#i need to find my ears and my star trek pin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lipstickstainz · 4 years ago

Text

mismatched socks - s. r.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: Spencer's girlfriend (reader, FBI agent too) always wears mismatched socks and when they have their first night together at his apartment he notices, and his brain goes to mush, and falls in love with her even more

Warnings: fluff, some talk about Spencer being insecure Word Count: 2.2k A/N: thanks for the request, love! I really enjoyed writing it! requests are open guys! hope you enjoy. gif not mine.

Spencer had always known he was different. He had always been the smartest in school, which could be attributed to his eidetic memory. He wasn't invited to birthday parties because he liked to tell facts that were funny to him, but that no one else found funny. And he had been rather an oddball in other ways, too.

All his life this fact had made him insecure. He thought of himself as too skinny, too unathletic-especially when he compared himself to Derek, which was pretty stupid, of course-and his hair always lay funny, no matter how hard he tried to tame it. He wore cardigans over shirts-the watch over the cardigan, of course-which was pretty weird, but he wore Converse with them and two different socks every day. He loved magic and physics jokes. Spencer couldn't talk about the latest episode of Greys Anatomy, and he wasn't sure what Team Stefan and Team Damon were. Spencer didn't fit in perfectly anywhere and it had taken him time to accept that. He also never imagined anyone would find in attractive, or even want to be with him.

Until you came along.

On your first day at BAU, he immediately noticed three things about you. First, you walked incredibly fast, actually too fast to just walk from one office to the next. It seemed to her as if you were flying. Second, you tucked your hair behind your ears every few minutes, even when it wasn't falling in your face. He wondered why you didn't use a pin or a scrunchie. But it was a habit that didn't bother him in the least. From the moment he first saw you, he found you irresistibly pretty, and he was glad your hair didn't cover your face. And third, you could write ambidextrously. As the team sat in the conference room and you scribbled something in your case file - also something he noticed, you seemed to prefer paper as much as he did - you reached for your coffee cup with your right hand and continued to write undisturbed with your left, until the entire team looked at you as if you were from another star. It was a look Spencer knew all too well.

He had never met anyone like you.

Spencer liked you from the first moment he saw you. He liked that you took your backpack on both shoulders and that you preferred cocoa to coffee. He liked the way you smiled at him when he brought you one from the office kitchen and set it on your desk. And he liked the way your skin felt on his when you reached under the desk for his hand when you noticed a change in his demeanor. You then squeezed his hand twice. Once for "It's all right" and once for "I'm here, with you."

In your presence, everything seemed as easy as breathing. You listened to him when he blathered on about a subject you didn't understand, because you liked his intelligence and the way he explained things without looking down on others. You even asked when he had to explain something to you, which had surprised him so much the first few times that he had completely forgotten what your conversation was about. He had stared at you and the blush had come to his face. One feature that didn't escape you, but made him even more attractive to you.

When you went to his table one morning and told him that you had seen Star Trek for the first time the previous night, and now wondered how realistic the physics in the movie were, he could hardly stand it. You were beautiful and intelligent and interested in Star Trek? And when you asked him if he could explain something from the movie to you, he was sure his dream girl was standing right in front of him.

"I need your help", he told Derek that very day as they stood together in the kitchen. "How do I ask a girl out?"

Derek nearly choked on his coffee before turning to Spencer. "Since when do you want to date?" He noticed Spencer's gaze, which wasn't on him, but slid past him and lingered on you.You sat at your desk and tucked your hair behind your ears before looking up and over at Spencer's desk. Derek could see your gaze wander around the office and then linger on Spencer before you smiled and got back to work. With a grin, Derek looked at Spencer. "You're going to ask Y/N out on a date? Oh boy, it's about time you finally do. I already said to Penelope that -"

"Please, Morgan. I just want to know how to ask her out”, Spencer interrupted him, looking at his friend.

Derek's grin gave way to an honest, friendly smile. "Don't make a big deal out of it. Just ask her directly."

"And if she says no?", asked Spencer uncertainly, his mouth twisting into a thin line. He couldn't imagine you going on a date with him, but he couldn't stay in the dark any longer either. He had to at least try.

"She won't”, Derek assured him. The whole team felt that Spencer and you would be perfect for each other, but he didn't tell him that. Spencer should learn to walk before he starts running. "I can see the way she looks at you. And if she does say no, she's not as smart as I thought."

Spencer trusted Derek's words and took it upon himself to ask you out on a date that very day. He had phrased the question countless times in his head, even encouraging himself in the mirror in the men's room, but every time he stood in front of you and looked at your beautiful face, he couldn't get a single word out. They got stuck in his throat and he was so embarrassed that he fled from you several times. By the third time, he had red marks on his neck, which you noticed immediately, and you wondered how you had made him so uncomfortable without having really done anything. When he said nothing again, you put your hand on his forearm.

"Are you okay, Spencer?", you asked, and he just nodded. It's now or never.

"Wouldyougooutwithme?" He almost mumbled, but you had understood him perfectly. "If you don't want to, that's fine, and we'll pretend I never asked. We'll just keep being friends and -"

"Spencer," you interrupted, smiling up at him, "I'd love to go out with you," you replied, and he was able to breathe deeply again. The marks on his neck faded as you tucked your hair behind your ear.

He had done it. Spencer had asked you and you had agreed, but where was he going to take you? Nothing seemed good enough for him. Going out to eat was nice, but you didn't seem like someone who needed to talk the whole time. He thought movie theaters were dumb because you couldn't talk there at all. After two days he had thought of something and he wouldn't have minded if you thought the idea was stupid, but when he presented his idea to you, you smiled at him excitedly.

"I can't wait."

You spent your first date in Spencer's favorite library, surrounded by knowledge and stories. You walked the aisles together, telling stories of books you had read and found to be good, and books you had abandoned because they were so bad you couldn't finish them. As you walked through each aisle, which had actually taken an entire afternoon, Spencer didn't want the date to end. He was going to suggest something else, but you beat him to it.

"There's a couch over there. Shall we sit there? Then you can read me something from your favorite book."

You would be the death of him.

A few weeks later, you had arranged to go for a walk. The weather was nice, not too hot and not too cool, so you strolled hand in hand along the paths. He liked the fact that you worked together but couldn't just talk about the job. You were explaining to him why a certain Matt Donavan from a vampire series was incredibly annoying when someone stopped in front of you.

"Y/N! How nice to see you!", the young woman said, unceremoniously wrapping her arms around you. When she broke away from you, you looked at Spencer.

"Spencer, this is Lisa, my college roommate. Lisa, this is Spencer, my boyfriend”, you explained before you could think about what you had just said. You chatted briefly before going your separate ways again. You noticed a change in Spencer's behavior and feared you had misinterpreted everything. When you couldn't take it anymore, you stopped.

"Look, I'm sorry I called you my boyfriend”, you said, looking down at the ground in shame. "We've never talked about what exactly we are, but it feels like you're my boyfriend and I wish you were, so I -"

"Y/N”, he interrupted you and tenderly reached for your hand. A smile spread across his face. He couldn't believe himself that he would ask you that. "Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

The bar was crowded and the later it got, the more crowded you felt. The team had been in the mood to celebrate after a difficult case, so everyone had gathered in the regular bar. Penelope was putting on some dance moves on the dance floor while Emily and JJ were bawling out the song, which neither Spencer nor you knew. He had his arm around your waist and pulled you tightly to his side, which you enjoyed very much. He didn't fit in here with his shirt and cardigan, but he fit you, you were one hundred percent sure of that.

As you stifled a yawn, he looked down at you. "Shall we go? You seem tired and I'm getting ready to go to bed too”, he suggested and you nodded. Outside, he hailed you a cab and as you got in, you gave the driver Spencer's address.

"We're going to my place?", asked Spencer, looking at you in confusion as you nestled into his side.

"Yeah, I hope that's okay”, you replied, "If it's too soon for you for us to sleep together, then you just have to say so. I won't be mad at you."

How could he be mad at you? You wanted to spend the night with him. You wanted to fall asleep next to him and wake up next to him. He had hit the jackpot.

"Would you like to drink something?", he asked as you sat down on the couch and kicked off your shoes. It wasn't the first time you'd been in his apartment, but you'd never entered his bedroom before and you didn't want to take the step without him. It was still his apartment and his privacy and you respected that.

"Just water, please”, you replied, pulling your legs up so he could sit next to you. He handed you the glass and you took a big gulp.

In your presence, Spencer had never felt like an oddball. You never made him feel like he was different or weird. You didn't laugh at him, you laughed with him, and you had assured him many times how incredibly attractive he was to you, even if he couldn't see it. He wasn't too skinny or too unathletic for you. He dressed askew, but it suited him like a glove and you had imagined more than once what he would look like without clothes. It didn't bother you in the least that he wasn't interested in the technology of today. For you, he was just right. For you, he was perfect.

Even though you often assured him how much you liked him and how happy you were with him, he was still insecure from time to time. But as you sat there together on the couch and you put your legs on his thighs, he was one hundred percent sure that he didn't need to be insecure. On your left foot was a green sock, while on your right dangled an orange sock.

You wore the socks like he did. Two different ones. Had you seen this on him and copied it or had you always worn socks like this? A question that could be answered later. His heart stopped for a second, his brain turned to mush, which is why he couldn't control his following words either. "I think I love you."

Surprised, you looked to him and noticed that his gaze lingered on your socks. "You see my socks and then say you love me? Maybe something isn't going right in that clever head of yours”, you grinned and leaned towards him. Blushes shot up his face. "I love you too, Spencer."

Gently, you placed your lips on his. The kiss was tender, hesitant, but Spencer saw his chance and gently pulled you onto his lap before wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. His heart threatened to overflow with love. As he placed his hands on your butt, you moaned softly into his mouth. He smiled.

In your presence, he didn't feel like he was different.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid gif #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #Emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #Jennifer jereau

2K notes · View notes

growup-thatbeautiful · 3 years ago

Text

moonlight and fire

Singer Natasha Romanoff x Songwriter Reader

a/n: this has been in my mind for way to long. needed to get it out, so enjoy ig lol

be on the lookout for part 2!

~~~~~~~~

The first time you met Natasha, even you could admit that you looked good. Really good.

Before this, you spent hours getting ready. This party was supposed to be the event of the year, everyone who’s anyone in attendance.

You’re wearing a deep forrest green and creamy lace. Delicate silver jewelry lays on your wrists and ears, an opal ball hanging low on your neck.

You’re sitting on the marble balcony, the blowing wind causing a chill to run down your spine. Arms crossed, you lean back against the cool stone of the wall, hoping to blend in and that no one will find you. The night is lit up by golden streetlights and white-hot stars.

It’s not that you don’t enjoy the company. You have many friends mingling inside, but they don’t seem to notice you being out here.

“This not your scene?” A slightly familiar voice comes from an immediately recognizable figure. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Want a drink?”

Long red hair is half pinned-up in a braided crown, the rest cascading down her back. She’s wearing a flowing gold dress with a beautifully red-embroidered corset. Her hair looks like it’s on fire. The hand offering a crystal glass is scarred and somehow still perfectly manicured.

“Natasha Romanoff.” It’s a household name, it has been ever since she was a little girl new to America.Most people know her for her music, haunting and beautiful. Her signature Russian influence creates a blend uniquely her own. You’ve been in love with her talent ever since her song first played in the car.

“You’re that songwriter, right? Bucky can’t stop singing your praises,” she pauses, considering her words. “Literally.”

You introduce yourself as she settles down next to you. Luckily, conversation starts off easily and continues for what feels like minutes. Hours later when the starts are high in the sky, Sam comes out and tells the both of you that the party’s clearing out.

There’s always the option of going to whatever after parties are happening, but you don’t really feel like doing that.

“D’you want to get out of here? There’s a coffee shop by my place, so we can go change.”

By my place. If those words don’t evoke something in you.

“Sounds great.”

It turns out she doesn’t live far from whoever’s apartment you’re at. You walk together, shoes dangling from your fingertips. She lets you into her apartment, throwing her bag onto the marble counter.

“So, this is my place. Up those stairs,” she points to a modern looking platform staircase, “are the bedrooms. Kitchen, living room, studio, and dining room are all down here.”

“I like the place.” You follow her lead and put down your shoes by the front door, trekking up the stairs.

“Thanks. It’s not really my style. The whole modern spaceship thing is my sister, Yelena’s. She picked it out with long trips to New York in mind.”

“Where’s she now?”

“Not home.” She sends a look over your shoulder, a tricky smile that has you grinning back. A smile that also has you thinking what it would be like to kiss her. You push the thought back with a harsh blink.

You’re led to what you assume is her room. You’re not completely shocked to see that it’s as sparsely decorated as the rest of the apartment, the only giveaway that someone actually lives there the rumpled bed and pictures on the nightstand.

“I’ll find something you can wear. Sweatpants good?” She calls from the other room.

“Of course.” Natasha emerges from the closet with two pairs of clothes in her hands, tossing one to you and gifting directions to the bathroom down the hall.

After you change, you go back down the stairs, running your hands along the smooth countertops.

“Okay, I know I said that there was a cool coffee shop down the street, but I really don’t feel like going anywhere. I swear this isn’t some crazy plot to get you into my home and murder you,” says Natasha, coming down the stairs, pulling at her hair. It honestly looks a mess, but you can’t help but notice how stunning she still looks.

“Don’t you have a song about murdering someone at your place?”

“Maybe. But they deserved it. You don’t.” She grabs two mugs from the shelf and starts a kettle.

“That’s so nice of you to say, wow. I can’t believe it.“

“Whatever.” You sit in silence while she makes tea, offering you sugar and milk.

In the end, though you watch old movies and showing each other your favorite songs. You never make it to the guest room upstairs, opting for the comfortable living room couch. Not the living room you first saw, the one reserved for business and professionalism, but a different one down the hall with album covers and throw blankets. Natasha claims it’s her sisters design. It’s surprisingly… easy. She’s easy to be with.

~~~~~~

The next time you see her, it’s a few weeks later. The pair of you keep up a chain of text messages, trying to work out busy schedules and long hours.

As it happened, you meet by accident. You’re working on a new project with Steve Rogers, a longtime friend of Bucky and Sam. Imagine your surprise when she comes waltzing in, somehow pulling off a white jumpsuit and black straps. Her hair has braided segments and metallic heart sunglasses.

“Oh shit, I forgot you two know each other. That makes it so much easier,” laughs Steve.

“Rogers, you’ve got thirty seconds to tell me why I’m here when I could be having lunch with them,” she points at you, “without you, Cap.”

“Fine. I’ve heard your friends work in Bucky and Sam’s song, love your work by the way,” he adds, “and I thought it would be cool for a collaboration between the two of you.”

“No offense, Steve, but how does that have anything to do with you? You’re not in the music industry. You’re movies are masterpieces, but still,” you say, taking a seat next to Natasha.

“I need a song for my new project. Plus, it has a few friendly faces. Nat, you know Tony Stark-“

“Unfortunately.”

“And I know both of you have at least met Bruce. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“That might be the most annoying thing about you.”

“Please.”

“You don’t have to put on the hurt puppy dog eyes. I’ll do it.” Natasha looks at you for your answer, not needing puppy dog eyes to convince you.

“I’m in.”

#anyone who wants this a a real fic lmk #natasha romanoff fluff #mcu natasha #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natalia alianovna romanova #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x you #black widow fluff #black widow mcu #black widow fic #natasha romanoff fic #marvel fic #nat romanoff #black widow x you #black widow x reader #black widow

78 notes · View notes

thorfemmes · 5 years ago

Text

Cloudy

in which harry hates summer storms, but she loves them.

Hi everyone! I know I’m not really a fan account, so please feel free to skip over this post if you don’t want to read fanfic! I’ve decided to take part in @helladirections ‘s Summer Feeling writing challenge, and this is what I came up with! Feedback is greatly appreciated, I’m trying to hype myself up into writing again. Also thank you @jasline-arod for being my beta reader, I love you endlessly!<3

Prompts: summer reading & ice cream

Rated 18+: fluff, SMUT, soft dom!harry, teasing, edging, punishment, impact play, light bondage, condescension kink if you squint, cute aftercare!!!

Word Count: 3.8k

Summer storms were quite melancholy.

Harry supposed he was being a bit dramatic, considering (y/n) loved the rain. If it weren’t for the possibility of getting a cold and the wandering eyes from their surrounding neighbors she would be out dancing and skipping around the backyard in the puddles and mud. But alas, their neighbors were a bit too nosy and she couldn’t afford any sick time off at work right now, so she was using this day to clean the house. Some last minute spring cleaning as she called it.

Harry, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to roll around in the sheets all day with her. The young couple had planned a nice date out for the day: a stroll around the neighborhood, a picnic in the park, maybe some window shopping in the plaza. Their car was currently in the shop so anything they wanted to do would have to be within walking distance -(y/n) really didn’t like Ubering around. Mother Nature apparently had other plans.

Which leads us here. Harry had seen the storm die down and in all of his stubborn brilliance had insisted on making an ice cream run. ‘S just a little drizzle! He maintained. I’ll be back before you know it, Poppet. It turns out “a little drizzle” can easily turn into torrential downpour in the twenty minutes it takes Harry to bike to and from the grocery store. He couldn’t believe his luck, and now as he approached his front door sopping wet and dragging his bike up the steps, he was silently cursing himself for deciding Ben and Jerry’s was worth the trek.

“Babe? Is everything alright?” (Y/n) proffered over the soft music she had put on when he left. She could hear his frustrated grumbles and sighs from the living room and had of course seen the storm pick up.

“ ‘M fine, sweetheart, just a bit wet ‘s all.” Harry griped from the kitchen. He quickly dried off the pints of ice cream and stuck them in the freezer before pouring a bowl of uncooked rice for his cell phone. Flicking off the lights in the kitchen, spotless and dust-free thanks to (y/n), he walked into the living room to find her tucked into the corner of the couch reading a book.

Peering over the pages, her eyes softly danced over her lover -damp and frumpy from the rain outside. He had a slight pout on his face that made her giggle playfully, eyes glittering with nothing but adoration and humor.

“My strong love, fought the rain and thunder just to get his girlfriend ice cream.”

He snorted at her, trying his hardest to hold back a smile. “Think I deserve a prize, don’t you think? It was quite brave of me to go out there, I could’ve gotten swept away by the flood of puddles!”

Her laugh rang like a chime. It was times like this, soft and quiet and domestic, that made his heart skip a beat. She made him delirious and dizzy with love.

“Of course, my love. Your prize is in the bathroom, hanging from the towel rack. I saw the rain pick up and figured you might come home a bit soggy,” She said with a laugh. “Go get changed, when you come back we can lounge about and read together.”

Harry’s heart fluttered as he shuffled out of the living room. When he came back, now changed into a crisp crew neck shirt and some washed worn sweats, he quickly popped over in front of his love. She looked up from the novel in front of her, stars in her eyes. Harry quickly leaned down and showered her in kisses. Anywhere he could reach was covered in smooches. She wiggled and whined playfully as he threw his leg over her waist, but not before grabbing the book and laying it on the coffee table face down. They grappled and playfully dodged kisses until she cried “Alright! Fine you win!” with a ridiculous pout and her hands pinned to the couch under Harry’s grasp.

“You’re so mean,” she pouted through puffs of air.

“Mean ‘m I? Would a mean boyfriend have gone out in the harsh winter storm for-”

“It’s the middle of July!”

“For pints of Chunky Monkey, Phish Food, Karamel Sutra, and Tonight Dough? I don’t think tha’s very mean, d’you?”

Harry swore the sigh she let out sounded harmonious. “No, I suppose not. It sounds like you’re spoiling me, huh?” She tried to loosen his grip again. “Let me up, please?”

He grinned down at her. “Kissy first?”

She leaned up the best she could for a smooch before he let her get back up. Harry laid down on the couch and patted his tummy with the hand not resting under his neck.

“C’mere, let’s read.”

(Y/n) crawled between Harry’s legs and laid between them, her head resting on his soft stomach. “Mm, nice and comfy.”

Harry chuckled with her, loving the warmth and comfort the weight of her gave him. He wrapped an arm around the front of her chest and softly rubbed his thumb over her shoulder.

“Do you want me to start the chapter over?” She asked, perfectly content to reread for him.

“Course not, Petal! Just pick up where you left off, please.”

“ ‘I’m going to America. To seek my fortune.’ (This was just after America but long after fortunes.) ‘A ship sails soon from London. There is great opportunity in America. I’m going to take advantage of it. I’ve been training myself. In my hovel. I’ve taught myself not to need sleep. A few hours only. I’ll take a ten-hour-a-day job and then I’ll take another ten-hour-a-day job and I’ll save every penny from both except what I need to eat to keep strong, and when I have enough I’ll buy a farm and build a house and make a bed big enough for two.’ ”

Harry began to lose focus on the story, instead concentrating on his petal’s voice, soft and clear enough for just the two of them. Almost as if the bubble around them might burst if she spoke too loudly. She began to alter her voice, adding in dashes of accents and key changes as the characters varied. Harry let a heavy breath fall from his nose as he smiled and bit his lip with a smile.

