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ghoulbrain · 8 months ago

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Saddle Up, Sweetheart

18+ 3k ghoul x f!reader. cunnilingus/face sitting, overstim, pet names, clothed/naked sex, creampie. gif credit. prompt list. written for this ask. thank you! 🖤

The Ghoul—Cooper, as you know him now—does not make himself an easy man to get to know. He was harsh with you from the start, one of the crankiest old bastards you’ve ever met. An accomplishment, given your life in the slums. He’s dismissive, angry that you even want to know him, and downright mean most days.

And yet you became fascinated with him.

It was ages before you were able to hold decent conversations, and longer than that before you had a name for him. Still, you keep digging. He intrigues you more than anyone else ever has, and despite his sour attitude, he keeps coming back.

"You won't like what y'find," he told you one day. You knew then you were wearing him down with your persistence.

"What scares you more: the idea that I won't, or the possibility that I will?" You'd asked.

He laughed. "Y'don't scare me, sugar."

You smiled. "Maybe I should."

Cooper started to look at you differently from then on. There had been a sense before that he was observing you as something ephemeral, a flower bud he was waiting to see bloom and die away as quickly as you'd appeared.

Once you made it clear you weren't going anywhere, the invisible walls between you began to fall away. You feel his gaze lingering on you when he thinks you aren't paying attention. You watch him in turn, holding his gaze whenever he catches you.

"Eye contact like that'll get'cha killed someday. Predators take it as a challenge," he tells you, adjusting the holster on his thigh.

"Is that what you are?" You ask from where you’re leaning against the wall, arms crossed. You raise your brow, inured to his broody one-liners. "A predator?"

To your surprise, he's the one who closes the distance this time. His footfalls are heavy, his swagger loose. He looms over you, bracing his forearm on the wall behind you. Your heart skips a beat. He rarely ever gets so close.

"I'm the worst kind there is," he says gravely, but you clock his tone for what it is. He's toying with you.

Undeterred, you square your shoulders. "And what kind is that?"

He leans in closer, smelling of oil and gunpowder. "A hungry one," he says, the heat of his breath ghosting your cheek.

Pushing you away hasn't turned you against him. Cornering you won't either. Despite his insistence to the contrary, you're no prey animal. "Well then... I s'pose you ought to have something to eat."

His radiation scarred lips spread slowly into a wicked smile. "Y'offering, sweetcheeks?" He asks, his yellowed teeth parted, poised to take a bite.

You swallow dryly, so keenly aware of the thundering of your own heart, you wonder if he can hear it, too. You tip your head back, jutting your chin out and bringing your lips closer to his.

"You don't scare me, Coop," you whisper, wielding his name like a secret weapon.

He hums, head tilting slowly while his gaze moves down your body in a leisurely calculating sweep. "Well..." He drawls, voice a low rumble from his chest. "Maybe I should."

You're ready for him to do as he's always done and leave you like that, to rile you up and then act as though it was all in your head. You've accepted that Cooper is a man on the run, and he hasn't seen anything in you worth stopping for.

The press of his lips against yours shocks you to your core.

Your arms uncross, hands fumbling to catch hold of his jacket, grabbing him before he can vanish. He responds in kind, cupping your face in the soft worn down leather of his gloves. Your pulse is all the way up in your throat, so wild you’re sure he can taste it when he slips his tongue into your mouth.

His touch isn’t a gradual thing. He’s upon you all at once, forcing your thighs apart with his knee and slotting his thigh between yours, pressing into you until you start to sing for him, those breathy little noises muffled by his devouring kiss. At your hip, you feel the press of his cock gradually filling out beneath the layers of clothing between you.

After so long without meaningful touch, the onslaught is dizzying. You roll your hips, grinding down on his thigh until you feel your underwear clinging wetly to your skin, an exquisite shiver trilling up and down your spine. His lips feel textured and hardened by his condition, but his tongue is hot and smooth, persistently licking into your mouth, determined to feel, to taste.

That hunger drives him from your lips to your jaw, your throat, peppering rough kisses that are as much lips as they are teeth along your neck. “S’your last chance, darlin’. Point of no return,” he tells you, voice coarse. His hand slips between your bodies and starts working your pants open. “Won’t be no comin’ back from this. I’ll ruin you.”

That he would have the audacity to warn you away from the door like this after you’ve been knocking and knocking and knocking is almost laughable. You would laugh if you had enough air in your lungs, but he’s kissed it out of you.

“So ruin me,” you tell him breathlessly. He grazes his teeth over your pulse-point in a way that makes your voice hitch. “I want you.”

The rim of his hat brushes your cheek as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, making a raw noise against your skin. “God damn it,” he says, yanking you from the wall so sharply you gasp. He whirls you around, hands fisted in your shirt, kissing you hard while he walks you backwards, towards the noisy heap of springs and fabric you call a bed.

“Y’outta your fuckin’ mind for that,” he grouses, shoving your pants down off your hips. You don’t disagree, You know how terrifying he should be, what his affliction does to him, to his hunger, but you don’t care. Not when he’s kissing life back into your dull dusty life at the end of the world.

You’re naked by the time he pushes you down onto the bed, standing above you, sunken eyes black with fervor. He unclips the bullet belt strapped across his chest and shrugs out of his coat, tosses his hat up somewhere high on the bed. You start to crawl backwards, but he snatches your ankle and drags you right back to the very edge of the bed.

“Unbuckle me,” he orders, the words all throaty feverish heat that makes your clit throb. You do, eyes flipping back and forth from him to his belt. He watches you all the while, pulling off his gloves with his teeth, dropping them to the ground. You unbutton his pants next, hands so eager they fumble briefly before you make it to his zipper, the hiss of it coming undone drowned out by the thunder of your pulse in your own ears.

Before you get any further, Cooper catches your wrists and hauls you up to your feet, spinning you around and pulling you down over top of him on the bed. He keeps you steady while you straddle his waist, moving his hands from your wrists to your hips. You start to move back, but he cups your ass and pulls you in the opposite direction.

“Saddle up, sweetheart,” he says, licking his lips. “Y’said for me to have somethin’ t’eat. I intend to.”

Oh fuck.

Nodding hazily, you follow his lead until your knees are on either side of his head, your hands braced on the wall behind your bed.

“C’mon now, relax,” he coaxes, urging you down with his grip on your thighs. You settle most of the way down before he yanks you the rest of it, startling a noise out of you that transitions into a low moan at the molten wet slide of his tongue dragging from the bottom of your pussy to your clit, upon which his lips close down and suck.

The sensation is leagues beyond the amateurish grinding, but that session still left you sensitized. The heat of his mouth is so intense it almost burns. His tongue feels just as unreal, thick and dexterous in the way it works you, swirling repetitive patterns on your clit. He drinks from you like you’re an oasis in the desert, swallowing greedy gulps before sinking his tongue into you, fucking it in and out, coaxing more and more thirst quenching wetness from you.

“Ffffuck, oh my God,” you moan, your hands curling into fists on the wall, sliding until your forearms are braced against it instead, your head hanging between them. You wish you had something to grip, something to dig your nails into as his devil’s tongue builds hot pressure inside of you, swelling sensation toward an inevitable explosion.

Cooper is shameless beneath you, devouring without care for mess or noise. Every so often you feel the graze of his teeth and you buck away from him, but you’re no match for his strength and he keeps you held firmly down, wholly at his mercy despite your positions.

Once he’s satisfied that you’re not going to try and escape anymore, he relinquishes his hold on your hip and brings his fingers between your thighs, teasing where you’re wettest with the tip of his finger. With the way he’s sucking your clit you barely notice the initial touch, but he quickly wrings a gasp out of you by sinking his finger in all the way to the knuckle, crooking it wickedly while he rocks it in and out.

It’s simultaneously too much and not enough. He walks you on the knife’s edge of your climax, deftly toeing the line with every slow stroke of his finger and swipe of his tongue. Your stomach clenches up with it, breath catching. He pushes in a second finger, and by the time you feel the third working you open, your legs are shaking uncontrollably. He is feasting on you, humming appreciative little noises between the wet sounds of him eating you out.

A sudden jarring slap to your ass makes your quivering thighs tense up and startles a loud moan out of you. He most definitely smiles against you, fucking you steadily with his fingers.

“You son of a bitch,” you manage to choke out, tears prickling at your eyes from the sheer overwhelm of it all, your breaths growing sharper, more shallow. “I should smother you,” you say, the threat dulled by the thinness of your voice.

He smacks your ass again, harder this time. You decide that’s encouragement to do just that and grind down against his mouth, eagerly meeting every thrust of his fingers until one last good slap tips you over the edge, your orgasm striking you like a bolt of lightning. Your whole body goes tense, and Cooper ruthlessly fucks and licks you through it, sucking on your clit as it pulses and pulses and pulses through what feels like the longest climax of your life.

“Enough,” you moan weakly, pushing yourself from the wall on trembling arms. His fingers have slipped free, but he’s still drinking you down, holding your thighs in a vice grip. You can’t stop shaking, the burn of pleasure beginning to feel like the most exquisite pain. “C-Coop, enough, I can’t–you fucker,” you gasp, jolting in his grip when he nips at your clit.

He finally lets you up, easing you down with two hands firmly on your ass. You slide back until you’re straddling his waist, hands braced on his chest while you catch your breath. He doesn’t give you much time, knocking you down into his lap as he sits up. He takes your face in his hands and kisses your own taste into your mouth, giving a throaty little rumble.

“I decide when you’ve had enough,” he says, dropping one hand to work his cock free from his undone pants. “And you’ll remember that you asked for it.”

Each word feels like a spark of electricity. You lift yourself on trembling knees, hands on his shoulders, and he puts his arm around you, drawing you in while you sink down until you feel the thick head of his cock–wet with his own precum–nudging against your spit-soaked pussy.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how good you can take me.” You can hear the restraint in his voice, feel it in the thrum of his touch. You hold his gaze while his cock forces you open in one smooth, frictionless slide, the stretch a dull ache that rapidly ascends into pleasure. He lets you adjust a moment or so before he begins to move, holding your hips steady while he rocks his own, reclining down onto his back.

“Don’t you hold out on me,” you tell him through a shuddered breath, hands behind you, braced on his thighs. “You promised me ruin.”

As sharply as he’d slapped your ass, Cooper gives a hard thrust up, his dull nails biting crescents into your skin, his grip all that keeps you from losing your balance. “One taste and y’already damn spoiled,” he says, planting his boots on your bed–you’ll give him shit for that later–and picking up a brutal pace almost immediately. “C’mon then, sweetheart. Ride me.”

You have no choice but to comply, grabbing hold of what you can of his shirt while he bucks hard under you. Every thrust sparks inside you like the strike of a match, your cunt still sensitive. You can already feel yourself climbing towards another peak. You arch your back, watching him through the haze of your own pleasure. His eyes are dark, his teeth bared. He looks like something wild, like something ready to bite.

“Goddamn, that’s it, y’squeezin’ me fuckin’ good now,” he groans, tipping his head back, watching you bounce on his cock through heavily lidded eyes. “Give it up for me, pretty girl. Show me this is really what you want,” he rambles, his accent growing thicker the closer he gets. You nod along, panting wordlessly, his thrusts knocking sweet little keening noises from your throat. “Go on now, that’s it. Show me how it feels when I make you cum.”

The world around you goes black just before an eruption of white explodes behind your eyelids like stars, your whole body stilling to endure the overwhelming crash of your release, the shock of it rolling out in waves throughout your entire body. You don’t speak, you don’t even breathe, too struck by the magnitude of it.

Cooper fucks you through every second of it, slurring a litany of feverish nonsense–your name sprinkled within it–until he breaks off into a choked off noise, and in the middle of your euphoria you feel a the rush of his release spilling deep inside you, his body finally stilling under yours.

You sink down onto his chest, panting against the collar of his shirt. He moves his hand along your back, and a distant part of you is caught off guard by how tenderly he sweeps his fingers up the back of your neck. You answer in kind by slipping your fingers just under his collar, fingertips brushing bare skin that’s as gnarled as the rest of him.

The two of you sit in silence for a long while, neither of you willing to break the spell of your afterglow. The entire world feels softer in it, the dull sepia of it tinged with hints of gold. The dust particles floating around you almost seem to sparkle. In any other moment, you’d scold yourself for romanticizing the rotten remains of a dead world that has been so cruel to you, but for just this moment, you let yourself believe that things can be beautiful, too.

You lose yourself to the warmth of his body beneath yours, and the gentle way he traces the slopes of your body with his fingertips. Eventually, Cooper cleans his throat. You ignore it, reluctant to acknowledge him. You know once you do, the moment will be over.

“Y’might wanna get situated with a pack of Radaway soon,” he murmurs, the twang of his voice still heavier than usual.

Tucked into the crook of his neck, you smile while he still can’t see you, endeared. “I’ve had worse exposures.”

“I find that hard t’believe,” he says, cupping the back of your neck in his palm. His thumb strokes absently back and forth. You can almost believe he’s dragging out these last few moments together, too.

Lifting yourself, you brace your forearms on his chest, staring down at him. His expression is difficult to parse–while there is most definitely a sense of ease you don’t normally associate with him, there’s also a profound sadness.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves his hand from your neck to your cheek, swiping his thumb along the ridge of it. You lean into his touch, ready to ask again, when he makes a grab for his hat and places it firmly on your head, obscuring your vision.

“That was some fine ridin’, sweetheart,” he says, voice as coarse and sweet as raw sugar.

You push the brim up until you can see him again, failing to bite back a smile. “Guess I’m the sheriff ‘round these parts now.”

“I ain’t a sheriff," he says flatly, though the slight tic at the corner of his mouth gives away his amusement.

“That’s right, y’ain’t. ‘Cause I am,” you say in your best impression of him, tipping his hat at him.

He blows out a breath and tugs the rim back down over your eyes. “Whatever you say, sweetcheeks,” he says, and though you can’t see him, you’re certain you can hear the smile in his voice.

Today may never happen again. The world could end tomorrow–again–or Cooper could walk off into the Wastes for the very last time. If you’ve learned anything in this world, it’s that nothing lasts forever. So, you drop your head back down and listen to the beat of his heart, using it to count the moments as they pass.

If they’re gonna be the best you get, you’d like to know how many of them you have.

