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girlgenius1111 · 5 months ago

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nerves

sol's masterlist ☀️ 2nd grade shouldn't be as scary as it felt, but sol was quite used to things feeling scarier than they seemed to feel to other people. even if her parents weren't worried for her growing anxiety, though, ingrid was. [sol is 8 in this, and ingrid is 16] warnings: descriptions of anxiety + symptoms of anxiety.

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Your chest felt tight, tears falling quickly down your face as you sobbed into your pillow. Fear was gripping you, making it so that you couldn’t breathe right. It wasn’t a new feeling, it was one you’d experienced before, though you couldn’t quite put a name to it. You felt sick, sicker when you remembered what the following day was. You’d only been able to get a few hours of sleep before the feeling woke you up, and soon after, you were trembling in your bed, clutching tightly to Snø.

The feeling was becoming overwhelming, and you were suddenly worried you were going to throw up or stop breathing or something. It was this terrifying thought that had you pushing the covers back, and creeping out of your room. You went down the hall, passed your parents room as quietly as you could, before you pushed Ingrid’s door open.

“Ing?” You whispered, the low volume of your voice not disguising how shaky it was. The light clicked on, and your sister sat up in her bed, hair all messy. She blinked at you groggily, and you took a tentative step closer. “Ca-can I sleep in here?”

Your sister seemed to wake more, concern replacing the sleepy expression on her face. “Of course you can.”

She’d barely gotten the words out before you were scrambling forward onto her bed with her. Ingrid’s arms were already open, and you curled into her, allowing her long arms to wrap around you. This was where you undoubtedly felt safest, and it wasn’t surprising when the bad feeling dulled, just a bit.

“Solstråle, you’re shaking.” Ingrid murmured, frowning at the quiet whimper you gave in response. “What’s wrong, huh?” She wondered, tucking your head under her chin and rubbing your back.

You were sniffled, hiding your face in her neck and gripping her shirt in your fist as you snuggled even closer. “‘M Scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

Only here, in the dark and curled up against your favorite person, could you admit what was really terrifying you. “Don’t wanna go to school.”

“School is scaring you?” Ingrid wondered, not knowing you to have struggled with this in the past.

You nodded, the steady thumping of your sister’s heartbeat in your ear grounding you.

“Why?”

A shrug, this time, with you only speaking when Ingrid tried to extract your face from its hiding spot. “Don’t know. Just scared.”

You really didn’t know. No matter how much you tried to figure out why you were so terrified, nothing came to mind. There was no explanation. All you knew was that this feeling was sticking around, and you’d do just about anything to get rid of it.

“Is someone at school bothering you?” Ingrid asked, her voice dropping to anger at the mere thought.

“No.” You weren’t lying. Sure, the kids at school could be mean sometimes, but your biggest bully lived at home with you. You dealt with her every day, and the mean kids couldn’t hold a torch to your mother when she decided she’d had enough of you. The social aspect was a stressor, for sure, but it wasn’t the cause of the pit in your stomach. “It’s… it’s new. It’s different.”

“It’s not new, not really!” Ingrid tried to rationalize. “It’s the same school, you’ve been there before. You know how everything works. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“It’s still new. A new year and a new teacher and a new class and new people and… I don’t wanna go. I want to stay here. Please.” You looked up at your sister, eyes wide and watery, and her heart truly broke. She hated that you were so upset, and she hated that she didn’t have the power to tell you that you didn’t have to go.

“School is important, Solstråle. You’ll be okay once you get there, I promise. It’s just the anticipation that’s causing you trouble.” Her voice was encouraging and kind, but you were merely puzzled, the word being unfamiliar to you.

“What is anticipation?”

“It’s like the waiting before something happens. It’s always worse than whatever actually happens.”

“What if it’s not better once I get there?” Ingrid was the person you trusted more than anyone in the world, but even she couldn’t put your nervousness to rest with just a few words. It was too intense for that to work.

“You go to the nurse, and you tell them you don’t feel well, and they’ll call Mamma. She’ll come get you, and we can try again tomorrow.” Ingrid explained rationally, believing herself that you’d be completely fine once you got to school.

“Mamma won’t come get me.” You murmured. At this point, Ingrid was used to the tension between you and your mother, and she knew that, likely, you were right. “She has a meeting with your manager. Pappa’s taking me in the morning because she’ll be gone all day, and then he’s going to work.”

Your sister remembered now. She was supposed to pick you up after school, because no one else would be home. When her mother had told her, she’d been a bit sad; it was your first day of school, and neither of your parents seemed to care very much.

“Then I’ll come get you.” Ingrid promised, making a mental note to cancel the plans she had with various friends, and the lunch date she was supposed to go on. If no one else would be there for you tomorrow, then she would make sure she was.

“Really?” You asked quietly, glancing up at her hopefully, and then looking away quickly, as if your hope would jinx it.

“Promise. You promise me to try your best to go and stay, and if you don’t feel better by lunch, I’ll come get you.”

Until lunch was a long time. A whole morning with the icky feeling in your stomach didn’t excite you, but Ingrid was already going out of her way to help, so the least you could do was accept her deal. “Okay. Promise.”

“Good. Now it’s bedtime, okay?”

“Kay.” You mumbled, closing your eyes tight to appease your sister, though your tight grip on her shirt didn’t relent. Ingrid turned the lamp back off and settled back under the covers, this time with you held close to her. She hoped that would be the end of it. When she woke the next morning, though, and you were already awake, staring at the ceiling with tears falling from your eyes, she knew it wouldn’t be.

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Your hands were shaking as you brought the little spoon to your lips, and your tummy twisted at the thought of putting food into your mouth. You’d managed a couple mouthfuls of cereal, but suddenly, it felt like another would make you sick that instant. Putting the spoon down, you reached for your glass of water, only your hand was still shaking, and the glass slipped from it, shattering back down onto the table. You jumped, startled. The water quickly ran off the table and down onto your father’s lap, as he swore. You shut your eyes tightly, awaiting the inevitable yelling that was sure to follow.

“Shit!” Your dad shouted, pushing his chair backwards and rising from his seat. His pants were soaked with water, and you knew he was wearing a new suit for an important meeting he had today.

“Sorry!” You cried, grabbing a napkin and weakly trying to mop up some of the water. “Sorry, Pappa.”

“Look what you’ve done!” He shouted, looking down to glare at you, only softening slightly when he saw your tears.

“It wasn’t on purpose.” You mumbled, shrinking into yourself in your seat. If you’d felt sick before, you felt like you might just curl up into a ball and die now.

“It doesn’t matter. You need to be more careful. Now I have to change, and you’re going to make both of us late.” Your father scolded, apparently oblivious intense distress.

“What’s all the yelling for?” Ingrid wondered, walking past her father as he stormed upstairs to change. You were crying silently, cleaning up the water as best you could. You didn’t respond to Ingrid’s question, though your dad did stop and turn to address your sister.

“Your sister is being clumsy, again. Can you take her to school, Ing? I have a meeting and I’ll be late if I take her.”

“Yeah, I can.” Ingrid agreed easily, still looking between you both with uncertainty.

“But… you’re supposed to walk me to my class and help me find my cubby. It’s my first day. Mamma said, you’re supposed to come with me.” You whimpered, your lower lip wobbling.

“I don’t have time for this.” Your father sighed, turning around and walking out of the room without another word.

“Pappa,” you called after him, really starting to panic now at the thought of having to manage everything all by yourself. Your Mamma had promised that Pappa would come with and help you get to class. It was the only thing that had stopped the absolute tantrum you’d thrown the day before when she told you she had to go to a meeting instead of taking you. You started to cry, for real now, bringing your hands to your face and instinctually trying to swallow your tears, to no avail.

Within a few seconds, though, there were hands on yours, pulling them away from your face, and you opened your eyes to see Ingrid kneeled in front of you. Unlike your father, Ingrid was deeply concerned with the way you were acting. It seemed to her to be more than just the regular first day butterflies; you were properly panicking now.

“Don’t want to go, Ingrid, I can’t do it by myself,” you sobbed, leaning forward until your sister wrapped her arms around you and pulled you into a nice, tight hug.

“Shh, shh.” She soothed, running her fingers through your hair, noting that your father hadn’t even bothered to put it up into a ponytail like he was supposed to. “You won’t be alone, I’ll take you in. We’ll find your cubby, and meet your teacher, and everything will be fine, Solstråle.”

Leaning back, you looked at your sister skeptically. “Really?”

“Of course!” Ingrid said with a smile. She wiped a few tears from your cheeks, and straightened your shirt. Checking the clock, on the counter, she made an executive decision. “Let’s get your face rinsed off, and your hair braided, and then I’ll take you.”

With your hand in hers, Ingrid brought you to the bathroom, and for the first time that morning, you thought that things might be okay.

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You walked into the school like you were heading for your own funeral, trudging along and dragging your feet next to your sister. Ingrid stuck by your side, though, as she’d promised to do, but the time for her to leave came all too soon. Seeing the tears welling in your eyes as the teacher called for everyone to say goodbye to their parents, she took your hand and led you over to the corner of the classroom. She knelt down in front of you, trying to seem relaxed and calm, hoping you could pick up on it.

“I’m gonna go now, Solstråle, but remember our deal?”

“I remember.” You mumbled, scrubbing your fist over your eye, desperate not to cry in front of your classmates.

“Okay. Just try for me, yeah? Until lunch, and if you’re still feeling nervous, go to the nurse and have them call me.” You nodded dutifully, leaning forward for a hug. Ingrid gave you one, squeezing tight. “Just try your best for me. I know you can do it, yeah?”

“Okay.” You didn’t think you could do it. In fact, you were almost sure you couldn’t, but disappointing your sister wasn’t an option, and surely she’d be disappointed if you didn’t hold up your end of the deal.

“I love you. I’ll see you soon.” Ingrid said, kissing your forehead and giving your hand one last squeeze.

“Love you too.” You watched your sister leave, feeling the lump in your throat grow as she headed out the door. You sat back down at your desk, fiddling with your pencil case instead of talking like your classmates were doing.

Pausing in the door to look back at you, Ingrid had to force herself to continue to walk out of the room. You looked so small, sitting at your desk all by yourself. Too shy to talk to your classmates, having found yourself in a class with none of your friends this year. There was nothing Ingrid hated more than seeing you crying, and she’d have been lying if she said a few tears didn’t slip down her face on her walk back home.

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As it was, Ingrid hoped deeply that she wouldn’t get a call from the school. When she did, though, it wasn’t a call that she was expecting, aside from the fact that it was still hours until lunch time.

The nurse called your Mamma first. She didn’t answer, and then the nurse called your Pappa. He answered, quickly instructing the woman to call your Mamma again, and then Ingrid if she didn’t answer. He couldn’t come get you, he explained. He didn’t even ask to talk to you on the phone. Not even when he heard what happened.

It was your worst nightmare come true. The horrible feeling had just grown and grown and grown. You just wanted to go home. That was all you kept thinking, repeating it over and over to yourself.

Your teacher was going around the room, having each student introduce themselves and say a fun fact. You knew what to say. Your name, and then your fun fact, which was that your favorite color was green. Only, when the teacher called on you, and you opened your mouth, it wasn’t words that came out.

Instead, you leaned over and threw up all over the ground. The class gasped around you, and a few of the boys began to laugh. You were mortified, sure you’d never been this embarrassed in your entire life. The teacher was trying to quiet the class back down, while walking over to you. Getting sick hadn’t made you feel better, either. You felt just as icky, and even more embarrassed. The assistant teacher led you out of the classroom, your gaze fixed intently on your feet as you were sure everyone was staring at you.

You’d resigned yourself to silence once you arrived at the nurse’s office, only answering her questions with nods or shakes of your head. If you didn’t talk, you wouldn’t embarrass yourself further. All you could think about, as the nurse called your Mamma and talked to your Pappa, was that you hadn’t done as Ingrid asked, and waited until lunch to go to the nurse. You hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed; you’d tried your best, it just hadn’t been good enough.

Finally, your Mamma answered, telling the nurse that she couldn’t come get you either, but that your sister could. You breathed a sigh of relief at that, because you knew Ingrid would be the nicest of anyone, even if she was mad that you hadn't made it till lunch.

Your sister practically ran the few blocks to the school as soon as she hung up with her mother, feeling absolutely horrible for you. She only felt worse when she made it to the school and walked into the front office, seeing you through the doorway, curled up in a chair in the nurse’s office. She couldn’t tell if you were ill or not, but you had a sickbag next to you, and you still looked very pale. Quickly, Ingrid signed you out, before she made her way over to where you were waiting for her.

And though you were too old for it, the second you saw Ingrid you were launching yourself into her arms, wrapping all of your limbs tight around her body.

“Oh, liten.” Ingrid sighed. She’d expected you to be upset when your Mamma had called to tell her what had happened, but her expectations didn’t prepare her for how completely broken you seemed. You sobbed quietly into her neck, holding on so tightly she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to get you to let her go.

“I think we might have a case of nerves on our hands. She doesn’t have a fever, or any other symptoms, and her teacher said she seemed very teary all morning until she was sick.”

At the reminder of what happened, you cried harder. Ingrid shushed you gently, her hand soothingly circling your back. The nurse continued, a sympathetic expression on her face. “I tried to explain to your mother, but as soon as I said I thought it was nerves, she didn’t seem to be very worried.”

“And we should be worried?” Ingrid wondered, sounding much older and much more concerned than a 16 year old should sound. Exactly how worried the nurse had expected your mom to sound, though she’d been disappointed.

The nurse nodded. “This is more nervous than an 8 year old should be for school. I think having your sister evaluated might be a good idea. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but anxiety can be hard for a child to deal with if they don’t have the tools to do so.”

Ingrid agreed, internally, but knew it would be a challenge to get your Mamma on board with it. When it came to you, Mamma always seemed to be doubtful of the truth of any issue you might have. If it had been Ingrid, the older girl knew she’d have had the first available appointment with the best psychologist in town. But because it was you, and Mamma seemed to have so much less patience with you, Ingrid knew it would be a challenge to convince her there was a real issue here.

“Ing?” You whispered, still attached firmly to your sister. She hummed in response, leaving a kiss on your temple. “I wanna go home.”

“Let’s go home, Solstråle.” Ingrid agreed, moving as if to release you and stand up. You were having none of that, though, and Ingrid smiled despite herself, lifting your small body easily into her arms. You couldn’t bring yourself to care if your classmates saw you, if your teachers saw you, being carried by your sister out of the school building.

Although school was only a few minutes walk away from home, you could feel the icky feeling coming back as you got closer and closer. Your Mamma was going to be so mad at you for not making it through the whole day, you just knew it. She was going to be mad, and yell, and Pappa was still going to be mad about when you spilled on him, and he was going to yell too, and home didn’t feel like the place you wanted to go anymore, though you’d been wishing for it all morning.

You knew it was going to happen again, this time trying to give your sister some warning.

“Ingrid,” you whined, trying to breathe deeply in through your nose and out through your mouth, coming to a complete stop on the sidewalk only a block away from home. “Feel sick.”

Your sister looked down at you in alarm, your face alarmingly pale as your lips pressed together tightly.

As quickly as she could, Ingrid grabbed your shoulders and turned you towards the grass.

You retched onto the ground, though there wasn’t much to come up other than bile that burned at your throat. You were crying again as Ingrid rubbed your back, handing you your water bottle when you were done. “Sorry.” You managed in between small sips, feeling guilty for probably embarrassing your sister by throwing up on the street.

“Don’t say sorry.” Ingrd frowned. “Maybe you are sick, huh?” She brought her hand up to your forehead, not finding it any warmer than normal. You shrugged, not sure how to convey your fears. Ingrid seemed to pick up on your unease, though. “Are you still nervous?”

You gave a small nod, slumping into your sister when she stood and pulled you in for a hug.

“Why? We’re going home.”

“Mamma and Pappa are going to be mad. About school and about spilling the water and for interrupting their meetings when the nurse called, and making you come get me and-”

“Slow down, slow down.” Ingrid told you calmly, crouching down once again on the sidewalk, uncaring that several people had had to cross the street to avoid your traffic jam. “No one’s mad, Solstråle, you didn’t do anything wrong. Mamma’s coming home from the meeting early to check on you, she just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“She’s not mad?”

“No.” Ingrid promised. “We’re gonna go home, get comfy on the couch, watch a movie, and wait for Mamma. And then we’ll figure out how to make you feel better, okay?”

You liked that. The ‘we’ Ingrid used. Sometimes it felt like you could do anything if she was with you. Privately, you hoped that you’d never have to do much without her. Ingrid was your very best friend, and best friends were supposed to stay together.

She was with you when you walked home, did exactly as she promised and got all bundled up with you on the sofa and put on your favorite movie. She was with you when your Mamma came home, who fussed over you right away, only scolding you lightly for working yourself up so much that you were sick.

It felt nice to be cared for by your Mamma, even if she seemed a little exasperated with you. Really, when was she not? After that comment, though, Ingrid decided to wait to talk to your parents until you were in bed. She was more sure than ever that getting you the help you needed would take a lot of convincing, and she didn't want you to have to hear her argue with your parents on your behalf.

The raised voices coming from downstairs woke you, however, only a short time after you’d been put to bed. Intrigued, you’d followed the voices, freezing when you overheard your name.

Sat on the top step of the stairs, you listened as Ingrid talked to your parents. Your head was swirling with contradicting and confusing emotions. On one hand, it felt good to hear Ingrid stand up for you. On the other, though, it felt like a punch to the gut everytime one of your parents said something that completely dismissed the issues you were having.

“She is just nervous, Ingrid, don’t stress about it. All kids get like this, she’ll be alright.” Your mother sighed, annoyed with having to repeat herself; Ingrid just wouldn’t let up.

“No Mamma. It is not normal! You didn’t see her last night when she came to me having a panic attack, and you didn’t see her today when I went to get her from school. She needs help, this isn’t fair on her. She shouldn’t have to struggle with this.”

“Ingrid, there is nothing wrong with your sister. She just likes the attention.” Your father cut in, repeating something he’d heard his wife say over and over whenever you got into arguments with her, and ran off to him in tears.

At the same time that tears began to well in your eyes, Ingrid snapped, her voice raising. “Quit saying that! It’s not true. She’s shy, she doesn’t like attention, and she certainly didn’t want the attention of her classmates while she was getting sick in front of them. Mamma, please. She needs help.”

You could imagine your parents exchanging looks with each other, a silent conversation being had.

“Alright. We’ll take her to see someone, if only so you stop stressing yourself out about this. I don’t want you to worry about your sister, Ingrid. She’s fine, we’ve got her. You need to focus on football.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. She’d never put football over you, never. It was her passion, her favorite thing, and while it messed with her social life and made things complicated, she would never let it tear her from you. Not when you needed her.

“I will stop worrying when a doctor tells you that there is no problem.”

“We’ll take her, Ingrid, I promise. Everything will be fine, your sister will be fine. If she needs help, we’ll get it for her.”

You wondered if they were doing it for you, or if they were doing it for Ingrid. Like everything, like always, it was probably just for Ingrid. You were used to that; being less important than your sister. And as much as you wanted to be angry with your sister, you just couldn’t. Not when she was the only one who did things for you.

Once, Ingrid had promised that she’d always be on your side. So, while you weren’t sure your parents would ever be on your side, or if they ever had been, you knew you could count on Ingrid. No matter where she went, no matter what you did, Ingrid would always have your back. She’d promised, after all.

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it's been a while! hope everyone hasn't minded the long wait, and enjoyed this sol installment 🫶🏻 she really is my favorite to write for.

[tell me if you see typos okay byeeee]

#🍓☀️#ingrid engen x platonic reader #ingrid engen x reader #engen!reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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almostempty · 2 months ago

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Paris, Texas pt. 2

aka: 2 Texans, 1 Lady 🎀 The joel x javi x f!reader threesome PART 2!!

WC: 8k | Other fics | Rating: 18+ | Read on Ao3 | PART ONE

this one goes out to my fellow mlm fans and voyeurs, i hope it’s everything you wanted and more <3; dedicated to everyone that gets a tag bc i love you 5ever

Summary: Joel, still struggling with his conflicting feelings about the threesome with Javier, gets a surprise visit at work from the man himself that leaves him even more confused. After a week of seeing Javier in his dreams, he gets another surprise visit at work.

Note: it’s pretty heavy on the m/m action so if that’s not ur thing no worries you can still have a forehead kiss from me

Tags/warnings: pwp, smut on smut on smut, internalized homophobia, dubcon joel/javi, infidelity, oral (m and f), consensual f/m sleepy oral, m/m anal, it’s not exactly a cuck chair–but there is a chair and u get to watch from it, top!joel, bottom!javi, but also switchy/vers in the future bc, respectfully, i would to experience the best of all worlds, i do not have a dick (i’m just a member of the fanclub) so if any of the m/m action is wildly inconceivable or something pls let me know i’m happy to receive feedback (spit as lube just pretend ok), some angsty guilt and shame in between the smut bc joel is still in denial, uhh dom!joel, idk if contractors have offices and i spent too long googling about it before remembering the point was the porn so pls forgive if that ruins ur immersion, tell me if i forgot something important

standard almostempty warnings at this point: unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise no descriptions of skin tone, blushing, hair, idk tell me if there’s something that takes you out (physically); everyone is probably bi; no y/n, no beta just fueled by the power of adhd and delusion, if u see a mistake it was the gremlins i’m sorry

PLEASE TELL ME IF U LIKE IT OR IF U HATE IT OR IF YOU WANT MORE

Joel is buried in paperwork. Permits and invoices are stacked up on his desk in organized chaos. The week has been a disaster. He blames his low-grade headache on the deadlines and number crunching, but he knows something else makes him uneasy. He rubs the pads of his fingers between his brows as if he could massage away the stress or erase the permanent worry line carved into his features.

The noises outside his office blend into static as he recommits himself to getting caught up.

He rolls up the sleeves of his worn plaid shirt, sighing to himself before he resumes. His pen scratches across a form he doesn’t care much about when the door to his offices creaks open.

His head snaps up, looking across the room with a sharp glare. He’s not in the mood for interruptions, and he's already irritated at being stuck behind a desk playing catch-up. He isn’t expecting the man that enters the room. Stifling a surprised noise, he narrows his eyes to a sharp glare. He’s not in the mood for work-related afternoon interruptions, let alone a surprise visitor.

“So, this is the boss’s office?” Javier’s voice is smooth like he didn’t just appear out of nowhere and uninvited.

“Yep,” Joel mutters, grip on his pen tightening in his fingers. Dropping his eyes back to his work, considering ignoring the man. Maybe he can will away the pest by avoiding eye contact and ignoring the intruder sizing up his space.

Javier scans the sparse office. Empty walls, bare bones, and practical.

Joel assumes he’ll have a snarky comment about the size of the room or the view. He keeps flipping through the paperwork in his hand, braced for Javier’s attitude. Joel is tense and prepared to snap back, but his shoulders are tight and stiff as if he’s been sleeping on concrete for a week.

The signature scent of Javier, spicy and smoky, fills the air. The fragrance stirs Joel's memories and causes a visceral reaction. It makes his gut churn and fingers itch with restlessness.

The last–and only–time he’s seen Javier plays out like a well-edited montage. New images flash every time he blinks. Dark eyes. Sweat glistening on Javier’s chest. Lips, tongues, and teeth, he tries to subtly shake the thoughts out of his head.

Javier drops into the chair in front of the desk, eyeing Joel with a casual bravado. He crosses one leg over the other, resting his ankle along his knee in his dark jeans and rusty red button-down. He links his hands behind his head as if he’s prepared to settle in and bask in Joel’s discomfort.

Javier’s eyes roam over Joel’s desk. “You don’t have a secretary for all that paperwork?” he muses. A smile pulls at the corner of Javier’s mouth that Joel could sense without looking at him. He can feel the heat of Javer’s gaze pouring over the desk between them, making the air feel heavy, thick with something unsaid.

Joel can feel his pulse jump in his throat, chest constricted. “Nope.” He hoped his clipped tone would push Javier out of the room, but that hope flickers and dies when he takes in the nonchalant sight. Irritation spikes in Joel at the whole disturbance. He’s not interested in letting Javier take up residence in his office. Or his mind.

“You need somethin’?” Joel’s throat feels dry as he spits out the blunt question. He flips through the next invoice without processing a single word on the page. He’s tired and has a low threshold after a week of poor sleep. Though, he’d never admit, except maybe to you, that he’s easily irritated even with a good night of rest. But you always slice right through his grumpy shell.

“Just in the neighborhood,” Javier drawls, “thought I’d stop by.”

“Right.” Joel rolls his eyes, ”We supposed to be friends now?” Or what? Something more?

Javier shrugs casually, like that’s up to Joel to decide.

Joel tosses his pen and paperwork onto his desk. He takes a breath, forcing his features into something neutral. The night you brought Javier into your home, and your bed has haunted him. Made it so he couldn’t think straight. Tortured him, not with regret, but with the messy, tangled knot of shame and desire.

Now Javier is here. In the flesh. Self-satisfied and content, watching Joel and waiting expectantly. Waiting for what?

“Is staring me down part of your ex-cop deal? You come here uninvited to interrogate me or something?” Joel accuses with annoyance in his eyes.

“I don’t need to interrogate you,” Javier answers, mellow and cloying, “already know what you want.” He shifts, leaning forward, speaking quieter. “Just wanted to see if you’ve figured it out yet.”

Joel works his jaw as he crosses his arms. A brick wall of resistance. The fuck is that supposed to mean?

He clocks when Javier’s eyes lower, tracing the line of his arms, the same way you do when you catch Joel in a mood. You so easily diffuse his anger, disarming him with your wit or completely dismantling him with your body, unlike the instigator in front of him, who seems to only get under Joel’s skin.

Joel lets out a deep sigh. Javier isn’t here to be friends.

“It was what she wanted,” Joel says, his eyes hard, his voice firm. It felt like a weak excuse the second the words left his mouth. Shit.

Javier can taste the blood in the water. His eyes glint at the thrill of the chase. “Is that all?”

The room feels like it’s shrinking. Heat crawls up the back of Joel’s neck, anger entwined with something else he refuses to name. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he replies, standing up from his chair, trying to tower over Javier in some pathetic attempt at dominance.

A move he immediately regrets.

Javier also stands, circling around the side of the desk to look Joel up and down. Boldly. He admires Contractor Joel. The way he fills out his well-fitted work jeans, the way his deep green plaid hugs his broad shoulders and strains around his biceps as he crosses his arms again.

The workwear suits him. A strikingly masculine figure. Powerful and seductive. Tempting Javier just by existing. “I get it,” Javier murmurs to himself, understanding what you’d mean when you first described Joel. The disgruntled expression, the furrowed brows and sharp eyes–he only makes it worse.

“Always thought the whole construction thing was a cheesy porn gimmick,” Javier admits, “you could pull it off though. You got the toolbelt and the hat?”

“You can leave,” Joel replies dryly.

Ignoring Joel, Javier steps closer, “I’m just saying,” he rests a finger on Joel’s shoulder, drawing a line down towards his chest. Joel’s body is rigid, the contact searing his skin even through the soft material of his shirt. “You look good. This is your color,” he tugs at the dark green fabric below Joel’s throat. He drops his hand, and Joel feels like the earth could swallow him whole.

Javier’s mock compliments make Joel’s stomach flip before he steels himself again. Javier flashes a diabolical smile, catching the flare of Joel’s eyes and the hard swallow of whatever retort he couldn’t muster.

“You’re really trying to convince yourself, aren’t you?” Javier’s voice is dripping with mock sympathy.

Violent, intrusive thoughts race through Joel’s mind—socking Javier in the jaw to wipe that smug look off his face, grabbing him by the collar and running him through the wall, slamming him onto the desk. Face down so he could lean over his body and tell him, hot breath on the back of his neck, that he’s about to learn to watch his mouth.

Joel’s hands flex, knuckles popping, and heat stirs at the base of his spine at the dark desires. Suddenly, very aware of their close proximity. Close enough to feel the heat of Javier’s body, and to see the unwavering confidence in his face.

Amused by Joel’s volatility, Javier scoffs gently. His warm breath fans between them, and a smirk spreads on his face. Out of context, it’s only a gentle tease. A flirty smile and charged moment. But to Joel, strained like the last barricade holding back a beast, it’s too much. He snaps, and the beast gnashes its teeth.

“Get fucked,” Joel’s voice is a rumbly, low growl.

Javier’s smirk blooms into a Cheshire Cat grin. “I’d ask if you were offering, but I don’t think you’ve got it in you.”

Blood pounds in Joel’s ears. Drowning out the voice that wonders why Javier can rile him up so easily. The reminder that he’s got no reason to be jealous. That you’ve done nothing to make him worry.

“You were only doing it for her, huh?” Javier’s voice was quieter but still laced with danger.

Joel’s jaw is clenched tight when he replies, “Yep.” It doesn’t carry the conviction he needed to convey.

“Shame she isn’t here now, then,” Javier keeps pressing. The honesty in his tone throws Joel off.

“Would do anything for her,” Joel adds, softening fractionally at the truth in it.

“Anything?” Javier repeats.

“S’right.”

“For her.”

“For her,” Joel nods in agreement. Letting out a breath, he didn’t realize he had been holding. Javier rocks back on his heels like he’s about to turn and stroll away, satisfied by God knows what part of that interaction.

But he pauses.

Time feels weighted until Javier moves in closer. Another smile breaks across his face at how easily he can shock Joel into a trance with his audacity. Acting in defiance of all of Joel’s words.

His hand snakes up Joel’s chest until his fingers are slipping between the curls at the base of his skull. He leans in close, lips ghosting over the shell of Joel’s ear, “Is this for her too?” He shifts back half a step, and with the hand on the back of Joel’s head, he urges him to look down.

Javier’s hand had moved between them, palming the bulge in Joel’s jeans, his fingers pressing against his erection through the denim. Joel’s lips part, his whole body jerking forward instinctively, and a low groan rumbles in his chest before he can stop it.

Javier’s smirk deepened. “That’s what I thought.”

For a moment, Joel’s mind blanks out, lost in the haze of physical sensation. His body reacts before his brain catches up.

“The fuck are you doing?” Joel snaps, grabbing Javier’s wrist and yanking it away. His voice is hoarse, breath ragged.

“Anyone could walk in here.”

Javier didn’t pull away; he didn’t flinch. His head cocks in contemplation at Joel’s specific reasoning.

Leaning in closer, Javier’s voice drips with amusement. “You’re afraid of them?” he nods towards the door. “Worried about what? That your crew is gonna find out their boss likes cock?” he laughs softly, a dark, teasing sound.

Joel’s chest heaves, heart pounding. Anger, lust, and frustration all swirling together inside of him.

“You think they won’t take orders from you if they hear the noises you make for me?”

He knows Javier is running his mouth to provoke him. But it works on him anyway. Joel huffs dismissively, without a thought, “You think I’d make a sound for you?”

“I think you’ll beg me to stop before you do.”

Before he can dwell on the ramifications, Joel acts on impulse. Stepping back, his face hardening as he stares Javier down. That smug bastard. He’s consumed with a defiant urge to remove that smirk from Javier’s face.

“On your knees,” he orders, his voice cold, flat, and restrained.

Javier’s eyebrow raises, lips curling into a lazy smile. “Why, Joel?” he asks, voice playful.

