#but watching him slowly grow and stand up for himself and others is genuinely sweet

[fundeadasylum]

Thriller Bark is very silly and a nice change of pace after the incredibly hard hits of Water 7 and Enies Lobby

and I enjoy Brook and his story and. i mean. talking, singing skeleton. you can't lose with him.

but if I have to hear fucking Moria's stupid ass laugh one more time I am going to commit arson

[tadhgsstuff]

Simon fucking reader after the postpartum period and just cumming after one thrust because it feels that good

okayokayokay

thank you guys for sending in some stuff i love y’all

this is not proof read 💔

warnings: smut, insecurity, cursing etc

Simon is definitely on the more patient side (sometimes). At least he was before you had your daughter, don’t get me wrong he LOVES his little girl, he cradles her to sleep when shes fussy, he helps changing her and helps out as much as he can because he knows you’re stressed and its the first time being a parent for the both of you.

That being said, it is STRESSFUL to have a screaming child, a husband that works, and constant cleaning for the both of you, between all of this you’ve had no time to just- be together, have time with each other. Even late at night when shes finally gone to sleep, whoever didn’t put her down was already sound asleep, grasping onto whatever hours of REM they could gain.

You are both exhausted and you have no form of ‘relief’ for four to six weeks after you have the baby, and those four to six weeks were long and agonizing.

One faithful night, your mother drops by and offers to take the baby off your hands for a few hours, she lives a block away so she can call if there was any issue, at first you were hesitant to just give up your daughter but you know your mom is going to take great care of her, and probably spoil the shit out of her regardless of the fact that she cant comprehend the gifts given to her.

Finally you and your painfully attractive husband are alone, despite how much you craved him, every single centimeter of his body, his soul, his whole being, you were a little.. insecure. You rubbed your arm sitting close to him on the couch.

“Si’?”

“Yes, luvie?”

“Are you still attracted to me? Like physically? because I know I have all these stretch marks and my boobs wont ever be the same again and my body isn’t quite-“

He stops you.

“fuck are you talkin’ about? you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fuckin’ met”

he says in a harsh tone, because he genuinely thinks you’ve lost your mind, having the idea that he wasn’t attracted to you every minute of every day.

“Well maybe before I was but-“

He cuts you off again but this time he pulls your face to his and crashes his lips against yours, a smooth but captivating kiss that gets rougher by the second

“I’ll just have to show you how fuckin’ gorgeous you are”

He stands up off the couch and picks you up with him, still holding onto the desperate and sloppy kiss, he grabs your ass on the way to the bedroom just to feel you moan into his mouth. He sets you down on the bed and unbuckles his pants, he watches you start to undress yourself and stops you.

“That’s my job baby, you jus’ relax n’ take it, ‘kay?”

He’s carnivorous, he needs you but he knows to be gentle, his goal is to make you feel good, take his sweet wife’s stress away.. he takes off your garments one by one, kissing every inch of your body revealed. His underwear grow tighter because of his painfully hard cock, aching to be taken in by you for the first time in months. He finally takes his boxers off and his dick springs up, pre-cum leaking out of the tip as you lay bare, staring up at him with those stunning eyes that have never failed to captivate him, and that just makes the overwhelming hunger grow stronger.

He teases your dripping cunt with the head of his dick, drinking in the image of you. You whine, needing him finally inside you, and just like that hes sliding himself in, slowly. Feeling your warmth around his thick member, he pulls back and pistons forward. You let out a loud moan as you grip his forearm and the sheet beneath you. Simon feels you clench up and suddenly your climax was there and done, you finished in the middle of his second thrust, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I’m so sorry baby- I don’t even know how-“

“It’s okay love, we’ll try again soon and we’ll make sure you get better”

He says with a deviant smirk painting his face, walking to the bathroom to grab a towel and then to finish the job with his hand and his imagination.

(I hope this was what you wanted!)

(Edit: Okay so I just reread the wording in the ask and I did not in fact write it correctly, BUT I can always rewrite it but reversed in the future sorry guys 😞)

[satoshy12]

Percy and the Magikarps

The Pokemon World and the PJ World are the same. And since the Pokemon Gods spend most of their time in the world, it's easier for Poseidon and the others to visit their children, while Arceus and the others make sure they don't destroy the world or anything like it. A much friendlier and safer place, which led to Poseidon visiting Percy and Sally many times.

Poseidon walked out of the ocean as he reached the island, each step a mixture of grace and power as the evening tide lapped against the shore behind him. The sky was painted with shades of orange and pink, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon. He inhaled deeply, savoring the salty breeze that carried the whispers of his ocean home. 

His destination was a house near the beach, quite isolated and quite big, it had been a gift to Sally. And the place where his mortal lover, Sally Jackson, and her young son, Perseus/Percy, lived.

In his hands, Poseidon held two new Magikarps, their scales glistening like molten gold and rubies in the fading light. Most of his former demigod children had regarded these creatures as little more than a nuisance, but his tiny Percy treasured them beyond measure! 

He can even understand them! 

Not many of his Demigods understand Water Pokemon that well, or at all! Ha! Kyogre was also surprised when he told him about it! 

As he approached the front door, he could hear his son's happy babbling near the water, mingled with the rhythmic lapping of the waves. Other parents would fear for him, but Sally's Pokemon were all around him, and the Magikarps were making sure he was OK too. Oh! He had some new Gyrados! He hadn't heard that they had evolved. 

With a gentle stride, so as not to surprise Percy, he moved and stepped inside, his presence filling the room with an air of ancient power and warmth.

"My little prince," he called, his voice a rich, soothing rumble. "Look what I have brought you!"

Hearing his father's voice, Percy toddled into the courtyard on unsteady legs, his chubby hands reaching out in excitement. 

His cherubic face lit up with pure joy when he saw the Magikarps. "Ma-gi-karp! Paa-paa!" he squealed, his words an adorable mixture of babble and genuine joy.

"Yes! Daddy brought you Magikarps! Who is my clever boy you are! You are!" 

Sally Jackson, hearing Poseidon's voice, appeared near them, her hair a cascade of dark curls framing a face that was equal parts annoyed and amused.

 She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe as she looked at Poseidon with a raised eyebrow. "Would you stop it, Poseidon? Percy already has over a thousand of them!"

Poseidon chuckled as he heard a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. He knelt down and carefully placed the Magikarps in Percy's eager hands. "Look how happy he is," he said, his voice filled with paternal pride and a hint of mischief.

Percy, now clutching the new additions to his growing collection, began to rock back and forth, humming a tuneless song that gradually turned into a sweet melody. "Magi, Magi, Magikarp! Bite and splash!" he sang, his voice high and clear, filled with the innocent joy that only a child can possess.

Sally looked at her son as the Pokemon used a move they "shouldn't be able to do". Since when can they bite?"

Poseidon himself was surprised: "I have no idea, I will ask the others later. Did he teach them that?" 

Sally shook her head, a laugh bubbling up despite her efforts to remain serious. "But he certainly inherited your love of the sea," she said, moving to stand beside Poseidon. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

Poseidon watched his son, a tender smile playing on his lips. "No question, look how happy he is," he murmured, his eyes soft with affection.

Percy continued his song, his tiny voice carrying through the house. The Magikarps floated gently to the movement of his hands, their eyes reflecting the same innocent wonder that shone in Percy's and love for him.

By evening, Percy had fallen asleep from playing with the Pokemon, and his mother carried him to bed. The Magikarps returned underwater to the Gyrados as Poseidon and Sally exchanged glances. Poseidon knew that Sally was a powerful Water-type trainer, and he respected her skills. So he wasn't afraid for her, even though the Pokemon wouldn't hurt her or Percy.

Poseidon returned to the ocean when Sally led him away. He has work to do too, and he can't bring her Magkarps again! when he visits her.

She should have seen it coming when he returned with 2 Krabby's... 

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None literally just filler lmao

A/N: YOU GUYS I AM SO SORRY IT IS TAKING ME SO LONG TO PUT STUFF OUT LIFE IS JUST... IT'S BEEN INSANE THE PAST FEW MONTHS

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

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Chapter 11:

Good Food And Cat Fuzz

Jake grinned at you as you shuffled about your kitchen, chittering about some interesting things you’d read about the other day on some ancient ruin that was found in Greece because of a construction site. It was difficult to summon the interest in the subject, the overwhelming love of history and ancient cultures that Steven had, but he let you talk nonetheless.

His eyes softened as you carefully sliced the pork tenderloin and drizzled the sauce over it. Even uncooked, the thing smelt heavenly. Maybe letting you volunteer him for this little dinner wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

Steven was an amazing cook, yes, but not being able to really indulge in animal products left Jake’s cooking skills a little stagnant; because Jake refrained from buying groceries that might upset him.

Steven assured him that, yes, he understands that they all have different dietary preferences, that it was no reason to “neglect himself”. But, his concerns were never really on himself. The focus was on Marc, Steven, other people… you.

His thought bubble was popped when Puck mewed and just casually hopped up into his lap with a purr.

He grinned down at the black feline and began stroking her fur, “Hey, chiquita. Cozy, I see?”

Puck purred louder in response, leaning into his touch; her little body relaxed and oh-so-casual. She was possibly one of the friendliest little cats he’d ever encountered.

He didn’t notice when you had ceased your adorable rambling, leaning with your arms on the countertop, the pork forgotten for the moment as you slowly smiled at Jake; his arms curving gently to let Puck crawl into his embrace, rubbing her cheek on his shirt, her purr so loud you could hear it from where you were standing.

He murmured a conversation with Puck for a good minute or two, Puck giving little “mrrp’s” or “muh’s” in reply, as if she was genuinely speaking with him back.

“Mhmm,” You could hear him softly mutter. “Yes, oh, yes. I know. Life is so very tough for someone who doesn’t have to pay taxes.” Puck mewed a bit louder.

“Si, si, carino.” He grinned, his bushy mustache quirking up. You had to admit, he was… handsome. Sweet. The beard he was growing suited him nicely, as well. Puck put her front paws on his chest and sniffed his chin.

“What? No, I know you don’t pay taxes, you little felon…”

Puck smashed her head into his mouth with an affectionate purr, making him laugh and tip his head to avoid getting a mouth full of cat fur. And, doing so, he realized that you were watching him.

Watching him with that beautiful, sweet smile of yours.

“Oh, don’t mind me!” You giggled as his tanned skin flushed with embarrassment and you make a shoo’ing gesture. “You two sound like you were having a riveting conversation!”

Jake looked off to the side and coughed into his hand. “Well, animals benefit from, uh, conversation. I read online that, uh… it’s good for… stimu… lation..." He struggled.

You laugh once again and turn to place the tenderloin into your oven to cook. “Oh, yes, Puck over there is quite the conversationalist.”

As if to agree with you, Puck meowed loudly, making you both chuckle.

The abashed glow on Jake’s cheeks dulls a bit as he shakes his head. “She… is.”

“She seems taken with you.” You smile, walking over to the duo and stroking behind one of Puck’s ears.

Standing so close, Jake could smell your perfume–a sweet, sugary smell that blended with the spices of your cooking. God, it was intoxicating. He wished he could pull you against him and kiss you–

“Wanna sit on the couch while dinner cooks? I’d sit with you at the table but the chairs are sooooo uncomfy.” You say, knocking his thoughts back to reality.

Jake coughs, almost concerned for a moment that maybe you might pick his train of thought out of thin air and call him out on it. He reaches up and scratches his hairy upper lip with one finger, “Oh. Sure.”

Puck mewed and squeaked when Jake cradled her in one arm and let you lead the way to your couch (as if he couldn’t see it from where he had been sitting previously).

You chuckled at how attached to Jake Puck seemed to be, and literally hopped onto your couch cushions, Puck expertly clambering out of Jake’s arms to walk along the back of the couch, staring up at him expectantly, as if to say, “Come on! Sit!”

He shook his head with a chuckle and walked around the opposite side as you popped on some random documentary about Pompeii. “Someone’s a history nerd like Steven, I see.” He teased.

You grinned at him as Puck wasted no time in claiming his lap as her special spot to snuggle, purring loudly as he began to stroke her silky fur, “Eh, what can I say? I’ve always been fascinated by ancient cultures.”

“So has Steven.” Jake murmured, feeling a pit of guilt gnaw at the lining of his stomach. He cleared his throat and looked back at you, a dark brow rising on his forehead inquisitively. “How long have you been obsessed with this stuff, Rosa?”

“Oh, geez…” You prop your head back, your throat exposed as you stare at the ceiling deep in thought. Jake swore he could see your pulse thump in your neck, and the thought made a nervous bead of cold sweat dribble down his spine, making him squirm uncomfortably.

“I think it has something to do with my old man,” You finally say. “He was always reading those kinds of books to me, ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, China… stuff like that. He was a professor who spoke at seminars and local libraries.”

Jake blinked at you, “A professor?”

“Yeah! An archaeologist.” You grin nostalgically. “It’s where he met my mom, actually. Some people couldn’t tell by meeting her, but I am pretty sure she was from somewhere in Egypt. Not Cairo or Luxor, but… somewhere. My dad liked to brag that he “brought his work home with him.””

Jake gives a short, dry laugh as he turns to look at the screen. Wow. You really were perfect for them. Right down to having ties to the very place Steven often obsessed over; the place where Khonshu first found them…

“How’d they meet, exactly?”

“Well, Dad said something along the lines of meeting at some local bar after they found some small, obscure little tomb in Saqqara. He and his buddies apparently got drunk, almost got into a fight with some locals, and my mom “swooped in” to save them by punching one of them and cursing some absolutely foul things at them.”

You giggle, "But, that might just be my dad’s way of embellishing the tale. Mom once said she met my dad doing something dumb and hurling in a trash can.”

“Ah, love at first sight.” Jake joked with a laugh, imagining the scene himself.

“Not entirely.” You point out, smiling at him, mirth in your eyes.

His eyebrows shoot up once again, “Qué?”

“My mom hated my dad at first. She was one of those “I don’t wanna be shackled to some rando my entire life” kinda people… She had just earned a degree in… well, everything a doctor normally does. She practically ran the local hospital in the town where I grew up.”

“Oh, damn… no kidding?” Jake huffed. “So, what changed?”

