#his hands on wille's chest the look in his eyes oh he's down bad yall

[ticklishfiend]

Ramble On (Arcane)

(lee!jayce, ler!viktor)

Word Count : 6978

Summary : Apparently, Jayce has a lot he wants to tell Viktor, but only does so once he’s drunk on Viktor’s couch. In doing so, his outward love of physical affection makes Viktor realize some things about himself.

a/n : happy new years everybody! tysm for the love on the last fic, it meant sm to me <3 i hope yall enjoy this one bc i really liked writing it. lee!jayce is a treasure and im holding him dear to my heart rn.

this is a tickle fic! not nsfw but the ending is suggestive, so don't like don't read! :D

—

Jayce cannot be serious right now.

“Just this once? Please, Viktor. That last gala made me feel like a– like a dissected lab rat. They had their hands all over me, trying to…pick me apart and figure out my game,” Jayce cringed, throwing his hands to the side in exasperation, “I’m a scientist, not some corrupt politician looking to exploit. I just feel so out of my league…”

Viktor nodded in understanding, his insides fighting against the sympathy he felt for this man. Viktor hated those galas with everything in him. He’s been to only two so far, right at the start of their partnership, and it was hell. 

They were exactly the way Jayce described, the way it made you feel like an object to be inspected upon by those giving you the funds for your work. Like you had to let them look at you the way they do, because in some round-about way you almost owe them the right.

It’s horrible. And now Jayce is begging, pleading with Viktor to go to another with him. 

Viktor’s not even sure what difference it’ll make that he’s there. Most people there always look at him like he’s some wall standing in the way of the Golden Boy. Jayce is always pulled away and prodded at while Viktor’s left to sip on his champagne and watch as Jayce shoots ‘help me’ looks his way. 

But tonight, Jayce seems desperate. The last one must’ve been pretty bad if he’s actually begging Viktor to come. He never forgets to at least ask Viktor if he’s changed his mind and wants to attend before leaving, but this time he looks like he’s about to get on his knees and clasp his hands together.

Viktor grimaced, looking up at Jayce from his office chair in the lab. “You really want me to go that bad?”

Jayce sighed with a tired nod, “Yes. I just need your moral support. I feel better when you’re there.”

“Jayce, I’ve only been twice.”

“Yeah, and they were the best ones I’ve been to,” he said sincerely, before putting his hands on Viktor’s shoulders and squeezing. “I am asking you a favor. Partner to partner. I’ll owe you one.”

Viktor stuck his tongue in his cheek and rolled it in thought. Jayce won’t stop looking him in the eyes like that, all wide and sad and puppy-ish. 

‘When did I get so weak-willed?’

“Okay fine. Fine. But–” Viktor stuck a finger in Jayce’s chest just as the man started to smile all bright. “You owe me. I will not forget this.”

Jayce’s eyes were like stars, “Oh thank you, V, thank you. I won’t forget this either, trust me. I’ll buy you all the sweet milk your stomach can take for this,” he cheered, looking like he was about to jump up and down in glee.

Viktor sighed, pushing himself up off the chair with his cane. “Yes yes, all the sweet milk money can buy,” he pat Jayce on the shoulder as he walked towards the lab doors. “I’m going to get freshened up in my room, so I will, eh…meet you there, I suppose?”

Jayce smiled hard as he ran to open the door for Viktor in gratitude. “You got it, partner.”

—

Just as Viktor suspected. Hell on earth.

It’s so crowded and noisy, the ballroom crawling with wealthy socialites that reeked of expensive perfume and alcohol– so much alcohol.

Viktor almost wonders if there was a pre-game party before this, because the amount of times they’ve had some rich lady nearly stumble over to grip Jayce on the arm and slur weird little flirts and compliments his way was staggering. Jayce looked like he was going to crawl out of his skin the whole night with the way these people were crowding him like ants to a cookie.

As the night went on, Viktor could tell it was getting to Jayce worse and worse. And not just by how visibly stiff and sweaty he’d gotten, either. 

Jayce was drinking way more than Viktor thought he would.

Glass after glass, Jayce was downing as much alcohol as he could pour down his gullet. At one point Viktor even tried to insinuate he slow down a little and fucking relax, but it was no use. Jayce just rolled his eyes like a teenager and took another glass off the nearest tray he could find.

At least he doesn’t look so out of place, seeing as nearly everyone here was on the brink of being trashed. It was surprising to watch all these high-life classy Pilties get their drink on like this, but Viktor couldn’t say it wasn’t a little bit amusing. 

He thought after he left Zaun that he’d seen about the end of getting to watch people stumble and trip over their own feet at a function, slurring their words and laughing too loud at nothing. He supposed it wasn’t the worst way to spend an evening.

But then, Jayce walked back over to him with this look in his eyes. Viktor’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Is everything alright?”

Jayce groaned, before throwing his head onto Viktor’s shoulder and mumbling into his shirt. “W’nna go home.”

Oh shit. Jayce is drunk. Really drunk.

Viktor patted him on the back, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one could see the Man of Progress pouting like a child into his partner's neck. “I concur. But– you’re coming home with me. I’m not letting you walk home alone like this, but my leg can’t make both trips.”

Jayce giggled into his neck, and his breath gave Viktor goosebumps. “Sleepoverrrr!”

Viktor sighed, repositioning Jayce to stand straight as he led them toward the exit. “I hope you know that whatever weird things you say tonight, I won’t let you live it down.”

“M’not gonna say anything weird. You’re just– you’re too judgemental,” Jayce spoke too slow, a little slurred, and Viktor couldn’t help but grin.

—

Oh Viktor has so much to tease Jayce for in the morning. He can hardly wait.

On their walk home, Jayce couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was going on and on about how smart, how brilliant, how perfect Viktor was as his partner. Viktor couldn’t keep the blush off his face if he tried, but luckily Jayce was a little too out of it to notice. 

Jayce told him how good he looked in his gala outfit, that it fit him perfectly around the waist and the ‘butt area,’ as he put it. He confessed that he started putting sweet milk in his own coffee thanks to Viktor, and he loves it, despite how much he teases Viktor for his sweet tooth. 

And the closer they got to Viktor’s apartment door, the less Jayce could hold in his excitement about their little ‘sleepover.’

“Gonna make you play Twister with me,” Jayce joked with a giggle.

“Has anyone ever told you how much of a lightweight you are?” Viktor said as he stuck the key into his door, turning it to click. 

“Yeeeah, they told me that a lot at the academy,” Jayce smiled, walking in after Viktor and gasping. “Oh it looks so nice in here!”

“You’ve been here, Jayce. Not much, but you have.” Viktor rolled his eyes, placing his keys on the table and walking toward the open area kitchen next to the living room. “I’m going to get you some water. Go sit on the couch, you overgrown toddler.”

“M’not a toddler, I have a degree…” Jayce argued, doing as he was told and plopping onto the couch. He ran his hand over the cushion’s fabric, “You got new stuff since last time. Oh, your couch is so soft.”

Viktor opened the fridge and grabbed his water filter before reaching for the cabinet of cups. “Well, our job pays pretty nicely. I figured I could treat myself to a few furniture items here and there.”

Viktor made his way back to the living area, handing Jayce his cup and sitting next to him on the couch. It wasn’t even 11pm yet, so Viktor still felt wide awake. His hours have been so screwed up recently thanks to his many nights spent sleeping in the lab, so he knows that if Jayce doesn’t get to sleep soon, Viktor’s probably on babysitting duty for the rest of the night.

Which…didn’t sound so bad, to be honest. Viktor’s only seen Jayce drunk like this a handful of times, but that was usually when Viktor had a few more drinks in him himself.

When Jayce gets drunk, he gets silly.

Even sober, Viktor’s found himself chuckling at Jayce’s antics all night. Jayce is far from a stuck-up person, but he’s usually a tad more reserved with his playfulness, especially around Viktor.

He’s sure it’s nothing personal, Viktor can be a bit of a stickler about play in the lab, but he really likes getting to see this side of Jayce with a clear head now that they���re somewhere more private.

So watching Jayce giggle around the rim of the glass at literally nothing was much more amusing to him than it was annoying. He knows how embarrassed Jayce is going to be in the morning, and it only fuels the fire to keep this going.

Viktor can’t wait to see Jayce burn red when he recounts all the embarrassing things he’s said and done over the course of the last hour.

“What’s got your giggle-box turned over?” Viktor teased, bringing his feet up on the cushions and laying back against the arm of the couch so he could watch Jayce.

Then, realizing how weird that probably was, quickly snatched a book from the coffee table to pretend-read just so he isn’t too obvious with his staring.

Jayce snickered, placing the glass down on the table. “I dunno. You’re just, you’re being so nice to me. It’s funny.”

Viktor furrowed his brow with a smirk, “When am I not nice to you? I’m a delight.”

Jayce laughed a little harder at that. “Nooo you are nice. You’re super nice, I didn’t mean that,” he reiterated poorly, only making Viktor suppress a snicker of his own.

And before Viktor realized what Jayce was doing, the man’s head was suddenly laying down in Viktor’s lap, Jayce’s eyes peering at him from under the book. 

Viktor’s brows shot up in surprise. “Oh. Well hello there.”

“Hi,” Jayce smiled before his expression quickly turned to a little pout. He groaned as he grabbed the book in Viktor’s hands and tried prying it from his grip, but Viktor wouldn’t let go. Jayce groaned, “Uugh, pay attention to me.”

Okay, Viktor couldn’t not laugh at that. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Super serious. I wanna talk, I like talking!” Jayce whined, still pulling on the book in Viktor’s hands. Viktor kept his grip tight, because it was far too amusing to watch this strong, bulky man fail to get a good tug in their little scuffle. “Viktor c’mon!”

“You’ve got to try a little harder than that to– aH! Hah- no, noho- Jayce, do not-!” Viktor’s voice pitched up without his permission, a choked off giggle escaping him as Jayce snuck his hands up over his own head to tickle at Viktor’s sides.

Alright. Maybe Jayce gets a little too silly when he’s drunk.

Viktor’s elbows crashed down to cover the area, letting the book fall off the couch without thinking, but that didn’t stop Jayce.

Now that he was latched on, he wasn’t letting go, and Viktor knew if he kept this up, he’d be giggling like a lunatic in no time.

Jayce grinned wide and proud. “Hah! You’re ticklish!” He teased, fingers pinching into Viktor’s sides with much more precision than they should with both the awkward angle and his clear inebriation. “I could tell. You look ticklish.”

Viktor shook his head, “Whahat does that even–?! gAh- okay, okahay! Enough!” He was full on giggling now, which is ridiculous because Jayce is supposed to be the one embarrassing himself right now, not Viktor.

Actually. What a wonderful idea.

Viktor gathered enough willpower to push his arms away from his sides, quickly diving his own fingers into Jayce’s very exposed armpits and digging in, albeit a little clumsily.

And yet, Jayce still screamed like a girl.

He shot his elbows down to his sides, immediately falling into a bout of ticklish laughter. His head leaned back and exposed his throat that bobbed through his cackling, legs gently kicking at the arm of the couch, more playful than anything.

“Nohohoho! Viktor!” Jayce cackled, and Viktor couldn’t help but snicker incredulously at the ridiculous situation he’s found himself in.

He’s got his fingers stuffed between Jayce’s arms, wiggling them into any muscle and bone he can that he knew would be sensitive on himself.

Viktor’s never found himself in the situation of having to tickle someone to make them stop tickling him before. Actually, now that he thinks about it, this might be his first time really tickling someone. He’s poked and pinched at Jayce a few times in the lab when he’s going about his daily routine of teasing Jayce til he turns pink, though he’d hardly count that as real tickling.

He’s teased Jayce for his ticklishness for a while now, ever since that day his elbow poked a little too funny into Jayce’s rib and made the man squeak. Of course, Viktor couldn’t help but take advantage, constantly reminding Jayce that, ‘yes, I remember, and technically speaking, I could use this information against you anytime I want.’

But really tickling? Burying his fingers into the flesh and digging there with enough gentleness to make Jayce laugh the way he is right now with his head thrown back into Viktor’s lap, caught up in breathless laughter and little squirms he couldn’t control…

...Yeah, this is certainly a first.

Though, Viktor’s not complaining. It’s quite hard to beat a view as cute as this one.

“Plehease!” Jayce begged through his giggling, shaking his head side to side. He wiggled helplessly on Viktor’s lap, but still kept his weight almost entirely off Viktor’s bad leg.

This man is so sweet it’s giving Viktor a toothache.

“What are you begging for? You started this, you were practically asking for it,” Viktor teased, grinning when he saw how flushed Jayce looked at his comment.

His fingers found a spot right near the top of Jayce’s ribs, and the man under him jolted with a cackle. 

“I did nohot!” Jayce argued pitifully, still doing nothing to push Viktor away and stop his assault.

If anything, it almost looked like he was trying hard not to stop him. His fists were balled up, occasionally gripping onto his own shirt like he needed something to grab onto. He was just…taking it.

Oh this could be very interesting if Viktor’s current theory proves correct.

Suddenly, Viktor stopped the wiggling of his fingers, keeping them still and motionless underneath the man’s arms. Jayce panted through his remaining giggles, twitching like he was expecting it to start up again at any point.

His smile never left, wide and bright as ever. Viktor could feel the man’s anticipation under his fingertips.

And Jayce looked positively giddy with it.

Viktor tilted his head in curiosity as he looked down at Jayce in his lap, his face upside-down from this angle. “Are you having fun down there?” He asked, taking advantage of Jayce’s loose tongue.

Jayce’s giggles just started anew, and Viktor didn’t have to move a muscle to prompt it.

“Stohop.”

“I did stop. Almost thirty seconds ago, I might add.”

Jayce’s nose scrunched up from his snickering, “I take it back. You are not nice.”

“Oh?” Viktor’s voice tilted, giving the fingers under Jayce’s arm an experimental curl.

Jayce jerked with giddy panic at the feeling, “Noho wait! You’re nice, you're nice, you’re so nice–! Plehease!

Viktor shook his head fondly, “Are you actually this ticklish or are you just drunk?” 

“Mmmhm, probably both” Jayce smiled wide, looking through his lashes up to Viktor. They both just stared at each other for a moment, Jayce with excited anticipation in his eyes, and Viktor…well, he could only assume he looked about as smitten as he felt. Again, hopefully Jayce was too drunk to notice.

Then Jayce squirmed with a hummed, mischievous giggle in his throat, before lifting his arms and wrapping them around Viktor’s waist, locking his own fingers together behind his slender back. He was looking at Viktor with a little challenge in his eyes, as if saying, ‘bet you won’t.’

Viktor’s own eyes widened, his jaw slacking in fond shock with a curl to the corner of his lips. Jayce cannot be serious.

“Is this an invitation, Jayce?” He asked with a skeptical chuckle, lifting his fingers to hover just above Jayce’s armpits and wiggle teasingly. At the sight, Jayce giggled hard and shut his eyes back up, his elbows flinching at the thought.

“Noooo,” he said, his smile betraying his words.“Just…gettin’ comfy.”

Viktor hummed, “Could you open your eyes then?”

Jayce’s eyes scrunched tighter. “No way.”

“Why not? You don’t like the view?”

“Oh shut it, you know that’s not why,” Jayce huffed, the grin just unable to leave his face. “No, m’just comfy. And if I can’t see you then…” he pulled his lips in like his next words were crawling out of him against his will. “...then, you can just do whatever you want. I dunno.”

Oh, Viktor is going to eat this man alive.

“So that’s what this is then?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you might.”

“Nope. Nuh uh. Shut up.”

“You’re telling me to shut up? In your position?”

Jayce threw his head to the side bashfully, his lips pressed together on a shy smile. “Hm?”

Viktor snickered, “You are actually asking for it. Oh you’re going to hate yourself for this in the morning, aren’t you?”

Jayce snickered, burying his face into the crook of his elbow, “I think I’ll just be glad I got it over with.”

“Oh? This is something you’ve wanted for a while then?” Viktor asked through a grin, before bringing down his index fingers to slowly, teasingly scribble into Jayce’s pits (because god, looking at Jayce like this, all inviting and practically begging for it, waiting any longer to strike would’ve probably killed them both). 

Jayce yipped, his elbows jerking inward and nearly covering his entire face. The fabric of Jayce’s dress shirt created a smooth glide under Viktor’s fingernails that he was sure felt torturous.

His arms shook with the effort to keep them locked behind Viktor’s back, but somehow he stayed put.

Not, of course, without giggling his head off at the lightest of touches under his arms, his heels digging into the couch cushions.

“Mahaybe-!” He managed through light, breathy laughter. His giggling sounded almost nervous, like he knew just how much worse this could get for him.

Viktor adjusted his jaw on his smile, throwing a look to the side like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He knew Jayce was a massive lover of physical affection, but good god, Viktor didn’t realize how much he’d like giving it to him.

So Viktor looked back down, getting into character. He’s never really tickled someone before, but he’s more than happy to learn with Jayce as his willing subject.

“There’s no way you’re going to be able to keep your arms up. I’d bet money on it.”

“You hahave– aHk-! Suhuch little faith in mehe!” Jayce joked, doing a much better job keeping composure under these circumstances than Viktor ever could.

Ignoring his comment, Viktor moved his hands lower on Jayce’s torso to pinch at his ribs meticulously, plucking at each one at the top. He got quite a rise out of the way Jayce’s giggles raised in pitch and panic, his legs kicking on their own accord.

Jayce’s desperate smile looked like it was going to burst at the seams.

“Ohoh no fahair!” Jayce whined, his eyebrows pinched together from frantic laughter. His face was so flushed, hair a tousled mess from his squirming, and Viktor felt himself growing warm at the sight. 

Shit. Viktor really likes this.

“How is this not fair? You knew I was going to tickle you, so why does it matter where I do it?” He asked, and though he used a teasing tone, he was genuinely asking. 

Weirdly, now that he’s realized how much fun this was, Viktor wants to approach this from a scientist’s perspective. Test theories, make conclusions, and above all, experiment.

“Becahahause!” Jayce threw his head to the other side, like he’s trying to block his face from all angles. “It– gghaAHha noo!– it’s wohorse!”

“How, Jayce?” Viktor paused his fingers, keeping them poised sharply against Jayce’s top rib. Jayce pouted, letting out another one of his famous whines. “I want you to tell me.”

“Uuugh,” Jayce groaned, looking pained in the best way that Viktor’s prying this information out of him. “It’s just…when you get all pinchy…it feels worse.”

Viktor hummed. “Worse in a bad way?”

Jayce just stared back at him with pinched lips like he’d been caught.

So Viktor grinned. “Ah. Worse in a good way then, hm?”

Jayce’s eyes shut tight, his mouth spreading into a bashful smile that looked impossible to fight back.

“So if I were to, say, do this-” Viktor pinched harsher at Jayce’s ribs, staying near the top and really letting his fingers dig in between the bone, practically vibrating into the flesh.

Jayce immediately arched through a cackle, his chest bouncing with the force of it. His face looked gleefully desperate.

“Noho don’t-!”

“-It would tickle worse than if I were to do this-?” He switched tactics quicker than Jayce could process the feeling, his fingertips softening along the ribs and skittering over the smooth fabric of Jayce’s shirt.

He could still feel the bones under his fingers through the thin fabric, feeling the way Jayce’s body jumped underneath him, and the sensation made Viktor’s stomach flip in excitement.

The change in tickling made Jayce stumble over his laughter, keening through the feeling as his laughter morphed from something deep and desperate, to a lighter, bubblier sound that made his ears turn pink.

“Gghk-hah- aha shihit!” Jayce could barely speak, so visibly flustered by Viktor’s teasing. It made Viktor feel something powerful yet caring surge through him. He was controlling Jayce’s reactions, forcing torturous sensations upon him and pulling humiliating sounds from his throat, and Jayce was loving every second of it. “I– I cahan’t!”

Viktor cooed, “Aw, but you are Jayce Talis. You can do anything you put your mind to, no?” The words flowed like butter off his tongue, the teasing coming so natural to him. He’s spent so long messing with Jayce in their lab, it’s like he knows the exact buttons to press now that he’s got him hysterical under his fingers.

And when Viktor began moving his hands inward, fingers spidering towards Jayce’s bouncing stomach, it seemed that was Jayce’s breaking point. With a frantic shriek he shot his arms down to protect his middle, his knees folding into himself as he quickly curled onto his side, still on Viktor’s lap. 

Viktor’s brows shot up in surprise at such a reaction, biting his lip on an amused smile. He brought his hands up to comfort a still-giggling Jayce, smoothing over his shoulder as he caught his breath in Viktor’s lap.

Viktor clicked his tongue. “I’m guessing the stomach is an off-limits spot, then?”

Jayce huffed a chuckle into Viktor’s thigh. Even drunk, he’s kept his weight entirely off Viktor’s bad leg through the whole ordeal, and even now brings a hand down to massage into the flesh the way he knows soothes Viktor’s aching muscles. Viktor felt his heart clench at such a caring action, wanting to lean down and kiss all over Jayce’s head and the mess of hair that covered it.

“Not off-limits,” Jayce started, his words mumbled into the fabric of Viktor’s pants. “There’s just no way I can keep my arms up if you’re there. It’s pretty bad.”

“Noted,” said Viktor, “I’ll remember to get you nice and secure next time.”

Jayce shot his head up, looking at Viktor with wide, nervous eyes. “N-Next time?”

God, Viktor wanted to just squeeze Jayce until he popped. “What, you didn’t like it? You looked like you were having a ball down there.”

Jayce flashed another shy, closed-mouth smile, his eyes darting away. “Well, I– I just thought that it wasn’t something that…well, something that you would wanna do again,” Jayce shrugged, “You’re not usually playful like that.”

And he’s right, usually Viktor wouldn’t indulge himself with such an outward display of childishness. He’ll tease, oh how he teases, but getting too physical always felt like some barrier he’d have to forge a long path toward tearing down.

Turns out, that barrier was a lot easier to cross when Jayce made it so clear how badly he wanted it from Viktor.

“Well,” Viktor started, smoothing his thumb over Jayce’s shoulder and feeling warm when Jayce leaned into his palm, “You seemed to be enjoying yourself so much. I expected you to push me away, and then…you didn’t. Once I realized you seemed to like it, I found myself enjoying it too,” he said, before chuckling softly, “As odd as it may be.”

Suddenly, the top of Viktor’s hand was enveloped with Jayce’s own (Viktor knew his hands were smaller than his partner’s, but good god, it pretty much wrapped entirely around his own), and it didn’t seem like Jayce even realized what he was doing. He was just savoring every bit of affection Viktor gave him, and indulged himself as he pleased.

As it seemed, Viktor could learn a thing or two from Jayce, and he really, really wanted to.bx 

“You caught me, I liked it,” Jayce mumbled, his words slurred and sleepy as he made himself comfy over Viktor’s lap, leaning his weight on the good leg. “But…I just really like when you’re like this. It’s fun.”

Viktor was glad Jayce’s eyes had slipped shut, because the look on his face had to be painfully obvious. He felt so warm, his insides turning gooey when Jayce snuggled the side of his face into Viktor’s thigh. 

Jayce is so honest. Too honest. Viktor loves and envies him for it so deeply. He can’t understand how Jayce is able to roll those words off his tongue like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do, like it isn’t painful to admit.

Viktor wants to learn how for Jayce. He’s a smart man, they both are. Maybe it’s not as hard as he made it out to be in his head.

He turned his palm up to squeeze Jayce’s, exhaling shakily when Jayce squeezed back gently, tired. “I like when you’re like this too, Jayce,” Viktor practically whispered, hoping his kind words were the last thing Jayce heard before falling asleep. 

—

Jayce woke up to the smell of coffee.

And just as soon as that warm smell hit him, a pounding pain behind his eyes seemed to hit even harder.

Jayce groaned. As he slipped his eyes opened, he realized the sun had a fucking vendetta against him this morning, its rays shining through the window directly into his eyes and going straight to that source of pain in his head. He threw his arm over his face with another groan. 

“I think I’m dying.”

“Well good morning to you too.”

Jayce huffed, suddenly remembering where he was. “Coffee’s on?”

He heard a little hum of confirmation from the kitchen, slumping further into the cushions. Jayce sighed, “I don’t think I even drank that much last night. I don’t know why I feel like actual death incarnate.”

“Oh no, you definitely drank too much. You had some of the punch, yes?”

Jayce peeked over the arm of the couch, sparing Viktor a furrowed brow. “Yeah?”

Viktor smirked, grabbing the coffee pot to pour into their respective mugs. “I suspect it may have been spiked. Everyone that touched that bowl went home slung over someone else’s shoulder.”

Jayce buried his forehead in his arm with a frustrated sigh. “That explains…so much.”

He heard the familiar click of a cane coming his way, lifting his head to meet Viktor’s gaze with a tired chuckle. Viktor handed him his coffee before seating himself down next to Jayce, blowing the steam off the top of his own cup.

“So…” Viktor started, not even glancing at Jayce as he grinned down the rim of his coffee. “...tickling, hm?”

Jayce choked on the coffee he had been trying to swallow down.

Viktor took Jayce’s cup and sat it down on the table to pat his back through the coughing fit, that calm and collected look on his face never wavering. Jayce felt himself burning to the touch.

“I– uh, I don’t– heh, it wasn’t like that–”

“Jayce,” Viktor commanded Jayce’s gaze with his voice. Jayce’s eyes were wide, biting down on his lip in embarrassment.

Viktor just smiled warmly. “I know how you are about physical affection. I’ve received more hugs from you in the past few months than I probably have in the last decade.”

Jayce nodded to show he was listening, but felt himself sadden a bit at the passing comment. How could anyone not want to hug Viktor?

Sure, he’s a bit bony, and is maybe a little intimidating when you first meet him, but Jayce had Viktor in a tight embrace within their first few months of acquaintance. Jayce can’t help but throw an arm around him any chance he can get. He’s just…touchable.

Still, Viktor continued, “And though I’m not one to usually give out such affections myself, you seemed…very happy last night.”

He twisted his lips, thinking of how to word it. “I’m unsure if the whole tickling thing specifically was just a manifestation of your intoxicated state, or if it’s something you also crave when you’re sober,” he tapped a nervous finger against the mug. “Nonetheless…I found myself enjoying it as well.”

Viktor shrugged, but looked a bit embarrassed at the admittance. “I’m sure you don’t remember details, but you told me last night that you had been hoping for something like that to happen for a while now,” he said, giving Jayce a hard, concentrated stare that made him nearly shiver. “Was it just my offering of physical affection that you wanted? Or…the specifics of how I handed it out last night?”

God. Jayce isn’t sure whether to be elated or mortified by how scientific Viktor was handling this.

He loves how Viktor’s accent curls around the words and makes them sound so clinical and professional, but he could also feel how hot his face was burning at the sound and was frankly a bit too embarrassed to answer in the same dignified manner.

“Um…” he started, cringing at the sound of his own wavering voice. “Sort of…both? I think?”

Viktor nodded, his face set in concentration on Jayce’s. Jayce felt so observed, and it made eye contact very hard.

“I do like the, uh…the– y’know-”

“The tickling?”

Jayce huffed, bringing a hand to his face. “Yeah. That.”

Viktor grinned. “You struggle to say the word?”

“In this context? Yeah. A lot.”

Viktor just pinched his lips on a smile. “Please, continue.”

Jayce sighed, “So, I do like that part specifically. Like, kind of a lot.” He shrugged shyly, bringing a knee to his chest to lean on, “But, you’re right, it isn't just that. I…do really like when you touch me in any way,” he said, before stammering, “Wait– that sounds weird but, you know what I mean.”

Viktor nodded once, “I do.”

Jayce exhaled like he’d been holding his breath, picking at the fabric of his pants anxiously. Shit, he never changed clothes last night. His shirt’s probably wrinkled to high hell right now. He must look like a mess.

Jayce ran fingers through his hair and looked down at the cushion of the couch. How is he supposed to tell Viktor how much he wants to touch him, to be touched by him, to feel every fabric of Viktor’s being under his fingertips and have the same done to him, without it sounding as romantic as it feels? 

He doesn’t want to scare Viktor off by admitting how he’s felt about him for the past…god, who knows how long by now, but with the way this conversation is going, it doesn’t seem like he’s getting out of it any time soon.

Jayce bit the inside of his lip. “I do remember last night. Not every detail, but I do remember bits and pieces,” he glanced at Viktor through his eyelashes. He looked so focused on Jayce, hanging onto his every word. “You seemed like you were having fun too.”

Viktor’s expression remained unchanged, but Jayce swore he saw his cheeks flush. “I was. I’ve told you that, you putz,” he taunted, the corner of his lips twitching upward. “You’re trying to change the subject— that subject being you.”

Jayce chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning back against the arm of the couch. “Okay, fine. What do you wanna know then?”

Viktor took a sip from his coffee, eyeing Jayce down over the mug the entire time. Jayce suppressed a squirm at the lingering gaze. When he swallowed, he sat the mug down in one swift movement, before leaning back himself.

“Is it a kink thing?”

Jayce thought his own eyes were going to bulge out of his head, his body suddenly running dangerously hot. Okay, now he’s squirming.

“Uh–” he stammered, chuckling nervously. “I mean, I guess it can be? I’ve never…tried it like that before or anything, but I don’t think I’d be opposed.” He scratched the back of his neck just to do something, anything with his hands. 

Viktor just kept watching him, and the realization that Jayce might be implying something with his words made him fumble.

“But that wasn’t– that’s not how I felt about it last night, if you were wondering. Not that I wouldn’t– I mean…god, I can feel how red my face is right now, you are the worst.”

Viktor couldn’t hold back a chuckle at that. He leveled his stare with a smile. “I’m not sorry. It’s quite amusing to see the Man of Progress squirm through such a confession,” he said, before giving a little shrug like this conversation wasn’t picking Jayce apart at the seams. “And, for the record, if it had been a kink thing…I wouldn’t have been opposed.”

Jayce’s mouth hung open slightly in shock. “Wha—Are you serious?”

Viktor smirked. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no, of course it’s not! I’m just… a little surprised, is all. That you’d be willing to, y’know, do something like that with me,” he said, greatly underexaggerating the feelings coursing through him right now. 

If the butterflies in his stomach were real, they probably would’ve eaten through Jayce’s body and infested the entire house by now. He can feel his own heart hammering in his chest, and he’s trying very hard not to get shaky. 

Jayce bit his lip. “I mean. I’m not saying no, but maybe…maybe sometime in the future is all.” 

No one has ever known this about him. He’s open about his love of affection, sure, but the tickling part? For some reason, that had always been kept close to his chest, something too vulnerable and embarrassing to say out loud. 

So for Viktor to know, and be so clearly fascinated by it, was eating Jayce alive. He’s loving every ounce of this humiliating attention, but he doesn’t know how much more he can take of not having Viktor wreak havoc over every sensitive spot he’s hidden for so long.

Viktor hummed, setting his cup down on the coffee table. He wasn’t looking at Jayce anymore, and his demeanor seemed almost…nervous now.

He was biting the inside of his lip the same way he does when he’s cutting it close on an important deadline, and his thumb tapped impatiently on the knee of his bad leg. And Viktor being nervous made Jayce feel nervous, almost hearing the thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Viktor clicked his tongue. “I think it’d be stupid not to say something at this point,” he started, and Jayce felt his heart stop when Viktor leveled an anxious glare his way.

“Last night made me realize that, though I don’t like giving affection away to just anyone…” he smiled something warm and sweet. “...I like giving it to you. When I do, your face lights up something vicious, yet calm in me. I enjoy the feeling very much, and I can only hope you feel the same.”

Jayce felt his breath leave him. He smiled hard, reaching a hand out to grip Viktor’s. Viktor chuckled at the gesture, and squeezed back.

“I do, V. So much, you don’t even know,” Jayce breathed, scooting close to gather as much warmth from the man as he could. He tucked his face into Viktor’s neck, feeling light knowing Viktor enjoyed this just as much as he did. “Anything with you makes me happy.”

Viktor huffed a small laugh through his nose, bringing his free hand up to smooth up and down Jayce’s back. “You know…” he started, leaning his head back to look at Jayce properly, “I’m quite glad you’re such a lightweight, otherwise I don’t know if we’d have ever gotten to this point.”

Jayce snickered into Viktor’s neck, making the man scrunch slightly on a smile. “Yeah, me too.” 

And before he could stop it, Jayce found himself kissing softly at Viktor’s neck, slow and nervous but still so sweet with intent. He heard Viktor gasp, his head scrunching slightly against Jayce’s own.

“Ah– Jayce-”

“Is this okay?” Jayce whispered, his voice breathy with nerves. He kissed again, this time even softer and more hesitant with his question in mind.

And Viktor giggled.

Jayce smiled against the skin, “What are you laughing at?”

Viktor pushed at Jayce’s head, his own voice light with joy, “Your stubble is dreadful Jayce, stop!”

“Oh it’s dreadful is it? Bet you’re just full of dread right now–” Jayce grinned, very purposefully rubbing his mouth and chin all over the sensitive expanse of Viktor’s skin, smiling even bigger when Viktor fell into choked giggles and squeaks he was clearly trying to contain. “What’s wrong, V? Can’t take your own medicine?”

“You are a menace!” Viktor’s voice was so pitchy, Jayce couldn’t stop smiling if he tried. He couldn’t help but nip gently at the spot under Viktor’s ear, squeezing his arms around Viktor’s waist affectionately when the man cackled and pushed against him half-heartedly.

“No-! Horrible! You are–ahaha-!” Viktor melted into helpless giggles when Jayce’s fingers started pinching at his sides, soft and sweet and torturous. “F-Fuhucker!”

Then, Viktor seized Jayce’s wrists with a sudden urgency, and Jayce pulled off with a small look of concern. “Sorry, I just– I thought-”

“You are fine, Jayce,” Viktor panted through a little leftover smile. He brought his face closer to Jayce’s, so close the tips of their noses brushed, and Jayce’s lashes fluttered. Viktor grinned all smug, “I just figured, you may wish to kiss properly instead.”

Jayce breathed, nodding like an eager puppy, “Yeah. Yes, please.”

Viktor hummed in agreement. Then, finally, he closed the gap with intimate softness, brushing his lips teasingly against Jayce with a little breath of his own. Once Viktor had their lips locked together, he pushed forward with a sudden neediness Jayce had never seen in him.

Jayce made a pitiful sound into the kiss, letting Viktor lead their way through it. Viktor cupped his hand around Jayce’s cheek, and the other man eagerly placed his own on top, desperate to feel any and all of Viktor’s warmth.

And Jayce couldn’t help it, he was completely unable to keep quiet about just how much he was enjoying this. 

He panted little gasps when they broke apart, moaned when Viktor finally let his tongue slip through and grazed Jayce’s teeth. He felt Viktor’s hand slip up his shirt, and with how hot everything had been getting, was expecting a different kind of touch than the one he got.

Fingers curled softly at the back of Jayce’s ribs, wiggling soft and featherlight at the sensitive skin. Jayce made the most humiliating sound into Viktor’s mouth, a noise between a giggle and a moan, and Viktor hummed all smug in return. The sound made Jayce’s mouth tingle as his back instinctively twitched away from the soft touch, though Viktor’s fingers always followed.

“V-Vik–”

“You’re so sensitive, Jayce. Ticklish,” Viktor drawled, and Jayce felt himself shiver at the word. “And, if you’d allow me…” he leaned into Jayce’s ear, making sure his lips brushed feathersoft against the skin just to make Jayce tremble. “I’d like to find every spot that makes you tick.”

Jayce felt his entire body flush red hot.

“You are way too good at this.”

Viktor just kissed him again, mumbling into his lips, “I remember something about you owing me? Does this ring any bells?”

Jayce whined through a smile, hiding his face into the crook of Viktor’s neck. “You are evil. Pure, pure evil.”

Viktor chuckled, pinching his fingers into Jayce’s ribs, then not moving his fucking fingers. Jayce felt like a live wire, entirely tense and way, way too excited. 

“Yes, yes. So evil,” he teased, crooking his fingers just slightly to make Jayce whine through a giggle. “Now. Try to stay still, yes?”

Jayce was never going to live this down. 

He’s never been happier to owe anyone anything in his entire life.

…

a/n : tysm for reading! ik this was long but i couldn’t help myself they’re so cute and i just kept needing to write more and more LOL. hope u guys enjoyed and again, happy new years to everyone!! luv u guys MWAH <3

[omrarchive]

i don't think i've ever seen simon look as in love as he does here

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

...going to hell

Pairing: sub!Steve x dom!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, face sitting, riding, handjob, oral(f receiving), toys, multiple orgasms, shy Steve, corruption kink if you squint, unprotected sex (stay safe out there yall), pet names & honorifics (mistress, puppy, babyboy etc) I'm probably missing some things moral of the story this shit is NASTY

Genre: smut & fluff

Summary: Steve's introduction to submission 'Only you can save me I'm a sinner' ~ ...going to hell by Miguel

***

You're sitting on the couch with a book when your boyfriend calls your name.

"Hey y/n? You busy?"

"No, just reading. What's up Stevie?" You don't look up from your book as you answer, you want to finish this paragraph before you give him your full attention.

"So- I've been thinking about it and I'd like to try that thing you brought up." Steve says a bit awkwardly.

"Is this a family friendly thing I've brought up or-" You finally look at him, closing your book. Now he has your attention.

"Absolutely not." Steve's eyes widen as he shakes his head.

"Well, that- narrows it down a little, but I'm still a bit confused. Could you maybe stop being so vague and just tell me what thing you're talking about so we can get on the same page for this conversation?" You shift your body so you're facing him properly.

"This is very awkward for me." Steve mutters.

"I can tell that much but I can't read your mind my love, you need to tell me what this is about." You say. "I mean, if it's something I brought up I obviously won't judge you for wanting to try it, but you have to tell me what it is so we can proceed accordingly." You try to encourage him.

"The- dominant submissive thing you said you like."

"Oh! Really? I'm kind of shocked- you seemed, like pretty- unenthused by that idea." You say.

"I'll admit it's- a bit unnerving but I'd like to give it a try." Steve nods. Even though Steve has practiced this conversation in his head several times he still feels awkward saying it. I mean, how could he be so interested in something so sacreligious?

 Wait okay just so I'm understanding you clearly, you want to try being dominant?"

"No. Well- not yet, I don't really know how any of this work so I'd be more comfortable letting you take the reigns."

"You- want to try being submissive?" You blink at him. Steve can certainly be on the more timid side but you've never thought him to be willing to give up control that way.

"Yes. If you're okay with that."

"Of course I am. I mean, I've been on both sides so, if you're sure that's what you want. I can do that." You tell him with a nod.

"You're sure?"

"Are you?" You smile.

"Yes."

"Okay, come sit, we need to have a talk about some things. It's going to be awkward, you'll probably turn red but this is all judgement free. It's for your comfort and mine."

"Oh geez." He groans as you pull him onto the couch beside you.

"Come on Stevie it won't be that bad I promise. And we can take as long as you need us to okay? There's no rush."

"You said it's for our comfort?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Where do we begin?"

"Well we can start with limits, or interests, oh and you'll need a safeword-"

"Y/n! One thing at a time please." Steve blinks at you.

"Sorry, there's a lot to talk about. We'll start with limits. Things you absolutely don't want to try." You explain to him.

"Sounds good." He nods.

~*~*~

Steve walks into your apartment with a grin on his face that grabs your attention when he leans against the entryway of your kitchen.

"Hi Stevie. What's got you all smiley?" You ask him with a chuckle as you place the last dish for dinner on the table. Steve brings his hand from behind his back and glinting metal dangles in your face. A pair of handcuffs.

"I got these from the tower. They're special ones that I shouldn't be able to get out of." Steve explains.

"Oh? I was just going to use ropes, but these work too." You say.

"Ropes? Really? Why ropes?"

"Well because I can tie you up with pretty patterns across your chest." You say drawing lines with your finger along your chest. "But we can use the handcuffs if you'd rather." You shrug.

"Pretty patterns?" Steve's voice is breathy as he speaks.

"Yeah. You can do all kinds of things with ropes Stevie."

"Wouldn't you be worried I'd snap them?" He asks with a frown. You grab his chin, forcing him to bend towards you.

"I trust you to be good for me." You tell him, your voice low and drawn out.

"C-can we go play?" Steve asks quietly and you have to resist the urge to smile at how easily he's slipping into things.