“ ‘Do you love me, Westley? Is that it?’ ”

Harry held his breath.

“ He couldn’t believe it. ‘Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. If your love were-’ ”

Now, Harry knows he has a very specific taste in literature. And while he may personally prefer obscene prose and Joan Didion, this line -from a novel built on fantasies -was embroidered on his heart in bright yellow thread. The millions of grains of sand could not even begin to embody how dearly and how fiercely he loved her. His heart physically ached at the thought of her; her presence, her laugh, smile, ambition, everything. He loved (y/n) in a way he never imagined possible. Harry could not even begin to fathom a world without her. And if the little velvet box hidden in an old shoe box behind a ton of winter coats in the upstairs closet was anything to go by, he didn’t want to begin imagining it.

“Lovey, are you okay?” (Y/n) spoke up. She noticed him stiffen up immediately after she finished reading that paragraph.

Silence followed her question. She stuck the loose playing card she had found into the book to mark her place and gently sat up to shift herself in his lap, setting the book down on the coffee table again. Harry was pulled from his thoughts of navy blue suits and white lace gowns when she softly called his name again and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Is everything alright Harry? You zoned out for quite a while there.”

Harry looked at the heavenly sight in front of him. Her hair was a bit mussed up from the cleaning and the sweat that had no doubt appeared in the slightly humid house. She sat in an old cropped cotton shirt that proudly touted a faded improv club logo from college on it (she had gone to one meeting and of course it was the meeting where they gave out free t-shirts) with wrinkles and dried stains from cleaning spray. Her gray pajama shorts had little line drawings of bumble bees on them, and were currently riding up her thighs as they sat straddling Harry’s hips. He dragged his eyes to look at her face. He swore she was glowing in the grayish sunlight streaming from the windows. Little moles and freckles and acne scars dotted across her makeup-less face. Her eyes were wide and her lips were gaped open slightly in worry as his silence continued.

Harry finally, finally took in a breath (he desperately needed it, he didn’t realize she had literally stolen his breath away) and mumbled “ ‘M fine, petal. I just love you so much,” and with that closed the all too wide gap between them.

Her eyes widened just a bit more before kissing back, her eyes fell closed and her hands held tightly to his cheeks. Harry swore the kiss was meant to be gentle, but then he found himself nibbling on her bottom lip and soothing the slight sting with his tongue when she whined against him. She pulled away breathlessly and looked over his face, now flushed crimson with their movements.

“I love you too!” She breathily laughed. “Let’s-”

Her thoughts were lost as Harry began to kiss a trail from below her ear and down her neck, one hand squeezing her soft hip and the other holding her head in place as she squirmed (she was a bit ticklish). He sucked and softly bit at the junction between her neck and shoulder as she let out a faint moan at the attention being given to the sensitive skin. She ran her fingers through his loose curls and gently led his head back up to meet her lips. She tenderly rolled her hips against his -his hands quickly following the motion.

“Ah, fuck baby. You’re so fuckin’ sexy m’love,” Harry groaned against her lips. They were breathing in each other's air, hips thrusting against the other and hands grasping at fabric and anywhere they could grab. Harry lowered his hand to cup her hot pussy over her shorts, rubbing his palms against her clothed clit.

“Mmf, please Harry please!” She wanted him so badly, she was this close to ripping his clothes off at the seams.

“What d’you want baby girl? Hmm? Ask me nicely ‘nd maybe I’ll give it to you.”

The air shifted between them. She knew he would give her whatever she wanted, but the power was now in his corner. She whined loudly and bucked her hips up as he teased the waistband of her shorts.

“Don’t be a brat, petal. You won’t like the outcome.” Harry grinned up at her, running his thumb over her bottom lip that had stuck out with a pout. “Why don’t we run upstairs so I can fuck you properly. Tha’ is unless you want to stay down here with a sore bum ‘nd nothin’ else? Hmm, petal?”

“Harry, I swear if you don’t do something I’m going to screa- ah!” Harry’s hand came down on her ass with a loud smack!

(Y/n)’s eyes widened as she scrambled off of his lap and up the stairs to their “guest” bedroom, Harry not far behind. Harry giggled at her antics. Of course he wasn’t planning on leaving her needy and wanting, but she was being bratty and he couldn’t have that now could he?

(Y/n) all but threw herself onto their bed and ripped off her clothing, absolutely desperate for whatever Harry threw her way. She’d ride his thigh if that’s all he’d give her. She was that needy right now.

She scrambled up the bed and sat down with her legs crossed, patiently waiting as Harry stood at the foot of the bed.

“I think 10 swats on your bum are an appropriate punishment for you steppin’ out of line. Don’t you think, baby?”

“Yes, sir.” (Y/n) watched as he walked around the side of the bed. He reached into the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of shea butter lotion and the pretty pink ribbon she was all too familiar with.

“Lay down on your tummy, petal,” Harry said, setting everything on the table.

(Y/n) quickly laid down, grabbing her pillow and nestling her cheek into it. Harry grabbed one of the extra pillows and shoved it under her hips. He then pulled off the t-shirt and shrugged off his sweats, leaving him in a pair of heather gray briefs that left nothing to the imagination.

“You’ve such a pretty bum, sweetheart. ‘M so excited to see it marked up with my hand marks,” Harry caressed and massaged her cheeks carefully. “Count aloud for me, lovie.”

(Y/n) was about to answer when Harry’s hand came down on her left cheek, hard. “One!” She squeaked out.

“D’you know why you’re bein’ punished, lovie?” Smack!

“Ah! Two! Yes sir! I was being bad earlier. I was being naughty and begging without saying please!”

Harry rubbed over the sore area. “Very good, baby. Are you going to do it again?” Smack! Smack! Smack! Three spanks came in succession.

“Three! Fou-, Four! Five! No, Sir! I won’t!” She squirmed and hid her face in the pillow as her grip tightened on the material. She was a bit embarrassed at the fact that she was already getting teary eyed, but it had been a second since she'd been punished like this.

Harry paused and moved her hair out from around her face. “How are you doin’ (Y/n)? Gimme a color, please.”

“Green, Harry. I’m good, please keep going.” She wiggled and lifted her ass up towards Harry's other hand.

“Okay, lovie. Just makin’ sure.” Harry quickly kissed her cheek then pushed her head back into the pillow. She moaned loudly at the forcefulness.

The rest of the spanks came and went, leaving both of them breathless and stinging. Harry reached up and grabbed (Y/n) by the hair to pull her on all fours, his other hand removing the pillow from under her hips before running his fingers over her pussy.

“Y’not gonna do tha’ again, are you, petal?” He said smugly.

“No sir,” She hiccupped.

A jolt ran through her as he gathered her wetness and began circling her clit with two fingers.

“So sensitive, petal. Bet you almost came jus’ from me spankin’ you. Maybe you don’ need my cock after all? Maybe I should jus’ take care of myself and leave you here, what d’you think, petal? ”

She let out a pitiful moan. (Y/n)’s whole body was shaking; she was desperately trying not to come, her arms were shaking from holding herself up, and her breath was shaking from the stimulation of it all. She was almost there, almost ready to come when Harry suddenly let go of her hair and stopping playing with her pussy. Her arms gave out under her as she whined desperately at the loss of stimulation.

“Please! No, don’t leave me!” She sobbed. “I need it! Please give me your cock sir! I’ll be so good, I won’t come without askin’ please! Ple-”

“Okay, shh baby. Shh, ‘m gonna make y’feel so good. Y’such a good girl f’me.”

Harry leaned down and kissed up her spine gently. As he reached the base of her neck he grabbed the pink ribbon and ran it teasingly over her shoulders. “Color?”

She sniffled a bit before answering confidently, “Green, sir.”

“Tha’s my girl.” He pulled her up so she was kneeling and grabbed her arms, skillfully tying a cute little bow around her wrists. She wiggled a bit to make sure it was comfortable. Once she was settled, Harry pushed her back down into the pillow.

“What a sight. Must’ve been savin’ this for a rainy day, huh petal?”

She snorted at his joke but was quickly silenced by his finger sinking into her pussy. She hissed at the sensation, already a bit sensitive from the first orgasm he denied her.

“Y’always so warm for me, lovie. So warm ‘n tight. Can’t wait for my cock, can you?”

She whined and pushed back on his fingers as he added another, thrusting in and curling to find her g-spot. “Please! I’ve been so good, I’m ready!”

He chuckled at her begging, letting his thumb pet over her clit again before pulling his fingers out of her after one final thrust. “Y’think you’re ready, baby girl? I know I am.”

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “I’m ready, I promise.”

Harry used the wetness he had gathered from fingering her and stroked himself a few times, exhaling heavily as some pressure was finally released. He grabbed the ribbon where her wrists were tied and lined himself up, pushing gently into her soaked cunt.

They both released a guttural moan as he moved in her; her walls tightening around him and his length rubbing inside her perfectly.

As she felt him bottom out she let out a sob that was stuck in her chest. “Fu-ck. Thank you! You feel so fuck-fucking good!” He growled in response, reaching around and playing with her clit again while he waited for her to get accustomed to his size. She choked out another moan and squirmed, crying “Please! You can move now, please fuck me!”

He pulled out until only the head of his cock remained in her cunt, and then thrusted back in experimentally. Her moan spurred him on, allowing him to continue to set a slow and rough pace.

“Holy fuck, bunny. Y'feel so good,” Harry grit through his teeth. “I love this fuckin’ cunt, this ‘s all fo’ me, huh?”

She moaned and nodded as she squeezed his cock as tight as she could like a good girl. She wanted to behave, be his good girl. (Y/n) wiggled her hands at him as he continued to thrust. He got the hint and laced his fingers with hers. She let out a contented sigh that melted into a moan as his thrusting sped up. He loosened one of his hands from her grasp to reach down and stroke her button of nerves.

She wailed in response, tears brimming in her eyes again from the overwhelming sensations attacking her. Harry was all that existed. He surrounded her, stopped playing with her bundle of nerves and reached his hand up to wrap around her neck, pulling her up to meet his kisses. All she could feel, smell, taste as he paused thrusting to slide his tongue into her mouth before slamming back into her and letting her drop back into the pillow.

“Sh-shit baby girl. I can feel y'squeezin me, you’re almost there aren’t you?” She nodded in response, unable to form words. “Hold it jus’ a bit longer, I know you can do it. Fo’ me please, petal. Wanna feel tha’ cunt come with me.”

She shuddered as she fought to hold her orgasm back. Her cunt clenched and dripped down her thighs as Harry pounded into her as quickly as he possibly could without hurting either of them.

“N-now! Come now, petal! Give it to me, baby. Come for me!”

(Y/n) came with a shout, her eyes shut as tightly as possible. Her whole body clamped down onto Harry’s cock as she came and came and came. Her orgasm pulled Harry’s out of him, milking him for everything he had. One final thrust had him filling her with his cum, both moaning at the feeling of her pussy being filled even more.

She slumped into the pillow, body feeling like pudding. Harry leaned over her as they both took a moment to catch their breaths, both spent and relaxed after their afternoon delight. Harry recovered first, gently pulling out of her cunt. She clenched around him as he left her, almost as if she was inviting him to stay.

He quickly untied her wrists, mind set on dealing with his spilled seed later. He delicately rubbed the tender area, gently kissing the indentations.

“Y’did so good for me, (Y/n), thank you baby,” he whispered to her. She looked at him with foggy eyes, the afterglow finally settling in. She hummed in acknowledgment of his praise, smiling softly at him. “I’ll be ri’ back, petal. I’ve gotta go grab stuff to clean you up.”

He ran as quickly as possible to grab water bottles and snacks from downstairs, before stopping for a wet washcloth and a change of clothes for her on the way back. He set the food and spoons on the bedside table before cracking open a water bottle for her.

“Can you sit up a mo’? I know your bum’s a bit sore.” He helped her sit up enough to drink the water he gave her. As she gulped down the water, thankful for the cool drink to sooth her heated throat, he gently wiped up the mess he made of her pussy. He ran and tossed the cloth into their ensuite sink, quickly returning to his love.

“Can I rub some shea butter on your bum and wrists? It’ll help with the soreness, lovie.”

She sleepily nodded before asking “Could you please pull my hair back? It’s sweaty and itchy now.”

He laughed at her cloudy state and grabbed one of their scrunchies off of the dresser and carefully tied up her hair. He then pumped some lotion into his hands, warmed it slightly and guided her to lay down on her tummy again so he could soothe the red marks. After a few moments, when her fogginess had cleared and they were giggling and cracking jokes as he jiggled her bum in his hands, he helped her get up and walk to the toilet so she could relieve and redress herself before heading to their bedroom with the snacks.

(Y/n) climbed into bed, mindful of her sore bum, and excitedly grabbed the remote to turn on a movie for the couple to unwind to. Harry followed closely with two pints of ice cream and spoons -Chunky Monkey for her and Karamel Sutra for himself. They giggled again and settled down under the blanket as the opening scene to Clueless started on their television.

Taking a bite of the ice cream, (Y/n) looked over at her boyfriend. “Hey Har?” He looked at her, mouth full. “Thank you for getting us ice cream even though there was a storm. And for letting me read to you. I hope you enjoyed your prize.” She winked at him with a huge grin.

Heartily laughing, he leaned over and landed a loud smooch onto her cheek. “Of course, anything for you my love.”

As she cuddled into his side, snacking on ice cream and watching this cheesy rom-com, he knew he needed to find a reason to excuse himself to the closet that evening.

#oh shit i did it #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fluff #soft dom!harry #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry x y/n #harry style x y/n #fanfic #fic #writing #harry styles

1K notes · View notes

ofstarsandvibranium · 5 years ago

Text

Flowers for Spencer

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Summary: Spencer starts receiving flowers from a secret admirer. A different one each day, a different meaning.

A/N: It’s 2am and I decided to write a spencer reid oneshot because i’m completely soft for this man. enjoy.

A white carnation sat on Spencer’s desk when he arrived to work. Just a single flower with no note or indication of who it was from.

He picked it up with an intrigued expression on his face, gaining the attention of Emily and Derek.

“Whatcha got there, Reid?” Emily asked as she set her things on her desk.

“Dianthus caryophyllus, also known as a carnation. Different colored carnations represent different meanings. For example, a white carnation represents something being sweet or love.”

Derek snorted, “Someone in love with you, Reid?”

The young doctor shrugs, “I don’t know. I might be looking too much into it. Someone probably just picked a random flower and placed it on my desk.”

Emily cocked her head to the side and looked at Spencer curiously, “No, I think that flower was given to you for a reason, Reid.” Her eyes widened and she stood up from her desk, pointing at the flower, “I bet someone has a crush on you and they’re trying to tell you through the flowers!”

“That’s creepy,” Derek retorted as he took a sip from his coffee.

Emily rolled her eyes, “Well I think it’s sweet.”

“What’s sweet?” you ask when you approach Spencer and Emily, handing them their respective to-go cups of coffee.

“Our good doctor here has a secret admirer,” Derek points out with a grin.

You look back at Spencer with a soft smile, “That so?”

He shyly smiles back and shrugs, “It could be nothing. But it’s nice. Never received flowers before.”

“Well whoever it is, that’s very sweet of them. Anyway, JJ said to meet in the briefing room in five. I just gotta grab some files to I’ll see you guys there.”

____________

The next day, Spencer found another flower on his desk. This time it was a

“Bellis perennis, known as the common daisy.” Spencer states when JJ, Derek, Penelope, and Emily gather around him as he holds the flower in between his fingers.

“And what does this one stand for?” Emily asks.

“Innocence and purity.”

Derek nods in agreement, “I mean, I think that sums you up perfectly, Reid.”

Spencer looks at him confusedly, “Thanks?”

“Okay, okay. Do we know anyone who has a particular fondness of flowers?”

The small group stand in silence for three seconds and proceeded to shake their heads, “Nope. Not a clue.”

You approached everyone with files in your arms and a curious look on your face, “What’s everyone standing around for?”

“Our adorable Doctor Reid received another flower from his secret admirer. They think he’s innocent and pure.” Derek chimes in, answering your question.

“Which I don’t understand, at all.” Spencer retorts.

“I think it’s cute,” Penelope states, “Guys often don’t receive flowers and I’m glad it’s you, Spencer.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” he replies shyly and then looks back at you, “Do you have any idea who it might be? Have you seen anyone hanging close to my desk lately?”

You give him a shake of your head, “No, sorry, Spence. But I think it’s nice of whoever it is for them to do this.”

He hums in agreement and sits back down at his desk once everyone disperses, “Oh!” his face lights up, “I just remembered, the new edition of Agents of Atlas series released today! If we have time, you wanna come with me to get it?”

“Sure! Maybe afterwards, we can go to the pizza place down the street from there?”

“Sounds like a plan!”

“Great!” you say enthusiastically before following JJ to her office.

Derek, who witnessed the interaction, rolled over to Spencer’s desk with a smirk on his face, “You and Y/N?”

Spencer already gives him a disapproving look, “We’re just friends.”

“What if she’s your secret admirer? It makes sense right? Ever since JJ hired her as her assistant, you two have been connected at the hip! You’re into the same nerdy stuff, she always listens to you go off on your tangents. She’s sweet and pretty and-”

“And we’re just friends,” Spencer said again with a pointed look, “I don’t-” he paused and let out a sigh, “I don’t think she sees me like that, Morgan. She’s-She’s too good for me.”

It was Derek’s turn to give him a pointed look, “Reid, she’s perfect for you. But fine, whatever. Instead of yearning for some mystery person you have your dream girl right in front of you.” he then rolls back to his desk, getting back into the zone of looking over case files.

_________

It’s been almost two years since you were hired to be JJ’s assistant. She was an amazing and efficient woman, but she finally caved after she realized that work was consuming her and she needed help. That’s when you stepped in and it was the best thing to ever happen to you. Sort of. Sure, you had to read through some really violent and cruel files, but you also aided in helping save lives. Not to mention, you grew close to the one Doctor Spencer Reid.

On your first day, you two immediately hit it off. He noticed your Star Trek pin on your bag, quoting a Spock line to you that made you grin from ear to ear.

You two shared a lot of the same interests and your personalities were fairly similar. Derek had complained that now there were two Reids he had to work with, but you knew he meant it jokingly.

Getting to know Spencer and growing close with him was something you enjoyed. You loved spending time with him, listening to him ramble and go on random tangents. Everything he said was so remarkably fascinating, you wished he would never stop talking. You grew to like him more than a friend.

Eventually, you realized that your small crush you harbored had grown into something more and you didn’t know what to do. Spencer was the best friend you’ve ever had. He understood you so well and not to mention you two got along fantastically. You just didn’t want to put your friendship at risk.

So what did you resort to? Leaving him flowers to express how you felt.

______________

“Is that lavender?” Penelope asked, sniffing the air when she entered the bullpen.

Derek nodded, “Yup. Another gift from Spencer’s secret admirer. Apparently this one means admiration.”

She looked at Spencer in awe, “Wow. A flower every single day this week, Spencer. This person must really like you! You got an idea who it is yet?”

He shook his head, “Nope.”

That made her confused, “But you’re a profiler. Can’t you figure it out? Oh! Wait! I can hack into the cameras and figure it out for you!” she began to rush towards her office, but Spencer called out to her.

“Please, don’t. I-I don’t wanna embarrass whoever this is.”

“But don’t you wanna know who’s gone sweet on ya?” she asks with a friendly smile.

He shrugs, “Yeah, but-I don’t know. I want them to build up the courage to reveal themselves to me. Plus...I like the attention. No one’s ever given me flowers before, let alone shown this much interest in me.”

Penelope wanted to say something, something that she knew but also didn’t know. She had a hunch, but she didn’t want to rile Spencer up with the risk of her being wrong. So instead, she gave him a smile and a nod, and said, “Understood.”

____________

It was late and everyone had left for the night. A case still in progress, but Hotch ordered everyone to get a good night’s sleep to rest their brains.

You were the only one left, wanting to finish up some tasks that you haven’t been able to complete since the case had emerged.

When you were finished, you exited JJ’s office and peered into the bullpen. Empty. So you quickly and carefully pulled out the flower that you planned on giving Spencer.

You rushed over to his desk, placing it at his workstation, a soft smile on your lips.

“You should tell him,” the voice made you jump with a gasp. Heart on your hand you turned around to see Hotch standing in the doorway of his office.

“I thought everyone left.” you murmured.

“Just had some things to finish up.” he closed his office door and walked towards you. He stood before you, stuffing his hands in his pockets and nodded towards Spencer’s desk, “You should tell him.”

“I will just not right now. I just-I don’t know how to tell him. And if I do, what if he rejects me? Then our entire friendship is washed down the toilet because I couldn’t control my feelings.”

“He likes you too, Y/N.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a profiler. It’s my job,” he says with a smirk. He gives you a soft nudge, “Lemme walk you to your car.”

