#i just poured a little of the blue into a reasonably used bottle of top coat

[alienpupy]

ive been kind of obsessed with oxygen-deprived blue as a colour recently so i did a little experiment and managed to mix a nailpolish colour that makes my fingernails look suuuuubtly medically concercing ^-^

i call her cyanosis chic

[mywritersmind]

AT YOUR EX’S WEDDING - LN4

summary : Getting invited to your ex’s wedding isn’t ideal. Going with a douchebag from your highschool is even worse. But meeting a very attractive man in the deep of a garden? That might just make it all worth it.

listen up : suggestive comments! alcohol! wrote this forever ago and never finished but suddenly got motivated so here ya go! no part 2!!

words : 2621

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I wasted the prettiest dress I own for my ex’s wedding and a guy who’s staring at my tits. “You look upset…” His grubby little hands rub my arms, “We can leave.”

I eye the guy, blonde and pale. I shake my head and down my champagne, “I’d bet you would love that…”

I don’t look back as I walk away, just grab another glass of champagne and walk out into fresh air. My heels are hurting my feet and the setting sun is blinding me.

As soon as I get into the garden though, I feel like I can finally breathe. I can’t lie, this place is beautiful. The sky is pink and blue, the gardens are green and I can’t see them ending anytime soon.

I walk slowly, letting the cool air wash over me. I’ve got to hand it to him, his dream really did come true. He used to talk to me about a picture perfect wedding, big and white. Something that showed the value of his marriage.

We disagreed a lot after that.

I sigh and sip my drink, turning a corner to see a huge fountain. It’s surrounded by flowers, an array of colors that compliment the bright green and setting sun.

I walk slowly around it, listening to the water and faint music from the wedding.

I stop when I see someone sitting on the grass, his head leaning back on the stone of the fountain. I can’t see his whole face, just his side profile.

He’s got dark hair, curly and cut into a messy mullet. He’s wearing a suit, some buttons undone and his tie loose around his neck. In his hand lies a bottle of champagne and when he brings it to his lips, his jaw goes sharp.

I take another step and he clearly hears me because his head cocks towards me quickly. “Sorry.” I mumble as he stares blankly at me.

“Uh…” He stands quickly, looking disheveled and surprisingly attractive, “Don’t worry.” My gaze goes to the bottle in his hand and when his eyes follow, he laughs a bit, “Want me to top you off?” He eyes my own empty glass. He has an accent and I don’t know why it catches me so off guard. Maybe because he got instantly hotter?

I hesitantly smile, he’s oddly welcoming and when I step forward, he pours the sparkling drink into my glass, “Thank you. I did not want to go back in there just for a drink.” I joke but the expression on his face makes me nervous, “Shit, you’re not one of the groomsmen are you?”

He shakes his head, clearly finding this funny as a smile tugs at his lips, “No, Lucky for you, I'm just a plus one.” I nod slowly as he plops himself back down, sitting on the fountain's edge this time. He looks up at me, holding out his hand, “I’m Lando.”

Something about him feels familiar. His grip is strong and his ring makes a noise against mine. “Y/n.” I sit down next to him, sipping my drink and breathing out.

“Why are you so adamant on not going back in there, Y/n?” He says my name softly and with his accent it makes me want to melt.

I can’t help but laugh, “My ex is the groom, My date has tried to kiss me four times, and the groom's mother is drunk and won’t stop asking me why I broke up with him.”

He lets out a big laugh, “Fuck. Those are great reasons to not go back.” Shaking his head, he takes another swing of the champagne, coughing a bit.

“Why are you hiding out here?” I ask, pushing my hair behind my shoulder.

“My date knows the bride but has left me for a groomsman.” He shrugs, “Not too upset though, just wanted something to do tonight.”

“Very interesting. Normal people would go out and see a movie for entertainment, not go to the wedding of someone you don’t know.”

“Well, I've met you so it worked out for the best.” He gives me a little glance and I notice his eyes. The sun is almost down but the light still shines in them, green and a bit brown.

I shake my head, “You don’t even know me.”

He scrunches his nose, keeping eye contact, “Yet my nights looking up.”

I take the bottle out of his hand because my glass is empty, bringing it to my lips and letting the liquid into my mouth. “Something about you is familiar.”

He raises a brow, taking the bottle back. “Oh?”

I would have to remember him, he’s too pretty for me to forget. “I can’t figure out what. Maybe you just have one of those faces. But then again I think I would remember you.”

He laughs, “Well clearly not because you recognize me from somewhere.” I frown, looking at his face intently, “Come on… think about it.”

So he must know me then. Otherwise, where else would I know him from? “I definitely haven’t met you, the accent alone would stick. So what is it then? Do we have mutals on instagram?”

Lando just smiles softly, “I’ve never met you. I can say that for sure.”

“So what is it? God don’t tell me you’re a model-”

“You think I'm hot enough to be a model? I’m flattered.” I roll my eyes but secretly I bite back a smile.

“You’ve definitely got the attitude of a model. Are you famous?” A slight change in his expression gives it away. “You are! What do you do? Is it embarrassing that I don’t know you?”

Lando shakes his head, “Unless you know the sport.” So he’s an athlete. His build sort of gave that away, even under the suit I can tell. But he’s not very tall and I honestly hate sports so I don’t think I'm going to get this one.

I sigh, leaning back on my hands, “I give up.”

Lando laughs again, the type of sound that makes you feel accomplished because you made it happen, “Maybe i’ll tell you later.”

“Mysterious.” I look him up and down, “That’s hot.”

He gives me a funny look, like he’s trying to figure me out, “I like you.”

I laugh a bit, looking around at the now dark gardens, the moonlight shining and matching with fairy lights around us, “Probably because you still don’t know me.”

“Fine then, Y/n.” His eyes sparkle as they land on me again, scooting closer to me. “Tell me about yourself.”

“That’ll be easy, I love talking about myself. What do you want to know?”

“Why did you and your ex break up?”

“Getting right into it I see…” I take another sip, “I broke up with him because he was obsessed with our future, not even in a cute way like genuinely wanted me to drop out of school. We dated in college after being friends for all of highschool.”

“So… why were you invited? I mean, no offense, but I wouldn’t invite my ex to my wedding.”

“Who knows? I was drunk when I replied to the invite and clearly did not think it through. My ex is nice though, it’s not like I'm getting champagne drunk because I'm sad, I'm happy for him.” I drink more from the bottle.

“Where did you go to college?”

“Charleston. How about you?”

“I didn’t go, I barely finished mandatory school.” I pull my heels off as he says, “I’ve never been to Charleston, I heard it’s pretty.”

“Very.” A chill washes over me as the night seems to rest over us, “How do you know your date for tonight?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish, “Sort of a one time thing…” Hookup. Got it. “But she was talking about how she didn’t have a date and how it would be sad so I just said I could go. Got a bit awkward when she paraded me around just to ditch me.”

“Well it all turned out well didn’t it? Now that we’re here.” His eyes are so soft and endearing as he listens to me speak.

“Why do you keep swerving your dates kiss attempts? Bad breath?” I laugh and bury my face in my hands.

“God it’s so stupid. I knew him in highschool and he always wanted to hook up with me so I knew he’d say yes… But he’s a total tool!”

Lando thinks this is quite hilarious, “Well then,” He holds up the bottle, “To our shitty dates and weird ass night.”

He pours some into my mouth, misses a bit and swears before holding my jaw and pouring more in as I’m about to start choking on my laugh and champagne.

“Fuck.” He giggles as he tries to wipe my mouth but ends up just rubbing his hand over my face, “Sorry!” He drinks as I swallow and let out a much needed laugh.

“I should handle champagne better at this point.” I raise a brow at Lando’s words and it reminds me that I truly know nothing about him.

“Can I try to guess what you play?” A slow smirk tugs at his lips, turning to me and nodding.

“Go ahead, love.” I pretend I don’t hear the nickname and try to think.

“Well it’s not football.” I screw up my face and sit criss cross to look at him better, “Tennis?” He shakes his head.

“What’s your favorite color?” I guess it’s a sport for a question then.

“Green.” Looking into his eyes and saying that feels oddly intimate. “Volleyball?”

He makes a face, “No. Favorite hobby?”

“Reading.” I shiver a bit at the cool air, “Does it involve a ball?”

I think he’s going to say yes but when he shakes his head, I frown. “Skateboarding?”

“Nope. What do you like to read?”

“Romance and mystery. Is it swimming?” That could make sense, he’s fit enough but not exactly slim.

“No. Have you ever dyed your hair?” I laugh at the question because it’s so out of the blue.

“When I was really young I had blue and pink highlights.” His eyebrows raise at this, “Oh shut up it was a great phase!”

“I’m sure it was. And I can't judge because I had a buzz once.” I cover my mouth at his words. I can not imagine that. His hair is like the cherry on top.

“I will be needing photos of that later… My last guess is gymnastics!”

“Still no.” He smiles as I groan and take another drink of champagne, “I drive.”

I sit up straighter and I'm dead serious when I say, “Monster trucks?”

He laughs out loud again, “Formula 1 cars.” My jaw actually drops at this.

“I would never have guessed! I mean, I don’t know a lot about Formula 1 anyways… but doesn’t that mean you’re like really rich?” He looks a bit shy at this which means i’m 100% right.

“And humble.” I nod.

“You really didn't know?”

“Nope. My family is into soccer and soccer only, so I never really cared about anything else.”

“I like that.”

“You like that I know nothing about your job?”

“Absolutely. I hate when people know it… Especially women.”

“Oh? So I'm a ‘woman’ to you now?”

A little smile settles on his face while he looks anywhere around the garden but me, “I think I'm a good judge of character. And I like yours.”

I’ve never had a guy express his interest in me within an hour of meeting, especially one that I found in a garden like a fucking fairy.

“Does that usually work on women?” I decide to tease him a bit.

“Not sure, I’ve never tried it. Is it working on you?” I suddenly have the feeling that he’s being serious. I can tell he’s a flirt, that’s obvious enough with who he’s here with.

Yet I just stand up and take the bottle with me, walking away from him. He follows, a rustling of his clothes and the sudden warmth of his jacket over my shoulders surprises me.

I don’t thank him, I just watch him walk quietly next to me, his eyes scanning the night sky. “What’s your last name?”

“Trying to figure out how you’ll sound with it?” I roll my eyes, “Norris. Don't lie though, Y/n Norris sounds good.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I get that a lot.” We continue walking, my feet feeling the grass as I realize Lando’s holding my heels. I had left them with the intent to go back, but he just took them.

I turn to him, “So, Lando Norris.” I start walking backward, watching the way his eyes trail up and down my body. “You’ve got a good name.”

He nods, slowly walking with me, “Thank you, love.” His shirt is well fitted, his arms pressing against it and the sleeves rolled halfway up.

His eyes get wide as I'm checking him out, causing me to turn to see what he’s looking at. My jaw drops at the sight. “That’s-”

“My date!” we say in unison. I whip my head to him as he raises his brow. The two are in the midst of pulling off each other's clothes while their lips stay attached.

I slap my hand over my mouth as they turn to us. His date is very pretty and her lipstick is smeared over her mouth. My date doesn’t look embarrassed at all, just annoyed we interrupted.

“You two carry on.” I hear Lando say as he grabs my hand and pulls me out of there. We start running then, laughing and out of breath.

“I need to bleach my eyes!” I scream as Lando slows, his breathing labored.

“I think his hand was up her dress!” He looks scarred for life.

“Oh my god!” I stop, “Our dates!” I’m practically bent over laughing, “Lando, Our dates!”

“Fuck this weird ass day!” His hand tightens over mine, reminding me that he’s holding onto me still. “I need something stronger than champagne. Come back to my hotel?”

I raise a brow, teasing him, “Why Norris, I've just met you.”

His smile is slow and sexy, “I’ll save you from a one night stand and raise you whiskey and netflix. I promise I'll keep my hands to myself.”

“I weirdly have trust in you.”

He wraps his arm around me, our hands still attached as we leave the grassy area, “It’s not weird. We’re just two friends who happen to be very pretty and a tad bit drunk at an ex and a random wedding.”

Lando and I spent the night laughing over drinks, room service, and how to lose a guy in ten days. He didn’t touch me besides his arm comforting me as I fell asleep next to him, and even shook his head when I joked about it being a one night thing.

His promise was never broken… more like expired and loopholed by me. I kissed him in a bookstore and he gave me a new favorite version of his smile. Soft and romantic with his eyes focused on me and his hand in mine, “And to think… it all started at your ex’s wedding.”

He sighed as we walked into the elevator, I elbowed him, “Lando, that was yesterday.” His hands went to his pockets but not before slipping his arm around mine so we’re intertwined. I looked up to see him biting back a shit eating grin as if we’ve been married for years.

I just shake my head and stare at the silver doors in front of us. Yet still, I couldn’t help but smile.

[buckysgrace]

I’m crying over your daddy Billy story. I want so bad for Billy to have some happiness. He never got that and it’s so sad.

He deserves all the happiness!! I know, poor baby boy :(

Here is a lil blurb for my upcoming singledad!Billy x reader series <3 Just some cuteness hehe

"Daddy!" Theo came rushing off, damp blonde curls stuck to his forehead and his cheeks red from how fast he was moving, "Wook, wook!" He shouted gleefully; his goggles unable to hide the excited glint in his blue eyes.

At four he loved the beach just as much as Billy did. Then again, most of Theo’s interests aligned towards Billy’s. He liked reading, cars and sports in the same way. Billy had become quite the storyteller as well; as Theo had a small curiosity towards scary things. Theo usually ended up in his bed anyways and never seemed too scared of anything he said.

He was definitely more creative, however. He always carried around a little notebook, making messy doodles and sketches of different things he thought were cool. Which meant Billy spent a lot of time at the library trying to find out what they were for the little rascal.

"What is it?" He asked as he sat forward, leaning off of his seat a bit. Theo moved a little awkwardly in his scuba slippers but insisted that he needed to wear them when he conducted his research. Which consisted of him ducking his head into the water and looking below. Billy had just been with him but had turned away for just a moment to grab the sunscreen again.

"A cwab," The little boy pronounced proudly as he held up his palm, proudly showing off the little creature in his hands, "He nice." Theo replied as he used his other hand to pet at it.

"Careful," Billy observed, "It'll bite ya." He teased, tickling lightly at the little boys sides to get a loud laugh from him. He didn't mess with him too much, afraid that he would make the crab lash out.

"No," He giggled as he shook his head, "He's nice." He reasoned, proving a point as he bent his head low to kiss the top of the shell. Billy moved forward a little bit, paranoid that he'd have to pry a crab from his sons lips.

"Very nice," He confirmed with a nod of his head, his heart warming at the way Theo smiled proudly at him. He was certainly his little twin. The only features that he gained from his mother was the plump curve of his lips. Everything else as Billy, "Should we take him back to his home?"

"Yeah," Theo said thoughtfully a moment later, "Bye bye little buddy." He said, still petting at the crab before he rushed back towards the water. Billy followed behind him, watching the way Theo gently dropped his little buddy into the water.

"See anything else?" He asked as he knelt towards Theo's level, offering him a water bottle as he began to ensure that his skin wasn't too red. Theo gulped it down messily, sliding his tongue inside of the rim of the bottle as it poured down his chubby cheeks. Billy winced, a little glad that he had his own bottle. Theo was adorable but he didn't like sharing germs with him either.

“No,” He responded as he held his little hands on his waist, making Billy chuckle at the way his soft belly stuck out. He was a chunky little thing for sure, “Ice cream?” He asked instead, fluttering his thick eyelashes up towards Billy in a desperate urgency. Billy grinned, knowing he couldn’t tell the little boy no.

Theo held onto him anyways, gripping his arm and smiling brightly as he rubbed his wet cheek against Billy’s bare arm. Billy couldn’t recall ever hugging his dad, or if he had; he’d been too young to remember.

The thought of Neil made Billy frown and he quickly covered it up by kissing the top of Theo’s messy curls. He had never imagined he’d do this well on his own, but he had. He was proud of himself and his son. Even if he was a little booger sometimes.

“Go get the beach bag and your journal,” He directed, laughing at the way he took off, “And be careful!” He shouted a second later, unsure if Theo could really hear him over his own childish giggles and hollering. Billy walked after him, sure that the little boy would crash once they got back to the car.

[bobafetts-princess]

Suprise!

Have a Ghost drabble 😊

Pairings: Ghost x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1600 words

Warnings: masturbation, fantasizing about someone (is that a warning?) NO PiV, reader is a shit who gets under Ghost’s skin. Soap helps

Summary: Ghost can’t stop thinking about you, in every way

He watches you stretch up on your tiptoes to reach something off the top shelf and he has to inhale deeply to keep himself calm. He desperately wants to go help you but he knows you’ll refuse it. He’s never felt this way about a woman before, this deep, possessive need for you. There’s something about you, something that makes you different. Women rarely get this far in the military, mostly due to misogyny, especially this deep into spec-ops and he respects you for it. You hold your own, you don’t take the boys shit, and you’re beyond capable. Ghost isn’t sure what it is that draws him in the most, your beauty, your brain, or your capabilities, but he knows that watching you constantly doesn’t help.

