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han-shinsuke · 3 years

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h a n d h e r o v e r

f e m a l e r e a d e r 🌹

m i n o r s k e e p o u t

[ tags, smut, nsfw, anal, foursome, themes ]

—•—

Without prior notice, he shows up in front of your dorm, dressed casually. You invite him inside but declined, telling you to come with him somewhere. You argue with him, insisting that you should change to something presentable but Bokuto seems to be in a rush so you have given up when he uses his puppy eyes. Inside his car, you keep checking your looks and it disappoints you. Unlike him, you look so ordinary. Well, you are someone insignificant. What’s the difference anyway?

“I’m gonna 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 you later, Y/N,” huh? you shot him a confused look at the use of some endearment.

You laugh awkwardly, “what, Kou?” he is your best friend and your secret crush.

“You look like a kid in your clothes and considering your height, you really look like 𝒐𝒏𝒆.” you pout your lips and he bursts out laughing.

It’s his fault! He didn’t even let you fix yourself! You were running around the University’s oval when he calls. Now, who’s fault it is that he’s being accompanied by a lady in core 5 inch shorts in black and a plain hoodie?

“Shut up, Kou. You’re annoying!”

After driving for almost an hour, Bokuto parks his car in front of Sakusa’s house.

Wait. Sakusa’s house?! You grab onto the belt when Bokuto tries mounting off the safety strap.

“Wait, Kou! Why the fuck are we here?!” you panic. Sakusa, you, and Oikawa are both in an unstable relationship. Not romantically, okay! You are their damn victim! They’re not criminals, well closer to that! Those two are your bullies and they are friends with your best friend, Koutaro Bokuto!

He taps your temple and comforts you that everything will be fine, that you won’t be harmed while he’s around, “it’s Omi’s birthday. He invited us for lunch.”

You nod your head. There’s no point in arguing. You were already there. He has your sweating hand inside his palm when you both entered the house.

“Give me ten seconds, Kou.”

Sakusa’s house rule no. 1; leave your shoes outside but if you are his friends, go straight in.

You remove your sneakers and leave your white socks on. You have been there before and you almost familiarised yourself with his rules. Since he considers you as his enemy rather than his subject of bullying, you are not allowed to sit or touch anything inside his home so you remain standing near the stairs when Bokuto runs to Oikawa in the kitchen.

You give Sakusa a nod as he descends from the top landing. He smells clean and fruity tuitee and you couldn’t help but blush when you notice his stare goes down to your feet.

Your insides trembles from the intensity of his gaze and that makes you feel like running away or hide from his sight.

Your breathing halts when he kneels after removing his fur slippers. His warm hand grab your ankle then slide your left foot in his slipper, then your right foot.

He didn’t speak a word. He just pointed you to the kitchen. His footwear is too big for your small ones but you still manage to walk comfortably.

While helping in the food preparation, Sakusa and Oikawa are constantly bumping their muscular arms against your shoulders. They even teases you that you lack in the free access of healthy foods in the fridge in your own home that’s why you’re thin and small. You 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕, okay?! They’re just huge and very athletic that developing muscles and all is no issue to them. And your case is different. Your height is 5'3", you weight right, meaning your body mass index is normal! Again, they are huge people and they look down on your kind. And these men prefers model-like body figures for women!

You let it all pass. You seem immune to all the teasings and soft pinches that those were no longer affecting you. Sakusa leads the way to his theater room, while you, Bokuto, and Oikawa are in charge of bringing all the foods in there.

There’s a long and wide white couch that looks like a king sized bed in the center and there’s also a big screen mounted on the wall. You settle on the lone chair in the viewing room, sit properly and try avoiding Sakusa’s intense gaze.

What? You did nothing to him!

The three men sits besides each other, Oikawa scrolls on the menu of which genre of movies to watch, Bokuto starts picking up some tarts and chews it. And then, there’s still him, Sakusa! Staring at you!

“Hand her over, Koutaro.” your face turn pale when Sakusa pulls his shirt off his body and leans on the couch.

You couldn’t find the will to speak. You stoned on your seat. Bokuto whistles, inching closer to you. He cups your face and whispers soothing words.

“Wh–what is happening here, Kou?” you sound nervous. Bokuto brings you closer to Sakusa. You grab onto your best friend’s arms. “Koutaro... ” a breathe of panic.

“You are his present to me, Y/N. You’re the desserts.” Sakusa pulls you down on his lap, he breathes closer to your hair. Something is growing in between his thighs. You look so scared. He gets even aroused.

“wanna rub my tongue on his pussy, Koutaro,” Oikawa moves closer, too, licking his lips.

“I’m... I’m not—” Oikawa stops you from talking, taking your chin in his hand. “You’re not what, Y/N?” he asks seductively.

“Kou–Kou... help me.” you hold onto his hand, giving him a scared look.

Sakusa tugs on your long hair before latching on your earlobe, “don’t worry, Y/N. Koutaro will help you. He will help you fuck yourself to sleep.”

And the talking ended there.

Oikawa snatches your face and slams his mouth on your opened ones, rolling out his tongue into you before brushing roughly his lips against your lips. Your both hands twitches, the kiss is electrifying. You try to pull away but he restrains you by gripping lightly your neck. You hear Sakusa laughs. He wraps his arms around your body, locking you in restrictions. Oikawa continues kissing you roughly that you can feel his warm saliva dripping from his mouth down to your chin. You didn’t respond to his kisses. You were in shocked. When he sucks on your lips and tongue, you didn’t recognise the moan that passed your lips.

“Undress her quickly!” still in a rush, Bokuto puts his words into action. He separates you from Oikawa’s mouth. You were panting when he pulls out your hoodie, showing your uncovered titsx in broad daylight. They look perfect and round and flushed. The three men growls, pouncing all at one on you. Bokuto has the right breast, Sakusa’s on the left and Oikawa, he moves between your legs, pushing your shorts to the side to take a good look on your rosy folds.

Oikawa licks the slit back and forth until it gets covered with his saliva. He chuckles when your body twitches. He dips his mouth again, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clitx while scratching your inner thighs. You moan loudly, arching your back again and again. Your moan matches the others’ moans and grunts. Both Sakusa and Bokuto are sucking on your titsx and they’re doing it like they’re milking on you. Swirling sharply their tongues and grazing their teeth on its softness. Damn. You didn’t even say yes to them!

Unknowingly, your mouth also salivates as well as your cunt being treated like a meal by Oikawa’s hot and needy mouth. He’s swirling his tongue and he’s sucking you there so noisily.

“Tooru~” you moan his name when he starts pumping digits into you while his thumb is pressing hard on your clitx. Your legs stretches up and down whenever his fingers goes deeper and harder and at the same time, circling his knuckles hard as well on your cunt. He makes you drip like crazy and it’s evident on your oozing core and salivating mouth. He laughs triumphantly, giving you the best finger fuck and tongue fuck. Your body convulses when you come in waves, the two men abandons your chest to join Oikawa slurping your first and rich orgasm.

They pushes your legs up and there are three long and thick tongues slurping and licking your tight pussy that still waves down thick juices. You find support by grabbing on the edges while you were being worshipped by their mouths. A squeal escapes your lips when you feel someone’s tongue poking your anusx.

When they finished, Oikawa pulls you near the edge and kneels in front of your head hanging by on the ends. He’s the first one to get fully naked before Sakusa and Bokuto.

“Kou~” your eyes waters, not in fear but in excitement and other unnamed feelings.

Sakusa goes below you, putting your small body on top of his own while slowly inserting his fat cockx in your tight pussy. You let out a yelp when his balls bumps on your opening. He’s deep inside you!

“Sakusa hnngggg~ sooo deeeppp haaahhh!” you grip his arm that locks your head beside his by putting it tight around your neck. You struggle to breathe properly so you gasp for air. His other hand goes to your stuffed cunt and slaps your folds harshly until he hears you sob and cry.

“Enough, Omi, she’s sore already.” Bokuto slaps Sakusa’s hand away and replaces it by his own, giving soft touches and light kisses.

“Hmm~ Kou... Kou... ” you cry his name, grabbing his hand toward your mouth. You kiss his fingertips and suck on them later. Earning soft moans and heavy breathes from him.

Bokuto takes his hand from your grasp and gives you slow and sensual kiss on your lips. You feel Sakusa inching his length out but you give no enough attention to it. What matters now is how Bokuto kisses your numb lips. He’s good and it feels good.

Your dear friend ends the kiss but not his finger work on your clitx. He’s rubbing it softly.

“My turn baby doll.” you almost forgot about him. Oikawa kisses you again and what he does next surprised you. He shoves his cockx in your mouth, all the way down to your throat. You gag at how big he is but you can’t do anything to remove it not now that he starts moving in and out.

Your moans gets dissolved by Oikawa’s rough fucking inside your mouth. He moans louder than you and his friends and you feel like doing the same so you cooperate with him, sucking him in while he fucks his length harder to your throat.

Down to the remaining men, Sakusa has been hammering your tight cunt with his massive cockx and swear! Your eyes widened when Bokuto positions his big cock head to where Sakusa’s fat one is inserted.

You put your free hand on his abdomen when he hovers over you, slowly joining his friend’s dick into party.

No, Koutaro! You’re gonna rip me with your cockx!

But he didn’t stop. He slides his fat member into your stretched core! Stretching it even wider with Sakusa’s!

Oikawa moans louder and louder and he even dirty talks while spurting his thick loads in your mouth. You gag on it and you do nothing but swallow it all.

When it’s your turn to moan and scream, you give all your best in doing it because fuck, it’s hurt having two fat and long shafts inside your cunt. So you moan and cry and then repeat while ramming themselves into you. Your body shakes and your lips quivers and they huffs and pants and slams their hips until you bleed thick and rich heat again, covering their cocks with your juice and their sperms.

Bokuto and Sakusa only pulls out when they empty all of their loads inside you.

It’s not over, Oikawa pulls you and folds you in mating press, inserting his hard cockx into your leaking hole, pumping faster while kissing your roughly again. He does it again. The rough and deep pumping. The rough kisses that leaves your lips swollen and numb.

“Tooruuu aahhnnggg~ hmmppp~” you shake your head, he’s using you so rough. You can feel the weight of every thrust and you wish for it to be over.

Again, it’s not over even after he cum inside you. He flips you on your stomach, pushing his cockx back inside you. He pounds you harder from behind, groping your chest before slapping your ass as he keeps pounding. You cry. And cry. And cry.

Three times. Oikawa cums inside you three times before handing you back to Sakusa who chooses to fuck you ass up, too.

“Not today, Omi. Her parents would notice. She comes home every weekends.” Bokuto advises his friend when Sakusa put his tip on your anusx.

Sakusa spits on his length and on your anusx, “okay, I won’t anal fuck her hmm~” he says but does it anyway.

He shoves right there! Sliding his full length inside your ass. You let out a loud cry and sob hard. Sakusa laughs. Oikawa, too. Bokuto attends to you and takes your both hands, drawing circles at the back of your hand he’s gripping tightly.

“Kou... Kou... it hurts, please, Kou... ” you cry while holding hands with your best friend.

Sakusa starts grinding his hips against your and that makes you feel the very pain of being analed. Bokuto didn’t leave you. He keeps holding your hand while Sakusa pounds you senselessly, almost adhering you deep against the softness of the couch.

“Ssshhh, baby~ you can take him~ you’ll feel good.” you focus on his words while endurimg Sakusa’s rough thrusts.

“Kou—” you were cut mid sentence. Sakusa pulls you away from Bokuto, flipping you on your back again to face him.

You can feel his loads dripping from your assholex but he’s not done yet. He separates your legs and dips between your thighs, pushing his shaft back.

You wince in pain when he slaps your swollen folds. You tell him it hurts with tears in your eyes but he just smiled. Slapping for the last time before rocking you again and this time, claiming your lips. He kisses expertly and you find yourself returning his kiss even though your lips hurts.

“Omi... ” you cry his name softly and that stuns him for seconds, watching your face contorts in beautiful pleasure. He sees something different in you in that state so he rocks you deep but slow this time, kissing your chin down to your neck and moments later, he’s shooting his loads inside you while still kissing you slowly.

Once again, that moment isn’t over yet, Bokuto takes you inside his arms and brings you in the backyard where there is a inflatable pool set up near the wooden fence.

The sun is up and so is his cockx.

He puts your nakedness in the cold water and slow fuck you there but bruising your whole body with his deep bites and tight grips. He pushes the hair strands that covers your face while ramming himself into you. He looks at you softly and he notices your puffy eyes from all the crying.

“You good, baby?” his voice is gentle so you smile, nodding your head until it slowly falls down backwards. You feel drained and you can’t keep with his deep rumblings while moving up and down on his lap.

He catches your head on time, eyes fluttering from being overworked.

“Kou, I like you. I lied when I say it’s Omi.” you confess before closing your eyes.

Bokuto does your job, he moves your ass up and down his length even though you fell asleep on him. As he shoots his loads inside, he says this, “but Omi found you first, Y/N. He’s afraid to tell you his feelings so he finds another way to get close to you. By bullying you, he gets closer and closer. I just jumped in the scene and befriended you. I like you, too, Y/N. But he likes you first. So, you are his.”

But, you didn’t hear it. You were too tired to fight against the need to sleep.

Two hours later...

You were in the backseat, straddling on Sakusa’s laps, his cockx installed inside your creaming cunt while holding you tight as he kisses your lips torridly.

On your way home,

Bokuto drives the car.

While Sakusa is fucking you mercilessly in the backseat.

With all the bruises and marks of ownership, there’s no doubt you are his.

You are Kiyoomi Sakusa’s property.

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kingofkingdom-archive · 4 years

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So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you.

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father.

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here?

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time.

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee.

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father.

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months.

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised.

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that.

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived.

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful.

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you.

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift.

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud .

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me. He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid.

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth.

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it.

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people.

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose.

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm.

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands.

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually.

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling.

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall.

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get.

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities.

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix.

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder.

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur.

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind.

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though.

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fucks #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #boba fett x female reader #female reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

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seiyasabi · 4 years

Text

Obsessed With Loving You

(Here’s a Yandere Lucid Narancia x Willing Fem Reader fic! I hope ya’ll enjoy :)) Also, this will take place in the early 2000s, so I will make appropropriate references for the time period.

TW: Aged up Narancia!, !Consensual NSFW!, praise kink!, Blowjob!, cum swallowing!, !violence (not against you)!, mafia business!, mostly a soft fic, !obsession, !Possiveness, you’re highkey in denial of his unhinged behaviour!, etc..

I’m sorry if this is too OOC)

Zipping up your cropped Juicy Couture jumper, you look at yourself in your vanity mirror. Your (size) breasts look amazing with your low cut tank top and partially unzipped jumper, and your (thin/thick) thighs look ravishing in your Dior mini skirt.

Smiling at your cute appearance, you swipe a thin layer of (colour) lipgloss on your (thin/full) lips, before spreading the product out evenly.

Today, Nara is supposed to take you out, and you’re very excited.

Plopping down on your vanity’s bench, you buckle a pair of open-toed high heels onto your pedicured feet. Smoothing down any wrinkles on your expensive skirt, you bring out your navy-coloured Nokia, and text your boyfriend that you’re ready to go. Grabbing your cross-bodied purse, you slip it on, and toss your cellphone into its large pocket.

Within moments of your text, you hear your bedroom door’s locks disengage. Your silly boyfriend is so worried about you, that he put those three high security locks on your door. He says he’s afraid of a rival mafia hurting you, but you always reassure him that you know that he’d save you. After all, he’d brought you to his home so that he’s almost always near you!

Your eyes land on your curly haired man, his usual attire strapped on tighter than normal, bringing out his lithe, muscular form.

“Ready to go, beautiful?” You smile and nod, standing to your feet. His purple eyes are glued to your form, taking in how beautiful you look in the clothing he bought you.

“Mmhmm! I’m so excited to go out with you today,” You hurry up to him, hugging him in a tight embrace, all whilst grinning up at him lovingly. His heart practically combusts at the sight of your cute face.

“Me too! I have so much planned for us today,” His giddy smile and eager words spur the two of you into motion, his arm tightly wound around your waist and your head leaning against his bony shoulder.

Once outside your apartment building, he calls over a taxi, getting one with ease. Nara opens the door for you, batting his eyelashes at you playfully. You giggle at his silly actions, and step inside the yellow car. Sitting on the plush seat, you wait for your man to take a seat next to you. Those few moments feel like forever, but when you hear the opposite door open, and you feel his hot hand place itself on your bare thigh, you feel at ease.

The dark haired man speaks to the taxi driver in Italian, and even though you try to follow their conversation, they speak too quickly for you to understand. That’s the price you pay for living in a foreign country.

Once the driver knows where Narancia wishes to go, your boyfriend sends you a happy smile, “Today is going to be a good day, beautiful. I’ll make sure of it.”

The day did, in fact, start out great.

When the two of you reached Via Toledo, Nara immediately directed you to a plethora of high end stores. He’d picked out multiple cute outfits he thought you’d look cute in, and practically dragged you into the fitting room. The only problem is that you looked good in everything he put you in! He almost allowed himself to become bankrupt by buying you everything, but you quickly stopped him.

He was upset at first, but when you meekly told him that you didn’t want him to spend all his money on you, his resolve broke. The both of you came to an agreement; you pick out one or two outfits that you like the most, and he’ll buy only the things you chose. This pleased him greatly, because he was still able to spoil you, but you felt too bad to choose anything very expensive.

So, this ended up with Narancia carrying about ten bags at the end of the day.

“Are you sure you want to carry all of them, Nara? I can carry something! I don’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself-”

“Don’t worry about me, beautiful. I can carry everything, and if you want, I can even carry you,” This draws a laugh from you. You hold onto his arm, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“Thank you for today, I had a lot of fun,” You kiss him on the cheek, making him flush a deep maroon. His russet coloured skin practically glows in the setting sun, making you gawk at him in awe. Your boyfriend is so beautiful. Hearing a love sick giggle come from the curly haired man, you realise that you said your thoughts out loud.

“It is no problem, (Nickname), all I want is for you to be happy,” He kisses your cheek in return, making you flush as well, “Are you hungry? Fugo told me that there’s a good place-”

“Narancia Ghirga, I’m going to kill you!” A haggard looking man runs towards the both of you, and for some reason, he looks familiar, “Give me (Your Name) back! I know that you’ve brainwashed her!” The man’s outburst causes a lot of bystanders to look in your direction, thus causing a small crowd to form.

Your boyfriend quickly pushes you behind him, shielding you from the man with his own body, “What the fuck do you want? I don’t know who the hell you are, but you better stay away from my girlfriend,” You have never seen the normally happy go-lucky man this angry, which scares you.

“You know what you did, and you know who I am! I am Christian Viccio, (Your Name)’s real boyfriend! I’m here to take her back home, where she belongs,” He whips out a pistol, drawing loud yells and gasps from the crowd around you.

“You’re fucking crazy! Put the fucking gun away,” Narancia quickly calls upon Aerosmith, preparing to kill the man that’s currently threatening your relationship and your life. Nara knows who this man is, of course he does! He’s the man that had stolen you away from him, the man that tried to steal your heart. The dark haired man is kicking himself for not just killing him when he had the chance. But, here is his second chance.

When the haggard man moves to shoot your boyfriend, he allows Aerosmith to shit him in the head, killing him instantly. The crowd runs and screams after the shot is fired, causing mass panic. You can’t move, you’re in shock at what just happened. It’s as if a sniper just took the guy out in mere seconds.

Realising your paralysing fear, Nara scoops you into his arms, bags digging painfully into his flesh, and runs in the direction of your shared apartment.

“-You’re alright, beautiful. That horrible man can’t hurt you,” The purple eyed man soothes, rubbing your sides reassuringly, “I’m sorry that I kept this away from you, but I was scared. I was scared that that obsessed man was going to hurt you and steal you away from me.” You cuddle into your boyfriend’s warm chest, eating his words up without much thought.

“It’s okay Nara, thank you for saving me. Without you, I surely would’ve been hurt,” He squeezes your body close to his, relishing how soft you feel under his large palms.

“I’d do anything for you, (Your Name). I’d kill for you, because I love you, just remember that, okay?” You nod, forehead bumping his exposed collar bones.

“I love you too. Is there anything I can do to repay you?” You smooch the underside of his jaw, making butterflies flutter in his stomach.

“Just you loving me is enough,” He kisses your forehead, his hands squeezing the fat of your hips. You smile up at him, your hands running through his hick locks, tugging lightly on certain spots. A small moan escapes his lips, showing that he’s enjoying your actions.

“Please let me do something for you, Nara. Please let me make you feel good,” Who is he to deny your request? Especially when you look at him with so much love and warmth.