#the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #fallout fanfic #fallout #x reader #x reader smut #my writing #smut

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pedgito · 6 months ago

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𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 | Marcus Acacius x reader

summary | once your dad's greatest friend, now his greatest enemy. you cannot shake the desire and care you feel for the fallen general, even as he heads toward death.

author's note | LISTEN, none of this is going to be accurate. and frankly idc, i'm horny i needed to write this do not come at me. no source material? idc i'm still writing it. anyways, enjoy the p*rn. (if you're reading this prior to the movie coming out, none of this is canon. this is just an idea that i wanted to write and felt like posting, if you do not like the idea of writing without source material, please do not engage or send me asks to be combative, they will be deleted. i won't be continuing this specific fic and will not be writing for him again until the movie comes out.)

content warning | 18+ smut, this is dbf for the gladiator girlies (gn), sneaking around, descriptions of smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampies, breeding kink, age gap (reader is early 20s, marcus is late 40s/early 50s), alcohol tw, innocence kink

word count —2k

You knew he would be here soon, he must.

You curled into the dark corners of the arena hall, having been here since dawn with your own father, a high military commander who struck down Marcus as punishment for such things even he wouldn’t tell you about. You knew nothing, heard nothing—you weren’t allowed such privilege.

It has been days since you last saw him—Marcus. General Acacius to many, another esteemed leader amongst the masses, and a once great friend to your father. Though, that was no longer.

You often called him sir, finding that General Acacius was quite the mouthful. Or often just General, but his endearment toward you was blatant and he insists, almost pleading that you drop the formality when alone. Which was easier, as your fondness of him grew.

It started at a celebration, one of the many grand parties thrown in celebration of fight won or any reason for the men to drink, but Marcus liked to linger. Often tucked away in a corner watching the madness unfold, you were too curious to stay locked up in your room.

The first night he caught your eye, it was a smile around the edge of his silver goblet drowning in red wine, a hand crossed over his chest as he watched you slip away in fear that he may say something to your father.

But, he never did.

For weeks after, it progresses. From a smile, to a lingering gaze, eventually he finds himself inching closer to you, week by week. Until one night he finally finds the courage in himself to be waiting by the corner you often sneak around, watching curiously.

“You are pushing it, dove.” He speaks softly, his eyes downturned to look at you from the step he was on above you, slowly inching down until he was level, “if he catches you—”

“He hasn’t,” You tell him in a clipped, hushed tone, “and you haven’t said anything. You won’t….will you?”

He bypasses the question, “Why do you come here?” Marcus curiously asks, “These men, they are—animals, if they see you dressed like that, they would not hesitate to—”

You had on a pale nightgown, thin and barely enough to cover your modesty but it was enough. The sticky, summer heat prickled your skin, formed a line of sweat across your brow and you huffed out at his words, “My father would murder them. Besides, you are not like them. So, why do you linger here?”

He was much more than a friend, closer and akin to family.

But, he had his own troubles. Stepson, a wife, he should be away caring for them. Yet, he was there with a disgruntled scowl and eyes only set on you.

“Why not?” He shrugs, “It is…quite entertaining. Isn’t that why you sneak around here to watch?”

You mimic his shrug, shying away slightly as you pull away to leave, but his hand catches your wrist, his cup placed in the gap of pillars separating you both. His facial expressions show an internal battle of thought, like he’s fighting against the bad and hoping the good would win out.

Unfortunately, the bad prevails.

“Let us walk,” He tells you, nodding toward the exit a few feet away, “if you would accompany me?”

You nod eagerly, switching the grip on your wrist to curl around his bicep, muscular and hard from years of fight training. He flexes slightly at the touch, covering his free hand over yours in a comforting gesture.

He made you feel safe. And that was all that mattered to you.

—

The walk was the first mistake.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before you found yourself tucked away by a nearby tent, unbuckling and unfastening Marcus out of his gear hastily before he fucked you under your nightgown—gentle but firm. He was the first man, the first ever to have you in such a way. You’d told him so as your hands shook under the weight of his gaze, the taste of bitter wine on his lips. He’d kissed you as he pushed his cock inside of you and didn’t stop until you were tipping over the edge.

Over time, you grow bolder. Sneaking him back into your home was easy, knowing the guards weren’t as watchful in the late, late hours of the night. It was dangerous, reckless, but as you tug him down into the cellar and sink to your knees, it all fades away quickly.

His little dove, he often calls you. Sweet dove, so pure and innocent. His hand caresses your chin as you swallow him down, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze before he comes down your throat, nose scrunching up slightly and his brow furrowing, biting at the back of his other hand to muffle the groan that escapes him.

It was always like this—hurried and quick fucks that didn’t diminish the feeling, but reminded you how easily you could both be caught. It continues for months…and months, until suddenly he stops coming around.

No parties, no visits—Marcus had become a ghost.

But, enough digging had led you here, tucked away in the shadows again—but watching as he fought for his life. The other man was much older, weaker, and Marcus struck him down within a matter of minutes, blood splattering across his face as he stuck again and again, bashing the poor man’s skull in until it was nothing, teeth gritting as his body surged with adrenaline.

Gladiator fighting wasn’t a new thing—and you knew he wasn’t the only one, but why?

He’s making his way down the arena toward the pillar you are tucked behind unknowingly, alone and battered as the guards run off to dispose of the body. You aren’t sure where Marcus is going now or when you would see him again, but you take the chance when you know no one is watching, grabbing him by the armor plate on his chest and pulling him away and into a dusty closet, knocking into a stack of buckets in the process.

You gasp as his hand wraps around your neck, fist cocked back in preparation of an attack.

But, then his eyes land on you.

“Dove, what are you—”

You shush him quickly, hands molding against his face and the dried blood, his breathing quick and short as you attempt to calm him.

“I had to see you—I thought…I thought you had—”

“I might as well be,” Marcus replies somberly, “we cannot meet like this. We cannot meet at all.”

“It’s fine, It’s fine–” You assure him, reaching forward to press your lips against his.

Marcus pulls away hesitantly, grabbing your face roughly until you look at him, eyes widening.

“They will kill you. I cannot see you again. I should not even be here with you.”

Your eyes well with tears, forcing yourself forward again to capture his lips and this time he allows it, opening his mouth slightly as your tongue dips inside, working silently at the buckles to his chest plate.

“No talking. Let us…enjoy this. If it is the last time.”

You were both well aware—he would fight for his life or die, that was it. And he would fight until that point came. He was no longer a General, completely stripped of his power. But, he was still Marcus. And you would hold onto that for as long as you could.

He’s shaking, the adrenaline raking his body and making him restless as you kissed him, tongue dipping into his mouth again as his hands roamed, squeezed, caressed.

“I will not break,” You whisper into his mouth, “take what you need, Marcus.”

It was all he needed to hear, turning you around swiftly and forcing your down with a hand against your back, arms pressing into the shelf in front of you as he pushed up the silk, carefully woven and intricate fabric of your dress—so pristine and perfect. He wanted to rip it off you, be he refrains, squeezing at your hips while he kneels behind you.

“Marcus, you need not—”

“Quiet, little dove. Let me have this,” He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “beautiful—let me hear you.”

“Marcus,” You plea, his fingers joining his tongue as they breached you and drag against the soft, but incredibly sensitive spot inside of you, your hand reaching for his wrist tucked between your legs as you whined out his name once more, twice, until your legs gave out, feelings his strong, broad shoulders flexing as he used his brute strength to keep you upright, licking up the gush of fluids that leak out of you, rising with haste and untucking himself from his garments, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of your neck before he’s pulling you upright harshly.

“Want to leave you something,” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “something to remember me, if I shall never leave here. Something of me for you to carry on. Alright, sweet dove?”

You nod knowingly, as Marcus had always been careful to pull himself out before breaching that point. He was always careful, hesitant—but being on the brink of death, he found himself careless and desperate. He couldn’t let you go.

He slips inside of you with a hand tucked around your throat, pulling your back to his chest as he snapped his hips into you firmly, groaning lewdly into the side of your neck as he bit down, squeezing at your throat with every soft sound you made and you want it just as bad, forcing your hips back into every push of his cock—you were positive this pain would last you into next week, but you needed that reminder. His fingers dip into your skin, hard and uncaring and sure to leave marks, but that was what you wanted.

And his groans quickly turn needy, more high-pitched than you’ve ever heard them

He’s holding back, restraining himself. You turn your head, catching his heated gaze as he pants, your thumb tracing over his lip. His hand drags over your stomach, rests, curious of how beautiful you would look swollen and carrying his child.

It is a hopeful and distant dream, one that he will never foresee.

“Give it to me, Marcus,” You beg him, “I want it.”

It so easily undoes him, “Take it, my dove,” He growls, coming deep inside of you with a shaky thrust of his hips, squeezing you tight against him, “I think of you, always. You must know—know that.”

It pulls at your heart, tugs in a way that makes your entire body ache. He pulls out with a low grunt, silently tucking himself away as you adjust your dress.

“And I love you,” You admit, watching as his gaze pulls up quickly, “even if you cannot say it back. I know. I know you do.”

Marcus breathes harshly through his nose, crowding you once more but it is soothed by a gentle kiss, “You need to leave—do not come back here.”

“Marcus,” You counter, sadness lacing your tone.

“If, by some miracle, I make it out of here,” He drags his thumb along your jawline, pausing on his words as he looks you over, memorizes you, “I will find you.”

You nod jerkily, eyes never breaking from his, “Just like you always have.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

thanks to @chaotic-mystery & @pr0ximamidnight for being the absolute best friends ever and beta'ing this for me on a moments notice, ily both.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x y/n #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius smut #gladiation 2 fanficition #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius fanfiction #my writing #ANYWAYS

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lcriedlastnight · 29 days ago

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hi! was wondering if you could write something for your special for lando?

i was thinking something to do with his nose scar. idk if you can do something with that or not 💀

tysm and congrats!

ofc i can, i am screaming at this btw.

1k words

everyone knew lando was a party animal, it was the first thing you knew about him when you met him. he loved a good party and he loved a good time. you weren't as fond of the party scene but you knew when lando wanted you there, to be there for him. the celebration in amsterdam for kings day was one of those ones where you had decided that your presence was not, in fact needed and you could spend the week prior to the miami grand prix at home catching up on your current favourite tv show.

getting a call from your drunk boyfriend about some injury was not on your plans for the day however.

"heyyyy baby! where are you?" lando slurred through the phone when he had first called you. at first you had thought it was just another one of lando's famous drunk phone calls where he goes on and on about how much he misses you and how if you really wanted to he could get you on a flight to come and see him in thirty minutes - as if you could pack a weeks worth of clothes and get to the airport in that time. drunk lando was overly positive.

"hi lan, what's up?" you ask, padding through your shared living room, one hand holding your phone to your ear and the other holding the popcorn bowl.

"i look like a mummy right now!" he laughs down the phone. his laughter makes you giggle too even though you have no clue what he's on about.

"my nose hurts thoouugghh. smashed a glass on it." he complains as if it didn't just make you stop in your tracks and almost drop your very full bowl of freshly popped popcorn.

"you what? you smashed a glass on your nose? are you alright?" you quiz, worry laced throughout your voice. lando it's that drunk that he can't pick up on it. he just lets out a giggle and says something to someone near him before his attention is back on you.

"yeah! blood was everywhere, baby!" he says, much too positive for the contents of the sentence. even though you felt your throat close with worry for him you knew it couldn't be that bad or else you would've known much before now and lando wouldn't be as upbeat as he was right now.

"really? are you alright now?" you ask him, setting up the couch with blankets for your binge session. there is shuffling over the phone and then lando is mumbling again.

when he does answer you it's tipsy reassurance and its then that you realise that you won't know how bad it was until you either see him in person or speak to him when he's a little more sober than right now. you chat to him (entertain his drunk yapping) for a little while longer before you hang up to actually start your tv show and to let him get on with his partying.

★・・・・・・★

the next time you see lando is two days after, he had arrived in miami where you were waiting for him at the hotel and it was safe to say you had no idea on what his injury would be like. when you met him in your shared room and you seen him with the bandage on his nose, the first thing you did was coo. it was all you could do, you literally melted at him.

"oh baby." lando gives you a guilty smile, not knowing whether or not to milk his injury to get extra affection from you or to just be honest and say that it didn't really hurt as much as it did when he first cut it. the former was calling his name though.

you baby him all weekend until you see him cross the chequered flag first for the very first time and then, well let's just say the babying was put on hold for a little bit while you showed him just how proud of him you were.

laying in the hotel bed with him that night watching some random episode on the hotel tv, you turn to him and say "maybe you should hurt yourself every weekend so you can win every race for the rest of the season."

lando rolled his eyes and lightly shoved his palm in your face to shut you up.

★・・・・・・★

it was another win later when you realised just how obsessed you were with the little scar left on his nose from the incident. you had obviously noticed it before now (you had a serious problem when it came to staring at lando's face) but it wasn't until you were in singapore when you really noticed just how much you adored it on him.

the hotel lighting was dim, barely lighting up your favourite thing to look at when bored but it would do as both you and lando couldn't be bothered to turn anymore lights on or even turn the lamp on the bedside off. your fingers danced across his cheeks and along his jawline to then swipe across his eyebrows. you didn't know if it was the lighting or what it was but the scar kept catching your eyes and your fingers just kept coming back to swoop down over it, ever so gently like it was still fresh and sore.

"why'd you keep doing that?" lando mumbles, clearly half asleep but noticing the repeating motions of your fingers gliding down his nose and specifically his scar.

you aren't sure you have an answer to his question so you hesitate on replying to your half asleep boyfriend. your fingers now actively avoiding his nose altogether.

"doing what?"

lando huffs and opens one eye to look over at you. you are eye to eye with him, both of you laying on your sides facing one another.

"touching my nose. and my scar." lando points out. he knows that you knew what he was talking about and he was not here to beat around the bush.

"dunno." is your reply. "it's just cute. you suit it."

lando isn't sure if it's a compliment or not but he takes it as one as he lets his eye close again and moves so he is resting his chin on top of your head. he also isn't sure if it is possible for someone to suit a scar but instead of questioning you he just wraps his arms around you tighter. a conversation for the morning, he thinks.