“You know why.” The presumption is underscored by the sound of Joel’s belt clinking before he unzips his jeans. He grips the base of his thick cock, menacing and erotic, as he keeps his hard gaze on Javier.

He accepts the challenge, kneeling slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“Yeah,” Javier murmurs, “you look even better like this. All frustrated and desperate to be touched.” His voice is thick and low, like molasses. Almost reverent, but at the same time gloating, as if Javier’s only proving himself right. It’s infuriating to Joel that the man can so freely express his desire and rile Joel up further with the same words.

Javier’s hand covers Joel’s as he gives Joel’s cock an experimental stroke. Joel hisses through clenched teeth, slamming his eyes shut and tilting his head up to break the eye contact. To sever the intimacy. He’s taut, impatient, and ready to snap.

Until Javier’s lips wrap around his weeping tip, and they both groan in unison at the sensation. The wet heat of his mouth sends a sharp throb of pleasure through Joel. The intensity causes his hand to shoot out to his desk, fingers digging into the edge in an attempt to ground himself.

But it’s no use.

Javier knows exactly what he’s doing, taking him deep, fast, his mouth warm and eager. His hands work in symphony with his mouth, twisting around his length, massaging at his thighs and hips, deliberate and competent. He has nothing to be shy or restrained about.

Sinking into the pleasure, Joel starts to reason with himself. A mouth is a mouth, he can allow himself to have this, to let himself enjoy it.

And he does.

Javier’s tongue teases underneath the sensitive head of Joel’s cock before he slides past his lips, along the flat of his tongue, and deep into his throat. It’s good. Why is it so fucking good? Joel’s head tips back down, blinking his eyes open. His body shudders.

It’s not just a mouth.

Seeing Javier’s head bobbing, his cock disappearing past the man’s lips, it stirs something wild and untamed within him.

It’s a mistake to finally look. To really watch, taking it all in. The handsome features on Javier’s face, the unapologetic pleasure he takes from every reaction he pulls from Joel’s body. The strength and finesse of his hands are so different from you. He’s drawn to follow the movement of Javier’s hand dropping to readjust himself, to ease the pressure on his own aching cock.

The brief friction looses a moan from Javier, vibrating around Joel’s length. It’s undeniably fucking hot. Joel’s control slips, possessed by his urges.

He reaches for Javier’s face to cup his jaw and hold him still. And he gives in. Fucking into Javier’s mouth, hips jerking recklessly. It’s a desperate strain to tamp down the groans clawing at his throat, and it doesn’t help when Javier watches him with his half-lidded eyes. No.

“Shit,” he admonishes himself. Suppressing the captivating draw he feels. He tries to find focus, to keep it together–but there’s a loud knock that staggers him.

A voice, muffled outside of his office door, shouts to him, “There’s a vendor here, says he needs your sign-off.”

Joel’s breath hitches, “Fuck,” he spits, hands grasping the desk and Javier’s jaw, forcing out a coherent response. “Be there in a minute!” he calls out, voice strangled.

Javier doesn’t stop. He doubles down, hollowing his cheeks and greedily coaxing Joel to lose control. And, of course, he does. Joel’s climax hits fast and hard. His last attempts to stifle any noises falter. He gasps, body jerking as he comes, spilling into Javier’s mouth.

Dazed, he can only blink as Javier pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking.

“Seems to me like that was just for you.”

Joel is wrecked, leaning against the desk, his heart racing. He doesn’t have time to process anything before Javier kisses him—brief, chaste, leaving behind the taste of himself on his lips.

“Better get out there before anyone worries, boss,” Javier whispers with a wink before walking out of the office, leaving Joel standing there, stunned, unable to move.

As the door clicks shut behind him, Joel isn’t sure if the knot in his stomach is anger, guilt, or worse, wanting more.

Seems to me like that was just for you.

It echoes, slowly settling over Joel.

He nearly doubles over when the reality finally hits. His thoughts race, consumed by the thought of you. What did he just do?

…………..

Joel is wracked with guilt and misery for days. Suffering in his own self-imposed torment.

He needs to tell you, but he can’t figure out how. There’s no version of, “Hey baby, you know the guy from the threesome? The one that I threatened to kick out of the house? Well, he showed up to my office, and I may have come down his throat before he disappeared without a trace like a dick-sucking fairy.” that he can come up with that sounds redeemable.

Worse, he still can’t get over the guilt and shame of how it even happened. Seduced by another man? He can’t fathom the reality that another man could turn him on, refuting the way he felt when he watched Javier sink to his knees. And rejecting the truth when his cock stirs at just the memory. Joel is at a complete loss for how to explain it away.

It fucks with his sleep. He jolts awake in the middle of the night, aching and hard and furious that Javier has invaded his dreams. He sits up in bed, dragging his hands over his face. And you stir, always attuned to him.

You’re warm and sleepy, but concern washes over you in the moonlight.

“Can’t sleep?” you murmur, reaching out to pull him towards you. “What do you need?” Always so grounded, so considerate. It twists the guilt inside of him. He tries to erase his self-loathing and reassure you, to ease you back to sleep.

You aren’t quite conscious enough to listen, but when you shuffle beneath the sheets to cuddle up to your man, you gasp when you accidentally brush over his hard cock. Not because it’s a shock to find, but because in your barely lucid state, you’re uninhibited. Earnestly expressing the desire his arousal sparks in you.

“Use me,” you whisper, slow and syrupy. Difficult to deny.

“No, baby, it’s okay. Go back to sleep,” Joel argues softly.

You roll over, muffling a low whine into your pillow, before turning back towards Joel. You can make out his profile in the dim glow of the room. You can feel the resistance, but you give it another shot.

“It’s not okay,” you grumble, and his head jerks towards you, “can’t go back to sleep now, you’ve got me all wet already.”

“Okay,” he gives in like he could ever hold out on you anyway. He pulls back the sheet, exposing your sleep-warmed skin to the cooler air. Running his palm down your spine as you melt face down on the bed. He crawls overtop of you, straddling behind the curve of your ass, before lowering himself, caging you under his body.

The skin contact is overwhelmingly intimate as he presses soft kisses to your neck and shoulders. You settle with ease and whine softly into the dark room as he rubs his cock along your slick folds. He continues, grunting in his own pleasure, as he glides along your seam, soaking in the sensation of you. Wet and needy from his touch. Until your legs are twitching and your whines grow louder, impatient, and sharp until he hears you say his name. When you plead for him to fuck you already.

Then. He adjusts and sinks slowly into you, filling you inch by inch, grinding languidly against your plush body.

You’re soft. Warm and wet. You take him so well, and he knows how to find the angles to make you shake and cry out for him. Now he chases it, needing to please you, to give himself to you. He plunges into you deeply, whispering praise against your skin until you’re shuddering and gasping beneath him. He nearly comes with you, but when the thought of Javier pops up, he falters. He pulls out of you and gently flips you over.

“Sleep,” he commands as he settles between your legs, and you let it take you. Drifting off before you can process that he didn’t finish. Content to dream about Joel’s tongue dipping into your fluttering entrance and his hands spreading your legs wider.

Joel stays between your legs, making your dream a reality. Trying to purify himself by worshipping you. Pouring his sins out between your thighs. Seeking forgiveness through your pleasure until he’s too tired to dream.

He’s convinced this method will work. That eventually, he’ll forget about Javier altogether. But Joel underestimates how deeply the other man has sunk his claws into the back of his mind. It’s unsustainable, and his exhaustion becomes more and more apparent throughout the week.

Despite thinking he’s able to cover up his internal torment, you always seem to know when something is wrong. You don’t push. You’re patient and gentle with him. It adds to his guilt.

You help out in any way you can. Commenting that he seems stressed and tired but never asking for an explanation. You let him stew on his own emotional nightmare in solitude. As he prefers.

For now.

When Joel admits to you on Friday night that he’s behind at work, you simply nod. He doesn’t argue when you offer to bring lunch to him the next day. But he can barely meet your eyes when you smile and trail off about how you know just what will help him get through the day.

You tell him decisively that he deserves to finish up early if he’s going to the office on a Saturday. He can only nod. Determined to spend the morning figuring out how to confess to you. With words.

He’s still in a haze of fatigue the next day. Despite the rest of the office being quiet, his head is loud and buzzing. Likely the reason he’s so taken off guard when the door to his office swings open.

“Working on the weekend?”

Joel’s pulse spikes as the sound of Javier’s voice fills the room, smooth and mischevous.

Anger floods his bloodstream and cuts through the fog of shame that had been clouding his vision. Joel crosses his arms and levels a ruthless glare at the man leaning against the doorframe.

Javier should be the one that looks out of place. Overdressed for the occasion, in the wrong place. But he stands confidently, neatly groomed, and polished. His dark blue collared shirt and fitted jeans highlight his broad shoulders. He looks like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be, and his expression says he knows it.

“No,” Joel says gruffly. Unperturbed, Javier sails into the room.

“I don’t have time for this. Get out.” Joel says, his voice low, dangerous. He stands, hips leaning against his desk, prepared to back up his threat. His tolerance is already out the window for Javier.

Javier shrugs, movements so fluid in relation to Joel’s fixed demeanor.

“You didn’t say please.” His smirk is maddening. Joel’s fuse is short. He’s not interested in games. Not interested in having anything to do with his surprise guest at all. But he doesn’t move. Words caught in his throat.

“Besides,” Javier continues breezily, “you aren’t very convincing. I told you last time, I like this look on you, all mad and–”

Joel feels thorns clawing at his throat. Furious that his nerves flutter in response to Javier’s backward flattery. He can’t be thinking straight, that’s all.

In fact, it’s damned near impossible to think when Javier keeps running his mouth, pushing every button he’s got.

“Fuck you,” Joel hisses, vibrating with frustration, cutting off whatever Javier’s next words would have been.

Amused by the interruption, Javier’s smile widens, eyes gleaming. “Mm,” he purrs, stepping closer, “You would like to, wouldn’t you?”

That’s it.

Joel snaps, his hand shoots out, grabbing Javier by the front of his shirt and shoving him roughly against the nearest wall. The loud thud of Javier’s back hitting the drywall echoes in the small office. But the smirk on Javier’s face only deepens.

“Touchy today, aren’t you?” Javier teases, breath coming out in a soft laugh. His body is pinned between the wall and Joel’s, but he doesn’t seem fazed. In fact, he looks pleased with the predicament.

Joel’s breath is coming out hard and fast, fists still gripping the fabric of Javier’s shirt. This is the last person he wants to see right now. He seethes. Pent up and compressed into a dangerous coil.

“You think this is funny?” Joel snarls, his face mere inches from Javier’s.

Javier’s smile softens into something darker, more intimate. “A little,” he admits, leaning in just enough that their noses almost brush. “But, you seem to be taking it pretty seriously.” Javier shifts under Joel’s grip, his hands skirting up Joel’s waist. “You’re so worked up.”

Joel grits his teeth, a ferocious-looking expression that only eggs Javier on.

Dropping to a whisper to demand that Joel listens closely, Javier adds, “Maybe you’re not mad at me at all.”

Before Joel can snap back, Javier shifts, movements effortless and exact.

In an instant, Joel finds himself flipped, his back flat against the wall, slammed with a force that he wasn’t expecting. Javier’s arm presses across Joel’s chest, and his hips press against Joel’s in a way that sends a hot wave of need shooting down Joel’s spine.

“Maybe,” Javier murmurs, lips to Joel’s ear, “you’re just mad at yourself.” Javier rocks his hips into Joel’s, grinding against his body in a slow, deliberate motion. A shudder ripples through Joel’s frame, even as his mind rebels against the thrill. “Denying the truth.” He emphasizes his point, pelvis pressing into Joel’s hardening cock, rolling his hips again. “Denying the pleasure.”

No. Joel holds out. He isn’t going there. Not now, not ever.

But damn, the way Javier has him, the heat of his body against Joel’s. It tugs at the tangled knot of confusion in his chest. The knot that’s close to unraveling.

“Fuck you,” Joel spits again, but it lacks the venom from earlier. His voice is a little shaky, resolve crumbling the longer Javier stays this close.

Javier smiles, his lips brushing against Joel’s jaw. “Say it, Joel.” He’s all-consuming, like a tidal wave crashing over and destroying all of Joel’s hastily constructed defenses. Javier is a relentless force.

“Say it,” Javier demands. “I already know. Knew the first night we met,” he murmurs. “Just need to hear you say it.”

Joel’s heart pounds against his chest, and his mind races. He wants to shove Javier off, wants to do anything other than stand there and feel his body respond to every damn word Javier says. Instead, he can’t seem to do anything. Can’t stop the muscles spasming in his core, or the way his chest heaves under Javier’s arm.

“You can’t, though,” Javier whispers, his voice a dark, teasing rumble. He drops his arm, releasing Joel from his hold. “Such a shame. I wanted to know what you could do with that pretty cock of yours.”

That was the last straw.

Joel grabs Javier by the waist, roughly spinning him around, and shoving him face-first onto the desk.

“You wanna know what I can do with it?” his voice is harsh and wild.

A reckless energy blazes between them. He pushes Javier down, leaning over him, chest pressed into Javier’s back. One hand snakes down Javier’s side, stopping at his hip. The other hand firmly planted on the back of Javier’s neck, pinning him down.

Javier catches his breath. He doesn’t resist. If anything, he leans into it, arching his back, breath coming out in soft pants as Joel’s firm body boxes him in. With their bodies pressed tightly together, Joel’s straining erection isn’t subtle. “That’s more like it,” Javier murmurs, breathless but still smug.

“Shut up,” Joel’s voice is hoarse. He is losing himself in it, the heat, the tension. Javier’s solid, toned body beneath his. He doesn’t want to think anymore. Doesn’t want to feel. He just wants to take control. To push past all the noise in his head.

His body is on fire. Adrenaline, testosterone, and arousal all surge through him. Heightening every sensation, forcing him to be present. Rooted in his physicality.

Gritting his teeth, Joel’s hands grip Javier tighter, a bruising force.

“You’re gonna be good now,” Joel orders, “For me.” His voice is rough dark, and he doesn’t bother trying to hide the anger—or the heat—coursing through him. He can’t deny it right now, not when it burns so intensely.

He shifts his stance behind Javier, grinding his hips forward and feeling how Javier’s body responds. How he invites the contact and braces against the desk. Sweet, thick satisfaction pools at the base of Joel’s spine.

Javier is still mouthing off, taunting Joel. Despite his voice sounding more breathless, it still brims with arrogance. “For you,” Javier repeats Joel’s words. “I thought it was all just for her? Have you changed your mind now?”

Joel doesn’t answer. He’s too far gone. His hands move to the waistband of Javier’s jeans, yanking them down roughly, exposing the curve of his ass. Javier lets out a small gasp but doesn’t protest. In fact, Joel can feel the anticipation humming in Javier’s body, and he’s amused when Javier presses back as if he needs to dare Joel to go further. As if he could stop now.

Curling over Javier’s body, Joel presses his fingers to Javier’s mouth. “Suck.” Javier complies, allowing Joel to slip two fingers past his lips. Javier lets a hum vibrate around Joel’s fingers that causes Joel to roll his hips, grinding his still-clothed erection against Javier.

Losing the war with himself, Joel takes out his resentment on Javier. He hooks his fingers into Javier’s cheek–jerking his head to the side. He glowers at the signs of arousal on Javier’s face. The undignified hunger.

Remnants of disgust curdle in Joel’s gut. “You’re fuckin’ sick,” he accuses in a husky whisper, removing his fingers and straightening, breaking the eye contact that stirred something fierce and hot in his veins.

Accusations aside, Joel continues. He watches, smirking to himself, as Javier tenses at the sudden contact when Joel runs his hand over the curve of his ass. He takes his time. Enjoying his own exploration of Javier’s body. Smooth skin and firm and muscular.

When he slowly pushes a finger inside, Javier’s body tenses at first, but Joel is persistent, working in deeper and stretching him open.

Javier lets out a soft moan, still managing to sound smug even with the sharp gasp that follows. “You act all pissed,” Javier’s whispers, “but you love this.” His voice drips like warm honey with a teasing bite.

Joel grunts, ignoring the taunts, focusing instead on the way Javier’s body relaxes beneath him, allowing him to add another finger. Javier’s breath hitches and he drops his head onto the desk.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, “you like that.”

His words on encourage Javier to continue, “Know you wanted this,” he breathes, “that you’ve been thinking about it since last time, since the first time.” He continues his murmuring, words spilling over Joel’s desk, “I know because you’ve been in my fuckin’ head since that night.”

“You’ve got an awful smart for someone in your position,” he continues, mindlessly flipping the attitude back at Javier, pointedly ignoring his confession.

A strained chuckle comes from Javier, his body tightening with every twist of Joel’s fingers. “You still think you’re in control here?” he breathes, voice challenging and raw. “You’ve got no idea.”

Joel pulls his fingers out abruptly, letting out a throaty growl as he shoves his jeans down just far enough to free himself. He spits in his hand, slicking himself up with rough, hurried strokes, his mind focused on the sight of Javier bent over his desk, waiting for more, begging for it.

“Let’s see if you can keep running your mouth with my cock inside you,” Joel’s voice is layered with satisfaction. A challenge. He’s firm, gripping Javier’s hips and lining himself up. The room feels still, their ragged breath the only sound filling the air.

He feeds his cock into Javier slowly. The tight heat of Javier’s body draws a guttural noise out of Joel, and he pauses for just a moment, letting the sensation wash over him. Then he pushes in deeper, inch by inch.

Javier lets out a sharp moan, hands balling into fists against the flat top of the desk. “Fuck,” he breathes, and this time there’s no teasing edge, just raw need.

Holding still while they both catch their breath, Joel’s hands dig tightly into Javier’s hips, anchoring the two of them together. He buries himself to the hilt, savoring the overwhelming sensation of heat and friction.

And then he starts to move.

Slowly, at first. Deliberate. He moves with measured control, hips snapping forward, pushing deeper with every stroke. Javier groans beneath him, then manages to mumble something about Joel being desperate, about how much he wanted this, but the words are broken, breathless.

“Yeah?” Joel growls, picking up the pace, his movements growing rougher, harder. “That’s what you think?”

Javier’s body jerks with each powerful thrust, breath coming in short bursts. “I know it,” he rasps, his grip on the desk tightening as Joel relentlessly continues. Slamming into him harder now, control beginning to slip.

“You talk too much,” Joel decides, pounding harshly into Javier, reveling in the sweet clench as his pelvis meets Javier’s ass. He’s entranced by the sensation, the skin-to-skin contact, the heat, sweat, and musk.

Joel feels reckless. Intoxicated with the rush of adrenaline and dopamine. Chasing an escape and taking it out on Javier. He is distantly aware that Javier has stopped with his taunting. The only sound either of them makes are low groans and throaty grunts as he pounds into the man beneath him.

So absorbed with the immorality and the thrill he’s blind to the rest of the world and the rest of the room.

Until the door opens.

Joel freezes, his heart dropping into his stomach.

It’s you.

You shut the door, locking it, before turning back to face both men. Joel’s mind goes blank. His body is still pressed against Javier, his hands still grip his hips, his body flush against his.

For a split second, he thinks he can pull away and cover up the situation somehow, but there is nothing that can explain this away. No excuse. No cover story. His body runs cold, at a loss for words, mouth agape.

Then he sees the look on your face.

You stand still, like a prey animal caught in the line of sight of two apex predators. You can see the fear in Joel’s eyes, and your heart lurches, aching to comfort him. But the rest of the scene has you stopped in your tracks.

Joel sees your eyes widen; your breath is shallow, but there’s no shock. No confusion or hurt. Just a raw, undeniable hunger. You aren’t prey.

You stand, taking in the sight of Joel fucking Javier into his desk, and your lips part in a small, breathless sigh.

Javier turns to take you in, noticing the shift in the room, but he doesn’t pull away either. He is glowing, flashing his teeth with a wicked smile. The locks of hair on his forehead are damp with sweat, and his chest heaves as he remains braced atop the desk across from you.

“Look who’s here to watch. Her own private show.”

Joel swallows hard, still buried deep inside of Javier, his heart races. Adrenaline and arousal tangle together in a haze that leaves him unsure and adrift.

You step further into the room, your gaze never leaving Joel’s as you cross the room. Setting down the lunch you brought, you perch on the edge of the chair that sits in front of the desk.

“Don’t stop,” you encourage.

Joel still looks like he’s forgotten how to blink or breathe.

“The deli had a long line, and I couldn’t get parking,” you trail off a little breathlessly, watching the confusion on your man’s face.

Statuesque and still, Joel is dumbfounded that you’re talking about being late for lunch while he’s balls-deep in the man bent over his desk. Is this real life? He’s been plagued with dreams of Javier for the last two weeks, waking up hard and sweating. But they weren’t like this. None of them were like this.

“Don’t stop,” you repeat, voice dropping, sultry and encouraging. But he’s still locked in a trance.

“Can’t perform for an audience this time?” Javier quips, and Joel can hear the eye roll in his tone.

Joel swallows hard, his mind spinning. He doesn’t know what to make of this. How to handle the fact that you’re here, watching. But with the heat in your eyes and the lack of surprise, you seem so relaxed–no, you’re enjoying this.

That does something to Joel.

Something dangerous.

The invitation in your eyes sets him off.

“She said don’t stop,” Javier continues on, smirking playfully at you, pushing back against Joel.

Slowly, Joel regains feeling in his body. His hold on Javier constricting, his breath steadying, “I won’t.” He starts to move again, indulging in the sensation as he slowly drags his cock almost all of the way out before burying himself deep with a harsh snap of his hips. The motion forces a gravelly moan out of Javier that makes your cheeks hot.

Joel continues, unhurried, fixed on the expression on your face and the depravity of the situation. You have a sparkle in your eye that he’s familiar with. “You knew,” Joel states. You nod in affirmation, a grin spreading on your face.

“I set it up,” you whisper.

Your admission hangs in the air. The sex-filled, debacherously thick air. Joel's remaining hesitance dissipates as it all sinks in. Washing away the fear of being caught or ashamed. He can see the glow on your face, your eyes dark--blown out with lust, wetting your lips as you wait for more. He can ask questions later.

For you.

He tells himself, dismissing the last of the voices in the back of his mind.

You can see the gears turning in Joel’s head before something settles in, and the dark look he gives you makes your body burn up. Joel grunts, and you nearly melt, knees weak at the eroticism. It’s a good thing you’re seated.

Joel slams harder into Javier, giving in to the primal heat driving him forward. Every broken breath from Javier feeds Joel’s growing need. His intensity shoots straight to your core. Your cunt throbs between your legs. You settle back into the chair, savoring the fruits of your labor.

Your eyes trail over both men. It’s better than you could’ve imagined. You only wish you’d been in the room last week. However, getting the details from Javier kept you aching all week, even with Joel’s newly acquired midnight oral fixation.

You feel the hungry look on your face, gaze darkening as you marvel at the lewd scene. You don’t wait for Joel’s approval. Hand dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, slipping over the seam of your pussy, already needy and wet from the debased view of the two gorgeous men.

“Oh, shit,” Javier’s eyes nearly roll back as he watches you, eyes flicking from your hand disappearing beneath your shorts and up to your face.

Your lips part, arousal flooding your body at the dynamic between both men. You watch them in awe, like your very own porn starring your two favorite men. It’s indescribably hot to see you Joel so unraveled, his teeth clenched in a feral snarl as he continues. And to see Javier so blissed out beneath him.

“Show me,” Joel’s plea sends a tingly thrill down your spine. You remove your hand from between your legs to show off the tips of your fingers, glistening from tracing your slick folds. The way both men are glued to your display gives you a different thrill, something powerful and bright that starts in your chest and flows through your body. “Show me everything, baby,” his gruff voice is irrefutable.

You slip the shorts off, spreading your legs wide and parting yourself boldly to give your men their own private show. You trace your fingers from your entrance to your clit, drawing circles and seeking relief from the pulsing need that has you already feeling precariously close to the edge.

Joel’s breath comes in harsh pants now, body slick with sweat. The desk rattles beneath them as he drives into Javier, losing himself in the rhythm, the heat, the friction, and in the sounds Javier makes–those desperate moans, ragged breaths, the way he was trembling beneath Joel, taking it all.

And all the while, Joel’s gaze flicks back to you, watching the way your breath quickens, the way you touch yourself more urgently. Like a live wire had been lit between the three of you, charging the room with an intensity Joel had never felt before.

You’re spread out in front of both of them, a vision he’ll never forget. You freely let out soft whimpers and sweet whines that drive him wild. It all surges through Joel like a fever, threatening to consume him and driving him harder into Javier, who lets out a strangled moan.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you sound frustrated. “You have no idea how fucking hot you are like this–shit.” You watch them with rapt attention, your hand moving quickly between your legs as you touch yourself. Joel can hear the soft, slick sounds of your fingers working and can see the way your body shivers with the same need that builds inside both men.

Your soft moans fill the room, blending with Javier’s broken gasps and Joel’s deep, gruff groans, creating a symphony of debased pleasure.

“Let’s see,” Joel encourages you in a hoarse voice. You can feel all of the need radiating from both men, it’s salacious and empowering. Joel’s gaze stays on you as he pounds into Javier, watching as you arch your back slightly, fingers working faster. Your parted lips and breathless noises make Joel’s pulse pike.

“I’m gonna come,” You can’t stop drawing out deep and bright waves of pleasure as your eyes dance in a flurry between Joel and Javier, taking in every detail. You can vaguely hear Joel’s praise as you work through the sensations. Panting shallowly, you’re fixed back on them as you start to relax.

Joel’s cock throbs inside Javier as he watches you, and for a brief moment, his rhythm falters, overwhelmed by how much it was turning him on to see you like this, to know you were getting off watching him like this.

Having caught on to Joel’s shift in focus, Javier lets out a choppy laugh. His own voice cracks with need. “She likes watching you fuck me,” he says, his words slurred with pleasure. “Look at her,” he begs in earnest.

“Shut up,” Joel grits out.

But Javier only laughs again, his voice still jagged. “Can’t blame her,” he continues, testing Joel’s patience. “Told you already, that sexy angry look you get–”

Joel doesn’t let him finish. He slams forward, thrusting into him deep and hard. Cutting Javier’s words off with a loud, choked moan. “Talk too fuckin’ much,” Joel spits out roughly as he leans over, his chest pressing against Javier’s back.

Joel catches the telltale hitch in Javier’s breath, the sharp, desperate moan that slipped from his lips as his need builds, coiling tight in his gut. He slides a hand over the curve of Javier’s ass, snaking around his hip, tracing over the curls at the base of his cock, and finally wrapping his fingers around his length.

Javier’s entire body jolts, clenching tightly around Joel at the contact. Joel strokes Javier’s cock firmly, matching the rhythm of his own thrusting. He revels in the delicious sensation of Javier tensing beneath him, and his breath catches in his throat.

The display of dominance and ego keeps you enthralled. Skin ablaze as you can barely keep up with the intensity of the two of them. You sink two fingers into your throbbing cunt, aching to feel filled and as wrecked as Javier seems.

Javier’s body clenches tightly around Joel as he watches you come in front of them, for them, but Joel isn’t about to stop. “You,” Joel growls as he pulls Javier’s head back just enough to hear him better. “You’re next.”

“Just–fuck,” Javier groans, hips pushing back to meet every thrust, practically vibrating under Joel, the usual cockiness faltering and replaced with something more intimate. “Don’t stop.”

Grinning through clenched teeth, leaning forward, breath hot against Javier’s ear, Joel’s voice is velvety smooth, “I know.”

“You gonna come for me?” Joel asks, his fist tightening as he jerks Javier’s cock, his other hand holding him steady by the hips.

“Please,” you add, desperate to see them fall apart.

“You–” Javier’s head drops forward, his voice a ragged gasp. He can’t finish the sentence as Joel slams forward, his hand moving faster and harder as he feels Javier’s cock pulsing in his grip.

“Come on,” Joel taunts now, rough and demanding. “Do as you’re told for once, Javier, come for me.”

And with a sharp gasp and cry, Javier’s body tenses, his cock jerking in Joel’s hand as he comes. The sheer intensity of his release is all too much.

Javier slumps forward, panting and spent, Joel’s gaze shoots back to you. The sight of you–the way you are losing yourself in watching them–makes Joel’s entire body light up with a new intensity.

You let out another soft groan, your gaze locked on Joel’s as you touch yourself, your fingers glossy with slick arousal. “Fuck, Joel,” you whisper. “Please.”

His body reacts immediately to the sound of your voice, the sight of you so undone, and he knows he’s close. He can feel the way his cock throbs inside of Javier, the heat of his release building in his gut, tightening with every rough movement. But this. Having you here, watching pushes him to the edge in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Hips stuttering, Joel’s orgasm tears through him. Groaning deep within his chest, his body jerks forward as he comes inside of Javier. His fingers dig so hard into Javier’s hips that he knows he’s going to leave bruises.

Javier shudders beneath him, panting, body spent, but still bracing himself against the desk as Joel rides out the last of his release, breath coming in harsh, uneven pants. He looks at you, and a grin spreads on his face. The wrung-out expression really does it for you.

Your eyes are half-lidded, face hot with arousal, fingers desperately reaching for the sensitive spot inside your cunt that Joel reaches with ease. Both men’s dark eyes rake over your body, spurring you on. Writhing under your own hands and their heady expressions.

“Goddamn,” Javier breathes raggedly, but his tone is laced with admiration as he watches you. It makes you glow. “So pretty like that.” You moan louder, body arching as you ride the edge of your release.

“Such a good girl,” Joel says. “Come for us.”

With a shattered breath, you come–moans filling the room as your core contacts in waves. Until you’re cursing and panting softly. Letting the praise flowing from Joel and Javier wash over you. You giggle softly, acknowledging you feel more cockdrunk than the two of them look despite only watching.

You feel a warmth settling between the three of you.

It makes your limbs feel loose and floaty as you smile lazily, watching both men tuck their softening cocks back into their jeans. You swell with pride. For your own luck, snagging two incredibly gorgeous men. And for successfully executing your plan.

You know there’s more work to do. You catch the awkward pauses and shuffling, but you can only allow your heart to swell as Joel helps you to your feet as if your legs stopped working. A deep-seated contentment unfurls in your chest when his arms wrap around you. And when he releases you, watching as you pull Javier towards you, you remain hopeful.

You’ve got more in mind for your two Texans.

divider: @cyberangel-graphics

lomls:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

@94namkooksworld

@gothcsz

@thundermartini

@magneticecstasy

@witchofthedeepwoods

@txlady37

@oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff

@bitchesuntitled

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@tobethlehem

@amanitacowboy

@lotusbxtch

@qveerthe0ry

@ace-turned-confused

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pedge-page · 8 months ago

Text

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Date Night

Joel Miller x F!Reader

based on this lovely ask. I've added some zest and a lil smut that came out of nowhere cuz why not. Mommy and Daddy are horny when they're alone.

Warnings: unprotected sex, brief breeding kink, car sex, semi-public sex, descriptions of reader's body related to pregnancy

18+ONLY

- - - -

Joel’s been waiting for this night for over a year now. It really shouldn’t take this long to get a date night alone again with the wife after giving birth, but lord knows the Miller family girls were inseparable the minute Sarah let out her first cry into the big world.

