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lacollectionneuse1967 · 11 months ago

Text

remembering you

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.

nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: office romance. smut with plot.

warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.

author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.

1916, Northern France

How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.

Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.

The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.

The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.

Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.

Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.

You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.

Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.

The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.

The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"

Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.

So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...

"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."

"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.

He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.

"What do you want?" you ask warily.

The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.

"Ungrateful little-"

"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."

Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.

Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.

"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.

He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.

"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"

"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"

The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.

"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.

"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."

The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.

"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"

"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."

If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....

Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.

For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.

When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.

"Take my siblings," you say.

[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.

"No! Y/N, you can't-"

"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."

The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.

When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.

"I'm not going, sir."

You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.

The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.

The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."

"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.

"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."

You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.

"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."

He makes a noise of gentle surprise.

"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"

"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.

He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.

"You want to stay so badly. Why?"

"I told you, I'm a nurse."

"You're a child."

"I'm sixteen," you bite back.

"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."

"I'm no Muggle."

"No, you're... You're something else."

You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.

"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.

"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.

Your shoulders slump in relief.

He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.

'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'

Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.

"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.

The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.

You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.

But you can't imagine he'll deny you.

You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.

"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."

He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.

"Why?"

"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."

You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.

You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.

You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.

When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.

He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.

You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.

The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.

His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.

But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.

You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.

You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.

You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.

"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."

He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.

The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.

"What is your name?" he says.

"What's yours?"

"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"

"It won't matter soon enough..."

"Do you so badly not want to live?"

"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."

The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.

"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."

Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.

----

1925, London, Nine Years Later

'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'

It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.

A memo already?

You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.

A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.

In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.

This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...

Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.

No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.

Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.

You lift it from your desk in annoyance.

You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.

"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."

You scoff.

It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.

It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.

It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.

For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.

"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."

It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.

"Who is this?" Comes the message.

It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.

But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.

"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."

His reply comes quickly this time.

"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."

You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.

"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."

"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."

"So, no after-work pint for me then?"

"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."

"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."

"How very patriotic."

There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.

You like it.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.

As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.

Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.

"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."

----

London hadn't been kind to you.

It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.

During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.

They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.

Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.

Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.

Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.

"Morning, sunshine!"

You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.

"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.

It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.

However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.

"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."

He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.

You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.

"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."

"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."

"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"

"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"

"It gets old."

"You're a liar. You love me."

"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."

You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"

Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.

It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.

You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.

You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.

It makes you shudder, the thought.

You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.

Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.

"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.

For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.

"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"

His words fade in and your heart swells.

"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."

You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.

"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."

----

You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.

"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.

"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.

But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.

You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.

You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.

It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.

You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.

"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"

But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.

He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.

"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.

A half-glance is all you need.

The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!

You go stiff, your face wan.

It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...

You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.

"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"

"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.

Theseus is grinning bashfully.

"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.

"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"

"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"

It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.

Mr. Byrne.

War hero.

Auror.

Initials T.S.

God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.

The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.

When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.

You don't know why you feel so shaken.

'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'

But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.

You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.

And he'd promised to remember you.

It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.

Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.

After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.

"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."

You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.

Then:

"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."

It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.

"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"

You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.

"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."

"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."

You throw yourself into your work with rigor.

Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.

The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"

Your heart aches weakly.

But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.

Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.

It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.

The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.

The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.

You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.

No. Fucking. Way.

Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.

He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.

The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.

He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.

His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.

Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.

"Mr. Scamander!"

Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.

She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.

"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"

You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.

"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.

-----

The next day you see him at a far distance.

You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.

Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.

Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.

You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.

He saw you.

His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.

Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.

You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.

The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.

"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."

You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.

The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.

"Oh, thank God," you think.

He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.

He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.

You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.

"Are you flirting with me, sir?"

It's a comfort to be writing to him again.

"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."

You laugh aloud at his candor.

"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."

You huff at that.

"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."

"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."

"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.

"Are you not?"

Fuck. Well, you've already met.

"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."

The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.

You wish he'd remember you on his own.

"Hmm..." he writes back.

Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.

"You're beautiful."

Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.

He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.

"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."

You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.

It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.

Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.

"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."

You worry you sound cruel so you add.

"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."

He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."

You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:

"Can I come see you?"

There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.

"What, you mean at lunch?"

You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.

Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.

"I mean now. In your office." You write back.

'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'

It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:

"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."

You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.

The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.

You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.

He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.

For a moment the two of you just stare.

'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'

It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.

Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.

He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.

"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.

"Hi," you say, stupidly.

"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."

You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.

"I could say the same about you, actually."

He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.

"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."

You frown.

"Why would anything change that?"

He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.

"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."

That hurts your feelings. "Why?"

He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.

"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."

He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.

"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.

You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.

"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.

"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.

Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.

"I can't," he says, pitifully.

But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.

"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.

You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.

You would not ask him a third time.

Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.

"You think that's funny, do you?"

You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.

You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.

Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.

"Get off!" you shout gleefully.

"You get off," he retorts jokingly.

Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.

At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.

Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.

"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.

But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.

He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.

You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.

"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."

He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.

You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.

A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.

You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.

"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.

He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.

"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."

It's almost a whine.

You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.

His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.

"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.

It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.

His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.

"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."

And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.

With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.

"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.

You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.

It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.

His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.

You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.

"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.

You nod, quickly.

"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.

"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."

"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.

It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.

Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.

"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.

You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.

"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.

The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.

Theseus doesn't seem to mind.

"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.

You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.

Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.

"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.

He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.

He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.

He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.

"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.

He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.

"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.

Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.

'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.

He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.

"You like my cock, baby?"

"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."

He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.

He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.

You gasp at the applied pressure.

He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.

"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.

"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.

"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.

"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.

He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.

You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.

It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.

'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.

You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.

It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.

He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.

He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.

"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."

You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.

"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.

Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.

"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."

"I promise."

-----

part two here

author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)

comment/ask to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @msauthor

#theseus scamander #fantastic beasts #theseus scamander x reader #theseus x reader #theseus smut #fbawtft #hp fanfic

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softfem-dom · 2 months ago

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more random x men+wade wilson headcanons!

✰ Logan is the type of guy to frown at you when you talk to him from more than 3 meters distance, not because he can't hear you but because he can't understand what you're saying.

✰ Cyclops the man that you ask something and goes "what?" but when you try to repeat yourself he stops you because he did hear you it's just that his brain was too slow to process it on time.

✰ I'm one hundred percent sure that when Wade first was told that Colossus' real name was Rasputin he went real '🙀' face and asked "like rasputin? like that dude that was banging the queen of russia? does that mean-" he didn't get to ask if his dick was 28 cm before someone was covering his mouth.

✰ Rogue and Bobby bought different color set pyjamas and exchanged the shirts to match.

✰ Logan says 'you ate' to Kitty and Rogue because they forced him to anytime they do well in a training session.

✰ Kurt can't, for the life of him, understand the slang of the new generetion like what do you mean he ate and left no crumbs??? rogue??? what are you trying to saying to him???

✰ Logan sleeps as if he was the girl from the exorcist, limbs everywhere, sheets in the floor, pillow lost in the bed. ^he snores real loud too.

✰ Jean is a huge mamma mia fan. ^Cyclops has been forced to sing along with her more than once.

✰ Storm likes to watch grease just to cuss out Danny for being a dick.

✰ Rogue and Kitty were forced to watch grease for 'cultural education' and ended up unironically fighting over who was better if Danny or Kenickie. ^Rogue was team nickie and Kitty was team zuko.

✰ Storm will hide the existence of grease 2 from everyone. for her, that movie doesn't exist.

✰ the kids once tried to pull a singing stunt, high school musical style, for Storm on teacher's day.

✰ Hank likes Elvis. I will not elaborate. ^he also likes to put on a fake deep voice to sing the low notes of his songs lol.

✰ Charles has nearly 170 vinyls stocked in boxes in the basement of the school. turns out he was an impulsive vinyl collector when he was younger (think dofp time)

✰ Kurt, Storm and Cyclops showed up in matching Wolverine merch (the most shitty, cheap, aliexpress material kind) ever just to fuck with Logan for a while. ^he got mad, he was amused, but still.

✰ then, Rogue and Kitty unironically got actual quality brand Wolverine merch and Logan was acting like a proud dad.

✰ Logan is a girl dad™. I will not elaborate.

