#like heavy metal and power metal just feel so right to my brain like that is the music that clicks with me

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

i love metal music so much i love the intensity i love when music is dramatic

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[writella]

Screwed Up and Brilliant

Synopsis: Negan is ready for you. Daryl isn’t; and maybe he’ll never be. Negan makes that clear to you tonight.

Details: Negan Smith x fem!reader, Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (mentioned), Negan is a bad guy but there is nuance— at least I hope I accomplished doing so, angst, guilt, forbidden love, probably super stereotypical, reader at the Sanctuary, moral dilemma reader (but you got to understand, they’re both so fine!!), I feel like I need more cws but I can’t think of them and of course, smut, 18+: consensual, unprotected, vague dacryphilia, soft? dom!Negan, lite daddy kink, fingerings, riding, and basically just Negan blowing your brains out… but not in the walker way— the good way, the way we like. Amen.

A/N: Could you believe I started writing this in October or something? This is my first time writing Negan and I’m scared I may not have gotten it right so definitely feel free to give notes! This is set during season 7/8, I’m picturing Negan at the end of 8 and later seasons but there’s something about him older that gives me heart eyes everywhere, but whatever you prefer makes me happy. Anyway, from my heart, and maybe somewhere a little lower, to yours; with love from writella. ♡

You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million-dollar man; so why is my heart broke?

—— LDR, Million Dollar Man

The space was clean; minimal. The kind that let out no secrets of the owner that inhabited its insides. And of course there were the little things that let out some slight details: the ashtray on the nightstand— a smoking habit; a ring, a metal chain, another of black rope— an unsuspected, albeit small, interest in jewelry; the bottom nightstand closed by a lock—mysterious and cautious, though that was to be expected. It was only reasonable he’d have something he wanted hide. But other than that, Negan’s bedroom was quite unreadable; almost purposefully mundane.

There was a fireplace, a window at the corner, and a bed at the center. It had a dark, brass, rusted headboard that leaned against the wall. Two pillows at either side. The sheets were white, and the large blanket was of fur, a tan or medium brown, it was thick and heavy. Probably unnecessary for the approaching spring heat, but it adored the bed end well; matching the other bronze, or brown, wooden and darker aspects of the room. Even the light from the small fire, though you could see clearly, made everything mildly dim— the Sanctuary wasn’t known for its brightness after all.

And truly, nothing in this bedroom, or in this fortress of a place could be described as anything close to bright. Unless you counted the sun outside in the courtyard, or the largest fireplace that blazed in the main hall, or Negan’s piercing, priceless smile— so pristinely white, so wide it almost looked painful to perform. There was an eeriness to it as well. That was at the forefront, and everyone saw it. With the way he maintained their cleanliness, it was something that could look so pure, so put-together on any other; but on him, its power could scare you into worthlessness. It’s the one he used when he told someone what to do even if they hated it; it’s the one he used when killing someone’s best friend.

It’s also the one he used on the first day he ever spoke to you. The first time that truly mattered, really.

It was during Negan’s first supply gathering at Alexandria.

You still remember it well.

Your faces filled with desolation, but chins held high; you were strong— good at hiding the pain, the fear— only straight, pokered eyes and mouths allowed as everyone silently agreed with you. You had told Negan that Maggie was dead.

The Widow, he had coined her. The wife of your good friend that he killed— so generous a man was Glenn, even when he wasn’t trying to be. And she’s your friend too, brave Maggie. That’s the one he wanted, but as far as he knew, she was gone.

Thank God, you thought, Thank God, yes, indeed, until—

Negan’s eyes glazed over your frame for just a moment too long.

You weren’t speaking anymore. You kept it short enough. He should have turned his attention back to Rick but he didn’t.

Where there was sly roguery in Negan’s eyes, anxiety weld in the looks of all others: Rick’s throat tensed and tightened uneasily, sweat trailing down his curls and onto his forehead; Rosita’s jaw clenched with bitterness, brows furrowing under her green khaki cap with anger; and then there was Gabriel: his eyes turned from solemnity and pretend peacefulness to wide bewilderment. The plan you two exchanged had worked: you would tell Negan of Maggie’s passing, as per your idea, and Gabriel would swiftly solidified your lie by saying he was the one who officiated the short funeral. But then, another problem arose; one where he could be nothing else but helpless in aiding you. What was he, or anyone to do? It was easy to help Maggie, she was more than twenty miles away. But you, you were here. Right in front of him.

“Wait a minute…” Negan’s pointer shakes lightly by his temple, his mind turning curiously. “You.” He said, shooting his finger in the direction of your chest.

His smile, mischievous as ever, only grew wider as a moment passed and he made his realization: “You’re the one with that- tight- grip!” He balled his raised hand into a fist as he said it. A slight snicker came after, proud of his entendre. “My men were tryna put Daryl in the trunk and you latched onto his foot like it was your dying- act- which—” you attempt to lessen the startle in your eyes at his upward hitch in tone, “—it most certainly could have been.”

Negan comes closer now, his face nearing your own, “But you know better now, right?”

Obviously, you did not.

Or you would have stayed home, not given him the chance to remember you as he said he would after your nails could no longer claw into Daryl’s ankle. He was thrashing too much and Negan’s men pushed you away; they were too strong together against the two of you. They kicked dirt in your face for it, held a gun to your head until Negan told them to stop. His point was made with your two friends he had killed, no need for another— especially not one who amused him like you had just done.

‘DAYUM. She is surprisingly strong!’ He had yelled, ignoring the weeping faces of you and the group kneeling in a line on the ground; sweat, blood, and tears dripping everywhere. ‘And I do like ‘em loyal…’ He had given you a once over while telling his men, ‘Hands off, gentlemen,’ and before returning his attention back to Rick, he added, ‘I’ll keep my eye on you.’

And he did.

You made an impression.

Now you’ll pay.

Rick should have told you why he wanted you to stay with Judith. He remembered what Negan said too. He remembered what Negan said to everyone. He couldn’t forget. But maybe it didn’t matter. It was only the start of Negan’s day here. Maybe he would have found you anyway.

Rick would feel it was all his fault nonetheless, but all you could think about is how truly, it was your own, and no one’s at all.

The sun allows glints of wickedness to sparkle in the whites of Negan’s teeth as he continues imparts his demand, “From now on, don’t stop me when I’m giving an order, okay?” It’s like you can hear him underlining his words just with his darkened voice. Turning his waist, he extends his hand to everyone as he finishes, “And that goes for all of you.”

You force your face to remain leveled as he meets your eyes again, that cheshire look returning directly toward you. He curls his head to the side, whispering near your profile, “So… you’re his girl, huh?”

Your mouth becomes slightly agape. You don’t even realize it before you can try to close it. He asked the question of aversion, or at least that’s what you assumed it was to Daryl.

You knew it was just his way, that speaking about things like this might have not been his strong suit. Besides, there were more things to worry about almost all the time, but it still hurt to know that when asked, the only complete and honest answer there could be was no.

Your eyes trail down slowly, desperate to avoid his, and Daryl’s face— a few feet away from you— turning to the side, looking at nothing. He could not hear what was being asked, but maybe Rick did, Rosita and Gabriel too. It was unclear, but their eyes prodded with more tension, more worry, Daryl could register that, and even more so, he could not stand Negan’s face that close to yours; he was probably trying to make an advance on you, scare you, or both. He pretends not to care, but ultimately it’s useless. Negan detects your expression and turns to look at Daryl’s; he notices both failing attempts at impassivity.

“Oh,” he muses, voice returning to its normal volume, “or not, my bad…. I guess that does make more sense though.” He speaks louder now, casually, like he’s a close friend consoling you about your boy troubles, “I personally haven’t been able to hold a conversation with the guy either, and I’m just tryna be friends.”

Daryl was right. Negan was weaseling his way in. He snarls because of it.

Only Dwight hears this and sends him a warning glare.

You feel the sweat beading from your hairline to the nape of your neck. The danger felt from Negan’s presence was as thick as the sun’s heat that shone directly on the cemetery grove. It’s hard to look up and especially to look at him directly for that long as if he truly was the fire in the sky, so you look down again.

Negan pats your shoulder sympathetically, his hand then going to hold up your chin, his thumb tracing your jaw softly.

It makes Daryl’s arms twitch and his stance jerks forward, but he’s pushed back, Dwight beating him on the chest. It’s only once but you can hear it, everyone heard it.

It only makes Negan’s grin become more sly because— there it is— a reaction; an answer. It makes what he’s about to do that much more sweet: “Fuck, darlin’. I’m sorry. Idiot,” he tisks. Then more quietly he adds, “I’m not one though.”

This time it’s for sure: Rick caught that, and Rosita too. They give each other an alarming look as Negan continues to trail over your dispirited form, like a wilted flower. His hand lowers back down to your shoulder, then trails to your arm, to the elbow, and then off of you entirely.

Despite the feeling of Lucille under his grasp telling him he shouldn’t, Rick urges himself to speak before Negan says what they all know is coming. “Negan,” he starts, swallowing the slight shake in his voice, “would you like to see the pantry—”

“Did I ask you to speak, Rick?” Negan states, his frame still positioned in front of you. “I’m thinkin’ here… I’m thinkin’… particularly, that you should come with me.”

Daryl makes a sound that you couldn’t hear, for Dwight was already barking a “Shut up,” at him. Only the swat he gives to Daryl’s shoulder is what is once again heard by all.

You almost choke on your gasp, but you hold it in. Only letting out the faintest sound as you ask, “What?”

“You heard me,” he plainly says. “I mean, what do you even do here anyway?”

You almost felt embarrassed to answer.

“No, I’m askin’. Seriously. Does Rick actually utilize you?”

As you begin, your voice is still quiet, “I… I work in the garden, with the produce… I help tutor the kids… I go on runs, gather supplies. I cook. Help with weapons maintenance, I—” you stop, realizing your grocery list of jobs probably sounds pathetic to him, you’re like a chore boy, “— I do a lot. But everyone does.”

“Hm,” Negan responds, playing with his nails nonchalantly. Your thoughts come to fruition with his next words, “So you’re just everyone’s helper?”

He noticed the sad offense emanating from your eyes, so he raised his hands, “And those are important things to do, I mean it. It must mean you know quite a bit from everyone, that’s smart, and there’s no trouble in it. But… I saw you. I think you can do more.”

“How?” You can still only gasp out your words. “I’m not Maggie. And she’s not here.”

“No.” He brings up one finger, “But you’re clever,” you look at him confused as he brings up his middle finger to join the first, “and quick on your feet, that I now know.” A third and fourth finger comes up, “You’re strong, you’re loyal— things I’ve stated before.” Then the fifth he says with a smug smile, “And you’re a looker, I must admit.” He moves his hand to one side of his mouth, pretending to secretly tell you, “But that’s just a plus,” he winks. “And more importantly, it seems to me that just like most people in Prick’s community, you are undervalued and not paid attention to whereas I see potential.” He says it all so simply, he truly believes he’s offering you so much better that he finally ends by saying: “Hm. Yeah. I think you’ll be much better off with me.”

And so, with no true goodbyes said, in a van you went after Negan’s visit was done. A different one from Daryl’s, of course. Taken away from the first home you had in ages.

Before the trunk door closed, Negan gave you parting words: “You see?” He had said, “I told you I’d remember you, didn’t I?”

The words rang in your ears for the entire ride as they still do now, even more or less than two months later as you sit in his room.

Your heartbeat started to rise little by little as time went on and he hadn’t arrived. With the window allowing you to escape into thought, you were left to think about the last couple of days, and specifically, the last time you were in here:

You were sitting with him on his bed. You had asked if you could talk about anything other than the world you two lived in now, and surprisingly, he obliged. It was nice. Sometime later, he had finally opened that locked drawer.

You heard him suck his teeth, what he was getting seemed lost, which allowed you to take a closer peek inside.

There was a picture of a woman. The first wife? The only real one? You couldn’t tell and you wouldn’t ask, it would have been too much. You didn’t even get a good look at the woman anyway— part of her face was covered and he was fast. But he saw your eyes, so you decided to take note of the books you caught a glimpse of, pretending it was the only thing you saw. You try to think of something to say… It did make sense he was a reader, at least even mildly if that was all it was. The way he describes his ideals, his persuasiveness, his diction— it impressed you, even if you disagreed with a lot of it. It was almost ironic that the only cover you saw was of a dictionary, the more valuable ones probably hidden under. “Is that where you get all your big boy words from?” You asked.

“Some of them,” he joked back, composing himself.

It was strange to almost catch him off guard. It was so unlike him to allow it, but what happened next felt even more surprising.

Whatever he got from the drawer was enclosed in his hand. He put the free one on top of the other as he started, “Now… I don’t want you thinking I’m growing soft on you. I just thought you deserve it because—” and then his voice fades. Even Negan, the ever curse-filled wordsmith, was finding it hard to describe in any other way that he was pleased with something as absurd as you not trying to escape anymore. He knew you would probably think that was the only reason for a gift, but then he opted for something that even you couldn’t help but know was equally true, “You don’t seem to proactively hate me anymore. You’re here. I appreciate it, so I wanted to,” he says sincerely. “That’s all.”

Negan opened his hand, resting the piece in your palm— it was a locket; lovely and rusted floral engravings all over it.

You felt sad that you thought it was beautiful, and even worse for knowing the reasons why he was giving it to you. No wonder his voice had faltered.

You remember the soft shock and awe on your face, how you said thank you and how your face felt so hot when you said it, how he asked you to turn, and how you looked at him from behind you after he put the piece on. He was so close and it felt like he was coming closer. You don’t remember if that part was real, but you can see it so clearly that it must have been. Unfortunately, the only thing you remember for certain is that knock at the door that sent Negan away to handle whatever was going on downstairs.

Had you almost let him kiss you? Would you have liked it? Are you the most deplorable person for even thinking that while Daryl was somewhere else locked up at the time?

“I see they delivered my message.”

You return from your daze, your startle leaving as soon as it comes.

It was just him. There Negan finally was.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just come in. The door was unlocked.”

“I knew the meeting was gonna go longer than expected; thought you might as well make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to you, “which I see you did, and no—“ you were getting up from his bed, “it’s fine.” Negan sets Lucille near the door. He walks over to you, sitting down on the edge of his bed as well. There is a bit of distance between you two.

“You know, I came back the other day,” he informs, “I was actually going to talk to you last night, but then I heard you tried to leave. Again.” His eyebrows furrow, “We still on that?” He asks. “Thought we had a breakthrough the other night.”

“But after Carl—“

“—Carl,” he interjects, “came here all by his badass self, and for that, I did not lay even my pinky fuckin’ finger on him.” His hand goes to his chest, “I even took him home like a gentleman. And after I got here and found out they put you in a cell without supper, I had you back in your bed before midnight yesterday, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“Seriously?” Your incredulity is hidden under the softness of your voice as you say it, but it’s cracking.

“As a heart attack. It’s your ex-people who don’t listen. At least I was nice this time.”

You sigh heavily, docility officially fading. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “That’s hard to believe. Especially if you were gone for most of the day. I know what that means. You had whatever the fuck your version of fun is.”

He grits his teeth, holding his words back. You’ve gotten a little too comfortable with the back talk, and you especially shouldn’t be saying anything after the night you had yesterday, but he allows it.

This time.

Of course, he didn’t like you leaving, but he rather that it was Daryl who escaped than you. And based on the bruises: one on the side of your head, one high on your shoulder— he imagines you might have gotten pushed against a wall— and the light ones that littered in a couple of spots on both your arms— he could tell his men must have been rough with you as they brought you back. He didn’t like that; therefore, he lets you quip. Someone would be getting their own bruises for it some time later anyway. He would take your smartass mouth out on them to cover for it.

“Maybe,” he finally says. “Nothing was undeserved though.”

You breathe in, the back and forth was no use. “What happened yesterday?” You asked, losing the sarcasm. Your eyes peered into his for honesty, hoping to skip the sly replies and get to the truth. “Just tell me what happened at home.”

Home. You knew better than to use that word. In fact, you have just stopped using that word. He let out an exasperated laugh, but skipped the lecture. “You want the truth? Or just the SparkNotes?”

You roll your eyes lightly. You probably don’t even notice you did it. Despite the situation being discussed, it makes Negan’s head turn endearingly— your tone of voice, the things you say, the way you react to him… you still don’t realize how fresh you’ve gotten with him, how comfortable. But he sees it.

“Alright. Well, Spencer’s gone.” He reveals offhandedly, replying to your silence.

Your eyes do not widen, you know what gone means. You simply nod and try to not think about how the now-cleaned bat most likely looked before.

“And don’t tell me that you care,” he says, pretending to interject to your continuing silence. “You gotta know he was a small dick nepo-prick, right?”

You bite the inside of your lip, shaking your head slightly. You won’t give in to a cheap joke even if it was pretty accurate, so he beckons you by name, “C’mon, that was funny.”

Still, you give him nothing.

He sighs; taking off his leather; and sits near you on the bed, his hands cupping the ledge. “Thought we were finally over this quiet thing.”

“A lot has happened this week.”

“Like…” he prodes. He would only talk about it if you brought it up.

Your eyes shut tightly before opening again. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to. “You know what. Daryl.”

He states the fact plainly, “Daryl left you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice is fierce now. You can’t believe it. You won’t. “He’s not that kind of person and this isn’t an easy place to get out of— I obviously know that— he wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know,” he jeers, “but he did and he didn’t bring you with him. Even though you were found trying to find his cell. That’s some real idiotic bullshit right there, isn’t it? From both of you.”

You glared at him hotly, you wouldn’t give it up, but unfortunately you had no rebuttal. Both of you would just continue on with the same argument, the conversation going nowhere. And not because either side knew they were completely right; in truth, neither of you actually knew what happened the other day. But in this regard, you felt there was no other choice: you believed in Daryl fully.

Because he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Right?

You continue shaking your head, trying to find something to say in retaliation as you feel your sureness withering. Separating you two was the smartest tactic. You now have nothing to hold onto. “He wouldn’t,” you repeat pathetically, “I don’t believe you.” Unfortunately it’s not quite enough, so he continues with a rant you know all too well.

“You don’t believe me?” He cups the ends of the bed more tightly, positioning himself closer to you. “When I’m the one who gave you the safest roof? Secure food, clean water, access to all these pretty dresses, which, I know you’ve become accustomed to—” and here it comes— “I saved you!”

Saviors and their “saving,” you sneered at it. What bullshit. “You didn’t save me.”

“But I gave you someone to talk to… Huh?” He taunts, waiting for your response but nothing comes. He uses it to his advantage, “You’re quiet cause you know it’s true.”

But you know something too. He says it before you can.

“Or fuck, maybe I just gave myself someone to talk to.”

You pretend you can’t hear the earnesty in it. “Stop,” you scoff. “Don’t treat me like I’m special. I was the second choice.”

“I think with my dick sometimes. You’re the only choice.”

You start to shake your head, your face is flushed; scared, hot, and a little bit of something else that you refuse to let out. Then the tears come— the room feels so big and you two are so close and there are so many feelings you’re trying to push down. “It doesn’t matter,” you say wearily, “You took me. And you took him. You hurt him, I saw his face.” Your voice begins to tremble, almost in unison with the tears that peak out on your eyelids. “And that outfit you put him in. He didn’t even look me in the eye.”

“Stop,” he warns.

“You didn’t even let me see him.”

“He doesn’t notice you.”

“You don’t know us.”

“I know you.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know you’re not happy… What about the other night?”

You ignore him, shaking your head: “You hurt my friends.”

“What about the other night?” He persists, his voice slowly growing louder. “What about every time I let you sit in on my meetings? What about how you have your own room? What about how I actually talk to you?”

“You let him get hurt—” the tears start to fall, there is a quiver in your voice but you still match his near shout, “And you almost killed Carl—”

“Shut up.”

“And you killed Abraham—”

He warns you by name.

“And Glenn! Maggie’s husband—”

“SHUT. UP.”

“The baby won’t have a father, Negan!”

His voice is low and grim as he demands you to “Stop. Now.” Negan grabs the sides of your neck as he says his next line, it comes out brisk and harsh and heavy like his touch as his hand wraps around your neck. “I knew you lied to me.”

Your voice is hushed, feeling his lightly pressed thumbs on the front of your throat as you speak shakily, “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Maybe not since you’ve been here, but did you hear yourself right now?” He pauses, allowing you a second to let it sink in. “You just fucking proved it.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. The baby, you had said. Fuck.

“See? Told you, you were smart.”

And he did. Brave Maggie. Clever you. That was his reason number one.

“You have to get why.”

His voice remains eerily calm. “I do.”

Another tear falls and his thumb presses its pad under your eye, spreading a tear on your face as the next one comes down.

“Negan…” you say. It’s a mix of a warning and a plea but you can’t tell for what, both fear and fire mix together because of his proximity. His touch and stare was dangerous, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was pleased he caught your slip up, thrilled to see you cry, but there was also something about it— his touch, his eyes— that was equally intoxicating. There was something more tender there as well, something you didn’t want to turn away from, he wasn’t as rough as you thought. Nonetheless, your answer to these conflicting feelings are ones of neglect, you stay your course. “You’re a bad person,” you tell him.

“Please,” he whispers back, “just stop.”

His eyes glaze over your features with an intent look you’ve only seen once before, it was that other night in fact. It’s almost gentle, but maybe it’s just pity, so you don’t let it stop you. “But you are.”

“Stop,” he pleads, then it’s hushed, “just stop…” he says, “just stop.” Then he starts coming closer. “Tell me to stop.”

And you know you should get up.

You should, you should, you should, you know it but— you don’t.

You breathe into it.

His lips latch onto yours; your heads tilt; you lock perfectly.

Everything after happens fast, the instantaneous mess of it all: he waited and waited, and of course he would. He was waiting for you to see it, to feel it. He thought the other night was the breakthrough, but no, it was tonight, it was how you didn’t back away just now.

His hand goes lower on your leg, nearing your knees so he can get under your dress, trailing up your thigh, reaching the inner side that’s pressed up to the other one.

His hand on your neck brings you in closer, traveling up to under your chin and jaw, holding you so tight, but so sweetly. All you felt was surprise. He slips his tongue in, it's deep and intense. He brings a velvet warmth that you’d never expect from him. It was paradoxical; a fiery heaven of a feeling.

He starts rubbing your clit over your panties, kissing his way up to your ear as he does so to ask, “When’s the last time someone’s fucked you?”

Your lips are parted, but you cannot speak, so he continues.

“Daryl never did, did he?” He asks in a muffle, continuing to kiss and kiss. “Who was before him?”