You’ve been the ever attentive Momma, and Joel couldn’t have been more ecstatic to have the perfect trifecta.

But oh my god he needs a minute alone with you again. You wanted to be with Sarah 24/7 and vice versa. And since the little bean turned 3, she’s become more clingy than ever possible.

Not tonight. He’s made the perfect reservation, had Tommy clear his schedule to babysit for weeks now, and even picked up a gorgeous necklace and matching earrings to compliment adults-only night out. The kids (being Sarah and adult-Tommy) can have their own fun. Joel needs his wife tonight.

“And she gets 30 minutes of TV max okay? Then you have to read her—one second Joel—one of her books, she might pick it out herself, please be patient, she’s gonna keep switching it on you but that’s ok, and then—oh don’t forget her blanket is in the dryer so its extra warm—oOH and Tommy—“

“He’s got, honey,” Joel tuts. Tommy has been approved for babysitting duty before. He trusts him (as far as the neighbor can see into the house not being burned down).

You and Joel are standing in the kitchen, ready to sneak out the back door while Sarah is dancing to the little trolls on the television in her own world.

“Okay,” you whisper. Joel holds the door open as you hesitantly look back. “I”m just gonna give her a quick kiss--“

He looks his arm into yours and hoists you back. “No! She won’t let you go. She’ll be fine. C’mon.”

Joel and you tip toe out and round the garden to the front door with giggles, trying not to stumble over the long grass and patchy holes in the yard.

You’re almost to the car parked in the driveway when you hear screaming from inside, followed by the door opening and a midget Sarah running towards you with a red, tear-stricken face as Tommy is shouting “Hey get back here bug!”

“Mama!” She smashes her face into your dress and wraps her arm around your legs. Her little body trembles with sobs.

“Sarah, Mama’s here, it’s okay.” You pout and crouch down and hug her, cooing away her baby tears.

Joel makes eye contact with Tommy who’s standing at the front door with an apologetic look. He shakes his head: mission failed. But he’s not giving in so easily.

The toddler sniffles and wipes her cheeks with puffy fists. She grabs your hand and leads you back inside the house, and Joel follows behind.

You sit and watch tv with her for a few minutes but she starts to look sleepy. Joel nudges you again, and you slide off the sofa carefully as can be. This time, you don’t even make it to the door before you feel a strong grip tugging at your dress.

Twice more over the next 40 minutes, Sarah comes screaming towards you, refusing to let you go.

Joel’s given up on the reservation and just hopes the two of you can snag a bar spot at this point.

“I’m sorry, she just keep slipping—“

“She’s got so much fat,” Joel grumbles as you plant fat kisses on her head and sway her side to side in your arms, “There’s no way she just ‘slips’. Just hold her down, Tommy!”

Sarah is glued to your leg, crying as you once again try to leave the house with Joel.

“No!nonononoNONONONONO!” She wails, bitty nails digging into your calf.

Joel gives Tommy a look just as Sarah is rubbing her face on your dress. "SARAH,” he shouts with a stern booming voice. His thick finger points down at her authoritatively. She hiccups, startled, and listens:

"Daddy and Mommy are LEAVING. Do you understand me?"

Her lips wobbles, eyes scrunching into a terrible fit before screeching at the top of her lungs in tears and going to hold you tighter.

Before she reaches you, Tommy scoops her up by the belly and slings her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes at the same time Joel hoists you over his and takes you to the truck.

Joel has to drag you to the car as you watch Sarah's teary red face and outstretched arm yelling for you dramatically from Tommy's shoulder before he closes the front door on her.

You sit in the passenger seat timidly. Joel angrily slams the door before rounding towards the driver side.

“Finally,” he grumbles, putting his seatbelt on and turning the ignition.

You sniffle a bit, looking at the window solemnly.

“You’re not crying, are ya?” He asks hesitantly.

“No!” You cry.

He grinds his jaw but continues to put the car in reverse. His warm hand pats along your thigh as you wipe the almost tears from your eyes. You refuse to let your makeup get ruined.

“It’s gonna be fine, Christ, Mama.”

You nod and cross your arms, thinking about your baby girl and her sad tears the entire ride.

At the restaurant, Joel managed to get a table despite the hostess grumbling about their lateness. He’s pleased, finally having you to himself, no child at the hip to worry about, just the two of you again like it all started.

He sips his wine and admires the view: you really put forth the effort tonight, your hair blown out and beautifully full, makeup neutral yet with a sexy hint of red lipstick, and the earrings and necklace compliment your looks perfectly.

Not to mention the boner he’s getting from seeing you in such a dress as if you were back in your 20s again.

"You look so beautiful," he says quietly with a smile.

"Yup sure do,” you say curtly, sipping your water quickly and then twiddling the button at the time on the phone.

He grunts disapprovingly. “Can you really not just relax—“

"We've never been apart from her this long!"

"Yes we have. When we both work. She goes to daycare. Tommy has baby sat her before."

"Mmmhgmmgmfmdmdddfgfggrrhrhrr but she--"

“She needs to learn to self sooth on her own. She’s FINE.” He reiterates. Joel refuses for this night, this one night in a very very long time, to be about Sarah! “What about us?"

You pause and look up from your anxious state, turning to a worried, perplexed one instead. “What do you mean? We're fine, aren't we?" You ask hesitantly, and he absolutely catches the wobble in your voice.

"Yes…! Oh honey, no I didn’t mean it like that. I mean... well… I never get to see just you anymore."

Your eyes soften with remorse and heartfelt appreciation. “That's what happened when you have children, Joel."

"I know I know, and I love her to death, but Jesus I love you too! I loved you first and I miss just having you to myself sometimes too. I feel like I’m competing with her over you.”

You nod in agreement. “I’m sorry. I know I get so worked up. If she had a sister, it'd be so much easier on her.”

“How are we supposed to give her a sister if I can't get 5 seconds alone with you?"

You hide the little grin on your face just as he dips to catch it with a satisfied smirk. “If that were the case, you would have taken me to a hotel tonight. Not dinner.”

Joel contemplates with wide eyes of realization at his mistaker of venue. “We can get this to-go right now. Can get to the holiday inn in 10 minutes, and I’m sure they got a room for the next few hours—“

You kick his shin and laugh.

He can’t stop smiling with you. You’re finally relaxed now, and just as radiant as the first day he met you. Same when he married you, and every day you were glowing during the pregnancy. The only moment that beat it was when he saw you first hold your newborn in your arms.

“I can’t stop staring at you,” he admits. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You bite the inside of your lip and check your phone again for the time. Butterflies kick up in your stomach and nestle somewhere south that has your your thighs clenching together. Throwing your hand up in the air to signal the waiter: “Can I get a to-go for this? We have somewhere to be, right now.”

You couldn’t manage to wait for the drive to the hotel. Forcing Joel to pull over on the side of some empty backroad, crawling into his lap and stripping his jacket just as you grind your panty-clad core into his slacked-bulge.

“Fuck, oh my god,” he groans, pulling you flush against him and kissing you deeply. Both your hands are busy trying to undo the other’s clothes—his fingers working to unzip your dress, revealing your smooth back, breasts on display for groping. At the same time you nimbly fight each of his buttons to push your palms against his broad chest. Fighting to suck in air between each forceful kiss. Entangled in one another like horny teenagers.

“I miss this,” he hums against your cheek just as you reposition your underwear to the side with one hand, fisting his cock out of his slacks with the other. His hands glide over your ass, patting your cheek once, ruffling the slit in your dress.

“Me too,” you snicker, finally settling his tip at your entrance. “I miss being able to straddle you without a belly,” you add quickly, and he almost laughs were it not for the synchronous moan you both let out as you sink down on his length fully.

Your eyes flutter, but a gentle grasp of your jaw pulls your face just an inch from his. “I want you to watch me,” he groans. “Watch me make love to you.” Your lips hover over his plump ones as you begin to slowly rock up and down along his massive cock. “That’s it, that’s my wife. So good f’me.”

You nod, whimpering softly. Each little hump pushes his tip deeper, nudging your g-spot effortlessly.

“So full,” you whine.

“You take it so good, baby. Always have.” His arms wrap securely around your hips as you grind on one another. He really was made for you. Your walls always fit like a glove around him, just tight enough to make him nearly blow his load each time were it not for an extreme amount of effort to avoid it. Every change to your body since having Sarah has only made his lips and hands hungrier to feel, the new dips and curves, soft plush areas just begging to be grasped by him. He wants it, wants you and so much more.

“Joel,” you warn, keening with little high pitched etches caught in your throat. “M’gonna cum.”

“Me too,” he rasps. “Gonna do it inside. You gonna take it?”

You nod, tears of euphoria welling in your eyes as you whimper.

“Gonna put another baby in ya? Right fuckin’ here, in my truck behind a restaurant? That how you want it? Dirty dirty girl, holy fuck—“

You gasp, your entire boy trembling against him as you cum. He captures your lips before you let out your moan, walls contracting around him until he feels his lower tummy snap. Balls twitching, he grunts into your mouth as he spills his generous seed deep into your womb. It’s so much, so pent up, so drawn out.

It’s the best mind-clearing cure you’ve ever had.

You collapse forward on him, slouched and panting against his sweaty neck. Your soft lips connect with his collarbone. He pecks your forehead, brushing the hair from your face.

It’s not comfortable at all, scrunched up here in his car. neither of you are nearly as young as the recent activity suggest, but with his strong arms wrapped lovingly around you, the fog blurring the windows and separating the two of you from the rest of the world, you could stay like this forever.

It’s quiet in Joel’s arm. Just the two of you—

His phone buzzes in his pocket and you fish out the device.

12 missed calls from Tommy.

You sit straight up and hit your head on the roof. “Ow!”

But there’s no time to hurt, not when Tommy’s last text message isa jumbled mess : ‘45ssfgh5 vi w2434467777$$75%refft+..87’

“Oh my God! OhmyGod—OHMYGOD— Joel, we need to go home right fucking now! What if they’re incoherent? What if something crashed into the house? What if it’s a fire? What if someone broke in—!”

He wipes his face with both hands. Truth is, he knew his phone was going off all night, but if you weren’t getting any messages, then it couldn’t have been an emergency. It was best to deliberately ignore whatever Tommy, a grown adult, couldn’t figure out on his own.

“Alright alright. We’ll go—“

“HURRY THE FUCK UP!” You scratch, setting into the passenger seat and reaching to turn the keys for him.

He slaps your hand away offensively before tucking his softened, creamy cock back inside his trousers and speeding back home.

Low and behold, as you nearly trip out of the car towards the house (the very intact, not on fire, not broken into, normal looking house just as you left it,) you stumble into the front door to see Tommy passed out on the couch with a drooling Sarah propped up against his shoulder.

Clutched in her tiny hands is Tommy’s massive phone that is the side of her arm, with Joel’s contact open and a half jumbled message of random letters and numbers still half written before she must have fallen asleep.

You sigh heavily.

Joel comes in right after you and chuckles as you catch your breath. You smack him on the shoulder.

“Probably shouldn’t wake her,” he whispers to you with a peck to the lips. You pout but obey, not wanting to make a scene right as she’s asleep.

He walks over to his younger brother and flicks his forehead.

“M’up!” He mumbles.

“You’re supposed to put her to bed before you fall asleep.” He scoops his sleepy baby into his arms and carries her off to her room, leaving the door cracked.

Joel escorts Tommy out just as you unlatch your earring. You glance back towards her room, the light from the kitchen illuminating a sliver of the bed, and Sarah has somehow miraculously disappeared.

You’re running out after Joel, who’s opening Tommy’s truck door just as you both see something waddling in the dark and getting into the back seat by herself.

“Sarah!”

The toddler rubs her sleepy eyes but doesn’t respond, just sits quietly in uncle Tommy’s truck with the lap belt pulled over her seat.

Joel, on the other hand, sees the opportunity to get you alone, loud, and spread out in bed all to himself for the rest of the night. “Yes, take her!" He encourages. Tommy grumbles with his hands on his hips.

You shake your head in disbelief and shove past him. “Sarah no! Mommy's home! Let's cuddle—“

"No." She says plainly. "I go to MeeMee now."

"No! You stay with Mommy!" You cry.

She shakes her head again more defiantly, but her little voice cracks as just mumbles. “You lef me!”

Your heart is cracking in a million pieces, chest aching so badly as water blurs your vision. “I’m sorry! Please I won't do it ever again!"

"No!"

"You're never watching my child again. Thomas!” you seethe at defenseless Tommy.

Now you and Sarah are crying and hyperventilating in the driveway at 10pm.

"Daddy made me!" You wail like a baby yourself. sounding almost indistinguishable from Sarah now. Fat tears spill down both of your faces, sagged shoulders twitching with each sniffle.

You and Sarah both huff and wipe your puffy red eyes.

Finally, Sarah speaks up with her little sobs subsided: “Daddy go to MeeMee and Mommy and RaRa stay home.”

“Deal. Joel, pack your bags,” you say plainly, straightening up and reaching out for Sarah, who gladly accepts you in her arms.

As you walk with her on your hip back to the house without another word, Tommy glances back in amusement.

And just like that, Joel was #2 again.

Joel fluffs the flat pillow on Tommy’s bed. The two of them sharing the full mattress since the younger brother only just moved into his new apartment, not having picked up any other furniture at the moment except for his tiny ass mattress.

"You think this is real funny don't you,” Joel grumbles. He tugs on the blanket and shifts uncomfortably over to his side, facing away.

Tommy chuckles and wipes his face, trying to clear the soreness from his cheeks after laughing all the way home. “Hell yeah. You wanted that, all of it, remember?"

Joel just grins happily, subconsciously twirling the gold band on his ring finger. He checks his phone one last time, the picture of you and Sarah as an infant in his arms smiling up at him. "Yeah. Yeah I do."

He’s achy and exhausted when comes back home in the early morning. Tommy had kicked him off the bed in his sleep, so the older brother just walked home for 20 minutes.

It’s not until he sees you and Sarah curled up on his bed together, her little pjs riled up over her fat belly, fist clutched above her head, and you with your protective hand around her hip, nose buried in her hair, breathing so softly in unison, that he can't imagine anything better. He kisses both your heads before walking back towards door.

There’s a little rustle and patter noise behind him, and Joel stops, almost shouting and jumping up when he turns to see little Sarah standing on his heels looking up to him. She points to the bed with very pouty lips and tired yet steamy eyes. Joel takes her hand and she guides him to the bed.

She clutches the side and hoists herself up with all her might before Joel joins in on his vacant side. Two tubby fingers grip his cheeks and pull him to stare directly into her soul a she says clearly: “Don’t ever take Mama away again. You understan me?" With a fat digit pointed inches from his eyeball.

He swallows and nods fearfully: “Yes ma’am".

Switching on a dime, his babygirl smiles gently and kisses his scruffy cheek. Her little head settles onto his shoulder just as he tucks her between the two of you, curling around her and nuzzling himself into your hair.

He sighs heavily and feels himself falling asleep, his family finally wrapped up into his arms.

"Daddy," Sarah says after 12 seconds of silence, rubbing her eyes. “Chocwit pancakes."

Your head jolts up and you hazily grumble, “Ooo pancakes yes please! Can you put chocwit chips in them?"

You fall back onto the pillow, pulling Sarah back into your arms with a content, lazy smile.

He rolls his eyes and crawls out of bed just as Sarah and you cuddle closer together and fall back asleep.

- - - -

taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

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reverie-starlight · 14 days ago

Text

"oikawa being into space was just a headcanon" "oikawa liking aliens was so fanon" well space nerd oikawa is real to ME. he theorizes about aliens in my HEART.

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. literally one suggestive line and that's it. this is so short and lazy, and secretly just an excuse for me to share some space facts I learned recently. reader and oikawa talk about aliens. any astronomers or casual space enjoyers, feel free to either correct me or drop more cool space facts! haven't written for this guy in a while, I m*ss him ://

"did you know that earth chirps?"

you and oikawa are laying in bed together and staring at the ceiling after a long week, neither of you able to turn your minds off long enough to relax and let slumber take over.

you hear shuffling and assume he turned over to face you. "really?" he asks, clearly interested. "I thought sound couldn't travel in space?"

you make a noise of confirmation. "mhm. it doesn't travel, but everything still emits noise. it's just recorded through radio waves and stuff."

"and earth chirps?" you hear enthusiasm start to creep into his voice, his energy spreading to you as well. this often happens on sleepless nights with him- you either turn to... cardio or end up talking with him for hours until one of you falls asleep mid conversation.

and since it's a warm summer night in argentina, tonight will definitely only consist of the latter.

you forget for a moment that it's dark and he can't see you well when you nod. "well, that's how I would describe the sound. is that not the most mother nature-y thing you've ever heard?"

he props himself up on one arm and looks down at you. "okay, now you have to show me that video you saw."

and you do. once he's listened, you see his eyes glowing not only because of the screen, but out of excitement as well. "that's so cool!"

you nod again and sit up with him, smiling. "and I saw this other really cool video about other space sounds- two black holes merging sounds like a water droplet."

you show him that video too, and he shakes his head in amazement. "isn't space just so interesting?"

you toy with your phone for a bit. "I, um... since we can't sleep... I have a whole bunch of other facts-" you start, and just as you're wondering if it's stupid to ask him if he wants to continue the conversation or if you should just let it fizzle out naturally, he cuts you off.

"I want to hear them all, mi vida. you know I do."

you grin and settle in, telling him all about neptune's atmospheric layers, how it's mantle is made up of a water-ammonium ocean that hails diamonds at a certain depth. you mention that saturn has a hexagonal storm just above it's north pole, and that other storms appear on the planet every twenty to thirty years.

somehow you get onto the topic of aliens, something you've both already discussed in depth when you were first getting to know each other all those years ago, but with your new knowledge comes the development of new questions.

and oikawa listens to every last one of your late night rambles. partially because he is genuinely interested in the topic at hand... but mostly because he's an attentive and caring partner and loves hearing your thoughts on everything.

he adores the way your mind works and how you jump from theory to theory, cutting yourself off with a new thought as soon as you think of it. he admires the vibrancy in your tone, excitement bleeding into your words whenever he responds that slowly tapers off into sleepiness.

in the dark he watches your outline lower down onto your pillow and laughs to himself about how adorable you are.

at least one of you will be getting a good night's sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

this is short and rushed bc something came up earlier, BUT AS PROMISED, HERE IT IS!!!

@dira333 :D

#oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader fluff #oikawa tooru x reader #tooru oikawa x reader #toru oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff

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hobby1008 · 6 days ago

Text

In the classroom

If you use a translator, the sentences may be strange.

chaewon X M Reader

Tags: creampie

A series of boring classes

Like any other high school, your classmates were fighting against sleepiness.

But you eventually

couldn't stand the boring class and fell asleep.

But your best friend, Chaewon was fighting against sleepiness while copying her notes. Her eyes were sleepy. She was about to close them when she heard a small voice.

"Oh shit. Faster, honey." You groaned.

Chaewon stopped writing and looked at you. Her eyes were wide open. It was fortunate that they were sitting behind you, otherwise you would have been caught. But your next sentence made her shiver even more.

You groaned again, "Chaewon."

Chaewon could feel herself getting wet and excited at the sight of you calling her name in your dream. She picked up her bag and placed it on her thigh. Chaewon tried to break the situation by continuing to focus on the class, but she couldn't when you whined even more.

"Dingdongdangdong" The class bell rang and it was lunch time.

The students all got up with their wallets and quickly ran outside.

"Sister, let's go." Eunchae said.

"It's okay. I'm not hungry. You can go." Chaewon said to them.

Eunchae nodded and approached Yoonjin who was waiting at the door. After everyone left, Chaewon looked to the left. She didn't know what to do. Should she wake you up or leave you alone? But Chaewon couldn't leave you alone, so she started to wake you up.

"Wake up. "It's lunch time." Chaewon whispered slowly.

You slowly opened your eyes and met Chaewon's eyes. Chaewon immediately turned her head shyly,

and you were sure of her attitude,

"Did you hear what I said?" you asked Chaewon.

Chaewon blushed and looked away.

"What, what did you hear?" Chaewon stuttered.

"Did you hear that I had sex with you in my dream and that I moaned your name because it was so good?" you said honestly.

Chaewon started to get wet just from having sex with you in her dream, and she got wetter when she heard that it was so good. She gripped her bag tighter, and you noticed it.

"It was the best dream I've ever had." you smiled brightly.

After putting your bag away, you made eye contact with her,

"I want to experience this dream for real, how about you?" you asked her.

She looked shy and avoided eye contact without saying anything.

You approached her at Chaewon's words and said, "In my dream, in this classroom, “You and I made hot love.”

She then looked at you with shy and excited eyes. You smiled. You were satisfied with how much Chaewon had affected you just by your voice and description. You decided to continue.

“You were so good to me. Bending over and begging for more, screaming my name out loud,” you continued.

“Please.” Chaewon tried to catch her breath.

“I think you were more excited than me during the dream. Do you want me, Chaewon?” you teased her.

She nodded, and your hands reached out to her uniform. You slowly unbuttoned both top buttons that exposed her chest.

“Please. "I need you," Chaewon pleaded.

You were delighted. It was like in the dream, but better. Your hands slowly slid down to touch her thighs.

"Spray me some, Miss." Your hoarse voice came out.

Chaewon spread her legs and you continued to stroke her thighs. Her panties were so wet that they were stained.

"Is that all? Shit, baby." You grinned.

Chaewon looked away, embarrassed. But as soon as you touched her clitoris, she moaned.

"Make it useless!".

You instructed, "Get up."

Chaewon stood up. Then you flipped her over and bent her body over the table. Her hands were pinned behind her with yours.

"I'm going to fuck you like I did in my dream," you growled. You pressed Chaewon's head down and made her kneel in front of you, and instructed with your eyes. Then Chaewon pulled down your pants and panties, revealing your cock. "Come on, suck it, Kim Chaewon."

Chaewon started sucking your cock after a slight moan. Then you stroked Chaewon's head like you did in your dream and moaned Chaewon's name, and Chaewon sucked your cock harder for you, making Chaewon's panties even wetter.

"Chaewon, stop sucking and take off your panties and spread them open. Chaewon obediently took off her panties and immediately spread her legs in front of you to show you her swollen pussy. You immediately rubbed your cock on Chaewon's pussy and said, "You're such a whore, Kim Chaewon, I'll eat you deliciously." Chaewon didn't feel good about your words, but on the other hand, she was so excited.

That's how you put your cock into Chaewon's pussy and you started moaning Chaewon's name like in your dream.

That's how you put your cock into Chaewon's pussy and you started moaning Chaewon's name like in your dream. Chaewon also moaned your name like in your excitement, and the classroom was filled with the sound of their flesh rubbing against each other and their moans.

Chaewon liked this situation so much. The thrill of being fucked by you like someone watching and the fact that you were fucking your pussy and moaning your name was heaven. You were the same.

This lovely girl was fucking your cock like crazy She gasped and moaned, calling your name, telling you that she was so happy and that it was so good, so you flipped over to the missionary position for Chaewon and immediately took off Chaewon’s top to please her even more. You rubbed Chaewon’s nipple between your fingers and kissed her lips and mixed your tongues wildly, and you and Chaewon wished that this situation would last forever.

While you were feeling each other’s bodies and enjoying each other’s bodies, the bell rang for lunch and the two of you became impatient. “They’re coming now, we have to finish quickly.” You ignored him and said as you thrust into Chaewon’s pussy even faster. “I think I’m going to come now, just a little bit more!!” Chaewon helped you by squeezing her pussy even more at your cries, and you finally filled Chaewon’s pussy with your cum. Then you immediately put Chaewon’s panties on and the two of you pretended to prepare for class as if nothing had happened.

But Chaewon was in so much trouble. Your cum was too much for Chaewon and the amount made Chaewon’s panties even wetter. Fortunately, none of her classmates caught her during lunch. You patted Chaewon's leg and said, "It was so much fun, Chaewon." Chaewon looked at you shyly and said she had fun too.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #idol smut #kpop x male reader #le sserafim smut #izone smut #chaewon smut

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thepascalofus · 1 year ago

Text

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

AO3

Part Two

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Word Count: 19.1k (HAHAHAHAHAAA)

Chapter Summary: Previous feelings for each other are revealed, and then those feelings are explored. An exchange, if you will.

Content Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI, nervous!reader, soft!!!!!!mando, reader loves facial hair, fluff fluff fluff, helmet comes off, cuddling, SMUT: making out, grinding, PRAISE kink, lowkey size kink, big dick mando, consent king mando (consent king mando is the hottest mando, it is law), m and f masturbation, dirty thoughts of reader and of mando, piv, unprotected and protected piv, fingering f receiving, ass grabbing, a lil nipple play, half naked and naked mando, lovey dovey sex hehehehehe, physical descriptions of reader are as neutral as possible but reader has a vagina

A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for your responses on the first two parts. I also cannot thank you all enough for your patience for part three. It is longer than part one and two combined (y’all voted for me to post in one long part, ya get what ya ask for!), so I think it was worth the wait. Also I didn’t proofread this because I was too excited to post it. Will read over it later though! ENJOY!!

THREE MONTHS PRIOR

A thudding sound was produced by Mando’s footsteps up the Crest’s ramp. Looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad, your eyes were trained on the lowering ramp. You nestled a bit further into your reading nook–a pile of blankets and some pillows stacked against the wall–as you anticipated the outside air hitting you.

Mando entered the Crest covered in mud. His footprints left a trail up the metal of the ramp. That’s another thing to add to the list of chores, you thought. The planet’s surface was half-swamp, so of course he would come back looking like he just rolled in bantha shit. A struggling bounty that Mando was dragging by the cuffs snapped around their wrists only made the mess worse.

With a grunt and a push, the quarry was frozen in the carbonite cell before Mando could finish the harsh grit of his, “Dank farrick.” His muddy, gloved hand left a mark on his vambrace when he touched it to close the ramp.

Silence.

A modulated exhale.

He stood with his expansive shoulders slumped and helmet turned downwards a bit. An apologetic tone crackled through the helmet, “I’m really sorry about the mess,” he slowly said as he used his hands to gesture around him.

Yeah, it wasn’t the most fun chore in the galaxy, but the alternative would be sitting and reading an article on your Holopad. Or sitting next to Mando in the cockpit, the streams of light gleaming off of his armor as you two have a sleepy conversation. They do sound like better alternatives, but you wanted to maximize your time with Mando.

You knew that Mando would help you clean up the mess. More time with Mando greatly sweetened the task of scrubbing the hull.

“I’m going to uh,” he glanced down at the muddy ensemble that covered his body, “go rinse off real quick.” He began his path towards the fresher door and stood still in front of the door. The helmet turned towards his right shoulder, like he was lost in thought. You could tell he concluded his reasoning as the helmet turned back to face the fresher door and he reached up to unlatch his armor.

First the chest plate was placed on the floor.

Tung.

Then the thigh guards.

Tang. Tang.

Vambraces.

Ting. Ting.

Pauldrons.

Dunk. Dunk.

It wasn’t unusual for Mando to remove his armor outside of the thresher. Occasionally the planet he needed to hunt on was sweltering hot, and removing the armor helped him cool down. Other times it was the inverse, the armor was too cold and he needed to heat up. It made sense to you this time as well. His armor was dirty so removing it before stepping into the fresher helped him clean up easier.

You didn’t realize he would apply the same logic to his mud-soaked flight suit.

Reaching up, his gloved fingers fiddled with the buttons at the top of his shirt. Eventually he was successful in undoing them and brought his hands behind his neck. He gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled it up and over the helmet. Off of his torso and onto the floor.

Plap.

The saturated long sleeve clung to his upper body like a surgical exam glove. Every muscle. Every ripple with his movement. They shined in the light of the Crest and displayed every lean curve of the Mandalorian’s body. Once more he reached up, this time undoing the buttons on his long sleeve.

Oh kriff.

Hands gripping the back collar of the shirt, the removal of the wet, black fabric revealed golden tan skin. Scars littered the expanse of his back from the years of combat he’d endured. The muscles that previously rippled underneath black fabric now gleamed under tan skin, coated with a layer of sweat.

Plap.

Oh kriff.

You were behind the nearly beskar-less man. Knowing he couldn’t see you, your jaw dropped.

Mando stepped out of his shoes, which revealed clean black socks. Hopefully his boots were equipped with mechanisms to keep his feet dry. Lastly, he slid off his gloves.

Plap. Plap.

Veiny, golden hands–matching his torso–were ungloved. His fingers were thick with well kept nails. You supposed that longer nails would make hand-to-hand combat difficult. As he opened the fresher door you watched his hand flex around the handle. His biceps bulged in the process of pulling the metal door open.

Once he was inside the fresher, you heard shuffling. After a minute or two, the door opened slightly. A large hand and toned forearm reached out and discarded his pants and underwear on the floor.

Plap.

The water began to run in the fresher and the pattering of liquid hitting the fresher floor filled the Crest. Occasional variations in the pattering occurred when Mando moved his body underneath the stream of water.

Then the pattering stopped. Mando must have been drying himself off, the slight shuffling sounds made their way to your ears. Those sounds ceased as well.

The Mandalorian cleared his throat and called out your name, “Um. Hey.”

Blinking a few times, you snapped out of your daydream-like state, “Yeah?” You called in response.

A pause. “Would you mind getting me some pants, please?” His voice was tight–possibly in embarrassment.

Your eyes widened and body sat still, “Uh, yeah sure! Where do you keep clean pairs?” You asked.

“Right side of my bunk. First cabinet on the left.” He raised his voice in order to enunciate his words.

Before you knew it, you were leaning into Mando’s bunk. Your gaze floated around the space in a quick glance. It was clean and organized. After witnessing his wide and tall frame the bed looked almost too small. Or maybe he just looked that large.

Your hand opened the first cabinet on the left and the other hand selected a clean pair of pants off the top of the stack. They were soft, fleece-like. Realizing they were sweatpants you extended your arm to put them back, but then hesitated as your hand hovered over the pile. Mando just came back from a hunt. A swampy, muddy hunt at that. He should get to be comfortable now.

The sweatpants remained in your hand and your footsteps took you to the fresher door. “I got you a pair,” you shyly announced.

A squeak came from the fresher door’s hinges as the crack in the door allowed Mando’s hand to stick out of the space. His palm was open, waiting for the pants to meet his touch. Your arm reached forward and placed the soft pants into the grasp of his thick fingers.

“Thank you.” The smooth bass of his voice entered your ears and went south. Air moving through his vocal chords produced warm, honey-like vibrations and they made you melt. “I’ll get the rest,” he concluded, and shut the fresher door.

You stood and studied your bleary reflection on the fresher door in awe at what you’ve experienced. Mando’s actual voice–without the helmet.

Shuffling began and ended abruptly. Lost in the awe, you didn’t realize the Mandalorian opened the door and took a step out. In consequence, his chest collided with your torso and sent you tumbling backwards. Backwards into a small puddle of swamp water and peaty mud.

“Di’kutla,” Mando let out a now modulated grunt.

Useless, worthless in Mando’a. Your heart stung a bit at the word. It’s not like you wanted to be covered in swamp gunk.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to make more of a mess,” you stuttered, nervous at the potential of him being mad at you.

Without a word, he reached down and hauled you to your feet, large hands grasped you at your waist. You became off balance and placed your hands on his chest for leverage. A slight gasp escaped your throat at the sudden movement–and at touching Mando’s bare chest.