“She agreed to meet with my dad, one last time before he came back to the states.” You sigh, smiling bittersweetly. It was good to talk about them, but it still made your heart cinch in your chest when you remembered that you didn’t have them around to talk to anymore…

“He began rambling, about the tomb, mostly. The mummified cats, a mummified baby crocodile, and of course, some tablets and scrolls, as well as y'know, the well-preserved murals.” You giggle. “It was some kinda temple, or holy place or…”

“Or something." Jake finishes with a charming grin, making you nod with another sweet chuckle.

“Yeah. She told me, halfway through his mile-a-second rambling, that something just clicked in her brain. Something in her head told her, “No, I can’t live without this nerd.” And she went with him.”

“Heh… that’s…”

“About as storybook as how I inherited my shop?” You snark.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t wanna offend you or anything…” He mused, his furry lip quirking up in a smirk.

“Nah, I’m used to it.” You reply, waving your hand dismissively. “She traveled with him, her knowledge of the local areas and languages as well as a medical background made her a no-brainer in terms of needing an interpreter and medic at a digsite. But, after my mom found out I was coming along, they settled in my dad’s hometown and stayed there.”

“Wow, when did they find out you were making your grand entrance?” He asked curiously.

“Well…” You smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of your neck. “...Let’s just say there’s a reason I had a onesie with the words “made in Egypt” on it…”

Jake gasped, trying to reign in his laughter. “No.”

“Yep. Apparently they didn’t care that the only thing separating them and the entire team was a slip of canvas, and… oh this is so gross.” You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes and give a short bark of laughter. “I’m not gonna go on.”

“Oh, no, I get it.” Jake began snickering. “No child wants to imagine their parents during–ahem-- “the making of” portion of your life, so to speak.”

You curl in on yourself in laughter at his rather blunt and astute summarization of your thoughts. Puck meowed at you, standing on Jake’s thigh with the tip of her tail curved as her big green eyes blinked at you slowly.

You finally remember your feline companion’s presence, realizing now that she was probably getting jealous that you two were paying more attention to each other than her... So, you leaned over (rather close to Jake; not even realizing how he stiffened up at the gesture) and gave your little black cat a kiss on her cute little forehead, loving the little “prrbt” she made as she mashed her head into your lips.

You look up at Jake, “So… how’d you and your “separated at birth” brothers meet?”

Jake immediately coughed, tugging the collar of his shirt a bit nervously, “Well…”

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Layla sat on the edge of the building, looking down into your flat through your open window from above, kicking her feet and grinning as she held her cheeks in her palms, her elbows on her knees.

“Don’t you think it’s a little creepy to be spying on them, Layla?” Taweret asked, a chubby little brow curving in soft reprimand.

“Oh, c’mon, Taweret.” Layla said, looking up at her. “Jake is getting close to her… maybe he’ll open up, about himself or the other two, or…”

“...Or you were just being nosey.” She said, putting her hand on her hips and wagging a finger at the woman.

“Can't it be both?”

“Oh, you're just terrible!” The goddess sighed.

“Hey… she's perfect for them, Taweret… I jus’ wanna see how this starts out. And… I hope Jake will tell the boys about her. I worry about them, y'know.”

The hippo-woman sighed once again, a small frown on her muzzle, “As do I, m’love. We can only pray for the best.”

She looked around warily.

“...And hope Khonshu doesn't have something up his sleeve.”

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Chapter 12: Link

[teyums]

Stargazing - Ao’nung x fem! na’vi reader

Ladies and gentleman, i pulled that laptop out 🫡 it’s been years since I wrote fanfic and I’m still figuring out this app, so bare with me here 😅

wc: 2.3k

Pairing: Ao’nung x fem omaticaya reader

includes: minor swearing, fluff

a/n: thoughts or flashbacks are in italics

Hexapede: a six-legged deer that lives on pandora

A few months had passed since your family trekked across Pandora and arrived at a remote Metkayina village, named Awa’atlu. The journey was tough and becoming accustomed to your new way of life proved to be even more difficult than staying awake on your ikran for eight hours straight. You hated the fact that you had to leave your beloved home behind, and you sure as hell didn’t want to stay here. The people of the clan looked at you odd and made you feel like you weren’t even a real na’vi.

Somewhere along the line, you found solace in the olo’eyktan’s son- Ao’nung. This came as a shock considering you could not stand him when you first met him. He was arrogant, rude, and even more annoying than Lo’ak. Who would have thought.

To be honest, you were the only one out of your siblings who he made fun of the least, aside from Tuk of course. He had never really bullied you and kept his taunting to the others after about two days passed. You still didn’t appreciate your siblings being teased though.

But as you got to know him more, you saw that there was more to him. He was also funny, extremely charming, and sometimes sweet- when he wanted to be at least.

One night he had found you sitting on a wooden deck that stretched out over the ocean, lightly swishing your feet around in the water and staring down at the vast sea. It was breathtaking, even more so at night. The purple and pink bioluminescent hues that illuminated off the ocean floor and vegetation drew you in. It was hypnotizing, almost. It reminded you of your home, your beloved forest. The thought of how long it’s been since you climbed a tree or saw your people sent a pang through your heart.

“What up, tree hugger?” You heard a painfully familiar voice taunt. Ao’nung took it upon himself to intrude on your quiet time and invited himself to sit next to you on the deck.

You sighed, not even bothering to lift your gaze from the small fish that had began to circle your submerged shins. “I thought I told you to stop calling me that.” You responded, clearly agitated.

He tilted his head and looked up to the side at nothing, appearing as if he was genuinely contemplating- just to respond, “Uhh, and I thought I told you I didn’t care?”

You turned to glare at him, causing his cheeky expression to fall off his face once he realized you weren’t in the joking mood. “Sorry,” he shook his head, “I saw you out here and just wanted to see what you were up to.” He spoke in a calm tone and shrugged.

Huh. An apology. That was rare for Ao’nung. He was slowly making progress ever since you had first arrived though. Since your first run in, you’d actively been helping him work on his people skills because honestly, he wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around. Constantly picking fights or insulting others unprovoked was definitely not a quality you had been introduced to before meeting him. You couldn’t believe the clan let him walk around disrespecting others like that and it didn’t sit right with you. Growing up, you were taught to be kind and treat others with grace. Clearly, that was not the case for this knucklehead. They treated him like royalty for obvious reasons, his parents being Tonowari and Ronal, the Olo’eytkan and Tsahik of the clan.

He did try to bully you, but only once, when you first arrived. And it’s safe to say he got humbled- painfully.

You watched as Ao’nung poked fun at Kiri’s tail, stepping in between them and smacking his arm away. He retracted and genuinely looked shocked, almost as if he felt his behavior toward your sister was justified.

“Why must you feel the need to pick on others?” you hissed, “Honestly though, seeing as your ego is so huge I’m guessing it must be making up for a lack of… something else.” You tilted your head down a bit and batted your lashes to hint at what you were referring to, using a cough to cover up the next insult you sent his way. “Shrimp” you muttered, yet clear enough to be heard.

You would definitelyyyy eat these words later, you just didn’t know it yet.

His friends erupted in laughter and slapped his back, causing him to stumble forward a little before he growled at them to shut their mouths. Safe to say he was not amused and glared at you for literally a week straight afterwards, as if he thought looks could really kill.

After that, he started to treat you and your siblings normally. Apparently he had never experienced anyone giving him a taste of his own medicine before you came along. He couldn’t lie though, it made him feel some type of way. You didn’t hold him to a pedestal like everyone else did, and somehow that intrigued him. You treated him just like any na’vi because that’s what he was to you; minus the budding feelings your heart was slowly developing for him of course.

Coming out of your flashback, you remembered you guys were having a conversation. “My family is down at the beach having a bonfire, they asked me to join, but I declined. For some reason I just felt like being alone.” You emphasized the last word of your sentence and let it roll of your tongue, turning your head to face him with a comically slow pace.

“Oh come on” he scoffed. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy my company.” He sounded so confident and even though he actually was right, you felt the burning need to tease him.

“I don’t.” His signature smirk dropped off his face with record speed. “I’m kidding, Ao’nung” You giggled.

“You’re not funny you know.” He rolled his eyes and averted his gaze from you, now looking out at where the sea met the horizon.

A dorky smile crept onto your face at his behavior and you couldn’t help but stare at him. He looked so cute when he pouted, the way his lips would purse and his jawline would become more defined, which you thought would be impossible until now. You realized he too had small dot like markings splattered on his skin, and they were glowing under the moonlight. You hadn’t noticed them before, seeing as you only saw him in the daytime and due to the metkayina boy’s skin tone being lighter than yours, they were really only visible at night.

Gosh, he’s so pretty.

“Careful forest girl, you’re drooling. You know your face will get stuck like that if you stare too long.” He purred, without even looking in your direction.

His voice snapped you out of your daydream and your face became hot once you noticed you had been ogling him. You thought because he was facing forward that he wouldn’t see you admiring him and his features.

Damn you, peripheral vision.

You looked like a hexapede in headlights. You shook your head and snatched your eyes away from his face, whipping your hands up to cover your flustered expression. “Oh. my. eywa.” You whispered to yourself, resulting in him bursting out in a fit of laughter and doubling over at your reaction.

“Oh my-“ Ao’nung got out only two words before cutting himself off with another laugh that came deep from his gut, his large arms cradling his stomach as if it hurt.

“It’s not funny, you skxawng.” You seethed.

“Look at your face!” He cackled, collapsing backwards onto the deck and continuing to laugh at you when you refused to look up at him. “Wooo, oh man,” he sighed and wiped a fake tear from under his eye, then folded his muscular arms behind his head, now looking up at the sky above. “You’re kinda cute when you’re embarrassed, you know.” You heard him say after a few seconds.

You swore flirting was like breathing for him, it’s like every word that left his lips was meant to make you blush. “What?” You lowered your hands and turned your head over your shoulder to look at him in astonishment, snapping back around like a rubber band to look at the water so fast your head almost spun off your shoulders. You felt the pace of your heart quicken at the sight of the new position he had put himself into.

You have got. To be fucking kidding me.

Could he look any hotter right now? You thanked Eywa that his attention was caught by the twinkling stars above you two, had it not been, you honestly thought you would have sunk into the ocean and let yourself drown right then and there.

You tried to burn the image of his ridiculously toned arms and etched abs out of your mind, quickly pulling your legs up and out of the water and starting to stand up from the deck. “Honestly I think I hear Lo’ak calling me so-“ you spoke rapidly, nearly tripping over your words.

“Ah ah,” With reflexes faster than lightning, he propped himself up on one elbow and grabbed your wrist. “Sit down.” He ordered, looking more serious than ever.

Your breath caught in your throat before it could escape and you froze at the feeling of his hand on your skin. Which was ironic considering your body felt like it was on fire. With a shaky sigh you sat back down, slowly sliding your legs back into the cool water below you.

He released his hold on your wrist and you felt your lungs take the biggest, most embarrassing inhale- not realizing you had been holding your breath for about fifteen seconds. Shit, at least the breathing exercises Tsireya taught you were working.

“Jeez man, you act as if I’m going to eat you or something.” Sliding his arm back below his head, he chuckled at your strange behavior.

Shit, can he already?

Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets at the thought and image that flashed into your mind, like a reflex almost. You felt as if he could damn near read your thoughts right now so you urged your brain to shut up. Upon realizing you hadn’t spoken a word this entire interaction, you forced your voice to form words to distract from how obviously flustered you had just become.

“I’m a bit tired and It’s getting late.” You mumbled. Ao’nung was no fool, he could see right through your facade and it honestly amused him. Someone who usually had so much to say was now speechless at the likes of him.

“Liar, it is not. It’s only seven.” He answered swiftly, nearly cutting you off as if he had been expecting you to come up with another excuse to escape. “Lay down with me.” He said softly.

You dropped your head back and shut your eyes tightly, silently cursing him. It looked like you were inciting a prayer to Eywa, begging her to get this boy to stop talking to you before your heart exploded. You scooted away from him as subtly as possible before hesitantly reclining and pressing your stiff back against the wooden surface of the deck. Your eyes burned into the night sky as if this was your first time ever seeing stars.

He raised an eyebrow at you, obviously in reaction to the stupid amount of space between the two of you.

“You are actually so odd,” he sounded bewildered, eyes searching your face to try and understand you. “Do you think I have cooties or something? For fucks sake come here-“ He grabbed the arm of yours that was farthest from him, pulling it so you rolled over in his direction and fell into his chest.

You inhaled sharply, your face suddenly making contact with his hard chest and your cheek pressing against his warm skin. His arm snaked around your waist and pulled you closer to him, the butterflies in your stomach flapping their wings feverishly and your throat growing a lump in it.

His deep voice snapped you out of your trance and you felt his chest vibrate as he began to speak. “Relax.” He cooed.

“Ao’nung” you started sternly, “It is quite literally impossible for me to relax when you’re touching me like this.”

You huffed out a frustrated breath, but not derived from the kind of frustration you felt when your siblings would steal your leftovers.

This felt… different.

“I know.” You could hear the smirk oozing out of his tone.

You thanked the heavens that he couldn’t see your face right now. To save yourself from further embarrassment, you decided it would be best to keep quiet.

As you two laid there listening to the waves gently crashing against the rocks for who knows how long, you weren’t sure when it had happened but your shoulders were relaxed now. Listening to the steady thumping of his heart against his chest, you suddenly felt the urge to make your feelings known to him.

Of course it was obvious and he definitely knew by now since you were terrible at hiding it. But that didn’t mean you didn’t want to say it out loud yourself.

“Ao’nung,” You bit your lip and searched for the courage to continue. “I have to tell you something-“ You spoke as you sat up and turned your head to look at him.

Your sentence was conveniently interrupted by a loud, obnoxious snore from the boy next to you. You were so deep in your own thoughts that you hadn’t realized how long you guys were laying there quiet for. You blinked at him with a deadpan expression and rolled your eyes, delicately laying your head back down against his chest so not to wake him.

“Skxawng.” You muttered, the corners of your mouth turning up ever so slightly and into a small smile.