You sighed and agreed, following him out of the bullpen with a plan brewing in your mind.

___________

“Ranunculus,” Spencer’s head shoots up when he hears your voice and sees you staring down at him, “Means you have charm and you’re attractive. But I’m sure you knew that already.”

He clears his throat and sits up more, “Yeah,” he looks down at the flower in his hand and back up at you, “So what do you think of all this? It’s been a week and a half and my secret admirer still hasn’t revealed themselves to me. Should I just treat it as a case and start profiling them?”

A part of you wanted to reject that idea completely, but you had to remain cool. So you shrugged, “Don’t know. Maybe they’re just trying to buy a little bit more time.”

“I think by the end of the week, if they don’t reveal themselves, I’ll just go looking for them instead. Do you think that sounds like a good idea?”

“It’s your life, Spence. You do what you want. My opinion shouldn’t matter.”

“But it does. Your opinion matters a lot to me,” he says softly, a shy grin on his face, one that you came to love.

You hear someone clear their throat and you turn around to see JJ, “Sorry, Y/N, but I need some help.”

“Right, sorry!” you give Spencer a wave and head back to JJ’s office to assist her.

________________

It was the last day of the week and Spencer was disappointed to find his desk lacking a flower.

His coworkers all peering at the surface, frowns matching his own.

“No flower?” Emily asked.

“Guess not.”

“Maybe someone took it and threw it away?” Derek asked.

Spencer shook his head, “No. No. I think-I think that means they’re gonna come clean. My secret admirer is going to reveal themselves to me today.”

Cue the group discussing who it could possibly, chattering among themselves sharing their own respective theories. All the while, Spencer plops into his chair and begins to take out a file and notebook from his bag.

When he hears someone clear their throat, he looks up, eyes catching yours briefly before landing on a single red rose in your hand.

“Hi,” you greeted him mousily. Nervous butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Hi,” Spencer murmured softly, standing to his feet, “Whatcha got there?”

You look down at the rose, finger delicately grazing along its petals, “For you,” you extend it to him and he takes it, “It’s me. I’m your secret admirer. And if you don’t feel the same, it’s okay. i just-I dunno. You’re kind and smart and funny and wonderful and an amazing friend. I’ve never met anyone like you, Spencer.”

“How long?”

“Hm?” you look at him now and you see the softness in his eyes.

“How long have you had feelings for me?”

“Three months after I started working here.”

He chuckles in disbelief, “Almost two years and we could’ve been dating during this entire time.”

You look at him confusedly until realization struck you, “You-”

“Yeah,” he says with a smile, “For just as long.”

“Oh,” you say with a shy grin.

“Score!” Penelope and Derek high five, breaking the sweet moment you and Spencer were having. JJ and Emily were digging through their wallets handing over the other two money.

Realizing what was happening, both you and Spencer looked at them in shock, “You bet on us?!”

“Not necessarily,” Emily murmured in dismay.

“We all made bets on who we thought the secret admirer was. Morgan and Garcia bet it was you.”

“And I did as well,” Hotch added with a smirk on his face as he reached out to collect his winnings.

You scoffed, “That’s not fair, Hotch! You already knew!”

The group looked at their boss in surprise and disappointment. He shrugged, “I caught her placing a flower on his desk last week when everyone left.”

“I’ll be taking that!” Spencer plucked the money out of Hotch’s hands.

“And what’re you gonna use that money on?” Derek asked.

Spencer looked at you and smiled, “A date.”

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid

1K notes · View notes

captainrexforever · 4 years ago

Text

Trials and Tribulations 1/2

Rating: T

Word Count: ~4k

Summary: The reader discovers that she has formed a force bond with her Mandalorian companion. This has some unforeseen complications during the events at the Imperial refinery on Morak.

Warnings: cannon typical violence, reader is seriously injured, mentions of blood, Dad! Fett, fluff, angst

Notes: I was planning for this to be wayyy more angsty, but I just couldn’t bear to put poor Din through any more hurt. I hope you enjoy! Don’t forget to comment if you have a suggestion or an idea.

Pt. 2

It seems like only a moment ago Din disappeared down the mountain to assist Fennec. You grab a hold of the child, thanking the stars that he has finally emerged from his trance-like state, and cradle him gently as you check over his vitals to ensure he is not injured.

Once the sound of blaster fire begins to fade, you prepare to make the trek down the mountainside as well. It looks as if the remaining stormtroopers are in full retreat, their transports blasting off from the surface in a hurry. A final explosion-wait, was that a rocket? did Din have a rocket launcher and not tell you?-wipes the ships out of the sky, and you let out a sigh of relief. Although it would be best to leave the planet as quickly as possible, you can’t resist enjoying the view for a moment. It’s been a long time since you or Mando have been able to take a break. There is always a new danger, a new threat, that compromises the safety of your small group.

A red laser bolt screams past your ear, slicing through your peripheral vision like an omen of death. You can only stand there, helpless, as you witness the bolt strike the motionless Razor Crest. The ship that has served as your home for months is suddenly reduced to a smoking crater of ash. There is a good chance that you’re in shock, and by the time you notice the dark troopers descending on your position it’s too late. Before you can draw your blaster, a droid sweeps your feet out from beneath you and you fall to the unforgiving ground, cursing as stones pierce into the skin of your back.

Mando is still running up the mountain side when he notices your body crumple to the ground, and he’s overtaken by blind rage, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he wills himself to move faster. Blaster shots ring out in the silence and his whole body seizes up in pain when he hears your screams.

You grit your teeth as you fight the pain flooding your body. There’s already blood flowing from the blaster shot in your chest and the one in your left leg, but you refuse to give in to the pain. Your fingers close around the child’s robe, struggling to secure their hold as a droid tears him from your arms. Biting back another cry of pain, you will yourself to stand, only to come face to face with the barrel of a wrist-mounted blaster.

It would have been your last breath if Mando hadn’t arrived at that exact moment. The droid standing over you wirrs in distress as a searing laser bolt catches it in the throat. With every last ounce of strength you crane your neck towards the direction of the blast, vision swimming as you register the presence of a familiar beskar-clad figure.

Din curses his poor timing as he rushes towards your prone figure. One finger is already bare, falling to your neck to check for a pulse even as the digits of his other hand connect with his helmet to activate long-range vision. The child is too far gone, he’ll never be able to reach him even if he retrieves his jetpack. His ship is nothing but a pile of ashes, the medical equipment necessary to assist with your condition lost along with the Crest. For just a second Din allows himself to feel despair, loss, anger...love. A tear rolls down his cheek, concealed beneath the beskar that shields the world from his emotions.

What is a man with nothing left to fight for?

In the next second he is back to his impassive, stoic self. He needs a plan. Fennec, where’s Fennec…

“They’ve got the baby, don’t let them get away.” She’s speaking into her comm.

“Affirmative, I have a lock.” Fett answers.

Din can feel his heart seize, threatening to break through its emotional barriers again. He can’t suffer another loss. “Stop him, I don’t want the child hurt.”

She gives him a terse nod. “Abort pursuit, disengage, do not harm the child.”

“Copy, I’ll do a loose follow, see where they’re headed.” A pause. “They’re back.” Fett’s tone is clouded in disbelief.

“Who?” Fennec questions, but Din already knows the answer.

“The Empire, they’re back.”

“That can’t be, the outer rim is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic.”

“This isn’t a spice dream. I can see the imperial cruiser with my own eyes. Heading down.”

A ship, Fett has a ship. “Tell him to hurry, my companion might not make it without immediate medical attention.” Din demands, realizing he’s taking liberties, but it’s your life on the line damnit.

“The girl’s been injured, she needs medical attention.” Fennec relays.

“Copy that. I’ll prepare the med bay.”

Din breathes a sigh of relief, perhaps this man really is a true Mandalorian. He brushes several stray hairs out of your face, grounding himself for a moment before he checks how bad your wounds are. He chokes on a breath when he lifts your duraweave tunic up slightly. There is a fist sized hole in your abdomen, and although he’s treated wounds far worse during his career as a bounty hunter, the sight of the wound of your body has him feeling light headed and nauseous. He’s spitting curses under his breath as he moves to check the wound on your thigh. It’s not much better off.

Shit.

Fett better have some damn good medical supplies on his ship, because there is no way Din is going to allow you to be patched together with machinery like the ex-mercenary currently standing to his left.

As gently as he can manage, he slides an arm underneath your torso, desperately trying to ignore the way your blood coats his vambrace and the duraweave cloth beneath it. His other arm slides underneath your legs, settling into the bend between your thigh and calf. As gently as Din can manage, he lifts you from the ground, panicking when your head lolls backwards at an awkward angle. He feels awkward, out of place, and completely unequipped to be handling a situation like this. Fennec must decide to have pity on his poor soul because she steps over to him with a knowing glance.

“I know you’re a damn good fighter, but I can’t help but notice that you’re not accustomed to holding a woman in your arms.”

It’s true, and he shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but it still makes him flush red underneath the helmet.

“May I?” She gestures towards your still form.

A possessive growl rises in his throat at the thought of Fennec carrying you instead of him.

“Relax Mando, I’m just going to adjust her positioning.”

She’s muttering under her breath, low enough that not even the microphones within his helmet can detect the syllables, but he does catch her mumble ‘what a couple of lovesick fools’. The words have his face erupting into flames once again.

Din stills pins her with a glare as she reaches for your head, tilting it up so that you can rest your cheek against his arm, right below his left pauldron. Then she takes a hold of your left arm, which currently hovers in the air, and sets it on your abdomen.

“There, I’m sure she is much more comfortable now.” Fennec finishes.

Din just nods, still half-heartedly glaring at her from beneath the helmet.

“Let’s go, I’m sure Fett has landed already.”

He nods again, gesturing for her to lead the way. His gaze falls to you and he can’t help but notice that your face is twisted in discomfort. That’s the last thing he wants right now.

“Are you certain she is comfortable?”

“Mando, stop fussing, women love to be held. It’s probably your stiff posture that’s making her uncomfortable.”

He feels like growling at her retreating figure, but resists the temptation. Instead, he drops his visor back towards your face, scrabbling for something-anything-that will help you feel more comfortable.

“It’s alright, I’m here ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) You can rest, I’ve got you. Don’t worry about the kid, we’ll get him back, I promise.”

Maybe it’s coincidence, but the moment he finishes speaking you let out a breathy sigh, the frown on your face relaxing into a neutral expression as you nuzzle further into his shoulder.

You wake up later in an unfamiliar location, startling yourself into full consciousness as you try to take in the surroundings. Tears sting at your eyes and you bite back a sob. The Crest, your home, it’s gone.

“I heard you had a rough day.”

Your gaze snaps forward towards the doorway, and you feel like crying all over again. Cara, your lifelong friend, is propped up against the doorframe. You’re not usually one for sentiment, but you open your arms as wide as you can manage, meeting her eyes as you plead for a hug. She rushes towards you, wrapping you up in an embrace so tight that you think she might crack a rib.

“You had us worried for a while. It’s been a few days.”

A few...A few days. A choked out ‘huh?’ is the only response you can manage with her arms crushing your frame.

“Sorry.” She pulls back, releasing you from her grasp. What the kriff, is she wiping a tear from her eye? “You had us worried. Your condition was so poor that you needed a blood transfusion.”

“What? That’s impossible. The chances of finding someone with my blood type within 100 parsecs are slim to none.”

“Well…”

Why is she hesitating?

“Turns out you and I have the same blood type.”

Kriffing hell! Your heart jumps into your throat. There have only been a handful of times where Din has made a dramatic entrance without practically frightening you into cardiac arrest. This is not one of them. A quick glance around the remainder of the room reveals the Mandalorian seated in a booth in the far corner.

“You frightened me half to death Mando!” There’s a spike of surprise-not your own-that tickles at the back of your brain, and the feeling leaves you a little tense.

“Well that’s not a very nice way to greet your saviour.”

“What?” You inquire.

Mando grunts at you, impassive as always. The visor of his helmet betrays none of his feelings. “I said, you and I have the same blood type.”

Beneath the helmet he’s a little worried, you’ve never asked him to repeat himself. Don’t panic, he instructs himself. It’s probably just because you’re still a little out of it after the anti-pain stim you received. That’s all. He decides to jump straight into business before his worries get too far out of hand.

“We’re going after the kid.”

You nod in response, you figured as much. A fuzzy memory plays out in the back of your mind like a worn out holotape, ‘don’t worry...we’ll get him back...promise.’

“What’s the plan?” You ask, looking to Cara.

“The kid is on Moff Gideon’s cruiser. We need to acquire the coordinates for his position.”

“Ok, whatever you need, I can do it.”

“I know,” she shoots you a grateful glance, “but we are going to need imperial help, ex-imperial help, to be specific. We’re on our way to pick up a New Republic prisoner who is serving a sentence in the Karthon Chop Fields. You might remember him, Migs Mayfeld.”

“Oh, I remember him.” Specifically, you remember wanting to dropkick him into the nearest star system for being such an arrogant bastard. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you get your ass out of bed and get dressed.”

You sputter indignantly, hurtling the nearest object in sight-which happens to be a roll of bandages-at her head. She just laughs at you as she sidesteps the projectile and darts out of the room.

Huh, there’s that tickle in the back of your brain again. Annoyed, you scratch at your head for a second, puzzled when the sensation doesn’t go away. You decide to opt for a different tactic, concentrating on the feeling until it becomes a little clearer. It’s a sound you realize, the sound of...laughter?

Wait just a minute. Why that no good, beskar wearing nerf herder! You swing your head around, so quickly that you can hear the bones of your spine crackle in protest, and pin him with a deadly glare. Only to realize he’s not even looking at you. In fact, he’s in the process of polishing his blaster.

You shake your head, baffled. You must be imagining things. A moment later Mando re-assembles his blaster with a practiced ease, twirls it lightly in his hand, and then holsters it as he stands.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Then he too is stepping out the door with a swish of his cape.

“Oh, and I think you’re gonna like Fett’s ship.”

By the time you open your mouth to respond he’s already gone.

“So what’s your story? How’d you and the big guy meet?”

You glance up, hoping to catch Cara’s gaze, an unspoken question radiating across your face. She nods her head subtly in silent confirmation.

“Cara and I were both New Republic shocktroopers. We grew up together, enlisted together, fought together, eventually went into early retirement together. (The last part was only mostly true, but Fennec didn’t need to know that). That’s how we ended up on Sorgan, where we met the Mandalorian. He enlisted our help in mopping up a group of raiders for a job he’d taken on. After our payment we were planning to go our separate ways, but the kid formed quite an attachment to me, so I decided to tag along with him and Mando for a bit. At the time, neither of us understood why the kid was so attached. I’m not very good with children anyways.”

Fennec nods her head as you continue.

“Well apparently, according to this Jedi that we came across a couple weeks ago, I have a connection to some magical force, similar to the child. That’s what drew him to me."

“Huh, interesting.”

“I know, right.”

Here’s the thing though. What you hesitate to tell Fennec is that Ahsoka also informed you that you possessed a special gift as a result of your connection to the Force. Although your gift had not yet presented itself, she was certain that it would become apparent in your near future.

Sure enough, after the struggle on Tython and the resulting blood transfusion, you have started to hear voices in your head. You are sure that they are thoughts, since they are often disjointed and oddly phrased. And, maybe you’re crazy, but the voices sound oddly similar to the modulated voice of your beskar-clad companion.

For example, if you concentrate really hard right now you can hear noise, not like that of an engine (because you’re on a ship), but that of a conversation. Right now the voices are chattering about...ammunition charges? You snort in amusement. That sounds like something Din would be thinking about. Fennec gives you a funny look, but you just play it off, saying that the filtered air in the ship was irritating your airway.

It makes you curious though, is it possible that he may be able to sense your thoughts as well? If you concentrate really hard on one single idea, will he notice? It’s definitely worth a try, and you’re really bored right now. Hmmm, what about a...jetpack. Ok, no response from Din. What about...beskar. Oh, that’s a good idea! After five whole minutes of thinking solely about the metal there is still no response from Din. Ugh, fine. Your obviously imagining things. Typical.

“What are you doing?” A voice echoes.

You let out a squeak, quickly cover it up as a cough, and then glare at the Mandalorian seated across from you. This time he’s looking right at you.

Fine, two can play at this game. You keep a straight face and then will your voice to travel across the space between you and into his mind. “What are you doing?”

He just stares at you and you think maybe you are still imagining things.

“Sigh.”

Oh no he did not. He did not just...just sigh at you through his mind! Why that little…

“Relax, you’re jumpy. And bored.”

If looks could kill, he would be a pile of sizzling beskar right now. “It’s not my fault you’re boring.” You huff back. And without warning he’s laughing at you through the bond. Full-hearted, chest-rattling laughter, but without the ‘chest rattling’ you note dryly, as you glare even harder.

“So that was you laughing at me earlier today! You are in so much trouble Din. Just wait until we land, we’re gonna fight this out like warriors and I’m gonna kick your ass.” That shuts him up and you are feeling quite smug about your comeback, basking in your victory for the space of a few seconds until something else starts tickling at your brain.

It’s another voice, one that is slowly growing louder, but it seems...guarded. You nudge harder, eager to solve the mystery, and the answer becomes a little clearer. It’s a feeling, you realize, a powerful feeling. As you weave closer and closer, Din’s other thoughts attempt to sidetrack you, to distract you from your self-proclaimed mission. Just a little closer...

You don’t even notice that Din’s physical body has tensed up, his hands balling into fists, telltale signs of his nerves. More thoughts whiz by you, trying to knock you off your narrow path, but you’re persistent as you trudge forward. The feeling abruptly smacks into you like the rays of a thousand suns, blinding you, and you’re gasping, suddenly ashamed of your curiosity.

“We’re here.” Fett’s voice rings through the hull, breaking your concentration for only a second, and you feel Din forcefully throw you out of his mind. He’s out of his seat in a second, making a beeline for the cockpit without throwing so much as a glance your way. You’re left to wallow in your seat as Cara and Fennec shoot you questioning glances, but you just shrug.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” You offer, choosing not to elaborate on what just took place. But your blood boils. You know exactly what happened. You just ripped away the most important barrier Mando possessed. The one that guarded his heart.

The feeling you laid bare?

Affection.

You don’t even leave your seat as the others step outside to recruit Mayfeld. “Just wait until we land, we’re gonna fight this out like warriors and I’m gonna kick your ass.” You spoke those words to Din only moments ago. Now, after what you’ve done, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to look him in the face again, much less challenge him to a sparring match.

It’s not until everyone but Din and Mayfeld re-enter the hull that you realize there are only four seats in the hold. You curse your bad luck, there’s no way you are gonna share a seat with any one of these clowns. Oh sweet springs of Tabet, if you remember correctly there’s an extra seat in the cockpit. Before anyone can question your behavior, you’re rushing towards the ladder that Fett is still scaling. With a little luck, he won’t question your presence, and you might even be able to learn a few maneuvers.

Din sucks in a breath as he enters the hold once again, just in time to catch a glimpse of your back as you disappear into the cockpit along with Fett. He scowls, if Fett wasn’t such a good man, Din would probably be jealous. He takes his seat once again, except this time instead of looking up and being rewarded with your face, he’s greeted with Mayfeld’s ugly mug. There’s no way this day could get any worse.

It is only after everyone takes a seat that he remembers there are only four chairs in the hold. He curses himself over and over. He had already factored that into his original plan. The original idea was to invite you to share his seat with him after Mayfeld joined the crew. Then he would be able to bask in your closeness, your liveliness, for just a short time before his mind began to dissect the details of the mission.

He knows he hurt you earlier, unintentional as it may have been. He hadn’t meant to throw you out of his thoughts so quickly, but you scared him. If you had been allowed to peer into his emotions for just one more millisecond you might have seen his most closely guarded thoughts, the ones that keep him lying awake at night.

Within the confines of his mind he often pictures you and him, the kid, and sometimes children of your own. In those fantasies he doesn’t hunt anymore, learns instead how to be a father and a husband, a family man. The intensity of his feelings frustrate him, and rightfully so. As a hunter and a Mandalorian, any emotion he feels can easily be turned into a deadly weapon. This situation involving the kid is a perfect example of how quickly his affection can twist into desperation.

“I’ll go.”

Those two words are all it takes for you to know that Din is absolutely desperate. Mayfeld blathers on, ridiculing Mando again, so you just shut his voice out.

“Mando, I can go.” You speak up, fuming a little at the thought that he hasn’t yet offered you the mission.

“No, it’s too dangerous for you.” He doesn’t even look at you properly, gazing instead towards the juggernaut that passes.

You pin the side of his helmet with a glare. Not wanting to start a scene in front of the others, you dare to brush delicately against his thoughts, and you want to cry in relief when he immediately let’s you in.

“Din, I can go. Let me have this mission.”

“No, you barely made it out alive last time. Besides, the New Republic will recognize you.”

“I don’t care about the New Republic, it’s not like I currently hold a position of importance like Cara. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you’re not going. You haven’t even fully recovered, and there is no way you’re going if you’re not 100% combat ready.”