But still, he can’t look away. Especially as you reach up higher, stretching further, and grab the box of cereal someone placed up there. He groans internally, thinking about how you’d look with your tac pants around your ankles, shoved up on your tiptoes with his cock buried in your pussy. He thinks about the breathy sounds you’d make as he thrusts into you again and again. He’s got to stop thinking about it or he’s not going to be able to stand up for the next half hour. Then he hears you laugh and his eyes focus back on you, now hopped up on the counter as you reach for bowls that are…..for some reason also on the top shelf. You’re on your knees and Simon’s staring straight as your perky ass, bubbly and round in your pants and he’s gotta shake thoughts of what it would look like reddened by his handprints out of his head.

“Guys. Did you put everything on the top shelf?” You ask but Simon can tell you’re amused by the silly little prank. You’re sitting on the counter now, bowl in one hand and cereal in the other, the army green of the tank top you’re wearing complimenting your skin tone. He can’t stop the thought about fisting the material and pulling it over your head as he’s got two fingers buried inside you.

“Aye lass,” Soap chuckles and Simon’s hand tightens on his water bottle. Gaz and Roach are hanging out in the kitchen too, but it’s pretty clear who’s joke this was. He’s pretty sure the two of you aren’t fucking, but the way Soap’s hands fall on your waist to help you down is very familiar. He murmurs something to you, something that makes you laugh, and Simon has to tamp down the rage building in his bones at it. You pour your bowl of cereal, Soap’s chest pressed against your shoulder as he whispers nonsense in your ear. For the briefest flash of a moment Simon wonders what you’d look like pressed between the two of them, but he gets rid of the thought with a shake of his head.

“Y’alright Ghosty?” The Scotsman asks, eyes flipping to the grip Simon has on his water bottle.

“Fine,” Simon snaps, the bite in his tone more apparent than he intended.

“A’right, well, Blue Jay here asked ya a question,” he drawls, speaking a little slower to make sure Simon’s paying attention. Your call sign draws his attention, usually Soap uses your government name. You’d been gifted the call sign after you’d gotten separated from the others on a mission and managed to take down 4 fully armed guards with just a hunting knife. Price had given you the name, laughing when the others asked him why.

“Ya ever seen a Blue Jay? Pretty birds but mean as fuck. They’ll peck ya with their beaks the same way Blue took down those guards with only a knife. I think it’s fitting,” he’d explained.

“My apologies, what did you ask?” Simon says, his eyes making contact with your own. He tries to soften his tone, make it seem like he’s not riled up and frustrated.

“I asked if you’d get up there and get me a spoon, since Soap here put all the utensils up there too and won’t get me one. And I don’t feel like climbing on the counters again,” Soap chuckles, clearly pleased with his own joke. Ghost stands, stalking towards the two of you. Soap clears out but you don’t, standing your ground even as he encroaches on your space.

“Which cabinet are they?” He snips, annoyed at being this close to you without being allowed to put his hands on you.

“This one,” you say as you point straight up at the cabinet above your head. You’re leaning back against the counter, chin tipped up slightly as you take in Simon’s form. He’s not wearing the tac-vest, but he’s still huge towering over you.

“You gonna move, Blue?” Ghost drawls.

“Nope,” you respond. Ghost calls your bluff, stepping further into your space, one of his thick arms brushing against you. The cabinet is still open and he leans forwards to reach for a spoon. His chest brushes against yours and his nostrils flare as he feels the heat of you. Dirty little minx, he thinks to himself as he presses further against you and feels your breasts against him. His hands grope around for a spoon and he’s not having any luck finding one. Reaching further, his hips press against yours and he has to fight for control when he hears your sharp inhale. He’s so distracted looking for the spoon and trying his damndest not to get hard that he doesn’t hear the rattle of a drawer.

“Where in the bloody-“ he starts, glancing down at you, now wearing a Cheshire Cat grin as you hold the spoon you pulled out of the open drawer on your right. Soap busts out laughing but stops when Ghost turns that deadly stare onto him.

“Think that’s funny, do ya?” He snaps at you, leaning down and placing hands on either side of your torso. He revels in the flash of fear he sees in your eyes, he’s a scary man and you should be afraid of him. But it morphs into something else, something Simon is afraid to pinpoint in case he’s wrong about it. But you swallow hard, setting the bowl down and speaking.

“Actually, I do, Lieutenant,” you mouth curls around the term in a way that gets Simon’s blood hot and he has to get out of here, has to get away from you before he makes you say it that way over and over again, preceded by a thank you as he fills you to the brim. Before he watches you wince because his cock is just a touch too big for your sweet pussy.

But he can’t do any of those things because he’s your Lieutenant, your superior, most certainly not your lover. But when his eyes flick back to yours, there’s no mistaking the lust in your eyes as you look at him. There’s no mistaking the way your chest heaves as his eyes glide across it. No mistaking the way you squirm when he growls in his throat. He wants you, wants you so bad, and you want him too.

But Price walks in and the electricity of the moment snaps and he shoves away from the counter, his mind filled with images of you begging for it harder from him. Begging for his hand around your throat. On your knees, eyes watering as he shoves his cock down your pretty little throat. He’s half mast as he shoves past Price, who isn’t even phased by Ghost’s temper.

“What happened to you, Blue?” He asks you and Simon can only imagine how you look. Eyes wide, mouth slack, skin flushed. He’s sure you look flustered and pride flares in his chest that he’s the reason you are. His heavy boots stomp down the hall to the showers and if the floor wasn’t concrete he’s pretty sure he’d be leaving footprints with how hard he’s stepping.

He makes it to the showers, undressing in a rush as he flips the water on. His mask stays on as he slips under the hot water, it only reaches chest height anyways, images of you flitting through his mind. He thinks about you, bent over and back arched, taking him so deep you can’t put words together. He thinks about sending you out into the wilderness and tracking you down, taking you hard over a broken log when he finally catches you. He thinks about your face and what it would feel like to press his mouth against yours, to shove his tongue down your throat.

Ghost thinks about the way you’d feel when you come all over his cock, the soft little moan you’d give him and the way your nails would bite into his skin. He thinks about the way he wouldn’t pull out, not for all the money in the world and how he’d make you go back to work with his spend dripping down your thighs and soaking your panties. It’s that final image that gets him to release, the image of him putting your soaked panties back on so you can soak them through for an entirely different reason, then watching you shift all day as he leaks out of you.

He comes, spurting hard against the shower door, groaning your name as he does. The blood roars in his ears and he can’t hear a damn thing for a solid thirty seconds. He doesn’t hear the door open. Doesn’t hear the sound of your feet as you enter the bathroom. He does hear your voice though, echoing through the bathroom.

“Ghost?”

Want another part? Find it here!

Want my Masterlist? Find it here!

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter three

live to rise series

three: won't give them that satisfaction

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: Din faces his past. You dare to enter the Mandalorian's cell when he's in need of medical attention. A bond grows, and so do the stakes.

chapter warnings: masturbation (f, m), p in v (not Din, brief mention of reader x oc), hurt/comfort, a little yearning, a little pining, a lot of ~bonding~, minor character deaths, canon-typical violence, description of injury, gore, angst

Please heed the series and chapter warnings.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Din is the only one from Cresh with an off day today. It’s quiet in the cellblock, and he’s putting himself through an easy bodyweight routine when he feels the pneumatics of the door. You’re so quiet, bare feet barely making a sound on the sleek floor. 

It’s not even midday, so he waits to find out who was the first to fall.

The door next to his opens. 

He takes a moment to close his eyes and pray. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. Not gone, merely marching far away. Idly, he wonders if the words would bring you comfort.

But when he opens his mouth, he chokes on them. No, he can’t share that with you. No matter how honorable, you are not Mandalorian. 

“What was her name?” he says instead.

It startles you, and you drop the bottle of disinfectant. He’s never just spoken to you before, unprompted. 

“Disdraa,” you tell him, and hesitate for just a moment before letting the rest pour out. “—a smuggler—explosives for the, um. You know.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Thank you.” You fall quiet, letting the skrish-skrish of the spray bottle fill the silence. 

“Why did she call you little bird?” Din’s not really sure why he asks, other than a strange ache in his chest at the way your words are laden with sorrow. 

“Because some of the others used to.”

“Why did they call you little bird?”

“Picked it up in a long chain of the dead. One of my first who survived for a few months started it.” You pause, knowing this isn’t the answer he was looking for. “It’s silly. When I first got here, I used to whistle a lot. The quiet was unsettling.”

“It doesn’t bother you now?”

“—used to it.”

He knows there’s something more that you’re keeping locked down. He knows it’s probably for a good reason, and he should leave it be, let you pretend. 

He asks anyway. “Why did you stop?”

“Guards didn’t like it much,” is all you tell him, the silence filling in the gaps of the story. 

You hesitate in the hall after you’re done, like you want to say something to him but haven’t the nerve.

He beats you to it. “What’s on your hand?” he says as he studies you, everything about you as neat and tidy as ever—except that. 

You look down. A blue smudge runs the length of your palm. He watches, rapt, as you bring your other thumb to your mouth and lick it, scrubbing it against the blossom of color until it disappears. 

“Nothing,” you whisper. 

“What?” 

“It’s nothing,” you shake your head and slip out of the barracks. 

When you leave, he waits only a moment before he licks his palm and strokes his cock, thinking of his own thumb, of more, between your lips as he spills down the drain. He shuts down before the shame can come. He’s only human, after all. 

There’s an energy to the compound that you don’t particularly like. It crackles and shakes, much like the soft surface of this planet did when they first built the arena, when the red soil swallowed it whole, and instead of moving on, they just built more and more on top. But you can feel this, even here at the frigid, solid core—an unsettling. 

When you ask the others, they shrug. It’s not strong, not bothersome. The officers are clearly abuzz with something stupid or irrelevant, and it’s just echoing down the lifts and spilling into the underground. 

Hali shrugs. “It probably doesn’t bode well for us, but what can we do?”

Two weeks later, the tension crests. Eli catches your arm when he passes you in the corridor after breakfast service, pausing for just a fraction of a moment. 

“They found another Mandalorian,” he murmurs. 

His hand drops, and you’re gone before you can think it through. You’re too late, though.

They’ve already taken him to the arena.

Gideon’s face tells Din that he’s going to lose this fight no matter the outcome. It’s always a little true. A little part of him dies each turn. 

But Din knows he’s right when his opponent is forced into the ring. He knows because he won’t meet his eyes. He knows because when the bell tolls, the other man takes a knee.

“Ner Mand’alor,” he says, voice hoarse from overuse and underhydration. 

“No,” Din says. “Not here.” 

“Anywhere,” Alor’ad Adro Varra swears. 

“I won’t fight you,” Din says, voice cracking a little on the tail end. 

“I’m dead either way,” Varra says. “Grant me a warrior’s death. Gedet’ye.”

Din closes his eyes. “Don’t go easy on me,” he begs.

“I would never do you the dishonor, ner Mand’alor.” 

The crowd finally gets the fight they’ve been waiting for. Few of the champions so far have been much competition for Din. But between a well-trained opponent and his own unwillingness to cause unnecessary pain, they manage to drag it out for a few extra minutes.

Varra holds true to his word, of course, and doesn’t hold back. To drive in Gideon’s mockery, their weapons today are beskad they’ve stolen from Mandalore. 

They’re going to make him kill his vod with a beskar blade. 

Varra is a skilled swordsman and hasn’t yet had a chance to weaken in the cells. Din finds the beskad as unwieldy as the Darksaber had been when he first held it. There’s no honor, here. 

Din parries more than he strikes. “Are there others?” he asks under the guise of heaving breaths.

“Not sure,” Varra says. “Got separated. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t,” Din says, fumbling in the riptide of disappointment and relief. The edge of Varra’s blade makes clean work of his thigh, just shy of danger. 

The cut is an awakening, an understanding. Time is running out.

“I think,” Varra gasps. “I think some made it. But—your alor—I’m sorry.”

He’s not deliberately trying to distract Din. But the words cost him another chunk of flesh from his forearm.

Din briefly considers letting his vod win to spare himself the pain. He can’t decide which path is more cowardly. 

The clash of beskad echoes sickeningly. Beskar against beskar is a broken oath, a true loss of The Way, and the guilt cuts worse than the sword. This man swore to him, swore to follow the command of his Mand’alor, and Din’s forcing him to use it in such a perverse manner.

No. It’s worse than that. He has forced his vod to break the Resol’nare by fighting against his Mand’alor. 

The scars from the blade will join the many others earned through his life, but this? The things he’s done now? The sins against his vod and the Manda? He’ll never stop bleeding.

In the end, though, Varra’s head is on the ground much further than his body, knocked afar by the swift, heavy swing of Din’s sword, leaving him awash with his brother’s blood. He chokes down the vomit and the screams. Gideon can’t have those, too. 

For the first time, you enter the Mandalorian’s cell while he’s inside. He had refused to see the medics, but he’d still showered, meaning the blood he trailed in was leaking from his own flesh. With your eyes shut tight, you hold out the only solution you could come up with—a linen scarf. 

“You should be able to breathe still,” you say. 

He gets the idea. 

You slip inside once he’s covered and seated on the cot. You start with the gash on his forearm, kneeling on the cold floor to wipe it clean. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say. 

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t speak for a long time, long enough that you’re afraid you’ve overstepped. But he sits still, the perfect patient, and lets you pinch the slippery sides of the cut together enough to apply suture tape. 

He thinks suddenly, unbidden, that she would have liked you. His alor, who he still bowed to despite his rank, for she wielded the fires and iron hearts of their people. Mandalorian or not, she would have respected you for your steadfast principles and unwavering purpose. 

“I knew him,” he says instead.

You startle and overcorrect trying to act casual, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Would you… would you like to tell me about him?” you say. This, at least, is familiar territory. 

“I didn’t know him well,” he admits, the clench in his chest screaming. Just another brother he’s failed. “He was a battalion captain. He still knelt for me, even without the saber, and I—”

You rest a hand on his knee and wait. 

He sighs. “I gave him a warrior’s death.” 

“What did his armor look like?” you say.

“He didn’t have it.”

You hum softly, not wanting to push. 

“Captains wear full black, matte and streamlined,” he says. “Sleek, flat, practical for ops.”

You hum again, the feeling spreading goosebumps as it vibrates through your wandering fingertips over his skin. You’re checking for wounds.

He indicates the weeping gash on his thigh.

“Oh, kriff, Mando, I’m sorry. That looks painful.”

“It’s fine,” he says. 

You lean close, gently prodding around to assess. “It’s deep. You prefer it stitched or cauterized?” 

“Stitched,” he grunts as you wipe it down with antiseptic.

The cell is tense, now. He thinks he’s smothered your softness with his grief.

“I paint,” you say suddenly, as the needle slips into his skin. 

His attention snaps to you, even if you can’t see his eyes. “What?”

“That’s what was on my hand the other day. Paint. I paint.” 

“Where do you get paint?”

“I make it,” you say as he winces against the tug of the thread. 

“What?” 

“I’ve got a friend in the kitchens,” you say.

“No, sorry,” Mando says. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Oh. I said I make it.” 

“Oh,” he says, and thinks for a moment. “They sneak you oil?”

“Or grease, or lard. Whatever the runoff is.” 

“Whatever the what is?”

“Runoff, like—”

“No, I know what it means,” he huffs a little. “I just. Dank farrik,” he mutters.

“What’s wrong?” you stop stitching immediately.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he says and waits until you’ve resumed your careful motions. “I… I can’t hear very well without my helmet.”

You sit back on your haunches. “Oh,” you say.

“You can’t—don’t—”

“I won’t tell,” you say. “But you let me know if there’s anything I can do to make things easier on you. Do you read lips?”

“Not really. It’s hard. I can pick up some things in Basic from humanoids, but it’s near impossible with anyone else. And unreliable.”

“Okay,” you nod, lips twisting and gears turning. “Want a signal? Like if you need me to be louder or repeat something.” 

“Maybe,” he says. He’s feeling oddly dizzy, like perhaps he lost more blood than he thought. When he looks down at his thigh to check, you’re applying a cream to the sutures. It only gets worse as he watches deft fingers secure bandages, sucking in a sharp breath when you gently brush over the hair next to the wound. 

“Sorry,” you say, wincing. 

He lets you think it hurt. “You never finished answering my question,” he says. 

“No, but it worked, though, didn’t it?” you say. 

He quirks his head.

“Distracted you,” you say, and grin.  

You’re beautiful, he thinks. He’s in trouble.

You don’t seem to notice his dilemma, especially since you won’t look at him, despite the veil. 

“Anything else?” you ask, fingers gently holding his calf while you investigate his battered body. Now that the danger has passed, you’re a little choked up. You knew he was strong, but hadn’t been close enough to realize how broad he was without the armor. 

Most of that bulk was actually him. The wide cord of his thigh where you had stitched spans far past the sprawl of your palm. He’s not all rock, though. It’s muscle well-earned under the softness of a life… well, you don’t want to say well-lived, because that’s up for debate. But lived. Fully and unapologetically. 

It feels illicit, just even seeing this much of him. 

“No,” he says. The little cuts and scrapes aren’t worth wasting supplies. They’ll scab over on their own. But he regrets it as soon as his mouth closes because you push up on his knee to stand.

You’re leaving.

“Can I see?” he says.

“Not very well, right now, I’d say,” you tease, though you know what he means. “Maybe another time.”

He snorts, and your heart catches. 

Inconvenient, really, you think. Moreover, cruel and unfortunate. You’ve never felt this kind of warm affection toward a fighter before. 

