#is down when they were reading and it's just like. you're NOT the centre of the universe for fuck's sake the world doesn't exist so that YO

[leatherbookmark]

People really have no fucking manners now huh

[simonbrain]

getting the biggest, scariest bastard at the pub in your bed must have been one of your greatest achievements, especially after watching the way he turned down a few girls prior to you.

he glanced at you each time, disregarding the way the poor things scuttled off in embarrassment; their confidence dampened. it's like he was preening under your attention, and even underneath that silly balaclava of his, you picked up on the way he seemed to flush. his shoulders became more square, and his chest seemed to puff out more. the air around him became more charged with his cockiness rather than the pointless attempts at hiding himself from the other patrons. surely he's aware that he's the centre of the room, no matter which one.

he only grew more bold until he was right at your side, and you held his gaze the entire time.

now, he rewards you with the greatest dicking-down of your life, his fat cock stretching you impossibly thin, the thick girth bullying its way into you over and over again. he fucks you like a man starved, touches you as if he's trying to sink his hands beneath your soft skin and stroke your bones.

although nothing could have prepared you for how fucking filthy his mouth is. his voice holds the right amount of grittiness, the kind that makes your eyes roll back as he whispers the nastiest things in your ear, his accent adding to the thrill his words send down your spine. each moan that fell from his mouth, each promise of ruining you for anyone else after him, each pet name he called you had you going brainless on his cock, your sensitive bundle of nerves twitching under the pads of his fingers as he follows through with his promise. maybe if you were any more lucid, you might have realised it sounded more like a threat rather than just plain dirty talk.

the next morning, you woke up to an aching body, a bottle of water and a box of tylenol on your bedside table, and no stranger in your bed. this may be the greatest one-night stand you've ever had.

well, it was until you realised a couple of weeks later that you're still getting off to the image of him blanketing you and that damn voice of his purring low in your ear. your fingers circle your clit, your eyes unfocused as you imagine him on top of you, taking you deep right where he belongs, and when you think about how he growled at you to soak his cock like a good girl, you come all over your fingers with a humiliatingly loud whine.

it only gets worse from there. you can no longer come to porn unless the person in the video resembles the big boy who rearranged your guts, and even that is a feat of its own. you can't find anyone who has similar tattoos, similar scars, or even a similar voice. reading smut can only get you so far, and some nights, you go to bed feeling defeated because you just couldn't orgasm.

you get so desperate you start searching for those dirty little audios people post online, and for a while, you manage to make yourself come (maybe not as hard, but at this point, you'll take anything). the voices that rumble through your headphones aren't as husky as your mystery man, and their accents aren't exactly close to his, but it holds you off... until it doesn't. and now you're desperate to find him again, but he's probably long gone now.

you can't believe it; the fucker really did ruin you.

it's not until a few months later that you hear that familiar voice again, and your knees almost give out in the middle of the damn store.

(they actually do when simon, he tells you through hungry kisses, bends you in half in the dreadful alleyway, your poor cunt taking each brutal fill of that cock you've been craving so badly.

"she's fuckin' squeezin' me, sweet'art. missed me tha' much?" he chuckles hoarsely in your ear, and you would have fallen over if not for his firm hold keeping you upright.

yep, he can fuck right off again. you'll get your lick back. just as soon as your legs stop shaking and you're not seeing double.)

[prael]

Rivalry

Kinktember Day 8: Hate Sex

(G)I-DLE Shuhua x male reader smut

words: 4,799 Kinktember Masterlist

School rivalries can get fierce, but none as fierce as this one.

It's been drilled in since the very first day, no matter what class you were in. From math tournaments to football games, these schools live and die by their standing. If one of them wins, the entire school wins. If they lose, then the school loses with them.

The fun in this rivalry has long since been drained from the system, replaced with spiteful desperation and a toxic desire. The sort of thing that has spilt well beyond the competition hall or the sports field, so much so that local authorities have had to step in for the safety and peace of mind of the students who might've gotten hurt in the chaos.

Needless to say, no individual is really to blame—or maybe all of them are.

You're coming off the back of a crushing victory at the start of this year's Summer Cup, bringing home an early advantage that, to you at least, has meant you could finally take a breath of fresh air, relax, and support your school the rest of the way. You had been chosen for the bits of media coverage (some of this actually makes national TV) such as the post-game interview spots, something not particularly fun, but something that gives you a chance to enjoy the win and rub it in the face of the rivals. Meaning that you were late to the ice bath and the shower and you're now walking through the corridor alone, while everyone is outside awaiting the next game.

Everyone except her.

There's a girl, wearing an outfit in the colours of your rival. Her yellow (really short) shorts, and white top, rolled up to just below her bust.

"You're in the wrong place," you call out as she walks closer, but she says nothing and gives a casual side-eye as she tries to walk on by. This pisses you off, so you move to block her. "I said you're in the wrong fucking place."

"Funny," she replies through that contemptuous smirk is there. She doesn't even try to mask it. "Since you're the one that's in my way. Get lost."

"See that?" You point to the wall, to the crest of your school. "This is our building. You aren't supposed to be here. What? Can't you read?"

The girl, having fully shifted her attention to you at this point, folds her arms beneath her chest. "Oh, grow up. It's an athletics competition. This is an athletics centre. You can take your tribalism elsewhere, bud."

The nickname and condescending tone, the absolute nonchalance that this girl seems to be able to project when speaking to you...it does something. It sends a twitch through your fists. "My tribalism? You're the one sporting your colours in our building."

The girl makes a brief, sarcastic sound. "I hate you all the same, but that doesn't mean you can deny me using the toilet in here. Move."

"Why don't you walk your pretentious arse back out the door where you came from, find the one next door and use it instead? Just seems like some foolish excuse to come in here and sabotage us, you people have a track record of this shit."

"Yeah, or," she responds, giving the most fake smile, before taking a step forward into your space. "Maybe I really need to use a toilet. Ever consider that, smart guy?"

This close, you can really take a good look at her. From her petite and lithe, athletic figure, to her soft skin, and messy ponytail. Her demeanour, too, along with her hazelnut eyes and pouting lips. It takes a moment, but soon, you recognise her. This is Shuhua. Maybe the most vocal of your rivals. Known for her antagonistic behaviour, her temper, her endless mocking and recently her frustration with always coming second.

"I know you."

"Congratu-fucking-lations, now step aside unless you want me to piss down your leg."

You grit your teeth at her crude words, "Toilet huh? Okay. Use it, but I'm escorting you there and then back out of the building. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you."

"I don't know, I'm a pretty skinny girl and you're a strong guy, maybe you could throw me pretty far..." Shuhua says as she steps past you. "You can wait by the door, fucking pervert."

You roll your eyes but don't dignify the insult with a response. Instead, you make sure to walk closely by her side and lead her to the ladies toilet. "You've got five minutes."

"Oh no. So scared," she drones before you swing the door open for her. She's about to step in when she stalls and glances up at you. "Sure you trust me? What if I... Oh, what if I leave the tap running and waste your water? How's that for sabotage?" Shuhua absolutely drenches her words in sarcasm.

You pull the door closed, forcing her to step inside without waiting for a reply. Once more, your fist twitches at the annoyance.

A couple of minutes pass before the door finally swings open and you watch as the girl saunters back out with a self-satisfied smirk. "There, that wasn't so hard, now was it? Want to come in and check the taps?"

That, funnily enough, does make you laugh, if a little humourlessly. "Don't you ever get sick of yourself? Actually, scratch that, that was stupid to ask, of course not," you mutter. "You know, I almost feel sorry for your school. Having to deal with you must be a real fucking burden. Hey, what's that they say, one bad apple and all that."

"Ugh, the fucking ego," Shuhua shakes her head as if she can't believe the nonsense. "You're even worse in person." She sighs and gestures in a bid for you to lead the way back towards the exit.

"Sounds like jealousy to me," you retort and start walking, and she follows behind. "Doesn't feel great, does it?"

You don't have to look, her exasperated scoff speaks volumes. "Wow. Is this really what your school thinks? Of course, it is, why would I ever have thought differently. You are all so fucking alike. All stuck in this same, boring headspace. And for the record, no, it isn't 'jealousy'. There is no jealousy here because I, unlike you, can pull my head out of my arse."

She's nothing if not stubborn, and while you know she's trying to get a rise out of you, you bite, "You're all the same at that fucking school, this is who they raised. Vocal, obnoxious, bitter. Too much time caring about how you look rather than results—"

A door slams behind you. You turn. The door to the locker room. Shuhua has disappeared.

You rush into the door, throwing it open. Empty, or so it seems, but she has to be in here somewhere. You walk down the left row of lockers, taking slow, quiet steps. Listening, hoping to hear the smallest bit of movement. The crunch of feet, a giggle, the slight jangle of coins.

Nothing.

You're approaching the end of the row of lockers and nothing so far. You get right up against the corner, readying to quickly round it when you think you hear a small breath from just the other side.

Three, two, one, and you launch yourself around the corner.

Shuhua is right there, waiting, she grabs you by the shoulders and pins you against the lockers with a crash, before smiling sweetly.

"What the fuck are you doing—"

You're immediately hushed by the feeling of something soft pressed against your lips, followed by the press of a hand against your groin and a thigh, nestled right between yours.

It takes a moment. You're not quite sure how to process this. It's instinct more than anything that makes your hands come to grasp and clutch Shuhua's ass firmly. She grins and lets out an approving hum, slipping her tongue in while squeezing harder against your groin and getting another equally pleasurable response of you tightening your grip on her.

There's a few moments of this, kissing, back against the lockers, Shuhua against your chest. Then, your tongue meets hers, and she lets a soft moan into your mouth. A moment of weakness that allows you to shove her backwards against the wall with a thump. It takes less than a moment and you're both back at it again, clawing away at each other. Your body presses her into the wall, lips parting before briefly, quickly reconnecting. Shuhua doesn't resist, and not long after, you've parted the kiss, she's moved her lips to your neck and you're running a hand down her thigh.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you growl into her ear as your fingertips approach the edge of those frustratingly short shorts. "Did your little brain figure out you can't win these events so you have to find other ways to know what winning feels like? If you can't beat them, fuck them?"

The girl pulls herself from your neck and takes a fist full of your hair. "You piece of shit," she seethes. "Like you aren't desperate for this pussy."

You aggressively push your hand up under her shorts and she squeaks as you clutch the flesh of her ass in a tight grip. You pull her and she raises a leg around you. "This pussy? You have got to be kidding me. Have you seen the cheerleaders at our school?"

She uses her legs to push you aside, forcing you to swap positions with her. She has you against the wall now, and her hand has dipped down the front of your shorts. She's grinning, groping you in a tight, frustratingly wonderful, fist. "Bunch of bimbos who fall to their knees as soon as you turn on the charm."

"I didn't even have to turn on the charm for you. What does that say about you?"

She takes a firmer grip on your length and a loud groan escapes from deep within you. Shuhua can't help herself, her lips quirking into that insufferable smirk, her eyes shining. "It says that you couldn't take your eyes off my ass the entire walk down that corridor, you fucking animal. You were practically salivating. Just like you're doing now."

She uses her free hand to swipe her thumb against the corner of your mouth.

"Pretty sure that's yours," you tell her before you slide your hands up her exposed sides and slip your fingers under her shirt, pulling it up and she quickly raises her free arm so you can slip it over it and over her head, leaving it around the arm still buried into your trousers.

There she is, bra and tits on show and being fucking annoyingly hot.

Even if she doesn't stop you from undressing her, she still berates you for it, "Look at you, can't wait to touch them, can you. Are you really that simple? See a pair of tits and you get hornier than a fucking dog in heat?"

"So says the girl who can't get her hand off my cock," you reply, hand slipping beneath her bra and your fingers closing around her nipple.

She raises an eyebrow and looks down at her chest, "Did I say you could touch me there?"

"So now we're talking consent, Miss 'Grab-cock-ask-questions-later'?" you snarl, fingers rolling the nipple in between them. "A bit late, don't you think?"

Shuhua's really stroking you now, even with limited space inside your shorts, she's able to use her thumb to circle around your sensitive tip with each jerk. "Yeah, well. I didn't sign up to get molested by a dickhead like you."

"Right back at you."

Shuhua laughs a little then cracks a wicked smile, one that is as seductive as it is contemptuous. The girl shrugs, reaches a hand behind her and unclasps her bra. She takes her hand out of your shorts and lets it fall off with her shirt. Bare little tits with stiff nipples stare at you—and you stare back. "Never seen a pair before? Or just not a pair on a girl as hot as me?"

"I've seen better."

"Yeah, sure you have sweetie." Shuhua tugs at the waist of your shorts and underwear until she pushes them down to your knees. "You know..." she starts as her gaze drops down to your aching shaft. "There's a rumour at our school that all the guys in your school are decidedly average down there, and are real bad at using them," she looks you in the eye with an eager smile, biting her lip.

"Want to know what they say about girls at your school?" You grab a hand full of her tit in a tight grasp and squeeze her flesh firmly, eliciting a sharp gasp. "They say all the girls are sluts but are fucking terrible at giving head. Funny, since all you seem to do is run your mouth." You push her back until it's your turn to have her pinned against the lockers. "Here, I'll show you how you can put that mouth to better use."

Pushing down on her shoulders, you guide her to her knees. "Hey, I never said that I—" You jerk your hips and you hit her on the cheek with your length. "The fuck?"

"You've been licking your lips since you pulled my shorts down. Stop pretending this isn't what you wanted." You rub yourself against her cheek.

"I should tear this ugly cock right off," Shuhua says as she wraps her fingers around the base of it. Then, before you have time to register it, her mouth is already on you, engulfing your head. The sudden wetness around your most delicate part, her tongue dancing along it, the suction her mouth produces; it's hard to comprehend all of it. What she says and what her mouth is doing contradict one another.

Then her head begins to bob, her lips firmly wrapped around your cock. As she sucks, she simultaneously strokes it, making sure no bit of you remains unserviced. It doesn't take long for her to build a tempo, and it doesn't take long for you to want more.

Your hand locks around her ponytail and she shivers when you pull at it. She glares at you but doesn't complain and continues working your length. Her mouth feels absolutely exquisite—warm, wet, and tight. With every stroke, the desire to be buried inside her gets stronger. You groan, moving her faster on your shaft.

"Rip it off, huh? Look at you sucking me off like the needy little whore you are. Just look at you."

Shuhua moans into you and she keeps on sucking. The vibrations the noise creates are an absolute pleasure. Your hips buck and the motion takes the girl by surprise, who immediately gags as you hit the back of her mouth. She immediately goes to draw back but the hand locked onto her ponytail refuses her release.

"Where the hell do you think you're going," you force your hips forward.

And you're off. You begin facefucking this annoying girl, who struggles and chokes every time you go balls-deep into her mouth. Still, not once does she try to push your hips, or her teeth to bite. Not once does her head make any gesture to signal that she actually wants you to stop, or even ease off. It seems she's determined to prove that she's not only better than all your cheerleaders, or your classmates, but she's also determined to prove that she's capable of taking everything you give, and all without needing to ask for respite.

"You're so much prettier when you aren't talking," you taunt her.

As a response, she stabs her nails into your ass. Hard. The pain makes you roar, both in surprise and anger. Shuhua simply responds by sucking you harder.

As fun as this is, the urge to ravage her more is still incredibly high, even if that means pulling out of the confines of the girl's sinful mouth. You give it a good couple of minutes before you finally relent and let her go. You pull your hips back and Shuhua instantly coughs, splutters and falls backwards onto her rear.

"The fuck do you think you're doing? I'm not done with that. Get it back here." She spits those words at you angrily, looking almost disgusted, with spit drooling down her chin and coating her lips.

You look at her, hunched over the floor, panting, in only her little yellow shorts. Looking more beautiful and desirable than you ever remember her doing on camera or out on the track. You fall on your knees in front of her and push your hand into her shorts, causing her breath to hitch and her pupils to dilate.

"Well aren't you eager?" she hums, letting out a husky purr as your fingertips tease the delicate lips of her entrance. "What's up, couldn't take any more of my mouth? We're you going to cum so quickly? I know you've never had anyone quite like me before."

"Not even close to cumming," you sneer. "In fact, let's get one thing clear. I don't have standards as low as the boys in your school, I don't just cum at the sight of some tits and the feel of your trashy mouth." Your finger slips past her lips and a surprised moan escapes her throat. "God you're fucking soaked."

"Trashy?" she scoffs and slowly rolls her body in response to your intruding digit. "Should have seen your face with my lips around you, you fucking adored it, dickhead. If you want disappointment, try being in my shoes. This pathetic excuse for fingering? It's like when I did it for the first time."

"Yeah?" You drive a second finger into her and curl your fingers as you begin to stand, forcing her to follow you to her feet. You push your body against hers, pinning her to the locker, squishing those tits against you.

She lets out a taunting, "Yeah" this time, huskily, while arching her back a little, raising those beautiful breasts. "And my first time was real bad. I couldn't even make myself cum. Maybe we do have something in common." While she's talking, you're using your other hand to free her shorts and panties from her hips, sliding them over that juicy ass that you press against the cold metal locker. "I doubt you have ever made a girl c—"

You move fast and hard. Your fingers curled into her cunt, palm pressed against her clit, thrusting into her, and your eyes fall right onto hers, piercing, right into her soul. Her eyes widen with shock and then quickly darken and roll back. Those sweet, vicious lips of hers open as her mind is stunned into silence and her face contorts in pleasure. "Cute," you smirk, speeding up.

"I—I'm fine. You—" You push your other hand against her neck and you lean right against her ear.

"Shut your pretty mouth," you growl, you thrust your fingers deeper. Shuhua can't control the shocks of her own pleasure as she grows limp, her eyes rolling back, her moans coming out uncontrollably and rapidly. Her pussy is quivering, pulsing, you can feel her orgasm growing inside.

You push closer and kiss her as the muscles in her lower belly spasm, and she trembles as her cunt clamps down on your fingers. Shuhua pulls and scrapes her fingers along your skin. "Fucking god, fuck," the girl tries to continue to speak, but she is in total ecstasy. You drink the words directly from her mouth.

When you pull away, her body falls away from the locker, but you hold her tightly and dip a hand right under the curve of her ass, keeping her standing. You smirk triumphantly. "Who can't make you cum, bitch?" you tease her.

"Fuck you," Shuhua mumbles into your ear.

"Oh, you will." You shuffle across the room, finding the nearest bench and falling back onto it, pulling Shuhua onto you. "This is all you're good for, I bet." You pull your shirt over your head and then Shuhua throws herself against your naked body. Her tits press against your bare chest, and your stiff cock is trapped between your stomachs.

"We'll see," she breathes, running a hand into your hair and yanking at the locks as she pulls herself upright.

Your lips meet hers, a passionate and desperate union as the need to be in her consumes your every fibre. Tongues dance and your hands explore one another's bodies. Groping, stroking, touching, squeezing, grinding. When the kiss ends, she leans her forehead against yours, her eyes lidded.

"I hate you," you growl into the space in front of her.

"You too," she says, hoisting her hips up over your cock. With a mischievous and playful look in her eye, she furrows her eyebrows. "But you won't when this is over. You're gonna fucking worship me."