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dimepdf · 2 years ago

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𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒. + 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. you're tired of having to put up with your spoiled brat of a boyfriend, finally snapping at him readying to throw away being the ornament in his rich lifestyle until Toji shows you that not all Fushiguro men aren't giving.

pairing. toji fushiguro x reader , megumi fushiguro x reader

genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni, pwp, porn with plot, cheating au, hurt/comfort (?), dilf!Toji, jealousy, insecurity, toxic relationship, spoiled rich, eat the rich, age gap, size difference, height difference, biting, rough sex, man handling, pet names, daddy kink | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

Maybe it was shallow, staying in your almost four year long relationship while hanging onto that string of hope that maybe—just maybe—Megumi would wake from his stubborn, stuck-up, rich boy era and realize that you had truly stuck with him through thick and thin.

The first year of your relationship was all clear skies and cruising: being college sweethearts in love.

It was normal for you two to go through a few rough patches, and trying to figure out how to fit into each other's new adult lives was just even more difficult.

Well, apparently to the billionaire playboy, who has so much free time to party but not spend quality time with his girlfriend, but you promised to look past that!

The third-year mark hit, and you were just a girl willing to turn a new leaf and push aside all the insults your best friends would say under their breath about your man and just stick it out because you really did love Megumi, and that included all of his faults.

Including the times he'd make snobbish comments when you mentioned how you hadn't heard of a certain expensive food name, and how he'd seemingly vanish from the face of the earth, ignoring all of your texts and calls for weeks, only to show up on Instagram posting about being on some party cruise ship with all of his friends.

Recounting the many times When you two did spend time together, he was too busy on his PS4 ignoring your advances for sex.

Trying to break the month-long dry spell you were in, only getting some action if you fell to your knees and gave him a blowjob so he could completely disregard your needs after returning to his game.

But tonight was the final nail in the coffin.

When Toji invited his son and you to one of his opening events weeks in advance.

You gladly accepted and congratulated him on his hard work as a hot ass bachelor and CEO stacking up wealth as well as being a father to the bratty muck of a son like it was nothing.

You were genuinely proud of the older man for juggling his business life with such ease.

Megumi didn't seem to have the same idea, despite being entirely built up in the wealth of position that he had now because he had been simply handed a high position in the same field as his father.

You’d think that maybe he would have just a moderate amount of respect for his father, but unfortunately, that bar you had set was just too high for Megumi’s stuck-up personality.

Throwing a tantrum the entire time you two were getting ready for the event, it was made even more embarrassing by the fact that the Fushiguro men shared the same luxury mansion.

With the left wing dedicated entirely to Megumi's egocentric lifestyle and his pathetic rabble about how stupid and lame the "party" was going to be bouncing off the cold marble walls, no doubt reaching Toji on the other side of the home.

You had managed to lighten his mood by suggesting that he drive one of his annoyingly loud and brightly colored sports cars to the event.

the one that was so low that you would grunt every time you slid into the passenger's seat.

It wasn’t exactly comparable with the dark red slip dress that you were wearing, but you were willing to make a couple of sacrifices for Toji’s honor.

The event had started exactly as you had expected it to: on the red carpet, lined with celebrity guests, with higher-ups posing for pictures with the crowds of fans and paparazzi behind the dividers, shouting directions and names.

Being in the spotlight was still a little new to you, being thrust into the rich lifestyle took longer to get used to.

Especially when you had a boyfriend that loved to soak up as much attention as he possibly could.

That's why you shouldn't be surprised when Megumi gets out of his car, shoves the keys into the young valet's hand with a snide remark.

Glides past you, waves to all the paparazzi shouting his name, and welcomes the flashing lights with open arms.

Watching him walk down the carpet with his cookie-cutter poses and disappear inside the building leaves you trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

It took you an hour to find him through the crowd of people, tucked away in some inclusive section with people that flocked to him as if he were a goddess.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it was just one person who had caught your eye, and he was completely distracted by another woman.

Whatever they were chatting about was enough to have him smiling quite genuinely—the smile that you hadn’t seen since the first few months of your relationship—the months you were convinced that Megumi cared about you and wasn’t using you as some perfect purse dog girlfriend for the media

You could only watch as she had gotten too comfortable, her hand resting on the front of Megumi's chest as he would lean down just to whisper something that she would find too fucking funny.

Completely immersed in the conversation that they had together enough to not be noticed for a while as the two chuckled to each other.

What makes it worse is that she was the first to notice you standing aside, her hand unmoving as she gave you a tight smile.

Megumi follows her stare, his expression falling just before he could catch it drawing you to his side. "Baby, there you are. I was looking for you all night," liar, but you still smile at his greeting. "___ this is Nobara, my friend from high school, she was the one to save my ass from failing every class."

"Meggy, you make it sound like we were just friends of my god." Nobara’s laugh had a high pitch to it, her smile never dropping as she playfully swung her hand at his shoulder, letting the hand rest there for a moment too long.

You keep it classy: "It's so nice to finally meet you. I don't think I’ve ever heard my boyfriend talk about you much, but then again, he had a lot of friends." Despite her open flirting with Megumi as if you weren't standing in front of her.

You weren't really in the mood to start a catfight, especially with so many eyes around.

"Wait a minute, Megumi, you finally got someone to tie you down, that's so unexpected!" She gasps, trying to entice something out of you, but you don’t bite the bait even when Megumi laughs loudly like he couldn't believe it himself.

"I know, I know, you won’t believe how many other people are also surprised." His callous response explains why people assumed he was single.

"I mean, gosh, you were just the school's famous playboy. I swear you told me that you preferred to just sleep around when I first asked you out." Her eyes trail down your dress, taking in your entire outfit.

"Look at you now, in a relationship with someone so... humble." She giggles, your fist knotting into the silk material of your dress as you suddenly become the subject of a joke that even Megumi has failed to stifle a laugh at.

"Some people can’t always be fixed," he continues, reaching his finger out to one of the drink staff and signaling a drink over. "But she's a looker; when she really wants to be, that's all that really matters."

Nobara laughs as your expression slowly drops, feeling like an ornament out of place. It wasn't uncommon for Megumi to give you backhanded compliments, but that didn't mean that it had hurt any less than the many other times he would downplay your attractiveness.

It doesn't even bother you that he doesn't even pretend like he cares that he had hurt your feelings, your face fell into a bored glare now that all the had ridden from your mood as their conversation continues.

You entertain yourself with more glasses of champagne being handed out by the staff, ignoring the sideways glances you would get from Megumi after watching you down every drink.

Any politeness you had felt was washed away with the warm tipsy buzz tasting on your tongue.

It wasn't enough to have you fully drunk though the last thing you wanted to do was unleash that side of you in such a professional place.

She boasted about taking an early flight to Paris the following morning for some modeling opportunity, which the more she talked about, the less you cared.

Like a prayer had decided it was time for her to veer away for the night, letting Megumi kiss the knuckle of her hand before leaving.

You could see the scowl on his face forming the moment she finally leaves you to let out a tired sigh, rolling your eyes as Megumi turns to glare down at you for whatever made-up shit reasons he was going to force the blame on you for.

"You could have been a lot nicer, you know," you hum in a gesture showing him that you didn't really care but chose to agree anyway.

"You don't see me acting like a bitch to any of your friends. Nobara is the most giving person I’ve ever known, maybe you could start taking notes from her instead of acting like you're better than everyone for once.'' The statement makes you laugh, the type of laugh that has your hand coming up to cover your face as you let out a snort.

It only catches a few people's attention, but they return back to their conversation without much comment.

And that's how the conversation ends because you just walk away, using your hand to hold a wine glass in his hand before returning to the thick of the crowd of people, leaving Megumi fuming in his circle of friends.

This night was about congratulating Toji for all of his achievements, and you weren't going to take anything away from that because of his spoiled asshole son.

So you divide your attention elsewhere, mingling with others as best as you possibly can all the way until the end.

The drive home was dead silent, possibly since Megumi never allowed you to control the radio while he was driving, let alone roll up your window.

You could only smile to yourself, knowing he was just so unhappy from the way he gripped his wheel in angry glances that he would give you to let you know that he was angry, ignored as you leaned your head against the window and watched the scenery pass by.

He doesn't stop, not even bothering to wait for you as he slams the car door shut and stomps his way to the bedroom.

You can only sigh as you slowly follow him, bracing yourself for whatever earful he's bound to give you.

The argument would always lead to him crying and shouting, Megumi just had the patience of a toddler who would blow up when he couldn't get anything that he wanted.

He was used to living his life with a silver spoon in his mouth and was too wrapped up in his own picture-perfect world to realize that other people around him were truly hurting.

You had gotten used to letting him blow some steam, calling you names, degrading your morals, and downplaying all of your insecurities, it was all just a loop.