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reidmania · 2 months ago

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home sweet home | s.reid

summary; you always try to do the grocery shopping early sunday mornings before your daughter wakes up, although nothing is better than coming home to her and Spencer, dancing around the living room as the sunrises.

warnings; established relationship, husband!spencer, wife!reader, dad!spencer, mum!reader, girl dad!spencer they have an almost four year old daughter who is obsessed with uptown girl by billy joel (me) very domestic, fluff fluff fluff!

an; beartober fic 4? i think idk tbh.. so beartober is actually just bearautumn or bearfall for all u americans.. THANK YOU, short and sweet, 1.1k

The sun is barely up, casting a faint golden light over the neighbourhood, bags of groceries filling your trunk. The air is fresh and cool, a calmness hanging in the morning that feels like a secret you’re carrying home. sun is just breaking over the horizon as you pull into the driveway, the early morning air still clinging to the quiet that the day hasn’t yet stirred from. It’s a strange sight, your little house framed by dawn’s first light. The neighborhood is still asleep, the windows dark, save for one—a warm glow coming from your living room.

Balancing grocery bags in your arms, you push the door open as quietly as you can. You can hear something faint—a familiar song wafting down the hallway. You don’t need to hear lyrics to know what song is playing, uptown girl by billy joel had been on repeat for the last serval days, your daughter’s new found favourite song. You can feel the bass through the floor, each beat somehow filling the house with an energy that’s playful, light.

Your curiosity piqued, you pad quietly toward the sound. As you near the living room, you freeze, the sight in front of you holding you captive. There, in the middle of your living room, is Spencer. His hair is a little wild, uncombed from bed, and he’s in an old t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, the ones you tease him about because they’re so threadbare. And in his arms, held tight but free to move, is Kinslie, who just about to turn four, her hair a mess with similar uncombed brunette curls like her father’s.

Spencer’s dancing, moving in that awkward way of his that you love so much. It’s a careful, thoughtful kind of dancing. He sways and shuffles, occasionally spinning, his movements unpolished but joyous. Kinslie is laughing, her head thrown back, cheeks flushed, hands clutching at her father’s shirt as they twirl around. They don’t notice you. Not yet. You set down the grocery bags carefully, as if the slightest sound would break this spell, this little glimpse into their world that they unknowingly offered you.

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms, letting yourself enjoy the scene for a moment longer. “Again?” Spencer asks, when the song comes to an end, you wonder how many times it had played. His face is animated, light shining in his eyes, and Kinslie laughs even harder, when she nods, as he twirls her around, her feet barely touching the floor. She’s singing too, in her little-girl way, mostly mumbling the words but getting the chorus with an enthusiasm that’s pure joy.

It’s all so simple, so perfect. And then, as if sensing your presence, Spencer glances over and sees you. His face lights up in that way that makes your heart swell, that makes you fall in love with him all over again.

“Hey,” he says, breathless, a grin stretching across his face.

“Hey,” you reply, a smile tugging at your own lips. “Is this what happens when I’m not around?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Why? Jealous? You can always join in,” he says with a shrug, feigning nonchalance, the wide grin on his face. But you can see it, the pride, the warmth in his eyes as he looks at you, then back at Kinslie, who’s squirming in his arms, eager for another turn. “Thought we’d start the day off right.”

Kinslie wiggles, pulling at Spencer’s shirt. “Mama, dance with us!” She’s looking up between you and Spencer with a look that’s equal parts admiration and amusement. You look at Spencer, who holds out a hand, eyebrows raised in an invitation you can’t resist. The grocery bags can wait, the rest of the world can wait. Right now, here, in this little bubble of happiness and love, nothing else matters.

You step forward, your fingers slipping into his, and he pulls you close, gently at first, testing, as though you might decide to step away. But you don’t. You laugh, letting the music and his warmth guide you as you fall into the rhythm of the song. The three of you move together, a little circle of laughter, Kinslie’s giggles bubbling over as she tries to mimic your steps, your spins, your little flourishes.

He pulls you closer, Kinslie still holding onto him, her little arms wrapped around his neck, then she’s moving to latch onto you, a laugh leaves your lips as you take her from Spencer’s arms into your own. “Maybe I should stop going grocery shopping so early.” You mumbled, it became a routine for you, on Sundays you would leave the house early, before sunrise to try and get the groceries done before Kinslie woke.

And you seemed to always come home to her and Spencer doing something new. You never minded having an early riser as a daughter, maybe she loved the mornings with her dad. You couldn’t blame her, you loved mornings with Spencer as well.

He grinned as he placed his lips gently into your hairline, he knew well enough, bending down to place a similar softer one in Kinslie’s. “Maybe we should make them evening dance parties instead.” He suggested, so you could be more involved.

You snorted, continuing to bounce Kinslie on your hip to the music, “Baby, you and Kinslie are both asleep by eight pm.” You reminded.

He just grinned, Kinslie tugs at your shoulder, interrupting. “Mama, spin again!”

You grin and spin her around, making her giggle even louder. Spencer watches, his smile widening as he joins in, his hands gently guiding your waist so you spin in sync. For a moment, you’re all moving together, twirling and laughing, the room filled with warmth and love.

Spencer gives you a soft look, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Welcome home, by the way.”

You smile, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Not a bad welcome,” you murmur, feeling the love in his gaze, in the warmth of his hand on your waist.

Kinslie reaches her hands out to her dad, eyes wide and hopeful. “Daddy, can I be big?” She’s looking up at him pleading, those eyes he wouldn’t say no to even if he wanted to.

“Course you can, kins.” You let him place his hands under her much smaller arms and take her. Big to her, meant sitting up on his shoulders. He wasted no time getting her into position, each of her small legs placed over his shoulders as he held onto her.

“How many times has this song played?” You asked, as the song played once again. So it was on loop.

Spencer just gave you a look, one that told you it had played too many times. He didn’t mind, neither did you. It was hard to get annoyed at something that made your home feel so soft.

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wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 11 months ago

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Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold.

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much.

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no…

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands.

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough!

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways.

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten.

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters.

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns.

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time.

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal.

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable.

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort.

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav.

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all.

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late.

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier.

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?”

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress.

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls.

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day.

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it.

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her.

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed.

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore.

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe.

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever.

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet.

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family.

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him.

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it.

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head.

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

Note

Ooh ok, so here are some ideas for vampire!James in case you feel inspired to write any of them! Maybe something where he comes home after going out to feed thinking reader is asleep and he's feeling guilty and reader comforts and reassures him? Or another idea is just reader finding out that James is a vampire now, or maybe just her being there for him through the turning process. Sorry if none of these tickle your fancy!

Thank you for requesting lovely!!

cw: mention of blood, nausea

vampire!James x fem!reader ♡ 906 words

James walks through your door with heavy steps. He’s glad that he can do it—the first time he tried to come home after turning, you’d both wondered at how his feet wouldn’t cross the threshold until you figured it out and invited him in. It had been embarrassing. Now, James all but stumbles into the kitchen, hopefully not leaving any drippings of blood in his wake.

He always feels drunk and sluggish after a feeding. Nauseous, too, though he’s not sure if that’s from the bilious too-full feeling or simply his own disgust with himself and what he’s done. Sirius theorizes that if James fed more often instead of waiting until he’s wasting away every time, he might not feel the effects so keenly, but James doesn’t like to talk about it. He still can’t find it in himself to talk about his condition the way his friends do, like it’s normal.

The water coming out of the tap could be cold or boiling, James wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. All he can think about is getting it all over him, cleansing himself. He’d imagine it as washing away his sins, if such a thing were possible for creatures like him. Still, he wants to be clean to slip into bed beside you. You deserve at least that.

It’s probably his distraction that keeps him from hearing you come down the hall. (James is not a very good vampire, he thinks. Shoddy predatory instincts.) But when you touch his shoulder, coming up beside him, he doesn’t startle.

“Sweetheart.” James has the urge to cover his mouth from your view. These days he’s pretty good at feeding neatly, but tonight had been messier. There’s blood down to his chin. “What are you doing up?”

You give him a little smile, opening a drawer next to the sink for a cloth. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“No, you couldn’t. I’m a creature of the night now, remember?”

Oddly, this has been one of the most difficult parts of the transition for James. There’s the whole living-off-blood thing, of course, and the new ability to hear a fly in the neighbor’s kitchen, but James was always an early-to-rise, early-to-bed sort of bloke. His old schedule was dictated by the sun. Now, all his instincts are in opposition to it.

He stays still as you adjust the temperature of the tap, wetting the cloth and then lifting it to James’ face. You smell like toothpaste, and underneath that the garlicky pasta you had for dinner. (James isn’t actually deterred by garlic, though he can’t eat it just like he can’t eat any regular foods anymore. Maybe that’s where the folklore came from. Only something truly cursed would stop eating garlic.) He can feel the veins pulsing in your wrist like a substitute for the heartbeat he no longer has, but he’s full enough now not to worry about craving you.

Of course, he craves you in various ways, all of the time. Just not in that specific way at the moment.

“You should be in bed,” James murmurs. He touches his thumb to the shadow underneath your left eye. “I can clean myself up.”

“I wish you’d just use the bathroom,” you reply just as softly, dragging the cloth over the line of his jaw. “But anyway, I don’t mind helping.”

You don’t mind much of anything, James has found. You don’t mind watching your boyfriend turn into a vampire, don’t mind letting him feed on you, don’t mind cleaning an animal’s blood off his chin at two in the morning. You’ve adjusted to James’ new lifestyle better than he has. He’s beginning to think there’s nothing about him you won’t accept. You’re a sweetheart to your core, your center soft and sticky sweet like a cinnamon roll’s. (James should know, he’d practically tasted it himself.)

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he says.

You wave a hand. “You didn’t. I was up, I just came when I heard the tap come on.”

So you’d been waiting up for him. James’ heart at once warms with fondness and heavies with guilt.

You give him a searching look. “Does it still make you feel sick, after?”

“Yeah,” James admits.

Your lips pull down. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, lovely.”

“Mm, try and stop me,” you counter teasingly. “Do you think you could handle a sprite?”

James isn’t sure. Solid foods only ever make him sick, but drinks have been hit-or-miss.

“I could try,” he says, mostly for you.

“Only if you want to.” You set the cloth down on the edge of the sink, kissing him softly on the lips. James doesn’t know how you can do it. To open your mouth to one that’s just done something horrid, and to do it so simply.

“I love you,” you murmur.

James’ unbeating heart gives a powerful squeeze. “I love you, too.”

You press a kiss just below his lips, and another to his chin. If you’re trying to prove a point, it’s working.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep if we go to bed?” you ask softly.

“Mm, definitely. Like the dead.”

A startled giggle spurts out of you. You smile up at him, your eyes sparkling in the dark. James thinks that maybe he could get used to the whole vampire thing, so long as he can keep you looking at him like this.

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awkward-walking-potato · 5 months ago

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Claws and Whiskers

Sequel - Claws paws and whiskers

What happens when you bring a cat home to logan.

wolverine x reader

My inbox is open to requests for any X-men

The day you brought the cat home, you weren't entirely sure how Logan would react. The little furball had shown up at your door one rainy afternoon, a scrappy-looking tabby with a fierce attitude and a pair of bright, defiant eyes. It reminded you of someone you knew all too well.

Logan was out when you arrived with the cat tucked into your jacket. As you dried the little creature off and set up a makeshift bed in the corner of the living room, you could already picture the scowl on his face. Logan wasn’t exactly known for being a cat person—or much of an animal person, for that matter.

When Logan finally walked through the door, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor, the cat immediately bolted under the couch, hissing as it went.

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and the couch. “What the hell is that?”

“His name is Scratch,” you said, trying not to laugh at the irony of the situation. “I found him outside. He’s staying with us for a while.”

Logan crossed his arms, his expression dubious. “You sure that’s a good idea? Looks like he’s ready to tear my face off.”

“He’s just scared. Give him some time,” you said, moving closer to place a hand on Logan’s arm. “Besides, I think you two have more in common than you realize.”

Logan snorted, but didn’t argue. “Right. I’ll be in the garage if you need me. And try to keep that thing from scratching up my bike.”

The first few days were tense. Scratch seemed to go out of his way to avoid Logan, glaring at him from across the room or darting out of sight whenever Logan entered. Logan, for his part, gave the cat plenty of space, though you caught him grumbling under his breath more than once when Scratch knocked something over or decided to use the corner of the couch as a scratching post.

But despite their rocky start, you noticed small changes over time. Logan would leave the room with a plate of food, only to return later with the plate empty and Scratch sitting suspiciously close by. He started talking to the cat in his gruff, no-nonsense way, like he was trying to make a point about something important. And Scratch, ever the stubborn little creature, would sit there with his tail flicking, pretending not to care.

One evening, you came home late from work, exhausted and ready to collapse into bed. As you walked into the living room, you froze, the sight in front of you almost too good to be true.

There, on the sofa, Logan was stretched out with one arm draped over his eyes, fast asleep. And curled up on his chest, purring softly, was Scratch. The cat’s tiny body rose and fell with Logan’s steady breathing, his claws kneading gently against Logan’s shirt as if he had finally found a safe place to rest.

You couldn't help but smile as you quietly set your things down and moved closer. The sight of the two of them together—both tough and rough around the edges, but undeniably soft when it mattered—warmed your heart. You leaned down to brush a kiss against Logan’s forehead, careful not to disturb him.

Logan stirred slightly, his arm slipping from his eyes as he blinked up at you. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Late,” you whispered back, your fingers running through his hair. “I see you two have made peace.”

Logan glanced down at the cat, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well… turns out he’s not so bad.”

You chuckled softly. “I knew you’d come around. You’re more alike than you think.”

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, his hand coming up to gently scratch behind Scratch’s ears. The cat responded with a deep, contented purr, snuggling closer into Logan’s chest.

You watched them for a moment longer before straightening up. “Come on, let’s get you both to bed.”

“Nah,” Logan murmured, settling back into the couch. “We’re good here. You go ahead.”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded, leaning down to kiss him again, this time on the lips. “Goodnight, Logan. Goodnight, Scratch.”

As you walked down the hall to your bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace wash over you. Logan might have been tough as nails, with a lifetime of scars to prove it, but there was no denying the softness he kept hidden beneath all that gruff exterior. And Scratch—well, he was just a cat. But in some strange, wonderful way, he had managed to find a place in both your hearts.

And as you drifted off to sleep, you knew that the three of you—claws, fangs, and all—were exactly where you were meant to be.

#wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #xmen imagine

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ardensregias · 10 months ago

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the first ray of light

reverse comfort, may contain small spoilers for aventurine's backstory, may be ooc, reader and aven are in a relationship, mention of childhood trauma, abuse, slavery, aven with abandonment issues, hurt no comfort(?)

aventurine who flinches the first time you try to touch him after a bad day that left him particularly upset.

aventurine who's still on guard whenever he's vulnerable, like right now—the stratagem is quieter than usual, no longer having that smug smile on his face, the lack of life in his eyes even more noticeable when his eyes are wide—surprised at his own reaction.

aventurine who apologizes—even if he doesn't need to—then tries to reach for you, saying that he just had a 'long and exhausting day at work' and shake his head when you ask him what's wrong—the senior manager is still determined to look unbothered in front of you.

aventurine who's had tons of bad, horrible experience during his childhood, resulting in his inability to trust anyone enough, not even to show any signs of exhaustion, always putting up a mask, appearing as a mysterious and mischievous guy, keeping everyone at arm's length.

aventurine who's secretly afraid of being left alone again, of losing his purpose and being deemed as useless. the moment he flinches from you, memories of the past come back to flood his mind with doubts and reminders—reminding him of the chains binding his wrists and neck together, the cells that caged him and his kins, and the shouts of the audience fighting over his younger self, over who gets to bring the poor boy home—treating him like a rare animal, a pet to command.

aventurine who unconsciously begins to tear up, his eyes still wide and unmoving as he stares into space, your words of concern flying over his head, until you cup his face and lean closer to snap him out of his thoughts.

"you're not just 'tired', i can see that something's bothering you. won't you tell me?" oh, those eyes of yours, full of worry and love, and your gentle fingers brushing away his tears. aventurine feels so weak, but he's also scared to open up, yet he also knows you well enough to know that you're a honest person, that your concern is genuine.

aventurine who's already used to fake empathy that it feels like a dream to feel your warm hands on his face—no, not even the thought of having such a wonderful person as his partner has ever crossed the gambler's mind, not like he deserves them, right?

aventurine who's caught off guard when you pulled him into a tight hug, his arms suspended in the air and his brain that just stops working the moment your warmth spreads through his body, quickly enveloping him and slowly melting the ice encasing his heart.

it's not like he's never been hugged before, but they were purely for business reasons, merely a way to greet his acquaintances. but a hug from you? it was an effective way to make him sobs harder.

aventurine who was deprived of the love he deserves, but now he has you, his darling, who has wormed your way into his perfectly-shut heart (or so he thought) and settle yourself inside it, filling the empty space with your warmth.

maybe you could be the perfect listener, the first person he opens up to. maybe you won't leave after hearing about his gruesome past. maybe the goddess finally blessed him with your presence, who came into his life at the perfect time, to give him a reason to live again.

it was like walking into the sun， being with you，it was like walking into the sun for the first time after a terribly long winter.

#quote cr to holyaches on twt #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr angst

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giuseppe-yuki · 6 months ago

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ice water

oscar piastri x duck shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 1.2k

warnings: a singular curse word- other that that, none

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: mclaren hospitality somehow runs out of cold water; you have to get creative.

picture credits from pinterest :)

the weather at the miami circuit was, simply, hot as fuck. as soon as you climbed out of the oscar’s mclaren, clutching your miu miu handbag, you felt a wave of hot and humid florida air wash over you. oscar, ever the gentleman, clocks your discomfort immediately and leads you toward the paddock entrance. keeping one hand on your back protectively, he scans his badge and guides you towards mclaren hospitality.

being able to shapeshift into a duck at will definitely had its perks, but that also meant you gained some of the more negative aspects too. because ducks didn’t have sweat glands, you overheated really easily in extreme heat.

“oscar!!” “over here!” “please sign my hat!!!”

before you and oscar could reach the motorhome, a crowd of fans spotted the mclaren driver. they surge forward, pens at the ready and cameras turned on. he turns, apologies at the tip of his tongue and mind running fast to think of a quick excuse so he doesn’t need to stay outside a second longer. before he can say anything, you turn to him.

“its okay baby, you can sign their hats and do whatever you need to- i can find some water by myself!" you smile at him reassuringly, then give him a peck on the cheek. those fans probably paid an insane amount of money in order to access the paddock, and it wasn’t every day you saw the insanely talented mclaren driver, oscar piastri, strolling around. to be honest, it still shocked you sometimes, having the privilege to wake up to his adorable sleepy face in the morning. (even though he does get mad at you for leaving your feathers everywhere on the bed)

“alright.” oscar says hesitantly. he then smiles that polite cat smile that he always does, wraps his arms around you, and gives you a kiss on the top of your head. “don’t get lost!” he quips, before he reaches toward a fan’s open sharpie.

you roll your eyes and head into the team motorhome.

as you step inside, you immediately bump violently into lando. its actually a wonder that you didn’t notice him, as he is dressed in his bright papaya hoodie and obnoxiously neon yellow bucket hat with his signature black patterns. he looks irritated, although his annoyed look immediately disappears once he notices it’s you.

“oops- sorry,” you splutter out, “you okay?”

“yeah i’m fine,” he says, flashing you a smile. the annoyed expression comes back though, and he adds, “except for the fact that its fucking 40 degrees celcius outside and there is not a single drop of cold water in this entire building!”

“oh!” you exclaim. “that’s actually why i came in here- i really need water because of my…condition.” lando was one of the few people that actually knew of your ability to shapeshift (it involved a long story involving an animal trafficking accusation, bad timing, and a ton of feathers that you had shed), and he often helped cover for you and oscar when people got a little too close to discovering your secret.

a frown crosses lando’s face, but it is soon replaced by a devilish smirk. “why don’t we go over to the red bull motorhome to ask for some water?” he suggests.

“dressed like this?” you exclaim, gesturing at both your orange colored two-piece dress and lando’s brightly colored outfit. “mark my words, if you take a single step in that direction, skysports is going to notice, and is going to have ‘mclaren driver lando norris sneaks into red bull motorhome to steal important strategy documents’ pasted on every headline online!”

“umm…first of all,” lando says haughtily, “i can win a race by myself without needing to steal any red bull documents. second of all, i’m not going into redbull, you are…” he leans forward, and whispers, “...in duck form.”

you glare at him.

as if sensing a problem, oscar appears behind you. “what’s going on?” he questions, running a hand through his hair and wipes a little bit of sweat off of his reddened face. he turns to you for a response, but you’ve slotted yourself behind his back, using him as a barrier from lando.

“your dumb teammate wants me to turn so i can go over to redbull and beg for water since mclaren ran out of ice water!” you exclaim. "can you believe it?"

20 dollars, persistent begging, and ten minutes later, you left the mclaren motorhome in duck form in oscar’s arms. the fans from earlier, with their newly signed merch and camera roll full of pictures of your boyfriend, again, rush towards oscar. instead of their attention being on him this time though, they all fawn over you, not even asking why in the world oscar jack piastri is holding a duck in front of the mclaren motorhome before the miami gp. you ruffle your feathers and snap your beak at the fans, playing it up and hoping they give you water. you stop to pant a little bit- the heat was really getting to you. luckily, a fan notices, and pushes forward with a cup of ice water.

“oscar, may i give your duck some ice water? i’ve seen clips on tiktok where this lady feeds her duck ice water and she seemed to really like it! your duck is looking mighty parched too.”

oscar quickly nods his head. “go ahead!”

you dip your beak into the water, and snap up as much water as you could. the water tasted crisp and refreshing, and felt oh-so-good going down your throat, cooling down your internal body temperature.

oscar thanks the fan, then excuses himself from the horde of people. “erm…i’m kind of have to go-” he gestures vaguely towards the redbull motorhome, “ that way… so er yeah, bye!”

you got your sip of water, so it was time to steal get some for oscar and lando. you hop out of oscar’s arms, flapping your wings as you land gently on the ground. waddling, you enter the redbull hospitality. Immediately, you almost collide a second time with someone. lo and behold, it was none other than checo perez.

“why,” he says pointedly, “is there a duck in here?”

not stopping to apologize, you run towards the fridge, quacking wildly and tapping your beak against the smooth metal.

as if he understood you perfectly, he opens the door to the fridge, and pulls out a water bottle. he poors the water into a plastic cup and puts it on the floor in front of you. he gives you a few pats on your back (oscar probably would have strangled checo if he saw him touching you, albeit in duck form) and walks away. quickly, you grab the cup and hop/waddle your way back outside to oscar and lando, handing them the water.

the team garages bustled with energy, as there was around an hour left until the start of the miami grand prix. everyone seemed to have a job- adjusting cameras, typing on computers, and pulling on race suits- except you. slowly, you walk out of the mclaren garage onto the pavement in front, straightening your orange skirt and top and smoothing down your hair. out of the corner of your eye, you see checo heading your way. you turn a little pale from fear- why was he coming your way? he waves to you, and starts some small talk.

“hey you know, funny story- you’ll never believe me, but there was a duck in the red bull motorhome earlier today!”

a/n: my first ever fanfic story! i hope y'all liked it :)

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #op81 x reader #op81 x y/n #oscar piastri x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #f1 fic #f1 rpf fic #📝

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ameliathornromance · 9 months ago

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Your Orc tried to fool himself. You’d be back in a few weeks, there’s no point in dwelling on you. You’re not a stupid human woman by any means. And you’d been living with Orcs for the past few years, there’s no way you’re going down easily.

But that didn’t stop him from worrying. Your Orc would have gone with you, but due to it being a winter season, Orc hunts would have increased… And being caught travelling with a human woman would have put an even bigger target on his back than usual.

There was safety in numbers, so he had to stay with his camp.

He resolved to sit and wait by the entrance of his tent every morning and evening, watching Orcs leave and re-enter the camp with game and food. Your Orc hoped that you’d be in toe, following and chatting animatedly with other Orcs.

And every time, he was disappointed.

He neglected his duties in the camp, even after some encouragement from other Orcs around him… But when your Orc Boyfriend showed no intent to move, they started to worry for him.

The whole camp never realised how much of a detriment your separation would be to the Orc.

To distract your Orc Boyfriend, some of his closer Orcs cajoled him, “come on, let’s go hunting. The longer you sit there, the worse you’re going to feel. She’ll come back quicker if you busy yourself.” Said Kass – a hunting Orc.

“Yeah,” Crux agreed – another hunting Orc, Kass and him were never parted, even for a moment – “time always go by slowly if you’re waiting on it, c’mon!”

“I have to be here for when she gets back.” Your Orc huffed, crossing his arms.

The two rolled their eyes, “you haven’t done anything but sit there for weeks. Leaving the camp will be good for you, come on.”

After being poked and prodded by his two friends, your Orc begrudgingly agreed to go on a hunt with them.

Hunting was always harder in the winter. All the animals worth eating went into hibernation or hid simply because of how cold it was.

Luckily, your Orc and his others found prey rather easily. It felt good to blow off that anxious energy. Kass and Crux thought that your Orc Boyfriend had set a new record for catching wild animals in these icy conditions.

After a long day of trudging through snow, tying up the animals they had caught, your Orc and his friends returned back to the camp.

As they neared the camp, a familiar laugh pricked at your Orc Boyfriend’s ears. He stopped in his tracks, Kass and Crux stopping too.

“Is that…” Crux asked.

The laugh came again, louder this time.

And that was when your Orc knew. Dropping the dead carcasses, he took off into a run to the camp.

His friends shouted curses at him, but he didn’t care. His heart in his ears, blood thrumming through his veins, he charged through the camp and found you.

You stood in front of the clan Elders, handing them huge dried bundles of herbs, red nosed from the cold, but smiling. Alive and safe.

As much as your Orc wanted to sweep you into his arms, he couldn’t ignore the slight irritation that you had returned in his absence.

So, as quietly as he could, he crept up behind you. The Elders tried their best to ignore him as he got closer and closer. “The one time I leave camp,” he growled, bending down to the side of your head, “and you dare to come back so I can’t greet you!?”

Before you could turn to face your Orc Boyfriend, you were swept off your feet and pulled into a rib-cracking hug. Your Orc grinned as you let out a shout of surprise.

Throwing your arms around him, you squeezed him back. “I missed you so much!” You told him.

“He was miserable without you.” Your boyfriends company had come back into the camp, looking disgruntled. “I’ve never seen him looking like such a sad sap.” Kass snorted.

You rolled your eyes at them and kissed your Orc’s forehead, “aww, did you really miss me that much?”

Your Orc shot Crux and Kass a glare as they smirked, happy in their vengeance. But he grumbled, burying his head in your neck, “yeah.”

“Well I’m not going anywhere like that again.” You reassured. “That trip was a nightmare. And I’m sure the Elders have got enough of that herb to last a few years.”

Looking at the Elders, they nodded before turning back to return to their own tent. “C’mon, let’s catch up.” You said as your Orc put you down. “I want to tell you about the dragon who nearly ate me.”

“A dragon nearly did what?”

“Just kidding, I wanted to see your reaction.”

Your Orc rolled his eyes as you laughed and went off to your shared tent. Smiling, your Orc Boyfriend followed behind you, happy that you had returned, safe and sound.

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#monster lover #orc fiction #monster romance #orc boyfriend #monster x human #monster x reader #monster x you #monster x female #orc x reader #orc romance #orc x human reader #orc x human #orc x #orc x female!reader #orc x reader fluff

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lale-txt · 6 months ago

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❥ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒? ↳ 𝐰/ 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚, 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢, 𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢, 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐚, 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮, 𝐁𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨 & 𝐎𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚

a/n: reader is gn! back with my drabbles; i just love trying to convey a very specific mood or scene in 200 words or less, it's SO fun and challenging. i already have longer HQ fics drafted but those really help me getting a grasp of those chars (and i don't have to decide on only one boy because there's so many who have my whole heart heh). i hope you enjoy this boquet of sweets from me to you ♡ some additional thoughts at the end of this because apparently i have PLENTY ok bye

word count: 1.3k

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀 scoffs softly. Of course he got you flowers. He would have bought everything inside the damn florist shop if you had enough space for it in your tiny apartment. This bouquet of wildflowers must do for now; it’s so huge, it makes you vanish behind it completely when he shoves it into your hands the second you open the door for him. He can hear you laugh in surprise and that is enough for him. A few minutes later you watch him from where he sat you down on the kitchen counter, rummaging around the cabinets and searching for a vessel that can serve as a vase because the ones you have are way too small for the size of this bouquet. Under his breath he mumbles something about how you stubbornly refuse to let him buy you a house already, one with endless fields of flowers surrounding it; then he wouldn’t have to waste his time searching for a vase big enough and could just kiss you in a sea of petals. You both know that it’s only a matter of time till that happens.