Before you can think to retort, she sinks herself onto you and, after what feels like a torturously long series of minutes of teasing and waiting, your bodies finally unite. Her inner walls are unbelievably hot and wet, squeezing down around you as if desperate for you to remain buried within her. Shuhua makes no attempts to hide her expression, her head rolls back and her teeth press down on her lip to conceal an enchanting whine. Her breasts press firmly into your hands as you hastily reach to cup them.

It doesn't take long at all for the pair of you to adjust, and you begin to pump your hips beneath hers. She's fucking down onto you too and it's a mess, there's no rhythm, two different bodies fighting to control a single movement, all the while searching desperately for the best result. You're on different wavelengths, and it's glorious, the chaos is addictive. It's raw fucking, and it's fucking amazing.

As frustrating and confusing as it is, nothing in the world feels better right now. Your chest heaving with every desperate gasp as she grinds onto you and around you, her lust-filled gaze still struggling to fight away your shared frustrations, it's raw and incredible.

"Oh God, right there." Shuhua squeezes her eyes shut and buries her forehead into the crook of your neck, her body shuddering and tensing with every push you make into her. Her pace on you is irregular, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. But as her orgasm grows inside of her, she sinks harder and deeper down upon you, taking you as deep as she possibly can and as often as you will give it to her.

"Bad at using it, am I?" you jest with a strained voice, slapping her ass hard as the impact causes it to ripple. "So bad that you're cumming already?"

"Tch." She goes to speak, to say something witty and defiant, but the sensation hits and her eyelids flutter, she twitches and lets out a shuddering moan as another climax hits her, "Ah fuck. God." Her nails dig into the skin of your chest, hard, painful enough that you hiss. "I'm doing all the work here."

"As you should be. Getting the privilege to ride my cock, the least you could do is break a sweat," you tell her.

She opens her eyes to flash you a glare and she slams her body down on your hips a bit faster. "You just know— that you couldn't— fuck as good as me."

Shuhua rides you mercilessly, completely lost in her desire to get herself off again. You enjoy the way her tits bounce and the way you can freely land a series of spanks on her bouncing ass.

"Guess that makes me more of a winner than you'll ever be." She tries to bite her lip, to hide it, but the pleasure that shines through her features is impossible to miss. She cums again, harder, no doubt about it.

This time, when the climactic orgasm subsides, she fights against her exhaustion with ragged, heavy breaths. You can see her lips twitch. Words escape her, so instead, she focuses on attempting to ride your cock even more mercilessly, just like earlier.

"Looks like you're all spent," you continue and push a hand onto her hip, steadying her before shoving her aside and away, pulling out. Shuhua topples and stumbles onto the floor, with her hands on the bench, breathing heavily. She's bent over the bench and her back glistens with a thin layer of sweat, her ass up in the air. Her body trembles with anticipation.

You don't hesitate. Not for a single second.

Before Shuhua can so much as open her mouth, you're behind her, your hands on her hips, her skin slick.

"Here's your loser's prize," you tell her as you slide back home, back inside her, feeling yourself plunged so deeply. Her thick ass presses against your hips and you spread it to push in deeper. You take in the beautiful view of her well-toned, petite back. The outline of every muscle stretches and flexes as she claws desperately at the benches as her pleasure is recharged, and restored, as though the fire is reignited with your touch. She lets out a soft little hiss, the briefest hint of displeasure that's quickly overcome by her passion for the raw sensation of sex. She relishes your presence and your length, and as she relaxes once more, she allows herself to sink into the rhythm of the rut.

You fuck her, taking pleasure in the way her body pushes back against yours, your balls slapping against her, and the obscene wet noises as you take her from behind. It's a dizzying crescendo, a desire so great that it cannot possibly be contained. To both yourself and Shuhua, desire cannot be denied, for you to cum inside her.

All you have left now is to pound the life out of this smug bitch's tight cunt, one hard, sharp, aggressive thrust after the other.

"Finally—" You raise a hand and bring it down upon the cheek of her arse. Hard, harsh, jiggling. The skin flushes and burns an angry red. She squeals in delight, she arches her body up as she takes the rough fucking. "Finally something useful has come out of your fucking school. One good pussy, just for me." Another slap. Another cry.

"Making me cum, is all you're good for. Just a cock," she spits back as her body shakes and bucks back onto your hardness, "One good fuck, just for me."

Shuhua straight-up shrieks when you wrap a fist up in her ponytail and yank her backwards, arching her spine. She cums again like this, and the hot rush of pleasure sends you spiralling off the edge yourself. It is utterly satisfying, the burning in your loins, and the immense pleasure that follows as your dick unloads in powerful spurt after powerful spurt. All of the tension evaporates, and all the negativity flows away as you find absolute pleasure. Shuhua takes what you give to her and it's absolute bliss.

For the longest moment, there's nothing but moans and grunts as you cum together before you let her collapse against the bench and you fall over her. Shuhua heaves beneath you, your warm fluids slowly leaking out around your exhausted cock. You suck in deep, gulping lungfuls of air as you grind out the final dying sparks of a well and truly mind-numbing orgasm.

"Still feel the same way about me now?" you groan. Your cock slips out, followed by a mixture of your combined orgasmic release.

Her head lifts. Hazel eyes focus and then fixate on yours. She almost manages to mask the grin, but she can't help it. Shuhua bites her bottom lip and glances at the space where, moments ago, your body had been conjoined.

"I still hate you. Don't think this means I'm suddenly a fangirl."

"Of course not, it's in your DNA to hate me. Just like how the sight of you still makes me sick." You place a kiss against the top of her spine and savour the brief hum of approval she gives.

"Uh-huh." Shuhua laughs. "Shame you couldn't last a little longer... I was just about to let you fuck my virgin ass." She lays her forehead against the cool wood of the bench, and you rest your head between her shoulder blades. "I guess my pussy is just too much for you."

"Or maybe," you hiss into her ear. "Maybe I'm saving that for the next time I catch your obnoxious ass around here."

"You think there will be a next time?"

"I know there will."

[baepsays]

Cherry liqueur ⸻ Gojo Satoru.

INSPIRED BY THIS ART, BY: @/shimisstuff

cw: blood, to be more specific-period blood, oral sex, eating out (while reader is on their period), no use of specific pronouns, description of fem anatomy, fingering, m! masturbation, freak Satoru really, use of words like 'whore' 'slut' as a tease, use of terms of endearment, pussy slapping (sorry i love that shit), kind of some cum play :p, ye just nsfw stuff proceed with caution!, minors do not interact.

Gojo did not care for the color red. He really likes the color blue, as self centred as it may sound, he loves it. But even with his antipathy for the color red some of his most beloved things were colored red— like red velvet cake, strawberry jello, red macaroons always attract his attention first; something about red being a visually striking color which stimulates excitement or something — what he read. 

He particularly loved cherry pies. Beautiful crusty exterior and red gooey, sticky, bitter-sweet cherries inside. Anyone would think it is probably because he might like cherries. Which is not half wrong, he found his affinity for cherry desserts— specifically cherry pie and cherry liqueur cake, because his favorite red dessert is not always available at his disposal. And to frankly explain what is it? Your cunt, specifically when you're on your period. 

How did he find this— let's say unusual — affinity? It was very sudden, he was enjoying your saccharin taste on his tongue, nothing out of the ordinary. He truly enjoyed eating you out, savouring your taste way more than any average person may enjoy. He is the true definition of munch, this man could eat you, lick you, just smother his face in between your thighs for hours. That specific day you were really tired and he oh so kindly offered to perform oral on you to put you to sleep. He had cleaned you up in the bath, dressed you in your pajamas, laid you down on his plush bed, and ate you out like a starved man— a few mins in he suddenly tasted a new flavor spreading through his mouth. It was an uncannily identical flavor of cherry liqueur, a little less sweet but exactly bittersweet, slightly tart, overall very cherry.

You were too tired to even be conscious throughout the entire thing. You had passed out and it was only when he came up to catch a breath he realized that you started your period. Surprisingly it didn't deter him. He did go back in and finish you then cleaned you up once again, put on a pad in your underwear, cleaned up the sheets and himself. He particularly liked the look of himself covered in your blood reflecting back into his eyes. And the taste he could not forget or recreate. 

Since then he went on to practically begging you to let him taste you when you're bleeding. He seriously jumped up to the bed the day after that happened and went “please let me eat you out again.” 

And honestly you wouldn't say no, how can you ever deny your poor toru, then you realize the situation. That you're on your period and you had your period yesterday, this request of his is basically because he ate you out with arousal, blood and all things nasty. So it took him some serious convincing, begging, and a really shitty day where your cramps were hurting so bad that even the meds didn't help— to let him eat you out again blood and all. So he eagerly offered a massage, then some whispering in your ears about how good it'll feel and how it'll help with the pain. Long story short you gave in. And he became an obsessed vampire.

This brings us here, where there is a big thick towel under you, and you are on his bed. Naked, back arched, thighs engulfing his entire head, his white hair pushed back with his black headband. One time he was eating you out in similar circumstances with his hair down and he looked like a white cat who attacked a jar of jam. 

One of your hands clawed down on his shoulder, the other gripping the edge of the pillow under your head— trying to hold onto any semblance of sanity. 

“Ugh sweets. So sweet.” He rumbles in between your thighs right on your pussy. 

You were armed wordless, rid off of anything more than moans, grunt, sighs and whimpers. It did help that he pried your thighs off his head, with much reluctance—you best believe he would not die anywhere rather than right between your legs, breathless — he sits up, the sounds of his breathing heavy to even your senseless ears. He puts one of your ankles up on his shoulders, the other leg he hikes up to wrap around his waist. With a smear of red all across his cheeks, chin, and lips, he starts licking a stripe up from your ankle towards your thighs.

“Such a messy fucking whore for your toru right angel?” He says as he reaches your thighs and bites down lightly. 

“No answer? Huh. Have I slutted you out too hard? Hmm?” He lets out a slight chuckle, then continues to lick your inner thighs clean. He gathers all the blood and cum glistening around there, neat and blank to paint all over again. 

“P-please toru.” 

“Please what sweets?” He heaves out, clearly he is also having a hard time over here. But for the sake of prolonging your empty hazed up state of mind, asking and begging him to let you find your climax— that's how he found his own pleasure. 

“Need more.” you push yourself up on your forearms to look back at him, staring up at you with both your legs now hanging from his shoulder, eyes glowing in the abyss between your thighs.

“More? I give you my all and you still want more? My little insatiable whore.” His hand comes down to slap your clit, he gives it a second and puts down two more slaps right on your entrance. And you give out a loud screeching noise and fall back down on the bed. Gripping on his hair, headband, his hand which just slapped your pussy—now rubbing and tugging on your clit. 

“Honestly sweets say the word and I'll put the world at your feet.” He frees his hand from your grip, landing another little slap on your clit then slowly sliding a finger inside you. While all you can do is frail around and jerk from the shivers running down your body. His other hand, pulls his dick out of his boxers, then goes to gather some blood and cum dripping down your entrance and aids it as lube to jerk off himself. 

“MORE SATORU!” 

“More? Aw but I am giving you my all sweetheart, you want more? More of me? My fingers? Anything? Tell me. Say it. Ask me, beg me. Look me in the eyes and command me.” And you do, somehow bring yourself to look at him. With a huge grin adorning his face, his fangs on display, ready to suck up every drop of blood you bless him with.

“Put another finger in toru. Please make me come.” 

“As you wish and more, angel.” And his grin widens as he pushes, another finger in. He really does give you what you wish and more — because he puts a third finger in you, then turns all three of them up to find your spongy walls with the rough pads of his finger. He speeds up the other hand running up and down on his cock as he finds the said sweet spot. He moves both his hands at a matched speed, imaging your walls gripping on his dick while he thrusts in and out of you with the said dick, instead of his fingers. 

You don't have much in you, words or patience to hold back and time your climax with his. “ I am gonna cum toru, I am gonna- please. Please. Oh my goodness, please Satoru.” you cry out, begging him to let you cum.

“Do it sweets. Come all over my- Ha. Fingers. Come on. Be my good little whore. Won't you sweetheart?” He talks you into your climax and you come undone on his fingers, gripping down on all three of his fingers, but his movements do not stop. The squelching noise mixed with your moans and his pants are obscene. Maybe not as obscene as your cum mixed up with your blood. 

He fingers you through it all, until you finish and even when you're getting aftershocks— he does slow down and focuses more on pressing down on your walls than ramming through you. Once you stabilize a little he pulls his fingers out, which elicits a whimper out of you. 

He sits up again, he changes the hand gripping his cock. He positions his cock on your cunt, and proceeds to jerk himself harder, chasing his own climax, with the hand he used to just finger you. Your cum and blood— sticky and coated all over his cock. 

You lean back up to grip onto his neck, your foreheads touching, panting and whimpering into each other's mouth—tongues twirling around each other, you taste your cum and blood on him. Metallic and nasty, but you'd never hold back from giving him everything, even if it means kissing him in such a feral state. 

You lick the blood clean from the corner of his mouth, and that does it for him. He shoots ropes and ropes of cum all over your cunt. On your entrance, on your stomach, on your inner thighs— mixing up with the previously mixed in cum and blood. And he moans into your mouth throughout it all. Eyes shut, orbs of glowing blue hidden behind all that red smeared across his face.

“You are just the best dessert ever.” he says upon calming down a little and looking right into your eyes, then looking down at the mess between you two.

“Should I get another towel? Come on my dick next.” Nevermind. Maybe you two are capable of much more obscenities.

Safe to say, maybe Satoru is not so apathetic towards the color red. Especially when it tastes so sweet to him. 

a/n: dividers by @/omi-resources & @/sister-lucifer. wasn't gonna write then aashi (@fushitoru) beloved sent that ask and how can i ever deny her <3 AND THANK YOU SM TO SHIMI FOR LETTING ME USE THE ART!!! please check out more of her art! it is so beautiful!!

to access more of my works-click here.

[kenyummy]

HIGHLIGHTS OF THE NEL ꒰⚘݄꒱ BLUE LOCK

SYNOPSIS : the highlights of the NEL seem to go viral on social media, and it seems the ones surrounding you, as blue lock's dear manager, are the most popular. which are the four most popular?

notes: hey guys u should read wahhh this was very very fun to write

#4 — BONDING TIME OVER CHESS! 2.0m VIEWS

Sitting at a small table, is you and the one and only coach of the infamous German team—Noel Noa. There is a small jug of water on the table in front of you both and also a chess table.

You clutch your chin between your fingers thoughtfully, eyes narrowed and squinted down at the board. Each of you has equal pieces taken away, and he's seemed to have cornered your pieces on the table.

He's watching you with an unreadable expression—you hardly notice through your intense thinking.

A game, all about strategy—It's no surprise you and Noa were locked intensely in a game such as this. It is a game that centres around your team's core values, and there's no substitution for cold, unfiltered logic.

Your eyes light up, and you move your piece on the board. Underneath the table, you cross your fingers as he makes his next move.

It is not long at all before your smile widens and you move your pieces along—collecting his King piece and practically sparkling when you announce, "Checkmate."

He shows a semblance of emotion—shock—when his eyes widen at your moves. It's for such a split second that it was nigh impossible to catch it if you blinked—however, his expression soon reverted back to normal as soon as the reality of his loss sunk in.

"Hm." That is all he has to say. He stares down at the chess board for a few silent moments longer, then says, "I did not expect that. That was a smart move."

You aren't too prideful, but you feel like preening like a peacock at the praise. You smile, placing your linked hands on your lap and nodding, "Thank you. It only worked because I believed you would take the most logical option possible for that next move."

You gesture towards the barren pieces left around his king. If Noa were a regular person, you're sure he would've smiled.

But he is not, so he didn't. "...Good job."

You don't expect the way his large hand finds its way atop your head and how he gives you a singular head pat. You blink incredulously, with dotted eyes.

He pulls away after a moment and you cough into a closed fist. "Master... how about another game?"

He has an indifferent tone—"Sure."—But the way he looks at you fondly tells you all you need to know.

You smile—ignoring the crash and bang of the unsupervised training behind you—and keep smiling as Ness chases Raichi through the room with a kitchen knife.

COMMENTS:

— mimiziiii: THE MOST ICONIC FATHER AND DAUGHTER DUO FRRR

— noastan2234: noa is so hot I want him

— user464637: IM LITERALLY SOBBING THEY PLAY CHESS THEYRE SO CUTE SHSBHSGSHSJ

     — user464637: father snd daughter are father and daughtering

#3 — BATTLE OVER THE BATHROOM! 2.6m VIEWS

Aryu and you are at a standstill. Staring at each other, you both are silent and glaring.

You move quicker than the eye can see—rushing forward and using your hand to push the taller man behind you. "Ladies first," you try to say, excusing yourself but is quickly tugged backward.

You screech, lips forming into a nasty scowl at the man tugging your lacy singlet like you're a dog, "WHAT THE HELL, JYUBEI?!"

He winces at the mention of his name, but holds his head up high and huffs, "A glam being such as I deserve to use the bathroom first."

"You and your long ass hair takes years to dry! I need it more!"

Sparkles fly around Aryu and he makes a glam pose, "I don't think so, my [name] dear. I cannot waste a moment to not deter my extreme—" He makes the mistake of letting go of you for a moment to gesture to himself, "—Glam."

His head is suddenly jerked back as you roughly tug it and hiss through your teeth, "Just be a good boy and let me use the bathroom—and I won't make your life hell during training, okay?"

He screams, eyes hardening at you, "You cretin! How dare you touch my hair?! The mop on your head doesn't need any care whatsoever!"

You gasp in offended shock and lunge at him, "Oh no you didn't—"

Five minutes of tussling and petty insults later—it is abruptly stopped by the upward grab of somebody tossing the skinny, spider-limbed boy over their shoulder.

"What... the hell... are you idiots doing?" There, in all his pajamaed, loose-hair glory, is Barou Shoei, holding Aryu in a death grip and staring at you two with an aura of death. His tone is nothing short of dangerous. "You... woke up the entire stratum."

You blink, wide-eyed, while Aryu flips his hair around like a buzzing fly.

"What the hell are you all yappin' about?" Aiku walks in with pants hanging low and shamelessly shirtless—yawning and eyes half-lidded while Niko stands beside him in an oversized shirt with the print, Sleep, Anime, Game, Repeat.

Sendou is walking like a sluggish zombie with a bright pink eye mask on that says, Pretty, with him inches away from walking into a wall, if Lorenzo had not steered him away with a loud cackle.

Suddenly, you stand up and dash forward, "Well, thanks for letting me use the bathroom!" You don't waste a second in flashing Barou a pearly smile and waving as you close the bathroom door.

Behind her, Aryu lets out a loud scream of frustration and Barou snaps at him to shut the fuck up.

COMMENTS:

— barouscleaningspray: OH BAROU SHOEI THE MAN THAT YOU ARE MY MAN FOREVER AND EVER

— cutiepiecoded: AND THEN THEYRE DOING EACHOTHERS HAIR THE NEXT DAY SHSGHSHS I LOVE THEM

— user33535: ubers the only family ever

— animefan222: niko so real for that shirt

#2 — GETTING INTERRUPTED! 4.3m VIEWS

You peek your head into an—almost—empty training room, blinking curiously and surveying the inside. Your eyes light up like stars when you catch sight of something inside the room. The camera pans to show that thing happened to be Isagi Yoichi.