Alright y’all how’d i do? I haven’t written in so long this took forever to draft out LOL. My apologies for any errors i mays have missed! Hope you guys enjoyed 💞

[ch6douin]

> Wᴀɴᴛ — IDV! SELF AWARE AU (4)

Victor is not my favorite but I wrote for him as if he was...ngl (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

cw: obsessive behavior (?); mentions of feeling/being watched; romantic in someway; light angst; victor is kind of paranoic.; short chapter as always idk why i cant FUCKING WRITE MORE

When he heard you, the experience was nothing short of breathtaking.

...

In a bad way.

Victor thought he was going crazy when that happened, that was his first reaction. He looked around, and there was no one. He looked at Wick...obviously, the dog wasn't the one talking. The voice didn't go away. Instead, it only intensified as he tried to go on with his matches. And then now, some weird feeling would make him move even if he didn't want to. He no longer had control of his body, and that scared him. The stress took control of his being, and he spent nights without sleeping, the idea of someone watching him being unbearable.

So how did he grow to like you? To care for your attention? It's simple: he felt himself warming up to you as he listened to your reactions and tone of voice. Victor was always fond of people's reactions, especially reading the letters he delivered, and it was no surprise that he slowly paid attention to yours too and got less panicked, he felt like he was important to be the one listening to you, and a weird yet inviting warmth filled his body. He enjoyed being the vessel to your entertainment, the doll who would coax out shocked gasps from you as he was supposed to get terror shocked, but somehow was still standing proudly after jumping through a window. He was the man who could make you giggle with his dances. He could be everything and much more if you let him hear more of your genuine answers.

You were the reason for the late-night midnight snacks and lesser hours of sleep. But now, it was because of the countless letters he wrote to you. Letters that he was sure he would not be able to send it out, but he needed to get those fervorous feelings out of his chest some way. Lovely packages with intricate designs piled up inside his drawer, flowers that would slowly wither glued with wax, and sweet words that would never be shown to others.

But now, with letters or not, he can talk to you. He can make you recognize him, and he just maybe, in a distant future, be able to look you in the eyes.

_

This is not working.

You're wary. Why did Naib have to mess up their peaceful approach with his bitter words? Now Victor couldn't do anything but type in a hurry a single 'It's me!' and their titles as he watches in horror the screen glitching and unfortunately going black. His hands go up to his face, hiding an expression twisted with sadness and frustration. Why did it have to be this way? He wanted you more than anything right now, but you wouldn't answer. Maybe you won't ever answer after this horrible experience. He doesn't care like the Mercenary if you may be using all of them, his curiosity is much bigger to care about it.

He storms out of the room, almost running through the long corridors to get the prototype to work again with Luca's maintenance.

priestess next wowwww im excited to see how its gonna turn out bc i don't really know a lot about her 👹...i wrote half of this listening to chamber of reflection from steezy knicks laying down on my bed.

[fuckingstrange]

Would you look at that (me)

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WARNINGS: Mirror sex, for my CM KINK BINGO card, Reader wore a new (ish) suit, Luke was all for it, Hickeys, cumming in pants (luke), beta-read

WORDS: 1k+

PAIRING: Luke Alvez x M!Reader

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a/n: CREDITS TO @ralvezfanatic FOR BETA-READING AND EDITING!! (I genuinely appreciate you, you're a great author and I'm glad you accepted my request to beta-read!)

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Luke is standing behind you, one hand planted firmly on your hip while the other runs up your stomach, past your midsection and towards the first button of your well-fitting suit vest. His lips ghost over the back of your neck, planting light kisses every once in a while as his fingers swiftly undo the buttons.

You dared to show up to a team dinner night looking this good and expected him to behave. He nearly jumped you in the bathroom of that restaurant, never having seen you so clean, considering you decided to shave off the facial hair you had been letting grow for the past month or so. You even wore a new suit, one you've only worn once at a family wedding. The black and red vest was very form-fitting, snug around your waist and chest, Much different than the usual plain shirts and dark jeans you wear to work.

Luke called you once you got in your car after the dinner and told you to meet him at his place. You had no reason to deny him, so you went.

You expected him to do something (you), but you didn't expect him to pull you in front of the full-body mirror he bought a couple weeks ago to show you just how good you looked. In his own special way, though.

He slowly pulls the vest off of you, carefully tossing it on the edge of the bed behind him. “Look at this.” He breathes as his hands come to grab at your belt, tugging on it in a way that has you twitching in your pants. “Clean leather, silver buckle.” He says, in a breathy manner once more. His thumb rubs over the silver buckle, just barely missing the start of a tent in your slacks.

“Ohh, and look at these pants. They fit well, No?” Luke says, teasingly rubbing his hands over the front of your thighs. Your breath hitches when he presses himself against your back, obviously waiting for an answer.

“Yeah-yeah. I spent- spent good money on them.” Is all you can stumble out.

“I can tell, they're tailored.” Is his response.

Luke catches your gaze in the mirror as his hands slowly move up from your thighs, though one shifts over to gently press his palm against the growing bulge in your pants, making you close your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. His other hand continues to slowly move up your body until it rests on your chest, pressing you back against him. He notices your eyes had shut, so he removes his hand from your hardened length.

The loss of pleasure makes your eyes open again, looking at his hand in the mirror, being rewarded with the return of his hand continuing to massage you through the fabric. A moan involuntarily falls from your lips, being able to see the ministrations amplifies the pleasure you get from them. Luke smiles against your neck, nipping at the skin before soothing it with his tongue.

Your gaze flickers to where his mouth is moving over your neck, legs starting to tremble as the coil of need and desire tightens in your stomach from the way he easily finds your sweet spot by memory, attacking it with his lips, teeth, and tounge. The hand on your chest moves to meet the hand busy palming you, only stopping for a second to begin undoing your belt.

Luke undoes it slowly, wanting to draw it out to make you focus on each individual movement, also wanting to see how patient you can be. His hands slide in the waistband of your pants to push them down, exposing your dark red boxers. They completely miss the hard-on that strains against them, instead starting to knead the soft flesh of your thighs. He lifts his head to watch you in the mirror, seeing your eyes wide, focused on his hands.

You're aching at this point, wanting to beg and plead, but you stay silent. You stay patient. Even as his hands torture you with their slow, calculated movements, not even grazing your throbbing cock with every rub he gives your thighs.

Luke hums to himself, pleased with how long he's drawn it out, giving into his own wants and letting a hand slide in your boxers to wrap his fingers around you, beginning to steadily pump. A moan breaks in your throat, coming out strangled and breathy. Your hips thrust to meet his hand, your body wanting more than just a few slow strokes.

He gives in, understanding and pulling you out of the confines of your boxers. The sight of his hand around your cock is enough to make you moan and tremble, the sudden cold air making you twitch and thrust into his hand. He speeds up his pace, letting his thumb brush just under the head of your cock, hearing the pretty noises you give him in return.

Luke's lips return to your neck, sucking dark marks into the crook of it. His hips grind against your ass, his own cock having been neglected up until now, and it's not like he has any reason to stop himself from chasing pleasure. He moans against your skin, his noises mimicking yours and his hand tightening around you.

You nearly whimper when his thumb smears the building precum around your tip, enough having built that it's starting to act as lube, making his hand glide better. The sight of it nearly has you coming right then and there.

He can tell you aren't gonna last much longer, his hips moving almost roughly against your ass, chasing his own approaching orgasm. He mumbles something against your shoulder, though the words fall on deaf ears.

Your body is trembling in his arms, hips giving weak thrusts to meet his hand, breathing stuttering from how turned on you are. Your eyes squeeze shut when your orgasm hits, length twitching in his grasp and hips snapping forward as your cum coats his hand. You feel his hips buck against you a couple more times before he's coming in his pants with a groan.

Luke's hand slows down gradually, letting you ride the high until you soften in his hand, to which he then lets go. He doesn't care to wipe his hand right away, or clean himself up, instead just taking a second to lean against you and admire how you look. In fact, you end up being the one to propose a shared shower and pull him towards the bathroom before he can even answer.

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Bingo Card Contents: Praise Kink, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Pool/Bath/Jacuzzi, Mirrors, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Body Worship, Topping from the Bottom, Aftercare, Caught in the act, Dry humping, Crying, Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Bed Sharing, Semi-Public sex, Partially Clothed, Premature Ejaculation, Hair Pulling, Begging, Phone Sex, Oral Fixation

[fyofangs]

OMORI ! sunny x gn! reader .

00. my summer love .

❀ in which mari’s hushed little brother falls head over heels for you, and decides to confesses his feelings under the sun’s embrace.

first of all, let’s say this is an au where the incident never happened and they lived happily ever after ✋. his extremely shy and stand-offish manner made him believe that this crush was going to lead nowhere in the first place, yet he always managed to find himself gravitating towards you on those nostalgic sunny afternoons. whenever you smiled, whenever you spoke, whenever your endearing hands grabbed his, he merely smiled in response. all while sparks and fireworks played in his head and heart. now, having these feelings for 6 consecutive months began to make it difficult for sunny to bottle his crush up. so, he made a risky decision. it took a hell of a while for him to actually build the courage, admittedly, most of the courage being given by kel and mari who always said that your unusually loving actions were the evidence to say you reciprocated sunny’s feelings. the plan was just to bring you a bit into the woods for some privacy, while the gang were all having a picnic in the usual spot, and to confess. sunny being sunny, the main priority in his head was to recite the part where he assured you that he still wants to be friends if you don’t like him back, since he’s genuinely so afraid you may be weirded out by his feelings. even if you didn’t reciprocate, he would still love you platonically and endlessly.

“Y/N, can I talk to you in private please?” The timid boy spoke, his heart slightly palpitating once he said so. You reply, “Hm? Sure.” As you quietly go to stand up, Sunny’s face forms a subtle grin when he sees Mari and Kel discreetly smiling and holding thumbs up at him. Only then does he feel slightly better. You follow Sunny into the familiar, humid woods. His charcoal hair illuminated in the sun, curiously peering through the green leaves of trees. Despite only seeing his back, the fact you were alone with him in the beautiful woods created a warm feeling in your head. You walk a little more until you reach a fallen log, in which Sunny stops at and sits down; you take a seat next to him, being met with only sweet silence as he seems to be mustering up something to say. His legs and feet awkwardly shuffle in place, and his fingers played with one another. ”Do you like anyone?” The ravenette finally questioned, an apparent blush appearing on his cheeks. You were taken aback a bit, unaware that he wanted to ask you about that topic. Though, what that implied gave you high hopes. You gave him a delightful smile and rested your hands in your lap. “Yes, why?”

“Is it someone I know?”

“…Yea.” You grow slightly rose as well while you watch Sunny’s eyes trailed off into the distance, amongst the glistening river bank and tempered trees slowly waving at you. As you observe inventively, you see his face start to sort of contort in concern, as if he messed something up. “Ah— Um.” he tries to calm himself down, softening his expression, “Well— I just wanted to tell you that…” Sunny hesitantly meets your eyes, and for once they gleamed from something other than the sun. He shifts his body to face you, leaning on his arm for support. You gladly do the same and at this point, your faces are closer than ever before, this in which you grin nervously at. “I like you. Like that.” Sunny finally admitted with a half embarrassed - half dainty look on his face.

Even though you anticipated a confession like that, seeing and hearing it turn to reality lit a fuse in your heart, causing a sort of excitement. Your corners of your lips tugged upwards as you softly blinked, knowing he wanted to say more. ”I really really like you, but if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just wanted to let you know. We can continue being usual friends, I don’t wanna make you weirded out or anything—” “Sunny— Sunny! I like you a lot too.” Playfully, you interrupt his resultant ranting and reassured. Your sweet body language and nurturing expression made it almost hard for Sunny to believe it was real. He’s extremely glad, but also at a lost for words, he didn’t practice what to say in this situation much… —, “I want to be more than friends with you… If that’s ok.” You chuckled at the last part in a cold sweat, as Sunny’s shocked and content face wasn’t exactly easy to read. The lovestruck boy is already aware that if he sits in silence for too long, it’ll make the confession go stale, so he answered with an almost exaggerated but delighted tone, ”Of course that’s ok, I’m glad you feel the same.” You and the rosey boy exchange pleasant yet sheepish smiles at one another, before he stands up. Though, about to say something, you quickly sneaked in, ”So, we’re together now, right?” You asked half jokingly. Sunny can’t help but beam when he responds with ‘yes’. As you chuckle and stand up as well, you both make your way back to the picnic spot.

Since it was a quite short way there, you took the swift opportunity to grasp Sunny’s hand. Rough in some places, yet warm and pillowy overall, you continued to hold it lovingly. He doesn’t face to look at you, but evidently grins and looks at the ground, starstruck. He can’t believe he managed to pull someone so amazing as you. Now, a new chapter of his life could begin.

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Arthurs Sacrifice

Things we do for love

______________________________________________________________________________

  Things we do for love

“Ugh, I'm just too old to get this love.” Arthur scoffed and tossed the papers up in the air, scattering them all over the floor. Sunlight filtered into the room creating an overly warm environment which wasn’t helping her father's mood.

Filomeana laughed at her poor papa as the papers floated down around them  like confetti. She laughed with him. She’d never met anyone with his sweet, grumpy or quick temperament before. He was unapologetically himself and she loved him deeply for it. 

“No, you're not, but if it’s easier for you all, I can learn your language.” She caught her Uncle's eyes when he looked up from his paperwork. Approval glistened in his gaze towards her. He was another house member she was trying to puzzle out.  He appeared cold, calculating and hard, she also saw times where he was kind, vulnerable and so fiercely devoted to family she had no doubt he’d kill for them all. She was used to men like him.

“Italian is just too hard.” Her father grumbled out slumping in defeat on the chair. They had all gathered in Tommy's office seeking a reprieve from all the business in the bedroom. 

“We'll go off with you, your father and  have business to discuss.” Her uncle dismissed her with a wave of his hand and a smile on his handsome face. 

“Can I call my fiance?” She asked bouncing up to stand, tossing her long brunette locks behind her shoulder. Her father and uncle both told her recently that they loved her hair long and thick down her shoulders. She didn’t like short hair but usually she’d tie it back. Since she just wore it down because she liked it. 

“ You have a fiance, yet you don’t wear a ring?” Her uncle Tommy asked leaning forward to look at her finger, they were several feet away but he caught it. She glanced at her hand and shrugged shyly not meeting his cerulean blue eyes. 