Again, no verbal response, but your breath does hitch at his touches. He continues to draw circles, your wetness now slowly dampening the material, making it easier for his finger to place itself between your folds, so he dips his hand under the band. That and his whispering makes you feel a kind of spark that shoots all the way down to where his fingers are touching. The first press of his thumb without any material in between forces a sudden heat to rise that instantly causes a flush of liquid to slip down your hole, it feels messier than it actually is until his fingers go lower spreading it everywhere. You were much wetter than you thought, and you can’t help how good it feels, how easily you’re responding to it.

Negan calls your name, holding in every cocky reply he wanted to give about how wet you are— he needed an answer to his question first. So he looks you in the face, making sure he has your full attention, “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” His words are meant more genuinely than his tone implies. “Not at all during any of this?”

You shake your head small and slowly. No.

He laughs pitifully, he doesn’t mean it rudely, but he just can’t help it. A touch-starved baby at the mercy of his fingertips? “Well, god-damn.”

He felt like a rich man.

He begins to kiss your lips again, now pumping his fingers into you. Your walls tighten. It’s only two, but they’re his. It’s new and exciting. His kiss makes you lean into the bed, the force of his head and tongue going deeper into your mouth guiding you to lay flat as his fingers still play.

“I hope you know how fucking soaked you are,” he finally says. “You need it so bad that it feels this damn good with me only touching you like this?” You can’t help the way your body jerks up and he can’t help but be smug about it. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Your eyes grow vicious at his grin, you almost want to hit him, but you can’t. All you can do is suppress your moan into a quiet whine. He’s so magnetic— his touch feels forbidden but so right; his voice so alluring; and his midas touch pulls you deeper and deeper into a trance, you might as well be turning into gold. Other than the involuntary reactions your body makes as his fingers continue going into your hole, now slowly going in and out as his eye gloss over your body in your favorite dress that you wore the most, you’re left paralyzed; subjected to following his lead. Wherever he wanted to go next, you’d let him.

He takes his fingers from inside of you and you look up quickly. You made sure not to whine at the loss of contact but your eyes couldn’t hide your dismay. All he did was smile and quickly lick away the wetness.

“Just takin’ this off,” he tells you as his hands cross over to the ends of his white t-shirt, slipping it off and onto the ground, one of those small rope chains hitting his chin as he does so.

It was only his shirt but you’re struck by him: to see more of his ever present sun-kissed skin felt almost godly. He was pretty lean, not too lanky like his stature, but not too broad either. Light curves of muscles adorned his chest and shoulders and arms. His chest and abdomen were slightly hairy, a tattoo placed on the upper right side and you finally saw the other tattoos placed on his upper arms more clearly. They looked nice on him. He was so handsome. You felt more wetness peeking out from down below. He looked so big above you.

“Like what you see, beautiful?” That typical snark still laced his voice, but there was a genuinity to it as well. He wanted you to like what you saw; to like him.

His words make your face hot, eyes casting off to the side. It was easier to talk to him when you were mad at him, when it was about home, even just small talk about the Sanctuary; this felt… different. Just like the other night.

You had almost already forgotten that his charm worked this way too; in a kinder way— when his eyes are wide, when his smile is soft, when he calls you sweet names without the irreverent, quip-filled pretenses.

It made you have all the words on the tip your tongue: how handsome and sexy you could say he is, how much you liked his tattoos, even all the greys that littered his hair and beard l, or how, if you had to admit it, you liked that dumb shit-eating grin of his, but all you can do is lightly smile, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at your bashfulness. You finally nod. “Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes, “maybe.”

He starts undoing his belt with a laugh of his own, “Oh I know you’re a fuckin liar if you think I’m a maybe.”

As his pants drop to the floor he takes each hand and places them over your shoulders on the bed to ask, “May I take off the lady’s dress?”

Your eyes widened, your open mouth only letting out a sweet, surprised, and whispered, “Huh?”

“What? Didn’t expect me to be a gentleman?”

You try to compose yourself, calm the fire you feel all throughout your body, and pretend you haven’t already given in completely right when he kissed you. “I just didn’t expect it would be all this slow.”

He laughs inwardly, glad to see the personality he came to know come back after all that happened these past two days. “Just give me a moment,” he jokes back. “You think I’m gonna waste seeing the reaction of you watching my cock spring out just so I can shove it in fast? ” He comes closer, his voice lowers now, “Believe it or not, I don’t think you’re just some doll or a fuck-piece.” The groundedness of his voice is something you’ve never heard before. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already stated that I see you. And truly, I think you’re damn gorgeous.”

Your eyes are stars. How can you even react? He thinks you’re gorgeous and you’re taken aback. “Thank you,” is all you can quietly say.

“You’re welcome.” He responds with eyes that have never looked so honest, so soft. You get lost in them and he has to pull you back, returning to his question, “May I?”

You nod, quick and excitedly, “You can take it off, Negan.”

He grabs your hands and stands you up. You look up at his face and his fingers move to the ends of your dress, pulling it over your head.

The tips of his fingers trace your chest and stomach lightly, delicately touching your skin as if it’s porcelain. He grabs your waist and travels up to take off your bra, then pushes down your wet underwear.

Negan’s cock stirs at the sight, you’re so pretty and so ready for him. “And I didn’t even need to see it to know I was right.” Just like he said, you’re gorgeous.

Negan pushes down his boxers. Cock springing up. Big and veiny with a red tip. He was itching to get inside of you.

And there you were, eyes and mouth open wide, scared and excited all at once. You were intimidated but surprisingly not scared if it would fit or not. You would let him do anything to get himself inside of you, even if it hurt.

“There it is,” he says, pleased with your reaction. He comes closer to your ear now, pushing you down by the hips against the bed once more. “And trust me, if you like that, you won’t fucking believe how I’ll feel inside of you. Just wait.”

“I…” He wanted to make you feel good, you’re almost speechless. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He says, and then he places himself above you, admiring your glistening folds as he spreads your legs. He already lines himself up, he could look at you forever but he is in no desire to wait any longer. He pushes in. It’s a bit fast, a tight fit, it must have hurt you, but he’s too excited, he can’t help it. He lets out a hum and then a groan at the feeling of your walls enclosing him, and he hears you gasp at his size. He starts to pump into you immediately.

His face hovers over yours. His eyes study your features and he realizes he’s never been this close. Of course he hasn’t, he’s never fucked you, made love to you. He’s just now noticing the way your eyelashes curl, what birthmarks adorn your upper body or not, and how many earrings you may have, but most importantly, he’s noticing the way you react to him: the way your eyebrows might scrunch, or what elicits more pants and squirmings, the way your lips tug tightly against each other or open into ovals and circles depending on what he does, how he thrusts, where he touches, how he moves.

It all makes him slowly speed up. He can’t take it anymore. He kisses your neck and jaw— some kisses sweet, then others that are rough and he begins to pump and pump. Faster and faster.

“Oh,” you choke out before moaning, “ah.”

He continues, loving every facial expression you make until he finally speaks. “Alright. I gave you a break— now tell me how it feels?”

All you can do is whine incoherently.

“Excuse me?” He says more sternly. You know what he wants.

“Negan,” you whine again.

He stops. “Yes?” He asks all too knowingly. “Gonna use your words and tell me how it feels?”

You sigh, taking the hand placed on your hip and moving up toward the ends of your stomach, all the way up to your left breast. You let his hand rest there, feeling the heat and your quickened heartbeat radiating from the area. “You… you feel so good.” Your eyes are watery, “Amazing.”

You got him there, and he almost can’t help but start hammering it in, but then he remembers… he doesn’t have to help it. He could do whatever he wanted, so he does. He squeezes your breast, grinning wildly as he gives you one hard thrust. “Damn right,” he tells you, hearing your yelp before pounding fast.

You had always been quiet but he never quite saw you at a loss for words as you are now. Your mouth is completely open, your eyes threatening to roll back further, making sounds he’s sure you’ve never heard from yourself before. Have you even had it this fast? This big? This great? He knows it couldn’t be. And he’s the one who gets to show you. His eyes gloss over you with pride at the thought.

He grabs your chin to get you to look at him, “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You moan. You weren’t used to this. Your eyes roll back completely as he pounds into you with eye contact.

It makes him groan loudly, his jerks into you, letting out his own moan from the sight. “Oh fuck, baby. Don’t play with me.”

You give in, force yourself to speak, you can’t let this end. “You, Negan!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” It’s so hard to speak, it comes out so pathetically.

“Who's making you feel like no one else?”

“You, Negan, it’s you!” Your moan turns into a pant, “It’s you, only you.”

He comes closer, his nose touches yours. His movements slow, but they don’t stop. He’s rocking into you now. “Only me?”

You don’t even think, “Who else? It's only you.”

His teeth sparkle, “Only me.”

“Only you, daddy.”

He laughs cockily, “So Daddy’s making you feel this good?”

“Yes, daddy. So good.”

You feel the groan he makes travel right to your clit, making it throb.

He kisses you, the corners of your lips to your cheek and neck and collarbones and back up again.

He restarts his pumping into you but his head remains close to yours. You decide to wrap one of your arms around his neck, pulling his hair, and the other hand travels down his back, holding him close.

Negan breathes you in, his head near the crux of your neck, hearing every little sweet sound you make that he’s never heard before. It all drives him wild, but then his eyes open. A question comes out that surprises you both: “Am I ruining your life right now?” He quietly asks.

“That doesn’t matter,” you say, breathing heavily from his touches, your eyes are still closed.

“I think it does.”

“You make me feel like no one ever has…” The bliss you feel from his current soft strokes and touches making it hard to speak, your voice is so light. “At least I got to experience it.” You open your eyes now, fingers tracing the cross drawn into his arm, “At least I got to see the real you.”

Your eyes say more than your words do. There’s a yearning and a sadness, an answer to what feels right in this moment, but an insight that there are doubts that could creep up later the more that you think about it.

“Just keep going,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You want to see him, you do see him. His head connects with yours again, and you moan into each other's mouths as he keeps pumping. Your legs come up to his hips and you’re not afraid to be loud anymore, to tell him how good it feels, how much you like him.

He takes your hands and places them over your head, crossing his fingers with your. It’s so pure, so lovely even when he’s going so hard down below. You hear your breaths heavy and your bodies slapping and the bed shaking.

You think about his skin, and his scratchy beard against yours, and the way you hate how he can make you smile by making the most ridiculous and raunchy jokes, and the way you love his voice, the way you can’t help but to like the way he cares for you.

“Negan,” you say weakly.

“Yes,” he responds intently.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “I think I can.”

“Come for me,” he encourages, moving one of his hands down to rub your clit. “C’mon.”

“I’m gonna come,” you repeat, edging yourself on. Bucking up at his thrusts and his fingers.

“You can do it. Be a good girl. Do it for me.”

You swear the fireplace blazes louder and bigger, lighting up the whole room as you yell out, moaning once more as you orgasm.

Negan finally breaths out after, holding in for so long, and comes after you. His hands place themselves flat on the bed and he pushes in fast, riding out the high.

He scoops you up immediately, holding you in his arms. He doesn’t want to let go.

You two stay there for a moment until you look up. His hand caresses your face, “What is it?”

“I…” you were embarrassed to admit that you weren’t ready for it to all be over yet. “Can I ride you?”

A wiley smile appears on his face. He has to admit, he’s a little shocked you’re ready to go again, but he’d never turn it down. “Well, of course you can, babygirl.”

He flips you over, completely ready, but instantly, you become hesitant, almost overwhelmed. He was the world, not you, yet you were now above him. All the allowance to touch him anywhere you want at your disposal.

He puts his hands under his head, arms flexing. An ever wide smile present as he waits for you to begin. “You asked for it. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Your eyes grow excited again, deciding not to hold back, and you start to rock against him. You place you hands on his chest, feeling him up, touching his biceps, hands going over his tattoos— you could stare at them, at him, for hours. You honestly think you’d lick his whole body if he’d let you. And of course he probably would. To feel big and proud and irresistible while you look like a little desperate freak? You wouldn’t even have to ask him twice. Thinking about it and about how full his cock is making you feel, stretching and reaching all the right places, makes you moan and whine. You bucked your hips wildly, humming and giving him “mmms” because of how yummy it feels. You could do this forever.

“Ah- uh- Negan,” you moan and your stomach caves as you whine again and you hurl forward, continuing to rock but your pace is faltering. It’s becoming too hard and Negan can tell so he takes you by the hips, helping you move. First continuing to let your grind and then pushing you up and down his shaft so you can bounce on him. You push yourself up again, hand on his chest, pushing against it and you bounce along with his help. This was fun. You try to go faster and faster. It felt like being a kid on a playground.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at who you’re fucking, sweetheart.”

So you do, and moan at the sight of him, “Ohmygod,” you say. “You’re so handsome, Negan.”

He's so proud of you. Enjoying your actions, enjoying your noises. He groans as he sees your breast bounce and it makes you squeeze against him.

“Good girl,” he coos, “finally listening when you’re spoken to, about to make yourself come on daddy’s cock again.”

He starts to rub your clit again and you continue to bounce. It almost hurts because of how overstimulated you’ve become but you don’t tell him to stop. Your hands come to reach the headboard, helping you bounce harder. He tells you again how much of a good girl you are, how he loves that you’re not stopping, then he tells you how dirty and desperate you are for wanting him again after he already made you come. But he’s obsessed. This is all he’s ever wanted since the day he brought you here. His hands trail up from your hips to your waist and breast and back down again. There is nothing more he wants than to fuck you or for you fuck him.

You look down. You both notice your necklace still wrapped around your neck, almost nearing between your breasts, bouncing along with all of you. It reminds you of why you're here, why he gave it to you. It makes you have the realization he had… Was he ruining your life? Were you ruining your own? But how could you be when it all feels this good? It was completely screwed up, but everything felt so magnificently brilliant. His touch is everything, his voice is everything, his body is everything. It makes your hips stutter, it makes you moan, and at last, it makes you come again. You ride your high, going and going and going until you fall into his chest. His hands come to hold you tight thereafter.

Unthinkable bliss is all that is felt for a long moment… then… your head turns to the window. You remember what is out there and what isn’t in here.

A tear falls down your cheek and he realizes what’s happening when it falls onto his shoulder.

It hurts him now. To see you cry. It’s not fun anymore. You feel it, yes. You see what he saw, it’s true. But you aren’t really his wife. You’re nothing that is his at all. You both know that as well.

It takes you a long time to speak, you have to force yourself, but you do. “You have to let me go now.” You say it sternly but there is a sadness to it; a small part of you wants to not mean it even though you completely do, even though you do wish to stay here, to be enveloped by his embrace— you simply cannot forget.

“Mm,” he shakes his head, remaining leveled, “you know too much.”

“I barely know anything,” you say. “And not that anything I do know matters. Knowing the way around the Sanctuary isn’t going to help anyone when I know there is no way we could actually get in…. And what’s more important anyway is that I’m not changing my mind and you’re not either.”

“I’m not.”

“And I can’t. I wouldn’t. And they’re not going to. Never…. And if some of them die…” A whimper almost leaves you but you manage to swallow it, “I have to be by their side, Negan. I can’t only hear about it. I… I can’t see it next to you.”

His lips are pressed firm, his jaw is fixed and tight, almost like he’s grinding down on his teeth. The breath he takes through his nose could be a heavy sigh if he opened his mouth, but he doesn’t. He keeps it all in.

You words and their weight hang in the air for a moment before he finally speaks: “One of my guys that watches the armory doors has a shift that ends at 6:00 am… but at 5:50 I’m going to come up to him and tell him he gets off 10 minutes early that day, that I’ll wait for the next person to come.” He lets his words hang in the air for a moment, your confusion spirals before he keeps going. “It’ll be fucking weird, but he’ll look dumb as shit if he questions me, so he won’t. Then when he’s out of sight, I’ll leave. The next person is coming right at 6. That’s all you get. 10 minutes. A little less really.”

Your eyes round slowly as the stun continues to sink in. He’s… letting you leave.

“You take one gun and one knife. Just one. Don’t make it noticeable. I’m going to check. Then you go out of the back door that’s inside.” He didn’t have to tell you the way. “It should be easy, I know you’ve tried it before.”

You look down, taking in all he says, but then he turns you face to meet his, “If anyone sees you, I’m gonna have to make a show of it when they bring you back. Not what I want. But if I get there before you get out, maybe 5:58, just cause I’m an asshole, just to see you one last time… And if I do, I’m gonna turn you around and you’re stayin’. Fair?”

You nod. It’s small and light. You don’t question any of it, you can’t. “8 minutes.” You respond.

“8 minutes.” His voice is neutral, but underneath there was a tinge of solemnity to it. “8 minutes,” he says under his breath.

“What about now?”

“Now?” He asks. He didn’t think about it. He assumed you would want to go after this, after you got what you wanted. “Well,” he turns to his nightstand, “right now it’s half past 10.” He stares at you for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. This whole moment has felt so quiet, both eerie and gentle. You still weren’t used to the latter from him, even after what just happened. “You can go if you want. Sleep in your bed for one more night, or…” he stops, “You can stay with me, if you’d like.” His sigh is short and whispered but you both hear it, you feel its weight. “It’s your choice.”

You stare at each other for a moment. Your eyes trail all of his face and the arm that is still holding your own, adorned with all the tattoos and skin you had just fallen for. You wanted to study them and hold onto him forever. And his eyes: they said so much— there were so many little inflections, ones that you had finally read, and so many others you’ve yet to decipher. You desired to know him, but you had to go, so all you decided to do was to hold him. For now, you chose to stay, and hoped that your embrace would transfer the fact that the only reason it would be hard to leave is because of him and only him. You would remember this forever. “8 hours till 8.”

“8 hours till 8, kid.”

You close your eyes tight and nuzzle into his chest, A peace you had never known in the Sanctuary finally subsumed you. You feel free to finally tell him, “Thank you. I really do miss home.”

Home. There it is again. There was no malice in the way you said it, but there was still a pang from your melancholy words that made his heart throb. You missed home. And as peaceful as you looked, and as safely as you held onto him, your words reaffirmed that home was not here and it was not with him— no matter how you looked, and no matter the fact that you were allowing him to hold you for the night, to call you his. In the end, you were not.

He had to finally accept it.

“8 hours till 8,” are your last words until you finally drift to sleep. This would be your last and most tranquil night here. To you, it felt right, almost harmonious, albeit sad. This is how it was and how it was meant to be. You needed it.

But to him, it’s shattering. He doesn’t repeat the phrase back this time because, for once, he has nothing to say. The fire glow of the night has now withered into darkness.

You won.

He lost.

But both your hearts broke.

[ladybirdswritings]

Pretty Thing - Cooper Howard (Ghoul) x Reader

Summary: You’re a shiny, pretty prize worth more caps than can be counted on ten hands altogether. There’s something special about you, and the Ghoul is determined to figure out just what it is.

Notes: I’ve been wanting to write for this cowboy for days now and I’ve finally come around to it. Cowboys are my specialty lately <3. Lmk if u love this and I’ll write more (feel free to leave me lots of comments and interactions, I love those!!)

A03 | masterlist | next chap

pretty thing…

“Well lookie here, seems you vaulties ain’t as perfect as you promise to be, huh?”

A furrow of chocolate brows, offense and confusion from sweet Lucy MacLean. This vault promised development in weaponry that the new world had never seen before. It was a thing of storybooks, the kind of thing her dad told her right before her head hit the pillow.

Now, here she was; and it wasn’t a caged weapon she was staring at… no, but rather a caged person.

“This violates all of our policies…” she muttered softly, worry stitched in her soft features as she looked on at the mangled cowboy beside her.

“Tsk tsk, sweetheart. You oughta be more careful with trustin’ these shit-eating freaks. Ain’t you learned your lesson first time round?”

Lucy sighed, falling to her knees and grazing a warm hand against the metal. She looked on at you with pity. Weak, hazy you.

How did you end up in this predicament? You didn’t know. You didn’t remember.

It was as if the entirety of everything you’d ever known was only stitched within your brain in jagged, disorderly flashes. This had to be one too. A flash.

A vault dweller and a ghoul, side by side.

It was most certainly a flash.

“What do we do, coop?” The brunette wondered, doe eyes gazing up at the mangled creature. He only smirked.

“We split. You find your precious tin-man you can’t stop yappin’ bout… and I’ll snatch up this dyin’ cargo. Comprende?”

Lucy had come to trust him, and maybe it was a stupid thing to do. Reality was, though, he’d kept her alive this far. Maybe she owed it to him to follow orders. With a huff, she parted— and then?

It was just you and the ghoul.

Heavy footsteps circled your metal cage, like shark to labored minnow. You were far too exhausted to pick up those pretty eyes of yours from the ground they gazed at.

Chains wrapped round your wrists and ankles, cold metal burned against your spine and cheek. There were two ghouls in your peripheral vision, and each one was the same amount of horrifying.

The footsteps halted, and suddenly the mangled, noseless blur was clear as day before you. Kneeled to your level, observant— cold.

“Well well— look at you, huh? Pretty thing. Now I understand takin’ precautions but damn, sweetie. That’s a lotta chains, hm? What’s so scary bout’ you?” He whispered the last part, thread laced finger lifting to slowly push a loose locket of hair from your dampened face through the cage.

You blinked, forcing your gaze upward so to try and meet his eyes. It was exhausting.

He observed you like you were a foreign object, a diamond in the radiated rough.

“I’d wager to say that you’re just the weapon we was lookin’ for, ain’t you?”

God, he didn’t know just how right he was.

If there was one certain thing you could remember clear as day, laced through the flashes, it was your powers. Each and every one of them, laying dormant now.

You were far too poked and prodded, too drained to even think of lifting a finger.

“Been doin’ this for centuries, pretty thing. Centuries and I ain’t ever seen this kinda experimentation on a little fawn. Hm. Guess you was just unlucky.” His breath was warm as it hit your face. Musing and eyeing your exhausted, slumped figure. Observant, taking his time. Your keepers would be coming soon— he didn’t seem worried.

“Tell you what. You look like you gon’ make me lots of money. So you’re comin’ with me. Don’t you worry, I prefer ropes stead’ of chains, sweetie. You’ll be nice n’ comfortable.”

The more he spoke, the farther away he sounded. You were aware he was a ghoul, that much was certain. Yet even so, no part of his voice, no part of his fading threats were even a little bit startling. No.

His voice was a soft yet strong southern drawl and god— it was far more comforting than the chains and cement floor you’d always known. Perhaps that’s why you let the exhaustion overtake you. Perhaps that’s why you closed your eyes.

Did it matter why? No. All that mattered was that you did.

The rest was a blur. The last thing you remember? Frayed ropes being wrapped round you tight as you were freed from your chains. Mangled, coat covered arms lifting you from the cement and golden teeth pressed against your aching ear to whisper:

“C’mon now, pretty thing…”

Then?

Slumber…

¿to be continued?