His skin was soft, but rough. Thin black hairs littered his sternum and the surrounding skin. A light trail made its way down his soft, yet toned, stomach and disappeared past the waist of his sweatpants. Once you realized where your gaze settled–the soft bulge displayed behind the black fabric–your eyes snapped back up to his visor and your hands returned to your sides. Mando’s hands brushed the insides of your forearms. The skin on his hands was rough and warm, just like the skin on his chest.

The T shape tilted and then shook from side to side, “I’m di’kutla, not you. I’m the one that pushed you over.”

His head peered downwards and noticed the placement of his hands, he quickly jerked them back to his sides and nodded, “Let’s get cleaning.”

–

The Mandalorian quickly pulled an outfit together, which lacked his usual beskar–the same black sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a pair of black socks–and you mirrored his actions. Thankfully, he only caused your clothes to get dirty and not the rest of you. Your clean outfit was more revealing, which allowed you to bend and twist to scrub the mud off of the Crest’s interior.

While scrubbing, you would catch Mando out of the corner of your eye as he stole glances at you. An eyebrow of yours raised at his glances. You shot him a quick, “Don’t worry Mando, I’m getting it all,” in a teasing manner.

Looking back at the beskar-less man, he shook his helmet and chuckled, “I’m not worried about you getting it all. You keep the Crest sparkling clean. Was just…seeing if you needed help over there.” His visor returned to focus on the task of removing the mud from the floor of the hull.

–

The cleaning finished after an hour and a half. You were shocked at the efficiency, but you supposed two people cleaning aided in achieving the cleanliness of the Crest. Scrubbing the silver floors and walls tired you out, and Mando certainly felt the same after his hunt and scrubbing.

Sleep permeated throughout the air of the Crest and nestled itself into yours and Mando’s bodies. Fluid motions weaved your bodies past each other throughout the hull. Mando went back to change in his bunk while you used the fresher for your nightly routine. Once you were finished, you closed all the cabinets in the small space, signaling the return of your nightly products to their original places.

Which usually signaled Mando to stand outside of the fresher door.

His footsteps became louder as he strode to his usual spot across from the metal door of the fresher. You weren’t surprised to see Mando leaning against the wall of the hull.

But you were surprised at the bare chest staring back at you. The dark hairs on his chest littered your vision once more. The Mandalorian’s arms were crossed, which displayed every finely tuned muscle in the dim light of the hull.

You wanted to jump his bones. Climb him like a tree. Feel the expanse of his trunk-like arms under your palms.

“Are you all done there?” His modulated bass crackled through your thoughts. Straightening up and snapping out of your daydreams, you stepped to the side and nodded. Mando’s frame became larger as he approached you. Once your bodies were about to pass each other, an ungloved hand settled on your hip and gave you a slight squeeze.

“Thank you,” he said. His visor met your eyes before he closed the door to the fresher.

You got comfy in your makeshift bed–a nice pillow, a thick sleeping pad, and a cozy blanket–and waited for Mando to finish his nightly routine. You always tried to stay up and say good night to Mando before you drifted off to sleep.

Facing the side of the Crest the fresher was on, your head hit the cushion of your pillow and your thoughts wandered.

Mando looked so fucking good. Deliciously good.

You’ve had thoughts about him before. Perverse thoughts. But they were never this strong. But you’ve also never seen him this bare this many times.

His strong arms could wrap around you and flood your body with his warmth. Broad hands would travel up and down your back, soothing any negative thoughts away. Warm skin against yours could act like a salve for your worries.

You could think of everything vividly. His arms. Hands. Chest. Even his legs.

But the feel and morphology of his lips was blurry in your mind's eye.

Yet, you wanted his lips so bad–wanted him so bad–that you didn’t mind the unfocused image in your brain.

You wanted his lips to chase after yours like they were a bounty with the highest reward he’s seen. You needed to feel the slick of his saliva mixing with yours. The dancing of your two tongues in a battle of lust. Not only did you pine after his kiss, but you sought everything that would accompany it as well.

Mando’s ungloved hands would run up and down the planes of your body. Squeezing and palming your features as he pleased, expressing his want for you. The comfortable weight of him on top of you as your mouths molded together. His shifting muscles underneath your palms as you copied his wandering hands. You’d trail your fingertips over the never-ending expanse of his firm back. The pressure of his hard shaft would grind against your mound.

And the sounds.

The sounds.

You’ve heard him grunt before, in pain, effort, exertion, while he handled his bounties.

But you wanted to cause the sounds instead.

His lips could slide against yours and vibrate as he lets out a soft groan of pleasure. The bare chest on top of yours would rumble, sending shivers of delight up and down your spine. Your fingers would dig into his back in response, which would only increase the intensity of his groans. His breath would hitch as the head of his cock rubbed against the point in your walls that had you reeling.

And finally his voice.

Modulated or not, you hoped he would reciprocate the want you had for him. Your thighs pressed together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them.

“Maker, you feel so good.”

“Need you right now.”

“You like that, baby? Yeah? Good.”

“Fuucckkk, always so good for m-.”

You were cut off by the squeaky hinges of the fresher door, accompanied by Mando’s footsteps. Still shirtless, he came into one side of your vision and slowly walked to the other side. Your face heated up at his presence and the thoughts you just had about him. He stopped in front of his bunk and looked at you.

The T of his visor became diagonal, “You okay?” He questioned you.

Realizing he caught on, your face heated up even more as you produced a response, “Y-yeah! Yeah. Just…thinking.”

Nice save.

His helmet returned to its natural positioning. “What’re you thinking about?” He questioned once again. His large hands clasped in front of him just below his waist. Maker, he was huge. Mando put the width of the doorframe to shame as he continued to stare at you.

“Just…” You quickly tried to remedy the one sided awkwardness. “Just thinking about a book I’m reading. The plot is getting more complex.” Your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug to make your answer seem nonchalant.

“What book? Is it the cowboy one?” Mando replied. He leaned against the doorframe to get comfortable.

Your heart throbbed at his thoughtfulness. The cowboy-related book was one you brought up to him a couple weeks ago, when he asked what you were reading. Not wanting to lie to him, you shook your head and told the truth, “No, I finished that one a couple days ago. This one is about,” you trailed off, and then lied, “This is a romance book.” Your face became hot once again. At least you weren’t completely lying.

“Romance?” Mando asked, “What’s this book called?” His helmet tilted in interest. You could pick up a teasing tone if you listened closely enough.

“Oh, I don’t think you’d like it,” you returned. He usually asked for book titles when he was interested in reading them as well.

His bare shoulders shrugged, causing his chest to flex for a moment. “Was just curious what you were reading.” He sounded a bit disappointed. The door frame appeared to widen as he turned to enter his bunk.

Not wanting to leave him hanging, you made up a book title, “Hunter and Prey.” Your eyes widened at the sheer explicitness of the three words that left your lips. Hunter and Prey? Really? It would have been easier just to tell him what you were daydreaming about him railing you.

Mando’s broad frame filled the entrance to his bunk once again. “Hunter and Prey?” He said in a teasing tone, one much more decipherable.

You throw his tone right back at him, “Oh c’mon. The book has romance and adventure. Two birds with one stone.” You’ve told him how much you like adventure books, so hopefully your lie stuck.

The beskar helmet slanted in thought. “I guess so,” he settled his playful response and paused. A playful tone arose from his modulator once more,

“Don’t get too interested in bounty hunters. I think getting caught is only fun in the books.” His chest, dark hairs splaying across the surface, vibrated as he chuckled.

A slight smile spread across your face at his joke, “You never know, some bounty hunters don’t take their job as seriously as you do,” you stuck your tongue out at him in jest.

Mando shook his head, probably biting back a chuckle, and faced his torso towards you for the final time that night, “Good night.”

Still smiling, you responded, “Good night.”

The bunk door shut and only a dim light in the hull remained as a light source. Shadows from different cargo boxes cast themselves across the silver wall. It would take too much work to decipher which reflections on the walls belonged to which items. Warm light from a lamp near your living space casted a blanket of relaxation over the area. You couldn’t escape the feeling, and your body slumped into the material of the sleeping pad.

Once you closed your eyes, you realized your body was the only thing that the warm light seemed to calm down. In your mind, one thought took center stage.

Mando.

The way he leaned against the door frame. A broad expanse of dark hair covered his chest and traveled down past his waist, the horizontal and vertical lines of hair mimicking the T of his visor. Crossed arms were decorated with a smooth topography of muscles. His voice, laced with relaxation and ease. How attentiveness was like second nature to him.

How far did that attentiveness extend?

You thought about how carefully he listened and remembered details from your conversations. Picking up on things you’ve needed without you even realizing they’re necessary. Like the sleeping pad you’re laying on. The warm, cozy blanket he came back with one day.

Would he do the same in bed?

Your hand traveled down to your mound. Dipping under your waistband, your fingertips found your clit. Slow motions started to stimulate the bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. It wasn’t the first time you masturbated on the Crest, you were human after all. But it was the first time you masturbated without assistance–from a book, video, or picture–and were spurred on by thoughts alone.

He’d probably listen to your breath hitch as his thick, veiny fingers hooked into a spot on your inner walls just right. And he’d continue, hitting that exact spot over and over. With trained precision. Like it was nothing.

Upper teeth bite down on your lower lip as you thought about his fingers inside of you. How thick they are. How skilled he would be with them. Wet seeped from your slit onto your bottoms. The fingertips from your clit reached down to collect your wetness, and you resumed rubbing your clit at a faster pace.

He’d make you cum like it was his duty, as if it was part of his Creed. With confidence. Pride. Mando’s fingers would be soaked, so soaked that he’d raise them to meet your mouth. “Open.” He’d demand.

You knew you’d get that wet for him because you were already that wet for him. One of your hands continued rubbing your bundle while the other dipped into your entrance. A singular finger eased its way into your hole, but you wanted to feel the stretch. The stretch you knew his fingers would easily provide. Bringing another finger against the original one, you prodded at your entrance once more. You pushed into your wetness with two fingers.

That’s it.

Your eyes closed. Jaw dropped.

Your thoughts wandered to his fingers once more, syncing your thoughts with the way your body felt.

You’d take his fingers into your mouth and suck your slick from them. Right before they would retract, you coated the two digits in a layer of saliva. He observed his own fingers and understood your silent plea. “You want more, baby?” You nodded. His fingers returned to your wet hole and filled you once again.

Your own two fingers weren’t as thick as Mando’s, so you got used to the feeling of two. You needed more. The circling at your clit kept a constant pace as a third finger joined your other two. Your thoughts jumped to something that wasn’t his fingers.

His cock.

The soft bulge underneath the black fabric of his sweatpants. It was sizable, even when he was soft–you assumed he was soft–so how big would he be when he’s turned on? If his genetics maintained their pattern, he would be big.

He’d lean over you and line his hips up with yours. Each of your legs rested on one of his sides. A large hand would grip your hip to steady you, as he pushed the thick head of his cock into you. Mando would remain attentive. You knew he’d watch your face and listen to your breaths, your moans. His heavy cock found the same spot inside of you that his fingers did.

Your inner walls clenched around your three fingers. The strokes you took were slow and drawn out, savoring the fullness of your warmth.

Once he saw that you were comfortable, he’d pick up his pace. Your moaning increased, littered with, “please,” and, “Mando,” over and over. He’d groan at his name, fucking into you with more strength. Mando put the weight of his body behind his thrusts. Your body shifted up the mattress from the effort he put in.

A small, wet sound began to echo across the hull, but you were too close to care. The hand at your clit fell into a perfect rhythm with the thrusts of the fingers entering and leaving your soaking hole. You bit your lip as you quieted a moan that threatened to leak from your mouth.

Mando’s broad palm and thick fingers would lace between yours, holding your conjoined hands above your head while he fucked into you. The head of his cock perfectly brushed against a spot deep within your walls. A place that you couldn’t reach by yourself. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanned across your neck, he panted and groaned from his exertion.

Another brush against your walls and you squeezed around him. “Fuucckkk,” he’d moan into your neck. He continued his pace and littered your neck in sloppy kisses. “That’s a good fucking girl.”

Both of your hands worked faster. Three fingers fucked into your hole, curled to try and hit the spot deep inside of you. Your other hand increased the pace of the study rub over your throbbing clit. The bottoms you wore felt soaked against your lower hand, yet you couldn’t care less.

Mando’s thrusts would be relentless. Hard. Fast. The weight of his heavy balls slapped against the tighter hole beneath the one he was fucking.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Each thrust would be so final. Conclusive. He fucked you like he knew exactly how this would end. His visor hovered over your face. Your jaw was dropped and your eyebrows were furrowed. The horizontal line of his visor filled your vision. His voice was merely a growl, as he demanded, “Cum for me.”

Your body went stiff as euphoria washed over you in waves. Each wave took you apart and brought you back together. The wetness of your hole only became wetter, the sound echoed a bit louder than before. Despite your attention to staying quiet, your orgasm raged on. Every reassembly from each wave of pleasure calmed your being, and your stiff form slumped into your sleeping pad. Your hands kept moving, but at a slower pace. Another wave followed every thrust of your fingers. You savored the warmth your orgasm brought you. Halting your hands, your mind came-to.

That was the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had.

–

That hunt kriffing sucked, Mando thought.

Cold water ran down Mando’s body as he rinsed himself off in the fresher. Drops of liquid pattered onto the metal floor, pooling at his feet. Everything in his body felt limp, a result of his exhaustion from the hunt.

The only thing that wasn’t limp was his dick.

Mando was already on the edge of his perverse thoughts. Seeing you, comfortable and cozy, made his heart swell–and his cock. Providing for you was like breathing. After every hunt he looked forward to meeting your gaze and a soft smile spreading across your face.

Not only did he get to see you comfortable, but he saw you displaying your attraction to him. A display that included dropping your jaw when he took his shirt off.

He caught you gawking at him in the reflection of his chest plate. Your jaw dropped when he removed his final layers, and Maker, it only made his situation worse. Not only was his body dirty, his thoughts were dirty too.

Before his brain started to spiral, he quickly completed his rinse-off and turned off the shower in the fresher. Stepping out, he realized he didn’t bring any fresh clothes in with him.

Shit.

You were in the hull and would probably bring him something if he asked for it. But what does he ask for? A full outfit? He at least needed bottoms. He thought of how complicated it would be to explain where multiple things are in his bunk through the metal door of the fresher, so he opted to just ask for one thing–pants.

“Um. Hey. Would you mind getting me some pants, please?” Mando asked. He was a tad embarrassed. He plans hunts meticulously to save the most amount of time, he’s attentive to every detail in combat, and he forgot to bring pants into the fresher with him.

You brought him the pair and the Mandalorian quickly changed. Pausing before he touched the door handle, Mando became nervous. What if your jaw-dropping was one of disgust and not of attraction?

Only one way to find out.

–

Mando laid on the mattress in his bunk and finally let his thoughts wander. They wandered like a desperate quarry. So desperate to find a discreet place to live, but showing themselves at some point in the end.

He thought of the book you were allegedly reading: Hunter and Prey. You were reading a romance novel. About bounty hunters.

His hardened cock only made his sweatpants tighter. Hips shifting upwards, he sought relief in adjusting his position. The only thing adjusting did was rub the head of his cock against the fabric of his pants. Black fabric created a heart-stopping friction against his tip.

Dank farrick.

Finally giving in to his perverse thoughts, he let them wander. Just like how he would let an easy bounty wander around town. At any minute, he could capture them and complete his hunt, but sometimes he enjoyed “playing with his food” first.

His imagination put you on center stage. Your hair. Your eyes. The shape of your body and the planes of it he sought to run his hands over. Warm skin would glide underneath his palms and act like a sedative. Calmness washed over his mind. Then he thought of your lips. So delicately crafted. Your lips framed your gorgeous smile, like they were housing an ancient masterpiece in an art gallery.

The smile you gave him whenever he returned from a hunt made his heart melt. You’d be snuggled up reading, bent over the small stove cooking, or hunched over a mechanical issue. No matter the situation, you would look up and find his gaze behind his visor. Something anyone else could rarely accomplish. He finally felt like he had a purpose hunting, besides survival.

You.

You’d meet him halfway and wrap your arms around his torso. His arms would snake around your torso and hold you in a tight hug. “I missed you,” he’d say. “I missed you too,” your response would vibrate against his chest. His hands would run up and down your back, relishing the feel of your body in his capable arms.

He groaned at the thought. In frustration of not being able to have you. The simple image of a hug had him reeling, desperate to meld his being with yours. You were so perfect and lived in his damn ship. You spoke with him as if he were just Din, and not Mando. Images of domesticity juxtaposed images of his bounty hunting profession. It was a blessing and a curse.

The pair of you would retreat to his bunk and turn off the lights. Your bodies would press together as the two of you shared the space of the mattress. He would press his helmet into your hair, smelling the faint scent of you through the metal–and the shampoo you recently bought at a market. He’d use his broad hands and thick arms to bring you closer to him, nearly crushing you via cuddling.

Mando’s face heated up at the thought. Feeling the heat of your body against his was something he would be willing to get on his knees and beg for.

Hands would begin to drift and adventure in a bold manner. His palms would glide up and down your body, stopping occasionally to grasp and rub different areas. He thought of the way your ass would feel in his palms. Soft. A cushion. A spectacle he almost didn’t feel deserving of. His hands would wander north and his fingers would tease your nipples through your shirt. You’d gasp in response and squirm against him.

Maker. He almost forgot. The sounds you would make. The Mandalorian groaned and reached down to palm his cock through his sweatpants. Relief flooded his body like how precum flooded from the head of his cock. Rough palms glided up and down the silky skin of his shaft. Once the friction became too much, he reached into a side compartment and produced a small bottle. Squeezing the plastic sides of the bottle, a small dollop of lube was squirted onto his fingers. He quickly returned to his thoughts and his actions. The lube allowed his large grip to seamlessly run along the length of his shaft.

Shit. Would you be this wet?

After exploring the feel of your body, Mando would pull you to sit in his lap. You’d be in between his legs with your back facing him, your legs resting out in front of you. He’d grip the insides of your knees and encourage you to let your legs fall to either side. Once he was pleased with the positioning he asked, “Is it okay if I take these off?” Rough fingertips pinched at the waistband of your pants and underwear. Getting an enthusiastic nod and a small, raspy ‘yes’ in response, the Mandalorian pulled both articles of clothing off of your lower half.

He focused his strokes near the tip of his cock. The nerves in the head of his shaft sent electric currents through his body. Normally his self-pleasure sessions weren’t this intense, but you did something to him. You were special. Better than any brothel service. Any piece of pornography. You were gorgeous. Beautiful. Mesh’la.

He thought of dipping his fingers into your slit. Hopefully, that would pull another gasp from you. Every breathy exhale and pleasured sound only increased his need to hear them more frequently. Starting with one finger, his fingertip would push into your entrance. He’d go slow at first, pumping in and out of your wet sex knuckle by knuckle. Mando would give you some time to adjust to the feeling, and then increase his pace. Moans and gasps fell from your lips much more frequently than before. Your pussy was soaked from just a few fast strokes from his thick finger. If you were comfortable with it, he’d slip another finger alongside the singular one. His pace slowly increased to resume the speed that had your back and shaking legs pressed against his.

“Ohhh, Ma- Mando-o,” would quietly cry from your throat.

“Fucckkk,” Mando said under his helmet.

Wet sounds emanated from the action of stroking his rough grip up and down his thick shaft. Underneath the helmet, he bit his lip in frustration. He already imagined you could feel heavenly around his fingers, but he needed to feel your slick walls around his cock.

First he would make you cum with his fingers. The orgasm would send you reeling back into his hold. You’d be a shaking and stuttering mess, reaching for one of his broad hands and lacing your fingers between his. An effective way to ground yourself.

“Good girl,” he’d praise.

After you came down from your high, his strong arms would bring you to lay down long ways on the mattress. Parting your legs once more, Mando’s broad hips settled between yours. Glistening folds were presented to him at the center of his vision. You looked delicious. He wished to taste you, but his need to fuck you overtook the pleads from his tastebuds.

His thumb rubbed slow circles on the bundle of nerves between your legs. Your sparkling eyes would meet the gaze behind his visor and your brows would furrow in desperation. He’d do anything you wanted. Anything to please you.

“What do you want, mesh’la?” His gravelly voice echoed throughout the small bunk.

You’d bite your lip, shyness creeping over your face, but you overcame the feeling. He loved it when you were confident in asking for something from him. “I want you to fuck me,” you requested.

Mando let out a strangled groan at his thought of the words. He loved knowing that you wanted him. He loved when you voiced your desires, sexual or not. Your comfort in his presence was the most potent aphrodisiac Mando could consume. The tip of his cock throbbed at the thought, and his thumb reached up to attempt to sooth the sensation. Bare hips bucked into the air at the touch.

He would line his hips up with yours and prod the wide head of his shaft against your wet entrance. Before pushing in, he reached towards a cabinet to produce his bottle of lube. Mando quickly spread a generous amount over the veiny surface of his cock. As much as he wanted to fuck you, your comfort was his upmost priority. Giving himself a few strokes with his large grip–your eyes trained on his hands–he lowered his hips once more. The T of his helmet stared into your face as he slowly pushed into you.

Your jaw would drop, just like it did in the reflection on his chest plate. The slick walls of your pussy hugged his thick cock, making his jaw drop in unison.

His wide hand tightened around his hardness. Each stroke had him fucking himself into his grip. Mando’s jaw clenched in concentration, the combination of his hand and thoughts of you were furthering him closer and closer to the edge.

The Mandalorian nearly collapsed on top of you, but he caught himself on his elbows, caging you in his hold. Silver beskar making up his helmet hovered over your face, his eyes trained on yours. A whimper escaped from your throat when the head of his cock brushed against a particular spot. He honed into the point and hit it repeatedly, with precision.

Your fingers dug into his bare back, most likely leaving crescent marks in their wake. He dropped his helmet into the crook of your neck. The action allowed him to hear every sound you made. Sometimes simple breathy moans, interrupted by his slow, yet strong thrusts. Other times, you’d attempt sentences:

“Ma- Mando. Maker, you feel so good.”

“K-kriff you’re b-big.”

“Mm-mm-mm, don’t, stop.”

A knot coiled in the pit of Mando’s stomach. He threw his head back into a plush pillow and focused his grip towards the tip of his cock. Quiet, slick sounds filled the space of the metal-lined bunk. His breath quickened as his imagination delved deeper.

Mando’s thrusts slowed to a near halt as he raised an arm and propped an elbow to hit a switch on the wall. The space went dark. Everything went silent.

Hiss.

Tunk.

In a hurry, he muttered, “can I kiss you, baby?”

Instead of replying in words, you craned your neck to meld your plush lips with his. Delightful needles ran up and down Mando’s body in pleasure. In disbelief. Feeling your lips on his was something he’s only dreamt of, knowing that completing the action would be a risk to his Creed.

But at this moment, Creed be damned, he craved the motions of your mouth against his. Fighting and expressing a bond that he longed for, slick lips slid against each other in a battle of lust-influenced emotions. Mando pushed his tongue into your mouth, and in the same motion, pushed his cock further into your wet heat.

His mouth swallowed your moans as he rutted the head of his cock against the particularly sensitive spot within your walls. The grip you had on his broad back became stronger. Skin against his hips brushed against the skin of your inner thighs, and your legs captured his body closer to yours. Lips tightened against his, shifting into a portrayal of pleasure, leaving you unable to kiss him properly. In response, the Mandalorian buried his head into the crook of your neck and placed sloppy kisses along your skin.

Almost there. Jaw clenched and teeth gritting, Mando fucked into his fist at a brutal pace. Soft pants accompanied the slick sounds in filling the space of his bunk. Maker, he hoped you were asleep. He didn’t know how much louder he’d get, and more importantly, how much control he had over his volume.

Unable to maintain a steady grip on his back any longer, your grasp traveled to the soft, wavy locks of his hair. The Mandalorian groaned. He didn’t realize how much he craved that simple contact, one many took for granted. Your fingertips massaged his scalp, and it was as if you massaged all of his worrisome, negative thoughts away.

“Oh, kriff Mando, keep going. F-fuck, you make me feel s-so good.”

A few more firm, yet gentle thrusts of his cock made you squeeze your soaking walls around his shaft. His balls felt heavy against your ass. He knew he was close.

“Mando, oh, oh, Mando, I’m gonna cum,” you whined out, the sound filled his ears as he continued his pace and his languid kisses against your neck.

Mando squeezed his eyes shut. Teeth dug into the thin skin of his lower lip, the hairs of his mustache tickled the skin directly below his lip. Large hands maintained the quick pace along the silky skin of his cock. Just a few more strokes and he was done for.

A knot twisted and turned in the pit of his stomach, and he fucked into your glistening seam with more vigor. Your moans became strangled whines. Each escaping gasp climbed octaves until you finally snapped and clamp your pussy around his cock.

“I’m cumming, oh fuck. Oh, Din!”

The Mandalorian snarled as thick streams of cum erupted from the head of his cock. Translucent, white liquid covered his stomach and chest. His head spun as the waves of pleasure washed over him. The sensations dug themselves deep into his bones and he felt like he was floating. A cloud of ecstasy trapped him and he didn’t want to leave. Seeking to draw his orgasm out longer, he continued fucking his hand until the sensations became too much. Mando’s chest dramatically rose and fell in the aftermath. Panting, he looked down at the mess he made on himself.

That was the strongest orgasm he’d ever had.

Reaching towards a different cabinet, he grabbed a soft towel and began wiping up his mess. Thoughts rushed throughout his mind, in contrast from his usual mindset after masturbating. In the chorus of wandering thoughts that still occupied his mind, one made itself bold and prominent.

Maker, he needs to ask you on a date.

–

Mando stood a meter or two in front of you. His hands hung uselessly by his sides. Posture slightly askew, you could sense he was doubting himself. Thick fingers played with the strings on the bracelet while he waited for your response.

Your jaw went slack, eyes widened. So you weren’t crazy. Everything added up. He made caf for you every morning. The small ‘good nights’ he gave you every night. The even smaller ones with an added word in Mando’a, one he never said around you. The things he told you, about his son, about his feelings, that he never said to anyone else. How he was careful around you, trying not to look intimidating. He tried to make you comfortable at all times.

He cared just like you cared.

You placed one foot in front of the other, giving Mando time to back up if he wanted. He remained in place as he waited for your approach. The armored man stood like a statue in the hull. The beskar and the metal of the Crest became one. If you didn’t focus on him too much, he almost looked like a statue erected in the middle of the hull. As the toes of your boots met the toes of his, you snaked your arms around his waist and pressed your head to his chestplate.

Mando instantly wrapped you up in his solid arms. His helmet was buried into the crook of your neck, the cold metal delightfully stung your skin, and he squeezed you. The Mandalorian’s large hands ran up and down your back as his hold refused to let you go.

You didn’t want to let him go either. Your body sought fusion with his warmth, with his being. All of the comfort he provided. All of the safety that he gave you. It seeped through his body to yours. A sense of peace washed over you.

Mando’s helmet shifted towards your head more, the modulator crackling near your ear, “Is it safe to say we feel the same?” His broad hand continued to rub along your back. The warmth from his palm created the most soothing sensation you’ve experienced. Bringing yourself out of the state of bliss to recognize the question he was asking, your brows furrowed. He almost sounded uncertain of himself, voice tinged with hope.

You leaned backwards to look into his visor. A Mandalorian. The Mandalorian. Sworn to a creed of combat and honor. Mando didn’t have a problem taking down a dozen people at a time, but confessing his feelings to you made him nervous. A small chuckle escaped from your chest at the realization.

The corners of your eyes crinkled from your laughter. His helmet tilted in confusion. “Yes, Mando, we feel the same.” You raised a hand to hold the crook of his neck, rubbing your thumb along the fabric of his cowl.

He pulled you into another hug, this one with more space between the two of you, so he could look down and into your eyes. Your hands rested on his chest plate, and his rested on your waist. A rumbling feeling against your hands made your head tilt in confusion this time. Mando continued to clear his throat. His breaths got slightly quicker.

“I feel like I need to explain th-,” the Mandalorian cleared his throat once again, “I need to explain the condoms.”

Your eyes widened. He doesn’t have to explain himself, but if he wasn’t going to the brothel, why did he need them? Mando only expressed interest in you, as far as you know.

Oh.

The beskar-clad man’s chest rose and fell with a deep inhale and exhale, preparing himself for explaining the condoms on the receipt from the market.

“I was going to ask you out on a date. Just something simple,” he shrugged and brought his covered eyes to meet yours, “I bought your favorite snacks, got us some takeout, and I was going to give you the bracelet then. I just wanted to be prepared in case anything…escalated.”

Cheeks burning, you took Mando’s hands into yours. You smirked and gave him a light chuckle. “You would try to fuck me on the first date, Mando?”

He looked down at the floor of the hull and shook his head. “I’d only do what you’re comfortable with,” he said, giving your hands a squeeze.

“You also don’t even know if I would have said yes to a date,” you teased him.

A low rumble resonated from his chest, he hooked a finger through one of your belt loops to pull you closer. “I think I might have made a fair assumption.”

Hands glided up Mando’s chest, and you clasped them behind his neck. “You’ll never know unless you ask…” Another rumble came from his chest. A hand snaked its way from your waist to your chin. Mando’s index finger and thumb grabbed your chin and made you look at him face-to-face.

“Well, would you like to go on a date with me?” The beskar helmet tilted and gleamed in the faint lights of the Crest’s hull.

“Yes, Mando, of course I do.” Your eyes took after Mando’s helmet and they gleamed with joy. The dull silver of the hull starkly contrasted your excitement. Warmth between the two of you radiated and exploded throughout the space. Your energies seeped into the metal of the Crest just as your feelings seeped into each other's consciousness.

Mando’s large hand returned to rub long lines up and down your back. “I got your favorite snacks, some takeout…” He reminded you as his speech trailed off.

“How soon can we go on the date?” You asked eagerly in response. Snacks, takeout, and Mando sounded like the perfect combination. A perfect way to turn around the anxious thoughts that clouded your mind not even an hour ago.

“We can do it now…?” Mando suggested slowly.

“Yes! Yes please!” You bounced in place and threw your arms around the Mandalorian. He reciprocated your hug with an even tighter squeeze and pulled away from you.

“Let me find a good place to park the Crest,” Mando walked away and climbed the ladder to the cockpit. You went to follow him, but he turned and stopped you at the base of the ladder. “You stay down here, it’s going to be a surprise.” Before you could respond he bounded up the ladder and began takeoff.

–

Mando pressed his vambrace and the ramp slowly revealed the market in the distance. Lights flashed and others were lit in different colors. Rolling hills were lit up by the faint glow. The sun was fully set, which allowed the sky to display an array of stars.

“This is beautiful, Mando.” You turned towards the man in silver and he wasn't looking at the sky. Not looking at the gorgeous colors streaking out from the center of the market, onto the landscape. Not even the different lights and colors that lit the small town.

His gaze was focused on you.

“I was hoping you’d like it.” He took a few steps closer to you with the market bag, a blanket, and two pillows in hand. Stepping in front of you, he laid out the blanket where the hull’s floor meets the ramp. Reaching into the market bag, he took out an assortment of snacks and a takeout meal for each of you.