𝐈𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐈 doesn’t fully remember when this tradition started. Years ago, it must have been in high school, when you were down with a cold and he brought you your favorite snacks and a bundle of flowers from the conbini after school. They were nothing special, wrapped in plastic and close to wilting soon, the price tag still on, but he can never forget the ways your eyes lit up when he put them down on your bedside table. Your voice had been so hoarse that day, you barely managed to get a Thank You out, and Iwaizumi didn’t know what else to say either, so he just sat on your bed and held your hand till you dozed off again shortly after, leaving him with all those buzzing feelings inside of his chest. How many flowers has he bought you ever since, week after week? It must have been hundreds. How many times has he kissed you somewhen between bouquet 84 and 931? Countless times. He won’t stop doing either of that in this lifetime.

𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈 is overthinking again. One finger rests on your doorbell, the other is nervously fidgeting with the wrapping paper. Should he have read more about the language of flowers before coming here? What if he accidentally picked some that actually say “let’s just be friends” or “I like you only mediocrely” and not “you’re the light and love of my life, and my heart has never been fuller ever since you claimed it as yours, please will you be mine forever–in this life and each one that comes after that, beloved”? His hand clenches around the bouquet and he’s one heartbeat away from turning around on the doorstep and walking back to the flower shop, when you open the door smiling, so bright that Akaashi thinks he must have walked into the burning sun. Your fingers brush over his when you reach for the flowers, and he doesn’t register the words coming out of his mouth at this moment, his mind clouded by the thought of what your future wedding bouquet will look like. He will do some research for that later tonight, after giving you a hundred kisses.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 laughs quietly when he opens his mailbox in Animal Crossing. You sent him the Hello Kitty items, including the matching hat and dress for him to wear next time you stream together, paired with a sweet love note that he immediately saves to his favorites. Needless to say that he keeps all of them. Under the thick blanket you (wearing one of his sweaters) rub your cold feet against his, and giggle next to him when you unwrap the flowers he sent you in-game. Lying on top of both of you is your cat named Apple Pie, who purrs and makes biscuits, ensuring neither of you would be able to get up anytime soon. You mentioned once how you liked the in-game flowers better than real ones, because it made you sad to see cut flowers wilt and wither over time and the pixel ones would stay like this forever–just like the two of you, hopefully. Kenma leans down to press a kiss to the side of your neck and wonders briefly how he managed to get so lucky. If he had the magic power to freeze time, he would, but until he levels up he will keep you in his arms like this for a little longer.

𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 is looking proud of himself when he puts your plate on the counter and nudges it towards you. The three onigiri on it are decorated with tiny edible flowers, and your loud complaints about how they’re too pretty to be eaten make him laugh. So are you, and yet he still gets to devour you night after night. You look so ravishing, taking photos of your food from every possible angle to post them on your food blog later, with your tongue poking out between your lips like it always does when you’re focused. Osamu thinks that out of every person in the whole world, he must be the luckiest of them all because only he gets to call you his. He doesn’t have it in him to tell you to hurry and eat up already, knowing there’s some things you just can’t rush–food, love. The latter he learned from you and your incredible patience, and how you molded his heart into the shape of you with time, with gentle hands and stolen kisses, till he was all yours, only yours.

𝐁𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐎 nearly drops the flowers in fist when he fumbles for his keys, his sports bag almost sliding off his shoulders, one shoe untied. It’s messy, but he can’t wait to see you. You’re probably asleep by now, sprawled out on the couch with the remote still in your hand, re-playing his game on repeat. Seeing you cry earlier because you couldn’t go to watch him play in person broke his heart a little; he simply hates seeing you upset like this (and maybe it was also on him for telling you the leftovers in the fridge were probably still good to eat). He doesn’t flick the lights on, just walks straight over to the couch, a big hand brushing strands of hair out of your sleeping face. No feeling in the world can compare to you nuzzling your face into his palm and mumbling out his name drowsily. Bokuto drops the bundle of dandelions he picked on his way home into your nearly empty water glass on the table before carefully scooping you up in his arms, carrying you back to bed. For once he’ll be the big spoon tonight, making sure you sleep safe and sound.

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 insists on facetiming you, even if it’s 2AM for him and you’re still jetlagged, being back in Japan after visiting him in Argentina. By now you’ve found all the little notes he left in your luggage, hidden between your shirts, souvenirs and in your toiletry bag, but there’s still one surprise left now that you’re back home (even though home is when you’re with him, but whatever). You’re busy complaining about the horrid traffic and your shitty boss and Oikawa barely listens, mesmerized by your face and the sound of your voice, and thinking about the ring he’s gonna put on your finger soon. On his screen you look up when your doorbell rings and the camera gets a little shaky when you rise to your feet, opening the door to the delivery of a bouquet of your favorite flowers, so big you struggle to grab it with one hand. For a bit all Oikawa can see is blossoms in the brightest colors and can only hear your surprised laughter, along with some curses because how dare he be so sweet when he’s an ocean apart where you can’t kiss him right now. Soon, he’ll be there again soon.

❥ 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭…

i REALLY like old money Omi who just wants to spend all his money on you but also kinda enjoys the cramped little apartment you live in. it feels like a bit of a cave and he likes that there's only room for both of you in there

Hajime childhood friends to lovers trope my beloved. how long it must have took you both to sort out your feelings for each other, one boquet at a time

i think Akaashi would write the best love letters

Kenma bullies ugly villagers off his AC island and he's really good at terraforming and will help you out with your island (this is based on me being terrible at terraforming and giving up after ten minutes)

Osamu and you started off as enemies to lovers because you left a bad review about Onigiri Miya once and so he invited you over to prove you wrong, and you fell in love one bite at a time (i really wanna write a SMAU on this but idk if i can pull this off, so if someone wants to grab this idea let me know so i can kiss you)

LITTLE SPOON BOKUTO AGENDA 🗣️ listen just imagine snuggling against this broad back, kissing the back of his neck, his butt wiggling as he gets comfy...

Oikawa idk what to say. i love him dearly but he feels the hardest to write to me

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dreaisgrayte · 6 months ago

Note

Hello there, I hope your day is going well. I have a nsfw oneshot request for Mitsuri from KNY if that’s okay. (Preferably female reader)

HEAR ME OUT. Okay so I’ve seen a lot of fanfiction where Mitsuri is a bottom, but I can’t get Soft Dom Mitsuri out of my head- like you know she’s gonna be worshipping the readers body and praising her throughout everything and AHHHH I just know the aftercare is heavenly. (and also let’s just say strap-ons exist in her universe)

*ahem* Anyways, take as much time as you want on this and have a wonderful day mate!

ABSOLUTELY, AMEN, AHHHHHHHHHH (was screaming the whole time I wrote this) Soft Dom Mitsuri lives rent-free in my head. I want to live in this story >:( Why can't I ever get izakied into a story????? DAMN IT Sorry, this took a little longer than I had intended, I was working then a bunch of things happened to where my pregnant cat had three beautiful kittens which I've been co-parenting (since she's a stray and they're outside...which I so badly want to take them inside and cuddle them so nothing happens) Also! The next anime convention I attend, I will be cosplaying Mitsuri! So I'm BEYOND excited about that!! Thank you, annon!!!

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, face sitting, strap-on, Mitsuri has a thing for fucking reader with her new toy, body worship, cowgirl, Mitsuri is skilled ;) , wholesome aftercare

Word Count: 3.3k

A Secret Technique | Mitsuri Kanroji x fem!reader

As always, Mitsuri Kanroji was grinning ear to ear, the apples of her cheeks a rosy pink. She was captivating, a distraction to the trick you were trying to show her. Ever since you’d met the love Hashira her flexibility had always vexed you. Her ability to twist and contort mid-air was admirable, to say the least. “Is this what you were so excited to show me?” She inquires, walking around your attempt at doing the splits. She hums, a giggle bubbling out when you wince as she pushes on your ankle. “You’re super close YN! We can practice together if you want?” She pops up in front of you, hands clasped together with that fucking adorable excited smile she always wore.

You tilt your head, closing your legs to wrap them into a sitting position. “Uh, sure.” A stupid smile tugs your lips upward as she squeals, sitting down gracefully in front of you.

She spreads her legs easily to each side of her hips, her green socks pulling down on her thighs. You gulp as your gaze revels in the plush pink of her skin. Thank the gods her black skirt dips down to cover in between her legs or you’d have a hard time listening to anything else except your heartbeat. “Open your legs,” Mitsuri starts. You choke out a laugh, looking up expecting to see her playful expression, instead, you’re met with a more hungry emotion crossing her face. You do as you’re told, pushing them apart and watching with tensed breath as Mitsuri scoots closer to you.

She delicately touches the muscle of your upper outer thigh. You gasp as her hand travels down the length of your leg and she makes steady eye contact with you. Goosebumps are erupting down your body as if your flushed cheeks weren’t enough of an indicator of how you were truly feeling. “You know YN,” She lets her gaze drop to where her fingers are tantalizingly traversing their way back up your leg. “I find that using a secret technique helps out immensely when it comes to stretching out.” Mitsuri professes, her electric green eyes flickering up to meet yours.

A secret technique? You’d been friends with the love Hashira for a while now and she’d never once mentioned a secret technique to you. Here you were, thinking that there were no secrets between you two. Obviously, you were too blinded by how blissful every moment spent with her felt. “Oh, don’t feel pressured to tell me if it’s such a secret or something I wouldn’t want to-”

“YN,” Mitsuri’s gentle hands grab your face, mushing your cheeks to get you to stop talking. “You’re so cute when you start overthinking, but I’m going to need your express consent for what comes next.” The way she’s gazing into your eyes nearly makes your body go numb. How could one person be so perfect?

She lets go of your face, placing her hands back on your thighs, this time with a little more command of where she grabs. You glance down, worried she might feel how erratic your pulse is through your skin. Between your thighs was a vortex of neediness, pleading with your brain to be fucked by the woman in front of you. Every time she got near your cunt, things got a little complicated inside your body. Hopefully, this secret technique would require you to climb a mountain far away from your growing desire. “I trust you Mitsuri, you can do anything you want.”

Her lips twitch in a grin, but before you have any time to wonder why in the hell she was bracing your feet against hers, she pulls your thighs against hers – and swiftly kisses your lips. You groan at the burning sensation of your body feeling like it’s being torn apart, but as you lick your lips you can taste the sweet honey Mitsuri had eaten earlier. Somehow, it’s even sweeter than when you shared in the delicacy. Your fingertips brush against the tender skin of your lips, a stuttering breath blowing out of your mouth. “Do you understand what I mean now?” She inquires, letting your legs return to a less painful stretch. You gulp, blinking up to meet her gaze.

You feel hazy, your skin is burning – but in the best way possible. “Not really, but I’d like to do more of that,” You putter out, swinging yourself into a kneeling position. Mitsuri giggles, doing the same, walking over to you on her knees. She smiles gently grabbing your hands.

Her uniform leaves little to the imagination and you are looking… disrespectfully. Have you always felt this draw toward Mitsuri? You’d assumed it was the desire to be her friend – and while that’s been enjoyable – you can’t help but wonder if you had an underlying motive for getting so close to her. “You do understand the secret technique is…sex, right?” Your eyes widen as you jerk your head to take in the expression on her face – completely serious. Whatever your motives were, it didn’t matter, all that mattered was pressing your lips into hers, so that’s what you do. Her fingers card through your hair, humming in delight as your hand finds her chest, tracing the curve of her cleavage.

Your heart is beating like crazy as your chest swells with something akin to excitement. To think this was how you were spending your day. Kissing Mitsuri was like praying to a shrine and the gods blessing you with eternal riches and splendor. The way her plush lips formed against yours, trailing kisses down your cheek and neck, surely this is the paradise sought after.

Mitsuri seemingly knew all the sensitive parts of your body – you weren’t sure if this was because you were both women, but as a Hashira Mitsuri knew the inner workings of how the body reacts. She was damn good at putting that knowledge into practice. Her mouth works against yours, lips slightly parting allowing her to slip her tongue into your mouth. The kiss was passionate, Mitsuri guiding you all the way onto your back. You’re both panting as she hovers above you. “Have you ever been with a woman before?” She inquires, looping her leg over your waist. She now sits on top of you and fuck was it a view. Her cheeks are red, her hair messy in parts, her chest heaving, and her warmth was spreading all over your body.

There was a time when you had a mission in the entertainment district and having haven in one of the tea houses, you were alone with a gaggle of courtesans who were happy enough to show you how fun it could be to share intimacy with the same sex. One of them spoke of having a certain tool able to render men practically obsolete if you were into that sort of thing. You did think some men could be the absolute worst, but being evil wasn’t in their core, that much you could tell. The world can twist and confine anyone into becoming something they’re not. Just like demons, not all of them asked to be that way, yet the corps eradicated all demonic creatures. Needless to say, the company of men would not be forgotten by you, but if the only person you ever laid with again was Mitsuri – you’d be fine with that. “Yes, more than one.” Mitsuri’s eyes widen, then her face slowly curls into a grin.

She places the palm of her hand flush against your chest. “Then you won’t have a problem,” She moves up your body, lifting her skirt up. Your breath catches when you realize her pussy was on you this whole time. Your gaze flits up to meet hers. “Stick your tongue out, darling. I’m going to test just how much you know.” She fluffs her skirt out over your head, hovering above your mouth with her bare cunt. Her thighs muffle any sounds from the outside world but amplify your beating pulse. Gods this was going to kill you – but what a way to go.

Your tongue laps at her folds, enjoying the way you can feel her shiver above you. Her arousal was heady but a sweet tanginess floods into your mouth. Of course Mitsuri Kanroji had a delicious pussy. Your hands wrap around her thighs, locking her into position as you taste her again and again. You lift your skull off the ground to suck on her puffy clit, swirling your tongue around it with precision. Her thighs shake and then she’s pushing your head back down by sitting on your face. You happily make work of her clit, using the flat of your tongue to glide through her slick folds. Your face is soaking, a mixture of drool, sweat, and arousal coating your skin. The sounds you can hear are the sucking and slurping of a job well done for Mitsuri lets out a cry loud enough for you to hear. Her fingers are suddenly intertwined in your hair, pulling on the strands. A shiver runs through you as you smack your mouth against her pink pussy. Her muscles tense and she shutters, shaking as she cums all over your face.