The same things he'd say over and over, knowing they'd elicit some sort of reaction from you.

So you walked out.

Not literally, since you two had lived together and an Uber ride to the closest hotel would have been at least $100 bucks tops—fucking California—you just walked to one of many guest bedrooms that were on the other side of the house.

Kicking off your heels as they clacked against the cold marble floors, the one thing on your mind was how much you just wanted the day to end.

"Oh hey, ___, I was just looking for you." You had caught sight of Toji closing the front door, losing his gray tie with the other hand as he was dressed in a dark suit.

The older man looked incredibly handsome even when he wasn't all dressed up.

You were convinced there was something in the Fushiguro gene that just made every single one of them attractive.

"Me?" was all that you could manage, realizing that maybe you should've held back just a little on the champagne.

All of your compliments are thrown out the window at the mere sight of the self-made businessman.

You pretend not to notice him checking you out, shifting your weight to try to stop yourself from pressing your thoughts together as he advances closer to you.

"I was surprised you didn't say anything to me at the mixer," he grins, wrapping his muscly arm around your waist and leading you to the kitchen.

"You know how much I despise those things, and I was hoping you'd come to keep me company," he teased, his head leaning on top of yours as he pouted.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr.Fushiguro, I was just so tired from meeting everyone. I think I should actually end up in bed now." You mutter the last part, stopping in your tracks and taking a step back to shake yourself from his grasp.

Toji hesitates for a second, his eyes glancing over to the hallway that leads to his son's bedroom before turning back to you.

"How about you make up for the lost time?" He smiles, leaning in closer.

You couldn't fully recall what had happened to lead up to the moment, but before you knew it, you were all spread out with your chest resting against the kitchen island.

Standing on the tips of your toes as your hands were held pressed against your spine by Toji’s palm.

Hiccuping on pleas as his hand rested itself against the curve of your ass as his hips smacked roughly against your ass.

Watching the hilt of his dick disappear inside of your pussy burying himself inside of your stomach as you squirmed from the full feeling.

Your dress had been ruined by the wet stains on the fabric as well as the huge tear that ran up your side when Toji tore it in frustration trying to get it past your hips.

"You look even better without it anyway," he apologized before biting into your shoulder before you could respond.

"Ah, ah, not too loud, pretty girl." His gravelly voice cooed in your ear.

A whimper slipped out of you, catching your breath for just a moment before his hands could turn you around.

Pushing you against the edge of the counter just to get better leverage to grab the back of your thighs.

Picking you up with ease, your legs wrapped around his waist as your arms knotted around his neck, straddling his torso as he lifted you enough for his tip to press against you and his lower stomach.

Lifting you with just one arm in to position himself back inside of you, the action leaving you gasping in pleasure as he bounced you on his cock.

The weight of you fell, only burying the width of him to reach deeper parts of your body. Once he had gotten a good grasp around your legs, his pace was merciless.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the kitchen as you buried your face in the crook of his neck to keep yourself from completely melting in his hold.

As your orgasm left you whining out his name, his hips piston inside of you through it.

Toji had caught you from falling back as he laid you against the kitchen counter, your back resting against the cold marbles as your chest rose and fell.

"You’ve never been fucked by a real man before, have you princess?" He sighs, spreading your thighs apart, before shoving back inside, your hips bucking against the bud of his thumb as it rubbed circles against your clit.

“Just lay back and let daddy show you how a real man should cherish you.”

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luffyvace · 8 months ago

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HEYYYY!! how are you?? i hope you’re doing well ❤️❤️

i was wondering if you could do a headcanon/story where reader is like the daughter of Dracule Mihawk but like she(or gender neutral) never met her mom, so when she was growing up Boa Hancock was like their cool auntie that she learned how to be a woman (doing makeup,painting nails, finding her style ect.)

ONLY IF YOU ARE COMFORTABLE THO, BTW I LOVEE YOUR WRITING 💕💕

HIII IM DOING GOOD ANON!! You dear? :)

i do female reader dw!! I’ll be using she/her as well, for reference

Awhh dadhawk <33

AUNTBOAAUNTBOAAUNTBOAAA!! She’d be the BEST most SPOILING wine aunt EVER🍷💄

Of course it’s alright honey! Alsooo TYSM!! I’m so glad you enjoy 😭💓💓

Being mihawk’s daughter has a lot of perks and literally no down slides. actually I half way take that back. The only down slide is that there’s a target on your head for those who are crazy enough to come for you. But that’s like a mere 00.1% and even then just because they come for you doesn’t mean they’ll get to you 🤡

especially since your the NUMBER ONE swordsman’s daughter.

Also this is really random but you probably meet zoro eventually, perona as well, they obviously stay with you for some time so perona and you likely get close. I imagine you would introduce her to boa and the three of you become a trio. You and Perona are her adorable nieces and boa is your doting, beautiful and totally awesome auntie :3

don’t get me wrong mihawk is a awesome father. He seems like a very responsible man and that he would not leave you out in the cold at the cost of his own life. He spoils you just as equally as boa does and although he’s not the most trusting man on earth, he wouldn’t dare break the bond you two have when he can’t replace it with your actual mother. At this point not that you wanted to.

Never meeting your mom may have taken a toll on your mental health at first, but not to worry! Awesome aunt boa to the rescue!!

The chances of you meeting boa we’re actually very slim, whether you know it or not. As I said Mihawk doesn’t easily trust plus you probably met at a warlord meeting where he has to take you along for one reason or another.

You saw boa and naturally, thought she was very pretty. Mihawk is rather reserved too so you probably don’t see people often in general (til you get older). Therefore, seeing such a ethereal woman made you instantly admire her. You immediately wanted to get to know her—and, luckily for you, she took an interest in the girl who’s mihawk’s daughter!

now idk what you did but she started the conversation, and whatever you replied made her think you weren’t so bad! You two chatted some more and after figuring out you had no mother figure she took it upon herself to raise a cute girl such as yourself to be a good woman. She didn’t exactly want to be viewed as your mother..that would relate her too closely to mihawk, a man, for her liking. So! She’ll be the cool and classy wine aunt instead! 🍷💋

you love your dad, he does his best to raise you as a single father and pirate/warlord/worlds best swordsman. And you truly do appreciate him! But when Boa bashes him for being a man her insults are low key so funny you can’t help but laugh 🗿 (hc that Boa would be good at roasting people on the spot :3)

boa being the coolest aunt she is, she takes you to lavish places (that she rented so she wouldn’t have to bear being in the presence of those indisputable critters society calls men), gets you the most high quality makeup (that her tribe handcrafts—yes they make they’re own it’s a hc of mine), does monthly over the phone (in person when you can) mental check ins (because you love your dad but again, he’s a man, and there’s some things about women men won’t get—vice versa too of course <3)

womanly hour!~ well more like hours, you spend the whole day with boa whenever you can, she’s makes a magnificent aunt and literally never says no to you. She’s like to you how she is to luffy but less delusional platonic <3 you two go shopping and pick out clothes together, her tribe of course also gifts you all the cute clothes you could ever want (again, handcrafted) because boa adores you and they adore boa!—which means they adore you! 💕 You and the Kuja 100% get along and see eye to eye on how spectacular Hancock-Sama is~ 🥰

when your older you probably go over to visit her more often and maybe even on your own! Mihawk trusts that by then he’s trained you enough, plus i think he would have his certain set of rules but not be too strict of a dad.

teaching you how to be a proper woman with Boa 101 ;} only if you want to tho! She’ll ensure your not out here acting like some monkey—surely your not! (unless you are 🤷‍♀️) Still, she teaches you basic lady manners. :) More than anything she knows women is NOT the problem, so instead of going “keep your legs closed ☝️🤓” she says “If a man looks at you lower than your stomach, kick him in that area 😉😘” - Boa Hancock (the woman we trust💪)

AND you already know she’s gonna teach you how to kick as hard a she can 😤😮‍💨👌 which ngl by the time your older your sure to be a master in many Haki’s. You may even have conquer’s 🤷‍♀️ I wouldn’t doubt it you got Mihawk blood in you :P

Growing up Boa has constantly been warning you of men and they’re vile ways. When you become of age she’ll tell you what happened to her (that’s how much she trusts you 💗💗) and you’ll know what she means right away. She will always look out for you but gives you tips on things just in case, and if you ever feel unsafe, don’t hesitate to call her or take a trip to the island of women! The entirety of the Kuja tribe will lay down they’re lives in an instant for Hancock-sama’s lovable little niece <33

I’ve been mentioning this throughout but her taking you to the island of women definitely happens. You love it there and everyone loves you. You have so many Aunts and sisters there it’s not even funny. 😃 You adore each and everyone of them though, just as they do you. You get only the finest of treatment from them and you might as well be one of the Boa sisters. You get all you can eat premium food, the most elegant clothes tailored to your exact size and tastes, you even have your very OWN room in the Palace! Sandersonia and Marigold dote on you just as much as Hancock does the four of you very much do spend a lot of time together. 😊

The Boa sisters/the Kuja tribe teaches you the kuja tribe/survival skills personally. They start with bow and arrow and eventually moving on to haki and hand to hand combat. Now, Mihawk might have already covered this but they’re going over it again 😄 why? He might’ve missed something! He’s a man! (Btw the Kuja girls 100% ask you questions about men no holding back) Anywho, I’m sure you’d do it again even if you know it already because 1) practice 😋 and 2) who wouldn’t want to spend more time with the Kuja pirates?!