“O-okay,” His voice breaks slightly, causing him to clear his throat, “-I mean, yes, of course,” Giving him one last kiss on the lips, you then push him lightly onto his back, leaving him vulnerable below you. You sit on his legs, trapping him below you.

“I love you so much,” Your fingers grasp the fabric of his top, signaling you wanting him to take it off. He does so without fault, showing his well chiseled abdomen, “I meant what I said earlier, you’re very pretty, Nara. My pretty, kind, amazing boyfriend,” His cheeks flush, and you can’t help but kiss them in response.

Your hands ghost over his trouser clad cock, feeling it jump under your soft touch. You shuck the skirt overlaying trousers, before removing them as well, leaving him in his tightening boxers. His purple undergarment shows the outline of his dick very nicely, making your mouth water.

“I wanna make you feel good, will you let me suck your beautiful cock?” He nods down at you shyly, making you grin in happiness.

Pulling his boxers off of him causes his hardening cock to smack against his v-line, splattering a small amount of precum on his tan skin. His tip is a dark maroon, whilst his shaft is a little darker than the rest of his skin. The area around his cock and sack is smooth and hairless, all thanks to a waxing salon he visits monthly. All in all, his prick is the prettiest one you’ve ever seen.

Moving off of him for a moment, you guide him to the edge of your bed, kneeling between his parted legs. His heavy sack hangs below him, but his thick cock bobs straight up. Looking up at his shy face, you take his cock in your dominant hand, and kiss his sensitive tip lovingly.

He lets out a small, high pitched moan, earning him a second kiss. Narancia lays a heavy hand on the back of your head, signaling that he wants you to continue. You do so willingly.

Your other hand cups his heavy balls, kneading them softly, whilst your mouth suckles his tip, and your other hand stroked him tenderly. He keens at your treatment, hips bucking slightly.

“That-that feels so good. I love you so much,” At his words, your hand leaves his shaft, in favour of you taking him deep into your mouth, practically deep throating him. Moaning at full volume, he tries to stay as still as possible, as you suck and fondle him. Squirts of precum shoot down your throat, spurring you to bob your head faster.

“Fu-fu-fuck! You treat me so well, (Your Name), you suck my cock so-” He cuts himself off with a series of moans.

You continue to suck and fondle his cock, the back of your throat massaging his thick cockhead. Tears sting your eyes as you hum around him, trying not to gag.

With every swallow around him, you can feel him swell, showing that he’s about to cum. With one last hard suck, and a particularly hard squeeze of his sack, he creams the back of your throat.

Narancia falls backwards, his orgasm wracking his entire body. His hips almost jerk away from your mouth, but you dutifully follow, trying to swallow down everything that he’s giving you. Your throat helps milk him of his cum, causing him to become oversensitive very quickly.

Once you hear his pitiful keen, you release him, licking your lips of any of his escaped cum. Sliding up his legs, you lay your (size) chest against his, smiling down at his fucked out face.

“I love you, Nara. I’m so happy that you’re the ones who saved me,” Your words are sweet, honest, and innocent, and in his post-nut clarity, Narancia can’t help but feel guilt for lying to you.

But, since he can see that his brainwashing hasn’t come undone, he says nothing.

Capturing your lips with his, he holds you close, relishing your weight against his lithe form.

Nothing can take you from him, no, he’ll make sure of it.

#yandere narancia #narancia ghirga #yandere narancia x reader #narancia x reader #n/s/f/w #yandere jjba #jjba x reader

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bcbdrums · 3 years

Text

What Happens In Vegas

A/N: A silly little gift fic for split-n-splice, partially inspired by this amazing art and also inspired by my imaginings of things she's teased are to come in her outstanding fanfiction, The Company You Keep.

Do view her art, do read her fic... Laugh at my nonsense if you so choose.

Read on: FFn AO3

Mature rated fic, you have been warned.

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

Drakken was lying on his back when he woke up to a severe throbbing at the front of his skull. As he opened his eyes to a powerful light, the pain spread like claws out across the rest of his head, and after covering his face with both forearms to block out the blinding brilliance, he realized its source was a ceiling light.

The next thing he became aware of was a very soft yet definitely solid something under his knees, keeping them elevated. And then a tight pain in his feet.

A guttural groan escaped his lips as he pushed himself upright, and he almost fell again as he wiped the drool from the side of his face.

'What happened...?'

His vision was swimming, and through the fog he saw waves of pale green on either side of his knees, surrounded by white and pale pink. His fingers gripped the fabric of what he realized were bed sheets, and before his vision cleared, as he stared at his bare blue legs and came to the realization that the rest of him was bare too, he suddenly knew just what—or rather, who—the soft green mass beneath him was.

"Shego?" he whispered fearfully.

He didn't want to jump to conclusions about what had happened, as his clearing vision began to reveal a spartan motel room surrounding them, but it seemed...like it was a fair assumption to make.

He shifted and felt the tight pain in his feet again, and his brow furrowed as he looked down and saw a familiar pair of black high heels on his feet that most definitely were not his. As he reached to pull them off with a grimace, a glinting of gold caught his eye and his eyes widened as he thrust his hand up to only inches from his nose, squinting at the metal band on the fourth finger of his left hand.

'How...?'

"Ungh..."

The groan from the figure face down on the bed showed his whisper hadn't been soft enough. But he was glad she was waking up, in hopes she might be able to provide answers, and not the ones his mind was insistent on hammering into his aching skull, now with images. A panicked confusion arrested his mind as he realized the images weren't mere groggy fantasies, but memories.

"Shego?" he said a bit more loudly.

Her hands flew to cover her ears as her body began to twist beneath his legs, and then she held her head as if in pain as another groan escaped her.

"What...? My head..."

She started to push upright and Drakken hurriedly removed his legs from her back. This action seemed to startle her to attention, and she sat bolt upright, eyes wide and blinking around them in confusion and fright.

"What? What hap— Dr. D.?"

He watched as she took in the room in mere moments, his nude form afterward, and then herself. Drakken snatched the only pillow left on the bed to cover himself, and then felt guilty as his eyes strayed lower than her face. It was all coming back to him. And he knew that every possible repercussion from what they had done involved him experiencing pain in some way.

What he hadn't expected, however, was for Shego to burst into tears.

"Sh...Shego?" he asked in confusion and concern as she buried her face in her hands, not even bothering to cover herself. His vision clearing at last, he glanced past her at the small purple pharmacy-type box on the nightstand with its colorful promises, and then at the mess on the floor.

The other pillows were everywhere, along with a blanket, their clothes, numerous empty and still sealed bottles of alcohol, and...a scattering of too many wrappers and used condoms.

Drakken swallowed as more and more images flooded back to his mind and tried desperately to calm his panic. He shifted closer to her and felt the tight pain again, and with a scowl he pulled her high heeled shoes off his feet and pushed them aside.

"Shego..." Drakken said again, this time his voice coming out choked and pained. He realized then his throat was hoarse. "Shego I'm sorry..."

Shego wiped her nose twice with the back of her hands, but her eyes remained closed as her bawling grew louder. Drakken glanced at where they sat and after a moment, tentatively tossed the sheet over her lap for a hint of modesty.

"I don't...I don't remember exactly how it started..." he continued, desperation beginning to take over as she wouldn't even acknowledge him. "I remember we were at the casino, and we were drinking... You ordered us two more shots after I'd said it was enough... But Shego please, please know...if I had thought for one instant you didn't want... That this wasn't... I know we were drunk, but you...you took us to the gift shop, and bought that box... You said you couldn't wait and so we got this room... I know I wasn't thinking straight but...but you wanted..."

Drakken trailed off as he wondered if Shego was even hearing him, her sobs continuing unfettered.

"I...I thought you... I know I was very drunk, but I'm...v-very...positive...that this was all your idea... And Shego it would have never, ever entered my mind to... Had I been sober I would have never dreamed of... Shego? Wh-Why aren't you saying anything?"

Drakken had expected rage, green flames, and a verbal assault at the very least. Not the endless streams of crocodile tears that kept falling down her face. Her hands remained uselessly in her lap as her shoulders shook with sobs, and glancing around, Drakken spotted a tissue box that had just avoiding falling off the nightstand—the lamp hadn't.

He leaned over and grabbed a few, and when he pushed them into her hands it startled her. She blinked down at them, and then up at him, her expression unreadable. Drakken bit his lip then as he cautiously reached over her shoulders and pulled her hair to her front to give her more modesty. Shego looked down at this, sniffled once, and then exploded into further sobs.

The panicked confusion continued to race across Drakken's nerves as he watched her cry, a response like nothing he'd ever seen out of his partner in crime save when under the influence of the Moodulator. And even that hadn't been this bad.

"Shego, I... I..."

Drakken finally hung his head with a heavy sigh. If she was so upset to not even...unleash her fury, he knew it was far too great a crime to forgive.

"I'm sorry, Shego," he said quietly, fidgeting lightly with the edge of the pillowcase. "You can...consider your contract fulfilled, and...you can have anything you want in severance. I... I'm so sorry."

He started to shift away from her, thinking to give her some privacy until she was ready to either unleash her fury or apparently leave him without so much as that. He wasn't prepared for her suddenly seizing his arm, and his breath caught. It was about to happen.

"I can't remember any of it," were the words that came from Shego's lips, choked and thick.

Drakken blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I've been trying..." Shego forced out through sobs, "to get you into bed...for two years... And it finally happened—"

Her eyes opened at last and glanced sideways into the room.

"Several times..."

Drakken followed her gaze and he bit his cheek in nervous confusion as he looked at the used condoms.

"And I can't remember any of it!"

Drakken relaxed, shifting nearer to her as she continued to cry, albeit less loudly, finally making use of the tissues he had offered. Once they were spent he hurriedly placed the box in front of her, and she took out another.

"Wait, Shego, you...you...wanted...to get me into bed?" Drakken finally asked, shaking his head in confusion—which he regretted instantly for the hangover.

"Mr. Can't Read Signals when they're literally right in front of his face," Shego grumbled.

"What signals?" he asked, still reeling from the idea that Shego was actually interested.

"All the flirting," Shego said plainly, her tears beginning to still.

"What flirting...?"

Shego looked up and narrowed her reddened eyes on him. "Are you really that dense?"

"Shego, what flirting!?" Drakken said, racking his brain for any time outside of her absurd behavior while under the influence of the Moodulator, either before or after given the time frame she indicated, that could have been considered flirting.

Shego scoffed. "You mean you didn't notice me leaning up into your space, getting so close I could blow on your ear, or putting my chest right at your eye level while you worked?"

Drakken had a flash of memory of times when Shego would suddenly be in front of him, blocking his view of what he was working on, or leaning between him and his tools, or whispering about nothing so close to him that he couldn't concentrate.

He blinked at her several times in succession as he realized...she was serious.

"...What?" Shego said, wiping her nose again and then hugging herself.

"I thought you were trying to annoy me," Drakken said.

"...What!?"

"I didn't know you were flirting! It...didn't come across that way," Drakken said, trailing off at the end as he saw the flashing of green eyes across from him.

Shego screamed. She threw her hands up in the air for a moment and then let them fall at her sides, seemingly finally spent of tears as she blinked at nothing on the bed sheets.

"Shego...why?" Drakken asked.

Shego began gathering the sheet up around herself to wear as a toga.

"Well if it isn't obvious now, blue bonehead, I have a major crush on you. But since the feeling isn't mutual I guess I'll just stop making a fool of myself and—"

Drakken's hand on her arm halted her words at the same time a gasped 'no' left his lips.

"Let me go!"

"Shego."

"This is humiliating enough," she said, struggling against his grip.

"Shego. Look at what happened."

Drakken gestured broadly to the mess of the room, and Shego followed his gaze. She blinked several times as she took in what to him was a very embarrassing scene, the room looking as if it had been trashed by a group of rowdy party-goers and not just defiled by a drunken couple in lust. Or...could it be more?

"Wh-What on earth made you think it wasn't mutual?" Drakken continued, his voice a mixture of nervous, embarrassed, and annoyed. "I've spent four years trying to hide my feelings for you."

"What?" Shego asked, her eyes snapping back to his.

Drakken looked down. "Yes, well... It wouldn't be appropriate, a boss and an employee..."

"Four years?" she said incredulously.

"Sorry," Drakken said, keeping his eyes on his slightly swollen feet.

It was quiet. And then, "Hmmm..."

Drakken looked up at Shego's thoughtful, almost playful tone.

"What?"

"Wouldn't be appropriate, you say?" Her tell-tale smirk was starting to return.

"No..." Drakken said, finding his mouth suddenly dry.

Shego grinned. "I quit."

"What!?"

"How many rubbers came in that box?"

Drakken blinked rapidly, his mind processing her intent so fast that he'd pounced on the purple box on the nightstand and was yanking its contents out onto the bed before he could realize he'd nearly knocked her down in the process.

"There's three left," he said, peering into the empty box as if more would somehow materialize at his will.

"Then put some clothes on and go buy some more," Shego said decisively.

"What, why?" Drakken asked in annoyance.

"Well I count nine all over this room," Shego said. Drakken's face flushed. "Since I can't remember any of that, we're going to have to make up for it all before we leave."

Shego scooped up Drakken's boxers from the floor by the bedside and tossed them at him.

Drakken grinned as he shimmied into them. As he did so, the light glinted off the gold of his ring, and he glanced over at Shego as she began tossing more of his clothes at him. A matching band adorned her slimmer finger. Drakken looked around, and for the first time he noticed the half-folded piece of paper stuck out of the drawer of the nightstand. His brow twisted with nerves but it couldn't stop his smile growing.

"I guess...this is a good time to point out we got married?" Drakken said.

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thegirlwhobrokeintothetardis · 4 years

Text

The Golden Oriole (Geralt x Reader)

Word Count: 2,769

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Summary: You have been traveling with the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, for over a year now. You started to have feelings for him but tried pushing them away thinking there was no way he would reciprocate them. But what happens when you're poisoned on a hunt, and it looks like time is running out?

Warnings: Angst, some violence, some fluffy bits :)

A/N: So this ihas been in my drafts for so long guys, and I finally was able to finally finish it!!! There is some angst, some fluff, and some SOFT!GERALT!!!

The fog around you wasn’t that thick, but it still made you feel like you were headed into the unknown.

You walked next to Geralt who was riding Roach, the quiet of the forest still deafening to you. You have been traveling with Geralt for over a year, meeting in a small village outside Kaedwen where you ended up helping him on a quest to stop the killings of people in the village, which ended up being a Latawiec, a devil-like creature that can seduce nearly any kind of person (men, women, even said to lure children), who was serving a sorcerer who was killing these people. Geralt was almost seduced and lead away when you saw what was happening and wounded it with your bow and arrow. It escaped, but it ended up breaking its trance with the Witcher and leading the two of you to the sorcerer to blame.

After that, you convinced Geralt to let you join him on his journeys. Right now you were going through a forest on the outskirts of southern Temeria after finishing with a job. Geralt was being stoic as ever and without that bard Jaskier to sing songs and talk excessively, it was just silent as you two traveled on.

All of a sudden, a loud screech sounded from the distance. It echoed off the trees, making you turn in all different directions to see what could have made the noise. Geralt also turned his head, pulling on Roach’s reins to make her stop.

“What was that?” You asked, still looking for anything to catch your eye as you pulled your bow off your back. The two of you waited for another sound, but nothing came.

“Just keep your ears open.” Geralt said, looking around the wooded area one more time before letting Roach continue on. After about an hour, you reached the end of the forest, and it opened up into a large field with more trees in the distance. The sun was covered by some heavy clouds, making everything seem gray and dense. Just as the two of you made it into the field, the screeching sound from before sounded from overhead. Geralt looked around before getting off Roach and tying her reigns to the nearest tree before pulling out one of his swords.

You pulled an arrow out of your hip quiver and nocked it, pulling the string back and scanning the perimeter. “See anything?”

Geralt looked around and before you could move, Geralt quickly moved and slashed at the air. That's when you saw the red-winged beast with vicious teeth and a trident-like tail. As it flew up a bit more to dodge Geralt’s attack, you let go of the string as it flew in that creature’s direction. The arrow nicked the thing’s wing, and it let out another screech.

“What the hell is that?!” You yelled, pulling out another arrow. Geralt eyed the thing, strengthening his stance and becoming the Witcher so many fear right in front of your eyes.

“Its a wyvern.” Geralt said back. “Be careful. They’re poisonous.”

The wyvern screeched again before diving towards you and Geralt; Geralt holding his stance but you having to dive out of the way, rolling away before getting back on your feet. You pulled your string back with the arrow nocked and fired at the creature, catching it in its lower torso with a thwap! as it tried to fly back into the sky.

Before you could pull another arrow out of your quiver, the wyvern turned its attention to you and flew straight at you. “Look out!” Geralt yelled, trying to intercept the wyvern.

But it was too late.

The wyvern’s tail lashed at you, landing a hit in your side and forcing you to fall to the ground. The air was knocked out of you, you lungs trying to regain breath while the wyvern hovered over you, getting ready to deal another strike. Just as you were going to try and grab an arrow, there was a slashing sound above you, and the pained cry of the creature as it fell to the ground a few feet from you. You could still see some movement in your periphery but there was stilled by some slashing sound and one last monstrous cry.

Even with it being a couple minutes since you fell, you knew that your breathing should be back to normal, but you noticed that it started getting more labored. Pants of air came out in clouds of condensation as your shaky hand reached to your side and came back dripping blood. “G-Geralt..”

Quickened footsteps came closer to you until Geralt was in your field of vision, looking over your weakened state. He moved to touch your side, you flinching as he gently examined your injury. “Fuck. Did it get you with its tail?”

“I-I think so.” You said. Your vision started to swim as black started to frame your eyesight. You could feel a burning traveling through your body like fire chasing line of gunpowder, your hands shaking more erratically as you started to loose control. “What’s going t-to h-happen to me-e?”

“Nothing, you are going to be okay.” Geralt grumbled as moved above you, your vision making it hard to determine exactly what he was doing.

Suddenly everything became quiet around you, your vision getting worse as the tremors racked through your limbs. Geralt leaned over you again, and you could barely make out his mouth moving, trying to tell you something but it fell on deaf ears. Your eyelids felt like heavy iron and fluttered shut as it got hard to even think. You tried to reopen your eyes, really struggling to as you felt your body giving up on you. You opened your eyes just enough to see Geralt’s worried expression before your eyes closed again, and everything went black.

----

Warm.

Something was making you really warm.

Your eyes fluttered open to a darkened room, the walls and ceilings stone while also being covered with wall ornaments; maps, gilded candlesticks, and even what looked like a tapestry but was torn in half. You turn your head and catch the flickering of a fire in a fireplace, and that’s when you realize you are on an actual bed after weeks of traversing the wild wood. Slowly, you start to sit up, the blanket and animal fur that was covering you falls in a heap in your lap. You try to get your bearings when you look down and catch something.

This is not your shirt.

Instead of your normal traveling clothes and leather armor, you are dressed in a dark gray fabric shirt, the V semi-open with the strings loose. And no bottoms aside from your undergarments. You can feel bandages tied around your torso and hindering any real further movement, and before you can do anything else, the large wooden door on the other side of the room opens and Geralt walks in, catching eyes with you and your awakened state. For a brief second, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you as you see Geralt’s body untense in what could resemble relief before returning back to his normal self.

“You’re awake,” Geralt said, closing the door behind him and walking over to your bedside. He grabbed a chair that was against the wall and placed it near your side, sitting down before looking back at you, “that’s good.”

“Where are we?” You asked, looking around the room more and trying to place if you knew it.

“Temeria.”

“King Foltest let you back? I thought he ordered you never to return to Temeria.”

“This was extenuating circumstances. I needed the help of Triss, his sorceress, to help heal you.” Geralt explained. “Once you are able to travel, we have to leave.”

You looked down at your hands, now still and not shaking like before, before looking back at Geralt. “What exactly happened to me?”

“The wyvern cut you on your side with the end of its tail, where they keep their poison. After I killed the creature, then tried to help you as best I could. You lost consciousness soon after so I got you up on Roach and traveled to Triss’s workplace in the castle. She was able to use her magic and some potion she made to help the poison leave your body.” Geralt said, his eyes lowering down to his lap partway through his story, something not quite right with how he told it.

Before you could ask about it, Geralt looked back at you, his body tensing up more than usual. He gets up and moves the chair back against the wall, avoiding your eyes. “I will tell Triss that you woke up. She said she would need to examine you to make sure their was no side affects from the poison.” He started walking towards the door when you spoke up again.

“Geralt-”

He stopped at the door, hand on the handle, before opening it and leaving you alone once again. Shortly after, a dark skinned woman with bushy brown hair in a bright red dress came into the room with a tray of bottles and a bowl in her hands. You assumed that this was the sorceress, Triss. “Ah, you are awake. Fantastic.” She said, settling her tray on the bedside table and grabbing the chair Geralt had used to sit by your bedside.