“Mando, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you chuckled in amazement.

“I didn’t have to, yes. But I wanted to,” he bends down to sit on the blanket and he offers a hand to help you down. You took it and plopped down next to him, your thigh brushed his as you reached for different food items. Mando leaned on his arms placed behind him, watching in amusement as you enjoyed yourself.

The assortment he managed to purchase amazed you. Each item was something you’ve mentioned to him before. A shiny bag of one particular food, a box filled with something else, and a steaming takeout container of another dish. Relishing the diversity of it all, thoughts of Mando’s enjoyment prodded your mind.

You turn to him, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

His helmet turned towards you and he waited a second. The helmet. No kriff, he can’t eat with you.

“I’m sorry, I for-.” Mando stopped you.

“You know I don’t mind when you eat in front of me,” he started.

He was right. You felt bad in the mornings when you sipped on your caf and indulged in your breakfast. He was probably hungry after a night’s rest. The Mandalorian told you at the time, “I’m used to it. Mandalorians never bonded over food or eating.”

Expecting the same reasoning to leave his mouth and filter through the helmet, you were shocked when he chose a different path.

“I’ve been planning this for a while, mesh’la,” he paused and adjusted his positioning on the ground, “I’ve been thinking of ways to eat with you…” He explained, and then trailed off.

He’s been thinking of ways to eat with you. To eat. With you. Something he’s never done with you before. In the past, you’ve tried to get him to, even saying you’d wear a blindfold, but he never wanted to take that step.

And what does mesh’la mean?

“You don’t have to, I understand if-.” You began to tell him.

“I think I found a way that I would be comfortable with,” Mando said.

“What is–. Oh, Maker!” You squealed as Mando scooped you up and placed you in his lap. Your back to him and your legs tangled with his. As soon as you settled, the Mandalorian took his takeout container and brought it between your back and his stomach.

“There’s one rule,” his modulator crackles in your ear as he rests the temple of his helmet against your actual temple, “you can’t turn around.”

“I won’t,” you squeaked, heart beating out of your chest, “I swear to you.”

The cold feeling of the beskar disappeared from the side of your head. What you didn’t expect was the hiss of the helmet breaking its seal around Mando’s head, even though it was implied. What you definitely didn’t expect was for Mando to place the helmet just enough forward that you could see it in your peripheral as you ate.

You forgot Mando was a human. He had a head and a face. And his face was not the one that peaked at you from the corner of your eye. His face is the one directly behind your head.

The popping sounds of the food container being opened snapped you out of your thoughts. Mando’s utensils clinked against the sides of the container as he gathered food to put into his mouth.

“Mmmm,” he grunts out, his mouth probably full of food. A few more seconds went by, “that’s really good.”

His voice.

His unmodulated voice.

It was like honey dripped over your body. Soaked through your skin and traveled through your veins. Soothed you. The warmth between you two increased yet again. Not just physical warmth, but the warmth you felt when you discovered new things about each other. When you discover new ways to care and new things to remember.

“What’s on your mind?” His large, calloused hand found the crook of your knee and gave it a light squeeze. His other hand set his empty food container to the side. That was fast, you thought. But you suppose he eats for business, not for pleasure.

“What does mesh’la mean?” You asked him as you marveled at the sight of the market again. His knees pressed into yours and the hand not on your knee snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer to him.

He tucked his face into the crook of your neck. His breath fanned over your ear and he tightened his arm around you as he spoke, “Mesh’la is Mando’a,” he hummed as he pecked a quick kiss onto your neck, “Mesh’la means beautiful.”

You smiled, face heating up, and hummed another question, “and what does cyar’ika mean?”

Mando buried his face into the back of your hair and left another quick peck on your head. He pulled away to mutter near your ear, “Cyar’ika roughly translates to sweetheart.”

Your torso vibrated against his, that’s really sweet, you thought, but you wanted to tease him a bit, “First date and you’re already calling me beautiful, huh? And you’ve been calling me cyar’ika for a while now.” A smirk splayed across your face.

The Mandalorian went stiff and asked, “For a while?” Confusion radiated from him and his beskar.

Your smirk morphed into a small smile. “Sometimes I wait up for you when you go on hunts, or I happen to be awake when you come back,” your heartbeat picks up at your confession, but you continued, “I like hearing you say good night to me. It’s…comforting. But then you started tacking ‘cyar’ika’ onto the end of it.” You shrugged like it was nothing.

Mando shifted underneath you, realizing he’d been caught red handed. Then he countered with, “One year of being crew partners and you’re already planning matching bracelets, huh?”

He got you there.

Softly giggling, you reach an arm backwards and bat a hand at his chest, playfully tapping him. A chuckle comes from behind your head. His hold around your waist fastens and he brings his wrist donning the bracelet out in front of you. He wraps his large hand around yours, the one with your bracelet on your wrist. You peer down and admire the identical weavings of thread.

Mando’s throat clears behind you and he speaks softly next to your ear, “I think you have good taste. It matches my armor,” his knee comes up to nudge yours. A moment of silence followed, “The green is for my son, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” meekly comes from your throat. The broad grasp covering your own gave your hand a squeeze. Mando rested his chin on your shoulder and faced the crook of your neck. Soft breaths fanned over your exposed skin.

“Did I get his color right?” You questioned. He previously said Grogu was a light green color, and you hoped the color on the bracelets mimicked his color.

The Mandalorian brought your joined hands up to focus on the color of the light green thread weaving from between the silver and brown. When he spoke, his tone sounded strained, “Yeah, yeah that’s probably it.”

When Mando last spoke to you about his son, he said it’s been a year or so since he gave them to the Jedi. A year without his little one, the bundle of joy that Mando cherished. Then the reason for his uncertain answer and strained voice washed over you.

“You,” an exhale steadied your soft speech, “You can’t remember his color that well, can you?”

A shaking breath made the man’s torso shudder against yours, “No, I can’t,” he admitted in a tight voice. His face pressed deeper into the crook of your neck and he held you close to his chest. You rubbed circles along the back of his hand in comfort. Hesitantly, you brought your other hand behind you and ran your fingers through his hair.

The texture of it made your heart melt. It was longer than you thought it’d be, you assumed he would keep it short so it didn’t bother him within the confines of his helmet. Soft waves brushed through your fingers. Your fingertips lightly scratched at the roots of his hair on his scalp.

You thought your heart melted, but Mando melted exponentially more. The large frame that was his body nearly crushed yours with the tension he released. A soft groan left his throat and vibrated against your neck. Mando’s body loosely wrapped around yours in a protective shell.

“I was hoping that the green on the bracelet would make you think of him. It could make you remember,” you explained to him, continuing the scratches against his scalp.

Then it was silent. Sounds of your exhales and the small rustling sounds of your fingers through his waves of hair were the only ones that traveled to your ear drums. The Mandalorian was heavy against you, boneless, acting as a beskar-weighted blanket. His warmth permeated from his body to yours. It was comforting. He was comforting.

Then a sharp inhale from Mando, “I have to thank you,” he began.

You nearly snapped around to respond, but you kept your gaze trained on the twinkling lights of the market. “For what?” You asked.

“For everything,” he added.

Was Mando really giving you a job review right now? On your first date? “Mando,” you chuckled and shook your head, “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’m not talking about the job, cyar’ika.”

Your eyes widened. Oh. No words exited your mouth.

Mando continued, “I need to thank you for making me feel safe. You’re, you ju–,” he sighed in annoyance with himself. “I’m sorry. I’m not too good at this.” His strong arms gave your waist a squeeze.

Before you could reply, he resumed his train of thought. “You make me feel emotionally safe. I know I can tell you anything. Share whatever is on my mind. And you’ll be there for me,” a deep inhale interrupted his speech, “and I haven’t had that since I had Grogu.”

His tone was strained once again and he shook his head while it was nestled near your neck. Gaining composure, he explained, “People look at me and see this bloodthirsty Mandalorian. They’re scared of me. Kriff, I’m sure some have mistaken me for some emotionless droid,” his speech snarled at the word.

You smirked at his distaste for the metal beings, but you didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts with a snide remark.

“But you see me as human. As a man with emotions and thoughts. You talk to me like I’m just a guy that happens to be covered in beskar.”

That was where you butted in, “Because that’s what you are Mando. And you’re not just some guy. You’re a Mandalorian, an actual one, the ones that no one seems to recognize today. Mandalorians are bound to a Creed of honor. Mandalorians stick to their word. They rescue. They protect. They care,” you paused to grasp the hand laying on top of yours, “You’ve told me enough about your Creed for me to realize that very little of it is truly about being solely physically and mentally intelligent. It’s about the combination of those strengths with emotional intelligence. Because what is using your head if you aren’t using your heart too?”

Mando was silent behind you. His body was stiff, no longer relaxed. Shit, did you offend him? You weren’t Mandalorian, should you have been interpreting the Creed?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be analyzing your Creed like that. I’m not Ma-”

“No,” he stopped your speech, and resumed his, the baritone of his voice being small within his throat, “You got it all right.” Strong arms squeezed you. Mando held onto you as if someone threatened to take you from him. His face returned to its spot by your neck and he whispered, “Maker, you’re perfect.”

The words sent chills down your spine. Before you could fully relish in the implications of his phrase, small kisses were being planted up and down the curve of your neck. Eyelids closed, you bit your lip at the brushes of his lips against your skin. No longer distracted by the visuals of the market lights, your attention focused on the feeling of his face on your neck. Soft lips meticulously placed pecks up your neck. His face slid against your warm skin, leaving a prickling sensation in its wake.

Prickling…your eyes widened and you straightened up, just slightly.

Mando froze in his tracks, voice laced with concern, “you okay?”

You cleared your throat and let out a small chuckle, “Yeah, yeah, I just,” your body vibrated against his as you chuckled again, “I just realized you have facial hair,” you explained as your face heated up. Half in embarrassment of not realizing earlier, and half in excitement. You loved facial hair.

“Oh. Yeah,” he hesitated, “do you not like it? I can shave if you-.”

You stopped him before he could finish, “No! No, I mean. I like facial hair,” you explained sheepishly.

A smirk grew on Mando’s face, and you didn’t even have to see him to know it was there. Stubble prickled on the skin of your neck once again. This time, the man rubbed his face across the slope in front of him in an attempt to tickle you.

A giggle bubbled out of your chest and you twisted in his hold. The fanning of his breath over your neck created a delicious warmth on your skin. Warmth that soothed the pin pricks from the man’s stubble. Mando’s trunk-like arms caged you in and kept you tight in his grasp. He stopped after only a few seconds, placing soft kisses on the skin that he just scratched.

The kisses down your neck became more intense. Mando would graze his teeth against your skin and tighten his hold around you. The small marks trailed further down your neckline. Receiving the trail of small marks felt like a dream. Each mark gave you a slight pinch, sending your hips rocking backwards to grind against him.

A soft moan left Mando’s lips and vibrated against the skin of your neck. His grip tightened near your waist and brought your hips closer to his groin. Soft lips returned to your neck, the other side this time, and began placing small hickeys down your skin. One place in particular, where your jawbone meets your neck beneath your ear, sent your ass grinding down into his lap.

Then you feel him.

And you kind of freak out.

He’s big.

Were you ready for this? Of course you’ve dreamt about it, you kriffing came to the thought of it, but the opportunity overwhelmed you. Your mind raced. You felt like you didn’t consider all of the factors that went into this.

Sure, you’ve had sex before, but what if you weren’t good enough for Mando? You’re still clothed and he already has you hot and bothered. You haven’t done anything to him yet. You had to do something or else you’re going to be a dead fish in bed. Were you ready to actually do something with him?

Your hips stilled, and of course Mando noticed.

His actions also paused, “You okay, cyar’ika?” He asks softly. Mando’s words make their home in your heart and you melt. You are okay. You’re with him. But being with him made you anxious. Mando didn’t deserve to put up with shitty sex.

“I just,” you paused and shifted in Mando’s lap, “I think I need to lie down,” you lied to him. He quickly reached for his helmet and sealed it back around his head. The pair of you organized the garbage and the remaining snacks, quickly getting ready for bed.

–

You were almost there. You could’ve done it. You dreamt about it for months and yet you chickened out. His hands were right there, and you got up and went to bed. Dank farrick.

Mulling over your thoughts, you laid on your bed and stared at the ceiling of the Crest’s hull. You could masturbate to the thought of him again, sure, but it just wouldn’t compare. The thoughts of Mando’s hands, his broad chest pressed against your back, the warmth of his legs wrapped around yours haunted your consciousness and refused to allow you to fall asleep.

It was only amplified by the thought Mando put into the date.

“I’ve been planning this for a while.” He said.

How long? He happened to get your favorite snacks, your favorite takeout, he went back to get the bracelets, and he parked the Crest to get an amazing view of the light-filled market. Mando put all this thought into the date and he made some moves on you.

Your heart and clit were beating at the same loud pace.

In an attempt to focus on something other than the ghost of Mando’s hard-on on your lower back, you opened a side door and exited the Crest. The door opened and closed quietly with your careful treatment of the doorknob.

The market is still it up beautifully, projecting the colored waves of light onto the surrounding hills. You sat just a few feet away from the Crest, knees tucked up towards your chest, your chin resting on your kneecaps. After a couple minutes of sitting outside, you found that the best way to distract yourself was trying to count all of the different vendors you could see. The lights made it difficult to distinguish one stall from another, and it didn’t help that the market was sizable.

Forty four, forty five, forty six…

“Do you mind if I join you?” The voice came from the exact man you were trying not to think about. But he was also the exact man you wanted.

You looked back towards him and patted the ground beside you. He accepted your silent invitation and plopped his body down next to yours. A breeze swept through the night landscape and left you covered in goosebumps, slightly shivering. Mando must have noticed, since he draped his long, black cape over your shivering frame. His arm followed the embrace of the cape and pulled you closer towards his heat-radiating body. The other arm snaked under your legs and he barely lifted you, so you settled into the shape of his body. Just like Mando’s cape, silence fell over the both of you. His grip around you remained tight while he did his best to warm you up.

“Why are you sitting out here?” He whispered to you. The helmet crinkled his voice, resulting in the crackling of the syllables. Delicacy laced the syllables that flowed into your ears, despite their choppiness.

Your shoulders rose and fell and you followed it with a sigh, “I was just thinking too much. Couldn’t fall asleep.”

The shoulder leaning against Mando vibrated when he hummed in understanding.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offered.

Your head fell to his shoulder to rest. The pair of you talked about a good majority of things. Whatever ended up on your or Mando’s mind. You found it to be a great stress reliever and knew that the Mandalorian did as well. If you didn’t get it out, by talking to Mando, the regretful feeling would just ruminate in your brain forever. At this point you highly doubted that this was a conversation topic that could cause Mando’s feelings about you to change.

“I just feel dumb.” You deadpanned.

“Dumb? Why’s that?” He responded immediately.

You paused and considered your choice of words. Being blunt was probably the best course of action. It was Mando after all.

“You wanted to do more with me and I rejected you,” you sighed and pressed your face into his shoulder.

Another quick response followed, “That’s completely okay. You don’t have to do something just because I want to do it. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier. I meant what I said. We’re only going to do what you–.”

Your head left his shoulder and faced his helmet to look into the depths of the thin black line running horizontally across the beskar. His speech stopped at your action.

“I wanted to do it. I wanted you to do it,” you admit.

Mando’s bones turned to jelly beneath you–you didn’t realize how tense he had gotten–and yet his helmet tilted in confusion.

Before he could ask the question, you answered, “I was nervous. I haven’t done anything like that in a while. Maybe I wasn’t going to be good in bed.” Your face returned to his shoulder to nestle itself into the crook of his neck.

His embrace tightens around you once more. The T shaped gaze dropped to meet yours and he shook his head from side-to-side.

“Cyar’ika,” his chest jumps from a chuckle, “all you have to do to be good in bed is lay on the mattress,” he slowly grits out. His voice is so smooth you’re surprised his speech is still modulated. Still in doubt, the corner of your mouth pinched upward and your brows bunched together.

He noticed the uncertainty of your expression and slowly added, “I also haven’t done anything like this in awhile,” a pause was accompanied by the shaking of his head and a harsh exhale, “and I’m kriffing nervous too.”

A small smile spread across your face at the confession. It did make you feel better. He was going through the same emotions you were. The somersaults of butterflies that wound your stomach into knots. Lightheadedness that flooded through your bodies at the sight of the other. Your emotions were so strong, these physical responses accompanied them.

The Mandalorian’s actions put you in a state of awe for the trillionth time. He does things that would make you freeze, panic, scream for help, for his help. Physical conflict was like breathing to him. It was involuntary. Completed without thought.

So many nerves bubbled within him. All because of you. All he had to do was confess his feelings to you and his composure shattered into a million pieces.

A million pieces you would pick up and put back together. You would reassemble the puzzle that was Mando over and over again. If it meant spending time with him, you would do it for eternity. Each time finding a new piece, a new feature to treasure and combine with the rest.

Mando continued to hold your body and your gaze. The combination of him and his cape have warmed you up considerably, and you find yourself being languidly pulled closer into his torso. Your butt settled between his two thick thighs. Both of your thighs settled on top of one of his. The warmth and physical contact was appreciated, and you rested your head on the Mandalorian’s shoulder once more.

You’re quite literally being cradled by him. One of his toned arms finds its way behind your back to keep your torso against his. The other arm found its way to your knees, holding you closer to him as much as possible. A gloved hand runs up and down your thigh once he’s satisfied with the method of cuddling.

The friction his leather hand creates on your thigh is delicious. Every bit of heat from the contact is being transported throughout your body. You felt heavy and relaxed. But the heat from his hand turned into a burning need. The strokes up and down your thigh got riskier. His hand made its way farther up your thigh. Thick fingers splayed across your clothed limb, the wide spread covered more surface area, which drove the heat from his touch right to your clit. On some strokes, his thumb would graze the inside of your thigh. Almost there, but not close enough.

Bathing in the warmth of his touch, you didn’t realize your eye contact with Mando was maintained. He must have noticed your expressions morph into ones that you make when deep in thought. His thumb grazed the inside of your thigh once more, and you bit your lip at the tingly sensation on your bundle of nerves.

That’s all he needed to see what was on your mind. Still maintaining eye contact, his hand stopped on your upper thigh. Mando’s grip gently tightened as he spoke. The modulated voice sailed across a smooth sea of honey as he laid out his words.

“Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. Anything, mesh’la.”

You got your do-over. There’s no way you’d reject him now.

The bone of your teeth grazed your lip. Eyes closed, you took a deep breath and gained some composure. Mando’s helmet filled your vision once you opened your eyes. His chest rose and fell in anticipation.

A small smile made its way onto your face. “Can you pick up where we left off?” You suggested.

Rumbling emanated from his chest, his grips on your back and your thigh tightened in delight. He pulled you closer to him in a hug and buried his modulator near your ear.

“Here or in the Crest?”

“Crest.”

The beskar man helped you onto your feet and led you back inside of the Crest. Once the door was shut and locked, and once Mando triple-checked the security systems, he sauntered over to you. His hands found their way to your waist as he pushed you back in the direction of his bunk.

His bunk.

Before you could fully process it, you were lying on the long bed watching Mando as he stood, removing his armor from his body piece by piece. Just his flight suit remained on his large frame. He hardly gave you time to admire him before he sat beside you and pulled you into his lap once more. The Mandalorian’s hands–now bare–settled back into their previous positions.

Feeling more confident than you were before, you leaned into his neck and placed light kisses along the curve. A deep groan rumbled from his chest and his hands ran up and down your body. You playfully bit the skin of his neck and sucked, bringing a hand up to rest on his neck to keep it in place. Your hickey-like kisses trailed upwards towards his jaw. Once you met the juncture where his neck met his jawbone, you sucked on his skin harder and left a light mark.

He loved that. The grip on your thighs and waist became impossibly tight as he growled. Every noise that escaped from his helmet went straight to your clit. Your hips ground downwards onto his thigh, but to no avail. A look of desire painted your face but a sound of frustration–desperation–left your mouth.

Mando hummed in agreement. The low tone through the modulator questioned you, “Where do you want me to touch you first, mesh’la?”

You turned into a puddle. A horny, wet, puddle.

“I’ll do anything.” He said conclusively.

Biting your lip, your brows furrowed in delight at the sensation of his grip. The hand on your thigh was higher up your thigh than any time before. Warmth from his palm traveled from the neurons in your quads to the nerves in your clit.

“Rub my clit? Please?” you asked. Desperation leaked from your mouth at the request. If Mando didn’t put his hands down your bottoms in the next thirty seconds, you were sure you were going to explode.

Mando’s chest vibrated as he chuckled, “Mmmm. I like it when you ask nicely. Good girl.”

Oh. Fuck.

You were molten beskar in his hands, at his forge. You trusted him. His skill. His knowledge of you. His perceived obligation to you. And you were ready to be shaped. Molded. Created into something new. With his support.

His stare remained on your face as his fingertips found your clothed clit. You tensed at the contact and his motions slowed.

“That alright?” He asked, concern melded to the grit of the voice that left the modulator.

A confirming hum vibrated from your throat. Your nod accompanied the sound.

“Have to hear you say it.” He responded. At first you thought he was teasing you, but the tone he used and the intense stare that was glued to your face said otherwise.

“I need to and I want to make sure you’re alright every step of the way, yeah?”

You nodded up at him.

“Good,” he reacted to your body language, “then be a good girl and tell me if this is okay. Tell me how it feels.” His voice dropped incredibly low with his demand. It was gentle, but firm.

A shaky exhale escaped from your mouth as you whispered your reply, “I-I want you to keep going. It feels so good.” Wide eyes looked up at Mando and he continued his motions.

The friction of his fingers on your clothed clit was delicious. Each movement sent sparks up and down your limbs. Your head fell to rest on Mando’s shoulder as he maintained his pace. His gaze remained glued to yours.

Then you realized he was wearing too many clothes. The friction against your clit was amazing, but you wanted as little friction as possible between your bodies. Reaching down, your fingers tugged on the edge of Mando’s shirt.

“Can I take this off?” You asked.

“Of course,” he replied. Thick fingers deftly undid the buttons at the top of his shirt and you aided him in pulling it over his head. The tight long sleeved layer was removed in the same fashion. Mando’s chest, littered with dark hairs, filled your vision. Broad plains of skin rose and fell, making his pecs stand out on his chest. Strong shoulders that framed his chest only made his body look wider.

While you were gawking at him, Mando slid his hands partially under your shirt and around your waist. His fingertips pinched at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He echoed your previous question.

You nodded and muttered, “yes,” in response, helping him pull the fabric over your head.

His fingers became more confident and he applied more pressure, quickening the strokes of his fingertips over your clothed bundle. Your jaw dropped in response. As you returned Mando’s stare, your eyelids drifted downwards over your eyes, but not all the way. Your breaths were more audible, bordering on being moans.

Mando seemed to love your reactions, the hand you placed on his neck rumbled as he let out a guttural moan. He picked up his pace in response. The clothing between your bundle of nerves and his fingers created the perfect friction. Wetness pooled in your underwear with the increasing speed of the Mandalorian’s thick fingers.

Then his digits left your clit.

You let out a slight whine, disappointed at the loss of his touch. Before you could question him, his fingers dipped just below your waistband. Not enough to really feel anything. Just enough to make a point.

Making eye contact with Mando, his visor tilted in questioning.

“Can I pull these down?” He asked gruffly.

You nod at him, knowing your gaze is burning into his from behind his beskar.

“Do it,” you half demand, half plead, “it feels so good when you touch me.”

His helmet drops next to your temple in reaction to your words. A crackle escapes the modulator with his harsh exhale. Without hesitation, his hand slid down past your waistband and brought your bottoms with it. Mando threw them to the side and slipped his hand down your underwear. His fingers easily found the pressure point of pleasure past your mound.

You thought the feeling over your clothes was delicious. The feeling of his bare hands on your bare clit was divine. Nothing could replicate the feeling. Nothing came close to the sensations he willed your body to produce. The sensations he produced with just his fingertips.

Mando resumed the slow pace he set previously. He was testing the waters, seeing if the feeling was just as good before. Your hips bucked up into his hand and another exhale left his helmet, this one quicker.

“Mmmm, okay, okay,” the modulator let out a soft understanding.

His fingers sped up to reach the fast pace he had set over your clothed clit. This time, the feeling was a thousand times more potent. The fibers facilitated most of your pleasure before, but now it was all Mando. Rough skin on his fingertips, created by years of pulling triggers and colliding fists, produced amazing friction. A feeling so electrifying you swore you could feel every ridge and valley of his fingerprints.

Your cunt squeezed around nothing and you mewled in desperation. Mando’s helmet still stung your temple with the cool temperature of the metal. His breathing was heavy, arm stiff, making sure your pleasure was maintained.

One circle around your bundle. Then another. And another. The pleasure was phenomenal, which caused your wetness to leak from your hole.

Mando looked down and groaned at the sight.

“Ffuucckk. So wet for me.” He gritted out, continuing the pace of his fingertips around your nub.

Your hips attempted to follow his motions to make more friction, but to no avail. Mando’s fingers were amazing, but his digits just on your clit weren't how you wanted to cum.

The sentence flowed through your brain: “Have to hear you say it.”

Before when you were sitting in Mando’s lap, his fingers inching towards your waistband, you didn’t know if you were ready. You didn’t know if you would be enough. Hesitation blocked your desire and you worried about taking too much and giving too little.

But now you wanted it all.

Everything you thought about before. His hands. His fingers. His lips. His unmodulated voice. His cock.

You needed it.

It was as if Mando had a switch to turn you off and on. The motions of his fingers wavered your switch off and on, and your confidence flickered on. No more shyness. You had to be direct, and then you would get what you were desperate for.

“Mando…mmmm…M-Mando,” you attempted your request.

His fingers slowed, his attention divided between your speech and your clit. “Yes, cyar’ika?” His grip on your back tightened, indicating that he was listening.

You bit your lip in nervousness, but mustered up the confidence to finally say what you needed, “I want you to f-finger me,” you said between waves of pleasure.

Mando stopped altogether and dipped his fingers lower, edging his reach towards your hole. One finger prodded at your entrance and that feeling alone made you squirm.

More liquid seeped from your seams and your thoughts returned to the ones you had earlier today. You wanted to kiss him. So badly.

Biting your lip at the thought, you accidentally stuttered out, “I-I w-want.” You realized your request was ridiculous and buried your face in his shoulder, acting as though nothing ever left your lips.

His fingers trailed upwards along your wetness and then back down, hesitating before he began your request. Confused, you brought your head up to look at him.

“What do you want, baby?”

Baby.

Kriff.

You shook your head, “It’s nothing.”

His helmet tilted in a, “I know you’re lying,” type of way. “It isn’t nothing, and we both know it,” he gently reasoned. A large hand ran up and down your back, the other rested on your sex.

Shaking your head once again, your eyes widened and the corner of your mouth turned up in matter-of-factness, you whispered, “You wouldn’t do it.”

Immediately, “Try me,” he calmly demanded.

Kriff it. The most he would do is reject you.

“I want you to kiss me.” You confessed.

The T of his visor stared at you blankly. In contrast to the steady gaze of his helmet, his chest heaved and lowered at a faster rhythm.

Then you were on the mattress, Mando was standing up in his bunk, going for the door. Dread hit you like a brick wall.

“Mando, Mando I’m sorry. I knew it was ridiculous! I-I shouldn’t have even asked,” you pleaded to him.

Then it was dark. And a large pair of hands were on your waist.

Hissss.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and your eyes remained wide in a pleading expression.

“Relax.”

The word dripped from Mando’s lips and traveled to your ears. His tone was like thick, warm honey. A soothing bass resonated throughout the room and into your bones. Once the tone reached the marrow within them, they turned to jelly. Your body slumped into Mando’s broad hands.

A dip in the mattress alerted you to his positioning within the bunk. He sat beside you, hands remained around your waist, and he gave you a slight tug as a request to move closer to him. Once you were close enough, Mando slid you into his lap to resume your previous entanglement.

Your head relaxed on his shoulder and he pulled your torso closer to his with the tree-trunks he had for arms. Instead of his hand slithering down to find the band of your underwear, it traveled up your arm and towards the crook of your neck. The Mandalorian’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on your jaw, just in front of your ear. He shifted a bit, and then you felt warm air fanning over your face.

His helmet was off. The room was dark. Yet you knew that you were looking him right in the eyes. You knew his face was centimeters away from yours. The series of events amazed you. If the lights were on, his Creed would be broken. You didn’t know if the Creed had a clause about being helmetless in the dark, but you knew this situation was risky.

And yet Mando was willing to put his Creed at risk. Just to kiss you.

As if he was reading your mind, his thumb halted its motions. The air that fanned over your face did so with a higher intensity.

The honied voice washed over you again, “I’m going to kiss you now, mesh’la.”

In shock, you could merely nod and whisper, “Please, Mando.”

You daydreamed–and actually dreamed–about this moment for months. Months. Different visions clouded your mind. Soft, supple kisses could be placed on your lips. Feather lip and hesitant in how they approached. Or the kisses could be rough and demanding. Muscles and embouchures would battle in combat motivated by lust.

In reality, Mando was a mix of both. His lips were soft, yet firm. Intention laced the way he moved his mouth against yours. Saliva soon wet both pairs of lips in your entanglement. Your mouths fell into a synchronized rhythms of pecks, tongues, soft bites, and sloppy kisses.

You were so focused on his lips that you didn’t notice the calloused hand making its way down your underwear. His fingers rubbed your clit once more and your hips bucked into his hand. Teeth clashed together as Mando smiled into your kisses.

He placed shorter, close mouthed kisses on your lips and pulled away to speak. Tension from the waistband of your underwear alerted you to Mando’s gesture.

His warm breath fanned over your face, “Can I take these off, baby?”

You nodded vigorously, realizing he couldn’t see you, you stuttered out, “Y-yes, please.”

In haste, the underwear was peeled from your legs and thrown into the darkness of the man’s bunk. Warm, wet lips crashed onto yours once more. You reached up and tangled your fingers into his hair. Soft waves traveled through your hands as they ran through his locks.

The Mandalorian let out a low groan at the presence of your fingers in his hair. Firm and demanding lips met your mouth, and small bites pinched your lower lip from time to time. You supposed that this was one of the first times someone carded their fingers through his hair.

Then you felt a rough finger at your soaking entrance. You clenched your walls around nothing in response. His fingers needed to be inside you. Fantasies have filled your mind’s eye about them for months. They’re thick, and you know the digits would stretch your wet hole. Thoughts of the tasty feeling manifested into words.

“Kriff, plea-please Mando. I want your fingers in my pussy,” you pleaded.

He stopped kissing you, but his breath remained close. The motion that was in his lips translated to his finger. One thick, large digit sunk into your wet heat.

From between the clouds of pleasure that fogged your head, you heard Mando’s syrupy voice in your ear, “You’re going to cum like this.”

Your body melted into his. Reaching up, you grabbed where you thought his face was. After a second of wandering in the darkness, your hand cupped his jaw and kept his face in front of yours.

Soft moans and gentle groans emanated from your chest. Each individual knuckle of his finger rubbed along your walls and left its own unique feeling. Mando pumped his middle finger into you slowly. After you were used to the feeling, it was as if his finger was the one pulling moans from your throat.