“You of all people should know better than to tell me what I can and cannot do. I will not, I repeat, I will not let you go in there and risk your Creed when I am perfectly capable of taking this mission!”

“My decision is final.”

Then for the second time that day, he shuts you out.

“You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you, but I won’t be showing my face.” Din announces aloud to the rest of your crewmates.

You growl under your breath, furious with his decision. You want to scream at him, ask him what exactly he is thinking, but you know you can’t. You have never been able to change his mind. Instead, you resign yourself to your allotted role, begging the stars that nothing goes wrong even though you know that is a fool's hope.

Once Mayfeld and Din are seated within the juggernaut, you and Boba prepare to split off from Fennec and Cara.

“We’ll head back to the ship while you two make your way to the ridge.” Boba Fett speaks up as he shoulders the canvas bag holding Din’s armor.

“Alright. I’ll inform you on when to begin your run.” Fennec responds.

You exchange a glance with Cara, then move to follow Fett through the forest. As you trudge back to the ship alongside Boba, numerous questions spring to mind.

“Fett, you are a Mandalorian right?”

“You could say that.”

“Why is it that you can remove your helmet and go by your real name, but Mando can’t?”

“How do you know that Boba Fett is my real name?” He questions.

Well that shuts you up.

He continues on as if expecting that response. “Mandalore has a complicated history. Often the very people who call themselves Mandalorian are not even born on the planet itself. My ancestors believed that any man, woman, boy, or girl could imbue the spirit of a Mandalorian warrior, it didn’t matter who they were or where they were born. From what I can gather, your friend was not born on Mandalore either.”

“Well, I wouldn’t really call him a friend, but yes that’s true, he mentioned it once. That still doesn’t explain the helmet thing though.” You gesture to your face as you finish your sentence.

He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he’s dealing with an overly inquisitive toddler. “The helmet thing is harder to explain.” A beat of silence passes. “Mandalorians live in clans, as groups of warriors that are bound together by a common name and a central ruler. The clans all support different beliefs, or Creeds, as they call them. The beliefs of one clan may be wildly different from that of another clan.”

That makes sense. There is a long tick of silence, and you’re certain he is finished so you ask the one remaining question that sits at the tip of your tongue.

“What clan do you belong to?”

He obviously doesn’t expect that question. Surprise envelops his features, then it morphs into fondness. “I belong to Clan Fett.” Another pause. “Why, would you like to join?” It’s accompanied with a head tilt and a humorous tone.

You just laugh. “I don’t know if I will qualify.” It’s freeing to let some humour slip into your tone after your recent argument with Din.

“Well, it seems like you already forgot the history lesson.” He chastises you, but he’s still smiling. “Now, let’s prepare to pick up these friends of yours.” He adds, as the ship becomes visible in the distance.

Ending Notes: Originally this part was going to be much longer, but I made some changes to my original plot. I had also planned to end it on a more angsty note, but let’s be real, we want to avoid angst as much as possible. Part 2 is already written and will be coming soon, give me a follow if you don’t want to miss it!

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #mando x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fluff #mando reader fluff

222 notes · View notes

whirlybirbs · 5 years ago

Text

( gif from the lovely @starwarsfilms. )

--- LOVE SICK. ;

summary: khairyn sar is an important holiday within nabirian religion -- it celebrates love and fertility. obi-wan gets a gift for you from the lower-level markets, aided by a helpful women who urges him to buy a certain plant... pairing: obi-wan x handmaiden!reader, established in this fic & this fic as well. word count: 8k warnings: this is porn with a dash of sex pollen trope / nsfw, 18+ a/n: i am literally not even sorry. here’s a late valentine’s day piece for you all, my lovely lil valentines. pls don’t repost!

It’s a holiday.

Maybe not on Coruscant, but to the Naboo senators and delegates on Coruscant, it is.

Padmé’s usual senatorial garb is exchanged for one of deep reds and a grandiose headpiece that mirrors the visage of Khairtai, the goddess of Fertility and Love. Beside her, Dormé, Sabé, Ellé and yourself bear a smudging of crimson down the center of your foreheads. It’s from the crushed millaflower -- ground into a fine, deep red powder and blessed by the resident royal Pontifex.

Your outfits mirror Padmé’s, hair pinned back tightly into a tight, neat braids with a golden pin halo-ing your heads. It’s of religious significance; each comb bearing two bounding ash-rabbits. Symbols of fertility.

The Royal house of Naboo, namely the Amidala’s, are one of many devout to the Brotherhood of Cognizance -- a polytheistic, monastic, allegorical based religion. Padmé herself was a larger worshipper of Shiraya, the goddess of the moon; Obi-Wan, on more than one account, found himself rather enraptured with the large statue on the outside patio of her Senatorial apartment upon visits with his friend.

In the evening sunset, the goddess’ moon shaped harp frames the horizon quite perfectly. Obi-Wan always wondered if it was some sort of metaphor -- perhaps that Padmé was right where she needed to be, away from the throne and serving her people worlds away.

She’d moved to Coruscant following the ending of her second term of Queen, promptly slipping into her elected position as Senatorial representative. With her, she’d brought Dormé, Ellé, Sabé, and you -- along with a small squad of royal guards. Though, Obi-Wan believed she hardly needed them. Padmé’s handmaidens were more than capable.

You were more than capable.

Obi-Wan, from the upper deck of the Senate’s session, can hardly tear his eyes away from you -- you look rather stoic beside the ex-Queen. You’d joked a few days ago to him that you needed to mind you expressions when some of the other Senators spoke. Obi-Wan bites back a chuckle when F’aralo Pxo from Ithor finally stops babbling and your awfully sour look fades.

Crossing his arms, the young Jedi Knight watches as the session is dismissed by Sheev Palpatine and the large, cavernous room begins to dissipate of senators and delegates.

Obi-Wan Kenobi catches you and the others on the sixteenth floor, about to enter Padmé’s apartment.

“Merry Khairyn Sar.”

He strides close, like a glimmering star flashing across the sunset. Handsome and bright-eyed -- you wonder if your heart will ever cease it’s crescendo of excitement when you see him. Your stomach flips and you can’t help but stare at the appearance of one certain Jedi Knight.

The gaggle of women turn on their heels, their faces lighting up at the appearance of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your face, by far, is the brightest.

“I only have a minute, but I thought I might come say hello.”

The two of you bite your tongues, amused little smirks threatening to bloom on your faces. It’s childish, but it’s lovely.

Padmé laughs happily at the sight of you both, moving to gesture for Obi-Wan to come in -- once inside the apartment, the Jedi is quick to loop his arms around your waist and haul you high; the reunion is short and sweet and brings smiles to the faces of your closest confidants as the move to spread throughout the apartment. Your earrings sway as you grapple with his shoulders, sliding down him when he places you back on the plush carpet carefully.

The others have known since... gods, what? Years ago?

Before Anakin had even reached puberty and before Obi-Wan had started growing this beard out. You recall in this moment the first time you’d seen him since his diplomatic mission to Naboo, when you’d fallen in love with the kind-hearted Padawan, and how the others had been so keen on seeing the romance play out on the tarmac.

They had, after all, read the correspondences the Jedi had sent in the time apart from one another.

It’s been four years since -- and yet, the sickly sweet tempo of love is still enough to make your knees weak. Seeing him, though often enough now that you’re permanent residency is on Coruscant, is still enough to bring a needy whine to your heartstrings.

“Don’t you have a Padawan to be minding?” you grin, kissing him quickly as he smiles. The prick of stubble tickles.

“The younglings have a trip to the Archives today,” Obi-Wan explains, bowing slightly to chase your words with a kiss to your cheekbone, “But I do have a council meeting within the hour..”

You swat at his chest gently. “What have I said? Anakin is not a youngling. He’s fifteen --”

“Acts like it,” Padmé supplies, pointing at Obi-Wan who mirrors her amused-yet-trying-not-to-seem-it look, “I’ve heard the stories.”

“I’ll have greys because of him soon, I swear it.”

Another kidding swat. This time, the ruddy haired man catches it and laughs warmly. He holds your hand closely, kissing your knuckles. Your face grows hot as sheepishness creeps up your collar due to the semi-public display of affection.

“I have a gift for you,” he says quietly, eyes softening, “For Khairyn Sar.”

You should have known Obi would have figured out about the holiday.

He was a romantic -- charismatic about love and flirtatiously sweet.

Of course a holiday celebrating love would be right up his alley. You hold your tongue -- you wonder if Obi-Wan truly understands the meaning of Khairyn Sar, or if to him, this is a just a small patronage holiday dedicated to romance.

Khairyn Sar is an important holiday within Cognizance. Weddings and performative engagement ceremonies are large parts of the holiday, as well as... well, plainly put: conceptions.

Nearly every devout Nabirian’s dream would be to conceive a child on Khairyn Sar. Those born within nine months of the day are said to be gifts from Khairtai herself, after all. Those with the blessed with being a Khairtai’é frequently found success within relationships, love, and careers. Fertility meant more than simply sex.

Padmé is a Khairtai’é. She truly did have the making of a Queen.

Ellé speaks up from the couch, balancing her vibroblade on her fingertip effortlessly and watching you both. “...Obi-Wan, you do you have a brother?"

“Maybe a cousin?” asks Sabé, melodic and sweet, “A single cousin?”

“A sister, even,” Dormé croons, dropping her chin into her hand -- her voice goes a bit mopey, “I wish someone would bring me a gift for Khairyn Sar.”

It is akin to announcing your love to the world, after all.

Obi-Wan offers one of his trade-mark smiles. The dimples beneath the blonde shadow of his beard are charming and Padmé can’t help but grin as he watches you blink up at him with a moonstruck look that says it all:

You love him.

“I’m afraid not,” he apologizes, hand gracing the small of your back, “Though, if I find any formidable suitors of the Royal Handmaidens of Naboo, I’ll make sure I let you all know.”

“You better,” Dormé swats at his shoulder as she passes by, hanging her cloak and grinning when the Jedi leans to swats her back.

In the last few weeks, he’s become a fast friend -- they’re all within the same age, and Obi-Wan had fallen easily into a brotherly cadence when it came to the girls; you trusted them all, and so, he did as well. Happily. He’d known them all briefly from the time him and Qui-Gon had on Naboo during the negotiations with the Trade Federation... Dormé, Sabé and Ellé had all been on the Nubian by your side when you’d first met the charming Padawan.

“I’ve got to go,” he breathes, leaning to kiss the crown of your head, “Will I see you later?”

You nod, enjoying the warm pass of his fingers on your cheek.

“Of course,” you promise, “Dinner?”

"Dex’s?”

You groan happily, bending a bit in the knees as you nod vigorously at the thought of fries and a shake. Not the most glamorous meal, but a favorite of you both and a safe haven from the Senate and Council.

“Yes, please.”

Obi-Wan grins, tosses a wink, and sneaks out the door with a wave.

As soon as the door shuts, Dormé is quickly to speak.

“You better marry that man.”

“Someday,” a mindful smile, “For now --”

“For now,” Ellé points, “Please give that man a night worth remembering.”

“Ellé!”

You scold your sister-in-duty with a sheepish look of modesty on your face, swatting at her as you fall beside her on the couch. The others laugh.

If only you had any idea what was in store for both you and Obi-Wan.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

You meet him outside of Dex’s as the sun begins to set, happily falling into both his arms and the smell of fried food wafting from inside. It’s not often that you’re able to make the trek to the lower levels with him, and seeing the friendly Besalisk owner, Dexter Jettster, was a perk -- the four-armed man had always been kind to you. Fatherly, almost.

He’s tenfold that with Obi-Wan.

Dex happily supplies a hot plate of fries and two bantha burgers you and Obi’s way, free-of-charge. Dex mentions something about owing Obi-Wan for dealing with “those damn kids last week”. You raise a brow, taking a big bite of your burger, and Obi-Wan waves his hand.

“Street kids,” a shrug, “Pick-pocketing.”

“They stole the damn credit drawer!”

“Mm,” you mumble shaking your head at his uncanny ability to downplay every situation, “Always the humble hero, huh?”

He nudges you with his boot as he laughs, dropping his gaze into his meal. You have a way of making him feel sheepish. It’s been years, but your words of flirtation still strike him in his composure. His cheeks are rosy when he looks up, wiping sauce from the corner of his beginning-beard.

“You love it.”

“I do,” you waggle a fry in his face, spurring a breathless laugh from the Jedi, “Very much. So much, that I’m spending Khairyn Sar with you, in a diner, eating terrible food -- no offense, Dex... Says a lot, y’know.”

“None taken,” the cook calls out from behind the counter, “Merry Khairyn Sar, kid. Yer lucky, Obi-Wan! Those Naboo girls usually spend tha’ holiday with th’ man they’re set t’ marry --”

“Hear that,” you call, raising a finger and pinning Obi in his spot with an amused look as you both play-off your well-kept secret, “You’re lucky.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan clears his throat nudging your boot as you nudge it right back, “Aren’t I, Dex?”

“Sure are,” the Besalisk chortles, “If y’ weren’t a Jedi I’d say hurry up ‘n’ marry ‘er already!

Oh, if only he knew.

“Thanks, Dex,” you say sweetly, throwing an appreciative look the cook’s way, “And thanks for keeping this one in line.”

A big, guffaw of laughter meets your words and Dex hits the counter. “He’s trouble!”

“He is,” you shake your head, “He has everyone fooled. Everyone thinks he’s a flawless Jedi Knight, but he’s trouble. I’ve been saying it for years...”

Obi’s eyes crinkle with fondness. You mirror it.

“I love you,” he mouthes when Dex’s back is turned.

“I love you, too,” you mouth back.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

You like Obi-Wan’s quarters.

They’re very him.

Warm, quiet and neat.

The room could be considered a bit small, but with a reasonable sized refresher and a large bed, you find no reason to complain. There are a few trinkets lining the shelves above his bed -- tokens of missions and trainings.

Among them is a pebble from the beaches of the Lake Country; one he’d taken before leaving Naboo after the negotiations. You and him had spent hours on that beach, swimming and rolling in the sand, before things changed. Before Qui-Gon’s death and his rise to Knighthood.

He doesn’t have many belongings, but so is the way of the Code.

His bedroom is a familiar space, now. You’ve spent many nights in this room, tucked beside him in the vanilla colored sheets. You wish it was every night. But, you both knew you needed to keep suspicions low. You were just thankful that Obi-Wan’s direct neighbor, Aayla Secura, was wise enough not to ask questions.

The lights to his room are warm and low, illuminated strips of light coming from beneath the shelving -- the large bay windows that reach from floor to ceiling frame the colorful air-lanes illuminating the night sky of Coruscant’s Senate District. Like stars weaving a path, traffic moves slow across the horizon.

Obi locks the door behind him before his hands find your waist and he drops a kiss to your shoulder. You can feel the warmth through the layers of your cloak and dress, smiling as he fiddles with your hips and noses your ear.

“Do you want to see the gift?”

You nod, chewing your lip and turning to catch him in a quick kiss. The Jedi leans in, putty in your hands. Obi-Wan makes an appreciative sound when you hold his jaw, pulling him over you as you bend back a bit.

“Alright,” he says, a little breathless, before pecking another kiss, “Stay here.”

You do as your told, laughing as he takes two steps forward only to retreat back for another smile-laden kiss. He disappears into the walk-in closet; as he does, you strip your cloak from your shoulders and toss it on the bed.

Obi-Wan returns, sans his own robe, clutching something behind his back.

You quirk a brow, noting the incredibly excited look plastered on his face.

“Close your eyes.”

“Obi-Wan,” you warn playfully as you do as your told, “If it bites --”

“It doesn’t bite.”

“I swear,” you outstretch your hands, palms up, eyes closed tight, “It it bites...”

He’s laughing. “It won’t bite!”

Suddenly, there’s a cool, heavy weight in your hands. It’s glass, you realize quickly, and as Obi-Wan smiles, you peel your eyes open and quickly sigh in awe.

“Obi...” the bouquet is large, with three or four different flowering bursts of color nestled inside a large vase, “It’s beautiful.”

You’re quick to move across the room, placing the bouquet down on his desk as he hovers, watching you tut over the flowers -- all of them Naboo natives, you realize with a slack jaw. Your whirl around, handing finding his chest. He smiles, dimples kissing his face.

“You didn’t have to --”

“Oh, hush,” he chides, hand sweeping a circle along your lower back as you bend and admire the plants with gentle hands, “I wanted to.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“I only wish...” a soft sigh as he leans forward and pokes at the stem of a deep purple plant that’s clasped shut tightly, “This one refused to bloom, it seems.”

In hindsight, you should have known better.

You should have known what was going to happen when you reached out and touched the plant the same time as him. You should have known a puff of pink pollen would come flying out, right into your face. You should have known the smell would make you gag and Obi-Wan do the same.

You should have known.

You stagger back, grabbing his arm.

“Oh gods --”

“Open a window.”

“What the hell was that thing, Obi?!”

You should have known.

“Open a window!”

“It’s moving,” you screech, carrying the vase in outreached arms as your make a disgusted face and quite literally run to Obi-Wan who is throwing open the small window of his refresher, “Ohmygod, does it bite?!”

“I don’t care to find out!”

“It smells,” you choke, “It smells --”

“Give it to me --”

“What’re you -- Obi!”

Obi-Wan Kenobi, trained Jedi Knight and well-regarded rising leader within the Council’s tanks, promptly takes the bouquet from your hands and lobs it out the thirtieth story window of his quarters’ refresher in the Jedi Council building, vase and all, all while maintaining eye contact.

He quickly slams the window shut and drops his hands to his waist with a panicked look on his face. He looks pained, like he can hardly believe he just did that.

There’s a beat of silence as your mouth falls open, then you cry:

“...What was that thing?!”

“I don’t know!” he throws his hands as his agitation peaks, “The woman at the market said it was for Khairyn Sar -- she kept, gods, she kept saying it over and over --”

Oh.

“... Obi.”

“... What do you mean ‘Obi’?” Obi-Wan’s voice nearly splinters, panic striking hard and fast across the Jedi’s face at the slow realization in your tone, “Don’t say -- don’t say ‘Obi’ like that -- You know it worries me, when you say --”

“Did she say Khairyn Sar,” you annunciate the syllables slowly, moving from the bathroom and sitting on the edge of the bed as you dot the sounds with your finger in the air, “Or, did she say Khaitai Rysar?”

Obi-Wan blinks.

“... Is there a difference...?” he pushes a hand through his hair as you drop your head back and groan; quickly he breathes out a sheepish mutter, “From the look on your face, there’s clearly a difference --”

“Khairtai Rysar is a plant -- named after the two god’s who... they... it’s... Oh my gods --” you drop your face into your hands, not bothering to tip-toe around the subject any longer, “You bought a sex plant, Obi-Wan!”

He blinks. His mouth moves but no words come out. His brows climbs his face. He tilts his head. The look is owlish and mildly terrified.

A pause.

“... Excuse me?”

His voice is an octave higher than usual.

“Khairtai Rysar is a plant from Naboo,” you squeak out, flopping backwards onto the bed and groaning, “It’s a gift typically given to newly weds. It’s got a pollen that acts as an powerful hypnotic aphrodisiac --”

"Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“-- When we touched it, it must have blossomed,” you barely manage, rubbing your face and sighing, “The spores are extremely potent. Any contact with them is...”

Obi-Wan’s face falls and when you pull your hands from your face, you see him staring at the spattering of pink pollen across your nose and cheeks. You shoot up straight before pulling away your hands and gawking, realizing you need to wash your hands right now because you’re covered in the pollen --

Quickly, you dash into the refresher as your curse when you see your now pinkish reflection and make work on scrubbing your face and hands.

Obi-Wan had lucked out -- well, to a degree. The pollen had only caught him partially; cast off from when you’d staggered back and grabbed onto him.

“Oh, this is horrible,” you mumble, washing your face with ice cold water and staring at him in the mirror, “Horrible, but hilarious -- stop looking like you’ve murdered me --”

“I feel horrible!” he cries, face pulled into an apologetic look, “Gods, I’m sorry --”

“Maybe we can... just... sleep it off?” you offer, wiping your face with a towel he offers, “Right? I mean, I’d by lying if I said I wasn’t anticipating us sleeping together anyways --”

Obi’s fiddling with the facial hair along his jaw, nodding as you speak. “Well, yes. Considering the holiday -- I’d planned for it.”

“I mean -- I feel fine,” you wave your hands, “Do you feel fine?”

“Yes,” he nods, sea-green eyes watching your expression, “I -- I feel fine.”

You’re both panicking.

“Okay,” a little squeak, “So... let’s just... try -- try to sleep it off. For now.”

“And if we can’t?”

You hesitate. Both of you swallow.

“Let us cross that bridge when we get there,” Obi-Wan offers, sounding a bit pained, not even wanting to think about the answer to his own question.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

Neither of you can sleep.

It’s been about an hour since the entire debacle began.