[pedrito-friskito]

hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

mando has been on the brain lately so i'm requesting fluffy smut with him pls 🥺😫 (the yearning is *extra* today)

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

ok…this got away from me. I blinked and suddenly a plot! exposition! SMUT! (multiple scenes at that) all the things. I’m a slut for Din Djarin and it really jumped out on this one.

(smut below the cut, a full plot, the helmet comes off, a bit of inexperienced!din, reader is kind of a bad ass, descriptions of bodies, unprotected p-in-v sex - wrap ur shit even if ur in space ok)

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

(word count 9.1k - it REALLY got away from me okay)

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

Din Djarin aches in a way he has never felt before, much more powerful than any injury he could ever sustain. His Creed, demolished. His son, gone. His life, upended. As he staggers out of the Covert, trying to think of where to go next, he cannot shake the feeling of lost that settles around his shoulders like a cloak.

Maybe coming to Glavis was a mistake; maybe he should have stayed back on Nevarro, kept taking jobs from Karga until he finally had enough credits to take the old man’s advice, get himself a camtono full of spice and disappear into the Twi’lek healing baths until he forgot the whole thing.

The truth of it? He knew he could never forget. There wasn’t enough spice in the galaxy to help him forget it all. It wasn’t possible. And the larger part was that Din didn’t want to forget.

His leg aches as he walks. The bacta Paz had sprayed him down with had helped some, but the ache runs deep, and the drills the Armourer had forced him to run with the Darksaber had only made matters worse. He should find a place to lie down, to hide for the night before he decides what he plans to do next, where he plans to go.

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

The echo of the words make his head split, and for a moment, he has half a mind to wrench the helmet off, to launch it off the ring, let space swallow the beskar whole. But he stops himself; it feels as though his armour is all he has left.

His armour, and the Darksaber. The right to the throne of Mandalore.

Maker, he can’t think straight. The ache only worsens, his limp more prominent, and it gets to the point where he can take no more. He falls onto the nearest crate, his injured leg stuck straight out in front of him. His body feels twice as heavy, his head even more so, and he tips it back against the wall to lighten the load. He’ll rest just a moment, he’ll just shut his eyes for one—

“Mando?”

Din pulls his blaster from his holster as his eyes shoot open. There’s the sound of shuffled steps, something metallic hitting the floor, a murmured dank farrik! He hits a button on his vambrace, turns off the thermal setting on his visor.

“Sweets?”

You look exactly the same as he remembers. It’s been ages, but he could never forget your face. He knows what’s underneath your clothes, too, and the memory speeds to the surface of his mind faster than a pod-racer.

+

Before he had an in with Peli on Tatooine, the Razor Crest routinely parked and tuned up in Hangar 3-5, he had you. You were well-known within the Guild, had more than a few contracts with different gangs and hunters in the galaxy. If something on a ship broke, you were the one to fix it, and you had enough heavily-armed thugs on your side to make anyone think twice about trying to mess with you.

Some called you the Mechanic, simple and descriptive. Others, those you let a little closer, knew you as Sweets, a moniker earned by your penchant for candies and treats. You’d let your favoured clients off easy if they were short a few credits, but had something sweet from the far reaches of the galaxy to offer in lieu of the missing cash.

Din knew he was one of your favoured clients, perhaps your favourite. Or, had been. You’d crowed endlessly about the Crest, desperate to get your hands on it any time he hauled it in for service, whether it actually needed it or not. Sometimes he genuinely needed something fixed, some times he’d found some candy or sweet in a far off corner of the galaxy that he’d brought back just for you.

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

You were sweet in other ways, too. He knew first-hand. And he knew he was the only client you let into your bed. He’d been drawn to you the first time you’d been introduced — a common contact between you and Din sent him your way when the Crest was in serious need of a tune-up, and you were the closest mechanic he could get to without doing more damage to the ship.

Your knowledge astounded him, to start. You were barely into a diagnostic and you knew exactly what needed to be fixed, what parts you had and didn’t, how many credits it was going to cost him. And you hadn’t even set foot on the ship yet. Your competency drove him wild, only spurred on when he brought you aboard the Crest to give the interior a once-over, eager to see if he’d kept everything original, or if you had any modifications to offer that he might be interested in. Din followed you around the ship silently, answering whatever questions you had, mostly just watching you work. It was intriguing beyond belief.

“That’s not much of a bed,” you’d commented, cocking your head to the side when you hit the button that opened the bunk. “When’s the last time you had a new mattress?”

He just shrugged.

“One thing you should know,” you said over your shoulder, descending the Crest’s ramp, heading back towards the entrance to your shop. “I don’t use droids.”

Din nearly fell over. “That’s not a problem.”

“Good,” you replied, tapping at your data pad, your brow scrunching. “It’ll take longer than your usual hangar; I do everything myself.”

“I’m happy to wait,” he said, dipping his helmet, thankful it was hiding the way he was raking his eyes over you. I don’t use droids. Had someone made you in a lab somewhere, on some backwater planet, just for him? “I know she’s in good hands.”

The grin you’d offered him was sweeter than anything he’d ever seen, and you shooed him out a moment later, muttering something about getting back to work.

When he returned three days later to retrieve his ship, he almost didn’t recognize it. You’d repainted most of the outside panels, replaced all the ones that were missing, and the engines were so shiny Din could see his helmet reflected in them. Inside the Crest was another story; you’d outfitted him with a carbonite cell system, top of the line and primed for use. That meant no more mouthy bounties, no more wasting durasteel cuffs and gags when he could just hit a button and have a quiet ride back to the Guild.

And in the bunk, a new mattress, complete with a pillow, and bolted on the wall, a mount for his helmet.

“You don’t sleep with that thing on, do you?”

“The carbonite system,” he nearly sputtered, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t have the credits, I didn’t—”

You poked the toe of his boot with your own. “Call it a gift, Mando. Let’s just say I shouldn’t have had the thing hanging around to begin with.”

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p. “Wiped all the identification numbers from the system. No one will know where it came from. Except you.”

He stared at you a long moment. “Except me.”

He was sure to pay you in full, plus the candied flowers he’d found at one of the vendors in the markets. You’d smiled again at that, and while Din committed the sight to memory, he also promised himself that he wouldn’t let it be long before he saw your smile again.

And he kept that promise. The next time he landed the Crest in your hangar, it wasn’t because he needed a tune-up or new parts. He’d struck gold at a black market on Coruscant; his bounty had lead him into the belly of a sweet shop, and after the Gungan had been dealt with, Din did some hunting of his own. He took as many boxes as he could carry, trying to take one of each flavour, a few extra of the ones he’d seen on the shelf in your shop.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here?” you’d called as soon as he landed, stepping out of the shop and into the hangar, your hands on your hips, cocked to one side. “You ruin my handiwork that fast?”

“Not exactly,” he’d replied, walking down the ramp, his arms laden with goodies. Your eyes had gone huge. “I come bearing gifts.”

“For me?” you cried, gasping as you took the boxes from him, tongue poking between your teeth. “Mandalorian, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He’d never been so grateful for his helmet at that exact moment. He might have crumbled to dust if you’d seen how red his cheeks were. “I-I owed you,” he stuttered out, “for the carbonite.”

“You didn’t owe me anything,” you quipped, swaying from side to side on your feet, staring down at your treats. “I told you, it was a gift.” You gave him one of those smiles again, and Din felt his stomach twist at the glitter in your eyes. “Why don’t you stay a while? I’ll feed you and everything.”

You disappeared into the shop, and Din paused a moment before following.

He saw you disappear behind a dark curtain that had definitely seen better days, and Din followed your further to discover there was an apartment of sorts attached to the shop. Apartment was perhaps too kind a word; it was one large room, a kitchen to one side, a large futon spread in the middle. Trunks and boxes and crates stacked along the far wall, a few grease-stained jumpsuits littering the floor. You stumbled over your feet trying to pick them up, tossing the offending fabric into a nearby crate, before you turned back to him. “What are you hungry for?”

You served him first. Noodles with dark sauce and some kind of shredded meat you thought was bantha but weren’t quite sure. But, as you stated with a shrug, “it’s good, and it hasn’t killed me yet.” After you slid the bowl across the table to him, you turned back to the stove and stayed that way. After a moment, Din wasn’t sure what to do, but then your head turned slightly, your eyes trained directly to the left, not wandering towards him over your shoulder. “I won’t look. Swear.”

He lifted the helmet just enough to shovel the food into his mouth. You were right, the mystery meat was good, and the sauce you’d made to go with it was even better. He nearly inhaled the food, not wanting to keep you too long, and when the helmet slid back down, the mechanism hissing back into place, your head turned again, still not looking at him.

“You’re safe,” he said, sliding his empty bowl back across the table.

You turned fully, serving yourself, and he expected you to sit across from him, keeping a bit of distance between you, but instead, you rounded the table and plunked yourself down on the stool right beside him. You ate much slower than he had, and Din let his eyes graze over you. The streak of engine grease on your cheek, the scar that split your lower lip, the intricately messy way you wore your hair. A silver chain sat around your throat, strung with a tiny silver ring. It disappeared down the front of your shirt most of the time, but right then it sat awkwardly, the chain caught on your collar, the ring sitting in the hollow of your throat. He resisted the urge to reach out and fix it.

The jumpsuit you wore was nearly identical to the ones you’d hurriedly swiped off the floor. Torn on one knee, zipper unfurling beneath your chest, a symbol he didn’t recognize patched onto your thigh. You’d tied the sleeves around your waist like a belt, a dirty rag tucked in at your hip. The Mechanic, herself. Sweets.

He thought you were beautiful. He had a feeling you’d look beautiful in anything.

Or nothing.

Din was distracted by your thumb at your lips, swiping a drop of sauce from your chin and sucking your finger into your mouth. His flight-suit was tight beneath his beskar to begin with, and you weren’t helping matters. “So,” you said simply, reaching for your food again. “Tell me a story, Mando. A good one. Best bounty you ever caught.”

The conversation filtered between you two easily. You were a good listener, easy to talk to, and Din felt like he couldn’t stop talking to you, telling you about his first kill, his first bounty. His first ship, before the Crest. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you about the before, before the Guild, before he was just the Mandalorian, when he was just Din Djarin. A foundling. Part of him wondered what you think, what your reaction might be to his past, but a larger part forced his mouth shut.

At some point, he turned himself towards you on his stool, one arm braced on the table, the other resting on his thigh. After you finished your food, you leaned heavily on the table, your head pushed into your palm, legs crossed at your ankles, swinging slowly, the toe of your boot tapping his shin every once in a while.

He could see you were tired, the way you started covering your yawns and rubbing at your eyes. “I should go,” he said, starting to get to his feet. “You’re tired, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Your hand flashed out quick — not quick enough to startle him, though — and wrapped around his wrist. You’d managed to wedge your fingers right into the space where his glove met his vambrace, and he felt you against his pulse, against his bare skin. “You don’t have to leave, Mando.”

Din. He wanted to tell you. My name is Din.

Slowly, his own hand reached out, hovering in the air, shaking more than a vibroblade. He saw your eyes trace its path, watching until it lowered, dropped until the flat of his palm met the curve of your thigh. His gloved fingers wrapped around the meat of your leg, his thumb pressing towards the inside. 

He heard you gasp. 

He moved forward an inch, and his hand moved higher, thumb riding the seam of your jumpsuit. You hummed, fingered squeezing around his wrist, and Din moved closer, until he had one leg between yours. He let his hand wander higher, listening carefully to the changes in your breathing, the hitch in your throat. The heat between your legs was almost stifling, and something feral in the back of his brain screamed for more.

Whatever snapped in him, it seemed to break in you at exactly the same time. You both shot to your feet together, and Din’s hands moved to your waist, to where your sleeves were knotted at your waist. Yours roamed his chest plate, fingers tapping along beskar until you hooked them in his cloak. He halted his own hands, ready to help you remove the fabric, but you handled it just fine on your own, finding the hidden snaps with ease.

His blood turned to flame when he felt your fingers along his throat, seeking his pulse in another spot. “You should stay,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a murmur. “Please, Mando, I want you to stay.”

He forced himself to nod, his mind now preoccupied with ripping his gloves from his hands. He needed to feel you, no barriers in between.

He needed to see you, something in him screamed, no barriers in between.

He silenced that voice before it could spur him further. Busied himself with diving his hand beneath the waist of the jumpsuit, the broken zipper catching on his wrist. You were even hotter beneath, and he sucked down a breath when he found you wet, slick coating his fingers.

Your body leaned into him, chasing his touches, and he hooked his other hand around your thigh, lifting you up and backwards onto the table. He could feel you watching, your eyes moving from his helmet down his front, to where his hand was jammed beneath the jumpsuit. He crooked one finger, testing, pressing it into you, and grinned beneath his helmet when you moaned.

Din hooked his arm under your waist, lifting you just enough that he could maneuver the jumpsuit over your hips, down your legs. His cock jolted between his legs at the sight of you bare, leaned back on the table, your chest heaving. Even though the visor, he could see how slick you were, the evidence shining on the insides of your thighs.

He wanted to taste you.

He pushed the thought away again. Another time, when he wasn’t smearing the inside of his flight-suit with precum, when you weren’t keening into his touch as he dragged his fingers against the sensitive skin between your legs, when he could turn the lights off and shed his armour, bare himself to you the same way.

You moaned again when his fingers found your clit, drawing a sloppy circle that had your muscles tensing against his hand, knees closing against his hips. “F-fuck, Mando,” you ground out, tipping your head back on your shoulders. “You’re good with those hands.” Another stuttered breath as he twisted his wrist, curling two fingers just inside your entrance, thumb stretching up to swipe over your clit. “Really good.”

He was grinning beneath the helmet again, eyes glued to your face as he pressed further, fingers threading deeper into you. He could feel everything, the twitch of your thighs, the clench of your cunt. You reached out with one hand, using the other to balance yourself, and closed it around his elbow, your fingers digging into the thick fabric so hard he was shocked your nails didn’t bite right through.

“How do you like it, Sweets?” he asked, leaning forward until he was nearly hovering over you. Your hand moved from his elbow to chest, fingers hooked in his armour. “Tell me what you need.”

Your hand moved again, this time moving straight down his front, past his waist, right between his legs. His cock throbbed as you palmed him, a cat-like grin on your lips as you tilted your head level with the visor. You leaned up slightly, pressed your lips to the beskar edge that mirrored his jaw. Another squeeze, and the slow pace of his fingers faltered, his head nearly smacking into yours. “I need this.”

Din couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in the way you stared up at him, eyes tracing over the helmet, told him you didn’t want him to.

“I like it rough.”

It all happened in one fluid motion. He pulled you closer, right off the edge of the table, and you spun in his grip, leaning forward over the table, planting your hands flat. The jumpsuit slid further towards your ankles and you arched your back, your ass grinding against his hardness, and Din groaned audibly, tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your legs spread as much as the jumpsuit would allow, and Din worked his own zipper down, freeing himself from the flight-suit. You made the most delicious noise as the tip of his cock smacked against your ass, the tip dripping with precum.

Your head turned as he took himself in hand, tapping your ass with his cock again. “Maker,” you breathed out, your eyes widening. “I knew you’d be big.”

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

He planted his other hand between your shoulders, tipping you forward. You went willingly, eyes rolling back as he pushed his hips against your ass. He could see how wet you were as you bent, slick still dripping down your thighs.

There was nothing stopping him from dropping to his knees right then and there, lifting the helmet just enough to drag his tongue through your cunt. The thought alone made his cock pulse.

But then your hand reached back, twisting in the fabric covering his hip, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He bent his knees slightly, notching himself at your entrance, and pushed inside.

The noise you let out was nearly enough to make him cum right then and there. He knew he wasn’t gonna last, and judging by the sounds you continued to make and the way you were bearing down on him, hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, he didn’t think you were either. He set a fast pace, the space filling with the slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your moans echoing each move. Din’s gaze dropped, trained on the sight of his cock disappearing to you. Your hand flapped at his hip, scrabbling for purchase, and he wrapped his fingers around your forearm, groaning when you did the same.

He was right; you didn’t last long, and neither did he. Your entire body clenched as you came, one hand slamming against the table, nails digging deep into his wrist. It spurred his own orgasm, that coil at the base of his spine snapping, and he pulled out, cumming hard across the curve of your ass.

Silence settled over the both of you as you caught your breath. Din couldn’t help himself, rubbing his bare fingers over the expanse of your back, tracing over your spine. You arched a bit into his touch, making a satisfied noise before you lifted yourself off the table. You turned to him, leaned up to press a hot kiss to his bare throat. It made him shiver.

“Think we could do that again?” you murmured, lifting a finger and dragging it along the edge of his helmet. “Maybe you take all the metal off.”

Din cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched, already wanting a second round. “Helmet stays on.”

You stared at him a long moment, smile on your lips. “Helmet stays on.”

+

He kept close to you after that night. He rarely took bounties that took him to further reaches of the galaxy, loathe to admit that he was always within a few parsecs of your hangar. He brought you a long-distance commlink so he could tell you when he was coming back, so you could contact him if you ever needed him. He didn’t worry about you, per se; you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, and he knew for a fact you knew how to shoot the blaster you kept holstered on your thigh when he wasn’t around.

But then the comm went quiet. He called, you didn’t answer. A lead weight formed in his stomach, and he pushed the Crest’s engines are fast as they’d go. Carefully, though — he wouldn’t dare ruin any of your handiwork.

When he landed in the hangar, the lights were all off. It didn’t help his worry, and it only grew worse as he sprinted off the Crest, heading straight for the shop door.

It was locked, but the lock was no match for his vibroblade and a bit of brute force. Inside, the space was empty. no trace of you left inside. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood smeared on the floor or the wall, but it didn’t ease his mind any. What if someone had come for you, spirited you away in the dead of night to some backwater planet? Dank farrik, what if someone had put out a bounty on you? His mind reeled, raced, chewed him up and spit him out.

He never meant to get so attached to you.

Din switched the settings on his visor, finally determining that all the footprints he could make out on the floor were your own. Then he saw it, sitting on the edge of one of the shelves in the kitchen. The commlink, perched precariously, just enough out of sight that no one else would think twice, but not Din.

He thumbed through the screen, saw the icon flashing with a recorded message. Your face lit up the screen instantly, and he stifled the way his stomach clenched. You looked…scared. Not hurt, not injured, but scared.

“Someone sold me out,” you said, your voice distorted and warped. “I can’t give you details. I can’t really tell you anything. Just know I’m going somewhere safe, and I’ll miss you, Mandalorian. Take care of yourself.”

Your eye were shiny as you reached out to cut the recording, and Din’s heart sank into his toes.

He put the commlink in his pocket, and returned to his ship.

He’d watched the message so many times the words were engraved into his brain. The change in your voice, the way you’d blinked harder the more you spoke. The way you paused in the middle, glanced over your shoulder with a shock of fear in your eyes.

And now here you are, standing in front of him, a pile of metal spilling out of a crate tucked beneath your arm, that same streak of fear in those big eyes. Eyes that have haunted him all these years. You nearly drop the crate as you crouch, your gaze zeroing in on the wound on his leg. “Maker, Mando, what the hell did you do?”

“Long story,” he groans out, wincing as you adjust his leg slightly, leaning to the side so you can get a better look. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reply, getting back to your feet, retrieving your crate of parts. “C’mon, let me clean you up. You look like hell.”

Din goes willingly, not sure what else to do, his mind racing from the combination of the Covert and you appearing out of nowhere. He lets you pull him slowly to his feet, tuck yourself under his arm. “Sweets,” he starts to protest, but you drag his arm around your shoulders.

“Shush,” you whisper, glancing around as you start to lead him in the opposite direction he’d been going. “Lean your weight on me.” He does as you say, nearly crumbling with relief. “There you go.”

The ache only worsens as you go, Din resisting the urge to lean his head against yours. When you finally turn him towards the door, he thinks he may topple over completely, but you’re quicker, producing a remote from your pocket. The door slides open, revealing the inside of a hangar, and you all but carry him through, discarding the crate of parts the moment you’re through, hitting the button again once you’re inside. The door slides shut, and Din lifts his head enough to look around. It looks nearly identical to your old hangar.

Then he hears a curious little beep, and looks down to see a tiny droid scurrying towards you. A BD-1 unit; he recognizes it from Peli’s, though yours is a little more rusty around the edges, the cleaner bits of metal painted grey and yellow. “Not now, Shrimp,” you grit, waving at the droid. It beeps loudly back at you, like an arguing child, and Din stifles his laugh.

“I thought you didn’t use droids,” he mumbles.

“He came with the hangar,” you reply, moving him across the hangar. Shrimp follows a few more steps before darting off, disappearing into a pile of crates. “Couldn’t bring myself to scrap him. Besides, not like he’s much help; tiny thing can’t even lift a socket wrench.”

He laughs out loud this time, and when you pull him into the shop, he laughs again, despite himself.

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

There’s no curtain between the shop and the apartment, instead another sliding door, another remote. Din lets out a low hum when he sees the apartment beyond. More than one room, furnished with actual furniture. It’s…nice. It’s really nice.

You deposit him on the couch, propping his leg up on the table in front of it. “Wait here,” you mumble, pointing a finger at him before disappearing into another room. 

He doesn’t move, but hooks his fingers into the edge of his helmet and yanks it off, depositing it on the couch beside him. He sucks down a breath of unfiltered air.

You gasp as you walk back into the room, nearly dropping the silver case in your hand. “Mando, you—”

“Din,” he says instantly, reaching down, tugging his gloves off, tossing them onto the helmet. “My name is Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you repeat, slowly, like you’re tasting his name on your tongue. The corner of your mouth quirks. “Din…Djarin.”

He just nods. You approach him carefully, like you’re walking towards an injured animal instead of a man, the silver case clutched against your chest.

“Your helmet,” you start, gesturing vaguely. A memory sparks. He told you before — not in so many words — about his Creed, his upbringing. You’d asked, and he’d answered. It wasn’t information he gave willingly. The second time he had you, when you were sprawled out completely naked on that old futon, writhing and moaning beneath him, when he’d shed almost all his beskar, felt the warmth of your body pressed up against all of him. Afterward, when you’d both been sated for the time being, you’d peered up at him from your place on his chest. “Do you ever take it off?” you asked, your voice laced with sleep.

And he’d answered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says now, eyes darting towards the curve of silver. “I’m not a Mandalorian anymore.”

“What?” you ask, your brow furrowing. He wants to reach out, let his thumb ride the space between your eyebrows, feel it smooth over as he kisses the spot. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He trails off. Loaded question. What does it mean? Truly? “My name is Din Djarin.”

There’s still confusion etched into your features, but you don’t question him further. Your brow doesn’t loosen, and you perch on the table.

“What’s in the case?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the silver case still in your hands.