💖💖

These girls are seriously awesome 💓 (this low key became a Mihawk diss track written by Hancock but he’ll live- LOL 😂😂🗿)

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slytherizz · 9 months ago

Text

Playing God - Auror!Sebastian x Dark!MC

Tags/Warnings: 18+ | Non-Con | explicit sexual content | Dark!MC | Polyjuice Sex

All tags can be found on Ao3

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Decorated Auror, Sebastian Sallow had not anticipated how his life would diverge so sharply from the woman he once loved, the most wanted and notorious witch in Britain. Or how their paths would continue to cross - their fates still bound together.

A/N This fic has been living in my WIPs for about 6 months...I wanted to reverse the dynamic of my longer fic with Sebastian being the Auror this time and in doing such explore some darker themes. Short multi-chapter that will probably end up being three chapters at most.

She was pretty enough he supposed in a homely sort of way.

Petite, with neat shoulder-length hair that brushed against narrow shoulders and, a soft bow to her overly thin top lip. But her dress was old-fashioned, a severe high-neck buttoned almost to her chin, ruffled layers of her underskirts impractical and lumpy. Layers upon layers, of an unflattering shade of yellow washed out her otherwise pleasant features.

Compared to the other witches that would frequent such a seedy establishment with their low necklines and light skirts, she would be considered dowdy.

If it wasn't for her eyes. Keen and alert as if beneath the sheep-like exterior lurked something dangerous. He most likely would have overlooked her too.

To even the keenest observer it wouldn't look like Sebastian had any particular tastes when it came to women or men. Much to his displeasure, the qualities that drew him in were rarely mere aesthetic.

Barked laughter like an ill-tempered hound. The smell of mallowsweet. Aromatic and earthy. Teeth pressed lightly into a bottom lip like they held all the cards in a game no one else knew they were playing. Until they spread the winning hand. Smile so wide it unnerved, bore too many teeth.

Tonight, it was keen and dangerous eyes that reminded him of her.

They shared no other similarities and from what Sebastian could discern from her well-manicured nails, and unblemished skin, bar a pale line around her finger where he supposed an engagement ring would usually sit - this was no fighter.

This was a proper young lady - who had wandered onto the wrong side of town looking for a sensible amount of trouble as her wedding day, most likely to some equally wellbred suitor, loomed over her like a dark cloud.

As if Sebastian were screaming his thoughts at her across the crowded tavern, those sharp eyes flicked their attention to him. Raked over the thinning patches of his civilian cloak, the shadow across his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes he'd given up glamouring. After years they were as much a staple of his face as the freckles on his nose.

The marks of a man who hadn't enough time to shave let alone visit a tailor, a man who would scarcely have enough time to ask her too many intrusive questions.

She smiled. Jarring was the only way Sebastian could describe how her face seemed to split horizontally across its centre. Neither half quite belonged to the other. The demure and polite curl of her lips was offset by the razor-edged scrutiny of her darkened gaze. Predatory. Hungry. In a way that made his mouth go dry and cool sweat beads on the back of his neck.

Ice clinked against the side of his glass as Sebastian knocked back the remaining dregs of whiskey. Disguising the way his lip twitched at the corners under the weight of her eyes. Amber liquid burned his throat was nothing compared to the heat prickling across his skin.

Sebastian held up two fingers to indicate to the Barmaid over the raucous patrons of the pub. She placed a second glass on the bar filling them both with a more than generous pour.

"Cheers," Sebastian said, placing the coins into her hand, a little extra for her trouble as he always did. The barmaid smiled brightly, flushed and preening, over a few extra sickles as if he'd declared some great love for her. Though he supposed generosity was not a trait of many that frequented the Ogre's Arms. She leaned a little further over the bar than was strictly necessary, her fingers linger too long against his palm as he hands over his sickles.

Sebastian did not miss the way that the strangers' eyes tracked the interaction. As swift and deliberately as he had been trained to be with every motion, he slipped his hand from the barmaid's grasp deftly hooking his fingers into the rim of the grotesquely full tumblers as he spun on his heels.

Whatever the poor girl had been about to say faltered in her throat. Crackling out of life like a dying gramophone. He really should have felt some sympathy for the poor girl.

She'd made her fondness for him quite obvious over the years. Despite how Sebastian would sidle out the door with what must seem like any witch but her. Too worried about any kind of arrangement that would ask for more than he was willing, or able, to give. Nor did he wish to find a new hole to drown himself in.

And regretfully - her gentle honeyed voice and hopeful doe eyes that delivered longing glances had never stirred anything inside of Sebastian. As much as on some nights he wished they would.

Sebastian weaved through the sparse gathering around the bar of the more rambunctious patrons. Turning a blind eye, to the corner booth and the two witches poorly disguising their face under their dramatic hoods, exchanging money, a rather suspicious-looking sack at their feet which gave a periodic shudder and what looked like spines protruding from the burlap. It may be his job to investigate suspicious behaviour such as this but- he'd rather not have to explain to his sergeant exactly what he was doing in this pub in the first place.

Approaching her solitary table nestled in the corner, she inclined her chin up towards him. Smug. Sloped oak beams cast a thick shadow, and candlelight flickering against her cheekbones made her features waxy like an oil painting against a grimy canvas.

"May I?"

She tilted her head, as though she expected nothing else but was amused by his gesture nonetheless."Only because you brought a bribe."

Sebastian hooked the heel of his boot around the chair leg pulling out further. Placed the two glasses on the table as he sat, careful not to spill any against the oak surface. Not that it would be such a shame if it did. Cheap whiskey from a smudged glass was hardly a waste.

Sebastian tipped his glass to her in toast, she did not feign even the slightest interest in her glass or his hollow act of chivalry.

"I haven't seen you here before," Sebastian said.

Flexing her fingers, she admired those well-polished nails. "No. I don't suppose you would have."

West Country. Quaint. As out of place amongst the sea of London accents as her dress was from this decade. Confirming a very important fact for Sebastian she was certainly not from around here. For the best.

"This doesn't seem like the place for such a nice young lady such as yourself."

Chin resting on the back of her delicate hand. A feline grin spread across her face, as she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Nor the place for well respected Ministry men."

Tension seized Sebastian's shoulders. Unnerved by her perception, his eyes darted across the sea of faces. He'd left the scarlet cloak with the gold badge adorning his lapels in his flat long before he'd made apparated to the bottom of Knockturn Alley. Places like these didn't take too kindly to rozzers scrambling their clientele. Nor would he want it to become common knowledge at the Ministry that he frequented grimy drinking holes on his off hours. He was certain she'd been alone but that prickle of unease had his hand reaching towards his wand.

She caught his arm swiftly, delicate fingers folded up the cuff of his cloak. Ministry insignia branded into the tan leather strap that secured his wand to his forearm.

Chuckling breathily to himself, Sebastian felt the tension ebb as, just as swiftly, she turned down the sleeve. "Half the people here carry their wand tucked up their sleeve. You have a keen eye, to have spotted that mark from halfway across the room, lass. Do you make it a habit of checking if every man who approaches you is an Auror?"

Sharp eyes glinted with mischief. "Only the ones that interest me."

"Must be my lucky day." He leaned in closer, bitter whiskey breath disturbed a loose curl around her ear as he whispered. "Unless there's a reason you have to be on such high alert for authority I should know about?"

"Do I look like the kind of woman who would have much trouble with the law?"

He cast his eyes down, at her unblemished hands. Free of callouses and scar tissue, the tight restrictiveness of her bodice ill-suited for battle, her polite disarming smile - even those eyes, so reminiscent but not quite right. Despising the remorseful pang in his chest. Nothing like her.