"That shot you made during training was so incredible," you say, taking a seat beside him. A towel is wrung around his neck and he's drinking out of a water bottle like it is the first time he has ever touched water.

Sweat drips down the side of his face—he wipes it away with a large pearly grin and tilts his head toward you, "Right? I could barely believe I did it."

"But you did!" You look to be just as excited as he is, twinkling with joy and smiling wide, "Even Mariele was impressed! You did great, Isagi! If you can replicate it during a game, it will be perfect!"

Isagi stands up suddenly—seeming to be bursting with energy and joy—he situates himself in front of you and you stare up at him, "It's perfect!"

You laugh, standing up in front of him and he places his hands on your shoulders, "It is!"

You both start giggling uncontrollably together—even from a viewing perspective, the energy in the room is unmistakable—and he stares deeply into your eyes with a soft smile.

You look up at him with a similar expression—eyes-half-lidded and squinted upwards—you start to lean in, slowly, when—

"[name]!"

You nearly fall backwards, if not for Isagi's arm wrapping snugly around your waist and tugging you forward. Your head snaps towards the source of the noise in the room—and there stands Gagamaru, with an empty, confused look in his black-hole eyes.

You step aside, away from the egoist—you don't catch the disappointed look on his face as you look towards your goalkeeper—"Sorry, Gagamaru, what did you need?"

He blinks, soullessly. "We've run out of tide pods again."

Isagi is shown rolling his eyes in the background and grabbing his towel.

COMMENTS :

— THEdiva: AHHH THEY WERE SO CLOSEEEE <3333

— cloudycloudss: isagi and [name] have so much chemistry!!! i hope they start dating :((

— soccersoccer888: i hate isagi GOD I HATE ISAGI kaiser is so much better for her i cant

— jellylover3: NOOOO GAGAMARUUUU WHYYYYYY

— isa[name]stan_2626: THE WAY HER EYES LIT UPP WHEN SHE SAW HIM. THEYRE THE REASON I BELIEVE IN LOVE.

#1 — THE FIGHT OVER THEIR MANAGER! 5.6m VIEWS

The video abruptly starts at a strange angle, where Ness has a death grip on the front of Isagi's shirt, "Shut. Up! Die, Yoichi! DIE!"

Kurona and Hiori both leap over to try and pry the screeching boy off of Isagi with panicked expressions. Yukimiya, Gagamaru, Raichi and Kaiser all sit in the back without seeming worried whatsoever.

"Get off me—!!" Isagi pushes the magician away with a snarl, eyes narrowing into a hard glare and face contorting uncomfortably. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"How dare you say that to Kaiser?!" Ness regains his composure with a huff and glare, cheeks puffing out like a small child, "Don't you get it?! If Kaiser wants your manager, she's not yours anymore, she's his! This is his team, not yours, idiot Yoichi!"

A stark silence fills the room and everyone's eyes turn to Ness. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care—because his boiling hot glare directed towards Isagi does not falter for a moment.

"Well, that's incredibly presumptious of you to say." Yukimiya steps forward and pushes his glasses furthur up his nose bridge. "You talk about her as if she is nothing more than a exclusivity, no?"

Kaiser grins, pearly teeth peeking out from behind his slim lips, "Oh? Are you Blue Lockers getting all possessive over your little manager, now? Cute."

"Stay away from her," Gagamaru looms over the German with big wide eyes. "She's ours."

"No way!" Ness snarls, forcibly moving the big man away from Kaiser. "Stop talking to Kaiser like this! He's better than you all! You're just stupid stepping stones for—"

Kurona bares his teeth and frowns deeply, "Miss Manager likes us better, anyways. Anyways."

Kaiser squints his eyes and smiles at the shark-boy, head tilted to the side and smile dangerously charming, "Oh? And who said that?"

"Me, obviously." Isagi looks completely and utterly unaffected by Kaiser's words and stands up in front of him without hesitation. He stares, deeply, into his eyes. "You think, that in any world, she'd choose you, over me?"

His eyes rest and he looks strangely calm, "You're a fucking clown, Kaiser."

"Yoichi..." His voice is strained and hard—brows furrow downwards and he does not get a chance to say anything else when Ness pushes him back and gets all up in Isagi's face instead.

"Die, Yoichi! Die, you idiot!"

"Hey now, maybe we shouldn't..." Hiori raises his hand and begins to try and walk closer to the two—when he is swiftly cut off by Raichi yelling something to start a fight—and a fight he earns.

A catfight hidden by the circle of players ensues in the middle of the cafeteria—just as three figures pass by the open doorway.

You peek inside for a moment—then look right back at the people beside you. "Is everything alright in there?"

"If we walk quickly, we will not be able to see them." An ominous reply, from Noa, and that is all the soccer star says before grabbing you by the hand and tugging you along—forever lost and confused about what was going on in the cafeteria that day.

COMMENTS:

— bereal_hoe: HOW DOES SHE DEAL WITH THOSE GUYS I WOULD ACC KMS

— cherrypiepiepie: THE CUTIESSSSS OF THE WORLDDD THEY LOVE HER SM ITS SO ADORABLEEEE

— nonchalantdreadhead34: i cant kaiser is such a DICK

©KENYUMMY 2024

[the-unidentified-author]

Like Northerners | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Cregan Stark x Southern Noble Reader

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW}, smut, minors DNI, established relationship, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another.

You're the wife of Lord Cregan Stark and you share an intimate moment together

Words: 5,644

A/N: This is feral and fithy and I have nothing to say for myself.

*Not my gif and I don’t have anyone to read my fics before I post them so please excuse mistakes.

As laughter and music swirled around you, the candlelight danced like flickering fireflies, casting shadows across the bustling hall. The room hummed with energy, filled with the chatter and movement of people, yet you couldn't recall a time when you'd felt more alone. Your husband thrived in this setting, effortlessly navigating the festivities with the ease of one accustomed to grand gatherings since childhood.

You watched as he mingled with the Northern men who had pledged their loyalty, their voices rising in camaraderie as they spoke of allegiances and battles. Each interaction was smooth and natural, his laughter a deep, comforting sound that mingled with the clinking of goblets. His face crinkled into a warm smile as he clapped a man on the back, their goblets clashing together in a celebratory toast.

In that moment, he unexpectedly turned his gaze to you, his grey eyes finding yours across the room. The connection, filled with unspoken affection and recognition, caught you off guard. Flustered, you let your eyes drop back to your plate, your heart fluttering with a mix of longing and shyness under the weight of his attention.

Cregan rounded the head table where you were seated, moving with an easy grace that belied his formidable presence. As he approached, he paused just behind you, leaning in so that his mouth was close to your ear.

You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. The air was thick with the hum of conversation and music, but Cregan’s closeness seemed to draw you into a world of your own. His subtle scent—a mix of leather and fresh pine—wrapped around you like a familiar cloak. A moment passed, charged with anticipation.

Suddenly, a soft touch on your shoulder broke through your reverie. You turned to find Cregan leaning closer, his storm - grey eyes glinting with mischief. "Enjoying the festivities, my love?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. "Have you eaten your fill?"

"It’s quite the gathering. The preparations are… grand. And no, my lord." you replied, nudging the chicken leg and roasted potatoes on your plate with your fork. "I don't have much of an appetite."

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Grand? Or tedious?" His gaze was playful, yet there was an undercurrent of seriousness in it.

You smiled softly, glancing at the bustling crowd. "A bit of both, perhaps. But the company makes it bearable. It's just so different from what I'm used to."

As if on cue, there was the sound of smashing tableware and the crowd parted in one of the corners, two men at the centre appearing to be making at attempt at a fight. The evening had been long and the two men clearly having indulged a little more than they should have, each throwing slow unbalanced punches that the other could easily sidestep even in their drunken state.

Cregan let out a deep sigh, and he leaned closer. "I was hoping you’d find a moment to escape with me," he said, his breath brushing against your ear, sending tingles down your spine. "There’s a terrace outside, away from all this. Just a few minutes, I promise."

Your heart raced at his suggestion, excitement, and nervousness coiling within you. You nodded, unable to speak for fear of betraying the fluttering in your stomach. Cregan reached for your hand, his grip warm and reassuring as he guided you through the throng of guests.

As you stepped outside onto the terrace, the cool night air enveloped you both. The stars shimmered overhead, twinkling like diamonds scattered across the deep blue sky. Cregan released your hand, and you both leaned against the ornate stone railing, looking out over the vast expanse of Winterfell. The night was cold, your breath leaving your lungs in great white clouds that were pulled out and away from you by the chill wind. On your first night, Cregan had presented you with a beautiful black cloak made from the fur of a dire-wolf he had hunted in the weeks before your wedding. It did a wonderful job at protecting you from the frigid temperature.

“This is more peaceful,” you remarked, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, feeling liberated from the clamour inside.

He turned to you, the moonlight accentuating the strong lines of his face. “Just us here, away from the talk of war and duty.” There was a heaviness to his words, a reminder of the trials that lay ahead. “I needed a moment with you, away from the eyes of the Northern lords.”

"Well, husband," you started, and you could see the flicker of happiness in his eye as you spoke the word. "You are more than welcome to use me as a means of escape whenever you like.”

A flicker of appreciation flashed in his eyes, and he stepped closer, the distance between you diminishing. His gaze softened as he studied your face, the laughter, and merriment of the hall dissolving into the background. “You always know how to ground me,” he said softly. “In these uncertain times, you are my anchor.”

"I think there is at least another hour before I can depart from this celebration without suspicion." he started, looking from you out over the castle.

"Why, would you want to leave the festivities early?" you asked.

His lips curled into a mischievous smile, his eyes sparkling with an intoxicating blend of affection and raw desire. The low rumble of his voice sent a pleasant shiver coursing down your spine. "Well, my love," he continued, his breath still warms against your neck. "I have a new wife, who, I believe, is in need of attention." A playful glint shone from his stormy grey eyes. "We have tried your soft southern way," he continued, leaning in, his breath warm against your skin. "Tonight we fuck hard,” he paused, your breath catching in your throat as he met your eye. "Like Northerners."

His voice was deep and gravelly, rich with the promise of pleasure. The light of the party in the great hall spilled from the doorway behind you both. He stepped forwards and cupped your face in his large hand and kissed you. The kiss was filled with promises of the night ahead. His free hand moving to grip your waist, it was firm and possessive, as though he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go.

Then he stepped away from you, moving back through the doorway into the throng of people enjoying the evening. Your breath caught in your throat, and a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks as you glanced around the empty balcony, terrified for a moment that someone might have overheard his words. Anxiety swirled within you, but there wasn’t anyone out here with you; the lively music spilled from the doorway as you attempted to steel yourself to reenter the celebrations. Yet, the heat in your face lingered, a vivid reminder of the raw emotion he’d stirred in you. The vibrant laughter and clinking of glasses felt distant, as if you were trapped in a world where only his words resonated. You pushed forwards back into the crowd, your eyes searching for him.

As he moved, the shadows in the room seemed to cling to him, accentuating the sharp lines of his features. The orange - hued light made his storm grey eyes appear darker, betraying the unbridled desire that lurked behind them as he glanced over at you. A shiver ran down your spine, not just from the sudden absence of his hands on your body but from the electric anticipation that now filled the space between you.

As the feast continued, the laughter and lively chatter around you seemed to ebb, leaving you cocooned in your thoughts. The golden glow of the torches flickered like fireflies, casting playful shadows on the ornate tapestries that lined the walls. You returned to your seat and absentmindedly picked at your plate, the food forgotten as the thrill of Cregan’s words danced in your mind.

The hour had dragged on, so much so that you began to think it was the longest sixty minutes of your entire life. But finally Cregan returned to your table, excusing himself from conversation with a couple of Lords that stepped into his way on his path to you. He leaned over the back of your chair, placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Shall we?" he asked, looking at you then back to the crowd.

You nodded quickly standing and accepting the arm he offered you. One of the Lords, likely drunk, didn’t accept that Cregan was no longer in the mood for conversation and blocked the two of you before you had managed to make it to the exit.

"My Lord," he slurred, standing unsteady on his feet. "I think we really must talk about this war with the inbred white haired foreigners." he mumbled, gesturing with his goblet so wildly that some slopped out onto the floor at your feet. He looked down at the puddle on the floor and then into his cup as though he were perplexed as to how it had fallen out.

"My Lord," Cregan replied in a tone that almost hid his irritation at the man. "My wife and I are to retire to our chambers for the night, and I believe it to be in your best interest to do the same. Lest someone other than myself hear the treasonous words you so confidently let leave your lips."

The lord's face contorted with fear, and despite his inebriated state making his actions difficult to control, the respect and fear he held for the Warden of the North shot through his haze, sobering him just enough to regain his composure.

""Yes, yes," he replied meekly, pretending someone in the crowd was calling him over. He gave you and Cregan a curt nod before slipping away.

Cregan glanced at you, a soft warmth in his stormy eyes, before placing his free hand gently over your arm that was entwined with his. With a subtle nod to the guards, he signalled them to open the doors. As they swung open, you both stepped out from the crowded room, moving towards the quiet comfort and privacy of your chambers, leaving behind the clamour and revelry of the feast. The anticipation of solitude and the closeness of his touch made your heart beat a little faster as you walked side by side.

* 

As you both reached the quiet solitude of your chambers, the door closed softly behind you, shutting out the distant echoes of the night's celebrations. The room was dimly lit by a fire flickering in the hearth, the flames cast lively, warm shadows across the ancient stone walls, it made the space feel cosy, the stress of the day melting off you. Cregan guided you to a chair covered with furs near the fire, the heat a striking contrast to the persistent chill that lingered in Winterfell’s expansive halls.

He knelt beside you, his eyes roaming your face with affectionate tenderness. "I’ve been wanting to steal you away all evening," he murmured, his voice tinged with relief now that you were finally alone.

You smiled, reaching out to entwine your fingers with his. "I’m glad you finally managed it."

Cregan chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "The whole night my thoughts have only been of you. "

He stood up, drawing you into his arms. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, grounding you amidst the uncertainties beyond these walls. "For now, let's forget everything else," he said softly.

Cregan's fingers traced slow circles on your hand, his gaze soft and focused solely on you. You could sense the shift in the atmosphere, the intimacy between you both becoming more palpable.

"What do you think, wife?" he murmured, his voice a warm caress that matched the heat in his gaze as it returned to yours. "Do you think we should retire to bed for the night?"

You smiled and stood, allowing him to draw you close, pulling you against his solid frame. His arms wrapped around you securely, and he gazed down at you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

"I assume sleeping is not what you have in mind?" you teased, your eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"No," he whispered against your hair, his breath warm and inviting, "that is not what I have in mind at all."

You tilted your head slightly, playful curiosity painted across your features. "You mentioned the northern way. Would you enlighten me on what that means?"

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "In the south," he explained, his voice deepening with affection, "it seems to be the duty of the wife to satisfy the husband. Here in the North, it is the duty and responsibility of a husband to ensure his wife is well taken care of."

"Taken care of?" you asked.

With a gentle chuckle, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Let me show you," he murmured, his voice a soothing promise. His fingers wove into your hair, guiding your gaze back to his as he captured your lips in a kiss, before pulling away.

Slowly, he took your hand, leading you toward the bed, each step a silent vow of what was to come. The room was a sanctuary, the flickering fire painting playful shadows across the stone walls. As he drew you near the bed, his touch was both gentle and firm, conveying strength and tenderness in equal measure.

His hands lingered on your waist, tracing the curve of your back with reverence. He paused for a moment, his stormy grey eyes locking with yours, silently asking for permission, for trust. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips, and together you sank onto the bed, your back welcomed by the soft furs as he moved over you.

Cregan leaned in, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. Your breath caught in your throat, anticipation swirling within you as he moved closer.

His hand reached up, gently cupping your cheek as he tilted your face towards his. The kiss that followed was unhurried, achingly slow exploration of lips and breath, each movement filled with an emotional depth that seemed to transcend mere physicality.

His lips were warm and soft against yours, the slight roughness of his stubble creating a delicious friction against your skin. A low, breathy sound escaped from the back of your throat as you leaned into him, your hands finding his shoulders, holding on to him as if to anchor yourself amidst the swirling current of emotions.

With the kiss deepening, Cregan's hands began to explore, tracing a line from the curve of your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer. The sensation of his touch sent a shiver racing across your skin, heightening every sense.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, he smiled against your lips, a mixture of warmth and desire in his eyes. Gently, he began to slide the fabric of your dress from your shoulders, the soft material whispering down your arms as it slowly fell away.

His fingers were sure and tender as they traced the newly exposed skin, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. The cool air was a stark contrast to his touch, enhancing the sensation and causing the hairs on your skin to stand on end.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur that made your heart race. His large hands spanned your waist, drawing you closer still, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate space between you. "Out there I am a Lord and you are a Lady. In here, you are my wife, and I am your husband, do you understand me?"

Your breath hitched, words stuck somewhere between thought and voice. You nodded, a small, affirmative gesture that spoke louder than any words could. A soft laugh bubbled from his chest, rich and warm.

"There won't be an inch of you left untouched tonight, not a part of you that doesnt know my touch" he murmured, his voice a soft promise carried by the crackling of hearth flames. His fingertips continued their exploration, memorising every curve and line of your body like a map he intended to know by heart.

His hands traveled down your arms, featherlight across your skin, stirring electric anticipation with every touch. As he reached the intricate fastenings of your dress, he took a moment, fingers moving with careful skill. The complicated ties and loops gradually gave way under his gentle yet assured attention, each undone knot a quiet act of unfolding trust between you.

Despite the complexity, there was no rush. Each movement was deliberate, a testament to the patience and reverence he held for you. As he finally loosened the last of the fabric, it cascaded slowly away, finally revealing your body to him.

As he gazed down at you, lying nude beneath him, Cregan's eyes were filled with desire. The sight of you ignited a fire within him, a fire that burned hotter with every curve and line of your body that his eyes explored. He leaned forwards, placing another kiss on your lips before his lips moved across the contour of your jaw and down below your ear towards your neck.

He nipped playfully at the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, igniting a primal fire within you. His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips possessively as he worshipped your body with an intensity that made you feel both alive and claimed. His hands were large and rough, the sensation of them driving you to buck your hips towards him, an action that earned you a smile from him.

His mouth found your breasts, and he lavished fierce attention there, his tongue and teeth teasing your sensitive skin with a raw, untamed passion. You gasped, arching into him, caught in the delicious tension between pleasure and the edge of pain. Unfamiliar ground, but a place you desperately wanted to explore.

Moving lower, his kisses trailed down your stomach, his rough stubble leaving a faint, delightful sting in its wake. His tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, savouring every moment like a beast intoxicated by the scent of his mate. The Wolf of the North was becoming a more fitting title with every passing moment.

As he descended, his hands traveled over your thighs, gripping firmly, spreading you open with a commanding authority. The heat of his breath lingered over the most sensitive parts of you, promising a wild, primal ecstasy that set your nerve endings aflame.

As he spread you open with a commanding authority, his eyes never left yours, locked in an intimate connection that intensified the already potent atmosphere. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin, the sound of it echoing in your ears like the primal growl of a predator claiming its mate.

His fingers dug into your thighs, the sensation both possessive and possessively pleasurable, a reminder of the raw, animalistic passion that coursed through his veins. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the heat of his breath teasing you with the promise of the wild, primal ecstasy that awaited you.