“He’s not good enough for you luv.” Her father interjected. She giggled and turned to look at him confused. Why would he think that?

“ He’s wonderful to me actually. He’s constantly sending my flowers and little notecards.” she drolled on, causing the  men to chuckle. 

“Then where's the diamond?” Her uncle wasn’t going to let this go. His hawkish gaze on her, staring into her soul. 

“He said he wants to wait to put it on me until he can ask for my hand properly.” She said, watching him back to see what he was thinking. His face never gave her an answer. 

“He’s Italian?” Tommy asked concern, racing through his tone. She lowered her eye’s pretending to challenge him. He smirked in amusement. They were learning each other's personalities slowly. She enjoyed pushing him gently during these little tit for tats. He always ended them by telling her she was just like her mother. 

“Yes. Is that a problem?” She asked politely but a hardness was in her tone. She was tired of her ethnicity bothering people. Who could change that?    “I’m Italian and you seem to think I'm okay.” They both smiled at her observation. They had been spending a lot of time alone together. 

“I don't care what you are, Filomena, what's his name?” He was giving her his full attention and was genuinely interested now in her love life. She’d been with them for over a month now, at last someone was interested in her family. 

“ Luciano. I only heard his last name a few times so I can't really recall it.” She blushed furiously thinking about him and started playing with the sash on her waist. Twisting and turning the fabric, an unsettling panic rising in her. She missed him. Why couldn’t she remember his name? Were they growing apart? 

“So, you're engaged to a man you don't see and you don't know his last name?” Her head raised at his observation and questions. She hated how he could read her mind so easily. It was unsettling to her. 

“It’s not a common last name where I'm from. It's not like Smith or Shelby.” She said quietly, finally meeting his eyes again. 

“We’ll as long as it’s not Changretta, I don't care as long as you're happy.” Her father says behind her. She could feel her face contouring into confusion, concern and then love.  That’s it isn’t it? Wasn’t it something like Changretta?

“ Thanks papa. I'm off to make my call.” he bounced over to him, kissed him on the cheek and bounded out not catching her uncle's question. 

“Arthur, does she speak Italian on those calls?” His voice was low and cautious.

“I dont fucking know.  Tom. you aint dragging her into this vendetta.” He said not catching on yet to what his brother had seen. 

“I’m not sure I have too.” He looked full on at his brother.  “Go on Arthur, call a family meeting. I'll meet you all in the dining room. I have phone calls to make.” Arthur grumbled about being a whipping boy and walked out unknowing what his brother was insinuating. 

[okamixxiii]

I thought why not let everyone know some more lore. This time we will start at the beginning. Im still trying to figure out how to coherently place things together for people to read so sorry if this seems outa order! XD

maybe its kinda like a puzzle.

------ In the zenith live gods. not as deities per se but as a species.

among these gods were father time and his three sons. the past, the present, and the future.

The past was well liked, well adjusted and everyone saw him through rose-tinted glasses. he had everyone under his thumb. the present generally had an indifferent feeling towards him. Some loved him yes, but only those who could experience the moment and know how to make the most of it.

The future, however, was the least liked amongst the brothers. he was unpredictable and chaotic. feared even. for some time he remained oblivious to this and thought everyone's love was genuine. until it began to show otherwise in the god community. The third brother's name was Chronos, but later we will learn him to be named Jack.

Growing up Chronos was slowly losing the community ability to stand his mistakes and strange habits. He began to try and stuff his real self down in order to appease everyone.

During this time period of growing up a girl of the name Franchesca had her eyes set on him. she had an innocent curiosity and a small crush developing for the weird boy despite his reputation.

eventually she befriends him much to his surprise and embarrassment, since a girl has never talked to him before. and she was pretty too. he was nervous about how she would react around him so he tried his best to appear suave and well collected like his eldest brother, the past.

it came off as forced and awkward, but much to his luck Franchesca thought it was humorous and unique to him. she would giggle slightly and act as if he didn't blunder. that was until he eventually started being himself around her properly. every weird quirk and all. that sweet crush on him grew into a love as they grew older. Chronos grew more comfortable with her.. her being the kindness he needed as his first and genuine friend. though he was stuffing himself down all the while to the rest of the world still. eventually this caused him to have an outburst.

Franchesca had stepped in and resolved it, telling the other gods gathered off finally. that their cycle of this has ended.

it was after that they left together and eventually got married.

from the marriage came a child and a would have been child.

They are this point were living off the grid in the zenith for some time, finally at peace with their lives.

They befriended the neighboring village of elves and had settled nicely and quietly. Chronos had even began a profession for himself, to figure out how things work in the Zenith and why.

Eventually, it began to dive into medicine, where he found his talent in the apothecary. There was an apprentice that he took on, through the pity of how the elves treated him and how exceptional this young man was with healing magic. This apprentice's name was Cryxal. Everything was peaceful and perfect.

Until Franchesca fell terribly ill one morning, fainting into Chronos' arms.

She was bedridden and still with child, watching as her husband worked long nights and several mornings without breaks.

he swore he would find a cure, no matter what. it was his purpose.

Cryxal would come in and sit with her, viewing her as somewhat the mother he never had due to her kindness. He had gotten caught up in the time gods mess of wanting to save her, even if it seemed selfishly so. this began his pursue for a greater study. to push the limits.

Chronos couldn't , these limits where going to be at the cost of another's life. They couldn't do that.

He would belittle the concept immediately, which Cryxal took for sometime quietly. He was honest in his need to help, so he didn't mind Chronos' frustrations. he understood the circumstances himself.

During this time word had gotten around and father time himself came to the doorstep. Chronos was furious as his father wouldn't help him in Franchescas situation but rather ordered him to take care of four creatures known as Renascence.

The Renascence which can only be closely described as biblically accurate wolves that understand speaking tongue. They are energy and the magic teeming from the zenith as a somewhat solidified form. To get him out of his home he reluctantly agreed to watch them, and instead handed the responsibility to Cryxal while he worked on his cure.

Cryxal was growing frustrated with these set backs finally. He was tired of being spoken down to by his mentor but he didn't let it show yet. It went over on into a course of months. Franchesca was declining in health the closer her due date came.

It wasn't until one-day when he was watching the Renascence that he discovered their potency in magic. Cry believed he could harness it and decided to act on his own in secret. He concocted a potion from the light of the Renascence and foolishly fed it to Franchesca. All efforts were beginning to work until she died!! It was too much. The energy consumed her and couldn't be contained in her body. Essentially, she died a bloody death.

Cryxal was petrified of what he just experienced, then even more so by what was to come. At long last his mentor came home. The sight was too much for him, and in this he discovered his power. To reverse time. He drew back his sleeves and reached his hands out frantically to his wife, shaking and sputtering out nonsense. Sigils and clocks appeared as glowing tattoos along his arms in iridescent gold as he worked. Bits of flesh would reform, and go back to where they belong like pieces in a puzzle piece. His nose would bleed and his vision would blur.

It could have worked-- it should of-- but the efforts were all for nothing. Some things can't be reversed.

Chronos was distraught and had grabbed the apprentice by the shirt collar. In grief and anger he said things he couldn't take back and Cryxal was pleading with him that he just wanted to help. It was the only thing he could do.

The time god didn't believe him. as words got harsher and harsher Cryxal finally broke under the weight. The treatment he endured his whole life finally got to him and he leaned into his demon to turn off his emotions.

They fight, and Cryxal with now found strength nearly kills Chronos.

The Renascence escaped from the threshold as Chronos slipped into another world for safety. He was horribly injured but managed to survive by pretending to be human. He then adopted several names since then but eventually permanently settled on the first name Jack.

He knew the Renascence was loose in the world but he didnt know where to begin to search for them, nor did he want to. For all he knew was grief associated with them now.

When Jack came to earth, the forgotten war was about to begin. He was unaware he had slipped into a world compatible for the Zeniths magic as gods themselves can travel anywhere regardless if need be.

It started with the burning of villages but no one knew the valid reason until the years progressed. It was the fight between humans and the world of magic since humans became more aware of it. The more familiar they became the more fearful they cowered underneath false protectors and promises of ridding the world of "evil".

From there the chaos grew. The supernatural population, known as Mystics collectively, were ostracized, hunted, and made examples of by these "Protectors". Naming the Mystics entities of evil.

This is where the tale of the three families comes in.

[robynlilyblack]

Hi!!! Congrats on 1k! 🎉🎉🍾🍾

Could I request I should breathe a little bit softer with Sirius and band AU? Maybe with a shy ballerina? If that inspires you ☺️

Love ur writing so much!

The rock star and the ballerina

Rock star! Sirius Black x fem! ballerina!  reader

Summary: At an awards show Sirius comes across a girl who couldn’t be more opposite to him if he tried and yet completely enamours him

Warnings: swearing, first meeting, strangers to love interests, smoking (sirius), 

A/n: 0.6k words, aww thank you, you're so sweet! I adore this dynamic so much, especially rock star siri being a big softie for her right from the start xx

Navigation | Sirius Black Masterlist

Sirius usually loved all aspects of his life, the preforming, the adoring fans, even photo shoots, but awards shows? Not so much. They were tedious, beyond boring and the bane of a rock stars existence.

In truth he was only there because the bands contract obligated one of them to attend. As he sat he was still a little bitter over losing the three way rock paper scissors, which he was almost certain Remus and James had fixed.

So now here he was, sitting listening to some half naked pop star on stage, feeling the cookies slowly deleting in his brain.

Looking around he saw a mixture of different eyes on him, some hungry while others disgusted by his open shirt, many tattoos, and the leather jacket, he was sweating in but, refused to take off

“God, I need a smoke” he mutters to himself as he stands up, swiftly leaving the hall and resisting the urge to flip off those annoyed at his departure

Heading to one of the back doors, he pulled out his small leather pouch from his jacket and as he exited the door, he leaned against a wall just outside. He leaned his head on the wall for a moment, enjoying the quiet from the atroicas music of the event and the gentle hum of the city down the alley.

He then began to stuff and roll a cigarette, licking the paper to seal it. Dipping his fingers into the inner pocket of his jacket to grab his lighter, he heard a creak. He froze for a second looking around, it wouldn't be the first time a fan had jumped him. He heard it again, realsing it was coming from above and thats when he noticed you

You were sitting, arms curled around you tucked knees on top of the metal awning which hung over the wide alley way. He smirked to himself at the sight, noting the open window you clearly had just snuck out of. Maybe you wanted to get away just as much as him

“Hello” he calls out, adoring your little hiccup and jump

You stared down at him wide eyed, first looking panicked as if you'd been caught by security before it drifted into nerves

“Hi” you reply, voice a little high

He chuckles, she’s cute, he thought, slipping the lighter back in his pocket and letting the roll up hang from his mouth. He then walks over to a very conveniently placed crate while you watch him curiously. He effortlessly climbs on top of it, stopping to look at you before he makes the final ascent

“Is it okay if I join you?” he gives you a toothy grin

Tugging your head into your arms, you shyly peer at him and you nod.

His smile grows, lifting himself up and onto the canopy and takes a seat next to you. He copies your position but his stature is much more open, with legs a little spread and arms hanging loosely over his knees

“So, what’s a pretty thing like yourself doing out here?” he asks, pulling out his lighter again and igniting the cigarette

You watch him for a moment as he takes a long drag, exhaling in relief

“Needed some air…” you reply coughing gently but try to hide it

He stands “Sorry darlin” he genuinely apologises, moving to your other side so the wind doesn’t blow the smoke in your face “Better?” he checks

Normally he wouldn’t care, but something in the air made him feel all soft in your presence, like he truly cared about your opinion of him

“Thank you” you give him a smile

You knew who he was, you’d have to be living under a rock not to. You knew he was beyond pretty and from what you could see he more than lived up to it, but you never expected was for him to be this sweet, nor for you to feel instantly comfortable around him

“Are you an artist?” he wonders, your makeup was expertly done along with your hair yet your coat hid your outfit

You shake your head “No but I am a performer if you can believe it” you say, letting out a small giggle

You were always shy, hardly spoke to the point most in the business never had the pleasure of hearing your soft voice. Yet something about when that spot light hit you made you feel confident, almost fearless for the moments you stood in it

He chuckles, taking another drag

“You don’t look like one of the backup dancers to what they call music in there” he comments, although there is a subtle nervousness about him, scared in case he got it wrong and offended you

“I’m a ballerina…don’t know if you’d find that better or worse” you admit, chewing on your lip

He looks pleasantly surprised, rock star and the ballerina you can’t make this shit up, he smiles to himself as he puts out his cigarette 

“That’s cute” is all he says but it's sweet, and you know he isn't mocking you

“I’m y/n” you gain a little confidence and introduce yourself

He turns to you, noticing your legs and arms have relaxed quite a bit since he first sat down “Sirius” he holds out his hand

[dragonsfictavern]

On Thin Ice

Peter Parker x Reader

a/n: You can imagine any Peter Parker you want but while writing this I imagined Andrew Garfield’s Peter Parker/Spider-Man.

word count: 2.4K

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Peter grumbled as he hunched over a reindeer decorated bin that was acting as a skating helper. He looks up at you, brows raised. “Why am I doing this again? Please, remind me why I subject myself to this inhumane torture,” Peter asked, lips pursed to stop himself from grinning. 

You mirror his expression as you skate slowly to stay with him during this huge struggle.

“Because you love me,” you respond matter-of-factly, a cheeky smile coming in right behind it. Peter flops his head, nodding.

“Right… forgot about that,” he responds, his voice gravelly. Your jaw drops as you let out a few huffed laughs. You pretend to not see Peter smiling out of the corner of your eye. 

“I will kick this reindeer away from you, Peter Parker. Let’s see how well you fare then,” you tease, looking over at him to see him already staring at you with those eyes… those eyes that just melt your heart. You send him a wink before skating forward. Peter shakes his head, looking down at the reindeer, his waist bent down in order to rest his hands on its back. 

“This thing is both amazing and incredibly humiliating. I need help,” he states, still looking down at the decorated bin. You furrow your brows. 

“With skating?” You ask, more so teasing him than genuinely asking. 