“Hey Mando,” you say, turning back to look at him. “His helmet, was it like yours?”

“Yes,” he says, perplexed. 

“Okay. Well, I should go,” you say, and it’s almost like you want him to argue, but you’re already slipping out of his cell. “It’s almost dinner time, after all. Get some rest.” 

When he unwinds the shawl, he holds onto it for longer than he’ll ever admit. 

He does give it back, of course. Slides it out on his tray when you come by with dinner. You stuff it in the front pocket of your skirts, and if you take it out in the dark of the night to catch a hint of his musk, so what? It doesn’t hurt anyone. 

Well. Maybe yourself. You need to pinch this ridiculous crush at the stem before it blossoms. But one night of indulgence can’t hurt, or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you slip off to the fresher. You hold it to your cheek, clenched in one fist, as the other hand rubs quick circles around your clit. You orgasm easily, the smell of him and the cadence of his voice on the edge of your consciousness. 

You drop it in the laundry bin when you leave, washing your hands of the affair but not the guilt. 

But you can’t stay away. You’re drawn to him, and you tell yourself it’s just the way you’re drawn to any of your fighters who live long enough to bond. 

Anything else is just because you’re human, and he has a lovely voice. 

It’s not like you can’t satisfy your needs. Fucking around with the other servants isn’t exactly encouraged, but it isn’t prohibited either, and there are plenty of stock rooms and nooks and crannies for fumbling fingers and sordid, sloppy relief. 

You’re no stranger to these things, either. There’s an unspoken code that keeps things quick and neat, no attachments or drama. (You and Eli made a spoken pact, though—you’d keep an eye on each other. Make sure no one gets too close or too deep). 

And part of the medical processing upon arrival includes an implant, whether you like it or not. So. 

So you indulge. You find one of your go-to’s, Stellus, a dark-haired man with a nose crunched in far too many cantina brawls to ever sit straight again. He’s serving six years for stealing a ship and another two for evading his warrant. With three left, he’s numb to it all most of the time, but he almost never says no to pussy. 

It’s fine. It's satisfactory. He's a generous partner with nimble fingers and a girthy cock. It does take the edge off. It’s not what you want, but you’re used to that. None of this is what you want, but you take it anyway. 

After he tugs his trousers up and slips away, you lean against the wall of the laundry facility for a moment, catching your breath and leaving a gap between your departures.

And then you go straight to the barracks. In the middle of the day. With no excuse.

The Mandalorian has just gotten back from the arena, and you check in even though you know he has no injuries this time. His status is continually updated on your datapad, after all.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he says, but it comes out on a sigh and gives you pause. 

“Are you sleeping?” you say.

“As much as I can,” he says. 

You lean against his door for a moment, debating if you should leave or not.

“Do you sleep?” he says, catching you off guard. He sounds suspicious.

“As much as I can,” you echo. 

It's silent for a beat, but he can't shake the thought. “How did you know?” he finally asks. It’s been an itch too deep to ignore.

“How did I know what?”

“That he was Mandalorian.”

“Eli told me,” you say as if that’s the only answer you need. 

“It wasn’t advertised,” Mando says cautiously. “They didn’t want anyone to know there might be more survivors.”

You shrug. “Must have been in his file. I knew about you before everyone else, too. Do you—” You hesitate, knowing his answer will be an echo of all the others, “is there anything I can do for you?” 

It’s his turn to hesitate. You don’t usually deviate from the routine. Though, he supposes, this whole visit is off-schedule. 

“Like what?” His answer surprises you both.

“Oh, um.” You’ve immediately forgotten anything you thought he’d need. “Would you like some company?” 

“Only if it’s yours,” he says. 

Your brain feels a little fuzzy from the way his voice has softened, and you can’t quite smother the little pleased smile. You settle on the ground by his door; legs sprawled out under the fan of your skirts. He’s not a big conversationalist, but he asks questions and answers them just fine.

When you tell him a little about home, he feels like he’s finally cracked the mystery. The paintings, the service, the memorials. You don’t talk about it a lot, but it’s enough to fill in the missing piece he couldn’t quite puzzle together.

It’s a sentiment that feels a little too close to home for him, too. 

“How do you do it?” you ask.

“Do what?” 

“How do you keep going? You must be exhausted. I’ve seen other fighters last as long as this, but they were never up there as often as you are.” 

“I have to,” he says as if it’s that simple.

And you suppose maybe it is. 

He waits a moment, though, and then it spills from him like a faulty dam. “I have to try, for my son.”

It’s quiet, so quiet, but you hear it. Your breath trips and falls in a soft exhale of “Oh, Mando.” 

You flounder for something more to say, some way to swallow some of the rotting guilt and horrible, sharp sadness that leak into the silence. But as you open your mouth to speak, the doors nearest his cell slide open.

“What are you doing in here, girl?” the guard snaps. “You can’t be in during transfer.”

“I-I didn’t get a message,” you say to the ground, having leapt to your feet when the panel beeped. “Apologies, sir,” and then you’re gone. 

The ping comes right after breakfast delivery while you’re folding sheets for service rounds. It’s like a static shock, and you nearly drop your armful of stacked bedding.

It never goes off now. It’s too early for anyone to have died. Right? You repeat it under your breath while reaching for the datapad. 

It’s a notification you’ve only had twice before, and your heart swoops to the bottom of your diaphragm. “C-5 Status Update: Reassigned.” 

next chapter

*title from "Burn the Witch" by Shawn James

[stevethehairington]

okay making this a New Post bc i don't wanna like. commandeer op's post with this but. i saw the post in this screenshot:

like three days ago, and i have, no joke, spent all three of those days thinking about it, specifically how painfully, achingly, desperately i want to write something inspired by it...

and just. OUGH. it fits so fucking SO FUCKING perfectly for the buckies from masters of the air. like. gale has his sweetheart back home, and john doesn't have anything back home, but he finds his something, his someone in gale, he falls in love with him, and it's this overwhelming, all encompassing kind of love, this tugging, aching kind of thing that fills his chest, sits on top of his lungs, and it makes it kind of hard to breathe sometimes, but john wouldn't trade it for the world, he wouldn't. and he knows it's never going to be reciprocated, because gale's not like him, because gale's got a girl, they're getting married, john's going to be his best man and everything. but that doesn't do anything to tamper those feelings, it doesn't make john yearn any less, and so he has to just live with it. to just get used to that ache behind his ribs and just keep going, keep trucking on. and he does.

and then the unthinkable happens and the war ends, and just like that they're going home. and so gale goes back to wyoming, back to marge, and john goes back to wisconsin, back to, well, nothing, really.

he ends up finding himself this nice plot of land; it's by a lake, with lots of trees, and the nearest neighbors are miles away. it's quiet, and it's secluded, and it's not too terribly far from town. there's a house on the property, a total fixer upper, but john thinks that's maybe exactly what he needs — something to keep him occupied, something to keep his hands busy, something that will require his attention and his energy and might tire him out by day's end, enough that maybe he won't need the bottle to do the trick.

(and if he maybe likes to pretend that he's fixing the place up for a reason, one with blonde hair and blue eyes and the sweetest smile, well, that's nobody's business but his own.)

and the thing is — those thoughts of gale, those feelings for him, they don't disappear. they don't fade away. john had hoped the distance, the not seeing each other every day, the not being in each other's direct orbit might quell some of it. but it doesn't. not even one bit. if anything, they get stronger out here. all that quiet, all that loneliness — it leaves a lot of room for john's mind to run wild.

john has trouble sleeping, too. it's quiet, too quiet, he's used to sharing a room with bunks and bunks of other men, so going from that — snores and whispers and creaking beds and snuffling breaths — to... nothing. it's weird. it's unsettling.

that, and the nightmares. those don't help either.

so john finds himself awake through the night a lot of the time, and, well, if he's up he's going to make the most of it, so he pours himself some whiskey and takes it onto the porch. there's a little swing there, left behind by the previous owners. it hangs from the awning, except the right side isn't so secure anymore, the hook half torn out, so it hangs at a slant. john keeps telling himself he needs to fix it, but it hasn't dropped him yet or ripped the ceiling apart, and he keeps forgetting, so he just doesn't.

it's dark outside, with only the pale shimmer of the moonlight to keep him company. the sound of crickets, too. and john will sip his whiskey and he'll stare up at that moon and he'll — he'll think of gale.

wonder what he's doing. wonder if he's awake too. if he's staring up at that very same moon. he'll wonder if marge is with him, maybe wrapping her arms around him, maybe making him a cup of something warm, maybe holding his hands to stop them from shaking.

john's chest aches something fierce, and the whiskey doesn't help, but he drains the glass anyways. lets it burn down his throat and settle, hot and hurting, in his gut as he thinks about what he'd do if it were him with gale instead. if gale were here with him. if they were together, on this porch, at this house, in this life.

john thinks. john yearns. john gets himself some more whiskey.

(and, of course, it IS a happy ending eventually — gale and marge split, before they get married even, and gale ends up showing up on that doorstep (he knew the address from the scant few letters sent between the two) with his bags, a lopsided smile, and his whole entire heart, all for john.)

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Seventeen

The apartment feels so big when I come home on Thursday, long shadows from the evening sun casting shapes on the floorboards, golden light capturing flecks of dust in the air. There is a silence, an empty apartment freshly tidied by Claire before she took the bus to Clonskeagh. On the table she’s left a pink post-it note that says: Slice of lemon drizzle cake in the fridge! Help yourself xoxo. I can’t imagine eating it, as much as I love lemon drizzle cake, my stomach is heavy with anxiety. 

I head upstairs to my bedroom and stand looking at myself in the mirror for several minutes, smoothing down my hair, adding a little dab of concealer to a spot that erupted on my cheek overnight. The pipes inside the walls of the building make ticking sounds, and outside the window a lone blackbird sings, and I move to peer out over Fitzwilliam Square, the trees that skirt its lawn are budding with the luminous green of early spring, branches gently rocking in the breeze. Beneath me, down on the street I spot Dean striding along the sun drenched street swinging a plastic bag from Tesco Express. I take a deep breath and head back downstairs. 

“Hello” He says into the receiver. “Can I come in?” 

For some reason I am reminded of that old tale about vampires, about how they can’t just enter your home, you have to invite them over the threshold. I say yes and I punch the button. Dean seems to take forever to climb the two flights of stairs up to my apartment and when he finally gets to the door his sharp knock on it makes me jump. I wish I was much better at being calm. In general. 

I open the door and he smiles at me, stepping inside and holding up the plastic bag. “I got drink.” He announces. “Can I leave this somewhere?” 

“Oh, yeah, just, here, I’ll take it.” I bring it over to the table and unload a six pack of beer and a bottle of wine. 

“I don’t know anything about wine.” He explains. “But that one had a cool label.”

“I also don’t know anything about wine, I just know when it tastes nice and when it doesn’t, and honestly, it doesn’t especially make a difference to me one way or the other.” I want to screw open the lid and start chugging it right now, but restrain myself for risk of appearing wild-beast-like in nature. 

The tension is so thick between us that it feels like a sentient being in the room, but I have no idea how to navigate a situation like this. What are we supposed to do? Do we have small talk? Dean sinks his hands into the pockets of his cargo trousers and looks around the room curiously. “So this is the forbidden apartment.” He says. “It’s nice to finally be here.” 

I laugh nervously. “Yeah, this is it. You can make yourself at home.”

He points at the beers. “Can I have one of those?”

“Oh, yeah of course, here.” I scramble to free them from their plastic coating. “You can sit over there on the couch, I’ll bring it.” I give up trying to rip it from the top and end up stabbing a hole through it with my thumbnail and yanking the can through it. “Do you want a glass?”

“No, the can is fine.” He settles onto the couch and starts touching things all around him, picking up the TV remote, shifting the cushions around, thumbing through one of Claire’s business textbooks that she left lying on the coffee table. Meanwhile I take a glass out of the cupboard and pour myself some wine and try not to think about how strange it is that he’s here, in my space, touching my things, taking up room on the little blue sofa that Claire and I have shared secrets and talked late into the night on. I have shared almost everything with her there, but it’s ironic that now the biggest secret I’ve ever kept from her is sitting right on it. I feel unsettled by the magnitude of my own lies, the personification of them with his hands blatantly all over her things, and I feel compelled to protect them from him.

I walk over towards him and place my glass of wine onto the coffee table. “Thanks.” He says as I hand him the can with one hand and slide Claire’s textbook off his lap with the other so I can move it out of reach. Then I settle next to him, carefully arranging myself so there’s enough distance so that I won’t accidentally touch him and set off a chain of events. My breath has already quickened, my chest rising and falling, and Dean knows. He always knows. In fact I know his favourite thing about me is how I react to him, how easy it is for him to set my blood rushing through my veins. He gives me one of those long, intense looks that makes my stomach flutter and I make a swipe for my wine. 

“Shall I put something on the TV?” I start scrambling for the remote and flick it on, and there’s some season one re-run of Smallville playing. “Oh, Smallville, have you ever seen this?”

“I haven’t.”

“I loved this when I was in secondary school, it’s kind of like a reimagining of the superman story, see there, that guy with the dark hair, that’s Clark Kent, he’s a teenager in high school who’s just discovering his powers.” I’m very aware of the heat radiating off Dean’s body, and the weight of his eyes on the side of my face, but I keep rambling anyway. “And her, that dark haired girl, that’s the love interest. Lana Lang. He hasn’t met Lois Lane yet, she comes into it a bit later, but right now it’s all about Lana. They haven’t got together yet, they just clearly fancy each other.”

“Right.”

“So in season one, right, there’s something freaky happening at their school, these kids keep going wild and exhibiting strange powers that they’re using for evil, I think this is the episode with the girl who eats everything.” He puts his can onto the coffee table and starts shifting impatiently beside me. “There’s another episode with a guy who kind of, like, turns into this bug-human hybrid and he, um, like, they find him crawling on the ceiling of his room that he’s turned into this disgusting chrysalis…”

He gently takes the remote out of my hand and switches off the TV. “Evie, I don’t want to watch Smallville with you.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” His eyes move to my mouth and he watches it intently as I speak. I can’t seem to stop. “That’s okay.” I say. “We can just talk if you want.” He shifts in closer to me and takes the wine glass from me so he can put it next to his can on the table. The warmth and the scent of him makes me feel overwhelmed, like he’s too much all at once, and then he moves his mouth slowly towards mine so that we’re almost touching. “I don’t want to talk to you either.” He says. 

“No?” 

“No.”

He brings his hands to my face, that first contact of his skin sending a jolt through me, and dips his fingers into my hair and when he finally kisses me it’s so gentle, so startlingly different to all the other times when he’s crushed his mouth against mine in fervent desperation that I’m almost thrown by it. His fingers come to brush my throat where my pulse thrills and then his mouth follows and he dips his tongue into the hollow between my collarbones. For some reason just that simple act overstimulates me so much that I could rocket off the couch. 

“You alright?” He asks me. 

“I’m nervous.”

“All I’m doing is kissing you.” 

“I know.” 

“You’re fine.” The final lingering rays of sunset hit his face in such a way that his eyes are the colour of flames, such intense, warm browns and golds flickering in his gaze as it travels over my face and my neck, raking down the centre of my body to the line of exposed skin above the waistband of my jeans. He touches me there and starts tracing mystical shapes on the skin beneath my t-shirt. “I didn’t come here to hurt you” He murmurs. “I’m only here because you asked me to be.”

“Yeah, I know.” I whisper. “I just don’t know why I’m so jittery.”

“Maybe you’d feel better if you were lying down.” He says with a presumptuous quirk of his brow and moves a casual hand to brush my hair over my shoulder. “Do you want to show me your room?”

I exhale a laugh at his forwardness. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Come on.” He gets up and takes me with him. “Upstairs is it?”

I nod. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[lsleofthelost]

my urban fantasy au that i never finished:

stained with blood and faery dust

2.2k | no warnings

He loves Evie, he really does. She turned him into a vampire, held his hand through his oh-my-god-my-best-friend-is-a-vampire freakout, saved him from his crazy mom and was the smartest person in his engineering class at college. Not in that order but whatever. The point is: he loves Evie, who is the leader of their clan and who made him her right hand.

But she is so dramatic.

It’s not really surprising, the girl came to 8 pm classes looking like a model. Flared pants, thick heels, glittery eyeshadow like full on disco queen.

And Evie is similar to the vampires in those new, 21st century movies, which Carlos finds hilarious. She keeps to a strict colour palette (he can’t really talk tho) of deep blues, blood reds and platinum. She broods, she smirks, her voice is a little breathy. She loves holding things like a 19th century dagger and staring intently at Carlos for minutes before saying something like “This is what my mother used when she tried to kill my sister,” and then never bringing that up again. Even her eyes have a reddish hue, though she swears that they were always like that.

She really turns the dramatics up when she has company.

Like tonight, there’s a faery who just wants to announce that she took over the neighbouring territory and that she doesn’t want any trouble with vampires. They all know it. It was written in the agenda. It should all take like 10 minutes maximum, for them to introduce themselves and for the faery to tell how she got the Fae Guardian of LA title. But does Evie let her do that? No! She greets the faery and her guard and starts preparing her meal.

As if just drinking blood wouldn’t intimidate the young (is she? Carlos is so bad at telling ages) fae and her guard enough. Evie has to do it the dramatic way. There’s a routine to it that he memorised ages ago:

She pours the blood from this beautiful crystal bottle into a matching glass that are probably older than Carlos.

