure you’re the only one who can hear it.

           You squeeze his thigh reassuringly under the table. “Yeah, definitely.”

           Dean catches your eyes to give you a meaningful look that makes you swallow again, and before you can think about it you’re sliding your hand around Sam’s neck, looping him down to kiss him on the cheek. Sam’s cheeks flush pink as the corner of his mouth tries to tug into a smile and it’s so impossibly cute that you’re not faking your subsequent smile for Dean’s sake.

           Both Barbie and Dean smirk thoughtfully at the two of you before pretending to be engrossed in the salad she’s passing to him. “So, Dean! We heard your families were friends before these two got together; was it one of those things that you always knew was going to happen?”

           Sam chokes on a sip of beer, trying his best to cough with his mouth closed to keep the sputtering to a minimum. You think you’re probably the only one who catches the flair of joyful ribbing behind Dean’s eyes as he pretends to be concerned.

           “Aw, I remember my first drink. All good over there, Sammy?”

           His little brother strains to stop, his voice sounding as rough and cracked as if he’d spent 50 days breathing sand. “Yep. Wrong pipe, sorry.” He gives a closed-mouth smile of reassurance to his hosts that makes him look like a kid.

           Dean turns to Barbie, smile smooth and charming as anything. “You know, it’s funny you ask that. When we were younger, I was the one with the crush on her.”

           You probably should’ve guessed Dean would pull some kind of jokey shit like this but you’re still thankful that the Winchesters aren’t sitting close enough to kick each other’s legs under the table. As it is, you give a grin you hope seems warm and not tense.

           Mike finishes chewing a huge bite and nudges Dean’s arm with his elbow playfully. “I hope there’s no jealousy there.”

           “Ah, you know how it is. You grow up, things happen.” And if that isn’t the damn understatement of the century. “Couldn’t ask for a better girl to take care of my baby bro.”

           “Well I think that’s pretty damn sweet. Barb’s sister hated me until I drove to Wausau on Thanksgiving Day to change a blown-out tire for her. We’d already been married six years!”

           Barbie rolls her eyes across the table at Sam, mouthing “not true,” with an easy smile.  

           “I think that’s worth a drink,” Mike emphasizes, raising his beer. “To the best girl for—what’d you call him? Somehow I can’t imagine He-Man over here ever being a ‘Sammy.’”

           You raise your own drink with everyone else and Dean catches your eye with an iridescent twinkle as he repeats the toast. “To the best girl.”

           The rest of dinner is the exact emotional and literal comfort food you always get from the Kaisers, a respite from the world in the best way. As you had suspected he would, Dean gets along perfectly with them, falling into a good-natured ribbing of Sam borne of admiration with Mike and charming Barbie within an inch of her life. Dean tells stories about Sam as a little kid that you know are really far more embarrassing than the version he shares, and hearing Dean edit to idealize Sam for the Kaisers even as an eight year old makes you want to melt into the floor.

           You pretend to be tired too early in the evening, feeling selfish and wanting the boys all for yourself. Being handed a Tupperware of leftovers reminds you this isn’t real; the futility of carrying them a flash in the evening that you’ve otherwise forgotten won’t last.

           Standing in the doorway, Sam’s already on the porch when Barbie stops Dean as he’s following you out. Quietly, trying for privacy, she says to him, “Honey, I am so glad we got to meet you. We worry about these two being all by themselves, but knowing they’ve got you looking out for them is going to help me sleep a little more soundly tonight.”

           Dean covers her hand where she has his arm and looks at her with soft doe eyes. “You have no idea how much I could say the same to you.”

           They hug for a beat longer than necessary and then Dean’s right at your side, trailing after Sam’s long legs down the road to your cabin.

           It’s hard not to think it’s purposeful, Sam going ahead to let you walk with Dean on the way back. Dean flicks a side of his jacket away from his body and you slide in there like you always did, warmed by the pre-contained heat coming off of him and giggling when he kisses the top of your head. “Man, I guess some things never change,” he murmurs, breath spilling over your hair. “You even move to the damn arctic and still don’t get any warmer coats.”

           He’s feeding you the intro to an old script but you don’t have the heart to tease back, just snuggling up to him and walking to the cabin together feeling the familiar way the muscles in Dean’s side move against you as he does. Sam doesn’t even look back and it’s so unlike him not to check that you’re there that then you know definitively he’s giving you a moment together. “I miss you, baby.”

           “Kid, I’m right here.”

           You peer up at him. “Don’t be a dick.”

           He glances down at you bundled against him. “I miss you too. But I see you guys all the time; it’s like nothing changed.”

           The reflex to laugh bitterly doesn’t fit the moment but you can’t stop it. “Right. My mistake.”

           His jaw muscles tighten to a ball for a whisper of a beat. “I need you to fucking work with me here, babe. I know this is not ideal but it’s so much more than anyone else gets and I gotta be honest, you’re being kind of a bitch about it.” You kick your eyebrows up on your forehead, both disbelieving and challenging. Dean realizes the mistake borne of his frustration immediately. “Not a bitch, that’s not what I mean, sorry. A baby. You’re being a baby.”

           “A baby?”

           He stops you both. Sam’s already about halfway up the driveway. “Listen, I know that you’re—I don’t know, mad. At me for not being here, the way things happened, whatever. But it’s done. It’s over. No one else in the fucking world gets this, gets to have it both ways, visit like I’m just a town away. You get to see me, I get to see you guys, pretty much whenever we want.”

           A few tears start collecting in the wells of your eyelids, indignance or grief or both. You try to blink them back but when one falls, lightning fast and stupid like Wil E. Coyote running out over the edge of a cliff, Dean brushes it away with a swipe of his thumb. “I get it. I miss you too, all the fucking time. I miss the way things could’ve been; I miss shit I didn’t even have, you know? I miss this fucking cabin, believe it or not—I—we all could’ve lived in a cabin like this together. We—maybe we could have had kids or something, couple of little girls to braid Uncle Sammy’s hair, the fuck do I know? But at some point I had to accept what I do have, and you do too.”

           You look over his shoulder, not wanting to meet Dean’s eyes or the truth that’s there. He’s right, but that doesn’t make the bottomless pit of greed for more of him go away. “Sam’s going to be waiting for us.”

           “Don’t deflect. It doesn’t have to be this second, but you have to get good with this. Today—tonight, whatever—was pretty damn near perfect and you’re upset because you want something that doesn’t exist.” He flicks his gaze up the driveway to confirm it’s empty; Sam’s already inside. His jaw is still tight but his eyes are tender and fuzzy, the same way he looks when he’s tired. When they lock onto yours, you can feel them sear straight into you, heating you up slow like an Easy Bake oven. “But right now you’re going to kiss me like it’s the first time. Then we’re going to head in, and you’re going to act like I know you’ve been with Sammy, sappy freaks that you both are, I’m going to have a few drinks with my brother, and we’ll tell the same stupid stories you’ve heard a hundred times.”

           That’s finally enough to make you chuckle and you venture an arm out of the protective embrace he has on you to take his chin in your hand, thumb on that perfect indent as you catch Dean’s lips with yours. It’s soft and delicate, a thank you and a reminder and a memory at once. His lashes catch a shadow when he opens his eyes, and you hold them for a long second. “I thought you said like our first kiss—you didn’t even try to jam your tongue down my throat.”

           Dean rolls his eyes through a smile and a part of your mind flares with victory knowing you’ve made it past the bramble patch of emotion. “I was like twenty, can’t blame a guy for trying. You couldn’t have been that mad; you still let me get under your shirt the next day.”

           You laugh hard, letting it ring out along the driveway as you tug Dean to the house with your fingers interlinked in his.

           Sam is pouring a few fingers of bourbon into three little juice glasses when you walk in, and you grab one right off the counter without breaking your stride, tossing it back and offering it to Sam. “Hit me.”

           He smirks and obliges as you slide a hand to his lower back. There’s a half beat of hesitation before he leans back that inch or two into your palm like he always does, but what’s more important in that moment is that he still does, and without flushing. Sam and Dean both grab their glasses and you don’t remember the last time you’ve done this many toasts in a night that weren’t at the bar following a Packers win.

           “To you two morons finally figuring this shit out,” Dean says, raising his glass.

           “Yeah, whatever,” Sam grins. For a beat you can see in his eyes the unbridled admiration he has for his brother, the complete devotion and deep grain of grief he’ll never be free of even if he can see Dean like this every day for the rest of forever. You wonder if you had truly realized the way it flared in his eyes before everything. All three of you sip at your whiskeys together, and you have to fight to keep your mouth closed through a petite yawn.

           Sam tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear and lets you lean into the wall of his body, wrap your hand around to his side. His hand moves to envelop your shoulder, thumb swiping absentmindedly back and forth. It’s nothing, genuinely less physical affection than you used to show Sam most of the time when you and Dean were two halves of a living couple like he’d pointed out to you earlier, but the most important thing is that it feels okay. More than anything it feels like being at the bar, the ‘aren’t they so cute’ on Dean’s face the same one that you get at work only made different by how much you wish you were somehow able to tuck up under Dean’s arm at the same time.

           A couple drinks and a while later you’re sprawled on the couch, head laid back on the armrest. One foot is tucked under Sam’s thigh where he sits next to you and one rests on top of his lap, a large, warm palm gently wrapped around your shin. The living room—area in the non-bedroom-or-bathroom-space in the cabin where you’ve put a couch, armchair, and rocking chair you’ve grown fond of, really—is small enough that Dean’s knees, extended and one crossed over the other where his feet are on the coffee table, are right by your shoulder, absentminded slow rocking of the maple chair he’s on not quite matching the pace of the hand he has playing with your hair. You’re close to drifting off, and isn’t that weird, that you would get sleepy in a dream, but listening to Sam and Dean is so relaxing. They’re talking about the few weeks they stayed in Bar Harbor as kids, running around Acadia National Park like it was their own personal playground and swimming in freezing cold Atlantic waters, creating all kinds of imaginary games in spite of even Sam being maybe a touch too old for it, by then.

           It’s warm; Sam has put a couple logs on the fireplace, trying to hide how eager he is to show his brother all the repairs he’s done to the cabin. More than that, you realize suddenly, it finally feels like home, Dean’s appraisal the baptism that it needed to make you feel safe enough here to approach sleep so casually without Sam’s body as physical protection. Dean’s hand wraps around to cradle your head and he leans over to whisper in your ear. “It’s okay, you can fall asleep.”

           You shake your head loose of a little of the drowsiness. “No, I—we’re in my head, it’ll be over if I—” you murmur, waking up even more as you talk.

           Sam’s hand moves up and down your shin reassuringly. “It’s okay. We have a greenhouse filled with dream root now, we can come back all the time.”

           “Well, not all the time,” Dean amends. “You guys have to get out there, not become sleep junkies. Once, twice a month or something.”

           “Oh good, a standing appointment. Like the dentist,” you say, rolling your eyes around a bitter smirk and killing the rest of your drink. Sam smiles softly and looks up at Dean, silently willing him to be the one to argue with you.

           Dean takes the bait, sliding his hand out of your hair to prop his elbows on his knees. You sit up straighter to be able to fully see his face.

           “Babe, come on, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Sam and I have seen what happens to people who get hooked on this shit, take it every day. It’s a risk to do it even every couple weeks.”

           “You haven’t even explained to me how this works—do I have to decide to wake up or will it happen by itself?”

           “It’ll be a natural transition if you don’t consciously decide to,” Sam offers, voice quiet and smooth like you’re some victim’s family member he���s trying to soothe. You let him do it, stop yourself from rankling defensively and appreciate for a second how nice it sounds, how comforting it really is. “Most likely it’ll get easier to control it with a little practice, but I think Dean’s right, if you go to sleep that’ll probably do it a little more, uh, gently.”

           Sam’s eyes reflect the firelight as they do every time he sits in that spot on the couch. He looks warm, looks calm and whole. You can see right away that he needs you to be the one who’s struggling to let go—maybe partly for Dean, who’s eviscerated every time he sees his brother hurt and has always been, but also for himself, for the way he’s telling himself this is enough. Though you were the one who’d threatened Dean, Sam had undoubtedly gotten closer to following through—following Dean—both actively and passively. You loved Dean, but Sam in many ways was Dean, just like Dean was Sam. Inextricable in the parts that really counted and that was the point, why you would’ve mainlined dream root swamp ass tea until you withered away like a rat choosing a pleasure button over food to see them both. They were each perfect alone, Sam and Dean—different and perfect—but together they were the sun and the moon, the entire universe inside one Impala.

           It’s easy to let him have it. Sam deserves so much more than this small mercy and you are struggling, want desperately to have been put in some kind of coma together in this little play-pretend world where the food’s always exactly what you want and the time passes inconsequentially if at all.

           You wipe a tear off your cheek that you hadn’t felt fall, can tell before you open your mouth that your voice is going to falter. “Couple weeks, right? You promise?” Sam and Dean nod in tandem and you try to drink up every drop of it, try to ignore the shade of sad-desperate behind both of their eyes. “And it’s going to be the same? No one’s going to like, forget or anything? Is this like Groundhog Day where you’ll have to be re-introduced to Barbie and Mike every time?”

           Dean’s eyebrows screw up in thoughtful empathy. “Pretty uncharted territory here, kid. I hope not, but I don’t want to promise you something I can’t deliver.”

           Sam reaches over to take your hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “It’ll still be us, though. That’s the important part, right?”

           You nod tightly, feeling small and stupid ironically like a kid trying to fight off bedtime. It hangs in the air for a beat.

           “Catch you losers later, I guess,” Dean smirks, standing up and offering you a hand. Like he’s heading to his house on the other side of the block you reach up for a hug, only momentarily surprised when Dean foregoes the hug to slip a strong hand into your hair, cradling your face for a kiss that’s somehow bruising and tender as he presses your lower back to weld yourself to him. The feeling of his lips steals the breath from your lungs and you barely have the presence of mind to realize you’re blushing, getting dangerously close to making out just a step away from Sam. Dean, cocky asshole that he is, winks at you as he draws back.

           When you turn back to Sam, he’s—he’s rolling his eyes through a smile. With a start you realize it’s exactly the same long-suffering playful tolerance he’d have catching you stealing a kiss during a case and that thought alone is a buoy as Dean pulls Sam down to tuck into his arms, that same eternally-little-brother hug that has always made you smile. You look down at your feet, giving them a second to share a few of those ever-indecipherable looks.

           “Do you guys want to just stay out here maybe? I can ‘go to sleep’ or whatever in the other room? Feels a little weird to just sit here and have you both staring at me,” you offer with air quotes.

           Sam’s eyes are earnest and reassuring when he meets yours. “Whatever makes you most comfortable. Do you want me to, ah, also…?” He tosses a casual thumb over his shoulder to the bedroom.

           “I’ll be okay, I think. Thanks, though.” You rock back on your feet awkwardly. “Um, goodnight, I guess.”

           “See you soon, babe,” Dean says, and it’s not hard to see the sweetness under the casual affect he’s trying on.

           “See you both soon. Love you, morons.”

           You don’t remember falling asleep, but then you wouldn’t, because in reality you’re waking up.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 19

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[akeijies]

word prompt: iridescent

plus, to make you feel better,,,

add jean

anyways hi lovely how ARE you?? i’m bored and in a slump too it’s okay it’s not forever!!! but!! know that i’m cheering for ya!

experiencing color ( jean k. x reader )

warnings: nsfw for the last blurb, minors dni pls ! mentions of collars/leashes and choking

notes: unedited as hell im so sorrily brain is mush rn please forgive me- i had a hard time thinking of something for this but it kept my brain going so thank you!!

la vie en rose

“you know," the words are barely into the air before jean's thumb stops scrolling through his phone, tilting his head back to you silently telling you he's listening. he's so attentive. "i secretly think you’re a softie.”

jean scoffs before settling back between your legs, back pressed to your front. "i'm not a softie- what would make you say i'm a little baby softie?" he's gone back to tapping through his phone, but when you don't answer him he nudges your leg to bring you back, waiting for your response.

"you're looking up floral arrangements," and you can already hear his 'that doesn't make me soft' so you follow up with "and i never said 'little baby softie' unless you know," your fingers card through his hair and push it back to give you a space to place a soft kiss, "you wanna be my soft little baby."

a little laugh slips through your lips at the way jean seems to tense up yet melt against you and if you weren't so tuned into him you would have missed the low embarrassed mumble of 'i haven't sent my mom flowers this month yet'.

you wanna pepper his slowly reddening cheeks with kisses and your heart stutters at the way his ears turn as red as rose when he rushes an "and i already am your baby."

hestia

jean turns his key in the door and slowly pushes it open. he pulls you into the apartment and you're completely overwhelmed with the feeling of home and safety. you don't want to touch anything, feat that you'll somehow ruin this perfect sanctuary he has for himself.

squeezing your hand, jean guides you over to the couch before prompting you to sit. he disappears and returns minutes later with a hoodie and blanket, holding them out to you.

when you don't make any move to grab them, jean sets them on the couch a quick "hold on just a second" before disappearing into his room again.

your eyes fall to your hands in your lap, they're fidgeting with each other, wringing and pulling- only stopping when jean puts his hand over yours, crowning your head with a kiss so soft you barely feel it.

there's a moment where everything gets really quiet, your heart beats steadily in your chest; soft but still there. it's the complete opposite of the way your blood sped through your veins like cars on a track. it was overwhelming and so exhausting but it's quiet now, the only thing being heard between the rests of your heartbeat is jean's "you're okay" against your temple.

it's safe now.

24K

"why an anklet?"

you almost laugh at how bad your timing is- or at least you would have laughed if the next thrust jean sent into you hadn't knocked air right out of your lungs, leaving a whine to linger in between the space between you both.

jean doesn't even bat an eyelash, so used to your antics. "you're mine" you should be used to hearing him say that but it still makes your body go warm and your cunt squeezes around his cock. jean's breath stuttering at the feeling of you tightening around him before taking in a gulp of air, "'nd i just needed everyone else to know that." he says winded, he's slowing the rhythm of his hips just enough to get his sentence out.

"put me on a leash then," you tease, a chuckle sliding past your lips. you're not exactly sure what's gotten into you, and you think maybe you won't have any coffee outside of your designated coffee hours because those words have no business being as funny as they are.

your laugh quickly dies when your eyes meet jean's, his normally warming, sweet brown eyes are completely black and there's a smart dancing on his lips. he looks as if he's about to devour you, it sends shivers all over your body and makes you wanna cover yourself because you can tell he's looking straight through you.