And then, without warning, his tongue darted out, tasting your most sensitive flesh with a skill that belied his seemingly untamed demeanour. You cried out, the sound a mixture of shock and pleasure, as if the very air had been set alight.

Every lick, every touch, served to fan the flames of your desire, the room around you seeming to grow hotter and more humid with each passing second. Your heart was racing, your breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed in the charged silence between you.

Then, just as you thought you might shatter from the intensity, he stopped. The sound that left your lips was a mixture of desperation and longing as you lifted your head, peering down at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

His focus shifted to his attire, hands moving with a fevered urgency as he worked to free himself from the confines of his clothing. He shrugged off his cloak, the fabric falling away followed by the soft sound of it hitting the floor.

Next came the leather armour, the buckles, and straps relinquishing their hold under his skilled hands. Piece by piece, it slipped away, revealing the well-defined muscles that lay beneath, each movement unveiling more of the powerful physique that had surprised you the first night you had met him.

Finally, he reached for the linen shirt, the last barrier between you and the man beneath. He pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric tousling his dark hair before falling forgotten to the floor.

Your breath caught at the sight before you—his chest, broad and strong, the muscles shifting beneath the skin like a promise of the power he possessed. His skin gleamed softly in the firelight, each shadow and highlight accentuating the raw, masculine beauty of his form. The light played across his chest, catching on the subtle scars that marked his skin, each one a testament to his strength and prowess as a warrior. They told silent tales of battles fought and won, accentuating the sinewy resilience of a body refined through conflict and survival. The body of a Northerner.

With nothing left to hide, he met your gaze once more, his storm-grey eyes locked onto yours, reflecting a hunger as deep and consuming as your own. He swept his hair from his eyes, a movement filled with deliberate intent, and closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, his body descending like a promise of passion unspoken.

He was rougher with you than he had been before, his tongue moving with firm skill that served only to push you towards the precipice of pleasure. His arms were circled your thighs, his fingertips digging into your skin, right to the point that lingered between pleasure and pain. He chased you to the edge of ecstasy, your hips bucking upwards in response, the intensity of your climax completely overwhelming you. But he didn't relent, his tongue persisting in its relentless pursuit, never wavering from its mission, as though he was driven by a primal need to bring you to the brink of pleasure again and again.

The room seemed to swirl around you, the air thick with the scent of desire and the sounds of your ragged breaths.

"Cregan," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched your back, the muscles in your legs tensing as you rode out another wave of pleasure. Your other hand clutched at the furs beside you, as you bucked your hips and rode out another wave of pleasure.

His mouth drifted away from yours, and you thought the unrelenting rhythm had finally paused. But then, his finger pressed into you with a gentle insistence, a sensation that was teasing rather than painful. As if sensing your reaction, his mouth returned to your sensitive spot, and his finger curled upwards, creating a blissful mix of sensations.

You found yourself gripping the sheets, your jaw tight, as you tried to hold back the temptation to cry out. The intensity of his actions sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you breathless and utterly captivated in the moment.

His mouth moved from you, and you thought that the relentless cycle had come to an end, you felt one of his fingers gently press into you, it wasn’t painful, but tender. His mouth returned to your clit just as his finger curled upwards towards your bellybutton. It made you grab at the sheets and clench your jaw as you resisted the urge to scream out at the overwhelming pleasure both actions made wash over you.

As his mouth returned to your clit, your hands found the sheets, gripping them tightly as you steeled yourself against the onslaught of sensations. The sensation of his finger curling upwards towards your bellybutton was an exquisite mix of pleasure and anticipation, the intensity building up within you like a tempest.

Your jaw clenched, your breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed in the charged silence between you both. In that moment, it was as if the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

His mouth moved from you, his breath hot on your sensitive flesh. "I want to hear you." he whispered before returning his mouth to you. His finger flexed up, and you again resisted the urge to cry out in pleasure.

His mouth lifted away, and you felt his hot breath on your sensitive skin. "I want to hear you," he murmured softly, his voice like a tempting promise, before he returned his mouth to you. His finger flexed upward, drawing out a surge of pleasure that tested your restraint.

Then he began to kiss and suck relentless again, as if attempting to draw the screams from you. His finger curled upwards, touching something inside that made your vision go white at the moment your climax once again washed over you.

"Cregan," you yelled, your hand grabbing his hair so hard it must have hurt, but he didn’t flinch.

Finally , he pulled away from you, looking up your body and meeting your eye. His mouth was slick with you. His shoulders flexed with a subtle, powerful grace, he slid another finger alongside the first, his touch both careful and deliberate, igniting a new wave of anticipation.

Rising to his feet, he maintained a slow, deliberate rhythm with his fingers, each movement sending shivers down your spine as the fire inside your stomach began to build again. His other hand skilfully worked the belt, the buckle coming undone with a precise flick of his wrist. As he slipped it free, his gaze remained locked on the mesmerising dance of his fingers moving in and out of you. His hand found its way into his trousers, fingers curling around himself, the heat of his own desire evident in his touch. The intensity in his storm-grey eyes reflected the deep, consuming hunger that mirrored your own.

You yearned for him, no, you needed him. The anticipation he had teased out in you ignited a craving deeper than you'd ever imagined possible, reaching into the very core of your being.

He withdrew his fingers from you, leaving you aching with unfulfilled desire. With a decisive movement, he pushed his trousers down his hips, the fabric hitting the floor with a soft thud. His thick cock sprang free, the sight of it causing a fresh wave of lust to surge through you.

You moved to climb off the bed, your desire to take him in your mouth burning bright within you. But as you sat up, he stepped forwards with an air of quiet authority. "No, you stay." he whispered, as he caught your hand as you reached to touch his cock.

"Please?" you whimpered, your eyes falling to his cock, thick veins bulging along its surface.

"Lie back, I told you. Tonight we fuck like Northerners.” he breathed, and you swallowed, sinking back onto the soft furs as you lay on the mattress.

He stepped forwards, grabbing your hips and pulling you roughly, so your pussy was in line with the edge of the bed. His thumb moved to circle your clit. The action causing you to draw in a sharp intake of breath as his rough thumb rubbed the sensitive pearl of flesh.

tThen, his hand shifted, the intensity replaced by the hot head of his cock now sliding up the length of your pussy. He paused momentarily, drawing a sharp intake of breath from you, before he delivered a single swift thrust. Then, he began to glide the length of his cock over your sensitive clit, his movements slow and torturous, each deliberate stroke arousing torment against the bundle of nerves.

Next, he shifted his position, leaning down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss as he continued to slowly thrust over you. His hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers gently tangling in your hair, while the other hand braced his weight against the bed. His lips trailed down your neck, before his hand left your hair to take his cock in his hand. With meticulous care, he guided the head of his cock into you, letting out a deep, throaty moan as he began to move into you with agonising slowness. His determination to make you feel every inch of his thick shaft was evident in his every deliberate movement.

The sensation of him slowly entering you was a mix of intensity and closeness. He seemed to relish the way you moved beneath him, the gradual pace allowing you to adjust to his presence comfortably. Your eyes were drawn to the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply, the tension evident in his firm grip on the bedding beside you, his knuckles turning white. You took comfort in the fact that this was just as torturous for him as it was for you.

With a low grunt from him, he fully seated himself inside you, the sensation an overwhelming mix of pleasure and an indescribable sensation. You revealed in the way that you could take all of him, and the way that he filled you up so completely.

Then he began to rock his hips, slowly, barely any movement at all to begin with, as his grey eyes searched yours asking a silent question. You grabbed the wrist of his hand that was still clutching your hip and nodded.

As his rhythm quickened, his restraint fell away, replaced by a raw, instinctual drive. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to him as every thrust sent waves of pleasure cascading through your body. Your fingers found his wrists, holding on tightly, each touch grounding you in the exquisite intensity of the moment.

He leaned forward, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, every exhale punctuated by a low, primal sound. The connection between your bodies was electric, a shared surge of desire that spurred him to move even faster, each movement more powerful, more consuming.

His hands shifted, one pressing gently on your lower stomach, sending a delightful pressure radiating through you. The sensation heightened your awareness of him, feeling the rhythm of his thrusts and the warmth of his body as it melded with yours.

On the brink of climax, his furious movements pushed you ever closer to that edge—a presence so consuming it threatened to unravel you completely. When the wave finally crashed over you, pulling you under in a rush of explosive sensation, he didn't stop. The relentless rhythm continued, driving you beyond the familiar boundaries of pleasure.

Overwhelmed, you tipped your head back, an almost guttural scream escaping your lips, a testament to the raw, unfiltered intensity coursing through you. You found yourself dancing on that delicate line where ecstasy and pain blurred, but you didn’t dare tell him to stop.

You whimpered softly, your fingers clenching into a tight fist as you bit down on your knuckle. The waves of pleasure threatened to consume you whole, yet in this moment of raw intensity, you found unexpected strength.

Cregan's voice, low and gravelly, resonated with a heady mixture of desire and reverence, punctuating the rhythm of their intimate dance. "Come on now wife," he murmured between breathy moans, the sound of his words blending with the symphony of gasps and sighs that filled the air. "You're the lady of Winterfell. You can take its Lord."

His words were a potent reminder of your role, your status, and what this act would hopefully lead to.

You gritted your teeth, clutching the sheets tightly as another wave of pleasure surged through you. Looking up at him, you marvelled at the way his muscles rippled, flexing with every powerful thrust. The firelight danced across his skin, highlighting the sheen of sweat that accentuated his strong, chiseled form.

In that moment, there was an undeniable sense of possessiveness that bloomed within you—he was yours, completely yours.

His thrusts grew increasingly needy, each one carrying a fiery urgency that filled the quiet room with its resonance. His grunts grew louder, breaking through the stillness, raw and primal. He breathed heavily, the oxygen fuelling his relentless pace.

You watched as his jaw clenched tightly, the muscle in his cheek flexing, a clear sign of his nearing peak. The intensity in his eyes spoke volumes, revealing a vulnerability rarely seen—a moment where desire and emotion intertwined, leaving you both on the cusp of something beautifully potent.

Then he reached his peak, a loud grunt escaping his lips as his final, powerful thrusts rocked through you. The rhythm became a series of uncontrolled, yet intimately satisfying movements, until he nestled deep inside you, your hips aligned perfectly.

He leaned down, the heat of his breath mingling with yours as he captured your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. You cupped his face tenderly, feeling the warmth and tenderness of the moment, his kiss sloppy but passionate.

He released himself gently, collapsing onto the bed beside you with a satisfied sigh. Rolling over, he wrapped an arm around you, drawing you close against his chest, his heartbeat a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.

In the soft glow of the firelight, you nestled into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. It was a moment of peace and connection, where words were unnecessary, and the world seemed to shrink away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in a cocoon of shared warmth and tenderness.

A link to my Complete Invetory

[kitkatscabinet]

Don't feed him he'll come back (3)

Simon riley x neighbour reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment block is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: making out, alcohol consumption.

Part 1 here, Part 2 here.

You start the next day riding the high of the previous night. You feel ridiculous, you’ve had relationships before, had been in love before, but the butterflies that stir in your gut whenever you so much as think of Simon put anything you’ve ever felt to shame.

It’s a little pathetic, you haven’t even kissed him. Not to mention you’ve no idea how he even feels about you. Simon’s an incredibly difficult man to read, where you wore your heart on your sleeve, Simon kept his cards incredibly close to his chest. You knew he at least held some affection for you, otherwise he’d never tolerate you dragging him from his apartment into yours. Something that feels dangerously like hope swells in your chest when you remember how tenderly he’d tucked you in and you desperately tried to stamp it out.   

Casting your mind back, you attempt to pinpoint exactly where along the path you’d fallen so thoroughly and irrevocably in love with the mysterious neighbour that scared the shit out of so many tenants. Was it when you’d first seen his face? 

No that wasn’t it, although, Simon was one of the most stunning men you’d ever seen. You’d been speechless when he’d revealed his face, something you’d been teased for relentlessly, his cocky smirk appearing in the subject of your dreams. 

It had to have been before that though, because even if Simon was the ugliest man alive, you’d still love him. 

Perhaps it had been when he’d first sat down across from you at the small kitchen counter, large bulk and dark clothing incredibly out of place against the backdrop of your colourful and plushie-filled apartment. It was the first time you’d ever seen him nervous, or rather the first time you could tell he was. But for all that he initially seemed out of place, seeing him in the sanctity of your home made your heart sing with affection. 

(Though a part of you acknowledges that your heart has belonged to Simon Riley from the moment he laughed at one of your stupid jokes, it just took a while for your brain to catch up to what your heart already knew.)

You’d never meant to fall in love with the neighbour who’d reeked of loneliness, loneliness that you’d unfortunately recognised and silently vowed to do your best to alleviate. You’d never intended for your feelings to bloom and grow into a garden that now centred around Simon Riley.  

But they had. They had and no matter what you did you knew they weren’t likely to be stomped out any time soon. 

Knocking on his door that night you try to douse the disappointment that fills you when he doesn’t answer. It wasn’t often that Simon was called away so abruptly that he didn’t even have time to let you know but it still happened occasionally. Sending him a swift text you wish him a safe deployment and sign it off with a new joke you think he’d appreciate. 

The days pass much the same. You wake, think about Simon, send him a text and continue about your day. Although you're used to the radio silence it’s like the acknowledgement of your feelings makes the worry and restlessness ten times worse. 

When the three-month mark hits with no indication that Simon has even seen your texts, your worry starts to turn into an all-encompassing panic. More than once you’d been so distracted that you’d made a mistake at work, earning the concern of your coworkers and friends as you were unusually out of it. 

You want to reassure him but you can’t even reassure yourself. What if he was dead? Would you ever even find out? You weren’t family, there would be no obligation to let you, a random stranger, know. Is this how you were doomed to spend the rest of your life, wondering what had happened to your beloved Simon?

Another two months pass and you’re nothing short of a nervous wreck, your dreams and waking thoughts filled with awful scenarios of Simon being tortured, dying or dead. You can’t sleep, can’t even bring yourself to cook, because it reminds you so painfully of him. 

The perpetual state of simply not knowing starts to become too much to bear and you’re on the brink of doing something truly desperate when you run into your landlord. You’re on good terms but he’d not exactly someone you’d ever gone out of your way to speak to. Now, however, you were practically tripping over yourself to catch his attention, not even bothering with small talk. “Have you heard anything from Simon?”

The man’s confusion is palpable and it takes a few minutes of stilted and baffled conversation before he discerns who you’re asking after. “Ah, the man with the mask,” he gestured towards his face, “he terminated his lease a few weeks ago, odd really, still had half a year left.” The conversation may have continued for a little longer but you didn’t hear, your responses filtering through on autopilot. 

The soft material of your quilt against the bare skin of your arms, signifying your return to the safety of your bed, is what finally snaps you from your dazed stupor. All of the frantic worry, concern, fear morphing into an apoplectic level of sheer fury. Because Simon was apparently fine. Not only was he fucking fine, he was doing the one thing you’d never thought him possible of, ignoring you. 

He was fucking ghosting you. 

They say there are five stages of grief. You’ve completely skipped over denial and are stuck on anger, bargaining and acceptance won’t happen and you refuse to let yourself be depressed. Thus, anger it is, and boy is there months of pent-up rage. 

Work becomes central to your life, the only thing stopping you from completely crashing and burning, Icarus falling from grace, punishment for falling too hard and too fast for what was unattainable. 

You work yourself to the bone just so you can sleep at night without the visage of brown eyes and soft ashy curls infringing on the corners of your consciousness. It’s not sustainable, you know it, your friends know it and your boss knows it. You must look destroyed too because you don’t think your boss has ever encouraged someone to take a break in her entire history working for the company. 

It only takes one day of rest before the anger-fueled agitation thrumming through your veins has you pacing relentlessly, your nails are chewed down to stubs and you think you may actually hurt someone if you don’t do something. It’s a bit of a Hail Mary, you know, but you still let out a scream of irritation when none of your friends are free to get blind on a weekday for an impromptu night out. Still, it’s a minor setback and one that your agitation-fueled self won’t be put off by. 

Your room is a mess, clothes strewn out all over your bed and floor as you try to find the sluttiest thing you own. Bingbong meows discontentedly as you shove him off a pile of your tops and you simply scowl at the little fat fuck that usually brought you so much joy. However, you do give him goodbye kisses when you finally amble out of your front door and call an Uber.

To your dismay, the man driving you is chatty, even when you give short, terse answers that could not be more clearly a screaming invitation to leave you the fuck alone. He throws you hungry looks in the rearview mirror that makes you want to pull your skin off. You may have dressed to get attention but not from this kind of creep. The car barely rolls to a stop before you jump out, booking it double time to get yourself double parked with some drinks. 

You’ve sequestered yourself at the edge of the bar counter, away from the crowd but still close enough to call for drinks on demand. It’s about five drinks in, sculled far too fast for you to keep up properly when you sense a man slide into the seat next to you. Dark hair, blue eyes, devilish grin and when he opens his mouth a delicious Scottish accent flows out. The complete opposite of Simon. 

Perfect. 

“Buy you a drink?” You were never one to turn down free drinks, especially not from handsome men, not even when your heart still screamed for Simon. Firmly pushing down all thoughts of puppy brown eyes you flash your own version of a flirty smirk, turning to face the man so your knees brush his. 

The conversation flows so naturally that for those few moments suspended in time, you really do forget about Simon. It’s clear that both of you are simply searching for some carnal relief and that knowledge helps you to release your last few inhibitions. Just when you contemplate sliding off the stool and leading him away to a dark corner to have your way he slips up and mentions his team. 

“Team?” You croak, a mixture of disbelief and dread building. 

“Aye, me taskforce. Am in the military.” He must see the way the corners of your mouth are now downturned, your left eye twitching slightly as your mind once again flits toward the blond man who had stolen and then shattered your heart. “Bad experience with a military lad?” There’s no hostility in his tone, just genuine intrigue and you allow yourself to relax once more, focusing intently on his baby blues. 

“Two actually” you snort exasperatedly, chest panging a little at the thought of your deceased brother. Swallowing, you regained your nerve, stepping between his spread legs and loosely swung your arms around his neck. “Best not make it a third yeah?” you whispered against his lips, liquid confidence flowing in your veins after far too many cocktails. 

A moan reverberates in your chest, caught by Johnny’s, he’d told you to call him Johnny, tongue as his warm hands pulled you to sit on one of his thighs. The muscled flesh grinding upwards and causing you to yelp, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders to stabilise yourself. Somewhere the logical part of your mind, the part dulled dangerously by spirits, is screaming that you’re still very much in public but the heartbroken and horny part wins out as you continue to make out with the Scottish stranger built like a god. 

His mouth attaches itself to your neck and your eyelids flutter shut as your hands move to tangle in his hair, tugging harshly to ground yourself from the onslaught of sensations Johnny’s providing your pent-up body with. 

Just as one of his palms slips below your shirt you’re suddenly being ripped off the man with a surprising gentleness that you don’t have much time to ponder on before you’re shrieking as you watch Johnny get punched in the jaw. 