"You should eat first." You say letting his face go and sitting at the table. You and Steve don't talk much as you eat. He's too wired with anticipation and you're content to let him sit in his excitement while you enjoy your meal. When you finish eating you clear your place and give Steve a kiss on the cheek. 

"We can play now." You tell him before going to your bedroom. You hear Steve scramble from his seat and put his dishes in the sink but you don't turn to look at him as you head to your bedroom. When Steve walks in he stands by the door, handcuffs in hand, but he's unsure what to do.

"Stevie, are you sure you wanna do this?" You ask him.

"I'm sure." He nods, he's actually very nervous, but he trusts you.

"Would you prefer if we used handcuffs for tonight?"

"Um- I'm not sure. I think so."

"Alright, gimme the cuffs." You hold out your hand. Steve places the cuffs in your palm and holds out his wrists to you. "Strip for me." You tell him, pulling a box out from under your bed. Steve quickly sheds his clothes.

"Done."

"Don't speak if I didn't ask you to." You tell him with your back still turned as you put the mystery box on your side table.

"Sorry." He blushes.

"Lay down. On your back." You tell him and he rushes onto the bed, laying down with his hands stiff at his sides. You want to chuckle at his clear awkwardness so you do, hoping to ease the tension for him. "Arms up for me sweetie." You tell him and his arms shoot up into the air. You cuff one of his wrists and pull both arms back towards the headboard, looping the handcuffs through it before cuffing his other wrist. "How does that feel?" You ask softly. Steve gives an experimental tug before he responds.

"It feels fine."

"Good. And what's our safeword?" You ask him.

"Stripes."

"Good boy." You hum, you put your hand around his throat and angle his head to kiss him. His eyes fall closed before your lips touch his and you smile as you kiss him. A squeeze at the sides of his neck makes him gasp and you take the invitation to find his tongue with your own, forcing him to yield to you in your kiss. When you pull away his mouth chases yours, but his restraints make him drop his head as he catches his breath. You climb onto the bed and straddle Steve, peppering kisses against his neck with your nails dragging down his chest. Steve lets out a strangled groan when your lips touch a spot just above his collarbone and you focus your attention there, nipping and sucking the skin there until his chest is heaving. His hands clench and unclench around nothing as he moans, unable to do anything as you cover him in hickeys. Your lips travel down his chest, wrapping around one of his nipples.

"Y-y/n." Steve strains out as your teeth lightly graze the nipple in your mouth. His arms pull against the restraints once, desperate to touch you. Steve squirms beneath you, his length hard against your ass.

"Hold still Stevie." You say biting his nipple in warning. He hisses and stills under you. You slide further down, kissing and nipping your way down his chest and abdomen, leaving pretty marks in your wake. You continue your kisses down, avoiding his dick entirely and marking his thighs one at a time.

"Y/n- please-"

"Please what?" You tilt your head at him.

"T-touch me."

"But I am touching you." You tease, pressing your fingers into one of the hickeys you left on his thigh. He lets out a groan.

"Y/n-"

"That is not how you're supposed to address me. I've let you get away with it twice already, if you keep doing it, you won't cum tonight at all. Do you understand me?" You tell him sharply.

"Y-yes mistress. Sorry mistress."

"That's better." You nod. "Now, ask me for what you want, correctly." You tell him.

"Mistress, please- please touch my dick. Please, I need it mistress." Steve's face is bright red as he forces the words out. He can't believe the words coming from his mouth. Even more unbelievable is how hard he is from saying it. What the hell are you doing to him?

"You need it? I like the sound of you begging." You muse.

"Please- mistress. Please touch it." Feeling generous, you lick a stripe along the vein running along the underside of Steve's dick. He groans at the sudden stimulation, throwing his head back when you swirl your tongue around the head. You continue like that for a few minutes, when Steve's legs tense from your ministrations you pull off of him and he blows out an obviously frustrated breath but otherwise doesn't complain. You finally open the box you brought out earlier. Steve wants to ask about it but refrains, he doesn't want to get reprimanded again. You pull out the lubricant from the box and generously squirt some in your hand.

"Now Steven, I'm going to touch you, but you're not allowed to cum without my permission. If you want to cum you ask. If I say no, you don't. Is that clear?"

"Yes mistress." He breathes. Your hand wraps around the base of his dick and you start stroking him slowly.

"I wanna hear your voice Stevie. I won't know you like it if I can't hear you and I'll stop if I think you don't like it." You say as you work him.

"Please don't stop mistress- please." Steve's breathy moans fill the room as he talks.

"Don't stop?"

"Please don't. It feels so good." He groans.

"Does it?" You continue to stroke him at an easy pace, content with the string of moans and shaky breathing coming from his lips.

"Yes mistress." He whimpers, and the sound coming from your large superhero boyfriend causes your already wet pussy to completely soak your panties. You stroke him faster and his sounds come out more frequently in response.

"M-mistress, c-c-can I- I need- can I cum?" Steve tugs against his restraints.

"No you cannot. And if you break my headboard I will punish you." You warn him.

"Mistress please- please I need to cum." Steve continues to beg you as you keep stroking him.

"I already told you, no Stevie." Steve throws his head back against the pillows with a groan. When you notice his legs tensing up you completely stop touching him.

"No!" He gasps, panting as your lack of touch forces him to calm down.

"I told you that you weren't allowed to cum." You run your clean hand through his hair comfortingly. When his breathing is marginally calmer you begin stroking him again, working him until his legs tense up and you abruptly stop. This time he doesn't protest, save for a whine. You do this two more times, savoring the strangled sounds coming from your chained up boyfriend.

"M-mistress?" Steve looks at you curiously.

"What is it Stevie?" You hum.

"Well it's just- I- I can smell you and- I'd really really like to taste you mistress. Can I mistress? Please can I taste you?"

"Do you think you deserve it babyboy?"

"I- I just want to make you feel good mistress. You've been- touching me and it feels so good and I want to- return the favor. Please mistress."

"You beg so sweetly my love. Hold onto the headboard, if at any point you want to stop knock on the wall or let go and shake your hands. Otherwise, I'm going to sit on your face and you're going to eat my pussy until I cum and I'm going to keep touching you, but you are not going to cum. Do you understand?" You hold Steve's chin and force him to look at you as you speak. He tries to nod even as you hold his face. "Use your words puppy." You tell him.

"Y-yes mistress, I understand."

"And you'll be good, won't you?"

"Yes mistress."

"Now ask me for it."

"Please sit on my face mistress. Use my mouth to get off mistress, please." Steve practically squirms as he pleads with you.

"Good boy." You hum getting on the bed and climbing up until you're hovering over Steve's face. You reach behind you to wrap your hand around Steve again, waiting for him to let out a moan before you lower yourself onto Steve's open mouth. You sigh when his tongue laps at your slit. He immediately takes to tonguing your clit and your head dips back at the feeling. Steve's tongue dips into your pussy, eagerly swallowing your wetness. "That's it Stevie. You eat my pussy so well babyboy." You groan, grinding your hips against his mouth. Steve's moans vibrate against you as he desperately tries to focus despite you stroking him. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks at the bundle of nerves harshly. "Keep doing that baby. God that feels good." You pant out, enjoying the way his beard scratches against your thighs. You let out a whimper as your orgasm washes over you. Even as your submissive, Steve knows exactly what buttons to push to work your body. You shakily shift off of Steve, taking in the way his mouth glistens. "You're such a good boy." You tell him.

"Thank you mistress. And thank you for letting me please you." Steve says. You hum with a smile as you kiss your boyfriend, tasting yourself on his mouth. He moans against your lips as you continue leisurely stroking his dick.

"Alright Stevie, because you did so well I'm going to let you decide what's next. I can keep doing what I'm doing, or I can wrap my lips around your pretty dick, or I can fuck you. Your choice." You place languid kisses against Steve's neck and chest as you speak. Steve is a mess of moans and pants, so worked up that even with your lazy pace he has to focus hard on not cumming without permission. "Choose Stevie." You encourage sweetly.

"I- p-please- please mistress." Steve squirms against his restraints.

"Please what puppy? I can't give you anything if you don't tell me what you want."

"I want- please fuck me mistress. Please, I-" Steve cuts himself off with a moan as you tighten your hold on him. You straddle Steve and rub your heat against Steve's length, letting out little gasps when your clit catches against the head.

"You want me to fuck you Steven? Wanna watch your dick sliding in and out of me, spreading me open?"

"Y-yes mistress. Please- I want it so bad mistress. Please will you sit on my dick mistress." Steve begs breathlessly. You lift yourself and sink slowly down Steve's length, the stretch making you sigh contently. "F-fuck- thank you mistress." Steve groans. You place your hands on Steve's chest for leverage as you raise your hips and slam them back down, riding him at a quick pace.

"God you're so big Stevie! Filling me up so well." You moan out as you bounce on his length. "Tell me how it feels babyboy."

"Warm- you're so warm. It feels so good mistress."

"Yeah? You like that? Feeling my pussy squeezing around your big fat dick?"

"I love it mistress. So much!" Steve calls out, straining against his restraints, desperate to touch you. You wrap a hand around his throat as you continue to ride him. "M-mistress, mistress I'm close. I'm so close- I need to cum. Please can I?"

"Not yet puppy, hold it for me."

"I can't! Mistress please! Please let me cum." Steve pleads with you anxiously as you continue to push him further.

"I said hold it Steve." You say through clenched teeth as you move harsher against him.

"Mistress- p-please." Steve groans.

"Please what? Tell me what you want puppy."

"Please can I cum mistress."

"You've been so good, cum for me Stevie." You tell him, kissing him roughly. When the first burst of liquid heat fills you, you seat yourself fully on Steve, moaning softly at the feeling of his cum filling you. Without coming off of him, you grab one of your toys from inside the box on and switch it on, pressing it to your clit immediately. You moan loudly at the vibrations against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Steve hisses as you clench around him, able to feel the toy through your walls.

"M-mistress." Steve groans as you grind against the toy and inadvertently him as he's still buried inside you.

"Yes baby?" You notice his hands clenching and unclenching again. "What is it puppy? You wanna touch me?" You taunt breathlessly even as your legs shake with an impending orgasm.

"I do mistress." Steve nods, licking his lips eagerly.

"Oh my god- you're getting hard again. You're enjoying this Stevie? Like watching me make myself cum with your dick inside me?"

"Y-yes mistress- I can feel you s-squeezing around me." Steve strains out. You grind against your vibrator until you cum with a string of expletives, covering Steve's abs with evidence your orgasm. You squirted. You take a moment to catch your breath.

"Aw puppy, I've made a mess all over you. You look good covered in my squirt like that." You tell him, climbing off of Steve. "You're hard again Stevie, do you wanna cum again?" You ask, wrapping your hand around his dick.

"Please mistress. C-can I cum again?" He asks. You stroke him quickly and he hisses. Despite being hard again, his dick is still a bit sensitive and the stimulation is almost painful even though he wants to cum again.

"You can cum again my love. You've been good. Give me another one." You coo as you work his dick. Steve squirms and moans unendingly as another orgasm creeps up on him.

"I- I'm close mistress. I- need-"

"Go ahead Stevie, cum for me." You tell him and he spills over your hand with a grunt. "Good boy." You hum. You take your cum covered fingers and shove them into Steve's open mouth. "Suck them cleen." You tell him and his lips close around the digits, eagerly cleaning them off until you pull them out. Steve pants heavily as you finally release his wrists from the cuffs. His arms immediately drop onto the bed and you kiss his forehead before you stand. "I will be right back hon." You tell him. You go to your bathroom and wipe down your legs before taking a clean washcloth out to take care of your boyfriend.

"Mistress?" Steve slurs as you gently wipe him with the damp cloth, starting at his face and working your way down to the mess at his stomach and hips.

"Steve sweetie, the scene is over. You don't have to call me mistress anymore." You tell him with a soft chuckle.

"Oh- okay." He mutters. "Can we cuddle?" He asks after a pause.

"Of course we can babe, just let me finish cleaning you up, then I'll get you a snack and we can cuddle." You tell him.

"I don't want a snack. Just cuddles." He frowns.

"Alright but you do have to drink water." You compromise. 

"Fine." He nods. When he's sufficiently wiped down you climb into bed next to him, water bottle in hand.

"Sip." You say holding it up to his mouth.

"You don't have to be so bossy. Scene's over." He pouts but drinks the water anyway.

"Scene's over but you're clearly still coming down from it. You did a wonderful job Stevie. I'm very proud of you, especially since you were so nervous." You tell him, gently running your hands through his hair as he drinks the water.

"I liked it more than I expected." He admits.

"Yeah? Do you think you'll wanna do it again?"

"Yes."

"Okay, next time we can try some of the things you said you were curious about when we talked about all this hm?" You suggest and Steve's face flushes as if you weren't just riding him.

"I'd like that." He says quietly and you giggle a little at his shyness.

"You are absolutely adorable." You tell him placing a kiss on his forehead and in that moment Steve is sure that he's never been more in love with you than he is right now.

***

[beomglocks]

happy (very) 'belated' father’s day

summary : the only father willing to come to the dinner

pairing : dilf neighbor!soobin x (legal)!reader x beomgyu (?)

warnings & other: i wrote the day after fathers day, the title is edited bc im posting this like WAY later LOL, threesome (?), degradation, some beomgyu (no incest), sub!beomgyu if you squint like really fucking hard, definitely not a normal relationship, slight exhibitionism, some possessiveness, DON’T read if you’re uncomfortable with age gaps, edit: REwriting this, this one is for the dilf soobin stans, eat up, don't say i don't feed yall, enjoy <3, kind of proofread

w/c : ~4k

you realize it now.

after living side by side with mr. choi soobin and his son, beomgyu, for a couple of weeks, you’ve started to realize something quite interesting.

1. your mother has a liking for tall lean men.

2. she also has a liking for trying to set you up with the tall lean mens’ son.

now, you wouldn't say you're exactly opposed to getting close to beomgyu. he's conventionally attractive and he seems like a nice boy but you're very much more attracted to the one who created him. it made sense after all.

"give these to mr. choi for me?" your mother all but shoves the roses and chocolates in your arms. you look down quizzically at such gifts. "it's not valentine's day.." you trail off.

you have a strange feeling that soobin would be put off by such acts, not seeming to be as out there as your mother. she doesn't care.

"it's fathers day..well it was...yesterday," she shrugs, fixing her bombshell red lipstick. why was she doing herself up? well a certain mr. choi was coming over.

despite the fact that your own father was out of the picture, that didn't stop your mom from wanting to celebrate every holiday in existence. unfortunately, the only willing father in town to partake in your mother's antics was mr. choi.

he liked to rile her up, you notice. soobin liked to toy with your mother's clear affection towards him, just as he did you. he also liked to throw it in your face sometimes. you didn't say what you observed but you knew he liked to make her feel wanted by a much younger, much more handsome man.

without another word, you decide to give the outlandish gifts to your neighbor. you sigh, looking down at the gifts. some assorted chocolates, nice flower arrangements, and what seems to be a sealed note? you want to roll your eyes but a part of you wonders if soobin would really like these kinds of things.

when you get to the door and ring the bell, the door swings open and there's stands the man himself. he's more put together than you at the moment so you feel out of place even at the front step of his house.

"always a pleasant surprise~" he smiles. his eyes trail down to the gifts in your arms. "for me?" his eyes grow wide and his pouty lips, the ones which you suddenly can't stop staring at since they seemed to be stained cherry red, lay slightly agape.

"from my mom," you deadpan, holding the gifts out. "she's generous~" "overbearing," you correct. "we seem to have different views then," he shrugs. "where's my gift from you though? this can't be all," he ponders in faux thought.

you smile shyly, looking down in embarrassment. "what did you get me baby?" he teasingly leans down closer to you to properly see your face. "could it be perhaps-"

before soobin can place a hand on you, beomgyu comes from downstairs. he's looking sharp, which suits him a lot, you admit. his hair is parted, giving you a teasing view of his forehead. regardless of the fact that he's wearing casual clothes, a stark contrast from his father who dawns an all black attire, beomgyu still manages to make it work for him.

"we'll be seeing you at the dinner," soobin clears his throat, noticing your apparent staring at his son. you can tell that he feels off put by your slight attraction to beomgyu. however small or minuscule it may be its still there to him.

the dinner goes almost exactly how you thought it would. soobin and your mother hit it off, talking about whatever they could to distract themselves from their children for a while. to your surprise soobin barely interacts with you. he seems too occupied with entertaining your mom to pay you any mind.

you're not sure why but this bothers you. beomgyu is occupied in the bathroom at the moment so you can't help but glance in their direction every couple of seconds. your mom is currently leaning against soobin's broad shoulder, laughing at something he's previously said. so he’s a comedian.

you watch as he looks down at her with a satisfied smile on his face. you bite the inside on your cheek and as if on cue, soobin looks up in your direction and smirks. it's almost as if he's taunting you. you bite down harder until you taste something metallic in your mouth.

you're not sure where this feeling of jealously is coming from and you know it's not healthy but you can't help it. maybe you've gotten too attached to your older neighbor in these past couple of weeks.

beomgyu comes out of the restroom with a sigh, walking back into the living room where you are. he can feel a weird tension in your general area but decides not to comment on it. suddenly you stand up, catching beomgyu off guard.

"come on beomgyu!" you say loud enough for everyone to hear especially soobin. the man in question practically pauses in speech midway to look over at you and his son. he eyes you both, mainly giving you a glare that will be engraved in your mind but you don't care. he needs a taste of his own medicine.

"come on let's go to my room, i need to show you something~" you urge him along. meanwhile, you say those words while staring straight at soobin. you hear your mom assure him that it's ok, "the kids are doing their own thing." you knew you were being childish and petty but if soobin wanted to fuck around with you this is what he would have to deal with as well.

you drag beomgyu along to your room who seems quite eager to be in this position. all he knows is that there's a weird tension between you and his father but that's as far as his knowledge goes.

when you both arrive at your room you close the door behind you and lean back on it. "is everything alright?" beomgyu hesitantly asks. you sigh, ushering him along to sit on the bed with you. he looks around subtly at all the little items in your room. everything seems to reflect you well, in his opinion. "well.." you try to stall.

you look up at him through your lashes. "you like me right?" beomgyu stares at you with wide eyes, "i-i mean yeah?" he stutters at your boldness.

"then lets try something," you smile at him, casually pulling your shirt over your head. "let's see how long it takes for your dad to come see us in this position," you say to yourself.

soobin doesn't need to be a rocket scientist to know what's going on here. he knows you're being a brat on purpose but he doesn't care because it makes it all the more fun. he will say he's surprised that you're using beomgyu, his own son, to get to him.

at first, he was getting annoyed with how you seemed to take a liking for his son which is why he wanted to rile you up by seeming extra interested in whatever your mom had to say. now, however, he knew he had a plan for that. you were not going to outsmart him, he wouldn't allow it and he would just have to put you in your place.

"excuse me but i need to use your restroom," soobin makes up a bullshit excuse to get to where you are. "oh of course!" your mom nods at him, instructing him towards the one upstairs. perfect.

"ill just finish up the dinner then!" your mother offers. "great that's enough time to put this slut in her place," he thinks. he smiles at your mom heading for upstairs.

"beomgyu you look like you just saw a ghost," you chuckle lightly, looking down at him. "y/n," he groans at the sight of only seeing you in your bra. he reaches up to grab your breasts, fondling them as delicately as possible. "you can be rough," you offer.

without even bothering to knock on the door, soobin opens it to see you both on the bed in a lewd position. you shirtless on top of beomgyu. he sucks his teeth when you both look back in alarm at the door being burst open. "y/n," he chuckles, almost sadistically.

you can already see the look in his eyes and suddenly you feel bad for not only yourself but beomgyu as well. you try to subtly grab your shirt again in shame but soobin's glare stops you. "what do you think you're doing little slut?" he folds his arms over his chest. not even caring that beomgyu is in the room, he walks over to you and grabs your hair causing you to yelp in surprise.

"s-sir.." soobin narrows his eyes at you then they flit over to beomgyu. "sit over there," he motions to the beanbag in the corner of the room. "i want you to learn something from this." without another word, beomgyu scrambles over to the seat, his heart beating in fear and excitement strangely.

you feel heat rising up your neck and to your cheeks as well as your dripping pussy. "don't be embarrassed, im sure this was your plan all along," soobin tsks, shoving your face down into the sheets. you breathe out when he rips the skirt and underwear from your body without a second thought. the racy thong that was supposed to be his surprise for father's day discarded in a second.

"soobin-" a smack to your ass. "that's not my name."

he doesn't even give you a chance to correct yourself, messing with your sticky juices before entering his cold fingers into your hole. you try to stifle your moan by burying your head further into the sheets.

"god you're so wet," soobin comments. he slowly moves his finger in and out for a while, practically torturing you with how meticulous and slow he's being. "please," you whine pathetically. "please what?" he slows his movements to stare at you with a raised eyebrow.

"please f-fuck me, please, i need your cock," you beg shamelessly. beomgyu breathes heavily, trying to forget about his growing boner but not being able to ignore it. he painfully wants to do something about it but he's not sure if he's allowed to touch himself.

he opts for subtly dragging his hand to his clothed crotch and palming himself through his pants, as uncomfortable as it is. in the meantime, soobin rids himself of his own pants, shaking his head.

he lightly smacks your throbbing pussy and you jolt. "do you seriously think you deserve it? fuck, look at you, can’t wait to be fucked like a bitch in heat~" you whine, wiggling your ass wordlessly in his face to hopefully get what you want.

soobin rubs your clit with narrowed eyes, making sure beomgyu is watching. he could care less that beomgyu is touching himself. he drags some of your cum from your hole to your clit and sighs. "alright then.."

he aligns himself with your hole and without another word slips his cock in with ease, completely bottoming out.

you want to scream at how big he is but you're only left with ragged pants as you know you're unable to make any loud noises. it seriously feels like you could be torn apart at any minute but you love the feeling of soobin’s cock filling you out.

"you're so tight seriously," soobin breathes. he can barely move at first. the way his dick fits inside of your pussy perfectly. he almost wants to comment about how you were practically made for him. he's sure if he flips you over right now, he would see the outline of his cock in your womb.

after waiting a bit for you to adjust to his length he finally starts moving. "shit-" he breathes. you have to grip the sheets to stop yourself from yelling. soobin's hands find their way to your waist and when you look to the side just for a split second you can see beomgyu fighting for his life to not moan out loud.

"look beomgyu-" soobin says in between jagged breaths. "if you wanna fuck around with his pathetic slut this is how you treat her." a moan gets caught in your throat when soobin pounds into you at once. "ah- i-" a part of you wants to apologize and is trying to but he won't give you a chance to speak.

"isn't that right my slutpuppy? did you have something to add?" at the sound of the nickname your walls tighten around him and he sends a harsh smack to your ass. "you're enjoying this aren't you?" he rolls his eyes and sighs heavily.

soobin thrusts start getting faster and faster, beomgyu watching with his mouth agape at his father kissing and sucking at your neck to muffle his own moans. beomgyu can only bite his lip and noises from his throat barely pass his lips as he reaches his high.

soobin growls at seeing your eyes focus on beomgyu so he starts slamming his cock into you at an animalistic pace and you think you might break.

beomgyu bucks into his hand as he cums from the sound and sight of skin slapping added with the tiny noises you'd make. not too long after you feel yourself shudder, unable to warn soobin that you had come you squeeze your eyes shut and let out a whine instead.

"fuck- ok baby," soobin understands as soon as your walls squeeze around him. he pants a couple a times and as soon as he reaches his high he pulls out, pumping his cock to let his cum shoot out on your ass.

"s-sir," you moan. "shhh it's ok." soobin sighs heavily, coming down from his own high to tend to your broken state. he looks over at beomgyu, who's head is lulled to the side as he gazes at your sweat and semen covered body.

soobin sucks his teeth deciding not to say anything to the boy and let him chill for a minute. he shrugs his pants back on and carries you in his arms to the nearest bathroom.

you cozy up to his warm embrace, letting out a sigh. "baby we need to clean you off.." you hear him whisper. you almost completely forget that there's a dinner that's supposed to be happening and you cant just go to sleep with soobin like you'd want.

a sudden coldness hits your body and you shiver. "ok," you agree. his cum is already starting to dry on you and you want nothing more than to be cleaned like he offers. you're not sure how you'll explain your change of clothes to your mom but you're sure you'll come up with something later.

no words need to be spoken after what happened and you're glad because you're not sure what to say. soobin doesn't seem keen on talking at the moment either, too focused on cleaning you off, so you decide to stay quiet.

it's silent in the bathroom until you both hear your mother all out. "dinner's ready!"

you chuckle, breaking the silence as soobin looks up at you with a questioning eyebrow. “happy father’s day.”

[221bshrlocked]

taste you on my tongue

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Reader

Words: 9441 (I can’t fucking write anything shorter I’m sorry)

Warnings: Angst and Smut. Helmet is on and then it’s off. Oral (male receiving). Soft then rough sex. Breeding kink. Touch kink. Hand kink? Dirty/Sweet Talk. Mando feels primal when he sees you wearing his shirt and flirting with someone that isn’t him.

Summary: The Revenant was a fairly spacious gunship compared to others and you prided yourself in keeping it running for this long, especially after you were told it would soon lose its “life force.” But when a certain Mandalorian and his foundling join your ship following a disastrous mission, you find that the Revenant isn’t as big as you initially thought. In fact, it is much less private than you wish to admit and you find yourself escaping to a cantina one night to avoid the bounty hunter who isn’t aware of the effect he has on you. The problem is, the Mandalorian doesn’t like to share anything with anyone, and that rule applies to you. Unfortunately (or perhaps luckily) for you, you learn about this rule the hard way.

A/N: I hope yall like these because I’m currently spiraling down a Din Djarin hole and I’m not remotely apologetic. Let me know how it is in the comments and how I can make the smut better or the characterization better. Please, I can’t improve unless yall tell me what I’m doing wrong. Also, I promise to write more smut than angst next time. Enjoy :) And @purple-mango​ sorry it wasn’t as rough as you probably hoped, I was feeling soft Din but mark my words, the next one will be rough.

The obnoxious laughter coming from one of the corners of the cantina made you shake your head as the tavern-keeper approached you and motioned towards your glass. He smiled when you enthusiastically nodded and held out the finished drink, silently asking him to pour some more of the Tevraki whiskey because there was nothing you wanted more than to forget the past few months.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was something, or rather someone, that you wanted more than your need to set aside what’s been going on since that shitshow of a showdown on Tatooine. Coincidentally, or perhaps ironically, that someone had to do with what happened on the desert planet. You smiled at the man in front of you who knew better than to argue about how many drinks you’ve downed thus far. 

As the thoughts slithered back to the source of your frustration, you couldn’t help but let your eyes take in your surroundings, shamelessly hoping to find someone who could fill that deep-seated need seeping through your chest and into your heart. No one would compare to him of course, and you knew that very well. But you couldn’t stand another hour on that ship without scratching that itch that’s been bothering you ever since he joined your ship with that annoyingly cute green goblin. You took a sip and returned your attention to the man wiping down the counter in front of you, already thinking of just skipping all the pleasantries and going back to his place.

“If you point him out to me, I can pay him a visit later and roughen him up a bit.” He leaned over and pointed behind you, pouring himself a shot of some weird blue drink before moving in closer to you again.

“Sorry?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, not understanding what he was referring to or if you had even begun a conversation with him.

“The sleemo that rejected you sweetheart. Why else would you be drowning in my best stuff?” He winked at you and you barely managed to not visibly gag at the ways his eyes raked over your form. Did he think this was the way to flirt?

“Maybe I just love drinking liquid fire, sweetheart. Have you thought of that?” You hoped you weren’t being too sarcastic with him because if there was the slightest chance of getting laid tonight, then you were going to do everything in your power to take it and run considering how there was no chance of you asking your now-permanent “roommate” for those kinds of services. 

“Maybe. Either way, I’d love to help you forget about that sucker.” You took a deep breath and willed yourself to not punch him in the eye because the thought of being able to forget about the beskar-clad bounty hunter, even for a few hours only, sounded incredibly pleasant.

“Oh aren’t you sweet? So selfless and confident too.” You forced a smile before downing the rest of the whiskey and tapping on the glass again. If you were going to get fucked by someone like him, you needed at least three more drinks or else you wouldn’t be able to imagine the Mandalorian in his place. You chuckled at the depressing thought because here you were trying to forget about the man himself and yet went out of your way to make sure you were sort of able to pretend he was the one showing you the stars. 

“Believe me darling, my intentions are strictly...honorable.” He poured you another drink and took a shot with you, his eyes widening in shock when you didn’t bother to wait another second before downing the whole glass in one go. 

“Damn baby, he hurt you that bad?” You raised an eyebrow at his inquiry and didn’t know why the question bothered you so much. As much as you hated to admit it, the answer was a hard yes. 

“Hah, hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it. And you know what the worst part is? He doesn’t even know he’s doing it.” You didn’t bother to ask him for another drink, jumping on top of the counter before leaning down and grabbing the whiskey bottle from the shelf right in front of his knees. 

“You mean he’s still here?” He didn’t question your behavior, letting you take a long sip from the bottle before smiling down at your dazed expression. 

“Here. There. Everywhere. He’s fucking everywhere all the damn time. I...he’s- maker...I can’t get him out of my kriffing mind. And the funny thing is, he probably doesn’t waste a second of thought on me. I’m just...someone with a fucking ride that can get him from one planet to the next.” You traced random patterns on the cold tile of the counter and didn’t realize that someone had occupied the seat just opposite of you and trying his hardest to ignore the way the patrons across the room continued to stare at you like you were a piece of meat. 

“Darling, he isn’t worth your time. You need someone that...appreciates you. Tells you how good you’ve been.” You knew the man in front of you was just saying those lovely things to get in your pants but you couldn’t help the next few words from stopping even if you tried.

“Yes...gods, yes. Yes I do. But I wanted him to appreciate me. I wanted him to tell me how good I’ve been. I can’t blame him for not bothering to thank me though because it’s hard for him to hold a conversation longer than five minutes. I get that, he’s not used to it, he hasn’t needed to for so long. But it wouldn't hurt to acknowledge me every once in a while you know. I mean, do you know anyone else who’d willingly put their entire life on hold just to help some random introvert and his child find their way through this kriffing shithole of a system?” You knew you shouldn’t be saying any of those things out loud, let alone to a complete stranger. But he struck a nerve and you couldn’t take not another minute of not telling anyone how you truly felt. You needed to get some things off your chest and you sure as hell weren’t about to complain to the man waiting for you back on the ship.  

“And- and do you know anyone that would readily give up their most valuable position in this world to a stranger they just met? I don’t.” You violently shook your head at him and felt your eyes fill with tears when you saw the way the man was looking at you. His eyes shot down to the bottle in your hand and you unceremoniously raised it to your lips before taking a long swig of the burning liquid, hoping by some miracle that this was enough to make you forget all about his stupid strut and his annoyingly low and gruff voice and the way he was so effortlessly kind to the kid.

“That ship. It’s- oh gah, it’s been with me through the worst fucking jobs. I fought for it, almost sold my kriffing bo-...almost sold something priceless to ensure it isn’t taken from me again. And it only takes some damn beskar-wearing, quiet, fucking who-knows-what-species nerfherder to save me once for me to voluntarily hand it over to him. Like it wasn’t a piece of me...like it wasn’t my home.” You were over sharing at this point and you noticed the way the man was beginning to lose interest in you  so you made sure to grab his shirt and pull him closer to you before grabbing his forearm and digging your nails into it to keep his attention.

“Have you heard of the Revenant? You must have heard of the Revenant. There is no way you haven’t-”

“Yes, yes. I’ve heard of it.” He was exasperated but continued to attend to you, shamelessly letting his eyes follow a drop of whiskey roll down your shirt in between the valley of your breasts. You fixed your posture, pushing your tits together and giving him an eyeful of skin before ranting to him again.

“That’s my baby. My pride and joy. I always made sure everyone at the dock knew who it belonged to. Know why?” You grabbed his hand and pulled on it to make sure he was listening to you, laughing when he tiredly leaned down and forced himself to look away from your sweaty chest to your eyes. 

“Enlighten me sweetheart.”

“Because it’s one of the biggest gunships out there. So much space that I don’t actually use. It’s a fucking beauty...but you know what? It’s all a lie. A sad, unfortunate lie. Because it took me spending the better half of the year with that kid and his tincan of a guardian to realize just how small it is. It’s like he put his mark on every corner of my home on purpose...just to drive me insane. Every time I sit somewhere where I’m sure he wouldn’t bother to come to, I’d still smell that- that...that fucking scent of his that I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what it is.” You had thankfully placed the whiskey bottle away from you and didn’t try to fight the tavern-keeper when he took it and put it back on the shelf, instantly returning to you to make sure you weren’t about to break anything.

“I even gave him my room. My room! Because ‘no one can see my face’ so he needs some privacy away from me but then there’s the whole ‘the child stays with me all the time’ and that womp rat can sleep in the little cot in my room with him while also giving him some privacy. Which leaves me, you guessed it, in the shitty lower deck where there is no door, not even a curtain, to give me some semblance of solitude.” You didn’t realize how harshly you were breathing until you stopped speaking and noticed the way the stranger continued to look at you. 

“It has been a literal hell not being able to get myself off because he can walk in on me at any given moment. Picture that, not getting off for almost a year while being forced to remain in the same vicinity as him.” You didn’t care when you saw the man almost choke on his drink at your bold admission and looked around to make sure no one heard you. “Ughh, you’ve been such a good boy listening to me whining all night long and I think you deserve a treat.” You knew you had him as soon as he shivered at the way your fingers moved beneath his shirt and scratched his neck. “You look like the kind of guy that could fuck me within an inch of my life. Right?”

“Ah huh. Y-yeah.” He licked his lips before setting down the towel in his hands and inching closer towards you. And you silently swore at how absolutely pathetic he was because not a minute ago, he was trying to find a way out of this conversation and here he was thinking with his probably-disappointing dick. 

“Good. And I promise to make it worth your while if you manage to make me forget his name.” You leaned across the counter and were about to kiss him when you saw something move across your peripheral vision, something that looked oddly familiar to your completely hazed mind. 

“And what’s his name, baby? So I make sure you can’t rememb-” Before he could finish whatever he was about to say, you felt a large hand wrap around your upper arm and pull you back from the bartender and off of the stool. You almost tripped as you struggled to stand and huffed in anger before raising your voice to the distinguished individual who thought this was the time to fuck with you. 

“Hey what are y-” You were about to take a swing at whoever it was currently bruising your arm when you followed the glint of the familiar metal and were met with your reflection staring right back at you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you blinked in confusion a few times at the visor currently tilted in an almost judgemental manner at you before attempting to wipe your hair with your other hand.

The Mandalorian slowly changed his focus to the man behind the bar and threw a few credits at him, hands immediately lowering to the blaster in his side holster when he saw where the tavern-keeper’s eyes moved towards. The stranger could only hold up his hand in defeat before walking towards the other side of the bar to lick his invisible wounds. The Mandalorian’s helmet turned to the rest of the cantina, daring anyone to approach the two of you before you left. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to follow the two of you as you returned to the Revenant. He could feel his patience withering away with every passing moment you decided to share what’s on your mind with the rest of the universe but him. 

“Let me go.” You whispered to him, eyes maintained to the ground and cringing when you felt his hold on your arm tighten at the request. Before you could ask him again, Mando was turning around and walking out of the busy cantina, pulling you along with him aggressively and not leaving any room for negotiation. You winced as he pulled you like a child through the streets, avoiding the concerned and intrigued looks you were receiving. He was much taller than you and you laughed when you realized it must have been a sight to see some random woman getting dragged along by an angry bounty hunter. Mando couldn’t help but turn towards you when he heard your giggles break the silence, his annoyance spiking because there was absolutely nothing humorous about this situation. 

You noticed the way he was staring at you and decided to quiet down, swallowing the lump in your throat as the cold air hit your sweaty skin and made you shiver. 

As you moved closer to the ship, you realized there was a chance he heard what you had to say about him and your ship. Hurt and anxiety rose up your throat and before you could attempt and control the all too familiar feeling, you were tripping over your feet and falling to the ground, instantly vomiting everything you’d managed to eat and drink in the last couple of hours. 

The Mandalorian hoped his obviously misplaced outrage wasn’t what led you to such a violent reaction, and he kneeled down immediately to hold your hair away from your face. When he saw tears falling down your cheeks and how hard you were breathing beneath him, something snapped in his chest and he knew he was definitely the reason behind this severe response. 

“Don’t- oh gah….kriffing look at me.” You spat in between words and turned away from him, holding onto your stomach and to the grass beneath you as you continued to empty your stomach in the middle of the forest. At least you weren’t in the city anymore. 

“We’re close to the ship,” he didn’t know what else to say and chose to state the obvious instead, afraid of using a harsher tone with you. Actually, he did know what to say, he just didn’t trust himself to speak the words out loud yet.

“Wopty fucking doo for-” once again, you opened your mouth and dry heaved until you were sure there wasn’t a single drop of whiskey in your system, “you and your stupid kriffing-” 

“Please Ad'ika, let me-” You visibly shook at the familiar endearment you’ve heard him whisper to the child so often when he thought you weren’t around. It hurt to know he was throwing it around as if he wasn’t twisting the knife inside your heart with every breath he took near you. 

“Let m-me go, p-please.” Mando’s sudden intake of breath was as loud as the silence engulfing the two of you and you swallowed your pride before looking into his visor, well aware of how awful you must have looked without the reflection staring back at you. He, on the other hand, grasped in that moment just how deep your words in the cantina were and instead of listening to you and allowing you a moment alone, he took a deep breath before softly pushing back your hair and wrapping one arm around your waist. You didn’t have any time to question him as the other went beneath your thighs and before you knew it, you were holding onto his cowl for dear life as he quietly walked up the ramp of the Revenant with you in his arms. 

Mando pushed in the code to shut the hatch before making his way through the quiet halls of the ship, reaching hi- your room and going straight to the bed he has occupied in the last few months. As he put you down, he took notice of your body language and knew instantly how self-conscious you must have felt laying on the bed he’s been using since he joined you. The same bed which you sort of commented about not an hour ago. He watched as you forced a smile as soon as you saw the familiar green little womp rat peeking its head right before descending from the safety of his crib and wobbling towards you. 

You tried to leave the bed but Mando was ahead of you, gently pushing your shoulder until you realized there was no room for arguing with him. Leaning down, he took the kid and put him back in the crib before telling him he couldn’t cuddle with you tonight. 

You kept your hands clasped together and refused to look at him, eyes taking in the room no longer familiar to you. He’d moved things around, even put things away that he didn’t need. Your gaze shifted towards him unintentionally as you saw him approach you with a cup of water and wet towel. Pushing the covers towards you, he sat near your thighs as he handed you the water and began to softly wipe at your cheeks and forehead. 

You shut your eyes out of fear of giving more away just by staring at his visor and Mando thanked the stars you had because he wasn’t sure he could truly look at you if they were still open. It was a ridiculous thought because he was wearing a mask and you’d never know how much he loved committing all those little muscle twitches to memory. But it felt strangely intimate to return your gaze and he didn’t want to make you any more uncomfortable tonight. 

You sighed heavily at his touch and felt pathetic at how starved you were for anything that had to do with him. The man was wearing gloves and wasn’t technically trailing his fingers over your skin but it still felt difficult to contain yourself.

When he was done, he stood up and moved to the refresher, giving you a few moments alone before he imposed on you again. You gulped down the water and placed the cup on the floor near you, looking out of the large window to your right and noticing the dark blue skies moving slowly above you. It took you a few minutes to recognize that what you were feeling was no longer hurt but confusion. He’s acted so differently tonight and you hated to think it was because he was pitying you. It didn’t matter anymore whether he’d heard what you said about him or not. He would have found out sooner or later, and if you were being honest, you felt like he probably had some inclination for a while before but chose to not bring any attention to the topic to save you from embarrassment and rejection.

“Get some rest.” You turned towards him again, not realizing he’d come back into the room and was standing right beside you. Mando tried his hardest not to give away any of his thoughts but you knew what he was thinking as soon as you saw his helmet tilt down just below your neck. 