"you would like that, wouldn't you?"

he clearly isn't looking for an answer because he picks up his thrusting again, pumping into you with new vigor and your legs wrap around him to take it all because you can.

however, you can't help the way the moans are tumbling out of you, or the way your eyes flutter shut when jean's hand comes to rest on your throat and he tightens his fingers, like he was mimicking the way your walls clenched around his cock. you're so focused on the way his tip kisses your cervix, and the way it unravels you from the inside out.

you're startled at jean's breath against your ear. "if you had a leash, you'd have a collar- and if you had a collar, where's my hand supposed to go?"

maybe it's the way he says it like he knows the answer is that his hand belongs around your throat, it could be anything really- as long as it was jean. but regardless it has you falling apart at the seams and you're engulfed in the feeling of him and the pleasure you're quickly losing your senses to.

[thefanbasewhore]

United as One. || Part 3

Summary: Din tries to fix what he can while another Mandalorian clan leader comes to visit and the leader tends to find an interest in the reader. 

Warning/Content: Soft!Din (as if I have to say it), angst, nsfw for hand job, a little bit of dirty talk but not much and mentions of death.

A/N: I also do not write smut often so bare with me I tried lol, but sorry It took so long !

Tag list here || Part 2. || Masterlist. 

The room was engulfed in complete darkness, peaceful sleep finally washing over after hours of crying eventually her eyes hurt too much to keep open. Thankfully with sleep came an escape from reality, all problems momentarily gone. That’s until a soft whisper tickles her neck, it’s soothing, fingers tangle into hair, nails scratching her scalp but also makes her jump, eyes opening wide for the source of danger.

“It’s me, it’s just me.” Din is breathless, trying to sooth her with words. Nothing is said, there’s complete darkness except the little light the moon offers. It outlines the soft curve of his nose, shadow of his lips, just enough to see but not enough to commit to memory what the Mandalorian looks like. “Our son.” He pauses, “Grogu wants you.”

It’s not a complete lie but the only excuse he can think of to see her, it was very late. The celebration had finally ended, the night dragged but he still found himself right where he wanted to be. For some reason he can’t find the right words to say. “Cyar'ika, I -.”

“Save it Din, give me him.” His mouth shuts at her words, the darkness blocked any clues, any way her face would form to show her emotions but he felt it in her words. There were no more tears, it’s replaced with hot, firey anger.

Grogu without a second though climbs from Din’s hand and lays against her chest, a soft coo of acknowledgement. Right where he wanted to be.

“For you.” Din’s word peak an interest, eyes meeting his in pure instinct despite the darkness. Something cold, sharp is pressed into her hand. It takes a few minutes of feeling it to realize what it was, the signet that was wrapped around the blonde’s neck made her scowl but he couldn’t see it. “I want you to wear it, I made her give it back. I don’t want -.”

For the second time tonight he’s cut off by words that hiss venom. “You give me something you made for her?”

With those words he realizes what a stupid idea it was, he’s speechless at his own Idiocracy. To be fair though, he wasn’t thinking about anything but her, only trying to make her happy. To escape this feeling of his heart breaking inside his chest, it seems almost unavoidable.

“I’m sorry.” Words are breathless, his apology makes her sigh. No words could fix this, mend the hole in her heart, the betrayal she feels. “I can’t control these things, they were made thousands of years ago. I must honor the way of the Mandalorian, that entitles a riduur and a breeder. I want to.. for you but I can’t, this is the best I can do.” Fingers apply pressure to the beskar in her hand, the coolness making her shiver.

Din is still on his knees on the floor, elbows leaning on the bed, her face, at least he thinks it’s her face only inches apart.

“Why did you bring me here?” It’s asked again. All the days seemed to form together, a promise of a future with Din made it manageable but suddenly it’s suffocating. “You didn’t once bother tell me how it was going to be. You knew they wouldn’t accept me because I’m not a Mandalorian, I would be challenged, I will never be accepted as part of your clan.”

“I thought you wouldn’t come.” He selfishly admits, his own voice chokes with emotion. Tears sting against his own waterline. Maybe it was the long night, but it felt like forever since he’s seen her, talked to her. It makes him emotional, the turmoil he’s caused so far; it was his fault. He was to blame.

“So you sentence me to this?” Din’s eyes squeeze shut, they are so close.. but miles away. “I want to leave.”

“Please.” He begs, “Just try. It’s hard to understand why but it’s the way of the mandalorian, you wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m sick of hearing that!” Her voice rises, she almost sits up to show how much she means if but she feels the child twitch against her chest. “Maker, I would be happy not to see another Mandalorian again.”

“You don’t mean that.” Din’s lays his forehead against the edge of the bed, only inches away from her body. “I don’t like hearing you like this.”

She can’t see it but he’s pressing his two fingers against his chest superficial to where his heart beats. “It hurts me.”

Silence is all he’s given, his cheek lays flat against the mattress as his hand reaches for the signet. “You’re right, it isn’t made for you. Nothing in the whole universe can be made into what I feel for you.”

Din does not give her the opportunity to talk, “My eyes are dark brown. This you know but..”

The hand nudging hers open again to feel the weight of circular plastic, enough to fill her hand. “I want to show them to you.”

They’re the beads of the woman but now any claim he’s ever had is gone; no sign of him on her person. Fingers tip under her chin, “Turn the light on and look.”

“The creed.” The worried words make him sigh, slowly leaning against her neck, forehead against her cheek.

“I have an obligation to my clan, I must lead them but for you, to show my love for you I’ll have you something no one else has. Look at my face Sweetheart, I want you too..” he pauses, “See the color with your own eyes, seeing my eyes only belongs to you. Don’t leave, stay with me.”

It’s desperate and considering the situation absolutely necessary. Truthfully Din is getting frustrated, it shows in the tears that sting his waterline, in the way he squeezes the sheets of the bed with clenched fists. Shoulders are weighed down, all the responsibility of his clan, trying to make the girl understand.. It’s too much, there is no way to give honor to the clan, no one to honor her. He’s torn, an internal fight against what he knows his right but his heart hurts, but cannot let her go.

“See me the way no one else does.” It’s a plea, throat full with emotion, his own way asking her to say. “Please.. it’s all I can give.”

It’s more silence but the way they press into his cheeks makes him whine, a small cry of relief. There was no more coldness lingering in the air as she sits up, his head resting against her inner thigh, fingers start scratching his scalp.

Maybe it’s the desperate tone, the hot tears hitting her cheek but she leans over pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Din.. it’s okay.”

“It’s not, you hate it here.” He pauses, “You’re miserable, it’s not fair and I don’t want you to go.. I feel selfish Mesh’la.”

Hot tears flush his skin, the stress was too much, building up slowly with his own clans disappointment in him, the girl he’s loves finally with him where he belongs but his own people keen on breaking them apart.

“Stay here with me.. it will get better I promise. Asher means nothing to me.. she is a means to an future but she is not mine, you are.”

She silent, deep in thought as fingers pause their movement causing Din to nudge closer into her palm. Tips of dark ringlets tickle her fingers. The mention of another’s name from his lips squeezes her heart. “Cyar'ika.. please stay.”

She was upset, there was no question about it but these few hours alone allowing so much time to just think. It wasn’t Din fault, he must do right by his clan and that means insuring a future by claiming a breeder, despite not liking it, she couldn’t find herself to blame him. He tried to make it better taking his claim back, the signet thrown lazily next to them proves it, the small pile of dark beads that not scatter the floor, an act of service to show his love. It probably wasn’t a good idea, the elders will definitely have words to say but Din didn’t care, anything to fix the gaping hole that occupied where his heart should be.

“Okay..” it’s soft.. unsure but he swears that he’ll do anything to keep her here. The darkness of the room doesn’t show it but Din’s chest finally let’s out a breath of air. “I can’t promise anything.. but I will try Din.”

“Can I come up there with you?”

“You don’t have to ask Din. It’s your bed.”

Din stands on shaky legs but curls up next to his girl, for the first time tonight not aching with sadness, anxiety. There’s a shift in the air, it’s no longer tense but filled with comfortable silence. “I want you to have a safe space here, this could be yours. I don’t have to be here.”

Before she can argue his arms pull her into his chest, no doubt the clay smears against skin. Any reasonable person would think the basker it cold, and uncomfortable but it’s quite the opposite; soft, warmth against her cheek despite the small hairs that tickle her forehead but instinctively presses a soothing kiss to his chin.

Fingers soak against her skin, up and down the think of her forearm as deep and shallow breaths calm him down. Despite the fact she chose to forgive him, his heart is still stammering inside his chest.

“Look at me, see me the way no one else does.” It’s so easy to give up the creed, it’s all for her. He has no doubt that she will accept his offer of marriage, it may take time but he won’t give up.

“I don’t want to.” She pauses, “I don’t want to be the reason you disappoint your clan anymore then necessary.”

Din doesn’t know what to say. He’s happy at the answer but kind of hoped she did open her eyes, relieve him of this weight of the creed. “If you marry me.. you’ll be able to see whenever you want. It won’t break my creed.”

“I don’t think that’s for the best.” It’s finally said with his future’s best interest. The leader of the clan needed a strong queen, and will not accept anyone but Mandalorian like them. The way the elders talked about the marriage with her to Din was enough to know she will never be welcomed here, She would not be the reason for his shame.

“I was hoping you didn’t hear that.” She bites the inside of her cheek with heat that sears her face, not knowing what to say.

“Stay a little longer. If you decide you don’t want to marry me then I’ll bring you home myself. Be open minded with me. No matter how much I love you, I love you enough to let you go sweet girl. I want you to know that.” The words sting hard against both of their hearts, a large scar that would stay forever.

“I’ll stay with you.” While she doubts her mind will change, it hurts too much to think of a life without the Mandalorian, without Grogu. “I love you too Bear.”

The lips that meet hers are bruising, almost too rough as they show their appreciation but just enough that all air is knocked from her chest, heat sources from her stomach, setting cheeks ablaze. “Maker – you are so sweet, my sweet girl.”

“You – just always make me feel so…” He can’t put the feeling into words, how could he explain the thumping his chest every time she smiles? The instant warmth when her skin touches his own? There are no words that can explain the way his heat falters inside his chest, heat burns cheeks that it’s embarrassing, thankfully she can’t see. “Right…” Are the words he decided to go with, simple but they hold meaning. “It feels so right with you.”

***

Morning rolled around way too quick, the bright white light temporarily blinding the pair as the shift away from the window, it’s perfect sync the way his chest presses against her back and flushes against his skin, arms wrapping around her waist feel the warmth. Lips lay soft kisses against the skin of her shoulder with a soft sigh. “Goodmoring pretty girl.”

There’s a certain softness that lingers in the air, the vulnerability of last night weighs heavy but despite the tears when the morning light hits there’s hope, hope of holding onto what hangs by a thin thread.

Even though her eyes are open, she doesn’t dare turn due to the fear of too much light entering the room. Small, green fingers press against her cheeks with a soft coo, head tilting just enough so his head level with his mother. “Good morning bear..” Fingers stretching out to pull the child closer only to press a soft kiss to the talons of his fingers as she addresses him. “Hi little one, how long have you been up?”

Din doesn’t have to look at the child to know what he wants as he sighs, lips pressing into her neck to savior one more minute of her skin, her smell.

“Get ready, we will go get breakfast and go for a walk. I have something to show you." 

***

After breakfast, making sure his girl and son are fed, he asks one of the others of the clan to watch the child, which is gladly accepted. It hurts, she’s glad for the little guy, how easily the clan wants him but can’t help but feel a little jealous, especially the looks they get as her and Din walk hand and hand into the forest. 

During the little walk Din tells her stories of wondering in this exact forest, always getting in trouble for wondering too far, climbing trees that are too high, he’s always had that spark, the need to adventure, it’s no surprise why he left his home for so long.

The temple isn’t that big, small compared to the one she managed to squeeze into and interrupt the meeting between Din and the Elders yesterday but it’s older. The thickness and greenery of the forest had started to take it over, long vines and trees form into it, small peaks of gold and tan clay peek through, if it wasn’t for the sun hitting the peak of beskar at the point of the roof it would be impossible to even know it’s there. 

Curious eyes peer back as she faces the helmet, through her own reflection she can see the way the sun beats down on her, eyes crystals as Din laces his fingers with her own guiding her towards the entrance with a, “Come, my love.”

The hall is dark, there’s no source of light until orange finger tips press into the side of his helmet where a small flash of light is orbited into the hall. There’s a few doors, old and withering but Din pulls her through one giant open arch and once entering the room she’s greeted with colorful bindings of books, covers made from bright oranges to dull browns, bookcases built into the clay walls surround her. 

There’s a large book in particular, all alone on a podium that stands alone in the center of the room, it’s made from old leather, pages torn and weathered but the same symbol on the front cover is the necklace that is wrapped around Grogu’s neck from a piece of strand, the one Din has given him so long ago. 

"This is my legacy.” Din’s fingers press against the small of her back, guiding slowly towards the old book. Orange fingertips run the binding, helmet looking back at her for confirmation. She nods unsurely as he flips it open, there’s scribbles, symbols in which she doesn’t understand but there’s pages and pages until he stops. There’s two words at the tops of the page, fingers trace the hydrographics as she catches the sigh under the vocoder. “I was not born a Mandalorian but the people who took me in, my father watched out for the clan before me. This is his name.”

There’s a line, different from all the others bold in the color red, the first of it’s kind as he traces it to the other word. “This is my name. Much like you, I was an outsider. I wasn’t part of the clan until I swore the creed.”

“You want me to swear the creed?”

“No mesh'la.” It’s amazing how clam and collective his is, never faltering from what he’s trying to explain just trying to get her to understand, feel what he’s trying to say. “The red line broke the first rule in the history of this clan, no outsider even a foundling is able to be Mand'lor but here I am.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you are so worried about my name but being my wife will not shame me.” Din continues before any other words could be said, “You believe that you will make the clan dislike me but I have been shamed by whole life. My father made sure of that when he named me to suppress him as next Mand'lor. He broke the rule of only a child being born into a clan to be leader. He chose me.”

“Din you are a real  -.”

“Shhhh. Let me finish.” A soft hand soothes the top of her head, words dying in her throat as he plays with the tips of her hair, smooth and untamed from just being thrown back into a messy updo. “My father is much like me. Him and my mom could not have children, they tried and tried. For pure respect for my mother he wouldn’t accept his breeder so he named me his son, it was against all rules, made me next in line.”

The red line almost represents how different he is, the target he still has on his back even though it was so many cycles ago. “You will not shame me, they already don’t accept me. They do not want me as their leader but not even the elders can take my title away only by a challenge but I don’t see that happening.”

He pauses, pressing closer until the helmet kisses the smooth skin of her cheek. “What I am trying to say is you don’t need to worry about my name, it’s already wrong to them, I will never be what they want.” His touch is soft, gentle as flat palms rub softly against shoulders, rubbing gently against her biceps, squeezing gently. “If it ever comes to it Grogu will be named by heir, I will not accept any breeder.”

The feeling in his own chest was heavy, crushing memories of teasing and unwanted stares as a child, he can still see some now as he walks through the small village, he was never meant to be here, he’s an outsider no matter how much he wants to believe less. “We are the same, except I am not more accepted because I am Mandalorian, while you are -”

“Not.” She finishes biting her lip with such intensity that the skin breaks, a small spot of blood appear but gloves press against her cheek, angling her face to meet his gaze, or which she guesses is his gaze. 

“You will be if you marry me, they will have to accept you. It’s the creed.” Guilty eyes drops from his own, watching the way his chest moves under all the beskar, slow, nervous breaths but he understands. “You don’t need to answer me, I told you to think about it but just know, nothing in this world can come between us. No elders and especially no breeder, there’s no one else I want. For you I would do anything and if they means breaking all the rules and having my clan disapprove of me more I do not care.” Smooth fingers rub across cheek bones, a tickle of a smile against his features.

“You can’t see but I’m smiling. Just being here with you is enough for me.” 

There’s a ghost of a one that makes her cheeks blush at his close proximity. “I bet it’s beautiful bear.”

There’s something sweet about the words, almost tooth rotting as his chest fills will molten lava, fingers sieving to take in the hit of them. Never had he heard such sweetness, such softness when it came to himself, it’s intoxicating, making him dizzy with want, eyes drop down to her lips, covering her eyes and reaching behind him to throw the helmet to the ground, not caring where it falls to press smooth lips against her own. 

The air barely touched his face before he is tugging her forward, hand that once covered her eyes tangle her hair as their lips meet with a rush, feverish and filled with intensity. The force of his lips on hers, tongue meeting hers with such intensity it’s bruising but the only way he can pour his heart out. Hearts beating fast inside both of their chests, her own hands find the ringlets of his hair, tugging to deepen the kiss as fist tighten on his own end. Din tilts his head slightly, the bridge of his nose pressing against her nose bumping his own lips into her top one, tongue sliding against them with a deep moan but he stops - doesn’t pull away just enjoys the feeling of hers against his own.

At first she’s confused, breathless moving away but keeping her eyes closed but the heavy throbbing against her hip gives it away. Maker, he’s embarrassed, cheeks hot as he presses his own forehead against hers with a sigh. “I’m sorry -.”

“What are you sorry for?” She offers him a comforting smile, pressing a kiss against his cheek, it’s sweet. “There’s no reason.”

“So sweet.” The way she smiles against his skin, feeling his own dimples against her cheek as arms wrap tightly around the Mandalorian only to feel him squeeze back. “My sweet girl.”

***

By the time they get back darkness is starting to fall over the horizon, the large fire and a few torches light the way to home. Din has left a little over an hour ago, which is usually normal except for the fact that he said he’ll be right back with Grogu but still isn’t here.

She debates leaving, mostly because the glances and snarls that would follow her especially not be escorted by Din, but she’s worried. What if something happened to Din? Or worse Grogu?

Once again she was wondering down the lit up path, no one seemed to be around, a few children pause from their playing and smile at her but other then that she enters the dinning hall, it’s filled. The first thing she manages to do is smell the beautiful aroma of food that makes her stomach growl, not realizing how hungry she is but that comes to an end when the whole room drops silent.