The alcohol has thoroughly distorted your vision and the dim lighting doesn’t help but the fire in your veins is doused with icy despair as you quickly recognise the large bulk of the man who’d just laid out poor Johnny. The tattoos covering his arm and that goddamn skull mask were simply unmistakable. 

“Simon!” Your shrill voice is joined by Johnny’s own pained and confused groan as all three of you struggle to assess what’s just happened. 

“Wait, Johnny?” Simon sounded equally as confused, though his chest was still heaving in… anger?

“You know each other?” You cross your arms defensively, drunk brain trying to catch up on the turn of events. You refuse to look at Simon, instead staring at Johnny as he pulls himself up and you wait for an explanation. 

“Teammates” Johnny spits out a little blood and you can’t help the somewhat hysterical laugh that bubbles forth. 

Teammates. 

What were the fucking odds? Of all the attractive men and women frequenting this specific bar you almost shack up with one of Simon’s presumably closest friends. The evil vindictive part of you screams to go through with it anyway, though given Johnny’s sudden wariness and dawning horror as he connects some sort of mental dots you doubt that would be happening. 

Huffing, you turned from the two men and gathered your belongings as quickly as possible, hoping to make a hasty escape in the confusion. Hoping to escape before Simon could see you cry. 

Whatever deities existed seemingly weren’t on board with your plans and your attempt to skirt around Simon is instantly thwarted as he firmly but gently grabs your bicep. 

“Let me go,” you curse the way your voice wavers traitorously even through gritted teeth and you wince when you realise you can’t even bring yourself to say your name. Simon remains silent and if anything his grip even tightens a little, as if he were afraid you would slip through his fingers into nothingness. Incredibly audacious of him considering what he’d put you through these last few months. 

“Simon lad, I’m sorry, I dinnae ken they were-” Simon cuts off Johnny’s apology with a wave and curt nod that’s very clearly dismissive. Johnny, the traitorous bastard that he is, simply smiles, bids you farewell and then leaves you to deal with the brute that broke your heart. 

Stubbornly you refuse to face him, even when his gruff voice begs you multiple times. Evidently, Simon gets tired of your refusal and forces your eyes to focus on his with a forceful, guiding hand on your chin. Equal parts dismay, arousal and anger wage war in your body at the action and you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste the metallic rust of blood. 

The silence is damning and though his grip loosens it remains cupping your chin and sliding up to caress your cheek. He’s wearing that stupid skull balaclava and as such you can only see his eyes. Those godforsaken pools of weariness and tenderness that threaten to pull you in until you drown in them. His thumb gently caresses your lip, still swollen from Johnny’s machinations and you force yourself to speak, to display your hurt before he somehow worms his way back into your good graces. 

“What? What could you possibly want from me Simon? Haven’t you done enough?” There’s a vulnerability, a defeatedness in your voice that you hadn't meant to let slip but the man catches it, you know he does. Because though you hate to admit it, at this point, even after months apart, you think Simon might know you better than you know yourself. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a pathetic notion and when he doesn’t elaborate it causes you to finally wrench away. You barely make it over the threshold of the exit when suddenly Simon is there once more, crowding into your space with the desperation of a man starved. His arms wrap around you like a vice, trapping your back against his chest. 

“Please.” His voice is a hoarse whisper carried away by the wind, just for your ears. “Please, I know I fucked up, please just let me explain.” His body shakes a little against you and you stand there in the cool night air fighting an internal battle. Simon Riley hurt you. 

Hurt you far greater than any man or woman had ever managed. 

And yet. And yet. 

You still loved him so much it burned. 

“Ok.” Your voice is croaky, reedlike and thin as your mouth moves without your brain’s permission. 

“Ok?” Simon’s head darts up from where it had been resting against you, voice watery and full of childlike hope that you find yourself nodding. 

“Ok. But you only get one chance.” Simon all but goes boneless against you, apologies and thanks spilling past his lips like wildfire but you interrupt him before he could go too far. “Not here, my apartment,” you don’t particularly want him in your space, but you can’t do this in public either, “until then just… don’t speak.” Your voice cracks towards the end but neither of you acknowledges it, standing in strained silence as you wait for your ride home. 

Simon’s eyes burn holes in the side of your head but once again you refuse to look at him, staring out the window into the darkness of the cityscape as you try to mentally prepare for what’s about to come.

Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @skotchi @bunnyreaper @tokusho @ohworm-writes @penismonkey @daisychainsinknots @taman-a @guess-whos-now-a-mood @leclercdream @justarandommom @iwannabealocalcryptid @dd122004dd @actuallyhiswife @alexisv15 @perfectus-in-morte @waves-against-a-cliff @fog-sama @juvenillia

[atrirose]

⠀⠀⠀ ONLY FOR YOU ε🪴⁺ you making them flustered

synopsis : things you do that makes them flustered

ft . bf ! enha x f ! r cw. kissing, skinship .. sfw, fluff ✶ wc. 1k ◜ ◝ seiu : hope you enjoy ^^ its the enha pov of my pervious post that ik i did long back but its alright.

HEESEUNG

his hearts melt when you reassure him, tell him you are proud of him or compliment him, he is a sucker for it, could be any moment and he would just turn into a puddle for it.

he looked at you in disbelief as you emptied his portion of cake that he baked “yn, that was mine you already had yours” he pout, on the verge of tears “baby you baked so good it was so yummy i couldn’t control myself sorry but you are such a great cook” if he had a tail it would have been wagging right now “you think so? oh my okay you know what i will make more for you, im glad you liked it” he rubbed his cheeks on yours , while you celebrated escaping that.

“i’m proud of you hee” you plop yourself next to him as he put his head down on your lap “you did great out there” after a long day work these words are his favorite to hear, it makes it all worth it. he looks at you big eyed

“you make everything fade into the background”

JAY

pda and sweet or flirty messages always gets him smiling, though jay likes to keep it nonchalant and cool on the exterior but if you hold his hand or kiss his cheek in the public his ears will turn read despite his best efforts to stay cool “we are in public my love” he whispers “so what” you smile.

also giggles when you text him, tries his best to not show or answer your text in a fraction of a second and focus on his work but he fails miserably everytime “today was so tiring, i want to stay home with you always” collapses on you, hugging you tight “and you are a meanie too, teasing me like that” you giggled at his whiny voice “you can always come home jay”

“i could spend a lifetime just watching you.”

JAKE

being centre of attention by you, he loves attention but from you only, it makes him giddy “then this step was a little difficult but i worked hard on it, so i guess im good now, maybe?” you were doing your work but jake bust in to show his new dance to you so of course you had to give up everything and watch him “it’s really clean jake you did a great job” you got up from the sofa and pecked his cheek.

his whole face got red, not like you haven’t kissed his cheek before but nothing gets him like you sweet compliments and your dreamy eyes giving him 100 percent of your attention, even if he is trying to pull something stupid.

“i must be dreaming because there's no way you're real.”

SUNGHOON

wearing clothes he picked out, sunghoon takes pride in knowing his girl better than anyone, no surprise he picks up on your dislikes and likes, he tries his best to style something that makes you feel like the most beautiful “i was out yesterday and i thought this white dress would look great on but then i saw this necklace and then i thought its the prefect match so here” he smiles,“thank you so much i love these kind of dresses you know me so well” you hug him, inner him is jumping and rolling.

“i’m ready hoon let’s go” he turns back to see you wearing the dress he bought you “oh my goodness, how can you look so beautiful effortlessly” you giggle at his compliments, he is a gone case, a loser if you may, for you. totally smitten and starstruck.

“how am I supposed to look at anything else after seeing you like this?”

SUNOO

loves handmade gift, it gets his heart racing, he feels the most special when you sit to crochet after learning it online, even though the heart bag looks more like a square he would accept it lovingly, in fact he is the most happiest you would ever see him, he would be seen with that bag at every given moment “i love it no please” he said as you tried to take back the bag “but it’s embarrassing sunoo” , he is the type to have all your handmade cards and notes stacked in a box, polaroids of you and him, all your favorite memories to look back to.

“anything you make for me is never embarrassing, i will treasure everything with my whole heart”

JUNGWON

making direct eye contact or looking at him heart eyes when he is talking, nothing gets him all blushing mess, ears red, hiding his face like you do, you always look at him lovingly, humming and nodding, listening carefully. randomly touching his cheeks or tucking his hair behind his ears, gracing his ears “go on hun”

“no” he said burying his head in his hands, all flustered and red “why not” you giggled “because you are teasing me” he huffed glaring at you “stop playing yn”

“sorry won you just look so beautiful when you talk” you bite his cheeks “ow meanie” — “what were you going to say”

“you are so stunning i forgot what i was going to say”

RIKI

pulling him by his tie to kiss him , him being tall is extra fun when he can tease you when you try to kiss him “riki please” you tip toe to reach his lips only for him to smirk and not help you “please what yn?” you pout at his smug face boasting his height “bend down” you pulled on his tie which caught him off guard, your lips smacked on his.

his hands snaked around your waist to pull you closer him, your body flushed with his, your hands still gripping his tie “you can really make anything possible huh?” he giggled , cheeks red “you can let my tie go now” he tired to free his tie trying to hide the fact his heart is beating so fast “now you get how it feels to me teased” his hands still on your waist, he kissed your cheeks.

“how did i get so luck to be with someone like you”

[reilemon]

🫧Love Don't Be Shy🫧

♡︎ pairing: Rafayel x fem!reader

｡°⚠︎°｡MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)｡°⚠︎°｡

♡︎cw:unprotected sex (as always), there's only one bed, sex toys, pulling out

♡︎word count: 2.9k

♡︎synopsis: Rafayel finds your mini "neck massager" while going through your makeup bag.

♡︎a/n: I hope you guys like how I wrote Rafayel.

♡︎ special thanks to my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for reading and helping me with this

banner by @cafekitsune

A defeated sigh leaves your lips. You have to share the bed with your friend (employee?) Rafayel. You just nod when Rafayel checks with you if it's okay, and of course you agree because you don't want to go around searching for another hotel.

The last time you had to share a room, and the bed, you barely got any sleep as he was tossing and turning all night, stealing the duvet in consequence. You couldn't be too mad at him as you know how messed up his sleep schedule is. Also, he was so sweet for remembering your comment how you wished to see a certain spot at that place.

This time is no different; he organized this little trip for you to make good use of your vacation days. He researched all the restaurants that you'd like, shops that he'd like, fun and interesting places to visit, and always takes the best seats in the airplane. But he always forgets to book two rooms in advance!

It's not that bad, you tell yourself. You're very comfortable around Rafayel; he makes you feel safe and he adores spending time with you. It's just that you have your own night routine. And you can't do it with him in the same room.

Oh well, the vacation will fly by quickly.

Even with this little inconvenience, you wish it won't. Not because you don't want to get back to work, but because you also adore spending time with him. And lately, with every meeting you hope to become more than just friends (more than just an artist and his bodyguard).

⋆ ˚｡⋆꒰ა 🪼 ໒꒱⋆ ˚｡⋆

After unpacking Rafayel and you go outside to grab a quick bite at the city centre. Of course that turns into an impromptu shopping spree because the two of you stumbled upon a vintage flea market.

You drag your feet as Rafayel almost skips next to you, bags with little trinkets in his hands. It's a beautiful summer afternoon, with a refreshing breeze. You'd enjoy it more if there weren't so many people around.

He glances at your 'energetic' walk. "C'mon Miss Bodyguard, we had a good time there!"

You chuckle. "Sure, if you can call 'talking you out of buying everything you see' a good time."

"But everything was so beautiful!"

"Yes, but think of the luggage!"

He shifts his bags to one hand and offers you the free one with a soft smile. "Give me your hand. I don't want to get lost."

He says that, but he's the one leading you through the crowd.

⋆ ˚｡⋆꒰ა 🪼 ໒꒱⋆ ˚｡⋆

You had to take a little nap after coming back to your room, because Rafayel had more things planned for this evening, and you needed the energy. You wanted to look and feel good because you actually looked forward to it. You might've even bought some new outfits that you thought he'd like, even though he gives you compliments no matter how much effort you put into your appearance.

While you were asleep, Rafayel took a long shower.

When you awoke, you found him in your room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.

You blush and avert your gaze, opting to just not comment on it. "Are you at least wearing underwear?" You commented on it.

He looks down, like he forgot about his state of almost-undress. "I do. Wanna check?" His hand resting on the towel knot.

Your hand immediately shoots up to cover your view of whatever he's about to show you. "It's fine! I just didn't expect this to be the first thing I see after a nap!"

He laughs and strolls towards the closet. "You saw me in a bathing suit plenty of times. This towel covers more."

You can't help but sneak a peek at his toned back while he's picking out an outfit. For someone who claims to hate working out, he's more than fit. You can clearly see the way his muscles are carved under his pale still damp skin and the way they flex as he moves. As he turns around, you can’t help but crave to graze your hand over his defined abs and those veins leading down to -

"Like what you see?"

Caught red handed, you snap your head in the opposite direction, your face burning with embarrassment.

"I'll go take a shower." You mumble as you snatch your underwear and a nightdress from a drawer and escape to the bathroom, blushing even more as you catch Rafayel's mischievous laugh.

⋆ ˚｡⋆꒰ა 🪼 ໒꒱⋆ ˚｡⋆

Refreshed, and not at all embarrassed anymore, you emerge from the bathroom to get your makeup bag. You don't know whether to put the outfit on before the makeup, or the other way around...

Your brain short circuits when your eyes land on Rafayel holding your makeup bag in one hand - and your mini vibrator in the other.

He holds it up and studies it "Is this like a mini neck massager?"

You're frozen in place. Your body is discovering new levels of embarrassment.

Hearing nothing from you, his attention shifts to your figure. You don't register the way his eyes admire you in your little nightdress. "Well?" He presses the little button and the little buzzing sound hits your ears like crashing waves of sweat hitting your body.

He's teasing you. He has got to be teasing you. Like he always is. There's no way he thinks this is for his neck!

"Give it back." You croak, your throat dry.

"Why? You don't want to show me how to use it?" He's really going through with this little bit.

"Why were you even going through my makeup bag?"

He explains how he forgot to pack some cream and wanted to borrow it from you, or something like that, you barely listened because he was not letting go of the little bullet vibrator. He's put down the makeup bag, but not the toy!

The buzzing gets stronger as Rafayel's finger presses the button multiple times. "So, which setting is the best?"

He flinches as you basically hurl yourself towards him to take back what's yours. He holds it in the air, away from your reach.

"What's up with you?" his eyebrows knot, cheeks lightly red at the close proximity.

"Give it back!"

Finding your frustration confusing but at the same time cute and amusing, he continues to keep it out of your reach, letting you chase him around the room.

"Nuh - uh!" he laughs and turns to you, only for his face to be met with a white fluffy pillow.

You smacked him across the face, not too hard of course; you're still his body guard. You earn a little 'hey!' with a flushed face and to defend himself, he puts the toy in his pocket and grabs his own pillow. You didn't even notice how good his outfit looked.

The two of you end up in a brief pillow fight - mostly him taking hits while you managed to dodge most of them. But then Rafayel swiftly snatches your pillow, and pins you down on the bed, holding your wrists in his hand and resting his knees on the bed.

He asks, out of breath "Is it not a neck massager?" While you were in a pillow fight he caught on how red your face is and how that shape doesn't seem like it's for the neck.

You struggle under him, aware of how your nightdress lifted under the impact, and how your breasts are on the verge of spilling out. A small whine leaves your lips in frustration as he's so much stronger than you.

"Yes! It's my vibrator, okay?" you can't meet his gaze. You're sure you look so damn pathetic right now.

But you don't see the delight in Rafayel's eyes as he takes in your cute flushed pouting face. He can't help but take a peek of your figure under him, the way your tits are barely covered, the hem of your dress lifted to show off your plush thighs pressed together.

He releases his hold on you and sits back, still straddling you. "Is that why you were upset over one room? You could've just told me and I would've taken a walk or something. Maybe even get you a snack to replenish your energy."

You could not be more mortified. Your eyes are still fixed somewhere to the side and your lips don't move.

His fingers softly hold your chin and you muster the courage to look him in the eyes. You notice how messy his curls are. "There's nothing to be ashamed of." He reassures you with a soft smile, and hands you over the wretched thing.

And you loved that about Rafayel - he knew when to stop teasing and when it's time to give you reassurance.

Still, you needed your little revenge.

It doesn't matter that he's stronger than you, you still have your hunter skills, and in a blink of an eye, you switch positions, straddling his lap.

He opens his mouth to make some dirty joke but only a yelp gets out when you suddenly press the buzzing toy on his side while locking his wrists with your hand.

He pleads for mercy as you continue to run the vibrator on second to highest setting all over his torso.

A blush creeps up on your cheeks, and heat pools between your legs as his whimpers and gasps keep leaving his plump lips and his body squirms under you, his crotch grazing your bottom.

Flustered and out of breath, Rafayel had enough of the torture and pins you down again - pressing you in the same position you had him in, but with his knee so dangerously close to your clothed heat.

"You're being cruel, kitten." he breathes, his tone a little too calm for your liking.

He takes the toy from you and starts sliding it down the middle of your belly, the contact making you squirm and laugh a little. "I was being supportive here and you go and start torturing me."

"I was embarrassed!" you scream between laughs and pants.

He complains in his playful manner about how you attacked him while he was so confused, you can barely hear him over your involuntarily laughs. In your squirms and attempts to break free, your core grinds more than once against his knee and upper thigh.

And maybe he's inching his knee closer to you.

You open your eyes when you don't feel the tickles anymore. You're met with his soft hooded eyes.

"I want to make it up to you, darling."

He studies your face as his hand moves up and a gasp leaves your lips as it lightly grazes the underside of your breast over with the vibrating toy.

He repeats the same motion on the other breast. "Do you want me to stop?"

You sheepishly shake your head.

The grip on your wrists loosens, but you let him hold you down.

Finally, he gives attention to your already pebbled nipples, carefully rubbing circles around them. His eyes take in your flushed face - beautiful lips parted as you pant underneath him, eyes veiled with lust and desperation for more, sensitive nipples poking through the thin fabric of your nightdress.

Your panties are damp with the attention on your nipples and core grinding against his knee. And with Rafayel on top of you, with his cheeks flushed, messy hair and half lidded eyes gazing at you with adoration, you crave more.

He doesn't need to read your thoughts to know what you need. Your hips are desperately pressing against him, soaked panties leaving a wet patch on his pants.

A playful smirk stretches his lips, but he fights the urge to tease you. Instead, his hand trails down, avoiding your tummy this time, and presses the toy on your inner thigh, earning a jolt from your legs and a whimper from your lips. With his slender fingers, he lifts up the hem of your dress, exposing your panties.

You feel his knee move back, but still touching your clothed heat. Pressing the button for the lowest setting, he places the vibrating tip of the toy right between your folds, the familiar sensation of the vibrator making you moan. Only it's different now, because Rafayel is the one pressing it against you, the one making you feel so good, which makes you cream, your heart beating against your chest, your face and chest burning with need and desire.

With more confidence, Rafayel starts pressing and slowly rubbing your sensitive bud. "You like that princess? Does it feel good?"

You frantically nod, your pussy already throbbing with an impending orgasm. "Just like that!" You manage to breathe out.

His cock is painfully hard in his boxers, straining in his tight pants. He feels like he could cum just watching your beautiful face dazed with lust and listening to your sinful moans. Soft pants are leaving his lips "Fuck, you're so beautiful."