"Well if that's the case this," he gestured around the damp crooked hole masquerading as a tavern. "Certainly isn't the place for you."

"Nor you. Unless the requirements for holding such an esteemed post has gone severely downhill and they let swindlers and murderers into their ranks." He almost winced at the sting of the insult she unwittingly delivered.

"Perhaps lurking around in dingey bars with terrible whiskey isn't suited to either of us. Perhaps, upstanding members of society that we are, should go somewhere we can feel more…relaxed."

"And where exactly is there such a place for me?" Most women would have covered that glaring tan line on her finger, under gloved hands or glamour, but she seemed to flaunt it as she ghosted it across his knuckles; an invitation.

Sebastian's grin widened. "I have a few ideas."

"I don't have much time. So you better make every minute count."

***

Sebastian unlocked his front door with a snap of his fingers. Gestured her inside, his hand pressed into the small of her back. She inclined her head towards him, a smirk playing on her lips at the hollow politeness of his gesture. Knowing full well his intention of inviting her back to his flat was far from gentlemanly.

Exaggerated skirts shifted as she stepped inside. Soft lamp lights scattered around his living room sparked to life in welcome illuminating the small living area. Her formal attire looked out of place; more suited for high tea than the sparsely filled space Sebastian inhabited.

Files strewn across the long velvet settee, scattered teacups and candles burned down to the wick littered every available surface. He knew the larder would be just as barren save for some tea bags and a half-empty bottle of gin the department had cobbled together to purchase for his promotion. He didn't even like gin. The presence of female company always seemed to highlight just how every inch of his flat screamed bachelor.

Sebastian shrugged off his cloak, hooking it on the back of the door. Never once taking his eyes off her. Odd little creature that she was. Against the faint moonlight that trickled in from the arched window on the far wall, her face cloaked in darkness, she cast a dramatic silhouette.

Not quite her. No. But her dress despite its bulk could not disguise the dip of her waist, an alluring swell to her chest. With her face masked from view, he felt his drink-fogged mind teeter dangerously on an edge he would not let it wander past.

She'd bent down, and pinched the corner of a piece of parchment he'd discarded the previous night between her thumb and forefinger. Sebastian slipped his wand from the holster. With a flick, the paper pried itself free to rejoin the rest which were shuffling themselves back into their file before shooting across the room into the waiting drawer of his bureau. The gold lock clicked shut, locking them securely away with an audible snap.

Her head whipped around, her chin jutted out in irritation, and her eyes narrowed slightly into a glare. Sebastian shrugged, as he unbuckled the holster on his arm, placing it on the narrow kitchen island. "Classified information. I'm sure you understand."

Sebastian couldn't have nosy witches trawling through his case files. He'd seen plenty of Aurors sacked for lesser sins. And reporters from the Prophet certainly weren't above seduction tactics to get their stories. That knowledge did nothing however to stop the tingle that spread down his spine that the defiant look in her eye ignited in him.

"I suppose." She shrugged, a forced display of indifference. Before proceeding to further inspect his residence. Striding about like she owned the place and Sebastian was merely some troublesome tenant.

The cramped flat he'd started renting in London straight out of Hogwarts could hardly be considered a home. Sebastian never planned to make it one. Or stay for as long as he did. Merely a stepping stone, at the start of his career. Close to the Ministry, so he could collapse after a long day.

Eat. Sleep. Breath. Work.

That desperate desire to prove himself more than what he'd been. Never satisfied with his lot in life. By the grace of Merlin, he'd been given a second chance to make himself a man - his parents, his sister, that he could be proud of.

He had planned to settle down eventually. Fix the decaying bones of his parents' old house on the hill with her by his side. Both were now a faded, hopeless dream. Sebastian's life had rarely gone to plan.

Tracing a finger across the well-worn spines on his overstuffed bookshelf she pondered each title with interest. "Quite the collection you have. Some rather questionable titles you have here for a man of your profession."

"Special Ministry approval. They're charmed to be bound to my place of residence - before you get any ideas. Can never be too prepared in my line of work. Knowledge of magic of a more…delicate nature can be the difference between life and death."

Strictly speaking, this was not a lie. Any Auror worth his salt would have at least half the books in Sebastian's collection on curse-breaking, dark magic and deadly creatures. Admittedly, his robust library wasn't necessary for his career nor was all of it purely academic interest.

Eyewitness accounts of skinwalkers he'd picked up on a short trip to America, liaising with the MACUSA on their rising troll problem. Journals, written in the maddening scrawl of a witch who'd fancied herself a revolutionary scholar. Wanted to test the corruption dark magic had on the soul. Daft bugger used herself to test her theories. Now all that was left of her was crammed into a bachelor's bookcase.

Smallest in number and size, a thin collection of children's stories and a letter correspondence from crackpot conspiracists. He'd been too late to salvage anything that remained of Miriam Fig's research and this pitiful array was all that he'd discovered over the years with any reference to Ancient Magic. A small house fire could destroy what Sebastian could only assume was the largest collated materials on the subject.

It had been foolish to try to love her, but perhaps more still to hunt the vengeful wraith.

"Well read. Good career. Seems you are a rather eligible bachelor-"

Sebastian smiled moving closer towards her. "I'm not bad to look at either."

"Despite your proclivity for skulking around dingey bars. It's unusual to find a man such as yourself…unattached."

"What can I say - I'm married to my work. Not much time for anything else; not many witches would put up with the lifestyle long-term. Never been interested in marriage."

Liar.

She looked up at him through dark lashes, from how those sharp eyes stripped him back until he was raw and exposed - she scented his dishonesty. "Sounds like a lonely life."

"Depends on who you ask."

Sebastian leaned heavily on the shelf above her head, elbow brushing against well-loved spines. His calloused palm slipped around her waist, running up her side. Felt the curved bones of her corset under his thumb. Leaning in closer still, enough that his breath disturbed the loose curls around her temples. Her lips parted, tongue dancing along her bottom lip as she tilted her chin up towards him like a cat basking in a warm breeze.

She didn't waiver. Not a single flicker of hesitation in those sharp, piercing eyes. For a moment, Sebastian pitied the man who intended to marry her. But not enough to stop him from capturing her lips.

Tasting the tang of cheap whiskey in their mingled breath. Not a slither of remorse as her delicate hands found the nape of Sebastian's neck. Used chestnut curls to pull him closer to kiss him more deeply. Their breath was little more than stolen gasps for air and an opportunity for her tongue to seize and slip past parted lips.

Sebastian crowded her further against the bookshelf. Held tighter to the bunched fabric of her skirts, hands fumbling desperately to feel the shape it disguised. Frustrated by the garment, his lips left her mouth. Travelled down to her jaw, her breathing hitched, head tipped back to thunk against the shelf as Sebastian nipped and sucked at the column of her throat. A little too sharply. But she only pressed into him further. Blood and bruises bloomed wild across her skin as his teeth grazed along her heightened pulse.

He knew what it was like to try to ensnare creatures such as this. How they bit when cornered. Fool that he was, he desired to tame them, change their nature; almost as much as he craved to be bitten.

Maybe that was why he held her so firmly in his grasp. Petticoats balled in his fists, as he pressed himself awkwardly against her. Her dainty form didn't quite fit the stocky mould of his own.

Not that anyone witch or woman had since.

Not that she seemed to care. She pulled Sebastian in like he alone was hers to drink from. Like he belonged to her and she would bend and break him to fit her. Some part of him prayed she succeeded. He'd snap every bone in his body, boil down his sinew in the hope that when at last he healed - he would fit another.

Sebastian pressed his mouth into the crook of her shoulder and burrowed his face, inhaling deeply, as he mouthed at her skin. Soft and supple as an over-ripe peach. Desperately, pathetically trying and failing to make himself fit. But the bridge of his nose bumped harshly against her clavicle and his back ached from stooping.

He'd never melted into anyone since her. No matter how many times he tried with countless trysts with all the ways they reminded him of her in their laughs, smiles, and eyes - they were not her.

Pained groan against her shoulder. Cloth ripped as he tore past her outdated petticoats and the silk of her undergarments. Desperate hands kneaded at her bare flesh. Thigh. Hip. The curve of her arse. Every inch of her skin grew hot, flushed under his touch. If Sebastian had been in his right mind not addled, by drink and frustration he would have handed it to her; for such a wellbred lady, she did not startle easily or cringe from his working hands. With a strung-out whine, she simply displaced the torn fabric so Sebastian's knee pressed between her thighs could provide her with more friction.