All eyes are on her, forks dropping with a clank as hateful eyes glare intensely. In the corner of her eyes she sees the Mandalorian stand, no one can see his face but the way the ‘T’ of his visor stares is dangerous, testing, the growl the rumbles his chest is a warning, anyone who had a scene would deal with him. That was enough promise to have the room eating again, no longer silent as chatter fills the mess hall again.

A hand is placed against the small of her back, cheek of his helmet kisses her own with a whisper. “What are you doing here, love?”

The words sting, eyes shift over his own with a grimace as she pulls away from his touch. “Why? Is this only for the clan?”

A way to separate her more, keep the clan happy by isolating her from any form any outing. It makes sense, the Mandalorian wouldn’t have his people constantly at his throat, suddenly his words from before no longer mattered, they made her stomach twist, eyes water as the Din shakes his head. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. hey, hey..” Fingers pull her close into his chest, fingers grip her chin, force her to peer into his eyes. “We have a visitor from another clan is all. He can be a real asshole, I just didn’t want you around him. 

“Why because I’ll shame you even more?”

“Stop.” It’s firm, sends shivers down her skin at how he stiffens, looking around the room not wanting to make too much of a scene. “Come sit and eat.. I was just about to bring you dinner.”

It’s hard not to be obedient, he’s intimating, towers over her and she just knows the scowl under his helmet. Before anymore attention can be drawn to the pair he’s walking towards the table, leaving her standing there with no chose to take the seat next to him. 

“Who is this?” She barely had a chance to register the two additions to the table, the one is a woman with long blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that sits almost on top of the man, she wears nothing but a thin, sheer dress that when she moves her arms the outline of her nipples can be seen but no one seems too interested, almost as if it was normal. There’s a blue Mandalorian next to her, large beads lay against his chest, they also match Din’s necklaces but are made from beskar and gold. His armor is quiet similar, but it’s a dark, royal blue with lines of gold in the creases of it, his helmet his decorated with dark, black lines of clay, there’s no symbols just senseless finger paint. 

Din looks up to meet his gaze, there’s a warning in his silence but the other Mandalorian doesn’t seem to care, only tilts his head with a look she can only guess is mischief. “You know Din, It’s very uncommon to take a mistress before having a wife.”

“I’m not a mistress.” The words are hissed through her teeth, jaw flexing as she clenches them. The blue Mandalorian laughs, it’s crackles darkly and makes her stomach turn. 

“Firey, I love it. I wonder if what you have under that tunic is as beautiful as you are, Mesh’la.” The same words that sound so good on the tongue of Din sound so sickly and dark on the strangers. Fist ball against her lap, the feeling of Din’s hands against her back are there to calm her, stopping her from speaking anymore so naturally, he does instead. 

“Leave her alone.” Din wishes to say more but just dismisses the man, at the very moment he could not risk a war between the clans, especially after being gone for so long. What good leader would bring war and destruction on only their first few weeks back? Besides it was only a few weeks before the Winter Solaces and despite how much he wanted to wrap his hands around Viven’s neck, he couldn’t risk returning from the summer lands with his own homeland in ruins.  

Din was going to let it go, leave his girl to eat but the words Viven says next makes his blood boil, “You can have mine, If i can have yours.”

His mouth falls open under the helmet, anger burns his veins and continues to warming is body as it spreads like water until he’s abruptly standing but Viven is not easily scared, he matches his stance, leaning over to  push Din’s fingers away as they come down as a warning against his chest as he speaks. “You are in my land, insulting my woman -.”

Din’s hand twitches next to the blaster strapped to his hip as Viven leans closer. “You don’t scare me Din, you’re not even a real Mandalorian.”

The way Din shakes is scary, trembling as his breaths holds inside his chest before long, quick breaths move the beskar as he moves to with no doubt pounce at the man but the small hands takes his own distract him as warm fingers twine through the gaps of his own quickly pulling him towards the exit without a word.

She manages to pull them into a room down the hall, hands pressing against his chest in hopes that the change of scenery will help but his hands snatch her wrist, a rough almost inaudible growl catches the static of the vocoder. “The way he talked about you like you were some piece of meat, I’m going to kill him.”

“Shhh.” She sooths, fingers pressing against that junction of where the helmet and his shirt almost meet, leaving that small piece of skin that just radiates heat, curling the hairs with her pointer finger. His chest is stuttering under her touch but he’s too angry to notice, it’s sits in his stomach every breath that expands his chest burns with fury. 

“No, I’m going to go out there and teach him how to respect a woman.” He’s trembling, intensely staring at her as she reaches over to curl her fingers under the chest plate but he’s ready to break away, fist forming to charge out that door and snap his neck but as her hands drop lower his breath stops. His chest doesn’t dare move as her own hands shake but for a whole another reason. She’s nervous, scared of whatever the Mandalorian might do and this time it would be her fault, she would be the reason and the clan would blame him, hate him more than they already do. Fingers slip low and lower until they squeeze the outline of his erection.

He didn’t even notice over the anger and frustration that had filled his entire being but none the less she earns a lustful moan. His fingers catch her wrist, rougher then he tends too but he can think, with anger rushing his body and her hand wrapping around his throbbing hardness. It’s too much, other hand finds her hip digging small crescent shaped marks into the skin through her shirt. “W-What are you doi -.”

“Shhh, let me take care of you. Can I?” It was risky, nothing she would ever do but the only way she could possibly think to distract him. He’s tense, not moving a muscle as the small hands leave his erection instead fall under his shirt as fingers run along the line of his trousers, feeling the coolness of the jean’s button before pressing down and pulling it from the buttonhole. Her hand slips down, past the elastic of his underwear to hold his heavy cock in her hand, he hisses instantly at the contact, eyes never leaving hers as a thumb moves up to spread the beading pre-cum to lubricate her hand as gives him a test stoke in which he lets out a loud groan.

“Please.” It’s a whimper, barely audible but just enough to show how bad he needs this. Almost instantly her hands tighten, moving at a pace that makes his head spin.

His heart is pounding inside his chest, it’s heard in his ears unable to make out any other words. Heat fills the helmet, a thick fog made from his own pants makes it hard to breath, it’s exciting, exhilarating as he can still hear the chatting and clanking of forks that’s just separated by a wall. 

“Maker, pretty girl.” It’s whimpered against her hair slow, and breathlessly through the static of his helmet as it falls to rest his forehead against the top of her hair as her hand sets an unforgiving pace. 

Small pants bounce of the walls, his hips move to meet up to her own trembling hands. He let’s out a whine of disappointment as she pulls away but his eyes widening as she brings her hand close to her mouth, spitting on her palm. “Fuck…”

He’s so lost in the moment, the way her wet palm wraps around his pulsing cock as sweat begins to bead across his forehead, heat growing deep inside his stomach as he trembles under the feeling of her hand tighten around the base of his cock. Eyes squeezing in pleasure as the familiar pit inside his stomach begins to build as she strokes in time to meet up with his thrusts.

He’s falling deeper and deeper into her spell, thoughts filled with her.

It’s all her, how good her hand feels milking him for all he can offer, how beautiful she looks like this, eyes never leaving his own as the words fall from swollen lips. “Are you going to cum for me Din?”

It’s pure heaven, the way her thumb rubs his head ever so often. Just the right amount of pressure that it stings so good, burns his thighs as her fingertips dig into them. 

“Yes, Maker, yes sweetheart.” He chokes, body stiffening as he feels his balls tighten, body stutter as she pushing his pants lower past his knees as she kneels. The sounds that bounce off the wall are sinful, dirty and wet as a familiar ball of heat fills his stomach as she drops onto her knees.

She offers her face, mouth opening slightly in concentration as her hand squeezes his head one more time but he can’t help but think it’s for him as his thighs quiver and with one last trust into her hand as white, thick strands of cum paint her face pretty.

The Mandalorian in panting above her, fingers that found her hair are now rubbing softly, curling around the hair in a comforting but lazily way. He feels slightly dizzy, a post orgasm haze blurs his eyes, makes his knees ache but none the less he tucks himself back into his pants before sitting in front of her. He pulls at his cape, pressing gently against her skin to wipe at his mess, a soft laughing falling from his lips. 

“To think I thought you brought me in here to calm me down.” There’s that sweet smile that makes his heart jump but the way her eyebrows furrow with playful eyes is new. 

“That’s what I was doing.”

“Sneaky girl.” The words are whispered affectionally into her neck as he finishes and throws the cape somewhere across the room. There’s a  small tisk that falls from his lips makes her laugh. Fingers roam the bottom of the helm, seeking a kiss from those soft lips but the loud commotion outside makes him stiffen, raising to his feet as the yelling continue. His hand takes her own, this time he is the one dragging her through the threshold of the dinning hall.  Viven stands over the crowd as if he wants to speak but that’s not what pisses Din off, it’s how  dangerously close to his throne, almost acting like it doesn’t exist. 

“This man can’t lead you!” Viven’s words are loud, powerful from his chest as he catches their attention. The dinning hall is quiet now, a celebration now ruined with sourness. “He will betray the way of the Mandalore, he will shame us all, he has no wife, offers no future for you. He holds a foundling that will never survive, it is too weak. He has failed to bring it back to it’s people.”

Din stiffens at the words, hateful as they spray across the room. His son will survive, he is stronger than anyone here, no one chooses to see it. The mention of Grogu as his first balling on his lap as murmurs break the threshold of silence, heavy boots echo across the hall until they take one step onto the platform, standing to tower the man as the orange tips of his gloves poke at the blue Mandalorian’s armor. “Leave my son’s name out of your mouth, mind your words.”

"Or what? You already shame your clan by not having a wife… Do you plan on stringing this poor girl on forever?” The words make her cheeks flush in anger but realization hits Din almost instantly - the man had made it clear he wanted her but only because he thought it was all for fun, nothing but a sense or pleasure. Viven thought Din had no intention of marrying the girl because it was unheard of, a clan leader must marry another of similar rank, not a nobody who was not a mandalorian none the less. Then again Din wasn’t supposed to have the power he holds, the rules aren’t meant to be broken but also are not set in stone. Even though it wasn’t seen, Din’s stare was intense and boring a hole into the front of Viven’s visor, heart thumping against his chest with frustration, anger that Viven ever thought he would just give her away, trade her like she was  some kind of property.

“That’s not true.” The words leave her mouth before she realizes what she is saying, she’s so frustrated with the whole situation and watching how Din’s shoulders fell with Viven’s last words was the last straw. “We are getting married.”

The way everyone’s glares towards her at the words made her nervous but nothing compared to the way her heart jumped inside her chest as Din’s helmet snaps in her direction. Din felt his cheeks warm, suddenly the man challenging his authority didn’t matter. He’s thankful for the helmet at this very moment as it hides the pink patches of blush on his chest and cheeks. He tries to open his mouth and speak but the twitch of his lips stops him, she looks beautiful right now. 

Frustration clear on her red face, eyebrows furrow with agitation but she bites her bottom lip at his gaze feeling heat over her own skin as she chews it nervously. For a moment they are the only two people the exist, a little lost, unsure but no matter how much they try and fight it they would never be the same without each other. “I’ve accepted his marriage proposal.”

With those five words the room breaks out in chaos but Din can’t seem to care, his eyes can’t leave the sight of his future riduur.

Viven’s dark eyes run over the sight of Din, a loud growl coming from his chest. “I warned your father about you becoming leader, you do nothing but shame our name. You’re not even a real Mandalorian!”

Din’s body physically stiffens, hot, pulsing anger setting his skin ablaze. It’s not anything new, hearing it his whole life how he will never match up to the expectations of them but none the less he was still named leader.

Viven yells words in a different dialect but the reaction of the crowd is filled with yells of support, cheering in a sickening way that makes her stomach twist. Din’s eyes shift from hers to the blue Mandalorian, his words are also foreign but the crowd let’s out a victory cry, it’s sick of easily his own clan turns on him. 

Din Djarin has accepted the challenge to the death for his rightful place as Mand'lor and she has absolutely no idea as Din reaches behind his back to retrieve the spear of beskar as he lets out a warriors cry. 

Tags: @xxyoshiplushxx, @altarsw​, @dinsbeskar​​, @engie115, @owloveyounever​, @peterpangirl21, @couldntbedamned​, @poguesvixen​, @mudhornchronicles​, @mcueveryday​, @softly-sad​, @heythere-mel​, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​, @the-last-twin-of-krypton​, @nikkixostan​, @coonflix​, @victias​ (if you want to be tagged, tag list is up by summary)

[katelyn--renee]

Composure

Title: Composure

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader/(Y/N) Winchester (mentioned), Harper Winchester (OC, mentioned), Daniel Winchester (OC, mentioned), Crowley (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Words: ±2670

Description: Dean and (Y/N) take their shot at a normal life and settle down. Over the years, they have a few kids. Things are good. Until they’re not. What will Dean do when his past comes back to put an end to his happily ever after?

Written For: @deanwanddamons ​ 2K Celebration! Congratulations babe! That’s awesome! My prompt will be in bold -  “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Warnings: ANGST! Descriptions of blood. Mentions of breaking and entering. Kidnaping. Show level violence/outbursts of anger. 

Author’s Note: This is in correlation with another fic of mine, Sweet Cherry Pie. It takes place about twelve to thirteen years after that one, to give you a brief timeline. There will be other fics with that original storyline, so stay tuned.

Thank you so much to @wonder-cole​ for being my beta for this wonderful piece and helping me with the title. You’re awesome and much appreciated! She has some amazing work of her own, so please do yourself a favor and check it out! Check out @talesmaniac89​ for more awesome page dividers!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any photos or gifs, all rights go to original creators/owners.

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

The rain was heavy tonight, thick and angry as it poured from the dark clouds above. The fat raindrops were noisy against the single paned windows. The water coated the glass surface and made it impossible to see through, even as the flashes of lightning lit up the night sky and cast long shadows through the living room of 35 Maplewood Road. There was a heaviness surrounding the house, as if something wicked had been there.

The home was dark and empty, and the furniture was overturned and broken in places; the sofa was thrown over backwards, the cushions laying discarded across the floor with the end table toppled over beside it. The lamp that had occupied its surface was shattered to pieces on the wooden floor, and the rug had been stained with something dark and red. 

The coffee table was shoved out of place, the glass surface no longer there in one piece and the mirror that hung in the hallway had a spider web like crack across the surface, hanging now only by one screw. In the very center of the crack, something crimson and shiny caught the lighting from outside, almost as if someone’s skull had been smashed there.

The familiar idling of Baby’s engine grew louder as Dean pulled in the driveway of his home, the brakes squealing as he came to a stop and put the Chevy into park. A feeling of dread began to knot into his stomach, making the muscles of his jaw flex as he tried to bite back the feeling. Something was wrong; all those years of hunting and honing his instincts told him that much. Not a single light was on inside of the home and yet, (Y/N)’s car was parked out front. Not good.

Dean fished his phone from his jacket and swiftly unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb across the glass, dialing the number he knew so well. Pressing the receiver to his ear, he waited while the call rang out once... twice… “Come on, (Y/N/N).” He muttered under his breath as the fifth tone sounded. Her voice greeted his ear, but it was artificial; the recording of her voicemail, Hi, you’ve reached (Y/N)... 

“Damn it.” He cursed between gritted teeth and ended the call. He tried again, pressing redial. “Come on, baby, answer your damn phone!” He shut his eyes when he got the same results as before, cursing to himself as he shoved the device back into his pocket.

Never taking his eyes off the front of the house, he leaned over for the glove box and swiftly unlatched the compartment door, just as he’d done a million times before. Green eyes continued to scan for any signs of movement, even through the thick wall of rain that coated the windshield, despite the efforts of the wiper blades. 

Reaching a steady hand inside, he pulled out a pocket sized flashlight and his beloved stainless steel Colt, the engraving on the barrel catching the lightning as it bolted across the sky. Expertly, he removed the clip with a press of his thumb and double checked the bullets inside before sliding it back into the place, securing it with another click. It’d been years since he’d held the weapon, but the pearl coated handle felt just as natural as breathing against his palm.

Leaving the Impala’s engine running, Dean climbed out from behind the wheel and shut the door, the hinges creaking with age. Clicking on the flashlight, he approached the home with long, yet cautious strides, his booted feet silent in his approach, even through the heavy rain. 

His mind was racing with every terrible possibility, his guilt threatening to eat him alive as images of his family, in the worst possible outcome, flashed before his eyes. It made his blood run cold. His heart was pounding rapidly with fear, pushing the adrenaline through his veins and forcing him to move forward rather than let the panic overwhelm him.

He tried to peer inside the living room through the set of windows lining the front of the house, but it did little to ease his uncertainty; if anything, it only made it worse, only able to make out long shadows and dark shapes. His clothes were completely soaked through, hugging his large frame by the time he’d reached the front porch, the coolness of the rain chilling him to the bone. Droplets of water dripped down his face and the tip of his nose, and his hair clung against his forehead.

Approaching the large red door, his scowl only deepened, darkening his features when he discovered that it had been left unlatched, allowing in a single beam of light with each flash from the storm overhead. He glared at the lock and then narrowed his eyes as something caught his attention, the muscles there twitching. Stretching a hand out, he examined the wooden surface, his fingertips grazing over the chipped paint and splintered wood. Someone had broken in.

Taking only a moment to compose himself, Dean exhaled slowly and swallowed back his apprehension, forcing himself to go on. Using the weight of his body, he nudged the door open cautiously and poked his head inside. The experienced hunter kept his gun aimed high and at the ready, his finger hovering over the trigger. Wrist over wrist, Dean held the flashlight steady with the opposite hand, the beam unmoving, providing him with some light through the darkness.

All of those years of training were put to the test as he stepped through the threshold of his home, his expression as hard as stone and giving away absolutely nothing, despite the fear that was boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes darted around the room, following the beam of his flashlight, taking in every detail of his surroundings just as he’d been taught all those years ago.

Following the layout of the house, Dean came to the living room first, stepping over the broken furniture and discarded decorations. The sight of his home in this state made him uneasy and that much harder to keep his cool, able to sense the panic starting to creep in. Where was (Y/N)? Where were the kids? Who had done this to his family? Was it revenge?