“Yes, I just woke up a little while ago.” You explained. The woman smiled at you as she put her hand on your forehead before coming back glowing slightly, looking down at it like it was a piece of parchment.

“How’s you’re eyesight? Having any trouble stringing together words?”

“No, should I?” You asked, worried now that there could be something more wrong that you can’t feel.

“Well, with what Geralt did, plus the poison from the wyvern, I was worried about brain damage.” Triss explained, quickly examining your wound sight before turning to her tray.

You’re eyes followed Triss as she started measuring different liquids from the vials and pouring them into the bowl, seeming to mix something together for you, “What do you mean ‘with what Geralt did’? What did he do?”

Triss looked up from her tray to cast a confusing look at you, “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Geralt told me he used one of his witcher potions on you to subdue the poison long enough to travel here and ask for my help.”

You were shocked, Geralt used one of his potions on you? Whenever you had asked about them in the past, he would avoid talking about them and either switch subjects or ignore your question all together. Triss caught the surprised look on your face and smiled before turning back to her tray.

“He told me that humans are not supposed to be have any potions made for a witcher, that it can sometimes lead to liver or even brain damage. I have never seen him so upfront about his concern for another person, he would stay by your side for long intervals during your stupefied state.” Triss explained.

“How long was I unconscious?” You asked.

“Almost a week,” You quickly turned more in Triss’s direction, hissing when you pulled on your stitches. “Be careful, don’t ruin my work.”

Triss lowered herself to the side of your bed and handed you the bowl of ingredients she had been fiddling with this whole time, different shades of green mixed together to almost resemble a lush forest. You quickly drank the concoction and handed the bowl back to the sorceress, a bitter taste of earth in your mouth. After, the two of you sat in silence as Triss unraveled your dressings to check your wound. She worked quickly, putting some honey on the wound before rewrapping it in new gauze. As she was preparing to leave, she turned back to you and made sure you kept eye contact as she spoke.

“You have gained the trust and affections of a witcher, very few if not any can say that. I hope you keep that blessing for as long as you can, for if you loose it it will be lost forever.” And with that, she left the room.

Your mind drifted as her words sunk in, of course you were always thankful that Geralt hadn’t dropped you off at some village or demanded you stop traveling together. And you thought that there was some relationship between you, like warriors or combatants working together. But trust? Affection? There was always rumors that witchers were incapable of emotions, but you never put too much worth into it, but saw how guarded the man was. So when you realized you had feelings for Geralt of Rivia, you did not fall into it like you would have if you were younger and more carefree. No, you pushed down any romantic notions of Geralt and continued on as is, even when he would leave you to have sexual exploits with a lady of the night.

You were so deep in thought that you didn’t hear the door open and shut until footsteps got closer to your bed. You looked up to see Geralt back in your room, standing above you and watching you closely, like he was trying to read your thoughts. “You’re back.”

“Triss said that in a few days you should be well to travel again.”

“That’s good.”

It was quiet as Geralt grabbed that chair from the wall again and sat at your bedside. Your thoughts were still running mad, so when you opened your mouth, you were surprised with what actually came out.

“Triss said you used a witcher potion on me.”

Geralt tensed up, more that usual, and then let out a breath. “I did.”

“Why? If you knew that it was harmful to humans, why risk it?” You asked, trying to get Geralt to look at you, but he kept his gaze on his boots while clenching his fists. He started mumbling something, his voice so low and gravely that you had trouble hearing what exactly he said, “Geralt?”

“It was the only chance you had to possibly survive.” He said, louder than before as hey eyes finally found their way to yours. The pools of molten gold burned into your very soul as you finally saw emotion through his strong exterior. It looks like he is in pain. “I knew that it could lead to severe consequences for you, but you were dying right in front of me, the poison was working fast through your body and I knew that if I left on Roach at that very moment doing nothing, you would have died in my arms.”

“Geralt.”

“Believe me, I was blaming myself throughout the whole ordeal, even now that you have woken up.”

You scooted closer to the end of your bed, trying to get closer to Geralt, “ Triss said you seemed very worried.”

“What? Are you surprised that I, a witcher, can actually feel?” He asked, his body language telling you that it getting more uncomfortable to talk about this.

“No, I know you Geralt.” His eyes widened at that, “You seem to just hide your emotions better than the rest of us. It must be tiresome to hear that from people you don’t even know.”

At this, he slowly unclenched his fists, his shoulders releasing tension, and reached out to the hands that were resting on your lap. They felt rough and calloused after decades of fighting monsters, but also like a tunic you have worn too often that it has gone soft. “I am glad that you are okay, Y/N.”

You smile, and sandwiched his hand between yours and give a reassuring squeeze, “Thank you for making sure I was okay, Geralt.”

After a few more seconds, your hands clasped around his, you brought up another question you had had earlier, “Geralt, which potion did you use for me?”

Geralt looked amused at you before looking back at your hands, “A healing potion, named the Golden Oriole.”

“After the bird?”

“Yes, there were many that would come around Kaer Morhen during the warmer seasons.” He explained. You smiled and slowly started rubbing your thumb over the top of Geralt’s hand.

“I would love to see one one day. They sound beautiful.”

For the first time in a year since you met Geralt, he smiled the warmest smile you have ever seen. You could almost feel it like it was the sun on a spring day.

“Then I will take you to see them. One day.”

TAGS: @l4life @ithoughtiwasflying

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

By the king’s hand 🐍 V

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers (this chapter, slight oral, handjob/fingering, degradation)

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You leave the capital but you can’t break away from your keeper.

Note: Hopefully I can work on my masterlist updates today! So keep an eye out on @darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The king hadn’t been gone long before your departure was set and the palace set to readying the horses and their riders. Loki presented you with a maid’s dress and apron and had you dress the part for the journey to his brother’s manor of Thunder Lodge.

“Keep your head down,” he bid as you changed, “If any should wonder why you are unfamiliar, you will explain that you have recently been re-allocated among the staff. When we do arrive, if any do question your duties, you will say you tend to one of the lords.”

There were a dozen servants in the cart with you, packed in among chests and other luggage. As you rocked with its motion, you could see him and hear his voice still.

“Do not mention me. Once all is settled, you will join me and remain in my chambers until we return to the road.” He fixed his hair in the glass as he spoke. He was agitated as he continued to find ways to keep his hands busy. “And at last, I might show you truly the extent of your sentence.”

You squeezed your thighs together as you pressed yourself to the side of the cart. You could remember so clearly the way his tongue felt and that joyous flame which had overtaken our core. It made you sweat to think on it and his promises of more only added to your unwanted fervour. Your spite was splintered by your sinful want.

The secrecy made it feel worse. It assured you that it was wrong. Certainly, a bed warmer was not unheard of, mistresses far more common, but Loki’s insistence upon deception made you anxious. Perhaps, it added to his amusement. Or perhaps he was ashamed to lay with a commoner. It truly didn’t matter so you pondered little on his whims.

Camp was made just after dark. The moon beamed down on the party and you slept among the staff and the horses. You didn’t expect Loki to call for you nor were you disappointed. Yet you thought of him. You couldn’t shake him.

Even as you thought of sneaking away, he lingered in your mind. He warned you that you would not go unobserved and you hadn’t. You noticed the guard and how he stayed close to the servants’ cart. His grey eyes as they found you amid the bunch. He was one of esteemed warriors assigned to the king’s personal guard and yet he wore the mail of the common palace sentinel. You both wore disguises and both knew each other to be interlopers.

The party rose with the sun. It wasn’t long before you were in the cart again. You dozed for some minutes but woke as you were jostled roughly. You watched the winding path and the trees peter out to tall grasses and fields of yellow, blue, and red petals.

Your vision streaked as your head spun; something about this trip made you anxious, not that you had felt anything but in the last days. There was a foreboding deep in your stomach and it had you fidgeting as sweat beaded under the collar of your dress.

You had never been far from the capital, you never had the reason or the means. You were further then than you had ever been. The great stone pillars of Hammers Bough rose around you and opened up to the city that marked the threshold of Thunder Lodge.

The oldest of the royal houses, Thunder Lodge was an implacable fortress said to be built on the will of the gods. It had once been the capital until a great storm swept in from the sea and flooded out the city. It had since been rebuilt but the royals and their court had since moved to the current capital of Starseed.

The gates of the royal abode were open as the king’s retinue approached and within, silks hung from the walls bearing the crest of the major houses of the realm. The sky was dimming as the sun began its decline and the August afternoon began to cool. The progression had made good time on the road but still with little time to prepare for the next day’s events.

At the rear of the train, you peered past the horses and the nobles and their carriages as a booming voice broke over the din. The blonde prince greeted his dark-haired brother before he could dismount and nearly pulled him from his saddle with his gruff handshake. Loki righted himself and slid down to his feet. The two men were similar in height, though Thor was twice as broad.

As the lords and their wives, daughters, and sons, began to deploy, you lost sight of the sons of Odin. You were forced from your haze by the servant next to you and you hopped down from the cart as the others began to unload the chests. You joined them, straining beneath the great weight as your skirts bunched between your legs with each bend.

You wiped your dusty hands on your apron as you caught your breath and readied to care a heavy chest up through the servants’ doors with another girl in brown wool. You paused as you caught the eye of the covert guard. He fingered the pommel of his sword as he squinted at you. The dented armor of his disguise did little to disassemble his stature.

You grabbed the leather handle of the chest and heaved it from the dirt. You followed the other girl along the line of servants to the doors. Inside, the resident staff directed the visitors and instructed them according to their master. The servants who had no specific liege, were to remain in the kitchens.

You let the other girl, Hanna, take the lead and left the chest in Lady Ulna’s chambers. You returned to the lower floors and exited through the same doors. Slowly, the toil was thinning as the nobles were welcomed through the front doors.

As you neared the cart, you were caught by your arm and thrust behind it. The armored guard shoved you against the wood as his hand returned to his sword.

“Stay,” he snarled. “Can’t have you getting lost.”

You stared up at him. A dark haired man with broad shoulders and a thick beard beneath his helm. He was similar to Thor in build, perhaps bigger.

“He thinks I will run?”

“He knows you to be a trespasser,” the man shrugged, “It is not beyond you to stray.”

“And you think I could outpace you?” You scoffed. “I haven’t tried upon this journey.”

“There has been little opportunity to do thus and I assure you, you wouldn’t make it two steps beyond my grasp, girl,” he glanced around and watched the other servants. “The king has assigned you as my personal duty. It is not what I’d prefer but I have always served well and you would not stain my reputation.”

You said nothing and crossed your arms as you leaned against the cart. He felt around at his belt and dug out a strip of dried meat from a leather pouch. He chewed and grumbled as the din of voices faded beyond the tall door of the palace and the servants went about their labor.

“Alright, best have you away,” he made to grab you again and you drew away.

“I can follow,” you assured him, “You don’t need to drag me.”

His nostrils flared and he shook his head. “I should like to,” he muttered but didn’t try again as he waved you back down to the servants doors.

Within, he asked a scullery where the king would be lodged and nodded at her directions. He continued on, prodding you back into step and strayed away from the path of other servants.

“She said the other way,” you intoned.

“I know my way,” he growled, “Now, quiet, girl.”

He led you up a winding staircase wordlessly, trailing behind you in his armour. When you reached the top, he ducked through the low archway and led you through the maze like corridors until he happened upon the more lively passages. A pair of doors was open as the guard approached the boy Hal who stood by the frame.

“Magnus,” Hal’s voice cracked as he saw the guard and his eyes peeked at you.

“The king does not want any suspicion. Keep her hidden in the bedchamber as the luggage is unloaded. I will be close.” He nudged you forward. “Hurry, before she is noticed.”

Hal nodded and waved you within. The boy was terrified of the much larger guard and you couldn’t blame him. You stepped through the doors as the servant scurried to open the bedchamber doors. Magnus lingered by the entrance as his armor clinked against the stone.

“Please, miss, the king would be unhappy if you are discovered.” Hal warned. “You must remain and keep quiet.”

You wondered at why such caution was being taken but merely nodded. The boy was only doing his duty and he was surrounded by cruel men. You walked the perimeter of the bedchamber and turned back to him.

“We both know the king to be mean-hearted,” you said, “I will do as you say.”

“I must close the doors,” he said as he retreated.

You tilted your head and spun back. You went to the window as the doors shut with a click. You gazed out from behind the silk drapes and that same stone set in your heart. A foreign prison was no less a trap.

🐍

When the servants finished their work, Hal knocked and asked after you. He was a kind boy, not very talkative, and nearly completely silent in the presence of the king. You affirmed that you were as well as you could be and he left to return with a plate for your supper. You sat at the small round table in the bedchamber as he set down the covered dish.

“What duties await you now?” you asked.

He blanched and blinked. He lowered his head as his muddy brown hair fell over his forehead. “I will wait for the king.”

“Will you sit with me?”

He raised his head and gaped at you. “I don’t-- I don’t know that it is permitted.”

“You are not allowed to speak with me?”

“The king has never said it but I do not… speak with many.” He confessed.

“Oh,” you lifted the lid of the plate, “Well, there is very much food here and I have a small stomach. I will need someone to share with and I must admit, I am lonely for company.”

“I don’t know,” he rubbed his hands together nervously.

“I will take the blame for it, if the king is displeased.” You offered, “What good does it do you sitting in the next room alone?”

His brows drew together and he looked around. Cautiously, he pulled out the other chair and sat. You pushed the plate to the middle of the table and took a chunk of cheese. He shyly took a slice of the thick bread and bit into it. You could see he was nervous. You caught his eyes on you several times and a blush upon his cheeks.

“I’m not a whore,” you said sharply. “The king might put me in the position but… I am just a woman.”

“I didn’t--”

“Well, we both know why I am here but I can’t bear you looking at me so.” You reproached. “I used to make pots and the like. I worked in a shop. I suspect I am little different than you.”

“The king says you are a criminal,” Hal nibbled between words.

“Well, in a sense, yes,” you tapped the table with your fingertips, “I ventured onto castle grounds without permission but it is no great crime.” You bent your arm on the wood and cupped your chin. “Does the king say anything else of me?”

“Not to me,” Hal took a carrot from the plate, “He commands me, that is all.”

“As he does me.” You sat up, “We are both bound to his will.”

The boy glanced away guiltily. “I don’t think you a whore. I’m sorry.”

“It is fine,” you assured him, “I am not offended. I would not share my plate if I was.”

He chewed for a time and took another morsel from the plate. Finally, he dared to look at you again.

“I’ve heard him… hurt you.” Hal said quietly, “You shouldn’t goad him so.”

You chuckled and took a deep breath. “It is not hard to do so.”

“But if you were more amenable--”

“You are young. You can’t understand,” you wiped your hands on your apron, “But my resistance is all I have. And there is nothing the king can offer me but pain, so I’d rather meet it with gull than grace.”

Hal frowned. He thought but only looked more confused. He sniffed and shifted in his seat.

“I should go prepare for the king,” he stood, “He is of little patience when his brother is near.”

“Alright,” you sat back, “I will not mention this to him.”

“Thank you,” Hal neared the door and paused as he looked back. He smiled before he ducked into the receiving chamber and your lips curved slightly in kind. Then his words settled in your mind, ‘prepare for the king’. You would have to deal with Loki eventually.

🐍

The door slammed and had you rigid. You spent the hours since your arrival pacing the room and watching through the window. Hal appeared once more to clear your plate but didn’t say much as he returned to the task of unpacking the king’s luggage.

You heard Loki’s voice from the receiving chamber and you went to the bedroom door. You peered through as he swayed on his feet and Hal struggled to unclasp his cap from his shoulders. The king was barely aware of the boy as he drunkenly smiled at the walls.

Finally, Hal freed the length of green silk and hung it. The king staggered forward and caught himself against the settee. His eyes flicked up and caught yours. He smirked and stood straight. He raised a finger.

“Boy, you can go. I trust I can tend to myself tonight,” Loki declared, “And I have help should I require it.”

Hal bowed his head with a quiet ‘your majesty’. He peeked over at you as he went to the door. He reluctantly left you and the door closed gently in his stead. The king ambled forward and reached out for you as he stumbled. You could only catch him as he threatened to topple.

“Look at you, mouse,” he slurred, “Dressed as a maid. How silly!”

He leaned on you heavily and too afraid to drop him, you turned and angled him into the bedroom. His arms fell down your back and he squeezed your ass through the layers of wool and linen. You grimaced and managed to get him onto one of the chairs. He sat sideways and slumped against the back with an arm bent over the top.

He hiccupped and pushed his legs apart. He swung his leg as he looked at you and hummed.

“Do take off that ridiculous attire,” he slithered, “You will serve me but I expect more than a dusting.”

You stared at him and hesitated. You touched the apron across your front and he sat up and snapped his fingers.

“I am your king!” He proclaimed. “I have bid you undress for me, wench!”

He slapped his thigh and you flinched. You reached back and untied the apron. You turned and tossed it over the low bench against the wall. You undid the straps of your smock and shimmied out of the skirt. You left it atop the apron and removed the long white linen underdress. Your shift slipped easily down your figure as you spun back to him and raised your chin.

You slid your feet from your slippers and rolled down the stockings. You stood naked and glared at him as he admired you. Your crossed your arms as his gaze made you shiver and he grabbed onto the chair as he nearly fell over.

“Here,” he waved you forward with two fingers, “Get me out of this...” he pushed himself to his feet with effort, “Shit!”

His voice warbled between quiet and loud as the alcohol made him clumsy. You crossed to him and his hands clapped your shoulders as he held himself up. You looked up at him as he leaned dangerously and reached up to unbutton the high collar of his overcoat. His hands fluttered up your neck and cradled your face.

He bent and his nose touched yours. He smiled and swayed you with him.

“You’re mad at me.” He sang. “I do love it when you sneer so.”

“I’m not mad,” you worked down the front of his jacket, “You need to stand straight so I can get this off.”

“I can hear it in your voice,” he stood and let his arms drop so you could push the brocade down them. “Or perhaps you are impatient. You wish a repeat of our last meeting.” He snickered, “Does your cunt ache for me?”

You tore his coat off entirely and strode away to hang it over a chair. When you returned to him, he bent for you to remove his tunic and his hands grazed you sides.

“I did expect a slap for that one,” he taunted, “I will only have to try harder…” He looked down, “Speaking of hard.”

His trousers tented as you unlaced them. He sat for you to slide his boots off with his socks and stood again as you pushed his leggings down. His erect member was hard to ignore as he was completely naked and unstable. You looked him in the face and narrowed your eyes.

“I am not angry at you because I despise you already,” you said, “It is hatred you feel from me.”

He chuckled and pulled you to him, his arms around your waist as he pressed himself to you.

“You hate what I make you feel because you are too proud to admit that you want me,” he purred, “And too afraid of what you’ve never known.”

“Oh, let go of me, you drunken fool,” you pushed on his arms. “You are like to have us both on the floor.”

He winked and slapped your ass again. He drew away but took your hand as he did. He neared the bed and sloppily snuffed the lamp with a blow. The chamber was dark as he flopped onto the mattress and dragged you down beside him. You snarled as he rolled you against him and stretched your arm across him. His other hand danced over the scars along your back.

“I am drunk,” he admitted and played with your hand, “I had to imbibe to bear my brother’s nonsense.” He guided your hand down and closed it around his cock. “And I do require a release as I find myself riled.”

You gripped him but did not move your hand as his fell away. You breathed darkly over his chest and his other arm hugged you tighter.

“Would you rather your mouth?” He taunted, he slipped his arm beneath yours and turned his body slightly, “Or you do long for reciprocity?”

He pushed his fingers between your legs and found your bud. You squeezed your thighs against him and he rubbed you roughly.

“Go on, don’t just hold it,” he hissed as toyed with you.

Slowly, you moved your hand up and down his length. Your legs twitched as your cunt slickened beneath his touch. He explored your folds as he held you to him and you stroked him almost without thought. Your hand kept time with him as he lured you to the edge and dangled you there. His breath smelled of wine as his grazed your skin and he pressed his nose against your hair.

“Come on,” he whispered, “Almost there.”

He shoved his hand between your legs and felt along your entrance. He pushed a finger inside and you gasped. Your rhythm faltered but he urged you on with a groan. You were too overwhelmed to stop. That unearthly delight began to gather in your loins, deeper as he slid another finger into and rocked his hand against your clit.

You rasped, then moaned, and felt his body begin to quake. The noise of your wet cunt underlined your heady pants and he had you on your back as he turned onto his side and kept you against him. Your legs splayed open around his hand and your eyes lolled back in your head.

You exclaimed as your walls clenched his fingers and you came. He climaxed in quick succession as warmth seeped down your palm and coated his member. He spasmed and pulled away from you as he grew overly sensitive but kept his fingers inside of you. He stilled his hand and sunk to his knuckles as he explored your depths.