When you followed his line of sight, you felt ill again but for a completely different reason. Of course this would get worse. You weren’t planning on seeing him tonight and you told yourself you’d have plenty of time to change out of his shirt but it seemed that the universe was not making this any easier on you. Mando couldn’t stop staring at the shirt wrapped so loosely around your smooth skin and how large it looked on you. If he was a decent man, he would have turned away when he saw you shifting uncomfortably under his gaze but he couldn’t help taking in the way your body seemed to react to his presence and before he could think about it, he was stepping closer to the bed and reaching out to touch the material of his shirt falling down your shoulder.

“I- I’m sorry about your s-” The words died in your throat when you felt his gloved fingers trailing down your exposed clavicle and you were torn between asking him what he was doing and letting him carry on without interrupting his curiosity. Mando barely held himself back from pushing you down into the covers and taking what he now knew was his but he noticed the sudden goosebumps erupt on your skin and finally managed to meet your eyes through the visor. The way you were returning his gaze was perhaps too much for him and he flinched away from you, clearing his throat and willing himself to think of anything else but the way you were practically begging him to take you. You parted your lips to say something but couldn’t find your voice, afraid you’d push him more than he could take and drive him away all together. 

“It’s fine. It’s...I don’t mi- forget about it. You need to rest.” He spoke softly before walking towards the cot nearby and pushing the crib out of the door. 

“Wh-where will you sleep?” You sat up and knew he noticed how much you were holding onto every single interaction with him.

“Good night,” he didn’t bother to respond to the question, turning off the lights and shutting the door behind him before making his way to the cockpit. You sat in silence for a few moments before slithering under the covers, sighing in annoyance when you noticed just how much this entire room smelled like him. Pushing your face into the pillow, you took a deep breath and felt shaken to the core when you were hit with Mando’s distinctive scent: sweat, beskar, and that damn featherfern wash he somehow found every time you flew by Nevarro. 

As you looked out the metal blinds, you tried to brace yourself for the conversation you were most definitely going to have with the Mandalorian the next day. You knew for a fact that whatever decision he’d take will ultimately hurt you because there were really only two options available, one of which involved him and the child leaving and the other would lead to them staying but making things awkward since there was not a single chance he would reciprocate your feelings. 

And the worst part was, you weren’t sure which was more painful.

The Mandalorian sat quietly in the cockpit for a while, making sure you were asleep so as to not wake you up as he moved through the Revenant. Seeing that the kid was fast asleep, he found himself leaving the small space and navigating to the lower deck. He passed by your room and noticed the lights were off, sighing in relief at knowing that you were finally resting comfortably. Arriving at the lower deck, he stood at the entrance of the large room and felt his chest tighten once he took in the state of the space. Turning on the lights, he immediately noticed your makeshift cot in the far right corner, unable to stop himself from moving towards it to inspect it. He shook his head in anger but this time it was aimed at himself and not you or the random tavern keeper who couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. 

How did he not know of this arrangement? And why did he not ask about your sleeping situation the day he joined your ship? Was he truly that unconcerned with anyone else but the kid or was it because he was reluctant to listen to Peli when she recommended you?

He’d only been in the lower deck for a few moments yet he felt his skin crawl with goosebumps. It was awfully cool down here and it took him another ten seconds to acknowledge that you’ve been living and sleeping here for this long without complaining once to him. 

Everything you said about him earlier tonight crashed into him like a wave of guilt and he couldn’t stay in the room any longer, making his way back to the upper deck to try and figure out what he would say to you come tomorrow. As he slowly moved through the dark hallways of the Revenant, he heard a faint voice coming from the upper deck, muscles tensing instantly when he walked past your room and noticed you weren’t on the bed.

Not wanting to disturb you, he waited right outside the cockpit and listened to you humming to the child. He must have woken up and found his way back to you. As he crossed his arms and stood behind the door, he couldn’t help but notice how soft your voice was as you continued to sing a lullaby to the little womp rat. 

How could he have not noticed…

“There you go, you little green goblin. If only I could sleep as quickly as you.” You whispered to him before tucking him into the crib while continuing to rub his abnormally large ears. “Your dad is really funny...thinking I’d be able to sleep in that room with his scent all over it.” 

Maker, how were you so forthright with everyone but him? It hurt to know that he wasn’t someone you could whisper your little secrets to. Then again, it made sense since all of your secrets seemed to involve him.

“I pray he doesn’t tell me he has to leave now that he knows I...ughh, for both of our sakes little one.” Mando noticed the way you seemed incapable of finishing your sentences whenever you spoke about him and a deep part of him wished you would, if only to hear the adoration in your words. Rarely anyone spoke of him so softly and he had a feeling he’d only ever accept such words from you. It was quiet for a few minutes before he heard you whisper to the kid again. 

“It just hurts to know that he’ll never see me as...as a-” He wasn’t sure if it was the heartbreaking tone of your voice or if it was the way you were reluctant to say your heart’s desire out loud but Mando couldn’t stand another second of you thinking you weren’t important to him.

“As a what?” His voice came out harsher through the vocoder and he winced at himself when he vaguely heard you jumping from the chair. A soft hiss came from the cockpit and he took a deep breath when he realized you’d just shut the crib and moved to leave the room. As you stepped out, Mando forced his eyes to remain on your face, refusing to look at your exposed legs or the way his shirt seemed to end right beneath your upper thighs.

Softly shutting the door, you walked to the opposite side of the room and knew the Mandalorian must have noticed your need to put as much space between the two of you as possible. 

“We need to stop running into each other like this,” you laughed awkwardly and anxiously ringed your fingers, glancing at his visor before turning away and looking everywhere else but him. Okay, so humor wasn’t going to get you out of this situation. 

“How’s your head?” You could feel how on edge he was and decided to answer with short and straightforward responses just to avoid any more awkwardness. 

“M-much clearer.” You stood in silence until you heard the Mandalorian pushing off of the opposite wall and heading towards you. You didn’t have anywhere to go, eyes snapping to the door right behind him and knowing there was no way you could try to walk around him.

He stopped a couple of feet away from you and you ceased to breathe when you noticed how awfully close he was to you. 

“Answer my question.” His voice was dangerously low and you found it difficult to try and think of anything to say when he was giving you no room to breathe. 

“I- I did?” Your voice was far from confident and you watched as he gently took off both of his gloves before shoving them into his pockets. Even though he willingly removed them in front of you, you didn’t allow yourself to look at his skin, afraid you’d somehow offend him and his Creed. But then you saw his hand move towards your face, and gasped when you felt his fingers tilting your chin so you were looking into his visor. There was not an inclination of an emotion available to you but you forced yourself to keep your eyes open nonetheless. 

“How do you want me to see you Mesh'la?” Mando whispered down to you and you swore his voice was hoarse as he spoke to you but you didn’t allow this moment to get to your head. It would hurt more than anything if…

“It d-doesn’t matter.” You blinked away the tears, wanting to wipe your face before anymore were shed but not finding it in yourself to move away from him. But then you felt his thumb softly rubbing at your wet skin, making you almost lose your composure as soon as he stepped closer in your space until your back hit the wall. 

“I’m sorry Cyar'ika,” his chest was inches from your face, cornering you beneath his other arm before leaning down and resting his forehead against yours. You couldn’t breath, not when he was suddenly filling all of your senses as if it was the most natural thing to do. He felt your tears roll around his thumb and couldn’t bear the thought of you crying because of him.

“I’m sorry for making you think you don’t matter...you do, not just to the kid but- but to me as well.” Your knees gave out on you as soon as you heard Mando’s confession, barely managing to grab onto his forearms right before buckling against him. The Mandalorian wasn’t sure if that was the kind of reaction he was looking for but he immediately wrapped his arms around your back and legs before pulling you against his chest. You nuzzled into his chest and kept a tight hold on him as he walked through the dimly lit hallways back to your room. He could feel goosebumps take over the skin of your thighs where he was touching you and tried to distract himself from pushing you down into the middle of the Revenant and taking you right then and there. You deserved more than that. 

As he reached the room and laid you on the bed, he felt your fingers clasp onto him harder and when his eyes trailed over your face, he knew you were silently begging him not to leave. 

“I’m not going anywhere Ad'ika.” His reassuring tone tugged at your heart and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you watched him walk to the door and shut it behind him before moving to the refresher. You heard him shuffle around and allowed your mind to calm down, knowing very well that Mando wasn’t unkind and wouldn’t lead you on just to leave you. But then he walked out without his beskar armor and you swore you died and joined the stars. His helmet looked odd without his normal clothing and you knew he could probably see you shamelessly ogling him from across the room. 

He walked to you and stood to the side, and you realized he was probably nervous. You pushed yourself against the wall and threw back the covers, hoping he’d understand what you wanted of him.

“Can I-”

“Please.” You cut him off before he could finish his question and he took a deep breath before laying on the bed and moving as close to you as possible. Before he could throw the covers over the two of you, you were already laying your head on his chest and wrapping an arm around him, fingers fisting into the soft material of his shirt unintentionally as you felt him relax beneath you.

You weren’t sure how long it’s been but you felt his heart rate finally come back to normal. Hoping you weren’t being too forward with him, you took his hand into yours and brought it to your lips, softly kissing his knuckles before turning his palm over to lay a kiss on his wrist. Mando was losing every ounce of control left in his body and his arm tightened around your back as soon as he felt the tip of your tongue against his hand. 

“Pfassk,” you flinched at the rough expletive and raised your head to look at him, finding his visor already tilted down towards you. “I- I’m sorry I’ll stop if-”

“No..n-no, don’t stop. It just- you took me by surprise.” His chest was rising and falling more rapidly and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was as affected by this new level of ‘intimacy’ as you were, if not more.

You felt bold at his request, kicking the covers away before sitting up and moving to straddle his thighs. Mando was breathing harshly and mirrored your actions, sitting up against the cool metal of the wall before laying his hands on top of your exposed thighs. He let himself take in the way your skin flushed under his touch and smiled to himself when he continued to inch his smooth hands over your upper thighs until his shirt rid up your legs and revealed the pastel color of your undergarment. 

“Cyar'ika…” He sighed when he finally forced himself to meet your eyes and found them dilated until there was barely any color left in them. You wanted to ask him what that word meant but chose to file it for later. Placing your hands on top of his, you smiled down at him before pulling them towards your lips and kissing his palms. Almost instantly, you felt him twitch against you, unable to control himself from bucking his hips against your heated core. You let go of his hands and laid your own on his chest, throwing your head back when you felt his tight grip on your thighs. You could tell he wanted to apologize but gave him no chance to do so, sliding against him until you were sure he was painfully hard beneath you.

“Maker...I- I could almost taste you on my tongue Mando. When you- you left me in here all by myself. I couldn’t sleep, n-not when I could smell you on these covers, not when I could feel you on my skin. I..gods, wanted to kiss you then, and- and I wanted to taste your- you...Please, c-can I? P-please-” You dug your nails into his chest and heard him throw his head back against the wall with every confession you moaned to him. He was never this unhinged and you wished to see him come absolutely undone at your touch.

“A-are you sure?” It pained him to ask but he needed to be sure that you wouldn’t regret this. Regret him. 

“Mando, have you not listened to anything I’ve said tonight?” As much as you hated to remind him of the earlier and rather embarrassing events, you wanted him to know just how much he meant to you. You knew he was reluctant to let this relationship move forward and you couldn’t really blame him. This was all new to him. But you also didn’t want to stall, not when the two of you have become so aware of the other’s feelings.

You continued to rub yourself on him, shaking with anticipation when you heard him moan through the vocoder as you pressed yourself more confidently down on him. 

“Mesh'la I-” Without warning, you took one of his hands and pushed it to your lips, slowly taking two of his fingers into your mouth and swirling your tongue around them until his moans grew louder. And when he pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth, you gripped his wrist tightly and groaned, making sure he could feel how much you wanted him. 

“Y-you’re killing me sweet girl.” He wanted to loosen his hold on you, to take things slow, to not let himself get carried away with you, but he didn’t find it in himself to be gentle because he could feel how wet and needy you were above him and there was no way he was going to waste another second not being close to you.

“Please Mando, I want you, n-need to have you. I can make you feel so good. Please, can I?” You reached down and cupped him through his pants, finding him as hard as the beskar of his armor. He thrust up into your hand and swore violently before taking his hand away from your mouth and fisting it into your hair. You smiled when you felt him push you off of him, whispering something in Mando’a when he saw you pulling his pants down his thighs and throwing them behind you. 

You bit your lower lip before moving off of the bed and pushing his legs along with you as well. Mando sat up and forced his hands to remain by his side, afraid his enthusiasm would make him get too rough with you and scare you away. When you laid your hands on his knees and pushed them wide open so you could get comfortable between his legs, Mando’s hands tightened around the covers and he hissed when he saw the way you were eyeing his cock. You were staring at him like he was a piece of meat and he wasn’t sure if he loved it or was embarrassed by it. 

“Maker,” you whispered before dragging your nails up and down his thighs, watching as his cock twitched against his stomach every time you got a little aggressive with your touches. Looking up into his visor, you slowly leaned down and took the tip of his cock in your mouth, humming around him as you tasted precum leaking into your taste buds. That seemed to do it for him because one of his hands shot to the back of your head and fisted into your hair while the other moved down until it landed on your hand. He intertwined his fingers with yours and watched as you pulled back and licked the underside of his dick before spitting into your hand and wrapping it around him.

“M-mando, the taste of you,” you took as much of him in your mouth as possible while maintaining eye contact with his helmet, squeezing the base of his cock before reaching down and cupping his balls. Mando swore, involuntarily thrusting into your mouth and watching in awe as he saw a dangerous glint in your eyes right before you clasped his hand harder and somehow managed to take him in deeper. It was such a sight, holding affectionately onto your hand as you brought him to pleasure. Letting go of him with a pop, you laid wet kisses down the length of his cock, licking the protruding veins and smiling when you felt his hold tighten on your hair. “Is absolutely addicting.” 

You could tell the exact second he lost all semblance of control because one minute you were kneeling at his feet, and the next thing you knew, Mando was pulling you up by your hair and throwing you beneath him on the bed. You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, watching his muscles flex as he removed his shirt expertly over his helmet. The soft starlight coming through the metal blinds of the window shone onto his skin and you trailed your gaze down his chest, finding the golden brown tone of his scarred body absolutely breathtaking. 

“Mando, you’re beautiful.” You saw his hands begin to shake at your compliment, and you knew you’d take every chance you get from now on to tell him how much you adored him. You could hear him breathing through the mask and licked your lips when he looked down and saw the way you were playing with the hem of his shirt. Slowly, you began to pull on the soft material, about to take it off when he held onto your wrists. Your smile faltered for a second and hoped you didn’t somehow misunderstand his intentions.

The last thing Mando wished to see was your body giving away to shyness before him. Pushing your thighs open, he didn’t give you a chance to say anything else as he slid his fingers below the thin undergarment, violently ripping it off of you and discarding it onto the floor. You gasped when you felt him hard and heavy against your slit, taking both of his hands and pulling him towards you until he was only a hairbreadth away. He watched closely as you placed one hand around your throat while the other descended to your breast. You could tell Mando was reluctant to move so much an inch and when you pushed yourself against him, eyes daring him to do as he wishes, he found himself completely overtaken with the thought of you belonging to him and him only. You smiled when you felt the grip on your throat tighten, shutting your eyes and arching your back against him as the other cupped and pinched at your nipples through his shirt. 

“If you want me to fuck you tonight, Mesh'la, then you’re going to keep my shirt on.” He could feel you shaking in his arms and smiled to himself at the knowledge of how much he affected you. 

“Mando, please…” You would have continued begging him if he asked you to, but then he was moving away from you and leaning towards the window. Keeping your hands clasped to your chest, you watched as he shut the blinds until there wasn’t a single light shining into the room. You could barely see your own hands in the dark and wondered why he was shuffling above you. A soft hissing sound had you tensing in an instant and you ceased to breathe when you heard the faint sound of beskar hitting the ground. 

“M-mando?” The question was more reluctant than inquisitive and you didn’t have time to react as you felt him lean against you until you were touching every inch of his skin. You blinked a few times in vain, knowing there was no way you would be able to see anything. But then you felt something soft brush against your cheek and as you turned your head towards him, Mando was molding his lips with yours, swallowing your gasps and sucking on your tongue as soon as you melted into him. He pulled away against his own will, but not before pushing your jaw with his nose until your neck was available to him.

“And my name is Din sweet girl, Din Djarin. It better be the only word you scream tonight as I fuck this pretty little cunt. Understood?” You weren’t sure if it was his deep voice that made you speechless or the fact that he not only took off his helmet for you but willingly told you his name as well. You committed it to memory, hoping this wouldn’t be the only time he took off his helmet around you. You’d always wondered what he sounded like without it, not comprehending that it could be so much sweeter than what you’ve dreamed of. And by the gods, his lips. How were they so soft and gentle? Maker, he had a stubble too, not a rough one but just long enough to tickle your neck as he kissed and nipped at your clavicle.

“Answer me Ad'ika.” He bit your shoulder to grab your attention once more, chuckling above you when you nodded frantically against him. 

“You’re so soft Cyar'ika, I- I want to kiss every inch of your skin.” As much as you loved making him lose his mind at your touch, you had to admit you enjoyed him much more when he was in control. You smiled when he kissed along your shoulder before pushing down his shirt far enough to expose your breasts. Din bit down on his lower lip to contain himself, but then you were arching your back and pushing yourself into him and he couldn’t hold back. He kissed down your sternum, waiting until you relaxed in his arms before assaulting your nipples. You screamed his name as you felt his teeth tug on your nipple, hands shooting to his hair when you felt him grope and pull on the other. 

“Din, oh ma-maker- your mouth is...f-fuck.” You could tell he was smiling as he aggressively licked the hardened bud before sucking on it again. Din pushed his cock against your wet slit, growling when you pulled on his hair and cried his name like a sweet prayer. 

“I could smell your cunt sweet girl, so fucking wet and hot and ready for me.” Din pulled back and cornered you between his arms, bucking his hips into you until you were a needy and moaning mess beneath him. “Woke up countless times in this bed...hard and aching at the mere thought of you...d-dreaming of having you in my arms, wanting to sink into you, f-fuck you on every inch of this ship.” 

“Din, please...I need you.” 

The way you clawed at his back broke him and before he knew what he was doing, he was flipping you on your stomach and raising your hips against him.

“I need to have you Mesh'la.” Din leaned down and swiped your hair to the side, whispering the filthiest things in your ears as he took hold of his cock and rubbed it against your heat. 

“I’m yours Din, do what you want. Fuck me, ruin me...cum in me if you wish. Just p-please-”

You made it sound so simple, trusting him. It was an odd feeling to know how easily you were giving yourself to him. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, not after what you said tonight. But something about the way you offered yourself to him, especially with that last request, had him seeing stars.

Leaning down until his chest was sliding against your back, the Mandalorian held you against him with one arm across your front while he slowly slipped into your wet cunt. You sighed in unison, and Din felt a sense of pride fill his chest when you dug your nails into his arm while your legs began to shake beneath him.

“You’re a dream Cyar'ika, the best f-fucking dream I could ever have. And you’re all mine.”

“Y-yes, yours. I’ve always been yours, oh gods Din please, move. M-move.” You were babbling at this point but couldn’t find it in yourself to care, turning your head to the side just to feel him breathe against your cheek. His stubble rubbed deliciously at your heated and sensitive skin, and you would tell him later that you hoped he’d mirror those actions but elsewhere.

“So tight darling, I- you’re everything. The things I- uhhh, the thing I want to do to you.” Din achingly pulled out before snapping into you again, biting down on your shoulder when you clenched violently around him. 

“Din, oh Din-” You wished you could tell him how good he felt, how much he filled you, how often you craved having him inside you and how much you were losing it now that he was. But you couldn’t find a single word, not when he was fucking you like you were it for him.

The normally quiet man was groaning and hissing above you, pulling you along with him as he sat up and continued to fuck you relentlessly. You reached back and held his head against your neck, crying in pain and pleasure when he picked up the pace and his hold on your hip tightened. You were sure there would be bruise marks the next day but you couldn’t tell him to slow down or be a little less aggressive, not when you finally had him where you’ve wanted for so long. 

“Fuck, fuck….sweet girl, did- did you mean it?” He was asking you something and you didn’t really pay attention to him, focusing on the way he deliciously dragged against your tight walls over and over again. Din knew it wasn’t fair to ask you anything right now but he had to know. Needed to.

He stopped his movement all together, sinking as deep into you as possible and tightening his grip on your throat. 

“Pfassk...answer me darling.” Din whispered into your ears and reached down to where you were joined, softly slapping your clit until you twitched and begged him to repeat his words again.

“I said, did you fucking mean it when- kriffing hell, when you said I could...c-cum in you?” He was reluctant to ask but there was no point in denying either of you. 

“Yes, gods yes. I told you Din, d-do what you want with me.” You forcibly loosened the fingers around your throat and brought them to your lips, biting the palm of his hand as he resumed thrusting into you. 

“Mesh'la...you’re such a sweet girl, letting me b-breed you...taking my cock so well, letting me fill you up. You were made for me darling. This cunt, this sweetest and tightest kriffing pussy was made for my cock.” He pronounced each word with a harsh push of his hips and you smiled when you heard how low his voice suddenly became. The sounds of skin slapping on skin filled the room and you hoped the child wouldn’t wake up from how loud the two of you were being. 

“You’re mine darling. Won’t let anyone else touch you...fucking look at you even. Maker I- I almost lost it tonight in the cantina.” There was a hint of self-consciousness in his words and you hoped he didn’t think you could ever replace him.

“D-din..” You wanted to tell him no one else would compare but he didn’t give you a chance. 

“Talking about me like I- fuck, like I didn’t care about you, like I don’t picture you coming on my cock every waking moment of my day. And flirting with him in my shirt...my kriffing shirt. I almost lost it when he put his hands on you sweet girl.” You weren’t sure if he had somehow become harder inside you or if it was his words that made you attuned to the feeling of him pushing into your cunt but you turned your head and kissed his cheeks, hoping he’d understand what you were trying to tell him with your touches. 

“You’re the only one f-for me.” Din let go of your neck and held onto your hips, no longer caring about how rough he was being with you. Your heavy sighs were the only warning he had right before your tight walls convulsed around his dick and he continued to fuck you through your orgasm, falling on top of you and bucking his hips slowly into your cunt until you begged him to slow down.

“Cyare, ah pfassk, that’s it. Keep squeezing me darling. I’m so close, so close. Ah fuck, you’re mine. Mine, not letting you go. N-never letting you go. Oh maker...ner runi...ner. Ner. Riduur. My sweet girl...riduur.” Din didn’t realize what he’d said until the words were left hanging in the air and he felt a rush of relief wash over him as he finally admitted how he felt about you. 

“Din, I lo- ahh gods please.” He silenced your screams with his hand, losing his rhythm as he came in hot spurts of cum inside you. Din bit down onto your shoulder just as you bit on the palm of his hand, continuing to push his seed deep inside you until he felt you a mixture of your juices seeping out of you. Neither of you moved for a few moments, relishing the way you fit so perfectly with each other. You could feel him breathing heavily against your back and smiled with pride when you realized you were the only one that got to see him like this. 

Din didn’t want to stop touching you, falling to the side and grabbing your flush to him only to hiss when you unintentionally clenched around his softening cock. You kissed his wrist as he pulled the covers over the two of you, not bothering to move a muscle mostly because you knew he didn’t wish for you to leave him.

He kissed along the bruised ridges of your shoulders, drawing circles on your navel and smiling when you giggled beneath him.

“I wasn’t too rough with you was I?” He asked embarrassingly, not knowing what he’d do if you said yes. 

“You were perfect Din...you- you are perfect.” You turned your head far enough in hopes of catching his attention, letting out a deep breath when he leaned over and captured your lips in a chaste kiss. He was so soft and you didn’t know which side of him you enjoyed more but you were sure you wanted to get to know him, all of him. His likes and dislikes.

“Far from it Mesh'la. I...I went to the lower deck and saw where you’ve been sleeping.”

“Oh…”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Din rose on his elbow, seeking your hands in the dark and holding onto your fingers as he raised your hand to his mouth and kissed along your hand. 

“I- I didn’t want to make you think you weren’t welcome. Peli told me about the Creed and well, there isn’t any sort of privacy down there really. And the kid would’ve been cold. I know how much he likes to cuddle next to you when he sleeps.” 

“But you’ve been-”

“I’ve slept in worse conditions, believe me.” He didn’t say anything else in response but you knew he was very much thinking about it. 

“Din, I wouldn’t change a single moment. Not one. Because each one led me here, to this bed, in your arms. I would relive every mission and every cold night and every awkward conversation again if I knew I’d end up here with you. You’re the closest thing I have to a..a-”

“Family.” He broke the silence before lying back down and pulling you as close to him as possible.

“Promise me you won’t get drunk by yourself in a cantina again.” You wished you didn’t laugh out loud at the random request because Din swore behind you before his grip loosened a bit.

“I’m sorry I...I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just, here I am pouring my heart out and the only thing you could follow up with was that.” When he didn’t say anything in return, you grabbed his arm and pulled him back to you. “And yes, I promise not to get drunk in a cantina by myself ever again.”

“Good.”

“But I can’t really make any promises about not flirting with anyone because if it means I get to have you all hot and bothered then-”

“Sweet girl, you’re going to regret ever thinking of that…” 

Translations: 

Sleemo - This Huttese insult was pronounced slay-mo and translated as "slimeball," a rude insult.

Ad'ika - Little one

Mesh'la - Beautiful

Cyar'ika - Darling/Sweetheart

Pfassk - An adaptable expletive

Cyare - Beloved

Ner - Mine.

Runi - soul; only used poetically

Riduur - partner, spouse, husband/wife

[barzzal]

between halls and thin walls → part three

summary: friends who fool around almost never work. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: fingering, fem and male receiving, mentions of pornography, sexual/suggestive themes, swearing, mat not knowing how to eat pussy, anddd too much sneaking around i’m hating myself for it

↳ genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+

↳ length: series; part one, part two, part three (8.6k), part four, part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: god is fair, sexy nasty, cinderella, planet god damn by mac miller

note: so sorry for the wait! have been a lot busier with uni :(( took weeks for me to finally sit down and write on my laptop to finish this aaaah anw here’s the update and i’m making it up to yall i hope you like!! happy reading babies <3

“Wait–” you break off, your fingers already weaving through his ever so gorgeous hair. 

“What about Tito?” you fret.

You’re sure there was at least a hint of annoyance in his voice. Possibly irked that you had to ruin the one thing you both have been craving for for weeks.

“He won’t come home, trust me.” he says, lips already making its way back to touch your skin, nestling on your jawline, before trailing down to the intricate line of your neck, his movement hasty with a sense of hunger and urgency. 

You didn’t mind. It felt good. 

“Okay– no. Let’s stop this for a sec.” you try to snap out of it, pushing him away but just enough to keep him within arms reach. You rest both your hands on his broad shoulders whilst he rests his on your hips, just a few inches above your ass. 

“We need to clear things out.” you start, eyes lingering on his irises, making you wet your lips at the sight. 

“Didn’t we clear things out thrice now?” he quirks his brows, “And it kinda looks like we’re about to clear the same thing for the fourth time. What’s not clear about it?” Mat kids, half laughing as he lets you punch him playfully, “I’m not kidding, Barz.” you say, clearing your throat. 

You didn’t mind for any of his double entendres but you did mind the fact that whatever’s about to happen tonight is bound to tip the scales of whatever it was that you were having with Mathew.

“Fine. Let’s talk,” he agrees. He walks towards the bed just as he began pulling his shirt off over his head to undress himself.

“Mathew!” you call him yet again, earning yourself a defensive shrug from him, “What? We’re gonna have sex either way might as well talk while we’re at it, right?” he counters, “Now, take your clothes off.”

Regardless of being annoyed at him for acting like an unreasonable child engaging in too much banter, you let out a laugh in disbelief, letting Mathew’s quirks have a hold on you. You roll your eyes out but do as you’re told and begin taking your shirt off which you then throw his way. 

Mat whistles, a smirk sprouting off his lips, evidently in awe of how good you looked half-naked, “Wow.”

You cock up a smirk and shrug to play it off, “Well, you’re not so bad yourself.” you turn the compliment back which Mat only reciprocated with a taunting wink, brushing his shoulder briefly like an idiot.

“So. How do you want to play this?” you inquire.

“Naked, I hope.” he laughs, putting his sweats off revealing nothing but his boxers on. When he sees you roll your eyes, yet again, almost wondering if you’re going to bawl it out at any moment, Mat clears his throat and decides to dial down his terrible jokes. 

“Fine. Let’s just say we’re doing ‘Friends with Benefits’ or, you know, what was that movie again?” he thinks for a second, snapping his fingers as he gathers a few romantic comedies he’s seen in the past. “No Strings Attached! The one with Natalie Portman! Yeah, that’s the one.” he marvels.

You look at him quite stunned that he’s familiar with these movies. “Wow. I thought you guys are just into full-on pornography and sports.” 

“Hey!” he retorts, defending himself at once, “I’m speaking your language, dumbass. And for the record, I don’t like porn.” with that, you let out a loud laugh accompanied by a scoff, obviously not buying any of his lies. To which Mat jumps to defend himself the moment he sees the mocking look in your eyes, “What?? Not all men likes pornography, y/n.”

With both hands on your hips, you arch your brow at him and reply with a revolting grin, “First rule, no lying. I wasn’t born last night, Barzal.”

“Fine. I don’t like it like it.” he points out just as he averts your gaze, “But I’m certainly not against it. Those girls need to make a living, y/n.” 

You meet his cocky remark with an exasperated sigh, “You’re such a pig.” 

Mat answers with a shrug, letting your judgmental glares slide, “Call me names, I don’t care. You’re the one sleeping with a pig.”

And as if it had been expected all along, it didn’t take long for the both of you to end up in bed, wearing nothing but your skin, breathing in each other’s breaths, gasping as you let yourselves let loose with the company of a friend.

Mathew marvels at the sight of your heaving chest whilst his head was wedged in between your thighs, going on endless circles as he nibbles on your clit, perhaps trying a little too hard to make you meet your high. 

What the fuck is he doing? is probably what every girl has asked herself when a man goes down on her thinking that he already got her all figured out. 

Mathew knew what he was doing to be fair. He was there. For the most part. His fingers were nothing but magic but his mouth was a different subject. It was almost as if he was overachieving something. Kind of like the way he does during plays that would eventually cause them the game. 

He’s in his head a little too much. That’s for sure. You didn’t want to ruin the moment so you decide to let it slide and put on your best suit. After all, it wasn’t the first time you had to fake your sexual orgasms. You weren’t entirely surprised though. Half of the men you’ve gone out with didn’t know shit about eating pussy. And Mat was pretty, at least he had that going on for him.

You bit your lower lip, trying to suppress the fact that you weren’t enjoying it. Mat was doing all sorts of things at once and it was all too much. Too much that you’d rather finish the job yourself than have someone licking your region like a fucking chew toy.

As much as you didn’t want to, you arch your back and let out a fake moan, curling your fingers on the sheets, the other tugging on Mat’s hair, staging the perfect scene Mat had wanted to see. He emerges from below and hovers on top of you with a proud grin on his face, oblivious of the dramatic pin you’ve successfully put into the night. 

“And that, my friend,” he smirks, “is how you do it.”

Oh, believe me, it is not. You try to smile, “Hm. It’s that easy, huh?” 

“Well, yeah. Think of it like a scrimmage.” he says as he starts to pepper kisses on your cheeks, his hands roaming around your body, compensating for what his mouth missed. “Or a shootout even.”

“I’m thinking no.” you deny, “Rule two, if talking hockey is your definition of dirty talk, you better zip it.” you stress out as you prop your leg around his waist in order for you to move on top of him. 

Mat chuckles, trying to mask how much he longed to feel your mouth envelop his member. There hasn’t been a day where the image of you sucking his length didn’t enter his mind. It didn’t matter where he was. Whether he was in the shower, on the road with the boys, leaving for practice, or just tying his skates. He wanted nothing more than to look down at you as your little tears revolt to escape your doe eyes whilst you take him whole. Indeed, it was a sight for Mathew. And god knows how much he’s willing to give just to see it again. 

You spit just as you kiss the tip of his shaft, stroking his length in a circular motion to spread your saliva on his cock before you proceed on pressing gentle kisses on his head; edging him for not letting you cum— unconsciously wanting him to know how to give a goddamn head the right way. 

You patiently went your way as you began taking him in your mouth, inching down his thickness without breaking off of his dark and lustful gaze. Mat rests his head on the headboard, his breathing growing heavy and hoarse whilst he watches his dick be consumed by your hollowing cheeks, sucking the life out of him. 

“Fuck. You’re so good.” he groans, pulling your hair with his free hand before guiding you further down his dick. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Flattered by his praises which you find undeniably hot, you pop him out of your mouth, letting all your spit drip onto it just before gathering it back once you start licking him underneath, sucking on his balls as your tongue goes on little circles, playing with it for a while before letting it go with a loud pop. 

You watch Mat lose his mind with every movement you make but you know full well not to let him come in your mouth. It’s bad enough you didn’t get to come the first time he tried tonight. You won’t have yourself seeing the light of day high and dry while Mat gets to doze off the second you leave for his door. 

You climb on top of him. Mat was rather quick to let his hands find its way to your hips, your pussy sitting on his flat stomach just enough to let him know how wet you still are for him in spite of not getting the fun you’ve wanted for your own. 

“Where’s the rubber?” you ask him. Mat props himself quickly and carefully shifts towards his bedside table. You feel him on your back, poking on your skin whilst he pulls out one of the drawers. He fishes a wrapped condom straight from the box which he then swiftly opens with his teeth, motioning for you to get off of him first so he could get settled. 

“Ready?” you ask him, “Ready.” 

Mat rolls over and secures you in between his hands resting on both sides of your head. You feel his head poking against your abdomen as he finally takes his shaft to rub it in between you far too moistened slit just before he takes the plunge and dive deep.

“So,” you struggle to find the words as Mat finally starts making up for his loss a while ago. Your fingers envelop his nape, digging on his skin as you let himself adjust inside you. Stretching you whole with barely half his dick pushing through you.  Thank god this was one of the many things Mat definitely did not suck at. 

“Wanna walk me through this whole set up?” 

Mathew groans, his chest hard against yours as he pumps inside you at a steady pace; one that was pleasurably slow. One that had you closing your eyes whilst you let your head sink into his pillows. 

Despite working his way on tending to too many things at once, with his thumb brushing on one of your nipples, his lips attached to your earlobes, and his free hand secured on your hips, Mat whispers in your ear. “It’s like what we’ve agreed on that night.” he breathes heavily, his mind trailing off to that night momentarily before he speaks again, “We’re friends.”

“And?” you whine as you feel his wet lips brush briefly on your sensitive skin just enough to send chills up your spine, making you crave more of his touch; a grave wanting kindling inside your gut like fire.

“Friends…” he repeats in between kisses, “who likes to do this.” his lips travel from the corner of your lips and onto your jaw line. He then lets himself pull away just so he could look you in the eye, all whilst maintaining both your bodies moving in sync as you follow his lead. 

“You do know that things like this almost never work, right?” you honestly say, telling him the very same thing you’ve told him when you first crossed the line and threw everything you’ve progressively built with him throughout the years of being Anthony’s best friends. 

“Almost is good enough for me.” he counters with a husky voice, feeling constrained by how tight your pussy was around him. It had been a while and Mat was going insane just by thinking about how your cunt was made exactly for him. It was absurd for him to think such a thing but he would not deny the sensation coursing through his veins as if sex had become something entirely new to him. That you have miraculously been able to paint something far better than what he’s already gotten used to for who knows how long; luring him into the worst kind of addiction he could get himself into.  And although Mathew wanted to hate himself that it had to happen with you, he knew he couldn’t. 

“Let’s not have secrets,” he suggests. You raise both your brows, quite intrigued that he requested such a thing. “We’re not that close to have secrets, Barzal.” you remind him. 

“Exactly!” he cheers, voice briefly rising as you let out a moan escape when he pushes himself deeper through your heated walls. Mat hurriedly locks your mouth with his, swallowing all your moans before continuing with his case. 

“That’s the point. We’re not that close so we shouldn’t be keeping anything from each other. You tell me everything. Good or bad, and I’ll do the same.” 

You shoot him a questioning look, pushing him briefly so you could position yourself on top of him. Your action was very much well-received on Mathew’s end and it’s amazing how he’s able to lift you close to his torso before the two of you roll over the switch-game without letting his dick slip out of you. 

“Are you saying we’re going to be in a relationship? You’re way over your head, mister.” you laugh because it was exactly what it sounded. At least for you.

Mat rolls his eyes as he takes a pillow to support his back. His hands then roamed from your thighs before settling to cage your hips to lock it with his, “First of all, bold of you to assume that’s ever gonna happen.” 

You scoff.

“Second, it’s more of a mutual agreement and definitely less than a relationship.” he points out to reiterate that having said ‘relationship’ with you was the last thing he wanted. 

Your hands take rest atop his chest as you start working on rocking your hips at a gentle pace; the kind that had Mathew at a loss for words for a moment, his body taking over his mind as your physique towers all over him. Mathew meets you halfway while you do most of the work. He angles himself forward so as to reach for your tits, his mouth latching on one of your buds, thirsty like a newborn child. Your fingers find their way to his tousled hair, its disheveled state unbelievably making him much more difficult to resist. 

The two of you worked each of your own highs whilst you rock each other’s bodies. Exchanging moans and groans thrown carelessly throughout the room. You were all over Mathew as much as he was with you. His strong and capable hands that moved so well on your body, made you crave for more. Mathew took control of the pace now, his arms embracing your waist closer to his body that no amount of spatial space could ever be perceived by either of you.

“Come for me.” Mat orders, voice almost inaudible as he was chasing his own, the moment he feels you throb rapidly around him, fluttering like butterflies while he watches you shut your eyes. Just like that, you finally reach the ecstasy you’ve been longing for the whole night; one that was specifically shut down by Mathew’s stale mouth.

You let Mat take over. He orders you to turn your back against him before he pulls you rapidly close to his front, your ass perked up close to his skin. His mouth leaves fashioned bites on your neck whilst he held you firmly by your forearm. Mathew begins pounding on you hard from behind, his sharp and abrupt movements painting bruises you know will show up the next morning. 

You were all over the place and you didn’t care. It was messy, it was loud. The sound Mathew’s lips leave on your skin, his balls banging against your pussy, your moans— his groans. Everything was off the record book but neither of you wanted to stop. 

With one final thrust, you feel his body grow all the more rigid behind you. Mathew’s hand was wrapped firmly around your neck whilst he caught his breath. 

“You good back there, bud?” you ask, chuckling. 

“Oh, shut up.” he says, finally letting you go. 

The two of you gather yourselves. Mat discards the wrapper and offers to clean up after the mess he’d made but you profusely decline. 

“I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t have to take care of me.” you tell him with a strong suit as you begin picking up your clothes. 

“I know–” he cuts himself off when he sees you getting into your pants, “Where are you going?” he questions. 

“Rule four. No staying the night.” you point out, grabbing your sweatshirt from the floor. “You come to my room, I come to yours, but that’s that. No more, no less.” you add. 

Mathew looks stunned. Obviously on board with how well you were taking things so easily. 

“Alright then, buddy.” he strides his way towards his bed still naked. 

“We don’t speak about any of this in the morning.” you warn him for you know how the three of you tend to leave the house almost at the same exact time as each other. Meaning that this new setup of yours is bound to be much difficult if you let anything slip off your hold. 

Mathew runs his fingers on his lips as if to zip it before he jumps on the bed, already reaching for his phone that was on his bedside table so he could check the gram.

You were just on your way out of his door when he called you one last time, a teasing smile creeping on his lips, “What’s rule five?”

“No funny business.” you say at once. You look at him one last time with your own teasing smile to mock him from across the room, “No strings attached.” you say, repeating how he used the movie as a reference from a while back before finally disappearing into the hall. 

𖥸

Who would have known agreeing to such a set up would mean getting laid almost every chance you get?

It had been a few weeks since you and Mat committed to your foolish escapades after sorting out your mutual agreement. Said escapades involve a handful of times of you driving over to the Coli to pick him up right after his morning skate and get off the back of your car. It wasn’t that big of a deal being that Mathew usually rides with Anthony for work. Of course, there were also times where you would call him into your office just to grab a quick lunch. On those times you always make sure to leave out at least half an hour or so before going home to avoid unnecessary suspicions from Tito and you and Mathew have been mindful so as not to let him notice anything. 