Sebastian sank to his knees, hooking her thigh around his broad shoulder. Balanced precariously, her back pressed against the stacks and her leg suspended quivering. Heel dug between his shoulder blades as she sought stability. Her limbs were lean…soft. Delicate like a lamb. No coiled muscle battle worn and firm disguised under her skirts.

That did not stop Sebastian from groaning against the sparse hair as he nestled himself between her thighs. Her muscles clenched tighter. Not with apprehension. No. With blinding unhindered desire. Whining breathlessly, as she urged him to fulfil his role, drop any pretence to do what they came here for. This was no budding romance. And there was no time to pretend otherwise.

Sebastian's tongue darted out teasing the tip through her folds. Eagerly seeking out her bundle of nerves to curl his tongue under her hood. Satisfied, a mewl passed her lips to at last have Sebastian where she desired him most. Hips bucked and writhed with every broad stroke and teasing lick against her soaking entrance. Brown tresses tangled harshly in her grip, those neatly filed nails scratching encouragingly against his scalp.

Her taste was unfamiliar on Sebastian's tongue, but he only lapped at her more fervently. Desperate. As if he savoured enough of her desire for him - he could burn away the memories of sweeter nectars.

Bunching her skirt closer to her stomach, Sebastian's view of her was unobstructed. The collar pulled open where she'd made swift work of the buttons of her high neckline; they hung like loosely strung pearls cascading down her chest which heaved with every breath. Breasts dimpled against the restrictive tightly laced corset.

Sebastian's eyes flicked up to meet hers. Not the right shape or hue but that intensity to them. Storm raging across a riptide, Sebastian, vulnerable in their depth. He could drown in them and would do so gladly.

Blood rushed south, and Sebastian groaned low, pained. He sucked on her clit, coaxing more slick to coat his lips and chin. Hoping beyond hope that her eyes locked on his would flutter closed in pleasure. Her mouth was ajar, each drawn-out moan growing louder as she approached her peak. Clever calculating gaze fixed on Sebastian. He knew he was exactly where she wanted him. Prey to her predator. His cock strained and achingly hard because of it.

Her back arched against the stacks, toes curling against the centre of his back, legs shook with the strain to hold herself upright. Sebastian was relentless. He devoured the quivering nub, tongue teasing as he sucked. Her passionate cry was unrestrained, legs threatening to buckle bringing her down like a house of cards as she collapsed over the edge. Aftershock of pleasure rolled over her, he kept a firm grip on her hip as she rested more heavily against him. His desire for her is confusing and just as precarious.

Sebastian unhooked her leg from his shoulder, palms running along the backs of her calves. She was still propped up feebly holding herself against the bookcase. Pads of her fingers clutching pathetically at the shelves with the ball of her heel holding purchase on the floor.

Orgasm ebbing, softening her predatory edge. A smirk played at Sebastian's lips as he looked up at her once polished appearance now dishevelled. Rattling, with a lust-drunk gaze that defiant chin hanging slightly ajar as she greedily gulped down air.

She narrowed her eyes at his smug expression and gathered her composure before slipping her ruined dress from her shoulders letting it puddle at her feet. Nail digging under his chin as she beckoned Sebastian upwards, pulling him in.

It made Sebastian's heart beat wildly against his chest. A caged canary faced with a falcon.

Teeth grazed his bottom lip, tongue seeking his own. Sebastian's clothes fell away easily from his broad frame. His shirt was discarded, followed by breeches which tangled around his ankles as they fumbled towards the settee. Muffled grunts into her mouth every time her palm grazed his cock, hard and throbbing, through his undergarments. Sebastian moved to lie her swiftly across the settee. One hand pressed into the small of her back the other tangled in amongst the pins now falling loose from her hair.

Inexplicably, she moved faster than Sebastian thought she was capable of. Leg hooked around his ankle like a snake pulling him off balance. Backs of his knees connected with the settee as his legs buckled and Sebastian collapsed bodily onto cushions. Rarely with his extensive training did anyone get the jump on him.

Her lips curled as she observed the way his enlarged head twitched against his belly more eagerly. "Now, I think it's my turn." Laces from her corset pulled loose, she let the camisole shift to the floor with it. "-And you looked far too pretty beneath me."

As she straddled his lap, Sebastian spluttered on his groan and the intoxicating sensation of her wet centre against his shaft. Her palms were flat, braced against his chest, nails scratching at the coarse hairs that grew there. Every inch of her soft, naked flesh pressed against him. His hands settled on the curve of her hips, sliding along her flushed skin with hands that seemed too large.

She really was quite pretty. Sebastian just wished the parts that didn't remind him of her made his heart race as much as the ones that did.

She caught his lips, fingers cupped against his jaw, her mouth moving against his. Teeth and tongue. Hot breath came out in short dulcet pants as she greedily tasted the remnants of her arousal on his lips.

Her hand snaked down between them, taking Sebastian's throbbing length in her hand. He hissed, as her thumb smoothed over the leaking slit, aligning him with her entrance. Eyelashes fluttered a satisfied sigh, as she sank down, taking him inside of her. Dainty as she may appear, she appeared to relish the stretch to accommodate his size, almost as much as he did. So tight she gripped his cock, it almost sent him hurtling over the edge.

Barely giving herself time to adjust before she canted her hips. Weight shifting so she could slide up his shaft until only the head of his cock remained before sinking back down onto Sebastian's girth more demandingly. Needy grunts reverberated in Sebastian's chest as he matched her frantic desperate pace. Forehead braced on her chest as he bucked his hips into her tight core. Pebbled nipple caught between his lips, her head thrown back in a wanton moan as Sebastian ever so gently grazed the peak with his teeth.

Sebastian closed his eyes. Whiskey fog coupled with the godly feel of her clenched around him, he relaxed into her eager pace. Inhibitions lowered, his mind straying to the well-worn path he rarely let himself tread.

Face striking contorted in ecstasy; a savage beauty like lightning striking the ocean. Mallowsweet scent; that soothed like a botanist's herbal balm. How perfectly her body wrapped around his own as if by design. Sebastian's teeth pressed hard against his tongue as her name danced upon it. With his eyes closed, hands held back - that shameful part of him could pretend it was her.

"Sebastian," the witch moaned. He didn't remember giving her his name. Nor asking hers. The voice he heard was not that polite West Country lilt but one conjured from Hades - his divine pleasure and punishment.

Can't let it be her.

Sebastian forced his eyes open, to look at the woman from the bar. Her neat hair, narrow shoulders and thin top lip. Only to find the lines separating fantasy from reality blurred and contorted. His stomach lurched.

Maybe he'd had more to drink than he thought.

Whiskey had crowded and garbled his senses as well as his inhibitions. Sebastian's vision was merely blurred. She looked like her. Not just in her eyes but the sloping curve of her neck, the arch of her nose, her hair longer and tangling against the neat pins that had once held it back.

It's all the whiskey.

If he could bring himself to look away from her face for even one moment he would see the room spinning. But he couldn't look away.

Those keen eyes bore into him, locked with his own and he swore they changed colour. The fire that had been smouldering within sparked, roaring, melting her irises into that familiar hue.

He didn't just have to squeeze his eyes shut to see her and pretend it was her impossibly tight walls clenching around him with every thrust.

There she was.

"You," Sebastian spluttered, disbelief tight in his chest. "No. No- It can't be you. This can't be happening." Who cares if he sounded mad? His mind was spiralled and scrambled, desperate to bring back the visage of the woman from the bar and right himself. This face; her face didn't waver. She rolled her hips once more, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she cast her gaze down. Over her breasts and the faded scar that curled under the left from the crucio, he'd administered. Firm muscles of her legs earned from years of battle. Calloused hands of someone who knew little of comfort. All were once again her own.

Sebastian's world was spiralling, tipping on its axis. Tension in every muscle in his body. Still as beautiful as she was in his nightmares, even the ones where she tore out his heart. She clicked her tongue, amused then smiled. So wide, it bore too many teeth.

Fucking exquisite. Sebastian despised the way his heart faltered in his chest.

"Pity. I guess the kneazle's out of the bag," she purred, teeth raking sharp across his earlobe. So sharp it shocked his spiral back into sickening clarity like ice in his veins.

Like a shot, Sebastian wrapped his hand hard around her throat forcing her face away from him. Thumb pressed harshly into the corner of her jaw with his iron grip on her windpipe. Any sane woman would tremble to have his large hand like a vice around her throat in anger. Cower, under the venom in his eyes.