Mitsuri swings her leg over your face, a delightful moan rumbling from her chest. “I only wish you could’ve seen what a perfect job you did. You should’ve warned me about how good you are at eating pussy,” She presses the heel of her hand into her forehead as she laughs. You join in, sitting up to get a better look at her.

She’s blushing, but the main difference you take note of is how her uniform is pulled open, revealing her perfect breasts. It sends a spike of want through your chest. She notices you gawking and squeaks. She shyly turns her back. “What are you doing? I want to see.” You reach out to grab her shoulder but she tosses a glare at you instead.

You’re shocked. What happened? Gods, did you mess up somehow? You’re about to ask her what’s going on when she turns around, an adorable pout present on her face this time. “It’s not fair YN, you’ve gotten to see all of me and I haven’t seen more of your, frankly, gorgeously perfect body.” She twiddles her fingers together, nervously looking into your eyes. You can’t help but grin widely and Mitsuri slaps your shoulder.

“You can’t be serious, you’re the one perfect thing in this world.” You exclaim, watching as she shakes her head.

“Well, that’s fine because your body is like a goddess’. In fact…” She drags a hand down your body, stopping at the hem of your skirt. “I think it’s about time I reward you for doing such a good job.” You bashfully watch her unbuckle your belt and pull it out of the loops slowly enough to drive you mad. She tosses it to the side with a smirk, pulling your skirt down your thighs. Her eyes meet yours. “Sit down,” She instructs, pushing at your chest until you’re in a laying position yet again. Your skirt is yanked off the rest of the way and there’s a long beat of silence. You lift your head to peek at Mitsuri who is gazing down at you lovingly. “YN, you’re so beautiful, may I?” She nods to the apex of your thighs, a giddiness in her voice. You nod and she wastes no time in spreading your knees apart. “You’re so wet already.” She giggles, reaching out to stroke some of your arousal that had accumulated from eating this gorgeous woman’s pussy. You hiss as her fingers dip into you, spreading the slick around until she slips inside your entrance – smiling the whole time. “Your pussy is such a pretty color YN, you’re doing such a good job for me.” She praises, sending a wave of a gooey feeling through you.

Mitsuri braces herself on your knee, which is bent upward, as she works her fingers inside of you. Her gaze switches between observing your reaction to her hooking her fingers or swiping at a sensitive spot, to watching her fingers get eaten up by your greedy cunt. It made her thighs clench together watching how well you took her fingers. You were perfect and Mitsuri couldn’t think of anyone better to experiment with her new toy than you.

Your hands are clenched, jerking your hips upward onto her fingers. She chuckles lowly, taking in how cute you were when you were desperately chasing your climax. She uses her free hand to rub your clit in small circles, edging you closer to orgasm. Mitsuri was curious how you would look and how you’d sound after she made you cum. You were certainly moaning up a storm as you bucked against her. You whimper and then groan as she works your clit directly. “That’s it, my pretty girl, you can cum now.” Her fingers are pumping in and out, overstimulating you as you careen off your crest of pleasure. Your throat is scratchy as you scream out, trembling against her gentle, yet relentless, touch. The world is full of bright colors – a brilliant spectrum of satisfaction.

As you try to catch your breath Mitsuri enjoys watching your body still shudder in waves of your previous orgasm. “YN…” She plays with a strand of your hair, curling it around her fingers with an absentminded expression. Your attention is on her – as if you could focus on anything else. “A little while ago I had to go to the swordsmith village and while I was there I got talking with a special smith. She has a shop that creates amazing things and I’d like to share with you what I bought there,” Her eyes gleam with an excited glitter.

You raise a brow, sitting up from the floor. “I’d love that.” You exclaim, following Mitsuri into a standing position. She grabs your hand and leads you through the halls of her manor until she stops in front of what you remember to be her bedroom door. Your thighs are sticky and as you walk into the room Mitsuri rummages through a cupboard. You peer at her room, but you don’t have much time to admire how it’s decorated because Mitsuri drops her skirt and removes the rest of her clothing. Your pussy throbs with desire watching her muscular yet curvy body move around the room.

She gathers what looks like a belt in her hand. “YN, my sweet, I’m going to need you to undress and get on your knees.” She chirps, fastening the belt around her thighs and waist. You hesitate for a moment, then scurry to follow her orders. Once you’re on your knees she turns around with lust-filled eyes. Your eyes travel down her body, stopping briefly to hungrily gaze at her tits, but something catches your attention.

Attached to the belt she had latched around herself is a long pink phallic-shaped apparatus. Your lips part, your heart ramming against your ribcage as you look back into Mitsuri’s eyes. “Well? Open your mouth, sweetheart.” You do as you are told, the image of Mitsuri with a cock causing you to reach down in between your thighs. You play with your sensitive and puffy clit, moaning as Mitsuri hits the cock against your face. “Mmm, you’re so pretty YN, so pretty and perfect for me. You make me so horny.” Then she places the tip against your lips, groaning softly as the head pushes into your mouth. “Gods, you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” She moves her cock in your mouth, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “That's it, choke on my cock,” She huffs, throwing her head back. Spit dribbles down your chin as the surprisingly soft cock rubs against the corners of your mouth. You abuse your clit, hungry for a crest. This was so hot, you would never forget this in all of your life.

Mitsuri takes note of how you play with your clit while sucking on her length. Her mouth twitches up in a grin. “Ah, hungry for more?” She pops the tip out of your mouth and rests the wet toy against your cheek as you pant, dazed eyes pleading with her. “Lay on the bed with your gorgeous pussy in the air.”

On your back, legs hooked around Mitsuri’s arms, she pushes her cock inside of you after spitting on your pussy. Your eyes roll back as she thrusts into you, cooing about how you’re so good, so perfect, you’re doing so well. You ball the sheets in your fists, moans gasping out of your throat. “Ah, ngh, please m’gonna, oohngh,” Your tits are bouncing up and down, Mitsuri can’t look away. Hearing your noises of pleasure and seeing how you squirm under her, it was all so perfect.

She wanted to see you on top of her, cum all over her cock. “One second baby,” With how strong Mitsuri is she’s able to pick you up, fucking you still, then flips herself to be laying on the bed. She gasps as your weight settles on her, riding her like a good girl. “Fuck,” She hisses, digging her nails into your thighs, you play with your tits as you bounce on her cock.

Your nipples are bruises, a splendor of painful pleasure radiating through your body. “Feels s’good,” You hum, but Mitsuri hasn’t had enough yet. She presses the pad of her thumb against your clit, rubbing it relentlessly.

“Does it? You’re taking it so well,” She coos, excitedly watching you shudder in ecstasy from her musings on your clit. “Good girl,”

Her words send shocks of electricity coursing your veins like your very blood. “Gods, Mitsuri, m’gonna,” You plant your palms on her stomach, slapping your ass against her thighs. You hang your head while panting crazily. As Mitsuri stimulates your clit and pussy the cool magma washes over you as you jerk her cock deep inside of you. You cum hard all over her, laying down against her chest, breath rapid.

She’s breathing hard too, but she pets your head, kissing your forehead. “You’re so perfect YN,” You giggle against her skin, lifting your head to look her in the eyes.

She smiles sweetly back, pressing her forehead against yours. “What a secret technique,” Mitsuri blushes and laughs as she looks away.

“Yeah, not my best pick-up line.” You shake your head and nuzzle against her again.

“I thought it was great.” You mumble. Mitsuri shifts out from under you, sliding her cock out of you as she does. You pout with the empty sensation.

She stands up and smiles down at you. “I’ll be right back.” Mitsuri returns a couple of minutes later with a steamed towel and a plate full of honey butter toast. She sets the plate next to you and lifts your leg to clean your thighs and slick cunt. You moan lightly at the warm sensation and her eyes darken for a second. “Careful you whore,” She slaps your ass with a playful grin. You hum, shoving toast into your mouth with careless hunger. Mitsuri tosses the towel to the floor, sitting down gently next to you. “Maybe next time I can teach you-”

“Another secret technique?” You interrupt, a few crumbs of toast spitting out of your mouth. She chuckles, wiping away the slight mess on your mouth with her thumb.

Mitsuri brings her finger to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste the honey. “Mhm,” She gazes at you like you’re the sweet treat.

You grin, kicking your feet in the air. “Yes please,”

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thir10th · 3 months ago

Text

under the weather - October writing challenge day 8

summary: you're feeling sick and Emily takes care of you tw: smut, fingering, oral sex, i think that's it a/n: lmk if you liked this one because it kind of took a turn, as always i hope you do and remmeber any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated!

You hate being sick. You really hate it, there's only a few things you hate more in the world than this, and when you're sick even those seem completely unimportant.

You thow away the empty box and open the drawer to get a new one, when Sergio jumps to sit on the couch right next to you, finding the mix of blankets and cushions a little too confortable to pass.

While you scratch the little animal's head you can't help but think that, despite the sneezing, coughing, and generally feeling miserable for the last couple of days, if you got to spend them curled up on Emily’s couch, cocooned in blankets, surrounded by tissues and the remnants of tea cups, and with the best company, maybe sick wasn't so bad after all.

She has been insisting since day one, you wouldn't move from her apartment so she could keep an eye on you until you are all better. She of course has been fussing over you non-stop, which is sweet, but you hate being the sick one. It makes you feel weak and restless.

“I’m fine,” you insist, though your voice is hoarse, and your nose is still red from all the sneezing. “I don’t need to stay home. I can go to work.”

Emily, standing near the door in her work clothes, raises an eyebrow at you like you just told her something absurd. “You’re sneezing every two minutes and can barely breathe through your nose.” She crosses her arms, giving you that look, the one where she’s clearly amused but also worried. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not that bad,” you mutter, pulling the blanket up around your chin. “I’ve worked through worse.”

Emily sighs softly, walking over to you, sitting on the edge of the couch. She leans in, placing a hand on your forehead, her touch gentle and warm. “Sweetheart, you’re burning up. You need to rest.”

You groan, feeling her soft fingers graze your skin. “I hate being sick.”

“I know, baby, I know,” she murmurs, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. “But I’m not letting you go anywhere like this.”

You pout, glancing up at her with tired eyes. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

Emily’s expression softens, and she leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I have to go into the office for a few hours, but I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll survive without me for a little while.” Her voice is soft, but you can tell she hates leaving you like this.

“Don’t go...” you whisper, wrapping your arms around her waist, trying to pull her closer. “I’ll miss you.”

Emily chuckles, clearly torn between her responsibilities and wanting to stay with you. “You’re being so dramatic,” she teases, kissing your forehead again, lingering a little longer this time. “I’ll only be gone for a few hours, and you’ve got Sergio to keep you company.”

You sigh, reluctantly letting her go. “Fine. But only because I wouldn't want him to feel too lonely"

Your childish pout makes her smile, she stands, smiling down at you, though there’s a flicker of guilt in her eyes. She hates leaving you when you’re not feeling well, but she knows she has to. “Promise me you’ll stay here, okay? Watch some bad reality TV, rest, and don’t overdo it.”

“Promise,” you say, giving her a half-hearted smile. “But only because I know you’ll nag me if I don’t.”

She grins, leaning down for one last kiss. “Exactly. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmur, closing your eyes as she pulls away. “Come back soon.”

Emily walks to the door, glancing back at you one more time with that look, the one that says she hates leaving but knows you’ll be okay. “I will. Rest up, baby.” She blows a kiss at you, and closes the door.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

The hours pass slowly. You’re sprawled on the couch, half-watching some ridiculous reality show Emily suggested. Sergio is curled up beside you, purring contentedly, his warmth offering some comfort. But you can’t help but feel restless, the quiet of the apartment making you miss your girlfriend more than usual.

Your mind drifts between the terrible show and the thought of her returning. You sneeze for what feels like the hundredth time and groan, grabbing another tissue. Ugh, being sick sucks.

Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, you hear the sound of keys in the door. Your eyes flutter open, and you sit up, excitement bubbling despite the grogginess.

Emily steps in, still looking as put-together as ever in her work attire, though you can tell she’s been in a rush to get back to you.

“Hey, baby,” she says softly, her face lighting up when she sees you. “How are you feeling?”

Without a second thought, you practically leap off the couch and run into her arms, ignoring the slight dizziness that comes with moving too fast. “You’re back!”

Emily laughs, catching you as you throw your arms around her, pulling her close. “Whoa, easy there. You’re supposed to be resting, remember?”

"You're so bossy! I missed you, I'm sick, I want my girlfriend" you complain, peppering her face with kisses

“I hate being here without you.” you mumble into her shoulder, nuzzling against her neck.

Emily melts a little, hugging you tightly, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Oh, my poor baby,” she coos, her voice soft and full of affection. “I missed you too.” She presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips warm against your feverish skin. “But you should be in bed" she slaps your ass playfully.

Reluctantly, you pull back just enough to look at her. “Can we have dinner first? I’m starving.”

She smiles, brushing her thumb across your cheek. “Lucky for you, I brought soup.”

You grin, letting her go and following her to the kitchen. Emily sets the bag on the counter and pulls out the containers of soup, handing you a bowl. You eat on the couch, the warm soup and the company making you feel better already.

You spend the rest of the afternoon laying on the couch, watching trash tv, snuggled together. Emily caresses your skin, plays with your hair, tries her best to confort you the best way she knows, always touching you in some way.

As the night goes on, you start to feel a bit more energetic. Maybe the rest and soup helped, or maybe it’s just that you’ve missed Emily more than you realized.

You lean in closer, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder. “You know… I think I’m feeling a lot better now,” you whisper, your lips grazing her skin.

Emily glances at you, raising an eyebrow. “Oh really?” she says, amusement in her voice. “You were sneezing all over the place a few hours ago.”

You shrug, snuggling into her, your hand resting on her thigh. “I’m serious. I feel fine. Totally fine. And maybe we could... you know... do something other than watch TV?” You reach for the place where her shirt falls, leaving her shoulder's skin uncovered and kiss it, trace her with your lips.

Emily chuckles, her fingers playing with your hair. “Oh, I see what this is about.”

You grin, moving to kiss her neck. “Come on, I’m fine. I promise.”

She bites her lip, trying to stay firm, but you can see her resolve weakening. “You’re still sick, baby. You need to rest.”

“I’ll feel even better if we... you know.” You kiss her again, a little more insistently this time, your hand trailing up her side.