Another flash of lightning caused something slick and shiny to catch his eye, and Dean let out a shaky breath. Hesitating for only a moment, he crossed the room and crouched down next to the sofa to investigate, the troubling sight seized his heart. There was a substantial amount of blood there, a large pool of crimson that had soaked into the fibers of the rug. 

Near the top of the stain, a gold chain necklace was lost within the mess and a thin layer of another substance was scattered around it. It was almost yellow in color and had a very distinct, very specific scent that accompanied it. Touching the surface of the floor next to the stain, Dean felt something grainy under his finger tips. Lifting it to his nose, the smell of sulfur invaded his senses. Demons.

“Fuck,” He cursed, the boom of the thunder shaking his house as it lit up his face simultaneously. Still crouched, he plucked the necklace out of the sticky crimson mess and glared at the amulet with a heavy gaze, his hand shaking. He shut his eyes and closed his fingers into a fist, the knuckles turning white around the piece of jewelry. It belonged to (Y/N). It had been a gift, a charm to ward off evil and prevent possession.

This was all his fault. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better and yet, he ignored it, because he had a chance to finally be happy. To have an actual family and live the normal, apple pie life he’d always wanted. And now the ones he loved were missing and more than likely dead. Or probably close to it.

His chin quivered for a moment and hot tears stung at the corners of his eyes, his emotions getting the better of him. How could he let this happen? How could he be so stupid and reckless? He knew better, damn it! Once a hunter, always a hunter. There is no getting out of the life, not entirely, because those evil sons-of-bitches will always be out there. 

One way or another, they always find a way to catch back up to any hunter who has tried, and every single time it ends bloody and messy and violent. He needed to find them, he just had to. And he would save them, no matter what it cost. He’d pay it.

Releasing a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and willed the tears away, shoving the emotions back down into the pit of his soul. Despite his efforts, a solitary tear made it’s escape, dripping down his left cheek and onto the color of his shirt before he could stop it.

Dean rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, prepared to continue his search. Sliding the necklace into his jacket pocket with care, he followed the trail into the hall with a heavy heart. 

Glass cracked and snapped under his boots as he walked through the space, his jaw flexing when he saw the picture of his family shattered on the floor. Their happy faces only added to his grieving heart and guilty conscious, their smiles making his soul ache.

That had been a good day, nearly five years ago now; (Y/N) had worn his favorite blue dress that day, the strapless one that stopped right above her knees and showed off her sexy legs. 

She had on that silly - but achingly cute - oversized tan hat that kept the sun from her eyes. He would always tease her about that goofy hat, but she never cared what others thought of her, never ceasing to be herself, no matter what.

They’d gone to the park that day, had an actual picnic and he’d played catch with his son while the girls giggled and painted their nails...  They even taught the twins how to ride their bikes that day. They couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

Harper had caught on much quicker than her brother, of course, taking after her mother in that way. Those girls were naturals at almost everything they did, only needing to try something a few times before perfecting it. That had been something he’d adored and admired about his wife and it was a huge part of what made her such a skilled hunter when they met.

Daniel, on the other hand, had to take the time to understand how something worked first. He needed to study the mechanics of things, take them apart, rebuild and understand it completely, inside and out, before he was able to master it. Danny often reminded Dean of the Winchester side of the family. That had been a good day, one of many they’d shared together.

Brought out of his memories by another angry boom from outside, Dean pressed on. Where the picture had once hung, there was a bloody handprint smeared on the white wall, the two colors contrasting greatly. 

The blood streaked out toward the kitchen, giving the hunter a clear path to follow. Damn it. Dean grit his teeth. It felt as if something had his heart in a vice, squeezing it tighter and making it increasingly difficult to breathe the further he went.

His emotions were threatening to break through the surface again, fighting hard against his resolve, but he held his ground against them, purely focused on finding his loved ones. Now was not the time to break down. Following the trail of blood and debris, he checked each room along the way, trying to be as thorough as possible. He couldn’t afford to miss a damn thing. 

Their bedrooms were empty, and unsurprisingly, every inch had been torn apart. Dean’s chest heaved with emotion, his breath hitching in his throat; if anything happened to those kids, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Continuing on, the hunter emerged into the next room, and found much of the same; broken furniture, shattered pictures and even more blood. But not a single sign of his family. The sliding glass door had been left open, allowing the rain from the storm to collect onto the tile floor. 

Dean shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, his chest aching with every forceful beat of his heart. He needed to call Sammy, needed to form a plan. When he opened his eyes, something on the countertop caught his eye; a sheet of paper. Cocking his head with curiosity, he crossed the room in three long, determined strides.

It was a note, addressed to him.

It’s been too long, darling. How’s Moose? Hope the wife and kids are well...oh, wait, that’s right, you’re as clueless as ever. No surprise there. Before we get to the fun bits, let’s talk business; I need a favor and you and your giant of a brother are going to help me. Now, to ensure that things go as planned, I have something of yours. I assure you, they are safe. For now. Do as I ask, and they will be returned to you, alive. So, Dean, dear, let’s make a deal, shall we? You know where to meet me.

Squirrel,

Yours truly, 

The King of Hell

“Crowley.” Dean growled deep in his chest, his teeth clenched as his blood began to boil over with rage. “Goddamn it!” He shouted, swiping the contents of the counter onto the floor. “Fuck!” He kicked something across the room, too angry to pay much attention to it as it slammed into the stainless steel refrigerator. He swung at the closest surface, his fist connecting with a nearby wall.

The drywall collapsed around his fist as the plaster fell to the floor at his feet. His knuckles were screaming at him, but he didn’t care, too fueled by his rage to notice. What could Crowley possibly need their help with? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, they would get it done and save his family. Crowley would get what’s coming to him; Dean would make damn sure of that.

Taking a few calming breaths, Dean removed his phone with a bloodied hand and opened his contacts, scrolling through the names until he found what he was searching for. Sammy. Dialing the number, Dean held the phone to his ear with baited breath. After the third ring, Sam’s voice came in through the other end, sounding concerned because of the late hour, “Dean? Everything alright?”

Dean shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. He cleared his throat, trying to prevent it from shaking too much. “No, Sammy. It ain’t alright.” He admitted, gripping the counter with his free hand, bracing himself. He wanted to crumble onto the floor, his body trembling; his mind flooded with so many different emotions, each of them trying to overpower the other: fear, guilt, anger, heartache…

“Dean, what is it?” The younger Winchester questioned, the worry evident in his voice. “Is it (Y/N)? The kids? Is everyone okay?” He waited patiently on the other end, but Dean could hear him moving around; he assumed his brother was getting his things ready to head out.

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke as a few tears slipped through the cracks, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” He shook his head, allowing himself a moment to break, his chest heaving. “We were out!” He slammed his fist down onto the counter, terrified and angry.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam pleaded, wanting desperately to help his big brother. 

“Crowley.” Dean clarified, going into more detail as he composed himself and straightened his stance, “Crowley’s taken them.” He took a calming breath, his moment of weakness over. “I need your help, Sammy.”

“Already on my way.”

Annnnnnd there you have it. I hope that wasn’t too rough on the heart? No worries, there may or may not be a part two in the works? We shall see. ;) 

Anyway, if you enjoyed that, please like and comment and if you’re feeling a little extra generous, share it with your friends, too! You’re feedback is like GOLD! As always, thanks for reading! 

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​ // @flamencodiva​ // @perpetualabsurdity​

[anchoviesinthenightsky]

Here’s something that came to mind from seeing tangled the series that lives in my head rent free I don’t know what to do with:

Following a year after the movie, Luca comes home for early spring holidays. Alberto’s mood is oddly kinda down in a way him and Massimo hadn’t seen before. Luca and Massimo worry what could be troubling him, as Massimo reveals that he’s been down for a few weeks now since spring really kinda started. Massimo decides to take the boys fishing, thinking it would cheer him up to keep him busy, as Alberto had said he doesn’t know why he’s sad, it just happens every spring and it’ll pass, like seasonal depression. Though while out near the good fishing spot Alberto and Luca had shown early, they couldn’t get Alberto to focus much as he just focused on the island he use to reside from, like a trance.

Is it abandonment issues? Yes. Feel free with whatever ending or style, I know it’s not really Luca x Alberto but I am not good with romance plots I’m so sorry 😞 hope you enjoy it anyway

AN: What a GREAT prompt. I had so much fun writing this. I'm not sure if you meant this, but I took this to imply that Alberto's dad left in the spring. And I was thinking about why that memory would be triggered for a full season, and I landed on the idea that something in the environment (like a particular scent) that Alberto associated with his dad leaving, could make an entire season difficult. So I was playing around with that idea!

______: *✧･ﾟ:*___ >><(((・> ______ >><(((・> ____ _: *✧･ﾟ:*__

Spring was in the air, sweet and verdant, and flower petals floated through the air as Luca stepped off the train and into the Portorosso train station. School was on break for a week for the Easter holidays, and Luca had opted to spend the time back home, while Giulia stayed with her mom.

Luca heaved his travel bag off the train steps and looked around the platform. He saw Alberto and Massimo standing in the corner of the station. Alberto was looking off into the distance, not focused on what or who was in front of him. Massimo was lightly patting him on the shoulder and pointing to Luca.

“Beto!” Luca shouted, trying to get his attention.

Alberto shook his head, like he was clearing his brain of fog, and then locked eyes with Luca. “Luca!”

Alberto’s arms were strong and warm as Luca crashed into them. Luca wrapped his own arms around Alberto and squeezed. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Alberto whispered, hugging Luca tight.

And Luca noticed that something felt off about his friend. Maybe it was in the way he seemed to cling onto Luca for the hug, but barely touched him once they let go.

Maybe it was that there was a hollowness in his voice and a distance in his eyes. Like he was here physically, but not mentally, when he told Luca that he could stay in Massimo’s house, if he wanted. And that he’d already asked Luca’s parents if that was okay, and they said it was.

Luca picked up his bag and followed Alberto and Massimo out of the station. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about his friend.

[continued below the cut]

___

“Aren’t the flowers beautiful?” Luca asked. He and Alberto were walking under a trellis lined with wisteria and roses. The flowers wept through the openings, trailing down to brush the tops of their heads as they passed. Luca picked one of the wisteria buds and tucked it behind Alberto’s ear. “They’re almost the same color as your scales.”

Alberto pressed his lips together and took the flower from behind his ear. He looked at it for a moment before turning to Luca and putting it behind his hear. “Maybe you should wear it then, so we’ll match.”

“Oh, well,” Luca touched the flower. The delicate petals mixing with his curls. “We could both wear flowers.”

Luca reached up to grab another one, and Alberto stopped him from reaching the wisteria blossoms.

“Please don’t,” Alberto’s voice caught in his throat. He cleared it with a cough. “I don’t really like how they smell.”

“Oh.” Luca said, retracting his hand. “I didn’t know.”

“’’Sokay,” Alberto shrugged. “I’d never told you.”

___

The rocks beneath Luca’s feet clicked together as he followed Massimo away from the boat. He watched Alberto check the fishing nets. From a distance, he looked sure of his actions, like they’d become second nature to him.

“Luca,” Massimo said, putting a hand on Luca’s shoulder. “Have you noticed that Alberto hasn’t been himself?”

“Yeah,” Luca responded slowly. “It’s like he’s not totally here.”

“Yes, exactly.” Massimo said. “He’s been like that for weeks.”

“For weeks?”

Massimo nodded. “Do you know anything that might cause him to be like that?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe it’s seasonal? He was never like this in the summer.”

“Could be.” Massimo said.

‘Do you think it’s something else?”

“I do not know what to think, ragazzo.” Massimo took his hand off Luca’s shoulder. “I just want him to feel better.”

____

Water sloshed around the sides of the Giulietta, as the boat came to a stop at a particularly good fishing spot. Massimo lowered the net into the water and waited for Alberto to drop anchor. When he didn’t Massimo said, “Luca would you mind dropping the anchor.”

“Of course.” Luca stood up, his leg brushing against Alberto’s, and dropped the anchor gently over the side. He imagined it sinking down and the plume of sand that’d follow as it hit the ground.

He sat back down next to Alberto, who was looking toward the island they’d meet. The island looked different in the spring. It was more colorful than Luca remembered. Flowers dotted the island, and on the side of the island opposite the tower, there was a wisteria tree. It was close enough to the water, then some of the branches floated on the surface, rolling with the gentle waves that came to shore.

Alberto’s eyes were unfocused, and Luca nudged him with his shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

Alberto blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut, before looking down at the water. “Nothing.”

“It didn’t seem like nothing,” Luca said quietly. He placed a hand on Alberto’s knee. “You know you can share things with me, right?”

“I know,” Alberto’s eyes flicked up to Massimo and then back down to the water. “Everything is fine.”

Massimo shifted in his seat, like he was about to speak, but Luca held up a hand to stop him. “What do you say about going on a swim, Alberto?”

“We’re in the middle of fishing.”

“It’s a good idea,” Massimo said. “I can handle the fish.”

“Come on Beto,” Luca tugged on his hand. “The water’s nice.”

“Luca, it’s May. The water’s cold.”

“For humans maybe,” he teased. “Come on.”

Luca slipped into the water, feeling scales shimmer over his body. He splashed his face to finish the change. “It’s really nice Alberto.”

“I don’t know.” Alberto leaned over the edge of the boat to look at Luca.

Luca flicked some water at his face, purple dots appearing where he hit.

“Hey!” Alberto rubbed the scaled away. “What was that for?”

“I just thought it’d be funny.” Luca said, unsure.

“Well, it wasn’t funny, and I don’t want to swim.”

Luca watched as Massimo looked between Alberto and the island. “Alberto,” he said. “You can go swim. I won’t go anywhere. I promise. I’ll be right here when you’re ready to go back home.”

Alberto’s shoulders dropped. His lips pinched together, and he nodded slowly. “You promise?”

“Of course.” Massimo replied.

“Thank you, papa.” Alberto said. He slipped out of the boat and dipped his head under the water, before popping back up to face Luca. “Where to?”

Luca grabbed his hand and pulled him down.

___

They didn’t go so far down that they lost sight of Massimo’s boat, but they were deep enough that the sky distorted under the water and the currents would carry their bodies if they left them.

Luca flipped on his back and put his hands behind his head, letting the water roll over him. Alberto stayed curled up, his tail curling around a leg.

“So, what’s really going on?” Luca asked.

“Nothing, I told you.” Alberto glanced behind him at the island. Luca could see branches of wisteria floating on the water.

“Beto,” Luca flipped over and put a hand on Alberto’s arm, “you’re a terrible liar.”

“I am not.”

“You are, and that’s okay.” Luca smiled a little. “But you’ve been acting out of it, and it seems like something is wrong. You can talk to me. I’m here for you.”

Alberto pressed his lips together and looked off to the side of Luca’s face, as if he couldn’t look him in the eye. “You know my dad?”

“Massimo?”

“No, the other one.”

“Oh.” Luca squeezed Alberto’s shoulder, hoping the touch was reassuring. “What about him.”

“He left in the spring.”

Luca nodded, afraid saying anything would stop Alberto in his tracks.

“It was,” Alberto turned and pointed to the floating petals on the water. “there.”

“Under the wisteria?” Luca asked. Heart dropping as he recalled trying to give Alberto a flower from that same plant.

“Yeah.” Alberto dropped his head. “We were sitting there, under the flowers. It was a nice day, where the weather was finally starting to get warm again. He told me that he was leaving, and that I could watch after myself.”

Alberto’s eyes watered. “And then he left. And I sat under those flowers until the sun went down. I slept under that tree the first night too, and I thought— I thought if I didn’t leave then maybe he’d come back.”

“I’m so sorry Alberto.”

“Me too.” Luca pulled Alberto in for a hug, “You should tell Massimo. He’s been worried about you.”

Alberto shook his head, hiding it in Luca’s neck. He mumbled, “What if I tell him and he thinks my dad was right and leaves me too.”

“No.”

“What?” Alberto lifted his head a little.

“Massimo isn’t like that. You know that.” Luca put a hand on Alberto’s cheek. “You’ve got a Bruno in your head.”

Alberto gave a wet laugh. “Yeah, maybe I do.”

“I know you do.”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: so this chapter doesn't exactly have a hay bale maze but it has something even better :)

***

Being a legal consultant is surprisingly easy.

Years of studying business law in order to take down big corporations in the courtroom is now being used to help a big corporation— Nesta wants to be disgusted at the state of her morals. Fortunately for her, all the issues that have come across her desk so far are minor negotiation matters. The way Night Court Inc. is run is virtually perfect, and she almost hopes a blatant lawsuit drops into her lap just so she can give Rhysand and his sycophantic workers hell.

Though Nesta knows better than to dream big. This is essentially busy work that Night Court’s actual lawyers don't have time to do, but she's grateful for it either way. She's grateful for the man who got her this job even more.

When her car finally gets back from the auto shop one sunny November morning, Cassian suggests they go out to celebrate.

“Celebrate what?” Nesta says. “Not having to rely on you for rides anymore?”

“Exactly that.” Cassian grins and leans his elbow against the kitchen counter. “There’s a fall festival an hour north of here that pops up every year. There's good food and hot cider. Let’s go.” He nudges her excitedly.

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. “You’ve been planning this,” she accuses.

“I go every year,” he shrugs. “Come on, we have the whole day ahead of us.”

He makes pleading puppy eyes that have absolutely no effect on Nesta, but she doesn't want to hurt his ego by letting him know that.

There is nothing appealing to her about going out into the cold and doing autumn-related activities, so she surprises herself and Cassian both when she agrees to go. He rewards her with a wide smile and tells her to get ready.

Nesta feels oddly giddy afterward. She can't recognize the feeling, so she tamps down on it while she gets dressed and braids her hair.

Outside, her burgeoning smile drops when she sees Cassian getting the truck started. “I thought the point of this was that we could use my car now.” She gestures to her beat up blue sedan, a sad little thing parked next to Cassian’s fancy truck.

“Nes, if I thought your car could go anywhere near a mountain road without falling to pieces, I would get in it without hesitation.”

It's as close to apologetic sympathy as she’ll get from him, so she only grumbles a little before climbing into the passenger seat she's gotten all too familiar with.

The door slams as Cassian gets in the driver’s seat, and something on the dashboard catches Nesta’s attention. Reaching out, she picks up one of her coloring books and her zipper bag full of markers and pencils.

She glances at Cassian. “Is this for me?”