You’re both laying awake, staring at the ceiling, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Not that you can blame one another -- you both tend to shoot as straight as an arrow when it came to... stimulants. You really had no need for death-sticks or spice, and Obi-Wan was the same. Having come to terms with the fact you both will be out of control in a matter of hours is a bit terrifying, especially considering the delicate balance of things.

Hiding your relationship wasn’t easy.

In reality, it brought with it a wide array of challenges, including the whole fact that you and Obi-Wan, more often than not, needed to be quiet and quick about sex.

Your encounters were always sweet; always gentle and loving and brought on by moments of happiness or longing. Seeing him for the first time in a while always brewed up arousal in your gut -- you couldn’t help it. It came with the territory of love. Just seeing Obi-Wan smile somedays was enough to snap that coil and wind it tightly in your gut.

After all, he is so damn handsome.

Even now, looking mildly horrified and extra concerned, he looks handsome -- his profile illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the windows.

The Jedi exhales, rubbing his face, and turns to eye you in the dark light of the room.

You’re already staring -- in the dark, he can make out the trace of a smile on your lips. It’s endearing, and it puts him at ease to know this big mistake hasn’t caused you to hate him

Yet.

“Do you feel any different...?”

You shake your head, pulling your lips into a grimace.

“Maybe I was wrong?” you mumble, “But I’ve heard others tell stories about the smell. Like... rotting meat. There was a guard once, when I was in the Naboo Royal Academy, who was out for an entire week on account of the plant. He’d just been married and...”

Obi-Wan swallows. “I can’t believe --”

“Ah!” you tut, raising a finger, “Stop -- if we’re both about to be off our minds on some aphrodisiac love pollen, it’d just like to remind you that this could be a lot worse.”

“Oh? And how’s that?”

You roll over, prop your chin up in your hand, and quirk a playful brow. “You know I’m good at riding things out --”

Both of Obi’s brows rise at your words, his face warping into something of curious contemplation -- he props his head up, mirroring your position in bed. “Has the pollen already gotten you in its grips, then?”

You laugh, ducking your head and snorting a little. “I’m just saying! Trying to stay positive.”

“You’re a wretched minx and you know,” he mumbles, leaning in to steal a kiss, “That I quite enjoy when you do ride things out. Ever the optimist.”

“So, worst case scenario...”

“We lock ourselves in this room for a week?”

“Or we just... get it out of our systems. Ride it out.”

Obi-Wan hums, flopping back down to the pillows. “Right. Ride it out.”

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

That bridge Obi-Wan had talked about crossing?

Well, it arrives a little past midnight.

And along with it, a roaring river runs below.

You wake up feeling like your body is two hundred degrees and climbing. At first, you’d just figured you’d had one too many covers on you -- Obi-Wan did have a bad habit of being a small space heater -- and so you’d opted to crawl on-top of the covers. But, even that’s not enough.

In your half-asleep haze, you’d nearly forgotten about the earlier events of the night. But, it’s when the sudden urge to strip flashes to the forefront of your mind, you remember exactly what had happened with that damn Khairtai Rysar plant.

You’re peeling off the spare tunic Obi had lended you in a flash, skin glistening with a feverish sweat -- you give in to the urge and nearly sigh when your skin hits the cool air.

Your eyes drift as you sway a bit, room spinning slightly from the quick movement.

The moon casts a cool glow over the man snoring softly beside you, his own shirt having been discarded a few minutes ago. His arm is over his eyes, his entire body above the sheets.

His trousers hang low on his hips and you watch him breathe out a sigh.

He’s dreaming.

The dip of his waist is where your eyes glue themselves, for some reason, and your lapse in reality draws to a conclusion between your legs. The ache there is... horrible. Suddenly, you realize you’re uncomfortable, and you shift in bed. Your mind feels like it’s six steps behind your body.

You lay back down, rolling over to bury your face into the pillow, and groan.

This is bad. This is really bad.

And from the timing of it, it was only going to get worse.

It wasn’t as if you and Obi-Wan hadn’t had sex before -- you had, plenty of times in plenty of places you maybe shouldn’t have, but this was different. This was... This was the sort of thing you’d both heard horror stories about. Hours and hours of feverish impulse, little to no control... Wonderful if you’re trying to conceive a child on the eve of Khairyn Sar, like the market saleswoman probably thought when she sold Obi the plant.

You sigh, a small smile worming it’s way on your face despite the circumstances.

You just want to skip to the part where you can both laugh about this.

You try and keep yourself present -- but it’s getting harder with the sensitivity to every slight breath coming from the body beside you. Your mind wanders as you try to count yourself to sleep; your mind has better ideas, readily delving into fantasies that feel like half-truths, and the ache between your legs worsens.

You’re mid-dream of Obi lapping between at your core when he moves, brushes your arm, and you jump awake.

“Sorry.”

You can only manage to grit out a muffled moan.

The Jedi rolls, ignoring the evident hardness that’s now painful in his trousers, and eyes you carefully -- you’ve stripped, the only thing on your body are the thin, red satin bottoms on your lower half. Sweat is glimmering along your back, and Obi-Wan feels a twang of guilt build in his chest.

He rolls, props himself up, and touches your spine. It was supposed to be a calming gesture, one rooted in apology, but...

It’s a mistake.

Your body reacts immediately, a gasp wringing itself from your throat as your fingers tighten in the sheets -- you grit your teeth, raise your head and nearly plead:

“Please,” a whisper before it all rushes out, “That... feels good.”

You can’t find the words to explain that his touch is like pour ice water over a burn. It feels wonderful. You squirm against the mattress as Obi tries to catch his breath. His lungs stutter and he ghosts his fingers along your spine once more -- this time, it sends a pang of arousal straight to his gut.

“I... I think,” his voice is hoarse and his throat is tight, “I think --”

You just chew your lip and nod, nose brushing the pillow as you remain face down. You feel it too.

It’s all he can manage. His brain is a foggy mess of fantasy and arousal. You’re the focal point of it all; the force around you is louder now, mingling between him and his sensitivities. His fingertips brush the dip of your spine and you inhale sharply, nerves alight at the contact. He can feel the sensation along his own spine -- it’s like a punch square in the gut.

Then, on the hazy impulse of some rose colored pollen, Obi bends, slowly, and kisses the blade of your shoulder.

You whimper, gasping slightly when his hand spreads flat across the back of your ribs and sweeps along your skin, bringing with it a electric sensation that throbs your sex with painful, empty want.

“Obi...”

“This is...,” he breathes, lips ghosting your shoulder, “Not good.”

“It hurts.”

He couldn’t agree more. His brain feels like it’s on fire. When he closes his eyes he only sees you, spread out beneath him and saying his name over and over and over -- fucking hell. His voice is low. “What do we do?”

You pull yourself up in bed, hair wild and eyes set in dark circles. You look dazed and far-away, but your attention is rooted on him.

You reach out and touch his chest, busying your touch with the thatch of reddish hair there. Your fingertips buzz and your body cools immediately -- Obi-Wan leans into the touch, his hand finding yours as he exhales a shaky breath.

“Ride it out?”

Obi’s eyes are as large as dinner plates at the recommendation -- the usual green over-taken by his dilated pupils; his touches are hungry. He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing furiously as you shift closer.

“Ride it out.”

It’s a downward spiral from there.

You both surge forward, meeting for a kiss that’s like being plunged into an icy lake -- it soothes a bit of the fever, waves of relief coming in the form of wandering hands and messy love-bites. You roll yourself on-top of him, pushing your arms up beside his head and gasping when the Jedi grabs your jaw and pulls you right back down for a kiss that steals the very air from your lungs.

... This is different.

You whimper, collapsing to his chest -- and Obi shudders at the brush of your clothed hips against his own. He feels like he’s drowning in you, happily, and his whole body is alight from your touch. His brain is six steps behind his body and the room spins around him as he pushes himself up and you follow suit, sitting up in his lap.

Instantly, calloused hands snake around your waist and you have to bite your lip so tight you draw blood to keep yourself quiet when Obi-Wan’s mouth latches onto to the curve of your breast and bites a tender little mark there. Your hands shake, tightening into the tufts of hair at the base of his neck as he makes an appreciative sound at the reaction and blinks up at you from underneath thick lashes.

Gods above this is heaven.

Everything feels so... hot. Tight and needy and wet and just the mere pass of his hands along your waist has your squirming in his lap as his tongue draws up and around the swell of your right breast. In a flash, he’s taken the perk nipple there into his mouth and your body quakes.

In response, you fist his hair. Tight.

And he moans. Right against your skin, gasp worming itself from his throat as you get the message and tug again -- this time exposing his throat and allowing yourself to dive below his stubble and little sloppy little kiss there to his delight.

His whole world is swimming with pleasure and he can feel his own arousal throbbing eagerly in his trousers as your nails run along his scalp and drift to his beard, giving the hair there a gentle tug.

His heart stutters, mouth dropping open as you laugh greedily into his neck.

“You like that?”

A breathless nod; he’s stuck on the way you speak -- half-way in the room and half-way in his mind. Obi-Wan feels like his whole heart is going to give out; he can’t focus, to stuck on your body and the way the force is running directly between you both like a pool of water. Each touch casts a ripple and...

Fucking hell.

He flips you both, pressing you into the mattress with enough force to rush the air out of your lungs and make the bed creak; you can’t help but muffle a surprised laugh, shoving your hand over your mouth lazily as Obi-Wan noses your jaw and litters exploring kisses down your neck and shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes into your skin, stubble raising goosebumps along the hot burn of your fever. You shiver, fingers greedily looping into his hair as he bites a daring little mark into your décolletage, “You’re so beautiful --”

He sounds like he’s underwater. Your hearing is going in and out, eyes half-open to watch the sight of him drifting lower and lower and lower and...

Obi’s fingers brush the band of your bottoms and you gasp loud enough that his eyes shoot open and he moves to slap a hand over your mouth.

The motion is rough enough to spur you on, lending you to arch your back and laugh headily into the skin of his palm. You feel intoxicated -- like you’re tipping over the edge of a blissful high and every touch is enough to make your legs shake.

“I’ll be quiet,” you murmur, plucking at his fingers and watching his eyes grow darker -- you sit up, gripping his palm, before darting your tongue out to draw around his index finger. Instantly, the Jedi turns to putty, and he drops his head as he curses. You laugh, taking his whole finger in your mouth, before he pulls away and sweeps his hands under your bottom.

“Up.”

It’s not a request. It’s a demand.

Your lower abdomen burns with arousal as you do so, lifting your hips and allowing Obi-Wan to snag the band of your underwear and drag them down your hips. You can feel the wetness brush your thigh as he tosses them over his shoulder. Your legs shake a bit, hands winding into the sheets as Obi-Wan hangs himself off the bed and presses your legs apart with warm hands.

There’s no precursor, no build-up.

Not that you need any.

He just lays his tongue flat to your soaking clit and groans, like it’s the first meal he’s had in days. The vibration is heavenly. Your whole body goes hot-white at the sensation, need to feel full peaking in that moment; your arms collapse and you fall back to the sheets gasping as the Jedi between your legs traces the swollen, pink folds of your sex with his tongue. It feels like you’re not even in your body -- like you’re floating somewhere above the moon and swimming with the stars.

You taste like honey. Sweet. So damn sweet. And he can’t get enough of it.

The sensation of his mouth on your center isn’t the only thing winding the spring in your gut higher and higher. It’s... hands. Everywhere. Touching you where his hands aren’t -- across your waist and pinning your thighs down to the mattress as you squirm, in your hair and running across your breasts as you quiver. It’s like you’re the center of three people’s attention, and you realize with a wanton moan that it’s the damn force.

“Obi...”

He raises his heavy-lidded eyes only for a moment, arms wound around your legs as he holds the apart. A lock of his hair has fallen into his face and you can feel his stubble grace the inside of your thigh as he smiles.

“Sonofabitch,” it rushes out when a non-visible hand ghosts your jaw, trailing down your throat eagerly, “Is that -- is... Obi --”

“It’s me,” he mumbles, pulling away for a moment -- you can see your wetness along his chin as he sways a bit, his grip tightening on the flesh of your thighs, “I’m here.”

And all over.

You move to dig your fingers into his hair, only to watch one of his hands gesture slowly through the air and -- suddenly, both of your hands are above your head and you’re arching against the mattress.

“I’m busy.”

It’s all Obi offers in explanation for the action, jaw falling open as his tongue presses deep past your entrance; once, twice, and again. He rightly fucks you with his tongue, and you suddenly snap.

Your whole body quakes with an orgasm that sends your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. He coaxes you through it, tongue sweeping up your clit as you shake and moan and cry his name over and over.

“What a good girl.”

The reaction is wonderful -- but, it begins an even further downward spiral for you into the land of need.

Suddenly, the fever flares in the glow of the come-down. It’s worse. Hot and terrible and the ache between your legs isn’t stopping.

You mumble, bleary and quiet, trying to keep your voice level. “I n-need more.”

He does as he’s told, watching as your chest heaves and you continue to squirm despite the light hold on your wrists. In his mind, he traces the curve of your waist and you jump -- it makes him chuckle. It gives him enough time to let go of your thigh and slip his middle finger over your clit, down your folds, and past your entrance.

Gods, he loves you.

His name spills over your lips so sweetly, Obi has to catch his own breath.

It’s when he crooks a second finger deeply into you that he gets a real reaction -- this one stirring the haze in his mind and making his thoughts spin. You writhe and gasp and buck your hips down onto your hand, all while begging for more.

And who is he to deny you that?

Suddenly, the pressure for your wrists is gone.

You sit right up, hair a mess and lips pulled into a terrifying snarl -- you grab the back of his head as he shifts up the bed, slamming your lips onto his and clawing at his back; the Jedi can’t help the desperate whine that worms out of him.

Somewhere, far in the back of his mind, he hears himself promise to get Aayla an apology card.

“Lay down.”

Your voice is low, and Obi’s brows raise slowly -- he looks fucked out of his mind, but it’s just the pheromones and the force making it hard to think. He obeys the demand wordlessly, rubbing at his face as his head lolls back against the pillows --

Then, your hand ghosts along the imprint in his trousers and he sees stars.

If this is what you’d been feeling... Gods, he’s two beats from coming himself. It doesn’t get any easier -- maintaining some semblance of pacing and composure -- when you tug the hem of his trousers down and away.

Obi bites his knuckles so hard it draws blood.

Everything feels so... overwhelming.

It’s only elevated when your hands brush the warm flesh of his cock, eyes hooded with lust weighted lashes. Your bottom lip only brushes the underside of the head and Obi-Wan has to grab something to ground himself.

His arm bows above his head, securing itself to the pillow. You watch his bicep flex with a greedy gaze.

“You’re so beautiful,” you breathe, tongue darting out to slip flat along the very base of his shaft, “I love you -- so much.”

He can’t speak. Not at all. His mouth moves, but nothing comes out -- only a desperate sound of approval muffled against his knuckles when you take the tip of his cock into your mouth and giggle. The sound has his hips twitching at the vibration. You notice, and happily slip your mouth farther along his manhood.

Obi-Wan just swallows, inhales sharply, and muffles a needy moan behind both of his palms.

Your nails run down his sides, causing the muscles there to jump -- years of training has given him more of a physique than he lets on, and you find yourself watching him hungrily as you bob up and down his member. It’s sinful and in no way pretty, but Obi’s two beats from death’s doorstep when you pull away and swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Gods --”

You crawl up his side, kissing him hotly as he leans to meet you halfway.

“I -- I need to feel you,” your whisper, voice shattering, “Please.”

He sits up, moving quickly to drag your towards the edge of the bed -- you follow, watching as his cock brushes his stomach when he sits up; it’s all you can think about. Right now, the hollow ache between your legs is driving you mad.

Obi watches as you throw your leg over his hip; he can see the glistening of wetness running down your thighs there -- and the fact the room smells like flowers hits him suddenly. The pollen, he realizes. Which is better than it smelling like sex, which in a few hours, it most definitely will.

You hover above him, backlit by the moon and the sight of Coruscant’s night, and kiss him like it’s all you need in this world. Everything is mingling together, painting an overwhelming collection of synapses just trying to rid the pollen from your system. Every touch, every kiss, every breath... all of it is enough to have you needing more.

“Go ahead,” he breathes, watching as you nose his cheek and sigh, melting into his arm, “I’ve got you --”

You sink down on him and...

That’s it.

There’s no better feeling in the world.

Nothing like riding it out.

It’s all him and it’s wonderful and loving and thick and fits the need just perfectly. His fingers dig little half-moons into the skin of your sides as he gasps, mouth falling open as yours does above him. You don’t need time to adjust; you instantly pull yourself upwards and pack down the slick heat of his cock again. The fever washes away with every thrust, your need escalating to sheer bliss by the time Obi-Wan has finally begun to get his bears.

His grapples with you, words stringing together praise and adoration through messy kisses and delighted moans.

“Just like that,” he whispers, snapping his hips up into yours as you scramble to hold onto him, “Gods, you’re so perfect --”

You tighten a hold into his hair and pull, spurring his words to fall off into pleasure and for the sound to be smothered by a bruising kiss. He’s tipping into the territory of carnal, now, hands scaling your back to lift you up and guide you back down with enough force to make you see stars.

“S-shit --” you hiss, throwing your arms around his neck, “Again.”

So he does. Again and again and again and you’re shaking. Your legs are burning, pace stuttering into a disjoined slow -- and it prompts Obi-Wan to take the lead. You nearly shriek when he lifts you off his member fully and tosses you to the bed, forgetting their previous position in favor of one where he can fuck you right into the mattress.

Calloused fingers slip between your legs as you grin, legs spread wide and back to the sheets.

Above you, the Jedi’s smiling. “Let me do the work.”

A shaky nod; he climbs over you, bracing himself up on his elbow beside your head. His cock slips into you easily -- the sound you both make is akin to bliss. Again, the fever begins to receded. Now, his hands are in your hair and your legs are hiked around his hips. You can feel your muscles shaking with each filling of your core.

“I love you,” it’s muttered against your lips, bodies jostling with each impact of pleasure, “I love you so much --”

Your arms are tight around his neck when he bends, lifts your hips, and drives home.

It’s world-ending -- before you can even vocalize it, you’re screaming his name and coming so hard you swear you hear something in your chest snap. You shake, tightening harshly around his cock and working his own sudden orgasm out of him in a blink; suddenly, the whole bed moves an inch with a sudden push and the room rocks on impact.

BOOM.

He’s grasping at you, catching you as you writhe against the sheets and send him spilling a mess everywhere. Inside you, across your thighs, along your stomach. He can’t help but muffle the mantra of your name into the skin of your shoulder as he heaves and shakes and tries to grab your hips for stability with one hand.

There’s a moment, then two.

Then, Obi-Wan collapses next to you on the sheets.

His eyes are wide, chest rising up and down quickly as he swallows and turns to look at you beside him. You’re no better, arms spread out and jaw slack -- there’s a smile on your face, one that blooms into a laugh when you raise your head and stare down at the mess between your legs.

You drop your head back and Obi-Wan exhales slowly.

His voice shakes.

“... I feel better.”

“Yeah,” you muster with a tired laugh, “Me too.”

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

The next morning is... interesting.

His room is a mess. You both wake to find nothing is where it was before. All the trinkets adorning his shelves have flown across the room and even the bed as moved an entire foot from its usual location.

There’s a crack in the wall where the headboard meets the dura-plaster.

You both wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a land-speeder, full throttle.

Obi-Wan sits straight up and you nearly scream when you see the state of his neck and back. He’s covered in dark purple bites, and running down his back are welts from your scratches. You’re in no better shape -- you face plant into the carpet upon first attempts to stand.

You both stand in the refresher, slack jawed and just as dazed as you’d been when you’d finally won-out the pollen last night, sometimes around two in the morning.

You just know that the girls are going to have a lot to say about this.

Obi-Wan spares you a single mortified look -- and you both burst into laughter.

Gut-wrenching, tear bringing laughter that sends you both out of the refresher and bracing against the objects in his room. He’s smothering a terrible snort when you try to speak.

“I can’t... I can’t believe --”

“Merry Khairyn Sar?”

You shriek, swatting at the Jedi’s arm as he descends into another bought of laughter. You can’t worm the smile off your face. At this point, you don’t want to.

“I need breakfast,” you point, gathering up your gown and robe from the day previous, “Before I can handle the trademarked Kenobi snark.”

“Dex’s?”

“I’d love to see you try and explain those hickey’s on your jugular to him,” you prod at his neck, earning you a delighted kiss on your way to change in the bathroom, “So yes.”

“Oh, trust me,” he waggles his finger, “I’ve got everyone fooled, you know --”

Obi-Wan eats his words when, after cleaning up, dressing, and straightening his quarters, you both step into the hallway only to come face to face with certain an exhausted looking Twi’lek.

Aayla Secura most definitely heard everything.

The apologetic look she offers is enough of a give-away as you cover your mouth and Obi-Wan guides you away before you can even utter an apology.

“Morning, Master Secura!”

Once you’re in the elevator, the laughter begins anew.