You look at him for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his face, over his features. Like you’re committing him to memory. He’s doing the same, almost scrutinizing your face, trying to remember what it looks like without the filter of his visor, what you truly look like, with no barriers in between.

He could taste you easily now.

The thought catches him off guard, the throb between his legs a welcome change to the pulsing of the wound on his thigh. The bacta the Covert had given him has worn off almost completely, and the pain is climbing. 

“B-bacta shot,” you stutter out, shaking your head slightly as you flipped open the case. Your eyes moved to the wound on his leg, peering at the plates of beskar, the flight-suit, the discarded helmet on the couch. “That needs to be cleaned.”

Din just nods.

“Think you can walk to the bedroom?” you ask, shoving the silver case into the chest pocket of your jumpsuit. He recognizes it — the tear in the knee, the patch on your thigh. You fixed the zipper. “It’ll be easier.”

It’s slow-going, getting him back to his feet, shuffling carefully to the bedroom. You ask him if he wants to bring the helmet; he just shakes his head.

What does that mean?

Your bed is unmade, but Din barely notices. The scent of you is amplified in here, and he’s sucking down breaths like he’s been deprived of oxygen. You help him lower to the edge of the bed, and he starts on the armour. You sink to your knees in front of him, setting the bacta shot on the mattress beside him. He removes a pauldron with shaking fingers, and you’re right there to take it from him, your movements sure, setting the metal carefully onto the floor, waiting for the next piece.

“You disappeared,” he says, after more pieces of beskar have been removed, when you’ve moved onto his boots, setting them both carefully at your side.

Your brow had just smoothed out, and it pinches again. “I had to. I left you a message.”

Din pulls the zipper on his flight-suit, reaches into the pocket sewn into the lining, and produces the commlink. “I know.”

Your lips part as you look at the piece of metal, dwarfed by his hand. “You found it.”

“I did.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you look back up at him through your lashes. “It wasn’t safe.”

“You’re safe now,” he says, and you reach for the bacta shot. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you reply, your voice bordering on stern. “Somebody sold me out.”

“I knew that much,” Din mumbles, and you shoot him a glare.

You sigh. “Let’s just say, there were some parts in the hangar that shouldn’t have been there, someone wasn’t happy with some work I did, and then next thing I knew, there were Imps on my tail. So I disappeared.”

“You could have told me where you were going.”

You shake your head. “They were listening. Tracking every message I sent out. I couldn’t let you get roped into it too.”

“You could have gone to the Guild,” he says. He’s too distracted to notice you pull the syringe out of the case. He doesn’t see the needle until you’re pushing it into his muscle above the wound. He grits his teeth audibly, hands curling hard around the edge of the mattress. “Dank farrik.”

“Sorry.”

“I would have come for you,” he says, breath hitching in his throat as you push the plunger down. It feels like his body has been flooded with ice water, his teeth chattering for a moment before the cold turns to a woozy sort of warmth that spreads through his chest like Corellian fire whiskey. He blinks hard, slow, one eye than the other.

“Can you stand?” He nods. Or thinks he does. “The bacta will help, but I need to put a bandage on that wound, at least.” More nodding. He’s vaguely aware of you draping his arms around your neck, your arms sliding around his waist to haul him up. He plants his feet beneath him, forces his weight over his ankles. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s moving through water. You manoeuvre one arm out of his flight-suit, pushing the fabric down his shoulders, until it settles around his hips. The metallic sound of the zipper seems to echo through his brain, and he knows you’re touching his waist, moving the fabric slowly over his injured thigh. But it doesn’t hurt.

All he can feel is you.

You sit him down again, work on pulling the suit off completely. Your hands are warm, soft, gentle against his bare legs, and he nearly buries his nose in the crown of your head when you bend down. Once the flight-suit has been removed, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt, you disappear again, and Din’s not sure if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

Something cold presses against his thigh, and he flinches. “Does it hurt?” you ask instantly, and your voice is clear, then muffled, then clear again. “It shouldn’t.”

“Nuh-uh,” he slurs out. He hears you laugh, and the sound is like tinkling bells. He wants to hear it again. “Sweets.”

“Yes, Din?” Clear, muffled. His name is a song on your lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“Mesh’la,” he mumbles, and then his eyes fall shut, his body slumps back, and he thinks you laugh again. He’s not quite sure; sleep is too busy yanking him under.

+

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

He’s disoriented, confused, not sure where he is until he pushes up on his elbows, looks around, drinks in the sight of your bedroom. The memory floods back; the Covert, then the hangar, taking the helmet off, the bacta shot that knocked him out.

But more importantly: you.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes. How long was he out? He can’t be sure; there’s a window on the far side of the room, but time on Glavis is different, artificial nighttime and starlight instead of sun. His armour has been moved from the floor, neatly piled on a dresser against the wall, his boots on the floor underneath. His flight-suit is spread out on a worktable in the middle of the room, and he can see from his spot that you’ve tried to mend it, patching the spot the Darksaber had cut open with a square of fabric. It’s looks to be the same kind of material, but the colour is darker. Beneath the sheets, his leg is wrapped in cotton bandages, and there’s no sign of blood seeping to the surface.

His head turns in the direction of the noise of the water, and he pauses, waits for some kind of pain to prick through his body, but it never comes. He feels…good. Well-rested. His eyes follow the sound, and then he sees it.

The door to your bathroom is wide open, and from his spot on your bed, he can see directly into the shower. You’re inside, steam pouring over the top of the glass wall, and Din’s whole body jerks. He never forgot what you looked like naked, and it’s been a long time, but somehow it still feels like the first time. He can feel the blood rushing south, and his hands clench in the bedsheets.

He just stares, watching the water move over you, cascading down your spine, rolling in rivulets over your curves, following the lines of your body. He wants to follow them too, wants to read you like a map only he knows the key to.

Dank farrik, he’s missed you. He hadn’t realized how much.

The water shuts off, and he sees you reach for a towel, wiping your face first. He sinks back down on the bed, wondering if he should feign sleep, feeling like a kid caught doing something he’s not supposed to. But before he can— “You’re awake,” he hears you call, and looks back just as you wrap the towel around your middle. “I thought you’d be out for the night.”

Din coughs, shifting the blankets, trying to hide the tent that’s formed in his boxers. “You don’t close the door?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You laugh. “I live alone,” you say, stepping out of the bathroom, walking towards the dresser his armour sits upon. “Force of habit.”

He clears his throat. Loudly. Pauses. “…it’s a nice view.”

Your tongue peeks between your lips as you walk over to him, still in just the towel. Your hair is still dripping, water droplets dotting your shoulders. You sink slowly onto the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he spits out, adjusting himself, making more room for you. “Really good.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I’m glad. You scared me, Man—” You catch yourself. “Din.”

A drop of water splashes down from your hair, starts a path down your upper arm, and Din reaches out, catching it on his finger. You watch his hand, lips softly parted, and he continues the path, drawing his hand up and down your skin, the backs of his knuckles against your bicep.

“I wondered where you were, all these years,” you whisper. There’s longing in your voice, he notices; the same feeling sits like a weight on his chest. “I never stopped wondering.”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” he whispers back. There’s something forming in the air between you, thick like the steam that still foams from the open bathroom. Din can almost taste it, and the thought he’d had in your living room resurfaces, making him twitch beneath the sheets. He could taste you so easily now. “It’s a long story.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I got nothing but time.”

So does he, he realizes. He’s without a ship, without his son, without anything anchoring him to one planet or another, to any sort of path. He’d been wandering already, trying to find the Covert, and now he is unmoored once more, yet somehow managed to find his way back to your hangar.

To your bed.

His hand stops chasing water droplets, and he sees your teeth sink into your lower lip. He lowers his palm until it rests on your bare thigh, and he can feel how your skin is still hot from the shower. “I never kissed you,” he rasps. “Before.”

Your head shakes slowly, and you turn towards him more fully. The towel is loose around your chest, your hand holding it in place, and he reaches for it, slowly uncurling your fingers from the fabric, until your grip falls slack, and the towel goes with it. “You should fix that,” you murmur.

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

“Few decades,” he says softly. “Since before I swore the Creed.”

“You were a child.”

“It was a childish kiss.” He pauses, moves his hand again, brushes dripping locks of hair from your face. “I don’t want to kiss you like that.”

“Just…” Din leans in slightly, tilts his head to the side. “Do what feels natural.” You mirror his movement, and his eyes are glued to your mouth, to the way your lips stay parted even when you’re done speaking, the way your collar lifts with shuddered breaths. He sees your hands move the towel out of the corner of his eye, pulling the fabric away from your body completely until you’re bared to him, head to toe.

You’re just as beautiful as he remembers. If not more.

The tip of his nose drags along the slope of yours, and his hand slides from your thigh to your hip. “I need you closer, Sweets,” he murmurs, and you nod against him, your foreheads tapping together. There’s a bit of shuffling, the blankets moved back, his tented boxers exposed but barely acknowledged as you climb into his lap. He revels in the way you look above him, your knees pressed either side of his hips. You’re hesitant to lower your weight onto his leg, and he guides you slow, giving you a quiet it’s okay as you settle onto him.

He doesn’t feel any pain; he just feels you.

Once you’re comfortable, your hands clutching at his shoulders, he adjusts his grip on you, palms skimming up your spine, mapping out your ribs and the curve of your ass. You make a quiet noise when he squeezes one cheek, the movement propelling you forward, making your hips roll into his, your core pushed against his hard cock. It makes him hiss with pleasure, and he slides one hand up to your hair, knotting his fingers in it and dragging your mouth down to his.

It’s not artful; he’s sure it doesn’t look pretty from the outside. There’s a lot of teeth and tongue, the fumble of hands as he tries to get you even closer. He’s sure you’ve been kissed better than this, and it makes his cheeks heat, makes him pull away, tucking his chin towards his chest. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his cheeks, tilting his face back up towards you. “It’s okay. Just…follow my lead?” You say it like a question, your thumbs swiping over his face, through the smatter of facial hair along his jaw. “I got you.”

Din nods, lets his lips part as you cock your head to the side, leaning in slow. You kiss his top lip and then his bottom one, giving him just enough teeth that he wants more, wants it harder. He grips your hips as you move, but your kiss stays tender, slow, your tongue a wet heat against his own. He’d dreamed of this, of kissing you, and this one — albeit the second attempt — is everything he ever imagined.

Finally, your mouth grows more insistent. He’s hard as steel between his legs, and he can feel how hot you are, your wetness spreading across his boxers with every roll of your hips. Your mouth is sweet, almost sugary, and he finds himself chuckling against your lips, still trying to get you closer. Your stomach presses to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder, your tongue licking into his mouth.

“Sweets,” he grinds out when you start pulling at his undershirt, insistent to get it over his head. He lets you, and when you lower your head again, your mouth moves to his throat instead, and it makes him moan. “Mesh’la, wait, please, I need—”

You pull back instantly, your eyes bright with worry. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I want…” His eyes drop, tracing a path down your body, his throat growing dry when they land on the apex of your thighs, the glistening wetness he knows he’s caused. He lets one hand follow the path his eyes made, rubs his thumb over your clit. Your whole body shivers. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes go big, pupils blown with lust, and Din uses your momentary shock to his advantage. He’s stronger than you, perks of the bounty hunting lifestyle, and he flips you easily with one arm around your waist, his other hand hitching your thigh over his hip. You squeak as your head hits the pillows, clinging to him until you’re laid out beneath him.

It’s his turn to kiss his way down your throat, and he does, laving his tongue against your pulse as he makes his way down your body. He pauses at your chest, moves to the side to close his lips around your nipple. It makes your back arch, a high-pitched noise falling from your mouth, and he grins against you, giving you just the edge of his teeth before he’s wandering across your chest to give the other the same attention.

You’re a writhing mess by the time he’s settled between your thighs. He can’t keep his eyes still, raking over every inch of you, trying to remember every part. He can see the muscles in your legs jump as he traces his fingers over them, the more sensitive parts of your skin making you keen.

With your legs spread, he can see everything, and his mouth waters at the sight of your wet cunt, walls fluttering around nothing as he teases you with his fingers, collecting your wetness on the tips before drawing them to his mouth.

He moans at the taste. Of course, you’re sweet. Deliciously so.

“Din,” you groan out, propping yourself up on your elbows. He can feel you watching, and his gaze flicks up to yours as he drops his jaw, lowers his mouth to you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, one hand moving to knot in his hair, and Din moans into you. His tongue explodes with the taste of you, sending shocks down his spine, making his hips rolls into the mattress, seeking relief.

Just do what feels natural, your words echo in his head. So he does. He licks into you, wide stripes with the flat of his tongue, smaller kitten licks to your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, hooking his hands around your thighs, pulling himself deeper into you. And you guide him some, your hand in his hair an anchor of sorts, tugging slightly to get him right where you need him, a gasped oh fuck, right there! reaching his ears.

It’s not before long that you’re smacking at his shoulder, muffled moans on your lips with your teeth sunk into your lower one. He detaches from you, gets one more good look and lick in before he’s following your grip, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he makes his way back up your body.

“I need you inside me,” you slur, your hands reaching down, pushing at his boxers. His cock springs up against his stomach and he groans, the sound growing louder when you wrap your fingers around him. “Please, Din, I want to cum on your cock.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum right then and there, hearing your words turn filthy. And filthier still as he hauls himself over you, plants one elbow beside your head, looks between you, reaches down to line himself up and—

Freezes.

He can feel your eyes on his face, features pinched with anticipation. Your hands have found homes along his ribs, fingers tapping out rhythmless patterns. Hips lifting, you must see something in his expression, because you move a hand to his chin, lifting his eyes to yours again. “Din,” you say, and a shiver shoots down his spine again at the way his name sounds on your lips. “It’s okay. We can stop, if you need to.”

“No!” he nearly shouts, and feels himself flush, lowering himself slightly, careful not to drop all his weight on you. “No, that’s not what I…I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, understanding. You give a soft laugh. “I know you’re not a virgin, but if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I won’t say any—”

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off, petting his hand over your still-damp hair. “I want to. I want you. It’s just that…” He chews at his lip. “No one’s ever seen my face, while we…when I…”

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have to look,” you say quickly, skimming your knuckles along his cheek. “I can turn over, if you like, if that’s easier than—”

“No,” he says, not a shout this time, but firmer. “I want you to see, Sweets.” He drops his chin, emboldened by your softness, your understanding. He kisses you soundly. “I want to kiss you while you cum.” His words pull a silky noise from your throat.

He breaks the kiss as he takes himself in hand, pushes into your dripping cunt. You’re hot, clenching down on him instantly, arms draped around his neck as he lowers himself further, latches his lips to yours. He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, drives into you deep. He had you close on his tongue already, and he rolls his hips hard, catching something deep inside that makes your entire body seize.

“Yes, Din, please, oh gods, please, please, please,” you’re babbling against his lips, one hand pressed flat between his shoulders, the other knotted in the back of his hair. “Yes!”

Just as he said, he kisses you while you cum. He feels it pulse through your body, your limbs taut and then lax, still holding him close. Your hips chase his, cunt clenching tight as a vice, and Din’s not far behind you, pleasure lighting a fuse down his spine.

You pull your lips from his just as he starts to spill in you. Your hand moves to grip his chin, and you force his gaze to yours. He gasps and your mouth mirrors his, lips parted in a soft o, turning to a grin as he grinds into you, painting your insides as deep as he can go. It feels like an implosion, his bones rattled in his body, but then set on the softest bed of silk as he collapses into your chest. You hold him close, petting one hand through his hair, breathing deep and slow until his own evens out, matches yours, until your heartbeat syncs with his.

“Mesh’la?” he calls after a moment, cheek still pressed to your sternum.

“Yes, Din?” you reply, your voice scratchy as your nails start to drag along his scalp. His eyes are heavy.

“I missed you.”

He can hear the smile in your voice. “I missed you too.”

+

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

He thinks it’s the next morning — the rest of what he assume to be evening was spent in your bed, both of you naked and wrapped in each other. Again and again and again, he pulled pleasure from your body, let you pull it from his, found your bliss together. By the time you were both too tired to move, sprawled on the mattress, your head on his shoulder, you’d whispered, “You’re a good kisser, Din Djarin.” And then you were asleep, Din not too far behind.

He dresses quickly, boxers pulled back on, undershirt in his hand as he pads out of the room. He finds you standing in the kitchen, a steaming cup of caf in your hands. The droid — Shrimp, he dimly recalls — is perched on the table, beeping out a message to you. You’re nodding along, blowing the steam off the top of your caf, and your eyes flick to him as he steps into the kitchen.

“You know Peli Motto?”

Din’s brow crinkles with confusion. “You know Peli?”

You scoff. “That woman taught me everything I know.”

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

Din just laughs, walking around the table. He slides an arm around your waist once he’s close enough, leans into kiss the side of your head. You lean into him. “Why are we talking about Peli?”

“She sent me a message,” you say, offering him your caf. He takes a sip, only feeling more confused. “Asking if I had any spare ships laying around my hangar. A replacement for her Mandalorian friend.”

Din balks. He hasn’t told you about the Crest. “Sweets…”

You step away from him, pressing a hand to his chest as your eyes go wide with realization. “Din Djarin, what did you do to that ship?”

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

“It was Imps,” he says, trying to reach for your hip. “It wasn’t—”

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

He sighs heavily, and reaches out to take the cup of caf from you again. “Now it’s nothing but a scorch mark on the planet Tython. It was the Imps. They took my son.” The words are out before he can stop them.

Your eyes go so wide he’s worried they might pop out of your skull. “Your son?”

“It’s a long story.”

You pluck the caf out of his hands, walk around the table, pull out a chair and sink into it. “I got nothing but time.”

[forthelostones]

𝚙𝚝.𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ; 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 ─── ⋆

⟡⋆˙୨ᥫ᭡. 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚞 - 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛ᥫ᭡.୧⋆˙⟡

synopsis: abby was a woman whose presence was becoming deeply irresistible to you. in your final year of nursing school, you toil with the idea of pursuing her — ruin what you have or enjoy what’s in front of you?

warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!abby, domsub!abby, sexual themes, jealousy, fluff, nickname: dummy, and modern au - pre-established relation.

an: guys. this has been such a crazy ride, thanks for the support on both of my stories. it means so much to me. sorry for the wait... lets get it.

CLICK HERE.

(no y/n)

Abby watched from the row behind you, observing how you chewed on the end of that neon #2 pencil. She could tell by the bobbing of your leg that you were nervous and stuck on a specific question. It was the same during studying — chew, bob, sigh. Almost on cue, a frustrated sigh left your throat. She knew it was her fault that this was happening.

She knew neither of you studied long enough for you to feel confident on this exam. Well, that’s what she kept trying to convince herself, she was already finishing up the last page. Although her pencil glided on the paper effortlessly, she couldn’t help but be distracted by your indecisiveness on the math equations and multiple-choice questions. The once full eraser had been subsided to pure metal scrapping into the pages.

The time on her watch read ten minutes left until the end of the exam and you were only on page two. Studying had become harder for you with Abby around. It wasn’t only the dating component it was mostly the difference in your skills. Her ability to memorize vocabulary and complete math problems without thinking twice about them made you academically insecure. While you averaged low B’s and high C’s, she had a 4.0 and made it look easy. The clock's ticking distracts you from the problem you are trying to solve. It was one you and Abby worked on multiple times, yet you’re frozen, unsure how to solve it. As everyone flicks their pages to finish, you just … froze. 

“Okay. Pencils down.” Your professor said just moments after you started a new equation. Your jaw dropped slightly and you squeezed your eyes shut. Abby shook her head, not at you specifically, but herself. You had practically moved in and the nights that would typically be spent studying were now used to learn more about each other beyond your friendship. Realistically, Abby understood that those moments would be worth more than a grade in the long run. But a part of her also resented getting this comfortable, ultimately impacting you. The feelings clashed within her. The heat forming inside of you could only be described as embarrassment. Why was it like your brain suddenly lost all power to its systems? It wasn’t unusual for you to skip a few questions but this was completely unlike you. 

You chew on your cuticles and fold the mostly blank pages and pass them down to the front, doing the same for your classmates. Their pages crumbled with computation answers and confidently filled bubbles exposed your shortcomings. You should feel relieved that the test is over but you don’t. A heavy anchor grounded you but you were still floating. Abby met you down in your row where you saw her concealing another A-plus smirk. Once you both exited into the hall Abby’s hand finds the center of your back and she begins to pet it slowly. You shrug her away gently. 

“Don’t.” You sigh. 

Abby knew it would set you off but she did it anyway to show you she sees you. The blonde’s brain was moving at a rapid pace. She so deeply wanted to ask you about the challenging problems and the scenarios on the quiz. Her translucent lashes tapped frantically as she imagined the sheet of paper behind her eyes. 

“I feel good about this one.” She finally says. 

“Good. I really did not do well. It’s — whatever. Right?” 

Abby looks to you and she couldn’t lie and tell you that it’s not just whatever. It’s your future. Both of your futures — together — it was important to Abby that her partner was just as successful as her. 

“You should be happy that you did your best but understand that if you did do as bad as you think, it’s worth asking for a makeup to understand the material.” She suggested. 

You hated when she got like this, rigid. Her posture was straight, her mouth set hard, and no softness found anywhere on her face. The regime her father instilled in her stayed and it was evident in moments like this. 

“Abby, sometimes I really need you to just listen to me and be rational later.” 

A chill followed down her spine following your sharp comment. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t study together anymore.” She muttered.

Part of you wanted that to be a joke but knew it wasn’t. The night before proved itself to be deeply uneventful for the both of you. 

“You’re distracting me.” You groan as you’re reviewing flashcards on Abby’s bed, the first mistake. She was wearing a thin, white tank top and a pair of loose black sweats, untied, on her hips. Her hair was drying from the shower you two just took and so was her body. The outline of her features was accentuated by the water being absorbed by the cotton. She was so casually beautiful and simply yours. The bed shifted behind you, her weight bending the mattress inwards, as she crawled towards you.

“Am I?” She asks, using the tip of her tongue to playfully lick a stripe of slick up towards your lobe. An instant bubble of relief popped inside of you. “Okay. Okay.” 

Abby couldn’t take her eyes away from you. She had seen you in this robe every night now but it was something about how it was gliding with you. As well as your skin's glint from your body oil makes you look regal. You sat at the base of the bed while Abby retreated towards the headboard, leg tucked under her butt. She took off three inches of hair and it looked so fresh, carving out her face perfectly, and highlighting her stiff jawline. “How about we make a deal?” She said brazenly. 

“What?” 

“For each answer I get right you remove something?” 

“Abby,” you chuckle, not denying her advances. 

You thumb the index cards in your hand and turn to tie your eyes with hers. 

“First question, the section is Anatomy and Physio. What best describes endocrine glands?” You ask. 