He releases your wrists to rest his elbow next to your head and he dips down, latching his lips with yours. You reciprocate immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck, relishing in the feeling of finally tasting his gorgeous pink lips.

Both of you are a panting mess, kissing sloppily, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth as your tongue intertwines with his.

And all of this is becoming too much for you, and you already feel the coil in your stomach is about to snap any second. You snatch the collar of his shirt, probably ripping from how tight you're gripping it. "Don't stop, I'm cummin' - !"

He watches you in awe as you tremble and mewl underneath him, unable to kiss him back as the waves of your release overtake you. His lips latch onto your neck as he uses his thumb and knee to help you come down from your high. His breath is trembling as he sucks and licks the sensitive skin on your neck, his face burning and cock throbbing.

He almost whines in your ear "Please, please princess, I need to fuck you so bad..."

Your fingers interlace with his messy curls and he lifts up his head to meet your eyes. His cheeks and ears are burning red, eyes pleading and hooded with lust.

You softly whisper "I need you."

The same second he hears those words, his working hand frantically works his belt and the pants, a sigh of relief leaving his lips as his hot leaking cock is freed. He wants to take his sweet time with you, worshipping you, but he's already on the brink.

And you're so impatient; you pull your panties to the side and take his cock in your hand and tease the tip against your dripping pussy, the action making the man above you whimper.

"Fuck, princess!" He moves your hand away and squeezes the angry red tip. "Watching you got me so worked up, I don't think I'm gonna last long." He admits with a weak smile.

You pull him into a soft kiss "That's okay, you already made me cum so hard."

He kisses your lips and slowly starts sliding in, a gasp leaving both of your lips. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut as he eases into your sopping cunt.

You bite his delicious bottom lip as he buries himself to the hilt, your walls fluttering around his cock and you feel like you're about to cum again. You release his bottom lip and you move onto kissing his jaw and neck. Fuck, he smells so good.

He stays still as he tries to hold onto his sanity. His hot breath fans over your ear "You're squeezing me so hard, doll."

You wiggle your hips and press his lower back, urging him to start moving. Exhaling a shaky breath, his hips slowly start rolling, yours moving at the same pace. Mewls and moans are leaving your lips, as his cock keeps stroking the sweet spot inside you, glazing his length in your slick.

Rafayel needs to make you cum around his cock, but he’s already so painfully close, with your wet walls squeezing him so hard, your pretty lips on his neck and your bewitching voice in his ear.

He was so captivated by you that he almost forgot about the little toy lying next to you.

Your eyes widen when you see him snatch the toy and turns it on to a higher setting and props himself up, angling his hips to reach your swollen and twitching bundle of nerves. Intense shocks of pleasure take over your body as he starts rubbing the vibrator again, and in seconds you're a whimpering mess as his cock thrusts into you, repeatedly hitting that sensitive spot, and his hand pressing the toy on your clit.

"Raf - I -" Is all you manage to say before another orgasm overtakes you, your breath catching in your throat and for a second you think you're going to pass out. You can barely hear Rafayel's soothing and strained whispers of you how gorgeous you are and how pretty you sound.

But hear him whimper "I'm gonna cum, princess."

He tosses the drenched vibrator to the side and with a squelching sound pulls out of you, and your hips twitch as he presses the tip against your still throbbing clit as he jerks himself off, ropes of hot cum spilling all over your belly and drenched cunt. You’re thankful he pulled up your dress in the process, but you wouldn’t mind if he stained it.

After both of you take a moment to catch your breath, he puts his weight on you and you wrap your arms around his back squeezing him tight.

He peppers you with soft kisses all over your cheeks, your nose, your eyelids. His fingers caress your face.

He chuckles with that playful smirk on his lips. "I should snoop around your stuff more often."

[amongemeraldclouds]

dark desires

Theodore Nott had been the perfect boyfriend, yet there’s a darkness within him that you longed to unravel, to explore. So this Halloween, you came up with a proposal: a spooky mask, a haunted house, and a night for dark desires. Be careful what you wish for.

dark!Theodore Nott x f!Reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni, characters are aged up, dom!Theo, consensual non-consent (cnc), roleplay, knife kink, mask kink, oral (m! and f!receiving), degradation, praise kink, daddy kink, fingering, mirror sex, piv, creampie

a/n: posting my first ever kinktober fic! thanks to my wifeyy @pizzaapeteer for proofreading, you're the best ♡

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Theodore Nott Masterlist | 4.4k words

Prologue

Theodore Nott is the ideal boyfriend. He celebrated your wins with you and encouraged you when you faced challenges. You received thoughtful gifts from him and your conversations always led you to new discoveries about the world. Being with him was an adventure just as much as it was home.

Yet the more you got to know him, the deeper your curiosity grew. Theo is a complicated person and it was clear there’s always more to him beneath his wild hair and ocean eyes. There was especially a darkness in him that drew you in. A shadow he hid from the world and you wanted to be that one person he could share it with. The one he confided in, explored it with. After all, it was the same darkness you saw in yourself. And so, you came up with a proposal.

One night of unrestrained exploration, a safe place for your dark desires.

“I want to know all of you. I’m not afraid of your dark,” you said, ending your proposal.

Theo hesitated, “you should be afraid.” Yet there was an unmistakable glint in his eye, a wilderness that rattled against the cage of his stoic restraint. Desperate and ready to be let out.

“That’s for me to decide,” you argued, searching his eyes. Asking him to trust you. “I want to know who you are when no one's watching. I want you to show me all the sinful acts you'd do to me knowing I'd take it all and enjoy every last touch,” you elaborated, sliding a finger down his chest.

Theo closed his eyes and sighed, his composure waning at your words. “Fuck, how did I get so lucky?” Seeming to gather himself, he hesitated. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It's okay, I promise. I want to free us from the restraints of polite society. Just you and me, Theo, let’s carve our own world together.”

His eyes softened, you were already his entire world. “Do you trust me?” he asked, gently caressing your hair as you laid in the crook between his shoulders and neck. 

“Always.”

“That’s my girl,” Theo leaned in to plant a kiss on your forehead, sending tingles down your spine.

You basked in his praise and continued, “how would you feel about roleplaying a stranger in a mask? I promise we’ll discuss the details, set rules, and establish a safe word.”

He smirked, “I think we’re going to have so much fun.”

A faint glow led you deeper into the hallway. Around you, cobwebs were strewn across cracked tombstones, the names far too smeared to read. Your heart slammed against your ribcage as your hands shook. Another scream pierced the air from a distance. Your only companion was the weight that settled in your stomach the second you stepped into the haunted house.

Fog hissed in the corners. Wisps of smoke snaked from the ends of the room, creeping towards the centre. The cool air snatched your legs like the greedy outstretched arms of a zombie. A coffin laid in the corner with its lid missing, its sinister insides inviting you to settle in and rest your weary bones. You shook the thought away and walked as fast as you could, reminding yourself to breathe.

You were so close to the next room. So close to the end of all this horror.

And then you screamed. A figure growled beside you, where had he even come from? A mummy reached out, its skull tainted bronze with time. You ran through the rest of the hallway, laughing in relief when you reached an empty corner. A break from all the chaos. The next room was serial killer themed, adorned with blood-soaked bodies hanging limply from the ceiling. You took another moment to catch your breath and let another group of visitors pass you.

Closing your fist, you steeled yourself. Just as you lifted your leg to walk, a strong arm grabbed your waist and pulled you into the shadows. Your arms were pinned down your sides, trapped. The breath rushed from your lungs as you collided with a muscular body, your back pressed to him. His free hand tugged at your hair so that you were looking up at him. All you saw was hollowed out eyes and a gaping mouth. He was wearing a mask.

“Well well, who do we have here?” he said in a low tone, his gravelly voice followed by a malicious chuckle. 

Your chest heaved as you tried to take lungfuls of breaths only to come up empty. Panic swam through your mind, thoughts plunging deep into the ocean of your subconscious. Out of reach.

“Want to play with me, amore?” He continued, releasing your hair so he could caress the side of your face. A gesture far too intimate for a stranger to make. His other hand kept your hips firmly in place. You tried to squirm, to move out of his grasp, but he was much stronger than you were.

His words sent a chill down your spine. Something was wrong. Were scare actors allowed to grab you? You could have sworn you signed a waiver that mentioned it was prohibited.

“L-let me go,” you squeaked, trying to find your voice.

“Play with me and then I’ll let you go,” he said, dragging out the words slowly, “I promise we’ll have so much fun.”

You tried harder to escape, arms and hips thrashing against his solid grasp. You screamed for help, certain someone would come rushing. The masked man simply laughed, unfazed by your efforts.

“I do like it when my prey struggle. Scream all you want, no one’s coming for you. It all just blends in with the others,” he said arrogantly as he tightened his hold on you to cease your movements. You froze when you felt his erection against you. Heat bloomed in the pit of your stomach and you tried to tamp it down. He was big and you wondered just how well he would fit inside you. “Careful now cara,” he teased, “or you’ll have to take responsibility for your actions.”

You shook your head to say no, to shake off the twisted desires that had taken you captive. In a last ditch effort, you stomped your foot down his shoe. He hissed in pain, cursing in a language you didn’t understand. His hold on you momentarily waned but not long enough for you to break free, just long enough for him to get angry.

“You want to play hard to get?” he said, his voice growing cold. “Fine, I’ll be the bad guy,” he said as he pressed something cold and metallic on your neck. You instinctively moved your head away. Wrong move. It gave him more access to your throat. 

“You wouldn’t want to find out just how sharp this is now don’t you?” he asked, the playful tone back in his voice. He had you right where he wanted you. In the haze of adrenaline and terror, an ache grew in between your legs and you squeezed them together, trying to find relief. “I’ll be good,” you said, fear and lust rushing through your veins. 

“Show me,” he replied, commanding you as he kept his knife steady against your throat while his other hand released your waist. He wasted no time feeling you up under your dress, his hand caressing your soft thighs. Your knees felt weak from his touch, but you reminded yourself to stay still so your throat stays unharmed.

As he moved his fingers to your inner thigh, you moved your legs apart for him. You tried to convince yourself it was only to keep you safe. You definitely were not thinking about how good his fingers would feel on your soaking cunt. You took in a sharp inhale when you felt him tease you through your underwear. 

You couldn’t help the way your hips bucked, wanting to feel more pressure from his fingers. He chuckled and shame mingled with the heat of your desire. “I knew you wanted it,” he said with a smile in his voice. You kept quiet because there was no denying it now.

Encouraged by your eagerness, he ripped down your underwear, exposing your dripping wet cunt. He slid his fingers across your folds, covering them in your slick. He spread it out to feel every inch of your aching core. It may have been cold in the haunted house from his blade to all the fog and fear, but right now, your entire body was on fire. “Fuck, you’re so drenched for me, amore. I bet I could easily stick two fingers inside you.”

You whimpered at his words, stunned that someone could be so bold and direct. You were not sure you could leave now, even if you tried. You needed to know how his fingers felt. He didn’t leave you wondering for long. 

You found yourself moaning when your pussy suddenly felt full, his fingers working their way in. He curled his fingers, hitting your g spot. For the first time that evening, you screamed in pleasure. Your voice blended together with the other screams. Your knees gave out and you laid your head back on his shoulder, away from the knife. His body kept you upright as he continued curling his fingers then sliding them in and out, until he found a steady rhythm.

Sloppy, squelching sounds filled the air and it took you a moment to realize it was you. Satisfied you would stay and play with him, Theo lowered his knife so he could focus on your needy cunt.

You suddenly felt empty when you realized he moved his fingers towards your face. You opened your lips instinctively as he shoved his fingers into your mouth, your tongue lapping up your juices. He slid them in and out just as he had with your cunt, then shoved it down your throat, choking you in the process.

While you sucked on his fingers, you felt something hard rub against your clit and your eyes widened. It was the knife handle. “Be a good girl and take this for me,” he said as he moved it across your wet folds, gathering up your slick. “Grind against it, show me what you’ll do to my cock,” you closed your eyes while sucking his fingers and let your lust takeover. 

It felt new and exciting to have the knife handle against you. It didn’t take you long to find the exact spots that shot euphoria through your veins and you rubbed yourself against it again and again. Pleasure built up in the base of your stomach. “I’m going to plunge the handle into you now,” he warned, “move carefully, wouldn’t want to see your pretty legs cut up now, don’t you?”

You shook your head to say no, too lost in the ecstasy to find your words. Your walls clutched the knife as it entered you effortlessly, you were already so stimulated, you could almost taste your sweet release. “Look at you, dripping all over this knife. You're a slut aren't you?” You moaned your agreement around his fingers.

Your senses were heightened as you concentrated on keeping your legs steady. He moved the knife back out only to enter the handle back inside you as he once again found a steady rhythm. You shifted forward, bracing yourself for your release. Theo noticed the sudden shift and he removed the knife, exchanging it once again with his fingers. He moved faster this time, chasing your release.

“You're gonna come all over my fingers and thank me, understood?” He said and all you could do was nod. “Show me just how much of a slut you are. Look at you, getting yourself taken by a stranger in a haunted house and fucked with a knife. What a perfect cockwhore.”

His words unraveled you and you surrendered to the pleasure. Ecstasy erupted through you in waves. Your walls fluttered against his fingers as he coaxed your release, curling his fingers to prolong the climax.

You panted against him as you felt your juices drip down your legs. “What do good girls say?” He asked and he slipped out his hand. 

“T-thank you,” you managed, your voice hoarse from where he fucked your throat earlier. 

“Thank you what?” he asked, slapping your cunt. You shivered against his touch, unintentionally grinding on his boner. It earned you a grunt, sending a jolt through your body, a new shade of desire illuminated within you. You enjoyed how he responded to you. 

“Thank you daddy,” you replied, more steady this time.

“Good girl,” he said, praising you as he took a hold of your hand and pressed the knife into your back. Fear shot through you and you held your breath. “Step out of your underwear, bend over and pick it up like a good obedient slut.” You bent forward and followed his instructions, legs weak from your orgasm. “Put it in my pocket,” he commanded, “that’s it. This is mine now, a souvenir from an eager slut.”

“Come with me now, we’re just getting started,” he led you deeper into the darkness until a blinding light assaulted your eyes.

He had opened a secret backdoor. No doubt for scare actors to go around without being noticed, this was why they seemed to appear from nowhere. As your eyes adjusted, you got your first look at him. Not that there was much to see with his mask still on. All you noticed was the veins running through his muscled arm, black ink forming a pattern that disappeared up his shirt sleeve, but it was enough to stir your sinful thoughts.

“Don’t even think about screaming for help or running away,” he threatened as you moved side by side. Not that you were planning to anyway. To any onlooker, you just seemed like any other couple taking a stroll. The cool air brushed your sensitive bare cunt as you walked, sending gooseflesh rippiling through your skin.

“Where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” was all he said as he opened the door and you exited the haunted house. Of course, you should have known. There was a hotel just right across and it seemed he already had a room booked as he led you straight to the elevator. He blended right in with his mask, as others passed by dressed as fairies, pirates and other assortments of costumes. Ready to party the night away.

Theo had another party in mind. Your mind raced as elevator buttons lit up, taking you closer and closer to the last place you needed to be. But you wanted it. You remembered how big he was, the way he reacted to you, how good it felt when he called you a good girl. He also called you a slut and for him, you would be one. You were dizzy with delight. Besides, what other choice did you have? You thought about the sharpness of his blade and felt yourself clench. It shouldn’t have been exciting, oh but it was.

You stepped out the elevator and once again, a weight settled in the pit of your stomach in anticipation of all the things he would do to you. He still held your arm while he led you to the room, his grip gentler now that he knew you would stay. It was almost romantic.

He swiped the hotel card and gestured for you to enter. As you moved past him, all you could focus on was the king sized bed in the centre of the room. The sheets pure and pristine reflected the soft glow of the light, a blank slate for you to paint all your sins on. Behind you, the lock clicked into place and Theo secured the double lock. The sound was impossibly soft and innocent for something that reverberated deep in your bones. There was no turning back now.

“On your knees,” he commanded. Your breath shuddered and you hesitated. “I said,” Theo repeated impatiently, “on your knees” he gripped your hair for emphasis. The sudden force knocked you out of balance and before you knew it, soft carpet kissed your knees as you fell with a thud. He started unbuckling his jeans, an unmistakable bulge carved right in front of you.

Your mouth salivated as he freed himself. “Look at me,” he said, shifting your attention back to his face. “Open your mouth wide and put your tongue out. Good girl.” He spat in your mouth and used his thumb to spread it around your tongue.

“You’re going to take me real good,” he said as he guided his hungry cock into your mouth. Liquid heat pooled in your core again because he tasted good. His eyes fluttered shut when he felt just how warm and wet you were. You moved your tongue around him while he thrust himself into you.

“That's it. Look at me while I fuck your pretty mouth,” he encouraged you, pressing himself deeper until you felt him down your throat. He continued pistoning his hips, movements growing rougher by the second. Your eyes watered with the effort as you continued to suck and swallow. He swiped your tears away with his thumb and got impossibly harder. He liked watching you cry for him. Around you, obscene sloppy sounds filled the room.

“You're taking me so well.” Theo complimented in between grunts, his other hand still gripping your hair to keep you in place. “So perfect for me,” he praised you, words punctuated with his frantic thrusts. “You look so beautiful with my cock shoved down your throat. Just like that.”

You hummed in delight, eager to please him. Your tears and his thumb had long smeared your makeup yet he still called you beautiful. “Be a good girl and swallow daddy’s cum,” he said, signaling his near release. You braced yourself until you felt his warm salty taste in your mouth.

“That's right, principessa, you better not spill. Take it all, right down your throat.” You complied, enjoying the way he thrust slowly as if scooping the rest of his cum from your mouth down your throat.

Satisfied, he removed himself, “breathe amore, you did so well for me. Get up now it's time to give you a reward, you've earned it.” You stood on shaky legs, your knees blushing red from the carpet. Theo held you up and led you towards the bed.

“Just lie there, let me taste your eager cunt,” he said, lifting your dress up and over your head. Your thighs glistened from your arousal and Theo chuckled. “Fuck, only a slut gets wet from sucking cock. What a pretty little cockwhore for daddy.” You whimpered at his words and felt yourself clench in response. The mattress felt soft and supportive beneath your tense body, ready to cradle your fall.

“Tell me you want my tongue all over your pretty pussy,” Theo commanded.

“I-” you looked away, suddenly shy until he reached forward to grab your chin, making you face him. You looked at the black and white mask and bit your bottom lip. One final resistance before giving voice to your desire. “I want to feel you eat me, daddy.”

“Now, see how easy that was.” He released your chin as he moved back to position himself between your legs. He moved the mask up just enough to use his mouth before snaking his arm around your legs, keeping them spread out for him.

You sucked in a breath the second you felt his tongue on your aching cunt. He was so eager, lapping up your juices and kissing your clit all the way down to your folds. The way his tongue moved spelled pure need as he tensed it enough to penetrate you. A blinding haze swept through you, your core still sensitive from the echoes of your earlier orgasm.

Sinful moans escaped your mouth, joining the chorus of Theo’s kisses on your slippery cunt. Sheets gripped between your fingers, lust took over your body and you found yourself grinding against him and his mask, enjoying the delicious friction.