“I can only imagine how you’ll feel around my cock,” he said. “But I should like to remember the first.”

He slipped his hand away from your cunt and sighed as he rolled onto his back. He lifted his fingers to his lips and licked them. He purred and sucked them clean before trailing down to his pelvis. He tutted.

“I am a mess,” he said, “You’ve made a mess of me.”

You sat up, trembling and turned to climb off the bed. “I will fetch a cloth then--”

“You will not,” he grabbed your arm as you held your wet hand aloft. “You will clean me up yourself.”

“Wha--”

“Your mouth,” he pushed your hand towards your face. “Taste me.”

You stared at the silhouette of your hand in horror. You hoped he could not see your face. You gulped and brought your hand to your lips. You touched your finger with the tip of your tongue and reluctantly dragged it over your skin. He released you and pushed himself up on his elbows as he watched you in the dim.

One, two, three, four fingers and your thumb. You lowered your hand in shame and he nodded at his loins. You stifled a grumble and bent over him. His cum had cooled and was sticky as you closed your eyes to the revolting task. He groaned as you tried not to hear him and when you finished, he pet your head like an obedient dog.

“Ah,” he sighed and drew you up against him once more, “I feel it. You are mad now.” He yawned and tickled your hip, “Perhaps we might take it up on the morrow.”

“You are vile,” you sneered.

He snickered and pinched your ass. “I never denied such a claim, little mouse.”

#loki #dark!loki #dark loki #loki x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #mcu #marvel #thor #by the king's hand #series #medieval #medieval au #medieval!au #king!loki

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream VIII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 182

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream; Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter IX: He Loves Me

We were coastin' on the coast when you opened my eyes

Made me notice where the ocean was holding the sky, right

I was blinded, your smile shining behind those green eyes

The horizon so enticing, please, say you'll be mine

The second Friday in the month of November finds Iris at home as she usually is, tucked into her living room sofa, a large glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her, right next to a loaded pipe.

This week in particular has been grueling, though in the best way. Her classes are going swimmingly, so much so that she might be able to skip the final in her multimedia journalism course; but that means she has to stay on top of every single assignment, making sure everything she turns in is up to par. Not only that, Her segment on Good Morning, Central City is in less than a week, and with the television promotions for it, there has been an increase in traffic on her blog, an increase in comments on her posts, an increase in stories in her inbox waiting to be told. It’s mind-boggling, and Iris finds herself so giddy, she doesn’t always know what to do with it.

Some of it she channels into Barry. Since opening up to one another after Barry’s visit to his dad, everything about them has been more: more exciting, more passionate, more intimate. Iris can honestly say that she’s never been fucked as well as Barry fucks her, and she can’t decide if that’s just because apparently nothing turns her on more than Barry sliding thick and slow into her and muttering, ‘yes, take all of me, baby; good, good girl,’ or if she feels the way she feels because it’s him, because he is a dream of a man, some fantasy she must have conjured up in a daydream she doesn’t remember having. She finds herself always wanting him: the heavy fullness of him, and the way he smiles at her every time he sees her after they’ve been separated for even minutes; the whispered words of ardor, and how his eyes always track her movements, watching and observing and cataloging; the feel of him lean and long and hard on top of her, and the attention with which he listens to her, validates her.

And when she thinks she needs even a moment from that, there is her Friday night ritual. She’s already showered and dressed in a silk nightgown, this one in a deep purple color with thin straps and an open back. She takes a sip of her wine as she scrolls through her phone looking for a song; she chooses one, don’t wake me up ‘cause i’m in love with all that you are, and then she settles into the sofa corner, pipe in hand. Lighting up, she inhales, and releases.

She is full and high when her phone rings sometime around midnight.

Movements slow, she grabs her phone from where she’d tossed it on the table next to the half-empty carton of pad thai. Barry’s name flashes on the screen over the picture taken of them at Wally’s birthday party. Her smile is easy and so is the absurd little flutter in her belly.

(But high Iris will concede that, while she figures she should be past this stage now, this jittery, nervous stage, she’s not at all ashamed that it is still how she feels, because there is something so delightful about being with someone who gives you butterflies, even as time keeps passing).

Her stomach dips as she brings the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

“Hey, baby.” The sound of his voice, a little bit deeper than normal, a little bit slower than normal, makes her stomach tighten even more.

“Hi, Bear.”

It’s then that she notices the sound in the background, music and loud voices. She thinks she hears someone saying, “Barry, are you talking to your girlfriend?” but then Barry hushes them and comes back onto the line.

“What are you doing, beautiful?”

“What I’m always doing on Friday nights.”

“Getting high in those sexy pajamas you like wearing?”

Iris laughs softly, noting the effect of his voice on her, how even over the phone and even when he’s apparently surrounded by people, it travels, quiet and steady, over her skin.

“Are you drunk, Barry?”

“A little bit,” he says, “mostly tired though.”

Iris shifts on the sofa, snuggling deeper into the couch. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know. At some bar with Cisco and Chester. We were only supposed to grab food and a couple beers but then they had some sort of two for one special happening, and Chester and Cisco are degenerates, so here we are.”

Iris shakes her head at that, and there’s a short pause before Barry speaks again.

“I miss you.”

“You saw me yesterday.” The part of Iris that wants to appear less affected by him is glad that he can’t see the grin that lights her eyes as her cheeks warm, as she bites her bottom lip. “And we talked this morning.”

“Hmmm,” Barry hums. “Tell me you miss me.”

“What if I don’t?” Her taunt is quiet, like the whisper of her hands on her own body, trailing along her thighs at the hem of her nightgown.

There’s another pause and the sound behind lowers a little, becomes duller. Her own music comes to her attention again, you make me see the truth in things, i think that you are, the remedy for everything, it seems that you are, the truth itself ‘cause nothing else can take me so far, and it makes her shiver from the truth of it.

“I wouldn’t believe it,” Barry tells her, finally. “Yeah, I saw you yesterday, but I had you shaking on top of me.”

“Faking it,” she quips back and Barry lets out a small bark of laughter.

“Tell me you miss me, Iris.”

She licks her lips slowly, thinking of last night when she had seen him, the encounter he’s talking about, when he’d had her climb into his lap after dinner at her small little dining table and fucked her right there.

“Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah, I miss you, you cocky jackass.”

His answering chuckle was a low thing, deep and dirty. “Now tell me what your pajamas look like tonight?

“Barry, are you asking me this around your friends?”

“No. I'm standing outside of the bathrooms now. Boys' night shifted when they saw a couple of pretty women and I got tired of fifth-wheeling. And I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

She can picture him, standing in the corner and leaning against a wall, a hand in his pocket as he clutches the phone to his ear; his cheeks are probably rosy with his indulgence and his lips pink from licking at them, his hair messy from touching it.

His voice dips again. “Now tell me.”

Iris can admit to herself that she likes when Barry gets a little stern with her, when his voice deepens and he sounds so sure of what he wants, what he needs from her. It makes goosebumps crawl along her skin, and it does so doubly now, her senses already loose, dipping into the warm, heady place that intoxication takes her.

“It’s a nightgown,” she explains. “Purple. Silk. Stops at the middle of my thighs. Has a low back.”

His groan is loud and clear. “You had to come from one of my dreams. There’s no way you’re real.”

The statement sobers Iris, if only a little, but enough that the smooth and easy flow of her breathing stutters, much like the beat of her heart, stilling until she thinks she’s gonna lose breath, and then hammering back.

“I could say the same for you.”

The responding silence is piercing, expansive, a space where words left still unsaid are scattered along the floor, merely waiting for one of them to pick it up and say it.

“Iris,” he starts, and then he pauses again. “Can I come over? I know it’s your self-care night, and you can tell me no, but I need to… I really just want to see you.”

She doesn’t even think about it. “Yeah, Barry. You can come over.”

Twenty minutes later, she peels herself off of the sofa to open the door for him. He’s standing on the other side, in dark blue chinos and a baby blue and white checkered shirt, his favorite tan desert boots on his feet. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he’s leaning against the door frame when she pulls it open. His hair is a mess and his jaw is covered in stubble, but other than the faint red tinge in his cheeks, there is nothing that tells her he isn’t as lucid as talking to her had made him seem.

She smiles up at him, aware that her own eyes are probably low and red, but he smiles back, just as softly. He doesn’t come in right away, instead reaching out to pull her to him, one big hand holding the back of her neck. He looks down at her, eyes traveling down the length of her body.

“Hey my good girl,” he greets at last, and before she can respond, he leans down and kisses her. The kiss is chaste at first, one peck and another. Then he pulls back, only enough to scoop her up, gripping her by her waist and settling her in front of him, her legs wrapping easily around his hips. She yelps at the action, but then he’s kissing her again, and they’re moving into the apartment, Iris noting the faint slam of her door behind them.

He carries her to the couch and drops down in the center of it, keeping her atop him, keeping his mouth on hers. The kiss is slow, so slow, the sort of kiss that has no purpose, not one other than allowing them the space to be together. He holds on to her by her hip, free hand trailing up and down the length of her exposed spine, but he doesn’t make any move anywhere else. He seems content to just kiss her, this deep, open-mouthed kiss.

It’s like he’s trying to get inside of her, to climb in and settle down, to take up space with his searing, insidious presence.

It’s as if he’s trying to tell himself that this isn’t a dream, that it’s really her, it’s really them, moaning into each other, holding onto each other, breathing each other in.

It’s as though he’s trying to cement their story, to write it clear into her skin so that she can’t deny it’s veracity, like he’s promising that the only thing she’ll get on the other side of her climax is this, a gentle, effortless sort of fall.

Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that.

When he pulls back, Iris cannot say how much time has passed. She only knows that her body has molded to the shape of him, that her heart has found the rhythm of his, that she’s there with him, my afternoon dream when the world is speedin’, i am still sleepin’, in my blue dream.

“What was that about?” she asks him. She stares back at him, and the way he looks at her is more intoxicating than the wine he’d just tasted on her tongue, more so than the weed that so effortlessly floods her bloodstream.

“Told you I missed you,” he replies, voice husky with exhaustion, and likely the arousal she doesn’t think ever really disappears.

She nods, a little dazed. They sit together for a while longer; Iris tucks her head into Barry’s neck and he keeps rubbing his warm hands along her spine. The atmosphere is delicate, peaceful. She takes him in, inhaling the citrusy scent of him, savoring the feel of him so close to her, surrounding her. They stay that way until Iris feels her own exhaustion tugging at her. She climbs off of him and, after turning off her music, she pulls him through her bedroom and into her bathroom. They brush their teeth, Barry with the toothbrush that he’d bought to keep at hers, and Iris reties the silk scarf she’s wearing on her head.

Inside her room, Barry strips down to his boxers, laying his clothes neatly on the arm of the chair by her window. They get into bed, Barry spooning her, his arm holding her tight against him. She settles in, fitting herself snuggly against him, and he kisses her temple before resuming his stroking, this time on her belly through her nightgown. It doesn’t take long for her to drift off, her breathing deepening before evening out. And just before she goes under, she hears it, Barry muttering, “I love you, Iris,” into her hair, so low that she’s sure she’s only just dreaming it.

When Iris wakes up, the first thing that happens is she hears it again, hears him, Barry’s night-rough voice whispering “I love you, Iris.” It runs in her head on a loop, an anaphora to every other thought, every question she’s having: i love you, iris, did he think she was asleep? i love you, iris, did he mean it? i love you, iris, does he want her to say it back? i love you, iris, i love you, iris, i love you, iris.

Over the past few weeks, Iris has become more comfortable with the idea of it, with the reality that what she feels for Barry is real and big and grand. It still takes her aback, how quickly she’d, they’d, fallen into it. As naturally wary as Iris is, she can’t discount what she’d felt last night when he’d kissed her, when he started into her, like she was the sun and the stars and every other bright light in the galaxy all at once; with awe and reverence and yearning; like he wanted to be consumed by her, and he didn’t care how close he got to that fiery, burning light, as long as she was standing there waiting for him.

And it’s enchanting to be looked at like that. Iris has been trying to get it out on paper, that feeling, trying to make sense of the contradictions: the fear that comes with caring about someone enough that they could break you; the power that follows knowing it’s the same for him too; the overall potency that comes with falling in love.

Still, the thought of saying it aloud, right now—when she’s still working on writing it all out, still trying to explain it to herself first—makes her seize up, her eyes darting wildly, her limbs frozen in anxiety.

Barry begins to shift behind her, loosening his arm from around her, and she takes the opportunity to slide out of the bed. She pads across her carpeted bedroom floor into the bathroom where her feet meet cold tiles. She uses the bathroom, washes her hands and brushes her teeth, and throws water on her face. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, chocolate brown eyes bright in her face, her skin clear, her mouth turned down in consternation.

She goes back out into her room. Barry is fully away now, lying on his back, both of his hands cradling the back of his head. Her comforter is pooled at his hips. She takes in his bare chest, the way his biceps bulge in this position, how clear his eyes look in the sun, even as his lids are low with sleep. Those candy eyes catch her as she walks over to him, staying on her as she kneels on the bed and crawls over him, settling herself on top of him. He’s half hard under her and he lets out a soft little grunt when she sits her butt right on his crotch.

“You sleep okay?” she asks him as he reaches up and traces at his iris tattoo. She loves it, the violet ink that has sunk into his skin, the hints of blue and orange giving it depth, the fact that it’s an iris, placed big and pretty over his heart.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead of answering her question. His voice is still sleep-rough and scratchy. The sound of it sends a soft little tremble through her.

She smiles, the gesture real but uncertain. Well, maybe not uncertain, but she’s aware that she’s in her head again, trying to parse through her feelings. Or, rather, trying to figure out which of her feelings is taking precedence, which one she thinks that she should address first.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

Barry hums as he drags a hand from behind his head, placing it at her hip. “You know it’s okay not to be, right? Okay, I mean. And you can talk to me about it, whatever it is.”

He gives her hip a squeeze.

“No, I am okay. I’m good, really. I just…” she licks her lips as she hesitates, unsure if she’s even ready to bring it up, unsure if she even should. But she knows that she’ll think about it all day, will hear it in her head all day, will wonder and question and drive herself sick with the thoughts of it. So she bites the bullet, lets out a long exhale, and takes him at his word that she can talk about it.

“I heard what you said. Before we fell asleep last night.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his entire body stiffens, his hands stilling on her hip. He doesn’t break, though, and continues to watch her face in that way that he does. For a moment, Iris wonders if he even remembers what he said, if the words were just some half-drunk confession he hadn’t actually meant to say,

(and the flicker of disappointment that follows is tangible, an almost visceral response that tells her much more than anything else could have).

“Okay,” he says after a moment, tilting his head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She wishes she was as good at reading him as he is at reading her. She’s supposed to be able to make the observations, to understand the truth behind what people don’t say. Sometimes she thinks that she can, thinks that when she really looks at him, she can see what’s simmering in those eyes, can understand his intentions in the grip of his hands, and the curve of his spine, and the shape of his mouth. But it doesn’t feel constant, not like he is with her, and that fact is doubly true right now. Because she can’t tell anything about what he’s thinking, his only tell being the way his hand is still on her hip, tighter than it was before, holding her to him.

“I don’t know,” she tells him, truthfully. “Did you mean it?”

For the first time, he averts his eyes, gazing over at the window. There’s nothing to see; the blinds are closed and the curtains are drawn, but he focuses there for several long seconds, brows furrowed and lips pursed. She blinks, and then she’s suffused with something foreign, something cold and bitter.

“You didn’t,” she says, and it isn’t a question. “Okay, that’s, that’s…”

She moves to climb off of him, but he’s quick, bringing her back by sitting up and wrapping both of his arms around her.

“Where are you going? I’m not done.”

Her eyes flash. “Well you haven’t said anything and I don’t need to sit here like this and listen to you tell me that you didn’t mean to say you love me.”

“What are you upset about, Iris?”

“I’m not upset, Barry,” she says, her frustration evident. She tries to move again, but he holds on to her. “It’s fine. Of course you didn’t mean it. It’s only been a few months. We’re just…”

“We’re just what, Iris?”

He’s looking at her again, with those pretty, too-knowing eyes, and she feels a little like she can’t breathe. Because he didn’t mean it. And the thought that she’d managed to get this all so wrong is, is horrifying.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, and even though she didn’t actually believe it to be true, she continues, “sex, I guess. Apparently.”

She shifts again, but he tightens his grips even more and she can’t understand it, why he’s still surrounding her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him so potent.

“Is that really what you think?” he asks, and he doesn't sound angry so much as annoyed. “That I’m just here for sex. When it’s you that initiated all of our first encounters, when…”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, fuck you, Barry. Like all that slick talking isn’t initiating. You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

This time, when she tries to yank away from him, he lets her; and with a grace she doesn’t feel, she climbs off the bed. She strides towards the living room, but she doesn’t get far because Barry grabs her by the arm and presses her body against the wall near the door.

“Let me go, Barry,” she says, heart hammering angrily against her rib cage. He releases her arm immediately, but he cages her in, planting his hands on the walls on either side of her.

“Look at me, Iris,” he commands, his voice a raspy whisper. She blinks over his shoulder, taking in the messy blue comforter on her queen bed in the middle of the room, and the pale cream curtains on the windows to the right that don’t hide much light, and the blue and cream striped lounge chair where Barry’s clothes are.

“Baby, please,” he tries again, and it’s the pleading that makes her turn.

He looks a little like he sounds, frazzled and out of sorts, his eyes darting quickly across her face and the shadow at his jaw far past 5 o’clock.

“I meant it.” The words come out softly, a little strained, and he blinks once, twice, before repeating. “I meant it. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“No,” Iris shakes her head. “You’re just saying that now. You didn’t mean it.”

Barry lets out a heavy sigh as he steps back from her. She doesn’t move, though, she can’t. Instead, she watches him, her body lost in the turmoil of the past few minutes. He walks towards the bed, then steps away again, stepping in a circle before coming back to her. This time, when he looks at her, she sees it, him, his feelings.

“You looked terrified this morning, Iris,” he explains, “thinking about what I said. I think that I can read you, that I can see into what you aren’t saying to me. I see the way that you look at me, the way that we are together, and I can swear that you also…”

“What if that’s just sexual chemistry?” she interrupts, because she’s still spiraling, her body still so heavy with the range of emotions she’s experienced in the span of just minutes. And what if he really didn’t mean it, what if she’d actually started writing this story wrong, what if this has all been some dream she’s just starting to wake up from.

Barry stops pacing to look at her, incredulous, and then he narrows his eyes at her.

“Is that really what you think, Iris?” He steps, no stalks, towards her, steps slow and measured. He looks up and down the length of her, eyes lingering at the spread of her hips, the dip of her cleavage, before settling on her face. “You really think that the way we are together is, is just sex?”

She opens her mouth but doesn’t answer, and he closes the distance between them. He stands so close that she has to throw her head back against the wall in order to see up at him.

(She tries but can’t find it in herself to be ashamed of what this does to her, even as she’s not happy with him, having his attention on her like this, having his hard length pressed against her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him like this.)

“I know that no one else fucks you like I do, Iris.”

That makes her snap and he pushes at him and he stumbles back near the bed. “You’re a smug fucking bastard, Barry Allen.”

She moves to grab her phone off the counter, intending to, she doesn’t know, throw it at his head. But then she’s plucked off her feet. She squeals as he tosses her onto her back and straddles her hips, holding her by her arms above her head. She bares her teeth at him, but doesn’t try to get away from him this time. She’s breathing heavily, and he is too, and for a second, Iris thinks that this love stuff is too much. Because that’s what’s going on here, isn’t it? It’s their first fight and it’s about love, about the fact that they’d slipped into it so simply that they (and by they, she means she) is finding it difficult to just let it be.

“I don’t mean it in an arrogant way, Iris,” he murmurs. “I just… you are a fucking goddess, baby, and if you’d ever been with anyone the way you are with me, there’s no way they would have ever let you go.”

He presses down on her arms a little, presses his hips into hers a little. “And no one has ever made me feel like this, the way that you do, in bed and out of it. And you don’t have to say it back. Not until you’re ready. I meant what I said but I didn’t think you would hear me. I just needed to say it.”

His eyes roam her face and she stares back. Her breathing has begun to level out, but she’s still left with, with adrenaline or something, a heavy, aching sort of feeling flooding through her, making her warm and jittery and, and wet. Which, she’s never been turned on by arguing before, but, by god, she is. She is. Turned on and in love and so gone on the man above her that she doesn’t think of anything at all before she leans up and kisses him.