Abby taps her chin as if she’s searching for the answer. “They secrete chemicals into the blood, growth, metabolism, sexual development and function.” 

She raises her eyebrows and shoots her eyes towards your robe. A deal is a deal so you remove the silk, leaving you in your two-piece pajama set. Abby notices the goosebumps lining the outsides of your shoulders and can’t help but desire to rub them warm. 

“Question number two. Anaerobic respiration can lead to a burning sensation caused by which molecule?” 

“Easy,” she scuffed. “Lactic Acid.”

Her teeth appeared behind her Cheshire grin as your top found its way onto her floor. 

“Good job.” 

Your words made her cunt pulse. 

“The mediastinum is located within which cavity?” You ask. 

Abby’s face fell instantly. The outline of your nipples looked delicious and icy, she needed them in her palms immediately. “Fuck. I don’t know.” 

You lift yourself off the bed and bend right in front of her to retrieve your shirt, Abby’s shadow overcame you and her hips thrust into your ass in one motion. She spins you around to face her, mouths inches away. “Do you think you’re going to actually put that back on?” 

Her index finger traced the outline of your lips with her eyes following. You grip her wrist, halting her movements, “And if I do?” 

Abby gently places the index cards neatly on her bedside table and presses you into the wall behind you. Usually, Abby is submissive but the stalking woman imposed her strength on you, like she’s been wanting to do from the first time she saw you in clinicals. 

“I’ll just rip it off you.” She giggles. 

“Would that be so bad?” You reply, bringing her finger into your mouth, sucking it then adding another. Abby huffed a keen groan as she bent down onto her knees, immediately pressing her mouth into your cunt. She lapped at the fabric separating her from you and didn’t even ask for you to remove them. 

You insisted by beginning to take them off but she tore them off you and hoisting up one leg onto her shoulder following the other one. 

“Abby.” You gasp. 

“I got you, hold onto me.” 

She was flexing her skill by fine-tuning your pussy with her tongue while she slowly hoisted you up towards the ceiling. Not only did you feel as if you were floating, you actually were. She was a show off but you fucking loved it. 

After that, there was no more studying done.

“Do you think we should cut down on the time we're spending together?” You question, as the night replays in your mind. 

Abby’s face scrunched up in immediate disapproval without hesitation at the suggestion. She pulled her bottom lip slightly in her mouth and looked around as if the walls suddenly grew eyes. Abby wanted to tell you no but she knew what had to be done. 

“We can.” She grimaced with a shrug. 

Despite all the time you spent together the girlfriend conversation had yet to come up. She thought about it the most when you were in her presence. She didn’t comprehend how you liked her so much and yet, you refused to make it official. She truly believed that once you ditched Ellie she’d be over the moon, but right now it’s feeling the same and Abby doesn’t do stagnant. 

“Abby, we can still study together, in the library, several feet away from each other.” 

She forced a smile. “Fine. Does this mean you’ll still sleepover?” 

Before your crush on Abby developed you were denying yourself the fact that it was possible. But during this time, before the dating, your grades had been the best when you were alone, and you know for a fact, that it was because of her. You may not be as smart as Abby but you do want to come out on the other end with a degree too. 

“Why don’t we come up with a schedule?” She suggests.  

“That would be perfect.” You said. 

The schedule consisted of dinners at Abby’s during the week, sleepovers on non-clinical days which were Wednesdays and Fridays, and studying every day at the library. Abby liked the organization but her body had gotten so used to you beside her. A week into implementing the new schedule Abby felt an immense amount of anxiety without you around. She didn’t know how to break down the feeling and why it was so persistent. Although you two were next door to each other, text messages still provided a temporary cushion for her sadness, but it wasn’t enough. 

Abby clicked the icon that was the home for your name and called but there was no answer. Dinner was stewing on the stove, and in the middle of mixing a cocktail, Abby called to find out if you could taste what was missing. Another call led to another one and soon Abby was sitting with a candle flickering silently in front of her. Your plate sat untouched and she just picked at the remnants of hers. 

Little did she know you were closed off in your room after studying, panicking. You knew yourself more than you wanted to. The schedule was needed for you to clear your brain on the feelings you had for Abby. With upcoming exams and graduation where would that leave you? She'd move across the world while you were huddled up in your small town's hospital circulation? It was coming in so fast and before you could mix in a girlfriend you had to know what you wanted. The pages of your journal turned soft as you tore your pen through the book. 

A part of you wanted to hear the rapping of her fist against your door, ready to envelop you and reassure you that you would figure it out. She never came and because of that, a piece of you died. Conversations with her have turned short and passive since the last exam. It wasn’t just the exam it was a culmination of multiple things that either of you were ready to talk about. 

Abby put your dinner into a glass container and waited outside your door trying to gain the sense to knock. One of the many nights you spent together gave her a reason to knock instead of sulk in her bed, thinking about all of her shortcomings in the relationship. You were both lying down and Abby lit a candle that night that you bought her. The sweet scent of peaches and cream cut through the bitter smell of her pine products. She loved it. Between the sheets were your naked bodies damp and lazy. Abby had brought a glass of cold ice water and set it on the nightstand beside the candle. You took turns taking sips. 

“Thank you for the water.” You smiled. 

“Don’t mention it,” She nudged you. 

You twist your body onto your stomach and look up to her glimmering, post-sex face. 

“Abby?” 

“Yes, beautiful?” 

“You still make me nervous.” 

She cackles and brings her hand to your cheek and massages away your imperfections. With the roll of her eyes she licks her lips before curating a snarky response. But she quickly realizes you’re being serious. “Why?” 

“I care so much about you and that’s something I haven’t felt before. With anyone.”

A kind pause swells between you both. 

“I care about you too. I don’t want that to make you nervous.” She said. 

“I know you see me differently but I am a little insecure.” 

She leans down and kisses your forehead tenderly without a breath. 

“That’s normal.” 

“But I burrow. I distance myself when I get like that and I don’t want to subject you to that. I don’t want to hurt your feelings again. If I do that, get distant, don’t hesitate to just tell me to get out of my own head. It’s not your fault or your responsibility.” 

Abby’s fist banged on the door with your words echoing in her mind. The thuds startled you out of the sleepy daze you fell under. You shuffle to the door to see the goofy blonde in her pajamas and slippers holding what was supposed to be tonights shared dinner. 

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Her voice was more welcoming than usual. “I was worried. Are you okay?”

Shoving her way past you and nearly tossed the container on the kitchen counter. Without hesitation she opened her arms and you couldn’t help but to run into them. Although she didn’t say anything the affirmation from her presence was enough. 

“All too much in your head again aren’t you?” 

A sob escaped into her chest and she gripped you tighter. These past few days have been a blunder of confusing thoughts. A part of you knew getting together with Abby would make things unclear in your life. But if she was willing to get uncomfortable and support you, you were obligated to do the same to her.

“Abby, I should’ve answered your calls.” You pull away to notice how unswayed she is of your state.

“You should have but that doesn’t matter right now. We need to talk.”

You nod your head shyly and she grips your hand and takes you to your bedroom. Abby pats beside herself to welcome you.

“I’m so scared.” You blurt out.

“Me too,”

Abby was scared for the complete opposite reason. When she was with you it seemed like all the decorative things such as school didn’t matter. She wasn’t familiar with how that felt. To have an identity outside of her accomplishments or care about someone. With you, she could flunk out of nursing school, move back to her home town, and still be satisfied. That scared her — that one person could allow her to have such a paradigm shift.

Hearing Abby say those words made your heart settle.

“I care so much about you. I didn’t think I would, this much. I should’ve known because on orientation when I saw you I thought, ‘I need to know who she is’ and I am grateful for that thought blossoming into my mind.”

You couldn’t muster any other word but her name. She picked up your hands to bring them into her lap. She leaned in to place a soft kiss on your mouth and lingered there with her forehead pressed against yours.

“When you moved next door, I just thought maybe this is the sign I need to do something different. To not let my ambitions lead me but instead my heart. And my heart loves you, Dummy.”

[aka-indulgence]

Meteor Shower

Finally got around to writing a Ramattra thing that isn’t based on an AU in my head that requires an introduction first jfhksdjfs I want him to treat me special 😭

Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night to Ramattra’s affections. A few minutes awake wouldn’t hurt…

(Reader/Ramattra)

(Also there are suggestive themes in here so be warned! Not explicit but theres some steamy kissing scenes >//<)

—————

You were slowly drawn from your sleeping state.

You were warm. Tired. The blanket was heavy on you, and you felt the most comfortable you’ve ever been in a long time.

You slowly blinked your eyes opened, feeling like a herculean task in of itself. Something was pressing against your cheek insistently, pecking you over and over. A weight shifted over you, and you felt yourself getting squished against warm metal. It takes a few seconds of your brain booting up to realize that that pressure on your face was a mouth, kissing you over and over.

Ramattra couldn’t kiss like a human would. But every time he made contact with your cheek, your nose, your forehead, he would make a gentle smooching sound. Even when you turned to speak to him, he didn’t stop his kissing assault.

“R… Ram… mm…” you mumble as he kisses your lips over and over.

“Go back to sleep darling.” He drawls. Despite not having a throat or an organic voicebox to speak out of, he still sounded huskier than usual. He cradles the side of your head, his cable hair draped over your collarbone as he insistently presses his mouth against your cheek, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Hard to go to sleep… When a big omnic man keeps kissing me like this,”

“Mmm… I’m sorry, sweetness.” He purrs, sounding none too apologetic as he moves down your jaw and presses his mouth to your neck, and you moan quietly.

He pulls you more insistently to be under him as he continues to kiss you, and you feel your cheeks getting warm, when you feel a bit of his tongue come into play.

“This is… really nice Ram, but I don’t think I’m up for it right now,” you say honestly. Ramattra, despite being an omnic with no need for it, was… quite the insatiable man in bed. It was hard to get him to stop, and you really were too tired for it right now.

“I know. I just… couldn’t resist. You’re too sweet,” he chuckles into your throat, making you shudder.

You shuffle closer to him (even though you’re right against his chest), and he turns his body a bit so you aren’t crushed under him. Ramattra slows down just a little, placing a kiss on your temple, and you smile when he starts running his fingers down your hair and caressing your cheek. You reciprocate with a small kiss on his jaw, nuzzling into his hair.

“What time is it?”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping yet?”

“You know I don’t need sleep.”

You roll your eyes at him, if he even saw it. “Powered down mode. Whatever the equivalent is.”

Ramattra sighs wistfully, absent-mindedly nuzzling into your hair.

“I was going to, but I was enchanted by your sleeping visage. You look adorable with your eyes closed, with not a worry in the world… just how I like it. I meant to kiss you then go to ‘sleep’ but you mewled when I kissed you and… I couldn’t stop.”

“Clearly,” you giggle, when he ‘sniffs’ your cheek. He turns your face towards his and places his mouth against yours, and you share a gentle, sensual kiss.

You felt so soft and delicate when he had his hand behind your head like this, pressing into his kiss. You felt his omnic tongue prod at your lips, asking for entry. You opened obligingly, letting him explore your mouth and play with your tongue. It felt sweet, if a little heated. He hums, sending minute vibrations through your mouth and cheeks that felt quite pleasant. You pull back to take a breath, but Ramattra chases you, pushing his tongue back into you hungrily. You let him drink your breaths, pressing his body against you that felt desperate and needy.

He let you part after the second kiss, though he still had his hand on your cheek possessively. Your breaths were hot and you felt sensuous, even as your eyelids drooped. You tucked your head under his chin and you were about to ask him to come to sleep with you, when something catches your eye, outside the window.

“Wait, Ram… what’s that?”

Beyond the parted curtains, you see streaks of light start coming down from the sky. One at a time, then more follow. Ramattra sits up straight, looking at them.

“A meteor shower.” He announces, turning to you. “Do you want to see it?”

“Oh yes,” you respond, trying to force yourself to wake up more as you spin in bed and get into your slippers.

The air outside is cold when you step onto the balcony. You’re whipped by brisk winds that blow your hair up and you start to shudder. Wordlessly, Ramattra places his scarf over your shoulder, wrapping the ends around you like a blanket, and guides you towards the little bench. He sits with a soft ker-chunk, and pulls you into his lap. You shift until you’re comfortable, your legs hanging off to the side of his and watch the sky.

You came at a good time. The meteors were plentiful now, shooting across the sky and disappearing like a rain of light. It twinkles in your eyes, and with his scarf, now most of your body felt warm except your face. Your hand wanders until it finds his, and you absent-mindedly grasp his, your fingers interlocking with his mechanical ones.

“The sky’s so clear here.” You say, just above a whisper. He nods, his hair brushing against yours.

“It is. It is the privilege us omnics have… not having to rely on so many things that pollute our skies. Food. An excessive amount of light. I… enjoy the stars.”

The skies twinkle.

“... I like this,” Ramattra hums, “the quiet nights are nice, here. I don’t have anything planned out in the near future. Just more planning, and resting.”

He squeezes your hand.

“More time with you.”

When you turn to him, he was already looking at you. It felt natural to lean into his kiss even as the meteor shower continues.

You’re not sure how long you stayed on the balcony. It could be somewhere from a few minutes to half an hour. After the meteor shower ended and the stars took back their stage in the night sky, neither you or Ramattra had the urge to move from your position. The both of you silently looked up at the stars. Ramattra always got into an inquisitive, thoughtful mood when he looked at the stars like this. Maybe he was remembering his brother from the monastery. He still rubbed the back of your hand from time to time, interrupted by pecks to the top of your head.

It was easy to let your mind drift and your eyelids flutter, quietly slipping back into slumber.

…

It would be dawn, soon. And Ramattra hasn’t had any ‘shut-eye’. Not that he needed to, but…

Your arms have gone slack, and your head was slumped to the side. He leaned his head forward to look at your face, pulling your hair back. Just as he thought, you were already in deep sleep.

He pressed his mouth to your temples. It was hard not to, he was addicted to kissing you.

“Let’s go back inside, dear,” he whispers, carrying you with his hand under your neck and knees, bringing you back to the bed.

[greenishghostey]

imagine eddie plus amazon position

Took some creative liberties with the position, but it worked out in the end (I hope)!

Note: this is filth, again. Also, it's kinda long....

18+ Content MDNI

///

You were used to Eddie suggesting some adventurous stuff to try out during sex. He thought you didn’t know about the Heavy Metal magazines stuffed under his bed. 

But you’d seen it all. Robots, monsters, aliens, the whole nine yards - all surprisingly well illustrated. There was one issue that had a woman and a tentacle monster-thing which probably shouldn’t have had you nodding while reading it, but oh well. 

So, when Eddie suggested the unfamiliar position to you, he also had a visual aid to help win you over. The man was on his back with his head thrown back, flushed neck bared to the woman on top of him. His eyes were rolling back into his skull as sound effects indicated the pace and sounds coming from their fucking. His knees were pulled tightly into his sweating chest while the woman - who looked suspiciously similar to you - rode his cock until they were both delirious and panting like animals in heat. 

-

"God fu-fucking damn it. Babe, c'mon, please."

"You're doing so good, though. Just need to get you a little more warmed up, okay?" You sang, using your own legs to keep Eddie's spread wide. Your hands were covered in lube that was originally cold, sliding and stroking Eddie's cock. He had been whining for the last fifteen minutes - not above begging you to sit on his dick. But that wasn't the deal. If he wanted you in the position he asked for, then he was going to have to work a little harder for it. 

The slick squelching from Eddie fucking your hands was obscene and so loud. It mixed with the hot panting of your breath and the string of groans and curses from him. Eddie had taken to throwing one arm over his eyes because if he looked down at you, the fun would be over within seconds. 

You liked that you had such an effect on him; there was something intimate yet animalistic about it. You craved it in a similar way that he craved you. Most of the time, Eddie chased your orgasm before his own. Huffing filthy promises and praise while pulling your legs onto his shoulders and grinning as you gripped the sheets with white knuckles. But sometimes, he wanted to be roughed up a little. Brought to the precipice of release, only to be held there for as long as you saw fit. 

“You’re making the sheets all wet.” You observed through heavy-lidded eyes. Eddie was an absolute fucking mess. His thick cock was glistening in the low light of his room while his balls were sticky and heavy. You had to stamp down the urge to let him fuck your mouth and empty himself down your throat. But you had agreed to ride him - or rather, fuck yourself on him.  

“I can fucking hear it.” Eddie groaned, moving his arm from his eyes as he glanced downwards. “Christ, fuck, aren’t you done yet?” His face had such a pretty rosy flush to it. 

“Wanna make you feel extra special tonight.” You hummed. His eyes were boring into your skull; you could almost feel the fire of his gaze. You knew you were pushing your luck, but it was too fun to pass up. 

Eddie’s reaction time was always a little too good when he had a set goal. He sat up on one shakey elbow and grabbed the back of your head, bringing your face mere centimetres from his. Eddie was staring at you, unblinking like you were the only thing in the entire world - and he wanted it so bad. 

“You’re done. Now.” Eddie smirked with clenched teeth. 

The fact that he still had enough brain power to talk was impressive. Additionally, the grip he had on your hair, keeping your head in place, was making you sweat and squirm. 

“I’m gonna lie back, you’re gonna sit all pretty on my dick, and then you can go back to being in charge. Got it?” Eddie always knew just the right thing to say. He knew you almost too well, knew just how to make you melt. The guy was in love; it looked good on him. 

You returned his smirk with a giddy smile and an enthusiastic nod. Eddie got himself comfortable again, arranging himself with his legs nearly to his chest. 

You had to wonder if this is what he liked so much about you in that position. The unrestricted view of everything, the heat of seeing vulnerability. The trust of it all was sort of heartwarming. Putting aside the fact that Eddie had gotten this idea from a porno comic. 

His swollen, slick cock twitched as you got yourself comfortable, placing your hands on the backs of Eddie’s thighs. Teasing the leaking tip against your clit was a sweet relief. Finally, you got some of the friction. A guttural moan fell from your lips as you watched the head slip into your cunt. 

Sharp nails dug into Eddie’s legs as you firmly sat on his cock. “You’re so fucking deep like this.” You sighed, the stretch of him finally settling into your drooling cunt. 

“You love it deep, huh?” Eddie groaned, the sweet relief of finally being inside you washing over him in waves. One of his hands gripped your ass, helping you keep balance while also massaging the fat. “Sh-shit even brought the nails out and everything. You sit there for just a little longer, ‘kay?” 

A noise between a moan and a shriek rolled from your throat as Eddie started toying with your clit. He alternated between slow circles, quick slaps, and slippery flicks. The mix of your wet, the lube and his precum creamed at the base of Eddie’s cock - the squelching of it becoming even messier. 

“This isn’t supposed to be about me.” You whined, head rolling to one side as a particularly harsh flick made you keen. 

“Well, this part is. So, keep screaming.” Eddie moaned, slapping at your soaked cunt when you tried to move your hips on him. 

You had a feeling that this night would be a “fight for the upper hand” sort of night. Those happened sometimes when you were both in a sort of feral mood, and both wanted to be on top. Eddie never let sex just be about him, even for a minute or two. 

So, you would need to put him in his place. Like he wanted since his knees were nearly crushed to his sweaty chest. The demon head tattoo staring at you only spurred you on more. 

Your nails returned to digging into the backs of Eddie’s thighs - catching him off guard and making a small line of drool leave his lips. The grinding of your hips got harder as you massaged your g-spot with his cock. 

“Know what? This is about me - god, fuck - hold still for me.” 

Eddie’s wet fingers were still on your clit, but only applied pressure for you to move on. His moans had returned to being closer to whines as he stared at you fucking yourself. He wouldn’t be able to thrust up at all from the position he was in. He was at your mercy, and he loved it. 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck yes.” Eddie chanted, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth. “Your pussy feels so fucking - oh god, oh god.” 

You were shifting between grinding and bouncing now. The sopping drag of Eddie’s cock was simultaneously too much and not enough. “What was that? My pussy feels what?” You groaned, trying to keep your voice somewhat stern and even. 

“So fucking wet, and messy, and - and, Jesus.” Eddie slurred. He felt like he was losing his mind. The tension in his thighs, your nails dragging on his skin and the creamy warmth of your cunt. It was all driving him up the wall as his heart started to hammer. 

“We’re gonna make a mess together,” you purred, legs beginning to shake. “You can cum deep, yeah? Can you do that for me, Eddie?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie whined, his hair stuck to his face with sweat. “Anything you want, baby. Anything.” 

You grinned, grinding faster and harder until the mattress started to creak. The circles of your hips were messy, but it didn’t matter anymore. The man under you looked like a wreck in the best way possible. He was struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back; beads of sweat were rolling down his neck, and the noises. The noises were a mixture of grunts and moans as he clumsily played with your clit and tried to hold off cumming before you. After a few grounding breaths, Eddie kicked himself into high gear again.

“You love this, don't ya?” He panted, doubling down on the rough circles to your sticky clit. “Just been waiting to get back on top of me and losing your fucking mind.” 

“Just promise you’ll cum with me.” Your voice was hoarse and whimpering. The sweet relief was so close; you just needed Eddie to keep talking. “Promise me, Eddie.”

“Promise. God, fuck - I promise.”

Eddie started to moan and laugh up at you - it wasn’t mocking laughter, he was just having a really good time. The hand massaging your ass moved to deliver a sharp smack to the already raw skin - his laughter getting louder when you whined. You retaliate by scratching your nails down his thighs again, making him shiver and his cock twitch inside you. 

The push and pull continued for who knows how long. It could have been seconds; it could have been minutes. A smack was met with a scratch, and a whine was met with a shiver. Both of you were soaked, and the slick noises were just so right. 

Your knees almost gave out, “I’m gonna cum, Eddie, c’mon, c’mon.” You babbled, slamming your cunt down onto his cock. Your orgasm ripped through you in an instant, jaw hanging open and a low scream filling the dim bedroom.

“‘Atta girl.” Eddie slurred, his voice melting into a series of groans of ‘fuck’ as he emptied himself inside your hot, slick walls. His grip on your ass was definitely going to leave handprints, but that just made it all the better.

[arcriotwrites]

~𝒯𝒽𝑒 ℬ𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓃'𝓈 ℬ𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎~

Helmut Zemo x AFAB reader (gender neutral names) 18+

Warnings: Swearing, smut, choking, teasing, hand kink, fingering, oral (female anatomy used), established dynamic, brat taming, dom!zemo, use of petnames (Bunny, Darling, etc.)

Author’s Note:

I am back with another one! I feel like Zemo doesn’t get enough love as it is so I’m writing for him😤. I’ve had this idea for a long time and finally have found the brain power to write it. This is an 18+ fanfic, PLEASE TAKE THE WARNINGS SERIOUSLY! Enjoy!