Mando picked up his pace and you began to pant, moans mingling between your loud exhales. Gripping his jaw and his neck, you anchored yourself to him. His large arms were easily holding you against him, and his torso was solid, but the deft finger in your wet pussy made you feel like you were levitating off of him.

“Maker, baby. I knew your pussy would get fucking soaked,” he gritted into your ear.

Wet sounds of his finger pushing in and out of your heat filled the darkness of his bunk. Your legs were spread wide in his lap, allowing Mando room to curve his wrist to push his finger along the tight walls of your sex. His fingertip traveled and searched, like a hunter after a bounty, and it finally found its reward.

Your hips jumped into his hand at the euphoric feeling. Awe swept over you. You thought Mando was going to be attentive, but attentive was too light of a word for his focus.

Groaning, he remarked, “Mmmm. That’s it, huh? That’s my girl.”

The Mandalorian was obsessed. His obsession led him to hit the pressure point on your soaking walls over and over again. Mando’s chest rumbled when your pussy clenched around his fingers. Resistance against his fingers only spurred his actions further.

The grasps of your hands tightened around his face and neck. Every muscle in your body clenched. Your face was screwed together from pleasure. Not only was your body taught, your moans were too.

“Nnnghh, oh fuck. M-Mando, yes.”

All because of one of Mando’s fingers.

Your grasp on his jaw shifted when he inquired, “You want another finger, mesh’la?”

Without thought, you moaned in response, “Yes! Oh Maker, please Mando!”

An empty feeling in your pussy almost made its way to your brain, but then you felt the stretch. Two of his fingers made you see stars, and the delicious stretch created by his thick digits went right to your clit.

His chest vibrated against your shoulder as he let out a deep, rumble, “That’s my good girl.”

A whimper escaped from your throat and your hips ground onto his fingers.

“I- mmf, I thought about this so many times,” you admitted.

Mando growled, “Fuck. Yeah? Tell me what else you thought about.”

His fingers picked up their pace, hitting that soft spot on your walls repeatedly. The Mandalorian made you a whimpering mess in his arms. More wetness weeped from your seams, dripping out past his thick fingers.

“I-, oh, fuck, I th-thought about y-your cock,” you confessed another fantasy that plagued your thoughts.

“Mmmm. What about my cock, cyar’ika?”

The sounds of your wet pussy and both of your moans filled the small space of Mando’s bunk.

Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.

“H-how you’d st-stretch my pussy w-with it,” you managed between whimpers and shaky exhales.

Fingers fucked into your messy hole faster and faster. “Is that what you want, mesh’la? Need me to stretch your pretty pussy out?”

“Yes, yes. Oh-oh fu-fuck, please,” you begged him. The hand on his jaw brought his lips down to meet yours. Mando’s tongue immediately dove between your lips, wrestling with yours in vigor. Rough, scarred skin was grounding in your hands. Each pump of his fingers tightened your muscles, curling your figure into his strong hold.

“You want my cock next, baby? Hm?” He cooed at you, never faltering the rhythm of his fingers.

Your mouth fell away from his when your jaw dropped. “Mh-mmm-mhm. Yes, please!” You squealed in reaction.

His face leaned down to hover in front of yours, “Then cum on my fingers, pretty baby,” he growled to you.

Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.

A few more pumps and your wet walls clamped down on Mando’s thick fingers. Broken gasps left your mouth as your body stiffened in his strong arms. Your legs shook and you left crescent marks on the man’s back.

Despite your body-shaking orgasm, the man continued his motions until you placed a hand over his to push it away. Your limp body slumped into his, the waves of pleasure left a warm sensation glowing in your skin.

No amount of dreaming could have predicted the feeling of Mando beckoning an orgasm from you like he swore to do it. The situation you were in wasn’t exactly what you dreamt of, but the reality was so much better.

A strong hand grazed your back, leaving a trail of heat from its up and down motions. Another hand pulled you in closer to him, and the warm air from his breath made its presence known on your face.

The tone he used starkly contrasted the growls from earlier, “How was that? Are you feeling okay, cyar’ika?” A deep tone, covered in honey, was laced with a small amount of concern.

“Mando…holy shit,” you said breathily.

Silently chuckling at the state you were in, the Mandalorian peppered light, slow kisses on top of your head and over your face. You relished in the feeling. His lips mimicked the sentiments of the kisses he placed on your wrist earlier in the night.

“This means everything to me.”

The phrase echoed in your mind. Of course Mando let you know before that. He didn’t have to say it, but it showed in his actions. Every cup of caf. Every conversation. Every inquisitive response he would give after you told a story. Every small intention behind each action built up within you, and you guided Mando’s lips to meet yours.

Your lips moved in sync and in slow motion. Ridges and valleys imprinted on your lips and in your memory. If Mando was dedicated to his Creed, you would be dedicated to the set of lips pressing against yours. The set of lips that made you laugh. The lips that reassured you. The lips you looked forward to hearing produce words everyday.

You didn’t even know what they looked like.

And you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. They were his lips. Mando’s lips. That’s all that mattered.

After a long stint of sloppy kisses and crescendoing moans, Mando removed his lips from yours. He was panting and en route to placing the same sloppy kisses onto your neck. His plump lips traveled down, leaving saliva marks in their wake, and then they trailed back up, settling next to your ear.

The thin skin of his lips tickled the shell of your ear as he spoke, “Still want me to fuck you, baby?”

Baby.

He’s said it before, but the word still made you squirm a small amount in his arms. Your teeth imprinted on your lips before you let out a meek, “Yes, please.” If the lights were on, Mando would see your wide eyes and your scrunched together brows. As if you had to beg him for it.

Kisses between the two of you resume as the Mandalorian shifted both of your positions on the mattress. His strong arms still clutched your figure as he slowly leaned downwards, until the pair of you were lying on the bed. Both of your hands reached up and weaved your fingers into the soft waves on his head. Mando’s thick hands traversed the planes of your body, randomly grabbing onto you and giving you a slight squeeze where his hands were.

“Uhhhgg, fu-fuck,” left his chest and escaped from his throat when you gave his hair a small tug. One of his firm, capable hands reached down and encouraged you to spread your legs. In the same motion, he shifted upwards to settle between them.

Your locked mouths never broke. Mando’s lips remained on yours as if he were tethered to them, like they were the only thing keeping him in this universe. His groin pressed against yours and your hips bucked upwards at the feeling. Your mouth watered, like it was somehow conditioned to, after sensing the large curve of his cock covered by black fabric.

One of your hands reached downwards and palmed his shaft through the clothing. Mando’s hips ground down into yours in response, and he let out a low growl.

Your fingertips found the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and tugged on it in suggestion. Before you could even ask the question, the Mandalorian sat up, leaving your upper body to feel the cold air of the bunk.

Shuffling came from in front of you. Then a soft, muted, plop.

The man was back onto you like it pained him to be away. Moans and rumbling exuded from his chest as he kissed you. Firm muscle of his tongue lapped against yours, challenging you to lustful combat. You accepted and the volume of your pleasure joined his. A couple kisses felt like forever, but it was the best eternity that you could be stuck in.

Mando’s body shifted lower to grind his hips against you once more. His thick shaft slid through your folds. A whimper came from your mouth as the head of his cock grazed your clit. Moans from the man only became more gravely, animalistic. The grit of the vibrations could have convinced you that he put the helmet back on–if his mouth wasn’t sealed to yours.

Swollen lips broke the seal from yours and Mando’s head fell into the space between your head and your neck. Heavy breathing flooded the audio in your brain. Rough hands ran up and down your inner thighs, intermittently squeezing the flesh there.

A chaste kiss met the side of your head, above your ear You could feel the slick on his lips against your ear as he gently demanded, “Tell me what you want.”

Without hesitation you replied in a whining whisper, “Please put your cock in my pussy.”

The side of your head vibrated when he let out a blissful groan into your hair. His broad chest left yours as he sat up and pulled some items from a nearby drawer. Your face heated in anticipation.

Sounds were the only thing available to you to figure out what he retrieved. A crinkling and then a tear echoed through the bunk.

The condom.

Rubber noises made their way to your ears as Mando rolled the condom onto his shaft. Maker, you wish you could see him. Those large hands forming a strong grip. The thick head of his cock leaking before he puts the contraceptive on.

You thought you’d feel him shift back towards you, but then a short pop echoed through the bunk. Like he just opened a bottle of shampoo.

Silence.

Then the slick sounds of his large grip stroking his shaft filled the air.

Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. You were definitely wet enough, but the consideration for your comfort made liquid seep from your pussy.

The mattress shifted around you as he lowered his torso towards yours. One side dipped much more and the slick head of his cock teased your entrance. A small moan left your throat at the contact.

Mando paused when he was lined up with your wet hole. A wet kiss was placed on your forehead before he asked, voice strained, “Are you ready for me, my cyare?”

“Yes,” breathy and quick, passed through your swollen lips.

Maker. His cock was thick. The feeling of him pushing into you was fucking amazing.

The walls of your pussy wrapped around him. A delightful stretch pricked at your soaking entrance and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Mando was slow and careful as he pressed his wide shaft into you. Movement ceased once his balls laid flat against the flesh of your ass.

You were so lost in the new sensations that Mando’s heavy breaths suddenly made their way into the foreground of your mind. Warm air fanned against your face and his strangled moans vibrated against your chest. Head heavy, his face found its way to the crook of your neck.

“Oh, f-fuckkk. Kriff, cyar’ika, you put my dreams to shame.”

Your arms weaved around his torso and your fingers ran down his back. His face only pressed further into you, and your walls were straining against the thickness of his cock.

“Mmm-Mando. Please. Fuck me, please.”

Another rumble from his chest vibrated against you. His hips shifted backwards, and the thick head of his cock dragged against your walls. The pair of you moaned in unison, amazed by the feel of the other.

His torso rose up and slipped from your hold and you involuntarily whined. A small, gravely chuckle left Mando’s lips, “You want me back down there, baby?”

Your hands reached into the darkness and collided with the man’s chest. Hairs brushed against your fingers as you attempted a grip to pull him back down. Before you could adjust your hands to pull his shoulders down instead, he lowered himself once more and nestled his head in the space above your shoulder.

“I-I-, nngghhh,” you tried to justify your desire, but the ridges of his cock grazed against the warmth of your pussy just right. But then you tried again. “M-makes me f-feel safe,” you let out a whimper.

“Aghhh, fuck baby.” The speed of his thrusts picked up, but his strokes were still long and languid. “Want you to feel safe with me,” he grunted as his breath fanned over your neck.

You always felt safe with him. Without question. In populated cities with shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. Out in the wilderness, the forest canopy darkening the forest floor. At a run down market with nasty glares being sent your way.

“I always have,” you manage to clearly respond.

Another deep groan resonated in your ear drums. A large, calloused hand found your arm and dragged its grip towards your hand. Thick digits intertwined with yours, and the pace of his hips picked up once more.

The hair above his shaft created mind-numbing friction on your clit. Each stroke sent a shockwave of bliss through your body. The bliss made its way back down to your pussy. Wetness dripped out from around his thick cock. Soft, wet sounds filled the space of Mando’s bunk.

“Kriff, cyar’ika. Maker, you’re fucking soaked for me,” he gritted out into your ear. His mouth found yours and weak, distracted kisses were placed on your lips.

Fingertips dug into the skin on his back. You reeled into his touch. His thick cock still left a tinge of stretching throughout your walls. Each thrust of his hips soothed and invigorated the sensation in your pussy. You thought back to your fantasies and masturbation sessions. Squeezing three fingers into your soaking hole just to get a taste of how he’d feel. Now you have the real thing. And it’s so much better than your fingers buried deep in your cunt.

“What’re you thinking about, mesh’la?” The smooth baritone filled the air around you.

You bit your lip. How the hell did he know you were thinking? Small gasps left your lips, releasing the skin from the hold of your teeth. You knew he wanted you to say it, but your cheeks became hot in embarrassment.

You probably waited too long, because Mando grunted out, “I can tell you what I’ve been thinking, baby,” a soft grumble came from his chest, “been thinking abou- fuck. About how much of a good girl you are for me.”

Mewling left your throat and you tightened your wet pussy around his hard length. Mando growled and quickened his pace in response. A combination of moans and exhales from your chest were punctuated from each of his thrusts. Thick fingers splayed across the underside of your thigh and shifted your hips slightly upwards.

He found the spot. The same one his fingers came familiar with.

Brows furrowed and eyes scrunched, you moaned out a whiny, “O-oh-oh, Maker. Mando!”

“Tell me what you’re thinking about, my cyar’ika,” Mando repeated.

“Y-your cock, oh k-kriff, your cock, Mando,” you let out a shaky breath to conclude, “I’ve been thinking about your cock.”

A low hum came from the man, “What about it, mesh’la?”

You let out a keening noise when Mando reached down and grazed your clit with his thumb, drawing circles on your sensitive nub. Strong fingers splayed across your lower stomach as he rested them there. He listened to your moans and shaky breaths and concentrated on a technique. The Mandalorian figured out your body and had it down to a science. Every movement and sound that resonated from your body was a signal to him. Sound waves from you were like signals, and he replied to your every call.

His hips remained flush against yours as he gave your cunt shallow thrusts, repeatedly brushing the firm head of his cock over the most sensitive point deep within you. The combination of stimulations made your pussy clench around his shaft. A guttural moan emanated from Mando in response.

Your fingertips dug into the broad expanse of his back when you confessed with a whine, “Th-thinking…fuck…you’re so-o bi-ig.”

The thumb rubbing your clit sped up, and Mando’s other hand tightened its grip around yours. You let out a breathy sigh, your cunt only became tighter around him. The Mandalorian’s bunk was filled with the sound of your combined moans, heavy breaths, and light plaps of skin against skin.

Visions of what he looked like fucking you flashed through your mind. His huge shoulders, strong arms, veiny forearms, thick fingers. The delectable tree-thunk thighs accenting his toned waist.

You pictured a man with dark hair, probably brown eyes, with the softest lips your pair have ever met, framed by dark stubble. The man would be focused, brow furrowing in concentration. His eyes rolled back into his head and his jaw fell open when you tightened around him. Just like Mando, he’d growl in response to your wet heat, and bring his jaw back up to tighten it while he focused on you.

His hands. His cock. His voice. His lips. Kriff even the feel of his hair and skin. Each component came together to melt you into a puddle of pleasure. Moans escaped from your throat in higher and higher octaves. Sentences didn’t exist anymore, as you could barely form them.

“Think, oh shit, Ma-Mando. Think I-I’m gonna cum,” your voice sounded desperate as you alerted him.

Harsh breaths blew onto your face from Mando’s focused exertion. Your lip was captured under your teeth for the umpteenth time. Only tight whines left your throat. Pussy squeezing around Mando, your body followed suit. Thighs wrapped around his waist and the embrace of your arms held him close.

The Mandalorian left lazy kisses across your face and muttered endless praises.

“Such a good girl.”

“You’re so perfect, mesh’la.”

“Not going to last long after you, my pretty baby.”

Then his kisses paused from being placed on your face. “Hey,” Mando said to get your attention, “listen to me, cyar’ika.”

You whimpered in acknowledgement, but Mando wasn’t having it, “Have to say yes for me,” he let out between strokes.

“Yes-yes I’m listening,” you quickly blurted.

Almost lost in your pleasure, you realized you had to actually listen to him. To comprehend and process his words. Not that you weren’t listening to him, but the motions he pressed into you made your mind blur together. Your mind snapped to attention at his words.

Mando spoke in a gentle, yet commanding, tone. The grip sealing your conjoined hands together tightened.

“My name is Din.”

Din.

It was simple and to the point, just like how Mando was. No wasting any time. No frills. No banthashit. Just Din.

Then the tight knot in the pit of your stomach snapped. Sounds that once poured from your body ceased as your figure curled into his. The pleasure was something you couldn’t have fathomed before this. Every cell in your body ignited in a passion filled radiance.

“Din! Din, oh fuckkkk, Diiiin!”

Your wet heat clamped onto Mando’s thick cock, sending him into a frenzy of growls and grunts. His calloused thumb remained on your clit until the spasms of your orgasm fizzled out. Then you were left empty handed, but your body lifted up slightly off of the mattress. The Mandalorian snaked his arms behind your shoulders, his hands under the pillow cushioning your head.

Sloppy kisses met your mouth. Tongues pushed into mouths to wrestle with their counterparts. It was like Mando wanted to memorize every ridge of your lips and tongue. To add them to his Creed. Worship them forever.

His head dropped next to yours and your ears were filled with breathy grunts.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Softly bounced around the metal walls of the bunk.

“Wanted this for so long, baby.”

“Always thought about you, fuck, I think about you all the time.”

The intensity of his grunts increased and you could feel his cock swelling inside you. Soft lips brushed against the shell of your ear, hastily whispering out, “Where do you want me?”

Digging your fingers into the waves of his soft hair, you eagerly responded, “In the condom, Din.”

“Fuucckkk,” he groaned.

His cock started to twitch within your warm walls. The speed and depth of his thrusts no longer followed a formula. Your head raised slightly when large fists balled the bedsheets into his hands. One of your hands drifted up and down his back, soothing him through his release. He was shaking with every excess thrust he gave your wet heat.

Then his heavy body slumped against yours. Mando’s breath was still heaving, sending strong winds across your neck. Open mouthed kisses were gently placed onto the skin there. Your fingers massaged his scalp and he let out a satisfied sigh. Silence filled the space of the bunk.

What if he regretted this? Was this just a one time thing?

“Mand-,” he cut you off with both his voice and the motions he put the pair of you through.

Suddenly you were on top of him. Your head found the plush meat of his relaxed pecs and you laid your head on them. A firm grip from Mando came to wrap around you. His strong arms held you against him like someone threatened to take you away. Mando’s fingertips traced languid shapes across your back. The tip of his nose dug into your scalp as he pressed a couple soft kisses in your hair.

“Din. Call me Din, cyar’ika.”

Your cheeks rose in temperature at his insistence. Fighting your nerves, you asked, “Is this a one time thing?”

The Mandalorian stiffened underneath you. Here it goes. You’ll have to crawl off his body and resort to the sleeping pad in the hull.

“No. Mesh’la, of course not,” a low baritone soothed your worries. Your head slumped onto his chest even more. Feeling nervous, yet confident–even though you literally just fucked him–you brought a hand up to feel his face.

His hand resumed its drawings of small shapes on your back. Humming came from beneath you when your hand made contact with his stubble. Your thumb grazed the short hairs and your fingers followed the curve of his jaw.

His lips felt as soft as they did when they were on yours. Your fingertips reached upwards a bit more. Longer hairs tickled at your digits and you let out a small giggle.

“Mmf, what, pretty girl?” His tone was laced with sleep and curiosity.

You smiled at him in the dark, “You have a mustache,” you told him in a whisper, as if he didn’t already know. A smile from him creeped up under your touch.

“Mmm. Yes, I do,” he replied matter-of-factly.

In a teasing tone, you inquired, “Who’s that for?”

A low chuckle from Din’s chest made your head rumble. The hand on your back ceased its movements. His nose dipped down to find yours, aiding him in lining up his mouth to kiss you. A gentle kiss was placed onto your lips, and you were acutely aware of the hairs that made up his mustache.

He sighed in content and murmured, “At first it was for me. I don’t know. I just liked it,” his shoulders went up and down in a shrug, he continued with a hum, “but you like it. So now it’s for you.”

Your face became hot at his words. Slightly embarrassed, you nestled your face into his chest. The thin hairs there wisped at your face.

Sleep quickly caught up to you and your whole body relaxed against Din’s. His large frame made for a comfortable bed. Muscles, none of them tense, gave you a plush surface to melt into.

Din’s strong arms wrapped around you. He continued to press soft kisses into your hair. Right before you slipped out of consciousness he whispered to you.

“I meant what I said,” he paused to wait for a response. You didn’t register him speaking until it was too late, but he continued his sentence nonetheless.

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Supply Run - Review (part four) (Coming soon)

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cece693 · 4 months ago

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You're Not Crazy Pt.1 (The Mad Hatter x M! Reader)

I got an ask some time ago about writing for other Depp characters such as the Mad Hatter. I haven't seen the movies recently, so some things might not be canon, however, I do want to explore this fandom since it is relatively empty of fanfics :) I left it purposefully open-ended in case you guys want a 2nd part.

Summary: You believed your sister when she returned home and spoke of a land where magical and peculiar people roamed. You asked her to take you there, and there, you encounter the Mad Hatter.

tags: of age reader, your Alice's brother, older by a few years, you hadn't seen wonderland before, not following story or book timeline

You believed your sister from the moment she returned home, eyes wide and voice trembling with excitement. She spoke of a world hidden beyond the ordinary, a place where logic twisted into nonsense and peculiar beings roamed freely—a land called Wonderland. You listened, enraptured, as she described a realm of talking animals, living chess pieces, and the most unusual of tea parties. While others dismissed her tales as ramblings of a crazed girl with an overactive imagination, you knew better. You had always known better.

“I want to see it,” you told her one evening. “I want to go there, too.”

Your sister hesitated, her face clouding with concern. “It’s not a place for everyone,” she said softly. “It can be…overwhelming.” But you insisted. If she could brave Wonderland, then so could you. And so, with reluctance, she agreed.

The next day, you followed her through the forest behind your home, down winding paths that seemed to shift and change when you weren’t looking. Eventually, she stopped by a large oak tree, its roots sprawling like the fingers of some great, sleeping beast.

“This is where I fell through.” And before you could ask what she meant, she took your hand and jumped, pulling you into the hollow darkness beneath the tree.

The fall was long and winding, like tumbling through a kaleidoscope of colors and strange sounds. When you finally landed—rather unceremoniously—on a bed of soft grass, you found yourself surrounded by an impossible landscape. The sky was a deep lavender, the grass a brilliant shade of blue. Flowers whispered secrets as you passed, and a brook giggled like a child at play.

"Welcome to Wonderland." Your sister announced with a smile, her eyes alight with familiarity.

It was more magical and bizarre than you could have imagined. You wandered through towering mushroom fields and past chattering woodland creatures, your eyes darting in awe. But one tale from your sister’s stories captivated you most—the Mad Hatter and his eternal tea party.

You begged her to take you there, and she obliged, leading you down a winding path that seemed to twist back on itself like a living thing. She left you at the entrance to a clearing, insisting that the rest of this adventure would be yours alone.

“Just be careful with him.” she warned softly before disappearing back down the path. Confused by her words, you approached the clearing cautiously, the sound of clinking china and cheerful, nonsensical chatter growing louder with each step. And then you saw him—the Mad Hatter, sitting at the head of a long, crooked table filled with teapots, mismatched cups, and an array of pastries that defied description.

His hair was a wild mop of orange curls and his large green eyes glimmered with a feverish brightness. Beside him sat a hare who seemed to be caught in a perpetual state of alarm, and a sleepy mouse that napped in a teapot.

“More tea?” the Hatter exclaimed, lifting a cup in your direction before noticing you. “Ah, a new guest! How splendid, how rare!”

You hesitated, taking in his erratic movements and the almost manic excitement in his voice. He seemed to be all contradictions—both welcoming and wary, kind and somehow unsettling.

“I…I’ve heard a lot about you.” You said carefully, stepping closer.

“Have you, now?” The Hatter's eyes widened, and he leaned forward as if this was the most intriguing news he'd heard all day. “And what did you hear? That I’m mad as a hatter?”

You chuckled. “Well, yes. But also that you throw the best tea parties in Wonderland.”

This seemed to please him immensely. “Then you’ve heard correctly!” he declared, standing up with a flourish. “Do sit, do sit! There’s always room for one more at my table. Unless, of course, it’s Tuesday, and we’re already three cups deep in the riddle rounds. But it’s not Tuesday, is it?”

You shook your head, finding yourself smiling despite the oddity of it all. “No, it’s not Tuesday.”

“Wonderful! Sit, sit!” He patted a chair beside him, his smile so wide it was almost infectious. As you took your seat, he poured you a cup of tea without asking if you wanted one, dropping in a few sugar cubes for good measure. “Tell me, what brings you to my humble tea party? And don't say 'a rabbit,' because that would be terribly unoriginal.”

You explained how your sister had told you stories of this place and how you wanted to see it for yourself. The Hatter listened with an almost childlike fascination, nodding and “hmming” at all the appropriate moments.

“There’s something different about you.” he said thoughtfully after a while. “Most people who come here are either lost or looking for something they don’t understand. But you—oh, you’re not like the others, are you?”

You shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I just…wanted to see if it was real.”

The Hatter’s grin softened into something almost genuine. “And now that you’re here? What do you think?”

“I think it’s more than real,” you said. “It’s…alive.”

His eyes seemed to glow with approval. “I like you.” he declared suddenly. “You’re not afraid of madness. You might even be a bit mad yourself.”

You laughed, feeling a strange warmth spreading through your chest. For all his eccentricities, the Hatter made you feel like you belong in this topsy-turvy world. And you realized, with a start, that you liked it. You liked him.

As the days passed, you found yourself returning to the Hatter's tea party again and again. You never knew what to expect—sometimes, you’d spend hours debating the merits of invisible jam; other times, you’d sit in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the strangeness of each other’s company.

The Hatter, for his part, seemed equally drawn to you. He would light up whenever you appeared, his eyes twinkling with mischief and delight. There were moments when his wildness would soften, and you’d catch a glimpse of something deeper beneath the madness—something vulnerable and achingly sincere.

But as the weeks turned into months, a quiet conflict began to stir within you. Wonderland was a place where time didn’t matter, where rules were made to be broken, and madness was a way of life. And yet, the longer you stayed, the more you began to feel a strange pull—a yearning for the world you had left behind. Memories of home, of mornings filled with familiar scents and sunsets painting the sky in shades of gold, tugged at the edges of your mind. Then there was your sister who you dearly missed. You tried to ignore the pull, losing yourself in the Hatter's antics but the feeling persisted.

The Hatter noticed, of course. He was always watching you with those keen, almost too-bright eyes. One evening, as you sat together beneath the stars, he turned to you, his expression unusually serious.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

“Thinking about what?”

“Leaving.” he said, his voice edged with something fragile and raw. “Going back to your world. Abandoning me.”

His words cut deeper than you expected. “It’s not like that, Hatter. I just…I miss some things from home.”

“But you can’t have both.” he replied sharply. His hands trembled as he poured himself another cup of tea, spilling more than half of it onto the table. “You can’t live in two worlds at once. Sooner or later, you have to choose.”

You felt a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. “I don’t want to leave you. Not really.”

“Not really?” he repeated, his voice rising, eyes narrowing as he stared at you. “But ‘really’ enough to think about it. To dream of it.”

The words stung, and you felt a flare of frustration. “It’s not that simple, Hatter! You don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand?” His voice rose, and he stood abruptly, knocking over his chair. “Oh, I understand perfectly! You think you can dip in and out of Wonderland as you please, but this place changes you. It consumes you. And you think you can just walk away?”

“I don’t know what I want!” you shouted back, standing to face him. “I care about you, I do. But I can’t just—”

“Then go!” he interrupted, his face twisted in anger and heartbreak. “Leave if you must. But don’t come back. I can’t bear the thought of you dangling the possibility of forever only to snatch it away.”

“I’m sorry.” you whispered, unsure of what else to say. The Hatter’s face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw him for what he truly was—a broken soul clinging to the one bit of sanity that remained: you.

“Don’t be.” he murmured, turning away. “I’m just a madman, after all. And what would a madman know of love?”

As you stood there, watching him retreat into himself, you felt the weight of the decision pressing down on you like never before. Wonderland was a place of wonder, but it was also a place of madness. Could you stay here forever, leaving the world you knew behind in favor of Hatter's affections?

The answer wasn’t simple. It wasn’t clear. But as you watched the Hatter, his shoulders slumped and his hands trembling, you knew one thing: if you left, a part of you would always remain in Wonderland—lost among the teapots and riddles, forever searching for a madman’s love.

#x male reader #male reader #the mad hatter #alice kingsleigh #mad hatter #tweedle dum #white queen #red queen #alice in wonderland #white rabbit #cheshire cat #alice #the mad hatter x reader #the mad hatter x male reader #hatter x reader #hatter x male reader

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d3v1ls4dvocat3 · 7 months ago

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For Your Prince

Prince! Gojo x Servant! Reader Smut

warnings: Smut, Porn without plot, Slight Dubious Consent, Abuse of power, Caught Mausterbating, cum eating, Oral (M Recieving), hair pulling, Mean! Gojo, gagging, i think that’s it?? please let me know if I missed anything

wc: 1294

A/N: First official post and it’s Gojo smut hooray! I’ve had this idea floating around for a bit through so putting it down feels good. Hope you enjoy~

MDNI OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

The sounds of birds chirping was all you heard as you walked the long stretch of hallway ahead of you.

The morning light was still barely filtering through the windows, casting small shadows along the walls of the large cherry blossoms in the courtyard.

Your gaze shifted outside as you walked, a small sigh escaping your mouth at the thought of being able to breathe in fresh air for once instead of castle dust.

You brushed the thought off as you approached your goal: Prince Satouru’s chambers. You’d only recently been promoted to his personal servant, and included in your new job description was waking the prince for breakfast.

This, of course, was utterly terrifying to you, a young woman who’d only been a mere maid up until Satoru’s last servant had been fired- the details of which you’re still not sure of.

The gossip (as unreliable it was it was really all you had to go off of) around the situation had been a hot topic. According to the chambermaid, Gojo had tried to flirt with the servant, only to be rejected.

The one rule you knew since promoting, an absolute under no circumstances, do you ever reject Gojo Satoru.

Gathering your strength, you brushed off the dust from your apron, braced yourself, and lightly knocked on the door.

“My lord, breakfast is ready,” You called out. A moment passed and you didn’t hear anything. You bit your lip and knocked again, slightly louder this time. “My lord?”

Again, the other side was quiet. You debated on leaving him to sleep. A sleepy Satoru was an angry Satoru and you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.

But, then again, you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of King Sakuna’s wrath either for not getting Satoru up on time. So, without much further protest, you grabbed the door handle and twisted it open.

“My lord, I’m sorry for coming in, but-“

You stopped in your tracks.

There, laying on the bed, was your prince. He laid naked with one arm propped up behind his head, and the other wrapped around his cock, slowly pumping out his cum.

He’d just cum.

You’d barged in on your prince masterbating.

Quickly, you turned around, your face heating up in embarrassment.

“M-My Lord, I-I’m so very sorry! I don’t know what possessed me to enter unannounced. I’ll leave immediately.”

Your hand gripped tightly around the door handle again before a raspy voice called out your name.

“Don’t leave yet. I need you to clean this up,” Gojo said. You paused, trying to process the words.

“Sir?” You asked, turning slightly with confusion. Gojo gazed at you with utter lust. His mouth curved into a smirk and he beckoned you closer to him.

“My servant is supposed to do as I say, no? I am your prince after all,” He smiled.

You stayed motionless, a million thoughts running through your mind. Your gaze shifted down once more, looking at the glistening mess on Satoru’s abs. His cock was still hard. It was big, so large and thick and throbbing-

You looked down at your feet.

Never reject Gojo Satoru.

Slowly, you inched closer to the bed. You heard Gojo hum.

“That’s a good girl. Now clean me up. I need to be heading to breakfast,"he said.