Obi-Wan will find a way to make it up to Aayla.

After all, it was a holiday.

Maybe not on Coruscant, but to the Naboo senators and delegates on Coruscant, it was.

#obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan smut #obi-wan kenobi lemon #obi-wan imagine #star wars imagine #nothing like. a little porn.#nightfall & daybreak

3K notes · View notes

izzielizzie · 4 years ago

Note

Hey you know how I’m At Last it’s mentioned that Skye went to prom last minute in a lab coat? Maybe could you do a fic where Skye goes with Melissa?

yes i do remember that! fic under the cut

"Skye?" somewhere in the world of microbiology - a world Skye isn't very fond of but has to explore for her semester's grade - she can hear a voice calling her. If it's a sister she's ready to stab her with a pen.

Fortunately, it's not a sister. Unfortunately, it's Melissa Patenaude. Skye pulls her goggles off her head and smiles at Melissa, who's leaning casually against the doorframe of the school's lab, already in her soccer uniform.

"Oh, hey," Skye says, nervously tucking a lock of choppy blonde hair behind her ear.

"Hey Penderwick," Melissa uncrosses her arms then crosses them again. "You're going to be late for soccer."

Skye glances at the clock and - rats - she is going to be late. The being late part isn't that bad, she's good enough that the coach won't yell at her or make her do extra drills. No, the real problem is Jane. After becoming captain, Jane made it a point to make an example out of Skye, and Skye is ready to accidentally push her sister out their bedroom window.

"Okay, yes, give me a moment," Skye says, pulling the goggles back on to gently put the petri dish back in the incubator. Once she's done, she wipes off the bench and pulls off her goggles and gloves. She's acutely aware of Melissa watching her, and for the millionth time, she's frustrated by the blush creeping up her neck. It's not like she doesn't know why - Skye's had a girlfriend before - but she really doesn't know how to deal with liking a girl she was once willing to pitch off the school roof. Not that she'd do that now.

"Science looks confusing," Melissa says as Skye pulls off her lab coat and hangs it on a hook.

Sky tugs her soccer bag out from under lab bench and loops it over her shoulder. "Says the girl who was in a play," Sky counters. After the whole Sisters and Sacrifice debacle, Melissa realized that she not only really likes plays but is good at acting. She’s even taking a stab at producing, and her show is playing this weekend.

“Oh speaking of,” Melissa says, reaching out and grabbing Skye’s arm, pulling towards her. “You’re coming on Saturday right?” She looks up at Skye pleadingly.

“Just as long as you don’t make me act in it, I’ll be there in the front row.”

Melissa grins at Skye as she adjusts her soccer bag. “Good. Now hurry up your sister’s going to kill us.”

The girls don’t talk again until the next day at lunch. “Penderwick, what are you wearing to prom?” Melissa asks as she drops into a seat next to Skye.

“Prom?” Skye asks, munching on a carrot stick. Melissa takes one from Skye’s tray and mimics the way Skye chews on it thoughtfully. Skye sticks out her tongue and Melissa laughs, pulling her dark hair into a bun, directing Skye’s attention to Melissa’s earrings. “Hey we match!” Skye says suddenly pointing to her own ears. Skye had never pierced her own ears since she hates earrings, but she deigned to wear clip-ons after Lydia enthusiastically gifted her shooting star earrings.

“Yeah, I saw them at the store and they made me think of you,” Melissa says casually, like she knew that Skye would point out the earrings, but she looks secretly pleased.

“That’s nice,” Skye says helplessly. After the surprise wore off, she now has no idea what to say to something so sentimental. Melissa snorts.

“You look so lost.”

“I am,” Skye says truthfully. This makes Melissa laugh a loud laugh.

“Shall I call Jane?”

“No, it’s fine,” Skye says, laughing along with Melissa. “So anyway, what were you asking?”

“What are you wearing to prom?”

Sky shrugs. “I don’t plan on going.”

Melissa sighs. “I knew it. Well, there goes my fallback.” Skye politely tilts her head, waiting for Melissa to continue. “Well you know how Genevieve and I broke up?” Skye nods. After years of listening to Melissa, she’s learned that trying to talk mid-rant doesn’t work with Melissa. She’s like Jane in that way. “Well obviously I needed a prom date so I asked Jane’s friend Artie - I mean he’s cute right?” Skye makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. She’s never thought of boys as anything other than someone to be friends with. “Well he can’t go, I think it’s because he likes Jane. And so, pride ruined, I asked Pearson and he’s going with Genevieve can you believe it?”

Skye shakes her head as she chews meditatively on a celery stick.

“So this brings me back to the only other person I’d like to go with.”

“Who’s that?” Skye asks as she swallows. Melissa stares at Skye for a moment as their friends groan around them.

“I’ll figure it out.” Melissa says, disappointed.

“Cool!” Skye says brightly before turning to Molly to ask her about the passing drills they did the day before.

It takes Skye three days - the morning of prom night to be exact - to realize what Melissa had been saying. She sprints down the steps to the kitchen, jumping fully over a tottering Lydia. Iantha, Rosalind and Mr. Penderwick look at her, startled, as Skye barrels into the room. “I’m an idiot!” she announces to the room at large.

“We already knew that,” Jane says casually as she cuts waffles into pieces.

“Why?” asks Batty more politely as she leads Lydia into the room. Iantha quickly bends down to put Lydia in her high chair. Ben follows, looks Skye’s face, and skirts around her, heading straight to the pile of waffles in the middle of the table.

“Melissa was asking me to prom!” Skye cries, clutching at her cropped hair.

“We already knew that too,” Jane says as she takes a sip of orange juice.

“Jane,” Rosalind says in a warning tone. It’s a miracle she’s awake this early. Usually she sleeps late during vacation. If Skye believed in fate she’d pin the presence of her entire family on it. But she doesn’t so it’s all her fault.

“Iantha what do I do?” Skye asks pleadingly to her step-mother, who’s looking at her with a sympathetic albeit resigned look.

Iantha purses her lips as she hands a fussy Lydia her recently dropped crown. “I’m not sure honey. It’s too late to get you a dress or a suit isn’t it?”

“Rosy? Do you have your dress?”

Rosalind nods. “I do, but Skye will it fit?”

Skye heaves a dramatic sigh. No, it won’t. Skye and Rosalind are built differently enough that none of Rosalind’s dresses will fit Skye. Skye turns to her father, always a steady ship in times of crisis. “Dad? What do I do?”

“I’m sorry filia mea but I don’t know. Perhaps just try speaking to her?”

“Speak. That’s a good idea. Thank you,” Skye says mechanically as she turns towards the front door, marching towards it with determined strides, pausing momentarily to grab her car keys before leaving.

“What about breakfast?” Iantha calls after her. She turns to Jane who sighs.

“I’ve got it,” she says, secretly pleased at this turn of events as she packs some waffles for Skye. She’s always thought Skye and Melissa had potential.

Jane’s good mood dissolves, however, when she runs into Skye standing on the front steps looking dejected. Jane, who was ready to trek the mile to Cameron High School, stops short. “What’s wrong? Do you have a headache? Shall I bathe your forehead?”

“Stop with the headache,” Skye says, waving away Jane’s hand. “I just realized I’d promised my science teacher I’d work in the lab tonight, help her clean it before school ends.”

“On prom night?” Jane asks.

Skye throws her hands in the air. “I hadn’t planned on going when I’d accepted!”

Jane doesn’t say anything to Skye, who’s stomping around the front yard trying to find a tree she can kick while she rants about the pressure of school dances and dumb crushes. “Some maidens may balk from the fear, but Sabrina Starr never wavers in the face of pressure.”

Skye stops her pacing. “What?”

“Nothing! Get in the car, we’ll be late.”

As seven in the afternoon draws closer, Skye’s mood worsens, until she nearly stomps into the lab. She’d sat through an entire day of school with Melissa, who seemed glowing as Skye’s heart sank. Now, she feels even worse as she sees Jane fiddling with the rack of graduated cylinders.

“Jane what are you doing here?” Skye asks as the science teacher steps out of the back room. She catches sight of Skye and grins as she puts the box in her arms on a dry bench.

“Hello Skye, why aren’t you getting ready to go to the dance?”

“Dance?” Skye asks.

“Yeah don’t you remember? You mixed up the dates when you agreed to help tonight. You thought prom was next week, not this week,” Jane jumps in, making her just go with it face. Skye had seen that face enough times to know nothing good came out of it. “So I offered to help instead.”

“You’re cleaning a lab?” Sky clarifies. She’s pretty sure Jane would rather die than go near anything science related.

“Of course! I mean who wouldn’t want to wash one hundred graduation cylinders?”

“Graduated,” Skye corrects.

“From what?”

“Never mind. Jane may I talk to you for a moment?”

Skye not-too-gently takes her sister’s arm and drags her towards the rack of lab coats. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning gr-”

“Graduated cylinders I know. Jane this isn’t gonna work.”

“Why, it’s just in the gym. That’s a three minute walk.”

“I have nothing to wear!”

Oh. Right. How had Jane forgotten that? She looks around and catches sight of the coats. “There,” she points.

“You want me to wear a lab coat?”

“Yeah. Or you could just stay here and let Melissa go to the dance on her own.”

Skye sighs. “Fine. Help me put it on.”

Ten minutes later, after donning the coat and letting Jane twist her hair this way and that way until her eyes are uncovered, Skye slips into the gym. She looks around for a moment to get her bearing, and instantly someone is wrapping their arms around her. Skye turns to see Melissa grinning at her. Skye steps back and does a double take when she sees the blue gown Melissa chose.

“It matches your eyes,” Melissa says.

“Yeah,” Skye says, smiling a little.

“God you really don’t know what to say do you?” Melissa asks with a grin.

“No I do not.”

“Then why don’t I save you the trouble: ‘I, Skye Magee Penderwick, formally apologize to Melissa Patenaude for being dense and not realizing that she’s been asking me to prom for three months’.”

“That works,” Skye says, silently thanking Jane for cleaning the lab so Skye can be here, burning up under the gym’s bright lights in a lab coat as the prettiest girl she’s ever seen teases her.

“Good. Hold out your hand.”

“What?” Skye asks, doing as she’s told. She looks down to realize that Melissa has tied a white rose corsage around her wrist.

“Here. To match your lab coat.”

“Thank you,” Skye says softly.

“I assume there’s a story behind the coat?”

“Obviously.”

“And it has to do with Jane?”

“The one and only.”

Melissa links her arm with Skye’s. “Tell me all about it.”

#skye penderwick #jane penderwick #iantha aaronson-penderick #martin penderwick #rosalind penderwick #ben penderwick #batty penderwick #lydia penderwick #the penderwicks #melissa patenaude #ahh sorry if it sucks #izzielizzie's fics

41 notes · View notes

babbushka · 4 years ago

Note

If the prompts are still open and you’re feeling better, then i’d like to request nr 22 & nr 33 from the dirty list with lawyer!kylo !! Only if you’re feeling up to it ❣️

22. I’ve never been this hard in my entire life, what are you doing to me?

33. How do you expect me to concentrate when you keep rubbing your foot against my crotch?

Thanks for keeping me wet💦

You’re the best😘

(1.3k, NSFW [PIV, gagging/finger sucking, biting/hickies, dirty talk, secret sex] set in this little series)

You’re surprised to see him, when you sneak downstairs for a hot cup of cider. Kylo was quiet, surprisingly so for someone of his size, and you nearly jump when you hear his voice coming out of the dark kitchen.

“Can’t sleep?” He hands you a mug of something warm, your fingers happily wrapping around the cup. One sniff of the drink and you’re pleased to find that he had the very same thought as you. Kylo takes a sip of cider out of his own mug, and states the obvious, “Me neither.”

“The wind,” You sigh, thinking about how pleasant your dreams had been before the howling rattling whistle of it came shaking through the trees around the house, “It’s too loud.”

Kylo nods in understanding, and you wonder if it’s what woke him up too. Your mother had gotten everyone matching pajamas as a first night of Hanukkah gift, and you can’t help but smile a little at Kylo, because he happens to be wearing them. You’re wearing them too, but he’s got a scowl on his face as per usual, which only makes the blue and teal plaid with little white stars all over feel even sillier.

“Just our fucking luck, this snowstorm. Looks like we’ll be stuck here for another night at least.” Kylo cracks the joints in his neck, rolls his shoulders. Your eyes track the motion, and you lick your lips when he shrugs, “Not that I’m complaining, I’m perfectly comfortable in my room.”

“I haven’t seen your room yet…” You take a deliberate sip of your cider.

It takes Kylo all of two seconds to get the hint.

Spooning you from behind, Kylo thrusts into you hard in his bed.

You hand shucked off your pajama pants the moment he locked the door behind you, but neither of you had managed to get your tops off in time, before toppling onto the bed. He had yanked open a couple buttons of your top and stuck his cold hands right up against your breasts, squeezing and kneading them as his cock wasted no time sinking into the tight heat of your pussy.

“This is un-be-fucking-lievable,” Kylo pants into your ear, nibbles and bites at the exposed skin of your throat, his cock throbbing as you clench around him. “I’ve never been this hard in my entire life, what are you doing to me?”

You’ve got one of your legs hooked over your arm to keep it spread and open for him, to give him the room he needs to shove himself into you with harsh unyielding rhythm, the kind that shakes the mattress and bounces your body on top of it.

“What am I doing to you?” You gasp out accusatorily, your eyes pinching shut as your back arches from the pleasure as he grinds his hips against your ass, “Don’t pretend that you do this shit on purpose. I bet you – god that’s good Kylo – called the weather man and told him to make it snow, just to antagonize me a little longer.”

“Sweetheart if that were the case I’d’ve called for a fucking blizzard,” Kylo pinches your nipples hard and makes you whine, rolling the hard buds between his fingers in time with the drag of his cock in and out of you as he grunts, “Keep you close to me for a week, fucking the shit out of you.”

Your pussy is so wet, slick coating him and lubing him up better than he could have ever dreamed, and he wishes he could see your face, wishes he were on top of you to plow you into the mattress. He pulls his most accessible arm away from your breast and takes over holding your leg up, your arms going weak from pleasure.

He can spread you better like this, angles himself deeper, and smirks as he feels your cunt pulse and ache around him at the new direction. Your toes curl and your thighs tremble, and Kylo has to slide his other hand up into your mouth to keep you quiet. Your tongue curls around the thick digits, sucking and drooling all over them, your eyelashes brushing against your cheek sweetly.

“Faster – Kylo you can – I want more.” Voice muffled, your whole body is on fire, sweating inside that half-unbuttoned flannel, the sweetest moans and tremors wracking through your body.

“Yeah I bet you fucking do, your pussy’s practically begging for me.” Kylo kisses your cheek before making the executive decision to roll you underneath him, “Hold still baby, I’ll give it to you, I’ll fucking – oh god, yes.”

With you on your hands and knees, he pins your shoulders down onto the mattress, pushing you down into the pillow.

“Your cock’s so big, how do you even walk around with this thing between your legs? How do you get anything done?” You gasp and rasp and pant and moan, and Kylo has to clench his jaw and steel himself from coming right there.

“I don’t! And it’s all your fucking fault.” He grunts, shoving his cock a little harder, knocking it right up against your cervix, feeling how he’s hitting your gspot with every thrust because your body does a jolt from the friction, especially with how your nipples rub against the soft flannel of the pajama top, pushed flat on the mattress.

“Ah – yesyesyes, I’m so close,” You suck on his fingers, and Kylo wishes you were sucking on his cock instead, wishes he could see your pretty face staring up at him with his dick down your throat.

Instead, he slips his other hand between your legs and massages your clit until you’re choking on his fingers as you come, and Kylo follows soon after, blowing his load in your pussy, feeling his cock throbbing with it as he pumps you full.

He fucks it into you, mind reeling from his orgasm as your body twitches and trembles beneath him, before he pulls out and watches as the mix of your come begins to slide down your thigh. Kylo doesn’t know what he was expecting to happen after this, but you rolling over and nuzzling your face into his pillow certainly wasn’t it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kylo blinks, trying to figure out if you’re kicking him out of his own room, or if you want him to stay with you.

You crack an eye open and regard him sleepily.

“Getting comfortable – you can’t expect me to make the trek all the way across the hall like this.” Gesturing to how you’re naked from the waist down and barely covered up top at all. You engage in a bit of a staring contest for a few seconds, before you huff out a bossy, “Are you going to hold me or not?”

Kylo smiles, despite himself. He’ll blame it on the afterglow of coming, but you really are so radiant when you try telling him what to do. It works this time, because he shuffles himself as close to you as possible, lying on his back and tugging you against his chest.

“Brat.” He kisses the top of your head, his arms winding around you tightly.

“Asshole.” You reply with no real malice, your fingers deftly undoing the buttons of his flannel so your cheek can nuzzle against his bare skin.

“Spoiled.” Kylo cards his fingers through your hair, his eyes closing, breathing evening out.

“Selfish.” You mumble back, nearly asleep but still wanting the last word.

A moment or two goes by, and Kylo thinks that maybe you’ve fallen asleep, so he kisses the top of your head again and whispers, “Baby…?”

“Mhm?” A little muffled noise of acknowledgement makes his chest tighten.

“Any time you can’t sleep, you come find me, okay?” Kylo’s arms tighten around you, and you just nod, until your body goes still and you drift off into dreamland once again.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren smut #kylo ren fanfic #lawyer au #lawyer!kylo #modern kylo ren #adam driver fanfic #adcu #Anonymous #cowboy answers

68 notes · View notes

thotantics · 5 years ago

Text

✦ genre — smut, drabble

✗ warnings — graphic description of sex, mmf threesome, unsafe sex, rough sex, gagging, choking, forced oral sex (all consensual, just rough uwu)

✎ word count — 1,275

[A/N] someone requested a dom!chankai threesome M O N T H S ago but i recently cleared out my inbox and drafts so i dont have their exact request, but i wanted to do something short and fun bc they’ve been killing me recently so, @ anon, wherever u r, i hope this is ok for u :((

You definitely didn’t think your evening would lead to this, but you had no complaints. Jongin had pulled you over his lap so he could run his hands up your shirt as you kiss, tongue slow and sensual while his fingers leave goosebumps in their trek over every blazing inch of your skin that he could reach.

For the first few minutes, Chanyeol is content just watching the two of you. He’s so quiet that you almost forget he’s there, that the whole reason you moved to the other side of the couch to snuggle up to Jongin was to make him jealous. He doesn’t react outwardly at all until Jongin’s unhooking your bra, mouthing eagerly down your chest to capture a nipple between his lips.

“Go ahead and get her nice and wet for me, then.” Chanyeol says, voice low and husky even as Jongin’s lips curve into a smile around the tip of your breast, eyes flickering up to gaze at your expression.

“Are you going to let him play with you, baby?” Jongin coos up to you, head lifting from the valley of your breasts to tease your lips with his tongue, eyes dancing over your face to gauge your reaction.

“He only wants me because you have me.” You tell him, glancing back to see Chanyeol shifting his legs farther apart, erection straining in his jeans.

“You say that like I haven’t already had you, my pretty little slut.” Chanyeol laughs, “Go ahead and have your fun. I want to see how far you’ll take this.”

His cockiness only spurs you onto your knees, tits out, wrestling briefly with Jongin’s zipper to get his throbbing cock free and into your mouth. You sit closely, breasts on display, toying with your nipples while you bob your head, gagging yourself on the length of him.

You weren’t sure who were showing off for more at this point, Jongin or Chanyeol. Both were staring wide eyed at you, mouth agape. Jongin was resisting tangling his hands in your hair and fucking your pretty mouth, because you were doing such a good job all on your own. Instead, he flexed his hips in time with the pace you set, rolling up to meet you, groaning when your throat convulsed and tightened determinedly when you gagged on him.

Chanyeol’s impressed. He didn’t think you had this in you but he’s not going to break up the party just yet. He wonders if you’ll make Jongin cum, if you’ll swallow, if your mouth will taste like him when Chanyeol kisses you next. He’s surprised when you stand and strip out of your jeans, fingers massaging against your clit just before you spear yourself on Jongin’s wet dick.

Watching someone else slide inside of you is equal parts infuriating and stunningly beautiful. Chanyeol’s been inside you more than a handful of times but he’s never seen you take dick like this. You’re bouncing on it like it’s your job, head thrown back, moaning like a porn star and he knows it’s all for him. It’s all for show, but that just makes the whole thing more infuriating.

Jongin is enjoying your tight pussy far too much, and Chanyeol needs you to shut the fuck up with all the high pitched moaning, squealing Jongin’s name, so he stands and crosses the room with his cock in his hand. Gripping your hair at the back of your head, he feeds you his cock, successfully stopping all the noises you’re able to make except muffled groans and harsh gasps when Jongin snaps his hips up, controlling the pace.

It’s a punishing rhythm that the two men sync up in to, Jongin fucking you with precise thrusts directly to your cervix and Chanyeol, hips jutting out, yanking you by the hair back and forth, dragging your mouth over the length of his thick cock.