Mat had mentioned how he was already looking for a place nearer to yours and Tito’s but farther than his previous complex. The place was half an hour less than the travelling time Tito had to drive to from when they used to ride together going home. And now that you were officially friends and more than just acquaintances, Mat has asked you to come and see the place with him. 

You took a lift on your way to Mat’s and let’s just say, that for a man with a whopping 21M at his disposal, the building was grand but it wasn’t as boujee as you’ve expected. It might’ve been your lack of a better judgement but Mathew just didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who would be smart when it comes to his finances. You’ve always thought that he was the kind to splurge on things whenever he gets the chance. Although much to your surprise, just like everyone else, he was a simple man. 

You knock on the door a few times before you hear the familiar footsteps nearing the front door. 

“Hey,”  a signature grin welcomes you. He opens the door wider and invites you in. “Took you long enough.”

“Well, I had better things to do, Barzal.” you retort as you start to scan the vicinity. 

The flat had floor to ceiling windows so the surroundings were well lit. You were making your way further when you noticed a few sealed boxes laying around what you assumed to be where the living space was going to be. 

“I thought you were just looking?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion whilst you look back at him, pointing on the storages with your thumb. 

As expected, the entire apartment was painted in white and beige tones. Pretty much like every Islander’s home you’ve been to. It was quite spacious just like his former home. That being said, spacious doesn’t necessarily mean ‘good’ sometimes. For one thing, it didn’t feel home to you. It felt like a cage with huge-ass windows overlooking a scenery you can’t even lay your hand on. You keep your thoughts to yourself, not wanting to ruin Mat’s excitement for the place. Sure enough, it’ll all come together once he gets settled. 

Mat walks towards you, taking a deep breath. “I was. But the offer was really good so I figured signing the lease right away would be a smart move.” he explains. When he sees your gaze trail off onto the boxes again, Mat feels the need to reassure you that he wasn’t going to move out of your apartment just yet. 

“I won’t be moving in for another month or two, just to be clear. Those are just some stuff I didn’t want hogging all the space at home.” he says candidly pertaining to your apartment as his home, not even realizing the weight he had tied to his words. 

You were quick to dismiss your own unsolicited thoughts and carried on with the semi-tour Mat was starting to indulge you with. “Are you sure you’re gonna live here alone? Feels like a whole penthouse up here.” you honestly say, half-laughing as you make way towards the hallway. 

“Yeah. I mean, it would be great for when the team comes over.” he says as he follows your tracks. “The penthouse is actually two floors above mine though.”

You roll your eyes at his subtle remark, “Why’d you made me come here anyway?”

And as if Mat had remembered the task he originally had in mind, he walks right past you to lead the way. “I want your opinion on something.” 

“Really? What is it?” you inquire, following after his footsteps. Mat stops and opens a door leading to what you assume is the master bedroom. Situated at the center of the fairly spacious room is a california king sized bed, waiting patiently to be slept on. 

Mat looks back at you and says, “D’you think it’s any good?” 

He lets you roam around the place, setting yourself down on the foot of the bed. “Bed’s nice actually.” you tell him and you stand at once to look more of his semi-furnished room. 

“How nice is it exactly? Like, nice to sleep on or nice to not get any at all?” you turn around, rolling your eyes at his sleazy innuendos. “You’re such a tool. You really made me come all the way here to get me tied down this bed?” 

Mat only answers with a shrug. An adorable one to be exact. “What? That’s what friends are for, y/n. Now, come on. Test the bed with me.” he says, taking your hand at once before you could even answer. He lets himself fall onto the bed as he caught your weight in his arms, your bodies dangerously close to each other, feeling your own body temperatures. 

His hands roam around your clothed physique just as he starts to cage you in a well heated kiss. Your lips dance with his, letting his tongue slip whenever he gets the chance, nibbling on your tongue as the two of you enjoy exchanging your own take on what house warming gifts are supposed to look like. 

Mat’s hands were already gripping on the curve of your ass when the sound of your and Mathew’s kisses were stopped by a sudden knock on the door. Your hand immediately trailed down from Mat’s nape to his chest, “Are you expecting someone?”, he thinks for a second, both of his hands still secured on your bottoms.

“Oh!” he gasps upon remembering who could it possibly be, “It’s probably my realtor. He’s picking some stuff up, I’ll go get it.” he says, propping himself up as a cue for you to get off of him. 

“Would you mind getting the door? I’ll be quick, I promise.” he adds, looking back at you as he steps out of the room, heading for the other side of the hallway. He speaks in an apologetic tone, feeling sorry for having to cut off the purpose of your visit. So, in an effort to let him know he had nothing to worry about, you shake your head as you finish straightening the wrinkles off your work clothes. 

“No, it’s all right, I got it.” you give him a reassuring smile.

You gladly make your way towards the door, not even bothering to look through the hole. You hand enveloped the cold metal, swinging the door wide open, leaving yourself not a chance at escape as soon as your eyes landed on those all too familiar big blue ones you’ve known all your life.

“Y/N?” a puzzled expression was all you could make out of Tito’s face. You tried stumbling for a few words in the hopes of calming your already racing heart impending to escape your chest at any moment. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks in utmost bewilderment. You were still in shock being that you’ve never lied to Anthony before since he’s the only one you’ve told everything to most of the time. Having him here, clearly unexpected, has evidently thrown you off guard.

You maintain your gaze at him and throw the same question back, “What are you doing here?”

“Mat and I are going out with Mikey and Noah for drinks.” he answers quickly so he could throw the ball your way, “You didn’t answer me. I didn’t know you knew about this place already?” he furrows his brows, looking over your shoulder to get a glimpse of his best mate. 

“Uhm. Mat called me to discuss a few things. Showed me some stuff too.” you nervously say, tip toeing on the fact that what you just told him wasn’t entirely a lie. You open the door all the way and finally let him in. Your knuckles were wrapped hard around the cold metal knob, wishing that Mat would come out to the room to save your ass. 

You must have gotten on a wrong foot and told Tito a lie that’s bound to invite more suspecting queries.

“Really? What stuff?” 

His bed, where he was just about to defile me on. 

Thankfully, Mat walks out the open room holding an envelope in his hand, immediately halting his tracks the moment he sees Anthony looking straight at him. 

“Beau! What–” he tries to remain composed, but you know Tito would definitely pick up on something just by how pale Mat’s face was. Dead and cold like someone who had seen a ghost for the first time. 

“What— am I doing here?” Anthony finishes Mat’s question just as he turns his gaze back at you. You try to avert his gaze but you figured it’s best not to. You need to go before him strong and level headed. The last thing you and Mathew want is to get caught in the act by no other than the last person you want to know about it. 

“What?” He laughs, brushing Tito’s biting tone off. “I know why you’re here, silly.” he tries to search in his head momentarily, but when he takes long enough, Tito answers it for him. “Drinks, man. You texted me for drinks.”

“Oh– yeah, no. I knew that.” he breathes out an uneasy laugh. 

“Why is Y/N here? I didn’t know you guys hung out? The last time I checked you can’t even last in the same room without slashing each other’s throats.” he smirks.

Surprisingly, Mat was fast enough to come up with quite a clever way to sway Anthony from his inkling suspicions. One that made sense, but not necessarily helpful in your end. “Psh. That?” Mat throws a hand towards your way, dismissing your presence in his unfurnished apartment, “She told me she needs money so I hired her to move my boxes for me. She even insisted on listing all the stuff I’ll eventually get rid of online.” 

Anthony looks back at you, surprised that you didn’t go and asked for his help instead. “How much do you pay her?” he asks Mat again. 

“Uh, five… ten bucks?” Mat scratches the back of his head and your face immediately falls to your palm. 

“Ten?” he questions, glancing at you. “Don’t you have your own office and a secretary? What do you need the ten bucks for?” Tito’s tone was now getting more curious and Mat, just like he always was, was dumb enough to forget you were earning more than just ten bucks for a living. 

“Did I say ten? I meant fifty— per hour.” Mathew takes it back instantly, following it with a lie that involves you asking him for a job because your publisher ordered you to for a book she wants you to sign for. Not that any of it made sense but at least Anthony seemed to have bought it. When you agree, Mat immediately takes Anthony in his arms as he guides him out to the door, snatching his coat resting atop his kitchen island. 

Mat looks over to you once more, both of their bodies already at the other side of the door, “You did great today, y/n. I’ll write you a check in the morning!” he says pushing Tito, who was still asking questions, farther from the door. 

Before Mathew disappears, he looks at you with his big doe eyes already thanking you for going along such a stupid make-up excuse. You roll your eyes as you watch him mouth a quiet ‘Sorry’, flashing his ever so gorgeous smile before him and Tito finally went on their way.  

𖥸

You’ve gotten used to how lazy Mat and Tito are during their off days. They would rather stay at home and play endless video games with each other than spending it with something less dumb than their stupid Xbox. Luckily, today wasn’t like those days because you happened to have your free day as well. You all agreed to spend the evening binging the entire Fast and Furious franchise. 

The three of you were cramped on the cloud couch. To put it in simply, you were sandwiched between two huge hockey players. Your back was leaning on Tito’s strong shoulders as it was laying just above your head. The huge bowl of half-eaten popcorn safely sits in between your middle, hugged by your stomach and your curled up legs, your sock-covered feet brushing against Mat’s thighs innocently. Almost as innocent as how you ignore Mathew’s hands creeping underneath the thick wool covering your body. 

Alarmed at how dangerously close Mat’s creeping palm was to your inner thigh, you shot him a warning look which was, as expected, answered by a defensive, and seemingly harmless “What?” look on his face. You roll your eyes, cautious as to not make any sharp movements for the benefit of Tito. You shift your position, angling your body away from Mathew and towards the direction of the screen instead. You let your body sink in your best friend’s shoulder, clueless that your movement had just given Mat the exact opening he was hoping for. 

With wide eyes, you give Mat’s thigh a firm nudge as carefully as you can, “Are you being serious right now?” you mouthed. Mat stifles a smirk and moves his hand away, keeping it to himself. You try turning your attention back to the television but somehow, Mathew’s actions left your mind wondering what he was about to do next. 

Gently, you stir back to your original position, propping yourself from leaning against Tito. 

“Hey, could you please fill this up for me?” you ask him nicely. Thankfully, Anthony reaches out for the bowl without letting his eyes break off the screen. “Thanks, Beau.” you add the moment he starts walking towards the kitchen. 

“Why’d you stop?” you cautiously whisper, asking Mathew who was surprised by your sudden inquiry.

“I thought you didn’t want me to.” he answers on the same level of your tone, putting his hand back on your shin. The warmth of his palm sends a familiar sensation down your region.

Looking back at the archway leading to the kitchen, you quietly tell him, “I asked if you’re being serious. I never said no.” 

Your candidness was met by Mathew’s widening smile, incapable of stopping himself from biting his lower lip, finding your bluntness quite adorable. “Be quiet.” he mutters as he clears his throat, eyeing Tito who was just returning from the kitchen holding a bowl full of popcorn fresh from the microwave. 

“Thank you.” you say the moment Anthony hands you the bowl. You scootch over, making you a lot closer to Mat. Tito places his arm back over the couch, allowing extra space for you. Once you got yourself in a position comfortable enough to last for the remaining half of the movie, your mind flies away, briefly forgetting the exchange you and Mathew just had. 

It was not even a full minute when you feel Mat’s very much capable hand start creeping underneath the thick cloth again. You swallow a giant lump in your throat, your senses already heightened just by the mere contact of his rough and calloused hand on your skin. 

You were wearing a pair of sweat shorts, the kind that were loose enough to let Mat maneuver his way deeper down your thighs so effortlessly. You steal quick glances towards his way but to no avail, Mat’s eyes were nowhere else other than the screen. His fingers, however, told quite a different story. 

You did the exact thing as him and put your sole focus on the movie. The sound of Anthony’s breathing was a good reminder to not let anything slip off of you unconsciously, especially now that Mat’s long fingers were inching its way to the thin fabric covered by your night wear. 

Mat begins to brush his middle finger over your delicates. You bury a part of your face underneath the thick cloth whilst your eyes are still pinned on the screen. The scene where Dom goes rogue plays and the light of the television flashes before your eyes. 

You tried to listen to Tito when he tells you about that time you went to the movies to see the film, trying to space out from Mat’s finger drawing idle circles on the thin fabric of your underwear, easing you just right, evidently taking his time fondling in between your clothed lips.

When he feels your moistness on his skin, Mat sophisticatedly slides a finger in your underwear just so he could feel the wetness of your folds. 

You on the one hand, keep your face hidden under the only light flashing from the screen. You manage to choke down your whimpers and instead lean your force towards the bowl you’re holding. However, you fail to stifle a gasp when Mat slides a finger inside you, making you stir just enough to stop your sudden movement from being unnoticed by Beauvillier. 

“You okay?” he asks, a concerned tone embracing his voice. You meekly nod, saying that you were just too caught up watching the film. He then takes his attention back, pretty much like the grinning Mathew sitting on the other end. 

You shoot a knowing look when you meet Mat’s irises. He casually plays it off just as he remains busy on his own, his fingers curling inside you with ease, pumping in and out at a slow pace, not wanting to let any of his movements show on the surface of your blanket. As Mat continues pleasuring you, you gather all your strength to stay still and calm your breathing. To no prevail however, knowing how good of a fucker Mat was, you knew you won’t be able to hold it in longer than you’re supposed to. 

Your heart almost beats right out your chest when Anthony’s phone starts to ring. You prop yourself up, causing Mat’s finger to do just the same inside you. You shut your eyes at the feeling and chose to clear your throat. 

Anthony takes his phone and looks at the two of you, “I need to take this. Just watch the movie without me.” he says, already standing to head for the balcony at the other side of the room. You sigh in relief, letting yourself fall back on where Tito used to sit, allowing more space for Mat’s miraculous fingers. 

He adjusts his seat, cautiously looking back after Tito’s track just to make sure he was no longer near the two of you. He looks at you, attention faltering from the screen as he slides another finger inside you. 

“Don’t make a sound. Stay still.” he orders, pumping his way in just as he glides his thumb to massage your clit. Your hand takes rest on your forehead, your eyes closed at every pleasure thrown your way, almost forgetting that you were holding a bowl full of finger food on your stomach. Mat must’ve caught on and ensured no unnecessary noises would make Anthony come back just yet when he takes the bowl off your middle to set it down the coffee table. 

“Fucking hell, Mat.” you can’t help but moan, arching your back once you feel your arousal come close. 

“Do it, y/n. Come on my fingers.” he growls in a low register, moving his way into hitting the spot at just the right speed, not wanting to prolong your misery any longer. 

You reach for his hands, your grip on him tighter than ever. Mat feels you come around his finger, eyes pinned on your spent up state harder than it was when the two of you were still watching the movie. When he feels your pulsating core starts to die down, he slips his fingers out your slit, eventually taking it in his mouth to suck your far too addicting juices.

You fix yourself up, eyeing Tito who had just ended his call. Mat looks at you, quite proud of himself.

“At least your fingers make up for what that pretty mouth can’t.” you say with a taunting smirk before standing up to get yourself a glass of water just as Beau finally comes back from the balcony, leaving Mathew with his mouth slightly agape and without a doubt dumbfounded.

𖥸

It was an hour before midnight but the house was already asleep. The boys had to call the night early because of the morning practice they have first thing tomorrow. But you still had some energy left so you figured drawing yourself a calming bath would help soothe your mind and maybe even up the chances of having yourself a well-deserved good night’s sleep. 

Now that you’re feeling better and getting ready for bed, your bathrobe hugs your body whilst you finish off your night routine so you could finally dip into the comfort of your sheets, the cream white duvet calling onto you as you picture yourself dozing off for the night. 

The strides you were just making out of your bathroom were put into a stop by how your door sprung open wildly, revealing one troubled Mathew Barzal entering your room almost a little too carelessly. 

“What the hell did you mean my mouth can’t?!” he questions at once, hissing. When he realizes the sudden rise in his voice, (which has also startled you in the process), Mathew immediately looks back just to make sure that Anthony was in his room, or far enough to hear. He shuts the door behind him before he finally turns his attention back to you. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask him, putting both your hands on your hips, your body covered by nothing else but a bathrobe. 

“The thing you said back in the living room, my mouth can’t what? What the hell did that suppose to mean??” Mat roars like a child’s impending tantrum was about to come. You avert his gaze for a moment, scratching your temple. You couldn’t believe something you’ve said stuck to him. Not that he’d ever do anything about it. Something you most absolutely doubt. 

“If you had to come here to ask me that, I’m pretty sure you already got what I meant.” you say, walking towards your bed as you get the bottle of your vanilla scented lotion from your bedside table. 

“But all those times it looked like you were having a good time?” he speaks, voice in a lower register as if he was talking to himself all along. 

“I was faking it Mat.” you finish off applying lotion on your legs, spreading the remaining on your hands. You met Mat’s gaze and saw that you might’ve tipped him off a little for there was a faint hurt in his eyes. 

“You were faking it?” he repeats in a quiet voice.

“You’re still good in bed, buddy.” you assure him with a smile yet to no prevail, Mat didn’t seem to buy any of what you said thinking that it was just a decent effort to save his ego already plummeting to the pit of his own embarrassment. 

“How many times have you been faking it?” he asks the moment he gathers his thoughts, his mind circling on the fact that all throughout this time he wasn’t able to get you off.

“You’ve only had the chance to do it twice. So… just those two.” you answer honestly. 

Mathew, who was utterly clueless to what was going on didn’t know how to react to such bluntness. He tried to mutter a few words but he was speechless. All this time, he thought he was good at something he obviously wasn’t. And being told something as morally immobilizing as that shocks him to his very core. The horror of all the girls he’s slept with, walking out of his apartment unsatisfied befalls on him. 

“You should’ve told me, otherwise this whole setup won’t make any sense, y/n. I thought you said we shouldn’t lie?” he questions, evidently disappointed in himself. 

“Look,” you stop, tapping on the side of the bed to have a proper conversation. When Mat finally sits beside you, you continue, “I didn’t think it mattered. And no offense but we both know you’re such a sore loser. I didn’t know how you would react. And I definitely didn’t want to deal with any of the messy stuff just to feed your ego.”

“For your information, I’m a thick faced motherfucker, you should’ve known that by now. This thing between us is going to be complicated if you’ll tiptoe your way around it just to spare my feelings.” he says with certainty, a definitive tone accentuated by how intense he was now looking at your face, still glowing from your night care routine. 

“Is there something I don’t do?” he adds, “Or is it something that I should stop doing?”

“Fine. If you really wanna talk about this I’ll tell you.” you angle yourself facing him and Mat does the same, “You’re not entirely bad. You do know your way around. It’s just that— you’re trying a little too hard and it gets really overwhelming at times. And mind you, it isn’t even the good kind,”

“Show me.” Mat cuts you before you could grab the chance to continue, stopping you mid sentence, causing you to stumble on a few words. “What?” 

“I won’t leave this room knowing I can’t get you off.” he says, and just like that, Mathew meets your lips with an all too hungry mouth eager to make you come for him even if it takes having to have endless runs at it. 

Your body achingly responds to every bit of Mathew’s kisses whilst you let him run the course. His touches are tantalizing, urging you to come near him. He takes you in his arms, one fondling on your robe to pull it free from your body, the other tugging lightly on your hair just as he begins to move his weight on top of you.

“Tell me what you want.” Mat breathes the moment he breaks away, his mouth now travelling down the skin where your shoulder meets your neck, leaving faint bites, nibbling on it just before he makes his way down to fondle on your breasts. 

You answer him with a muffled moan when he takes your lips yet again. Mat’s irises unwaveringly gazes on your buck nakedness, your scent just enough to take over his senses. You feel the roughness of his hands graze all over your skin. Pinching on one of your buds just before it travels down your thighs, staying out of the place where he knew you needed him most. You feel him in every inch of your skin but there.

But just as you want him more, Mat purposely leaves it out of his hold. You begin to realize how much you must’ve underestimated what this forward could do. His hands were everything and you couldn’t even put into words how much you need him down there. 

“Mat…” you call out his name, groaning. His featherlight touches flowed smoothly on your inner thigh, grazing just your lips but even that was more than enough to tell him how wet you already were for him. 

He begins to leave wet kisses in between your breasts down to your stomach. Kisses that eventually made their way to your thighs as he inched his way to your core, the sloppy noise he makes sounds so beautiful in your ears. You look down on Mat trying to compose yourself under all the breathing he’s subtly passing your middle. 

“What do you want?” Mat asks again, this time his doe eyes meeting yours, clouded with lust and desire. You buck your hips upward in an effort to meet his mouth but Mat was rather quick to put you back in your place when he cages your hips with his capable arm. 

“Use your words, y/n.” he orders, one that has effortlessly made you oblige. You wanted to feel him more than anything else and if that meant submitting to Mat this time, you know full well you’d gladly break before him. 

“I want you to get me off.” you surrender, signaling him to take the plunge. Once he did, you let out a whimper at his touch, almost forgetting that Mathew was probably doing this so he could eat out his future girl right.

“Don’t rush.” you breathed as you guided him, “Stay slow and steady.” 

Mathew’s eyes never left yours even when you had to look away when you let your head fall back on your sheets with how well he was moving with everything you say. 

“Mathew…” you moan, reaching for his hair to take him closer to your throbbing core, “Go on circles, please.” 

Mat was obedient and followed your every command. Unlike the times he’s spent trying to pleasure you with his mouth, tonight was a time where he actually listened and gave you exactly what you wanted, exactly how you want it.

Mat didn’t have to do anything else for when he started to slip into your cunt and fuck you with his tongue, you going insane was more than enough to let him know that he was doing it right. He watched you fall before him, your chest heaving, your breathing rapid as if there wasn’t enough air for you to breathe. He entwines both his fingers atop your abdomen, the sound of you calling his name like a prayer doing all kinds of wonders on his end. 

You meet his eyes yet again just to see that it never left. Mat looked at you darker than ever before and for once, you feel a firm tug in your stomach you just weren’t ready to acknowledge and care for. As he takes time with his final strokes, knowing that you were close, Mat pulls away, thinking about the one thing he knows will redeem himself. 

“Turn around.” he orders with a grim voice. You were in dire need of an orgasm to even care about how he’s the one ordering you. You gladly oblige to his every whim and turned to your belly, your ass perked up so perfectly for him.

He lets your robe fall just above your back, revealing more of your skin for him to enjoy. He takes no second to waste and kneels before your already swollen pussy. Needy and very much heated for him.

Mat’s hands spread your cheeks before he takes you in his mouth once again, letting himself drown in your juices glinting under his all too heavy gaze. 

“Oh, god.” you whine, feeling Mat’s grin behind you as you dig into your sheets while your legs begin to shake at your incoming orgasm. “Mat, please.” you call out in a whimper, pushing your ass back further his face. 

Mat gladly takes the challenge but maintains at the pace you wanted. As he feels your pussy flutter in his mouth, he deepens it into yours to finally pour you with nothing else but ecstasy and ecstasy alone.

His face was filled with nothing but your juices once he pulled away, leaving you breathless and still caught up on meeting your high. He stands, a hand gripping on one of your cheeks whilst he admires the art that is: your all too spent pussy.

“Next time you lie, you won’t get to fake it at all.” he warns with a firm yet definitive voice masked as a taunting remark. 

Mat looks at your still throbbing pussy, eyes lustful and dark. As much as he craved for the inkling fire resting in his loins, it was already past midnight and he had self-discipline stronger than anyone else’s. He couldn’t afford any more scolding from Anders the next morning. 

So, even when he wanted nothing but to fuck you right then and there, he lets his hand send a message he certainly wants you to remember instead. One that has left a faint yet stinging mark on your skin. Your legs were practically still wobbling when he finally leaves for the door, this time fueled with the purpose of being the one leaving you dumbfounded in your own post-orgasm shame.

Perhaps, even wanting and more.

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[poutyyybangtan]

ready or not - j.jk

genre: friends to lovers, enemy to lovers, (almost a slow burn?), a mix of everything lol  character pairing: jeon jungkook 9bts) x female oc warnings: not really any lol just angsty fluff kinda stuff word count: 5.4k (it’s alot) authors note: i wrote this months ago and it’s not finished but i can finish it if yall want? let me know :)

______

(prompts from @im-here-to-help-you-all-write​)

“i think the longer you look at it, the worse it gets.” “yeah, kinda like your face.”

“i need your help.” “holy shit, i never thought i’d hear you say that.’ “please don’t rub it in right now.”

“i don’t feel like i’m ready for this yet” “you’re going to have to be, because we’re out of time.”

you can’t believe you actually had to do this. the last person you ever wanted to look at was your only shot at getting out of the situation you brought upon yourself. you had originally counted on one of your other friends to help you out, but of course, life never seemed to work out the way you wanted it to. 

“jin, please. can’t you just cancel and come with me?” you begged, watching as your older companion continued to chop away at some vegetables. 

“you know i would love to help bamboozle your family with my impeccable acting skills, but unfortunately, i do have a business to run. this weekend is a big deal for the restaurant and joon would kill me if i left him alone to handle such a thing. and besides, we all know joon can’t toast bread without having to call the fire department first,” jin laughs. you laugh softly, knowing jin had a point. poor namjoon had amazing business skills, but unfortunately that means he lacks in the cooking department. 

“i guess you’re right,” you mumble begrudgingly. 

“why not ask jimin if he can go?” jin asks, sliding the chopped vegetables into a pot.

“my mom knows him, she’ll know something isn’t right. and besides, he and hobi are going to a dance camp for school,” you shrug.

“and tae? yoongi?” jin asks.

“he’s got that test retake for his photography class and yoongs has an audition for an entertainment company in gangnam,” you sigh. you’re really proud of all your friends and the successes they have, but you really wished they could’ve helped you in your time of need. but you couldn’t be that selfish, so maybe you had to admit defeat. 

“you know, you could just ask jungkook,” jin asks nonchalantly. 

“you know i can’t do that,” you answer bluntly, refusing to even entertain the idea.

“i mean, you could,” jin laughs, putting the lid on the pot and onto the stove top, turning to you afterwards.

“jin, you know i can’t. he is the last person on earth i would ask to help me. i would rather die of embarrassment than to ask him for his help,” you dramatically claim.

“you just might if you don’t ask. besides, what's the big deal? it’s only for a weekend,” jin shrugs.

“yeah, a whole weekend of him pretending to be my boyfriend. jin, we can barely tolerate each other as is, having us cooped up together and pretending like we actually like each other is a whole other ball game,” you said.

“well, here’s the way i look at it. either you tell your mother that you don’t have a boyfriend and face embarrassment at your mother's wedding, or you can suck it up, ask jungkook nicely to do you this one favor, and have fun this weekend. you never know, jungkook might actually be up for it,” jin says, an underlying suggestive tone in his voice; one that you never caught.

you had to admit, jin was right. as painful as it was, jungkook was your only chance at escaping this nightmarish weekend. 

-

you found jungkook in his usual zone of comfort: with his lips attached to some random girl he probably barely knew. you found yourself scrunching your face in distaste. such a vulgar display in a library no less. you huffed off your second doubts and approached the table with confidence. you noticed that neither party acknowledged your presence, so you knocked on the table to gain their attention. reluctantly, the girl pulled away first to throw you a bitter look.

“jeon, can we talk?” you say softly, not trying to cause a disturbance.

“i’m kind of busy, can’t it wait?” jungkook asks, a smug look on his face, the girl sat next to him donned a complacent smile on hers.

“please, i saw you making out with some bimbo blonde yesterday, i’m sure you can find some other toy to play with when we’re done,” you smirk, watching the look on the girls face fall with every passing word that escaped your lips. she glanced over at jungkook with disgust before grabbing her belongings and walking away in a fit.

“great, well there goes my whole afternoon,” jungkook scoffs. he leans into his chair, folding his arms over his chest.

“you’ll deal. look, i need your help,” you admit, much to your dismay.

“holy shit, i never thought i’d hear you say that,” jungkook laughs ironically.

“please don’t rub it in right now,” you groan.

“how can i offer my service to you?” jungkook smirks, looking up at your obviously irritated figure.

“i need... i can’t believe i’m saying this. i need you to be my boyfriend for the weekend,” you spit out.

“you what?” jungkook asks incredulously. you don’t blame him for his confusion. what you were asking was heinous, add to the fact that you two barely tolerated each other? it was the biggest taboo situation you could’ve put yourself in. but you were desperate.

your mother, as loving as she was, was relentless. she just wanted the best for you. you were about to graduate college soon, about to get a real career and be a real adult. and to her, that meant start a family as soon as possible. and that couldn’t happen without being in a relationship first. and what better way than to hook your daughter up at a gathering for family friends? cause nothing says love like a wedding, right?

“what’s in it for me?” jungkook asks. you looked at him in disbelief.

“wait, you’re actually considering it?” you asked.

“well, you gave me a proposition, so why not?” jungkook asks. 

“uh, because we’re not necessarily friends? it’s not like you owe me anything to even consider the idea,” you chuckle.

“you might not be my friend, but that doesn’t mean i’m not yours,” jungkook shrugs, finally standing up and collecting his scattered books. you hadn’t actually noticed them before, you just thought that the library was a good place for jungkook to hook up, not an actual study zone. 

“well, uh, what do you have in mind?” you asked, answering his question finally. 

“i need a date for this work thing, and my usual hookups aren't going to cut it. they’re not exactly what you would say… modest?” jungkook jokes, causing you to laugh a little bit. 

“sound like a deal?” jungkook asks after a moment of silence passes. you pretend to consider his proposition, as if you actually had a choice. you look up at him and you can see that he saw that too.

“what kind of work thing?”

=

“where are you going?” jimin asks, watching you step out of your bedroom clad in a cocktail dress. you really would’ve rather been at your shared apartment, cuddled up next to jimin and tae watching some horror film eating greasy food, but alas, you had to uphold your end of the bargain.

“remember i told you that in order for jungkook to uphold his end, i have to uphold mine? apparently, he works at some magazine company and they’re having a company gathering to celebrate the issue's 90th anniversary and he needed me to come with,” you groan, strapping on your heels. 

“you’re going all out for this,” taehyung comments, a teasing tone hidden in his words. you looked up and glared at him, knowing what he meant.

“if i put forth 100%, maybe he will too,” you say. 

“oh, he most definitely will be putting in 100% effort,” jimin says, low enough for only taehyung to hear which makes him giggle. you look up and see jimin smirking at you which makes you groan internally. 

suddenly, the doorbell rings and you thank whatever being there is that saves you from the conversation that was happening, with or without your participation. you pull the door open and the first thing you see is jungkook, properly dressed head to toe. you notice the bow tie pressed snuggly against his neck, not a wrinkle in his suit jacket or his dress shirt. his long hair was parted down the middle, brushed out out of his eye. you hated to admit it, but he looked breathtakingly beautiful. 

“wow,” jungkook finally says, eyeing you in a way that made the blood pool in your cheeks. 

“uh, yeah. let’s- let’s go,” you murmur, noticing the boys in the living room giggling at your guys’ interaction. you shove him in his chest. he grabs your hands and laughs, pulling you out the door.

“what did i miss?” jungkook asks. you roll your eyes, noticing the way jungkook held onto your hand, even after you got further and further away from your apartment, but not minding the warmth his hand provided against your cold one. 

“trust me, nothing you want to hear, and nothing i’m willing to repeat,” you scoff.

=

jungkook was right. he had warned you beforehand that everyone at his job was stuck up and snobbish and would continuously point out that fact that you were no model. and like he had forewarned, all you heard all night was “you’re too pretty not to be a model” or “jungkook ended up with you?” you were appalled, sure, but you didn’t take their words to heart. you don’t know these people, and after tonight, you’re never going to see them again. 

but jungkook flinched every time someone opened their mouth. he felt bad for you, but when he saw you delicately handle the situation, he knew you would be fine. still, it didn’t make him feel any less bad. 

“we can leave whenever you want, you know?” jungkook whispers into your ear. you look up at him and smile.

“sounds like you’re using me as an excuse to ditch this snooze fest,” you giggle. jungkook smiles back down at you and laughs with you.

“busted,” he finally says.

“thank god, let’s ditch these runway wannabes and get some pizza. i’m starved,” you groan, looking away, missing the endearing glance he tosses your way. you both ditch the stuffy building, and headed to a late night pizza shop down the corner. you sigh in relief once you step into the restaurant, inhaling the smell of cheese and dough. you both decide to seat yourselves in a booth in the corner of the dining area.  once you both place your orders, you settle into a comfortable silence. 

“so, what caused you to conjure up this boyfriend lie?” jungkook asked after awhile. 

“my mom thinks that i need to be in a relationship to be happy since i’m getting ready to enter the real world,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and leaning into your elbows that rested on the table.

“thats stupid,” jungkook scoffs, leaning into the booth. you were caught off guard by this, expecting jungkook to somewhat agree with your mother.

“you look surprised,” he says, gauging your reaction.

“i kind of am. not gonna lie, i was expecting you to agree with her,” you say, shrugging. the waiter brings your slices and leaves you two alone, settling back into the conversation.

“no way. if you want to be single, you should. i’m sure you’re single by choice anyways,” jungkook says, picking up his pizza and taking a huge bite of it.

“what do you mean?” you ask him, slightly confused behind the intentions of his sentence. 

“i just mean that you’re insanely smart, funny and talented. and you’re extremely beautiful. if you wanted any guy, you could have him,” jungkook shrugs, munching on his pizza in peace. meanwhile, his statement sent you into a frenzy. who knew jeon jungkook thought so highly of you. you were under the impression that he dispised your entire being. he never really complimented you before, so his statement shocked you. 

“never knew you thought so highly of me,” you said, smiling to yourself. you can’t really explain it and you don’t know why, but knowing how jungkook truly felt about you made you extremely happy. 

“there’s a lot you don’t now about me,” he winks, causing you to roll your eyes and eat your pizza. and yet again, you missed the way jungkook smiled at you, enjoying your presence more than he would care to admit to. 

=

“i don’t feel like i’m ready for this yet,” you murmur, feeling your hands start to shake as you stood outside the venue. 

“you’re going to have to be, because we’re out of time,” jungkook smiles, taking hold of your hand and waltzing you two into the building. your mom had asked you to come early for a surprise so you decided to give her a surprise of your own.

“jungkook, maybe we should say you caught food poisoning and we had to leave,” you murmured as jungkook continued to drag you further and further into the building. jungkook smiled at your child-like nature and shook his head.

“we’ve come too far to give up now. let’s just rock this and get home,” he says, smiling at you. you felt a sudden urge of confidence that surges through you and gives you enough momentum to swing open the doors of the chapel hall. you were taken aback by the way the chairs are decorated with white pieces, hanging off the backs. you take notice of the pale yellow and white combo that you didn’t think would match so well. you felt happy for your mom and that she met someone who loved her so much that they were willing to do this for her to cherish the day.

“it’s beautiful,” you gape, admiring all the minute details your mother probably agonized over. jungkook admired the astonished look on your face as you practically ignored his presence to take in your surroundings. he always found you beautiful, but watching you be you while nobody was looking was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. jungkook had the biggest crush on you for as long as he could remember. and he refused to even fathom the thought of confessing to you when he knew how you felt. he knew you couldn’t stand his lifestyle, his choices that he’s made regrettably. but how else was he supposed to cope with the fact with the one person he’s allowed to steal his heart hates him. 

“ah, there you are,” a voice says from behind you two. you both turn around and you see your mom, hair curlers and full glam. 

“hi mama,” you smile, running up to her and giving her a big hug. 

“hi sweet pea,” your mama coos, swaying you both back and forth. you pull back and look behind you to see jeon smiling at the interaction. this made your heart jump for a split second before you returned back to your surroundings.

“ma, this is my boyfriend, jeon jungkook,” you smile. 

“oh my, you’re so handsome,” your mother gushes, rushing up to him and pulling him into a hug.

“thank you,” jungkook smiles, blushing slightly. you’ve never seen jeon blush before and to see him in a such a fragile state made you happy. and you couldn’t seem to figure out why. your mom finally released jeon from her clutches and she turned back to you. 

“hun, i’ve got a surprise for you. follow me,” she says, grabbing yours and jeon’s hands dragging you to what you assumed was the dressing room. there were two dresses that were covered hanging off of a clothing rack. your mom shoves you guys onto a couch and rushes over to the dresses.

“one of these beauties will be yours to wear for the wedding because… hon, will you be my maid of honor?” your mother asks, eyes full of stars that made your heart swell. you felt the air leave your lungs and your heart begin to race. you remember watching your mom struggle with love all her life, her face in a frown always. you’ve never seen your mom so happy now, and you would do anything just to see her happy. 

“ma, are you serious?” you ask, wanting to be sure this is what she really wanted. 

“of course baby,” she smiles. you jump up and hug her tightly, muttering a yes into her hair. you both squeal with delight, jumping in place like teenage girls. suddenly, another pair of arms are wrapped around you, chest pressed against your back. you managed to look up and see jungkook bouncing with you and your mom. 

“i wanted to join too,” jungkook says, his voice high pitched and filled with excitement which in response, made you giggle. you all finally stop bouncing and jungkook pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, catching you off guard. you felt your heart race and you swore his heartbeat matched yours. you brushed it off as it being the sudden activity you all had just endured.

“i’ll leave you two alone so you can try the dresses,” your mother says after she catches her breath, winking at you. 

“you’re just gonna let your daughter get undressed in front of her boyfriend alone?” you ask incredulously. 

“hon, he’s your boyfriend. i’m sure he’s seen more,” she giggles, exiting the room, leaving you with your jaw wide open. 

“can you believe this?” you ask, shocked at your mothers bold statement.

“i’ve always wondered where you get your vulgarity from,” jungkook teases, his chest causing a vibration that you felt in your back, reminding you of your close, read as nonexistent, proximity. you push yourself away and whip around to face him, catching a glimpse of him trying to fight the smile that tried its best to take place on his delicate features.

“i’m not vulgar and you’re not watching me change. however, i do need an opinion on the dresses, so i guess you can stay,” you say, walking past him to try on the dresses. you snatch both of them of the rack and head into the bathroom, changing into dress number one. 

at first you thought it was a joke, the frills and exotic colors making your eyes hurt from how loud it was. you tried it on anyway, and you couldn’t believe how ridiculous you looked. no way your mother was being serious when she picked this dress out. you unlocked the bathroom door and stopped your way to where jungkook was sitting on the couch, playing on his phone. you clear your throat to capture his attention and you nearly explode with the laughter with the way his eyes widen and face drops.

“what do you think?” you ask him, twirling around in the godforsaken dress you know your mother probably bought as a joke. 

“i think the longer you look at it, the worse it gets,” jungkook says, a dumbfounded look on his face. you withhold your laughter and stare at him in distaste.

“yeah like your face,” you scoff, playing with the dress as if you actually admired it. 

“are you gonna wear that?” he asks, secretly hoping you’d say no so he could release a breathe he didn’t know he was holding. 

“well, i like it, don’t you?” you say, continuing to pretend like you actually were considering wearing this deafening dress. 

“uh.. if you like it then… sure,” jungkook says, shifting in his seat. you admired the fact that he was trying to cater to your feelings and for some reason it made your heart race at the thought. you don’t know whats been going on with you lately but every kind gesture has made your heart race with excitement. you didn’t know when it happened, but you started looking at jungkook as more and it scared you. you couldn’t be with him. you knew that. jungkook had a reputation, and he was proud of it. he was proud of the amount of women he could pull in one night. hell, in one hour. he was used to the idea that feelings were a concept he wasn’t willing to understand or try out. and you had to accept that.

“i’m messing with you gukkie. my mom probably bought this as a gag, the real dress is still in its cover,” you say laughing at jungkooks face that was contorted into one of discomfort. you leave him to relish in your teasing as you retreat back to the bathroom to change into the actual dress. you could still hear jungkook laugh to himself as you unzipped the dress to change into the other one. little did you know, he was laughing to himself about the nickname you gave him. he’s never had a nickname he actually enjoyed before. he was still lost in the thought of you calling him gukkie forever when you finally exited the bathroom.

he always thought those scenes in cheesy rom-com teen films where the guy is staring at the girl like she’s the only one that matters was cliche. but he was wrong. so very wrong. watching you in the tight floor length pale yellow dress that just made you glow knocked all the air out of his lungs. you’re hair that was in a messy ponytail allowed some pieces of hair to frame your face as you continued to fumble with the dress.