He looks up from where he’s buckling his seatbelt. “Oh, I just picked it up on my way out. Cell signal gets spotty the closer we get to the mountains, so you might get bored.”

Nesta looks down at the coloring book she's clutching, surprised.

“Did you want anything else before we leave?” Cassian says. “I can run inside and pick up some books.”

“No— no, this is good,” she says softly. She flips the page open to a fresh landscape scene, black on white lines staring back at her. “Thank you.”

She unzips her pencil bag with a new reverence, barely noticing as they pull out of the driveway and head for the highway leading out of town.

Nesta is intent on her coloring the entire ride, falling far too easily into that little bubble of her own mind where she forgets that other things and people exist. Cassian, unlike most people, doesn't seem to mind this. He's content with driving in the quiet, the only sound the soft crackle of the radio and the scratch of Nesta’s pencils.

She’s trying to get the blue shades of the lake just right when she feels the truck start to slow, and she looks up to see that they're in some kind of parking lot. Ahead, a market-carnival setup sits at the base of the mountains, and it sprawls as far as her eyes can see. “We’re here already?”

“Yeah.” Cassian glances at her hesitantly. “Is it lame?” He gestures to the autumn-themed affair, as if he’ll turn around and drive them right back home if it isn't to Nesta’s liking.

Nesta can’t pay the festival any attention yet. “I’m not done with this picture yet,” she says simply. She holds it up for Cassian to see, even though he probably can't tell that the mostly-completed picture is still missing a couple of details.

He just says, “We’ll wait till you're finished, then.”

She brightens with relief, and takes her time adjusting the colors of the landscape to her liking. As soon as she's satisfied with what she has, though, she throws her pencils and book down like they're on fire and grabs her coat. “Let's go,” she demands.

If Cassian is surprised at her sudden change of pace, he hides it well and follows Nesta onto the fairground. “Slow down,” he calls for her.

Perhaps the fall season isn't terrible, Nesta thinks as they buy warm candied apples. The air smells nice and the weather is brisk and Cassian stands so close to her that she never quite gets cold.

It feels almost like a date.

Nesta glances at Cassian from the corner of her eye as she chews on her apple. Wind ruffles his hair and his brown cheeks are flushed red, but he looks content. It's too bad they're just friends, because this would have been a nice date.

She has to stop her train of thought before she gets distracted by how Cassian’s hand isn't holding anything, and how her hand isn't holding anything, and maybe their hands should—

She makes a fist with her free hand and shoves it into her coat pocket. This is why she doesn't usually have friends, she remembers— because she can never stop hungering for more.

Nesta and Cassian’s not-date is spent with Cassian throwing his money at every other thing he sees on sale, and Nesta biting her tongue at the unnecessary waste of it all.

“Eight dollars for a cup of cider? Come on, you're being scammed.” Nesta pulls at his elbow, trying to lead him away from the drinks stand.

“But it comes in one of those cute little jars,” Cassian protests as he’s pulled away.

There’s a laughably small hay-bale maze that they complete in less than three minutes, thanks to Cassian being tall enough to see over the hay bales. Then there’s a ferris wheel that Nesta adamantly refuses to get onto, regardless of how high it goes or not. And then, without either of them noticing, the sun starts slipping behind the mountains.

With her arms full of bags of snacks and random knickknacks that she’ll never need in her life, Nesta finds herself back in the market area.

There’s a painting at an art stand that has caught her attention. Something about the brush strokes and choice of color palette… it reminds her of Feyre’s art style. Amateur, but warm and comforting, clearly made with love and dedication. She approaches the elder salesman carefully, only wanting a closer look at the piece.

It’s of a glittering forest in the peak of autumn, ruby and flame-colored leaves littering the scene. An unwalked pathway cuts through the scene, and a longing Nesta can’t place swells in her stomach.

“My daughter painted this one,” the salesman says to her, pride peeking through his voice. She glances up at the kind-faced man. “Only this one?” she asks. The rest of the paintings don’t have the same art style, Feyre’s style.

“Yes.” He places a protective hand over the canvas. “She’s still learning, but she’s got heart and potential. One day she’ll be a better artist than me.”

Nesta blinks at his words. “How much is it?”

“How much do you have?”

She looks down at her hands full of shopping bags and realizes not one of them is carrying her wallet. “Oh, I must have left my money with my—” She glances up then and looks around. “Cassian?”

He was just here with her. They were walking together and she took note of the pretty fairy lights that were starting to turn on, and then she saw the art stand. She scans the milling crowd for a glimpse of his face, but it’s five p.m. and fully dark now.

Unease starts to pump in her chest. “Cassian?” she calls again. She wanders away from the art stand, painting and salesman forgotten. Maneuvering her full hands, she wrangles her phone out of her back pocket and turns it on. Just as she suspected— no signal. Waving it high in the air doesn’t do much for her either.

Shoving her phone back in her pocket, Nesta takes a strained breath and resolves to keep looking. If she can’t find him, she can always make her way back to the parking lot—

Something shoves hard into Nesta’s back, and her glasses slip right off her nose in the collision. She feels a metallic crunch under her boot and gasps. Suddenly there are people everywhere, heading in the opposite direction that she is, and whoever bumped into her yells a quick apology that gets lost in the crush of bodies.

Nesta stumbles out of the crowd, blinking quickly. She can’t see a thing, and the fairy lights are now blurry orbs. “My glasses—” she says to nobody. She scans the flattened grass and dirt furiously, squinting until she gets a headache, but she can’t find them. “Shit.”

She ends up roaming out of the market area, finding herself back on the fairgrounds. There are a few tents around her, but they're empty and the noise has died down. She doesn’t know where she’s going.

At one point, Nesta simply drops her bags and keeps walking without them. She barely notices leaving them behind. The magic has drained out of the festival, and she just wants to find her way back to Cassian’s truck. If the ferris wheel is that way, then the exit should be that way… she thinks.

She looks around in the dark, frustrated tears rising at her inability to recognize anything. She's alone. She’s cold. She was abandoned.

Nesta doesn't know how long she stands there, hopeless in some deserted corner of the fairgrounds. She forgets what she's supposed to be doing, and just stands there staring at nothing. Escaping to a numbing void in her mind.

The desperate call of her name brings her back to earth.

Blinking, Nesta turns around to find a tall figure heading towards her. Cassian.

He’s holding something in his hand, she can tell, but he drops it when he sees her face and breaks into a run.

“Nesta!” Hard warmth crashes into her as strong arms grab her and yank her close. Her face presses into his chest, and hot tears fall despite the lingering numbness.

“Where did you go?” Cassian is demanding. “You had me so fucking scared—”

“I lost my glasses,” she says weakly into the wool of his coat.

“I know.” He goes from stroking her back to clutching her face. His thumbs rub at the wetness beneath her eyes, and finally she can see his face. He’s close enough that she can read every detail, their foreheads pressed tightly together. He isn't letting go.

She presses her lips together. “I lost you.”

“I know.”

In the next moment, Nesta feels everything all at once: Cassian’s heavy breath on her face, his fingers digging into her scalp, his hazel eyes looking relieved and apologetic and terrified at the same time. His heartbeat racing beneath her hands.

For the briefest eternity, Nesta and Cassian share the same mind. They are thinking the exact same thing.

There’s a moment of painful hesitation, where Nesta has the opportunity to pull away. She doesn't take it, and by then it's too late— Cassian’s mouth is on hers.

Oh. Oh.

Nesta buckles a little under the weight of his kiss, but he holds her upright with his grip. His fingers wind so tightly into her braid she worries he might undo the whole thing, but then she's tucking her cold hands into the warmth of his sweater and wow, what a wonderful end to a terrible night.

His lips break from hers for a breath, only to come in again and kiss her deeper this time. A helpless noise escapes from one or both of them. She’s unraveling with every stroke of his tongue, and she thinks distantly that if kisses were flavored, this one would be sweet enough to make her teeth ache.

It's over far too soon, with Cassian’s series of kisses slowing until they stop completely. He pulls back far enough that they both have room to breathe, and with oxygen comes sharp reality.

For once, Nesta has no words. Her thought process is a tape jammed on a few moments ago, so Cassian is the one that has to slowly drop his hands from her hair and clear his throat.

“Let's go home,” is all he says.

***

The drive back to the cabin is silent. Nesta puts her earbuds in and turns on music as soon as they get in the truck, and halfway home Cassian glances over and realizes she's fallen asleep.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and it's a struggle to keep his eyes on the headlight-lit road ahead.

Losing track of Nesta with no way to contact her was one thing, but nothing scared Cassian more than when his eyes caught the metallic glint of broken gold rims in the trampled dirt of the marketplace.

After running from stall to stall searching for Nesta, only one man was able to give Cassian a straight answer. “She was looking at some art and then she went that way,” the old salesman pointed. “She seemed upset; I think she was looking for you.”

The pieces of Nesta's glasses sit in a bag in the backseat now, tucked alongside a canvas painting of an autumn landscape.

The relief Cassian felt when he found her in one piece, when she turned to him with the saddest eyes— he was more cemented in his feelings for her in that moment than in any late night he’d spent dreaming about her.

And when she looked at him like that, fighting not to cry… it was over for him. Weeks of restraint that he hadn't even noticed building up snapped at the last second, until he was kissing Nesta like it was his final dying wish. All of it, utterly over.

He glances over to her now, where she sleeps with her head against the fogged window, exhausted after the day she's had. His hands twitch with the temptation to reach out and touch her.

Gravel crunches as Cassian pulls up into the driveway, and he looks at Nesta again and sighs. He almost goes to wake her, but changes his mind at the last moment and gets out of the car instead. Circling around to the passenger side, he opens the door and carefully lifts her out of her seat.

Her head lolls against his chest, but she doesn't wake. Stress and high emotions have no doubt knocked her out for the rest of the night.

Realizing there's no way to unlock the front door while holding Nesta, Cassian has to circle around to the back of the cabin, entering through the open kitchen door and carrying her on silent feet up the stairs.

Once she's safely tucked in her bed, Cassian can relax his shoulders for the first time all night. Later, he sits down in the half-lit kitchen with Nesta’s broken glasses before him. The frame is split right down the middle, but he already knows Nesta won't allow him to get her a new pair. He’ll need wire and some pliers.

Tying his hair back, he settles down and gets to work.

***

a/n: i'm trying to apologize less for my work but this chapter is not only short and late but also super iffy in terms of writing quality 🥴 so im sorry. if my secret snowflake gift has anything to do with it part 8 will also be a little late (i'm looking for balance guys i really am).

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 16/?)

Chapter 16: Sufficiently Healed

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

It was late when you returned to the apartment; however, you were too on edge to possibly be tired just yet. While you had replaced his thirium pump regulator, there was still some damage that needed to be addressed.

Connor had reluctantly let you patch his skin before taking Robert into the police station; however, a wound like that undoubtedly caused some internal damage that he decided not to disclose with you.

"Connor, please read me your diagnostic report," you asked him insistently.

He seemed conflicted for a second. "I told you I'm alright," he replied softly.

You eyed him suspiciously, intending to continue on about how you didn't believe him. However, surprisingly, Connor caved quickly.

"Minor membrane damage inside central chassis," he uttered lowly, like a scolded child.

"I won't look if you don't want me to," you offered gently.

"It's not that," he replied immediately, not wanting you to think he was untrusting of your abilities. It was quite the opposite, actually. "You did this all day. You deserve a break."

"But, you're Connor," you replied softly.

You touched his shoulders and gently nudged him, a gesture encouraging him to step back.

"I-uhm..." he uttered, following along with your gentle pushes until the back of his knees hit the couch. He sat down and you kept nudging at him until he lifted his legs, scooted back, and laid down across the couch, head falling onto the armrest.

"I never need a break from you," you added on as he finally got the hint and arranged himself across the couch comfortably.

You retreated briefly to rummage through your bag, seeking out a tool kit specifically for this. As you did, Connor shook his jacket and button-up shirt off, laying them across the back of the couch.

When you turned around and was met with bare, cream colored skin, you had to resist the urge to stare like an idiot. You had seen his nudity before; but, the assortment of freckles running down his torso never ceased to amaze you.

It didn't help that he had a muscular appearance to his chassis. Then, of course, there was that damn pube trail starting beneath his belly button and disappearing into his pants.

Connor really was unfairly attractive.

Brushing those thoughts aside, you set the toolkit down nearby and straddled Connor's thighs. It was intimate and you definitely did not do it like this with your other patients; but, it was easier to access his chassis this way, considering he was on a couch and not an operating table and you didn't have a chair that would set you at the right height.

Connor didn't seem perturbed by you mounting him, not that this was anything new. He looked up at you with nothing but trust reflecting in his brown eyes.

The android relaxed against the cushions and opened the skin layering on the front of his chassis. The shell of his unit parted down the middle from his sternum to his belly button. There were multiple pieces that made up either side of his chassis; but, for ease of access, they parted in two. The material was flexible, yet firm.

Connor seemed to be taking a second to relax, judging by the way he was clenching his jaw. Undoubtedly, this wasn't a pleasant feeling. His system was likely warning him that he was exposing sensitive components that were susceptible to damage.

You admired the design beneath his skin in silence. The membrane fibers that acted like muscle layers were laid out intricately over his abdomen, almost like the perfect drawing in a human anatomy textbook. His internal network layout was far more advanced than anything you had ever seen before. He had more fibrous connectors than the average android, more individual, artificial muscles.

"Oh, Connor," you hummed, not finding the strength to reach inside and touch him yet.

Connor looked up at you, brown eyes reflecting something quite innocent.

"I-I don't think I can..." you trailed off, intimidated by the sight of his insides.

Like all androids, wiring connected to the various internal parts and membranes, allowing for precise movements and artificial muscle controls. Thirium was flowing through the artificial muscles, painting them a magnificent blue hue that was glowing in an otherworldly light.

Connor had more connectors than the average android. His layout was more precise and detailed than any other android you had ever worked on before.

Up until this point, you had only worked on androids designed for yard work, child care, and the likes. Before Connor, you had never heard of an RK series. He was the only android you had come across designed for something... violent. Considering his purpose, it wasn't particularly surprising that his design was more advanced.

"You're just so... I've never seen this much detail before. The intricacy here is amazing, really. We should get a professional," you suggested.

"What?" he uttered lowly, like you had just said the most ridiculous thing. Your eyes shifted from his exposed membrane to his eyes. He looked... offended.

"-someone who knows what they're doing," you explained.

Connor's hands reached for you, cupping either of your elbows. He leaned up a little. "You know what you're doing," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

He was a little mad, you realized. You were prepared to rebuttal that, but Connor, catching that look in your eyes, continued, "I've seen the kind of damages you've repaired, and the way you handle androids. No one is better suited to take care of me."

The fierce look in his eyes made it clear this wasn't a discussion. He released your arms and slid back flat onto the couch. You gawked at him for a moment: intimidated, awestruck by his confidence in you.

"O-okay," you uttered weakly.

You reached for your tools before shimmying your body down so you could practically lay on him, and started working.

Membrane repairs were usually simple; however, in Connor's case, partially because his design was so unique, and partially because you were terrified of making a mistake, you took your sweet time. Connor didn't seem to mind. When you glanced up to check on him, his eyes were closed and his LED was a pleasant, blue hue.

Was he... enjoying this? You couldn't tell. But, his face looked peaceful.

Connor was beautiful, intricate blue muscles pulsating with thirium, the tissue firm and soft at the same time, strong and resilient. It was no wonder that he was so fast, so agile. He was designed to be an apex predator.

You lost track of time before you eventually sat upright and admired your work. Muscle tissues had been returned to their proper position, wrapped protective around his thirium regulator, wires carefully tucked back into their proper placements.

"Will you run a new diagnostic?" you asked him gently.

Connor nodded, his eyes still closed. "All readings are normal," he replied softly, sounding almost tired. You couldn't resist smiling at the sight. He looked so relaxed.

"Good," you hummed, carefully shimmying off his lap and rising to your feet. You set your tools down and groaned, rotating around to stretch your legs.

"Oof," you huffed as you stretched, trying to relax your aching back. Behind you, Connor closed his chassis carefully, until the seams relaxed and became unnoticeable.

He sat up to watch you, amused. "I'm not surprised to find your legs are sore. You were working for almost an hour."

"What!?" you shrieked. It definitely didn't feel like you had been going at it that long. You had been so worried about doing something wrong, about damaging him more than he already was.

"Are you sure I did alright?" you asked, sincere, turning around to face him.

Connor patted his abdomen, right where his thirium regulator rested beneath the surface. "The alignment feels more stable and... comfortable," he said with a confident smile. "I am sufficiently repaired."

You laughed softly. "But, are you sufficiently healed?"

His head tilted a little, brow quirking slightly. Androids were repaired, humans were healed; but, he doubted you meant it in that context.

You approached him and dropped down to your knees, pushing him back slightly. You ducked your head down and kissed the spot right above his belly button, where you had just repaired his membrane fibers.

You were smiling when you came back up and Connor looked intrigued.

"There. All better," you hummed innocently.

The android tilted his head slightly, briefly searching the internet to determine why you would do such an odd thing. After briefly viewing a couple answers, Connor felt strangely bashful and squirmed nervously where he was seated.

"'m gonna take a shower," you stated as you rose back to your feet.

Connor looked up at you with a silent question, his eyes warm and inviting and his lips curved into a faint smile.

"Would you like to join me?" you asked softly.

"Yes," he blurted without hesitation.

Together, you trotted over to the bathroom. You undressed as Connor prepared the shower, testing the temperature until he had it at the degree of warmth he thought you would like.

You were already nude and startled him when you reached around his waist from behind and started fiddling with his belt. You didn't touch his pants, but slid the leather through his belt loops and spun around to place it on the rack where he organized his collection.

Connor watched you curiously as he unceremoniously peeled his shoes and socks off before removing his pants and underwear. You ducked into the tiles and warm water before he could finish.

He was fast to come in behind you, startling a squeal out of you with how cold he was compared to the warm water. You caught the look of his proud smirk over your shoulder, before you shrugged him off your back, trying not to be too flustered by the proud erection he was sporting.

After you were sufficiently soaked, you rotated around carefully so that he could take his turn standing beneath the running water. It was almost hypnotizing, watching the droplets fall across his skin.

When androids activated their human skin, it felt undistinguishable from the real thing; however, there was no denying that water reacted a little differently to it. Perhaps, because their skin was so ungodly smooth, water just danced across the surface.