“Slut,” He hisses, finally giving you a moment to breathe, his mouth crashing down onto yours, kissing you messily, his hands cupping your face firmly to make up for the way Jongin has you bouncing on his lap. “You fucking love this, huh?” Chanyeol then he yanks and pulls, disconnecting you from Jongin harshly so both of you cry out in complaint, but Chanyeol shoves you over just as quickly, bowing you so your face is in Jongin’s lap and he enters you from the back, hissing, “Clean up the mess you made, slut.”

You’re barely balanced on your feet, calves aching but the deep punch of his cock repeatedly slamming into you feels so fucking good. You grab onto Jongin’s thighs for balance and he lifts his hips, bringing his slick dick closer to your face, his hands tender when he pets your hair back out of your face for you.

“That’s it, baby,” Jongin chuckles quietly, “Open wide..”

You do what he says, mouth flying open and tongue reaching out until you taste it, a salty mixture of precum and your own pussy fluids coating the gorgeous cock in front of you. Jongin is kinder about it than Chanyeol, letting you do the work but with the other man behind you slamming your cunt so fiercely, it was difficult to build a rhythm.

Instead you find yourself noisily slurping, mouth vacuum suctioning and sporadically choking, spit drooling onto Jongin’s lap but he’s so sweet, stroking your hair and your cheeks, he doesn’t even care.

“Fuck me so good,” He whispers for only you to hear, “Such a good girl.”

At the same instant Chanyeol’s heavy hand comes down hard on your ass, and your knees buckle, but he tucks an arm around your midsection and holds you up.

“You can’t give up yet,” Chanyeol tells you, “Make him cum.”

You double your efforts, arms shaking as you try to steady yourself and Jongin, toes curling into the carpet, finally grips tightly onto your hair and juts his hips up harsh, one final time, cumming so much that it spills from the corners of your lips and drools into his lap while he groans your name.

Chanyeol rips you back from Jongin then, standing you upright, your back pressed tight to his chest, and he fucks you with one leg lifted high, giving Jongin a good view of exactly where your bodies are joined.

With one hand lifting the back of your knee, his other grips your throat, squeezing tight enough to make your head spin while he whispers against your ear lobe, “Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours,” You choke back to him.

“Louder.” Chanyeol grunts.

“My pussy’s yours!” You gasp when his hand massages your throat and lets you catch a lung full of air, eyes on Jongin who’s smirking up at you from his spot on the couch, relaxed and amused, cock still rock hard and flexing when he notices you noticing it.

You cum like that, limbs flailing wildly, Chanyeol pinning you to his front like you’re his doll, and Jongin smiling at you in that wicked way that makes your knees feel weak. It’s explosive, soaking down your and Chanyeol’s thighs, every muscle in your body tensing and releasing rhytmically as he fucks you through the height of your orgasm. His cock stutters and his hands dig in tight to your hips, slamming you hard against him, rubbing and grinding and pulsing, his breath ragged and husky and desperate until he’s filling you with hot pumps of cum.

Chanyeol is breathing heavy and collapsing onto the couch next to Jongin while you’re left standing, legs wobbly like a newborn giraffe, naked and dripping down your thighs in front of the two of them.

655 notes · View notes

calamityk8 · 4 years ago

Text

"My name is Barney Rolfe, and there is something wrong with my brain. I am admitting this to you with the full understanding and acknowledgement that what I am doing is absolutely not going to be fully understood; but perhaps in pieces it can reconcile the most fragmented and deranged parts of my psyche, or at least arrange them in a way that will relieve this incessant pressure that always haunts me. Whatever happens, well, at least I have tried to do something to explain this innate and incessant madness, which is more than most get a chance to do.

Okay, here goes.

Belatedly, I suppose, there were neurons misfiring to account for, some chemical mishap that perforce disengaged my social abilities to adapt and be of use to others. Panic and hysteria have ruled the contours of my experience for longer than this busted-up brain can recall. Looking back, well, I can gauge the horrific aspects of it, in the present. Of course hindsight’s a malignancy at this point. I have become this disease; it as all that I am: a sporadically hebetude-induced corollary on the razor’s edge of sanity’s rusty hook. Saying things like this doesn’t help. I know. It’s just hard to judge oneself from the outer limits of perspective’s gush and flow. Trapped in this insidious circle of discontent and maladjustment, I am oozing the sap of life’s lost lust.

I might have a way to put it, so let me.

Having severe systemic and constant depression and simply “being bummed” are two very distinct and different things. One is a disease; the other is just one of the myriad consequences of being alive. If someone has cancer you don’t tell them to, “buck up and get over it.” We don’t admonish a stroke victim to, “stop lying around, and get up and do something with yourself.” Even our advice for sufferers of the common cold is sympathetic, as cough-and-congestion victims aren’t told they are being “weak” or “soft” and should just “be happy because things could be a lot worse.” But, for some inane reason that is preconditioned into us by years of inhumane pseudoscience, diseases of the mind are linked to some weakness or lassitude of the individual, as if that person who is suffering from a disease such as depression or severe anxiety is somehow inept and is to be blamed for their troubles. As if it is within their control to get better by “just trying a bit harder at it.” It’s really a nonsensical viewpoint to take; but, alas, it is one of many such idiotic theories held by the masses.

Here — there is this too: you’ve got to fight this one alone. Other people can help you, but in the end it comes down to you fighting for your life all by your lonesome. This is a difficult thing to internalize, but once you do, in some wary way, a strand of hope will spring from this, as finagled and shoddy with trepidation as it may be. There will be a surge of selfhood guiding you, a reliance on the one person you can always count on: yourself. It is a scary thing, but like most scary things one finds as obstacles on the wayward path of one’s existence, extremely worthwhile to conquer. Just like any other terminal disease, depression kills; suicide is merely its mechanism.

This shouting in my head, it never seems to cease.

I am nervous and concise around others. I only laugh when it’s expected. Being alone has become my only comfort, though it too is getting to be unendurable. To guide me I take some small salvation in the long history of human endeavor to fight through the gnashing teeth of internal strife. According to Lecky’s History of European Morals, “A melancholy leading to desperation, and known to theologians under the name of ‘acedia,’ was not uncommon in monasteries, and most of the recorded instances of medieval suicides in Catholicism were by monks.” I dream through these trials and tribulations of ancients, attempting to stem the tide of my own demise with less troubling thoughts than the ones I’ve come to own: I am the angular distance of a star below the horizon; the dusty truth of eons of suffering through a terrible weight’s pressing down; sunken and lost; in old, forgotten times what they once called grevoushede. Grevoushede. Acedia. I breathe the words and balance the syllables on my tongue, unable to savor their taste or texture. I am a weightless pin pricked in the skein of an upside-down world I’ll never get close enough to know.

Who could ever fall in love with this raggedy bag of afflictions?

I trek through the ruins of my obsession, draped in sorrow’s mask, leaning on tiny tics and safe places to guide me. The cracking of my toes, one by one. Snapping all of my fingers back and forth. Clicking my tongue on the roof my mouth. Blinking an even number of times with one eye and then an odd number with the other. Popping my ears with my jaw. Smoothing my eyebrows down with my fingertips. An innumerable array of distractions that ease the arrhythmic pulse of thoughts that come but never go, blurring out my sight, and leaving me trembling, all filled-up with static but as empty inside as an ice cream shop in the freezing rain.

Woe is my middle name.

All of these little vacancies in my head surface and fill into the most chronic of all conditions. Possibilities go awry with suspicious and judgmental looks. Maybe I’ll put on some Dolly Parton and fall in love with a bookmark. These are thoughts that calm the deliriousness at it swarms. Exceptional circumstances to bow down to in this glut of terrors, this amassing of torturous routines: the bath mat must be lined up perfectly with the tiles, the showerhead at just the right angle, the curtain stretched just so, and the shower water, the god-damn shower water…always and forever just a touch too hot or too cold. The chores of being me, they never end.

The human senses can somehow even detect whether a television set is off or just on mute without looking. And everyone can tell the difference between boiling and room-temperature water being poured in much the same manner. But it is when these senses go astray, when they slip and frazzle and get pinched, that’s when one comes to know the real intensity of those senses’ powers. A daily trauma that haunts me wherever I go, my brain stuffed with the lint of leftover churning, dizzy and lopsided and playing alive, I ignore the impossibilities of being able to maintain a normal existence for as long as this sapped torpidity allows. The courage I need to muster just to leave my place and walk to get groceries is at most times an insurmountable obstacle, and so I stay in and worry and worry and worry about everything. Every object grows too precious to disturb as I put it on the pedestal of the postponed quenching of my desires. There is nothing I can do or think that will snap this spell of disenchantment that grips me tighter as it deepens this hole I am eternally residing in. Just making it home from the grocery store with a few shopping bags of food sometimes feels like the greatest accomplishment in the world. I should be doing other things with my time, I know: concentrating my efforts on more grand pleasures and goals. But these things of consequence, they are not for me. I lose so much more than I gain in these battles. Small, inconsequential, pyrrhic victories are the only ones I’ve known.

Hope is a bestial thing with daggers and fangs; I make up a thousand reasons to not have any of it bombard me as this disease attacks relentlessly. There are honestly times when I cannot even bring myself to lift a finger to scratch an itch. I’ve been prescribed a list of medications too long to register properly in the catacombs of my lingering doubt about the chemical cohesion of my wherewithal: Abilify, clomipramine, Lexapro, bupropion, Celexa, Cymbalta, Lithium, Xanax, Paxil, amitriptyline, Lamictal, and that grand old sturdy classic Prozac. Etcetetra. It seems that I am only etceteras: more and more of less and less. It’s all a wash. It was a messy chorus of boos from the cheap seats as I struggled through side effects and listened to the growing drone of a singularly horrible voice that wasn’t quite my own resounding in my skull: “You’re no good. You’re a lost cause. Stop whining; start winning. You’re no good. You are just no good,” over and over; nauseated at all times; woozy, delirious, insomnia-plagued and diarrhea-bound; garbling my words when forced to speak, fumbling through life like a doped-up zombie with no appetites, every little thing so impossibly far away.

The window washers will not sing for me. The faucets around here all look like dead swans. I sweep. I litter. I am unable to know for sure if anyone else ever feels the way I always do. I am ill with this ravenous beast that pesters and claws at and drapes itself over me, leaving me with the gumption of soon-to-be-roadkill sluggishly slouching across a busy highway. I yawn instead of moan. I burst into tears in the dark of crowded movie theaters just before the feature starts. I am normal. Really. I am sane — maybe even too much so. I do wish I could just go insane, but, sadly, I cannot quite contemplate how to accurately achieve this feat. My brain will not assuage nor relent with its ceaseless cracked and mangled disturbances.

The boring by-rote recitation of symptoms rattled off to every doctor who’d listen. They don’t know who I am, what I’ve suffered through, how I came to be this way that I am; and there’s no device by which I can properly explain it to them. It’s not like they can run a test, take some blood, or do a biopsy, and then figure out what’s wrong with me. It’s a hidden thing, deep within the walls of my pain, not on or off any scale they’ve ever invented. I am my own example. There are no answers to any of this. They used to take out parts of people’s brains, thinking it would relieve their suffering. But it just left folks lobotomized to a dull, vegetable state, unable to form words or dress themselves. Perhaps they were happy, though. Perhaps they were thankful for the big, empty space that now occupied what they’d formerly called living. Perhaps there was no person behind those dead eyes left to care. The disease wins yet again, as it always does.

Clinical diagnoses follow me with heavy clomps. “Heavy dysthymia with a robust anxiety level. Somatic cross-cutting, serious signs of high Altman-scale mania, repetitive and troubling thoughts bordering on multiple phobias and generalized panic. Personality Trait Facet Scores high on rigid perfectionism/grandiosity/anhedonia type, though scores lower across board than patient believes. Unusual and abnormal, but not psychotic at all.” As you can see, the weather inside my head is rather frightful, to say the least. I trudge through the murky terrain of my past with great regularity. I am muddy with it, soaked through from the storm of my memories, which are remembering themselves over and over and over again and again and again, until I do not rightly know what has happened or what is happening now. Who am I but this box of disturbing thoughts?

Madness in the family. A quirk in the genes being passed down just like Huntington’s or any other inherited affliction. This one’s just as deep in the bones, though not as noticeable, not as prominent in the makeup of one’s persona. My father was a brazen raver whose depression put the business end of a rifle under his chin to finally wreck its one final havoc on him as pulled the trigger in defeat; his father before him too came to an early funeral, though his disease’s weapons of choice were gasoline and matches, as he lay in immolation by the pumps of an empty gas station in the wee hours of his final night on earth. This dreary thing, it just goes and goes right on down the line. Shelter from it is inconstant at best. It is as if I am in hiding from my inheritance, from my own true self — a hibernation of sorts: falling in and out of a troubled sleep, groggy and drooling through another afternoon, I become obsessed with trifles. I organize the cups and plates on my shelves until they all perfectly line up. I become tempestuous at a single hair being out of place. I talk to myself constantly, mostly demeaning phrases and freshly coined derogatory slurs aimed at myself. I have been parked too long in my heart’s handicap spot. There is very little “me” left here to notice.

So, do not look at me lightly, with deferential judgement or pity’s hidden ire. My sorrows are so much smaller than you’d suppose. My shoes come untied just as much as yours do. I can be as brave and also as craven as most. I eat blackberries and put salted butter on my toast. There are no cures, only temporary stopgaps for relief of symptoms. I am not in control of the way that I feel. I will try. I do try. None of this is less than extremely difficult. I do not need nor crave your sympathy; I just want understanding. Perhaps, even after all this exegesis and other inexplicable explanatory notions are through, this is still too much to ask. In the end, casting aside whatever ideas anyone might get to having about me and my plight, I only return right back to where I began: my name is Barney Rolfe, and there is something wrong with my brain."

11 notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 5 years ago

Text

Take Me Back

Here’s a request I got from @mitsuhkai!

I’m desperate for a story about a story between Kylo n Femreader, where the two were dating, everyone knows, but one night they have a huge nasty fight, end the relationship, Hux wanted to make a move with femreader, like a feral one, Kylo knows and try to take back Femreader. U know, something jealousy, smut, fluffy “Take me back, please”

Requests are open ✨

Kylo Ren X Fem! Reader “Take me back, please”

Warnings: Language

Your eyes burn as you stare into the projection—too dry for tears anymore. You blink away the sting and adjust the view, spinning the image so that you can focus on the back half.

“It’s very late,” the general comments, and you look up from your workstation for the first time all day, surprised to see that everyone else had already left—probably hours ago, given what time it is. You hadn’t even noticed, swallowed up in your work. Distracting yourself.

“Why are you still here, General?” you ask, saving the modifications you made to the TIE fighter design you were working on, and then shut down the panel. Despite all the work you had done, you didn’t feel tired in the slightest, which might have been caused by all the caff you had been drinking pretty much non-stop since you had woken up that morning. It makes you jittery—nervous—and the general’s presence is aggravating the feeling, like you’re holding on tight to a livewire.

“I was just finishing up some work of my own, and saw that one of the design bays was still active,” he replies, walking around your station, running a finger lightly over the edge, like he's searching for dust, before meeting your gaze, “I thought it would be you.” His eyes are sharp and focused—a predator’s stare—and you stiffen, turning to face him. It’s not rational to be afraid, but you still don’t want to know what might happen if you let your guard down.

“Why is that, sir?” Your heart beats erratically in your chest as he moves closer, but you know already why he would think that, and why he’s here. You can see it in his eyes.

“I wanted to know if you were alright.” He maintains the same distant tone, speaking casually, but now he’s close enough for you to see the sharp contours of his jaw, smell the cigarettes on his breath. Your back is to the control panel, and he rests his hand by your hip, closing the gap between you, holding you in place.

“We all know what happened, after all.” He studies you, waiting for a reaction, some kind of confirmation that his suspicions are correct. You sigh in frustration; of course he knew. Everyone on the ship knew, Ren had made sure of that. The last time you saw him he was headed to his shuttle, ignoring you as you called after him, ignited saber dragging along the walls as he went. He left you behind with all the wreckage. That had been a few days ago, and he still hadn’t returned. You couldn't stop seeing it over and over again, every time you closed your eyes. You had told him it was over. You still weren't sure if you had meant it.

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business, General,” you finally say, once again conscious of his intentions. He’s radiating heat, radiating power, as he leans over you—and while you’re not necessarily afraid—you’re also not sure if you like it.

“I’ve decided to make it my business,” he whispers, reaching up with his other hand, gently brushing a loose piece of hair behind your ear, tracing a finger down your neck before stopping at your collar bone. He waits before continuing, and you suck in a breath through your teeth, forcing yourself to think. While the general had made his desires clear, you’re having trouble figuring out his true motives. Had he always wanted you like this? Or were you just another pawn in his and Ren's petty squabble?

More importantly, is this what you want? You'd never really thought of the general in that way; but you have to admit that it would be nice to give into him, just for one night. It might even grant you a little satisfaction, given the men’s rivalry, a sort of fuck you to Ren for the hurt he had caused you. But you can't, not just yet.

“It’s late,” you say, placing the palm of your hand against to the general’s chest and pressing him back, “I should be returning to my quarters.” He steps away immediately, smoothing one hand over his uniform.

“Very well,” he says, circling around to your other side, leaning in close to whisper one final enticement, “if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” And then he walks out.

Your head is pounding all of a sudden—an unhealthy combination of stress, lack of sleep, and a potentially lethal amount of caff raging in a focal point behind your eyes. Before you had been restless, unable to even consider the possibility of sleep, and now your mind is fogged with exhaustion.

You take a long, slow sip from your canteen—water, this time—and breathe deeply through your nose. After a few minutes, your headache diminishes, and you begin the long trek back to your quarters. At this point, you might as well stay where you are, given how soon your next shift starts, but the promise of a bed, even for a few hours, is too tempting.

Your thoughts are occupied as you walk back to your quarters, not with Ren as they had been almost constantly for the last few days, but with the general. He’s created a strange longing, and it sits heavily in your stomach. You’d give anything to stop feeling so abandoned—to get rid of the sadness that had been coloring your days since Ren had gone. It would almost be worth it to go back to the general, if it meant not being so lonely. Almost.

When you turn the corner, he’s the first thing you notice. Ren, outside your door, waiting for you. He looks about as rough as you feel: the helmet is gone, and his face is smudged with dirt and grime. There’s blood as well, trailing down from his nose. He’s scowling; he must have sensed you coming. He must know about the general.

“Ren I’m really-” what were you going to say? Tired? Sorry? It doesn’t matter because he’s on you, swallowing the words before you can speak them, his mouth angry and needy and insistent and you’ve forgotten everything but desire as you reach into his hair, pulling him closer. He groans, and it’s a sound that you can feel move through your whole body. You’ve missed this. You need this.

He lifts you in his arms and your feet leave the floor as he pulls you closer, his head buried into the crook of your neck. This is crazy. Someone could see you. Someone might catch you here with him, and you could imagine how quickly that news would travel.

"Ren, wait," you say, but he's got you pinned against a wall now, and you’re distracted from your concerns for the time being.

"Take me back," he says into your mouth, and you hold on to him more tightly. You have to think about this. There's things you have to consider, like the argument, the one you had before he left. What had it been about again?

"Ren," you say again, and he finally pulls back, giving you the space you need to think. You miss the contact immediately.

"Please," he says, before he pulls off one of his gloves with his teeth, dropping it on the floor, "take me back." And he brings his hand to your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek—so gentle—like he thinks you might break.

"Okay," the word comes out as a puff of air, on impulse. It doesn't matter. You don't need time to think about how you feel for him. He smiles, stars, you live for his smile, and you raise your fingers to his lips so that you can feel his happiness come alive on his face.

He presses a kiss to the pads of your fingers. "You look tired, you should get some rest."

"Come with me," you say, taking him by the hand and leading him towards your room.

"You need sleep." He's reluctant, but follows you anyways, and you flash him a sly smile.

"How could I sleep without you here?" You pull him through the door and kiss him again and again and again. Sleep can wait. He's finally back where he belongs.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren one shot #my writing #requests

155 notes · View notes

vicarfelix · 4 years ago

Text

Honest Intentions

Vicar Max x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Language. Smut.

A/N: GOD okay so I wrote this awhile ago and I cannot write smut to save my life. I suck so bad at it, I can’t ever seem to make it long enough, but this was so angsty good that I just couldn’t not post it.

Word Count: 2,155

“The question is, after all this, do you still trust me?”

If she had been in a cartoon, she was sure there would have been a gray, swirling cloud above her head to display her irritation. She couldn’t believe that he had lied to her. A lie. A betrayal of truth. A fib. A dishonest statement. And for what? Just to ensure his chances of her taking him to see some scholar that he didn’t even like? What was the point of that?

She never expected respect from her crew. She didn’t expect it from anybody. However, when she had earned the respect from someone, she expected full honesty in return. This was a total blow to her respect as a captain and trust as a girlfriend. She was unbelievably angry at him, confused even as of to why he wasn’t upfront about his desires. Truthfully, she was really hurt.