The set itself is impressive. It’s tall and thin and has this intricate designs etched into it. The bottle always stands on Evie’s desk, half full. She doesn’t let them fill it for...reasons? He’s not sure.

But the important thing is, she does it in complete silence and maintaining eye contact with her guest. She makes a show of letting her fangs out when she opens the bottle. Then there’s only the sound of blood pouring and her intense maroon eyes. It usually pins whoever is visiting in their place.

The fae tonight are not an exception. The girl doesn’t look as scared as she looks intrigued, or enthralled. The boy (man?) though is a true professional, stoic in face, his eyes looking around for a possible threat. They just happen to flick to Evie every few seconds.

Carlos hears the slow pouring stop and the bottle being set down. Which means it’s time for the next step:

Evie drinks.

It’s slow and deliberate at first but when it becomes impossible to keep eye contact, she gulps it down and sometimes even sends a drop rolling from the corner of her mouth.

He is somewhat grateful that she is taking so long, because it gives him a chance to stare at the fae pair some more. They are beautiful in a slightly otherworldly way.

The girl’s hair is a shock of deep purple and it lays in soft loose curls to her shoulders. Her outfit is dark, not what he expected from fae, which might be biased on his side but he never handled fae relations before. A green tank, studded black leather jacket, black jeans, black combat boots. If he looks carefully, Carlos can see the edges of something dark, like a tattoo, near the top’s neckline. Her most decidedly non-human feature visible are her eyes. Green and cold, like winter grass, they are set just a touch wide, with outer ends pointing up, giving her a slightly predatory look.

On her right side stands her guard. Tall and lithe. He probably has the most natural looking hair colour in the room - a warm dark brown. It’s up in a bun with a few wavy strands framing the face, leaving his pointed ears on display. He has small round scarlet earrings in, which is probably the most colourful part of his outfit. The rest of it is black, as far as Carlos can see: the leather vest, the tank underneath, the jeans, the sneakers. The vest shows his arms and wow what great arms, thanks for wearing a vest, mysterious bodyguard. Aside from looking like he could knock someone out with one punch, the bare arms show multiple markings, several times darker than his skin but not quite black. Thorny vines enlace him up to shoulders, some creeping on his neck. And on his right bicep a blood orange snake that looked like it was moving but that was probably just the flexing muscles underneath. Carlos noticed that he was repeatedly making a fist and relaxing it.

He sees from his periphery that Evie finished drinking (and she did let a drop on blood out, the dramatic little shit), which means it’s time for:

Evie checks how uncomfortable she can make her guest.

Well, this whole thing is her checking how uncomfortable she can make her guest, but Carlos isn’t sure what else he can call it.

You see, she lowers the glass, now stained red from the inside, blood still rolling down her chin, and licks her lips in the most sexual way possible. Then, as if it’s not enough, she wipes the remaining blood away with her thumb and licks it. By that point everyone in the room usually reaches “scared but horny” maximum.

Looking at the fae tonight, Carlos sees that the guard stopped even pretending to be on high alert, and now is just staring at Evie. The leader’s cheeks are turning blue and for a second Carlos is worried, before he remembers that fae’s blood is blue. She’s blushing.

And here comes the kill shot:

Evie makes an “I just had sex” face.

Not that he knows that this is her after-sex face, but he’s not some blushing virgin, so he recognises it. She sighs with her eyes closed, smile tugging on her lips. On days she’s feeling particularly mischievous (thank g—- it’s not today), she makes it sound almost like a moan.

After the sigh comes the smile. It starts as somewhat content, almost happy and morphs into what he calls “I know more than you and I am more powerful, so it would do you well to remember it” smile. It’s a mouthful but it perfectly describes her face right now.

At this point, even people who initially came with requests are offering something to the clan, to Evie. (Once, a werewolf who wanted to call for a duel because Dizzie crossed into their territory, surrendered said territory.)

The fae stay silent, if a little blue. Finally, Evie breaks the silence:

“Well? Who are you and what is your business with vampires of Los Angeles?” She hasn’t even retracted her fangs back! It’s not comfortable to speak with them, Carlos knows but Evie manages to make it look effortless. Sure, her “w”s are bordering on a “v” sound, but other than that, she talks like usual.

The fae both straighten up a little and the girl clears her throat to speak.

What the fuck? Mal has already talked to witches and werewolves and, sure, their leaders were eccentric but vampires are next level.

First of all, their headquarters is an “online security office building” called B-te. (That’s too on the nose if you ask her.) It stands out from other skyscrapers, with it’s toned to almost black windows, shining white light down the facade and overall looks very modern.

When she and Jay arrived they were greeted by a young man (though you never know, he could be in his 300s), very polite, didn’t ask for their names, didn’t offer his. Just said that they can call him Red. THis outfit is...interesting. Above the waist it is classic, a white shirt, a black suit jacket lined with red thread and a red tie. Below that, he is wearing knee length shorts, matching to the jacket and very tall black boots. Like, you can only see a sliver of skin between the shorts and boots. Somehow, he makes it work and doesn’t look foolish.

The white-haired boy, Red, took them up to the 22nd floor, where they are now. No windows but it doesn’t look cramped, though it’s probably the size of this place. It looks like the whole floor is something of an office/meeting room. Along the right wall is a dark blue oval table with leather chairs around it and a huge screen on the wall. If Mal concentrates she can see red stitching on the chairs. Everything about the set up screams that it’s is custom made. There are lavish couches, loveseats, armchairs and small tables in the corner. They are sitting in the opposite corner, in front of a big desk made of mahogany, etched to look like a forest and dyed blue. The walls on this side are holding shelves full of old looking books.

And sitting behind the incredibly gothic desk, on a plush velvet throne, is one of the most beautiful women Mal has ever seen. She is pale, like Mal expected. Her hair is inky, almost black in shadows, but blue in the light. She is wearing a topaz blue silk dress with long sleeves, which reminds Mal of the nineties (what a decade! Mal has some really good memories that may or may not involve starting a fight in a concert pit). Her whole show with blood would have made Mal question her sexuality if she hadn’t already gone through the whole “oh fuck, I’m bi” ordeal. Though the silence and the feeling of two people watching her makes it hard to stop blushing.

When the clan leader finally speaks (in a breathy voice that Mal can’t determine is a part of the show or real), Mal has to clear her throat to speak.

“You may call me Violet. I have recently gotten the title of the Fae Guardian of Los Angeles. I have come to you to say that I will uphold and honour the agreement you have made with the previous Guardian. Neither me, nor any of my loyal subjects wish you and your clan harm.” She recites the speech she wrote with Jane, one she can say without lying about or promising anything. Red’s eyes are narrowed as if he caught on but decided against speaking up.

“I accept your proclamation, Guardian. But,” Mal can feel Jay stiffening up behind her at that, “I was wondering if you could answer a question?”

“That depends on the question.”

“To my knowledge there is a number of ways that one can get the title you currently wear. And as far as I know, in all the history of Los Angeles since the founding of this city, you are it’s third Guardian, Violet. The first one only lasted 24 human years before being overthrown. Her successor was thought to be permanent.” Mal doesn’t see where it’s going and it agitates her. “It is an incredible feat, taking a place of someone who was at this position for more than two centuries. How did you do it?”

Mal straightens her back. It is an unexpected question, she is surprised at the attention to fae history and politics from an outsider. She can feel her always simmering rage start to boil, remembering how she got her title, and contrasting it, her body feels cold with sadness and grief. Now is not the time to think about that.

“My title is twice bestowed. Once by blood and once by conquest.” She can see the moment the vampires understand what it means. Their eyes widen and the leader even loses hold of her transformation, fangs clicking back to the roof of her mouth. They both compose themselves a moment later, the leader smirking a bit and looking at her with something new shining in her eyes. Red just studies Mal with more curiosity.

Mal feels like she needs to say something. Parry a personal question with a personal question, or explain that she had to do it, for all the fae, that it was the only way to make her mother proud, that she isn’t a power-hungry leader. Then she remembers that she owes them nothing. Who are these vampires to question her, to stare with such dissecting looks?

“I think we are finished here, Princess,” even as she says it, she knows that it was too harsh, that this might transform vampires from neutral neighbors to enemies for fae.

The vampire just smiles. “Princess? Haven’t heard that one it ages, huh, Red?” It’s such a drastic change in tone, but it doesn’t feel forced, it just lightens you the atmosphere, lets tension diphuse.

Chuckling, she continues: “Anyway, I think I kept you here long enough, sun is about to rise.” Even with no windows or a clock, Mal can tell that it’s true, knows it like she knows it like she knows that it’s going to rain next Thursday. “It was a pleasure to meet you Guardian. I hope we can be not only good neighbours but also friends.”

[mysticfallsresidents]

DAMON HAD ONLY JUST ARRIVED BACK HERE IN MYSTIC FALLS. he never thought he'd step another foot in this god forsaken town but here he was [ ..... ] all to try and attempt to regain his brother's trust and presence in his life. at first, that's what it seemed to be about, reuniting with his little brother, but now it's turned into a much more large agenda that had cunning strategy and an overall plan that would be beneficial for him in the future. see, that was the difference between damon and his brother. he thought about the bigger picture and planned for all possibilities as to never be blind-sided or left with no allies to lean on. he only wished his brother thought more like him.

THAT WAS THE WHOLE REASON WHY DAMON HAD CRASHED ELENA'S LITTLE DINNER PARTY TO BEGIN WITH. being with caroline had a rhyme and a reason to it and it all meant to get on sheriff forbes' good side and use caroline's mousy little nose to receive all the town's gossip and information he needed. damon didn't do anything without a purpose. when stefan had answered the door to reveal damon's presence, a smirk painted the elder brother's features; an evil grin stretched from ear to ear and his eyes full of bright blue humor. he wiggled his finger in stefan's face, “ now, now, stefan. is that any way to treat your dinner guests' ? besides, there's plenty of dessert to go around, right, care bear ? ” he said, caroline agreeing instantly ( as she always seems to, without fault ) and let himself in. after all, he's been invited in once before and stefan only had himself to blame for not warning elena what truly lurked in the darkness of the night.

NOW THIS WAS A FACE DAMON HASN'T SEEN BEFORE AND WOULDN'T MIND GETTING USED TO. his sly grin still hung from his lips as his eyes gazed at the woman up and down, just to size her up. he nodded, taking her petite hand in his to give it a firm but short shake in introduction, “ pleasure's all mine. california, huh ? never liked it, too sunny for my tastes ” he began, “ well, buffy, you have all night to prove to me that you're not as uncool as you think you are and i have a feeling it'll be quite the surprise for both you and i ” he hummed when he finished and booped her nose to top it off. he walked past her and headed straight for the kitchen to place down the dishes he and caroline had brought to the shindig. he turns to face everyone while leaning back on the counter, “ so, now that the real party can begin, let's break out the booze ” he offered, taking the bottle from the bag he brought and began to pour himself a glass. “ anyone ? buffy ? this is your chance, older cousin ” he asked the crowd, one eyebrow arched upwards.

closed starter for @mysticfallsresidents (for Damon)

That is NOT Angel, Buffy inwardly reminded herself for the millionth time as she listened to the conversation between Bonnie and Stefan, the boy Elena had started seeing.  Buffy had already met him once. He was nice, but the resemblance between him and Buffy's old boyfriend was uncanny.

In fact, the more Buffy thought about it, this was the third thing in Elena's life that paralleled hers back in Sunnydale. The first was that she lived in a town full of vampires (which was why Giles encouraged Buffy to stay in Mystic Falls) and the second was that her best friend might be a witch. Buffy shrugged it off at first, but when Not Angel walked through the door and she heard about an “animal attack” at a party Elena and Jeremy were, she started to worry.

Buffy did her best to keep this part of her life from Jenna, Elena, and Jeremy.  If they knew, they would automatically be dragged into this part of her life and she didn’t want that for them. Especially not for Elena and Jeremy. They were still in high school. She didn't want then to be worrying about vampires crashing Parent-Teacher night, swim team monsters,  or devil dogs at the prom. So far, they had no clue.

"What do you think, Buffy?" Stefan interrupted her thoughts. "I'm sorry, what?" Buffy was a bit embarrassed. "Witches, cool or not cool?" Elena prompted her. Buffy smiled. "My best friend is a witch," she said.  "And she's pretty cool." Her smile faltered for a second after mentioning Willow. She missed her. She missed all of the Scoobies. "I think that settles it," Elena turned her attention back to Bonnie. "Witches are awesome."

The doorbell rang making the blonde jump a bit. “Were you expecting anyone else?” she asked Elena. “No?” Elena got up and answered the door. "Surprise!" Buffy heard the voice of Caroline, another one of Elena's friends. "Bonnie said you were doing dinner, so we brought dessert." When a male voice spoke, Stefan immediately stood up and walked to the door, growling in frustration. "Who's the man voice making Stefan all growly?" Buffy asked Bonnie. "Stefan's brother, Damon," Bonnie answered. "We're  just finishing up," Stefan was saying, barely hiding the distain in his voice. Buffy could feel the tension from the kitchen.

"What's going on out there?" Buffy called out jokingly as she stood up and walked into the front hallway. "Someone order an apocalypse?" She stopped short when her eyes immediately locked with ice-blue irises belonging to a tall, dark-haired guy who she assumed was Stefan’s aforementioned brother. Objectively he was gorgeous, but there was something about him that made Buffy feel uneasy. His smile gave her the chills and not in a good way.

"Buffy, hi!" Caroline pushed past the elder brother and hugged the other blonde and then turned her attention back to him. "Damon, this is Buffy," she said.  "She's Elena's cousin from California." The other blonde said "California" like it was the coolest thing ever. Buffy managed a small smile in Damon's direction. "Hi," she said, holding her hand out. "In case you need a quick recap: I'm Buffy and I'm the uncool cousin that tries too hard." Almost immediately, Elena said, "You're the ONLY one who thinks that."

[finalgirleddiemunson]

Baby Blue (Steve Harrington x Reader)

summary: you’re struggling with painting your nails. Steve comes to the rescue (wc 1k)

warnings: reader has hand tremors but they’re not specified what fron, mild language, let me know if I should add anything else!

a/n: an incredibly self-indulgent and quickly done fic. the only side-effect of the new medication I’m on is hand tremors and I had a little cry session about not being able to do my nails the other day. all is well now, but I wanted to write it out. 

masterlist

-----

Polish pushes up along your cuticles, stains the edges of your fingers. It’s thick in some spots and thin enough to see through to the nail in others. You purse your lips in silent frustration, depositing the nail polish brush back into the bottle as carefully as you can and tightening it. Paint still decorates the lip of the glass despite your best efforts. 

You harshly pour acetone onto a cotton bud, a few drops spilling onto the towel you placed across your desk for this very reason. You blame the harsh, astringent scent of the polish remover for the sudden sting in your eyes and burn in your nose. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid you mentally chant. The remover stings something fierce against a hangnail as you scrub the cotton against the paint. 

Your bedroom door creaks open. 

“Hey, pretty,” Steve kisses the top of your head, hands falling to the top of your shoulders as he leans over. You throw a cursory glance up at him.  

“Hey,” You mumble, tossing the  blue-stained cotton into the bin beneath your desk.

“Whoa now, no ‘hey, handsome’ for me today? I know these aren’t my best jeans but I didn’t think they were that bad.” Steve digs his thumbs into the base of your neck, massaging there. You feel a bit of the tension leak from your spine as he works on the knots he finds.

Your bottom lip juts out and to your horror you find the stinging in your eyes returning.

“Sorry. Can’t paint my nails.” You flex your fingers out in front you, displaying the damage of the half wiped-away and shoddily done paint job. “My hands are shaking too bad.” 

“Here.” Steve abandons his temporary post as your personal massage therapist to grab an extra chair from the other side of the room. He’s all elbows as he gently bullies his way up to your desk, forcing you to shift your seat so he can squeeze next to you. His knees lock with yours beneath the desk. 

He’s much more patient than your previous attempts as he fishes out a cotton bud and shakes out just a bit of acetone onto the surface. 

His hands are warm as he takes one of yours, holding your fingers still as he gingerly swipes away the remaining paint. He avoids the hangnail on your thumb, gently maneuvering the digit this way and that to make sure he’s found all the baby blue. 

“This color is nice,” he hums, picking up the bottle and shaking it just a bit before twisting off the cap. 

“Thanks,” you feel like you can breathe steady again, but the tremors in your hands persist just as you knew they would. Some days are better than others, but today it seems that they just want to shake. 

Steve’s thumb traces back and forth across your knuckles for a moment before gently placing your hand back down against your desk. 

His tongue pokes out and his brows draw together as he carefully wipes the brush on the lip of the bottle, extra polish pooling back down with the rest of the paint. His concentration only intensifies as he finally begins to paint, the blue finally laying across your nails the way you wanted it to. 

He works steadily, twisting himself around rather than having you move your hand. When you need to switch from right to left, he gives you a moment, sitting back and letting you adjust so that you’re the most comfortable you can be. 

“Thank you,” you tell him when he’s halfway through. 

“For what? Saying you need a second coat? I couldn’t let you walk around with streaks, that would be embarrassing for both of us.”

“For helping me, asshole,” You kick him lightly. 

He snickers happily, pausing only long enough to nudge you back. “Yeah, yeah. And they say chivalry is dead.” 