His hair, sopping wet, flopped over his forehead before he brushed it back with his hand. That unruly strand that touched his forehead and gave some deviance to his otherwise prim and proper cut was finally behaving, clung to the rest of his wet strands.

When Connor stepped out of the pouring water, you were quick to ask, "can I do it?" while reaching for the shampoo he used. As you brought the bottle in closer, you realized it was made specifically for android's synthetic hair fibers. Connor didn't respond verbally, but looked down at you eagerly.

You squeezed a small dollop into your palm, surprised to find it was more foamy than typical shampoo. As you lathered it between your hands, the cool, clean scent floated around the shower.

Connor tilted his head down as you reached for him. You weaved your fingers through his locks, impressed, as always, by how soft they were. You massaged your fingers into his scalp in a manner you hoped he would find enjoyable, down the back of his head to work the soap into the shorter hairs, careful not to catch on his ears. He must have enjoyed it, considering the way he sagged against you.

"Connor," you laughed softly.

You reached past him to rinse your hands off. The android tilted his head back to chase your hands and the water hit his head and sent the suds spewing down his back. His eyes were shut and he seemed relaxed. You let your hands return to his head to aid in rinsing the soap from his locks.

For a moment, you were mindful of not getting any in his eyes, until you remembered that his optics could handle a vast majority of cleaning agents and this would likely not cause any irritation. Still, you doubted he would want soap splashed in his face.

When his hair felt sufficiently rinsed out, Connor took hold of your waist and carefully pulled you around so that you traded places and was beneath the water again.

"You were getting cold," he observed, looking down at you sweetly. Water was clinging to his eyelashes and heavy droplets dripped from his sopping wet hair; however, he didn't seem to mind, or notice.

You smiled at him, feeling the warm water splash down your back. He looked in awe, staring at you, hair clinging to your skin, water droplets decorating your body. He tried not to stare at your nudity, doubting you would want that after what transpired today.

Wanting to return the favor, Connor reached for your shampoo. You couldn't help but giggle at the questioning glance he tossed you before pouring some into his palm. You fluttered your eyes shut when he reached for you.

He was gentler than you had been, careful to not get any on your face, mindful of how rough he was with his fingers. You felt him lean in closer, even though it wasn't required to reach you seeing that he had long arms and flexible digits.

After a minute or so, you leaned back to rinse it off and gently shrugged his hands away.

"I wanted to ask you," you began, voice distant over the sound of the running shower.

"When you asked me to stay here for my safety, was that a ploy to get me to move in?" you teased, eyes opening halfway through and watching Connor's gaze shift from curious to a deer in headlights.

"I wouldn't trick you like that," he protested softly.

You laughed quietly and his concerned expression relaxed.

"It's just," you continued. "I've been here a lot, and that's not fair to you. I'm pretty much squatting."

"It doesn't bother me," Connor retorted.

"I use more water than you. I use your heater. I'm running the stove more than you ever would," you carried on. "I should be paying rent."

"I don't require many human essentials," Connor said robotically. "My cost of living is significantly lower than yours. I don't require you to help pay my bills."

"But, they aren't just your bills if I'm here all the time," you retorted.

You rang out your hair and swapped places with the android again. You huffed out a laugh when he snatched the conditioner bottle out of your hand and, quite literally, took matters into his own hands.

"Please, Connor. I don't want to be a freeloader," you protested, eyes fluttering shut as he worked the conditioner through your hair with careful fingers.

"I don't see you that way," he uttered sincerely. You moaned softly when his palms smoothed over your skull and his fingers carefully worked the conditioner through your hair.

"I see me that way," you retorted grumpily.

"I don't mind paying for-"

"Well, I do," you interrupted him, a little harsher than intended.

He carefully removed his fingers from your hair and you opened your eyes to look at him intensely, hoping he realized this was important to your independence.

"I-... don't believe you make enough money to afford two places," Connor stated analytically, rinsing his hands in the flowing water. "So, it would only be logical for you to choose one over the other."

He handled surrendering rather well, you realized fondly.

"I like your place better. If you want me here?" you asked softly.

Connor was quick to answer before any doubt could blossom. "I do."

After you rinsed out your hair, Connor's bodywash followed: this time, something clearly designed for humans. Android's plastic skin didn't typically require a need for this sort of thing; but, you were pleased to see he had ignored this and treated himself. The bodywash had a masculine scent with a faint mint aroma that seemed oddly appropriate for his polished demeanor.

There was a perfectly good scrub brush right there; but, you ignored it, opting for your hands instead.

"Do you care if I smell like your body wash?" you asked as your hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his chest and over his stomach.

"I don't mind," Connor replied.

Your arms encircled his waist and you pulled him into an embrace, wet bodies smacking together. Connor seemed surprised, or perhaps unsettled by the sudden closeness, judging by the look he made. Your hands continued to spread the soap along his back, shamelessly enjoying the feel of his back muscles tensing beneath your touch.

"Sorry, is this bad?" you uttered, trying to make sense of his expression.

"No. I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he answered, struggling to keep his eyes focused on yours when he could feel your breasts smooshed against his chest, the soft expansion of your tummy and the heat radiating off your thighs.

It was obvious he was referring to the erection that he had been struggling to subdue ever since you undressed in front of him. Now, with the closeness, it was pinned between your bodies, smooshed against your inner thigh.

Connor looked embarrassed. "Sorry, I usually can control that better."

You shook your head rapidly. "I don't want you to control it," you whispered sharply.

The android tightened his lips, seemingly spurred on by your encouraging words.

"Does it bother you?" you asked, sincere, a little worried that he might have been uncomfortable.

"Is it not... demeaning?" the android asked softly.

"Why would it be demeaning?" you asked, tilting your head a little.

"It seems inappropriate after what happened today, and you didn't express a sexual interest to warrant this response," Connor explained, again in that very android-like way.

You huffed a little at him. "It's not like you tried to force yourself on me," you proclaimed, a little scold to your tone. "Should I be upset with you for being attracted to me?"

Connor's lips curved into a smile that was a little innocent despite the context of the discussion at hand.

"That is accurate, but-" the android began. "I-... Feel a little possessive at the moment."

Curiosity, excitement maybe, danced behind your eyes.

"You could have died today," you commented lowly. "Is that what has you on edge?"

"It is... a possibility," he drawled.

You were silent for a moment, rubbing soap all over him, not caring that a lot of it ended up all over you, too.

"...you were in danger," Connor confessed quietly, voice weak through the sound of the rushing water hitting the tiles. You couldn't help but feel enamored by those words. He was pent up and frustrated at the fear that he could have lost you today.

"For a second, I thought you were going to kill him," you stated softly, not sounding disgusted or angry, but perhaps worried.

"I thought so, too," Connor admitted, oddly not feeling scrutinized in your gaze. If anything, you seemed proud of him.

Connor wasn't quite sure if that was how he felt: proud. Part of him knew that he had to do what was best for androids and humans, so that they could create a better world together. He wanted to participate in Markus' vision; yet, when it came to you, he found himself second guessing those desires.

He would do whatever he had to do to keep you safe.

To accomplish his mission-

"Do you want to get out?" you asked softly, trying to rotate him around so he could wash off the soap. However, lost in his thoughts, Connor was standing there, stiff and unmovable. Eventually, he complied, traded places with you once more, and let the water wash the soap away.

Instead of answering your question, Connor was more concerned that perhaps you wanted to leave. "Is the steam making you dizzy?" he asked, concerned.

You shook your head with a smile. "No. It's just-... You seem-..." you trailed off, deciding against telling him what was on your mind, that he had kept his hands to himself despite admitting that he was pent up.

Captivated by him, you felt feral, longing for him to have you in the most intimate way humans were capable of. Connor was a sophisticated android, beautiful and strong, graceful and elegant. You felt as graceful as a flopping fish on dry land compared to him.

Of course, the android didn't see you that way. If he could sleep, if he could dream, you would be the woman that came to him in the dead of night.

You stepped out of the shower to retrieve a towel. Connor followed you to the shower exit, careless that he was dripping wet all over his bathroom tiles. Before you could get the towel wrapped around yourself, he gently cupped your arm and tugged you back in.

Your eyes, bright and confused, looked up at him, noticed the desperate look he was making, and dropped the towel on the floor. As soon as he had you back inside, he looked like he regretted that decision.

"I'm sorry-" he stammered.

"Connor, please-" you uttered, sounding suddenly like you were in so much agony. "-no more whiplash. Ok? Tell me what's on your mind."

"I want you," he confessed lowly, staring down at you with a desperately hungry look in his eyes.

His hands slid over your ribs, fingers curling over the outline of the bones with deep fascination. He unconsciously pinned you against the tiles, not too far from beneath the shower head, where water could sputter across your body. The android arched over you, patience waning.

Yes, please-

"Show me that you're alive, Connor," you breathed against his lips.

Finally - finally, he kissed you. You moaned shamelessly, arms weaving around his shoulders to drag him in closer. The android practically smooshed you against the tiles with his own body, trying to mold himself against you. His kisses were desperate, hungry, but somehow still managed to be soft.

He wasted little time before propping your leg on his waist and dipping his fingers into the heat between your thighs. Water was definitely not a suitable lubricant, and he wasn't too stupid to not be able to tell them apart. When he was met with your folds, the slippery substance couldn't be mistaken for anything but your natural slick.

He hadn't done anything and you were already dripping. He had been torturing himself with guilt while you had been as aroused as he was. The thought eased his troubled mind just a little.

The android trailed your nub for a brief second before pushing his longest digit into your cavern. You moaned against his mouth shamelessly. He gave you a second to breathe before shoving his tongue into your mouth. For a second, your eyes fluttered open and caught the sight of his closed eyes, tense eyebrows, and vibrant, crimson halo on his temple.

His tongue explored your mouth selfishly while he fingered you eagerly. His flexibility was a strong reminder he wasn't human, and you loved it. He thrust his digit aggressively, knuckles brushing against your folds, while his thumb pressed down on your bud, shifting with the movement of his digits.

Connor carefully maneuvered another finger inside and devoured the hiss that escaped your mouth. The stretch was brief, more so by the sudden intrusion than the extra girth. He was being a little more aggressive than necessary; but, you shamelessly loved every second of it.

When you started to pant desperately, he finally let go of your lips and trailed soft bites down your neck. You could hardly focus properly, pinned against the wall to ensure you wouldn't fall, overwhelmed by the delicious friction he was delivering to your cunt.

The android bent down and took a rosy nipple into his mouth, sucking on the bud in slow, but firm, successions that you would be able to feel strongly. You most certainly did, and arched your back, moaning and whimpering helplessly. Your hands gripped his shoulders for dear life.

You were shaking violently, feeling an orgasm approaching, but not quite there. It felt far away until Connor released your poor, abused nipple and leaned up, groaning a staticky moan into your throat when his erection brushed your thigh.

You weren't sure if it was his moan, the way he humped you slightly for just a second, or the fact that you wanted him inside you so fucking badly. Suddenly, you were coming, so hard that you screamed and startled yourself with how loud it sounded in the shower.

Connor was unwavering until you had rode out the wave and regained enough composure to reach down and wrap your fingers around his cock. He faltered and nearly collapsed on top of you at the sudden touch.

You stroked him a few times before letting go and pushing at him until he got off of you. He complied with the most adorable, disagreeing pout on his face. You almost wanted to smack him for daring to think you didn't want more - all of him, every fucking inch.

The shower had a small platform sticking out opposite from the entrance, clearly designed to be sat on like a bench. You stepped towards it and propped up one of your legs, knee on the tile, braced your palms across from you, and bent over, propping up on your toes on the one foot that was on the ground.

The android groaned approvingly and immediately covered your body with his. One of his arms came into view, sliding along the tiles on the wall in front of you. You were confused briefly until you felt him nudge you forward and your cheek came into contact with his skin instead of the cold tiles.

The water from above was pouring across his back and sending water spattering over you obnoxiously, not that you could find the willpower to care.

You heard the familiar sound of him spreading lubricant down his shaft and tried to arch up your behind as invitingly as you could, whimpering like a pathetic animal.

He didn't brace his hand on your hip, but reached around and cupped your cunt. His chest collided softly with your back and forced you to arch just a little more, until the angle was perfect and his tip hooked on your entrance. You were more than ready; yet, still, his size managed to force a whimper out of you.

He sheathed himself inside you and groaned low and staticky, beautiful mechanical noises. He was most of the way inside, thrusting shallowly a few times to let you adjust. You turned your head and bit at the skin on his forearm. That seemed to spur him on and Connor shifted his hips and filled you to the brim.

You moaned through your teeth, still latched onto his skin, enough of an encouraging sound for him to start moving properly. Wet, fleshy noises of skin slapping together echoed around the shower. Connor's fingers toyed with your pearl as he fucked you, displaying a sort of inhuman flexibility as he bent over you.

"Ohhh, Connor," you moaned against his skin before lapping your tongue against the spot you just tug your teeth into. It blossomed pale white briefly before fading back to his artificial, human skin tone. One of your hands was clinging awkwardly to his bicep while the other gripped the wrist that was curled between your thighs.

His hand against the tile was splayed, fingers bent and nails digging into the tile. Your pressed your cheek into his skin and huffed out a pathetic breath every time he slid back inside.

"-so beautiful," Connor breathed against the skin at the base of your spine. You whimpered when you felt the unique texture of his tongue as it lapped against the top vertebrae.

You wanted to arch into his touch, to tilt your head and expose more skin, so that his mouth could reach every part of you possible in this position. However, you were already struggling to keep yourself upright and didn't want to dare ruin this: the perfect drag of his cock at the angle that made you see stars.

You felt the android's forehead fall into the back of your neck and the heat of his exhaust against your skin as he let himself get lost in the moment. It was burning hot; everywhere he touched you was burning hot. His skin against your back and the tops of his thighs where they touched the backs of yours felt ungodly warm.

It occurred to you, then, that this was likely an unsafe combination: the heat from the water, the steam wafting about the shower, and his internal biocomponents heating as a response to external stimuli.

"W-wait, Connor," you urged, pushing back against him. His pace staggered, but he didn't immediately let you go. "Stop," you added on insistently, until he finally slipped out of you and backed up.

Hastily, you stood up and stepped over to the faucet, turned the water off and looked up at him with concern, cupping his cheeks.

"Are you overheating?" you asked, trying to make sense of the look in his eyes.

He seemed a little distant, not looking at you quite properly.

"Connor?" you insisted, a little louder than necessary.

He blinked as if startled by your voice.

"I-... a little," he admitted quietly.

"Oh, geez," you huffed. "Did you disable those warnings?" you scolded him lightly, taking him by the arm to guide him out of the shower. You ignored the chill when you stepped out and grabbed a towel to start drying him off.

"No," he lied as you plopped the towel on the top of his head and gently patted his hair. Before you could run it down his shoulders, he gently pushed your hands away and removed the towel from himself and wrapped it around you. You looked up at him with a harmless glare.

"I'll reenable them," he promised, looking at you fondly as he bundled you up.

"You better," you scolded him.

"I just-... didn't want my hardware limitations getting in the way," he commented lowly.

"Pssh," you hissed, delivering a gentle smack against his chest. "That's not a hardware limitation. Humans pass out from heat, too," you stated.

You retrieved another towel and flung it at the android. "It's called being alive," you added on. He caught the towel, but didn't seem particularly interested in drying himself off. You didn't miss the way he was staring at you, pleading eyes and lips parted slightly.

"Cool down a bit first," you teased, nudging at his hands until he got the message and started drying himself off.

You let the towel unravel from your body so you could dry the back of your neck and pat it gently through your hair. You heard a soft whoosh when Connor unceremoniously dropped his towel. As soon as you let go of your hair, he descended upon you.

You gasped when he backed you up against the sink, the cool marble pressing against your behind.

"I’m not going anywhere," you laughed, hands coming up beneath his arms, smoothing over the plains of his back.

Connor blinked away the hungry look in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm being too insistent," he apologized politely.

His cock, pinned between your bodies, was hard and throbbing. He seemed eager to continue, undoubtedly pent up and desperate for release. Your state wasn't much better, sticky and warm between your thighs, and not nearly satisfied.

"You're lucky I don't have work tomorrow," you surrendered with a sigh, though you had a warm and inviting smile on your face.

The grin on his face was charming and handsome, but hid something mischievous when he guided you to the bed. "You asked me if I was sufficiently healed," he started as he gently pushed you back onto the sheets, not the least bit concerned that you were still fairly wet. "I don't think I am."

You huffed out a laugh at his matter-of-fact tone. Your arms weaved over his shoulders when he arched over you. He intended to take your lips; however, you avoided his mouth and peppered kisses over his freckled face.

Your legs found their way around his hips. He nudged forward, teasingly brushing his length against your folds. Your head fell back into the sheets and you sighed at the sensation. He took that opportunity to steal the kisses you had denied him a second ago.

Somehow, you just knew, it was going to be a long night.

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

Beyond Our Dreams | Remus Lupin x Reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: None

Time/Era: Marauders Era, Aged 19

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Remus Lupin finally gets to meet his American soulmate, Y/N, after seeing eachother every night in their dreamscape. 

Request: can you do a remus lupin x gender neutral reader soulmate au where they see each other in their dreams

A/N: I adore Remus so much. He’s such a special character to me. So, thank you for the request! Enjoy! I also attached my Remus Lupin playlist, which is full of songs that remind me of this perfect boi :) Check it out if you want! 

masterlist | my remus lupin playlist | read on ao3

The apartment they chose to meet at was always the same; it was a small room with a comfy, forest green couch, a cozy bed, a small kitchenette, and a door that led to a bathroom. It was rather plain as well, with dark red walls and a plush carpet below their feet. On one of the walls, there was a large window that overlooked a calm city. The normal hustle and bustle of city life was extinguished by a heavy downpour. 

While most people made their dreamscapes extravagant and complicated, as it is their mind after all, Remus and Y/N found comfort in the simplicity. The pair just needed a comfortable spot to talk and get to know eachother. 

“And then Lily just sort of dropped the bomb,” Remus stated, sitting on the couch opposite of Y/N. His long fingers wrapped around a white mug and he held his tea close to his body. 