For the first time since they’ve started doing this, Barry doesn’t take his time. He kisses her back, just as hard, the kiss more teeth and tongue than mouth. He keeps a hold of her arms in one of his big hands and then reaches down to push her dress up over her hips, lifting his own hips just enough that he can pull himself out of his boxers and spread her legs, hiking them over his waist. He doesn’t bother with taking her panties off; he just yanks them over to the side, probably ripping the delicate lace, and then runs a couple of his sure fingers through her slit to see if she’s wet enough to take him. Satisfied, he grips himself and then slides into her.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, dragging the word out, and Iris seconds that, throwing her head back at the heavy, hard, full feeling of him. He gives her one experimental thrust, and then another, and then he’s setting a pace, fucking into her in hard, shallow strokes. He clenches hard around her, her head filled with the press of his body and the smell of his skin and the thought of his love, i know the meaning’, for all the seasons, you are the reason, my love. Then Barry leans down on her, so that his chest brushes her nipples and his pelvis rubs against her clit every time he rocks into her, and her head clears of everything but this.

“God,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed.

He moves his mouth to her ear as he picks up his pace, murmuring as he always does, “fuck, baby, yes, you feel so good, girl; my good girl, shit” but his words aren’t as smooth as they usually are. He is frayed, his breathing choppy and his pace brutal. She likes it though. Her pussy grows wetter with every thrust, her hips rocking up to meet him, and she breathes out through her nose when she finds her mouth stuck in a round “o.” They’re both slick from the exertion and Iris can’t tell if it’s his sweat or hers or theirs. He holds on to the meat of her thigh, widening her so that he can ride her deeper, harder. She drips, down onto her thighs, soaking him too, and she knows that were she to look down, his dick would be so obscenely slick with her. He kisses at her ear, down to her neck, along her jaw, biting and licking and sucking on her skin. His grip on her is hard, and it isn’t so much rough as it is raw, inelegant and sensual and crude and so so so so good.

The thought of it is just as arousing as the act of it, and Iris manages to breathe out, “shit, Bear, how, how, how are you always so gooood?”

He flashes her a grin, her Barry coming back to her, and he says into her ear, “because it’s us, baby. Because I love you and you’re falling for me and we were meant for this.”

When Iris comes, it’s so hard she swears she goes blind for a minute. The world darkens and all she can do is feel: passion and euphoria and ecstasy and every other expression like it.

She’s thirty minutes late meeting Linda for their monthly brunch..

She and Barry shower together, and she drops him off at his car downtown and then she drives the couple blocks over to Golden’s. Before he gets out, he leans over and kisses her, a long slow sort of kiss, licking deep into her mouth as he cradles her face gently in the palm of his hand, and then he taps the top of her car twice before ambling over to his jeep without saying a word.

She feels a little funny after all of that, wondering why she still hadn't been able to say the words to him. He hadn’t said much to her as they’d dressed and gotten ready to leave her apartment. But he hadn’t stopped touching her either: taking her loofah from her and washing her down in the shower, running his hand over her hip after she’d hopped into a pair of light denim boyfriend jeans, rubbing on her thigh as she’d driven them downtown. She doesn’t think he’s upset with her; he’d told her she didn’t have to say it back. But he’d retreated, at least verbally, and it’s fucking with her, making her realize how much her fear is keeping her from him.

Golden’s is already open by the time she gets there so she walks in through the front door, throwing a hand up at Kamilla as she heads to the back in her stiletto heeled ankle booties, tugging lightly at the long, faux pearl necklace lying over her white half tucked in sweater. It’s packed as usual, the Saturday lunch crowd filling most of the seats, and she has to walk around chairs half pushed in and groups of people laughing and enjoying their Saturday.

She slides into the booth across from her best friend, the table already littered with food, Linda’s mango mimosa mostly gone. The other woman looks up at her, perusing, her brown eyes curious. Iris ignores her to grab her champagne flute, dropping a frozen mango slice into the glass and pouring a smidge of juice in, topping it off with champagne. She downs half of it in one gulp.

“You’ve been fucked,” is the first thing Linda says, when she finally decides to speak.

Iris chokes on her swallow of mimosa.

“Freshly,” Linda adds. Her red painted lips curve up in a devious little grin. “Is that big ass hickey you’re sporting the reason you’re late?”

She rolls her eyes, but touches gently at where she knows it’s sitting, an uneven patch of darkened flesh about the size of a quarter on her neck just under her left ear. She’d been in too much of a daze while she was putting on her minimal makeup earlier, the moisturizer and a little concealer, a bit of bronzer on her lids, liner and mascara. She hadn’t noticed the hickey, not until she was putting on her lipstick in the car and she didn’t have any foundation to cover it with.

“I’m too old to have a hickey,” she says to Linda instead of responding to her question.

“Tell your boo that,” Linda responds.

Iris wrinkles her nose at “boo” and starts spooning some sticky sesame chicken onto her plate. She forks a dumpling and bites at it as she goes for the lo mein and she doesn’t realize she’s reaching for the edamame until Linda stills her hand.

“Okay, what’s up?”

Iris chews the rest of her dumpling. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re eating.”

“Is that not why we’re here?”

“No, I mean you’re eating, doing that thing where you just throw food into your mouth without stopping or even really tasting it. You only do it when you’re really anxious and there’s no notebook or wine handy.”

Iris stills with a piece of shrimp in her hand. She drops it back onto the platter and sits back into the booth, chewing and swallowing while Linda waits patiently, sipping from her glass.

And then she blurts, “I’m in love with Barry.”

Linda nods, not yet committing to a response. “Okay.”

“And he told me he’s in love with me and I didn’t say it back.” Iris lets out a breath, tension releasing like a pressure valve has been turned.

“Why didn’t you say it back?”

“Because I’m a coward,” she answers.

Linda’s head shake is automatic, her brown waves brushing at her neck. “There’s not a hint of coward in you, baby girl.” Iris takes her best friend’s white silk blouse just as she says, “Now why don’t you really tell me what’s up.”

To give herself some time to put it all together, she finishes her mimosa and mixes another, though this one with less champagne, and she eats another dumpling, chewing slowly. Then she clears her throat.

“For a while now, I’ve been feeling, I don't know, lost. I was single, school was boring. Work was too, and it seemed like all of you were moving forward while I was just watching. Nothing felt exciting, not even my blog really. And then Barry came along, and I swear, the moment I saw him, it’s like my entire world lit up. There was this, this spark, and even when I was claiming that he was just around for sex, there was always this feeling that it was bigger than all of that, bigger than anything I’ve felt before.

And suddenly, I feel so different. I feel good, Linda. Everything is starting to feel good. My blog is getting real recognition now and Dr. Jamison must also be getting good sex because she’s been an actual joy to be around. And Barry...and Barry is…”

“Putting you to sleep every night?”

It makes her laugh, the way Linda wiggles her eyebrows as she says it, the way her eyes light up with mirth, the way her smile is a soft thing.

“Yeah, he is,” Iris says, her mouth twisting wryly. “But what if it’s a fluke, Linda? This man is everything I’ve wanted in a man and so much more than I even knew I wanted. What if we do this and I learn that he’s been, just, fucking with me this whole time?”

“You know that’s not true, Iris.” Linda picks up her own glass and drains it.

“But how can I trust this?” she pushes. “This happiness that seems to have only come when Barry stepped into my life?”

Linda reaches over and grabs Iris’s hand, and Iris clasps it like a lifeline, her pale orange tipped fingers pressing hard into Linda’s hand and Linda’s own pink tipped fingers pressing back. “There are no guarantees. So maybe we do find out that Barry has been faking this entire time. But what if he’s not? What if he’s as kind and loving as you say he is? ” She lets that digest for a moment.

“Love, and life, is a series of ups and downs, of good experiences and bad, Iris. The timing of it all is just coincidence. And I hear you. It feels so scary to realize that someone has that sort of power over you; that the care of your heart is in their hands. But what I’m learning with Dan is that love, love is always worth it. Because what you’re feeling, it doesn’t go away just because you don’t say it back, just because you don’t acknowledge it. And when you don’t you risk cutting it, him, off, and you’ll get hurt anyway. And that, my love, will be your own fault.”

Iris thinks about Linda’s words as they finish brunch, moving the conversation to Linda’s upcoming trip to meet Dan’s family. She thinks about it as she gets into her car and drives back home, forgoing working on a story in favor of plopping down on the couch and letting music play, my mind is open, so wide since you came inside, i feel so alive, without you life just passes by, passes by, lost in the reality of what she’s feeling.

She thinks about the words as she goes out to grab dinner, picking up a salad for herself and a chicken sandwich and fries for Barry, the intention to take him food not one fully realized until she’s parking in front of the precinct that Barry works out of.

She thinks about the words because Linda is right.

(She would never tell the other woman this, but she is right more often than she’s not, her poise and curious nature making her one to offer sound advice, always realistic and with love.)

She loves him, she does: his wit and his hands and his eyes; his compliments and his patience and ability to make her feel as if everything he’s ever wanted is present in the curves of her body; as if it is his profound pleasure to coax it out of her, with every touch, every moan, every dirty, mumbled thing.

Buoyed by the fact that she’d said it aloud, at the very least, and she didn’t wither away after she had, she grabs the food bags and her purse and walks up the steps to the precinct.

Her dad is working tonight but since she’ll see him tomorrow at dinner, she doesn’t drop by his office. Instead, she heads downstairs to where CSI is located, following the stairs to where they’ve apparently put them in the basement. The hallway is well lit, and there are several windows covered in closed blinds that lead to the lab door. She balances the bags in one hand and opens the door with the other. And she’s stopped short at what she sees.

The room looks like how she’s always imagined a crime lab to look like: lots of white, microscopes, and computers, shelves full of test tubes and petri dishes. Barry is there and so is the Cisco guy she remembers from Fall Fest. There’s a woman there too, in the utilitarian black pants and matching blazer that Iris knows is the norm for detectives. And it’s not that she’s there, because that’s not weird. But she’s there, next to Barry, close to Barry, leaning on his counter with her hand on his arm as she talks. She’s as tall as Iris is in the four inch booties Iris is wearing, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair and the sort of white girl next door look that men fall all over themselves for.

Cisco notices her first, as the door closes softly behind her, and Iris feels a bit mollified at the way his grin rises up when he sees her.

“Iris,” he calls, eyes twinkling. “Nice to see your beautiful face.”

Iris winks at him, pulling out a flirtatious grin so that she doesn’t scowl at the sight of the woman touching Barry.

(She’s not jealous. She’s not, but Iris can’t stand the thought of Barry looking at someone else the way that he does her, can’t stand the thought of him touching someone else the way he does her, can’t stand the thought of him whispering, yeah, baby, fuck, ride me just like that, to someone else the way he does her.)

Cisco, though, is loud enough that Barry hears him, and she watches as he straightens at the sight of her, eyes wide. “Iris!”

He gives her his look, the one where he rakes his eyes over the length of her and then lingers on her face, always trying to read her. She’s still a little frustrated at how she’s always such an open book for him, apparent after he’s finished his perusal and he smiles, slow and with more smirk than anything else. The woman next to him only moves her hand from Barry hesitantly, turning to see what all of this commotion is about. She gives Iris the same once over that Barry did, though decidedly colder, and Iris tilts her head at her before settling her gaze on Barry.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Iris says. “I know that you’re busy, but I thought I’d drop off dinner for you.”

She steps further into the room, and her heels clack loudly in the too quiet space. She pauses in front of where Cisco is sitting. She turns to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything. I should’ve texted Barry to see who else was around, but I was picking up dinner and just decided to get him some too.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “You can get me next time.”

Iris passes him and lets her eyes wander back to Barry and the detective, who’s stepped back in a bit. As soon as Iris catches his eyes again, Barry steps away from her, moving around to meet Iris. She stops at a point along a wide expanse of empty space on one of the tables, and Iris feels it’s a safe enough spot to place the food without contaminating anything. As soon as she drops the food on the table, Barry cups the back of her head and stares down at her. His thumb traces the mark he’d left on her neck.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, eyes wondering, smile tender.

She looks over his shoulder to where the woman still stands, looking at her too. She gives her a smile in greeting. Iris thinks it’s returned.

“I’m sorry. You look busy,” she responds. “Should I go?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just surprised to see you.” Without stepping away from her, he turns to address the detective. “Patty, I’ll come down as soon as I have the results for you.”

Her gaze trails over to Iris once more, observing where Barry holds onto Iris’s neck, onto her waist. “Of course,” she murmurs, finally.

She walks out of the room, her low-heeled boots nearly silent on the floors. Both Iris and Cisco watch her go, but Barry doesn’t pay much attention, his focus on Iris as he continues to rub along his mark.

Cisco stands, sort of abruptly, his chair skitting across the floor. “Barry, I’m gonna step out for a minute.” He shrugs out of his lab coat, tossing it on the back of his chair. His thick brown hair brushes against his shoulders with every shake of his head. “It’s good seeing you again, pretty lady.”

Iris offers him another smile. “You too, Cisco.”

She turns back to Barry who’s eyeing her, expression curious. “You’re here,” he says, voice low.

“Yeah,” she nods at the bags she’s placed on the table. “I don’t know, I went to get dinner and I was, well, I was thinking about you.” She shrugs with a nonchalance she doesn’t feel.

“Yeah?” Barry’s answering grin is wide, and a little bit boyish, cheeks reddening; it makes Iris smile back in turn.

“Come on,” Barry says, picking up the bags and walking over to a desk tucked into the corner. “I've got a few minutes.”

The desk is messy, stacks of folders and sticky notes all over the place, and he moves some papers around so that he can place their food down. He rolls his desk chair over for her to sit in and he grabs the bag, pulling out her salad container and his sandwich and fries and placing them in front of their spots.

She waits until he sits down in the hard back chair he’d gotten from under one of the computers and she snaps the top of her salad before she says, “so why wasn’t I introduced to the detective?”

Barry takes a bite of his sandwich and looks at her in question. “Who? Detective Spivot?”

“Don’t you mean, Patty?”

Barry pauses with a fry poised for his mouth. “Sure,” he says. “Patty is one of the detectives on the case we got called into.”

“Hmm.” Iris stabs at her salad. She takes a bite and chews, though she doesn’t really taste it.

Barry places his half eaten sandwich into the cardboard container and he turns to her, giving her his full attention. He inclines his head, watches for a second. She thinks that the corner of his mouth tilts up, that humor brims in his eyes.

“What do you want to say, Iris?”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed that she can’t focus on how cute he looks with his lab coat and glasses on, annoyed that that woman was touching him, annoyed that she’s annoyed.

“I didn’t know you were so close to the detective. Y’all were very...touchy.”

Shaking her head, she starts to go back to her salad, but then he drops his food and rubs his hands together. He leans towards her.

“Come here,” he says.

She ducks away, but he grabs her wrist gently and pulls at her. She goes, because her tripping heart and her heaving chest and her warming sex won’t allow her to not. Barry sits her in his lap, sideways so that her legs are half hanging over his. She’s a head taller than him in this position, and he presses a hand at the small of her back as he looks up at her.

“You’re jealous,” he announces, seemingly pleased with the fact.

Iris rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

Barry laughs. “So you’re just really grumpy right now?”

“I’m just curious,” she says.

“Oh?”

“About the touching.”

“She’d literally just put her hand on me as you walked in the door. I was about to move it.”

Iris harrumphs. “Doesn’t Detective Spivot know that you’re…” Iris waves her hand as she trails off and it makes Barry’s slight grin widen.

“That I’m what?”

Even she knows that the huff she lets out would only be completed with a foot stop.

“That you’re taken,” she says, boldly. Because whatever she was feeling, whatever he was feeling, this morning, they are still them: two people who’ve crawled into open, waiting hearts and made space for one another; two people who are pages deep into a story that the stars must have already been writing; two people hours into a dream that is so vivid, it has to be real.

The statement seems to sober him, because his eyebrows furrow. “Am I?”

She wants to be bothered by the genuine question in his eyes. But they’ve never blatantly talked about them. There has been some conjecture, sex-fueled mutterings that hinted at the reality of them, of their feelings. There have been looks between the two of them that tell far more than Iris has ever even realized could be portrayed through eye contact. He’s told her that he loves her. But they’ve never defined or drawn out the lines or made it real.

But like she said, they are them. And he is. Taken. So she slowly licks her lips, and nods her head. “Yeah, you are.”

This time, Barry’s smile is a sexy, lilting thing. “I’m fully yours, Iris. You have to know that.” He turns her so that he can hold her gaze, and reaches up to curl his fingers around the back of her neck, his thumb hitting that mark again. Then he says,

“I love you. I will until you love me back and forever after that. And that means that I don’t see anyone but you. I haven’t seen anyone but you since the minute I laid eyes on you in that slinky dress you had on, dancing in the middle of the crowd by yourself.” He presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Even before, for months before, I couldn’t see anyone else. Because I was waiting for you, Iris.”

He gives her another kiss, this one longer, deeper, like the one he’d given her before he left her car. She finds herself humming into his mouth, her arms tightening around his shoulders. He rubs against her thigh, higher, then a little higher, until Iris is opening her legs to try to get some sort of friction.

Minutes or moments or eternity after, he pulls his mouth away, though he doesn’t move away from her fully. Instead, he looks at her, and she finds herself lost in him, in this dream of a story. She sees the words of it, my afternoon dream, when the world is speeding; i am still sleeping, in my blue dream and i know the meaning, for all the seasons; you are the reason, my love, and she wants to add to it, wants to let herself live in it, wants to finally fall into this love story without fear or reservation.

“Barry,” she says, whispers, and she notes how hooded his eyes look through the wire-framed glasses he’s wearing and how just the act of sitting here on his lap calms her at the same time that it inflames her. Then she thinks about his infinite levels of patience as he’s waited for her to be ready for him and how he’s always been interested in what she thinks or feels and how no one has even treated her body with the, the homage that he seems to. And she...and she loves him. “Barry, I…”

“Alright, Barry, we have…whoa.”

Iris blinks out of her haze, startles out of the confession she was about to make, at the sound of Cisco’s voice. Still, it takes a second before she’s able to pull herself from Barry, and from the expression he’s saddling her with, she thinks he might have an inkling of what she was about to say.

“None of this hanky panky,” Cisco continues, either oblivious or uncaring, Iris doesn’t know. “Spivot and Mitchell need to see us.”

“Alright,” Barry calls over her shoulder. “I’ll be down in five.”

When Cisco nods and leaves again, Iris is pulled back into Barry’s orbit. He palms the back of her neck, thumb brushing the mark on her throat. She assesses him.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“I’m sorry.” He immediately goes red. He averts his eyes for a moment, before they drift back to her. “It’s tacky, I know, and I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late. This morning, I was, I don’t know, confused about us and I just…” He pressed his thumb into her skin. “I told you I’m not composed around you; I’m a mess.”

Iris covers his hand where it’s still on her throat. “You know that I’m yours too, right?” The earlier moment seems to have passed, but she can, needs to, give him this. His stare is hard and almost unreadable.

“Yeah,” he says after a while, sort of breathless. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

She wishes that she could stay in this moment with him, such a stark deviation from the way they’d left each other this morning. So she takes that feeling with her as she packs her salad up and helps him clean up the trash. Together, they venture into the hall and Barry leads her back out into the bullpen where Cisco is standing with Spivot and a tall, dark-skinned man with a baldhead and a beard. All three of them turn at the sound of Iris’s boots on the floors. Something about the look of them makes Iris grab Barry’s hand. Barry stops her a few feet away and leans down.

“I like how territorial you’re being,” Barry all but whispers in her ear. “I’ll come over after work and remind you why you don’t have to be.”

The thought of them this morning, the hard press of him, his breath rough in her ear, makes her look up at him, her eyes bright, bottom lip between the white of her teeth. It’s only Cisco’s pointed throat clearing that keeps her from falling mouth first into him.

Barry’s grin is knowing. “Bye, baby,” he says, a little louder this time, and Iris shakes her head, knowing he’s saying it in front of Patty for her benefit. He drops a kiss on her check and Iris nods at his coworkers.

“Detectives. Cisco.” She squeezes his hand once and drops it. “See you later, Bear.”

She steps away and walks out of the station, but not before she hears Mitchell say, “Damn, Allen, how did you bag that?”

She wishes she could explain that she’s the one that doesn’t know how she got him.

Barry does come over later, and as soon as he walks through the door, he pushes her up against the wall and fucks her, groaning “mine, mine, fuck, mine” into the bite on her throat, as Iris moans it back in kind, “yours, yes, Barry, I’m yours.”