“That’s right, show me how much of a slut you are,” Theo encouraged, swirling his tongue around your clit. It didn’t take long until your stomach clenched again, you could almost taste your next release. Your breaths grew shorter and you could see the stars–

“On no, not yet, amore,” Theo chuckled, releasing you and sliding his mask back on. “Fuck, my mask smells like your cunt. I get to bring another souvenir with me,” he groaned in appreciation. “The next time you cum will be around my cock.”

You closed your legs, trying to find pressure to ease the need growing hot and desperate. “Please,” you whispered, begging for more.

“What’s that?”

“P-please,” you said, louder this time. “Let me cum on your cock, daddy.”

“Good girl, you’re a quick learner aren’t you? Come here,” he said, guiding you up. “Get on all fours and crawl to me,” he teased and he moved towards the edge of the bed. You followed him, lost in his spell. Your eyes widened when you spotted a floor to ceiling mirror in the corner where he stood. You had been too wrapped up in watching him to notice it earlier.

“Look at yourself, that pretty face and that perfect body,” he groaned. “Everything about you so fuckable.” You watched yourself in the mirror and noticed your smeared mascara, your hair crumpled right where he took you earlier, eyes and lips puffy from where he fucked your mouth. You were nothing like the prim and proper girl you often were and it felt liberating to not have to be perfect. Instead, you were on all fours, ready to be used like a whore by the man in the mask.

You felt him press himself against you in bed. When did he get there? You admired his naked body in the mirror, sweat glistening while they dripped down and traced his muscled figure. But his mask, only the mask, stayed on. The one he said smelled just like your cunt.

“Now you’re going to show me just how much you want to cum,” he said, positioning himself near your entrance. “I’m going to fill you up real good, but you’ll have to move yourself back. Fuck yourself on my cock, amore.” You clenched around him, rewarding his efforts with a pornographic moan.

Your soaked cunt welcomed him effortlessly and soon you slid yourself back just as he commanded, moving until his cock kissed your cervix. The slapping motion of skin on skin filled the air with lewd noises along with the smell of sex. Theo joined in with his grunts as he grabbed onto your hips, encouraging you to keep going.

You gripped the sheets, trying to find purchase. Pleasure swelled within you again from the way your nipples rubbed against the bedsheets, creating a delicious friction, to the heat that reignited deep in your core. Your entire body was on fire.

“That’s it, need to feel you cum on my cock,” Theo encouraged, reaching down to grab your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. It was enough to send you over the edge, seeing stars again as your walls fluttered around his hard length. Theo took over, rutting his hips into you to prolong your orgasm until you returned to him.

“Thank you daddy,” you rasped when you finally found your voice in between your labored breaths. “It’s my pleasure, principessa, but I’m not yet done with you,” he said darkly, continuing his pace. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” he said, grabbing your hair once again to guide your head.

“Look at that cockwhore getting fucked. Watch your tits sway like the filthy slut that you are,” you moaned at his words, heat building deep inside you again. It was overstimulating, the way his balls tapped into you as he rocked his full length inside you. Watching yourself get used and seeing the wild look in your eyes, a mix of delight and desperation.

His deep, guttural voice echoed through you, pulling at your strings. Your arms gave out, weighed down by the intensity of it all, and before you could move, Theo took this opportunity to pin you down, his toned body covering yours.

You felt helpless and succumbed to him, no longer bound by fear. His mask hovered near your face as he continued his relentless pace inside you. “You like being used, huh?” He asked, looking at your connected figures in the mirror. “Yes,” you cried out, “I need to feel your cum inside me, daddy.”

“Fuck, that’s a good slut, you’re taking me so well” he grunted, slapping your ass just before he increased his pace. It was brutal and you were screaming again, drunk from the cocktail of pain and pleasure. Italian expletives rained from his lips as he chased his high. You watched the way his muscles flexed from the effort.

The familiar heat raged within you, walls tightening around Theo’s hard cock. Echoes of your bliss reached a crescendo and you found yourself spasming against him again. “Take it all, amore,” Theo’s filthy moans joined yours as your release triggered his, you felt his liquid heat coating your insides as he rode you through your orgasm.   

He collapsed into you, bringing you to his arms. “That’s my girl,” he praised, “I’m so proud of you. You did so well.” You smiled and leaned into him, removing his mask to see him smiling back at you. He pressed a gentle kiss on your lips as if he hasn’t just fucked you raw. You laughed at the whiplash.

Your laughter washed over him, it really had been okay for him to unapologetically tap into his darkness in a way that feels euphoric and safe. It was liberating. His thumb traced your jaw, eyes searching yours. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, “nothing I couldn’t handle. I promise.”

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you, right?” he pressed.

Your eyes softened at his concern. “Yes, you made me feel good, Theo. You exceeded all my expectations. I love getting to know this side of you.”

You were already the best part of him, the sun that held all the light in Theo’s universe. He had no idea until tonight that his darkness could find a home in you too. It's the kind of dark that made the stars shine brighter. How had he gotten so lucky with you?

He planted a kiss on your forehead, bringing you closer to him. “I love sharing this with you. Now let me draw a bath and call room service for dinner. I’ll take good care of you, principessa.”

You called out to him as you watched him get up, “hey, Theo?”

“Yeah?” He turned back.

“Happy Halloween,” you said, grinning.

“Happy Halloween, amore.”

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Theodore Nott Masterlist

a/n: I very rarely write smut, but when I do, the next one always seems darker than the previous one. Happy kinktober!

[flemingology]

kitbag chronicles ─ alessia russo x reader

in which: you voice your love for alessia through the notes you put in her kitbag

warnings: none, tiniest bit suggestive if you squint

wc: 1.4k

a/n: finally got around to writing something for my number 1. this is so incredibly random and it's all over the place, but idk i lowkey kinda like it... i think? idk i probably shouldn't reread it because i might hate it if i do. hope you enjoy!

Ever since you and Alessia started dating, the England striker had made it very clear that she loved the little things you did for her. Memorising her coffee order, remembering her favourite flowers, new scented candles in her favourite scent on a bi-weekly basis. If you asked Alessia, she would say you were the most thoughtful person she’d ever met.

You’d grown to love the smile you put on your girlfriend’s face with those small displays of affection. You were forever seeking new ways to show your love for her, without stating the obvious over and over again. It kept both of you on your toes, always working on your relationship and making the other fall in love with you over and over again.

The last couple weeks, you'd found something new to do for Alessia. Her busy schedule keeping her away from you almost every single day of the week, you had to find ways to work around it and to remind Alessia that, even when she was at the club, you were thinking about her.

Since a couple months, it had become a little tradition that you prepared Alessia's kitbag. It wasn't much work at all, all she put in there were a shirt and a pair of trousers, or shorts – based on what the weather was like that day in London. You insisted that you did it for her, claiming that that way you felt like she had a little part of you with her during the day.

Today, though, you felt like trying something different. When you were younger, your mum always prepared your lunchbox for when you went to school. To make it a little extra special, she always added a little note for you to discover when you had lunch. It could be something funny, a drawing or simply a reminder how much she loved you – you didn't mind the teasing that came with it from your friends.

You figured it would be something Alessia loved, seen how much she usually liked it when you did little things like that for her. So this morning, after putting the blonde's training top and trousers in her kitbag, you grabbed a note and started writing something down. You decided to keep it simple for your first time of doing this, something you knew would just give Alessia a little spring in her step for the rest of the day. "Go get em, Lessi. Can't wait to have you home with me again tonight," is what you decided on, quickly putting away the pen and putting the piece of paper in her bag before she could see what you were up to.

When Alessia left later that morning, you pushed her kitbag in her hands, as you did every day. With a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips and a quick hug, she was out the door with the promise of cooking together later that night. Love goes through the stomach, or whatever they say.

It was no longer than 30 minutes later when your phone chimed with a message from your blonde lover.

From: Less 🤍 I got the note, baby. So cute. I love you so much :')

You smiled brightly at your phone screen, a warm, fuzzy feeling coursing through you at the idea of Alessia opening her kitbag and finding the note. You quickly typed a message back to her, wanting her to read it before she inevitably had to get her day going at the training centre.

To: Less 🤍 It's true, though. Counting down the hours until you're home, like every day. Go kick ass, my love. x

With you working from home, it had been quite the adjustment. Normally, when Alessia went to the training centre, you'd also leave the apartment and be on your way to your office. But with Alessia's recent transfer to Arsenal, swapping Manchester for London, it wasn't so straightforward anymore for you to go into the office everyday. 2 hours 30 on the train or easily 4 hours by car, it just wasn't doable anymore for a daily job. So you and your boss agreed that you could work from home in London, with one visit to the office a month. You were forever grateful for the opportunity, very glad that you didn't have to find a new job in London, but it brought its hardships too.

Quite frankly, you grew quite bored at home. You had your work, and you always managed to fill the best part of 8 hours with whatever you had to do that day, but the house felt empty without Alessia. A new city, new surroundings, new apartment, you hadn't quite accustomed to it all yet and you hadn't failed to make it known to Alessia that you missed her terribly whenever she was out at training.

Nonetheless, you would never stand in the way between her and her career, it was just another obstacle that you two would have to face and manoeuvre around, but you were certain that you would navigate it perfectly. You had a strong relationship, and everyone around you would probably say that you were made for each other.

With the knowledge gathered that Alessia enjoyed her little note, you took it upon yourself to give her some more frequently. Not every day, because you didn't want her to grow old of them, but you sprinkled some in throughout the week – keeping her on her toes.

It wasn't until one particular morning at the Arsenal training centre that Alessia realized that her notes wouldn't just always be you loving up on her. She'd left you high and dry that morning before leaving, feeling you up and kissing all over your body until her alarm went off. She was reluctant about finishing what she had started, despite your whining when she left you alone in bed and had started getting ready for her day. She didn't want to be late, understandably, but she also left you with a very uncomfortable throbbing between your legs. Her promise of continuing her ministrations later that night hadn't really convinced you, and you decided to tease her a little about it through a note.

This time, unlike all the other times you'd left a note in Alessia's kitbag, you didn't receive a message about. Not just that, the Arsenal striker hadn't texted you all day and you couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious about what you did. You didn't want to push it too far, but you were starting to feel like you did. You texted her a little after lunch-time, wishing her a good gym session, but you got left on read.

Later that day, when Alessia came home, you were nervous to approach her. You were upstairs, finishing up on a couple of e-mails, before you went downstairs and joined the blonde who had plopped down on the couch and turned on the football. "Hi, baby," you said softly, pressing a kiss against her cheek. Alessia tried to put on a sour face, but her resolve weakened quickly when you pressed another few kisses all over her face.

"That was mean, you know?" cocking her head at you, eyebrow raised and index finger pointing at you. You couldn't hide the smile that crept on your face. "Don't give me that, Russo! If anyone was mean, it was you. This morning. Leaving me all worked up like that," you reasoned, pointing your index finger right back at her, poking her nose in the process causing a small smile to form on her lips.

"You know what, you're probably right," your girlfriend started, leaning closer towards you and trapping your body in between her arms, positioning the two of you so she was hovering over you on the couch. "That was so incredibly unfair of me and I think it's only right that I get the opportunity to make it up to you."

Alessia dipped her head towards your neck and started pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on the skin there. You hummed and tangled one of your hands into her hair, slightly tugging when you could feel the scrape of her teeth on your sensitive skin. "You're lucky I love you, Russo," you breathed.

"Oh, I know. Now let me show you just how much I appreciate you, please."

[myownwholewildworld]

THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE

↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover

main masterlist | read on ao3 | easter eggs pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖

11 ABY

“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.

In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.

And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.

Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.

The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.

Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.

You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.

“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.

“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.

You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.

You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.

You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”

It didn’t matter anyway.

You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.

“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.

When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.

Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”

“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.

“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.

“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.

You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.

You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.

“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”

“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”

Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.

“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.

The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.

19 ABY

Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.

The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.

There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?

It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.

Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.

Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.

Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.

Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.

Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.

Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.

Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.

With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.

Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.

No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.

You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.

The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.

Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.

Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.

“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.

Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.

If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.

Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.

You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.

“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.

Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.

A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.

With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.

It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.

He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.

Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.

“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.

The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.

“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.

Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.

He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.

“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”

“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.

The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.

Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.

Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.

With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.

He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.

The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.

He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.

And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.

Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.

The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.

The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.

Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.

The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.

Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.

Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.

Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.

“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”

That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.

He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.

Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.

“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.

You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.

“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.

“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”

“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”

While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.

You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.

“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.

In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.

What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.

Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.

The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.

It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?

With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.

“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.

You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.

You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.

Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.

By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.

But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.

You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.

Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.

However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.

“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.

“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.

Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.

“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”

“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.

“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.

“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”

“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”

“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.

“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.

You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.

“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.

“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.

You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.

The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.

“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.

You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.

“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.

“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”

You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.

“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.

He shrugged again, unbothered.

“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca’nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.

Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.

“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.

“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.

The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.

Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.

“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.

Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.

With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.

“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.

You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.

“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.

“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.

Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.

“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.

“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.

Unsettling.

“Then follow me.”

Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.

The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.

If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.

Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.

Oh well.

He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.

The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.

Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.

The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.

Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.

“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.

You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.

“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.

His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.

The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.

The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.

And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.

When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.

You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.

With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.

You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.

Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.

Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?

“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.

“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.

“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”

Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.

He didn’t answer.

You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.

Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.

“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”

In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.

And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.

“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”

Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.

And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.

Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.

A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.

“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.

Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.

“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.

“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.

“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.

Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.

Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.

“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.

If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.

“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”

“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.

“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.

Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.

I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.

They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.

Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.

The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.

Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.

“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.

From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.

“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”

“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”

“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.

“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.

“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”

And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.

You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.

“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.

“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.

He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.

“Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”

Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.

“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.

Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.

“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.

“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.

You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.

“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.

Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.

“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.

Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.

“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.

“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.

Nine weeks later

You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.

You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.

Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.

The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.

And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.

The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.

“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.

“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.

“Ready for what? It’s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”

“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.

“Oh, shit! You’re right!”

How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.

In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.

“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.

You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.

After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.

“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.

The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.

There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.

“What does it say?”

He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.

“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.

“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.

Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.

“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”

“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.

“Why?”

You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.

“How did you break it?”

“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.

You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.

“Alright, alright.”

You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.

“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.

“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”

“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.

Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.

You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.

“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.

“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”

The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.

You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.

Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.

Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.

Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.

Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.

“Let’s go, now! Move!”

In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…

With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.

That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.

You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.

The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.

Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.

Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.

“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”

When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.

The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.

And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.

Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.

His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.

Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.

“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.

He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.

You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.

“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.

“Were you touching yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.

“Yes,” you cooed.

“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.

You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.

He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.

You whimpered, annoyed.

“Please, Mando―”

“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.

“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.

You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.

First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.

When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.

The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.

You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.

Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.

The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.

Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.

You glanced up at him confused.

“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.

It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.

“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.

You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.

It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.

“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.

“Here I am, take what you need.”

How altruistic of you.

His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.

Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.

Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.

Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.

“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.

He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.

That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.

“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.

His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.

His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.

You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.

“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.

Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.

“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”

Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.

The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.

But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.

It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.

As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.

Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.

Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.

Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.

With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.

He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.”

He had to see for himself.

The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.

An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.

As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.

The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.

Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.

Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.

Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.

He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.

Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.

The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.

Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.

Until you meet your Maker once more.

That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.

“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.

You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.

You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…

“Had stuff to take care of.”

You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.

“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”

You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.

An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.

Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.

“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.

You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.

Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.

Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.

The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.

When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.

“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”

Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.

By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.

“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.

You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.

“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.

“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.

You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ― the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.

Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.

You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.

“You found it?”

“Yeah!”

You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.

The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.

“Let’s go back then.”

“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.

You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.

“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”

“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.

He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.

Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.

“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”

And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.

He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.

“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”

“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.

You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.

“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”

Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.

You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.

You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.

“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.

The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.

With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.

This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.

Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.

Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.

“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.

That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.

Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.

“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”

With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.

One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.

“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.

You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.

Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.

“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.

You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.

He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.

His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.

Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.

You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.

“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.

You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.

“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.

“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.

Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.

Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.

The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.

You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.

“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.

You panted, gathering your thoughts.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.

And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.

“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.

“Huh?”

All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.

“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.

Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.

Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.

So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…

“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.

You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.

Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.

“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.

His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?

“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”

Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.

You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.

“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”

“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.

His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.

You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.

“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.

Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.

A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.

Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.

You’d never let him go.

When the fuck did that happen?

“How long does winter last here?”

“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.

He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.

And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.

It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.

“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”

Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.

But instead, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.

He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.

The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.

“What the hell are you―?”

Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.

“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”

This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”

Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.

The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.

Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.

“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.

You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.

“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.

Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.

Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.

Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.

You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?

No, he wouldn’t have.

With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.

“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.

You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.

“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”

“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”

Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.

Great, fucking great.

“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.

“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”

Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.

“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.

“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.

If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.

“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.

“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.

“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.

“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.

What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.

Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.

Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.

You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?

A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?

Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.

Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.

This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.

You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.

Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.

What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?

Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.

His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.

Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.

You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.

Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.

With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.

“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.

His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.

You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.

Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.

He still looked like Din, but… not really.

The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.

Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.

The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.

He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.

Because it was.

“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.

He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.

Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.

The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.

Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.

“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.

Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.

You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.

Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.

“Din,” you mewled.

He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.

Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.

The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.

He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.

So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.

“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.

A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.

His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.

You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.

Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.

The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.

“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.

His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.

Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.

Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.

The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.

He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.

Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.

The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.

He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.

“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.

The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.

As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.

What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.

A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.

Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.

“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.

Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.

Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”

“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.

The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.

Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.

Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.

Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.

And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.

“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.

He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.

Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.

You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.

“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.

Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.

His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.

But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.

He really was exhausted.

You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.

Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.

Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.

Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.

“I can do it,” his words slurred.

“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.

Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.

There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.

I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.

Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.

“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.

Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.

You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.

Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

He decided for you.

“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.

He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.

The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.

A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.

Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.

“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.

His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.

“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”

The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.

“I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.

“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”

“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.

“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”

Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”

Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.

“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.

“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”

Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?

“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.

“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”

The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.

And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”

“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.

“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.

“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”

Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?

You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.

“Maybe the curse is fading?”

“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”

You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.

Yes, you could get used to this.

Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.

It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.

Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.

There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.

And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.

And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.

That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.

You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.

You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.

In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.

None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.

“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.

Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”

“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.

He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.

“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.

The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.

Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.

His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.

“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.

The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.

Nau’ul nodded.

“How long have you had this?”

“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”

“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.

Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.

“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.

When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.

He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.

“What’s the matter, Din?”

“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.

The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.

Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.

“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.

“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.

Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.

“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”

Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.

“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.

You nodded.

“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”

He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.

Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.

“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.

He chose you.

Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.

Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.

Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.

Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.

You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.

“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.

You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.

“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.

You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.

“Are you okay? Is he dead?”

A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.

Ashton.

Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?

But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.

Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.

So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.

The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.

You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.

Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.

“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.

His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.

“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.

You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.

As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.

Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.

An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.

When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.

“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”

Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.

“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.

“Noted, cyar’ika.”

Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.

The wind carried some words you barely made out.

“Maker met.”

Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.

Din’s curse was broken. For good. Forever.

You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.

Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.

He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.

You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.

Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.

“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.

You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.

“For you, I just might, Din.”

@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove

[daydreamgoddess14]

Sweat

Declan O'Hara x f!reader

(little mention of Tag x Rupert)

~1k words, no real warnings - the 'c' word is used once.