“I can’t believe she’s pregnant!” Y/N had her legs crossed and a plate of chocolate chip cookies situated in her lap. “We haven’t even met yet, but people our age are already having kids.” 

Remus heartily chuckled, raising his mug to his lips and taking a sip. “It’ll happen in due time, darling. Besides, it’s nice to have you to myself without outside influences,” He coughs. “My friends skewing your views on me.” 

“I know your friends are lovely, based on how you speak so fondly of them.” Y/N took a big bite of one of the chocolate chip cookies. It was chewy and gooey, making it absolutely delicious. “Why are dream cookies so good? Like, seriously, these things are to die for.” 

“Because they’re a figment of your imagination. They can be as yummy or as disgusting as you make them to be.” Remus pulled at the collar of his gray t-shirt, making the seams rip. “Do you ever wish I was more, I don’t know, exciting?” 

“What do you mean?” Chocolate smudged on the corners of her mouth.

Remus grinned and licked his thumb, rubbing it over her delicate skin to clean her face. “I mean, our dream world is a one-bedroom apartment and all we ever do is talk. I don’t know, I hear Sirius has a rollercoaster in his dreamscape. I fell dull in comparison.” 

Y/N fondly smiled at her soulmate, moving so she was sitting directly next to him. “Rollercoasters are overrated. I like the comfort our little apartment gives us, it’s nice and warm in here and I have you next to me.” She set the cookies on the coffee table in front of the couch. “We don’t need to go on extravagant adventures, you seem to have enough of those when you’re awake.” 

“You deserve better, though. Not a guy in his late teens that is constantly tired and would rather sit on a couch drinking tea than going on a rollercoaster.” 

“I deserve you, and you are more than enough for me.” Y/N sighed, moving Remus’ hair out of his eyes. He couldn’t feel her physically, but it was still a nice gesture. “I’m not exactly itching to go on grand adventures. That’s what meeting you is for.” 

“You’re only 5,437 miles away, anyway.” Remus’ mouth twitched into a sad smile. “That’s nothing.” 

“Hey, it’s better than 5,438 miles.” 

“You got me there.” 

~

“What would you do if I came to London and surprised you?” Y/N laid her head on Remus’ thigh while he moved his hand through her hair, trying to imagine what it felt like. 

“I’d probably get rather quiet and not know what to do if I’m being honest,” Remus observed how Y/N’s locks flowed through his fingers like water and how it contrasted against the forest green upholstery of the couch. 

“Maybe let out a few cuss words?” 

“Why are you so obsessed with me cussing?” 

“Your accent is hot, especially when you say ‘fuck.’ I like to hear it.” Y/N smiled cheekily and watched Remus’ pupils dilate. 

“Fuck,” The words fall off his tongue with his Welsh accent. Much of the Welsh had faded, due to living at Hogwarts and now London, but it was still very apparent in his speech.  Y/N giggled and squirmed. 

“Yeah, like that. Sometimes you just slip it into casual conversations and I have to compose myself.” 

“Americans are weird, it’s just an accent.” 

“No, it’s not just an accent. It’s your accent so I like to hear it. Sue me!” Y/N threw her hands up in false anguish, lightly bumping Remus’ stomach. 

“You’re so dramatic, love.” 

“I am not dramatic! Just every time I compliment my favorite person in the world he says I’m weird! Maybe you’re the weird one, Lupin!” 

“Fine, I’m the weird one. Does that make you happy?” His voice sounded exasperated, but he was staring down at her with the fondest expression.

“Extremely.” 

~

“Do you think Sirius, James, and Peter would like me?” Y/N sat on the counter of the dream kitchenette. 

“They already do like you, dear.” Remus stood between her legs with his hands resting on her thighs. With her sitting so high, they were almost the same height. “Why?” 

“Well they’re important to you, and you’re important to me, so I want them to like me. It would suck if your friends hated me.” 

“You don’t have to worry about that. They even have a nickname for you,” Remus looked away, his cheeks turned slightly red. This piqued Y/N’s attention. 

“A nickname? What is it?”

“Button.” Remus’ cheeks were dusted a light rose color and his ears were bright red. 

“Button? Why Button?” 

“Well, a few years ago we were all going around and describing our soulmates. I said that you were as cute as a button and I guess the name stuck.” 

Butterflies erupted in Y/N’s stomach and she planted a kiss on his cheek. “Why can’t I just apparate to you again?” 

“We talked about this, love. You’ve never been here and I’ve never been there so you can’t apparate straight here. And the plane ride between us is almost 11 hours.” 

“Fucking hell.” Y/N sighed in frustration. 

“Fucking hell, indeed.” 

~

“I did something, and you have to promise not to be mad at me.” Y/N paced around the kitchenette while Remus lounged on the couch. His head shot up at her words. 

“What did you do?” His mind raced a mile a minute and he prepared himself for the worst. Y/N probably found someone better than him and wanted to cut off contact. 

“It’s nothing bad, relax.” 

“Well if it’s not bad, why would I be mad?” Y/N sighed and sat next to him on the couch. 

“Well, in the real world I’m sort of on a plane to London right now.” 

Remus’ eyes bulged and he jumped off the couch. “You’re coming? Here? Really? Now?” 

“Well, I’ll be there in about four hours.” Remus was now pacing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?! Mine and Sirius’ flat is a wreck!” 

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to back out for a silly reason like a messy apartment.” Y/N stood and reached for her boy. “I love you and I couldn’t wait any longer.” 

“Four hours?” 

“Yes, four hours.And I need a ride from the airport.” 

~

Y/N stood atop the escalator and looked at the crowd below, scanning all the faces for her love. Her face crinkled when she didn’t see Remus but two young men holding a piece of cardboard with her name written in black marker on it. She realized that the two were, in fact, James Potter and Sirius Black. 

“Sirius and James?” She said walking up, suitcase in hand. Both were much taller than Y/N and extremely handsome, making her feel slightly uncomfortable under their gaze. Both young men grinned down at her. 

“Ah, you must be Button. Nice to know Remus talks about us enough for you to recognize our handsome faces,” Sirius exclaims, putting the cardboard under his arm and nudging James. “You’re even prettier than Rem described.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Well, you aren’t exactly hard to miss. Long hair, leather jacket, combat boots, overly flirty,” Y/N turns to James. “Glasses, The Beatles shirt, tired expression. Obviously, you’re James Potter and Sirius Black.” She smiles and pulls her hair behind her ear. “Congrats on the baby, by the way.” 

James beams, “Thanks! Kinda crazy considering the circumstances, but you know how it goes.” He takes Y/N’s luggage and starts walking towards the exit. “You threw Moony into quite a panic, you know. It was one of the best things I’ve seen in a while.” 

“It had to be done, he’s been putting it off for years. Something about not wanting me to be disappointed, whatever that means.” 

“Ah, classic moons. Glad you came though, really shakes up our daily schedule.” Sirius responds. The three make their way to a Volkswagon Beetle and James pops the trunk to put Y/N’s luggage inside. 

“Why didn’t he come and get me? Not that I mind the company, of course.” Sirius crawls into the back middle seat, leaving Y/N to sit shotgun with James driving. “Woah, I forgot it’s on the wrong side.”

“He pussied out, I’m sure you know how nervous he gets,” James pulled out onto the street and down the road. “And what’s on the wrong side?” 

“Your car and the road, James. It’s on the wrong side.” 

“It’s not on the wrong side, maybe you’re on the wrong side. Ever think of that?” He turned his head to look at her, the thick frame glasses on his face sliding down his nose. 

“See! You agree! I am currently on the wrong side!” Y/N giggled and hugged her backpack to her chest. 

Sirius also lets out a loud, bellowing laugh. Y/N felt as though she had known these two her entire life; in a way, she had. 

The three pulled into a parking structure and she exited the beetle. (The car, she had come to discover, was named Lennon, after John Lennon himself.) She hadn’t been nervous up until this moment, staring at the apartment door. James patted her shoulder and smiled. 

“It’ll be okay. He’s the same Remus you’ve been talking to for the past however many years.” 

“Yeah, if you even get him to talk,” Sirius pushes his way between the two and towards the door, lugging Y/N’s bag into the flat. He drops the luggage in the middle of the living room and flops onto the couch. “Oh, Moonbear, your lover is here! Get your fine ass out of your room, before I take it out here myself!” 

Y/N cautiously pads into the house, taking in the atmosphere of the home. It was very similar to their dreamscape, very small and sparsely decorated. However, the flat seemed to have 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, as well as a few closets. The livingroom had various framed band posters hanging on the walls, as well as a big framed picture of the entire friend group. Y/N could point out who was who easily as she observed it. 

“Lily is so pretty,” She said aloud and pointed between two blondes. “Which one is Marlene and which one is Mary?” 

Sirius and James look at eachother and share a laugh. “Merlin, he really does talk about us.” James points at the girl with the big, poofy hair. “That one’s Marls, the other is Mary.” 

“Makes sense, since I’m assuming that’s Dorcas?” Y/N’s gaze moves from the blonde to a pretty brunette next to her. 

“Oi, Moons, I didn’t realize you spoke about us so much,” James says, making Y/N turn around. In all his glory, Remus Lupin stood in the living room, decked out in jeans, and a The Smiths shirt. He was perfectly imperfect, and Y/N’s entire body warmed. His gaze didn’t leave Y/N as James spoke but he allowed his jaw to grow slightly slack and his hands to pull his shirt down. 

“You’re even more beautiful in person, how is that possible?” His voice was breathy and light as if he was in complete awe. The light from the windows highlighted his cheekbones and made his features look unbelievably sharp, creating shadows that danced down his neck. He looked heavenly in absolutely every way possible, and this moment made her entire travel day worth it. Y/N blushed and stepped towards him. 

“Nice shirt, missed you at the airport, though.” 

Remus rolls his eyes and pulls his girl close to him. “Sorry ‘bout that, sunshine.” 

Y/N nestled her face into his chest, taking deep breaths of his cologne. He was even better than she expected, all the way down to the wool socks he wore. Remus’ hand came to gently stroke her hair before looking up to see his friends. Unsurprisingly, though, the living room was now empty and Sirius’ bedroom door was closed. 

“You smell so good, is that weird to say?” Y/N mumbles into the fabric of his shirt. “Like pine, and candy. I don’t know how to describe it.” She felt his chest vibrate as he laughed. 

“I can’t believe you’re finally here.” 

“Had’ta be sneaky, catch you off guard.” Y/N looked up into his eyes and glanced down to his lips. 

The soft look of admiration she had seen so many times crossed his features as he leaned down to capture her lips in a kiss. 

[jean-kayak]

Chapter 17

Summary: A relaxing summer at home after your second year of college sounds nice, until someone comes back and makes it anything but

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x black!fem!reader

Warnings: angst lmao that’s really all i can say without spoiling anything 

Word Count: 2581

A/N: This is another FLASHBACK, and this will be the last one for the rest of the series, but after this, it goes pretty downhill lmfao

Tags: @iwascrybaby​, @styxtm​, @germinvasion​, @prxttyguardian​, @bigdaddyzawa​, @kbbvbz​, @tomsadversary​, @kqtsukisgf​, @pettyluxury​, @protectpancakes​

Chapter Summary: Words can hurt. Like really, really bad.

If you ever wanted a time to be good at holding back your tears, it would be right now. Final exams are coming up, so your stress levels are already through the roof, and to make it even worse, your teacher for interior design basically told you that your project was a failure and that you're going to have to start over. Today is Friday.

It's due Monday.

You're sitting on one of the benches in the main lobby of the high school, waiting for your ride, and you just can't stand being at school any longer. You're looking down, hoping no one who's still wondering through the hallways after almost everyone's left looks your way.

You freeze when you hear a familiar voice, and you feel a new fresh wave of tears roll down your face. You hear Eren laughing with his friends, and you keep your gaze down, refusing to look up as you wipe the tears from your eyes.

And you hate how your body sheds more tears at just the sound of his voice, and you blame it on the fact that you're already stressed. He "rejected" you a long time ago, so there's no reason for you to still be pining over someone you're never going to be with.

You keep sniffling due to the fact that you're looking down, and you're hoping he walks past you soon without looking your way at all. When you feel someone lightly nudge your head, you feel your heart drop. "Hey." His voice is soft, and that just seems to make you more upset. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head, keeping your gaze on your shoes. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Bullshit." You sigh as you look away from your shoes. He definitely is the most stubborn person you've met, and you're best friends with Jean.

"It's true. There's nothing wrong," you repeat. "Now, I'm pretty sure you'd rather be with your friends than with me, so you can go." You wipe your face with your sleeve, sniffling again which doesn't help your case.

"Look at me and say that." You feel yourself clench your hands into fists at his stupid fucking persistence, looking up at him, and you refuse to believe that you see his face soften when you look at him. "What the hell happened?" he asks, and you shake your head again.

"Like I told you, it's nothing. You wouldn't care." This is what you tell yourself, you're pretty sure it's the truth anyway. There's no way he would actually care about how you're doing.

"Where'd you get that from?" he questions in disbelief, and you scoff as you look back down at your hands, flexing your fingers as you relax them.

You shrug. "I don't know. It's just something I assumed."

"Well, it's a stupid assumption," he tells you before he sighs. "Come on, let's go." You look up at him, raising your eyebrows. "Tell whoever's picking you up that I'm taking you home." You scoff again as you shake your head.

"Eren, I already told you, I'm fine. I don't need you treating me like a baby," you respond, your words coming out more aggressive than you wanted.

"Come on, Y/N, you know I don't look at you that way. Now, let's just go." You roll your eyes as you look in the opposite direction of him, cursing yourself when you feel more tears brimming your eyes.

"I'm pretty sure you'd rather hang out with your friends than me. They're more important than I am." You didn't realize how self-deprecating you got in your head when you tried to get over your stupid crush.

"Who told you that?" He sounds angry now, and you can't hold the tears in anymore, more falling down your face as you shake your head.

"No one." I did. You try to hold back the sob rising in your chest, but it slips out, and you suddenly feel a hand on your wrist pulling you up from the bench before an arm is around your shoulders, leading you out of the school.

You find yourself sitting at that same booth in the ice cream parlor, this time barely putting a dent in your ice cream. "You can start on the work now. Just get a little bit done while you sit here," Eren says, and you shake your head, giving him a small shrug.

"No, I'll probably just wait till I get home. I'm sure you've got somewhere else to be, don't wanna hold you up."

You don't look up when he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. "Who's telling you all this shit?" You can't help but feel pathetic. You can't say yourself because then you'll feel even more stupid.

"No one, it doesn't matter." You put a spoon of ice cream in your mouth to stop you from saying anything else. You glance at him, and you know that he can tell that you're not telling the truth or that there's something else underlining your words, and you hate how much of an open book you are.

"Seriously, Y/N, do the work. I have nothing else to do." He leans back in the booth, eating some of his ice cream to emphasize his point, and you sigh heavily before you slide your ice cream to the slide and start pulling out the stuff you need to start on the toughest thing you currently have to deal with.

You're actually pretty immersed in your work, your notebooks and binder spread out all over the table, pens and colored pencils littering the surface, and you just happen to look around to see a pencil in Eren's hand. He seems pretty focused, and you chew on your lip nervously before you set your pencil down, flexing your fingers that are starting to hurt.

"What are you doing?" you ask cautiously, and he looks up at you through his lashes before he lifts his head up.

"Drawing," he responds easily, and you nod, remembering how Jean said that he had started to take it up.

"Drawing what?" you push softly, and he responds with an easy shrug.

"Stuff, I guess," he responds, and you raise your eyebrows as you give him an easy smile.

"Can I see?" He easily slides the book over to you, and you pick it up, setting it on top of your stuff. Your eyes widen when they land on the different sketches spanning across the two pages you're looking at. "You're amazing," is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, and you're really at a loss for words.

You didn't know what you were expecting, but they're way better than what you thought. "I would hang these up in my room," you say, and you keep your attention on the drawings as you hear him chuckle softly.

"I don't think they're that good," he contradicts, and you scoff as you look up at him.

"Are you kidding me? You're seriously amazing," you emphasize before passing the book back to him. "What?" you ask when you notice that he's staring at you.

He hesitates for a second, not saying anything as he looks down at the table before looking back at you. "Can I draw you?"

You blink in surprise before you let out a depreciating chuckle. "You wanna draw an ugly girl with dried tear tracks on her face?"

"I want to draw a girl who is not ugly, and who is going to finish her project and get the best grade in the class," he counters quickly, and you chew on your lip softly as you try to fight the heat rising to your face.

"If you want to," you respond softly. "What do you want me to do?" you ask, fiddling with the pencil in your hand nervously.

"Just keep doing what you're doing." You respond with a small nod before turning back to your work, feeling a little bit weird now that Eren's watching you, but you're soon back to being absorbed into your work, nearly forgetting that he was drawing you in the first place.

Eren decides to leave once you have most of your project drafted, almost ready to work on the final result. "Can I see that drawing?" you ask as you pack your backpack up.

"It's really bad," he says, and you roll your eyes just as you zip up your bag.

"I know that's not true," you object, and he chuckles softly before sliding out of the booth.

"I'll show you one day. Come on, let's get you home," he says, nodding his head towards the door, and you walk out of the ice cream parlor feeling a lot lighter than when you came in.

^^^

The end of your freshman year of high school passed in a blur even though you swore you had those weeks where it felt like it took forever for them to end. You barely made it through your exams unscathed, your brain feeling like it had been fried ten times over, but now you had the summer to look forward to.

Eren had a graduation party, and the only reason why you were there was that Jean got to invite some of his friends because his mom didn't want him to feel left out. You two were the only ones there though, most of them not wanting to be surrounded by a bunch of former seniors or either having things to do.

You went to obviously hang out with Jean, but once more people started showing up, that's when you realized that this probably wasn't the best idea. You and Jean were able to take refuge in his room for the time being, and you couldn't go to your house because Jean's mom was making him stay for at least a couple of hours.

Jean wasn't happy about it, so you listened to him complain for at least an hour about that before he switched the subject onto you. He started asking you about your relationship with Eren, and he wasn't happy when you told him that sometimes he would take you to get ice cream. "What's so wrong with it?" you ask, and he just shrugs.

"I just don't like it," he replies, making your frown deeper. "Do you like him?" The sudden question makes you jump slightly, and you try to mask the nervousness in your chuckle.