My afternoon dream when

The world is sleepin'

I am still thinkin'

Of my blue dream

It's bliss

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #iris west #barry x iris #barry allen #strangers to lovers

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eredins-a-king-aint-he · 3 years

Note

Would LOVE to know more about Kaan, he seems so damn cute and floofy! :D I just want to give him a hug! :'D

You mentioned describing my OC (His name is Bruno and he a bear witcher :3) so here is some info on him. Bruno is very socially awkward but he looooves animals and actually has a soft spot for most monsters. He likes people but hes very scared and nervous around them, kind of like a frighten animal but he really wants friends. : ( He has poor memory, and tends to get lost as well, and forget he has an assignment (Literally think winnie the pooh mixed with Eeyore XD) Common isn't his first language so it takes him awhile to answer people, has a HEAVY accent (German or Witcher equivalent to German is his first language) He loves to carve things out of wood especially bears, he really loves bears XD

He is very tall 6'8, built like a brick and super super hairy (which he is very self conscious about) has thick dark brown nearly black wavy hair (going like around the nape of his neck) and a thick beard , bright green hazel eyes and tanned leather skin. People are super intimidated by him cause he has resting (I hate everyone) face but really that's just his face : (

He can shift into a bear as well which he does often cause hes more comfortable as a bear than anything XD Will actually be playful and silly as a bear, loves honey and sweets honestly, and fluffy things. However if anyone hurts an animal or a child or Bruno will go ape shit >:T literally goes into a blind rage its bad and messy :T

Sorry that was a lot haha , I would love to see Bruno and Kaan interact: they are both huge dudes and Kaan seems like a sweet goofy sweetheart and Bruno would be like :D fren! even though he doesnt really know how to people XD

Ooh gosh!! Well I hope it’s not too much of a disappointment but Kaan is MEAN. I talked about it more recently here and here; he’s definitely not a nice guy.

That having been said: he would be incredibly loyal to the people that do manage to become his friends. He would be loyal and silly and wild and fun with them, and he would definitely crack skulls and more if anyone he cared about got hurt.

More under the cut!

Kaan is more than a little feral, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to hurt animals randomly. He might chase them for fun (only predators though cause prey animals run from anything, they’re not a challenge), so I can see him chasing that bear for shits n giggles, probably laughing maniacally, and then running into Bruno, who misinterprets his chase for killing intent, and they have an impromptu violent wrestling match in the middle of the woods. Kaan is malicious and mean to anyone who is rude to him or just is a dick in general but he absolutely respects anyone who stands up to him with stony and real resolve without being an asshole, so I think he would respect Bruno for protecting the bear and after their fight (likely ending in a draw?) he would probably be like “no hard feelings man, I’ll leave bears alone from now on unless they attack me first” and then they would get along in the way that a feral and wild extrovert gets along with a quiet awkward introvert.

Consider: Kaan carrying Bruno slung over his shoulder, running full tilt down a mountainside, yelling excitedly the whole time, Bruno covering his eyes and praying that they come out of the whole thing intact😂😂 Kaan and Bruno power duo, they would be terrifying looking together, both super tall and v broad and hairy and a little wild looking

I do think they might disagree on animal hurting policies somewhat, though, cause Kaan absolutely eats meat and probably kills most of his food by himself. As for children, Kaan probably wouldn’t physically hurt them but he’s very capable of scaring the shit out of any kid who’s rude to him without touching them at all, and he definitely would if he felt like it.

But overall I can see them being buds!! Kaan would love being able to have a training fight with a literal bear😆

#cedar answers #asks #oc: kaanrenar #original character #he’s a feral bastard but I love him anyway

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otonymous · 4 years

Text

The ABCs of Shaw (MLQC Headcanon - NSFW)

Dearest Nonny,

Thank you so very much for your lovely comments! 💕 And I'm SO GLAD you asked for Shaw’s dirty alphabet because god knows my thirsty ass can’t think of anything else 🤣 Take care of yourself as well and hope you enjoy the read!

Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language - reader discretion is advised. Specific spoilers noted in the appropriate section(s) below.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Surprisingly sweet and tender. Shaw is actually a bit of a teddy bear once he's decided to let you in his life

Sex is very passionate with him: often hard and fast, at times desperate and rough — the two of you will typically come down from the high of release with your foreheads pressed together, feverish bodies cooling as you both gasp for much needed air in between deep kisses, punctuated by the occasional chuckle at the fact that neither of you can keep your hands off one another

A marathon cuddler: his lithe yet strong arms will wrap tightly around you, as if the strength of his emotions could be conveyed through his embrace alone

Chatty Cathy: Shaw actually loves to talk after sex. Topics could range from something as mundane as what to eat for dinner to contemplating the meaning of life. He’s a great conversationalist (partly because he’s got such a wide range of interests).

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Shaw loves his cock. It’s huge — long and thick. He also loves the way you respond to it: immediately on your knees with your mouth wide open 🤣

He loves your eyes. He loves how expressive they are. He loves their honesty - the way you can never truly hide what you’re feeling. And when they crinkle at their corners when you smile? That’s the best thing in the world, as far as Shaw is concerned

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

Loves to pull out just enough to cum on the folds of your pussy. Will then proceed to use the head of his cock to slowly smear it along the length of your slit, still trembling in ecstasy

Sk8ter Boi is instantly hard again if you dip a finger in it and bring it to your mouth (tbh though, his refractory period is pretty much nonexistent)

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) - ***SPOILERS***

He’s in love with his brother’s girl

Loves the smell of your pussy on his hands

If he could, he would never wash them after fingering you

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Don’t judge a book by its cover: despite his youth, his sex game is strong

Not only is he experienced, he is also adventurous and up for experimentation (grad students need to conduct research after all 🤣)

F = Favourite Position

Pressed up against a wall: because 85.72% of the time, this man can’t wait until he’s in a bedroom

Neither will you, to be honest, especially if Shaw’s engaging in one of the following activities: playing bass guitar, cruising effortlessly on his skateboard, speaking oh-so-eloquently about his archeological research and studies, blinking, breathing, etc.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

Post-coital giggles and a few seductive chuckles leading up to intercourse, but Shaw is nothing but serious when he’s actually making love to you

Sex is raw and intense

At times, it actually feels spiritual: identities merge and unseen wounds are healed

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Your man is nicely trimmed and neatly groomed

And no, the carpet is not lavender as well 🤣

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Very intimate and romantic — Shaw is actually quite the sensitive soul. This is true even when the sex is rough and fast, such as when he’s banging you to within an inch of your life beneath an overpass or backstage before a set

There are rare moments (usually when he is particularly frustrated) when Shaw’s tough-as-nails façade slips and you get a glimpse of the melancholy that resides in his heart. You cannot help but sense that he’s been deeply hurt in the past. This won’t be something he’s readily willing to talk about at the beginning of your relationship, only when he feels like he can really trust you

Thus, there are times when sex feels like a form of emotional healing for this man. It is more than a means by which to sate his physical desires. The intensity of his love and feelings for you remind him of his humanity. The fact that you can love him reminds him that he, too, is deserving of love and affection

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’s young, healthy and a grad student. Of course he jacks off 🤣

On average, a few times a week

The frequency increases during exams as a way to relieve stress (though this guy remains unflappable most of the time)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Director’s Cut: Shaw LOVES, LOVES, LOVES to film your sex sessions

Even better: making love while watching clips of the two of you going at it

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Shaw isn’t really that picky tbh — any place is fair game when the urge hits

Still, he has to admit that your bedroom is pretty comfortable

That time he fucked you doggy style against a lectern at Loveland University was pretty hot too - he often thinks about that experience 🤣

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Shaw is most turned on when you show him that you love him — please give this guy plenty of care and affection

The swing of your hips when you walk also makes his cock twitch

He also loves watching you eat: he thinks you’re absolutely adorable when you react to tasty food with unadulterated joy

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Not into name-calling during sex (e.g. “slut,” “whore,” etc.), although he would do it if you so desired

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As much as Shaw loves to have your lips wrapped around his pole, he’s actually a bigger fan of eating you out

Sk8ter boi isn’t afraid to get down and dirty: he will bury his ENTIRE FACE between your legs when he goes deep sea diving, refusing to surface until you’ve come several times and made his face a shiny mess

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Capable of both, but tends towards fast and rough because y’all are typically boning all over the place

Guess that’s what happens when you can’t keep your hands off each other

You also don’t really have the leisure to be slow and sensual when there’s a line-up for the restroom at the Live House

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

(please see “Pace” above)

Quickies happen often and thankfully, are just as enjoyable as proper sex

Let’s be real: any sex with Shaw is great sex

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

As mentioned previously, this grad student is quite adventurous and game to experiment

Take your bag of kinks and feel free to have him root through it for something that might intrigue him — he’s down for whatever and would never judge you

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Can generally last pretty long during a given session

But his true talent lies in frequency — with a practically non-existent refractory period, Shaw is raring to go in no time at all

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) - ***SPOILERS***

this man charges them with his Evol

Boy’s got that Hitachi Magic Wand and isn’t afraid to use it (What? He’s got stiff shoulders from all that studying!)

Is definitely down to use electronic aids on the both of you

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Despite being snarky when you’re both fully clothed, Shaw is actually quite straightforward when it comes to activities of a more lascivious nature

He would like to be able to tease you, but most of the time he’s already got his pants down around his ankles by the time thoughts of sex run through his head

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

FUCKING LOUD

(Rapid, heavy breathing + ample dirty chatter) x (moans so sexy it should be illegal coming from a man’s mouth) = such a bad combo for discrete quickies but a turn-on nonetheless

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Shaw is also a b-boy. He knows his windmills get you hot.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

You have to see it to believe it. Shaw has actually been hiding an ANACONDA in those ripped jeans all this time!

This snake happens to be circumcised

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

HIGH AF. Nuff said

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Typically likes to cuddle and chat for a bit before falling asleep in that nice, post-coital haze

Please forgive him in advance: Shaw has been known to wake you up on occasion with the slide of that juicy boner between your legs LOL

Thanks for reading! Check out more of my work here!📚

#q&a #all request line #anonymous #thank you so much #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love dream date #mlqc shaw #mlqc ling xiao #mlqc smut headcanon #my writing

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itsthemoofacewriting · 4 years

Text

Meet me in the afterglow

Summary:Cat thief Nami, world’s leading navigator, an absolute bombshell who had men falling at her feet wherever she went. She could have anyone she wanted, but she chose him. Sanji doesn’t understand why. Rating: M. Explicit.

It wouldn’t be me if I didn’t do vulnerable Sanji for the event- he’s such a wonderful character… unfortunate that I’ve written this on his birthday though. Oh well, he gets sex so it’s all square.

For @sannamiweek, day 2- Sunrise/Sunset.

This is a sequel to ‘Take your time (I’ll wait)’.

This can also be found on AO3 and FFN.

Enjoy!

Light filtered through the crack in the curtains where they weren’t quite drawn shut properly across the porthole and Sanji stirred. He was tired, his body felt heavy and he wanted to go back to sleep but couldn’t with the light flickering behind his eyelids. One eye cracked open to glare at the window but it didn’t do anything, light still invasively entering the room.

Despite the light filtering in, it was still fairly dim and considering how quiet it was outside, it must still be early. As much as he wanted to go back to sleep, he knew it wasn’t going to happen as he started to take in the room, brain waking up.

The bed opposite was empty and the room slightly chaotic, from the chair knocked over at the dresser to clothing haphazardly strewn around. Memories of the night before flooded back.

The rush to Nami’s room, quickly locking the door in fear of being interrupted.

The scramble to remove clothes and giggling between themselves as he stumbled over his trousers.

Nami’s soft lips against his neck and hands mapping out his body.

Soft hands in his hair.

The taste of her on his tongue.

The feeling of her wrapped around him.

Nami, underneath him, moaning for him, for him, as he squeezed every ounce of pleasure from her.

The way she clutched at his body as they experienced bliss together.

The breath taking, soft smile she gave him and the gentle kiss as they came down from their high together.

Said person stirred next to him, also disrupted by the light but settled as she turned towards him, successfully escaping its onslaught. She let out a little sigh but stilled again, and he used the opportunity to take her all in.

Her skin glowed underneath the light bleeding into the room, ivory skin turning luminescent under its caress and orange hair twined with gold as it fanned across the pillow.

She was beautiful, otherworldly.

It felt wrong to touch her, to spoil the work of art before him, but it was too hard to resist. He brushed the hair from her face, thumb taking a moment to trace across her cheek bone before following the slope to her neck. He lingered over the sensitive spot he’d found long ago and took full advantage of last night. A soft shoulder led to the side of her breast and the sensitive skin there that caused goosebumps to erupt. His fingers danced under the covers to find the dip in her waist and smooth up to the flare of her hips.

The disbelief he still felt that she’d still wanted to do this with him.

That she was still there.

He’d said he’d wanted to wait when they’d got together, and it was for many reasons. He wanted her to know he was serious about this, wanted to treat her how she deserved… and maybe wait to see if she’d change her mind.

It didn’t make sense looking at the both of them, seeing her settling for someone when she could have whoever she wanted, but he was never going to question his good luck. However it didn’t mean he didn’t think about it, think about when she’d come to her senses and it’s why he’d wanted to wait. He couldn’t take this step with her, not without being sure. Or as sure as he could be.

A hand on his chest stopped his thoughts. Nami was awake, one eye cracked and looking up at him. “Hi.”

He smiled at her, his hand covering the one on his chest. “Hi.”

“Is there any chance you’d close the curtains properly? I’ve been thinking about it for the last five minutes, but I don’t want to move,” she pouted, and his heart melted a little bit.

“Anything for you,” he said, taking the hand on his chest and pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand.

After adjusting the curtains, he turned and almost lost his breath. He wanted the sight before him burned into his brain. If he thought she looked angelic before, it’s nothing compared to now, leaning up on her arms to look at him, duvet falling around her hips and the most sinfully enticing breasts on full display.

But it’s the domesticity of it that does it for him. The way he’s the only person that’s going to see her like this. Open, vulnerable and so warm.

For him.

… Him?

“You okay?”

He could feel the frown on his face, so he could only imagine how it must look from the outside. He needed to snap out of it or he’s going to ruin it before she even realised it herself.

“Taking in the view,” he said cheekily, winking at her.

“I was expecting a much different reaction… more zealous,” her voice taking on a teasing lilt at the end.

“No nose bleeds I’m afraid, I can’t afford to miss a moment of this,” he replied, matching her tone.

It’s the right thing to say because she laughed, tension gone from her face and then she’s sitting up so she could open her arms for him.

He’d be a fool not to take up that offer.

They arranged themselves until he’s lying on his back with her cuddled up on his chest, his hand listlessly running up and down the soft skin of her back. It was surreal that he was here, in this moment, with Nami. He must have done something in his previous life, because he wasn’t deserving of it in this one.

“I can feel you thinking,” Nami said, voice still thick with sleep, with her chin resting of his chest to look up at him. “Thinking about last night?”

“Was it okay?” The first thought that came to mind tumbling out and he cringed, it didn’t come out right. Unsure, insecure.

She looked at him for a moment and he thought the jig was up, but then she smiled, “Amazing. Far better than I’d imagined. You?”

“Last night was everything I’ve ever wanted. You always exceed my expectations.”

He’d have her for as long as she let him stay by her side, he settled on.

“Okay, that’s the third time you’ve frowned and I’m naked right now. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He smiled at her, but it mustn’t have looked convincing because she was leaning back then, one arm supporting her on the bed to look at his face properly.

“Did I do something you didn’t like?” She asked, eyes probing.

“No!” As if, last night was the best night of his life. He wouldn’t change anything.

“Is… it to do with me?” She looked wary then.

“Absolutely not!” He said without hesitation. That was the last thing he wanted, for her to doubt herself. She was perfect.

Nami looked at him then, really looked at him and it made him nervous. It was never good when she was silent. Then she sat up, looked around the room and leaned down to grab his shirt to put it on.

Oh god, she was leaving. He’d opened his big mouth and drove her away.

He must have shown it, mouth trying to find the words because she stopped him with a stern, “Stop panicking, I’m not leaving.” She slipped the shirt on, slowly buttoning it up from the bottom. “We’re about to have a serious conversation, I don’t need you distracted.”

Yeah okay. Fair point. It didn’t stop him mourning the loss of her breasts though.

But that was all thrown out of the window when she straddled him and Jesus, what a view. If she didn’t want him distracted, she definitely shouldn’t have put on his shirt. She made it look so good on her effortlessly and although she was covered, it didn’t make her any less irresistible. She’d only buttoned if halfway, so the top was left open into a deep ‘v’ that did nothing but tease him.

“Focus! If you’re good you can take it off of me shortly,” her tone suggestive and her hands rested on his chest.

She was an angel.

“Start talking or I’m going to put on more clothes.” She was joking, he knew she was, but it got him somewhat talking.

“It’s nothing, really.” His hands rubbed along her legs, fingers just skimming the fabric of his shirt before going back down.

He didn’t want to have this conversation, not now. Not ever really.

She ignored him. “So, if it’s not something I did and it’s not me, then it’s you?” She paused. “Are you worried you did something? I would have said something if I didn’t like it and you’re so attentive.”

The more she reassured him, the worse he felt.

There was no running from this. “It’s not that. It’s just, you know, look at you.”

Her confused face was adorable. It almost helped relieve the pit that was forming in his stomach.

“… and then look at me.”

“I’m not following.” Her head tilted to the side, but she rubbed his chest, trying to persuade him to continue.

“You’re too good for me.” His voice defeated as he admitted one of his darkest thoughts. He spent a lot of time trying to push it down.

He was met with silence and possibly the most intense stare down of his life, which is saying something considering he did that on the daily with Mosshead. She wasn’t impressed, it was written all of her face. The confusion was long gone, her eyebrows were furrowed, and mouth downturned.

“Says who?” Displeasure thick in her voice.

He broke first, crumbling under her stare, glancing to the side. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It’s not important.”

“It is important. Says who?”

He looked down, avoiding her face and his hands had stopped moving, sitting at her hips stubbornly. “No one. It’s just an elephant in the room.”

She sighed and it felt like he was being scolded for a second, before she said, “It’s a relief though, this I can deal with. You looked like you were having second thoughts.”

“No!” He blurted and without thinking said, “I should be saying that to you.”

“You don’t see yourself clearly,” she answered back.

There was a lump in his throat, he stayed silent. He had an idea of where this was going, and he honestly wasn’t sure he could bear hearing it.

It didn’t matter because she was on a roll. “You don’t see the way people look you up and down as you walk around. How jealous they look when they see your hand in mine.”

Okay, he could deal with that.

She pushed his hair away from his face and he had to resist the urge to smooth his hair back over his face. He felt exposed but he presumed that was kind of the point. He was faced with the full force of her gaze and it was a mixture of softness and seriousness.

“You don’t see the way I look at you. How in love with you I am.”

… That he could not. His throat burned.

“I can’t see it changing either and I don’t want it to. I want your kindness, your strength, the ridiculous way you trip over yourself to please me,” she laughed lightly at the end and her thumbs traced over his eyebrows affectionately. “You make me so happy and the distracting way you fill out your suit is just the cherry on top.”

“You make me happy too.” It was the biggest understatement of his life, but he’s not sure he’s capable of anymore right now. For once in their relationship, he’s the one struggling for words.

It was enough though; the seriousness was gone from her face and in its place was earnestness. “And I want you. Only you.”

He felt winded.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to get rid of those thoughts, but I’ll spend forever trying to do it.”

In his fantasies, he’d never imagined this. He’d imagined a whole lot of things, but never the softest words that got him to his core. She understood his insecurities better than anyone, had seen where they came from and was still here. She was incredible.

And she’s still looking at him, but he doesn’t have words for her. He’s still blown away, but he did give her the softest look he had in his arsenal, nodding, and apparently that was enough as she leaned down to close the distance.

It’s a slow kiss, and he tried to convey everything he could through it. How much she meant to him, how lucky he felt, how grateful he was that she understood him and still wanted him. He cupped the back of her neck, thumb brushing just underneath her ear, like he knew she liked, and she shivered. They stayed that way, exchanging long, soft kisses back and forth, neither wanting to change the pace as they enjoyed the moment.

He pulled away from the kiss, but not by much. He found his voice as he reciprocated, “I love you too.”

“I know, you’re not subtle,” she joked, and her lips found his cheekbone. “But I love that about you.”

She pulled away slightly, her hands cupping his face to get his full attention.

“I wish you’d talked to me about this before, because you know, we’re in a relationship. I signed up for the good and the bad, the whole Sanji package,” she lectured softly. “I want to know everything, we’re a team.”

“Sorry, it’s just…” He trailed off, unsure how to explain himself. How would he even begin to start that and not sound like a total loser?

He never had to worry; she was on his wavelength. “I know, but just talk to me in future. I never not want to hear about this.”

Even he knew this conversation wasn’t over, they’d have to talk about it more in the future, which he understood, but he’s glad she’s letting him somewhat off the hook. It was enough but not too much.

He smiled up at her, bringing her into a quick kiss, because he didn’t know what else to do. The constant thought going around in his head was how incredible she was.

“It’s sunrise,” Nami said, glancing at the slowly brightening glow coming through the curtains. “The sun’s barely up and I believe I promised you could take this off me. We have some time.” Her eyebrows raised suggestively.

Any of his previous thoughts disappeared in an instant, instead replaced by his enthusiasm to get his beautiful girlfriend naked again.