But she was far from sane; perhaps never had been. She gasped involuntarily choking around where his fingers so deeply pressed into her flesh, but the smile on her lips never faltered despite how he could feel the hammer of her blood against his fingertips.

"You should know I don't share," she wheezed. It wasn't the polite West Country drawl she'd adopted at the bar - but that feminine purr he knew far too well. Velvety, like a caress that sent shivers down his spine; and if it were possible simultaneously made his blood run cold and his cock impossibly stiffer where it was sheathed deep within her. She whimpered approvingly, hot breath ghosting his freckled cheeks.

"Fuck- how did you-" Choking on his groan as she expertly rolled her hips, grinding on his cock. Evil, manipulative witch. She knew exactly how to turn practically every rational thought in Sebastian's brain to smoke.

"Polyjuice. She was pretty don't you think? You seemed to like fucking her while it lasted. Maybe not as much as that curvy redhead from a few months ago...I had bruises on my thighs for weeks."

Somewhere deep in his psyche, Sebastian knew he should push her off. Bind her. Gag her. Put as much distance between himself and her and the mixed-up way she made him feel. Preferably in a cell in the deepest part of Azkaban the Ministry had long ago allocated for her when they signed the warrant for her arrest. At that moment, over the cacophony screaming through his head the only coherent thought was how to keep her desperately bouncing on his cock.

"I thought it was my turn to have some unsanctioned fun."

No - rose, bubbled and died in his throat. Caught somewhere amongst the shameful rasping groan as she began to rhythmically rock her hips. Never quite releasing her entirely, but Sebastian's grip on her throat loosened as his muscles slackened in shameful pleasure.

Using every bit of her newfound leash, she leaned forward to kiss him. Sin, like ambrosia on his tongue. Lips slotted against him, they moved in perfect harmony to a melody he wished had never been composed on his bones.

She wrapped around him as if the wild thing that she had always been had sprouted from the earth, and curled her tendrils around him. Or rather, like a constant wave beating against him she'd worn his surface. It was a marvel he hadn't crumbled into her sooner.

"You're mine you know," she cooed, her breath hot against his ear.

"I am not," Sebastian spat. But try as he might to deny it, curse her until his final breath - his words rang hollow. And he loathes himself all the more for it. She was not his any longer, but something else. Twisted by cruelty and power that simply wore the face of the woman he once loved.

Shame stirred in his gut; desire coursed through his blood.

"Denying it doesn't make it any less true. You know me blind. When my face is not my own. Fate has bound us, Sebastian. Just as I would know you in any life."

Sebastian gritted his teeth, cheek pressed against her sternum. Fingers digging into her shoulder blades, as he pounded his cock up into her harder, faster. If he was stronger, he would not be prey to her illicit designs for him - but he was not. She keened, greedy to take all he could give her. Consume him entirely if she could. Sebastian closed his eyes and cursed himself for being weak.

Vision narrowing, Sebastian groaned, low and pitiful into the curve of her neck. Ashamed of what he knew was coming. "I hate you," he cursed. Repeated it like a mantra, his lips against her sweat-salted skin as if he could transcribe the words onto her flesh.

Deep plunges into her warmth growing erratic as Sebastian's coil tightens. Her body clenched, tightening around him, with every thrust teased against her sweet spot coaxing more slick onto his cock. His punishing words merely rolled off her curves like water off a duck's back.

"S-Sebastian," her hoarse cry pierced through his resolve. Sebastian bit into her neck trying and failing to hold back from the precipice of the inevitable. Unwilling to surrender any more of himself to her. It only served to send her hurtling over the cliff. His cock buried deep inside of her, her head thrown back, cunt quivering as her climax broke. Orgasm, wracked through her in waves. Engulfing Sebastian's every sense.

Fire and Brimstone. Gentle breezes and mallowsweet.

Beauty. Terror.

Rhythm faltering, Sebastian's hips spluttered as that mounting coil finally snapped. Her name on his lips, her scent on his skin. Everything that remained of Sebastian Sallow was consumed entirely by her. He came hard - with a broken pathetic whine that forced itself from his body as he spilt inside of her.

It was no little death - it was all-consuming. A part of him would never come back from. Another piece of his soul surrendered along with what was left of his dignity.

Sebastian fought for breath. Unforgiving waters filled his chest, ice seized his joints, heart thundered as dark edges clouded his vision, threatening to drown out the light and sound. Choking on his saliva he wheezed, shoulders heaved forward violently. Fresh tears pricked in his eyes.

She shushed his soothingly, thumb tracing idle patterns on his skin with a sickening gentleness that curdled his stomach. He whined pathetically against her chest but she only gripped him harder. Fingers carded through his hair as she hummed a sweet tune peppering kisses to the crown of his chestnut hair.

Perhaps, in another life, he had the strength to overcome the guilt and sickness now seizing his bones. In another, perhaps there was no deception to be ashamed of.

He wasn't sure how long they sat entwined, soft cock still inside her, his spend leaking onto his thighs matting in the hair. When at last Sebastian's violent sobbing eased he felt the enchantment stretch across his body, taunt ropes strapped his arms to his sides, and bound his ankles. A chaste kiss against his temple as she slid from his lap.

Sebastian watched her and tried to pretend for a second, that he was not bound, she was not mad and hips swaying hypnotically as she pranced naked around their flat as she did every Sunday evening. Not his. Theirs. Another life, unstained by dark magic where she was still his.

Fussing with her dress, eyebrows pinched together, frowning as she examined the shredded yellow gown. She sighed, holding the unlaced corset over her breasts, gathering up the remnants to haul them to the kitchen island. She found his wand, with its emerald and onyx handle, the one that had belonged to his paternal great-grandfather. Back and forth she toyed with it in her hands.

"Put that down." A feeble attempt at a threat from a man bound, naked, cheeks streaked with stale tears. Tight from salt they felt stretched like a drum.

"You ruined my dress," she pouted. "The least you can do is help me fix it."

Traitorously, Sebastian's wand didn't so much as shudder in retaliation. It obeyed her easily, stitching up the splintered seams, her corset tightened, cinching at her waist. Her hairpins reorganised themselves. She looked almost like her old self, the girl she'd been at school, with a spark of fire in her eyes that mirrored his own.

"Before you go running off to the next little witch who bats her eyelashes at you, Bash. Try to remember - I don't share." She placed his wand back on the counter and slipped a canteen from her purse. She drank deeply. Gagging, hand smacking into her chest to keep down whatever foul liquid it contained.

If Sebastian had still been drunk the way her face bubbled like stew on a boil would have turned his stomach. Her lips thinned, her hair shrunk back into her scalp, her scars paled and her muscles softened. The woman from the Pub returned, exactly as he'd met her. It did nothing to quell the sickness churning in his gut.

"Au revoir mon amour." She was gone as quickly as she came, but her presence lingered like a gaping, festering wound.

Sebastian sat in the dark. Hatred for her that he cultivated in public and the private yearning he tended to as it grew like persistent weeds in his garden he tended had given way to emptiness. A void that for a time he was content to let swallow him whole as he stared at the cracks in his floor. Mourning the woman he'd loved. But most he mourned for himself, for all she took from him.

Shadows inched across the floor as dawn eventually broke. Long after the bindings had dissolved. Sebastian hadn't slept or moved for hours and his joints stiff, groaned as he got to his feet. He trudged to his bathroom and ran the water until it was scalding. Intent on scrubbing his skin raw. As if she could un-touch him.

#Please mind the tags #dark fic #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x f!mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic #non con

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dhorrl · 8 months ago

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NSFW Alphabet-Eijiro Kirishima

Character Aged Up, Minors Do Not Interact. Thank you :)

A = Aftercare

Out of all the men in MHA, this man would excel in providing aftercare. He is full of energy and will do whatever you need - water, snacks, towels; he's got it covered. When you feel ready to move, he'll pick you up effortlessly (your size doesn't matter to him) and setting you on the toilet, (no UTIs on his watch). While you take care of that, he'll get the shower ready for you and assist with washing your hair and scrubbing your body. But let's be honest, he might enjoy it a little too much. Once you're back in bed and snuggled up in his arms, he'll most likely fall asleep quickly from all the activity. You'll feel his gentle hand resting on your stomach or breast as he drifts off into peaceful slumber.