Max had lied in order to get her to take him to see Reginald. A former colleague of sorts of his that he needed to see to have his book translated from French. It wasn’t until they found Reginald that it became clear as of to how they even ended up there. Max claimed he couldn’t risk her not bringing him there to find him. He immediately sensed that she was upset. She had every right to be. The sickness in his stomach as a result of the guilt was a testament of that. She had convinced him to leave Reginald Chaney in one piece, refusing to let him lay a finger on him. They got what they needed out of him and left.

The silent trek back to the ship was seemingly everlasting. Her footsteps were heavy on the grounds of the Monarch wilderness as they returned back from Fallbrook. She needed some time to calm down and cool off before speaking to anyone. She was of no use to anybody being this upset. Last thing she wanted was to take her anger out of someone who didn’t deserve it. Max followed a bit further behind than usual, giving her as much space as possible without getting separated. No one said a word on the journey back to The Unreliable. Even Ellie didn’t even try to poke fun at the vicar who would be sleeping in his own quarters for now. It wasn't Max's reaction she was afraid of. It was the captain's.

They finally arrived at the ship long after nightfall, stars dotting the dark night sky. They would be spending the evening in route to Groundbreaker to get supplies and other materials in the morning. She entered the ship first, ADA greeting the returning space adventurers as always.

“Welcome back, Captain.”

She usually smiled in relief upon hearing her voice that signaled a safe return, but she was in no smiling mood. Everybody else had gone to their bunks for the night, which prompted Ellie to go as well. That left the captain and Max in the bay of the ship. The only sounds were the clanks and tinkers as she put away her belongings into the lockers. She couldn’t look at him. She was afraid that she just might lose it. He came up next to her, his voice low and quiet;

“Captain, I-”

“I don’t want to talk.”

He sighed. He wasn’t surprised at her response. He couldn’t figure out if she was speaking to him as his boss or his girlfriend...or both. She whisked away from the lockers and headed to the stairs leading up to her quarters. She just wanted to be alone for a little while and give this some serious thought. She planned on discussing everything with him in the morning. However she realized this was an impossible wish when he followed suit, desperate to get his message across to her;

“If nothing else, please know that I am sorry,” He pleaded, entering after his lover into her room; “I’m aware that I have put a lot of unnecessary stress on you today.”

She scoffed and shook her head incredulously. He didn’t seem to understand how the trust she had put in him had been seriously violated. That’s what made her more upset than anything. It was clear that he wasn’t leaving until this issue was resolved. So, she went off.

“You lied to me, Max. For personal gain,” she hissed; “I don’t like being lied to you.”

She was leaning against the frame of her bed, arms folded over her chest as Max was leaning against her desk. Her demeanor was tense and cold...not a pretty sight to see.

“I know. If it’s any consolation, I lied before I began to care for you...before I loved you. It wasn’t an attempt to break your faith in me.” He admitted.

A surge of energy went to her head, her cheeks heating with rage;

“That doesn’t make it any better. So, you didn’t lie to me as your lover? Fine. You still lied to me as your captain,” She snarled; “At the end of the day, Max, I am still your captain.”

He didn’t want to fight with her He didn’t want her to be angry at him. All he could do was continue to express his apology and hope she'd forgive him. He wasn’t lying when he said he cared about her. About how he loved her. The two of them had each said it once before, so she had to admit it made her heart beat a little faster hearing him say it again.

With this being said, he still had a rampant temper. Regardless of any situation, he didn’t like being talked to this way. He got defensive when others used an unpleasant tone with him. His pleading for forgiveness was beginning to mix with a sear of anger bubbling up in him.

“You are my captain, you will never witness me denying that. I don’t know what you wish for me to do other than tell you, honestly, that I’m sorry.” He replied, his voice getting rather scary; “But might I add that you weren’t so fucking honest at first either.”

All the blood in her body seemed to rush to her face and rapidly back down to her feet. She knew what he was talking about. The fact that the crew went months thinking she was actually Alex Hawthorne when she actually wasn’t. She hadn’t been upfront in the beginning and had lied about her identity. She would always feel a sense of culpability for that.

“I know that. I know that I didn’t tell anyone who I really was, but that was for the sake of my safety as well as everyone else’s. I lied because I had to,” She spat; “You lied for personal reasons. You lied to intentionally distress me and deceive me into doing something for you.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically and the veins in his arms were prevalent as he gripped the edge of the desk. He now felt like she was blowing this out of proportion.

“I wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt you. I would never do that,” He responded; “I lied because I didn’t think you’d take me all over Halcyon just to find some man that might have the answers I was looking for.”

She rubbed her temples with her fingers, feeling as if this conversation was going absolutely nowhere;

“That’s another thing,” She fired off; “What’s going to happen when we get to Scylla and the book gets translated? Will I no longer be of any use to you? Is this going to be over once you find what you're looking for?"

In an instant, his anger lifted and his heart seemed to stop at her words. She watched as a normal color returned to his face. His narrowed eyes and furrowed brows morphing into a softer, borderline concerned look. He stood from the desk and took the half step down from the desk to where she was standing. If there was one thing Vicar Max would never do, it would be that he would never lie about the way he felt about someone.

“Captain, darling, I wouldn’t ever lead you on that way. For any reason whatsoever.” He breathed out gently.

His sudden change in expression ultimately calmed her down as well. She sighed heavily as her judgement cleared. She knew why he really had lied. It wasn't to upset anyone. He had spent his whole life taking roads trying to find answers that ultimately led to a dead end. He was frustrated and disappointed. She could relate to that.

“I just want you to trust me. I want to trust you,” You admitted; “I would’ve taken you to him regardless of who he was. You didn’t have to lie.”

His hands cupped her face, she instinctively cocked her head to further rest her face in his hold.

“I trust you. I always have. I never intended for you to doubt how I feel, because I have been nothing but honest about it. I care about you and I love you.” He confessed; “The question is, after all this, do you still trust me?”

She did. 100% she trusted him. It would probably take a hell of a lot more than him lying about some sketchy prison dude to completely break her faith in him. However, she felt her devious side begin to bubble to the surface. She could totally use this situation to her advantage. Maybe she could get a little bit of a rise out of him in a positive way.

“I don’t know,” She said in an overly teasing tone; “I think a certain vicar is going to have to redeem himself somehow...”

His pupils dilated and his hands that had been by his sides were now slowly fumbling with the button and zipper on her pants.

“Is that so?” He purred in his captain’s ear; “I think I’ve got some ideas.”

In a matter of seconds, she was sprawled on the bed, pants discarded, and his kisses were hot on her neck. She moaned deliciously as his right middle and ring finger dragged across her heating sex, his left hand pinning her arms above her head

“Max...” She breathed out.

Oh, he loved when she said his name. It sent a fiery sensation all through his body. His strong, independent captain begging for him and only him. He was the only person who ever got to see her this way. She managed to break one of her hands free, reaching to unbuckle his own pants. However, he withdrew his hand and stopped her;

“This is all about you, Captain.” He growled.

His lips detached from her skin, he let go of her other arm as well and placed him face just in front of her. Her legs were draped over his shoulders as his tongue licked a heavy stripe and her desperate whimper filled the room. He sucked and kissed as one of her hands was steady on his head to prohibit him from going too far, while the other was pressed against the headboard behind her. It felt like electricity was crackling all through her body as he mercilessly pleasured her.

“Oh, fuck...you’ve got quite the mouth for a preacher,” She tried to laugh, but it came out as another moan.

Obviously this wasn't the first time she had ever been in this situation with him. But it still surprised her every time.

His chuckle vibrated against you, his voice muffled slightly;

“You better fucking believe it.”

He knew her backwards and forwards, which why he put his arm over her waist to keep her from squirming too much. He smirked as he felt her muscles contract against his hold. It was a damn hot sight to see. His face buried between her legs, his tongue and lips working wonders on the woman he adored so much. Normally, he’d hold off on letting her come undone. He’d slow his movements to tantalize her and make her beg. But she deserved what she wanted after today.

“Max, please...” She said feeling her legs begin to shake.

“I’ve got you, love.” He spoke.

Her head fell back onto the pillow as a flash of white covered her vision. Her legs tightened on his shoulders as she crashed over her high. He continued to suck her and work her through it. His name fell from her lips once more as she felt yourself settling back to normal. He grinned once her breathing attempted to slow, he returned to her side. She supposed that she owed him now, but that’d come later.

“Okay, yeah. I forgive you.” She huffed out once her heart slowed.

He laughed genuinely, falling onto the mattress and pulling her close. He was relieved that she was here with him now and that she hadn’t kicked him off her ship. He knew one thing for sure.

He would never lie to her again.

#vicar max #vicar max x reader #vicar max fanfiction #vicar x reader #the outer worlds

42 notes · View notes

bexterbex · 5 years ago

Text

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 70

So um....like last time this one gets 🥵. Read at your own risk.

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. | Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother, but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 70: A Guard Dog and His Kitten

He pinned your arms above your head, leaving you vulnerable but you weren’t scared. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, not unless you asked, or if it was to protect you. “Do you want to meet the beast, Kitten?” His eyes were black pools of obsidian, rich in lust and raw brutality.

He kept your arms pinned to the bed with the Force, taking a rather predatory position being propped up by his hands. All you could do was nod in response, arousal high making brain all fuzzy. He pulled his re-hardened cock out of you and hastened down the bed. He forced your legs wide open his face hovering inches above your now empty cunt. His eyes wild with animalistic fever.

You swallowed back nerves as he maintained eye contact with you before he lowered himself down to meet your tender flesh. If you didn’t trust him as much as you did you would have sworn that he would have actually cannibalized you as he bit and licked your swollen folds. He attacked you with such enthusiasm and aggression you thought you were going to faint. It was like you were the first meal he has had in ages. His nose burying itself between your delicate tissue, his long tongue thrusting in and out of you while his teeth nipped and grazed your swollen flaps. It all felt so good as you barely choked out his name before he lapped up any and all of your juices like he was a dehydrated man in a desert and you were the only water source.

When he was finished his chin grazed up your belly still shiny from your cum, you were definitely his prey now. “Now my Kitten has a clean pussy.” His eyes black with a hunger that only you could satisfy. He gripped your hips so hard you knew he was going to leave bruises. You both weren’t even finished, and you knew you were going to look like you had been savagely beaten instead of worshiped. He lined himself up to your hole as his lips were against your ear, your hands still held in place above you by the Force. Without warning, he thrust into you, his grunts and groans directly next to your ear as he picked up the unrelenting pace. “Purr for me, Kitten. Let the galaxy know what monster is fucking you.”

You tried to comply by vocalizing your moans and pants. Your brain not keeping up, but why should it? His pace and sheer force picked up as he braced himself against the headboard using it as better leverage to pound into you. If you thought he was using his full force before, it was nothing compared to now. You could hear the bed frame cracking under his strength, as you took him completely. His head abandoned your neck as he attempted to mark every square inch of your body. You were his, and you were going to look like you were owned by a beast. In a flash he flipped you over, taking you from behind, where his cock could pound into you deeper. He was truly an animal now as his heavy balls slapped against your bare clit as he hooked your legs around him. You were so full and were being pounded so hard that you felt like you were going to pass out, just as his hips stuttered and his grip returned to your hips.

Your orgasm crashed around you as his warm cum filled you. “Ngh, Kitten,” was all he said before he collapsed next to you catching his breath, pulling you into his arms as he slipped out of you. He played with your hair as he was coming back down to reality. “You were made for me, Kitten,” his voice husky and thick from his post fuck high, gravelly from all of his grunting and groaning.

You were flush against him as his hands roamed your tender bruised body, his hand reaching your sore crotch. You grabbed his hand as you were sore and overstimulated, “Aww has Kitten had enough,” he teased. But that didn’t stop him as he dipped a finger into you, coating it in your combined juices.

You watched with dilated pupils as he brought the finger to his lips tasting what the two of you created. “Mmm perfection. Would you like a taste?” You couldn’t answer as your brain was failing to work. But he brought his hand back down and dipped another finger into your sore blown out cunt, slicking it with both of your mixed cum before he brought it up to your lips. You took the finger into your mouth keeping eye contact with him as you sucked the digit clean. But he was right, you both tasted heavenly. He chuckled as he pulled his hand back from you which caused you to whimper in response.

As he groped and massaged your breasts, “We should get you cleaned up, Kitten.” You whined as he left you.

“Now, now I’ll only be gone for a minute. I am going to draw us a bath.” You watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, his big flaccid cock swinging between his legs. He might be big, but he was still a grower. How that was even possible you had no idea, but you weren’t complaining. He was part beast for sure. And like he said, he returned after only a minute and picked you up off the bed bridal style. It all reminded you of Tarzan and Jane as he carried your naked body into the bathroom with ease.

He lowered you gently into the tub before joining you. Instead of keeping eye contact with him, you eyed his dick as he lowered himself into the water, which earned a chuckle in response from him. You hated your body in that moment, as your pussy felt too weak to take him again, even though you wanted to. He beckoned you forward with a finger, “Come here, Kitten.” And you scrambled to get closer to him.

He helped you sit, not on his lap but on his hard abs. Your cunt sore and throbbing at the closeness of his cock. It was begging you not to be used, as it needed to rest if you ever dreamed of walking again. But Kylo guided your hands to his thick length, showing you how to make it hard again.

“How are you doing this,” you asked because he was like no other man you had slept with before.

“Well, I’ve spent many years training my body to comply with my will, with the Force and without. And when I want to fuck, it responds on its own.” He then came close to your ear and whispered, “It likes you too much to want to stop.” He caused goosebumps along your back.

It took both of your hands around him to even attempt to hold all of him, but you still failed. He was now standing at attention, his veins deep and purple under the water, but his head was an angry red. You did your best to jerk him off but there was too much of him, which caused you to whine. But then an idea popped into your head. “Can I suck you off?”

You heard him groan in pleasure, “If that’s what you want Kitten. But you are doing a good job.” He was right, his cock was responding well if the sounds he was making were to be believed.

“I want to suck you off. It’s only right that I return the favor.” An orgasm for an orgasm, you only hoped you could return the favor as well as he did.

“As you wish.” He then lifted you off of him before he lifted himself up onto the edge of the tub. You were now face to cock, he was at the perfect height.

Another idea popped into your head as you took his shaft into both of your hands. You eyed the tip curiously before you looked up to his eyes with a smirk plastered on your face. You moved in and gave a kitten lick to the red, swollen tip of his dick. Which earned a deep guttural moan, “Kitten.” You took this as a sign to continue. You kitten licked and sucked his head, using your hands to pump his shaft. Occasionally you sucked down the side of his length, giving special attention to his big balls, sucking one and then switching to the other which caused him to white knuckle grip the edge of the tub. You then used one hand to massage and cup his balls while the other kept pumping his shaft. You then attempted to swallow him as far as you could, which wasn’t even halfway as he was so big. He kept his hips still, all that self-control training coming to use.

You sucked and bobbed as long as you could before you relented to just sucking the head. Which he seemed perfectly content with, but he mostly preferred the kitten licks as they cause his hips to move slightly, trying to add friction to what you were doing. You took his head in your mouth as he was cumming, trying to swallow his large load down, but before he finished his hips stuttered and his head slipped free, causing him to shoot some onto your face and chest painting you with his milky white cum. Marking you as his. “Kitten,” was all he could say as he looked down at you covered in his seed. You kept pumping his shaft, knowing there was still more as he ejected one last bit, right on to your lips, which you happily licked up. He slumped back and groaned out, “You are going to be the death of me.”

Still covered, but now smirking you asked, “So was that good?” You didn’t need an answer to that question, you already knew the answer, but you liked teasing him, anyway.

“You’re the one covered in my cum, you tell me,” he said before he slipped back down into the water. You faced him and climbed up onto him, your chest meeting his.

“Do you like me covered in your cum?” By the way he was looking at you, this would be how he would want you every single minute of every single day.

He kissed you before licking his own juices off of your face, “Of course. You look like a goddess covered in it.” He then licked down your chest, cleaning you up with his tongue. While his tongue was still covered in his own excitement, he kissed you sharing himself with his tongue, somehow the flavor was heavenly.

Eventually, your kissing died down as he grabbed a sponge and soap to actually clean you both up with. He took his time cleaning you, being ever so careful near your pussy, with the gentlest of touches. Spending a lot of time admiring your chest and ass before handing you the sponge to clean him up.

You spent your time admiring his perfectly sculpted body. It was like the gods picked a statue to come to life. You took great care cleaning around his fresh, but healing wounds. Running your fingers along his scars, trying to memorize every beauty mark, the angel kisses. Taking your time to properly clean his cock, but not too much as to excite it again.

You then took turns washing each other’s hair, Kylo helping to undo your hairstyle from the wedding, even though it was a wreck already, and you unbraiding the crown of his head. You loved the gentle intimacy you were sharing at this moment. Your taming of the beast. Many sweet and gentle kisses were exchanged before you were both clean. He helped you up out of the tub and handed you a towel, as he started to dry you off while paying attention to every detail of your body, his fingers ghosting over the fresh bruises he left just over an hour ago. You dried him off, appreciating his size and carefully, again, dried off his cock without trying to excite him, but it was tempting.

When you were both finished, you turned to go back to the bedroom, legs ultimately failing you, but he stopped you and hoisted you up onto the vanity, “Not so fast Kitten. I promised that I would take extra special care of you.” He then grabbed a container of body butter from behind you and started to massage it into your skin. Moisturizing you, keeping you soft for his touch. Your body couldn’t help but respond to it, wetness returning to your broken for now cunt. His hands made sure to cover every inch of exposed flesh even lifting you onto himself as he massaged your ass. His fingers ghosting a little too far for your liking at the moment. But then he carried you back to the bedroom.

“Do I not get to take care of you?” You were rather disappointed that you didn’t get to massage him as well.

“Kittens and guard dogs have different needs. I will be fine, but I need to keep you silky and smooth. After all, all the best kittens are.” His words caused you to blush as he set you down on a chair. And he brought you your black wrap dress, but this time you wore nothing underneath it. Once you were dressed he pulled his pants back on, something thrilled you knowing that he preferred to go commando 24/7. The thought of his bare cock only being one layer away was something that sparked arousal in your belly.

You watched as he picked up your underwear, bra, and garter and shoved them into his pocket. “Someone will be by to pick up your dress, but these are mine.” That spark turned into a flame as he said this. Something about his possessive nature now turned you on, before it seemed rather annoying, but now you wanted nothing more than to be claimed his for all to see.

He then picked up your jewelry and crown and helped you put them on. He left his own with your dress before he put his shirt back on. “Now let us return back to the ship where you can get some rest before we christen our bed.” He leaned down to kiss you before lifting you back up into his arms. He carried you out the door and made his way back to the ship. You buried your face into his neck, enjoying his natural scent.

Out of the corner of your eye in the main room, you could see some officers milling about, apparently, there was a sort of reception that you two didn’t join. You lifted your head for a moment to look at all of them before you spotted Pryde with a sickening knowing smirk on his face. Any arousal that was built up in you dissipated like an extinguished flame. You buried your face back into Kylo’s protection.

Once you exited the room, you asked in a whisper, “I didn’t know that Pryde was going to be invited to the wedding.”

Kylo seemed to get the hint and sensing your disgust, “As Empress, you now don’t need an excuse to execute him.” He said it in such a blunt way and it surprised you causing you to look at him.

“Really? Someone should have told me ages ago, I would have done this sooner,” you joked.

A grin painted his face as he teased, “So promise of my cock wasn’t enough? You needed capital punishment too. If I would have known I would have told you on day one.” He was teasing you, but it all felt good.

This time it was Kylo’s Command Shuttle that picked you up, and just you two no one else for a change. He strapped you in, and this time it felt intimate again, before strapping himself in next to you.

“Mmmm a kitten and her guard dog,” you mused. “See you are no monster, just a guard dog.” Your dream replaying side by side with the fresh memory of him fucking you.

He hummed, “I am still a monster, but I am a guard dog that loves his Kitten.” His fingers carded through your hair.

You paused heart pounding, “You love me?” He had yet to speak the word out loud. But you knew how he felt about you, but hearing the word made you feel something on a whole other level than anything you had felt before.

He frowned. “Of course. Why would I have done all of this for you if I didn’t,” he gestured around him, hinting at the whole situation.

“You have never said it, the word love, but I didn’t want to push you. I know it isn’t easy for you.” You took his hand in yours, running your hand over your name on his wrist.

He took your face in his hands and said it completely, “I love you, Kitten.”

The world melted away as you said it back, “I love you too, Kylo.”

A/N: Plot? What plot? JK, we now get to have some NSFW fun with Kylo, so I thought a chapter basically dedicated to that was necessary.

#kylo ren #kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo x reader #kylo x you #a soul to mend his own #star wars #first order #Star wars soulmate au #star wars imagine #sw first order imagine #star wars first order

110 notes · View notes