He didn’t need any further encouragement before he was sitting up with her in his lap and his fingers were swiftly unbuttoning the shirt that had taken away his glorious view and throwing it to the floor in disdain. His hands cupped her breast in greeting and she sighed into his neck.

“You know,” she said lowly, and that was a tone he recognised all too well, he could feel himself stirring in anticipation, “you’ve tasted me, but I’ve never been able to return the favour.” Her lips brushed against his ear and she rolled her hips down against him.

He groaned, hands finding her hips to keep her there but his face steadily turning red at the thought of why. “Because I’d embarrass myself.”

“It’s never embarrassing, it’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever received,” she reassured him, kissing along his jaw. “Do you want me to?”

Oh god.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths!

He’s going to lose his load if he doesn’t calm down and nothing’s even happened yet. But just the way she phrased it and the thought of it! She’s the sexiest woman alive.

“Only if you want to,” he replied wobblily.

“So considerate, Sanji-kun.” She fluttered her lashes at him and left him with a quick parting kiss.

His heart beat steadily picked up the further south she went until it felt like it was going to burst out of chest when she settled between his legs. Which is ridiculous considering they’ve had sex, but there’s something different about this. It’s the way she’s looking up at him and that, in the darkest corners of his imagination, he’s pictured this but not even his active imagination could live up to the real thing.

Her mouth on his thigh put an end to his scattered thoughts and he’s throwing his head back when her lips kiss along his length, slowly moving upward. But it’s nothing compared to when she reached the tip, tongue lapping up the leaking fluid before taking him into her mouth.

And holy shit. Her mouth felt incredible, so hot and… there’s no words anymore. His brain’s scrambled.

It’s overwhelming and he didn’t realise he’d closed his eyes until he opened them to look down at her. It’s a sight that almost made him lose it. Her hairs gathered over one shoulder, one hand splayed over his hips and the other working the section her mouth can’t quite fit in, pumping in rhythm with her mouth.

If there were blood anywhere else in his body right now, he might have actually passed out.

The pleasure was building, he felt like he was already soaring, and he wanted to last longer, but it’s not looking likely. Not with the way she’s moving her mouth and just generally being her, she’s intoxicating. He could feel the tension building, a tingling sensation spreading through his body and he can’t hold back the sounds tumbling from his mouth.

He does not last.

It’s the combination of everything that sent him soaring off the deep end. Of having the woman of his dreams between his legs. The woman of his dreams sending him smoky looks from under her eyelashes. The woman of his dreams humming around him and looking so enthusiastic that it’s killing him.

Like an elastic band, he snapped, just managing to warn her but she’s not bothered. She barely blinked as she swallowed it down, continuing her ministrations to see him through his orgasm. And it made him see stars behind his eyes.

There’re a few seconds where he’s not sure what’s going on around him, but Nami’s back up with him, hand carding through his hair soothingly.

“I’d ask if it was good, but the way you look is indication enough,” she sounded pleased and she had every right to. He felt incredible.

Panting, he nodded. That’s all he could offer at the moment, his brain still trying to piece everything together and failing spectacularly.

What he did do, was cup her face and draw her into a searing kiss, trying to convey everything he wanted to say through it. She melted against him, slotting their lips together and he can definitely taste himself on her tongue, but it doesn’t bother him. She’s just blown his mind.

They parted slowly, lingering kisses thrown into the mix, before he’s asking, “I won’t be able to… you know, for a while but is there anything else I can do for you?” And brushed his nose along her cheekbone.

Considering everything they’d done together, she still blushed prettily. “You’re really good with your fingers,” she trailed off.

It’s something he’s more than on board with. He loved to taste her, but this way he could drink in her expressions as he made her toes curl.

Loud laughter and thumping footsteps outside broke the atmosphere.

She sighed at the ruckus and said, “For later I suppose, that’s the alarm.”

He tightened his hold on her before she could get up, rolling them so he was on top. “Put it on snooze, the chefs already got something cooking.”

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

I was speaking to Beastprince/Ray on discord, and they mentioned their headcanons for Sanji, they were skirting around the edges of this. The whole conversation fuelled me to sit down and complete this.

As always, please excuse any errors.

Thanks for reading.

#sannami week 2021 #SaNami #SanNami #SaNa #opfanfic #opwriting #One piece #Nami #Sanji

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botherkupo · 3 years

Text

heroes and lullabies (chapter 14)

new chapter is up!

read on ao3

14: Teamwork

Adrien’s heart thumps and thumps against his ribs. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should give the miraculous back, tell Ladybug that he’s changed his mind and he can’t help her. But his grip won’t loosen. It just won’t. He might as well be holding his soul in this tiny little case. So precious, so much a part of him.

He opens the case. A shaky breath crawls up through his chest and trembles on his lips. There is the ring. It draws him like gravity, like the song that whispers life through his veins, because this is what started it all—a real chance for freedom, a freefall dive into first love, a friendship so dear to him that he grieves its loss every day.

He had it all once.

“You okay?” Ladybug asks.

“Yeah.” His voice is thick. “Just—I don’t want to mess up, you know?”

Not quite a lie. He really doesn’t want to mess up.

She squeezes his hand. “You’re going to be fine.”

A fragile smile touches his lips, and then he picks up the ring—always a little heavier than expected. The metal is cool to the touch. Familiar. He slips on the ring, which adjusts to fit his finger and changes to silver.

Plagg swoops out in a blur of black. “Alright, who’s—”

Their eyes meet. Adrien’s hands shake and he swallows against the tightness choking his throat.

“Oh,” Plagg says.

It’s all that needs to be said. Plagg’s expression tells much more: softer than he’s ever shown, a hug in everything but words. Adrien’s eyes sting. All he wants to do is clutch Plagg close and tell him how much he’s missed him. How he even misses the old sock smell of camembert because at least it means his friend is there. But Adrien can’t say these things. He has a plan—one he has to pull off if he doesn’t want to ruin things even more.

“Nice to meet you,” Adrien says. “I hope you’re okay with me being your temporary holder for today.”

Plagg’s eyes widen—only for a second. “I guess I can tolerate it.”

“Plagg!” Ladybug hisses.

Adrien fights back a relieved smile. Plagg understood. Maybe this will work.

“We’d better get to the akuma,” Ladybug says. “Oh, yeah, the transformation phrase is—”

“Don’t worry, I remember.” Adrien closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. “Plagg, transform me.”

The magic takes hold. There’s only one thought in his mind as green swirls around him: make it different.

A mask fits over his face. The hair he wears neatly styled lengthens, framing his face in a messy fringe, but it keeps on growing and pulls itself back into a ponytail. Cat ears unfurl. His hearing is instantly heightened, even as black stretches down his arms, his legs, encasing him in the protective suit.

No bell. The zip isn’t as long, and the pattern on his chest is different—a V that starts from the top of his collar, like the different coloured fur on a cat’s chest. A glance behind him reveals that his tail is shorter, not even reaching his knees.

It worked.

Adrien flexes his clawed fingers and meets her gaze. “Ready when you are.”

Her gaze flitters over him, pink dusting her cheeks. She blinks. “R-right. Er, what should I call you?”

“Bobtail.” His lips curve slightly. “Call me Bobtail.”

oOo

The akuma, Gambler, is a tricky one. Just when Adrien thinks he’s getting used to one mode, it switches to a different mode, using fire, swords, suddenly increasing its size. So many different abilities. But Adrien and Ladybug are a team. They work together effortlessly. Always have.

He stands in front of Ladybug and spins his baton, diffusing the fire that comes at them. A shield to give her time.

“Lucky Charm!”

A giant barrel drops into her arms, making her almost topple over. “Ugh, it’s heavy,” she mutters.

“Need a helping paw, my lady?”

Her gaze darts to him, forehead creasing. “What did you—” Her eyes widen. “Bobtail, look out!”

He brings up his staff in reflex, blocking the sword that swings for his head. Right. Better focus.

Their weapons clash again, the ringing clang echoing in his ears. He pushes back, his eyes narrowed, attacks getting fiercer with every strike. No way is he going to let Ladybug down. So he ducks, counters, hits back with all he has in spinning blows of silver. He attacks like this will be his last fight.

Maybe because it probably will be.

“Ooh, the kitty has claws,” Gambler taunts. “But if you think you can turn the luck in your favour, you’re wrong. We’re playing by my rules.”

Gambler hits the button on his chest. The reels spin, even as metal clangs against metal, sword against staff.

Ding, ding, ding!

Three fists. Damn.

Gambler grows in size, reaching higher and higher until he’s almost as tall as the buildings. A giant foot is raised, ready to stomp. To crush.

Adrien leaps back to stand near Ladybug, holding his staff up in a defensive gesture. “Got a plan?”

She nods. “I’m pretty sure the akuma is in that button on his chest. It looks like a lapel pin, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Right, but he never lets us get close enough to grab it.” She pats the barrel. “Get this to that alleyway. I’ll keep him off your back and then lure him in there to you.”

“Got it.”

He picks up the barrel, grunting a little. It really is heavy. A sloshing sound comes from inside, and some kind of dark liquid spills over the side. Ah, so that’s why it’s heavy.

Ladybug charges into action. He doesn’t wait around to watch and heads for the alley as fast as he can, carrying his sloshing burden. There’s no need for her to explain the plan further. He’s done this with her enough times to understand what she wants.

He sets up the barrel in the middle of the alley. Then he waits.

“What’s the matter, Slot Face?” Ladybug shouts. “Too slow?”

There’s a frustrated growl, and then Ladybug swings into the alley, stopping only when she’s standing in front of Adrien. A smiles flashes over her face. He nods.

Gambler charges into the alley, clunking and big.

“Now!” Ladybug yells, stepping to the side.

Adrien tips over the barrel. Dark liquid spills everywhere, slinking under Gambler’s feet. It all happens quickly after that. Gambler slips and crashes to the ground with earthquake-shaking impact. That’s Adrien’s cue. He leaps into the air with his hand raised.

“Cataclysm!”

Black blooms from his palm like swirling stars and he smashes his hand against the lapel pin button. It crumbles, butterfly fluttering free. Ladybug’s yoyo does the rest.

Gambler’s brightly coloured suit melts away into a plain grey one. He blinks and looks around. “Huh? Where am I?”

Ladybug and Adrien share a smile. Then she picks up the empty barrel and throws it into the air.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

All of the damage is repaired. Everything restored to how it should be. It’s always a sight to behold, and it feels so much more significant now that he’s at her side after being forced to act as a spectator for so long. They did it. Another job well done.

Adrien holds out his fist to her. “Pound it?”

Something shifts in her expression and she yanks him into her arms. “it’s you.” She squeezes him so tightly that his ribs protest. “I can’t believe it’s you, kitty.”

His stomach drops. Oh no.

#ml #heroes and lullabies #my writing

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finn-ray-nal-beads · 4 years

Note

I JUST GOT HOME FROM WORK AND SAW YOUR POST SO I HOPE I SENT THIS IN IN TIME, BUT DADDY!CLYDE TRAINING HIS BABYGIRL TO LACTATE WITHOUT BEING PREGNANT (BECAUSE THAT IS 100% A CLYDE KINK) AND BEING SO PROUD OF HER WHEN SHE FINALLY STARTS PRODUCING AND HE CANT STOP SUCKING ON HER TITS. OKAY LOVE YOU BYEEE!!❤️❤️

@clydesfavoritegirl SO, I HAVE BEEN WRACKING MY BRAIN ABOUT THIS AND I HAVE A WIERD THOT ABOUT IT.

So, little fun facts about Sara, I have had a baby (she’s five now), I breastfed for about a year (very hard to keep up), and I have also donated my eggs for other people to have babies in the future. All of this mentioned above is not easy to accomplish and requires patience and willpower to do.

Any way you have a child is valid no matter which avenue you are given in life. If you want kids by all means have them, if you don’t that’s totally and completely fine. If you want to use formula to feed them, do it queen all the power to you, the same goes for breastfeeding. Adoption is just as important as shooting baby out yourself and surrogates are true angels in my eyes. I had not considered this lactation thing until I did research on it, because I really wanted to know if it was possible to accomplish, and it is.

Upon my research I saw that it takes months and months of hormone therapy to produce milk without being pregnant and even then, doctors prescribe it for couples adopting and or trying surrogacy for new babies coming into the family. SO, that being said, I can twist this into maybe Clyde and yourself looking at adopting or using a surrogate for a child, and you want to try to breastfeed them because you want to bond with your new baby. And of course Clyde is ALL about it because anything that makes you happy and comfortable!

PLEASE INDULGE MY THOTS ON OUR SOUTHERN BELL CLYDE AND HIS INEVITABLE LACTATION KINK....

**I’m gonna put warnings on here because it mentions some heavy stuff (plz don’t read if you are triggered by any of this): Infertility, hormone therapy, angst, depression, adoption, and surrogacy**

“Baby girl?” Clyde calls from the living room, his nose deep in the baby books you both had purchased over the months of trying to start your big happy family, fumbling though his phone at the same time.

“What’s goin’ on big bear?” you chime, busy fixing yourself up in the mirror after a relaxing shower to wash the sex from your skin after a session with big daddy.

Adjusting you hair, wincing as you lifted your arms, “Jesus,” groaning out, feeling the soreness from your heaving breasts as they felt like concrete on your chest.

_______________

Ever since you'd begun the injections and pills, your body was hating life. The raging hormone cocktails running through your bloodstream causing every single emotion to emit from your body at once.

You’d be happy and cheery one second, followed by crying in your shared bed under the sheets in the fetal position, and finally raging about the fact that the TV was turned too damn loud in the other room, when it all actuality it was the same level you’d always kept it at.

No matter the tears and agony, Clyde and yourself took all of this one day at a time, just as you had when you found out that children may not be a possibility when it came to the old fashion way of doin’ it. The pain was so hard to bear that day. You cried and cried, locking yourself away from the world as you cursed whomever was in charge of your fate, feeling like less of a woman the more the days droned on.

It took a few months for you to smile again, Clyde painstakingly trying to solve your problems with everything under the sun, reading books, catering to your needs, holding you when you sobbed yourself to sleep over your vacancy.

Cradling you when you felt like less of a person for not being able to accomplish one simple thing you’d both hoped for in the future. He’d hush your tears away, forcing you into him as he felt you shudder during the night, silent tears falling from his face as he prayed for some kind of sign or solution to all of this.

Then it all fell into place one day. Clyde was working his ass off during the nights, leaving you to stew about things at home, which inevitably led you to the internet.

You looked up all kinds of solutions, message boards talking about infertility, therapies, injections, adoption, and surrogacy. All of them possible in your eyes if it played out like it had for the folks at the various agencies you’d looked up. Finally, a glimmer of hope in this shit-storm of uncertainty, as you glanced over the testimonials and pictures of various families, so happy with their children healthy and happy.

“This is it,” you had muttered under your breath, a flutter from deep in your stomach causing tears to well up in your eyes as you thought about Clyde and you taking home a sweet new addition.

You’d brought it up to him immediately upon entering the house at and ungodly hour, to which you were scolded by your big bear after you’d made your sales pitch to him.

“I think it sounds perfect baby girl,” he cooed as you both laid in bed that night, caressing your sweat sheened skin after a good punishing from his cock, “if ya want ta do it, m’ happy with anything ya want,” whispering as he felt you sink into him to relax for the first time in months.

“I jus’ wanna make ya happy to big bear,” kissing his thick chest as you inhaled his musk, “I think this is the way we can have that family we want,” ghosting your lips up his sternum as he sighed into your touch.

“Mhmm,” he embraced you further, “I’ll adopt as many babies as ya want honey. Yer jus’ gonna be the best momma regardless,” hearing your light cries in the quiet of the darkened bedroom.

“T-thank you big bear,” you strained out, still hiding in his neck as the tears spilled, “I can’t wait ta make ya a real daddy finally,” gripping the back of his neck as you fell into another chorus of cries.

_____________

“What’s up?” your v-neck t-shirt straining on your heaving tits, the bra you’d picked certainly not fitting you as the days went on and on.

“I think I found the pump ya were wantin’,” he gulped, seeing the peaches poking through your top half as you bent forward to look at the contraption he’d found.

“Oh ya!” you jumped slightly, your tits bouncing in a ripple at your excitement, causing Clyde to salivate at the sight.

“Thank ya big bear!” jumping into his lap as you pulled him to you, kissing his cheeks as he buried his face in your pillows, running his thick hands over your sweatpants.

“A-anythin’ fer ma baby girl,” he panted, burying his prominent nose deeper into your rock hard tits, “Gah damn yer so juicy darlin’,” lifting his head to place pecks all over the tops of them.

“Ya like ma milky titties baby?” biting your lip as he started sucking a mark over the soft skin, “ya wanna taste a mama’s milk?” cooing in his ear as he moaned into his make out session with your chest, rubbing his head to press it further in the valley of them.

“Ya think they’re finally full baby girl?” he glanced up, his eyes glimmering with love and lust in the same gaze. You pet his precious face, the hopeful look only making this more special as he’d been helping you with your injections since you’d gotten the go ahead from the doctor and the agency.

“I think so daddy,” feeling them tense up at your words, the soreness pulsing all the way to both nipples as you tried to avoid making faces in front of him. He helped you remove your fresh top, exposing your lacy bra, the skin popping out with colored veins, gravid from the fullness of them.

“Fuck me,” he drooled, reaching behind to undo the clasp, eyes widening even further when he saw them perked up out of their hiding spot. The nipples taut and ready for his lips to suck on at his leisure.

“Ya look so damn perty baby girl,” raising his hand to grip the skin, feeling how heavy they were on your chest, “ya want daddy ta see if they’re ready ta go?” practically begging as he ran a thumb over the sensitive nipple.

You reared your head back at the slight touches he made, “please daddy,” whining as he watched you fall apart from his motions, “suck on my tits big bear,” shoving your chest closer to his waiting mouth as he inhaled deep, a growl brewing as he went to latch his pink lips on your areola.

“Mother fuck!” you cried out, the pleasure releasing from your throat as he sealed himself on your tit, massaging the sore skin as he coaxed the sweet liquid to fall from it.

He vacuum sealed his lips, sucking lightly at first, feeling you writhe and find the back of his to grip his mane, pushing him further into your warm skin.

“O-oh g-god baby,” you moaned out, feeling a burning feeling build in your boob that felt both uncomfortable and welcoming as he sped up his jaw on your nipple.

“Mhmmmm,” he whined out, feeling the body temperature liquid seep from your tit, coating the insides of his mouth in a warm embrace as he sucked more and more.

Just then, you felt your other tit release a trickle of fluid, the stream of white beautiful in contrast to your skin as you glanced down in awe and pleasure. The cement block feeling escaping as Clyde sucked down your sweet nectar.

“Oh f-fuck d-daddy,” you gasped, a mixture of elation leaving your body, “I-I’m l-leakin’,” you winced out, feeling Clyde let up on your boob, picking his head up to reveal a white sheen covering his lips and part of his mustache.

“That ya are darlin’,” he eyes completely dilated as he looked over at your stream sliding down the underside of your neglected tit, making its way down your stomach in a perfect line, “yer doin’ such a good job baby girl.”

Gripping the other tit in his large hand, coaxing the nipple into his mouth sucking your sweetness down in a frenzy. Your hand massaging the back of his head as you arched your back into his motions, feeling a huge relief as he emptied your other aching tit.

He lifted his head in a gasp, wiping his mouth from the mess he’d made, watching as your sultry eyes bored into him. The both of you panting and elated at the hard work it had taken to accomplish this huge step.

“Ya perfect, baby girl,” inching his lips to yours as you tasted your milk in his mouth, sighing into his tongue wrapping around yours.

He pulled away for a moment, the noticeable bulge in his jeans ever present as he fulfilled his fantasies he’d had since he’d met you, “I don’t think m’ gonna be able ta keep up with these tits though as much as I’d like ta suck on ‘em fer every damn meal,” giggling as he lowered his mouth to your neck, sucking more marks on the skin as you mewled under him.

“Don’t worry big bear,” you purred, gripping his hair again, arching yourself into his lips, “ya can help me when I get that pump we saw,” feeling him smirk under your neck at the prospect of him watching that show.

“But fer now,” you lifted him by the ears to gaze into his precious eyes, “I think mama needs ta take care a daddy,” gesturing to his now tented erection.

“Please mama,” he begged, watching you get up from your spot to curl and index finger as you backed into your bedroom again for round two.