The bright lights and loud music of the bar seemed to welcome you in. Wolfman’s Bar sits along a quiet street in Madripoor, if there is such a thing as a quiet street here. The entrance is in a back alley, needing strict access to even enter the bar. You step onto the concrete sidewalk, knocking firmly against the heavy metal door. The metal vibrated with the bass of the music, your attention on the man as he opens the door. He takes one look at you and steps aside, welcoming you in. A smirk rests on your lips as you saunter in, noticing many people turn and whisper to each other upon your arrivals you pull the maroon leather jacket off of yourself and drape it over the back of one of the barstools, taking a seat. The bartender comes over to you almost instantly.

“What can I get you, Jester?”

The name rolls off his tongue with a hint of fear and you can’t help but feel proud.

“A dirty martini should be fine.”

You watch as he quickly shuffles off to fulfill your request. As you sit there, you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket, you pull it out to look at the text.

Carlos: Slight trouble with current mission, need 2 more days to fulfill your wishes.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you type back, your back straightening slightly.

Me: You have one day. If the money isn’t transferred by this time tomorrow, the hunt is on.

You let out a deep grumble as you hit send, sliding your phone into your pocket once more. You tap your fingers in your lap as you wait for your drink.

You suddenly feel a hand between your shoulder blades, your right hand flying to your thigh, pulling your handgun from it’s holster.

“Calm down, darling. It’s just me.”

His voice hits your ears like a drug, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You turn around to see him. Before you stand Baron Zemo, or at least what everyone here knew him as. You knew him as Helmut, being the only one who is allowed to use his first name.

“Welcome back, Helmut. What brings you to my domain?” You ask, a smirk settling on your lips as he sits on the barstool next to you. You clip your gun back into the holster that is strapped to your thigh. As you do so, the bartender sets your drink down in front of you and you nod a thanks at him before taking a sip.

“I had some time off so I figured I’d pay you a visit. I heard the Powerbroker has taken a step back huh?” He asks, his eyes never leaving you as you set your drink back on the bar top.

“Yep. With Selby dead thanks to you and the Powerbroker regaining a home in the US, that leaves Madripoor with no leader, at least until recently.”

As you speak, you can’t help the proud smile that falls on your lips. You run your fingers along the base of your martini glass, wiping off a smudge. You turn to look at him once more, noticing confusion evident in his eyes. You let out a soft laugh, seeing the wrinkles of his face deepen as he puts on a curious expression.

“What do you mean by that, darling?” Your smirk only deepens at his question, finishing your drink swiftly before standing from your chair and grabbing your jacket from the back of it.

“C’mon. We can talk more at my place. I got a nice house in high town.” You say as you start to walk out of the bar. You feel a hand on your wrist pull you back. As you turn you almost slam into his chest.

“You know the rules. Follow them.” His voice sounded deep and gruff in your ears, his tone commanding. A shiver runs down your spine as you remember what he told you during his last visit.

Never stray too far from me.

He chuckles deeply as he watches you process what he said. You swallow hard, nodding before turning and starting to walk towards the exit, slower this time. You look back at him every few seconds to make sure he is right behind you. As you exit the bar, he grabs your hand. The feeling of his hand in yours has your mind fogging a bit, the feeling so familiar yet from so long ago.

Once you reach your house, you bring him inside, shutting off the security system. As you flip the lights on, you see him taking off his coat, draping it over the black armchair in the foyer. You walk into the living space, glancing around as you light the fireplace. The warmth of it makes you hum slightly as you feel arms wrap around your waist. You look down and see the deep purple sleeves and aged hands that rest near your stomach. A smile breaks out onto your lips as you lean into his touch.

“I missed you, Baron.” You whisper softly, hearing a slight hum vibrate through his chest. You always knew that name affected him and now was no different.

“I missed you too, Bunny.” As the petname rolls off his tongue, you can feel your mind fogging again, just like it had earlier when he grabbed your hand. He always called you that. To him you were something delicate, something to handle with care. No matter how wild you could be, you were always his soft, delicate bunny.

You hear him chuckle as your eyes close, not having noticed you were now fully leaning into him, a blush creeping up your neck and to your cheeks. His voice is husky now, his accent thick.

“Did my Bunny miss my touch hmm?”He smirks as he speaks, you’re able to hear it in his voice. All you can do is nod, scared that your voice will betray you if you try to speak but he cuts you off in your actions.

“Ah ah ah, words, darling. You know how this works.” His tone becomes authoritative, causing you to shutter against him.

“Yes, I did.” You say, your voice coming out soft and obedient. It was as if your body was acting out of need, not want. You needed his hands on you, you needed him to keep speaking to you like this. A part of your brain flips, starting to drift in thought.

What would happen if I didn’t submit?

A small smirk crawls its way to your lips, slowly sliding yourself out of his arms. You turn to look at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you cross your arms over your chest. You watch as he looks you up and down, as if examining his prey. He seems to scoff slightly as you look at him, determination evident in your posture.

“Actually, I don’t need your touch. I am perfectly fine getting off by myself.” You spit out, smirking the entire time. You knew the words you spoke weren’t true, all those late nights whimpering his name into your pillow out of frustration. You watch as he raises his eyebrows, shaking his head as he smirks.

“Oh is that so, bunny? So you weren’t frustrated with my absence? You didn’t miss my hands tracing your body, feeling every inch of you? You didn’t miss me leaving marks on your thighs, owning every inch of you?” As he speaks, he takes steps closer to you, starting to walk you back against the wall. He towers over you now, your back flush against the wall as you realize he has trapped you just as he planned. “You didn’t miss the way my tongue felt as I licked that pretty pussy clean?” He whispers in your ear now, his voice deep and gruff. His words have you leaning your head back against the wall as you close your eyes, taking a deep breath to try and stay nuetral. You feel his hand wrap around your hip, his thumb digging into your side. God his hands always interested you. They were so callous and rough from his work, covered in scars from the countless fights he got into. Despite this, he always touched you with the softest touch. The veins that ran down his forearms and into his hands always had you mesmerized, remembering all the countless nights you spent tracing them when you couldn’t sleep. Though there was another side to those hands. The way they held a gun so steady, he could get a headshot from a mile away. The way that they ran down your sides and to your legs, spreading them open as they had many times before.

As your mind started to drift, you could hear him chuckle. You hadn’t noticed you had zoned out, blushing deeply when you noticed you are gripping his sweater. You blink a few times, slowly letting go of his shirt, clearing your throat.

“Still trying to be defiant.” He states it as a fact, not a question. The disappointed tone in his voice makes you falter slightly, like your brain is fighting itself. Without any time to prepare, his hand comes up around your throat, squeezing the sides in a tight grip as he presses you back into the wall harder. “Come on now. You know exactly where this would get you, pinned to the wall, unable to breathe. Hm? Did you want this? Did you plan this since you saw me? Planned to work me up so that I’d fuck you senseless hm?” His angry tone makes your head spin. You can’t tell if it’s the lack of oxygen or the way you can feel his hand sliding from your waist to the front of your shorts that is making you feel lightheaded. You can feel him undoing the button and zipper, anticipating his touch. You craved it. Him feeling how wet you are because of him, his finger teasing your clit until you are sobbing, begging him to fuck you. Yet as your mind reels, his hand comes to rest back on your waist, his grip on your throat loosening slightly. You gasp, feeling your lungs burn as you try not to cough. He smirks, chuckling at your red face as he runs his thumb over your cheek.

“Look at you. You’re so desperate aren’t you? It’s taking everything in you to not fall to your knees and beg me to take you right here right now. I can see it in your face. I can see it in the way your hips pressed against my hand when I undid your shorts. You need me so badly yet you won’t say it. You know the rules, Bunny. I won’t do a damn thing until you ask me to.” His voice is stern, a teasing tone tagging onto it as he reminds you of the rule you hated most. You hated asking him, vocalizing your filthiest desires seemed like a nightmare. You swallow hard, feeling his hand against the front of your throat. You clear your throat, your eyes glazing over as you look up at him, deciding that your current aches are far more important than the anxiety rising in your belly.

“Please touch me, Baron.”

Your voice comes out just above a whisper. You watch the smile spread across his face, a mischievous look falling over his eyes.

“There you go. You did such a good job, Bunny. Come on, let your Baron take care of you.” He speaks softly, his tone completely different than the stern one he held moments ago. He takes your hand, leading you over to the leather couch that sits in front of the fire. He takes a seat, spreading his legs open. “Take those shorts off for me, darling.”

You can tell it’s a command yet his voice comes out gentle. It’s as if he is silently letting you know you can back out. He was always doing that, making sure you were ok and comfortable, letting you know you could stop at any time. You nod softly as you slide the shorts down your legs, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. You watch as his eyes fall over you, his tongue poking out to lick his lips.

“God… I missed looking at you.” He whispers out, breathless. You blush deeply, the red tint now spreading to your ears as he looks at you like a predator watching its prey. “Come here.” He motions with his fingers as he speaks, adjusting how he sits to sit back further on the couch. You walk to stand in front of him, your hands clasped behind your back. You feel your mind fully leave, any thoughts you had fog over and the only thing you can focus on is him.

He suddenly grabs your waist and turns you around, pulling you to sit In between his legs on the couch, your back flush to his chest. His cologne fills your nose like a drug, making you hum in delight. He lets his hands roam you, sliding down your back and around your waist, finally rest on your thighs. You can feel yourself squirming slightly, the puddle you sit in becoming uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to take care of you, Bunny?” He voice is soft in your ear, the words spilling from his lips like a prayer. There he goes again, asking you if you are ok without being direct.

“Yes, Baron. Please.” Your words come out broken, not expecting to hear yourself sound so desperate. When you speak, you feel his hands grip your thighs, gently spreading them apart.

“There you go. Let me control you, bun. Just relax ok? I’ll take good care of you.” His voice fills your ears as you feel his middle finger lightly drag up your underwear. As his touch reachers your clit, you jump in his lap, slamming your legs shut out of shock. You hear him chuckle as he pulls your thighs apart again, continuing his feather light touch over your underwear. “Look at you.” He presses his finger into the wet patch that had soaked through; “so wet for me already.” You nod quickly at his statement, feeling your hips rise, trying to chase his touch. Both of his hands grip your hips, slamming you back onto the couch. “Stay still.” His tone is stern, dangerous. The contrast in his gentle touch to his aggressive tone makes you whimper.

“Give into me, bunny. Come on. You almost had it, then you got too greedy. I will touch you however and whenever I want.” His tone is soft, gentle, as if trying to coax your body into doing as he says. You relax back against his chest, resting your head back onto his shoulder. “There you go.” His touch returns to your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle circles against your clit, feeling the wet spot grow as he does so. You can feel his shit eating grin against your head, placing a kiss to your forehead. You let out a breath you hadn’t noticed you had been holding, soft moans leaving your lips. You bite your lip as his speed and pressure picks up, your legs starting to shake at the shocks that run up your spine. As it begins to be too much, he withdrawals his hand causing you to whine in protest.

“Sshh bun, you’re ok, patience.” His tone is gentle once more, soothing your aching body back against his chest. You feel his finger slide your underwear to the side, his finger starting to run up and down through your wet mess. He hums in approval as he slowly traces around your entrance, feeling how your body quivers against him. You moan as he finally touches you, finally feeling what you have needed for the past 7 months. Finally having what you dreamed of every night.

He slowly pushes the tip of his middle finger into you, going in and out slowly, gently.

“You’re so tight, darling. Is all of this mess for me hmm?” His voice is teasing, slowly putting more of his finger into you with every push. All you can do is nod, moaning as he pushes his finger fully into you. “Your body missed me, darling. I can feel it in how your walls throb against my finger.”

His statement makes me shiver, feeling his other hand slide up your chest to your neck, gripping your jaw gently and pulling your head back so you look at him. As he does this, he rapidly picks up speed, sliding a second finger into you. “If you didn’t miss me, bunny, then how come your pussy is making a puddle on this couch for me hm? How come your body is shaking in pleasure as if you haven’t felt this in months hm?” His tone is still gentle, almost mocking you as you moan loudly against his neck. The pleasure mixed with his words makes you writhe in his lap, gasping as tears start to roll down your cheeks. It’s too much, the way he taunts you, teases you while fully handling your body in anyway he wished.

As it all builds, you feel your climax reaching its peak, desperately needing the release you had waited months for.

“Baron please! Don’t stop…. M-I’m close.” You gurgle out, your body shaking against his as he fingers you relentlessly.

“Come on, give it to me, Bunny. Show me how much you missed me.”

At his words, you cum, feeling your hips stutter against his hands as he continues at a brutal pace. You gasp and moan against his skin, eventually biting into his neck as you groan. As you come down from your high, he slows down, eventually pulling his fingers out of you. He examines the glistening digits, seeing your gaze on his hands. You watch as he slides his fingers between his lips, sucking them clean. The sight has you squirming, seeing him savor every inch of you. He pulls his fingers from his lips and wipes them on his dress pants. He smiles softly down at you as you look at him dazed, your head empty.

“Do you want me to clean you up, darling?” The question doesn’t process in your brain for a few seconds yet you find yourself nodding without hesitation. He picks you up, laying you on your back on the couch. You look down at him as he crawls down your body, sliding his tongue over the mess on your thighs. The feeling makes you gasp, shivering against the cold leather. You watch him as he makes eye contact with you, sliding his tongue up between your folds, watching you as you moan. His slides his tongue over your clit, noticing how you jump at the contact. He smirks against your pussy, licking at you slowly and gently. Once he decided it was enough torture, he sits up.

“Come here, Bunny. Let yourself doze off, ok? That was a lot after our long break hm.” He says, chuckling as you shakily crawl over, curling up against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, the sound making you smile. He was really here, he was truly here to take care of you after so much time apart.

“I love you, Baron” the words come out of your mouth as you doze off, the last thing you hear before sleep takes you;

“I love you too, Bunny.”

[maldaptivedreamer]

Treats and Reassurances

Part 2

Navarro needs help on the ship and you talk about the argument with Bjorn.

content: Not proofread, not entirely accurate to alien universe, maybe ooc characters, drugs/smoking, use of gwanja (ik it’s wrong), no bjorn just friends comforting reader after argument w/ bjorn, honestly almost a "filler"

wc: ~ 1.9k

a/n:  This isn't my favorite thing ever. For some reason, when I was writing this I was in a weird headspace and the dialogue feels a bit stiff. Since I've been dragging my feet posting this, the next part is almost done. Expect it soontm. Also the next part will have a reader who makes out/flirts with a woman. Sorry not sorry to all the straights lol

Main Masterlist      Next Part

The Corbelan IV looms over you. Patches of rust and scratches cover its surface. The Weyland-Yutani logo is big and obtrusive on the side of the dull gray ship. 

The lower payload area's entry ramp is extended open, its muted orange color standing out against the monotone colors of the surrounding metal.

Slightly paranoid, you scrutinize your surroundings. Looking for any sign of Bjorn. You hope he's not around, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of being right.

Maintaining the ship with Navarro and Bjorn had become routine for you, a monthly chore. It's something you didn't plan on, but now you find yourself enjoying it, using it as an excuse to hang out together. It’s the one time where he’s actually civil, but you doubt that he’ll be capable of any of that after having his ego bruised.

With a deep breath to steady your nerves, you cautiously step onto the ramp. The shifting dirt beneath your feet feels like quicksand, threatening to pull you down with each heavy step. Your heart beats in your ears as you approach the ladder, reaching out with anxious fingers to grip each rung.

With a grunt of effort, you hoist yourself up into the ship. The aged metal creaks and groans under your weight. The familiar scent of rust and engine oil fills your nostrils as you make your way inside.

Swallowing, you call out. “Navarro?” The silence that follows only adds to the tension building inside you.

Making your way up to the control room, your footsteps echo in the empty corridor. The ship feels different - almost eerie. You try to shake off the feeling, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans.

As you climb into the cockpit, you knock on the frame of the entrance. Navarro is sitting on a bench, hunched over a datapad. Glancing around, her brown eyes catch yours. “Hey. I’m glad you came.” Lowering the tablet, she continues. “Bjorn was a dick yesterday, more so than usual, so wasn’t sure if you’d show.”

Climbing into the room, you release a breathy snort of amusement through your nose at her blunt words and you can feel the stiffness in your body begin to recede. It’s okay, everything’s okay. She’s not upset.

She offers you the datapad, before moving to a pile of scrap. You look over the maintenance checklist, scanning each item with a critical eye.

Turning to face you, her face brightens with remembrance. "Oh, uhh, I forgot to mention...Bjorn won't be here. Told him that he'd just get in the way." You can sense a hint of annoyance in her voice as she mentions him.

You half absorb the checklist as you examine her in the corner of your eye. “Oh and how’d he take that?”

Smiling sarcastically, she sighs and runs a hand across the back of her head. “Very well.”

Sending her a grateful smile, you hand her the datapad. "Thank you. Fixing this piece of shit takes all of my brain power and I don't want to waste any dealing with him."

As she stands up, Navarro's eyes narrow in amusement and she runs a hand along the rough metal wall of the ship. Her tone carries a tinge of playful annoyance. "Hey now, this is my ship and I don't appreciate you calling it a piece of shit."

A playful chuckle escapes your lips as you scoff, "Oh please, you know it's true." Sucking your teeth in mock disappointment, you give Navarro a frown. "You know there’s one downside to not having Bjorn here. He always had the gwanja."

Navarro responds with a light tsk before breaking into a mischievous grin. “That’s very irresponsible and dangerous of you. Operating dangerous machinery under the influence. How dare you.”

As she finishes her sentence, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a sleek case. Sliding it open, she presents four neatly rolled joints.

With a mischievous smirk and shrug, she gestures for you to take one, “He owes you. He offered every joint he had on him. So… take your pick.”

Lifting a brow, you grin at her. Reaching into the case, your voice is sarcastic, “Mhmm. Is that right? He just… offered?” Placing a joint between your lips, you give her a knowing smirk, “Bet he said he was real sorry too.”

She nods sarcastically before lighting her own joint. As you both blow out smoke, her expression shifts, “What he said wasn’t true. You know that right?”

You gulp, shifting your weight and shrugging. Taking a drag, you avoid her gaze.

Navarro calls your name in a stern tone, drawing your eyes to hers, "Sometimes you’re in your head, but we understand. Whether it's mentally or physically, you need time alone. We all get it. We love you. What he said about you being selfish was wrong and we ripped him a new one for it. We should’ve said something sooner."

You take a long drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. The familiar buzz starts to settle in, easing some of the tension in your shoulders.

"I know," you say softly, leaning against the wall. Biting your lip, you dig a toe into the metal floor, "It's just... sometimes I worry that I'm not there enough. That I'm not expressing how much you all mean to me.” 

Shrugging, you shake your head emphatically. “And I don’t want you guys to feel guilty for not getting in the middle. You shouldn’t have to and us fighting was bound to happen eventually."

Navarro moves closer, her expression softening. "Hey, look at me," she says, waiting until you meet her gaze. "You're family and we wouldn't be the same without you. Bjorn was just talking out of his ass, like usual."

You can't help but chuckle at that. "Yeah, he does have a talent for it."

"Exactly," Navarro grins.

Clearing your throat, your fingers twist the silver band around your thumb. Scrunching your face, a hollow feeling expands in your chest. Bjorn gave you this ring. Told you it was some old one he didn’t wear anymore. You didn’t even realize, you’d still been wearing it... or that you still put it on every morning.

Dropping your hands, you glance at Navarro with a lump in your throat. “I said some really mean stuff too. Stuff that he… might… probably… didn’t deserve, no matter how big of an asshole he was.”

Slowly rocking her head side to side, she shrugs. “Maybe. But he started it. Said some awful things to you and you reacted. If you’re sorry about what you said, you can apologize later. Or don’t.”

Taking another hit, she gestures to the ship. "Now, are you gonna help me fix this thing or what?"

You laugh, feeling the tension dissipate. "Yes ma’am."

The familiar routine of maintenance settles over you. As you tinker with the ship's systems, conversation flows easily between you two, punctuated by the occasional curse when something doesn't cooperate.

The quiet hum of machinery and occasional clink of tools is interrupted as light footsteps reverberate through the ship.

Groaning, you flex your aching fingers and glance at Navarro. She ignores your questioning eyes and hunches over, wiping her hands with a grease covered rag.

Watching the ladder, you see Kay's head peeking over the edge, her curled hair spilling around her face.

Releasing a breath of relief, you give her a smile. Your voice holds a pleasant surprise, “Hey, what yah doin’ here?”

A grin spreads on her face and she joins you in the pilot room, giving you both a hug. “I came to hang out. Missed you and wanted to check in on you after yesterday.” You don't miss the silent look they share and you feel your chest warm at their concern.

With a thankful smile, you nudge her and wipe your hands on your pants. “Thank you. I’m fine. I had time to calm down and I talked a bit with Navarro.” You send Navarro an appreciative glance.

Kay nods, her eyes softening. "I'm glad. We were all worried about you… Just in case you were feeling weird or anything about what he said, I want you to know that I love you. We all do."

She pauses, looking around the room. "So, what are you two up to in here?"

"Just the usual maintenance stuff," you reply, gesturing to the various tools and parts scattered around. "Trying to keep this shitbox from falling apart mid-flight."

Navarro snorts, "I thought we agreed to stop insulting my ship."

"Sorry," you grin, not looking sorry at all. 

Kay laughs, settling into one of the pilot chairs. "Well, don't let me interrupt. I'll just sit here and provide moral support."

"Ah, I see. You came here to slow us down then," Navarro says, tossing a rag at Kay.

Kay laughs, catching the rag effortlessly. "Hey now, I'll have you know my moral support is top-notch. I even brought treats." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small cube shape wrapped in tinfoil. Slowly unwrapping it, she presents squares of chocolate to you. Smiling, she carefully waves it around, “Ta-da. Your favorite.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. Your chest tightens at the care of your friends.  “Thank you. Really. I love you guys.” Your serious tone indicates that your thankful for more than just the chocolate and weed.

Navarro rolls her eyes with a smirk, “Yeah, yeah, we love you too. Don’t cry, if you cry, Kay’ll cry."

Huffing out a laugh, you blink away the wetness in your eyes.

As you all silently eat your respective chocoates, Kay suddenly stops and sniffs the air. Raising her head with a confused expression, she scrunches her nose. “It smells… Were you guys smoking?”

You and Navarro quickly glance at each other. She covers a laugh by coughing into her hand and you shake your head with an exaggerated frown. You look down at the half eaten square in your hands. “No, no of course not. That would be dangerous and irresponsible. Both of which, we are not.”

Narrowing her eyes at you, Kay teases. “Uh-huh. Look at me.”

You reluctantly lift your gaze to meet Kay's, trying your best to keep a straight face. But as soon as your red eyes lock with hers, you can't help but burst into laughter.