Steve finishes the last coat on your pinky nail and sits back to admire his work. Looking down at your nails, you have to admit that he’s done far better than you ever expected. Each nail looks even, with barely any blue staining your skin. 

He flicks away some hair that’s fallen into his eyes. On impulse you raise your hand to set it right, to smooth through the locks and make them sit the way you know he prefers when Steve jerks back. 

“Not my masterpiece!” He cries, gently catching your wrist to lower it away from his hair. 

“Have we started calling your hair a masterpiece now?” You have to fight to urge to flick his nose to save your still-drying polish. 

As if sensing your thoughts, he lightly flicks yours instead, making your nose scrunch up as you wriggle away from him. “Not my hair, your nails. I’ve got to show these bad boys off around town tonight.” Steve holds up your hands as though displaying a trophy or medal, chest puffed up with exaggerated pride. 

You wiggle your fingers in his face, the smell of the polish and acetone making him cough dramatically. “If Family Video doesn’t work out we could always get you into the nail salon. Everyone is going to want nails like these, Stevie.”

Steve stands, tucking your polish back into the drawer on his way. “Ah, my salon skills are for you alone. Everyone else will just have to be jealous.” He stops to kiss the top of your head again and you lean into him. “Are we still on for date night tonight, or is it a bad day?”

You know he means the tremors- that sometimes when you get overwhelmed and frustrated you just want to lie-in and not go out. Your heart swells at his tone, his question. You know it’s not a trick, that there’s no wrong answer. If you said you wanted to do nothing but get in your pajamas, Steve would go and grab them for you right now with no questions asked. 

You show him your nails as though he missed them somehow. “No way. I’ve got to show off, remember?”

His grin is as easy as anything and you return it happily. You tug at the front of his shirt until he leans down to kiss you properly. He needs very little persuasion, moving to your wiles easily. 

He kisses you like he has nowhere else he'd rather be. Maybe he doesn’t. You know you don’t. 

[no-droids]

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt.  You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours.  But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to.  You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did.  Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints.  Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does.  Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it.  But truthfully, you didn’t want to.  You were worried about him—still are, actually.  But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on.  He’s been through way worse, and you know it.  You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers.  He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening.  Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure.  All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation.  After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield.  It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips.  The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards.  To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster.  “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you.  “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code.  My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound.  “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment.  “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it?  You blink.  No, it doesn’t.  You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name.  You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever.  “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not.  “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show.  Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here.  Something could’ve happened.  Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it.  Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina.  Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot.  “They’re fodder.  Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.”  He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass.  “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions.  Tied specifically to Guild contracts.”  Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare.  “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties.  Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him.  “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace.  “Not sure I’d care too much if you did.  It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit.  Shit.  What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed.  Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company.  He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied.  Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence.  Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy.  It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this.  Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve.  Karga is a nice guy, right?  He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando.  And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too.  How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder?  You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?”  You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?”  He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice.  Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly.  You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way.  You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity.  “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it.  “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you.  If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice.  If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it.  You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal.  “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head.  “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out.  “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold.  It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to.  It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando.  You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave.  You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides.  He said he wants to help you?  This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?”  He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head.  The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?”  You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours.  “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously.  “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances.  You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment.  “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away.  He helped you out, you’re halfway through this.  Now comes the exchange.  Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you.  “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far.  Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late?  He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face.  “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table.  There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task.  “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…”  Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it.  This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here.  He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it.  “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you.  “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay.  Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much.  Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again.  Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.”  You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you.  “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay.  Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly… 

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it.  Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck.  It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward.  You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?”  You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs.  “Of course you don’t.  Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit.  This is not at all how you expected any of this would go.  You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request.  There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary.  Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum.  “You said you’re here on his behalf.  You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh.  Oh, no.  This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits.  It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table.  You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here.  It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!”  He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good.  Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t.  You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you.  You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach.  He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him?  Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried.  Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before.  Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp.  The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him.  “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend.  The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air.  Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now.  You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all.  It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe.  “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer.  It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet.  Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense.  You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him.  You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!”  A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab.  Right in fucking front of him.  “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck.  Great.  Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t.  You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out.  Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now.  You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it.  Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

*** 

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried.  You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual.  You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing.  Was there a confrontation, you wonder?  Is he okay?  He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though.  As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you.  Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view.  The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace.  He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?”  He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down.  “Are you alright?  Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say.  How are you going to tell him?  He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say?  You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh…  I-I’m sorry, I just…”  But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him.  “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?”  He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him.  “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out.  His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him.  If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands.  “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you.  Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess.  “It’s okay.  You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak.  He’s lying for your benefit, he must be.  When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—”  You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…”  His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?”  You have to think about it.  Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already?  You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility.  “Um… no?  I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?”  He asks, taking a small step forward.  “You don’t know?  Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes.  You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now.  It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…”  Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him.  “I don’t know, I’m not like you.  I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better.  I think he was probably just being normal.  He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb.  This is what’s bothering him?  Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work?  It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played.  He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them.  How are you supposed to take that?  Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning?  You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?”  You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest.  It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason.  He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you.  Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.”  He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly.  Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him.  “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.”  His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?”  You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm.  In another weirdly stupid, primitive way.  You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it.  Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode.  Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before.  You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now.  He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.  “Maybe.  He could’ve just been trying to be friendly.  What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit.  “Did he scare you?”

“For me?”  You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards.  Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless.  “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?”  Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze.  “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds.  The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid.  Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you.  Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you.  You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours.  You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now.  Achy.  Hot.  Needy.  Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?”  He asks you after a prolonged silence.  His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained.  Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you.  “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice.  Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards.  He wants to do this here?  Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word.  Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?”  You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck.  You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought.  Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to.  It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker.  You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it.  Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long.  You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you.  You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?”  Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner.  You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him.  He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss.  Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this?  Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?”  Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you.  Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull.  Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment.  You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you.  “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet.  This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest.  Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling.  “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need.  Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point.  You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?”  Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him.  You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing.  Nothing.  You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing.  Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time.  Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability.  You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better.  His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again.  You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view.  Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass.  The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time.  His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open.  You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit.  His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you.  The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here.  If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body.  You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it.  You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort.  Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most.  Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this.  You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too.  It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too.  Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place.  You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace.  Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance.  You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him.  He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you.  Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can.  It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning.  You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer.  His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting.  Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?”  He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it.  “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could.  He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle.  You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to.  You could struggle.  If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it.  You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time.  Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him.  You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more.  It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too.  Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t.  Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock.  Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him.  There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin.  You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you.  You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears.  Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways.  You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb.  Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off.  You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up.  The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours.  Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works.  Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too.  At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly.  You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal.  You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face.  “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do.  Easy.  He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed.  Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body.  You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep.  He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal.  The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again.  You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation.  Come on, work.  Move forward.  Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly.  Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled.  Ran over by a truck.  Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful.  This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart.  The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones.  You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs.  It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever.  It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it.  “Hey.  Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know?  You figured you’d be way ahead of him.  You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here.  The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over.  You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point.  It’s easy, you like it.  Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back.  Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway.  It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin.  Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine.  He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin.  His bar of soap, not yours.  They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize.  How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone.  The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not.  Hot water, not freezing cold.  Standing upright and supporting you.  Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue.  You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again.  Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this.  Skin to skin contact.  Someone to hold.  Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar.  Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest.  You want to tell him not to leave.  Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay.  You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed.  You don’t know.  But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.  

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know.  You know.  From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection.  But you know him.  You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return.  You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you.  Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary.  Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to.  It wasn’t said so he could say it back.  It just is.  Some things don’t need explanations, they just are.  You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it.  You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word.  It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels.  There’s something hidden underneath.  You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired.  You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless.  He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber.  “I’m…  not allowed to ask.  I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense.  Was that a translation?  Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest.  It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it.  You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows.  “You can.”

[silversatoru]

Can i regurst a gojo x reader smut where y/n is gojo’s ex girlfriend and also a strong jujutsu sorcerer and they get back together asdfghjkl 🥺😂? Tyy 🥺

hehhee yes ma’am here u are!!! i actually loved writing this one (i think i just have a thing for writing gojo lately lmao) anyway! i! hope! you! enjoy!

to heaven and back

gojo satoru x f! sorcerer!reader

synopsis: you and your ex, gojo satoru, beat the hell out of a few special grade curses and then head back to his house to rekindle an old (and kind of kinky) flame

tags/warnings: nsfw (18+), smut, handcuffs, blindfolding, little bit of oral sex, teasing, alcohol consumption, some fluff at the end? just a little

word count: 3.1k

You lifted your elegant glass of random wine that you could care less about knowing the name of, and took a long sip. All of these old rich bastards talked way too much about brand names, aging, and what cheese paired well with each wine. They were missing what was really important — which one would get you drunk the quickest. 

These kinds of formal events weren’t really your scene, and having to listen to a bunch of old, conservative, high-up jujutsu leaders was terribly boring — so why not take this opportunity to get a little tipsy? You deserved it for putting up with all of these assholes. After all, the only reason they invited you to this prestigious event was for protection. If that pesky band of special grade curses caught wind that all of the higher ups from both Kyoto and Tokyo were in the same place, they were sure to launch some kind of attack. The old, wrinkly douchebags couldn’t care less about your opinions of the jujutsu world and how you would change it, they only liked you for incredible cursed technique. 

And so here you were, spitefully wearing your most elegant dress and downing glasses of wine in an attempt to drown out all of the nonsense around you. There was only one thing that could make this event any worse and— 

“Hello everyone! The strongest jujutsu sorcerer has arrived — I know you were all looking forward to my appearance”. 

And there it was. There was that one thing that could make this event any worse. Gojo Satoru.

You dipped your head low, burying yourself in your glass of wine and praying to any god who would listen to not let this man see you. It’s been over two years since the two of you broke up, but he still wasn’t someone you enjoyed running into. 

Gojo was terribly notorious for having a long line of girls at his disposal, and with his incredible strength and annoyingly good-looks, it wasn’t hard to understand why. The two of you had never been in an officially committed relationship, and so technically Gojo was free to do as he pleased — but you were practically dating and your heart ached every time you caught wind of him being with another woman. And so two years ago you cut things off with him for good — you were tired of being the one he always ran back to at the end of the day. 

He’d looked at you with eyes full of pain that night, begging and pleading to stay with him. He showed you a vulnerable side to him that you had never seen before — and he swore to you that if you had asked to make things official, he would have committed himself to you fully. You declined however, because you felt like you shouldn’t have needed to ask for that kind of thing — but maybe that was just your ego getting in the way. 

“Hey, beautiful, I’ve never seen you around before, you must be from the Tokyo campus,” Some random assistant casually leaned against the counter you were sitting at and shook you out of your thoughts.

“If you’ve never seen me before then you must not be very important,” You shot him a distasteful glance, taking another sip of your wine. 

The man’s face lit up with panic — he must not have been expecting such retaliation to his pathetic attempt of flirting. 

“Are you bothering her?” A familiar voice came from behind you — a long, slender hand slapping down onto your shoulder, “Please don’t flirt with my wife”. 

“Ah- Wife? I’m so sorry, sir,” The man stumbled over his words, bowing his head to Gojo and scurrying away. 

Gojo wasted no time sliding into the seat next to you and pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle you’d already been working on. 

“Really? You’re telling people I’m your wife now?” You gave him a deadpanned look. 

“It worked, didn’t it?” He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip from his glass. 

You rolled your eyes hard, “Why are you here, Satoru?” 

“Same reason as you. The old, conservative pussies are afraid those special grades might attack — so why not invite their two prized sorcerers to protect them?” 

“Fair,” You let out a heavy sigh, “Not sure that was their best move though — I don’t think either one of us is very motivated to save these fuckers”. 

“No, but I brought my students with me today. So, if anything does happen, make sure you put on a show for them,” He winked, already topping off his wine glass. 

You looked over to see a few kids sitting a couple tables away from the two of you, chatting amongst themselves and wondering why the fuck they had to be here. 

And so an hour or two went by, and to your surprise, you found yourself laughing hysterically alongside Gojo. The two of you had definitely drank a bit too much, and your personalities complimented each other a little too perfectly. You shared the same terrible sense of humor and he had quite the knack for bringing out this lighthearted side of you. You had missed moments like this these past two years. 

Neither of you were paying any attention to the current debate that was occurring between the higher ups when a loud crash sent broken pieces of glass flying through the grand hall. Sure enough, the curses had made their appearance and came flying into the building through a now broken window.

“It’s our time to shine, huh?” Gojo looked over at you, and you imagined that his icy blue eyes were swirling with excitement under that mask. 

“Yeah, let’s make this quick,” You found a warm ball of excitement churning in your own stomach — it’d been a long time since the two of you had fought together. 

Your technique revolved around the manipulation of cursed energy and converting it into light. You could wrap yourself in a shield of light, send curse-filled bursts of light at your enemies, and move at the speed of light as well — which was almost as efficient as Gojo’s teleportation abilities. You had a series of more advanced moves as well, but those required more energy output and therefore you used them a little less often.

The two of you were both able to move so fast that the curses really didn’t stand a chance. You found yourself laughing as you flipped through the air, hurling balls of light at the curses as Gojo worked closer in hand-to-hand combat. At one point, while the two of you were flying past each other, Gojo stuck out his hand and gave you a high five, both of you smiling like maniacs who enjoyed fighting a little too much. 

Between Gojo’s Limitless and your extreme agility and bursts of light, the curses were quickly forced to flee. Both of you were feeling much too drunk and much too lazy to chase after them, even with all of the higher ups begging you to do so. Gojo simply flipped them off and stuck out his tongue, saying that he did what they paid him to do — keep the curses away — and now that the curses had been scared off, he was no longer needed. 

“You want to come back with me, relieve more of our old memories together? I remember how much you loved sleeping in my king sized bed,” Gojo looked back at you, offering one of his large, slender hands. 

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was your stupid, stupid heart, but you reached out and took his hand, “Fuck it, let’s go”. 

Gojo’s house on the outskirts of the Tokyo campus was just as you remembered — sleek black interior with modern furniture and extravagantly silky sheets on his bed — his same bed that you were currently sprawled out on, laying in nothing but your undergarments. 

Gojo joined you a couple minutes later, his bare skin warm and familiar against yours. He pressed a few sloppy kisses to your lips, both of you still incredibly tipsy and unable to stop the small giggles from leaking out between your lips while you kissed. 

“Take the blind fold off you weirdo,” You pulled at the back of the black fabric. 

“Mmm, okay,” He mumbled, undoing the knot and exposing his piercing blue eyes.

“So pretty,” You murmured under your breath — his eyes really were the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in your life

His fluffy silver hair fell down messily over his face, a drunken smile stretched across his lips. His smile quickly turned into a devilish grin as he slipped the mask over your eyes instead, tying a tight not at the back of your head.

“This isn’t what I meant,” You droned, but you didn’t argue — you certainly weren’t opposed to being blindfolded.

“It looks good on you,” He slurred, his words messy and his lips even messier as he pressed them back against yours. 

The kisses seemed to last forever, and both of you were perfectly okay with that — your hands taking their time exploring each other’s bodies for the first time in far too long. 

Gojo’s hands worked their way up your back, tracing lines along your toned muscles until he finally reached the nape of your neck. His fingers entangled themselves in your hair, soft hums coming from his lips.

“I still have handcuffs, if you’re still into that sort of thing,” he mused, massaging his fingertips into your scalp. 

“Damn, I can’t believe you remember what I like. I thought my preferences would have gotten lost among the sea of other women you were pleasing,” You let the snarky remark roll off your tongue, though there was clearly no real spite in your words — you’re both adults and what happened then was in the past now.

“It wasn’t even that many,” He defended, “And you were the only one who ever mattered”. 

“I’m flattered,” You laughed, “Now, where are those handcuffs?” 

Gojo stifled a deep laugh, his hands leaving your hair as he lifted himself up and stood from the bed. When he returned a few moments later, there was cool metal wrapping around both of your wrists. He had two sets of handcuffs, putting one on each wrist and then hooking the other side to the bed posts. 

You were entirely at his disposal now, your hands secured over your head and your vision blocked off by the black mask. 

“I could tickle you right now and there’s nothing you could do,” Gojo observed aloud, pressing kisses up the side of your torso.

“Satoru, I would kick the living shit out of you,” You threaten, goosebumps growing under your skin. 

“Yeah, but you can’t touch me unless I let you,” He retaliated, his soft hands reaching underneath your bra to feel your breasts.

You groaned in response — his Limitless really did make him impossible.

He cupped each of his hands around your firm lumps, gently massaging them between his fingers. His cool fingertips then made their way down to your lower body, swiftly removing your remaining underwear. You were now completely exposed to him, chills running down your spine as you wondered what he would do next. 

You heard a shaky breath leave his lips, his hungry hands massaging circles into your thighs, “God, you’re so beautiful. I missed you so much, you know that?” 

“I’m sure you did,” You breathed, “I’m a wonderful person to be around”. 

Gojo let out a hearty laugh, and you heard what you assumed to be the sound of his own underwear getting thrown to the floor. A few seconds later he was straddling your torso, his warm thighs wrapped around your body. You couldn’t see it, but you knew his massive member had to be right in front of your face now. 

“Remind me what that pretty mouth can do,” He cooed, pressing the tip of his length gently to your lips. 