“Yes, with skating. Clearly,” he responds as he wobbles, even with the bin helping. 

“Well isn’t that what little Rudolph here is for?” You question, bending down to bop the reindeers glowing nose that was made from a bit of plastic and a little red light. 

“I don’t want Rudolph,” he says with a little pout in his tone. You look down at him to see him already looking at you, grinning. “I want you.” 

“Awe, well isn’t that a sweet compliment,” you say, brushing off the way that made you feel. He rolls his eyes, smiling. 

“Help me.”

“How am I meant to help you with your issues in balance?” You respond, moving closer to him in order to move out of another couples way. 

“Hold me,” he answers, his smile only growing wider and more excited. He pushes off the reindeer and moves to stand on shaky legs as you grow confused as you’re not sure how that would work. 

“Hold you? You want me to actually hold you as we skate with razor sharp blades on our feet?” You ask, turning to face him on the ice. You’ve both stopped moving now that Peter isn’t holding onto the reindeer. The little guy merely sits between you two. 

“Uh…” Peter trails off awkwardly, looking away for a moment as his brows furrow. “Yes?” He finishes, meeting your eye and looking almost as puzzled as yourself. You stare into each other’s eyes as if they each hold the answers you two are looking for. But nothing. You slap your hands on your thighs, sighing and giving into your boyfriend's request. 

“Alright, fine…” excitement lights up Peter’s face and he bits his lip as he kicks Rudolph away from him. He tries his best to walk on the ice until he’s reached your arms. With his arms around your waist, you both look forward as a small child cheers as he grabs hold of Rudolph and skates onward. Peter turns to look at you with a mischievous smile and a glint in his eye. 

“Oh! And there goes my ride. Guess you’re stuck with me now,” he says as though he’s tricked you. You can’t help but smile back as you nod. 

“I guess I am,” you say back, holding him a bit closer. 

You look down as you realize neither of you can skate with the way you’re standing. So you reluctantly let Peter go. You try grabbing his hands but you can’t skate backwards so that wouldn’t work. You start to loop your arm in his but that wouldn’t give either of you much stability. You skate behind him and try to hold onto his hips but that definitely wouldn’t work. All the while Peter merely stands there silently, smiling, as he watches each and every one of your movements. Not disagreeing or helping or offering suggestions. Just enjoying you. 

“Ugh, I have no idea how we’re meant to do this,” you grumble, moving back to his side. 

“Just hold me. Cradle me in your arms and cherish me like a lover,” he says tilting his head up and shaking it like he’s just made a declaration. You burst out laughing as your left arm wraps around his waist and your right holds onto his hand. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe out through your laughter. You can feel Peter’s eyes trained on you but you can barely see him through the cloud of tears forming. 

The two of you begin to skate and the form chosen seems to be enough to help Peter without knocking you down. Though you do eye how close your skates are to each other. You two begin to make distance around the ring. 

“See? This isn’t going too bad. I’ll get the hang of it in no time!” Peter explains, looking content as he looks between the ice ahead and his skates. You nod. 

“Oh yeah, with me guiding you like this, I think you’ll make pro by the start of this season,” you say, adding a sarcastic jolly-ness to your voice. 

“Your confidence in me constantly astounds me,” Peter says amusedly as he fights off a smile, still incredibly focused on skating. You shrug as best you can. 

“Well… I do try.” 

“It shows,” he responds with a loose nod of his own. 

You two continue to skate, each of you watching the ice, the people around you, and your skates. Peter was doing surprisingly well. He seemed to be getting better but you didn’t really want to let go. You look up at him, smiling. He lifts his head soon after, meeting your eye and sending a smile that rivaled your own. He was beautiful. 

But as you watch him, your focus leaving the act of skating, your skate clinks against his and forces the blades to dig into the ice. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re both beginning to fall forward. 

“AH- Peter!” You shout in distress, your bodies getting closer and closer to the hard ice. 

In what seems to be an instant, Peter catches himself from falling on the ice, he skates elegantly, turning around, maneuvering around you, and dipping his knees in order to catch you. His arm slips under your waist and the other slips over it, catching you and bringing you into his arms before you could hit the ice. 

You breathe out hard, your eyes wide as you try to catch your breath. Peter stands, straightening his knees as you remain dipped, your body in a diagonal line as you lay in Peter’s arms. 

When you come to your senses and your eyes finally unwiden and go back to their normal shape, you look up at Peter in amazement, a wide smile on your face as you take in his every feature. 

“Nice catch, Spider-Man,” you say, trying to be cheeky. Peter breaks out into a grin before it falls to a soft smile. 

“You know I’ll always catch you,” he responds, his eyes sparkling. You nod slowly in agreement. 

“Yeah, I know,” you say softly. You look down down at his arms around you as you account to what exactly just happened. “Wait a minute… how did you do that?” You ask, looking up at him with lowered brows. You see his eyes widen slightly, just for a second, so quick you almost miss it. 

“Do what?” He asked quickly, still not letting you up. You look around at your position once again. 

“The turn thing. A-and the catching. And—“ you gasp, your wide eyes darting up to look at him. “Peter Parker, did you lie to me?” You accuse. Peter’s face scrunches up as he jerks his head back before shaking it. 

“W-whaaat, I would never,” he denies half-heartedly. Your jaw drops. 

“Did you pretend not to know how to ice skate just so I’d take you up in my big strong arms?” You joke, the both of you looking down at your arms that were anything but big and strong. Peter looks back at you. 

“Maybe… so what if I did,” he says, raising his chin at you. You gasp dramatically. 

“The deception! How will I be able to trust you now?” You dramatize, your expressions exaggerated. He purses his lips in faux thought. 

“How about I tell you a secret,” he decides, a soft look overcoming his features. You grin. Peter finally moves, pulling you up from your dip and fully standing in his arms. Your hands fall against his chest as you relax into his form. 

“Hmm. That could save our faltering bond of trust. But it would have to be pretty good. I already know the biggest one you have,” you say, hinting at the knowledge of his superhero alter ego. Peter shakes his head. 

“Not my biggest.”

“Not your biggest?! Well then you must tell me. If only to keep yourself in my good graces.” Suddenly it’s like all of Peter’s defenses fall as a vulnerable look overcomes him. His eyes looking across every aspect of your face as if memorizing every line, hair, and feature. His hand moves to cup your face as the other stays glued to your waist. 

“Every time I see you I feel like I’m falling in love with you all over again. And that terrifies me because of everything that’s happened in my past. It terrifies me how much you mean to me and I want to let you go and protect you, but every time I make up my mind, I look at you and fall in love again. Then I can’t even imagine letting you go. Because you’re far safer in my arms than you would be without me at all.” Your eyes widen the longer he talks and by the time he’s finished you’re looking at this man, your boyfriend, in awe. 

“Peter…” you trail off, feeling speechless. But Peter shakes his head before you can say anything else. 

“Don’t— don’t say anything. Please. I just… I just needed you to know,” he stutters before pulling you unimaginably closer into a hug. Your chin rests in his neck as you wrap your arms around each other. 

“I love you, Peter,” you murmur. 

“And I love you,” he responds back almost instantly. 

The two of you stand there silently, wrapped up in each other in the middle of an ice rink. After a few long moments, Peter laughs, a bit awkwardly, before kissing your head and leaning back away to look at you. 

“Come on, let’s sit. I need a break,” he says, moving out of your arms completely and closer to the middle of the rink. 

“Sit? Sit where?” You ask, looking around. They didn’t really have seats here. 

“Here!” He exclaims, motioning to the ice. 

“In the middle of the rink?” You question, looking at him in astonishment. Peter nods back. 

“Yeah, why not?” He questions as he looks away from the ice and over to you. You raise your brows at him, tilting your head, wondering if that was a genuine question. 

“Uh, because people are trying to skate,” you say, supplying him with an answer just in case. Peter juts out his bottom lip as he shakes his head. 

“Eh, they can go around,” he replies as he crosses his legs and sits on the ice. As Peter gets comfortable, he looks around to see if anyone is watching him. They weren’t. He takes that chance, turning to you and shooting out a web that clings to your pants. He then yanks the web, causing you to yelp as you fall into his lap. He sighs in content as he helps you get situated. He looks into your eyes as you both stop moving. “Oh hey, funny bumping into you down here,” he murmurs, leaning down to bump the side of his nose against yours as he speaks. You smile widely. 

“I know, what a coincidence,” you respond, jerking your eyebrows up as if it were a surprise. 

“Who could’ve guessed,” Peter says with a shrug that’s all in his shoulders. 

“Cute,” you comment, just looking at him. Who he was. He sends you a cheeky smile that makes your heart stutter. 

“That’s me…” he says trailing off. Your hand, seemingly having a mind of its own, moves to cup the side of Peter’s face, your thumb brushing back and forth against his cheek. 

“You’re amazing, Peter Parker,” you comment on a whim. Today seems to be the day of truths anyway. 

“Ugh,” Peter responds, swinging his head to the side and away from your hand as he brushes off your comment. But you’re quick to grab his chin and bring his attention back to you. 

“No, stop, I’m serious, Peter. You are amazing. And I’m not talking about Spider-Man. I’m talking about you. You are the amazing Peter Parker… and I count myself lucky to know who you are,” you say, speaking softly and sincerely. You need these words to settle into his heart and stay there. They’re too important. Peter’s face drops, his head nodding against the hand that still held onto his chin. 

The two of you seem to gravitate toward each other, both of you leaning into each other, so close to a kiss.  But then Peter begins to zone out, his head tilting to the side. You both pause. A few moments later you hear multiple sirens from off in the distance. You sigh, letting your head drop against his shoulder. 

“You have to go don’t you?” 

“Afraid so…” he responds, sounding regretful. The both of you stand up as quickly as you can. 

“Alright, well… you’re already my hero, now go be everyone else’s,” you tell him with a small smile. His own smile shines brightly. His hands fly to the sides of your face and he brings you in for a hard yet quick kiss. 

“Leave your window open,” he says, already backing away from you. You send him a wink. 

“I always do.” 

You watch him as he skates toward the exit, looking back at you multiple times as he does so. Then in an instant he disappears. It only takes a minute or two before you see him shoot up into the sky, swinging across the buildings that surround you. You wrap your arms around yourself, smiling as you see him head off. 

Taglist: @maat-the-prescriptive @pogueslandia @gifted-burnout-archive @willowbleedsonpaper @adoregin @bstrones

[frogtanii]

warm.

it’s too warm, was your first waking thought as you sluggishly waded through the mound of blankets that encompassed you to get a breath of fresh air (you assumed bokuto and kuroo were the culprits for your warm and fuzzy hellhole). your eyes first fell on the television playing the credits to the second or third pirates of the caribbean movie on mute, the remote haphazardly thrown somewhere to your left as though the person who did so left in a hurry.

speaking of people, there was no one left in the room as you slowly joined the land of the living. a part of you suspected everyone had gone to bed but atsumu or akaashi would’ve woken you up if that had been the case.

belatedly, you recognized voices coming from the front door and your still sleep-addled brain lit up. oh! you thought. food must be here! untangling yourself from the blankets proved to be an exhausting feat because by the time you were done, your body was covered in a sheen of sweat underneath oikawa’s sweats and sakusa’s hoodie.

ugh, gross.

you began to make your way towards the door, the blood rushing through your head preventing you from hearing the details of conversation but knowing atsumu, he was just haggling for a lower price even though you told him repeatedly, that isn’t how pizza places work tsum.

as you drew nearer to the commotion, you started to pick up on the heavy tension in the air, leaving you extremely uncomfortable. you had no idea what the cause of it was but you did know it was making most of the boys upset, who, by the way, hadn’t noticed you creeping around just yet.

a feminine voice rang out from outside the doorway and though you were still attempting to gain your hearing, the sound sent chills down your spine. it sounded saccharine, sweet, familiar, and oh so evil.

even with a head full of cotton, you figured now wouldn’t be the best time to reveal yourself, what with the clear discomfort permeating the atmosphere, but your big fat mouth apparently had other plans.

“‘tsum, just let the poor pizza lady go,” you muttered, the beginnings of a headache making itself known at the back of your skull. you were a little too caught up with the dwarf banging at your head with a sledgehammer to notice the shock that everyone in the room turned to look at you with.

a gentle hand grasped at your forearm, whispering something into your ear before attempting to pull you back to the living room, but that same familiar voice from the door kept you planted where you stood.

“oh, the princess finally makes herself known,” meiko sneered, her face finally coming into focus, striking you with pang of fear straight through your heart. “funny, i thought i left you speechless the last time we... ‘talked’.”

“ya shut yer fuckin mouth,” atsumu lunged at her but was stopped by sakusa’s arm around his waist, successfully holding him in place. meiko just giggled, taking a step into the house, her heels clicking as she glided across the hardwood floors.

in the back of your head, you noted that meiko looked unusually beautiful, her makeup flawlessly done and her outfit complementing it perfectly, almost reminiscent of how she used to be before... well, just “before”.

you watched the boys unconsciously angle themselves as a protective wall around you, the person holding your arm (who you now realized was koushi) pulling you in tighter until your back was resting against his chest.

a part of you couldn’t help but feel a little suffocated but the other, more self preserving, bit felt irrationally safe and protected around these boys. it was nice... or it would’ve been if meiko wasn’t taking herself on a tour around the house as though she hadn’t been living there for almost the past year.

“you all can tone down on the guard dog act. i’m not here to fight,” she said as she pretended to wipe dust off the island. “you’re not?” bokuto’s skeptical voice rose up from behind you, one of his hands finding yours underneath the massive sleeves of your (sakusa’s) hoodie.

meiko shook her head with an empty smile, her perfectly painted red lips stretching unnaturally wide. “no, of course not! i’ve just come here to collect.”

the boys collectively tensed around you, akaashi whispering for kenma to go find yachi and quickly. as he slipped away, you made eye contact with sakusa who gave you an imperceptible nod that you assumed meant one thing — keep her talking.

“collect what?” you asked, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted, but you hoped she didn’t notice. she cocked her head as her eyes snapped to you as if she’d forgotten you were there, but judging by her growing smirk, you knew that wasn’t the case.