“it’s a little longer than i thought, but it fits well, yeah?” you say, still looking down at the gown. you honestly felt ridiculous. you rarely dress up like this. you hid your body underneath baggy clothing so to have something so tightly pressed against your body made you severely insecure. the silence coming from jungkook made everything worse. you looked up to see jungkook leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands holding his head up. there was a look in his eye you had never seen before and it made your stomach churn with excitement.

“that bad huh?” you joke, hoping to ease some of the tension that was building in the room. jungkook stands to his feet and approaches you, his body so close to yours you could feel the heat radiating off of his body. 

“you look beautiful,” jungkook says, smiling down at you. you feel yourself blush and begin to fumble with your fingers, a nervous tic jungkook found absolutely adorable. jungkook was helplessly in love with you, this much he knew. from the way you laughed, to the way you rolled your eyes in his presence. he loved the way you gave yourself wholly to the ones you cared about, willing and able to do any and everything for the people you love. he loved the way you strived to work hard and how incredibly intelligent you were. and suddenly, his heart was full with all the love he was dying to give you, but know he never could. because you deserved much more than some player who was willing to sleep with anything with legs. but if he could at least pretend like the love between you two was real, even if for a short while, he’ll take it. as desperate as he was, he wanted to know what it felt like to have you love him back. even if he knew it was all pretend. 

“jungkook, i can’t thank you enough for doing this. i know you would rather be in some girls bed trying to figure out a way to sneak out without her noticing, but i’m glad you’re here… with me,” you smile, hands gripping his bicep’s to keep him close. his cologne was hypnotizing, causing you to pull him closer and closer.

“there’s no place i would rather be,” jungkook said honestly, placing his hands onto your waist, allowing you to lean in. 

“you don’t mean that,” you scoff, smiling and rolling your eyes, getting ready to pull yourself back from a dangerous territory. jungkook stops this from happening, wrapping his arm around you til your pressed flush against his body. 

“you have no idea how bad i want you. all of you. mind, body and soul. but for right now, for the sake of our friendship and the momentum its growing, i will take you in whatever way you will allow me to have,” jungkooks says, forehead pressed against yours as he wills himself to hold back from pressing his lips against yours and taking you on the small couch in the dressing room. the words jungkook spoke so honestly made you shake from it’s intensity. 

“jungkook i--” 

“how’d the dress fit?” you mother asks, barging into the room. you and jungkook scramble apart from one another, him taking seat on the couch and you standing in front of him. you mother misses the way you two seemed highly unfocused and nervous as she coos over how adorable you look in the right dress. 

“you need to finish getting your hair and makeup done, so scooch along so me and your beautiful boyfriend can get to know each other,” your mother says shoving you out of the room and directing you to where the other bridesmaids were getting their hair and makeup done. it wasn’t until you were sat in the chair that you realized.. your mother and jungkook were alone. oh boy. 

=

you never felt so girly in your life. your hair was curled and put up in a half up half down situation, your makeup light and barely noticeable, but enough to tell you were wearing it. this wasn’t you, you didn’t like wearing makeup mainly because at the end of the day you forget to take it off and causes acne. you were working part time and went to school full time so you always left your hair in a ponytail or a bun. this look was new for you and you were kind of excited yet nervous for jungkook’s reaction. 

you surprised yourself with the thought, not really caring about jungkook’s opinions before, but now it was all you could think of, and that scared you. you knew this was just a favor he was owing to you, but he was really going above and beyond and it warmed your heart. but you had to remind yourself that you were just friends, nothing more. hell, you were barely friends. had it not been for you incessant need to prove yourself to your mom, you two would’ve never even became cordial with one another. 

you brush these thoughts aside, trying to manifest positive vibes for such a joyous occasion. you leave the dressing room, filled with chatter, in search of jungkook who may be suffering your mother’s constant conversation. you return back to the room you first were in when you arrived, catching your mother exiting the room. 

“you didn’t scare him off, did you?” you tease, hugging your mom. 

“honey, you look beautiful!,” your mom gushes, taking in the sight of her daughter. you smile and thank her, happy that she was happy.

“is he still in there?” you ask, nodding towards the door she came out of. she giggled and placed her hands on your shoulder. 

“he is, and he is absolutely in love with you,” she smiles, causing you to furrow your eyebrows.

“what do you mean?” you ask, your heart starting to race. 

“the way he talks about you, the way his eyes gleam with love with the mere thought of you. hunny, this man is undoubtedly in love with you,” she smiles. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, there was no way that jeon jungkook, the university playboy, is in love with you. you two barely conversed without an argument taking place. you doubt he knew anything about you, despite you two running in the same circles. sure, you knew a lot about him, just because your friends talked about him a lot and it was hard not to listen to sometimes. 

“you’re crazy ma. you need to finish getting ready, the weddings going to start soon,” you laugh, trying to brush off the conversation. 

“jungkook is in there getting ready, one of robert’s groomsmen caught food poisoning so he’s gonna walk down the aisle with your cousin, sam,” she said, rushing off to get ready, leaving you no room to reply. this wasn’t what he signed up for and you felt bad, so you went into the room to check on him. you caught him standing in front of the vanity, trying to finish off his tie. you had seen jungkook dressed up before, but there was something different about this time. you felt something more for him, and honestly, you always have. but his reputation…

“looking sharp,” you smile, looking up at him. his eyes meet yours in the mirror and he smiles, and this time you see it. the love your mother was talking about.

“you look beautiful, as usual,” he says, his charm peeking through. you scoff at his comment, walking up to him. you seemed small compared to him, and it was kind of an odd sight for you. you leaned your head against his shoulder, just staring at him staring at you through the mirror. 

“something on your mind?” he asks, noticing how lost in thought you were. you focus in on him and the surroundings around you.

“my ma said something interesting earlier that’s got me thinking is all,” you say, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue much further. you didn’t want to make the air awkward or uncomfortable by trying to involve feelings, but a big part of you want to know how he feels from his own lips. 

“what did she say?” he asked, his nerves jumping. he didn’t say anything wrong did he? he tried to be as cordial and respectful as possible, wanting your mother to like him. if things were to happen in the future, he didn’t want to be on bad terms with your mother. 

“she said… she said that you love me?” you murmur, you heart caught in your throat now that the truth was out there and you can’t take it back. jungkook froze, caught off guard by your confession. he wanted to play it off like it wasn’t true, that your mother was delusional. but he knew the truth. and he knew that you also knew it too. he wanted you. he’s always wanted you. and now, he’s presented with the opportunity to have you in any way he wants and he can’t make the move to move forward.

“is it true?” you ask, trying to get a clear and concise answer. you’re not sure what’s going to happen, regardless of what his answer is, but the anxiety of not knowing is starting to kill you. you shouldn’t be forcing him to confess, but now that it was out there in the air, you couldn’t take it back. maybe you should tell him?

“if you’re not comfortable talking about it it’s o--”

“i love you,” he blurts, interrupting you. you pick your head up off of his shoulder and now you’re standing side by side, staring at him through the vanity mirror. you’re frozen, unsure of what to do now. you didn’t actually think he was going to say it. you thought your mother was pulling your leg. but she didn’t know that you two weren’t actually a couple and maybe that’s why you had hoped what she said was true. 

“did you hear me?” he asks, voice laced with nerves. he couldn’t even begin to explain the amount of fear and vulnerability he was feeling at the moment. he meant it. he loved you. but why should you believe him. he was a playboy, and though you may never understand his reasons as to why he tried so hard to escape you by sleeping with other people, he wanted nothing more for you to believe him now. 

“i did,” you whisper, afraid that the sound of your beating heart was louder than the words you spoke. you wanted him, god you wanted him, but you were scared that his words were from false bravado. a heat of the moment feeling that was fleeting. 

“i know you might not believe me, and you have every right not to. but i love you with my entire being and.. it’s scary,” he chuckles, trying to explain his emotions to the only person he’s ever been vulnerable with. 

“and like i told you earlier, for the sake of us finally gaining friendship, i will play it to your pace and whenever you’re ready, let me know. because i’ll be here,” he smiles. he turns to you, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss to your cheek before walking out of the room, leaving you confused as to what the hell just happened.

_______

an: part two? let me know :)

[a-libra-writes]

Belonging - Stannis Baratheon x Wife!Reader

this is 1000% self indulgent and gift to myself after having an awful time LMAO please enjoy. i love this man so much. excuse the terrible title yall know i think of them absolutely last

Summary: Takes place around the time Robert was crowned, when Stannis and the Reader are married for less than a year. Robert’s drunkenness results in some jealousy and misunderstandings (and making up).

There was one thing she had to admit about the Southerners, at least the ones in King’s Landing: They could certainly throw a party.

Lady Y/N couldn’t count how many she’d been to in the past year, or even the past month. It was just another pastime in King’s Landing, as natural to the highborns as drinking wine and wearing silk. If there was no pressing matter for him to attend to, and if he was bored, King Robert would have a feast.

Hells, he’d throw one even if the city gates were on fire, goblet in one hand and his axe in another. And as an honored sister-in-law, Y/N was invited to every gathering. Naturally the invitation was extended to Stannis, but no one expected her husband to actually attend. When they first married he’d gone for her sake, and for the sake of appearances, but that was no longer needed after nearly a year of being together.

Y/N had mixed feelings about that. She didn’t want Stannis to be miserable and on edge the whole evening, because he would be, but she was willing to admit she missed him. Sitting on the dais in her honored seat, it wouldn’t matter who sat at her left, because her attention would be on Stannis, who always sat to her right. At first it was her expected wifely duty to attend with him. To ensure they both looked as a pair, their houses united for the sake of the king… even if the king and his queen were constantly squabbling. That made Y/N and her husband’s united front even more important.

Stannis didn’t like to shout at her above the feast-goers, so he’d lean in, and she’d do the same until their shoulders pressed together. That small contact used to make him tense, but eventually he relaxed into it, just like they both relaxed into the conversation that would pass. Who was drinking too much, who was attending for the first time in years, when the madness would be over and they could go back to their quarters. Talking to Stannis became easy, and eventually they’d just pick up whatever conversation was left off before the feast. It would be nearly midnight, with revelers laughing and dancing and passing out all around them, and Stannis and Y/N would still be talking back and forth on the dais.

They didn’t just do that, though. She could coax him into a dance, taking his thin hand in her’s and pulling him to his feet. During their firsts feasts together, it was all show. Look at the newlyweds: the humorless brother of the king and his wild Northern bride. They were an act, a sideshow, and Y/N was determined to quiet the snickers and smirks. Stannis tolerated two dances, and he was stiff as a board the entire time, but Y/N was graceful. She could smile and silently guide him through, and soon, they blended in with the rest of the crowd. People stopped gawking when it became clear he wouldn’t stumble and she knew the Southern songs.

He still hated it, but when he saw her looking longingly at dancing pairs, Stannis would stare at her hand before carefully moving his fingers over her’s. Y/N’s excited eyes would meet his, and he’d reflexively squeeze her hand, pleased he could bring that light to her face. He would still only do the minimum amount of dances, but now they moved together, and they stood closer. He didn’t need her guidance to know where his feet should go next. And if the crowd was thinning out and paying more attention to their drinks than the music, he could hear her witty remarks about the guests and give his own.

They left early compared to the other revelers, and especially compared to the king. There would still be laughter and voices echoing off the halls as they disappeared into the vastness of the Red Keep. Y/N would take off her shoes and hold onto his arm, her mind spinning from sleepiness and drink, and Stannis would guide her back to their quarters, which always seemed too far away. Often he’d hold her shoes, once he carried her.

Y/N frowned as she recalled all this. There wouldn’t be any of that tonight - she couldn’t talk to Stannis, or dance with him, or lean on his broad shoulders on the way back. Yes, she had her little friends and acquaintances, but that wasn’t the same. She was startled by how much her heart tugged at her, like it wanted to pull her out of her seat and lead her toward the person she was missing.

My friends wanted me to attend, and I made all this effort on my gown and hair. I ought to stay at least another hour. Y/N had been looking forward to the food and music, but as the minutes passed, all the voices and the stuffiness of the hall began to irk her. She’d been to these parties alone before and hadn’t felt this pitiful. I need to get ahold of myself and have some fun, damn it.

At least King Robert and Queen Cersei had long left the dais, off to do their mingling separately. They stayed apart as much as possible, Y/N observed. She slipped off the dais herself, determined to find someone she knew and get herself a dance. She carefully lifted her black gown, letting the back trail gracefully as she crossed into the crowd. It was one of Y/N’s favorite gowns, a beautifully slimming dress made of chiffon that hugged at her waist. The skirt was long and luxurious, fluttering behind her as she made the smallest movements. In the light, the gold thread that was woven through the black fabric shimmered and gave the effect of her body sparkling.

Y/N only needed modest jewelry and a simple belt of black diamonds and gold to accessorize it; she felt her body and the gown were statement enough. When she walked, she allowed herself to indulge in the power her status brought. Being the sister-in-law of a King, few could approach her directly. She could refuse dances, refuse conversation. Lords could leer, but they couldn’t hope to have her direct attention, and they had to keep a respectful distance. It was a far cry from the feasts from when Y/N was a girl freshly flowered, and her father wouldn’t stop parading her around eligible men, like a slab of fresh lamb on a platter. Those humiliating days were over.

She raised her chin and exuded the confidence she felt. An older woman passed her, then stopped and looked twice. Her eyes brightened with shameless delight. “Lady Y/N! What an honor! Please, would you grace my family with a few words? My daughter would so love to speak to you.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped, but her face remained steady. She faintly recalled this woman and her house - an old Kingslander family - but she didn’t need to remember names. She just had to say, “Lead the way, my lady,” And the woman practically giggled as she did so.

From there she was bounced from family to family, dancing here and socializing there. Y/N was good with her words, and a few times she ran into a friend that gave her an escape when the conversation became too much. When that gnawing loneliness would bite at her, Y/N would quickly move to another dance partner. It was funny to feel so lonely in the middle of a feast, but here she was, glancing longingly at the open doorways as if he’d actually walk through them.

Once her feet started aching, Y/N felt the need to call it a night. That gnawing in her chest had turned into a bruise that someone wouldn’t stop touching. The pinching shoes were just making it worse. She sat down on a bench to lift her skirt slightly and look at the damage - no blisters yet, but that could change. Y/N glanced around, wondering what time it was. Her first thought was: Is he still awake?

She could just picture Stannis hunched over his desk, muttering irritably over a collection of papers. Or maybe she’d catch him in a calmer mood, reading a book by the hearth or getting ready for bed.

I need to control myself. I doubt he thinks of me as much.

That wasn’t a pleasant thought, so she set it aside. Y/N stood, wincing as the pain shot from her feet to her calves. She’d throw the shoes out as soon as she was back.

Y/N passed a boisterous circle of people on her way to the door, and she knew who caused it. King Robert was sitting on top of a table, loudly singing war songs with the old lords and their sons who had fought for him. Y/N glanced back a moment, watching them with amusement. The King was completely drunk, there was no question of that, but he was full of mirth and life. His blue eyes sparkled as he tipped his drink to a lord that hit a high note, then someone made a jap and everyone laughed again.

He reminded her of one of her brothers, one who was always laughing and didn’t take anything seriously. Y/N understood why men followed the king into battle, and why they liked him now. She understood why others misliked him. Personally, she was unsure if laughter, drink and song were the right recipe for a king.

When she turned away and nearly stepped over the threshold into the dark hall, she heard him. It was impossible not to hear that booming voice. “Y/N! Where are you going, sister? Have you always been here?”

Oh, hells. Y/N turned around and put a smile on her face. It’s not that she had no particular bad feelings toward Robert, he was just so much, and she was tired. He reeked of wine when he approached her, as expected, just as she expected his wild black hair and more practical clothes. Even when he was full of wine, his strength and height were imposing compared to Y/N. She understood how he could kill Rhaegar Targaryen.

“You seem to be having a lovely night, your grace,” Y/N said, planning words for escape. “Everyone is enjoying the feast as much as you are, that is plain to see. It’s all a bit too much for me.”

The smile he returned was also expected. Drunk men were not difficult to flatter. “Glad you made it, Y/N. You know Stannis never wants to bother. Surprised he didn’t keep you from it.”

“Well, he doesn’t dictate what I can or can’t do.”

To Y/N’s confusion, Robert found the comment hilarious and almost spilled his wine as he laughed. “Damned right. My brother always thinks he has the right to order others around.”

She flushed in embarrassment. Y/N hadn’t meant it like that. Rather, she and Stannis were independent. He wasn’t controlling like some husbands could be, and treated her like her own person, besides. Robert drained the last of his wine and tossed the goblet carelessly. It hit a table and rolled off the side.

“We should dance, Y/N. There’s damn good musicians tonight.”

“... If you wish, your grace. I could manage one.”

Damn it all. It was just the thing she wanted to avoid. Y/N hoped he wouldn’t rope her into half a dozen dances; ideally, he’d get bored or nauseous after a while... Or better, a busty serving girl would pass and his attention would be completely taken away.

“You ought to call me Robert!” He insisted as they settled into position. Robert towered over Y/N even more, but he held her loosely in his large hands. “All these damned titles. I think some men already forgot my name.”

“It’s a matter of respect - and they could never forget their king.” Y/N said, but he probably wasn’t listening. Several nobles and courtiers were watching them, and it made her embarrassment all the worse. She tried to keep up with his long steps, and Robert held her closer as he avoided a stumble. She prayed they were all too drunk to remember this, or notice who she was.

At least he was able to avoid crashing into other dancing pairs. The King looked down at Y/N with a puzzled expression. “Where is Stannis, anyway?”

Where do you think he is? Y/N thought, but said, “Attending to his work, I presume.”

“What work? What in the seven hells could he be doing, leaving you here?”

“I’m attending on my own, your grace.” Y/N said patiently. “I’ve hardly been ‘left’. Stannis prefers quiet to crowds, as you know.”

“Don’t I know it. He’s always been strange.” Robert grunted. He was lost in thought for a moment, or perhaps he had a spot of dizziness from the drink. Again, he looked down at her, but Y/N was perplexed by what he could find interesting. She wished the song was over already. This silence was uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Robert said with a laugh, “Imagine, if Stannis got stuck with that lioness instead. Her curse of a father would never allow it, but - ha! I’d like to see who’d win. Can’t sharpen her claws on stone.”

Y/N had no idea how to respond to that. Was he referring to Stannis marrying Cersei? What did that have to do with anything? “Your grace, I …”

“Would’ve been better if it was you and me, hm?”

Robert’s large hand slipped dangerously low on her waist, and the way he so casually slid his fingers down her side made Y/N’s blood turn to ice. He held her closer still, grinning like there was some secret between the two of them. The iciness spread to her gut and squeezed it hard.

Y/N hastily glanced around, wondering if anyone noticed - for a fleeting second, if anyone would save her. Her heels squeezed her feet as they danced, the aching returning with a vengeance. Robert had her in an iron grip, and he kept stroking her hip.

“He isn’t any good, I bet,” Robert mumbled, the drink beginning to affect him now. They swayed a little, and he leaned down, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. “Bet he doesn’t know what to do with a pretty thing like you.”

Y/N gritted her teeth. “Your grace. The song is over.”

It wasn’t, but she tried to pull away. Robert blinked, swaying with her sudden movement. He righted the two of them. “There’s still plenty of night left, Y/N. I’ll get us a better drink, this Dornish swill doesn’t sit with me.”

Let go! Her head screamed. The discomfort and sickness in her stomach reached a peak, and she all put pushed at his muscular body. Y/N stumbled back, her heels pinching her hard. “E-Excuse me, your grace,” She hurried through an excuse without looking at him. “I feel ill. I should rest.”

She didn’t bother to listen to Rober’s response. Y/N turned on her heel and skittered away, not caring about the looks she received as she darted through the crowd to the hallway. Away from the feast, the Keep’s red stone halls were cold and soothing. She picked a doorway and took herself as far as her biting heels would allow. It wasn’t until she reached a dead end that Y/N took in a deep breath of air and slid down to her knees. She heard seams pop in her dress from the swift movement.

She took in another breath, slowly released it, then took in another. The ice in her veins had turned to bile in her stomach. She oriented herself and staggered her way to the private apartments meant for the family of the king.

The door opened suddenly. The only evidence of Stannis’ surprise was how sharply his eyes glanced up. He was in the same place she left him, doing the same thing - sifting through a storm of paperwork on a desk. She hurried to the bedchambers.

She flopped on the bed, feeling her hairnet coming loose and hearing several more seams popping. The dress was too damned tight. She sucked in a breath and began unlacing it, grateful a handmaiden didn’t wait up for her. They were kind, but they hovered, and she didn’t want to be around anyone right now. Y/N’s head began to pound, and she tried to concentrate on undoing the dress without tearing any more of it.

There was a knock at the door, and she flinched, then sighed. Of course he’d knock. “Come in.”

Stannis never seemed entirely comfortable coming in when she dressed, even if it was his bedroom too. He averted his eyes as Y/N worked her dress off. “You’ve returned early.”

Y/N cleared her voice to make sure it was steady, and blinked her eyes a few times to keep the stinging at bay. “Is it early? I was already so tired.”

They had silence before, but this felt oppressing. Y/N tried to ignore it. She gave up on removing the dress; her braids and hairpins were a chore to remove, so they’d be a welcome distraction. Maybe he’d go back to his work, and she could go to bed and just pretend this night didn’t --

In a few steps, Stannis crossed the room and knelt before her. Y/N’s hair fell to her shoulders as she pulled the last pin, but her hand stayed suspended as she looked at him questioningly. Even in the candlelight, she saw a blush tinging his cheeks. He avoided her gaze and unlaced her heels, carefully holding her ankle as he pulled them off.

Carefully. Gently. She was instantly reminded of harsh hands gripping her, and the feeling of ice running up her limbs returned. Before Y/N could say anything, Stannis quickly stood and put her shoes away.

Y/N curled her legs up to her chest and tucked her feet under her skirts. “Thank you.”

“You have blisters.” Stannis said. “Should I get an ointment?”

“No,” Y/N murmured. She peeked at her toes and saw how red they were. She could feel the throbbing on her heels and ankles, too.

“You should have them made anew, or just toss them. This happened before.”

“Did it?” Y/N tried to remember the last time she wore the shoes. She faintly recalled that’s when Stannis carried her up the stairs to their apartment. Did she really wear these shoes back then? Maybe she kept them so he’d carry her again.

Stannis returned to her side, kneeling down again. He was so tall, they were still eye-to-eye. Not only did the candlelight make his blush more obvious, it made his blue eyes look nearly black. A pair of unfocused, lust-filled blue eyes flashed across her vision, and she squeezed one of the cold hairpins in her hand to focus. It was like night and day.

“You didn’t …” Stannis started to say, breaking Y/N out of her unpleasant memory. “You usually … say goodnight.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, but not in an unpleasant way. True, she usually walked to his desk to kiss him hello, and then a goodnight once she was dressed down and ready for bed. She’d urge him into bed, since he was clearly exhausted … and she may or may not have had certain ulterior motives.

“I’m sorry, Stannis. I’m rather tired.” Y/N said. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and their noses brushed as she pulled away. Stannis closed his eyes, as if taking in her warmth and smell. A terrible thought occurred, if he could smell the alcohol and sweat and somehow, Robert.

Stannis frowned slightly. “Does your head trouble you?”

I bet he isn’t any good.

“Yes,” Y/N said quickly. “I … I don’t feel well.”

He doesn’t know what to do with a pretty thing like you.

She felt warm hands on her cheeks, then on her forehead. Stannis’ brow was furrowing in that way he always did, but instead of trying to solve ledgers and paperwork, he was puzzling over … her. Y/N’s cheeks warmed under that serious gaze, and she self-consciously looked away.

“I’ll fetch some water.” Stannis said, finally breaking the silence. It was clear he had more to say, but as always, his tongue ended up tied around her. By the time Stannis returned, Y/N was in her nightgown and nestled in bed. She hadn’t bothered to brush her hair out, or wash her face, which was so unlike her. With a frown, he set the water down and tucked her in. Perhaps she would feel better in the morning - and she’d wake to a good breakfast and a drawn bath.

Y/N felt just as disoriented and ugly waking up as she did falling asleep. She’d slept in far later than she had before, and opted to stay in the bedroom to nurse her hangover and lingering negative emotions. The handmaidens doted on her, spurred by Stannis’ concern - when she finally did wake, there was ointment, a hot bath and a large breakfast waiting for her.

When she next saw him, Y/N pretended she was better. It was easy to do that when her kisses and thankfulness were genuine. That made Stannis believe she really was better, that it was only a hangover, exhausting evening and bad shoes.

In time, Y/N could press that unpleasant night to the back of her mind. She could have never told Stannis because it would only cause trouble, and besides, what could he do? Robert was king. Nothing really happened. If she said anything, her friends would roll their eyes, insist it wasn’t that bad, or be openly jealous at having the attention of the king. She would pretend it was fine, and forget.

The rest of the courtiers wouldn’t do the same, however. There were whispers that grew into words. There were those who wanted gossip, those who had ill intent to begin with, those who were bored and wanted something new to gasp at. They all helped the words and rumors spread, and Y/N blocked them all out, taking refuge in her royal apartments. She never expected they’d reach Stannis; Usually he ignored the asinine gossip that spread around the Red Keep - the only thing that spread faster was the lover’s pox, he said. He never believed any of it, never even entertained listening to it.

Until he figured out what the handmaidens, knights, servants and lords and lords’ wives were tittering about. It was all the same thing.

For once, the young Baratheon didn’t think. He could barely see, let alone reason, with all the rage flowing through him. Anyone who saw him storm down the hall couldn’t deny he was a Baratheon. The anger in his blue eyes was like a summer hurricane.

He put all of his strength into throwing open the heavy doors to Robert’s private visiting chambers. All three of its occupants - Robert, Jon Arryn and Ser Jaime - startled from the abrupt noise. Jaime, who was normally quick to his sword, faltered when he saw who was the source of that noise.

Robert had already set down his drink. He wasn’t startled enough to drop it, but he did carelessly spill on the polished wood table. Robert anticipated something mundane wound up his little brother - taxes not adding up, maybe he forgot a meeting with a lord, something stupid like that. “Seven hells, Stannis, what’s got you fired up --”

“Keep your godsdamned hands to yourself, or I’ll cut them off!”

Robert nearly choked on his tongue, and Lord Arryn almost joined him. The old man was normally so quick to settle his former ward’s temper, but he hadn’t ever seen the same kind of wrath in Stannis. His mind was rushing for words to calm the man, but Jaime responded with action. The kingsguard stepped forward, his hand on his sword. “Is that a threat to your king, Lord Stannis?”

“What did it bloody sound like? Do I need to repeat myself?” Stannis’ teeth gritted. He didn’t even glance at Jaime.

Now it was Robert’s turn to flare his temper. “What the seven hell’s wrong with you, Stannis? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

Lord Arryn stepped between Robert, who was now standing, and his brother. The only other thing between them was a long mahogany table, now looking as small and pitiful as driftwood. “Your Grace, Lord Stannis - please take a moment and compose yourselves. Ser Jaime, there’s no need for --”

“You’ll show respect to your older brother, and your king!”

“I won’t give anything to a drunken lecher that would interfere with my wife!”

Robert jumped to his feet, and for a second, Jaime was sure he’d throw the table. It wouldn’t be difficult for the giant of a man. At the same time, Stannis reached for his waist, and Robert reached for his shoulder… and in an instant they both realized they weren’t armed, and thank the gods for that. Jaime didn’t doubt the servants would be scrubbing Stannis’ guts off the floor for days.

“Enough!” Lord Arryn bellowed. Slight as he was, he could have a commanding voice. “This is madness! What is your grievance toward His Grace, Lord Stannis? Has something happened?”

“He would know.” Stannis said. “At the last feast -- you disrespected Y/N, and her honor. You treated her like one of your whores.”

Robert’s face flushed red, and it was Jaime’s guess if that was from anger, embarrassment or the wine he was drinking earlier. Jaime had heard such rumors himself, and more scandalous ones, but he didn’t put stock in them. Plenty worse was said about himself. His green eyes went to the old man - based off Lord Arryn’s grave expression, he might have heard more. He might know the truth. Jaime felt a sudden surge of anger toward the king, not the first time he’d felt this. Cersei will have far worse to say to him when she hears about this

“I didn’t go that far,” Robert tried to regain his voice and authority. “Damn you, Stannis, I wouldn’t lay a hand on her! I can't even remember the blasted feast ... I woke up half-sick in my room.”

His strong tone began to falter as Robert tried to replay the night in his mind. It was clear he couldn't - as usual, wine had muddled his memories. No one in the room expected Stannis to take that as a valid excuse. "You did interfere, you just don't remember. You're always drinking too much, whoring too much --"

"I'm king and I'll do as I damn well please!" Robert said defensively. "There's no bloody law saying a king can't drink or touch a woman!"

"If the next one you touch is Y/N, I'll take care of you myself.”

Threats often lost their effect if you repeated them, but the words had a new menace with Stannis’ expression attached to them. His eyes could have been glaciers, and a chill settled upon the room as the three men remembered this is the man who often cut the hands of thieves and gelded rapists. He outlasted the Tyrell siege, and cut the fingers of the smuggler who helped him survive it. It was not that Stannis was a butcher, but he was fierce in what he thought was just, and he had the unyielding drive to see it done.

Lord Arryn was the first to break the cold spell that set upon them. He stepped forward, putting a hand gingerly on Stannis’ shoulder. The younger man didn’t flinch, but he didn’t look, either. Lord Arryn said with a low voice, “Let us speak outside, Lord Stannis. Please.”

The brothers stared each other down, and for the first time since knowing the King, Jaime watched him falter. His great shoulders sagged just slightly, and his eyebrows knit together. Robert wanted to say something, but finding the words was the problem. Jaime didn’t understand why until he finally spoke.

“Stannis, I… ... I don’t remember a thing, I swear it. I wouldn’t have done anything to your Y/N.”

The Kingslayer blinked. He’d never heard regret in Robert’s voice, and he wouldn’t hear it for some time. Lord Arryn was not surprised, only relieved.

Stannis was the implacable one. This didn’t satisfy him, not in the slightest. The oldest Baratheon had always done as he pleased, regardless of the consequences. He expected others to nod their heads and follow along, if they weren’t already encouraging him. So many did that, blind to the consequences Robert was dragging them into. This was just another slight he paid to his own brother, but Stannis felt this one especially hard. Of all the women in the Red Keep, Robert had to disrespect his -

No, it wasn’t right to refer to Y/N that way. She was not property, Stannis would never refer to her as that, nor should anyone. He was thinking of the other sense of the word, the other way to belong to someone. That way was far more binding than any marriage, and as illogical and senseless as it was, Stannis wanted it. This latest stint of Robert’s drunken foolishness made him realize if Y/N wanted anyone, she could have them. She was beautiful of course, but she had that wit, that intellect, that capacity to understand others and help them understand her. In the months they’d been married, he’d found himself relaxing in her presence, then being comforted by it, then actively wanting it. Desiring it.

Stannis bristled at the intrusive thoughts, but they were the truth. He hadn’t the slightest idea what she thought of him, if she was only performing and giving him the support expected of a wife, if she’d do this with any husband she’d been arranged to marry. He never had the nerve to ask. He couldn’t ask, fearing the answer.

Suddenly, he felt the old man’s hand squeeze his shoulder, and Stannis finally looked at Lord Arryn’s steady face. Calm as it was, his eyes were entreating Stannis to say something, or better, to leave it all behind. He realized he’d been silent for some time. They wanted him to forget all about it, like he should forget about Storm’s End and Dragonstone. Stannis grit his teeth, ignoring the shot of pain that went up his jaw. There was nothing he could say that would get through to his stubborn aurochs of an older brother.

“Just stay away from her,” He managed to say, his voice bouncing off the mostly empty chambers. He didn’t bother to say any more, or close the double doors as he left.

On any other day, Stannis made a point to walk carefully through the Red Keep. Unpopular as he was, his presence and reputation was still important to the throne. He and Robert were young, and usurpers, besides. They had to be careful. These Kingslanders were a nest of serpents, and there was no telling which was a viper and which was a garden snake.

But he couldn’t control the way his shoes echoed off the stone walls, or how he outright glared at any guard to get out of his way. He was still too thin, but there was no mistaking the anger in that tall body. He was taller than most of them, and he could appear as fierce as Robert when his temper finally rose.

Y/N. He had to see her, he had to talk to her. Gods, he should have as soon as he heard those disgusting rumors, but all he could think of was her and Robert, laughing, drinking, his arms around her - no, Stannis wouldn’t go there. Just the faintest imaginings hurt him more than he thought possible. He caught himself before he entered their shared apartment. He didn’t want to frighten Y/N by barging in, and he ought to collect himself. It wasn’t right to act like this in front of her.

Stannis took a deep breath and tried to unclench his jaw, like she always told him, but it was already aching. He rubbed at it absently and stepped inside, trying to steady his pounding heart.

It didn’t work. Y/N was sitting right there, relaxing on cushions at the large bay window. 

He’d noticed she liked sitting there, so he had several cushions brought in to make it more comfortable. Her long linen dress was spread across them, and he could clearly see the outline of her curled up legs. One of the straps of the dress was drooping off her shoulder. When Y/N looked up from her book, she adjusted the strap. She smiled at him, looking better than she had that night. “Are you already finished with the small council?”

Stannis just thought she was tired that evening, or she had drunk too much. Knowing the truth, the guilt hit him at once. Why hadn’t she said anything? What did she think he would do, or wouldn’t do? Did she not trust him?

Before any more intrusive thoughts could surface and hurt him even further, he blurted, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N’s smile froze. “What are you talking about?” She asked.

“Robert. He interfered with you that night. You never told me.”

Stannis hadn’t meant it as an accusation, but as usual, he misspoke. Y/N’s face filled with anxiety, then fear. The book fell from her hands and slid to her lap.

“I-I … I wasn’t trying to hide anything, I just - he was drunk, so I thought it was best to forget…”

No, this wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to frighten her like this. Stannis hated that expression on Y/N, one he’d never seen before, and one he caused. He crossed the room in a few steps, and his heart broke further when she leaned back.

“I talked to Robert,” He said, trying to explain, but that didn’t help. He may have made things worse. Damn it all, why couldn’t he talk to Y/N properly? Why did his chest have to seize and his senses have to leave? “I told him if he touches you again, I’ll remove his hands.”

“You didn’t!”

Stannis took her wrists and carefully, gently, trying to express something he couldn’t articulate. It was months of confusing thoughts and even more confusing feelings, and he was ruining it. What if she never smiled at him, or touched him again? What if she stayed afraid and wary?

“He’ll never touch you again, I swear it. I should have been there to protect you, and I wasn’t. I … I should have been with you, as a husband. I failed that.”

He moved his hands to her own, and as badly as he wanted to entwine their fingers, he didn’t think he deserved it. He always gave everything he had, he always put duty first, but it was only fitting he’d fail this one. He hadn’t the slightest idea how to handle women, how to talk to them or approach them, although Y/N was something else entirely. He was poor with people, he knew that, but this was his wife, and there was no excuse -

“Oh, Stannis,” Y/N said softly, that voice breaking him from his thoughts entirely. He looked at her painted lips, then her eyes, which had lost that fear. “Is that what you think?”

He wasn’t sure what she meant. “It’s the truth.”

“No, it isn’t. You didn’t fail anything.” Y/N wove their fingers together, squeezing his hands, and he thought his heart jumped into his throat from just that gesture. “You don’t control Robert. No one does. It’s just like him to do something like that, isn’t it?”

“But, I should have protected you -”

“By dueling him in front of everyone? Creating a scene at a feast?” Y/N asked, and before he could give a blunt answer she added, “He’s the king, Stannis, and we both know his… appetites. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been some other girl, and … and it wasn’t so terrible as they all say…”

Stannis grit his teeth, tightening his grip on Y/N’s hands. “He shouldn’t, it’s unbecoming of a king, and besides that, it was still too much. Even a lecherous word is too much. You’re my -”

Mine.

“- my wife, and a lady of the Baratheon house.”

Y/N’s strap had fallen again, and her expressions still troubled, but he would take that over fear. Stannis reached out and fixed it, his fingers brushing across her warm skin. Y/N also reached out, but she pressed her thumb between his furrowed eyebrows. Stannis flinched back.

“Don’t wear that face,” She said softly. “I’ll be alright. I need time, and I’ll forget.”

“I won’t forget.”

“I know.” Y/N’s hand cradled his face, the same thumb stroking his cheek. Stannis releasing a hard breath. Just a simple touch and meeting her gaze was enough to bring the nerves back. He hated it, but he wouldn’t pull away, not even when Y/N kissed him. It was slow, and when she parted she said, “I know you would have protected me.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. Stannis glanced away. He noticed the strap had fallen again. “Y-You should have that fitted,” He said, fixing the offending thing. "It's too loose."

"Is it truly bothering you?”

"Yes."

Y/N giggled a little, and that was enough. He didn’t know how to make her laugh, so he was pleased when he did it by accident. She wiggled her shoulders so both straps slipped off, and with them, a little of her dress slipped down. “This fixes it, I think.”

Like she anticipated, Stannis' ears went red. He probably just realized that from his kneeling position, he was near eye level with her breasts. Pointedly trying to avoid looking was just making him more obvious.

Y/N squeezed his fingers and tugged Stannis forward. After a moment's hesitation, he shifted his position and sat on the cushions beside her. She wouldn't let go of his hand, so he leaned in, resting his head on her bare shoulder. Her skin was warm from sitting beside the window, and there was the distinct perfume she always wore. He could only smell it when he was this close, and it was oddly exciting, like a secret that only he knew. He listened to her faint pulse, how it matched with his breath as he rested on her shoulder. It reminded him of when they were intimate, when their chests were pressed together and their hearts beats were two separate sounds, trying to beat in tandem. She'd hold his hand then, like she did now.

That biting thought he had just minutes ago, that feeling of failure and confusion, was beginning to fade. It was difficult to feel like he'd done wrong when Y/N's fingers were trailing down his back. His tunic kept him from feeling them against his bare skin, but he knew that would change shortly. The anticipation of that spurred him on, pushing aside the last nagging anxieties.

While he kissed her neck, she sighed and curved her body against him, making him realize how cramped the bay window seat was. Y/N pulled on him again, and he followed her instruction. They ended up pressed against each other on the floor, lost in kisses and embraces. Y/N had lifted her leg up and let her dress fall down, and damned if his immediate reaction wasn’t stroking her bare thigh and squeezing it.

Y/N’s lips parted and she whined against him. “Stannis - wait, I meant to … I want to tell you something.”

“Hm?” He stopped his hand from trailing up any further. He felt like he had a fever, but fevers were never this pleasant.

“Did you - did you hear the talk about… Some of them were saying that I’m unhappy with you. That you bore me, or ignore me, or some such like that.”

Stannis frowned. He’d heard such things even before this mess, and didn’t understand why she brought it up. Y/N’s soft hands slid up his now wrinkled tunic and she gave him several light kisses as she continued, “I don’t ever want you to take those words to heart. You make me very happy, more than I ever thought I would be. I swear it, by your gods and mine.”

Her eyes were dazzling then, the sun from the window reflecting from them, and something else making them shine like stars. It was tears, he realized, though they didn’t fall to her cheeks. Stannis would’ve believed her without the swear, he’d believe her if she said even a fraction of those words, if those eyes shone even a little duller. She wrapped her arms around him, bringing their bodies even closer together, and gave him several breathless kisses.

The aching inside him was so strong, it was dizzying. When they parted from a longer kiss, Y/N asked, “Are you well?”

“No,” He said instantly, because he could swear he was having a heart attack. His chest was squeezing together like a giant was stepping on it, but it wasn’t … painful. “No, I am - I am well. And I am happy - with you, Y/N.” His words came out short, his mouth trying to keep up with the thoughts racing across his mind.

That seemed inadequate, but she smiled all the same. For the hundredth time he wondered if Y/N could read his thoughts. She leaned in for a kiss, and yelped in surprise as he swept her into his arms and stood up.