You graciously granted him access, parting your lips and taking the head of his cock into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the sensitive tip, earning a few twitches from Gojo’s body. You began to bob your head back and forth as much as the handcuffs allowed, a few quiet moans leaving his throat in response. 

He began to move his hips against you, gingerly pushing his member deeper and deeper into your mouth until you were taking the full length down your throat. He groaned and let a few curse words slide from between his teeth — your mouth was wrapped so perfectly around him. Tears pricked at your eyes and a couple rough gags ripped through your throat, Gojo finally pulling away and allowing you to catch your breath. 

After that, you felt a single one of his long, slim fingers slide into your mouth, and you wasted no time wrapping it in your tongue and sucking hard. 

“Good girl,” He murmured, plucking his finger back out of your mouth and moving it down to your aching entrance. 

Between the saliva on his finger and the slick juices around your opening — his finger slid in effortlessly. He started moving in quick movements, curling his finger up into your g-spot each time. A few light moans left your lips, your fists clenching in the cuffs as your yearned for more. His finger felt good, but you wanted the real thing — you needed it.

“Satoru, please,” You practically whined his name, a tiny bit ashamed for how desperate you were for him right now. 

“Patience, love,” He clicked his tongue and your heart did somersaults at the endearing name. 

He removed his singular finger and intertwined it with a second one before sliding them back into your cavern. He picked up a steady pace again, your breath hitching in your throat. Two fingers was certainly better than one, but the continuous teasing was just making you even more desperate to feel his member inside of you. You mumbled his name over and over, small pleads and shameless whispers leaving your mouth as you bucked your hips against his hands.

“No ones fucked you as good as I used to, have they? You’re horribly desperate right now” He clicked his tongue again, removing his fingers and moving them up to your clit. He rubbed the smallest, softest circles against the small nub, your core growing warmer with desire. 

“I won’t make you wait any longer then,” He whispered, sitting back and positioning the head of his length against your throbbing cunt. 

“Please,” You mumbled fervently, any ego or pride that you once had was completely down the drain now. 

Your pleads were finally rewarded, Gojo pressing himself deep into your tight walls. The immediate feeling was complete bliss, your head rolling back in pleasure as you heard a throaty moan creep it’s way out of Gojo’s mouth. His moans were so pretty — god, you’d missed the sound of them.  

He moved in and out at a tantalizingly slow pace at first, your hips bucking and wiggling as you made fervent attempts to make him go faster.

“So eager…” He shook his head, continuing to move at a pace that was absolutely agonizing — you thought you might die if he didn’t rail the hell out of you soon. 

“Please, fuck,” You gasped, “Stop moving so goddamn slowly”. 

“Your whines are so pretty, baby. Say my name and maybe I’ll give you what you want,” He murmured, his voice low and husky. 

“Fucking hell,” You gritted your teeth, “Please Satoru, please fuck me already”. 

“Shit,” He mumbled under his breath, your words sending electricity coursing through his body. 

After hearing you say that, he was quick to give you what you wanted, picking up his pace and wrapping his hands firmly around your hips. Strangled combinations of moans, whimpers, and cries filled the air as they flew from your mouth. You didn’t care how loud or desperate you sounded, you wanted him to know how good he was making you feel. 

The two of you were an entangled mess of sweaty skin and throaty moans, Gojo filling your ears with praises and compliments the entire time. His lengthy member railed into you over and over, hitting that perfect pleasure point with each stroke and sending warm surges of ecstasy through your veins. 

Your bodies moved together in sync, your breaths aligning and your climaxes threatening to arrive simultaneously. After a few more firm strokes, you felt yourself drowning in pleasure — euphoria crashing through your body like waves. Gojo reached his end point just a few moments later, his loud cuss words and strangled moans filling your ears. 

The two of you rode out your orgasms together, and almost immediately afterwards Gojo collapsed next to you. He lazily reached up and uncuffed each of your hands, leaving the cuffs dangling from his bed posts just in case there was a round two in his future. He rolled the sticky condom off his member and tossed into a nearby trash bin, a relaxed sigh slipping between his parted lips. You peeled the black mask off of your eyes, finally able to meet his again. 

He was staring at you with eyes filled with all kinds of emotions — the emotions that he’d been too afraid to admit to the first time the two of you were together. But he wasn’t afraid of commitment anymore, he was absolutely certain about what he wanted, and it was you. 

“Stay with me,” He asked, his eyes pleading with you, “I’m ready this time, I promise. I’m all yours, if you’ll have me”. 

You found a small smile tugging at the edges of your lips as you looked deeper into his eyes, “Of course I’ll stay, as long as you still feel this way when you wake up sober tomorrow”. 

“I’ll feel this way forever,” He pressed his head into you and mumbled into your chest, “And I’ll remind you as many times as you need to hear it”. 

You wrapped your arms around him in response, the two of you fitting impeccably together. He placed a few gentle kisses to your skin before his breathes began to slow. You found your own breathing to be evening out, your cloudy thoughts pushing you closer and closer to sleep. The two of you slowly drifted off together, your heavy breaths falling perfectly in sync.

[bukojuiice]

are you feline what i’m feline? — todoroki shoto

ೃ pairing: cat boy! ┃pro hero! todoroki shoto  x fem pro hero! reader

ೃ  tags: smut 18+ (the rest of the tags are below the cut!)

ೃ  warnings: nsfw

ೃ wc: 3k words

ೃ  my nav  →  my mha writing masterlist  → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ  blessed with a quirk that can temporarily transform any human being into any living thing they want through the means of potions and concoctions, you brew up a cat girl potion to surprise shoto for your second year anniversary. however, some accidents and mishaps happen, and you’re welcomed home by a handsome cat boy instead.  

ೃ dedicating this fic to the lovely and amazing @todosweetheart​ bc her cat boy! shoto art is the reason why this fic exists. thank u for the content u feed us val! 🥰💓

additional tags:  use of natural aphrodisiac, cat boy! kink, overstimulation, fingering, kitten/cat play, rough but loving sex)

You had just recently moved in to a new neighborhood with your boyfriend, Todoroki Shoto. 

Your blissful domestic life with him was just about to begin and life couldn’t get any better than this. and yet... 

sometimes you wish you could do more for him. 

The two of you met when you were hired to work at his father’s agency, stealing glances at him by the reception area whenever you came in for work, and coincidentally getting into the same elevator as him. Not knowing that he was woefully smitten with you too. It was only through the probing of your co-workers that you had drunkenly confessed to him at a company party and he had (soberly) confessed to you too.

That was where everything started. 

That was how you and the No. #3 Pro-hero got together.

Sometimes, it made you think if you were even worthy of his love. 

You were just a hero with a support quirk; with it being used for more science and field-related work as your powers made you manifest and create drinkable liquids that could change the physical appearance of a person (make them invisible, turn them into an animal, or even turn them back into a child or into an elderly person) for a limited time and depending on how strong or weak the solution. This means that through your quirk, you are able to tamper with a person’s DNA through these concoctions without any consequences. It was a powerful quirk, just like magic, yes, but can it be used for offense? Sadly not.

Shoto’s quirk was the exact opposite. Bearing the quirk of fire and ice, he was the definition of perfection. The perfect quirk, the perfect combination of two exact opposite elements, and how adept he is at using both of them. Often praised and hailed by the public for not only being extremely powerful, but also for how painstakingly handsome he is. You were just waiting for some controversial tabloid to talk about the No. 3 Pro Hero and his girlfriend who was way out of his league. 

Shoto constantly reassures you not to worry about them, never failing to calm you down with his gentle I love you’s and forehead kisses whenever he sees you tensed up and nervous, and never failing to tell you that you are the light of his life and his strength to continue fighting. and yet, it still worries you sometimes.

Today marks your 2 year anniversary. 

The two of you decide to go out on a simple date tonight at one of the best-reviewed restaurants in the neighborhood as the two of you were busy with throwing out the moving boxes and unwrapping your furniture, combined with the hero work that the two of you do during the day. Completely ruling out the possibility of being able to plan an elaborate anniversary date. 

But, it was alright. As cheesy as Shoto makes it sound, no day can ever become the worst, as long as he’s spending it with you. 

“Ah~ Those crepes were super yummy! Plus, the cafe was really cute!” You beam with a satisfying yawn, the two of you walking side by side, hand holding the other, and his arm wrapped around your shoulder for that extra warmth against the cold summer night. 

“Yea. There was a classy vibe to it. That was my first time trying a galette, and I must say that was tasty.” He remarks, turning to you. Your radiant and lively energy was infectious and he can’t help but smile. “Leave it to Mina and Sato to know all the best restaurants, I suppose.”

You nod contentedly and the two of you continue to walk back home in silence. Shoto looks around, taking in the sight and wondering if he could point out any small details about your surroundings that could make you laugh or smile. He notices a small shadow perk up from beneath a bush and he casually points at it. “Hmm? (Y/N), look over there.” 

You follow Shoto’s gaze and also notice the small shadowy figure. “Oh?”

The quiet sound of a purr could be heard from the bush. The two of you wait a little bit for the creature to reveal itself. A black cat pounces out of the plant, it’s beautiful green eyes staring back at you. “Meoooow.”

The cat walks up to you and you crouch down, putting your hand out, and wait patiently. Sure enough, the cat nuzzles against it. 

“Ahhh she’s so cute.” You observe the cat a bit more and notice it’s femme feline features. Shoto crouches down next to you and pats it’s head. Clearly the kitty seems to enjoy all this attention as she’s purring up a storm. “She is.” 

You glance at Shoto and notice how his eyes glimmered a different blue-grey light as he continued to play with the kitten. Pure bliss present in his face. His handsome and soft features make you blush, with the heat rising up to your cheeks, you quickly turn away before Shoto could notice you.

Bingo.

What if you turned into a Cat Girl and made Shoto… ya know…

It was a simple formula after all. You could whip up a concoction, sprinkle in a little bit of natural aphrodisiac and that’s it! The recipe to the sexiest and kinkiest night of your life! Maybe you could show your love to Shoto in a different way than most girlfriends do to their boyfriends no?

“AHAH!” You suddenly jump up from the ground, your boyfriend perks up a little bit in surprise too. You then bring out your phone and begin scrolling through your notes. “Sho-kun! Come on! Let’s get home!” You grab his hand and drag him away. He adjusts his running to your pace, smiling at your sudden burst of eagerness and excitement. “Alright alright, love. Be careful so we don’t trip.”

That night, you told Shoto to not wait for you as you had to brew up some potions for tomorrow as specially requested by a hero from your agency. Although reluctant at first to leave you, he intently watched you work your magic at  the little science lab in your house. The smell of the strong chemicals waft around the living room, prompting him to retreat back to your bedroom, but not without a quick kiss (that was about to turn into a make out session) before bed. 

“Happy anniversary, Love.” Shoto holds you by the waist, resting his head on your shoulder. The two of you swaying slightly to the non-existent rhythm and this makes you almost want to go to bed with him. “Shall we continue this tomorrow?” He peppers kisses down your neck, you giggle in response. 

“We shall.” You turn to him and deliver a kiss to his lips. You pull away before you could even begin to think of yearning for more. “I’m sorry if we had to cut our anniversary short. It’s your day off tomorrow right? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

He nods first before giving you one last kiss, this time on the forehead. “Goodnight (Y/N). I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He pulls away. you watch him leave your lab first and make sure he’s out of sight before you get back to work. 

After a few more hours of solving the formula and crafting the recipe for a potion that doesn’t necessarily turn you into a cat, but rather, give you only cat ears and a cat tail, yu bring out a thermos bottle from the cupboard and pour in the liquid solvent along with the natural aphrodisiac. You stir it a little bit before using your quirk to add the finishing touch and to make it a viable and an actually working potion. 

“Can’t wait to drink this tomorrow.” You snicker to yourself, as you pour all of the liquid onto the thermos, storing it in the fridge and then proceed to go to your bedroom and finally hit the sack.

“AHH I’M LATE!” You rush out of the bedroom, messy bedhead hair, your hero suit not even fully zipped up, mismatched socks, and your bag tossing and turning, most of the contents falling out, your thermos being one of them. “I’M LATE FOR WORK! BYE! I LOVE YOU!” You greet Shoto who was eating his breakfast in the kitchen, planting him a farewell kiss on the cheek as you dash your way out of the house. 

“I l-love you too.” He bids goodbye with a wave, but you weren’t even there to hear it anymore. Shoto’s eyes cast downward, a bit disappointed that he wasn’t even able to greet you properly this morning and how your anniversary date felt so short even though you promised each other you would spend more time together later today. 

He then notices your water bottle on the ground. A sticky note that was labeled “Drink me!” was attached to it and of course as every other person would react once they see a note like that,

Shoto thought that was for him. 

“SHO! I’M BACK!” You call out to him, closing the door behind you. “Sho~?” You sing-song, peering through the kitchen and the living room but your boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. “Where are youuu?” You continue to traverse through your house, looking for him. You grind to a halt when you notice your thermos bottle on top of the dining table… All empty.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no.

“Shoto!” You call out, your voice cracking with nervousness. You rush to your bedroom, hoping and praying that he was there. Only… for the lights to be out. 

“Sho?” Your hand reaches out for the light switch. But, you hesitate. What if a demon had kidnapped your boyfriend and you had to save him!? What can your quirk even do to save him!?

“(Y/N)...” He finally responds. Although his tone was soft and still a bit suspicious, you breathe a sigh of a relief and finally turn on the lights.

The lights illuminate the room to reveal your boyfriend in his usual turtleneck fit that you always ogle at. You look up and down, noticing that this is still the same man you know and love and nothing bad actually happened until… 

You look up and behind him.

He’s still the same man you know and love. 

Just this time however. he’s a cat boy. 

“I drank the potion that you made.” He says ever so casually, nothing ever fazes him as usual. “It had a “drink me!” sticky note attached to it and I thought it was for me.” He continues to speak plainly. You thought you could get out of this situation scotch-free and you didn’t have to explain to your loving boyfriend what had happened to him. That was until he crossed his arms, his feet tapping the ground, and his cat tail waving behind him. “Please explain to me why I am now a cat boy.” 

“Well…” You began twiddling with your fingers, trying your very best not to make eye contact with him or else you would end up squealing in delight because of how adorable he looked. “You see, I made this potion to turn me into a cat girl so that I can… ya know… please you and stuff. I saw how affectionate you were with the cat we saw last night so.. I guess you can consider this as my late anniversary gift to you?” You laugh sheepishly, still trying your best not to look at him as his gaze intensifies. 

Shoto’s black and white cat ears twitch as he tries to stifle a laugh. “Fine. I forgive you. This will wear off eventually right?” You nod in response and Shoto’s shoulders slump down in relief. He was about to approach you and envelop you in a hug, until his legs wobbled midway and he practically fell down onto the floor. 

You rush to him and help him stand up, propping himself on the bed. “Sho… are you alright love?”

He starts breathing heavily, cat ears twitching once again, fingers trembling, lips quivering, and his face as red as a tomato. “(Y/N)... what was even in that potion you made?”

You suddenly remember the aphrodisiac you added to the recipe.

Oh no no no no (2)

Shoto suddenly turns away from you before you could notice the bulge rising in his pants. He covers his face in embarrassment, refusing to look at you. 

“I also added some aphrodisiac and some catnip into the potion ahahaha…” You scratch the back of your neck. Shoto turns to you again, his eyes glowing like that of a cat and giving off a smoldering feeling. He shifts your position, gently yet somehow arduously pinning you down on the bed. He steps closer, hands moving up your sides, going around your back, pulling you flush against him. Shoto nips at your earlobe, sending sparks through you. 

You bite back a moan as he kisses your neck, his tongue hot, the gentle scrape of his teeth (slightly sharped like that of fangs) leaving you shivering. 

The two of you stop for a bit. He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. Tension coils around him, barely contained energy. As if Shoto is preventing himself from showing you his animalistic and feline hunger wanting to ravage you.

“C-can I-”

Before Shoto could even utter another word, you grab his face and pull him back into a desperate kiss, capturing his gasp and the throaty moan that follows. You capture his mouth with yours, and he responds eagerly, his kiss fervent, all his restraint crumbling at your touch. 

He kisses your chin, and you tip your head back as he trails his lips down your neck, murmuring praise.

He lays you down, hiking your shirt up, tossing it to the floor, then deftly unhooking your bra, and exposing your breasts. You giggle and reach for his pants, unzipping the fly and getting a little thrill when you see the huge bulge in his boxers. 

You push up his turtleneck sweater to admire his abs and Shoto smiles back at you seductively. 

“Like what you see?” He says teasingly, a little quip that he barely does when the two of you make love, his husky voice makes your stomach swoop.

“I can only tell you if you purr first.” You tease back, running your fingers over his cat ears. Shoto  feels the tickling sensation build up inside of him, slowly about to give in to his raw animal instincts. While you continue to run your fingers through his cat features, he begins to suck and nibble on your breasts. You feel yourself get lost in his gentle caress, barely even notice him pulling off your panties and sliding them off between your legs. Shoto’s fingers slowly slide into your womanhood, as if testing out the waters. He works them in and out for a bit, then pulls them out, brings them to his mouth, and licks them. 

Like a kitten licking its milk. 

“Sho…”

You feel the last of Shoto’s restraint break as his cat ears twitch again, you can practically feel the energy crackling around him, and the hunger in his eyes more evident than a while ago. Shoto then braces his arms beside your head, as he slots his hips between your thighs. You rise up to meet him, a low moan spilling from your lips. 