"What do you mean? Like if I--"

"Y/N," he cuts you off, his voice telling you there's no point in beating around the bush, and you sigh heavily as you pick at the side of your cup.

"No? I don't..." you trail off, not really knowing how to answer. "It doesn't matter," you conclude.

Eren causes your feelings to be all over the place. One moment, you're fine, it's like you're over him, and then he'll do something like bringing you to the ice cream parlor to make you feel better, and then those feelings explode all over again.

"I'm going to get something to drink," you say, quickly standing up and walking out of his room. You maneuver through the mass of people, the house seeming to be stuffy from how many people are inside, probably due to the heat outside.

You slide past a bunch of people before you decide that you need a breather. You make your way to the back door, sliding it open just enough for you to fit through before closing it behind you. You release a sigh that slumps your shoulders when it feels cooler outside than it does inside. You walk away from the view of the door, leaning against the house so that no one can see you.

You're about to sit down when you hear voices coming from the side of the house. You make your footsteps light as you tiptoe across the deck, and you keep your back against the wall as you look around the corner, feeling an uneasy feeling settle over you when you see Eren talking with his friends.

Eren and Will are sitting next to each other in cheap lawn chairs while Porco leans against the wall, cigarette lit in his mouth. The conversation is nothing to really pay attention to, but once you rest your head against the wall, out of their sight is what catches your ears. "You ever get that whole crush thing sorted out with Y/N?" Will asks the question, and you can feel your heart starting to pound.

"Yeah, she said it wasn't true," you hear Eren respond and a scoff follows it.

"Yeah, right. Don't tell me you believed that." It's Porco that speaks this time, and you bite your lip as your hands dig into the brick against your back. "It was so obvious, it's almost sad."

"Like I said, she denied it," Eren repeats, and you want to leave, but your feet are glued to the ground.

"And then you were hanging out with her," Porco continues. "Like you had a crush on her, too," he jokes.

"Fuck off, man," Eren says. "I was only nice to her because she's Jean's best friend. Trust me, that's the only reason why I put up with her."

You think you physically feel your heart break. The tears are brimming in your eyes, and they spill as you turn in the opposite direction towards your house, your walking soon turning into running, not stopping when your parents ask you what's wrong, and you close your door, locking it before pulling the covers over yourself and crying so hard, you fall asleep.

Coming up with a lie to tell your parents wasn't easy, you roping in Jean to help you, and you both just said that you had gotten into a meaningless fight, but you're fine now. Jean was livid when you told him what happened, but you told him not to do anything. For one, Eren was way bigger than him, and two, Eren was about to leave so there was no point.

Jean only came to your house to hang out, and you never stepped foot back into Jean's house until Eren had left for college. Sometimes Eren would text you, but you never looked at it. You would swipe the notification away, and slowly the texts stopped coming in.

You obviously knew that it could never work between the two of you, but why did he have to say that about you? Was that true? You didn't want to believe it, but he seemed so serious that it makes you cry all over again. It just makes all of those moments you had together mean absolutely nothing, and it makes you want to punch the memories out of your head.

You didn't go see him when he left, you telling your parents that you weren't feeling that well, and Jean came over to tell you that he was gone. It took you a lot longer to get over him than you wanted, but you made sure to distract yourself for the whole summer, and Jean helped you.

You didn't tell anyone else what happened and neither did Jean, and even though it caused a deep wound, you were slowly but surely starting to heal, and Eren deciding that he wasn't going to come back often made it easier for you.

You didn't have to see him ever again, and you used that to aid in your healing process.

|Chapter 16|Masterlist|Chapter 18|

[seeker-of-the-stars]

Realized that Knockout x Starscream probably needed a prompt, my bad! I want to make this cute and fluffy so here's a simple idea! A fun little date! Since Knockout is a ground-based Decepticon he probably has more of a chance to find the best spots on Earth! For this, he found a really cute cave and decided to spruce it up with those galaxy projectors and red and grey fairy lights and later on took Starscream there to enjoy some energon and a movie played on a screen hanging over the cave wall

“Soooo, what do you think?”

Starscream looked around at the cave that Knock Out had set up. Red and grey lights twinkled all over the walls (his own colors, he recognized in amusement) and a projector that showed a simplified version of the galaxy on the ceiling. Two Cybertronian sized chairs was placed right in the middle of the display, with a basket of energon cubes in between. On the opposite side, a large, flat screen TV hung. Knock Out, his partner held out his arms as if to show off his amazing decorative skills with a self satisfied smirk on his face.

“It will do,” Starscream allowed. He moved to take the seat closest to him, while Knock Out took the other with a slight pout.

“You do know how much effort I put into this, don’t you? I spent my entire day off setting it up.”

“Yes, and I said it was adequate, didn’t I? What do you want me to do, fawn over every little detail and grovel in gratitude?” 

“A little bit of fawning would be nice,” Knock Out mumbled. He picked up an energon cube and started to sip it.

Starscream rolled his optics. His partner could be quite sensitive about things at times, and he wasn’t in a mood to start a fight on what was supposed to be a day just for them. He patted the red mech on the arm and gave him one of his rare smiles.

“Thank you for setting this up, it was very considerate of you. You always had had a knack for style.”

At this, Knock Out brightened. “Much better. I almost wasn’t eve going to show you the best part.”

Starscream rose an eyebrow. “Which is?”

Knock Out pulled out a small disk from his subspace. Starscream leaned over to get a better look at it. There was a picture of a young human couple with the word “Twilight” written over them.

He groaned. “Is this another one of your human films you like so much?”

“Well, to be honest I haven’t seen it yet, but it is quite popular with the human youth. It’s about vampires and werewolves and adventure. I know you don’t think human entertainment is your thing, but what’s the harm in giving it a try?

“It could be a giant waste of time,” Starscream countered.

Knock Out sighed, putting the disk back into his subspace. “Very well, if you don’t want to watch it, then we don’t have to. I just thought that since we so rarely get alone time and I put so much work into setting up this date...”

Starscream sighed. If he didn’t watch the damn thing Knock Out would sulk forever.

“Fine, fine! I will watch your human movie, but I’m not going to promise I’ll like it.”

The sly red sports car smirked, and moved to put the disk into the machine below the TV.

“I just know you’re gonna like it! And if you don’t, I have so many other options we can try.

Starcream tried to avoid letting his smile turn into a grimace. The thought of wasting so much time on what the humans called “movies” filled him with a sense of dread.

“Let’s just focus on one thing at a time, shall we?”

***

Within 30 minutes, Knock Out fell asleep on his shoulder. But, Starscream barely noticed, too sucked into the plot to care. These “vampires,” though they looked like humans, were far faster, stronger, and less vulnerable than their weaker counterparts.  If he had to be born on this dreadful planet, he’d think that he would want to be a vampire himself.

At a certain point, he began shouting at the screen without realizing. 

“No you idiot, change her! If you truly loved her, you’d want to make her invulnerable!”

“No, don’t go in there! It’s a trap!”

“See, I told you you dumb glitch!”

“You put your mate’s life at risk so she won’t become like you? Are you stupid?”

Really, it was a miracle that Knock Out barely stirred during his rants. Which he was secretly thankful for. If he heard him, he would be teased relentlessly for the next vorn.

It was only after the end credits that Starscream nudged his partner awake.

“Hmm? What happened?”

“The movie’s over,” Starscream said, amusement in his voice. 

“Oh,” was all Knock Out said, taking his remote and turning off the TV.

“Clearly, the human youth don’t know what they’re talking about. That was the most boring film I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe there are five of them. But don’t worry, I have plenty of other ones that I know for a fact that are good!”

Starscream chuckled nervously. “Yes, it was quite bad, wasn’t it? Definitely a waste of time, just like I said it would be.”

Knock Out looked at him suspiciously. “Right. Well, we gave it a shot at least. We should probably head back to base before Megatron notices we’re missing.”

 “Yes, of course! We should go back.”

As Knock Out grabbed the leftover energon and walked out of the cave, Starscream quickly took the disk out of the machine and stuffed it into his subspace.

The only thing on his mind after they left was how he was going to get his servos on the other four movies without Knock Out noticing. 

[thehouseoflamentation]

Everyday we stray further from god’s light...jk jk

I said I was ok with most nsfw and now I’m gonna live up to that claim so here we go!!!

Btw I checked Bad Dragon’s website and they actually have a model called “Demon Dick” so uhh….yeah….

For some reason “keep reading” was messing with the format so I had to repost this. I didn’t include any pictures but I did include links to what I think the boys might look like down there based on the models they had so proceed at your own risk!!

(Side note: I only had shape in mind while I was choosing these bc some of those colors really be wild. Also I’d like to imagine they’re all “extra large” sized)

Lucifer - (https://bad-dragon.com/products/axel)

That night, Lucifer called you into his room for a little “chat.” What was supposed to be a discussion of the student exchange program quickly escalated into something else as you found yourself unable to pull away from his lips as he trapped you in his embrace. It wasn’t long before he moved to the bed, sat down, and shifted his legs apart making it very clear what he wanted next. Now you were on your knees frantically trying to undo Lucifer’s belt while he looked down at you, smirking at how needy you’ve become. After pulling his trousers down to his ankles you made quick work of his boxers moving them down just as eagerly until....you saw it. You thought that since Lucifer looked mostly human the rest of him would look human as well but you were wrong. Not only was he longer and thicker than anything you’ve seen before but his shape was also…well...unique. After staring at it for a good few seconds he moved your face closer by gently nudging your head forward. The action only made you jolt and scoot a good three feet back.

“Lucifer, I love you but I’m not putting that anywhere near my mouth” you say as you slowly take a step back.

“And why is that? Too big for a human?” his eyebrows furrowed as you took another step.

“Too big f- YOUR DICK IS THICKER THAN A SODA CAN DO YOU WANT ME TO CHOKE???”

“......”

He stayed silent as he watched you slip out of his room, too shocked and embarrassed by your response to go after you. He didn’t think being “too big” was ever going to be a problem for him until now.

Mammon - (https://bad-dragon.com/products/crackers)

Even though he had his own room Mammon insisted on staying in your room again, going on about how it was an “honor” to have him sleep over. You were starting to get tired of his little act so you decided to shut him up with a kiss. To your credit it did work for a good two seconds before he retaliated by pulling you into a kiss on his own. Soon your hands started to wander up his shirt and while he shivered at your touch he followed your lead and did the same. The kiss was messy but full of passion. Once you pulled apart Mammon carried you over to your bed, plopping you down onto the sheets as he fell on top of you. You knew exactly where this was going so you started to strip once you landed on the sheets. After you threw your clothes to the side you started helping Mammon with his belt. He kicked his pants off then his boxers and as you looked down you almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was definitely bigger than a human and the bumps and ridges along his shaft didn’t seem like they were going to make it any easier for you to take him in. Mammon started to get embarrassed from your staring his skin turning a dark shade of red.

“Quit starin at me like that! W-What are you tryna say I’m small or something cus I’m no-”

“Oh you are anything but small Mammon. Quite the opposite actually. I just...I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m out...”

“What do you mean you’re out? This is your room where are you going??”

That night you stayed in Mammon’s room while he was left to contemplate his life in your room. Well at least you thought he was big so that’s….partially a win right?

Leviathan - (https://bad-dragon.com/products/lenneth)

That night, Leviathan invited you over to read some new manga he got from Akuzon. It received a lot of hype before its release so he was looking forward to reading it with you. When you stepped into his room he handed you a copy of the latest volume in the series and let you sit on his bed while he plopped himself into a bean bag. You laid on your stomach turning page after page but after a while you noticed a pair of eyes spying on you as you rested on the sheets. Levi kept peeking up from his book to take glances at you so you shot him a glance and a smile back making him look away in embarrassment. Deciding the manga could wait, you made your way over to Levi, gently moving the book out of his hands to lean in for a kiss. He was shy but he didn’t seem to resist as he let his hands comb through your hair and wander down your back. Wanting to speed things up you crouched down between his legs and undid his belt and pants zipper before palming him through his boxers. Levi shuddered at the contact but froze completely when you pulled down his boxers altogether. Aside from his impressive size the shape of his cock was definitely different from a human’s.

“Levi...you uhhh-”

“I know”

“It’s umm...”

“Yeah”

“It looks-”

“I GET IT!!!! IT LOOKS LIKE SOMETHING YOU’D SEE FROM A HENTAI NOW STOP STARING!!!!!”

Both of you sat there for a moment trying to diffuse the awkward situation until you decided to break the silence. “Well it’s still not as bad as tentacles right?”

You were forcibly removed from Levi’s room.

Satan - (https://bad-dragon.com/products/fenrir)

You had a test coming up soon and luckily Satan was generous enough to help you study for it. The both of you were seated in the farthest corner of the library to avoid any noise or disturbances from the other visitors. You were able to make great progress with his help but after three hours of cramming you needed a break. Since the two of you were alone with pretty much no one else around to see or hear your shenanigans, you decided to see just how far you could push the demon sitting beside you. Your eyes were trained on your textbook but your hand slipped under the table stroking Satan’s thigh slowly before moving up between his legs. Normally he would have protested by now but it seems that Satan was just as in need of a break as you were. He shifted closer to you making it easier to undo his belt and zipper. You stroked him through his boxers for a bit before pulling them down to his thighs to get a good look at what was underneath. You almost did a double take once you noticed not only the ungodly size of his dick but also the curves and ridges around his head and shaft. Without a word you slid his boxers back up, zipped his pants, and buckled his belt before turning back to the book you left on the table and pretending you saw nothing, unwilling to even look Satan in the eyes after what you just saw.

“Uhhh why did you jus-”

“Wow! This question is pretty hard what did you get for number six again?”

“MC you didn’t answer my-”

“Were we supposed to read pages 134 to 145 or was it 150 to 166?”

“MC!!!!!”

“Shhhh! Satan we’re in a library it's rude to yell”

This went on for a while until the two of you eventually went back to studying, forgetting the events that previously unfolded.

Asmodeus - (https://bad-dragon.com/products/spritz)

You and Asmo had the day off so you spent it at the mall. After getting your hair and nails done at a salon the two of you went to Majolish to find some new outfits. You searched through racks of clothing until your cart was full but before you could buy anything you had to make sure they fit first. As you brought your clothes into the dressing room you pulled on the door but before it could shut you felt a hand stop it mid-swing, preventing it from closing. It was Asmo. He held his pointer finger against his lips to quiet you before slipping into the cramped stall with you. “Today’s been great and all MC but how about we make it even better?” his warm breath tickled your ear as he whispered but that didn’t stop you from nodding in agreement with his desires. There was a chance someone could spot you so you both tried to speed things up before someone noticed. You removed your shirt and guided Asmo’s hands back to your chest letting him play with your nipples while you palmed him through his pants. Neither of you could wait any longer so you got on your knees and started removing his pants and boxers. You were prepared to fuck but you weren’t prepared to see....that. For the Avatar of Lust his cock was certainly intimidating in both size and shape. It wasn’t quite human in appearance either which was pretty evident at first glance.

“Alright MC now just- hey wait! Where are you going?? MC?!?!!”

Before you could even think about how to fit his cock inside of you, you grabbed your shirt, slipped it back on, and sprint-walked out of the dressing room as quickly and quietly as you could, leaving Asmo behind.

Beelzebub - (https://bad-dragon.com/products/clayton)

There was no doubt about it. Beelzebub was one of the biggest and strongest among the brothers but you wanted to see for yourself just how “big” he could really get. After dinner that night, you slipped into Beel’s room with a bowl of ice cream you snuck from the kitchen. You offered to give him some with the condition that you got to feed him. Needless to say he agreed and was honestly enjoying himself until you “accidentally” shifted causing the bowl to slip out of your hands and the ice cream to spill onto your chest and shirt. Beel looked sad for a second because of his ice cream but after seeing the smirk that was slowly spreading across your face he soon understood everything. “You were planning this weren’t you?” Your smirk only grew larger once you heard those words. “Well since my shirt is dirty I might as well take it off~” you lifted your shirt over your head and threw it into the corner of the room leaving your chest exposed, some melted ice cream still dripping down your skin. Beel licked his lips before leaning in to taste you, letting his tongue roam over every curve. Before he moved down between your legs you decided you wanted to get a taste of him too so you pushed him onto his back and started undoing his belt and zipper before eagerly sliding down his pants and boxers. Your jaw almost hit the floor. You knew he was big but this? This was insane!! You couldn’t even wrap your hand around his shaft completely!!! And as if his size wasn’t intimidating enough he also had bumps and ridges along the sides of his cock too!! Your body was ready to nope the fuck out of there so without thinking you slipped your stained shirt back on and found yourself ready to exit Beel’s room, hand already on the door knob.

“Uhh MC? Where are you going? I’m right here!” Beel was still on his back confused as all heck.

“I’m just….gonna get you a replacement ice cream I’ll be back...”

Once you shut the door Beel could have sworn he heard the sound of sprinting. He didn’t see you for the rest of the night but he did find a bowl of ice cream at his doorstep.

Belphegor - (https://bad-dragon.com/products/sleipnir)

You knew Belphegor hated being woken up more than anything but you hoped that he would make an exception just this once. He didn’t seem opposed to sharing the bed either out of fondness for you or from being too tired to care. You curled yourself around him, nuzzling his back while your hands slowly traveled up his shirt. Your fingers eventually worked their way up to play with his chest and nipples. Belphegor couldn’t ignore your presence anymore so instead he was going to make sure you made it worth his time. He rolled over onto his back and positioned you so you would be on top of him. Belphegor wasn’t usually the type to rush sex but he was exhausted after going through classes that day and the fact that you woke him up wasn’t exactly a good thing either. Not wanting to waste much time he grabbed your waist and started grinding against you only stopping for a moment to remove his pants and boxers. You were about to lower yourself onto him until you noticed just how big he was. His length and girth were above that of a human, not to mention he had a number of bumps and ridges along his shaft. There was no way you were about to impale yourself on that so instead you rolled off of him and wrapped yourself in a blanket burrito with your face turned away from him.

“Y’know Belphie it's late, your tired, I’m tired, maybe we should just go sleep RIGHT NOW ”

“Wha- after you spent all that time trying to-mMPH!!” you threw a pillow at his face denying him the chance to finish his sentence.

“CAN’T HEAR YOU I’M SLEEPING!!!!”

Belphie was confused and irritated that you riled him up for nothing but at least he could sleep now.