“Stannis! What are you -?”

“I’m not taking you on the bloody floor,” He muttered. The room had plush rugs and wood in lieu of rough stone and rushes, but it was still a floor, as far as he was concerned. “You deserve more than that. ...I want to give you more than that.”

“Oh?” Y/N grinned. She nuzzled his neck and kissed it, which only tightened his grip. “Show me how much you’ll give.”

She anticipated the flinch when she grasped his shoulders, and the quivering when she ran her hands down his bare back. When her arms wrapped across his torso and she pressed her cheek against his back, she could hear his heart thumping, like a dog's happy tail hitting the floor.

Y/N grinned at that, and softly giggled when Stannis tried to worm away. She understood it was nothing against her; he was antsy about too much affection, and she was certain the past hour was far beyond his limit.

One last kiss, then. She pressed her lips against the nap of his neck. "Are you needing something, my husband?"

"Tunic," Stannis mumbled. His pants were already on, but Y/N was shamelessly making the rest of the dressing difficult. His tall legs were swung over the bed, but Y/N was still clinging on, and he could feel every inch of her warm, naked embrace.

"Ah, yes, how forgetful of me." Y/N reached behind her, fetched the tunic from the mangle of sheets, and handed it to him. She promptly went back to her hug from behind.

Stannis grunted. "Y/N."

She was teasing too much, she knew. "Would you like some help? Those fasteners can be so tricky."

She just had to smile at the eye roll he gave her. It was times like this when Stannis acted his age: a young man in his twenties, with the dark circles under his eyes almost unnoticeable, and some flushed color on his skin. She hoped he was eating and sleeping better these days.

Y/N freed her prisoner and quietly watched him dress. Maybe another kind of man would stay in bed with her and laze the day away, but Stannis was not that sort, and she knew that. Personally, she wanted to stay in their apartments and avoid more social obligations. Her mind wandered to the rumors that surrounded them, that ugly reality breaking into this idyllic late afternoon.

At some point, Stannis had finished and was standing beside the bed. Y/N smiled and pulled on his hand, bringing him closer. Stannis only mildly resisted and asked again, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm well," Y/N replied. She entwined her fingers in his and kissed his palm. “Very well.”

Stannis flushed all over again. He hesitated, then leaned in and kissed his wife’s brow in return. “Whenever that isn’t the case, I want you to tell me.”

Looking down on her from that angle, with her hair splayed around her shoulders, the light from the window warming her skin and highlighting every curve. His throat felt dry, but he was pleased to hear her say, “I will.”

Stannis only nodded, but lingered like something was anchoring him. It was an uncomfortable ache that hit suddenly, even if he was ready to leave just minutes ago. He made it to the doorway, but glanced back. Y/N stood from the bed and swept one of her thin robes around her body. He could still see the outline of her legs and curves as she tied it tight. She glanced over her shoulder, strands of her hair falling from her shoulder to her back.

“You’re staring.” She teased. “Didn’t you have important work to do?”

There was always work to do, always some sort of duty to attend to. This was a duty in itself, keeping his wife happy and ensuring she was respected. He’d make sure those foul rumors were dispelled, one way or another. Still, it was strange for “duty” to be this … pleasant. This warm and safe. Stannis crossed the room to give her one last goodbye - a squeeze of the hand, and a promise to return - and he left.

[empyreanwritings]

A Different Side to You

Pairing: Angel!Sam Wilson x Demon!Reader

Word Count: 7k (yall this is my longest fic that isn’t a series, i’m crying)

Warnings: definitely some blasphemous talk, blood and gore, mentions of sacrifices, language

Summary: You like to get under Sam’s skin because he makes it easy, but he doesn’t realize just how far you’ll really go to make sure he’s safe.

A/N: Hello friends! This is my submission for @buckysknifecollection​ writing challenge, congrats again on reaching 3k bby cause you deserve every follower and more! My prompt was Flirting in Inappropriate Places, and I tried to be as interesting with it as I could asdlkfjd ! Please let me know what y’all think! I crave attention xx

Divider by @whimsicalrogers​ - check them out bc their edits are amazing x

"Do you pray, or is that kind of redundant given your direct line to the big man?"

Sam refused to look over at the intruder. It was bad enough you felt the need to bother him with your presence again but to do it in a church? He feared if he looked over at you, he'd throw the hymnal straight at your thick skull. That kind of behavior was unbecoming for God's favorite, and he knew better than to test his father's patience - even if you tested his own daily.

You sighed dramatically, and he heard the familiar click of your heels as you walked down the center aisle. You traced your finger against the armrest of the pews; your nails dipped in black paint occasionally leaving a small scratch on them. The wood was old and soft, it was easy to leave marks behind, and it made you smile knowing they wouldn't be able to buff it out without ruining the wood altogether. A church marked by a demon. How sad.

For the last year, you brought it upon yourself to cause trouble to Sam. Nat told you not to bother with him; she knew her father would protect him at all costs, but you couldn't stop yourself. There was something about Sam that made every part of your body feel hot - and not in the Hellfire kind of way. Maybe it was his strong will or those arms. Either way, you enjoyed bugging him because you knew you'd make him crack eventually.

It was too hard to resist you, ask any man or woman who was allowed to live after a nightly encounter with you.

"I have to say," you leaned against the pew directly in front of Sam and crossed your arms over your chest, "Orange really is your color, Sammy. I don't think I've ever seen you look so delicious before."

"Can you not flirt with me in a house of worship? It's bad enough that you are here," he hissed. "Do not disrespect my father by flirting with me as well."

"Touchy, touchy. I can see I've struck a nerve, so I'll tell you why I'm here."

Sam's brows raised, and for once, he seemed intrigued by what you had to say. "Oh? It's not to bother me?"

Part of your visit was to bother him, you couldn't deny that, but it was mostly a professional visit. Nat needed to return to Hell and deal with a few demons who were stirring up trouble. The longer Nat stayed on Earth, the more restless they became down below. Some of them even went as far as to say Nat was no longer their queen and wanted to overthrow her. And, of course, she couldn't let that happen, so she left you in charge of any earthly factions trying to rise up while she went down to control the chaos. You hated being left behind, but the company wasn't terrible.

The only way you could really get the demons on Earth under control was if you had Lilith's knife. It was the only knife capable of truly killing a demon, not just send them back to Hell to crawl their way out again. After the war between the angels and demons, the angels took the knife and hid it so no being could ever wield its power again, and you knew Sam was there when Steve hid it.

You suggested a trade: Sam loaned you Lilith's knife in exchange for one of your Souls. No one would ever be willing to give up a soul they took in a deal, but if it meant you'd get your hands on the knife, you would do it.

"Are you out of your mind?" Sam roared, his cool exterior finally cracking at your audacity to ask something of him. "You really think I am going to hand over Lilith's knife to you? You know very well that knife doesn't just kill demons, Y/N."

"I would never use it on you, you drama queen." You paused, and a wicked smile spread across your face. "Unless you asked me to, of course."

He scoffed. You felt the disgust rolling off him, and you tried not to be annoyed that the sheer thought of being with you made him feel sick. You weren't looking for him to love you, or anything like that, but he didn't have to act like sleeping with you was so terrible. It wasn't as if you could get any sort of disease - perks of being a demon, after all.

"I am not giving you the knife, so you might as well leave."

"I can wait," you purred and left your spot on the pew to explore the sanctuary. You knew it would bother Sam if you stayed any longer, so you were going to milk your time there.

The church was one of the oldest in the city. You never fully understood the separate denominations of the church, but you noticed Baptists put less work into their churches than others. The pews were old, the fabric on them was a faded green that was torn in some spots. The white walls were slightly yellowed and peeling in the corners, but you only noticed if you focused long enough. It helped that the lights, which you could see dust hanging from the top of them, were dimmed. The blue carpet on the stage was the only thing that seemed new, and even that didn't seem to be in the best condition.

You walked over to the podium, and from the corner of your eye, you could see Sam tense up. You smirked and continued on. A worn bible sat on top of it; there were tabs sticking out the side, marking several pages for future sermons, you assumed. You grabbed the end of one and flipped it to the marked page, running your fingers across the lines.

You opened your mouth to start reading, but Sam appeared in front of you almost instantly. He slammed the bible closed, barely giving you time to yank your hand back. He knew exactly what you were doing, and he refused to let you speak the words of his father.

Touchy, touchy, you thought.

Sam grabbed your elbow to escort you out, but you whirled around and faced him head on. You pressed your chest against his; you were so close, your nose brushed the tip of his. He hated being this close to you, but he made no sign of backing down. God's favorite was one of the proudest as well. A deadly sin, you chose to remind him.

He watched your eyes flick down to his lips and back to his eyes in a matter of seconds. It happened so quickly, he thought he imagined it, but he knew better. You were shameless.

"I guess I'll get going now, Sammy," you hummed as you trailed your finger down his chest. "Please wear this sweater the next time I see you. Like I said, orange is your color."

You disappeared without another word, and the breath escaped Sam's lips in a cough. Well, it was less of a cough, and more of a strangled gasp. You really had a way of getting under his skin, and he hated admitting that to himself.

He knew one thing was certain, he couldn't let you get Lilith's knife. No matter your intentions.

"What are they doing?"

You jumped at the sound of Sam's voice, thinking you were caught by one of the people you spied on, but instantly relaxed when you saw him standing behind you. You glanced back at the scene in front of you - an altar with fake skulls the group probably bought at Michael's, red fabric thrown carelessly around everything, and three men in black cloaks mumbling to themselves about Lucifer. A woman was tied to the table directly in the middle. She squirmed and screamed for someone to help her, but no one was around these parts for miles, and the group knew it. It was why they picked this spot in the first place.

"Virgin sacrifice," you grumbled. "I could smell the stench of goat's blood miles away, so I popped in to see what they were doing."

"You can't just let them-"

"Relax, Sammy. I'm going to stop them. I actually hate human sacrifices." You turned around and smiled wide when you looked over at Sam. His brows furrowed, confused by your sudden change in mood, but when your eyes looked down at his shirt, he knew what you were about to say. "You're wearing orange."

He rolled his eyes. "I had nothing else to wear."

"You're wearing orange because I said you looked good in it, aren't you? Don't be embarrassed, Sammy, you look absolutely-"

"Don't you have a virgin sacrifice to interrupt?"

Your mouth formed an 'o' as if you just remembered why you were here. You told him to wait one moment before you disappeared behind the red fabric.

Screams filled the abandoned warehouse, but they didn't belong to the woman. The stench of blood and mutilated flesh hung in the air around Sam. It was a smell he was sure you were used to, but he almost lost his lunch thanks to it. When the screaming stopped, Sam thought the worst of it was over until he heard one of the boys beg for their lives. A wretched sob and a plea to be better interrupted by the sound of him choking on his own blood.

You escorted the woman out quietly. The poor thing trembled in your arms, yet it seemed you weren't the thing she was terrified of. You may have been a demon, but the monsters were the men willing to sacrifice her in the name of someone who didn't want human sacrifices to begin with. Well, Nat only liked sacrifices if the one dying was wicked, but that was another story.

The woman thanked you, tears and snot streaming down her face as she clutched onto your torso. You grimaced but did not pull away. Human comfort wasn’t something you fully understood, but you knew she needed a good hug right now, so you let it slide.

"Is there anything I can do to repay you?" She sobbed.

Sam shook his head. He knew what you were about to say - she could offer her soul in exchange for helping her. Demons were all the same. They acted like what they did was for the benefit of others, but it always came at a price. A price the humans could barely afford. And just when he started to believe you did this out of whatever goodness you had in your heart, you were going to prove to him that you were just like every other demon.

"You owe me nothing." He sucked in a sharp breath. That wasn't what he was expecting at all. "Except…maybe don't go on dates with people you meet in cemeteries. This is New Orleans, you can meet better men at the bars."

She nodded and made her way out of the warehouse. You weren't worried about her spreading the tale of what happened today because she could be accused of murder if she did. No one would ever buy the tale that a demon swooped in and killed everyone just to save her. The witches of the French Quarter might, but they weren't lawyers who could bust her out of jail.

You noticed Sam staring at you and huffed. "What? Do you not approve of me killing those bastards?"

"No, I…" He trailed off for a moment, eyes wandering over every inch of your blood covered body.  He wasn't looking at you but trying to look through you and understand why you would do something like spare that woman's soul. "I don't understand why you didn't make a deal with that woman."

You shrugged. You felt no need to explain yourself to him.

"Wait, when you offered to exchange a soul for Lilith's knife, did you even have a soul to offer?"

"Several."

"Ones that aren't centuries old."

"Why does it matter how old they are? A soul is a soul, right?"

It hit Sam that you probably haven't made a deal since you first became a demon. There was a time where Nat required every demon to make deals with people, but even she grew bored of the lifestyle. Many demons continued making deals and ruining people's lives, but Sam wondered when you stopped - and why. You spent most of your days following him around just to bother him, which meant you didn't have much time to harvest souls of the innocent. So, why? Why did you stop, and why did you make it seem like it wasn't a big deal?

You turned away to avoid any questions he was inevitably going to throw at you. You walked around the body parts and looked through the trinkets they gathered for the sacrifice. It was a long shot, but you wanted to see if they got their hands on Lilith's knife. A small bubble of excitement burst in you when you saw a black dagger resting on the table, but you knew it wasn't the right one as soon as you touched it. No magic, no power. Just a boring kitchen knife dipped in paint.

He watched you look around in disappointment. Questions bombarded his mind, made him wonder what else he didn't know about you - what else he might have gotten wrong. You were still a demon, though, and he would never be able to look past that.

When your search turned up empty, you focused right back on Sam and the dark orange V-neck he wore. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he wore that shirt for you. And you knew it.

"So," you began with a smile, "I find it adorable that you are wearing more orange for me. Very fall…very romantic, if you ask me."

"I didn't wear it for you," he quipped. "I told you, I had nothing else to wear."

"Mhm, so you said. Well, if you don't like it, you could always just take it off. I wouldn't mind." You ran your finger along his exposed collarbone, and he quickly swatted at your hand.

"There is nothing sexy about you asking me to take off my shirt when it smells like blood."

You giggled, something that should have been adorable yet somehow sounded evil coming from your lips. "You'll get used to it after a while, but I'll let you change the subject for now. I know it's probably not good for God's favorite to be aroused at the idea of taking me on a sacrificial altar."

Sam deadpanned, and you practically howled out a laugh. He made it far too easy to get under his skin. As much as you would have liked for him to ravish you then and there, you were perfectly satisfied knowing you managed to annoy him. It was the second greatest pleasure in your life, next to torturing evil assholes who thought the world belonged to them.

You tried to turn the conversation back to Lilith's knife. You hoped that your display of mercy would make him willing to give up its location, but he stood his ground. He vowed to never let you see the knife, even if you did swear not to use it on the angels. The knife's power was too much for one to handle; he couldn't guarantee that after you used it on the rowdy demon faction, you wouldn't just turn around and use it on him or his brothers. Once the knife got a taste for blood, it always wanted more.

No matter what you told him about the threats of war in Hell and on Earth, he refused you. His stubbornness made your jaw clench, but you knew when to pick your battles. When the precious humans were in danger, he would be willing to give it up. Despite not wanting for it to get that bad, you knew it was the only way.

So, you'd wait, and until then, you'd drive him crazy with your flirtatious comments.

The next few days were…off, to say the least. You spent a lot of your time trying to get a feel for Sam's godly aura - something that had a distinct smell and feel to it most angels didn't even realize - but there was nothing. Every corner you turned, every chapel you visited, was hollow. Cold and empty, much like the feeling in your chest the longer you didn't see him. You knew it was possible he was just avoiding you, but you couldn't help but feel a little dreadful.

If something happened to Sam, you'd unleash Hell on earth. You would rip through every being you had to in order to get to him. The heavens haven't seen true bloodshed until you've put your mind to it, especially if you were going to avenge your non-existent lover.

But as you sat in one of Sam's favorite sanctuaries, you wondered if he had finally grown tired of your games. He was an angel after all, and you were nothing but a demon. Scum of the earth; knight of darkness and destruction. A small voice in the back of your head reminded you that you would never be any more to him. You looked around and realized, he might not have been missing at all, he may have just decided you were no longer worthy of his presence. You weren't sure which idea hurt more, and you didn't really want to take time to analyze it.

The funny thing about sadness is that it eats you from the inside. The harder you try to push it down, the more power you seem to give it. Even as you sat there, staring at the ethereal paintings on the ceiling, you couldn't stop the sadness from burning a hole into your heart. You closed your eyes and exhaled, feeling the heat from all the Bibles burning around you. And you smiled - not fully, but enough to push down the sadness once more.

"Where is my brother?" You opened your eyes and looked over at Steve, who went to work trying to put out the small fires you set. "For the love of dad, did you really have to burn the Bibles? You could have gone for the hymnals, at least!"

You hummed disinterestedly. "Why are you asking me about Sammy? I figured he went back to Heaven by now."

"He hasn't been home in months, but he usually checked in with me. I haven't heard from him in days now."

Okay, so maybe he was missing, and maybe you were too quick to start throwing yourself a pity party, but could anyone blame you? No one had to know you were willing to burn down a church simply because you thought Sam abandoned you.

"The last I saw Sam he was alive and well, I can promise you," you purred just to get under Steve's skin. "If I'm being honest, though, I haven't seen him since then. He usually pops up to scold me when I start trouble, and I did everything I could to get his attention! I even kicked a toddler, and he never came. I should have realized he could never get bored with me; obviously someone has taken him."

Steve blinked several times, trying his best to process your words. He didn't know where to start - the fact that you both tend to end up in each other's company willingly or that you would go so far as to kick a toddler to see him. He shook his head. How Sam managed to put up with your antics was beyond Steve. He always told his brother that a demon like you wasn't worth watching over, but Sam always had one excuse or another. Lately, he claimed it was to make sure you didn't find Lilith's knife, but even that excuse was flimsy at best.

He wanted to be in your company, and it baffled Steve most of all.

"I'm not going to touch any of that," he quickly shook his head and tried to push the disturbing thoughts out of his head. "Nat said there was rebellion going on in Hell. Do you think demons might have taken him to get under her skin?"

"I wouldn't put it past them, but I honestly think if the demon faction on Earth kidnapped him it's because they want Lilith's knife."

"And let me guess you want me to give it to you."

You nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "If demons are behind Sammy's disappearance, they need to be taken out. Lilith's knife can do that, and you know it!"

"You think I'm foolish enough to give a blade that can kill demons and angels to a psychotic demon with stabbing tendencies?" Steve scoffed. "You're off your rocker even more than usual."

A moment passed, and your passive façade finally cracked. You kicked Steve, full force against his abdomen, and sent him flying towards the altar. He caught himself before he landed on the podium, but he didn't have enough time to block your next blow to his side. You knew it was enough to knock the air from his lungs and catch him off guard, so you quickly grabbed his throat and forced him to his knees. His angel strength usually made him an even match, but your rage was the one thing fueling you. It was too much for him to fight off.

You squeezed until he was gasping for air and slapping at your hands. His eyes grew wide when he looked up at you and realized you were in full demon form - eyes black, teeth pointed behind your sinister snarl, and your skin slowly flaking off and turning to ash. He had never seen you like this, and for once, he feared his life despite knowing you couldn't really kill him.

You leaned in close, letting him get a good whiff of the rotted flesh and brimstone. "Let me make something very clear, Michael, you will give me that knife because the longer you wait, the more danger my Sammy may be in. And if he gets hurt, I will tear the world apart until it rains blood for eternity. You and your daddy will have nothing to protect anymore, do you understand me?"

Steve shuddered as you dropped him to the floor. The use of his real name never brought a chill down his spine until it came from your lips. He knew, somewhere deep inside of him, that you no longer wanted the knife for yourself; you wanted it to end those who dared to take Sam away from you.

Realization dawned on him in that moment. You loved him. It was something he never knew a demon could be capable of, but your protectiveness…your anger…it all made sense now. You wouldn't let anything happen to Sam, and he knew giving you the knife wouldn't be the worst idea. The other angels might frown upon it, but they wouldn't question Steve's judgement. He'd make them understand why he had to, and why you were somehow the most trustworthy person to take it.

"I'll get you the knife," he gasped. "You find out where my brother is, and I will meet you there with the knife."

You slowly turned back into your "presentable" self at his words. The relief that you wouldn't have to torture the information out of Steve flooded you. Sam would be incredibly unhappy if he knew you hurt his family, even if it was a little deserved.

"I can find out within the hour, I have someone who owes me a few favors," you replied. "Keep an eye out for my text. I'll give you the coordinates on where to find me once I know."

Without another word, you disappeared, off to cause trouble wherever you needed to. Steve stood there, hands dropped at his side and a deep sigh escaping his lips. There was one problem to your plan: he didn't have a phone.

The moon just started to rise when you stepped through the dilapidated gates of the cemetery. Fog clung to the ground, making everything damp and humid. Bits of leaves stuck to the bottom of your boots as you walked, but you didn't care. You just wanted to get to Sam.

You felt in your element, oddly enough. Surrounded by darkness, Lilith's knife grasped tightly in your hand. You knew the night would end in a blood bath. The demons weren't going to let Sam go willingly, and you mentally prepared yourself for what he was about to witness. If you lost control, even for a split second, your true form would come out again. You knew he would never love you anyways, but once he got a real look at you, whatever tiny amount of hope you clung onto would be squashed.

None of it mattered, though. You only cared for Sam's safety.

The faction waited for you in one of the larger mausoleums. They almost seemed too relaxed as you walked in, as if the party couldn't start until you arrived. You glanced over and saw Sam bound, gagged, and tossed in the corner. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and not let the rage consume you over the sight of him.

Mystique, the leader of the faction, casually hopped down from the top of the stone casket and made her way to you. Her movements reminded you of a lioness, calm and in control as she stalked closer to her prey. She wasn't scared of you, and that was the one thing you were hoping for; you wanted her to underestimate just how cruel you could be.

She walked around you in circles, taking in your presence with a hungry grin on her face. Her eyes lingered on Lilith's knife longer than anywhere else, but she made no advances to take it from you.

"I see you brought the knife," she practically purred in delight. "I'm surprised the angels were so willing to hand it over, but I see kidnapping one of their own was the best way to get their attention."

"You weren't just trying to get their attention," you replied calmly. "You were trying to get mine as well."

"Well, I did have a feeling taking your lover boy would get you here."

You refused to look back at Sam, even though you wanted to. You had to lie your way out of her trap, and you wouldn't be able to contain yourself if you made eye contact with him in this moment. And you wouldn't be able to hide any of your emotions from Mystique.

"He means nothing to me. He was just a means to get Lilith's knife."

As the words left your mouth, your chest started to ache. You silently prayed - something you never thought you could bring yourself to do - that Sam wouldn't believe your words. Whether he ever planned on loving you back or not, you didn't want him to think you only saw him as a means to an end. If he never gave you the knife, you wouldn't have cared because you got to spend time with him. That was more than enough for you.

"For a demon, you're a terrible liar," Mystique sneered. "I've been watching you two. I know the truth, and honestly? I feel a little sad for you, Y/N."

Your lips formed a tight line, and you took a slow breath through your nose. "Why is that?"

"Because you're dumb enough to think he'll fall for you one day. Do you not see the heartbreak you're setting yourself up for? An angel will never see you as anything but the perverted failure of his father, and you are dumb enough to think he could ever see you as anything else." Her words cut into you, and you had nothing to retort. She was right; you came to terms with this before you ever step foot into his life. You weren't meant to fall for him and yet…you did. You tricked yourself. "Even Nat believes she is better than us, it's why we needed to take action! Can't you see? We're your family. We're able to give you what these angels never could - power and belonging. I know you crave both despite all your past protests."

She wrapped her arm around your shoulders and forced you to look at Sam. Her lips were next to your ear, and though you couldn't see it, you knew she was smirking. "All you have to do is kill him. Kill Gabriel and we'll accept you into our group. I can be a fair better leader than Nat ever could."

Sam's eyes grew wide as you stalked towards him. Mystique's words ran through your mind on a constant loop. He would never see you as anything other than a demon; he would never be able to love you the way you so desperately desired. The longer you stared at him, the easier it was to come to terms with that. But it didn't mean he deserved to die.

"There is one thing I think you are forgetting in all of this," you finally said, turning your back on Sam to face Mystique.

"And what is that, my dear?"

You shoved the knife through her throat, ignoring the spray of blood hitting your face. The other demons stood, ready to attack, but they faltered when they realized no one was going to give them an order. Mystique was too busy choking on her own blood.

Just before the light faded from her eyes, you leaned in close and whispered, "You get on my last fucking nerve."

You pulled the knife out and let her body drop to the ground. She was gone for good this time. Wherever the beings went when they were killed with Lilith's knife, you knew it wasn't Hell; she would never be able to crawl her way back to Earth and cause more trouble.

The other demons stood in shock as you stepped over her body. They didn't want to fight in you in fear of losing their own lives, but as you flipped the knife in your hand, they knew they had no choice. You weren't going to let any of them walk out of there alive. They started too much trouble for you and for Nat. This was your way of tying up loose ends.

You gave them props for putting up a good enough fight. They weren't coordinated without Mystique telling them what to do, but they tried their best. Even when bodies started to drop, and the smell of blood lingered heavily in the air, they fought tooth and nail to get away from you. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Not a single demon stepped through the mausoleum doors alive. Well, besides you of course, but that was kind of obvious.

Once everyone was taken care of, you made your way over to Sam. You looked him over several times, and a pout began to form on your lips.

"You're not wearing orange today!" You whined as you pulled the rag from his mouth. "I thought we agreed you'd wear orange the rest of your life for me."

He let out an exasperated breath. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Well I heard-"

"If quote Alice in Wonderland and tell me all the best people are crazy, I'm going to shoot you," Sam grumbled, kicking away the ropes from his ankles in a hurry.

You beamed over at him. It was the kind of smile that made you look unhinged, and the blood spattered on your cheeks didn't help. "Ooh, gunplay? Sounds kinky, I'm in! But I'm pretty sure you don't even know how to work a gun, so I'll have to teach you."

"Please don't."

Sam took your hand and allowed you to help him stand. He had been tied up for days, and he caught himself using the wall to keep himself from tipping over again as the blood started to rush to his limbs again. He noticed how you stayed close enough to catch him if he fell over but kept your distance to give him some space. You assumed he needed a break from being surrounded by demons, and you weren't entirely wrong. He just didn't include you in the list of demons he wanted to stay away from.

You quietly let him pull himself together and got to work on piling the demons' bodies on top of each other. Not many groundskeepers entered mausoleums, but you didn't want to risk anyone finding them. You made a mental note to return with some lighter fluid and take care of the remains before the sun rose. It wouldn't please Nat to know you left bodies out in the open for anyone to find.

Sam tried to shift his weight onto one foot, and he grunted in surprise when a sharp pain shot through his ankle. You were by his side instantly, using your shoulder support most of his weight.

"Are you okay?" You asked, searching his face for any signs of discomfort.

He nodded. "I'm not sure how, but I think they might have broken my ankle. It should heal soon, though."

"Let's get you to a safe place to rest. I need to get the knife back to Steve, and we don't really need any other demons stumbling on your injured self."

"You're actually giving the knife back?" His surprise made you wince. You told him the only thing you needed the knife for was the get the demon faction under control, but he never believed you.

Because you're a demon, your thoughts reminded you.

"I told you I only needed the knife for one thing Sammy," you huffed and helped him step out into the cemetery. "I would never lie to you."

Sam said nothing, but he quietly examined the side of your face as you walked together. He wasn't sure what he felt in that moment besides confusion. Deep down, he already knew you weren't one to lie to him, but he didn't understand why. Why you went to great lengths just to save him. Why you hated virgin sacrifices and didn't take souls. Why you spent most of your time around him when you could have been doing anything else. You were supposed to be a typical demon consumed by a lust for blood, sex, and souls, yet you had proven time and time again that you were far from his expectation.

He wondered if Mystique had been right - were you in love in with him? The thought of you being in love with him made him question everything he thought he already knew.

He couldn't bring himself to understand why he liked the way you flirted him, or why he wore orange just to see you smile. He easily could have gone back to Heaven by now, but he always found an excuse to stay. To see you.

As you escorted him through the gates and far away from the stench of blood, he sucked in a sharp breath. Perhaps Mystique wasn't right about everything. She claimed Sam could never see you as anything but a demon, but as he looked up at you now, that was the last thing on his mind. All he saw was the woman he finally admitted to himself he was in love with.

You slipped into the pew beside Sam, who had fully recovered from last night's incident. You were exhausted after spending your night burning bodies and tracking down Steve to return the knife. Even he seemed surprised you gave it up willingly, but you didn't bother to banter with him about it. You were tired of the angels always thinking the worst of you.

You leaned your head against Sam's shoulder, half-expecting him to pull away in disgust, but he didn't. He sat there in silence as you closed your eyes and let yourself relax for a few moments.

The silence between you two wasn't uncomfortable. Both of you felt like you had been to Hell and back, and not much needed to be said about that. You were still covered in blood, and your clothes reeked of burnt flesh. Sam, who was fully healed, rubbed at his wrists to try and get the phantom feeling of the rope away. You almost made a joke about how a fucked up demon sat next to an equally fucked up angel, but the humor died on your tongue before you could get it out. It was just too much effort.

Sam sighed and pressed his cheek against the top of your head. "She was wrong, you know."

"About what?" You murmured so softly, you weren't sure you spoke out loud.

"About my feelings for you."

You sat up and groaned, feeling all of your muscles groan along with you. "Don't tease me, Sam. It actually hurts my feeling for you to lie to me like this."

"I'm not lying!"

"Sure, you're not."

He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. The sincerity in his eyes made your stomach churn. You knew how this played out because he wasn't supposed to love you; he wasn't supposed to see you as anything but a demon. Not a single celestial being would ever approve of him falling in love with you, and you would never be able to find peace.

"Listen to me," he began with a small, hopeful smile, "I love you. Do I fully understand it? Absolutely not. You're crazy, and I'm pretty sure you kill pedophiles for breakfast. You also willingly kick toddlers, which I don't approve but…I love you."

"No one will approve us being together, you know," you whispered as if someone was already listening in on you. "Not God, not Nat, not Steve. They'll always have something to say about us."

"Then let's get out of here for a bit."

"Where?"

"Anywhere you want to go." You quickly glanced to the side, and he rolled his eyes. "If you make another comment about that confessional booth, I will lose my mind."

You softly laughed and leaned in ever so slightly. You were officially invading his space, but you weren't making the first move yet. You wanted to give him one last chance to change his mind, to come to his senses or whatever it was he needed to do, before he turned his back on everything he knew just to be with you. Would it hurt? Absolutely. But you needed to know that this was going to last between you two. You weren't sure if you could live with the heartbreak of losing Sam.

"I think you've already lost your mind, Sammy," you teased. "You want to be with a demon after all."

He cupped your cheek in his hand, gently stroking your bottom lip with his thumb. It was an act so intimate, it almost caught you off guard. He stared at you silently before his lips finally met yours, and you nearly collapsed into his arms with how ecstatic you were to finally get a taste of him.

The kiss was hungry - full of teeth and breathless groans. You were exploring every inch of each other that you possibly could without tearing each other's clothes off. Sam practically came to life underneath you as his hands roamed up your side. Your name died on his lips - a prayer only you could hear. You thought about pulling back and reminding him that you were in the house of his father, but that would require you to stop kissing him, and you had no intention of stopping any time soon.

When he finally pulled away from, your chests were heaving, and you smiled over at him. He appreciated how gentle your smile seemed now. Even with the dried blood on your skin, there was a warmth in your eye that made your smile fill his chest with joy. A lot less unhinged, he would say.

"So," you pushed his back against the pew and crawled onto his lap, your knees straddling either side of his thighs, "You said we could go anywhere in the world, right?"

"Besides the confessional booth," he retorted with a smile as he caressed the side of your face.

You paused, trying to get used to him looking at you like you were the only woman in the universe. It felt odd but not entirely in a bad way. You spent most of your time denying he could ever look at you this way, and here he was, proving your doubts wrong. You weren't sure if it made you want to cry or kiss him until he caved and pulled you right into the confessional.

He claimed you wouldn't convince him, but you'd get him to crack one day.

"Besides the confessional booth," you laughed. "I spent a lot of time here, pestering you and scaring children in the cemetery. I think it'd be nice to get out of the country, explore the world a little bit."

"You haven't done that already?"

You shook your head. "I spent a lot of time staying close to Nat. She needed a strong right-hand woman, and I was the one who wanted to fill the job. I mean, Maria is great, but she's better at handling souls and all their pesky little contracts."  

"Where do you want to go then? We can go anywhere you want, and we can get there for free thanks to my wings."

"Can I convince you to give the confessional booth a whirl?"

Sam sighed dramatically, not in annoyance but enough to make you laugh. "Absolutely not."

"Fine," you pouted. "I guess we can start with Greece, as long as you agree to wear your orange v-neck again."

[joonkorre]

what canst thou give?

@drarrymicrofic prompt: caught

yall cant expect me to watch the witch (2015) and not go insane trying to fit a quote into my work. also, this is the first time i ever write something veering into the 15+ category. so. go easy on me lmao

AO3

“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat.

“But only if you want to, of course. No pressure at all.”

It’s sweet, that tone, as sweet and numbing as the saliva dripping down his nape. If Draco is someone else, an unfortunate bastard even more miserable than he is, he might have believed it.

“I don’t know,” he replies, the unnatural chill on the back of his bare neck too visceral a feeling. Too real. “I think having to choose between that and rotting in a back alley is at least a little bit pressuring.”

“Not too much, though?”

“Oh, no, never.”

“Good,” Edmund whispers. At this point, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if that’s not even his real name, “good.”

Draco stays quiet. With smooth jazz crooning through the walls of bars and eateries to complete the easygoing ambiance of a mid-autumn night in Muggle London, it seems to be the least likely time of the year to find oneself bargaining for their life. But here he is.

“Now,” Draco’s pulse jackrabbits so quickly he can hear it. A delighted chuckle leaks into the night. “Your answer, please.”

When he doesn’t give one, the canines on his exposed shoulder threaten to break the skin. Unexpectedly, they lift off.

“You might want to think it through a little faster, doll,” the large hand pinning Draco’s wrists against the brick wall clenches around them, then drifts down his chest. Lays flat on his quivering stomach, a persistent pressure against Draco’s thrifted bomber jacket. “We have an audience.”

Draco sucks in the stale air with a hiss. He’s pulled his date this far into the alley because he didn’t want curious onlookers as they snog. Bad fucking idea that was. Still, the thought of strangers witnessing this horrid moment fills him with dread. They can’t do anything to help anyway, only to humiliate him even more.

“What—”

“Don’t look,” Edmund nips his ear lobe, “unless you want further mortification. You mortals are ashamed of the strangest things, I can smell it on you.”

Heat rushes through his body. Draco blinks, dizzy with… with something. He doesn’t know whether he wants to rebel, turn his head, and meet the stranger’s gaze head-on, or just rest his forehead against the grimy bricks and find reluctant comfort in Edmund’s instructions.

“What do you,” Draco murmurs, sour notes of alcohol floating back into his nose, “what do you propose I do then? Just stand here and wait for them to get lost?”

“You can make it easy for yourself and say no,” Edmund says.

Those canines are back on the base of his neck. The arm that isn’t wrapped around his middle slithers across his chest, calloused palm an anchor on his shoulder blade. Draco wonders if this looks intimate, possessive—protective, even—to their observer, when he simply feels choked. A mouse gripped within the gentle loops of a snake’s body.

“You’d look like you’re swooning in my arms while I drink from your,” the tip of Edmund’s nose travels up the length of Draco’s neck, ending at where his baby hairs are matted with cold sweat, “gorgeous, delicious essence. And it’d only take a blink of an eye. Our little voyeur would never know.”

“Merlin, can’t I have a single good date?” Draco grits out. “Just fucking say blood.”

“Oh, but you’re no fun,” Edmund says. “Being poetic has its merits, I think. Makes life interesting.”

“Life will be even more interesting when I get to live it, actually.”

The hand on his shoulder takes its time trailing to his face, and when it does, it tilts his jaw to the side. Draco’s eyes automatically slide shut.

“Oh, you will. Once you get used to the ‘undead’ part of it, life will be a joy to live.”

His hands shift against the grimy bricks, one seeking familiarity and warmth as it grips his other wrist, grounding him.

“You must’ve realized by now how anxious I am to have you by me, by us. If I’m not, I’d just pick you up from a club, drink from you, leave you behind that dumpster over there, and you’d wake up feeling hungover with no memory of me,” Edmund goes on, his face close. If Draco tries, he reckons he can swallow down the intoxicating spice of cologne wafting against his cheek. “But I’m not doing that, now, am I?”

Perhaps it’s not even cologne, perhaps it’s all Edmund.

“You see, the blood of mortals is our life force, yes, but few of them ever smell and taste like anything more than diluted shite. Blood like yours, though, that’s rare. Power like yours. That raw, untapped, repressed power hiding under masks and marks. Given enough time, enough resources, it can be brought forth, and you can prosper.

“It’d be a shame if all of what you are made of withers into nothing, don’t you think?”

Draco thinks and thinks. It’s all one can do when they’re held so firmly, quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. Edmund kisses it away with false reverence, dotting another kiss behind Draco’s ear. Draco would have jolted if he has any energy left in him.

He realizes it now. Ever since the day Edmund’s gaze lingered a second too long, it was over. There is no one left to remember him, and if he ‘makes it easy’ for himself and says no, nothing will change. Sooner or later, he’d die without a purpose, alone.

What if he eliminates dying from the equation altogether?

He realizes it now. There has never been any choice.

Only one foggy, crooked path forward.

“Yes.”

Draco’s eyes open with a heavy drag, allowing in but a sliver of light. In the misty blurriness, he sees a smirk. One stark-white canine pulls the bottom lip inward, pierces through papyrus skin.

Draco’s vision darkens as red lips touch his. His nose clogs up for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the onslaught of scents and tastes. With every languid swipe of a clever tongue, copper as bitter as Charon’s obol forces its way into his mouth. A sharp needle of pain pricks his bottom lip. Draco flinches, tries to take a step back but the hand on his jaw keeps him close. One long finger sneaks into his mouth, prying it apart.

Swallowing the harsh tang of iron down, a rich, foreign sweetness floods his senses. It’s the nectar of late-June peaches and lingonberry syrup swirled in chamomile, coating his palate with a luscious glaze. A low moan escapes as his muscles relax. If it’s not for the steady hand on his stomach, Draco’s knees would have hit the dirty ground already.

“There we go,” Edmund whispers. His hands guide Draco to lean against him, back to chest, sending intermittent shivers to rack through Draco’s body. It’s cold, so cold, but he can’t pull away, just lets Edmund takes whatever he wants to take. “Good boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco gathers enough of his declining wit to argue. “Sounds like you’re calling a dog.”

“Ah, you’re cute. The Sisters will adore you.”

“Sisters...” Draco says, the furrow of his brow easily smoothened by another leisurely kiss.

“Sisters,” Edmund says. The hand on Draco’s jaw edges to his neck, thick fingers adding a slight squeeze to the vulnerable valley on either side of his Adam’s apple. Draco sighs into Edmund’s mouth. “Surely you don’t think there’s only one of us out there?”

Not very certain of what to say, Draco purses his lips instead. Edmund lets out an amused hum and indulges him, sucking on his bottom lip. It’s good, so good, until it becomes sickening, like raiding the entirety of Fortescue’s stockroom. Being a creature of the night is rapidly losing its novelty.

“Okay, enough, enough, thanks,” he says, tapping the muscular arm around him and turning away. Edmund only continues his little ministration below Draco’s jaw.

He doesn’t know how long his eyes have been closed, so he opens them once more. It’s like… it’s like he’s been floating on thick water and is only recently dragged into shore. Rubbing the creak out of his neck, Draco squints.

Past Edmund’s sturdy form and angular lines, out in the main street, the thin crowd of pedestrians pass by in chattering groups and pairs. Opposite to the alley, however, one lone figure stands just out of reach of the street lamp. The yellowish light merely suggests their existence as they lean against the restaurant Draco and Edmund exited from earlier. The bright tell-tale red of a cigarette butt is visible but other than that, no detail to be discerned. Looks like someone who’s just minding their own business.