“(Y/N)... I’m going to put it in now…”

You bite your lip and nod in confirmation. 

Shoto gently sets a slow pace, your head spins at the sensation and the arousal coursing through you, your hips rolling to meet the movements of his cock. As he enters, the thrilling sensation courses through you again and your mind feels like it just melted. 

You gently rub his cat ears again, and his cock twitches inside of you, the enthralling reaction resulting in a shudder of pleasure shooting through your body, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. And that pleasure transmits to Shoto loud and clear from your pussy. 

Meanwhile, his breathing was ragged, more wild and animalistic than normal. Which is to be expected due to the potion but… this hot and intense feeling radiating off of him was different. 

And you love it.

“I-I feel like I’m losing control…”

As Shoto speaks, he slams his cock into you, making your legs shake and you moaning louder than you should. Everything seems more intense, from his thrusting to the look on his eye. 

At this point, it’s getting harder and harder to form a coherent sentence. 

“Is it alright if I go faster?” Shoto says softly, you hold his hand in reassurance, unable to respond properly as every intense emotion running inside of you makes you let out hitched and breathy moans instead. 

Shoto pulls out halfway, then slams back inside of you, making a loud sticky sound.

The two of you were acting like animals in heat. 

“A-ah! Shoto!” You mewl out, each of Shoto’s thrust hitting an undiscovered part of your insides. Spurred on by your voice, his pace further increases, until you’re both moving frantically. You gasp at his intensity, at the weight and heat of his body pinning you down.

“(Y/N)! I’m going to-” 

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on, and his fluffy tail briefly brushes against you. Shoto’s body tenses up as he prepares to unload inside of you.

Shoto’s body spasms- including his tail. Waves of pleasure flood over you as his semen shoots full-force into your depths.

The two of you gaze into each other’s eyes for a minute before he slowly lays himself next to you, his feline features slowly disappearing as you try to catch your breath.

“L-look they disappeared with one whoosh.” You say in between pants and giggles, Shoto covering the two of you with your bed duvet, chuckling along with you/

“Next time, please label things properly and tell me if you added any sort of ingredient that could increasingly highten my sex drive.” He says with an exasperated sigh, yet satisfaction plastered all over his face as he looks at you lovingly. “I love you (Y/N). Happy anniversary… nya~” He whispers the last few words, shooting you a wink. 

Your eyes widen, your mouth forming into an O like that one Chris Pratt meme. “Y-you just said…”

“Let’s h-have a nap and just have some late dinner instead.” He shushes you by planting a kiss on your forehead. 

You were about to protest, but as soon as Shoto shut his eyes, you didn’t bother doing so anymore.

You plant a kiss on his knuckles, snuggling closer to him. “I love you too Sho. Happy anniversary.”

[troubatrain]

twisted in bedsheets - m. tkachuk

a/n: this is straight up smut.... like minimal plot mostly filth. but i hope you guys like it, i may give it a part two if anyone wants to see it but i don't know yet. big shoutout to my resident whores @hookingminor & @tkafuckit ily both sm

taglist : @barzysreputation

warnings: it's smush time (smut)

You almost wanted to make fun of him.

A part of you wondered, what did a single, twenty three year old, professional athlete who lived in a different country most of year need a house this big for? That wasn’t your business, and really neither was showing up two days after Matthew moved in with a bottle of wine and silly housewarming gift to make yourself feel better about where his little brother, also known as your best friend, was. You knocked loudly, hoping the car in the driveway meant Matthew was home and you weren’t wasting your time.

Matthew was inside, finally getting some peace and quiet after spending the day listening to his mother and the interior designer he hired argue about throw pillows. He jumped at the knock of his door, not used to the way it echoed through the house he bought on a whim. You were standing on the other side, bouncing on your heels with a bag in your hand and Matthew couldn’t help but smile.

Matthew always had a soft spot for you, Brady was your best friend and just like Matthew found himself watching out for Brady, he did the same for you. It was easy to keep it like that for years, Brady being far more possessive because you were his friend and not Matthew’s and not everything needs to be about you Matt, but it’d gotten harder lately. It was sudden, one summer Matthew came home and you were lounging by the pool and he swore his dick twitched in his pants, and it just wasn’t getting easier. It wasn’t easier when he tried to convince himself that there was an age gap between the both of you, even though it was barely two years and no one would blink an eye. It wasn’t easier when he beat the Senators and you quietly told him he had a good game because if Brady caught wind of it he’d lose his mind. And it sure as hell wasn’t easier when Brady mentioned your boyfriend constantly.

Your boyfriend who was having a party that Matthew knew for a fact Brady was at, but why weren’t you? Matthew couldn’t possibly get his hopes up, knowing if you were single he’d find some way to break your heart and you didn’t deserve that. That was the thing, Matthew ruined people and you were a far better person than he was to begin with. Matthew opens the door regardless, a smile on his face when he meets your eyes.

“Hi,” You beam, trying to play off like you were happy when you were just looking for a distraction that didn’t involve driving around and crying to Taylor Swift, “I, uh, congrats?”

Matthew chuckles, cocking his head to the side and opening his door a little further for you to come in, “Thank you, you really didn’t have to bring a gift.”

“It’s rude not too,” You scold, tapping Matthew in the arm and forgetting for a second you weren’t talking to Brady.

You pretended like you couldn’t feel it, the way his arms felt like a solid fucking rock and it was getting harder and harder to shove down that silly crush you’ve had since high school. You remember it so clearly, the moment Matthew went from Brady’s brother to just Matthew. You were a freshman, a dorky quiet kid who everyone knew not to mess with exclusively because Brady would kick the shit out of them, and you overheard a few girls in Matthew’s gossiping about how cute he was. Then it hit you, just as Matthew was leaning against his car to drive you home - he was cute. Cute turned into hot quickly, and you spent summer after summer wondering if you’d be bold enough to make a move.

You watched as Matthew pulled out the picture you’d framed for him, one his mother had taken of the three of you as kids. You were at the same ice cream shop you went to after every Blue’s game, chocolate ice cream smiles on your faces.

“You dropped your ice cream right after my mom took this,” Matthew hums, smiling at the memory himself.

“And you gave me yours because you felt bad for me,” You finish, hence the reason you chose that photo in the first place.

“You were crying,” Matthew nods, remembering the way his heart broke when he saw tears well up in your eyes. Even then, Matthew was a protector, constantly defending the people he held close to his heart, “Brady wouldn’t even share his… speaking of, isn’t there a huge rager you could be at right now?”

“Something about a party at my ex boyfriend’s doesn’t sound fun to me at all,” You sigh, hoping you wouldn’t have to explain it any further.

You didn’t have a boyfriend anymore.

It was all Matthew could process, his brain malfunctioning because he couldn’t believe it. Matthew gave you a sympathetic smile, “Let’s crack that bottle open then?”

You agreed, following Matthew into his yard to sit out by his fire pit, an early summer breeze making St. Louis unseasonably cold. He came back with two glasses, and you tried simply to ignore that his hands were big enough to hold both glasses in one, “So, Brady’s at a party at your ex-boyfriend’s place and you’re not mad at him at all?”

“I can’t be mad at Brady,” You explain, pouring yourself a glass of wine that was just a bit too big, “He doesn’t know what happened.”

“I thought you had no secrets,” Matthew questions, knowing that Brady knew everything about you and you were the same way. You turned your attention to the glass, swirling it in your hand while you seemed to shut down under Matthew’s gaze, “Y/N… it’s me, you know you can tell me.”

“It’s really embarrassing,” You whisper, “He cheated on me…”

“That’s not your fault,” Matthew scoffs, throwing an arm around your shoulders, “Why didn’t you tell-”

“He told me it was because the girl he was hooking up with was better in bed than me,” You whisper, Matthew closing his mouth immediately. He took a deep breath, his fingers scratching against your scalp while he looked straight ahead, “Please don’t tell Brady.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Matthew nods, his bottom lip between his teeth, “You’re perfect, and if he doesn’t see that he can go fuck himself.”

“What if he’s right?” You ask, taking a gulp of your drink. Matthew knew what road you were headed towards, one that was going to leave you insecure about this for the rest of your life if Matthew didn’t choose his next words carefully.

“He’s not,” Matthew shakes his head, hopping off the outdoor sofa you were on and kneeling down in front of you, “And you don’t need some douchebags opinion to make yourself feel good.”

“Would you sleep with me?” You ask, Matthew’s hand that had been rubbing your thighs gently stopped. You craved the validation, and a part of you always wondered if you had a shot with Matthew. If you were both able to drown out the noise from your friends and family, would he want you? Matthew’s hand crept up to your cheek, his thumb tracing your lip. You looked at him like this was the most important question he’d ever have to answer, and like if he said yes your lips would be on his, “And tell me I’m good.”

Matthew shut his eyes, running every possible scenerio knowing all of them include him fucking this up and hurting your feelings, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying. His lips ghosted over yours, stubble rough against your skin, “You’re sure about this?”

“Please,” You pout, not even bothering to give Matthew your best sexy face. You’d faked it enough, a year of trying to be something you weren’t to please some asshole who left for someone else anyways. Matthew’s hands slid on either side of you, his lips against yours and your hands on the back of his neck.

“Inside,” Matthew mutters against your lips, knowing if he didn’t stop himself now his new neighbors would get a show they didn’t ask for. You deserved better than that anyways. You snuck inside, your lips pressing kisses to Matthew’s neck while his arm stayed around your waist until you ended up in his bedroom. The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, Matthew crawling on top of you, “I cannot believe that asshole let you slip through his fingers like that.”

“Make me forget about him then,” You let out a breath, Matthew smirking against your skin when you lit up that competitive fire he’d always had. You tugged at the bottom of his shirt, Matthew taking the hint and grabbing it from the back of his neck to toss off. Matthew’s hands slid under your shirt, unhooking your bra and swirling his finger around your nipples, pulling a moan from you.

“You even moan pretty,” Matthew could believe it, knowing just how many dreams like this, but really hearing it was something else entirely. Matthew shed your clothes quickly, leaving you just in your panties while he pressed kisses against your skin, murmurs of praise left in their wake.

“Matty,” You whimper, tilting Matthew’s chin up from where it was nestling between your thighs, “No one’s ever made me cum like this before.”

Matthew swore he was going to blow right there. The way your eyes looked into his, a trust that you were giving him that it was becoming clear you’d never given anyone. If it was anyone else, Matthew’s cocky nature would have broken through, a challenge accepted attitude that he couldn’t have with you.

You weren’t nervous but it wasn’t some secret that Matthew got around, and admitting something that seemed as trivial as what you’d told him was a big deal to you. Matthew’s blue eyes were soft, a small smile on his face, “We’ll go slow baby.”

And slow it was, Matthew was patient, trying to figure out what was going to get you off. His tongue was lapping at your core slowly, smirking at the way you squirmed whenever he got close to your clit. Your hands were in his hair, curling his overgrown hair around your fingers. Matthew’s tongue flicked your clit, your soft grip on his curls tighter, “Fuck, sorry-”

“Keep tugging on them,” Matthew groans against you, the vibrations sending a chill up your spine. His fingers were digging into your thighs, undoubtedly leaving a mark to worry about later, but you didn’t care. Matthew was eating your pussy like it was his last fucking meal, growing harder from the way you were moaning his name. You were close, your hips lifting off the bed and Matthew’s hands against your stomach to keep you right where you were. The only sounds echoing through that house were the ones from your orgasm, washing over you while Matthew finally pulled away. His finger swiped your core, sucking your cum off his finger, “Fucking delicious…”

You could feel the heat on your cheeks, holding your arm over your face from Matthew’s praise. He let out a light laugh, pulling your arm down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t be insecure, when you’re with me you don’t have to be.”

You didn’t have a second to process his words, the way say with me like this was something meant to last more than a night, because Matthew’s lips were back on yours. Your hand snuck between you, palming him through his sweats and swallowing the groan with your lips, “I want to try something.”

Matthew’s brows raised, letting you push him onto his back without a fight. You’d never been the most confident in the bedroom, and you really never tried anything that wasn’t missionary, but something about Matthew’s praise had your head held high. You grind your hips against him, a smug smile on Matthew’s face, “You’ve never been on top before?”

You shook your head no, biting your lip and waiting for why have you had the most boring sex life imaginable laugh that should have followed. It never came, instead Matthew’s hands gripped your hips and lifted you up so he could kick off his sweats and boxers. His hand fell, searching through his bedside table for a condom, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling it onto his cock. He tapped your clit with the head, his thumb that was still gripping you was rubbing softly against your skin, “Whenever you’re ready babe.”

Matthew watched you sink yourself onto him slowly, biting his lip to stop himself from cumming too soon because this was hotter than anything he could have imagined. All of those fantasies included finding out you were secretly dirty as hell, but finding out you weren’t and the trust you seemed to give Matthew because he’d never done you wrong was even sexier. Matthew’s hands guided your hips slowly, his head thrown back from the pleasure, “Am I doing good?”

“You’re doing fucking wonderful baby,” Matthew groans, grabbing a fistful of your ass. You moan, falling forward and kissing Matthew’s jaw lightly. He threw his arm around your back, fucking up into you at faster pace, “I want you cum again, c’mon.”

“Matty, I-” You whimper, a protest that you didn’t think you had another one in you until your pussy clenched around him. Your legs were shaking, Matthew stopping himself before he got too rough with you. You caught your breath for a second, Matthew pushing your hair away from your face so he could kiss you. His kisses were gentle, a stark contrast from the fact that his cock was still buried inside of you. You tried to move, grind your hips against his to get him off like he’d just done to you, but your hips bucked from the sensitivity.

“Slow down babe,” Matthew hums, his large hand rubbing your back gently, “We’ll get there.”

Getting there wasn’t hard at all. Not after Matthew had you on your back so he could keep fucking you. You looked beautiful, moaning his own name below him like you’d never said anyone’s name like that. Matthew’s head was tucked into your neck, the sounds of his skin slapping against yours filling the room until he finally came with a loud groan.

When you finally came down from the after sex high, a realization washed over you. You’d had sex with your best friend’s brother. The same brother you’d spend years of your life with. Matthew walked into his bathroom, grabbing you a warm washcloth and a clean shirt from his closet. He got back into his room, glancing at the way you were looking around his room with his sheets over your chest unsure of whether or not you should leave. Matthew leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips, “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t have to let me-” You start to protest, a weird feeling in your chest you couldn’t quite describe. You were a relationship type, hook ups weren’t your playing field and you knew Matthew lived by them. You never forgot it either, the way he slugged back a beer and looked Brady and yourself dead in the eyes and told you he swore he wasn’t built to last more than a night. Matthew chuckles, cleaning you up and throwing his shirt over your frame. He laid down next to you, pulling you against his chest and kissing your shoulder.

“I want you to stay here,” Matthew assures you, smiling wide when you tucked yourself into his side.

Hey Matty?

Yeah?

Don’t tell Brady about this.

Secret’s safe with me Y/N.

[spidernerdsblog]

Can you do MMIH blurb where the reader and Tom try and have alone time but the twins keep interrupting and tom gets frustrated and sends them to Nikki's nd Dom's place so they can have alone time?

Got a couple of requests on this concept so here it is the well deserved date night for them. Hope you like this. Let me know what you think.

Match made in Hell (series)

DATE NIGHT

Pairing : Mob! Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings : 18+, SMUT, minors DNI, soft passionate, bathtub sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Running a business was never easy be it the mob or his new real estate business Tom always found paperwork grating. The constant signing of his initials after scrutinizing the legal documents line by line stacked in those manila folders on the table was strenuous. And on top of that when you walked into his office in the middle of the day dressed in that sundress that drove him insane didn’t help much either. He was quick to put all the work aside and pull you in his lap. 

With the kids and a business to run you could barely spare some time for each other. So whenever you managed a little alone time you were all over each other like some horny teenagers all desperate and needy. Your dress was bunched up to your waist, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your ass as you grinded on his growing bulge. Tom’s breath was hot on your neck as he kissed the sweet spot behind your ear that made your knees go weak. You let out a whimper when he slipped a hand between your legs rubbing your clit through your panties feeling your wetness. 

“Fuck baby you’re soaked” he grunted hastily undoing his belt and fly. He was about to pull out his throbbing length when you were interrupted by Leah’s sharp voice.

“Mommy! Look, Nate ate my chocolates!” 

“No mommy I did not!” Nate retorted as you stopped everything you were doing. Sighing against his mouth you pulled away from Tom.

“Mmmmph don’t go please” he whined, chasing your lips as his grip tightened on your waist in an attempt to keep you close.

“I have to” you kissed his nose and pressed your foreheads together with a smile.

“You know I love them with my life but they are being serious cockblocks lately” he mumbled.

“Don't say like that, they are small and they need me” you snickered. 

“What about me? I need you too” he pouted, giving you his best puppy eyes.

“Yeah that is the reason they are here in the first place so now deal with it” you got off his lap standing up and fixing your dress while Tom sat on his chair with a scowl on his face. He knew he was being selfish but you both deserve some alone time together. He can’t remember the last time you cuddled together and poured your hearts out, drifting off to sleep listening to each other's heartbeat. And then suddenly an idea went across his mind.

“By the way, are you going to the diner today?” he asked.