Emily sighs, clearly torn. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“You love me,” you say, grinning as you kiss her cheek, then her jaw, trailing your lips down her neck.

She groans, laughing softly as she gently pushes you back. “I do love you, but I’m not letting you make yourself worse just because you’re feeling a little better.”

You pout, grabbing her arm, pulling her closer. “Emily, come on. I’m fine.”

She narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re still sick, and I don’t want to make it worse.” She gives you a teasing smile, gently pinning you down onto the couch. “You need to rest.”

You giggle, trying to wriggle free, but she holds you in place. “I don’t want to rest! I want you.” she lets out a giggle "c'mon woman, just take me!" she full on chuckles now, you kiss her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her lips, but she stands, trying her best to get away from temptation.

You sit up, pouting, but there’s a mischievous gleam in your eyes. “Come on, I’m not contagious anymore,” you insist, holding out your hand for her to come back. “I swear!”

Emily laughs, backing toward the door as if she’s trying to escape. “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” she teases, “and then next thing you know, I’m sneezing, coughing, and downing cold medicine like it’s candy.”

You can’t help but laugh at how dramatically she’s playing along. “Emilyyyy, I’m totally fine! I promise.”

“Nope, not falling for it,” she says with a wink, trying to sound serious but clearly enjoying herself. “I don’t fuck with the infected.”

You crawl toward the edge of the couch, pretending to make a grab for her, and she squeals, running around the coffee table like you’re some kind of zombie about to infect her. “Get back here!” you laugh, trying to catch her as she dodges your reach.

Emily gives a mock gasp. “Stay back, germ monster! You’ll have to try harder than that!”

But after a few more moments of running around, Emily finally gives in, letting you catch her by the waist. She giggles as you pull her back onto the couch with you, both of you laughing as you collapse into a pile of limbs.

“I’m serious though,” you murmur, pressing your lips to her neck. “I’m fine now...”

Emily looks down at you, smirking. “Mm-hmm. We’ll see about that,” she says, still half-teasing but clearly weakening to your advances as your kisses grow more insistent.

But she stands up again, taking your hand, kissing your forehead again. “We’re going to bed, okay? Tomorrow we'll see about that, but I want you to rest today” she says, her voice soft but firm. “For me?”

You huff dramatically, but you can’t help but smile. “Fine. For you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

1.30 am, or so the bedside table clock says. You keep shifting, but it's useless, you're hot and bothered, and still restless from your cold, but that's long forgotten. Emily's chest moves with her slow breathing beside you.

Trying not to wake her up, you slowly get up from bed and go to the kitchen to find something you can kill some time with.

It's only been 5 minutes when Emily wakes up to find you missing from the bed. Frowning, she slips out from under the covers and pads into the kitchen, where she finds you sitting at the table, Sergio perched on your lap.

“Can’t sleep?” Emily asks softly, her voice still husky from sleep.

You look up at her, giving her a sheepish smile. “I’m fine,” you say. “I just... couldn’t get comfortable.”

Emily sighs, walking over to you. “You’re still sick, you know.”

You grin mischievously, leaning back in the chair. "Yes, but you know what they say"

She smiles, stepping closer to you "That you should always listen to your girlfriend when she tells you to stay in bed?" she jokes, but your answer comes fast enough.

"No silly, that the best way to put someone to sleep is an orgasm by the best girlfriend in the world"

Emily’s eyes widen in surprise, but then she smirks, crossing her arms. “You’re unbelievable.”

She pauses for a moment, considering, before her smirk softens into a warm smile. “Alright. Come on, troublemaker.”

She takes your hand and leads you back to the bedroom. You jump happily and grab her waist from behind trying to get her as close to you as you possibly can.

Once under the covers, you lean in, kissing her deeply, your hands wandering up her back. Emily kisses you back, her touch gentle, her lips soft against yours as the heat builds between you.

Her mouth feels hot and heavy against yours, all lips and teeth, she makes your breath hitch.

She lifts your sleeping shirt slowly to find your breasts, braking the kiss to pay some attention to your chest. She takes her nipple in her mouth, playing with it with the tip of her tongue. Sucking on it. And then the other so it's not jealous.

A soft moan escapes your lips when she frees your nipple with a gently tug, and her lips are back on yours again.

"We have to get those sweatpants off of you," she murmurs inbetween kisses.

Emily pushes them down and you kick them behind, easing herself back down onto you. She moves her tongue along your neck then sucks on a sensitive pulse point, making you moan.

Her hand working south to reach your centre, she works fast and easy moving her fingers slowly along your slit.

She grazes a finger over your clitoris and you bite her lip in surprise, she lets out a whimper that you swallow immediately, the kiss so heavy you might combust.

Your breathing accelerates when Emily increased the speed of her hand as it worked the swollen bundle of nerves. You let out a desperate moan when she places her fingers just outside your opening, taunting and stroking your nether lips. "Don't tease me," you whine, raising your hips in a desperate attempt to impale yourself on Emily's fingers to relieve the ache inside.

Finally, Emily's tormenting fingers plunge into you, synchronizing the movement of her hand with the rhythm of your hips as you buck against her with furor.

Her lips never leaving your mouth as your orgasm takes over, allowing you ride your high until the aftershocks wear out. You kiss the corner of her mouth affectionately, and she smiles at you, her hand moving loose strands of hair behind.

Before she can even react, you grab her hips and turn her around so that you're now on top of her and her head is resting against the pillows.

"hey, what are you doing?" she frowns in confusion "You said an orgasm to help you sleep, c'mon" but you don't listen, and instead you kiss her lips, softly first, then your open mouth finds her tongue with yours. It makes it hard for her to complain when you're kissing her so lovingly, so softly, so sensual.

You leave her mouth to reach lower for her nipple. Her breasts always the most sensitive part of her, you know how to play her body well, where to kiss, how to lick, how to use your teeth, and a long moan escapes her mouth, making you smile against the tender flesh of her breast.

You reach lower to find her thighs , the soft, pale skin looking so inviting for your lips you can't resist the teasing of kissing and biting here and there. You can feel her impatience when her hand reaches to gran¡b you by the back of your head, directing you where she wants you the most.

You practically devour her, not even bothering to take your time, your tongue flat against her slit, your lips trapping her sensitive bud making her whimper in pleasure. You eat her out like she's your last meal, and for the sounds she makes you can tell she's loving it, her hand still on your head keeping your mouth in place.

It's almost too sweet and tender, despite the loud moans escaping her mouth, but the way you kiss, the covers still soumd you, the room silent, is the sweetest kind of love making, and you almost wish you could simply spend the rest of the night like this.

Emily's body tenses and she grabs a fistful of your hair as she comes fighting for breath. When her body finally relaxes she releases a sigh of relief. You come up from behind the covers and snuggle her closely as she enjoys the aftershocks. You give her a chaste kiss, and she can barely respond but you can feel her smile against your lips.

You both lay tangled under the covers, the soft warmth of the sheets cocooning you as you snuggle into Emily’s arms. Her hand traces lazy patterns on your back, her fingers soothing against your skin. You feel a sense of peaceful exhaustion settle over you, the tension from your earlier restlessness now completely gone.

“That was... definitely enough to put me to sleep,” you murmur with a sleepy smile, your head resting against Emily’s chest as you listen to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Emily chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Good. You’ve been fighting sleep all day.” Her voice is gentle, low, and full of warmth as she wraps her arms a little tighter around you, holding you close.

You tilt your head up to look at her, your eyes half-closed but filled with contentment. “You always know exactly how to take care of me.”

She smirks slightly, her eyes twinkling as she brushes a loose strand of hair from your face. “Well, someone has to. You’re stubborn as hell when you’re sick.”

You let out a soft laugh, nuzzling into her neck. “I love you, you know that?”

Emily smiles down at you, her fingers gently caressing your cheek. “I love you too. Even when you’re being a total handful.” She leans in, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips. It’s soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes your heart swell with affection.

Just as you’re about to drift off into a peaceful sleep, you feel Emily tense up slightly beside you. Then, out of nowhere—

“Achoo!”

You sit up a little, blinking in surprise, then grin as you realize what just happened. “Did you just sneeze?” you ask, a playful lilt to your voice.

Emily groans, rubbing her nose as she looks over at you with a resigned expression. “Oh no.”

You giggle, pulling the blanket up to cover her more snugly. “Looks like I might’ve gotten you sick.”

She gives you a mock glare but can’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed.”

You laugh softly, snuggling back into her, wrapping your arms around her waist. “I’m sorry! Guess I really am contagious.”

Emily sighs dramatically, but there’s a playful light in her eyes. “Great. Now I’m going to be the one sneezing and coughing.” you can't help the grin spreading across your face "I can't believe it! See, i told you this is exactly what i meant when i say i don't fuck witht he infected!"

You kiss her shoulder softly, grinning against her skin. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. You know... payback.”

Emily chuckles, pulling you even closer. “You better. I’m not above making you play nurse for me.”

You snuggle closer to Emily, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on her arm as you tease, “You like that, huh? How about a sexy nurse to take care of you?” Your tone is playful, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

Emily raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?” she asks, voice laced with humor. “And what exactly does this sexy nurse do?”

You bite your lip, leaning in to kiss her softly on the neck before murmuring, “Whatever you need.”

Emily chuckles, her arms pulling you even closer. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She presses a soft kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering there. “You’re going to have your hands full with me, though.”

“I think I’m up for the challenge,” you whisper, tilting your head to catch her lips in another gentle kiss.

Just as the moment deepens, Emily pulls back, her body tensing. “Achoo!”

You can’t help but giggle, shaking your head as you press your forehead to hers. “Looks like you’ll be my first patient.”

Emily groans dramatically. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you get me sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while,” you say, kissing her once more.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

This one's to myself because i catch a cold every two weeks istg. Anyways, remember to comment and reblog if you want me to write more! Because this challenge is getting frustrating :((

#thir10th's october writing challenge #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss imagine #wlw #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss lesbian #lesbian pride #wlw smut #wlw fanfic #lesbian #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss fic

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 2 years ago

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Familiar & Unfamiliar

din djarin x female!reader

warning: attempted sexual assault (not by our boy mando, and i don’t describe it in depth the furthest it goes is non-consensual kissing), light smut, angst then comfort, then fluff fluff fluff, identity theft, mentions of slave trade, canon violence, dom!din trying hard to be sub!din for you, he doesn’t succeed for long

word count: 4,174

Summary: You travel the galaxy with a Mandalorian who is much softer than his impenetrable beskar would lead others to believe. He leaves you with his son to search for a Quarry, but it’s not the Mando you’ve come to know and love who returns to you.

“It shouldn’t take long.” Mando hummed as he collected his gear from his weapon’s storage. You sat cross legged on the Razor Crest’s floor with the child in your lap. His small green hand played with the small, metal ball he seemed to always find. Your hand stroked his ears only stopping to push the ball away from his mouth when he began to try and chew on it. Mando turned around to stare down at you. “Will you be alright here?”

After traveling with the Mandalorian for the last two months, babysitting and completing repairs on the ship, you had finally grown accustomed to the silver beskar covered man. Initially it had been difficult for you to even look at the man for longer than a second⏤ too intimidated by the black t-shape visor that stared back at you. However, joining him had been your only option at the time, an act of self preservation, so you had to push your fear aside. Luckily, you had quickly learned that though the metal he was covered in was impossible to penetrate, the man underneath was as soft as they come.

You learned that the solemn, silent, and dangerous facade Mando wore was more or less an interpretation of what people saw. Yes, he was dangerous. You had seen him wrestle quarries three time his size and come out unscathed, but you had also seen him humming a song under his breath while giving the child a bath. You had seen Mando go out of his way to purchase you a new pair of boots in the market simply because he noticed your discomfort with your current pair. The brief times you felt his touch, a brush against your arm or a hand on your back, it was soft and comforting. His eyes were impossible to see behind his helmet, but you could feel the care in his gaze. Having Mando’s attention on you felt like safety.

Mando called out your name and you blinked in surprise. “Oh, um, yeah! We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I shouldn’t be gone long. Days at most.” He reassured before you could even ask. You stood up and Mando drifted closer⏤ his gloved hand reached out brush the child’s head. Mando chuckled when his son cooed and giggled in response. You heard a long time ago that the best judge of a person’s character was how they treated animals and children. Mando passed that test with flying colors. “You remember the rules?”

“Hmm, no running with scissors?” You joked. Mando tilted his head and you chuckled. “Don’t open the Razor Crest’s ramp for anyone but you, and if I do have to leave for some emergency, get to a crowded spot with plenty of witnesses and talk to no one. Not until you come for us.”

Mando nodded in approval. He gave the child’s head one last pet along the ears and as his hand pulled away you felt his leather covered fingers drag down the length of your bare arm. Heat crept up the back of your neck and you prayed to any deity that was listening that Mando hadn’t heard the hitch in your breath. You were not attracted to your metal armored Mandalorian employer and friend. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Without another word, Mando made his way to the back of the cargo hold. He opened the ramp before heading down and you called out for him to be careful. Mando glanced over his shoulder, at you and the child, and you waved. You stood at the cargo hold’s edge as Mando pressed a button on his gauntlet and the ramp began to rise. As the metal door rose, you stared at the mandalorian’s back until the ramp cut him off from sight.

Din was more distracted than usual and he told himself it wasn’t because of the newest addition to the Razor Crest. It obviously wasn’t because of you. No, he was just busy with all the bounties he was juggling and the stress of trying to find the child’s people. Then the added dilemma of his current quarry. Already he had been on the flesh trader’s trail for three days. Three full days. That was nothing in comparison to past hunts that would take him weeks on end, but Din found his patience wearing very, very thin.

“Are you ready yet, mate?” A voice asked through the closed door.

Din had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His only lead came from a mercenary who was hunting an Inner Rim politician that had come all the way out here to participate in the slave trade. It was the only access Din would have to get into the market to find his quarry and it came at a cost. Din glanced down at the helmet held in his hands. It was an oddly shaped red thing from Kaleesh culture. His new mercenary partner made it very clear that if he walked in as a Mandalorian everything would be lost. On any normal bounty Din would’ve risked it anyways. There was very little in the galaxy that could coax him out of his armor, leave him bare to the world, but a child in danger did it.