You looked at his chest. The mess was all over his hands, running down his cock still, in his pubes, and shot up onto his stomach. You grabbed your apron and shakily placed it on his stomach first, trying to wipe up as much as you could without touching anything too exposing.

Gojo grabbed your hand. “Did I tell you to wipe me?”

You frowned, confused and slightly scared you’d taken this too far. “My Lord, I was only trying to clean you-“

“Use your tongue.”

You stopped.

You stared.

“Don’t make me force your head down, servant. I gave you an order,” Gojo said as he gripped your chin in his other hand.

Slowly, you pulled back your apron from his chest. Gojo’s smirk grew. He let go of your face and you opened your mouth. Gojo watched as you stuck your tongue out and slowly dropped your body to get closer to his chest. Your face was inches away from his abs now, from his cum.

You breathed in and finally dropped all the way down, taking in the essence of Gojo Satoru. He moaned lightly and gripped onto your hair. You ran your tongue along his body, tasting every square inch of him. Gojo pushed your head down to his pubes. You sucked and licked as he maneuvered your head. You were acting merely as a tool for his use, a personal cum rag for the Prince.

The thought made you groan.

Just as you did, Gojo pushed your head down further and against his cock. Your mouth opened on instinct and you licked up the base all the way to the tip. Gojo moaned at the sensation. His grip on your hair increased and he pulled you up slightly.

“Open your fucking mouth,” He ordered. You didn’t hesitate this time.

In an instant, your lips were wrapped around your Prince’s cock. You began to suck and lick at it as Gojo used your head for his own personal desire. He pushed up and down on your head, making you gag with each thrust.

Gojo began to moan more, his hips thrusting into your warm mouth. You sucked and gagged on his cock, gripping onto the bed sheets for any ounce of stability you could gain. Gojo continued to fuck into your mouth like a mad man, giving you no time to breath or relax your throat.

You were a toy. A play thing for him. You groaned again.

“Ah, fuck, princess don’t do that. You’ll make me finish in that pretty little mouth of yours,” Gojo laughed.

You burned at the pet name, and moaned again. Gojo cursed and pushed your head all the way down. “I think you want to be filled up with your prince’s cum. You just can’t get enough, huh? Fucking dirty servant. Only good for making her master cum. Oh, fuck that’s right baby choke on my fucking cock.”

Gojo pounded into your mouth without stopping. He held onto your hair to keep you from moving off him and his hips slammed into you like a battering ram.

You had no choice but to grip onto his sheets and let him finish. You groaned again and at that Gojo cursed aloud. “Take my fucking cum, baby,” He said and pushed your head down.

Instantly, you felt something warm and wet hit the back of your throat. You tried not to gag as Gojo moaned and came down your throat, moving your head up and down his base.

After a moment, his grip on you lessened and you were free to take your mouth off his cock. You raised up slowly, ignoring the taste of cum in your mouth. Gojo smiled at you still. You waited for him to say anything, give you another order or even possibly thank you.

Instead, he got out of bed and walked to his closet. As he grabbed a pair of trousers, he turned back to you.

“You’re free to go now, servant. That’s all I needed you for.”

You kept a tight smile. “Yes, my Lord”.

Gojo smiled and grabbed your chin again. “You might just last.”

A warm feeling spread through you at what that implied. You nodded as Gojo whipped some cum from your mouth.

The only rule you knew, never reject Satoru Gojo. You could live with that rule.

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owliellder · 1 year ago

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The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: I'm actually thinking I might be doing one chapter every other night, but I would also like to draw on my comically large art tablet at some point this week, so I might skip a day or two.

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 2: Color Matching

You partially regret just agreeing to "tomorrow", seeing as this man decided that he wanted to show up at 4am.

It was the original time set for yesterday's session, and you guess he felt bad for being late, but god damn he texted you an hour earlier telling you he'd be there by 4am. Dragging yourself out of the comfort of your bed was difficult, but in the end it was worth it to draw such a stunner.

You had to get there before Leon did, so there you were; half awake, dressed in a pair of fuzzy pants and a loose t-shirt, and a small cup of tea in your right hand while the other fumbled with the keys to your little work room.

That was the greatest part about your job as a professional painter. You didn't have a dress code.

Though most days you did try to look your best, some days it was just easier to be comfortable. Besides, it's not like tons of people come and see you everyday, it was usually just one person at a time.

It was 3:47am by the time you'd gotten to your workspace and settled, sitting on one of the many floor pillows in the living area you put together away from the actual painting setup. The tea was warm, it was keeping you sleepy, but you couldn't stop taking small sips. It was in your hands, there wasn't much you could do to stop yourself.

You told Leon to just come on in when he arrived, not wanting to walk all the way back down just to lead him back up. The stiffness from sleep was still in parts of your body, so you knew it would be difficult to get up, even when he did finally stride through that door. He dressed nicely today, just what you needed him to do.

Wanting to relish in the dim yet warm lighting of your various lamps for as long as possible, you beckoned the man to come over and sit with you, which confused him slightly. He thought you would be ready to get started once he showed up, but he wasn't one to argue so early in the morning. Instead, he shrugged and slowly sauntered over to you, taking a seat on a floor pillow across from yours.

"Good morning." Leon grumbled quietly, his voice barely hiding the fact that he wasn't quite awake either. That rumble in his chest made your stomach flutter. "Good morning to you, too." You responded, closing your eyes for a moment to take another sip of your tea.

"When uh-" He cleared his throat, putting a fist up to his mouth as he did so. "When are we gonna get started?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, moving the cup away from your lips to stare at him. "I wasn't expecting to be up so early, so just give me a few more minutes to wake up and then we can turn my main lights on."

Leon sucked on his teeth as he thought, turning his head to look over out one of the windows as he rested his wrists on his knees. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Just wanted to make up for being late yesterday."

You laughed softly before letting out a quiet sigh, setting your tea down on the low coffee table sitting behind you.

"Don't worry about it, but also don't make me get up so early again, old man." You attempted to joke, immediately noticing the wince on his face at the nickname. To divert, you stood up and stretched, patting his shoulder as you walked by him. "Alright, let me pull my stuff out and then we can get started."

Leon followed you with his head, taking a few seconds before standing up himself, pressing his hands onto his knees to help get up from the floor pillow.

"I'm just going to be color matching your tones today. I won't do all of it since obviously lighting changes throughout the day, buuuut..." You trailed off, beginning to rummage through a drawer in one of your desks before pulling out handfuls of paint tubes. "I just need to pull out the basic colors I'll be using."

It was still pretty dim in the room which caused you to have to squint to see the names of the colors on the tubes. Leon found that partially amusing, his chuckle causing you to glare playfully over at him. "Something funny?"

"As funny as it is to watch you go cross-eyed looking at those," he smiled, gesturing with his thumb to the light switches near the door. "I feel like it'd be easier to just turn the lights on."

"My retinas will be fried if those get turned on-" You were cut off by your own shout when Leon took the liberty of turning the lights on himself, laughing as you quickly moved to cover your eyes.

He only had to squint for a second before his eyes adjusted. You, however, were not expecting the sudden change, so you got an eyeful of bright white light. Complete and utter agony that lasted for a full five seconds.

By the time you moved your hands away from your eyes, they were watering and you had to squint for awhile longer. "Give me a warning next time you decide you want to try and murder me like that." You said, wiping away the few stray tears you'd produced from the light sensitivity. "You might live in the light, but I don't!"

The man shook his head and crossed his arms, smile still plastered to his face as he slowly made his way over to the chair in front of your easel. "That's payback for calling me an old man."

You twisted your head around to the chair so you could give him an indignant look, catching a glance as he was putting his hands up in defense with a small "what?" before you turned to look down at the tubes of paint sitting next to your hands on top of the desk.

"Nothing, just wasn't expecting to work with a toddler, that's all.." You mumbled, smile creeping onto your face as you heard him click his tongue from behind you. "I was an old man not five minutes ago and now I'm a toddler?" Leon asked, voice peaking dramatically.

"Yes, you have quite the range, Mr. Kennedy." You began sifting through the various paints you'd pulled out, humming softly as you contemplated what route you wanted to take with them. Stick to primaries? Add secondaries? Should I just use every color I need? Hmmm..

Leon watched as you stared at the paint tubes you'd picked up, tilting his head to the side slightly to try and get a better look. He snapped his head back upright when you started to speak again. "I'm trying to decide whether or not to use a lot of different colors, or just stick to a minimum.."

It was almost as if you knew what he was wondering. "Uhh... what's the difference...?" The man questioned, raising an eyebrow as you turned around, seemingly having made your decision already.

"Using just the main 6 colors-" You turned around and were faced with his very confused stare, causing you to explain a little better. "The main colors you see in a rainbow."

He breathed out a quiet "ahh" at that. Okay, good. He knows his basics. Cute...

"I can mix just red, blue, and yellow at varying degrees to get any color I need. Adding green, purple, and orange will help even more." You pursed your lips, lightly tossing the paint tubes in your hands before setting them down away from the other tubes. "I need white also. Damn.."

"What's wrong with white?" Leon asked, leaning forward a bit to watch you dig in the drawer for a tube of white oil paint.

"Nothin'. Just forgot, is all. Trying to keep this as authentic as possible..." You mumble, quickly closing the drawer with a slam after pulling out the paint you were looking for.

Silently nodding his head in acknowledgment, Leon turned his focus to his surroundings again, admiring your choice in decor once more. He bought a nice decorative pillow for his couch yesterday after being here the first time.

You grabbed a few strips of thick white paper, running your thumb along its textured surface before setting them down. You told him to stay where he was as you set up a small art palette, little dollops of the paints sitting neatly in the circular grooves.

"I'm gonna make color swatches of your skin for myself." You spoke up as you suddenly turned and walked towards him, holding the palette in your left hand while holding the strips of paper and a small yet flat paintbrush in the right. "Also, I'll need to get a picture of you in the position you want, but I'll do that after all of-" you waved everything you're currently holding in a small circle. "-this."

Leon simply responded with an "oh, okay", his knee beginning to bounce as you quickly began to mix little bits of your paint together to get a simple pale skin tone down before you even attempted to match his.

As you worked, you were starting to grow nervous with the silence, and clearly the man in front of you was as well, given he had started to sweat slightly on his forehead. He wasn't nearly as conversational as the last two agents you painted.

"So.. you've earned yourself a portrait..." You smiled slightly, holding up the strip of paper you'd brushed your mixed paint on to see what colors to mix in next. "What'd you do to earn one?"

Leon hummed. It was hard to think about every mission he's gone on, all the horrors he bore witness to, the people he saved, the people he couldn't save, how it all started, and now the fact that he's done-

"Hey, woah, I'm sorry." The sound of your voice drew him away from his thoughts. "I didn't know that would be a.. sore subject for you." He blinked at you a few times, furrowing his eyebrows soon after. "What?"

You pulled the strip of paper away from his face, pulling your lips tight with a shrug of your shoulders at his response. "You suddenly looked mad. Like... really really mad. I thought you were gonna snap at me or-"

"No. It's just bittersweet, is all." Leon cut you off, waving his hand dismissively at you before nodding once down to the paint palette in your hand. "You can keep going."

You stayed frozen in your crouched position for a few seconds longer before continuing to swatch your paint. You kept silent, not wanting to seem like you were antagonizing him.

"I used to be just a cop." The man suddenly said, causing you to look up from where you were mixing your paints together. "Only for a single day, but I was a cop. Simple as can be."

You nodded, beckoning him to continue with a small smile, which he did. "I'm sure you've heard about some of that already though, since you worked with Claire not too long ago."

His comment caused you to let out a small "ohh" in sudden recognition, nodding your head again. "Yeah, that's right! She mentioned you on that, okay.."

Leon continued to talk about all of his missions vaguely, still having to keep confidentiality in mind. You let him drone on, having gotten his skin tone matched in a few different areas now. You stopped to scribble on the papers with the paint swatches, making sure to label where each tone came from on his face and hands.

You took note of how he circled back to his single day as a cop and to certain missions. His mention of saving the president's daughter had you immediately smiling. That was a straight ticket to earning his own portrait in that hall of the White House, he could've done just that his entire life and he still would've been seeing you at some point.

You focused on mixing your paint for a little while before noticing he had grown quiet, looking up to see him staring out the window, a faint orange glow from the sun rising highlighting his features. And his tears.

Growing concerned once again, you set down the paintbrush on the palette so you could place a gentle hand on his shoulder. It seemed he didn't notice that, too lost in his head to notice anything at this point.

"Hey..." You asked with a soft voice, your eyebrows furrowing with worry. "We don't have to talk about it anymore, you know..."

Finally, Leon looked back at you, eyes widening once he realized how watery his eyes were. He turned his head away so you didn't watch him wipe the tears that had fallen down his cheeks and use his sleeve to dry his eyes. It wasn't like him to be so easily bothered by this stuff.

"I just need one more color swatch and then you can go, okay? We can save the photo for another day." You gave the man a weak smile, one he didn't reciprocate. You understood.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but you filled in for him. "Seriously, it's no trouble at all. If you need more time then you need more time." Standing up from your crouched position, you left your half-finished color match swatch with the finished ones before walking over to set everything down on the desk.

You didn't want to crowd the poor man. That was probably the last thing he needed. Despite having only painted for a select few, you've learned to just step away from these retired agents when things would go awry. It was akin to a war veteran suffering from PTSD; they did almost have the same experiences as far as you could tell.

"I'm sorry."

Leon finally managed to say to you, his hands anxiously rubbing up and down on the tops of his thighs. Must be a nervous tick.

You angled yourself so you could see him while your body still faced the desk, smiling at him while your hands worked to neatly stack the strips of paper before clipping them together with a paper clip.

"There's absolutely no reason for you to apologize." You kept your smile as you responded to Leon, looking back down at your hands to make sure everything was put together properly. "You forget I strictly work with agents like yourself. From all the vague tellings, I know that the job is tough on you guys; body and mind."

It was weird having someone outside of the agency talk to him about this kind of stuff. It was weird for him to be bringing it up in the first place. Or, at least he felt like it was.

"Still, I should know better than to do that." Leon sighed, rubbing his hand along the side of his face before stroking his chin, scratching at the stubble growing.

"Know better than to do what? Let yourself process everything you've been through?" You spoke in almost a whisper. If your tone was any louder, you fear you'd come off as accusatory.

"I get it. Really, I do." Leon groaned quietly at your words, causing you to click your tongue. You grabbed your swivel chair and scooted it over so you could sit in front of him, and when you did, you brought your legs up to sit criss-cross just like yesterday, only there wasn't a table separating the two of you. You looked solemn. He didn't like where this was going.

"The whole point of painting you a portrait is to honor you and your work as an agent, but it's not just about getting yourself painted." You leaned forward in your chair, elbows resting on your knees, all the while keeping your voice hushed and gentle. "Seeing the portrait once it's finished is going to be an incredibly emotional ordeal. It's a reminder that this is truly the end of an era for you, Mr. Kennedy..."

Your words were really starting to strike a chord for Leon. He hadn't given it much thought. He didn't want to give it any thought at all. All he thought was "I'm just going to get myself a nice fancy portrait and be done with it". He didn't even consider what the portrait of him would actually symbolize.

"Oh." Was all Leon could muster, letting his gaze fall into his lap where his hands now sat clasped together. If it weren't for the comfortable environment you had set up here, he probably would've bolted ages ago.

You let him think everything over for awhile, wanting to give him all the time in the world. Clearly he needed something, but he wasn't allowing himself any sort of leeway.

It took some courage building internally, but you decided to stand up, taking the one step closer to him before placing your hand on his shoulder once more. You squeezed it a bit, bringing his attention back to you as he lifted his head up.

You attempted to smile at him, moving your hand off his shoulder so you could hold your arms out slightly. This man needed a hug and you were more than willing to offer the leeway he wasn't granting himself.

Leon stood up rather quickly which surprised you, and startled you just a bit, before feeling his large arms tightly wrap around you. It was a little awkward since he had to bend a bit to hug you properly, but it worked out in his favor, and yours too, since he got a better opportunity to bury his face into the crook of your neck.

He sighed happily when he felt your arms slowly wrap around his chest, doing your best to squeeze him for that extra bit of comfort, even rubbing up and down on his back. It had been so long since he had a real hug. It felt good.

You let him hug you for as long as he needed, which was longer than expected, but definitely not unwelcome by any means. Though, his warm breath against your neck and the smell of his cologne was causing you to blush. That's really the last thing you needed him to see after being so vulnerable and open with you.

You felt him start to pull his head away, prompting you to pat his back gently as an end to the hug. Despite the fact that it was faint, it was clear to you that he was blushing when you were finally able to look up at him.

You wanted to remain calm for Leon, letting out your nervousness through a quiet cough. "I know we've only met up twice, but if you ever need a change in scenery, just know that my workspace here is always open to you. I'm always open to you, okay?"

Your words were making him feel weird. Something he hasn't felt in a long time was creeping up his chest. Your smell lingering on his coat wasn't helping, either.

"Yeah-.. yeah, okay." Leon huffed through his nose, reaching up to scratch at the stubble underneath his jawline as he averted his gaze to the floor.

The sun was fully up now, so you walked over to where the light switches were next to the door, flipping them off. All your other ambient lights could be turned off later. For now, you needed to focus on the man still standing in front of that maroon chair.

"You can stay if you feel you need to, but I just want you to relax." You said, looking over at him as you heard his footsteps slowly walk past you to the living space.

"I'll head out." Leon bent over and grabbed his motorcycle helmet from where he'd set it down on the rug near the floor pillows. He placed his on his head as he walked over to where you stood next to the door, not really wanting anyone to look at his tear-stricken and red face any longer.

Once he finished fiddling with his helmet, you reached out and took his hand in both of yours, patting the top of it softly. "Text me when you're ready to come back over."

You couldn't see Leon's face anymore since he'd put the visor down, but you could definitely see him nod his head. He opened the door and let himself out, touching the side of the doorframe as he rounded the sharp corner and walked down the stairs.

After closing the door behind him, you started walking around your workspace to turn off all the lamps and other ambient lighting, pausing to listen to the sound of his motorcycle start up and drive off.

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freelancearsonist · 9 months ago

Text

and they'd find us in a week

➔ Javi Gutierrez x gn!Reader - 1.8k

➔ Javi whisks you away to Italy for your honeymoon. The only problem is, you're too busy exploring your new husband to leave your hotel room.

➔ Rated MA for basically just husband!javi fluffy cock-worship, oral (m receiving), handjobs, cum swallowing, lots of spanish pet names (reader is spanish speaking), no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied but no description of anatomy and no pronouns used. [please let me know if i missed any :)]

You’ve never woken up quite as languidly as you do today.

The first thing your senses are alerted to is the roaring crash of waves. Bright light floods your eyes even through your closed eyelids, and you roll over with a groan to press your face into the plush pillow beneath your head for a few more precious seconds of darkness. It smells of your favorite leave-in conditioner after your shower last night–a familiar scent in this otherwise unfamiliar bed.

Not that you can complain–this is the softest bed you’ve ever slept in. The mattress is cloud-like and the sheets are silky and warm… except on the other side of the bed. Those sheets are rumpled and turned back, cold with absence.

You sit up and rub the remaining dregs of sleep from your eyes, glancing around the sizable hotel room in search of your fiance–husband. You’re still getting used to that shift in title, but it’s a very welcome change.

The balcony door is open, which is why you can hear the waves so clearly. There’s a gentle breeze swirling in through the opening, fluttering the curtains and sending a slight chill down your spine despite how warm the morning already is. The air smells so fresh here–salt and water and everything you love about the beach. It’s spring, the season of rebirth, and things are changing. Leaves are returning, flowers are blooming, and you’re starting a new page in the story of your life with the man of your dreams.

The man of your dreams, who is currently nowhere to be found.

You swing your legs over the edge of the mattress with a groan of protest, still sore and shaky from yesterday–your third day of honeymoon bliss. Your suitcases still sit on the dresser across from the bed, zipped and neatly packed; you haven’t worn clothes in three wonderful, languid, pleasure-filled days. It’s been absolute bliss.

The sound of the shower shutting off alerts you to the fact that it was running in the first place–it was barely noticeable over the sound of the ocean outside the windows. You smile to yourself and lay back down against the pillows, the mission of finding your husband completed.

Javi comes out of the bathroom moments later, wrapped in the most plush white robe you’ve ever seen while toweling his hair dry. And really, you’ve done nothing over the last three days except wet your sexual appetite–repeatedly and vigorously–with your husband. But seeing him like this makes you hungry; it drives a burning hot rod of arousal straight through the deepest, most unfathomable part of your gut. Your want over the past few days has been completely insatiable.

You look up at him—sleepy eyes half-lidded, wet hair slicked back, the faintest of smiles tugging at his perfect lips—and you are so, so in love with him.

“Oh, you’re awake!” He says with a smile. “Do you want to order breakfast?”

You’re shaking your head before you can really stop yourself, because there’s only one thing that could quench your appetite right now and it’s standing right in front of you. “No, I’ve got my breakfast right here.”

His mouth opens to ask what you could possibly mean, but you catch his hand and pull him into a deep, languid kiss before he can say anything. It’s slow and syrupy, the morning bleeding into the action. You trace your tongue over his bottom lip and his mouth parts so eagerly to accept you. He’s become so familiar with your desires over the past few days, even after years together thinking he knew everything there was to know. But he keeps learning and adapting, finding new ways to draw little sounds and reactions from you. He’s nothing if not attentive to details and extremely eager to please.

He’s been doing a lot of pleasing over the past few days, though. He’s certainly earned a break and some appreciation, you think.

He lets out a little grunt when you gently push him into the mattress; his lips curl into a smile when you crawl over him to straddle his sturdy hips.

“Mi amor,” he mumbles, trying his best to lean up so he can keep kissing you despite your hands pinning his torso to the plush mattress. “Por favor–”

You lean down to appease him, lips feather-light against his as you whisper, “calmate, mi esposo. Yo cuidaré de ti.”

You can feel how quickly he hardens from your words even through the thick robe covering him and it sends a heady sense of power rushing through your veins. Your husband is a strong, important, powerful man–you’re the only person in the world who can bring him to his knees. He’ll even beg for it, if you ask. He’s putty in your hand, but you don’t take it for granted. You’re lucky and you know it–you’ll spend every day for the rest of your life thanking whatever deity there is for giving you Javi.

“Mi cielo,” he murmurs as your fingers find the tie of his plush white robe. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to, Javi,” you assure him as you slowly pull the knot apart. “Please?”

You can see the gulp that bobs his throat even as his eyes flutter closed and he tilts his head back. “Okay,” he whispers.

You unpeel the robe like a wrapping around a candy, appreciating the sight in all of its decadence but desperate to dig in.

He’s desperate for it, too. Aching and hard just from your kisses, thick and flushed with arousal. Every beautiful inch of him is ready and waiting for your attention, from the soft curls at his base to the weeping mushroom head of him.

The first touch of your fingers against his length is electric–he nearly jolts from it. Your fingers are so light and soft, it’s more like a whispering breeze than an actual touch. That is, until you wrap him firmly in your hand, fingers barely long enough to completely circle him. He moans then–a shuddery, shaky, utterly wrecked sound not quite like anything you’ve ever heard before.

“Still sensitive?”

He nods wordlessly, and you can’t blame him really. All you’ve done since arriving in Italy is go at it like rabbits, and last night he actually came dry. He’s bound to be a bit overstimulated, the poor thing.

You halt your hand and meet his dark brown eyes when his head pops up. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” He flushes a bit, surprised at his own desperation. “No, amor, por favor no pares.”

You can’t help the gentle laugh that flows from your lips–you love him like this. Stripped down, not just physically, but spiritually. Soul bared to you in a way that no one else has ever seen him. He allows himself to be weak and vulnerable in your arms because you build him back up stronger every time.

You lower yourself to him and lick languidly, one large stroke of your tongue up the vast length of him. He shivers with the stimulation and lets out a groan, hands clenching into fists at his sides to will himself not to squirm. It’s so hard to sit still like this, though–just the barest touch of your tongue, and he’s already near the brink.

He takes a deep breath, then another, then wills every cell in his body to not come.

Somehow, miraculously, it works–when you take his tip between your plush lips and swirl your tongue just right, he manages to hold it together. He lets loose a low grumble from deep in his chest, though, when your fingers dance down his stomach and over his hip to cradle his balls.

“Ay, dios mio…”

“Good?” You giggle when you ask, because you don’t really need him to answer. You can feel the way his thigh trembles beneath your free hand and see the way his chest hitches with shuddering breaths. His body is tuned like a fine guitar string to your skilled fingers–you know exactly the right chords to strum to get the sounds you want.

Your mouth presses deeper and deeper, the thick head of his hitting the back of your throat long before your nose finds those soft, soapy-smelling curls at the base.

“Ay, mi amor.” It’s more of a whimper than an actual spoken statement–high-pitched and needy. “Por favor…”

You pull off with a pop and let your hand take over with firm strokes that make him whimper. “Qué necesitas, mi cielo?”

“I need–” He gulps thickly, hips stuttering up into your grip, cock twitching as if in anticipation of your permission. “Need to come.”

You hum and lick slowly around his tip, dragging the flat of your tongue over his slit to taste the salty precum pooling steadily there. “Then come, darling.”

And Javi–ever only obedient to you–does exactly that. His body shakes with the force of it, beautiful damp sandy-brown curls splayed out against the pillows and broad hands scrabbling for purchase in the sheets as he fills your mouth.

You never get tired of the taste of him; he’s the perfect mix of salty and sweet and something wonderful that can only be described as Javi. The first drop that meets your tongue makes you crave more–you push as far as you can to take every following spurt that he pulses into your mouth.

You swallow around him–drawing a whine from his throat in the process–before pulling off to admire your handiwork. And surely you can call yourself an artist, because the fruits of your efforts are a masterpiece. He’s flushed red from the shoulders up, chest heaving as he slowly steadies his breath, mouth agape around moans that have finally ceased.

You kiss up his body as he comes down from the high, over the soft round of his stomach and up his flushed neck, finally coming to his parted lips. His eyes meet yours, and suddenly the entire world is spinning on its axis until it’s flipped onto its back–your back. He chuckles as he hovers over you, scattering kisses all over your face.

“Gracias, mi amor,” he hums contentedly. Like this, you can feel every inch of his skin pressed against every inch of yours, the open robe falling around the parameters of your bodies and caging you into a soft, feathery cocoon.

“Was that what you needed, my darling?”

“Everything I needed and more,” he tells you earnestly. His kisses start to stray off course–across your cheeks, then along your jaw, then down your neck. “May I return the favor?”

It’s a tantalizing offer, certainly; as much as you’re eager to finally leave this room and go explore Italy, it’s not looking like today is going to be the day.

“Por favor, mi esposo.”

And Javi, ever the faithful servant, is more than willing to oblige. Con gusto.

THE END

➔ Translations:

calmate - calm down yo cuidaré de ti - let me take care of you por favor no pares - please don't stop qué necesitas - what do you need? con gusto - with pleasure

➔ A/N: the title of this one is another hozier song (big surprise cece) - "in a week" is so beautiful, pls give it a listen :) thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for betaing this lil thing 🥺 thank you as well to the dieter bravo brainrot club for always enabling me <3

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :)

#javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi gutierrez smut #javi gutierrez one shot #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #the unbearable weight of massive talent #cece writes

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starmapz · 5 months ago

Text

shame on me || chapter twelve || tempest

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 7.5k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

Lips brush the nape of your neck in a slow and sensual movement that sends a shiver down your spine. You’re enveloped in warmth that’s welcome as summer is beginning to turn to fall and the nights grow cooler.

More importantly, it feels as though nothing could possibly bring you harm, you’re safer than you could ever possibly be.

“Morning, Toru,” you greet him groggily, your voice lined with the remnants of sleep that still weigh you down. Your eyes flicker open as Satoru eases you into the morning with an endless stream of kisses to your warm skin.

Light filters through the sheer curtains above his bed, illuminating the room that’s a bit of a mess from the previous night. Clothing is strewn across the floor and a couple of pillows have been tossed aside on top of the fact that Satoru’s room wasn’t anything close to spotless when you’d first entered last night.

“Morning, pretty girl. Pretty girlfriend,” he husks, his voice an octave deeper first thing in the morning. You shuffle your hips as heat pools in your stomach just from the sound of his voice. It’s almost embarrassing how easily turned on you are by him, but when your minute movement grinds against Satoru for barely a moment, you’re still met with a groan against the skin of your bare back.

“Is this where I ask if that’s a phone in your pocket or if you’re just happy to see me?” You tease, glancing over your shoulder with sleepy, lidded eyes.

Taking you by surprise, Satoru leans up on his elbow and captures your lips with his. “Shush, gorgeous,” he hums between slow kisses.

With one arm securely around your waist, he hoists your body closer to him in time with his tongue sliding along your lower lip. You hum contentedly as you part your lips to give him access. His consistently sweet taste is a drug you can never seem to get enough of.

Satoru wastes no time as he rolls his hips against your ass, his rock-hard length sending a shiver down your spine as the previous night’s pleasure races through your mind. His hands begin to roam the length of your bare skin, the soft pads of his fingers traveling down the curves of your stomach until they reach your hips.

He fervently grips your hips as he pulls you to him, smirking into the kiss as he swallows your breathy whine. He rocks his hips against your ass again, pulling back from the kiss to trail his lips and tongue down your neck.

Now that you’re his, Satoru has every intention of leaving no part of your skin unmarked. He wants your skin to scream his name in the familiar purple tone he leaves behind, just as he wants his to scream your name through the red streaks left across his back and biceps.

He nips at the skin between your neck and collar, pulling a surprised gasp from deep in your throat. You shiver against him at the foreign feeling, leaning back into his touch. His chest rumbles pleasantly.

“Feel good, pretty girl?”

You hum, unable to muster a response when his hand slips down your hip between your legs to rub circles into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You squirm at his touch, gripping at the sheets for purchase as you grind back hard against him.

He groans against your neck, his breath fanning your skin as his heart rate picks up. Eagerly, Satoru squeezes your thigh before he parts your legs as he pulls your body against his chest, tilting your body to give himself access to your core.

His long fingers deftly part your folds, covering them immediately in your juices.

“Shit, you’re perfect,” he breathes, his cock twitching against your ass. You let out a breathy whine as you jut your hips forward in an effort to find relief for the coil in your stomach.

“Please, Toru,” you groan, intertwining your fingers with his free hand and squeezing tightly. He holds your hand tightly, kissing your neck as he ruts his rock-hard boner against you.

Satoru must be as hungry as you are as he wastes no time obliging your request, foregoing his usual teasing. His middle finger glides easily into your dripping pussy as he pushes past his second knuckle until he’s buried deep within you.

“Fuck, Toru, nngh.”

A moan tears from your throat as you jerk your hips forward, throwing your head back against Satoru’s shoulder beneath you.

“That’s it, baby,” he hums, lidded eyes admiring your blissful expression. “Relax ‘gainst me,” he purrs in your ear, sucking the lobe of your ear into his lips.

Your toes curl when Satoru begins pumping his finger in and out slowly. Your clammy walls mold to the shape of his finger as he drags it through you until he brushes your g-spot. When you jolt and whimper, he pulls the digit out to the first knuckle, slipping another deft finger in alongside the first one.