“my boys of course!” meiko clapped gleefully, clicking her way over toward kuroo to run her hand over his bicep, laughing when he jolted away from her touch. “they’ve always been mine, you know that don’t you?”

it felt like a cold bucket of water had been dropped over your head. you felt frozen again, the same feeling of dread creeping up your spine as it did when meiko attacked you. in turn, you barely noticed kenma’s return who whispered something to sakusa — an action that didn’t go unnoticed by meiko.

“what’re my boys talking about? are you plotting against me?” she pouted, scooting closer to the pair. kenma visibly paled and moved to hide himself behind sakusa’s broad shoulders. “we aren’t doing anything, meiko.”

wrong answer.

“oh, we both know that isn’t the case kiyoomi. i’m not a fucking idiot.” meiko’s voice filled with venom before moving even closer still. you felt your heart beating rapidly in your chest, your hand gripping bokuto’s even tighter.

what if she brought some kind of weapon to the house? what if she hurt you? what if she hurt them?

before you could think, you were standing in front of the group, the boys calling out your name as meiko’s face lit up. “so the precious little princess wants to take a stand! let me have it then, huh? let me see what all the craze is about!”

despite the fear thudding in your chest, you stood tall, glaring at her with your head held high. “the boys are not yours, meiko,” you declared, her mouth instantly opening in protest but you refused to let her speak.

“they aren’t possessions or objects you can own and treat like shit. they are people, real living, breathing people and they aren’t mine either. they have full reign to do what they want, when they want, to make their own choices and decisions. and you know what? they didn’t choose you or me. they chose themselves and their happiness over any bullshit you or i could try and sell them. so please, for the love of god, get your shit together, put it in a box and take it to fucking therapy.”

by the end of your impromptu speech, your chest was heaving but you felt good. really good. adrenaline was rushing through your veins and you felt powerful. out the corner of your eye, you noticed osamu and daichi standing at the bottom of the stairs with something akin to awe on their faces.

yeah bitches. take it all in.

unfortunately, while you were basking in the feeling of badassery, you completely missed meiko’s eyes lighting up with pure, unadulterated,

rage.

you faintly heard someone call your name before you were taken to the ground by meiko leaping at you like an animal. the two of you scrambled about on the hardwood, her hands yanking at your clothes and leaving scratches on your skin but you were sure as hell giving her a run for her money.

you finally managed to get on top of her, pinning her arms to the ground but that wasn’t before you gained a hard elbow to the side and a bruise to your face. meiko thrashed and shook in your hold but you were not wavering, trying to keep her entirely still for...

well, for what exactly?

almost as though they were on cue, you heard the sound of police sirens wailing in the distance, growing louder as they drew closer to the house. underneath you, meiko’s eyes widened before she began fighting even harder than she’d done before, her erratic movements making it much more difficult to keep your hold on her.

luckily, you had extremely muscular men at your disposal, one of which (osamu — even though he was a dick, he was still incredibly muscular dick) held down meiko’s arms as the lapd stormed the building.

the police officers easily retracted meiko from your arms and cuffed her, taking her to the back of the cop car, despite her loud and insistent threats on you and everyone you love.

very disney villain-esque.

a kind looking officer helped you to your feet and walked you out to the porch where he began to ask you and the boys a few questions. you answered them honestly and you were genuinely proud of how well you were handling the whole situation when—

“bubs, you’re shaking.” sure enough, when you looked down at your hands, you were twitching uncontrollably, the reality of the events that just occurred finally sinking in.

you were just attacked. again.

you and your friends were threatened.

meiko was sitting in the back of a fucking cop car.

“what the fuck,” you whispered, eyes staring unblinking at your palms. the same officer mentioned something about shock, prompting all the boys to gather around you; atsumu pulled you in between him and sakusa, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, kenma and bokuto took hold of your quivering hands, sugawara and oikawa sat off to the side watching you with blatant concern, and kuroo and akaashi spoke to the officer in hushed tones.

the man nodded and shook their hands before shooting you a pitying smile and heading back to the car where meiko was waiting.

“it’s over angel, ‘s over,” atsumu muttered into your hair, pressing kisses to your forehead in between each phrase. you leaned into his touch but you refused to take your eyes off meiko who was watching the whole scene from the backseat, her eyes wide with anger, hurt, and confusion.

you didn’t bother dwelling on it, instead focusing on evening out your breathing and looking at the car drive over the horizon. you heard yachi’s soft voice calling everyone inside, atsumu lifting you up to your feet and walking with you, never once taking his hands off of you.

still, his words echoed in your head, even as yachi spoke of the end of the hyper house, even as the boys brought you to your room, and even as they all automatically cuddled around you in an attempt to get you to sleep.

it’s over. it’s all finally over.

you couldn’t keep the grin off your face if you tried.

℗ poker face

it’s over

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - OK THE TITLE IS MISLEADING THE STORY IS NOT OVER YET SKENSM (there are 2 more official story chapters before all the endings :3) also m not the biggest fan of this chapter?? so i’d love to hear what y’all think <33 don’t forget to feed me!!

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[kasha-formerlydrabbletastic]

Blowing Off Steam

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Things have always been tense between the reader and Bucky, but what happens when things come to a head?

Word count: 4,269

Warnings: Mature readers only 18+ - minors do not interact! Vaginal sex, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, Dom/sub themes (who doesn’t love a bratty sub), unprotected sex (always use contraception), swearing.

.

.

.

.

“You’re lucky I saved your ass!”

“Well, no one fucking asked you to, did they?”

“No, so it looks like I’m not such a fucking prick after all, eh, Y/N?”

“Nope. You’re still a fucking prick, Bucky. Nothing in this world will ever make me change my mind about it either.”

“Need I remind you that -”

“Oh, shut up, the both of you!”

Steve’s voice cuts through the argument, effectively rendering the pair of you mute. It's surprising how long it's taken someone to crack, given the fact that your argument with Bucky started about an hour ago when the team entered the quinjet.

"Every goddamn time you're around each other you gotta argue about something," he continues, holding the attention of most of the team. "I don't want to hear another fucking word out of either of you for the rest of the ride home."

"Good job, Dad," Tony quips.

"But Bucky -"

"But Y/N-"

The pair of you speak at the same time, but Steve cuts you off again.

"Not. Another. Word." He punctuates each word with a jab of his authoritative pointer finger into the air between you. "This is the end of it. Silence. Now."

It takes a moment as you wrestle with the impulse to protest, but you ultimately sit back into your seat, folding your arms tightly over your chest. Bucky seems to do the same, his expression grumpy as ever as the two of you lock eyes.

"Fuck you," you mouth, extending a middle finger toward him.

"Fuck you," he counters silently.

You roll your eyes, settling back once more.

There has never been any real explanation, but from the moment you met him, you and Bucky have locked horns. He's stubborn, pigheaded, so full of himself and the way he operates that you can't help but be annoyed by him.

Then again, a good number of the team are cursed with the same qualities but you seem to get along quite well with them.

What is it about Bucky?

***

Per Steve's demand, there wasn't a single word passed between you and Bucky the rest of the way home. You stripped yourself of your gear after Steve's Dad Moment before sitting back and allowing yourself to take a nap the rest of the way home in your t-shirt and tactical pants. It wasn't until you got into the compound and to your desk in the team's shared office that any of your frustration boiled over again.

"Fucking asshole," you muttered between gritted teeth as you glanced over at Bucky's empty desk; his paperwork sits on the surface, needing to be done, but the man himself is nowhere to be found. Granted you are the only one at your desk doing paperwork.

Or so you thought.

"Thinking about me again?" you hear him say behind you.

You swivel in your chair to face him, his face smug as ever as steam rises up from the two mugs of coffee he holds.

"Well, not everything is about you, Bucky," you say. "Believe it or not."

"I would believe it if it were true," he grins; you make to reply, but he carries on. "I was gonna give this to you as a peace offering," he says, gesturing with one of the mugs of coffee, "but I don’t think you’ve learned Steve's lesson yet. So I'm just gonna keep it for myself. I am so tired, anyway."

He strides toward his desk, swaggering with each step, and it's almost as if you can't help the knee-jerk reaction of sticking your foot out into his path. His feet get caught up with yours, tripping him up enough that he loses grip of the mugs and stumbles forward; the mugs smash on the floor, but Bucky's reflexes refuse to let him fall too. He straightens up quickly, turning on his heel and staring daggers at you.

"Enjoy your coffee, Sergeant Barnes," you chuckle.

"What the fuck?" Bucky shouts.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you begin, wanting to taunt him but you get no further.

"Y/N, Bucky."

The two of you turn to Steve, who has finally returned to the office dressed in a basic t-shirt and jeans. He is more stern than you've ever seen him, standing with his arms crossed and his expression disappointed. He is very much the captain with his stance, staring the two of you down as if you were naughty children.

"Clean this up and then meet me in the conference room," he directs, his voice low and tone ominous.

You watch as he leaves, then switch your gaze to Bucky; you don't know what's about to happen, but something tells you Steve has had enough of the bullshit. It's possible you're about to lose your spot on the team, you think, and panic fills your chest as you stand from your chair, ignoring Bucky to the fullest as you reach for a trash can.

"Fuck," you murmur, picking up shards of mug and tossing them into the bin.

Bucky appears shortly after with several towels in hand, wiping up the coffee and smaller pieces before just chucking them into the bin, too.

With the mess cleaned up, the two of you silently march to the conference room where Steve sits at the head of the table.

"Oh, good," he says sarcastically, "you two managed to work together and accomplish something in a timely fashion, how about that?"

You take your seat next to him, wanting to ask what this is about but knowing full well what he's about to say. Bucky sits opposite you, quiet and brooding, and you feel a lurch of annoyance in your belly. You roll your eyes again, looking to Steve, trying to convey in your eyes the question, "How long do I have to stay here with him?" Steve doesn't look at you, though, his eyes fixed on his folded hands in front of him before he speaks.

"I don't know what it is about the two of you being around each other, but whatever it is, you need to cut it out," he says. "It's detrimental to the team working as a whole, not to mention it is fucking irritating."

Something in you rises to be defensive, but another, more rational side begins to kick in, keeping your mouth shut for a moment.

"The number of complaints I get from everyone else is almost ridiculous, guys. And it's only a matter of time before the two of you are bickering like an old married couple and someone gets hurt because you're not giving your full attention."

You had been so caught up with how much you and Bucky annoyed each other that not much else in your mind spared the time to think about how it might affect the team and your missions. Steve is right - and you know it - that one of these days, you and Bucky will be going at it and one of you will slip. You won't necessarily be the one who suffers, but it's likely that if the two of you continue on with your childish back-and-forth, you might lose track of a target, lose a mission, or worse, lose a teammate. With that thought, shame floods you, and you sit back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest and gritting your teeth to keep from saying anything stupid.

"With that being said," Steve continues, "you two need to figure this out as soon as possible. What really gets me is that you're both so valuable to the team, but you let your bullshit get in the way of your effectiveness." Steve glances at the door, his expression shifting ever so slightly. "Actually... I'm gonna leave you two here for a minute, something just came up."

The slightest surge of panic rears in your chest as Steve gets up from his chair. You watch him incredulously as he leaves you here with Bucky, closing the door behind him. If you're not mistaken, though, you hear the door lock and your panic peaks just a little more.

You rise from your seat, following Steve's footsteps to the door and trying the handle; it doesn't budge.

"Fuck," you mumble. "FRIDAY, unlock the door, please."

"I'm sorry, Y/N," FRIDAY replies, "the orders are to keep the door locked for the next thirty minutes, barring an emergency."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" you grumble, rubbing the palms of your hands into your eyes.

You almost don't register it, but you hear Bucky chuckle, a quiet laugh that brings your attention to him.

"What's funny about this?" you demand, just as quietly.

He sits back in his chair, strangely relaxed given that he's locked into the room with you. There's genuine amusement in his expression as he lounges, setting his hands on top of his head.

"Typical Steve," he says, looking at you with a sparkle in his eye. "Thinking he can save everyone."

You don't say anything, but shrug helplessly in agreement - probably agreeing with Bucky for the first time since you've known him.

"I guess he doesn't realize that he can't save everyone," you mutter, sitting back down.

Bucky shrugs this time. "That thought has never even occurred to him, I can promise you that."

Sparing a glance at Bucky, you fall into silence, unsure of what to say. He doesn't offer anything either, his smile slowly fading as the seconds tick on. The air thickens around you, the awkwardness growing more ungainly the longer neither of you speak. Though, it's possible that the whole thirty minutes have elapsed or that it's only been a few seconds before you figure out something to say.

"I'm sorry I tripped you earlier," you say quietly.

Bucky had been staring at the table, but he brings his gaze to you, studying you with a curiosity he has never once shown you before. He seems to take his time before he replies.

"I accept your apology," he says, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table. "I'm sorry for... everything."

The moment hangs there, seconds ticking by as the two of you study each other; now that you look at him, finally confronting the reasons why you tease and antagonize him, you figure that maybe he's not always so grumpy-looking. There's a sparkle in his blue eyes, something witty and sweet that you've never allowed yourself to notice before. He's got a strong jaw, pretty pink lips, and a smile to die for. At once, it clicks why you've been so eager to step on every one of his nerves.

Something shifts in his expression, and he pushes his chair back, standing up. He doesn't take his eyes from you as he circles the table, but you push your chair back, too, taking after his lead. By the time he reaches you, you stand, facing him as the space between you shrinks.

Then, as if magnets pull you together, the pair of you collide; Bucky's flesh fingers curve around the back of your head, cradling it as he lowers his lips to yours. Despite how out of the blue this is, you melt into him, your hands finding his waist and pulling him close. His kiss is warm, his body taut under your touch as his other arm curls around your body, pressing your chests together. Your skin tingles in every place it meets his as the kiss deepens, each of you parting your lips for the other as your tongues explore new territory.

Then, as if your bodies can't get close enough, Bucky leans forward, his hands gripping your thighs as he lifts you onto the table. He doesn't once break the kiss, but as soon as you're settled, his hips knock your knees apart. Instinctively, your legs wrap around him, urging him closer to you. Your arms curl around his neck, too, making sure he doesn't get too far away from you. He responds, taking you in his arms in kind.

You don't know how long it lasts, and you don't care, especially when his lips stray, tracing your jaw and finding your pulse.