"Oh my god, you fucking were!" Kay exclaims, a mix of amusement and mock outrage in her voice. "I thought you were fixing the ship. Crying and upset. I wanted to be a good friend, you know, come cheer you up."

Navarro snorts, giving up the pretense. “In our defense, Bjorn gave us his stash as apology.”

Kay scoffs, rolling her eyes with a grin. “Right and I won a one-way ticket to Yvaga.” Kay shakes her head, but there's a hint of amusement in her eyes. "You two are impossible."

Navarro shrugs, taking another bite of chocolate. "Hey, can you blame us?"

You lean back against the wall, feeling more relaxed than you have in days.

As you all eat your respective treats, the conversation flows easily. Kay fills you in on the latest colony gossip, her animated storytelling bringing laughter to the stuffy room. You find yourself relaxing more with each passing minute. The tension from yesterday's argument with Bjorn feels distant.

Next Part

[kingofthe-egirls]

STRANDED: EUSTASS "CAPTAIN" KID x Y/N

collab with the "sunflower supernovas" ;)

special dedication to @stargirldelight since eustass is her official sweetheart 😈

(cw: stranded on a deserted island, she shows up with a gun but safety is on, reader is scarred along her face, she's stranded as well, sex, creampie, someone sees them after sex)

(a/n: i've never written for eustass before! i hope yall like him lol sorry if he's ooc, i haven't seen much of him besides wano hehe)

Songs: "Hey Little Songbird" from Hadestown (except she's Hades)

words: 2.1k

There’s no metal on this island.

Not even underground.

I huff, still standing on the beach where I washed up. Where’s Killer?

And, more importantly, where the fuck is my ship?

****

I start by scouting the coast.

It’s rocky, barely even sand, more like sharp shells and smooth pebbles. My boots crunch over the gravelly shore as I scan the horizon, eyes squinting against the brilliant sunlight. It’s like this island is somehow closer to the sun than the rest of the planet. I smirk; must be somewhere in the middle, then.

Seagulls call overhead, and I shield my eyes with my mechanic’s arm: no ship in sight. No News Coo, either.

Well, shit.

Something snaps the brush behind me, several feet off from the coast. I swirl, cape swinging soaked and heavy from my aching shoulders. I shrug it off, letting it slop to the ground with a disgusting squelch. It smells like seaweed, and the salty ocean still clinging to its fur is draining my soul. I grimace; I liked that cape.

Snaps come again, and I focus on the higher ground of the forest’s edge to see a girl stepping out. She’s wearing a tattered nightdress, slashes through the middle and the sleeves are all but torn off. She’s pretty.

She’s holding a gun.

“Stay back!” She commands, shaking where she stands, and I laugh. Can’t help it—the tiny thing is a cub that thinks it’s a tigress. I slap my mechanic’s arm across my knee, finally getting some reprieve from my marooner’s misfortune.

“Sorry,” I say, spreading my chapped lips in a sloppy grin. My lipstick feels dry and cracked, and it sort of splits my bottom lip as I smile. I cough, suddenly, the seaweed and saltwater still getting to me.

“Oh!” She cries, dropping the gun and rushing toward me. She’d left the safety on, the shit-for-brains.

“Ya weren’t holding that right,” I say, before coughing up a mouthful of seawater. “Safety’s still on, too.”

She frowns, but stays close enough to hover over me. “S-sorry,” she says, fluttering small hands over my ribs, my waist. I want to buck her off—to wave her away and ask for help with finding my ship, but she smells like flowers so I let her stay.

“What’s your name?” I ask, hoarse. She has strong arms, and sharp eyes. Her collarbones jut out like raw-cut diamonds. She frowns at my midsection, her face coming up to only my sternum. She’s short.

“Y/n,” she speaks plainly.

“Sweet name,” I say, and then brush her off finally. She seems like a castaway, just like me. “Stranded?”

“Mm,” she nods, standing farther back with her arms crossed. Her hair is wet. “How bout you?”

“Same,” I say, before stepping around her to continue scouting the coast. There has to be a sign, somewhere, of what the fuck happened to my ship. I slink off two metal gears, spinning them around my head as I step over broken shells. She sucks in a breath, and I turn.

“So you’re a power user,” she says, stepping along after me. Her feet are bare, and the shells must hurt. She winces, slightly, but I don’t stop her.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I sneer again, strides covering more ground than three of hers: she has to jog to keep up.

She scrunches her nose.

“Sorry,” she steps on a particularly sharp stone, and stops. I sigh, holding out my metal arm. She stares, but I don’t move, so she steps closer. Her silhouette is barely covered by the shredded remnants of her cotton nightdress.

I slide my arm around her, hoisting her atop my metal shoulder like a parrot. She sits, awkwardly at first. She scrunches her nose again—a sign of displeasure, and I stop. “What, metal seat’s not so comfy? Ya got a sensitive ass, or somethin’?”

She snorts.

“Sorry,” she says again, so I shift her around to the other side. Her weight is warm, and surprisingly comfortable. “What’s your story?”

So I tell her.

****

We scout as far as we can before the sun starts to set. She says she has a camp set up in the middle of the woods, but it’s too far to get to before nightfall. So, we start gathering firewood while I rearrange my metallic supplies to make a sort of lean-to for shelter. Not my most elegant work, but shit still gets the job done. She returns with an armful of sandy driftwood.

She has sand in her hair.

She flicks the tangled strands across her shoulder, struggling to focus on the flint in her hands with the messy curls getting in her way.

“Here,” I say, tossing her a small metal washer. She stares at it, silent. I roll my eyes, but crouch behind her to run her curls through the eye of the metal nut. She shivers, goosebumps starting to form along her exposed skin. “Cold?” I ask, before thunking down heavily on the other side of the campfire.

She strikes at the flint, sparks catching on the fluffy twigs she found in the forest. She blows smoothly on the sparks, and soon enough the rest of the wood is catching. I’m surprised: fire-starting isn’t so easy, for most people.

“Surprised?” She asks, flames reflected in her sharp eyes. I shake my head, but she snorts. She’s crouching in front of the fire, on a sheet of metal so her feet don’t hurt. “Survival skills are actually something I’m good at,” she sniffs, smoke filling the air between us. “I was my ship’s forager, for a while. Scouting out into the wilderness, seeing if there’s treasure.” She seems proud of her journeys.

“Was?”

She scrunches her nose to the side again, her lips twisting sourly. “Since they left me here as a fucking castaway, yeah. Was.”

“Sorry,” I say, legs splayed out in front of me. She shakes her head.

“S’not your fault.”

She speaks with bitterness, like she’s chewing on lemon slices.

A wolf's howl calls out from the wilderness. She flinches, and I don’t. I scruff a hand through my still-wet hair. I wish I wasn't shivering, still recovering from the seaweed and saltwater. “So, how long have you been here?”

She stares at me with haunted eyes. “Three years.”

“Shit,” I say, staring back at her with a revised admiration. She shrugs.

“News Coo doesn’t come here,” she sprinkles dried pine needles on the fire, and the orange sparks flare. “So there’s no way to send a message, unless you can find a cork and a bottle.”

“Have you?”

“Nope.”

I swallow, shifting in the sandy beach. Shells and stones crackle under me. The fire smells like turpentine: the pine sending curls of fragrant smoke up into the sky. “Smoke signals?”

She smiles.

“Sure, if you like wasting time.”

She’s strong, like me.

She reminds me of my friend, so long ago, who I named my ship after. I want her to see my ship. I want to see her on my ship. She tilts her sandy head, scars crisscrossing under her eyes. Claw marks, probably from the wolves we heard howl in the distance. I lick my lips; she mimics my movement, but slowly. She looks like a shark, analyzing her soon-to-be prey. 

I cock my head, “You’re coming home with me." My throat is dry and cracked like the lipstick on my face. We need fresh water, and soon. She flicks her dark eyes up to me, alight with something not unlike starvation. It sends chills down my spine, despite the campfire’s heat. I smirk, slow and shitty like Killer always hates. “I have a ship and crew, I dunno where they are, but they’ll find us. And we could use a survivor like you.”

She shrugs. “Sure, if your ship magically shows up, I’ll start working for you.”

I scruff a hand through my hair, swirling nerves in my belly for the first time in a while. I see something feral inside her, shining like the sharp edge of a knife’s blade.

I was wrong:

She is a tigress.

****

She’s straddling me, my chest bare as she scrabbles with my belt buckle. She’s feral for sure, starving for intimacy and lucky me: I washed up just in time.

She scratches sharp fingers over my torso, cracked and dirty nails leaving red marks along my skin. She sniffs deeply, leaning forward to bury her face in my stomach. She's drinking in my skin, my scent, my sneering lips as she leans up to steal another sloppy kiss from me. She pulls back, smears of red lipstick scarlet and pretty along her scarred face. She's fucking hot as hell.

And she's pulling down my pants, boxers and all, and straddling me again to start sinking slowly onto my cock raw. She's feral, hissing through her clenched teeth as my aching hardness stretches her out. She's warm, and velvety soft. I grip her hips, hissing as we both feel the splitting pleasure of the first second of sex. She's scrunching her eyebrows, and I stroke her hip bones beneath her dress. They're sharper than they should be.

Yeah, I'm definitely taking her home with me.

She starts riding me slowly, lowering herself all the way down to the base of my cock. She takes the barrel swiftly, starting to speed up. "Fuck," I groan, sparks shooting through me as she grips me tighter. Her pussy's so fucking sweet, sucking me up all sloppy as she slams her hips down into mine. I stroke her lower back as it arches, shushing her as she starts to whimper on my length. "Sweetheart," I say, and she glimmers down at me with feral eyes. Like gleaming embers. Her hair is messy, having come undone from the makeshift metal ribbon.

"Sweetheart?" She mimics, as sarcastic as can be. I snicker, and start bucking up into her from below. She's scrabbling at my collarbones, suddenly bowed forward as she shivers with an orgasm. "Shit–," she whispers, "S'good, shit!"

I start fucking her recklessly now, swelling inside her as I get closer to my own climax. Shivers are running up and down my spine, the shells and sea glass crunching beneath my movements. She's smaller than me, and I don't want to snap her in half, but…

With her strangled cries and squeezing pussy, it's all I wanna do.

So she takes it, as hard and fast as she can, and she slurs swear words into the skin of my neck. She bites the skin, breaking it as she slurps at my pulse point. Shit, she likes it rough.

"S-slow down, sweetheart," I say, squeezing my hand between us so I can thumb at her clit. She hisses, teeth bared, as she pushes up from my chest to arch her hips how she likes.

I send her over another sweet climax, and she's sighing and slowing down.

"How's that?" I ask, squeezing her waist in both hands. My thrusts are stuttered now, sparks in my blood, as the white edge of an orgasm creeps through the edges of my vision. She nods, teeth sunk into her lower lip, and I cum.

Shit, shit shit shi–

"Holy shit–," I grunt, eyes squeezing shut as I pump her full of sperm. She gasps, stilling under my bruising touch, and I hope there won't be that many marks on her already scarred body.

Someone calls from offshore.

"Fuck!" She screams, scrambling off of me and backwards through the shells. She stares at the ocean, and I groggily see the sharp teeth of the ship I call home. Killer is standing on the prow, waving with his scythes overhead. She stands, straightening her tattered nightdress, and I follow suit. Squirming, she glances at me, and I smirk as I see spunk trickling down her calf and ankle onto shells and pebbles. I shove my softening cock back into my trousers, and buckle my belt. She's laughing now, shaking her head with her hands on her cheeks.

She stares at me.

"Welcome aboard, sweetheart."

She rolls her eyes, and I smirk.

"Scout y/n, at your service," she salutes, and I laugh out loud. She snickers, knocking her shoulder into mine as we start walking to meet the ship.

She's gonna look so good standing on that fucking prow.

"Oh," she turns to me, eyes blazing, "I still have stuff at my campsite. Telescopes, survival kits. Sake," she raises an eyebrow, and I feel my lips crack as my smirk widens.

"Y'know what, sweetheart?" I grab her hand, and squeeze it tight. She matches my grip strength, and I stumble. She laughs, a deep belly laugh that sends sparks down my spine. I shake my head, smiling, "You're gonna fit right in."

[cryingpariah]

Introducing and Explaining My One Piece Oc with this meme and also just the power of Yap! No pictures yet. I cannot draw, I haven’t found the right picrew/dress up games for her style and my spine, backbone and brain aren’t rotted enough to use AI :p

Allow me to introduce to Jackie! She works for Big News Morgan and is his personal assistant at the WEJ and also Heiress Apparent to the Underworld.

Her job boils down to being a hired gossip. She’ll go from pirate ship to pirate ship to schmooze and get/swap information, all with a friendly smile and a silly demeanour! She delivers packages too heavy for the News Coos and gives special secret editions of their magazines to their highest level pirate clients (think really interesting pirates that are sure to generate BIG NEWS and of course the Yonkos! They get the most preferential treatment). She’ll be buddy-buddy with the Marines too but that’s more for practicality and preemptive damage control for when Morgan inevitably pisses them off. She occasionally works her magic on civilians to get them better deals on paper and ink.

Devil Fruit: around the age of 5, Jackie stumble across an oddly red looking pear with an incredibly unnatural swirl that wrapped around the whole fruit, only ending where it point out a the stem. It later turned out she ate the Arrow-Arrow fruit and became a Direction Woman! She can create Arrows (the symbol to be clear) and while she shoot them out at people, the real power is how it changed her sense of direction. She always knows how to get to where she wants to go and can make arrows that she can stand or sit on to take her there! For example if she wants to head back to the WE NEWS, she just has to think of Morgan and feel this pull wanting to take her there. It’s also useful for fighting! Place an arrow point up under someone’s chin and it can hit as hard as an uppercut! She can send anything and anyone up down left right or spinning in a circle all from a safe distance, as long as she can see it, she can move it.

Appearance: Medium black skin with mid-back length curly light brown hair that fades into a gray ish blonde. Has a slightly crooked nose from a fight that wasn’t reset before it healed so she wears a white bandage overtop of the bridge. Has a tooth gap. Gun metal grey round eyes, she rarely blinks honestly. Attire-wise she dresses as a cross between standard Newsies cosplay and classic aviator uniform. Her uniform is generally a frilly collared sleeveless button up with a ribbon delicately tied around the collar, a pair of dark pinstriped pants that are tucked into shin high lace up boots, finished off with some gloves that are definitely one size too big, a pinstriped paper boy hat and an aviator jacket with multiple patches from around the world covering the back and sleeves.

Personality: She’s incredibly two faced. In front of potential customers and coworkers she’s sweet as sugar but put her in a room with just the higher ups of the Underworld and all that positive energy and charm disappears. On the clock she’s very loud, comedically dramatic, and very forthcoming. The only time she’s really in off the clock mode is when she’s completely alone, where she has no one to perform for. The only person that’s ever seen both sides to her (and doesn’t hate her for it) is Big News Morgan and she…appreciates it way more than she’s willing to admit. And it’s not like the nice work side of her doesn’t truly exist, it does! It’s just so carefully folded and tucked into a corner of her heart that she refuses to acknowledge.

1. Her birthday is October 12th (International Newspaper Carrier Day).

2. 15 pre-timeskip and 17 post-timeskip.

3. Generally yes, it’s her uniform after all but she’ll change it up for a special occasion like a party or if it’s a day off.

4. British (boo 🍅🍅).

5. Lucky number 7! BNM is resolute that she’s the World Economic Journal's good luck charm! Jackie however doesn’t believe in luck of any kind and they get into debates about it all the time.

6. Wind/Outside. If you were to sniff more you’d find hints of ink and that warm paper smell.

7. A soft grey.

8. Soups and Sandwiches! She likes how they can be made out of basically anything plus it’s super easy to carry around in her thermos and lunchbox and great for on the go!

9. Heavy, creamy foods like Mac and Cheese or Chowders. They make her feel all sleepy and lazy.

10. Work mostly which means all the people around the seas all the time.

11. Often, her job is just being outside a lot and a good public image can’t be maintained if their most outgoing employee looks and smells like shit.

12. A universal donor (which I have decided to dub OX+ for the sake of simplicity.) She makes it a point to donate every couple of months.

13. Does it occasionally but everyone onboard hates it and begs her to stop.

14. If Devil Fruits are allowed? She’s winning easy. If they’re not? She’d still take like 3rd or 4th place.

15. Tomato soup! She can whip it up super easily and it’s pretty tasty if she’d say so herself!

16. Whenever she can. Her hours are incredibly spontaneous and she pretty much always on the go. Her sleep hours are precious to her and she has 4 different intricate locks on her bedroom door to prove it.

17. Comedic relief middle child who no one actually takes seriously.

18. A pigeon: half because of the whole carrier pigeon thing and half because they’re both everywhere and nowhere all the time.

19. 5’7 pre-time skip and 5’9 post time skip. A little underweight honestly, which deeply concerns her coworkers considering how young she is.

20. Y'know I’ve never actually thought of her bust size before but like…a B ig idk??

21. A simple big capital J.

22. Not super different honestly. At most she changes her uniform color palette from all whites and beiges and adds a dark magenta element (her pants and bow)

[themculibrary]

Kidnapped!Peter Masterlist

a foul player dealing for me (ao3) - sandyk M, 2k

Summary: Peter gets kidnapped with a bunch of other interns, but honestly, it'll be fine.

Becoming a Hero (ao3) - Dorthea mj/peter T, 40k

Summary: His brain tells him to get back up. To run. To get away. That the next attack will happen in just a second. That someone will come, and they’ll shoot a bullet through his head. That’s it. End of Peter Parker. But his body doesn’t respond to anything. He can barely lift his arms, because it feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest.

Peter knows this is the end. Knows nobody will get to him in time… he’ll bleed out, in the desert sand. Alone.

His eyes feel heavy and slowly he closes them. Tries to breathe, knowing he can’t. Tries to forget the pain, but he can’t do that either. It digs through his chest, not like a bullet, no… It’s sharp and hard. There’s not one, there are a million. A million little things in his chest. But he can’t see them.

And soon, he can’t see anything, but darkness…

-

In an alternate universe Peter Parker wins a competition to meet Tony Stark, only things goes horribly wrong when Peter is kidnapped in Tony's place. His life on the line, Peter only has one option... he has to become a Hero.

Blood and Bone (ao3) - deadvinesandfanfics pepper/tony M, 40k

Summary: Peter… wasn’t exactly sure how he’d gotten here.

The room was dark, and silent, except for the repetitive thump-thump of a heartbeat from somewhere beside him. It sounded like Mr Stark’s arc reactor, with a soft tick accompanying every second beat: that, and the smell of motor oil and fancy cologne.

His head throbs, and his muscles ache. He feels like he’s just lost a fight with a brick wall, or several. There’s crusted blood on his upper lip as well as his temple. He can feel it matted in his hair, and he wants nothing more than to take a shower right now.

Looking around a little more, Peter realises that he doesn’t even know where they are. The room is nearly pitch black which makes it impossible to make anything out. He thinks he’s tied to some sort of cheap plastic chair; his hands are bound behind his back with a mess of rope and some thin metal handcuffs - so he assumes his identity is safe. No way whoever this was would leave him in just metal handcuffs if they knew he had his powers.

Then, a huff of noise off to his side.

“Mr Stark,” he blurts, panicked. “I think we might’ve been kidnapped.”

captivity (ao3) - killerqueenwriters T, 6k

Summary: To say Tony is hysterical would be an understatement.

It’s been twelve hours without so much as a peep from either of his sons: no texts, no calls, no readings from either of their suits, either of their watches.

Copyright Infringement (ao3) - Anarchyduck T, 4k

Summary: Peter’s arms snap to his side as his heels click together. He struggles to get out of it, whatever this is, as the Big Guy laughs again.

“Spider-Man say hello to Blood Bender.” he nods to the shorter guy standing beside him.

��B-Blood Bender? Like, from Avatar the Last Airbender?” Peter lets out a strained laugh. “Seriously? Isn’t that like copyrighted? Better not let Nickelodeon hear you. Don’t think they’d like to be associated with a dru-“

His throat constricts close.

OR: Peter gets in over his head, kidnapped, and is rescued by the most unlikely (or likely?) person.

Friday's Child (ao3) - Dimity Blue (Arnie) pepper/tony, mj/peter G, 58k

Summary: "Mr. Stark's son was kidnapped in 2007 when he was five, and, despite everyone's best efforts, no trace of him was found. Until today. When your fingerprints were put into the system, they came up as a match for Peter Stark's."

He's My Kid (ao3) - jennylarner pepper/tony G, 10k

Summary: “Rhodey.” Tony’s voice breaks. “Rhodey they took my kid.”

There are tears on Rhodey’s cheeks. “I know Tony, I know.” He whispers, his own voice trembling with the effort of staying calm. He had to stay calm, for Tony. “But we’re going to get him back.” He placed a hand over the phone. Tony stares down at it. “Do you want me to do it?”

Tony shakes his head. “No.” He murmurs. “No. I need to do it.”

...

When Peter goes missing and Tony can't find him, he knows who he needs to call. Post-Civil War. Eventual reunion of Tony and the Rogues.

He Promises (ao3) - justpeterparkerthings peter/harley G, 2k

Summary: Harley fell hard, the boy- Peter, the infamous intern- quickly became a constant in his everyday schedule. He didn't mind, infact the younger lifted his mood on most days, sometimes just offering to listen to Harley rant or watch a movie with a cup of hot chocolate.

Everything seemed to be going wonderfully well, all until Peter was kidnapped.

home (ao3) - Hailfire_73 T, 9k

Summary: “You were pretty certain he’d be here by now.”

The truth was, he’d like to know. He needed to know. What was keeping Mr. Stark from coming and getting him? Maybe, he thought, he didn’t think Peter was worth being saved. Maybe he just didn’t care.

“Clearly,” he said, as he moved a piece across the board. “You were wrong about your Tony Stark. That’s check, by the way.”

Peter studied the board but shifted his eyes back to him. “I give up.”

“Smart boy,” he told him. “A good man knows he’s beat.”

OR

Peter has been kidnapped and is forced to survive in a universe different, a universe ruled by Superior Iron Man, but surviving may mean there's nothing left of him once rescue finally does come.

i didn't finish my chem homework yet (ao3) - MyDestinyIsWritten T, 5k

Summary: Peter and MJ get kidnapped after school and Tony is a worried and protective dad™

I Did Not See That Coming (ao3) - TheDumbestAvenger T, 5k

Summary: When the mission goes south, and Peter is kidnapped right under Tony’s nose, the only thing he has left is hope to someday be reunited.