“Yeah, some deliveries will be arriving. I need to check them myself. Why?”  

“Try to come home early”

“For what?” you glanced at him questioningly.

“Just be back by six. You’ll get to know” he insisted.

“Ok I’ll try” you left, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

After solving the huge mystery of the stolen chocolates, it turned out that Nate indeed had eaten all of his sister’s chocolates. You made him say sorry to her and then went to your diner. As promised you returned home early and were a little surprised to find the house oddly quieter than normal days.

“Good evening darling. How was your day?” Tom’s voice startled you as he walked in from the backdoor of the mansion. You also noticed how he was dressed differently tonight in a blue turtleneck and trousers, hair gelled back as his rolex glimmered on his wrist.

“It was good but why is it so quiet in here? Where are the kids?” you asked, taking off your overcoat and handing it to Tom who took it from you and hung it on the coat hanger.

“At their grandma's” he informed nonchalantly.

“Thomas Holland, you just did not send our kids to your parents house to have sex with me did you?!” you raise an eyebrow questioningly.

“That’s preposterous! I would never do that!” he gasped dramatically “it had been a long time since they visited their grandparents and mum was missing them too so I dropped them off at my parent’s for tonight” he explained. 

“Okay I believe you. So why did you ask me to come home early?” 

“Well I thought it has also been a long time we spent time together just the two of us so I arranged a little date night for us” he revealed, smiling with glee. 

“Aww that's very sweet of you. So where are we going?” you asked curiously.

“You'll see. Shall we Mrs. Holland?” he held out his hand for you.

“Sure Mr. Holland” you slipped your arm into his with a smile.

Stepping out of the mansion you strolled through the blue stoned walkway hand in hand as he took you to the gazebo built in the middle of your huge lawn. As you neared it your eyes went wide in awe. The gazebo was decorated with fairy lights, a table for two was set with flowers and candles on it and a mix of your favorite songs playing.

“You like it?” he asked softly.

“Oh my god Tom I love it!” you gasped, taking his face between your hands and giving his lips a warm rather long kiss.

“My lady,” Tom pulled out a chair for you.

“Thank you kind sir” you snickered sitting down as Tom took the seat opposite to you. He opens the bottle of wine and pours you both a glass. Raising your glasses in the air for a toast he admires your beautiful face glowing in the soft yellow light emanating from the candles. After you are finished having your dinner which, not to mention was delicious. You reached out your hands, taking his hands in yours gently.

“This was perfect Tom, I really missed spending time with just the two of us” you said, mindlessly tracing his wedding band with your thumb.

“I’m glad you liked Y/N” he gave a warm smile, squeezing your hands lightly.

“Thank you so much Tom for...”

“Ah ah not yet darling” he cuts you off.

“What else did you plan?” you gave him a puzzled look.

“For that we have to go back inside the house”

“I think I already know what the surprise is” you narrowed your gaze, giving him a knowing smirk.

“Oh c’mon you’ll love it I promise” he said with an impish glee.

“We’ll see,” you laughed as you got up from your seats and slowly made your way back into the house and then headed to your room.  

“You might wanna change” he whispered into your ears as you felt butterflies in your stomach in anticipation at what he had planned for you “and don’t come in before I say” he added before disappearing inside the bathroom. You unzipped your dress, taking it off as you decided to just put on your satin robe and sat on the edge of the bed wondering what he was doing inside for so long.

“Y/N you can come in now” you heard him call out after sometime. The lights were off as you padded your way inside to have your jaws dropped. Tom had drawn a bubble bath for both of you. The room was lit with your favorite scented candles, the sweet scent looming in the air and rose petals scattered everywhere.

“So what do you think?” Tom asked, sitting inside the bathtub.

“Well you got me speechless Holland”

“I thought what’s better than a relaxing bubble bath at the end of the day”

“Can’t argue with that” you snickered.

“Now come on in before the water gets cold” he invited you.

You untied the knot of your robe and slipped it off your shoulders letting it fall on the floor. Tom’s eyes were on you watching every slight movement of yours mesmerized. He can never get enough of you and your beautiful body. You stepped inside the tub as Tom spread his legs a bit to accommodate you. You sat down between his legs leaning back on his chest instantly relaxing at the feeling of the warm water hugging every inch of your skin as you breath in the aroma of the bubble bath. Tom’s warm chest brushing against your back adds to the feeling as you  melt into him soaking in the heat radiating off his body. It was like heaven and this is exactly what you needed.

“Comfortable?” he asked as you nodded in a yes. Tom brought his hands up to your shoulders, gently pushing his thumbs into them, massaging your tired muscles. He rubs his hands all over your shoulders and upper back relieving the knots. A little moan escaped your lips whenever he hit a spot.

“You really need to give serious thought to taking up the job of a masseur” you snickered.

“Well as I told you before it’s only for a special person” he said continuing to massage at the base of your neck.

“It feels good” you sighed in content.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm” you hummed.

“I have another way to make you feel better” he murmured against the shell of your ear and your breath hitched.

“How’s that?” 

Tom wrapped his right arm around you, cupping one of your breasts. He places his other hand on your knee, running it across the expanse of your thigh before dragging them along your inner thigh. The cold wedding band on his ring finger a sharp contrast against your warm skin sending shivers down your body.

He spread your delicate folds with his long fingers and dragged them slowly up and down taking his own time. He littered your neck and shoulder with bites and kisses as his fingers explored you and little waves of pleasure coursed through your body. He switched between pinching your nipple and squeezing your breast as you grind your ass against his cock.

“Want my fingers inside you love?” he purred.

“Yes... yes please Tom” your voice came out shaky yet desperate.

He bites on your shoulder gently as he inserted his pointer and middle finger into you in one swift motion. The feeling of his knuckles pressed deep against you felt so overwhelming makes you clench involuntarily. His fingers massaged your velvety walls pushing in and out of you drawing out delicate moans of his name from you. His thumb soon found your bundle of nerves drawing slow circles around it. You grinded your ass back against him harder as he picks up his pace.

“Needy for my fingers, aren’t ya?” he chuckled as you mewled in response. Your head tilted to the side as he trailed kisses back up your neck, nipping at your earlobe while his fingers worked on your wetness. He whispered praises into your ear as you clenched around his fingers, legs threatening to close. Tom placed a hand on your thigh to keep your legs apart. He could tell you were close as your body grew heavier in his grasp.

“You gonna cum for me darling?” he curled his fingers inside you hitting your spot.

“Yes...fuck Tom... right there” your body fell back against him. Tom knelt down, capturing your lips in a sloppy, passionate kiss as he rubbed at your clit faster. Your body convulsed as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. Tom held you against him as you came down from your high you felt his hard cock pressing against your ass. 

You turned around in your post orgasmic haze placing your hands on his chest straddling his waist. You captured his lips in a heated kiss, his tongue slipped past your lips dominating you as he ran his hand down your bare back. Your wet bodies rubbing against each other as you moaned into each other's mouths.

“Ride me baby. Wanna feel every inch of you” he said pulling away, the deep baritone of his voice making your pussy throb with need.

You lifted yourself up gripping on his shoulders tightly as Tom grabbed his dick and lined it to your hot, wet and welcoming entrance. You slowly sunk down on him, your eyes rolling in the back of your head as he filled you up. You can never get used to him always stretching you in the most incredible and delicious ways. Tom groaned loudly, bottoming out. 

You started to ride him, gradually gyrating your hips in a slow motion. His hands falling to your hips guiding you up and down his length. Your hips meet with each and every thrust, water splashing out of the tub which you could care less about right now. He knelt down peppering your chest with kisses and love bites, your fingers knotted in his hair tugging on the roots as you bounced on his cock.

Tom’s hands slid down to your ass, spreading your cheeks as he took control. You gasped when he picked up the pace, plunging deeper inside you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging onto him as he thrusted up into you mercilessly. You hid your face in the crook of his neck sucking a mark into his skin. Tom felt your body tremble, your walls squeezing him like a vice and he knew you were almost there.

He wrapped an arm around you holding you securely while his other hand reached down between your wet bodies. He began rubbing your oversensitive clit in fast circular motion that sent you tipping off the edge. You wrapped your arms around him trying to keep him as close as possible as you slowly rode out your high. Your walls spasmed around him which sets him off too. His whole body shudders and he spills his seed inside you. 

Both of your chests were heaving as you came down for the high. He leaned back against the edge of the tub with you in his embrace. You sit back to find a goofy smile on his face . 

“I love you” your hand traces his jaw and you lean in to kiss him “you always take care of me so well” you murmured against his lips. Tom tugged on your bottom lip, a grin forming at the corner of his lips.

“We are just getting started, darling”

..................................................................................

Reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[choco-court]

Ghost of a Flower

This is my entry for the lu server creator competition a few months ago! Doesn’t actually have a lot to do with lu but it’s there towards the end. Main characters: Aryll, Marin Word count: 1900

-----------

Aryll knew her brother could See things.

Once, twice, thrice, she’d caught her brother staring at nothing for a moment too long, sometimes he just looked like he was following the path of a butterfly that wasn’t there, other times he’d go pale and not look again until long after she and Link left.

Grandma told her not to ask about what Link saw unless he brought it up first.

Link never did, so Aryll never asked, but if she pointed out a pretty or funny thing whenever he looked like he’d seen a ghost so he didn’t have to look. Well, he never mentioned that either, so neither did Aryll.

Once, late at night, he came home crying. He told Grandma that he had seen someone scary, but they weren’t scary because of something they did or how they looked. He said they were scary because of something that happened to them.

Aryll didn’t understand how someone could be scary because of what happened to them. Wouldn’t the thing that happened be what was scary?

Aryll had wanted to ask, or at least comfort her big brother, but she’d been up way past her bedtime and she didn’t want to get in trouble, so she’d went to bed.

Once, just once, Link told her about what he saw. He said he saw people, old people, but they didn’t always look old. He said they looked blue and see-through, and that they shouldn’t be there, but they had to be for some reason.

Why do they have to be there if they aren’t supposed to be? She’d asked,

Because they need to do something, He’d said. But usually they can’t do what they need to, so they just.. Wander. Sometimes I can help them, and then they disappear when I do, but...

He’d trailed off then. Aryll didn’t pry, so they’d just looked at the stars until it was bedtime.

---

Aryll hadn’t known she could Feel things.

Not for awhile anyway,

How was she supposed to know it wasn’t normal to be able to hold something and just Know what it had gone through?

Sometimes knowing what something had been through was comforting, like when she held her spyglass and felt the way her mom’s hands once wrapped around the wood, she could almost imagine her mom was wrapping her own hands around it, showing her how to hold it just so.

And when she looked through the glass she swore for a moment she could see distant islands, places her mother had been to and spied with the glass, and later on, what her brother had seen with it.

Sometimes it was overwhelming. Like when Tetra threw her a loose bag of rupees and it had spilled, she’d tried to pick them up, but every gem had so many feelings in them, different enough that she heard them all and similar enough that she couldn’t sort through them, instead they echoed off each other so loudly she could barely hear the ship around her until she managed to shove them back in the bag so she wasn’t touching and hearing them anymore.

Sometimes it was useful, like when Link sent her to open up a few bottles of something or other they’d gotten from Tetra. But the bottles hadn’t been closed with cork or tops or anything Aryll knew how to open.

She’d gone back and asked Link how to open them, he’d said something about a bottle opener, which was apparently wrench shaped.

She’d searched through their little tool box, running her hands over the items until she recognized a pop-fizzle-pour that felt like opening a cork stopper, and triumphantly returned with the opened bottles.

---

Aryll had just been discovering she could Feel things others couldn’t when the Helmerock King swept her away from Outset, away from Grandma, away from Link. Away, away, away.

Aryll tried to be strong her first night, but stuck in the lonely cold wooden cage before the other two girls were brought there too, she couldn’t help but cry.

She wanted her brother, she wanted Grandma, she wanted anyone to hold her and tell her it was a bad dream, that she’d wake up and it would’ve never happened at all.

She didn’t quite get her wish, but she did get something, someone, who helped.

She woke up somewhere in the night, the feeling of what seemed like warm mist carding through her hair. She opened her bleary eyes and looked up, up, up at the person sitting above her.

For a moment she thought she was Seeing the way her brother did, the person— woman? Was see-through the way Link said the people he saw were, but the lady above her wasn’t blue and pale like Link told her they always were, instead she was hazy, and almost pink-ish? It was too dark for Aryll to be sure, she couldn’t even see the lady’s face properly.

But she could make out a sundress like hers, and a large flower like the one on her dress in long, long hair that should’ve tickled Aryll’s nose, but seemed to trail into nothing before it could.

The lady shifted a bit and Aryll realized she was staring.

Aryll tried to sit up, but the cold stone floor made her achy and stiff so it took a little while. She could tell the lady tried to help, but her hands only passed through her like warm air.

Once she was sitting up, Aryll and the lady seemed to find their voices at the same time.

“Who’re-”

“Are yo-”

They paused.

“..Are you okay?” The lady continued after a moment, concern and confusion written on her face.

Aryll didn’t know how to answer that. Her knee-jerk reaction was to say ‘fine’ the way you did every time someone asked, but she was trapped in a wooden cage at the bottom of some weird pit because a giant, stupid, terrifying bird swept her off the ground and over the ocean away for her home. She wasn’t fine.

The lady seemed to realize this too, the longer it took for Aryll to reply.

“Okay, yeah, that was kind of a stupid question huh?” She said, glancing at the bare floor, the barred walls, Aryll’s own tear marked face.

“..Mhm.” Aryll mumbled, tears threatening to return.

The lady seemed to think for a moment, brows drawn together and a hand fidgeting with her dress, Aryll noticed her eyes were brown.

“Alright, let’s try something different.” She started,

“My name’s Marin, I’m not really sure how I got here, or where here is. The last thing I remember is, well. Nothing? I mean, I remember but— ugh, that’s not the point.”

The lady —Marin, paused, gathering herself again before starting a third time.

“The point is. My name is Marin, and I want to help you if I can. What’s your name?”

Oh, Aryll thought. No wonder she hadn’t even questioned if she could trust this strange lady, she was already so nice.

She didn’t even know Aryll’s name yet and her first thought was to run her hands through her hair, an attempt at comfort that made her think of Grandma.

The tears that were threatening before had receded as Marin spoke, but now they returned full force. At least now they weren’t only tears of sadness.

Marin looked panicked as Aryll started to cry, especially when she lurched forward, trying to hug Marin —and passed right through her.

Marin tried to catch her, and when that failed, curled around her as best she could without phasing through Aryll.

Aryll cried harder as she felt Marin’s ghostly warmth around her, staving off the cold of the cobblestone and open air.

She wanted Grandma, she wanted Link, she wouldn’t get either of them.

She wanted to leave the wood cage she was in and just climb up out of this hole and look at the stars with her big brother, even if it was just on the rim of the pit she was in, anything would be better than only the small disk of sky above her and the cold floor beneath her.

Aryll leaned more into Marin, or, well, attempted to, it was the thought that counted.

As the stars turned above them Aryll slowly calmed down, enough to lean back (right through Marin’s arms) and remember Marin’s question.

“My—my name’s Aryll.” She said with a final sniffle.

Marin smiled, “That’s a pretty name, Aryll.”

And as the night went on, the two talked, trying to puzzle out how Marin was there.

Aryll explained her Feeling and Link’s Sight as best as an eight year old could, and how she’d ended up in the wooden cage.

Marin told Aryll what she knew as well, that there should only be one person left who remembered her, that maybe because Aryll could feel memories she might be able to see one like Marin too.

But they couldn’t explain why Marin was only there now, Aryll had never Seen before and there was no telling how long Marin had been drifting, only existing on a technicality.

Ultimately, they didn’t get far on that front, but Marin was determined to stick around no matter why she was there.

Slowly, slowly, the night turned to day, and Aryll fell asleep for a while, and then it was night again, then day, then night, again and again.

On one of those days the other girls were brought there by the Helmaroc King.

Once they were there Marin and Aryll could only talk when the two girls were sleeping, they bickered so much Aryll dared not risk gaining their attention,  especially not to risk making them think she was crazy.

But just Marin being there made things so much easier than they might’ve been, a warm hand hovering where it would usually rest on her shoulder but no less comforting.

A hazy, pinkish form to follow when looking up at the patch of sky above was too much.

And a calming voice, heard by no one but her that distracted with stories of a pink haired boy with a sword and shield.

Eventually, Link came, he came to finally take her home, home, home.

Marin never left, she kept Aryll company when she couldn’t sleep from the rocking of Tetra’s ship.

Marin stayed, and returned Aryll’s look of delight when Link came home.

Marin watched, as nine boys and men stumbled through a portal onto Outset, and giggled with Aryll at their nicknames, especially Link’s —or, Wind’s.

Marin smiled, melancholy, at the boy with pink hair. Aryll didn’t understand why the boy made her sad, but he was gentle with her beloved gulls, and Marin never seemed upset with him, so Aryll didn’t say anything.

And one day, while Link, Wind, her brother, was still off with those eight Heroes, Aryll felt a tingle in her hands, like her Feeling, but more like she was feeling something that was to come rather than long past, she turned to Marin and said,

“I want to find out why you’re here.”

Marin just nodded, and watched patiently as Aryll packed her things, helped her spell the word she couldn’t remember in her letter telling Grandma where she was, and pointed out the gate to somewhere new standing just in the forest of their little island.