"Oh, Bucky," you sigh, your skin on fire from his touch.

"James," he says quietly against your neck.

For a moment, you pull back, staring into his eyes and smiling.

"James," you acknowledge, and he smiles too.

In the next second, though, a wickedness settles into his expression, a sly grin taking the sweet smile's place as his hands meet the button and fly of your pants. He pulls them open, his hand diving immediately into your panties.

"Fuck!" you gasp as his fingers slip between you lips, brushing over your clit to briefly dive into your heat.

"God damn," he groans. "Doll, you feel so good. You're so fucking wet for me."

You scoff, looking him dead in the eye. "Please. I'm sure if it were anyone else I'd still be just as wet."

"You sure about that?" he says, his eyes glittering with promise as he presses his fingertips to your clit, circling the singing nerves as if he's known how to all his life.

"Mmm," you hum, your fingers bunching into the front of his shirt as you pull him forward. "We'll just have to see, I guess."

"You're damn right," he says before crushing his lips to yours. He slips his fingers into you, his thumb working circles against your clit, and you moan into his mouth. "That's right, doll. I make you feel so fucking good, don't I?"

A sly smile of your own tugs at your lips as you pull your head back.

"Meh, I've had better."

He pauses for a moment, staring you in the face before he chuckles. He takes his hand from you as he uses his free hand to push you by the shoulder, urging you onto your back before he tugs your pants off, taking your panties with them.

"Spread those legs for me, Y/N," he orders softly, and you comply.

At once, his hand finds your heat again, his metal fingers diving in and curling against your g-spot as his flesh fingers work your clit. In no time at all, you writhe on the tabletop, the entirety of your energy focused on not coming, not giving in to his ego. It's no use, however, as he hits the right spots at the right time.

"Fuck!" you grunt, your toes curling as ecstasy explodes from your core; the orgasm rips through your body, rushing through your blood with a ferocity you've never known before as your heart pounds from your chest.

"I fucking told you, doll," Bucky teases, his hands slowing down before he removes them. "Look at you. All wrecked for me."

"You wish," you say, rising up onto your elbows to see Bucky's grin falter just slightly. "Why don't you really wreck me, James? Why don't you fuck the attitude out of me?"

Heat floods your body at the idea, but just then, Bucky smiles wider as the mischievous glint in his eyes seems to take him over completely.

"You want me," he begins slowly, his hands dropping to his belt, "to fuck," he undoes his belt, popping open the button on his pants, "the attitude," he pulls on the zipper, slipping his underwear down enough that his cock tumbles from its confines and into his hand, "out of you?"

Your eyes fix on his engorged, weighty flesh as he strokes himself, imagining what it would feel like to be split in half by it.

"You want it," he says; it's not a question at all, but an entirely accurate statement.

You meet his eyes once more to see the cockiest expression on his face.

"And what if I said yes?" you reply.

Bucky leans in, his lips close to yours.

"Beg me for it," he murmurs against your mouth.

"No," you say, pushing him away gently as you slip off the table; your hand just barely closes around his girth and strokes. "I won't beg for it." You get to your knees, coming face to face with his gorgeous cock. "But you will."

"You think so, Y/N?" he laughs, but moans the minute you take him into your mouth. "Fuuuuuuck."

You swirl your tongue around the head before taking him as far back into your mouth as you can. Bucky nearly whimpers the moment the tip enters the back of your throat and you swallow around him. It takes everything you've got to keep from laughing at him as he leans over, bracing himself on the table.

Bobbing your head along his shaft, you listen to him; he curses, making pleas to God as you work him up. He tries to hold it together, but the way you suck and lick and tease has him squirming. Before you know it, though, he yanks himself from you with a growl, picking you up off the floor and turning you around; his erection presses against your ass as he twines his fingers in your hair, pressing your hips against the table.

"Baby doll," he croons in your ear, his chest hard against your back. "You think you're so cute, eh? Just you wait, Y/N. Just you wait."

He presses you down onto the tabletop, his hand still gripping your hair. Almost instantly, you feel the tip of his cock brush your lips, sliding along your heat to press against your clit for just a moment. He does this a few times before he finally presses into your center.

The moment hangs in the air as your anticipation grows, your yearning to be filled finally being granted only Bucky doesn't continue. He stays, just the tip of his cock planted in you for a moment before it slips out again, and you let out the smallest whine.

"Oh, doll," he says, his tone mocking. "Did you want that? Did you want my big fat cock inside you?"

You collect your wits, unwilling to let him win.

"I bet you want to get inside me, James," you say, your hand finding his in your hair. "God, I bet you want to fuck me. I bet you've always wanted to fuck me, from the minute you met me."

He slips his cock along your heat again, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning as it meets your clit; he bounces his cock against it a few times before teasing it with gentle circles.

"I bet you've thought of nothing but this pussy since I joined the team," you continue, baiting him into giving in. "I bet that's why you're such a prick, because you could never have it. You wanna know what I think, James?"

"What do you think, Y/N?" he replies, replacing his tip back into your center as he leans over you, his face growing closer to yours.

"I think," you say, adjusting so you can see his face better, "that there have been so many times that you've imagined having me. Times when you found yourself imagining me in this exact position, with your dick buried inside me, and couldn't help but rub one out. You ever fucked yourself to the thought of me, James?"

Bucky chuckles. "Doll, you have no idea. But if we're placing bets, I bet you've done the same. You think I don't know? On all those missions we've been on, you think I didn't hear you fuck yourself in the next room? That I don't know that's how you blow off steam?"

You smile as he presses just a little further into your heat.

"Doll," he says, standing up and bringing you with him until your back arches against his chest, his lips brushing your ear as he continues, "you think I haven't heard you call my name?"

"Looks like we're at an impasse," you chuckle.

Bucky laughs too, dragging hot, wet kisses along your neck for a second.

"Nah," he says, letting go of your hair as he slowly curls his hand around your neck, pushing your head back onto his shoulder. "Because I've got the upper hand here."

"So you think," you quip as he presses just a little further into you; your body tenses, awaiting the full feeling of his cock.

"Oh, I know, Y/N," he says, retreating just a little. “I know for damn sure. Now, what do we say?”

“I don’t know, what do we say?”

He offers a dark chuckle as he pulls all the way out. “If you’re not gonna be a good girl, I won’t fuck you.”

“I wish I could believe you, Barnes,” you reply. “But seeing as how I haven’t complied with you yet and you’re still here with your hard-on poking me in the ass cheek, I just can’t take you all that seriously.”

“That’s fair,” he says before suddenly letting go of you. 

You turn around, fairly surprised as you watch him hitch his pants back up, putting his cock away.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you say with an incredulous laugh. 

“Well, I’m sitting back down until Steve gets back,” he says, checking the time. "There's still about fifteen minutes before he gets back."

Once more collecting your wits, you smile. With an idea coalescing in your brain, you stride to his side of the table, hopping up onto the tabletop right next to him to ensure that he sees everything you're about to work with.

"Well, then," you say, spreading your legs as your fingers meet your aching clit. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm a little worked up right now and I need to, as you said, blow off steam."

Bucky's smile falters as his eyes drop from yours to between your legs, watching you work. The very fact that he's watching sends another flood of arousal to your already dripping cunt, your need for release growing stronger by the second.

"Mmm," you hum, slipping your fingers into yourself.

Bucky doesn't look away once. On the contrary, he rises from his seat, looking pained as he witnesses your pleasure. You put on a show, your moans and whimpers growing more frequent; the move has the desired effect as Bucky's hand drops to the erection in his pants, palming it through the fabric.

"Fuck," he murmurs, yanking his pants down once more. He moves forward, hand around his cock to position himself inside you, but you were waiting for this; you lean forward, pressing your hand against his chest to stop his progress toward you.

"I'm sorry," you say, "but what are you doing?"

"I'm fucking you," he says, stepping forward once more, but you hold your ground.

"Says who?"

"Says me."

He moves forward again, but you still keep him at bay.

"And what do we say, James?" you purr.

"What?" he replies.

You lean closer to him, your lips almost brushing his as you say, "Beg me for it."

"Are you serious?" he says, getting impatient.

"Damn right I am," you reply.

Bucky struggles with it for a moment, but seems to decide to fold.

"Y/N," he says, stroking his cock, a drop of precum beading on the tip. "Please."

"Please what?" you reply, relishing in the frustration showing through his features.

"Please, please, let me fuck you."

You grin, satisfied that you won, as you let your hand slide around the back of his neck from his chest, pulling his mouth against yours as he immediately buries himself inside you.

"Ah!" you moan against his lips as he fills you to the hilt.

"God fucking dammit," he groans. "You feel so fucking good, Y/N."

At once, he begins thrusting, his hands holding tight onto your hips as he moves. You lean back onto one arm, your other hand finding your clit once again, pressing circles against yourself.

"Fuck, Y/N," he says, his thrusts growing quicker.

His cock drags along your g-spot, the perfect sensation to accompany your clitoral stimulation. In next to no time, you snap, your body bombarded by your next orgasm.

"Oh, fuck," Bucky says through gritted teeth as you pulse around him.

His grip tightens on you as his hips press quicker, harder than ever, before they stutter; he pulls out, his hand grasping his cock and stroking it until he comes. Spurts of cum land on your thigh, thick and warm, as Bucky tries to get his breathing under control, his forehead landing on your shoulder for support.

He takes a moment, straightening up once he’s gotten control of himself. As he backs away, his eyes fix on yours, a soft grin pulling at his lips. He puts himself back together, zipping and buttoning his pants deliberately.

“You win,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“I know,” you laugh, watching as he moves around the table to grab your pants and underwear from where he pulled them off of you. He walks them back to you, handing them over. “Clean it.”

Once more, his mischief is written all over his face as he bends down, using his tongue to mop up his mess. The sensation tingles along your thigh to your core, and you wish you had longer than just the thirty minutes allotted to the two of you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, staying put as he stands back up.

“Good boy,” you say, pulling his face to yours for a kiss.

“Looks like I’m your bitch now,” he says with a chuckle.

“Oh, doll,” you say, taking delight in the look on his face as you use his word. “It was bound to happen.”

[no-droids]

Beginner’s Luck

Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6K

Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT.  Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry

A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos

***

“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting.  “Turn around, let me see.”

“No.  I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says.  You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in.  “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.

Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it.  You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle.  Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.

Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him.  He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.

“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence.  “I look ridiculous.”

Still, nothing.  You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth.  Oh for the love of Maker—

“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl.  He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.

Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it.  You fucking knew he was laughing.

“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.

“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?”  You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries.  The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace.  “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”

“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now.  “Way too big.”

“Too big?”  You blink at him.  “That’s your criticism?”

When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no.  It’s fucking… rust.  It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character.  There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?

“You’re telling me you went from this—”  You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens?  It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”

He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull.  “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh.  “This planet isn’t nice.”

That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully.  “Are we on Corellia?”  You ask without thinking.

“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron.  “Tatooine.”

You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill.  Different setting, same kind of people.  Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them.  You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else.  It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.

“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs.  “Someone… nice.  It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”

Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you.  Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to.  Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy.  But for real, who is he talking about?

“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?”  You ask instead, but he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace.  “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”

“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again.  “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”

Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore.  “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words.  “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”

You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second.  “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment.  “We can stay with your… friend.”  

You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step.  You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.

Was that not subtle?  You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated.  You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again.  That’s what’s called a friend, right?  

Maker, why are you being so weird about this?

Thankfully, you end up getting away with it.  After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit.  You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.

***

It’s bright.  Fuck, it’s so bright here.  You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it.  Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.

Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now.  But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance.  “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”

Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely.  You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.

“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him.  “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”

“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink.  What… what happened last time?

“It sure won’t!”  The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long.  “I’m still recovering, Mando!”

“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second.  “How much do you think my life is worth?”

Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration.  Probably both.  “I brought my ki—”

“You bring trouble!”  She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground.  “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”

He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot.  How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide.  He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his.  He talks to you.  He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without.  Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.

So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.

“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos.  “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”

Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders.  Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.

“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?”  She faces him and pokes his armor again.  “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”

“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase.  Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point.  He said she was nice?  And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?

“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks.  Fuck, there’s no way.  There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.

But… he doesn’t respond.  Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation.  Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue.  Maker, five hundred credits.  You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it.  He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.

So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around.  Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side.  You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now.  Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does.  Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it.  You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—

But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.

You understand him.  Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway.  You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing.  It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him.  That’s insane.

He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.  

“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.

And you think now is finally the time to go, right?  Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently.  Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you?  You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?

You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape.  He leaves and doesn’t look back.

Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.

“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk.  Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask.  “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”

You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her.  “Pre-Imperial or post?  Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”

She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.

***

So Peli is… a character.

She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it.  She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable.  You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night.  You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.

The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse.  You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck.  Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror.  Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.

Din was right, though.  She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about.  She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being.  On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears.  It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.

At least you stay busy—which, understatement.  She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing.  Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later.  You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset.  You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life.  However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do.  After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.

One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself.  You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.

You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.

Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.

You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.

***

A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.

There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game.  There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.

It’s an unpredictable nightmare.  But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game.  The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.

“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.

You don’t argue, because there’s no point.  The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point.  You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void.  You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best.  Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.

“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it.  “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”

You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand.  “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair.  Peli sets the mug down and sighs.  “You’re a good mechanic.  I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”

Now, you do smile.  But it’s a hidden one.  A fond one.  One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him.  You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him.  Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace.  It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him.  Nothing can touch you.  You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.

No, you’d never consider it.  This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous.  You love the baby.  You love him.  You’d never consider it.

“Don’t you get bored?”  She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit.  “Just waiting around for him to come back?”

You don’t have to think about your answer.  Of course you do.  If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without.  Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go.  You’ve never experienced anything like that before.  There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age.  So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them.  You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy.  You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family.  You don’t know of anything you could want more.  Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment.  Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence.  You know what it means to live for yourself.  You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different.  As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better.  Now you have other people to live for, too.  

You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago.  He used to terrify you.  You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up.  Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.

No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition.  Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do.  You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea.  But maybe you can also…

You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation.  “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What do you want now?”  She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal.  “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them.  Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface?  I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”

She furrows her eyebrows at you.  “But I still need your help with…”

You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it.  Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work.  This is what Din does, right?  Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet?  Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.