“You must think yourself funny,” Draco says, arching his neck to accommodate the kisses peppering his skin, “using my own shame against me. I doubt people even remember there’s an alleyway here.”

“Don’t forget that when a being has lived for as long as I have, has accumulated this much power, nine times out of ten, he knows what he’s saying. I’m powerful enough to catch the scent of every mortal walking by, even know if they’re actually mortals or not. Our little voyeur? He’s still here. He’s watching. He’s waiting for you, doll.”

Edmund pauses, then:

“And whether he’s a mortal? That remains to be seen.”

Draco pushes away as far as Edmund’s firm grasp allows, which is only a few centimeters away. Whatever his blood did with Draco’s own, it snaps him awake with startling clarity just as swiftly as when it’s reduced him to a little more than a rag doll. Everything is so sharp it’s almost disgusting, like his eyeballs are gouged out, scrubbed clean, then shoved back in again. Draco locks his legs, willing himself not to stumble.

“That makes no goddamn sense,” he says.

“You don’t feel them now, but wait until they set in,” Edmund tries to tug him back, shrugging when he doesn’t obey. “Your abilities. We’ll go back to the House of Collective tonight and when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“I,” Draco says. “Please say that again. With actual information.”

“So demanding,” Edmund leans back and looks at Draco like he’s seeing him for the first time, a hint of humor in his serene demeanor. “The House of Collective is where the majority of us in Britain frequent and reside. The newly Turned are brought there to be with their brethren. Trying to deal with these new abilities alone is what makes them go Rogue and lands them on the front page. Think Jeannette McDermott, the poor woman.”

Jeannette McDermott drained and devoured 6 people in a single weekend. The Aurors got to her first before the news outlets. Being a shut-in and hating being perceived in general—Merlin knows how she got bitten in the first place—the only pictures ever taken of her as an adult was of her mangled body, torn by her own claws and twisted into stillness. It was a once-in-a-century scandal that paralyzed Wizarding Europe for 2 months straight.

Draco frowns. “I’ve always wondered. How did she—why wasn’t she brought back to the House, then?”

“That’s what irresponsible Turning looks like. If we want to Turn someone, it must be carefully considered and planned, for there must always be more prey than predators. Such is the law of nature,” Edmund says it like it’s a walk in the park rather than changing people’s entire lives. “Deacon Frangos was careless—amateur little weakling—and wanted something more thrilling than, say, going to clubs for gullible drunks.

“During the official trial at the House, he confessed that he spent days working through her wards and broke in. Never expected that McDermott was a fighter. She couldn’t get to her wand, but she did have a knife. She stabbed him 3 times as he was drinking from her. Their blood mixed, and Frangos ran off to lick his wounds before we found him. That was Friday.”

“Merlin and Morgana,” Draco breathes, “that quick?”

Edmund only looks at him, silent as he waits for Draco to weigh his decisions. Or lack thereof.

“What about, what about my apartment? My things?”

“You’ll only be at the House of Collective until we get you accustomed to your new life, then you can return home. Or,” Edmund tilts his head to the side, “you can stay. It’s akin to a commune, there’s space for all. It’s in the middle of the woods, too, hidden behind extensive wards and Charms, very private. Don’t you love your privacy?”

“What, do you live there?”

“Yes! Just so you know, I built my own dwelling. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself. Marble floors, 5 balconies. Just added a new pool last month. Plenty of space to… christen, unlike your studio apartment.”

Edmund lets a casual grin grace his face, all jokes. Draco curls his lips. It’s a mystery for the ages as to how he’s ever found this man charismatic.

“I’d rather the, um, the studio apartment. It does have its charms. Checkered bathroom tiles, and, hmm, a working oven. I might paint the fireplace next week, who knows?”

“Big plans, big plans,” Edmund nods solemnly. “However, you will need to pay a visit at least twice a month for resources and news within the community. There are tons; we even have a matchmaking service so you wouldn’t have to explain yourself to some bumbling mortal and worry about lifespans. Isn’t that so very neat? But, you already have me.”

Edmund shoots him a wink. If he’s not, well, Edmund, Draco might think it’s attractive.

“I think,” he starts. His neck is aching something fierce the longer he looks back, so he turns to face Edmund directly, “we need to have a talk about ending this entanglement.”

“My,” Edmund adjusts without trouble, interlacing his hands behind Draco’s waist, just above his bum. “Must you hurt me so? After all we’ve been through in the past three dates, you want to cast me aside?”

“Those three dates were nothing more than bouts of insanity. My apologies, I was in a moment of weakness and was somehow fooled by your… Merlin, I don’t even know. Basically, you were a passing fancy that I will rue ever having for the rest of my life.”

Edmund sighs and lowers his head until it’s nestled where Draco’s neck joins his shoulders.

“My 161st love has broken my heart. Oh, how can I recover from this pain?”

He lifts his head up, meeting Draco’s unimpressed gaze with a smirk. “Perhaps one last kiss will be the balm I need. Come on, just one more for closure.”

Draco gnaws his bottom lip and wets the still-throbbing cut on it. Then, he rolls his eyes, sliding them shut. No big deal.

“You’re so generous, Draco,” purrs a deep voice right at the corner of his mouth. Draco parts his lips, breathing in the hushed words. “Can’t say I won’t miss this. Your blood truly is a delicacy.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Sweet, sweet wine.

Draco sags against Edmund’s strong chest, head lolled to the side, panting. They have stopped before it got too much this time, yet Draco still teeters over the edge of insanity with every suckle of lips, every caress of tongue. Edmund has been gentle, large hands cupping Draco’s face like he’s a priceless treasure made of opals and emeralds, combing through the slightly wavy hair Draco has grown out. He has fixed Draco’s shirt as he plucked off every scrap of sense remaining in Draco’s head, has stroked the purple marks in bloom, and covered them with the bomber jacket.

As Draco clutched those broad shoulders and wrinkled the expensive fabric adorning them, he had half a mind to demand Edmund to be rougher, to stop trying to savor it. Stop making it something to go breathless over.

Toying with the shiny button on Edmund’s wool suit, he reminds himself that it was smart to end whatever they had between them. Otherwise, he can see himself becoming addicted, and such a problem has no place in his life.

“It’s getting late,” he says. The street outside is still bustling with people, bursting with sound. The person leaning against the wall opposite is lighting up a new cigarette.

“Oh, doll,” Edmund hugs him tight. “Darling. You’re right, it’s getting late. ”

They stand there for a few moments more nonetheless, clutching each other. Then Draco sees it. Sees him.

As if on cue, the person straightens from their position against the wall. They step forward, one foot after the other, slack and loose, into the buzzing light. Draco can’t observe intricate details from this far away—has to wait until tomorrow, apparently—but he still has eyes.

A pair of snickering women stroll by, and the street seems empty for a split second. It’s enough for Draco to see large, black boots (Dragonhide, the part of his brain that never forgets Mother’s fashion books notes) and dark, well-fitted pants stretching over thick thighs. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing dark arms with a myriad of pink-white scars. White button-up, wrinkled and stained, tied by leather harnesses crisscrossing at the chest, like the wearer has forgone changing after work and instead hurried off to deal with an urgent task. An unusual outfit for urban London, but somehow, it works.

Left hand tucked in a pants pocket, the other tapping the fine ash from a cig into a puddle on the concrete. It lifts to hover in front of full, waiting lips. One sleepy bloke trudges by, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. A hazy billow of smoke spills forth lazily as the bloke walks out of view, opaque clouds masking an expressionless face before disintegrating into the night.

“Doll.”

Draco glances back at Edmund, who is staring at his lips. His hands run tiny circles over the small of Draco’s back.

“We decided on one kiss.”

“I know,” Edmund’s thumb swipes over the cut, as soft as a brush dipping into paint. “There’s still blood.”

“Obviously,” Draco says with a slight snort, “you bit it. Like a brute.”

Edmund’s reply comes in the form of his thumb pressing against the cut as if wanting to both stopper the blood and squeeze it out. Draco assists by opening his mouth, slipping the finger into moist warmth. And for some godforsaken reason, his eyes travel back to the street beyond.

This time, both hands are in the pants pockets. The cigarette has stopped its light bouncing, now lying still between pillowy lips. Like before, the voyeur is a statue amidst a sea of movement.

Draco swirls his tongue against the pad of the thumb, tasting himself and gulping it down. It’s bitter and sour without Edmund’s blood to sweeten it up, but he keeps licking until all he can feel is the saltiness of skin, the clenched fistful of his jacket against his hip, and—

And green.

“It’s getting late,” Edmund whispers against his forehead, his lips a touch away from kissing his fringe.

Letting the finger fall from his mouth, Draco whispers back.

“Okay.”

The voyeur never stops looking. Draco knows because neither does he.

“We’re never doing this again.”

Draco’s eyes glide back to Edmund. “I never thought you’d be the one to say that.”

“Me, too. But I’m serious,” the man says, but doesn’t clean his finger. “From now on, we keep our hands to ourselves.”

“And mouths.”

“Yes, those especially.”

Draco huffs out a laugh, “Okay. Very well. I’m glad we’ve reached an agreement.”

Edmund shakes his head, then blinks. He looks up at Draco, mischief in his eyes.

“Alright, Draco, you’ve done enough for the night.”

“Pardon?” Draco says, sliding his arm into the crook of Edmund’s. “You Side-Along us.”

“Of course, and I meant. Merlin, you’ve done quite enough. Oh, goodness, that’s pungent.”

Edmund pats Draco’s hand on his forearm and leans toward his ear.

“Say goodbye to him.”

Draco’s fingers tighten around Edmund’s arm in warning. He doesn’t say ‘goodbye,’ but he does look to the street light opposite the alleyway. Before the Apparition wrenches all the thoughts out of his head, Draco vows not to think about the expression on that face.

[cherrysha]

If You Let Me

my stupid ass laptop crashed while writing this so i think that meant i should post it asap. Anyway i rewatched the chimera ant arc and Shoot’s transformation inspired me to make sad smut because yall kno i cant stay away from angst. i hope this hurts in a good way! feel free to tell me ur thoughts and opinions!

Summary: After surviving the Chimera Ants, Shoot comes back into your life after years of being gone, claiming to be a changed man. But you’re tired of being his only when he needs you.

Word count: 2,848

My requests are open atm

Warnings: dubcon, angst, fingering, oral sex

18+ crowd here. No minors should be reading this

You see him there. Standing in front of the store window. He doesn’t do anything, just stares until you notice him before disappearing into the crowded city streets. You can’t help but be shocked. He’d been gone for years, leaving you to wallow in your misery and self doubt.

Four hours left in your shift and you didn’t have to guess where you’d find him. Probably in the same place he always was when he decided to show up again. Every minute you stood there, greeting customers and cleaning up after them you couldn’t help but the think of what you’d actually say to him.

What you wanted was to yell, to scream until your voice left you. Maybe you’d quietly tell him to leave and never come back. But you’d done all of that before. No matter what you had to put your foot down. You shouldn’t have let it continue for so long anyway.

-

Four hours later and your hunch was correct. Door still locked, he sat right at your kitchen table nonchalantly leaning back as if he belonged there. At one point he did, but the memory of it alone is enough to make your chest ache.

“What is it Shoot?” You sigh, dropping your bag and keys on the table. You follow suit, dropping into a chair to sit across from him.

He’s quiet as you sit down, hand fiddling with the material of his shirt. Nervous habit, you knew all too well how hard they were to break.

“Why are you so upset?” And he asks it as if there’s nothing wrong. Like it was normal for him to be here. Your irritation was only growing as you stared at the man in front of you.

“What a stupid question.” You mumble, pulling a cigarette out of the pack in your pocket. Before you have time to react he’s crushing it between his fingers, eyes trained on you while he speaks

“I thought you stopped smoking.” It’s almost a question and his eyes are full of concern.

“Believe it or not, a lot changes when you’re not here. My life keeps moving without you.”

“Ah” he says, as if he’s finally realizing it.

“Do you think I might’ve changed since we last met?” You give him a once over, shaking your head ‘no’ before he continues.

“Maybe you can’t see it.” His eyes are guarded as he waits for your reaction. You know what this is before he even has time to finish. He was trying to sway you, make you believe he was different and let him stay for the night. And in the morning you’d be alone again.

“Ah..” you sigh, mimicking him. With a nod of your head, you pretend to play along.

“How many hours are you going to be a changed man?” You cross your arms “One? Two? Are you going to at least wait until I fall asleep this time?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, finally letting an emotion play across his face. Irritation. How ironic. “Why do you have to be so -“

“You’re the one who decided to leave, Shoot.”

“And you always let me come back.” he says calmly. “How do you think I feel?” There’s guilt in his eyes, as if he means to say that  he knows the pain he’s caused and that it’s eating him alive. But the way it sounds when it hits your ears is that because you accepted him over and over again, you’ve caused him unnecessary grief. His words are enough to make you overlook the sad expression lingering on his face.

“Oh no... don’t you sit there and try to blame this on me! You left. I didn’t. Don’t make yourself out to be the victim here Shoot! I didn’t fuck up your emotions. That was all you!” There’s a pause as he stares at you. That’s how he always was. Always so composed but you could tell what he was thinking nonetheless.

“That’s not what I was trying to do” and there’s this resolve in his voice, as if he’s accepted the fact that this isn’t going in the direction he wanted it to.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes before responding. “Well, what were you trying to do then?”

And you know the your next words are harsh, but after years of holding your tongue you don’t care to mince your words for his benefit. He pauses to consider your question and that’s when you say it “Or do you not want to talk about it like usual? It’s just too fucking difficult you’re gunna have to run away like you always do, right?”

All he does is grit his teeth. But it’s that reaction alone tells you the most. Like the flip of a switch, anger swallowed any sadness that was left on his face, and that was enough to prove him right. He wasn’t the person who left you all those years ago. You lean back in your chair with a sigh, choosing to ignore the tension in the room and his piercing gaze. No, this wasn’t the same Shoot. he should’ve left by now. But you know old dogs rarely learn new tricks. Just because he learned a new one didn’t mean he was the type of man to stay. He’d proven that time and time again.

“The doors open, Shoot.”

You rub your temples. This exchange has already dragged on far too long and the exhaustion you felt earlier from work was slowly returning to you.

He chuckles, it’s something dark and it makes your eyes snap open to look at him. He looks relaxed, like he’d finally gotten what he came for. But there’s tension hidden in his body. The loose fabric of his clothes couldn’t hide that.

“You always liked to hear yourself talk.”

And he says it as if he hasn’t been gone for years. Says it like you’re willing to concede if he just pushes hard enough. If he pressed the right buttons. It makes your stomach turn. Not again. You were done with this game.

“Yeah and look what good that did me.” You counter his laugh with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “All that begging and I still ended up alone.”

You get up before you have time to see his reaction. it’s over, you shouldn’t care about the sting your words would leave him with. Slowly you move behind him to the balcony, letting your arms hold you tight, as if to keep yourself from falling apart.

You were too tired to be angry, too exhausted to bicker with him much longer. Yes, you loved him. Loved him since you were kids and that’s why you knew better than anyone that his word meant nothing. He was a man of inaction, it was in his nature to flee at the first sign of a fight. And after all these years, you loved him even though he was nothing but a coward.

You could give in tonight and wake up with an empty bed in the morning, or save yourself the heartache and make him leave right now.

The view on the balcony wasn’t bad for how cheap this place was. City stretched before you, lights and people converging as if it was just one giant organism. The sun was setting but, in a place like this there was rarely any peace. People scurried like ants, darting around as they quickly made their way home, to work, to restaurants and clubs. This big city with all these people and he still managed to find the one he was looking for. All so he could satisfy his guilt while paying no mind to how you felt. Yeah, It was time.

“The door, Shoot. It was nice catching up but I have work in the morning.” It’s quiet but you know he’s heard you.

There’s some shuffling as he gets up and you don’t let yourself turn around to see him leave again. You know what it looks like and you know the emotion that would climb it’s way out of your chest if you saw it one more time.

What you don’t expect is the feeling of his chest pressing against your back. The warmth there enough to make you release a quiet gasp. You were almost positive he would’ve taken the opportunity to leave. His arm pulls you closer as the words leave his lips.

“I’m sorry”

“I’ve heard it.” You snap, willing the anger and frustration back down your throat. “I’ve heard the ‘I love you’s and the promises to change before, Shoot. I’ve heard it all.” You can’t help it when your voice cracks, or the tears that start sliding down your face.

“Just save it and leave. Don’t make it even harder for me.”

He turns you around and he’s wearing this expression you haven’t seen on him before. You’d call it determination, that was the only thing you could describe it as, but there was something else there too.

His movements are slow and you can already tell where this is headed. In a few moments his lips are on yours, fingers tight against your chin holding you in place. You try to fight it, try to pull away but he can tell that the effort is half hearted and it only spurs him on even more. If you truly didn’t want it you would’ve stopped him earlier.

After a few seconds you give in to the taste of his mouth mixed with tears. It’s warm, it’s familiar and you can’t help but lean into it. You know it’s wrong but it’s too late to stop. When he finally lets you go you’ve shattered in his grasp. Resolve broken, there’s nothing left to hold back the flood of emotion that’s built up inside of you for years.

“I hate you!” You scream. And you hope beyond anything that the same man who would leave is still in there. You could pick up the pieces later but if he stayed it’d only be worse once he was gone. You try to push him away, tears soaking your shirt as you shove against his unforgiving chest.

“I hate you.. I hate you.” The words slowly fizzle into sobs that wrack through your body. Shoot only pulls you closer, arm coming to fit snug against your waist.

“I’m not leaving, y/n. Huh? Look at me. I’m not leaving.”

You can barely see through the tears flooding your eyes but it’s there. That resoluteness etched deep within the lines of his face. You prayed it was deep enough for him to have changed, you prayed it was shallow enough for him to leave for the final time and spare the ache in your heart. You prayed to be free of this cycle.

You lean into his chest, immediately soaking the fabric there. Your voice is a whisper when you finally speak again.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.” He whispers, ”Just give me a chance to prove it.”

You don’t speak, don’t react as he lifts you up and carries you inside. How long has it been since he was here? In your apartment? Your bedroom? You don’t remember, but it feels like a thousand lifetimes ago.

Soft kisses litter your pliant body as soon as he lays you on the bed. It’s different than the usual way he’s done it. Something tender flows through him and into you with each press of his mouth. Maybe he can sense that you’ve given up. It didn’t matter how hard you tried to fight it, you always ended up underneath him.

But there’s something so guilt free about the way he undresses you, lays you before him and gives a kiss to your mound. his touch is far sweeter than what you’ve come to expect. Before, he’d rush quickly through the act to outrun the guilt that slowly built up inside of him. But now, he takes his time, savoring every minute he can as his mouth sucks bruises into your hips. your thighs. There’s a tender moment before he buries his face between your them, quickly licking a stripe up your center before stopping to suck on your sensitive clit. Once he has a taste he can’t stop himself from taking what he came for. He doesn’t have the patience to.

Whimpers mix with the sobs that leave your throat. You could never help the way your body responded to his touch, couldn’t help the way slick dripped down your thighs at the mere thought of his mouth on you. And he doesn’t let any of it go to waste, lapping up everything you have to offer him. He’s starved, and now was his chance to have as much as he wanted.

He had been selfish, he knew that. But as much as he was giving right now he was aware of how much he was taking. This was no different. Your body underneath his. Legs tight around him as he ate his fill and then some, not stopping when you arched against him. A broken wail leaves your throat. No, he was still selfish. He needed all of you, every last drop.

There’s no break, no rest as he pushes you over the edge. You can tell he’s not trying to make up for lost time. He couldn’t change the past or the mistakes he’d made along the way. It wasn’t guilt either. No sadness in his face or in his movements against you. It was a desperate need that drove him, nothing more. You’d never seen this much of him. Still fully clothed, he left his heart lying naked on the sheets for you to see. It’s so overwhelming that it makes your head spin. Coupled with the orgasm still rushing through your body, it was enough to make you go limp beneath him. Before you know it, he’s lifting his mouth off of you, giving you respite from the pleasure for only a few seconds. Shoot kneels between your open legs as he deftly pushes two fingers deep within your cunt.

It’s indescribable. You hadn’t felt this good in such a long time, the pleasure of your last orgasm still so fresh that his thumb moving against your clit bordered on painful.

“I love you” and he says it like it’s not a mere feeling, but an absolute fact. His eyes bore into you, stern expression on his face as he fucks his digits in and out of your soaked core. He feels it. The clench around him as he says it. There’s no denying what his words are doing.

“Stop it Shoot.” The tears come back again with a vengeance as you cover your face with your arm. He speeds up, thumb brushing quicker at the bud hidden between your folds.

“I love you y/n”  and there’s this conviction in his voice you can’t ignore. But you know better. Sobs shake your body as you clench tight around him again. If he kept it up you weren’t going to last very long.

He’s moving, determined expression still on his face as he kisses his way up your stomach to your chest, nipping at a pert nipple before giving the same attention to the other. His lips are on your neck, sucking and biting dark bruises into your sensitive skin.

“You don’t have to say it. You’ve done enough for me sweetheart.”

His warm mouth presses against the hollow of your neck before continuing.

“Just come for me okay?”

You can’t help but to obey. You whine as your body tightens around him before it suddenly lets go. All the pain, the hurt, the betrayal is forgotten as he works his tongue into your mouth, taking every noise you make for himself. It’s mind numbing and the wind is knocked from you at the sheer force of it. You move your arm to fist the sheets underneath you, an electric current still pulsing through your veins as he stills his digits inside and switches to just lazily rubbing your clit in circles.

Shoot watches with rapture at the pleasure on your face, eyes red with tears and lips swollen from his mouth. He wanted more. Wanted to take everything you could give him and then some. To make you cry with pleasure as he pushed your body to it’s limits. But this night wasn’t for him and he was aware that you had given everything you could. It wasn’t about what he wanted. So he pulls his fingers out and undresses, shushing you when you start to tell him you can’t, your too tired. “I don’t want that” he whispers.

He crawls in bed next to you, holding your naked body close as he places kisses to your neck. your breathing evens out and you fall asleep much quicker than he expected. but it was okay. In the morning he’d be there. He’d prove himself to you and would take whatever you were willing to give afterwards

[vinylhazza]

ethan fucking you like pounding you and mid fuck grayson facetime and sees yall fucking so he come in to get some😙😙

at this point you’ve gotten used to him calling during your intimate moments. he could never leave the two of you alone, even when ethan was balls deep fucking you into oblivion. he never held back, even the times when things got ‘vanilla’ between the two of you. he always got carried away with himself- and you couldn’t complain. it felt too good to argue against. 

he’s breathing hard and labored, chest puffing up and down from speeding up and slowing down like he knows you love, hips pistoning forward fast than slowing down to a gentle rock into your cunt, the slow deep thrusts alternated with quick a paced pounding of his hips that rocks the bed back against the wall. you’ve given up on getting something to keep the headboard stable - grayson knows the deal at this point. truth is, he’s joined in on several occasions. it had been odd at first, and you were unsure how to navigate both of the twins at the same time and not have ethan in a jealous rage - but it worked out well and you found yourself wishing to have yourself filled with them both far too often. two is often better than one - and you could say the same about the twins. of course ethan was amazing, but oh to be filled by both of the most attractive men you’d ever seen - it was bliss. 

you’re hands are placed securely on ethans hips, thumb resting on the tattoo on his stomach - fingernails digging crescent shapes into the smooth, tanned skin, a small sting that has him gritting his teeth and sucking a deep breath in, s slicing sound that makes you clench around him tight. he’s pushing himself even farther into your pussy that grips him like a vice, so tight it makes his mind hazy with the want to never stop fucking you. he’s sure if it wouldn’t kill you - he could fuck you all through the night and day. it truly amazes him that you can still be so tight considering how many times you get down and dirty on a weekly basis. damn do you feel so good, still. his pretty little pussy. even when grayson makes his appearance on particularly wild nights - ethan makes sure he never takes it too far. never gets to cum in the beautiful wet cavern he just can’t get enough of. it’s his and his alone. 

it’s only when ethans phone buzzes violently on the nightstand that you move your eyes from his face filled with euphoria and over to the bright light of his cell phone - lit up with an incoming facetime, Gray flashing across the surface. you are tempted to groan, knowing he probably heard you screaming his brothers name from the kitchen, and you want to scream his name, let him know you want him to come and make this pleasure something bigger and better, but ethan his grabbing your chin between his fingers, snapping your face back to look in your eyes. his hips snap forward with a harsh slap, hand coming down to smack against the side of your leg. 

“mind wondering off hm? am i not fucking you good enough princess? want it harder?” he growls, leaning down to nibble at your neck and you know you’re going to have a lovely little bruise you have to hide by the morning. 

“g-gray is calling you,” you whine through your lips, trying to keep your volume down low so as not to sound too excited about the idea of him potentially seeing you getting pounded by his brother. 

“and? he can wait-shit,” he groans wildly, eyebrows pulled together in both pleasure and anger as his phone starts it’s insufferable buzzing again, “what does he fucking want?!” he throws his hips forward a bit too hard at the last word, a sharp gasp tumbling from your mouth at the spot he hit deep inside. his back muscles flex from the sheer force of his movements and if it didn’t feel so good, you might have been scared. 

“answer it,” you whisper in his ear, biting at his earlobe with a smile, “answer it please, e.” 

“no,” he grunts, lips wrapping snug around one of your nipples, sucking as he pumps his cock into you.

your eyes, they are rolling back with a shaky breath, head falling to the side before you hear the buzzing once again - eyes fluttering back open to find that it’s Grayson again. the urge inside of you grows stronger with every vibration against the wooden nightstand.

“e...” you prompt him, reaching up to twirl your fingers in the soft, dark hair at the back of his neck, the sensation shooting tingles down to his toes. you only pull that move when you want something so bad it almost pains you, “pleases answer him.”

“he can fucking wait—jesus fucking-,” he grinds harder, breathing shallow and quick against the skin of your breasts as he’s admiring the sound of his balls slapping against you and your flesh that shakes from his fluid momevents.

“ethan answer the fucking phone.”

and it’s your tone. you’re seductive, sneaky but firm little tone that has him raising his head to look at you with a smirk, his hips never stopping their steady pace. he’s looking into your eyes once again - this time shocked at the desperation they hold.

“i don’t think i like your tone,” he ignores your request again until the phone buzzes next to your head, the sound creates an exciting buzz in your nerves - he’s so close yet so far away. looking into ethans eyes, you will him to understand what you need.

“ethan please.” the whine from your mouth is a dirty sound, something that’s high pitched and filled with lust.

leaning in to press his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, he’s mumbling with a low laugh, mocking you, “ah, i know what you want,” he leans over to grab the phones bottom corner with his thumb and pointer finger, sliding it off the table and smirking at the screen - lit up with graysons name yet again, “i know slut, you want my brother to join us hm?” he looks at you from around the phone, his cock still buried deep in your heat, “i’m not doing enough for you apparently.”

he sounds bitter, but you know in a time like this he wants to her you as worked up as he can.

“bro why did it take so fucking long for you to answer?,” you can tell he’s walking outside somewhere, phone in his hand, “okay so i have all the wood to build the frame but you’re going to have to help me in the morning because it’s going to be hard with just me and,” he stops short, squinting his eyes to look close at his brothers scrunched up ‘sex face’, “are...are you seriously talking to me while you’re fucking y/n? for real ethan? why didn’t you turn your phone of-“

“if you shut up and hurry you can join,” he deadpans, rocking his hips gently, kindling the fire, “our dirty girl wants us both tonight.”

there is a pause, the silence maddening, you almost want to tell him that you changed you mind, worried that grayson was suddenly against the idea. he’d always been more than willing the couple of times he had joined, and you all had been absolutely spent afterwards. you couldn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t want to take ethan up on the opportunity. but you mistook his silence for a denial, when it was really shock.

“already there,” grayson’s voice drops an octave lower before the chilling *beep beep beep* of a dropped call sings out into the bedroom- the excitement in you bubbling over into a giddy beam.

“thank you...” you smile pretty up at him, wiggling your hips in an attempt to make him look less brooding and scary. on any normal day it would bring out his pearly white teeth, lips pulled up into a toothy smile he’s always been too shy to share with the world. but not tonight.

“that’s alright,” he sighs, his pace speeding up again as he looking at your soft features about to be twisted into one of pain and blinding pleasure, “i just hope you know what you’ve just asked for.”

[jeonjeonggukenergy]

Anti-Hero

summary ~ in search of wine at a party that’s so not your scene, you run into jungkook, the weeb from your film class, and become determined to learn just how much he lives up to his big reputation.

pairing ~ jungkook x reader

genre ~ fluff, smut (coming in ch3!) - college!au

wordcount ~ 2.3k

warnings ~ pretty much n/a, mentions of drinking and light smut

a/n ~ v excited for these lil dorks! i thought about combining this with the upcoming chapter but it felt right on its own and i wanted to go ahead and post an update for yall haha. ch 3 will most definitely have some serious smut to look forward to 👀 thank yall for reading, i love and appreciate any form of support or feedback so so much, so feel free to msg me or send me an ask abt whatever you want! 🥰 hope u enjoy this chapter!!!

previous: chapter 1 ~ next: chapter 3 | chapter 4 (coming soon!)

~ read on ao3 ~

CHAPTER 2 ~ cowboy bebop & chill

You couldn't stop thinking about Jungkook. Every time you brought the enamel of your favorite mug to your lips, teeth knocking the rim as you exhaled to cool off your tea, it called back the click of his earrings in your mouth. Whenever you reached behind your ear to tuck away the hair you'd impulsively cropped to your chin this year, it hit the same spot you'd sucked into a bruise on his neck and you shivered. Even your slight headache thanks to the shitty vodka from the pregame reminded you of the wine you'd sought out from him in the first place and never fucking got to drink. 

You found yourself reading over your responses to each other's discussion posts from your film class, trying to find any more justification for this sudden crush than the drunken flirtation that mortified you as soon as you remembered it sober. He did seem to like your directness...but you could easily ascribe that to his similarly loosened-up state. Scanning through your reflections on The Shawshank Redemption and Casablanca, you painstakingly overanalyzed every smiley face and "I loved that part too!" Could he have been into you at all before this? Or had he just eyed you for another quick fuck at a party? Shit, what if he hated you for working him up and then leaving? If he wanted to, you knew he would have easily found someone else to finish the night with. But what if he still held it against you? The image of him bitterly turning aside to find another girl in the crowd, with your hickey still fresh on his jaw, turned your stomach more than you wanted to admit.

Shaking your head with a grounding exhale, you reminded yourself that whoever else he did or didn't hook up with was none of your business. Plus, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy and probably didn't hate you in the first place. Wow, the bar really was so fucking low. Maybe that was part of the reason you were never that bold with boys. Every classmate you'd fallen for so far at college had remained innocently unaware of your feelings, likely because you never worked up the courage to clearly express them. You hadn't even been trying this time, though—this semester had been so busy you'd barely had time for your friends, much less crushes. And now your one blowoff class had become your biggest distraction.

Jungkook, a communications & media major, couldn't afford to lose as much focus in this class as you. Normally near front-and-center, he sat all the way in the corner of the last row, wary of imaginary stares burning through the hopefully-opaque-enough curtain of his hair. Even the risk of zoning out staring at the back of your head stressed him out less than the thought of you doing the same to him.

You walked into class through the back right entrance today so you'd pass Jungkook in the front row, though you could have gone straight to your usual left-side seat from the main door. Knowing you'd never summon the courage to talk to him, you still couldn't help wanting to see his face. You didn't know just what you were looking for—some kind of confirmation or dismissal that would let you just move on with your dry-ass life—but any reason to catch a glimpse of Jungkook was a good one. Today, though, he sat far closer to the entrance than you'd expected, and his proximity stopped you in your tracks a few feet behind him. Eyes dragging down the sculpted form under his soft black sweatsuit, your stare traced the veins in his forearms to reach the hands in his lap. Catching a half-page cartoon ass in your view of the manga he gazed at intently, a snort-laugh escaped you, the sound setting him on high alert. He snapped the book shut, spinning around with eyes wide and still-long hair an understandable mess for a Monday.

"I'm so—"

"I'm so sorry!"

You both shoved out the words at the same time.

A pause swelled between you, eye contact maintained as your mouths fluttered open and shut like fish. Even awkward and off-guard like this, he was just so damn pretty. It felt unreasonable for him to seem as flustered around you as you were around him. Finally, you spoke again, solely to force the conversation forward and put you both out of your misery.

"W-what do you have to be sorry for? I'm the one who, like—ugh, I was drunk, I'm so sorry, I never would have been so, yknow, if I was sober, like that's not me I promise, I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or—"

"No-no-no-no-no!" Jungkook cut you off, dismissing your barely intelligible apology. Before you could cut him off in return and continue, he held up both hands between you, his eyebrows knit together in a pleading expression. "Are you kidding me? Seriously, I feel so bad, I was kind of drunk too, I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable! Please, you have nothing to worry about, it was, uh...I was...good...if...you were." He grew shyer as he continued, drifting off as a hand reached back to rub his neck. A light laugh. "You did make me have to keep my hair long for another few days, though. It's gotten so annoying to take care of, I was planning on cutting it right after the costume."

This admission perked up all your earlier curiosities about him, and a cautious smile spread over your face as Jungkook unconsciously reminded you that he was, in fact, a total dork, rather than the fuckboy you'd irrationally feared him to be.

"Wait, hold up," you snorted again. Gently. "You're telling me you grew out your hair for three, maybe four, months...for a Cowboy Bebop costume?"

"Hey, it was free and way less lame than a wig," he defended himself. Crossing his arms over his chest, he fidgeted uncomfortably, face blushing into a grin as you continued to giggle at him.

"You are such a fucking weeb," you accused lightheartedly.

Jungkook furrowed his brows back together, an anxious hand grazing the spot where you'd marked him again. "Well, you recognized my Spike costume, at least," he pouted. "You're not all innocent."

"I watched one episode with my friend, and it was dubbed," you downplayed. "Isn't watching dubs instead of subs a crime for real anime fans?"

"Actually," his eyes lit up at your rhetorical question. "The dub of Cowboy Bebop is excellent. It's pretty universally considered better than watching the OG with subs. You're right though, that is the general rule."

"Oh man, who knew." Looking down, grinning, you tried to hide how endeared you were by his earnestness. "Well, it was pretty cool, not gonna lie. I guess I kind of get the appeal."

"Would you want to start watching the rest sometime? That's one I just never get tired of," he blurted, then blushed, closing his mouth and working his lips between his teeth as his eyes stayed wide and on you. Jungkook's heart accelerated in his chest, a fist opening and closing at his hip as he tried to decide whether he regretted taking a chance on the question.

You instantly diverted all your mental energy from hoping he couldn't sense your attraction to massively overthinking your response. This was a "Netflix and chill" kind of invite, right? If he wanted you, of course you wanted him, but you had to be sure before you did something else stupid and risked having to find another discussion board buddy.

"Um...yeah, sure," you accepted. "I have to ask, though, do you mean, like...Cowboy Bebop and chill?" You raised an eyebrow, trying to look bolder than you felt. "Or...Cowboy Bebop and just...Cowboy Bebop?"

"I..." Mirroring your playful grin, Jungkook shrugged, not wanting to look like a fuckboy if he answered with the first option but also wondering—were you actually interested in watching this anime with him? The possibility puzzled him, the same way it confused you how he could go bold and then back to his shy weeb-ass self within seconds. You shrugged too, with an anxious exhale of a laugh.

"That was...weird to just say like that, sorry. We can just see where it goes, whatever you want," you backtracked, full of faux-nonchalance. The Google Calendar schedule on your phone suddenly became very interesting. "We could do another day if that works for you, but I'm free after this class once I write my discussion post—I don't have any other homework or meetings today for once."

He nodded quickly, eyebrows up. Swallowing, Jungkook saw the opportunity to show a little more initiative and seized it. "We could do that together even, 'cause we usually jump off each other anyway. So you can come over right after class if you want." He glanced up and to the left for a quick mental inventory. "Oh shit, wait, but I seriously need to clean my apartment first, can we do more like dinner time tonight? You can just come over for ramen or takeout if you want, or eat first or whatever."

"Yeah, that's fine!" you agreed warmly. "Ramen and homework, two birds with one scone. I should probably, like...get your number? So you can send me your address when you're ready or something?" You didn't want to sound too desperate, especially since you knew he was used to it, but you found yourself weirdly excited to experience something he so obviously loved. If you got dicked down too, even better, but you were definitely willing to wait on that part, especially now that this first sober conversation had restored your inhibitions. He had this slightly shy sweetness about him that just made you want to make him happy somehow. You wanted to see more of his cheesy little smile. You wanted to hear the bright laugh that occasionally rang out at the most inappropriate times, during Citizen Kane or attendance. You wanted to watch his light pink lips fall open in bliss as you kissed down his sensitive neck to the trim of his worn-in hoodie...

"Yeah sure, here." The quick touch of his hand over yours snapped you out of your thoughts as he took your phone, ready to type in his number, and—

"Wait, did you say 'two birds with one scone'? Not 'one stone'?"

You blushed furiously. Somehow him calling you out on your quirks embarrassed you more than the indecent daydream he'd interrupted. "Okay, so I saw this tweet a while back where they said 'feed two birds with one scone' to replace 'kill two birds with one stone,' I think it was just some vegan troll being all like 'don't talk about killing birds!' but it stuck with me because I just really fucking love scones."

"You...really fucking love scones?" he repeated in slight sarcasm, eyes down on your phone. You grew even shyer, but continued.

"Yeah, I bake a lot and they're my favorite thing to make. The flavor possibilities are endless and they last for days so I just keep them on hand for breakfast and snacks and to give out to friends. And they go with tea, which is my other favorite thing." Ooh, was he a tea person? Should you bring some tonight? Something earthy, to go with your ramen. Your go-to green sencha, or maybe chrysanthemum? Chamomile?

Jungkook held your phone back out in front of you, but waited silently for you to notice, enjoying the view of wheels turning in your head as you pondered tea pairings. This was the you he was used to, daydreaming in class and going on tangents as dorky as his in discussions. Even from a distance, he'd noticed you consistently gave off a vibe somewhere between absentminded professor and grandma, and this confirmation made you even cuter to him. But the hair still falling over his ears wouldn't let him forget his new physical proof of another side to you.

You finally collected your phone with a mumbly "Oh right, yeah, cool, thanks," that you prayed sounded more chill to him than it did to you.

"I just texted myself, so I have your number too now, and I'll just send you my address when I'm ready, and, uh...yeah!" he rambled a bit in response.

You nodded, confirming. "I'll see you tonight!"

"Yeah, see you tonight."

Jungkook watched you walk to your desk, silently admiring your ass and allowing himself only a moment to savor the memory of half of it filling his hand. A strange nervousness tingled through him. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about you all weekend either, and now he had a chance to get closer to you than ever before. He hoped, more than he could remember hoping for anything else, that this would go well, one way or another. He had no idea what you wanted with him, but you had him questioning everything he'd thought he wanted. Easing open his laptop, he pulled up your last discussion board response to him, signed off with a smiley face but backwards.

I like the way you think. (:

He turned his head to read it right-side-up, letting his face scrunch into a smile you wouldn't see.

Meanwhile, though the film thrilled you, you struggled to stay facing forward for the duration of class. You suspected the plot of Rear Window was simply unsettling you, but you swore you could feel Jungkook's eyes on your back. No, he was probably actually watching the movie as usual, or reading his manga if not. You were definitely just being paranoid. Definitely. Probably. Right?

next chapter 

[taeswrrld]

if breena and i met bts pt4

———

julia woke up with the worst headache shes ever had in her life. she wiggled her head around, her pillow comfortable, and rising up and down.

wait.

rising up and down?

her eyes popped open and she whirled around, coming face to face with park motherfucking jimin in all his glory. julias ears instantly went red, her mind wondering.

im fucking laying on jimins chest. DID I SLEEP WITH HIM?

before her mind could think more, jimin stirred, and his eyes opened.

‘oh.’ julia said.

‘...oh.’ said jimin, staring at her.

‘did we sleep with each other?’ julia asked bluntly, sitting up and instantly regretting it.

‘no, we didnt. we had a hot makeout sesh though,’ jimin smirked, pushing down on the purple/red bruises he left on julias neck.