___________

God I hope I did this ask alright for you honey! Thank you for sending it in so I could learn something from it, as well as indulge in this juicy Clyde thot!

oneshot taglist: @maybe-your-left, @safarigirlsp, @clydesfavoritegirl, @emeraldsiren20, @thepalaceofmelanie, @bpdbensoloblog, @hopeamarsu, @caillea

🖤,

ray-nal-beads

#tw infertility #tw adoption #tw surrogacy #tw hormone injection #tw lactation kink #tw breastmilk #tw depression #angst #clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan fluff #clyde logan smut #clyde x reader #clyde x you #tw children

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.11}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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It was that time of the year again before Robin knew. As always, christmas had approached fast and suddenly rather than steadily, but the festive spirit had been long evident throughout the entire month of December. The holidays this year looked a little different than usual though; Cas had been asked by a fifth year student to attend the new year's ball with him, upon which she spontaneously had decided to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Robin had offered to take Jorien to the ball as her plus one, but the girl had decided to just go home as planned. So it was just Cas and Robin who would attend the ball this year.

Honestly, Robin felt weary of the boy who had asked Cas out. He seemed nice enough at the first glance, but something about him was ringing an alarm bell in the back of her mind. Cas obviously didn't care about Robin's words of warning, saying how she at least had a date for the ball, which probably should've hurt Robin more than it did. After this rather uncomfortable conversation however, she had decided to keep her concerns to herself, but an eye on Cas nonetheless. She didn't want her to get hurt, not even by something that, to her, was so ridiculously irrelevant as teenage drama. Because she knew that to Cas, it wasn't irrelevant at all.

The last day of the year came, and before long Robin thanked herself for actually bothering to invest in a dress this year. And she foremost thanked herself for having the endurance last summer to actually make an effort and not just get the first best one in Diagon Alley, which would've merely been a differently coloured version of what pretty much all of the other girls wore (with a few honorable exceptions, of course). No, Robin had made the decision to go with her own taste rather than the attempt to fit in, and she still stood behind it to the fullest.

Cas on the other hand had about five different dresses lying on her bed and was desperate to pick one, which did not even come as a surprise to Robin. The girl's love for fashion had exploded rather than faded, and while Robin had no idea why Cas had packed so many pretty dresses unaware that she would be attending the ball, it also didn't particularly surprise her.

"You should wear the dark blue one." Robin commented from her seat on her own bed, while she unsuccessfully tried to untangle her hair. "It reminds me of the nightsky. And who doesn't love the night?"

"Most people don't, actually." Cas sighed in exaggerated despair. "I was thinking about the peach coloured one with the ruffles."

"You're the fashion guru." Robin shrugged. "But I think darker colours are more classy. And the ball is very classy, most of the time. Or trying to be anyway."

"Classy or stuffy?"

"A bit of both, perhaps. Foremost, it is entirely what you make of it."

"In that case, I'll wear the peach coloured one." Cas decided with a more or less determined expression. "What about you? We're gonna be late if you don't get started at once!"

"Well, I don't have an entire wardrobe of dresses to pick between. I showered and sorted out my hair; I'll literally be done within five minutes from this point on."

"What about makeup? What about hairstyles?! What about shoes?!" Cas asked in return, incredulous about Robin's lack of enthusiasm about these things. "Seriously, aren't you gonna make any effort at all?"

"As you said, I don't have a date anyway. Nobody expects me to make an effort." Robin shrugged in return, unbothered by her roommate's comments. "And since you obviously didn't see me for the last few years, I will kindly let you know that putting on an actual dress this year IS me making an effort."

"I cannot believe you. I just cannot believe you…" Cas rolled her eyes as she muttered to herself, but then went ahead to get ready herself and leave Robin reading on her bed in peace for the next hour and a half. That's how long it took Cas to go through all of her extensive preparations and procedures, and Robin thought it was admirable how much effort she put into this indeed.

Finally, twenty minutes before the ball would begin and while Cas was still in the bathroom making 'last minute' adjustments to her colorful eye makeup, Robin got up from her bed with a sigh, put her book down and dug her dress out of her trunk at last. Like most things she bought these days, it was almost entirely black, but for the silver ornamentations and spiky flowers sewed onto the shoulders. Everything from the waist down was flowing black fabric, as was the long pieces that attached to the shoulders instead of sleeves, billowing down the arms like a backless cape. That precisely was also what made it difficult to put on, without stepping onto the piles of fabric that however barely brushed the ground once she pulled it up. The neckline came in high at the sides, almost high enough to cover up her scar, while the front was curved into a low V shape, that had always reminded Robin of spades. The solid black of the simple corset made up for the detailing on the shoulders and the heavy billowing fabrics of the skirt, and its snug fit and the thick fabric were comforting rather than confining to her. For once, Robin actually felt powerful through wearing a mere piece of clothing. And while perhaps she might not fit in with the other students, she definitely would with the professors.

"Bloody hell!" Cas suddenly exclaimed, and Robin jumped in return, twirling around to face the girl who spoke on in the meanwhile. "How dare you looking that gorgeous?!"

Robin's face heated up in an instant, and even though it was Cas she was talking to, she couldn't help being flustered. "Uh, thanks, I guess."

"I mean, I still stand with my statement that you shouldn't wear so much black, but good gracious… that dress is a piece of art. And it just screams 'Robin' to me, so you actually did pick well for once!"

"Don't sound so surprised." Robin rolled her eyes, while she had to smile nonetheless. "But thank you anyway. I wanted to look like myself tonight, and not like I dressed up as someone I'm not."

"But dressing up as someone you're not for one night is the entire point of it!" Cas replied with a grin, then dimmed it down to a smile. "But I understand you, and I think you look exactly like yourself. Just more beautiful than usual."

"Thanks…" Robin scoffed in humour, torn between sarcasm and honesty, and thus settled for both. "Again."

"So tell me, who do you wanna impress with that dress?" Cas quirked an eyebrow at Robin, smirking while she observed her closely. "And don't tell me no one, because I know you, and you wouldn't have made an effort just for yourself."

"Everyone." Robin answered instead, deeming it just as not-saying as 'no one'. Meanwhile, she tried to find a place to store her wand, which was turning out to be an actual problem now. No sleeves, no real sleeves at least, and no hemlines or pockets. Great. Then however an idea struck her, and in no time she had twisted her hair up into a bun, which she could easily fixate with her wand indeed. Two problems solved with one action, wonderful.

"I cannot believe you just did that." Cas commented on Robin's action in an instant. "And I cannot believe that it actually looks good! I spent an hour doing my hair, and you just… use your wand like a hair accessory within two bloody seconds."

Robin sighed in return, but she had to smile once again at Cas and her view of the world. "Your hair looks a million times better, believe me. I'm not trying to look good, I'm only trying to look acceptable while being functional. That's a difference."

"If you say so…" Cas sighed, and the two girls finally started making their way up to the great hall. "Coming back to my question though; who do you really want to impress? Is it that boy who's sitting next to you in Professor Morgan's class since recently?"

"Alexander? God no!" Robin snorted, shaking her head to herself while she actually enjoyed striding through the hallways quite so elegantly for once. "If you must know, I'm not trying to impress someone, but to prove a point to someone."

"Uuh!" Cas squealed quietly, skipping in her steps next to Robin in glee. "To whom? And which point?"

"You would do well to focus on your own date for now. Where did he want to meet you again?"

"Just outside the hall. You won't scare him off, Robin, will you? I know you don't like him, but he's really cool and so are his friends, and I don't wanna be the stupid third year whose big sister has to watch over her."

"You won't even notice me tonight, unless you need me. Good?"

"Yes. Thank you." Cas smiled, then took a deep breath while her smile widened even more. "I'm actually going to the ball! With a cute boy! Can you believe it?! I've waited for this moment for months!!!"

"I hope tonight is everything you dreamt of." Robin replied with a small smile, but it was tainted by concern no less. Just shortly before they reached the last crossing before the great hall, she turned to Cas once more. "Don't get into trouble, and don't do anything stupid. I don't want to find you drunk in our bathroom later or anything of that sort."

"Yes, professor." Cas rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, but gave Robin a small hug nonetheless, before she skipped ahead and towards wherever she would meet her date.

Robin decided to give Cas a little while at least, to spare her the embarrassment of arriving with her watchdog indeed. When she finally did make her way into the great hall, she was barely still on time, with two more minutes to go until the festivities would begin. The very moment she entered the hall, a few more eyes were drawn to her than in the last years, but not enough to make her feel observed. At least Robin didn't notice enough eyes on her to feel like people were actually paying attention to her. In an instant, she moved to stand off to the side and let her eyes trail over the crowds in the search for her own company.

"Looking for something?" Snape's voice was so close behind her that Robin jumped for the second time this evening, but then turned around to him with a smile. The very moment she did, she believed to see a glimpse of sincere awe flashing through his eyes, but she might as well be mistaken. She probably was, unfortunately. It might just be the candles and some wishful thinking.

"Looking for someone." She smiled up at him in amusement. "But it seems that someone found me first."

"How very fortunate for you." He replied with a not-smirk, as much of it as he would show in public at least, and his gaze flickered over her garments for just a second before returning to her eyes. "Did you have to choose black?"

"Obviously." She smirked, feeling highly amused by his difficulty to show a suitable reaction to her choice of outfit.

"It suits you."

Now, that she hadn't expected, but she appreciated it nonetheless as her smirk turned into a smile. "Thank you."

"How… came the change in your choice of attire for tonight's event?"

"You complained last year that I was wearing the same thing I wore to the conference the summer before." Robin shrugged, observing his almost uncertain expression. "Thought I'd prove to you that I can look nice too, when I actually try."

"You didn't need to." He mused, but before Robin could give a reply, both their attention was drawn to the front of the room where Dumbledore was getting started with his welcoming speech.

Robin turned towards the front to at least pretend to listen, and a few seconds later she noticed the gentle hand that came to rest on the small of her back. She had to smile in an instant, glancing up at Snape out of the corners of her eyes, but he was looking towards the front as neutrally and indifferently as always, always the contrast to his lingering touch. Oh, how she had missed this.

… … …

As soon as the possibility had come up, Snape and Robin had moved back into their usual corner and to their usual table. For a good two hours they stayed sitting there like always, in their usual habit of gossiping and teasing, until at last the inevitable happened, the one thing Robin had indeed seen coming all along.

With the saddest face in history, Cas came approaching them with an expression showing precisely that she was barely able to keep her tears from spilling over. Robin's immediate line of thought went along the path of 'told you so', but she frowned it away and out of her mind, and instead jumped to her feet in honest concern.

"I'll be back in a second." She said to Snape, who nodded in return, then she went to meet Cas a few steps further down the wall. They weren't technically out of sight, but out of earshot at least. "What happened?"

"As if that would be so hard to guess." Cas replied with a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest but making herself so small at the same time that it appeared more as a gesture of holding herself together than defiance. Robin simply went ahead and hugged her then, out of an impulse, and Cas immediately clung onto her in return. "You were right… He's an asshole."

"What did he do?" Robin asked softly, drawing reassuring circles on her friend's back, while on the inside however, she felt furious. Whatever that boy had done, he would pay for making Cas cry. Even if it was just teenage drama, Robin wasn't having it tonight. Or perhaps she just needed a deserving victim for her own annoyance at Cas for not listening to her any earlier.

"He and his two stupid friends wanted to go and hang out somewhere else, somewhere more interesting than here and 'have a little fun'. I said I didn't want to, so they just made fun of me for being such a prudish child and dreadfully boring. Then they just laughed at me and Jos said he should never have asked me to the ball." She mumbled into Robin's shoulder, and only a few seconds later she looked up at her again. "I'm not boring, am I?"

"Not at all." Robin replied with a small smile. "I'm very proud of you for not letting them drag you into something you didn't want to do."

"It's not even that I'm scared to do something forbidden… I couldn't care less, honestly, unless it's something really bad. But I just want to stay here for a while, you know… to enjoy the ball. I like the ball." Cas shrugged, still looking sad about it. "No need to insult me for that, right?"

"Nothing gives them the right to insult you at all." Robin replied pointedly, then let her eyes trail over the room for a second before turning back to Cas. "Did they leave already?"

"No… they wanted to find some other people first who would actually be willing to go with them for their private party." The girl scoffed, pushing her hair behind her ear with a bit more confidence already. "Why?"

"I should have a little talk with Jos, and with his friends as well if needed." Robin stated in a dangerous calm, then started pulling Cas along, back towards her table. Without making much fuss about it, she sat Cas down next to Snape. "Wait here, yes? I'll be right back."

"You don't have to, Robin, really, it's-..."

"Yes, I do have to." She replied calmly, ignoring both Cas' insecure look and Snape's mildly irritated one, and then turned on her heel to find the boy in question. They really needed to have a talk; no one mistreated or ridiculed her friends.

Jos really wasn't too difficult to find, his group of friends practically entertained the entire section of the room. 'Cool and popular' Cas had said… more like 'jocks and jerks'. Robin approached him without slowing down, and even though the boy was only a fifth year, he was a good head taller than her. That didn't intimidate her in the least however, and while being surrounded by so many people, so many strangers, would've made her nervous in any other situation, it did not do so now. She was on a mission, and somehow her body seemed to understand that.

"Jos?" She merely asked in a cold calm tone once she stood facing the boy.

"Uh, yeah? That would be me." He quirked an eyebrow down at her in amusement, while his pals nudged him in the sides with utterly pathetic grins. "The one and only."

"I thought so." Robin returned, then didn't waste a second to follow her impulses once again. The thing about physically strong people was that they usually spent ridiculously little time guarding their minds. Thus it was but an effortless thought on Robin's part, and she was in his mind, staring him down at the same time while he stumbled backwards against a table, then slumped down on the bench behind his legs. She felt his mind trying to lock her out, but it was a pathetic attempt at the most, and thus she went ahead to give him a very clear visual of what would happen to him should he ever dare to say a single bad word about Cas again, in her presence or not. After half a minute of this the boy was a terrified mess, half sitting and half sprawled out on the bench, looking up at Robin with teary eyes while she withdrew from his mind at last. Then she turned to his gawking friends, who hadn't even tried to help their pal.

"Would anyone else like to know what happens when you mess with the wrong people?" She asked politely, and five people shook their heads immediately. As much as she wanted to smirk at that, she kept her face neutral. "Great. Have a nice evening."

Without waiting for their reactions, she turned around once more and made her way through the hall and back towards her own table, feeling her confidence fade the moment she was out of their sight. Geez… she really shouldn't have done that. All those years she'd been doing her best to stand above such impulsive behaviour, and here she was now, mildly torturing a lower year. Letting off steam on other people. Great job, idiot. Perhaps it was the dress that gave her the illusion of too much power. Perhaps it was Snape's company.

"And? How did it go?" Cas asked the very second Robin approached them, and the girl luckily looked a lot more like herself already. Not sad and small anymore, but excited and almost happy again, and Robin found that this was what had made her own uncharacteristic behavior worth it in the end. To see her friends happy, she would gladly go against her higher standards.

"I made him cry." Robin sighed in resignation, and sat down on the bench in between Cas and Snape. "It was a very wrong thing to do though, so don't take it as an example. A negative one, perhaps."

"I don't care if it was wrong, you made him cry for me and that's awesome." Cas grinned, then almost knocked Robin off the bench with a tight hug. "Thank you! I really should have listened to you earlier…"

"It's nothing, really. But yes, you should have." Robin huffed in amusement, even though she still felt mildly concerned about the entire 'revenge leads to more revenge' thing. But she hadn't seen any speckle of that in Jos' mind, so perhaps it really wasn't an issue for once. Not when it was about something so minor, with somebody so imbecilic.

"Uhm, sorry to, uh… to interrupt…" A foreign voice drew Robin's attention to a blond curly haired boy she couldn't remember seeing before, and Cas followed suit while she let go of Robin. The boy obviously seemed unsettled either by Snape or Robin, perhaps by both of them, for he only glanced at them nervously from time to time and otherwise focused on Cas entirely. "I, uh… I couldn't help noticing what my idiot classmates said to you, and well… I just wanted to ask if you were alright?"

Cas blushed a deep crimson, and Robin had to subtly nudge her in the side eventually to remind her that she could speak. "Uh, yeah, I… Thank you. That's… very nice of you to ask."

Robin could practically feel how Snape rolled his eyes at the scene, but she was also very much aware of the fact that he was still here despite everything that had happened in the past minutes. She couldn't help nudging him in the side as well, smirking, and he gave her a glare in return. Robin smiled even more.

"Would you… uh, would you care for a dance perhaps? With me, I mean? I could try to cheer you up with my horrible dancing skills and ridiculous jokes." The blonde boy finally got out with a crooked smile, and Cas nodded immediately. Then she gave Robin a questioning look, but she just motioned for her to go ahead already. Thus, within seconds, Cas and the boy vanished in the crowd.

"I have never seen something more pathetic in my entire life." Snape finally remarked dryly, and Robin had to snort at the comment. It was absolutely only for show, and she knew that just as well as him.

"Oh come on, I think it was adorable." She replied with a smirk. "I feel a lot better about this one than that prick she came here with."

"You are aware that I missed the important bits of the conversation, yes?"

"I know." Robin sighed, then turned to him to explain. "Fifth year, straight brown hair, very tall, called Jos. Might be a nickname though. You know him?"

"Yes. I could've told you from the start that he is a complete dunderhead."

"I for my part knew that from the start as well, but Cas didn't want to believe me when I told her. Either way, he asked her to the ball, she had high hopes, but then he and his friends made fun of her, right before she came here. So much for the pre-story." Robin sighed again, her smile faltering. "Then I did something stupid and very much unlike me. I went over there and basically bashed him in the head with a few pictures strategically placed in his mind, of what I would do to him if he kept on being an arse."

"So that's what got him to shiver in fear at the mere sight of you." Snape mused with a not-smirk, and Robin was twice surprised in return.

"You saw that?" She asked first of all, frowning.

"I did indeed. Most of it, at least."

"And you're not disappointed? Not even telling me how idiotic that was? How imbecile and irresponsible and redundant?" She added the second question right on, and part of her hoped that he would do just what she'd said, and part of her hoped for the opposite. "You've been telling me since first year how stupid impulsive reactions like this are!"

"Why would I need to tell you something you are already well aware of?" He quirked an eyebrow at her, but upon her defeated expression, he finally sighed as well. "Sometimes we do a wrong thing for the right reasons. You defended someone you care about. I doubt that could even be considered wrong in the first place."

"And using legilimency on lower years? How are you going to justify that?"

"I won't, that certainly was wrong by any means. But I enjoyed watching it nonetheless." He said with another not-smirk, which finally got Robin to smile as well. "You certainly know how to intimidate people. It's quite impressive."

"I learned from the very best." She replied with a smirk, and he rolled his eyes in return, while his own smile still lingered on his lips.

They just kept on chatting for a while then, the incident soon forgotten and insignificant, and before long things returned to normal. Almost normal, for they were left sitting closer together than ever after Cas had left, shoulders almost touching now, heat brushing against the bare skin of Robin's arms when her robe sleeves moved out of the way. She knew that he must take notice of the closeness as well, of her shoulder gently brushing against his arm from time to time whenever she moved, and yet he didn't move away at all. The thought made her smile.

They had been listening to the music for a while, merely enjoying each other's company like they did so very often, when Robin caught sight of Cas dancing with the blond boy again. It had been an hour at least since they had left to dance; obviously it was going quite well, and Robin couldn't help being curious.

"Who is the boy dancing with Cas anyway?" She asked Snape, while still keeping her eyes on the couple on the dancefloor.

"Curious, are we?" He mused in return, undoubtedly humoured. "His name is Simon Durrell, fifth year. Ravenclaw. He is quite horrible at potions, but smarter and therefore less of a nuisance than his peers. Wears his heart on his sleeves quite like your friend."

"Good." Robin smiled up at Snape at last. "I would've hated having to behead him if he was a jerk to Cas. She looks happy dancing with him."

"You should be dancing as well." Snape said in a sudden feigned neutrality that made Robin's smile fade in return. "One doesn't wear a gown like that only to hide in a corner all night."

"Why not?" She shrugged, focusing on her hands in her lap. Was he trying to get rid of her? Find a polite excuse to get away? No, that wouldn't be like him at all. He would just get up and leave if he wanted to. Robin didn’t know what he wanted to hear. "Nobody's ever asked me to dance anyway."

"Oh please... You are by far better than waiting for some dunderhead to ask you for a dance. Go and ask someone first, someone who deserves your company." His tone turned from neutral to grave in a broken second, as he turned to look away along with it. "Or at least someone who knows that they never will."

There was something ineffably sad about his words, his voice, his eyes when she looked up at him once more. He wasn't trying to get rid of her… He was giving her the chance to be happier elsewhere, without him. Robbin’s heart skipped a beat, then squeezed all air out of her lungs. If only he knew; if only she could make him understand. Then again… Perhaps she could.

"You know what? I will." Robin replied determinedly, and rose to her feet with one graceful move. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed out her dress with shaking hands, standing straight after sitting for so long, and then finally turned back around to Snape. Gods, he looked so sad under all those facades. She took another deep breath, then held out her hand to him. "Would you do me the honor and dance with me?"

______________________________

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