“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin.  “But only if you win this round.  What d’you got?”

You set down your cards to reveal your hand.  A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.

“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.

***

It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7.  They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave.  Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.

You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done.  After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.

As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape.  You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating.  You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.

Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before.  You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted.  It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.

Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired.  You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open.  Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.

“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you.  Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.

You know you must look a hot mess right now.  Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is.  Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.

Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could.  Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.

You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that.  You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.

And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted.  He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.  

Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level.  And fuck, nothing stops you from looking.  He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either.  He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.

He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs.  Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…

The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.

You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time.  Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now.  Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…

“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all.  “But… shit, but…”

“But…?”  You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides.  “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”

You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him.  All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.

“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside.  Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful.  “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long.  “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him.  Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you.  The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck.  “Shit.  I… I need to clean up.  Grab your things, go tell…”

Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss.  You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters.  “Uh.  Go tell…”  He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so.  “Her.  That we’re leaving tonight.”

“What?”  You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused.  “What are you saying right now?”

“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat.  “The mechanic, with the… droids.  Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”

“Peli?”  You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point.  “Did you forget her name, Mando?”

“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that.  “Never asked.”

“But you—?”  You blink at him.  “But you said she was your friend?”

“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy.  It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it.  Yikes, you absolutely did say that.  You forgot.

“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response.  “Ha.  Oh.  Yeah, huh.”

There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom.  Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?

“Were you jealous?”  He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.

“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far.  You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw.  “Tell me the truth.”

You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered.  So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would.  Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.

His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help.  His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle.  “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”

His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you…  Mind blank, no thoughts.  Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.

“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try.  “There’s no reason.  I was jealous.  It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid.  I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”

Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off.  Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.

“See that wall?”  He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it.  You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about.  It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar.  He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you.  “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar.  “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”

Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.

She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore.  “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again.  “You owe me five hundred credits.”

“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point.  Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.

“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.

“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.

Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly.  You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here.  She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.

“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him.  “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”

And then your jaw drops.  Holy shit, is she serious?  You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly.  Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.

Also… girlfriend?

Is that what you are to him?  Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so.  You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important?  You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again.  If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough.  Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough.  It’s an elementary school version of what this is.  And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend?  Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.

“Uh.”  He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point.  Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder?  Lover?  No, not good enough.  Partner?  No.  No, not wife, definitely fucking not—  “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder.  “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”

All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness.  The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.

“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.

***

So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.

You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing.  You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here.  Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.  

When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food.  A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps?  Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things.  While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.

Well.  Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.

Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful.  The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you.  You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.

So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically.  So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one.  He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.

Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch.  It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye.  Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.

Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—

You fire, and… well.  You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life.  You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.

“Try again.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it.  Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.  

No, you think in frustration.  You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time.  You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.

You adjust your aim and fire a few more times.  Miss, miss, wild miss, miss.  Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you.  Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—

Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.

“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise.  He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.

“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit.  “Go ahead, give it another shot.”

But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was.  Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing.  He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast?  That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?

“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.

“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.

“So how did you toggle so fas—?”

He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.

“How in the f…?”  You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch.  “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again.  “Design flaw.”

“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon.  “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature.  Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”

The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.

“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking.  “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando?  I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”

“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips.  They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again.  “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”

“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.

“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.

“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin.  “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”

But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off.  “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”

Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him.  “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards.  “Of course not.  Pick up the gun.”

Okay.

Okay, so that one gets you.

You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you.  Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.

Shit, okay, focus.  Focus, you can do this.  You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life.  The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours.  His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows.  He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.

He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on.  Maker, chill out.  Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot.  This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…

Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong.  You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—

“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.

The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center.  You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.

He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target.  Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.

When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more.  You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit.  Bullseye, right on the nose.

This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.

“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh.  “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”

“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down.  “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong.   Are you just distracted?”

Uh, fuck yeah you are.  So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind.  He’s your biggest distraction, all the time.  He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.  

Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.

“Can I watch you do it?”  You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf.  “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him.  He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused.  You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.

He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically.  You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out.  You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot.  You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.

As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right.  You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop.  Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.

He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable.  Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago.  No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere.  The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit.  They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands.  But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there.  He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either.  He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.

None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize.  It’s not fun because he’s too good at it.  This is life.  This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.

You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element.  You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you.  Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.

Is it just you, you wonder?  Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?

No, you think.  No.  You have seen him relax.  You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.  

But… only with you.  A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.

Fuck.  Why does that turn you on so fucking much?  It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit.  The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.

“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it.  You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it.  You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.

Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders.  He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.

Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back.  Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.

He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason.  There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator.  He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime.  Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.

Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf.  The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.

Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots.  Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.  

You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this.  His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too.  You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.

A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him.  Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more.  So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point.  And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.

Din is a fucking statue.  He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it.  Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.

You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already.  You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out.  You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.

At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public.  Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.

Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else.  Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response.  He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it.  This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else.  This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.

You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue.  His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue.  While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.

Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth.  Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with.  You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it.  He endures.  Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.

But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando!  Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”

You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing.  The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.  

And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.

The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming.  Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at.  Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.  

He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance.  The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever.  Handling it is all on him.  He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun.  It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?

Wrong.  So wrong.  You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss.  Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs.  But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.

Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length.  Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him.  His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.

So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want.  His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache.  You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.

“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise.  “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”

Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?

You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.

His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth.  You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner.  The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.

He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean.  His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.

He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going.  Is that fucked up, you wonder?  What would he think?

He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving?  Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that.  The coast must not be clear, you have to assume.  Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t.  You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants.  He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.

The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows.  What would he think?  That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent?  Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.

At some point, you can’t stop yourself.  You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.

You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit.  Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss.  He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on.  You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.

Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair.  Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—

That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand.  And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this.  You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again.  Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified.  Debased.  And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.

When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum.  You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins.  By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants.  You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.

The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest.  You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble.  Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that.  He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake.  He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense.  Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.

Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.

“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet.  “Now you should be able to focus, right?”

Fuck…  Fuck, is he serious?  You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard.  How does this work again?  What does this do?

“Wh-What?”  You croak—fuck, your voice is gone.  “I… I can’t—”

“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it.  Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield.  “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath.  “You can do it.”

You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way.  “I… can’t.”

“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace.  A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.

It sounds… wonderful.

Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady.  The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.

You drop your hands, already defeated and drained.  “I can’t.”

“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again.  Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.

You shoot.  Nope.  So you shoot again.  And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.

“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again.  “Expensive.  Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”

Miss, miss, miss, and—no.  Just, no.  There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap.  You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place.  “Mando, I ca—”

“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.

… What?  N… No…

Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.

You… you know it must just be a joke, right?  Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be.  You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.

“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding.  If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away.  Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something.  Is he messing with you again?  Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?

It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate.  Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.

The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready.  You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—

—it hits dead center.

Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is.  You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.

“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint.  Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened?  “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him.  “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”

You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all.  Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?

No.  Shut up.  Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything.  Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—

You do, and oh.  Oh, no.

“Uh?!”  Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic.  What the fuck?  No fucking way.  Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot.  “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”

Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you.  You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.  

The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb.  There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—

—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.  

It fucking bends.  Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.

Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.

… that’s not closed.

The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away.  Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it.  You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.

Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.

“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him.  “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”

Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door.  You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance.  The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.

***

Stay tuned for the next part!

[tommyspeakycap]

Genuinely think your one of the best peaky blinders writers out there. Do you think you could write something about little toddler Shelby and Tommy. Maybe little Shelby is out in the rain jumping in puddles? Love your work!!!

Thank you!! That’s so kind of you x

Puddles

Polly shakes her head in something of dismay as she holds a cup of tea snugly in her hands, keeping them warm against the winter chill that whips in the open window in front of her. “Mind your sister, Finn!” She calls out it, waiting until she got a “Yes auntie Pol!” yelled back to her from the 11 year old who had become somewhat accustomed to keeping a watchful eye over his only younger sibling. His answer seemed satisfaction enough for his aunt to nod her head and pull that window closed to maintain some semblance of heat in the house, but not enough for her to move away from said window to keep her own eye on the youngest Shelby sibling.

She stands cautionary. She knows better than to trust that Finn will do much to prevent his very clumsy five year old little sister from wandering off and getting herself hurt. (y/n) is notoriously like Thomas is all sorts of ways. She’s always getting into things she shouldn’t, hearing things she shouldn’t, seeing things she shouldn’t. She seems to sit back and observe a lot of things. They’re trying to grow her out of it.

Polly attributes it to the majority of her life being spent in a country torn by war. She was only nearly two when her brothers left, so naturally she didn’t understand much of what was going on. Everything was up in the air and now the war was over, it seemed l to the youngster that a war’s not just over when the fighting ends. It has also become clear that Tommy is her favourite sibling, so her similarities to him can often be attributed to her spending the most time with that brother.

Alas, in all her likeness to Tommy, she is much softer in manner than he is himself. Little (y/n) is like Tommy was when he was her age, incredibly inquisitive. Except softer. She chatters away to herself as she does things and though it takes her time to warm up to people, once she starts talking it’s hard to get her to stop for anything. She’s so kind and so very loving too, she laughs just like Tommy once did and it makes Polly’s heart happy deep down when that little girl falls asleep each night with a sweet little smile.

“Alright Pol?” Tommy greets as he comes through the back of the house from the betting shop to see his aunt standing at the window still. Polly nods, “Just watching to see if that bloody brother of yours is watching your sister like i told him to not five minutes ago.” She sighs as she takes another sip of her tea. Sure enough, Finn had not noticed his younger sister wandering off up the street subtly without even noticing in herself that she was getting further and further from the relative safety in proximity of her home and the brother who was supposed to be watching her. It seemed as though the puddles that filled certain uneven surfaces of the Watery Lane streets were more interesting, and finding more deep ones had stolen her full attention away from her surroundings. Tommy stands next to his aunt, leaning over slightly to spot his youngest sister slowly going further and further away than she should.

“Bloody hell,” Polly curses, sitting her tea down on the table beside her and reaching her hand to the handle of the window, “Don’t bother Pol,” Tommy interrupts her from opening the window fully and yelling for Finn to run and bring you back. Polly looks at him like he’s grown a second head, wondering if he’s completely lost his mind. He would usually have been the one giving Finn a stern word about making sure his sister was safe at all times. He just offered her a smile and says “I’ll get her.” simply, brushing past and grabbing his coat on the way. Polly furrows her eyebrows and watches as Tommy does a slight jog up the street until he nears (y/n) and then stops by her.

Her heart is suddenly warmed when the pair don’t turn back around to head home, but Tommy extends his hand to the little girl and she takes it gleefully to lead him on to find as many more puddles as they could before it got too rainy, cold and dark. He’s been so busy lately it had been a while since she had seen Tommy just be the brother of the little girl he loved so much.

Tommy relishes the feeling of his sisters little hand in his as they walk towards their uncles scrap yard, jumping in puddles along the way. She soaks the bottom of his trousers in dirty puddle water, but his heart sings with her giggles. “Tommy look!” She squeals, jumping in excitement as she spots a huge one near the window of the Garrison. She’s off a few feet before he can do anything other than open his mouth to speak. “Come on Tom!” She calls to him, “you’re so slow!” The tease draws laughter from him that only she can cause. He stops only for a moment in some form of mock shock. “Me?” He gasps, “Slow? Alright then miss speedy pants, wait there and i’ll race you.”

(y/n) does just that, waiting excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet for Tommy to reach her, both standing still a good few meters away from the puddle near the pub. The streets are pretty empty given the weather conditions and Tommy’s reputation had gone out the window of his thoughts long ago. “Okay then,” (y/n) breathes, “3...2...1!”

The pair take off at a run, the little girl stealing the lead immediately as Tommy runs slower than he probably ever has to allow the five year old to scuttle ahead faster than him. She giggles, elated as she knows she’s in front of her brother. “‘M gonna beat you Tom!” She puffs out, little boots splashing through the barren street as he laughs from behind her. “Not if i catch you first!” He calls back, speeding up his run as he heard the little girl screech in shock at the sound of him getting closer. He can see her putting her all into running from him, looking behind her over and over, laughing only when she realises he’s far enough behind her or screaming again if he’s getting close.

Inside the Garrison, Grace hears a child’s scream and what sounds very much like Tommy Shelby shouting that he’ll get her. It makes her immediately peer out the window just in time to see what most people in Small Health never expect from the gangster.

He runs up behind his little sister quickly, scooping her into his arms with complete ease as she squirms, squeals and giggles loudly. “Faster than me ey?” He snarls playfully, fingers digging softly into her sides to tickle hysterical laughter out of the girl. “No Tommy! Never!” She shrieks, knowing well enough agreeing with her brother was enough to stop his tickles and it clearly is as he places her gently back down on her feet, a sheepish grin overtaking her little features as she looks up at him in adoration. It was widely clear how much she loved her big brother.

Grace moves to the doorstep of the pub, arms crossed over her chest to keep her warm against the chill. “Having fun, Thomas?”

He whips around at the sound of her voice, subconsciously letting go of his sisters hand in surprise, almost as if he was always ready to put up a fight and defend her with everything he had within a moments notice just as reflex. She knows better than to assume he wouldn’t cut anyone who came near that little girl. “Suppose so,” he shrugs when he realises it’s just the bartender he had become rather intrigued by. “Thought i would-“

The sound of loud, proud giggling and the feeling of water hitting the backs of his trousers immediately makes him whip around again, spotting his small little sister grinning up at him like a cheshire cat and his very own devilish glint in her little blue eyes as she stands in the middle of the puddle after having splashed water up at him. “Oh you little buggar. I’ll get you for that.” He threatens, taking a moment to get over his shock as (y/n) laughs at him again but is joined this time by the light giggle of the Irish bartender. That little girl only widens her cheeky grin, her innocence still leaking through her cheeky nature as she looks behind her, knowing her brother would have to run through the huge puddle to get her.

“Only if you catch me first.”

And just like that, the hardened Birmingham gangster bids a quick goodbye to his bartender and is off running through puddles with a five year old little girl who very coincidentally melts his heart of stone down to a puddle each and every single day.