While I wait for my man Jack Lowden to return from war (filming season 6 of Slow Horses), I thought I'd dip my little toe into a very short Declan O'Hara one-shot 😬

If you're reading The Escape Artist, fear not, the final TWO chapters are coming this week! Yes, of course I do have other prompts to get on with, but I was in spin class last night, and every time my instructor shouted, "Ride, ride, ride" all I saw was Declan 😅 The moustache would make a wonderful handle as well 🤭

Another bead of sweat drips from your forehead onto the towel.

“Ride, ride, ride, ride, don't stop ladies,” the instructor, an Adonis of a man, coaches you through the pumping music. Next to you, Taggie blows a stray curl out of her face.

“This is torture,” she hisses through gritted teeth.

She isn't wrong.

The newly installed ‘Bicycle Hub’ has raised eyebrows at the local leisure centre, with few expected to actually attend.

The Hub overlooks the squash courts, not that you'd know.

They were so filled with cigarette smoke you could hardly see a thing at all.

From the front row of bikes, you had a prime view looking down.

Usually older gentlemen with portly stomachs and red wine noses who were one play away from a heart attack.

“Oh look, it's daddy.” Taggie peers down. “And Rupert.”

Even through the glowing pink caused by the exercise class you can see her blush.

The two men look up and catch you watching them.

A real shame you couldn't lip read.

Not that they'd be saying anything about Tag, Rupert wouldn't dare in front of Declan.

You were fair game though.

Taggie waves but you don't dare break your rhythm on the bike for fear you'd fall right off.

“Concentrate, ladies,” Adonis warns. “Left, right, left, left, right, right. Stay with the beat, ride, ride, ride.”

You tear your eyes away from the squash court and look back at your bike, regretting it instantly.

“My legs are killing me,” you mutter, feeling your thighs burn.

You go back to looking at the squash game Declan and Rupert are playing, it looks more like they're trying to hit each other with the ball rather than play to the rules.

Each of them roaring with laughter whenever they make contact.

“I'm sure that's not how you're supposed to play,” Taggie grumbles.

“Could be worse, they could be just hitting each other with the racket,” you suggest.

Your breath comes in short gasps now, your stamina rapidly declining.

The rhythmic sounds of the squash ball combine with the squeak of running shoes, the beat of the music, and the hum of the fixed wheels of the bike.

A cacophony of sounds.

You find yourself watching their game more intently, it powers you through the changes in resistance on the bike.

You tilt your head to brush your earlobe against your shoulder and catch another drip of sweat.

As you do so, another works its way down the side of your neck and down into your cleavage.

“And down, catch your breath. Next, we're going to run,” Adonis tells the class.

You let your legs slow down a little and take the opportunity to run the towel over your face and take a long drink of water.

Your chest heaves.

As you put your water bottle back on the machine, you automatically look again at the squash court, this time catching Declan watching you.

You notice the quick lift of his eyebrow as he stares.

He licks his lips slowly, deliberately, and then smiles.

“OK ladies, stand up -”

“On the bike?”

“Yes, madame, it's time to run.”

“I don't understand, I'll fall off!” You think it's Valerie Jones who's protesting, but you've yet to look away from Declan.

Holding his gaze, you do as Adonis asks and you stand up, straightening your legs on the pedals.

Even from this distance you can tell where he's looking.

Your tight lycra crop top pulls your breasts together and his eyes are drawn like a magnet.

When you lean forward on the bike, he wipes his hand over his mouth.

The next track starts building in momentum and so do you, each rotation of the wheels making you bounce a little more vigorously.

Neither of you has looked away yet, goodness knows where Rupert has gone.

Taggie is mercifully distracted, a tight frown of concentration on her face.

There's a wicked glint in Declan's eye and you tilt your head to the side, a silent question.

Whatever he's about to do in response, he doesn't.

Rupert is back, distracting him, talking to him.

He looks away at last, but you can tell it's under duress.

“Thank you ladies, great class for today!” Adonis is off the bike and leading his own round of applause.

You roll your eyes at Taggie and grimace.

“He's single! So I've heard,” she tells you with a giggle.

“No thanks, his biceps are huge! He'd suffocate me!”

You leave the class very much in need of a shower and as you make your way down to the changing rooms, you pass the squash courts.

Taggie's looking out for Rupert, you can tell.

Desperate for a moment alone with him.

You spot him first, by the water fountain, and nudge her in his direction.

His face lights up at the sight of her.

"Looks like you ladies have been getting all hot and sweaty,” he grins slyly.

You leave them to talk, and open the glass door to the court.

Taggie and Rupert are in full view of most of the leisure centre so he only has his words to charm with.

Inside the court, Declan has been watching you through the glass.

“Water?” You offer, holding out your bottle.

“Prefer whiskey,” he grins.

“So do I.”

“I'd also prefer an exercise that'll leave us both breathless," he says quietly.

There's a line you're about to cross but neither of you seems to care.

“So do I.” You repeat equally quietly.

“Sure I can find a much more comfortable seat for you as well.”

The lilt of his accent runs over your body.

He looks through the door but Taggie and Rupert are out of sight, for once, he doesn't seem to care.

He takes a step towards you, as if he's about to whisper in your ear.

Instead, he drags his tongue from your throat to your earlobe.

“You taste delicious.”

Your power of speech is non-existent.

Your hands shake as the adrenaline from the class and from his proximity mingle together.

He kisses your temple, your hairline damp with sweat.

“I think it's time to put a stop to this little game, don't you?” he murmurs.

You can only nod as your body trembles and your cunt clenches.

And then you hear Rupert in the atrium outside.

Declan takes a measured step away from you as Taggie arrives, though neither of you can stop staring.

“Ugh, let's go, I feel disgusting,” she pulls a face. Rupert clearly thinks quite the opposite.

“Yes, let's. Enjoy your game, gentlemen.” You smile brightly.

“I certainly am,” Declan responds, the low rumble of his laughter following you from the court.

You can still feel the heat of his stare as you pile into the car to leave.

You can still feel the weight of his body on yours as you climb into bed that night.

[writememysticfalls]

Naked | Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: You're craving affection from the cold Elijah. When he asks you to read the names off his naked body, you can't keep your hands off him.

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x reader

Genre: Suggestive, Shirtless!Elijah, Inspired by S1 Ep 14 when Elijah has the names on his skin.

Word Count: <1k

"Y/n! Come here, quickly." Elijah yanked off his tie and threw it onto the ground.

You couldn't help but feel a flutter of delight. It had been too long since you'd heard Elijah call your name.

You rushed into the room. "I'm here, Elijah. How can I help...."

The words died on your lips when you caught sight of him.

Elijah was standing in the centre of the room. He was shirtless, holding his pale blue shirt crumpled in his hands.

You almost felt embarrassed by his nakedness, like you should turn away. But you couldn't tear your eyes from his body.

"The names marked on my flesh represent a riddle, left for me by the witch Celeste." Elijah said, voice cool. "If we figure out what they mean, we can save my siblings."

There was no "hello" or "how are you" with Elijah, even though this was the first time he'd spoken to you in days.

Your eyes traced across Elijah's naked chest. There were names scrawled all over his brown skin. You had never seen beneath the suit that Elijah wore like armour every day. What you saw was more... muscular than you were expecting.

"I need you to write down all the names marked upon me. Hurry, we do not have much time."

You stepped closer. "Why me?"

Elijah clenched his jaw, folding his arms across his chest.

His voice was curt. "I cannot read the names on my back, and I do not trust any of Marcel's imbeciles to do the job properly."

"So that's all I am to you now? One step up from a next-to-nothing daywalker? You almost loved me once." You muttered the last part under your breath, but Elijah's vampire ears caught every word.

Elijah turned to you, looking you straight in the eyes for the first time since you’d entered the room.

"I do not have time to discuss... such matters. Help me now, I implore you."

You sighed. "Fine. Let's crack this code and save some goddamn Originals."

You took Elijah's arm. His skin was surprisingly smooth, like warm butter. You gulped. You couldn't remember the last time you’d been touched.

"Adriana Malory," you whispered, tracing your finger across the cursive inked onto Elijah's forearm.

Inch by inch, you scoured Elijah’s skin, hands caressing every name.

You touched his bicep. "Anita Kaur." The slope of his shoulder. "Maria Nester." Under his collar bone. "Sophie King." Over his ribs. "Sabine Dubois."

Elijah watched silently as you read the names across his chest and back.

"We're nearly done," you said. "There's some left on your..." Your voice faltered. You gazed at the thick, taut muscles of his abdomen.

Half hidden by the belt of Elijah's trousers, one name was nestled amongst the dark coarse hair at the base of his abdomen.

"Just need to get a little closer..." You muttered. You knelt down on your knees in front of Elijah. His heart nearly stopped.

You reached out and touched his stomach, smoothing the hair to read the words.

"Emma... no, Emily..." Your mouth was dry. "I can't read the rest. Your belt..."

Elijah sucked in a breath. "Let's just get this over with." He unbuckled his belt and pulled his boxers down an inch.

You leaned closer.

"Emeliana Kirkcaldy," you said. "That's the last one."

Both you and Elijah exhaled. It was over.

Right now, Elijah was glad you weren’t a vampire. You couldn't hear his heart racing a hundred beats per minute.

"Won't you forgive me, Elijah? I only went through your diaries because I had to.” You looked up at him from your position on the floor. Your eyes, a deep shade of walnut, bore onto his. Tempting him. Taunting him.

Elijah cupped the side of your face. Your eyes slipped shut. You leant your cheek into his warm palm.

He wanted to give in, he wanted to feel your hands all over him, your lips on him. But then he remembered your betrayal, and his mouth filled with venom.

"We're done here." Elijah hissed. He sped across the room at vampire speed and whipped his shirt on.

"Wait," you called. "Take me with you, Elijah. I can help find-"

"You've done enough," he said, walking towards the door.

"Elijah!" You grabbed onto Elijah's arm and yanked him back with all your strength.

Elijah turned, staring at your hand on his arm. He couldn't help but be a little impressed that this young girl had the courage to take on an Original.

"How long are we going to be walking on eggshells around each other?" You yelled. "I've said I'm sorry! You're my only friend in this... prison that I'm forced to live in. Please, I can't bear you angry at me. I won't have it!"

You were panting, brown cheeks glowing with life. Your dark hair whipped wildly round your angular face.

Elijah sighed. "I am not angry at you."

You scoffed. "Tell that to your face."

Elijah smiled. He reached forwards and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Y/n… I owe it to my siblings to give them my undivided attention. If I allow myself to think, even for a second about... us." His words were strangled, barely above whisper. "No. I cannot."

Before you could say anything, Elijah stepped back, shrugging on his Armani suit jacket.

"Do not leave the Quarter, Y/n. It is not safe for a human.”

He sped off, too quick for your eyes to even process. Tears pricked at your eyes.

Elijah's indifference was worse than his disappointment. Something had to change.

​—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 19: Four Seasons Landscaping

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: dubcon; noncon; tentacles; cumflation; plant-fucking; creampie;

A/N: Apologies if this one feels rushed. It is. Today's been remarkably busy for a Sunday so I bashed this one out quick. I left the CWs on for dubcon and noncon because fem!reader isn't into it at first, even if she gets into it pretty fast. Read at your own discretion, but this is much nicer than yesterday's

####################################

Another day, another job. You checked your docket, this sure was the address. You sighed heavily, was this another case of them giving the only woman at the firm the shitty job again, or did someone seriously see the half acre of bramble and overgrown hedges and call it "light weeding"

You may never know

First off was the perimeter hedge, where it overhung the street. Your trimmers made short work of the overhang, even if you did need the long ladder to get to the top of them. Whoever owned this plot really liked their privacy to have planted ten-foot hedges around the entire property line. You weren't sure how the neighbours felt about it, but you're only being paid for the street-side so you couldn't care less.

At least the pavement was clear now, and working inside such a private plot really limits how much randos from the street can catcall you. That's one plus, at least.

The docket specified no weedkillers, so you can't just put on a rubber suit and salt the earth with glyphosate and a cocktail of other chemicals adorned with fun-looking warning triangles. You pulled on your overalls and stocked your toolbelt with an array of trowels, secateurs, shears, forks, strimmer wire, a trusty multitool, and a pair of heavier gloves, just in case. Armed with the tools of your profession, girded in denim dungarees, safety specs, and ear defenders, you started your mechanised assault on the wilderness.

You cut your path into the tangle of weeds and vines. Foliage piled high upon itself on wither side of you as you hacked inwards. You wondered if a machete would be a better tool when you remembered: you actually have one in the van! You'd been given it as a joke when you started, but a quirk of the law let you keep it around so it lived in a cubby in the centre console. You turned to make your way back.

Your path had closed behind you. The piles of plant matter leaning on each other and blocking your way. You shrugged and revved your strimmer. Cutting out should be as easy as cutting in.

In theory.

As soon as the wire hit the brambles, it snarled up. You heard the engine struggle, then stall entirely. Damn. You couldn't pull the machine free. The secateurs came out, and you leant down to cut it out.

Big mistake.

You hadn't noticed the vines that had wrapped themselves around your ankles when you turned, and tripped, falling into a bank of thorny vines. You felt the brambles piercing your gloves and long sleeves. Your hands wouldn't pull free. Your legs were rooted to the ground. You struggled against your bonds, thorns biting deeper with every movement.

You start to panic.

Plants don't act like this.

Plants don't do this.

You felt the briars start to pull at your ankles. Plant's definitely don't do this. You called out as you watched the entrance recede from you as you were hauled over the cutting barbs, deeper into the tangle.

Nobody came.

The vines were pulling you on, you could tell you were going downhill, though the plot should be level. A sinkhole perhaps? It didn't matter, down you went. You craned your neck to look behind you. Trying to get a glimpse of where you were going. That's when you saw it.

A flower. Huge and angry pink. You were going straight towards it.

You felt the petals close around your waist. Your hands were free now, but you couldn't wriggle them between your flesh and the opening of the plant. Each ankle was being pulled a different direction, holding you spreadeagled within the plant. You felt something strange within the flower, like your clothes being moved around on you. Something was... rubbing your legs? For some reason your skin felt wet

Wait

Those overalls were waxed. Waterproof. Nothing should be getting on your skin unless... Oh shit.

Your clothes are being digested. The plant must be carnivorous, which made sense, why else would it have vines that drag you into it? It didn't hurt though, which was strange. Whatever the plant was using to so rapidly eat away at your clothing didn't seem to damage your skin, or even sting when it hit the scratches the vines were still leaving on you.

Something pushed up what was left of your trouser leg, tearing the weakened material away from you, leaving you almost completely bare inside the bell of the plant. Next came your underwear, the thin cotton didn't offer any resistance to the digestive juices daubed on it. Now those same tendrils were painting your bare crotch. You felt your cheeks flush with arousal, this plant felt pretty good. The tendrils kept going, lubricating you and running between the lips of your cunt, as though a lover tenderly licking you up and down.

Every stroke caught your clit, your hole, your ass, first one way, then the other. Your breathing was getting heavier as the rubbing edged you closer and closer. Your hands strayed to your tits, cupping and squeezing as you rolled your head back, delighting in the sensations until you reached your peak, crying out as your release simmered over you.

Another tendril was pressing against you now. This one was moving with more purpose, pressing against your pussy until it entered your well-lubricated hole. You whined as it filled you, anticipating another orgasm as it started to thrust in and out, worming around and stretching you out. The insistent thrusting and continued attentions on your clit drove you to another screaming finish before you felt a hot, thick liquid filling you up. More and more it pumped into you, your womb ached with the amount and you could feel your belly bloating, growing large and round with the sheer volume of the stuff.

As quickly as it began, it pulled away. The vines loosened from your ankles and the flower released you, leaving you to cut away the last tangled pieces of vine from you and start the slow climb out, leaking a thick golden sap from your cunt as you dragged yourself uphill.

It took you over an hour to get back up to your strimmer, which you cut out and dragged behind you as you wobbled back into the van. By some miracle, your toolbelt was still largely unharmed, and everything that was on it before was still there. Along with, tucked into one of the thick, heavy-duty gloves, the end of a vine.

You're no botanist, but you know how to propagate a plant.

[kokokoula]

drunk confessions

a/n: wow i haven't posted in a long while hahaha thanks for staying :) i'm so burnt out from exams please tolerate me🥲 again, not beta read, my beta reader is busy as heck because of a hellish sch system. also, i wrote all of this at 3am, i hope it's still readable TT (this is obvi in timeskip no underage drinking guys)

---

"i think i love you."

you rest your head on your palm, gazing at him with soft eyes and warm cheeks. you reek of alcohol; tsukishima doesn't seem to care.

the two of you sit by the bar at the far end, where the light jazz music gets faint. he's thinking clearly, only a bit red from a drink or two— or is it something else?— while you're flat out drunk. his eyes widen slightly at your confession, and pauses.

"don't say things you don't mean." tsukishima eventually brushes you off, pushing his glasses further up. despite that, his heart beats a little faster, and he hates it.

you splay out your arms across the countertop, burying your face in them. he takes the last swig of his drink. there is the distant sound of glasses clinking and a cheer.

"tsukki?" his name is a bit slurred as you turn to him again. your hair is in a tangled mess, locks of it falling over your eyes. he resists the urge to tuck them away and behind your ear.

tsukishima nudges your foot: a sign to continue.

"y'know, when i first met you, i thought you were an arrogant, self-centred bastard. i hated you." you state, fiddling with your empty shot glass. wow, and just when he thought things were getting intimate.

"where exactly are you going with this?" he frowns at you.

"we used to bicker about almost everything at school. i can't count how many times yamaguchi had to step in." you giggle, hiccuping at the end. you didn't seem to have heard him but he doesn't mind. he shakes his head, a small smile appearing on his face; you look so cute being lost in your own world.

"remember it was our last class, and it happened to rain that day? you laughed at me because i didn't bring an umbrella." yes, he remembers. tadashi was sick that day, and the both of you ended up getting lectured many times by teachers for your incessant arguments. he almost chuckles at the thought of it.

"i didn't expect to find your umbrella in my shoe locker after you left, though. you said you had an extra when i confronted you about it but yamaguchi already told me you had returned home drenched." tsukishima's face starts to burn. shit, being reminded of how down bad he was—and still is— is embarrassing. he wishes he was much cooler about it.

"i couldn't accept that you were capable of being nice, let alone to me..." it's even more so because of you.

"...till i realised you're nothing like what i thought you were. you admit your own faults, are too hard on yourself, and incredibly encouraging of your friends in your own complicated way. hell, even to hinata and kageyama!" you're sitting upright now, your hands making exaggerated movements as you talk. you take a deep breath in.

"it's your fault that i can't stop thinking about you, and that i get so sickeningly happy when i see you. so shuddup, i do mean it when i said i think, no wait, i know i love you." you rebuke him, pointing your finger at him like an angry child.

you have done it. you've lit his face on fire with your words. he can't tear his eyes away from your piercing gaze.

tsukishima isn't the most affectionate person, but maybe it's the late hour, or the influence of the alcohol, because he reaches over to caress the back of your head and bring you closer to him. his lips softly presses against your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling away. he sees your eyes sparkle.

since kei believes actions speak louder than words, he hopes you know that this, everything, means something to him.

bonus