I Hope You're Happy (I Won't Be) (ao3) - Phoenix_Inferno N/R, 22k

Summary: "If Peter wasn't already wrung through the wringer, sliced up and beaten within every inch of himself maybe he could have put together that this was a trap.

He wished he had realized it sooner.

He wished to all the gods in existence that he had realized it sooner."

_

Peter should have known his incessant need to save everyone was going to eventually shatter his whole world. Maybe then, he could have done something.

In A Different Light (ao3) - kingdomfaraway T, 3k

Summary: Sometime around 3:00 am New York time, Steve’s phone went off. He didn’t think Tony would even call if it wasn’t the end of the world, all hands on deck situation. A jolt of fear ran through him as he answered, mentally preparing himself for any battle he’d have to take on.

But then, in a small broken voice, one that seemed to belittle the man Steve couldn’t imagine ever being so small, Tony said four words.

“I lost the kid.”

Love's Gonna Get You Killed (ao3) - peterparkersbff T, 1k

Summary: There’s a gun pressed to Peter’s temple and a man breathing down his neck. As depressing as it is, this is slowly starting to become a constant occurrence in his life. Not even the same people, everyone just… wants to kill him, Peter supposes.

But this time is different. They're not here for him.

My Guy (ao3) - JulieJewels mj/peter T, 7k

Summary: Michelle Jones has never really thought about it - Peter's always just been there. But now he's disappeared and Tony Stark isn't getting anywhere with his so-called investigation. So much for him being a genius. MJ has never been good at twiddling thumbs, but now it seems like she might have to learn it, and fast. Right?

Wrong, of course.

Paint it Black (ao3) - crystallopianqueen T, 44k

Summary: The Avengers are broken and scattered across the globe after the events of Civil War. But when Peter Parker is taken by the very worst of humanity, Tony Stark will do whatever it takes to get him back, even if it means hunting down former friends and enemies to do it.

Strike Three (ao3) - opal_earrings G, 4k

Summary: “With a groan, Peter lifted his aching head off his chest and craned his neck upwards. He was handcuffed, suspended from a chain that reached the ceiling. When he kicked his feet, his toes only just scuffed at the floor.

He’d been kidnapped.

Peter’s stomach sank at the realization. Oh, God, he was definitely going to miss his curfew. Mr. Stark would be furious.”

Or: Peter’s already missed his curfew twice in the past week, and he doesn’t want to find out what will happen if he misses it a third time. Which is inconvenient for him when he finds himself chained up in a warehouse with his curfew fast approaching.

Tag, You're It (ao3) - SpaceCowboysFromMars T, 3k

Summary: They’re just rounding the corner of the canteen, hand-in-hand, when Peter is slammed with a feeling that makes everything within him stop working. He freezes, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as his senses scream at him, warn him, plead with him to get away from the unseen danger-

Something cold is pressed into the center of Peter’s spine. There’s a click and a deep voice, “Make a sound and I’ll shoot the kid.”

Peter turns his head ever-so-slightly, just enough to see Mac Gargan’s face staring back at him as he presses the muzzle of a gun to the teenager’s back.

The Redundant Rescue Mission (ao3) - for_the_night G, 4k

Summary: “Oh, hey guys! What are you doing here?” Peter asked, appearing from behind a tree.

Bucky blinked. “We’re here to rescue you.”

“Oh… I mean, I can go back if you want? I'm sure I can crawl back through the window and I won’t tell anyone.”

Steve bawked at him. “Excuse me?”

“I can even tie myself back up if it makes it better?”

“Are you seriously suggesting un-rescuing yourself?”

Or: Peter gets kidnapped, but Steve and Bucky are a little late in getting the mystery kid back to his dad

weapons never weep (ao3) - McSquishee pepper/tony T, 36k

Summary: “Let me make something clear, insect. You are a freak of nature that serves no purpose outside of science and war, and you do not have nor deserve the luxury of human rights. I gave you the opportunity to make this easy on yourself, but if you must be difficult, I will have no qualms over forcing you into submission by any means necessary.”

The man looked over to him, his expression unwavering and offering no guilt or remorse.

“You are naught but a weapon, and I will treat you as such. Don’t forget that.”

-or-

On a mission gone haywire, Peter is abducted by HYDRA, and they will do whatever it takes to harness his biology for their benefit.

[3terna15unshin3]

hi!! would you consider writing a blurb where matty has the rahab conversation with este? like he sits down and really explains what it was like and how be struggles (maybe there’s some tears and este is super supportive and comforting)

love your work sm <3

Hi!!! thank u!!

I must say tho, I have very little knowledge on or personal experience with drug addiction and rehab, so i didn’t really feel comfortable writing anything more in depth just in caution of accidentally portraying it inaccurately or using insensitive language or romanticizing it in any way. since i do think it’s a bit odd and some ppl do cross a line when using his addiction as really intense and triggering angst😬😬😬

only sometimes tho! it can be tastefully done :) and i’m glad u requested it! anyway thank u again here it is hehe

(tbsg series masterlist) ((also please send me more requests i’m desperate))

warnings: mentions of addiction and drug use, angst

To stand it upright, Matty lifted the heavy metal to him and Este’s newest piece of furniture for their bathroom. He had spent the past half hour building the majority of the shelf, with Este passing him any tool or screw he was needing. Now that the contraption was standing, they only had a couple of stray pieces to get attached.

But before he could, his ringtone sounded. Este glanced at his screen and watched it flash ‘Frankie’ across the top. She racked her brain to think of if she’d known such a person, but it didn’t ring a bell.

“Just decline it for me, love.” Matty instructed after reading who was ringing.

She obliged and pressed on the power button to hang it up. “Who’s Frankie? Don’t want to speak to him?” She said jokingly.

He chuckled a bit. “Not that I don’t want to speak with her, maybe just not at the minute. I’ll just call her back later,” His wrist twisted a screwdriver to secure another slat.

“Oh, okay.”

Frankie’s a girl, Este digested. She thought it was a bit bizarre that Matty didn’t answer her first question, but rarely let her contextless thoughts develop into jealousy. Este’s nosy self was more eager to know what the call was about—regardless of who it was from. But she decided to leave it.

He threw her a smile and leaned all the way over to plant a kiss on the skin right in front of her ear. “Mind passing me that last screw?”

Este doesn’t mind, smiling back as blood rushes to the spot where his lips once were, while he silently continued building. When Matty glanced back at her, the shelf now complete, he could read the curiosity on Este’s face. So, he elaborated. And Matty didn’t mind elaborating when he was with her. Since he knew she’d listen.

“And Frankie’s a woman I met in rehab. We’ve kept in touch since so she calls time and again,” Matty explained, “She usually wants to talk something out, since she’s had a bit of a rough journey since treatment. Not a lot of family left. Whether it’s for advice or just for someone alike to listen. But I’m in manly-builder-testosterone mode. Didn’t feel like a good time to answer. Even though she does enjoy sharing what she’s been through and would probably love to meet you. I don’t want to unload all of her shit onto you. For your sake,”

“If her shit’s on you then it can be on me. I don’t mind. Your shit is sort of my shit too,” she said.

They burst into laughter as both of their eyes diverted to the toilet they sat next to, the ironic and gross sounding language making them giggle.

He stood back to admire the shelf that stood beside the sink, raising his hand to chew on the skin around his nails. Once his explanation was finished, his mouth stayed shut and slightly pressed. Eyes darting around the space to make sure everything was in place. Este could see that the topic was making his muscles a bit tense.

“Yeah, it is.” Matty agreed, still laughing at the poo jokes. The two of them started to transfer the various body and skin care products from the draws below the sink onto the freshly built shelf; in comfortable silence.

“I guess I haven’t really told you much about my recovery, have I? Rehab, and everything,”

“No, not really.” She shrugged, not wanting to pry.

Eventually the sink didn’t look crowded anymore, and the supplies that usually sat messily were organised. Having only recently moved in together, it was an obstacle to have to balance their belongings in the same space. So, Este sunk down to sit on the floor and lean against the wall to rest in satisfaction. They’d made good progress.

He copied her and they sat hip to hip.

“I spent most of the treatment I did in Barbados alone, believe it or not. There were plenty of nurses and doctors, but I was pretty isolated. That was until I met Frankie.” Matty tucked his knees under his chin. “I think meeting her was the first time I met anyone just as a human—no self expression, no signs of culture, no pre-conceived expectations, no representation of status. There was this insane level of purity within our connection. We were just two broken people,”

Este’s eyes didn’t leave his as he continued on. She listened intently and thoughtfully.

“But we were from the same road,” he revealed. “Not even just the same city, or town. The same road. Minutes of walking between where we grew up. And finding that out felt super emotional,”

His fingers fidgeted nervously, opening himself up more and more as he spoke. Matty found comfort in Este’s presence, though, and sought the feeling of her hand on the back of his neck or the in and out of her breath against his skin.

“Wow,” she whispered briefly, wanting him to continue. Este was fairly close, so the breath he craved grazed him ever so slightly as she spoke. It calmed him down.

“Since we’d been on the road for so long, and I obviously was having trouble coping with it, things had been so loud. Constantly. But I think the equine therapy, and meeting Frankie—it was the first time in ages things were quiet. And I really drank it in,”

She ran her hand up and down the front of his leg lovingly. “I’m so happy that you’re on the other side of that now. And that you had access to treatment that worked for you. That’s the hardest part sometimes,”

Matty nodded.

“The horses did do something, that’s for sure,” They chuckled together, “When we retire in like 40 years and move out to the countryside maybe we should get a couple. I’m a whisperer or sorts now, I think.” he suggested.

Este leaned her head down onto his shoulder, internally cooing at the mental image of the two of them growing old together. Maybe somewhere rural up north—near Manchester, to be close to family. She’d have a greenhouse and maybe grow fruits and veggies during the summer for them to eat. A couple of horses, like Matty suggested. Este had never met a horse in person, but she was sure she’d like them if he did.

“That sounds like a plan.”

He pressed his lips delicately to her forehead, dreaming of the same things that floated round in her mind. They lounged in silence—still sitting on the floor across from the sink and toilet.

“You know,” Matty started again, “I still have this dude’s number in my phone. He was my dealer here in London for a bit. I ran to him when I scored for the last time,”

There was a pained expression on his face, like he had to work through his own disdain for that time in his life before admitting it aloud. It shocked Este, realising that speaking about his addiction could be so heavy; since he was usually so open and honest about it to anyone who was curious. But this was different, as Matty dug to the parts of himself that he had learned to keep personal. He didn’t have to think twice about letting Este see them, though.

“It was early 2019. I’d been clean since rehab—and at this point I’ve honestly forgotten what brought me to the point of relapsing. But what I do remember is the morning after. I saw my mum and Louis. And it just broke me,” His sentences had long pauses between them and his voice broke over and over. The sound of it sent a pang through Este’s heart, the two of them immediately nuzzling closer into each other’s comfort. “The guilt was all-consuming. I was so ashamed knowing that I was hugging my little brother still strung out from the night before. Smiling at him while lying about being clean,”

Matty dropped his head into her lap, slow salty tears trickling onto her bare thighs. She wiped them away, hands lingering on his face since she knew he liked them there.

“Oh, Matty,” A lump formed in her throat but she swallowed it down. She spoke gently. “Can I ask why you still have his number?”

He thought about it for a second. “It’s sort of a reminder, I guess. That I have the power now. That if I wanted to call, I could. But I don’t want to anymore.”

Matty’s eyes looked up towards Este and they shared a bittersweet smile. He laid his hand on top of hers that still sat cupping his cheek, lifting it to plant a kiss on her palm and quickly setting it back.

“And I know that if I ever wanted to—even a little bit—that I’d have you there. To tell in a heartbeat. And the boys, and my family. We’d do anything we’d need to do. Together.”

And with their bottoms against the cold concrete, Matty picked up his phone to call Frankie back, fearlessly pressing the speakerphone button. Este interlaced her fingers with his, waiting for her to pick up, and their chests rose and fell in sync.

[blackjackkent]

The first thing I notice on returning to the main floor of Moonrise Towers is that Minthara is forcibly yanked out of the party and is now sitting on Ketheric's throne. Jaheira is standing in front of her.

"Is it true you were a member of the Absolute cult, drow?"

"Do you mean to judge me if I were, darthiir?"

"No. I mean to learn from you."

'Atta girl, Jaheira.

Minthara looks up with a self-satisfied smirk as Rakha approaches. "I will never tire of sitting on dead men's thrones," she says dryly.

Rakha lacks the energy for anything more than a soft snort. But she can understand Minthara's satisfaction. This was the vow they forged together when Rakha pulled her from Moonrise's prisons - that they would destroy Ketheric. Now the pledge is fulfilled. "It suits you."

"Power always has," Minthara says with a low chuckle. "But I shall not get too comfortable here."

She pushes herself abruptly to her feet and paces a short sequence back and forth in front of Rakha. "We must be free if we are to rule," she mutters. "And to be free, we must destroy this cult, and Ketheric's co-conspirators along with it."

Rakha shrugs slightly. This was already the plan; she has nothing to add to it. Minthara's next words, though, draw her attention much more sharply.

"I know one of them all too well," she says, coming to an abrupt halt. "Bhaal's blood-letter. Orin." She scowls bitterly. "To think I thought her to be speaking for the Absolute. I worshiped that woman."

Orin. The Bhaalist. The woman in red with the knife-edge smile. Rakha's head twinges sharply at the memory. "So it's personal?" she asks in a low voice.(*)

Minthara smiles bitterly. "You make it sound so simple," she says. "She is the Chosen of Bhaal, Lord of Murder, and one of the cult's founders." Her smile twists with a sudden undercurrent of rage. "Indeed - she is the one who indoctrinated me with the Absolute's lies."

Rakha tilts her head slightly with a flicker of curiosity. This is the first Minthara has spoken of the events that led her into the cult in the first place. "What do you remember of your indoctrination?" she asks slowly, half-expecting the question to be slapped away.

Indeed, for a moment Minthara withdraws into herself and looks at Rakha guardedly. Then she deliberately relaxes again, moving past Rakha and staring at the symbol of the Absolute engraved into the heavy metal door of the throne room.

"When I first visited Moonrise," she says in a low voice, "I stood before the Absolute in awe. It was more of an idea than an entity. Pure love. Total power. Orin was by my side. She told me that god had chosen me to be a True Soul. Blessed and adored."

She has been smiling sardonically through this whole speech - but as she turns back towards Rakha her whole face suddenly hardens like steel. "Now I know that those memories are lies," she says harshly. "There was no god. Orin held me down in a cocoon of flesh, while a mind flayer forced a parasite into my brain. And she laughed at my fear."

Her voice does not crack. Only her eyes show the slightest hint of that fear she must have felt - the terror as the tadpole tore her apart. Her mouth draws into a thin line, so tightly that her lips turn pale.

"I will find her. I will murder her. And I will smile."

Again that brutal twinge of pain in Rakha's head. Some memory just on the edge of reach. She shies away from it, fearful for the first time of what it might reveal.

But she nods, because Minthara is right anyway. Just as they swore together to end Ketheric, for the fall of the cult and for their own vengeance, they will swear the same for Orin.

That will keep her focused - directed. It is a killing with purpose, as Ketheric's was. It will help her friends. It will help Wyll. "We'll be heroes," she says cautiously, thinking of Wyll's guise as the Blade of Frontiers. "The saviors of... Baldur's Gate." The unfamiliar name of the equally unfamiliar city still feels strange in her mouth.

Minthara's smile takes on a cool, savage tinge. "Let them think that," she says sharply. "There is a short path from savior to ruler - a short and bloody path. I know it well, and we will walk it together. But Baldur's Gate is a mere bauble. We have the chance to seize something much greater. Surely you see it." She leans forward, her eyes focused on Rakha's. "In killing Ketheric, we fractured the cult's leadership. When we break the other Chosen and claim their Netherstones, *we* can take control."

Rakha stares at her, utterly thrown by this statement. Surely you see it. Minthara speaks as if this is obvious, but Rakha has not considered this for even a moment. Her concern has been with a single question - to kill or not to kill. Or rather - who to kill and who not to kill.

To take control of the cult, to rule it herself... does she want that? The question gives her some pause.

Wyll wouldn't; she is certain of that. Lae'zel... might. Minthara clearly does. For Rakha's own part... her thoughts are less clear.

"What would we do with that power?" she asks slowly.

Minthara's eyes light up eagerly. "The power of the enslaved elder brain could reshape the world. *We* could reshape the world."

Rakha squeezes her eyes shut, letting out a heavy breath through her nose. The beast has risen in her head at these words and is growling eagerly. Yes. Take control. Bend them to your will. Prey for the slaughter. The innocent and the damned. They would all bleed so beautifully...

The feeling makes her shudder. She and Minthara are alike, to a point... but not in this. Minthara's corruption by the Absolute did not give her bloodlust; that was hers already, and she does not seek to escape it, as Rakha does hers.

"The future you propose..." Rakha says haltingly, struggling to form the words around the force of the urges in her mind, "...is shaped by... violence. I'd-- prefer to find another way."

(A/N: INTERESTING! Minthara's disapproval here is expected, but the Lae'zel approval is a surprise! Complex one, our gith friend. <3 )

Minthara snorts sardonically. "There is violence in your future regardless," she says. "With me, you can at least be sure the violence will lead to glory." She shrugs. "You are not stupid. When we reach Baldur's Gate and face the Chosen, you will see that my way is the right one."

Rakha mimics the shrug, feeling troubled for reasons she struggles to articulate. "You may be right," she says at last. "I'll... keep an open mind."

Minthara smiles faintly. "That is all I ask - and remember, I *know* when your mind is closed." She huffs out a breath, suddenly all business. "We are bound, then, to travel together, even if we do not yet agree on our ultimate purpose."

A pause; she raises an eyebrow at Rakha thoughtfully. "There is yet one thing about you that troubles me, though. Something I need you to explain. Why come to Moonrise, where the cult's power is strongest? Why not walk away?"

There are many answers to that question. Rakha tries to order them in her mind enough to explain them.

I don't know who I am. I had nowhere else to go. The beast sensed prey here, and blood to be spilled. I love Wyll and I follow his guidance. Lae'zel's creche failed and we had no other plan for the worm. Halsin said we should seek the towers. The magic here is wrong and it burns and the curse must be ended...

In the end, though, she gives the answer that is simplest, and the only one she is certain Minthara will understand. "I want revenge on those who did this to me," she says - quietly, but with an edge.

Minthara visibly relaxes, and her eyes glint again with that satisfied air, like the cat at Last Light drawing itself into a proud, puffed ball. "Good," she says. "That is as it should be. Now - I am ready to leave this damned place whenever you give the word. The city awaits."

----

(*) Slight shortening of the full line ("So it's personal? Good - let's take her down.") to be a bit more Rakha-ish.

[tf2-oneshots]

Heavy and Medic experience the magical power of WEED. They also get drunk. So, in other words, Get high, do gay sex. Take that however you want.

Holy fuck…weed yaoi

Warnings: alcohol, weed

Rating: teen and up

Sniper takes out a small batch of brownies from the oven, sliding the metal tray onto the stove. Oven mittens removed, he uses one to fan them. While they cool, he leans against the counter to wait. The batch isn’t a normal one. These are pot brownies, and he’ll be damned if someone steals from him.

Elbows on the counter, the bushman miscalculates and accidentally hits the hot tray. He hisses, yanking the arm away from it. Sniper looks at the spot where a nasty burn forms. He runs it under cold water in the sink, but it remains.

“Piss…” A glance to the brownies. He can sneak off just for a few minutes, right? They’re still too hot for anyone to eat. He’ll pop into Medic’s office, get fixed up, and come right back. Simple as that.

Huffing, Sniper leaves the kitchen in search of the German doctor. Right as he passes through the left doorway, Medic enters with Heavy from the right. The sweet smell of brownies wafting through the air vents made it all the way to the common room they were just sitting in.

“Ohoho! They look delicious.” Medic takes a whiff, grinning at the delectable brownies just laying out in the kitchen. Pyro must have made the batch. On occasion, they leave cupcakes or cookies by the stove for the team to enjoy.

Heavy takes out a knife, carefully cutting the tray into even squares. On a plate, he gives himself a corner piece and Medic a center piece. The doctor also grabs them a few beers from their fridge, and the two retreat to Heavy’s bedroom. As they sink their teeth into the thick chocolate, the two are blissfully unaware of the side effects yet to come.

Half an hour later, everything kicks in.

“Misha…this isn’t my room.” Spread eagle on the bedroom floor, Medic stares wide eyed at the ceiling. He blinks, brain fuzzy from alcohol and marijuana. The older man sits upright, frantically turning his head left and right. Where are his birds? The skeleton display he keeps by the door? His blanket—where’s that damn blanket he bought while fleeing Germany?!

“Is…my room.” Comes the answer from the bed. Medic gasps, climbing up to see Heavy barely keeping his eyes open. The giant groans from the shift. Where the hell is his voice? It feels like his tongue was replaced with a brick.

Medic grips the bed, practically clinging to the frame for dear life. He presses tightly to the sheets, heart racing. Is this a heart attack? Dear god, it is! Why is he having a heart attack? Is he going to die?

“Misha, Misha! I’m floating!” Despite the claim, Medic remains firmly on the ground. He then attempts to shove himself under the bed to keep himself from becoming airborne. While these antics occur, Heavy begins laughing.

“Doktor…Doktor is on ground!” A wheeze. When has he ever wheezed? Heavy laughs harder as Medic scrambles for purchase, fighting whatever force has him convinced that he’s floating away. It actually sounds pretty nice when Heavy thinks about it. Just drifting aimlessly through the clouds…

“Don’t laugh! I can’t feel my legs!” Where are they?! Medic looks under the bed, yanking a pant leg to confirm that his legs are in fact attached to himself. Something is trying to take his legs, isn’t it? Before he can kick at the air, the Russian drags the doctor out from under the bed and into his arms.

“Hm….Heavy keep Doktor safe.” Its like being cuddled by a bear. A really, really high bear that’s also a little drunk. Heavy reaches for his half empty beer, enjoying the warmth it sends through his body. Beer is so nice. Why can’t it taste this way all the time?

“Are we having sex?” He feels like jelly, or maybe a pudding of sorts. Medic clings to his lover to make sure that he isn’t actually turning to pudding. Maybe this is just a really slow, fully clothed version of sex. Feels nice. That is, until the door opens.

“Knew it. Damnit, you two ate weed brownies.” Medic flounders, fighting to cover himself despite being fully dressed. Heavy laughs loudly, accidentally rolling off the bed and crushing Medic. The loud scream from his smaller lover is cut off by his massive chest muffling the man.

“You’ll be fine by tomorrow. Drink some bloody water and stay the hell away from my edibles.” The door slams shut as Sniper marches away. He returns to the kitchen only to see two more squares taken out from the tray. Wankers.