‘oh come off it,’ julia whined, smacking his hand away, ‘are you a god damn vampire? how the hell am i gonna cover these up???’

‘dont,’ jimin shrugged, ‘you look pretty with them anyways.’

‘oh whatEVER.’ julia said collapsing on the pillow.

‘i think my heads going to explode.’ jimin stated, laying next to her.

‘we really need to get up. we need to drink water,’ julia sighed, willing herself to sit up. jimin followed after her, their shoulders sagging. julia walked out of the room, jimin close behind.

————

breena woke up thinking she was dying, or even worse- already dead.

‘god isnt real. if god was real my body wouldnt feel like someone put 1500 pounds of broken glass in it,’ she blubbered, ‘am i dead??’

‘what are you going on about??’ yoongi grumbled, his back facing her.

‘so im not dead?’

‘no, breena, youre not dead.’

‘damn.’ she said, and yoongi chuckled.

‘my head is caving in on itself,’ he stated, rolling over onto his back.

‘i think it would be better if i WERE dead,’ complained breena, smushing a pillow against her face.

‘cmon,’ yoongi said, pulling her up, ‘the only way to fix this is hydration.’ breena whined, forcing herself to sit up.

‘dear lord have mercy,’ she gasped, ‘my head feels like its a million fucking pounds oh my god.’

‘yeah,’ yoongi said sarcastically, ‘thats what happens when you drink a lot of alcohol.’ breena rolled her eyes, following yoongi out of the room.

—————

julia and jimin strolled out of his room with matching shameful expressions, surprised to see namjoon, jungkook and hobi already out and about and eating.

‘oh ho ho, now what do we have here?’ jungkook teased, walking up to julia and poking at her hickies.

‘shut the fuck up.’ julia said, shoving him away.

‘someone get me a god damn water bottle,’ jimin ordered, flopping down on the couch. hobi threw one at him and it nearly hit him in the face.

yoongi shuffled out of his room like he was near death, with breena not too far behind him.

‘they live!’ yelled hobi, throwing his hands in the air.

‘how are you eating right now?’ breena asked jungkook, mildly disgusted.

‘i got a strong stomach, girly.’

‘har har.’ breena said.

taehyung walked out of his room looking at smelling like death, and he stumbled over to the fridge.

‘are you okay taehyung?’ namjoon asked, his mouth full with cereal.

‘oh im just fucking dandy, moron.’

‘woah. hes in a mood,’ jin said, walking out into the living area.

‘well he kind of a has a right to be,’ breena said, shrugging.

‘damn right i do,’ states taehyung, downing a bottle of water.

‘ugh. the taste of puke is still on the roof of my mouth,’ julia whined, stalking over to the fridge for a water.

‘hey. jules. who the fuck put those vampire bites on your neck???’ breena inquired, slightly annoyed.

julia turned around real slow, and squinted at her.

‘who the fuck do you think?’

breena shot an accusing glare at jimin, to which he just held his hands out in defense.

‘did you guys fuck?’ jungkook asked shamelessly.

‘dude what the hell is wrong with you?’ jin said, shaking his head.

‘its an honest question! im sure we’re all curious,’ jungkook defended himself.

‘no, JUNGKOOK. we did not FUCK.’ jimin said.

‘good, cause i would have pounded your ass.’ said breena.

they all sat around the dining table, eating their mediocre cereal and trying not to vomit.

‘this is the worst hangover ive ever had,’ breena and yoongi said in unison.

‘agreed.’ everyone else said.

—————

they all lounged about, being lazy and watching bad tv.

‘im fucking bored,’ julia said.

‘same,’ jungkook,hobi, jin and jimin agreed.

‘i am NOT doing anything with you crazy fuckers today.’ said namjoon, shaking his head.

‘i agree with him, to be honest.’ said breena.

‘i am in NO condition to be walking right now.’ taehyung stated. yoongi nodded in agreement.

‘man,’ sighed julia.

‘go do a puzzle or something,’ said yoongi, waving her away.

‘a puzzle? you make me laugh! what makes you think i have the attention span for a puzzle?’

‘shes right,’ said breena, ‘she can barely sit through a whole movie.’

‘the perks of adhd, yall.’ julia sighed.

‘mood.’ hobi said.

—————

around 10 pm, everyone was ready to go to sleep. their head not hurting as bad as before, but still unpleasant.

‘can we crash here again?’ asked breena, ‘i dont think i can handle driving at the moment.’

‘we dont care,’ said namjoon, ‘youre welcome here whenever.’

‘sweet.’ julia and breena said in unison.

‘whos willing to take tiny over here?’ asked jimin, ‘i took her last night.’ julia scoffed.

‘i think ill crash with yoongi again tonight,’ breena stated, wondering into his room.

‘ill take julia!’ hoseok said, ‘gladly.’ he wiggled his eyebrows.

‘oh my prince charming,’ julia swooned, walking into hobis room.

—————

‘yoongi.’

‘what?’

‘are you awake?’

‘are we going to do this everytime?’

‘can you toss me a pillow? this one sucks.’

yoongi threw breena a pillow, slightly annoyed.

‘now shut up and sleep.’

‘ill try.’

five minutes later:

‘yoongi.’

‘what.’

‘im cold.’

‘i dont have an extra blanket with me this time, youre gonna have to deal with it.’

‘but im freezing, yoongi.’ breena frowned.

‘oh my fucking- come here.’

breena shuffled closer to yoongi and he spooned her, slightly embarrassed.

they fell asleep fast.

—————

‘how open are you to cuddling my dear julia?’ hoseok asked, shuffling underneath the covers.

‘i love it,’ julia answered, ‘do you want to cuddle me hobi? is that what you’re insinuating?’

‘yes. now cmere.’

julia happily cuddled hobi, his warmth comforting and his presence soft.

‘goodnight hobi.’

‘g’night.’

———————

this one was cute

[jangofctts]

Sink Your Teeth In (Part 2 of Are You In Or Out?)

Rated: Explicit (Paz is in the next chapter DONT WORRY)

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, the cold?, reader is in PERIL YET AGAIN, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap them schlongs yall), brief hand jobs, swearing, angst, very VERY light choking, din is a sub sorta?? bottom energy 

Summary: Well. At least you aren't dead. After a solo hunt gone wrong, you’re dumped in a cave on Csilla. Hopefully someone finds you before you freeze to death.  

a/n: hey…so uh. HOW ABOUT THAT EPISODE HUH?!? aheM anyway--yall I just wanna thank everyone first off for all the love and support!!! I see all of your comments and tags and AH IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @djxrxn​ THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN DONE WITHOUT YOU BB GORL

Well—

Here you are. 

Taken by surprise by another bounty, further proving how irrevocably incompetent you are at this line of work. You blame the binders. An older, clunkier model—easy to pick if you’re clever enough and yes. Maybe you should’ve asked to borrow a carbonite chamber, but hey—where’s the fun in that? 

Not much, as it so happens. 

Your feet had been kicked up on the dashboard, dozing and unaware of the freed bounty creeping up behind the pilot’s seat. Something delightfully blunt smashed against your temple, jolting you into a brief conscious state where the only thing you could think before passing out again, was a resounding— 

Oh, fuck me sideways with a fucking lightsaber—

The rest is hazy. A blur of colors and the fuzzy shapes of your bounty’s face sneering in amusement when she bound your wrists and ankles and left you in the cargo hold. Vaguely you recall your ship being commandeered, swung into an unidentified atmosphere and landing on said unknown planet Or planets. Planet hopping to cover up a trail. 

The bitter cold, sharper than a needle through skin is what shook off the last dregs of unconsciousness. The bounty’s hand was hooked into the collar of your clothes, dragging your limp body through drifts of snow and ice. You would’ve fought back—should’ve even though each extremity felt like a numb block of lead. Not very useful in a fight…

Soon, the snow turned to mud and the mud to stone as a mouth of a cave slid over the impossibly blue sky. Dumped in a cave, and left to die—perfect way to bite the dust. Your bounty turned captor lands a sharp kick to your ribs, mouthing some curse in a language you don’t understand, and left without a second thought. 

Seems about right. You have a knack for lying helpless and half dead in places you ought not to be in. 

Two days and counting, you’ve been holed up in this blasted cave with no food, no supplies and no comlink. It’s going be a fucking chore to find you—nearly impossible. You’re lucky in that aspect you guess—you know enough bounty hunters to sniff out a a needle in a whole stack of needles, so all it is is a race of time against the elements and how long it takes for one of them to notice.            

Aeris is no help. He left a day before you had—hired as personal protection for some syndicate leader halfway across the galaxy. Ives is in a similar boat, off-world and unavailable to drag your ass out of the hole you’ve dug. Which leaves…

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. Anytime you even think of those two a migraine cumulates behind your eyes. It’s…it’s not like anything bad happened in the aftermath—there’s been no fallout or arguments with barbed words as weapons. It’s been quiet. Like stepping onto a sheet of cracked transparisteel in a library full of tight-lipped academics. 

The questions lurk under the surface of every conversation and longing look cast your way. You’ll need to clarify and sort things out eventually, but fuck—it’s such a mess of frazzled heartstrings and fine strands of impossible thoughts that lead into an endless void of doubt. You’re shoving that emotional time bomb to the very back of your mind—everything is still so raw…  

So you ran. 

Picked up any and all jobs that the Guild provided just to escape the looming decision of confronting a certain pair of Mandalorians. That and with them having their own tasks to complete, it was rare to see them, let alone together in the past few weeks. A simple run in here and there in the halls of the Covert, but you were too busy to stop and chat—forced a chaotic schedule upon yourself as an excuse to avoid staying in once place at a time.    

Coward.

The word knots in your stomach like gnarled tree roots escaping their prison of dark soil on untrodden land.  

Maker—how did everything become so tangled? 

You draw your knees up to your chest and release a long, drawn out exhale that echoes through the cave. You sniff and force the swell of tears that prick at your eyes away. You’re pretty sure they’ll freeze and you’re not hoping to find out. 

The only good thing about being dropped on this Maker-forsaken, wasteland devoid of anything but snow, is the free ice for the nasty gash on your forehead. A nice little parting gift. 

It’s shallow…you think—it stopped bleeding the night before and is now just a scabbed over, tender wound that throbs whenever you move your head too fast. Concussion maybe—a mild one.  

Maker willing when someone finds your sorry ass they’ll have bacta. Or a blanket. Either would be peachy.     

Sitting up with a wince, you shuffle to the mouth of the cave for the thousandth time and scour the skyline for a familiar ship. Or, any ship really. The only thing you do see is a lonesome wisp of cloud against the grayish blue sky much to your chagrin. You scowl and stalk back into your little hovel and slump back onto the ground. 

The hours drag on, the watery light of the dying sun barely doing anything to warm you. Sulking is hardly what you should be doing—not great for the burdened mind and all that, but ah, it’s so fun to wallow in misery. You curl your knees up to your chest and you must slip into a doze because when you’re snapped back into the present, footsteps punch through the frozen tundra outside your cave.  

Adrenaline crackles down your spine—the bounty changed her mind. Ultimately decided she’d be safer in the long run with you dead. Fine.

If this is where your grave is going to be, might as well get in one or two punches. What’s another black eye anyway?

A shadow flickers at the mouth of the cave, curling around the wall as she draws closer. A brown boot kicks through the snow and— 

“Changed your mind? I—“

Your words die on your tongue as relief floods your veins. Din Djarin stands before you, a sight for sore eyes in these trying times. 

Frost glitters on the burgundy chest plate, glinting in the dim sunlight that touches the mouth of the cave. A delicate feathering of the dainty crystals that no high end lace maker could ever hope to mimic curls up the front of Din’s visor and eats away at the edges of his cloak. His heavy step forward reverberates off the walls, some of that ease replaced by the prickle of dread. His silence is unnerving. 

“Din,” you say again, just so he’ll say something. “I can—“

You move to stand, but he interrupts with a halting;

“Sit.”       

Your mouth snaps shut and you drop back on the floor. This…is not good. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches you and every muscle in your frame tightens like a fist wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing. The precise edges of his helmet are not a forgiving sight and even when he kneels onto one knee you have to resist the natural urge to flinch. Like this, despite hunching over, Din is broad. All hard muscle and sinew amplified by the bulky layer of beskar.   

Your tongue runs over the insides of your teeth as you track his hand that he thrusts foreword. You hiss and jerk away at the sudden needly pain when his gloved thumb finds the edges of your head wound. A low sound of disapproval filters out through the helmet in a low metallic buzz. 

“You won’t need stitches,” he says. Din reaches into one of his various supply pouches and pulls out a tiny vile of bacta. He casually pulls off his right glove, unscrews the vile and smears the bacta over his thumb. This time you don’t make a sound, even though your nerves scream at the razor like sensation of his thumb working the bacta into the damaged flesh. He doesn’t ask how the injury happened and you don’t care to tell him. There’s a time and place for stories about battle scars and near misses—it’s much too fresh to be spoken of right now. 

The brief torture finally ends after once last glance over for other presenting injuries. He finds none, replaces his glove and stands with a muted grunt. You know what’s next. You’d rather avoid it—you aren’t keen on the berating lectures—as deserved as they are.      

“I found your ship on Sato 3,” Din begins with a growl. “Imagine my surprise when I found your bounty selling it for parts.”  

Ah, there it is. You wince and study your fingernails. “Pile of junk anyway…”

“I thought you’d be smarter about these things,” he snarls, his sharp tone deadly enough to slice through bone. “Was the hole blown into your lung not enough for you?”

You swallow and bite your tongue.  

The bristling Mandalorian, continues and jabs an orange tipped finger at you. “You are reckless.”

Your chest constricts as you look away, shame blooming in the pit of your stomach.This is a new facet of Din you’ve never encountered. You aren’t naïve—even the most docile of people can harbor a temper, you know that. And you know Din is by no means passive—he’s an elite warrior equipped with a small arsenal at his disposal. You don’t expect him to coddle you or treat you different than any other companion; but…but it’s hard not to take his ire to heart. Not when it’s the kind of anger that boils deep in your chest and erupts with molten streams that leaves scathing wounds and blistered feelings.  

You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood and avoid his piercing gaze. You think if you do you might catch fire and burn to a crisp. “I’m sorry.”   

The meek apology settles in the air like a heavy fog. Din’s anger still brews, looming and dark but he reigns in his temper and switches out the searing cadence of his words with chilly informality. You’re not sure which is worse.   

“No more bounties.” 

“What?” Your brows knit together. The fuck does he mean.  

“No more hunts alone—“  

You interrupt with a scoff. “You’re grounding me?”

He strides across the small space and plants himself on the opposing wall. “Until you’re competent enough, you have no business being out in the field. You might as well be bait at this point.” 

“Competent.” You echo through clenched teeth.  

His helmet dips, leveling a steady glare of indifference. “The Crest is a half cycle’s walk from here. In the morning I’m taking you back to Nevarro.”   

“I’m not a child. You can’t just,” you throw your hands up in dismay, “ban me from bounty hunting.”    

Din’s armor clinks together as he moves to sit. He rests one elbow on his propped up knee, extends his other and rolls his helmet to meet your eyes. “Your actions reflect the Covert now. We can’t risk discovery because of one stupid mistake or a careless loose end.”    

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. Stars, you want to smack yourself. Your ship, as shitty as it was, hosted a good chunk of sensitive information, all encrypted and translated into binary. A mediocre slicer could hack through it in hours. Not exactly foolproof but hey, at least you had something. Good thing your bounty wasn’t in the market of selling stolen ships to the Empire. 

“Din?”

The Mandalorian makes no noise of affirmation that he heard you. You sigh and take his silence as a go ahead and clear your throat. “How long was I gone for?”

Here, in the cave it’s been nearly three days, but the rest of it you’re not exactly sure. Hunting the bounty down took up at least a week or two and even longer to capture her and there’s no accounting for the time lost after your ship was commandeered. Your teeth roll over your bottom lip as you wait for him to respond. 

“Almost two months.” He replies evenly. “Your transmissions were cut three weeks ago and I didn’t think anything of it. Comms are always patchy in Wild Space."

Leather creaks as his fist balls at his side. “You didn’t answer for days. Paz and I tracked the ship to Sato 3, but you weren’t there. Do you know how difficult it was to pick through all the planets recorded on your log?”

You blink and return to picking at your fingernails. 

“You weren’t easy to find, I—“ He severs the rest of his sentence with a crackling sigh and tilts his head back. “You’re lucky.”    

The hesitance lacing his words makes you bite your tongue, the snarky retort crumbling to ash in your mouth. Din doesn’t bother to filter his words—he’s blunt. Efficient and to the point when he does decide to speak. That…well that was different.   

He was worried—

You rub at your cheek—numb with the cold and curl into yourself. Din was worried. Easily the most feared bounty hunter in the parsec, worried that he couldn’t find you.   

A different cold—one that settles deep into the marrow of your bones and hugs your soul with a sheet of frost, makes a home in your heart. The severity of what could’ve happened replaces that sheen of hilarity and fuck. You were closer to freezing to death than Din finding you here—alone in some stupid kriffing cave.  

Somehow the idea of that is worse than the brief brush of eternal slumber you had on Nar Shaddaa. Up to that point you expected to die young—no harm and no foul in it either. You had no attachments, no debt to pay—a drifter in an endless galaxy.    

Now you’re here, buckling under the weight of mismanaged friendships and your uncanny skill at weaseling into any and all trouble. 

Neither you or Din jump to fill the silence. The ashes of disaster settle in nicely with the frozen echo of an endless winter.      

It’d been a couple hours shy from sunset when Din arrived, the sun providing weak light that hardly touched the mouth of the cave. Now as the shadows grow longer and with the temperature dropping, the two of you are swallowed up by the unyielding darkness of night. 

Din shuffles and fishes out the solar light from his supply bag. It clicks on and warm, orange light illuminates the cave. It bounces off his beskar, fracturing the light like a million tiny suns in the tempered metal and in the impossibly dark visor. He looks up, and tosses the light over. 

You catch it easily and despite the warmness of the light it emits, it offers no heat for your chilled fingers. You set it to the side and tuck your hands into your armpits. 

By no means is the cave warm—the natural thermal vents kept the ground dry and free of the ice and snow that rages outside, but it doesn’t protect you from the occasion chilly draft that cuts through each layer you wear. Then again, you weren’t planning on taking an unexpected vacation on Csilla. No time to plan really.  

You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest and cast a glance at your ever radiant ray of sunshine across from you.  

He looks nice and cozy—leaned back against the cave wall, one leg crossed over the other while his hands sit intertwined just below his navel. The beskar must provide insulation—maybe a fancy heater in that bucket of his, or maybe he’s just too stubborn to show anything other than indifference.   

Another bout of shivers tear through your frame and you’re certain Din can hear the enamel of your teeth clack together. You shove your hands deeper into your armpits and tuck your chin into your chest to preserve heat and pray that sleep isn’t far off—can’t be cold if you’re unconscious.    

Metal scrapes over stone as Din readjusts himself and you can feel him looking at you. It’s not a terrible weight to bear; intense and analytic, sure and in the past it would’ve unnerved you. Now, instead of it feeling like he were peeling back each fibre of your soul each time he stares, it’s familiar. A pattern of sorts—

It happens each time Din wrestles with an uncertain question. He deals in absolutes, and it’s no surprise he rarely knows what to say to you. 

“You’re shivering,” he states. You roll your eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Boiling, actually,” you snip. “Why else would I forget a jacket?”

A sharp hiss of air crackles through the vocoder. “Don’t get mouthy with me. It was a simple question.”

“Well—there’s not much to do about it,” you sneer, watching your breath condensate in the air. “I’m freezing, exhausted, and hungry.”       

You know you’re being snide—but your nerves feel like they’ve been severed at the root with a dull vibroblade. You have neither the time nor energy to spare for simple questions. Din should understand that—seeing as he’s a man familiar with short temperament.

The space between you is ripe with crackling tension, and maybe—if you weren’t so fucking cold—you’d play the mediator. Thread stitches into the gash you both sliced into your friendship, as small it may be. You’ve lost friends over less—this could end up no different.

You sigh and turn your head. This is a problem for tomorrow. 

Irritated and upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase after sleep. You slip in a doze faster than expected, any and all discomfort fading away a you toe the line between a deeper sleep and waking dreams. You think you imagined Din saying your name—Maker you can’t even escape him in your own fucking head—  

It doesn’t end—like a nagging buzz that swells until it’s right near your ear. Spite spurs you to ignore It and exhaustion convinces you to drift further away. That is, until a hand, gentle and warm curls around your shoulder. You once again hear your name rumble low through Din’s helmet, but it’s much too difficult to open your eyes. Why can’t he leave you be? You barely feel the cold now…

“Stay awake.” Din sounds distant, in some other plane of existence despite the steady hold he has on your arm. “Maker—you’re colder than kriffing ice.” 

“Go away,” you grumble through numb lips. Such a pest.  

He’s talking—but the words don’t make sense. Muddled—split between that hazy line of dreaming and consciousness where you can’t decipher what’s real. His hands however—you can feel those plain as day. A bare palm cups your cheek—shreds through the layer of frost you’re positive has crystalized over your skin and rouses you to a more coherent level of presentness.       

“Don’t quit on me yet—“

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m hard to…to kill. L-like a scrap rat…”  

Din grunts in response. “Rat is a compliment. You’re more of a spider-roach.”

The ends of your mouth quirk. It’s the best you can do—a full smile just might push you to the brink of death.        

“C’mon—I won’t let either of us freeze,” Din sighs. His fingers find the magnetized latches on his cuirass and it slips off with practiced ease, the armored thigh plating following a moment later. He neatly sets it to the side and grabs his cloak to fasten it around you. With another sigh, Din shuffles in behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, nestling his legs and body snuggly around yours.   

Maker—you don’t have time to bother about the intimacy of this because all you’re drawn to is the furnace like heat. Fuck, he’s so warm. You have only a second to enjoy it before your body begins to thaw—bringing forth waves of achey pain.   

His chest molds to your back, both arms curling over your own arms that are scrunched up tight around your chest. You shake in his hold, vicious waves of cold clashing against his body heat—it hurts—like sticking your bare foot into hot coals.     

You squirm, little gasps of discomfort slipping out that echo around the cave. Din shifts, tucking you further under his body until he’s nearly crushing you. It’s a bit tricky to breathe like this but hey—you’re not complaining. Not when your nose is buried in his soft undershirt that smells purely of Din.   

Your fingers and toes still throb as they thaw, but it’s working. Cuddling Din Djarin to stave off hypothermia—sounds kriffing ridiculous. 

“You’re still shivering,” he says. “I might…”

Your breath catches in your throat as he trails off. “Might what?”

Another shiver wracks through your body as his frosty helmet catches on bare skin when he dips his head in embarrassment. You don’t quite catch what he says and he doesn’t bother to clarify. “Forget it.”  

You turn your head as much as you can, straining your eyes to meet the strip of visor. “Tell me.”

He mumbles under his breath again and cuddles closer, slotting his hips against your ass. “Might know…know another way to keep us warm…”

Oh. 

A spark breathes to life in the pit of your tummy. You wiggle onto your back, your nose brushing the vizor. “Does it involve me taking off my pants?” 

Din huffs, his hands, previously latched onto your hips, starting to crawl up your waist. “It could…”    

You smirk and rock your hips back, eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest. With your whine of approval, Din’s hand slips between your legs and gives the meat of your inner thigh a squeeze. You let your knees fall open as far as they can in this position and it’s all Din needs to cup your cunt through the thin material of your trousers. 

Crackling pleasure flood your veins as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, and while the pressure is nice, it does nothing to satisfy. Only feeds the growing flames of desire with brittle kindling. 

You pull at his undershirt and whimper, thrilled once his deft fingers, calloused and thick unlace your pants and yank far enough down to fit his hand. His fingers trace your outer lips, a ghost of a touch as arousal swells in your stomach. He parts your folds once your wetness begins to dribble out and coats his fingertips with your arousal. 

Stars—you need him. You arch into him and whine. “Touch me. Din, please—“ 

You jerk as Din’s thumb swirls a slow circle over your clit, a rush of endorphins surging out like unrefined fire whiskey. Din’s head tilts to watch you writhe over his fingers and the sudden chill of his helmet touching the inside of your flushed neck steals away your next inhale. Goosebumps race down your entire being, adding to the influx of your excitement that pools in your lower belly.       

Your hands tangle into his undershirt, pulling him closer until you can’t find where he begins and you end. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming to the dance of your own heart that yearns to break free from your ribcage. Your breath catches when two of his thick fingers tease at your entrance. Your walls flutter around him as the slip in easily.   

His fingers roll forward and stroke against something devastating inside of you, and he when his palm rolls back, it bumps against your clit with that divine firmness you need. Your cunt tightens around the two digits as they curl.  

“Fuck. Can you hear yourself?” He pants, groping your breast to elicit a high pitched wail. “You always make—make such pretty noises.” 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and fuck. You’re already dipping head first into release. A moment later you’re arching into his chest as every muscle stiffens in a crescendo of bliss, your stuttered breathing harsh even to your own ears.  

Your quick pants fog up his visor as Din rests the crown of his helmet on your forehead, the metal a cool relief to your flushed skin. He slips his fingers out of your dripping cunt, your chest still heaving with exertion as the last strands of your high fizzle and ebb away. Din shifts and and snakes his fingers, still shiny and wet with your arousal, beneath the lip of his helmet and sucks them clean with an appreciative groan.  

“Fuck—“ You breathe, pushing your face into his hand as he cups your cheek. Din’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone and swings his leg over your hips to hoist himself over you. 

“Do you remember...” He starts, his voice buzzing through the vocoder. His fingers tickle down your cheek and trace the parted outline of your lips. “When you let me taste you?”

You nod, and it’s all you’re able to do. You’re not even sure you can formulate words, let alone voice them right now. 

Din’s thumb pulls at your plush bottom lip, and you can’t help but slide your tongue along the digit. He grunts and slips his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. “I think about you every night…how you came on my tongue—”

Your stomach flips as a rush of arousal sweeps through your tummy. You groan and you’re half sure you’re gonna dissipate into the floor from how hot your cheeks burn. “Din—"  

He continues without missing a beat. 

“You were so fucking wet for me—dripped all over my hand,” he murmurs, nuzzling his helmet, still chilly and frosted over, into the crook of you neck.  “I want to do it again—can I?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. He wasn’t the only one longing for his head between your thighs on those long nights apart. Remembering those plush lips and addictive touches could only get you so far and well—he’s here now. You said it once and you’ll say it again—there’s no chance in hell you’d be passing up this opportunity. 

Din lifts his head and as you watch the light glitter in the reflection of the beskar, a sudden stray thought ricochets into the forefront of your mind. “Din, the light—your helmet.”

He pauses, his body tensing as he mulls over his options. “It’s—I—it’s ok…It’ll be ok.”

Din inhales a stuttered breath and casts a brief glance over his shoulder. It’s a dim light, kicked into the corner and laying on its side. From this angle, his face would be partially obscured in shadow…but still. There are easier ways to go about this. Ways that don’t risk jeopardizing the very foundation of who he is—what he stands for and what he so devoutly follows.    

To say you know anything about his religion is laughable. Everything you know can fit on the back of a thumbtack and even still, you’re sure that half of that is still based upon rumor and speculation. But this—what Din is hinting at, you know is not something to be taken lightly. 

He’s stripping his soul bare for you—allowing you to glimpse at that bleeding heart of his he guards so securely within layers of flesh and bone and impenetrable beskar. Din is gifting you his trust and there’s no where else to put it except for the space beneath your breast bone.   

Yet, even still—this could mean nothing at all. You have no way to know the exact magnitude of what this means to him. If he’s alright with this, who are you to question?

He mumbles one last thing about the light and sits up. Goosebumps rush up your bare skin at the loss of the heavy warmth of his body. You whine and curl up closer to his legs, greedy for any spare iota of heat like you’ve been denied it your entire life.   

Maker you hate this fucking planet—   

Your attention snaps back to Din when he makes a noise of uncertainty. His hands are cupped around his helmet—hesitant, nervous and you suspect if Din’s hands weren’t plastered so tight around the metal, he’d be shaking. You chew on your lip and prop yourself up. 

Cautiously, so as not to startle, you reach up and curl your fingers around his wrist. You can feel his pulse thrumming through his veins—alive, flesh and bone like you. Not some heap of sentient metal built for the horrors of war. You don’t know why you do it—just seems right to pull the fragile and vulnerable skin of his inner wrist to you mouth. You plant a gentle kiss there and smile when he cups your cheek.           

“You don’t owe me anything, Din,” you say, staring into the darkened depths of his visor. “Least of all this.”    

Some of that tension held in Din’s shoulders melts. He utters something in that clipped language of his people, and the only thing you can make out is your name. He lurches foreword and fuck—you’re terrified for a split second he’s gonna cave your skull in but instead he lightly bumps the crown of his helmet over your forehead.      

“I want to. For you—only you.”

Din doesn’t leave any time to unpack all of that. He sits up again, wraps his hands around the beskar— 

The metallic thunk of the helmet reverberates through the cave like a crack of thunder.    

You were right. 

You can barely see his face—if you really look, you can see the murky outline of his nose, dark hair and a sliver of his tan skin that the light touches. Attractive—but you knew that already. You touch his cheek and smile, your thumb catching over wiry facial hair and soft skin. Din makes a sound low in his throat and pushes his cheek into your hand. 

“I still want to taste you,” Din says, his voice richer when stripped of that tinny vocoder. You like listening to him speak without it, you think, and it’s a damn shame you never get to hear it. “Please.”     

Before he can escape and fulfill that fantasy, you yank him into a blinding kiss. He kisses the same—all wild edges and with desperation lining each motion—but there’s a new found tenderness here. Like he’s savoring each gasp and every brush of skin you grace him with like it’s your last night left in the galaxy.   

He breaks away from your mouth and peppers kisses and nips down your jaw, then lower as you arch and expose the bare skin of your throat. There’ll be a plethora of bruises tomorrow, and with no hope to cover them either but fuck it—Din can leave as many hickeys and teeth marks as he wants. 

If not for the cold still latching onto your very soul, you’d ditch the shirt; give Din better access instead of him needing to shove a hand up under and grope at your breasts. He gives the fabric an annoyed tug, but it’s fruitless. There’s no use when there’s better things to be sought. 

He shoves your shirt as far up as it goes, shivering as he mouths down your stomach, licks around your bellybutton and sucks a bruise onto your hipbone. Your pants are already pulled halfway down—one sharp yank and they’re around your ankles and off in the next breath. 

Cupping your knees with both hands he gingerly spreads your legs and drapes them over his muscular shoulders. Din rubs his patchy haired cheek along your thigh and hooks his hands under your ass, his ivory white teeth catching the light as he smiles.  

“Fucking perfect—“ He groans, planting his lips over your inner thigh. His tongue swipes a wet line up, stopping just before your aching cunt to dig his teeth into the sensitive flesh. You jump at the burst of pain and shoot a hand down, tangling your fingers into the soft curls atop his head.  

Din grunts and jumps to your other thigh, leaving no inch of skin neglected and without evidence of his teeth and lips. By the time his thumbs touch the outer lips of your cunt, the aching need for him is burning you from the outside in. He has to still your twitching hips with a calloused palm, and only after you settle does he surge forward. 

His tongue meets your swollen clit, ripping a tangled cry from you vocal cords. He’s just as eager as the first time he tasted you, if not more—every action backed by needy abandon. He sucks at the bundle of nerves then sweeps his tongue lower. Din’s thumbs part your lower lips as he runs his tongue though your soaked folds, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit that send delicious sparks throughout your whole body. Little noises and breathy gasps fill the cave, encouraging Din to push his tongue deep into your aching entrance. 

Your hand fists into his hair as your hips stutter and rock into the searing heat of his mouth. The noises you make are obscene, and Din is no better. Each pass of his tongue over your pussy is matched with his own deep moans that vibrated against your clit. Fucking hell he’s devouring you alive.          

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, robs you blind and crashes over you in deep waves that drag you out to sea and never to be found again as you spill onto his greedy tongue. Your fingers are threaded tight in his hair as you squeak and press harder into his mouth, riding out your pleasure until it shifts and becomes raw and sore.  

Din doesn’t pause for even a second—all too happy to stay put between your thighs for eternity. Your legs are trembling when you force his head away, a nice, tingly warmth settling into your limbs 

A dark thrill rushes down your spine when he looks up, wild hair and mouth covered in your slick. If not for the low lighting you imagine his eyes would be glazed over and Maker you want him again. Din swoops down and presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue that slips past the seem of your lips. 

You whine after he breaks away and sits up—an opportunity for your eyes to roam down his body. He’s still got his trousers on, a considerable bulge tenting the front. With a smirk you reach up and grab a handful, delighting in Din’s startled grunt. “Easy.”

You flash him a wry smile and give his clothed cock a playful squeeze. “Take them off.” 

Din huffs and pulls at the drawstrings. “Needy.”

He says it with no bite and no coquettish retort on your end springs to mind—especially when his thumbs hook into the waistband and pull. A slow reveal of sun-kissed skin and a sparse happy trail that your eyes eagerly drink up. 

Din’s cock bobs as his trousers fall around his knees, tip shiny and wet and curling towards his navel. You bite the inside of your cheek and reach out, a rush of arousal pulsing through your core at Din’s low moan. He’s heavy in your hand, deliciously thick and throbbing—and all of it for you. 

Din gasps out your name as you lightly squeeze and stroke down, your pace dreadfully slow and teasing. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this—a Mandalorian willingly on their knees for you.           

Your other hand slips up his chest as you stroke him, intent on grabbing a handful of his thick hair that curls softly against the column of his neck. Your fingernail lightly scrapes across his nipple and he sways, pitching forward before he catches himself and straightens. Din’s eyes are squeezed tight, chest heaving with shallow pants as a smirk tugs at your lips. 

“It’s ok, Din,” you whisper. “I won’t break.” 

Your fingers twist into the hair at the base of his skull and guide him back. He slumps forward with a sweet moan, laying his weight onto your body that you’re all too happy too bare. His nose is nestled into the slope of your neck as his hands lock around the dip of your lower back while the other cradles the back of your head, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug. 

Something snaps and crumbles deep in your soul that bleeds the heartstring blues, humming with broken chords in the presence of Din’s soft fragility. Your hand moves from between his legs to instead wrap around the wide expanse of his back, squeezing him tight to your chest. You hold each other like there isn’t tomorrow to look forward to and you wonder if this is how it feels to fall apart. Two spinning halves of a supernova torn apart and destined to collide and shatter into a million fragments of dazzling light.  

Yes, you’re scared he might blind you or burn you with his brilliance, but you can’t look away.      

Your fingers crawl up his muscled thigh and settle on his hip. “Lie down for me?”

There’s no hint of hesitation or complaint as he maneuvers himself onto his back, patiently allowing you to clamber over his legs and straddle his hips. His cock rests on your inner thigh, pulsing and leaving a dribble of wetness every time it twitches.    

“Good boy.” It’s subtle but it ripples out like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake. Din shudders and says your name in a cracked whisper. He rolls his hips, both of you groaning at the sensation of his cock running along your dripping center.     

Another time for that game maybe. 

Your desperation is running hot and wild to have him inside you and you know he’s in a similar boat. You grab the thick shaft of his cock and grind the tip of him through your lips, breath hitching when it extracts such a perfect moan from the man below you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads, clamping his large hands over your hips. “Fuck—I need you.” 

How can you deny such a request?

You line the wide head up with your aching center and slowly work him in. Shivers wrack through you, and Maker—he’s splitting you apart, molding your insides to the shape of him. Beads of sweat dot your hairline by the time you’re seated fully on his member, the both of you pushed even closer towards madness.  

Din squeezes your ass and props his knees up, rolling his hips up into you. You whimper and tip forward, propping your palms over his chest as he sets the pace. You may be on top but there’s no changing the bold colors of power and lust that cloud his mind, fueling the brutal movements of fucking up into you. Your thighs burn already and Maker—why the fuck are you already tired? You’re not doing any of the work.  

Quicker than lightning, Din curls forward and manhandles you onto your back. You squeak as he grips your thigh and yanks it around his narrow hips, thrusting in deeper. His right hand crawls up the front of your shirt and wraps his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. His thumb hovers over the dip at the base of your neck but he makes no move to press down—just allows the weight of his palm to do the work. And fuck—it works. 

Choked garbles of his name pass through your lips as you buck and squirm in his hold, feeling your arousal begin to drip down the back of your thighs. You’re skirting the edge of sizzling release that alights your nerves with liquid wildfire. Your nails harpoon into the meat of his shoulders as your eyes squeeze shut. Din won’t allow it.      

“Look at me,” Din snarls, yanking your head back by your hair. “I want to—to watch you cum for me.” 

A blush scalds your cheeks but you listen. Your eyes flutter open for him, sliding to the dark shadows of his eyes that sweep you into their own gravity well with no hope to escape. You don’t mind. 

“You’re so g-good for me—always so perfect.”

White hot light bursts behind your eyelids, and that’s all it takes. Your body seizes, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around his cock as you cum. This one is different—steals your breath away and leaves you a broken husk of a person lost in most delectable forms of agony and pleasure. The cry of his name pierces the air only spurring the Mandalorian into a jarring pace to seek his own peak of ecstasy.  

Din’s nose nuzzles into your neck, his pants hot and sharp against your flushed skin. “You f-feel so—fuck. Say—say my name.”

You leap to his request and with a playful nip to his earlobe, you whisper it to him with the sweetness of starcherrries and the promise of better things. 

He tips over the edge, his hips faltering into no discernible pace as he cums. Din buries his teeth into the skin below your jaw, a mess of whines and begging gasps of nonsense as he fills your cunt to the brim. 

Your harsh breathing mingles as you both lazily slip down from your high. He rests his head over your sternum, listening to your beating heart that drums in a wild staccato as your fingers carefully comb through his hair. If not for the ache in your hips you’d keep him here forever. Din pulls out and you both groan at the loss. 

He doesn’t completely move away and you’re glad for it. He brushes his knuckles down the expanse of your cheek and dots a tender kiss to your hairline. Your name rumbles low in his throat as he shifts lower and gives your ear lobe a playful nip. His stubble scrapes along your neck, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm—but the weight of his body keeps you pinned. Your name slips from his lips a second time, breathy and drawn out in a sweet sigh, like he’s savoring the sound of each syllable and roll of the tongue. 

Din lifts his head, only slightly—near enough that his nose bumps into yours and his lips scrape along yours that are still parted and wet. “I—can I tell you something?” 

You cup his cheek and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick—but instead he leans into it, guiding your mouth into a slow dance of sticky sweet movements that are caught in a slow draw, like crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar. You’re enraptured by his touch—his skin mottled with scars yet somehow still unfairly soft. He smells of snow—like metal and soap and something gentler, that’s uniquely Din.            

Fuck—you can feel your mind slipping away, wrapped up so snugly in his presence you almost forget to answer. “Yeah—anything.”

Crackling static suddenly rips through the cave, startling you both. A distorted voice chatters on the comlink that lies forgotten beside your pants. It blinks and the transmission ends just as abruptly. With a sigh Din brushes it off and tilts his head to tempt you into another kiss but—

Whoever’s trying to patch through is persistent. 

His lip curls in a scowl and snatches the comm. “Jorhaa’ir.”

You only catch your name being mentioned twice as rapid Mando’a is exchanged. Aeris maybe judging by the tone, but no that’s not right.   

“Wait—is that Paz?”

The muscles in Din’s shoulders tense, confirming your suspicion.

“Is everything ok?” Din doesn’t resist you when you pry the comlink out of his fingers and patch in. “Paz?”

Your heart skips a beat. 

“There you are,” the comlink crackles and you smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” 

Stars—you didn’t think you’d miss hearing Paz’s voice. Your chest aches. 

The conversation is short, he asks you how you are and when you’re coming home and in the time it takes to answer, Din is peeling himself from your body. While you're distracted, he pulls on his pants and sits at the edges of your vision.

You both pretend when you say goodnight to Paz, return the comlink and crawl into his arms that nothing has festered with savage detachment. You don't remember to ask him what he was going to say and he lets you forget. The golden heart that bleeds molten ichor slips from your sight and becomes shut behind walls of beskar and bushes of thick thorns and overgrown ivy.         

He still holds you, but it’s the coldest you’ve ever been. 

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