A mother had come to him after he searched for a lead in the local cantina on his first night. She had fallen to her knees in front of him and begged for his help⏤ she offered everything she owned and more in return. Her only child, an eleven year old little girl, had been stolen away from her. Dragged to the flesh market to be sold. Din swore to her that he’d bring her back. On his word as a Mandalorian, she would be reunited with her daughter. He just wasn’t allowed to do it looking like a Mandalorian.

“Seriously, mate, we’re going to be late!” Trigg, the mercenary, barked once more.

Din settled the helmet over his head and shifted uncomfortably. It didn’t fit quite like his real one did, but it was tight enough that he wasn’t worried about it falling off in the heat of battle. For a second, he just stared at himself in the mirror. Red armor of cloth and leather covered every inch of his skin, black gloves pulled on tight, and his oddly shaped helmet covered his face entirely. Din hated it more than anything. But, the sooner he saved the girl and caught his quarry, the sooner he could return to his ship. Return to the child and you.

“I’ll be right out.” Din called back. He settled all his beskar armor pieces into the tarp bag he had borrowed from the child’s mother. It was her home they were using as a base of sorts. Din hid the bag in the closet of the room behind a stack of boxes. It made him anxious to leave his armor behind, but he forced himself to step away and open the door.

Trigg stood in the hall wearing his own personal gear. The blond man had scars from a raking claw on the side of his head leaving those patches with sparse hair. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at Din in a mix of annoyance and impatience. “Finally. Did you have to do your hair?”

“It’s you we’re waiting on now.” Din replied dryly as he marched past the man to the door.

The sooner, the better.

Night had fallen for the third night of Mando being gone. It was too soon for you to be worried about him, but a ball of anxiety still sat in your gut. He had been away for longer periods of time before. The longest thus far being three weeks. You were mumbling a soft song under your breath as you rocked the child to sleep. When his eyes drifted close, you carefully set him in the hammock above Mando’s bunk and tucked a blanket around him.

When you were certain that the kid was settled, you drifted toward the fresher to get ready for bed yourself. You wondered what it would take to convince Mando to pick up a bounty on a planet with an ocean soon. Going from the lava plains of Nevarro to the deserts of Tatooine and now this dusty Outer Rim world was bleak. You missed water. You had grown up near a river on your homeworld and spent a decent amount of time there. It wasn’t until you saw dry planet after dry planet that you truly began to appreciate natural bodies of water.

You shrugged out of your clothes, tossing them aside, and slid into a pair of shorts and one of Mando’s shirts. It had been borrowed early on in your travels and now it belonged more to you than it did him. The dark shirt was large enough to cover most of your shorts. You had been in the middle of washing your face when you heard the tell tale sound of the ramp. Quickly, you grabbed a towel and dried your face while rushing out of the fresher.

Mando was walking up the ramp just as you entered the cargo hold and you shot him a smile, “Hey, Mando.” He came to a sudden stop. You glanced around but saw no evidence of a quarry behind or near him. Had they gotten away? “What happened with the quarry?”

The Mandalorian crossed his arms and a nervous energy settled over your skin. The way he stood just seemed…off. And, the silence that surrounded him wasn’t the usual comfortable quiet you had grown used to. Mando’s helmet tilted some, as if his eyes were raking over your form, and you tugged on the bottom of your shirt anxiously. This was an outfit you wore to sleep every night on the Razor Crest, but right now was the first time you felt uncomfortable having it on around Mando.

“Are you⏤Are you injured?” You asked.

Mando strolled closer to you. Another bit of him that wasn’t right⏤ his gait. As you tried to gather your thoughts, he came to a stop right in front of you. Nearly chest to chest. A lump had formed in your throat, mouth dry, and you tried to swallow it down. Being around Mando always made your stomach feel as if it were filled with butterflies, made your heart race out of your chest, made an addicting warmth pool in your core.

That was not how you felt right now.

Your hand reached out, as quickly as you could manage it, and slammed against the lock button of Mando’s bunk. The metal door slid down. It clicked into place, and the Mandalorian in front of you grabbed you by the throat and shoved you back until you slammed into the Razor Crest’s wall. You clawed at the familiar, gloved hand tightening around your throat as a low, unfamiliar chuckle rumbled through the modulator.

“What’s wrong, baby?” A voice that did not belong to your Mandalorian asked. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You were a minute ago.”

“Wh⏤Who⏤” You tried to spit out but you could barely breathe let alone form words.

“I’m your Mandalorian, baby.” The cruel laugh coming out from behind the t-shape visor you found comfort in felt so very wrong. He yanked you off the wall and released your throat. You managed to gasp a single breath of air before he backhanded you across the face hard enough to see stars. You fell to your knees and elbows roughly, a cry of pain leaving your lips, but you struggled to find a weapon of any kind. “That’s right. Crawl away, baby. Run. I’m a Mandalorian who likes to hunt, and now you’re my prey. How’s that sound?”

Your hand found a screwdriver, lying off to the side where you had been working on something under the floorboard earlier, just as he kicked you in the side to flip you over. The imposter knelt on the ground over you and you tried to stab him where only the flight suit sat. Unfortunately, he turned fast enough that the screwdriver struck beskar and did absolutely nothing. He laughed once more as you gave up the attack to try and slip away, but he grabbed your hands by the wrist and pinned you to the ground. The imposter sat on top of your thighs, kneeling over you, and you were forced to stare at your reflection in Mando’s armor.

It would be a bold faced lie for you to say you hadn’t daydreamed about having the beskar armor on top of you⏤ the weight of it pressing into you in every delicious way you could think of. But not like this. Not with a stranger inside of it.

“Who knew the ship came with such a pretty little whore.” The imposter hummed. He shifted your arms so he could pin both your wrists with one hand. With his other, he grasped the bottom of the beskar helmet and pulled it off. The man’s eyes were a piercing blue. Cold and cruel. Blond hair covered his scalp except on the side of his head where the scars of what looked like claw marks sat. He tossed the helmet aside and gave you a sickening grin. “Is that what you’re here for? You keep the Mandalorian’s bed warm? Let him fuck you when he’s done with a hunt?”

“Get the kriff off of me!” You struggled against his grip, against his touch, but nothing seemed to deter him from using his other hand to run over your body. You screamed until you were hoarse and when you cried out for Mando the man sitting on top of you just laughed. Faintly, you could hear frantic tapping behind Mando’s bunk door and fear struck you. Was the child awake? He wouldn’t be able to unlock the door from inside you didn’t think.

It seemed the imposter was too immersed in you to hear the sound.

“How about this,” The man leaned closer into your space, “I get a quick taste of you now, and then, once we’re up and in hyperspace, I’ll fuck you better than your Mando ever could, yeah?”

His lips crashed down on yours roughly. You tried to turn your face away, but the imposter bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Between the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue and the smell of his rancid breath you were going to be sick. You gasped in pain and he took advantage by shoving his tongue into your mouth. He pressed his hips down into you, grinding against your stomach now, and the feel of his erection pressing into you made a horrified sob slip form you. It seemed to only spurn him on further. He let go of one of your hands to grasp at the waistband of your pants.

The sound of sprinting footsteps made the imposter sit up and you were barely able to register what was happening when a body dressed in red leather slammed into the beskar covered imposter⏤ both men falling away. Taking advantage of your freedom, you scrambled back as quickly as you could. The stranger dressed in red, wearing an oddly shaped helmet that covered his face, had a hand wrapped around the imposter’s throat while his other fist pounded away at the man’s face. Grunts of anger filled the air with every blow thrown and the imposter fought back only for a moment before his body went slack.

You scrambled away further but your back hit a metal crate sitting in the cargo hold. It shifted slightly and the sound made the stranger sit up and spin around. You gasped⏤panicked. Heart still racing. The imposter laid motionless. His face bruised, broken, and bloody beyond all recognition. You were breathing hard, trying to suck in more air as the air you did get brought no relief. The stranger jumped up, motions smooth and agile, and rushed to you. A cry of fear left you as you tried to pathetically jump up, but his hands wrapped around you. Soft, but firm. A comforting weight.

“It’s me. It’s me. You’re safe, mesh’la.” A familiar voice came out of the unfamiliar mask. The bright red and angry shapes still jarring to look at and you tried to struggle away. He pulled away to rip off his gloves. One hand came to rest on the side of your face, while the other lifted the red helmet just enough to reveal a jaw covered in dark scruff and lips. “Listen to me, mesh’la. You’re safe. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s me. I’m here.”

You were still shaking, your entire body threatening to tremble into pieces, but your breaths were beginning to grow controlled. The warm hand on your face was grounding. It was familiar. You couldn't see the man’s eyes, but you could feel his soft gaze. Safe. You felt safe.

“M⏤Mando?” You gasped.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m here, mesh’la. You’re safe now.”

You broke into an uncontrollable sob, unable to bite it back, and Mando didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms. The coarse, red armor you buried your face into felt unfamiliar, but the strong arms that wrapped around you felt right.

For the first time, Din felt uncomfortable in his helmet. It smelled of the spice that Trigg disgustingly chewed on. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull his armor on. It left him in a pair of plain sweats and shirt. After setting you in his bunk, the child curled into your side, he had stripped the mercenary out of his beskar and thrown the piece of shit into the carbonite freezer.

The job had gone so well then so bad. Din found the young Rodian child and killed his quarry. He’d only get half the bounty with the flesh trader dead, but something was better than nothing. The moment he returned the girl to her mother his heart had stopped when he realized his armor was missing. Din had sprinted to the Razor Crest, faster than he had ever run, and still he hadn’t come soon enough.

Din stepped out of the fresher. The Razor Crest was in hyperspace and the cargo hold was dark. The only light spilling from the open door behind him. The sound of whimpering filled the otherwise silent space around him. Din hurried to the bunk to see you tossing and turning. He scooped the child up and set him in the hammock before crawling in to try and calm you.

He called out your name, bare hands on your shoulders, and when your eyes snapped open, thanks to his visor, he could see clearly the way panic and fear filled them. You screamed and began to swing at him. His helmet. It was his helmet. Without thinking, Din ripped his helmet off and threw it out of the bunk. Din pulled you into his arms again, pressing your face to his shoulder, and whispered reassurances.

“It’s me, Mesh’la. It’s me. I’m sorry. I was wearing the helmet. You’re safe, I promise.”

“Mando?” You breathed. He buried his hand in your hair and pulled you tighter into his chest. As if the two of you weren’t already tangled together in the small confines of his bunk. “I’m sorry I hit you⏤”

“It didn’t hurt. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Din didn’t know which emotion waged in him the most⏤ guilt or anger. They were neck and neck. You took in a deep shaky breath and your hot breath on his neck made him sigh in relief. You were safe in his arms. Din rubbed your back and the question fell out before he could hold it back. “Did he… Mesh’la, did⏤”

“No.” You whispered. “You got here just in time.”

Din could feel tears soaking into his shirt. When the tears stopped, Din coaxed you out of the bunk and onto the cargo hold floor. He grabbed a first aid kit and rushed back so you weren’t left alone for too long. The only light still came from the open door of the fresher and he sat so his back was to it. The dim light illuminated your features and it was like a spotlight to the injuries you sported. He had told you that you could open your eyes. With the way you sat, it’d be too dim for you to see his face, but you said you didn’t want to risk it.

He let his fingers trace the forming bruise surrounding your right eye. It trailed down to brush against the torn skin of your lower lip. Dank farrik. That kriffing fucker had bit you. He could see the outline of teeth. Din’s jaw clenched. He grabbed a bit of bacta and rubbed it gently into the forming bruise. He was going to do the same for your lower lip when you stopped him.

“Did I hurt you?” He blurted.

“No, no. Not that.” You mumbled. “Can I… Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything, mesh’la. Anything.”

“Can you kiss me?” You asked. Din was certain he had misheard you. It was why he sat in silence. He was trying to puzzle out what it was you had actually said. You spoke again, nervous, “You don’t have to. I⏤I…”

“You want me to…kiss you?”

You nodded. Eyes still closed lightly. “I know it’s dumb. It⏤ I just don’t want to feel his lips anymore. I don’t want the taste of him on me.”

“That’s not dumb, mesh’la.”

Din settled one of his hands on the side of your face. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Din began to lean in. He didn’t want to startle you. He wanted to give you every opportunity to pull away if you needed to. Din would be lying to himself, again, if he said he hadn’t imagined the way your lips would feel on him. But not like this. He hated that these were the circumstances, but there wasn’t a single thing Din wouldn’t do for you if you asked.

His nose brushed against yours. Din was close enough that he could feel your lips part. He waited one second more before pressing his lips softly against yours. One of your hands lifted to tangle in his hair and a simple gesture shouldn’t make him feel so hot under his skin. The kiss was slow and tender. Din was terrified to press too hard and bring you pain. The injury to your lower lip still so fresh. And after what you had just suffered through, he wanted you to have all the control. If you needed to use him to rid yourself of that nightmare, to erase the memory that bastard left on your lips, then he would.

Your tongue brushed against his lower lip, tracing it, and he parted his lips for you giving you room to explore him. Maker, the taste of you was so sweet. It took every single ounce of Din’s self control to not deepen the moment even further. The kiss grew almost frantic. A hand in his hair and another at the back of his neck to pull him into you. You pulled back just enough to suck in a sharp breath before your lips was back on his and Din lost his battle for self control.

He wrapped his other arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. Din was caught off guard when you pushed down to press yourself against his already hard cock, but it was a welcome surprise. He grabbed your hips, hands tightening into the soft skin there, and grinded into you. You moaned into his mouth and Din pulled away briefly so he could press open mouth kisses along your jaw then down your neck until he reached your shoulder. Thoughtlessly, he bit down, wanting to leave evidence of himself on you, and you let out a sharp gasp while grinding into him again. Din ran his tongue against the bite soothingly.

Din’s hands slipped under your shirt and he desperately let his lips find yours once more. His tongue slipped past your lips, but then he tasted it. The sharp, metallic tang of blood. Din pulled back quickly realizing his plan to let you run the show had gone to shit. Both of you were breathless.

“Are you okay, mesh’la??” He pulled one hand away from your hip to touch your face. His thumb brushed against your lower lip and in the dim light he could see the tint of red.

“Thank you.” You breathed. You leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss that missed and only landed on the corner of his lips. Then you leaned your head on his shoulder and just took slow breaths. Din let his knuckles drag up and down your spine. He could feel your entire body going limp as you melted into his hold. You mumbled, “Thank you, Mando.”

“Din.” He replied, but he didn’t know if you had already fallen asleep or not. “Call me Din.”

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