Broken moans and whimpers part your lips as your jaw slacks in pleasure, eyes shut tight as he curls his fingers and pulls a cry from your throat when they brush your g spot again so perfectly. Your back arches for his fingers, changing the angle that he curls his digits against your gummy walls. When he makes the familiar ‘come hither’ motion again, you squeeze his hand hard as lightning seems to strike your body.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs.

Your stomach tightens as desire pools and coils in your core at the sound of his sultry voice. After only one night, Satoru already recognizes the way your eyes glaze over as you chase your release, such a beautifully euphoric sight.

When Gojo’s cock twitches in time with your walls fluttering though, it’s not enough. He needs to be inside you, he needs to feel your warmth around his throbbing length. He needs you.

His breathing grows ragged behind you with desire and he pulls his hand from where it’s clasped between your fingers, reaching for the drawer behind him. He fumbles with it, feeling for the box of condoms and unceremoniously tearing one from the pack.

“Shit, need y’ right now, baby,” he groans.

Your pants and moans are music to his ears, torn away from him when he pulls out from your squelching core and you whine needily. Your yearning whine sets his whole body ablaze as he shifts under you to roll the condom over his cock, the touch of his fingers on his hard member not nearly enough to quell any amount of desire he holds for you.

He pulls you back to him, laid half on your side and half against his body on your back. He sprawls your legs over his thighs, the tip of his cock brushing your folds.

“S-Satoru-!” You gasp in the quiet morning air of Satoru’s bedroom when the friction of his length against your clit sends sparks through your body, making your blood feel molten.

He hums, pushing the head of his cock through your swollen, slick-covered lips with little grace. Your jaw goes slack at the stretch of his cock within you as his eyes gloss with the pleasure of your warm walls enveloping him.

“So tight, b-baby,” he groans, his voice catching in his throat as his hips stutter and he thrusts in to his hilt, bottoming out as his cock tip reaches your cervix.

You cry out as pain and pleasure blur your vision before the pain fades to a needy, messy desire. Your stomach coils and your walls clench in a desperate attempt for friction.

“Toru, need you,” you beg, your voice high and whiny. His chest rises and falls heavily beneath you, his heart erratically beating as he pulls out to the tip before ramming back into you. His arms wrap tightly around your middle as he holds you flush to him, keeping your hips in place as he wastes no time setting a rapid and erratic pace.

He’s sloppy, he’s messy, your cunt squelches around his cock as your high-pitched mewls fuel his heated thrusts. “Fuck, need y’ too, baby,” his words come out breathless as he fucks up into you.

“Toru,” you plead, gripping at the sheets for purchase as his pace increases and the sound of skin slapping skin grows louder.

He kisses your neck in response, burying his sweat-laden face into the crook of your neck.

“Wan’ kiss you,” you whimper, barely audible between your pleasured gasps.

“Sweet girl,” he whispers softly as he slows his pace to pull out, groaning when his cock twitches needily when met with the cool air. In contrast to the kind words he uses with you, his actions are rough, as though he’s been deprived so long he needs to catch up.

He flips you to lay on your back, positioning himself between your legs. His eyes are wild with lust, swirling with a heady need you don’t recognize in him but as he meets your crimson stare and presses your knees up to your chest, you feel your core tighten. His need fuels the lust deep within you and your walls flutter as you wait for him to fill you again.

He thrusts back into you roughly, jaw clenching when your walls tighten around him as he sets a fast pace, resting his palms at either side of his head. He thrusts into your relentlessly, pulling moans from deep in your chest that have you clinging to his back for purchase. He sucks air through his teeth when you rake your nails over the red marks already spread across the expanse of his back, but he’s too far gone, too fucked out to care.

Your hand flies to the back of his neck, pulling him down to your lips and pressing your knees further into your chest. You whimper into the sloppy kiss as his cock tip hits your cervix at a new angle and the knot in your stomach begins to unravel.

“Shit- Toru, I’m gonna-!” Before you can finish your sentence, the coil in your core tightens and bursts, bringing with it a wave of pleasure as your legs jolt and twitch beneath him. His relentless pace fucks you through the high, bliss and overstimulation mixing in a euphoric cacophony throughout your body.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous, y’r doin’ so good for me pretty girl,” he pants.

With your walls clenching and pulsing around him, Satoru feels his own orgasm approach suddenly and quickly, his thrusts growing erratic until you feel his cock throb within you, the continuous pulsing of your walls milking him through his orgasm as he unloads his milky cum into the condom inside you.

He damn near collapses on top of you, managing to keep one arm under himself to keep from crushing you under his weight. Both of your chests heave, sticking to one another through a layer of sweat.

You shift beneath him to escape the mating press, wrapping your arms over his shoulders as his cheek lays gently on your breast.

“You make a good pillow,” he quips, looking up at you with that signature smirk you love to hate.

Rolling your eyes, you admire his blissful expression. It’s not often you see him so relaxed. Hell, lately you’ve seen him without his Infinity so often that you’re just pleased he feels so safe around you. He deserves to be able to relax.

You smile down at him, softly running a hand through his sweat-dampened white locks. You move them away from those sweet blue eyes, lidded with desire and unadulterated happiness.

“Whatcha thinking about?” You ask, examining the rise and fall of his features as he shifts with each breath you take.

“You.” His voice is as soft as his eyes, round and wide with adoration.

You can’t help the timid giggle that escapes your lips, earning a grin from your boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Satoru Gojo. What a crazy turn of events.

Yet, curled up together in his bedroom, it’s just the two of you. Isolated away from thoughts of your troubles. No thoughts of battles yet to fight, no thoughts of what’s been lost along the way. It’s just you, together. Neither of you alone any longer.

You sigh contentedly, closing your eyes against the pillow.

“I hate to ruin the mood, but-”

“Satoru, please don’t ruin the mood,” you beg him, curling your fingers against the bare skin of his toned back muscles.

“Sweetheart, I fucked you through the alarm.”

You open one eye, peeking at him as you sigh and shuffle under his weight. “What if we skipped today? It’s our anniversary, y’know.”

He chuckles heartily, pressing a kiss to your nipple that sends a shiver up your spine. “I don’t think the ‘first day of dating’ anniversary is a work holiday,” he pouts, playing along with your quip.

It takes all the strength you can possibly muster to slide out from under him, searching the room for your shirt just in case before disappearing into the washroom to get ready for the day.

–

Reconnecting with Miriko for the first time in over twenty four hours brings with it a strange feeling. As though the void reaches out to you, a sudden feeling of emptiness tugs at your chest as you realize that’s the first time you haven’t spoken to her for more than a couple of hours, ever.

Although she doesn’t say anything, the overwhelming feeling of unease and emptiness tells you everything you need to know.

Miriko? Are you okay?

Yes. I apologize. I’ve grown rather unfamiliar with being disconnected in that way.

I can make some adjustments or- you try to suggest some sort of compromise, but in spite of the obvious yearning for her own body, she immediately dismisses you.

It’s fine. I will grow accustomed to it once again.

Still, you feel increasingly guilty the longer Miriko’s emotions pool in your chest, ripples breaking the surface with each culpable thought that intrudes so rudely in your mind.

Leaning over the kitchen counter, you retreat into your own body, knowing that although she won’t admit it, it’s what Miriko wants. She wants freedom.

Bright shining vermillion eyes observe your- her- surroundings as she realizes you’ve given her control.

This is kind, however it is unnecessary, she tries to reason with you.

It’s the least I can do.

Staring down at your hands, she flexes her fingers once, twice, adjusting to her surroundings.

While she’d never had issues switching at will, you cutting her off for so long yesterday has her feeling strangely disoriented in a way she hasn’t felt in a long time. Not since reawakening in your body.

She ignores the sound of Satoru’s footsteps bounding down the stairs behind you, cutting through the usual sounds of morning cicadas and birdsong.

“Hey cutie pie, come here often?” Satoru grins as he speaks, though his nose is buried in his phone as he pulls your body into his by your waist.

“I would prefer that you do not-” the formality in your voice urges Satoru to meet your gaze, only to jolt in shock as he retracts his body, staring at you in shock.

“Shit-”

“-put your hands on me in such a way.”

Satoru’s eyes scan your body, chest tightening as he stares at someone else using his girlfriend’s body. Regardless of the harmless circumstances, unease swirls in his stomach and he’s grateful Miriko can’t see his eyes.

“Sorry, Miriko,” he apologizes, his brow pulled together tightly.

“It is fine,” Miriko offers a small smile which Gojo returns, an air of vexation falling between the sorcerer and the curse. Satoru takes another step back, exhaling quietly as he settles his shoulders. “Did you have plans for breakfast?”

The curse’s inquiry catches him off-guard and he tilts his head. “... yeah, actually.” His easy, nonchalant smile returns. “I was gonna have Ijichi pick something up in town from a diner. You want something?”

“I would enjoy a breakfast sandwich.”

Satoru chuckles. “Consider it done,” he grins, returning to his phone. “Which reminds me, while you’re here I wanted to ask somethin’.”

“Go on.”

“Your cursed technique. Can you imbue it into a weapon?” He sets his phone on the counter, leaning against the surface a moment later as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Miriko follows suit, hands at her sides as she leans against the marbled surface. “I can.”

“Would it hurt y/n to use it?”

Miriko’s gaze shifts to the window on the far side of the kitchen as she thoughtfully inspects the leaves that shift and shake against the window. “It will not.”

He straightens suddenly, “why didn’t you always have a weapon on you, then?”

“I don’t want her fighting.”

From within your own body, you wince. You may not be a fighter but in all your years as a vessel, Miriko had every opportunity to teach you and chose not to.

“Why’s that?” Clearly, your boyfriend wonders the same.

“Gojo…” she sighs, her smoldering eyes set into the distance. “My technique is dangerous. A weapon only does so much good.”

“Sure,” he agrees, running a hand through snowy upright hair and slightly disheveling it, “but couldn’t you teach her to use cursed energy instead of your technique for fights?”

“Perhaps,” she hums, “however that is not the life that she wanted.”

You take a pause as you listen to their conversation. It’s surprisingly mature, surprisingly human for a curse to say such a thing. It’s empathetic towards you, especially given that when Miriko had awoken you’d been particularly fragile after the death of the boy’s mother. You wanted nothing to do with the world of curses and while you’d always been grateful to Miriko for accepting that, you never considered where she stood on it.

Satoru is equally as surprised as a gentle smile pulls at his lips. “Guess I can’t argue with that.” Stretching his long arms up over his head, he grunts and pulls out a chair, flipping it to straddle the back of it. “You’re not so bad, Miriko.”

“I take offense to the fact that you once perceived me as such,” she replies with a smug smile that catches Gojo off-guard. It’s not often that Miriko teases others and you feel a swell of pride at seeing your two closest allies interacting in such a manner.

“Are you teasing me?” Gojo grins, draping his arms over the back of the chair.

Miriko’s eyes flash with assuredness as a small smile tugs at her lips and the air between the curse and sorcerer settles easily into comfortable tranquility.

While waiting for Ijichi, the two fall into conversation about Sukuna and battles from thousands of years ago, stories from Miriko you’re only barely aware of due to a lacking knowledge of the world of sorcerers and curses that both she and Satoru possess.

When Ijichi arrives with breakfast, Miriko’s face twists with delight at the taste. She hasn’t had a chance to enjoy food, the sun, a good walk, a night of sleep, really anything for the past eight or so months and she’s grateful to finally be given the opportunity to do so.

“So listen,” Satorucuts through the silence as Miriko finishes up her sandwich, “I know you don’t want y/n fighting, but I want to train her. Just a little bit, in case there’s an emergency,” he speaks up after finishing his Dango.

Miriko settles her elbows on the table. “At the end of the day it is not my decision.”

To your surprise, you’re left staring at your hands at a moment’s notice, an empty plate before you. It’s always disorienting to switch with no prior warning, so you blink a few times to adjust, deep red eyes meeting your boyfriend’s. Bringing your hands up to your face, you rub your eyes in an attempt to focus your vision.

Satoru’s expression softens fondly as he leans forward over the table. “Hey sweet girl,” he hums in a honeyed voice.

Grinning, you giggle at him. “Hey Toru,” you greet him easily. He looks almost relieved to see you back in control and although you know he doesn’t mind Miriko, you know equally well what it’s like to see the person you love behaving as someone else. What it’s like to see the person you love controlled by someone else.

“So, what do you say? Are you up for some training?”

Your smile falters but you nod. “I guess so,” you agree, but your boyfriend senses your hesitation, frowning.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I-” you pause, sighing outwardly. “I think this world still just isn’t for me,” you tell him, your voice falling to a low tone.

Satoru gets to his feet, leaning down to cup your cheek and kiss you. “Do you want to leave? I can handle-”

“Cut it out.” There’s an edge to your tone as you shoot him a sharp glance. “Stop trying to handle everything on your own.”

“I just want you to be safe.”

Your shoulders fall to your sides. “I know,” you sigh. “But I’m not risking you or the students’ lives while I sit on the sidelines.”

Satoru examines your expression, his thumb running over your cheekbone so delicately as though he thought you might break beneath him. Yet that’s not it at all, because he knows you’re just as strong, if not stronger, than he could ever be.

You lean forward to steal a kiss before getting to your feet and signaling to Satoru to lead the way. “C’mon, let’s train.”

–

A small shed extends forth, the wall covered from floor to ceiling in weapons the likes of which you’ve never seen. None are particularly special, there are no curses sealed within any of these weapons, and you find your gaze pulled to none in particular. You have no experience with any armaments of any kind, so nothing seems to naturally pull you to it.

Satoru seems rather keen on a sword as he peruses your options, eventually tossing a katana at you. You catch it rather unceremoniously, sliding the sword from the hilt to examine it.

It’s similar to the one Yuta carries and you wonder if the white-haired sorcerer just considers this the easiest to teach, but your thoughts are interrupted by a familiar row of teeth and glowing eye on the back of your hand.

“Might I make a suggestion?”

Sheathing the katana, you direct your attention to Miriko, who eyes Gojo when he comes to tilt his head at her.

Her pinpoint pupil moves to the left and you both follow her gaze, staring at a scythe hung on the wall.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit too on the nose for the Grim Reaper?” He raises a brow teasingly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he saunters over to the large weapon.

“Not the scythe,” Miriko corrects him, “the sickles.”

To the side of the scythe sits two sickles, hung as a pair from short handles covered in leather bindings. They bear no fancy markings or designs and show no signs of wear from previous users. They’re simple and clearly not a conventional choice.

“Your mother used sickles. I am familiar with them already in the case that I need to take over.”

“My mom did?” Your voice is unintentionally small, pushing for more information. Miriko very rarely spoke about your mother, so any information with regards to her was always welcome.

You’d always been curious how you ended up in such a situation, how your mother became a vessel. The idea of your mother, who you’d always heard stories of being a kind and caring individual, eating something like a finger had always struck you as an unusual thought.

“She was rather adept with them, yes.”

“That so?” Gojo inquires curiously, clearly also pushing for information. Had this been a month ago, you might have minded him pressing for information about your business but given that you know nothing about her anyway, it doesn’t hurt for him to ask as well.

“I can only say yes in so many ways, you two,” Miriko scolds.

With a sigh, you resign and pick up the two sickles, holding the weapons in either hand. Their weight suits you, although you’re certain the cute sundress you’re wearing dramatically contrasts the sickles in either hand.

Satoru seems to think the same as he stifles a laugh. “Shit, you’re cute.”

“Don’t say that while I’m holding weapons!” You whine playfully, staring down at the two blades. “Why sickles, Miriko?”

The dragon’s thin pupil moves to examine your face as you tilt your hand towards you. A contemplative air settles over the group of you before she finally chooses her words.

“She was once a farm hand, it made sense at the time.”

You exchange a glance with Satoru, the air ripe with tension as Miriko catches the action. You know she’s hiding something.

“How does a farm hand with no cursed energy become a special grade vessel?”

Satoru’s gaze doesn’t leave yours. He’s not sure it’s the right question to ask, he’s not sure if you want to know, but he doesn’t find the answers in your eyes either.

In truth, you aren’t certain if you do want to know. You had a vision of what you had always assumed your mother was like. A kind woman who enjoyed the outdoors and hikes and had a knack for growing flowers. You realized later that that interest you garnered in flowers was one that your father had nurtured because it brought you closer to her.

Of course, you also knew she kept secrets. Your father wasn’t aware of Miriko until she made herself known within you. Still, you aren’t certain you want more answers than what you have despite your innate curiosity on the subject.

You don’t refute Satoru’s question when he asks, however.

“It was an accident, really. Her family was in possession of one of three of my scales, it was a good luck charm. They had no clue what it was and she cut herself on it.” Her thin forked tongue slips between her teeth, tasting the air. “It decayed her viciously and quickly. Her family placed my scale on her chest as an act of hope and prayed. My decay eventually absorbed the scale and I was able to heal us, however at a great cost.”

You frown, memories of your own first encounter with Miriko resurfacing. Satoru reaches out, holding your upper arm supportively.

“Why not call a doctor?” You inquire curiously, although you know it would have made no difference.

Miriko hesitates again. The silence that hangs in the air is tripe with uncertainty. “It was seven hundred and fifty years ago, y/n.”

Your eyes widen in incredulity.

Seven… hundred?

Swallowing hard in disbelief, you chew on your bottom lip. “She was around for seven hundred years?”

“She was, yes. Initially I will admit that I kept her alive for the purpose of finding my scales only, until I grew to enjoy her companionship. She helped me track down my second scale, though we could never find the third.”

“Hold on, you’re not complete?” Satoru’s brow tightens in realization as he retracts his hand from your arm to cross it over his chest.

Shit, of course he didn’t know. You never told him. You’d kept it from him, in fact.

“... No. I am not.”

“Shit. Shit! Our entire plan with Yuji hinged on that, why wouldn’t you mention it?” His head tilts just enough that you know he’s looking between both you and the mouth that’s taken shape on the back of your hand.

“I couldn’t tell you, I thought you’d kill me,” you defend yourself softly, brow furrowing as you stare up at the sorcerer.

He runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. The tension in the air grows exponentially and you feel that familiar line being drawn between you once again, teetering dangerously over the edge of an argument. His chest visibly rises and falls faster beneath the fabric of his uniform.

Composing yourself with a deep breath, you try to mediate the situation before it does become an argument. “Look, I’m sorry but I thought you’d kill me if you knew.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens and Miriko takes the opportunity to slip away to avoid the seemingly imminent argument. “You didn’t think to tell me in these last couple of months?”

“I’ve had other things on my mind!” Your voice raises, staring at him in disbelief. Did he really expect Miriko’s cursed objects to be at the top of your mind given everything that had happened recently?

“Other things on your mind?” Satoru’s voice raises in turn as he takes a step towards you, motioning in the air with his arm as he speaks. “The reason I brought you here in the first place was to help Yuji-”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” You growl, equally taking a step towards Satoru. “Do you think I’m not constantly worried what might happen if I mess up somewhere along the way?”

“Then don’t you think it might have been important for me to know?”

You’re almost grateful you can’t see his rage hidden behind his blindfold as you feel tears prick at your eyes. Taking a breath to keep your composure, you straighten your stance. “What, so that you could have killed me for not being useful before you got guilty? Before Yuta had to do it?”

“That’s a low fucking blow,” Satoru laughs breathily, lacking any humor. “You know it’s my job-”

“Don’t. Don’t give me that.” You interrupt him with a sharp edge to your voice, shaking your head. He really always did have to remind you of that stupid title you hate to hear so much. You chew on your lower lip in an effort to keep the tears from spilling over but it’s all for naught as you feel the salty warmth glide down your cheek.

“Don’t give you what?” He raises his voice, swinging a hand through the air in disbelief. “You know I have to kill him if this all fails.”

You inhale sharply as his words cut you, steering away from this stupid train of thought he always seems to find himself on. Always someone else’s weapon, never getting to make his own decisions. That’s just how he functions, it’s what he knows, and you’re tired.

You hate that someone turned him into this, and worse yet, you hate that he believes it. The man you’ve come to know as compassionate and caring, who wants a brighter and better future for not just his students, his kids, but the world too, yet he believes when it comes down to it he has to make tough decisions alone.

“Can I talk to my boyfriend and not The Strongest?” It doesn’t come out as steadily as you’d hoped, but it seems to get through to him regardless as his shoulders slump to his sides.

The air is stiff as you attempt to stifle your sniffles, wishing with every fiber of your being that you could go one argument without crying, yet your body seemed to disagree.

“Fuck,” he mutters, looping a finger under his blindfold and pulling it down to rest at his collar. His lips press together in a thin line as he looks at you finally, no longer blinded by his need to be strong, and sees that you’re crying, your shoulders trembling slightly. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”

He takes a step forward, grateful when you let him cup your face and wipe away your tears. You take a deep breath, watching the way his eyes fill with guilt and understanding.

“You’re right. You’re right, baby. It’s not fair of me.” He pulls you into his chest, eyes fluttering shut as he buries his head into the crook of your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mutters again when you sniffle into his chest.

Your arms wrap tightly around his middle as you bury your tear-stained face into his broad chest. “You’re a dick,” your words are muffled against the fabric of his black uniform jacket.

“I know,” he sighs, keeping you held tightly to his form. “I got in my head about it, I’m sorry,” he whispers, hugging you tightly once before he leans back to get a look at your face. “Forgive me, pretty girl?”

You examine his eyes for a moment, like deep blue galaxies swirling with immeasurable guilt. You can practically feel the way his chest tightens as he waits for you to respond, knowing that fighting with you barely twenty four hours after asking you to become his girlfriend certainly wasn’t winning him any brownie points.

“I forgive you,” you nod slowly, forcing a smile. It doesn’t reach your eyes, though. He inhales deeply, letting out a long breath as he wipes the tears from your cheeks softly with his thumb. “I just want you to understand that where we are now,” you motion between the two of you, “took a long time, and it’ll take effort to keep things this way.”

He nods in understanding and you’re thankful he’s taking you seriously.

“I care about Yuji. He’s my student too, Satoru. I want him to be able to live through this. I know you do too and I’m not about to let you kill him.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just my responsibility-”

“It’s not.” You state plainly, cutting him off. He frowns, but he doesn’t argue with you now, choosing to listen to your words. “It’s your responsibility to be his teacher. You don’t owe the world or the clans or the higher-ups anything.”

He blinks at you as though it’s never once occurred to him he could be something other than that dumb title. “I have to save people,” he tries to reason, tries to put words to the mission he’d been raised to embody.

“Then start with Yuji.”

He straightens when you say that, his brow knit tightly above the bridge of his nose. A long silence passes over you as the gears turn in his mind, taking in each and every word before he finally speaks.

“What if Miriko’s plan doesn’t work when Yuji gets all the fingers?”

You pause, gingerly reaching out to take Satoru’s hand in yours. He intertwines your fingers into his much larger ones, squeezing your hand in reassurance. “I don’t know,” you admit, “but we’ll figure it out. Together, Satoru.” You give him a stern look that you’re sure doesn’t come across the way you intend given your puffy cheeks and reddened eyes.

He inhales sharply, nodding. “Together.”

You smile wearily, leaning your forehead against your boyfriend’s chest. He gently smooths your hair as his arm slinks around your waist. Rocking you back and forth slowly, his fingers tangle in your hair as he comforts you.

“Why don’t we cancel training today?” He asks softly.

You shake your head against him. “We don’t know when Kenjaku will show back up. We should train.”

Satoru hesitantly lets you pull back from his hold, watching your every movement intently as you move sluggishly to pick up the sickles again.

“We need to be prepared,” you insist, flipping the weapons in your hands to look them over. “Do you know how to use sickles?”

“Nope!” His usual nonchalance begins to return after the wake of the heavy conversation, “but Yuta and Maki are good with weapons. They can help.”

You shoot him a grateful smile, tilting your head when he reaches out to put his large hands over yours, holding the sickles with you.

“Let’s focus on Yuji today, though. It’s been a long morning and I want you focused when we’re training.”

Your smile falters but you nod in agreement. “Okay, tomorrow it is.”

Satoru pulls you to his body by your shoulders as the sickles dangle at either side of your body. Your head falls to his shoulder as he leads the way back to the cabin before Yuji’s training begins for the day.

–

The fall breeze nips at your skin, a welcome contrast to the sweat that clings to your back and brow. The summer cicadas have faded and in their wake the crunching of dying leaves in the breeze fills the open air.

With a loud clang of steel on metal, you swipe your weapon to the side, blocking Yuta’s attack just as he’d telegraphed. You knew he was going easy on you, even with a month of practice under your belt, you couldn’t match the skill of either of your students, not to mention Satoru or Choso who you couldn’t land a hit on no matter how hard you tried.

Still, you’re miles ahead of where you had been when you first picked up the sickles.

Where your real advantage came in was with Miriko. Something you’d spent time practicing with Satoru was swapping your body at will without the feeling of disorientation. Doing so in battle allowed you to change the style with which you fought in an instant and although Miriko could overpower Yuta, Yuji, and Choso with ease on her own, it was still a unique advantage.

As Miriko takes over for a split second, twisting her body to leap around Yuta and rip his katana from his grip, it’s you who holds the sickle out to his throat.

With hands up and a wry smile, Yuta’s ever-sunken eyes close as he smiles at the defeat.

Choso and Yuji had gone off to fight a cursed spirit in Takahama, which allowed you more time to practice your combat with Yuta. Gojo coached from the sidelines, as although he was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, Yuta had more practice with weaponry.

“You’re getting better,” Yuta comments as he picks up his katana, sheathing it at his hip.

“Well that’s a relief,” you chuckle, “I’d hate to think this was all for nothing.”

A firm hand reaches for your shoulder as your boyfriend jogs up behind you. “I’d say that’s a good place to stop,” he grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yuta, you and Rika make a scary team these days.”

“Oh! Thanks, Sensei.” Yuta grins, gripping his sword tightly to his chest. “I’m gonna go catch up with Maki, Panda, and Toge, I’ll see you tomorrow, though?”

Gojo nods and the boy jogs away from the training field over to where his friends sit across the courtyard. Your gaze inadvertently travels to the decayed grass and trees a small distance from the students, a frown pulling at the corners of your lips.

As if sensing your guilt, Satoru’s large frame blocks your vision as he leans down. “Stop that,” he whispers softly with his lips barely a hair from yours.

Your eyes flicker to his lips, an easy smile pulling at your features. You’re grateful for the ways that Satoru pays careful attention to you and pulls your mind from its darkest corners before you have the chance to mull over them. Although he often remained aloof and at times there was an uneasy tension over minor disagreements, you both were still working on yourselves and for that you were grateful.

“You know,” he hums thoughtfully, “it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to take my gorgeous girl on a date.”

Your smile turns to a grin as you cradle his face softly in the palm of your hand. His light stubble brushes your skin, so pale it’s only visible a short distance from his face. He leans into your touch and though you can’t see his eyes, you know they’re closed, relaxed against your touch.

“What did you have in mind, Mr. Gojo?” You play along with a tilt of your head.

He throws his head back suddenly. “God, don’t call me that. You know what that shit does to me,” he groans.

“You might have to remind me,” you tease with lidded eyes, but the kiss you press to his lips is soft and chaste in contrast to the desire in your timbre.

“I might just have to,” he agrees slyly, kissing your palm. “First, let me take you out, though. Dinner?”

Your eyes light up as you nod excitedly. “Nothing fancy, though.”

“Nothing fancy,” he agrees, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips once more. “Sushi?”

“Sure, can we try that new place that opened near the cat cafe?” You tilt your head up at your boyfriend with bright eyes.

“You read my mind and you’re gorgeous? I might just be the luckiest man on earth,” his voice lowers to a sultry and smooth tone as his fingers slide around your torso, the tips of his fingers gripping your waist fervently.

You giggle as your cheeks heat up, eyes bright with happiness as he turns to lead the way to the cabin.

He moves languidly, enjoying the slower afternoons with you as of late. The sun is still high in the sky and you have all the time in the world before the restaurant closes.

Conversation comes easily as you change into comfier clothes, slipping on a flowy black dress with tights as Satoru changes into slacks and a plain black sweatshirt. You admire the view as he pulls the shirt over his toned form in one fluid movement, a content smile on your face as you kick your feet from the edge of the bed.

“Like what you see?” He teases with a tilt of his head, pulling his shades over his eyes.

“More than you know,” you grin, leaning forward cheerily. His child-like glee is something you can never get sick of.

Knowing he grew up with such a burden on his shoulders, you delight in the way he often gets carried away with jokes, teasing, and excitement. It’s the little moments where he tells you stories from his past and his eyes light up, or the way he gets excited to go into town for as little as a treat that you know you’re seeing the real Satoru Gojo, not the man raised to be the strongest.

He moves a hand through his white locks, tousling them into a suitably disheveled state. With a grin, he turns to you with eyes shut and crinkled at the corners, dimples decorating his cheeks. Your heart palpitates wildly in your chest at the unadulterated happiness beaming off of this man.

He loves you very much.

Your breath catches in your throat at Miriko’s observation, given that neither of you have said those three words yet. You shake your head in an effort to erase all signs that you’d been caught off-guard before Satoru notices.

Not now, Miriko.

She chuckles inwardly at you and you let out a breath to center yourself, smiling easily when Satoru returns his attention to you.

“Ready?” He asks, his eyes trailing the length of your body. His pupils dilate, unable to hold back the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips.

You nod and he hoists you up effortlessly, keeping his fingers threaded with yours like a bow tied perfectly as you bound down the stairs after him. You stop at the bottom of the stairs to pet Taro as his wagging tail repeatedly smacks the wall at the sight of you.

“Who’s a good boy?” You playfully ask, scratching his chin as you lean down. Satoru doesn’t let go of your other hand, too preoccupied in admiring you to realize he’s got your arm folded rather uncomfortably behind you. Either way, you don’t mind as your sweet dog pants and leans into your touch while Satoru fiddles with your fingers. “Who’s a good-” you begin to ask the same question to Taro when you hear a loud call from outside the cabin.

You both stare at the door, blinking as you wonder if you correctly heard a person or if perhaps it was something else.

It’s too muffled to make out, but it repeats itself shortly after.

“Choso?” You wonder aloud to Satoru, exchanging a glance with him from where he stands above you. He nods in agreement, dropping your hand and stepping towards the door. Before he has the chance to open it, the door rattles with frantic knocks.

The man’s voice is clear as day now as he calls both of your names. You get to your feet, trailing after Satoru as he unlocks and opens the door.

“You’re here,” Choso lets out a breath of relief at the sight of you both. You tilt your head curiously at him before a realization makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

“Where’s Yuji?” You ask, trying to peek behind Choso but you’re unable to find your student.

His jaw trembles, eyes distraught with wide-eyed fear as he clutches at the door frame. “I- I messed up. I don’t know what happened, everything was fine and- and then- he- he-”

You take a step forward to stand beside your boyfriend. “It’s okay Choso, relax. What’s going on?”

“I know it isn’t him but-” he hesitates, eyes flitting madly between you and Satoru. “Nanami- he-” Choso falters, taking a shaky breath in an effort to compose himself.

“He got my brother. He got Yuji.”

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a/n || thanks for sticking with me through the delay in posting this chapter ♡ this one gave me a bit of a hard time for some reason but! we're coming up on the last few chapters now, so this should be fun ♡ thank you as always for reading!

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