B = Body Part

He takes great pride in his well-defined chest and loves when you caress it or follow its lines with your fingers. His stomach, while not as chiseled, is also a source of pride for him. Shower him with compliments on his body, and he'll be ecstatic; after all, who doesn't love receiving praise? He has learned over time how to properly fuel his body and work out to fully utilize his Quirk, resulting in a slightly softer tummy (think competitive strongmen) that comes from consuming large amounts of food to build muscle. But his focus now isn't on keeping a low body fat percentage; rather, it's on maintaining the physique that you love so much.

As for his partner, he adores thighs and ass, and leaving his little shark teeth marks on them (marking kink, we’ll get there). In fact, he may even have a preference for a little extra cushion (although that could just be wishful thinking). He could spend all day kissing and touching their thighs and wouldn't tire of it. During sex, his lips are attached to your ankles and calves too, nibbling and kissing them while your legs are draped over his shoulders.

C = Cum

Eijiro's cum has a slightly thinner consistency than average, but that's because he produces a lot of it. Luckily though, it doesn't taste bad since he maintains a healthy diet despite his bulking efforts. Swallowing it down and licking it off your fingers and lips is guaranteed to drive him wild. His ultimate preference is to ejaculate inside of you (he has a breeding kink, if you couldn't tell), but he will happily oblige if you ask him to pull out. If not inside, his second choice would be your backside and third would be your breasts.

D = Dirty Secret

I came across a similar headcanon and it just felt so accurate. When he was younger, there was an incident where he accidentally activated his Quirk while masturbating and ended up injuring himself. Ever since then, he's been terrified of touching himself. However, when he couldn't handle the pent-up tension any longer, he purchased a high-quality pocket pussy. He would be mortified if anyone ever found out about it.

E = Experience

Eijiro is not one for casual hookups and one night stands. He gets emotionally invested and doesn’t want to take advantage of someone else. In the past, he has only had 2-3 partners, all in committed relationships. However, this doesn't mean he lacks confidence in his abilities; in fact, his confidence is a big part of how he approaches relationships.

F = Favorite Position

Eijiro is a hopeless romantic, and he needs to see your beautiful face while making love. He doesn't mind taking the lead in any position, but he especially enjoys missionary because it allows you to lay back and relax like the princess you are. However, he also adores cowgirl, with your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands caress your skin. Although he knows he may be too large for you at first, he'll take slow and gentle thrusts while watching the expressions on your face. Eventually, he will sit up and kiss your cheeks and nose before helping you ride him fully.

G = Goofy

This man is always smiling and laughing, a big ball of positive energy. He takes pleasure in making you laugh and seeing the joy in your eyes. And why should sex be serious all the time? In my experience, it's the perfect time to let go and have a good laugh. Oh, some weird sex noises? He'll join in with childish giggles. Accidentally falling while trying to climb on top? He'll tickle your sides and remind you how lucky he feels to have you as his best friend and partner.

H = Hair

Firstly, we all know the carpet and drapes don't match. This leads me to think that he prefers a clean-shaven look. He is quite diligent in keeping it all off, so you'll rarely catch him with any hair. While maintaining an image of masculinity is important to him, he also values being well-groomed. As he ages and becomes less concerned with other's opinions, he may allow some of his roots to grow back, possibly even letting a bit of his happy trail reappear (yum).

I = Intimacy

Eijiro is incredibly passionate and intimate, both in and out of the bedroom. He doesn't waste any time with you; his intense eye contact and tender kisses begin before you even reach the bed. His lips are always on yours, leaving little room for you to catch your breath. During the sex itself, he finds ways to stay connected, often holding your hand tightly as he thrusts. His hands will caress every curve of your body, and his chest will press against yours, a physical reminder that he is yours and you are his. With every fiber of his being, he wants you to know that he is devoted to you.

J = Jack Off

From the onset of puberty, this man's body was overflowing with testosterone. And so, like most teenagers, he would frequently take care of his needs with masturbation. However, as said above, after accidentally injuring himself while using his hand, he opted for a more discreet option - a pocket pussy that he kept hidden from view. Once he experienced actual sex for the first time, his need for masturbation diminished. But as he well knew, there is only so much you could handle of his endless drive, or he’d sometimes have to be away for missions, so he still kept a little toy just for those moments. His preferred position is lying down with his upper body propped up against the headboard, allowing him to watch and pleasure himself at the same time.

K = Kink

We might be here a while. Eijiro is a lot kinkier than I think some people believe.

Praise and Body Worship. Both ways. Tell him how good he’s fucking you, trace his muscles, tell him that he’s gorgeous and an amazing hero, and he will take you like it’s his last day on Earth. He loves complimenting each and every part of your body during sex, and he’ll definitely make a few comments on how well you’re taking him.

Primal Play. Eijiro may not even know the label, but he is definitely into primal kink. It's about embracing natural instincts rather than focusing on specific sexual acts or mutual pleasure. The resulting play can be playful or intense. He enjoys a bit of roughhousing and wrestling, as if he is trying to capture his prey. You can expect to hear growls and feel sharp bites from Eijiro during these moments.

Breeding. Good lord does Eijiro has a massive breeding kink. However, he is also respectful of consent, so if you are not comfortable with him cumming inside you, he won't pressure or question you. But if you give him permission, be prepared to be filled to the brim. It's doubtful even birth control could prevent pregnancy in that situation. Proceed with caution.

Marking. Eijiro loves this going both ways. Not only does he enjoy the sight of hickeys, bites, and handprints that show your desire for him, but he also wants you to leave marks on him. He craves the feeling of your nails scratching his back until it turns red or having big purple hickeys on his chest that make it clear to everyone that the Pro Hero Red Riot is not available.

L = Location

Eijiro's thoughts and actions may not always align with each other. He has a dirty mind, but he also has a respectful disposition. While he may fantasize about taking you in various public places like the back of a car, an alley behind the agency, or even on top of Katsuki's desk, he will ultimately prioritize privacy by sticking to your home for those moments. However, it's safe to say that every surface of your house has had your ass on it.

M = Motivation

Do you exist? Then he's ready to go. The most difficult part is keeping his hands off you, instead of on you. Trying to get dressed for work, standing in just a towel as you search for your clothes? He'll pull the towel and you onto the bed, his face already buried between your thighs. If you bend over to pick up something you dropped on the floor, he'll push you all the way down and tug at your shorts so he can rub his fat cock against you. He's eager and willing to act on his desires without hesitation.

N = No

Eijiro is always up for some rough play, whether it's marking, spanking, or biting. But he would never intentionally harm you to the point of drawing blood or causing permanent damage. He may enjoy a bit of pain and dominance, but he loves you too much to take any risks that could jeopardize your well-being.

O = Oral

This man is a completely munch. He craves being nestled between yours thighs, not just for pleasuring your pussy, but lapping his tongue into your ass. As he focuses on the task at hand, his eyes glisten beneath heavy lids, his mouth agape as he gazes into your soul, and a euphoric moan escapes his lips. He’s doing this for his pleasure.

P = Pace

Just like with everything else, Eijiro is open-minded and ready to go along with whatever you want. Whether it's a slow and sensual experience or a fast and rough one, he's all in. If you choose the latter, just be prepared to hang on tight because he'll make sure you can't walk the next day.

Q = Quickie

Eijiro has a high sex drive and can get quite desperate for you, leading to spontaneous quickies. While he prefers longer, drawn-out sessions, if you show up to his office in the little sundress he loves, be prepared for a steamy afternoon snack bent over his desk.

R = Risk

He's not one to take risks when it comes to sexual activity; his main concern is always keeping you safe and avoiding any potential compromising situations with others. However, if you push him for something more adventurous, he finds it difficult to refuse you. Still, he remains vigilant and cautious in his instincts.

S = Stamina

He’s the sturdy hero, remember? Eijiro has stamina for DAYS. He could easily keep both of you going for at least five rounds a night, but he is always mindful of his partner's limits and won't push them too far. His sessions can last for hours, and you might likely tap out before he’s close to being done. However, if you let him fully release his sexual energy on you, just be prepared to not be able to walk the next day.

T = Toy

As we discussed, he used a pocket pussy to protect his cock before he gained full control over his Quirk. However, he never really considered or explored other types of sex toys. He is open to the idea and would never feel offended or emasculated if you suggested using them. But with all the pleasure he can provide, you probably won't feel the need for anything more than perhaps a vibrator and some light restraints for some playful bondage activities.

U = Unfair

He likes the idea of teasing you, but in reality, he's just too much of a simp with you. The moment you beg for him to give in to you, he folding like a lawn chair. However, when the tables are turned and you tease him, he has no problem with it and will let you edge him long and hard for as long as you want.

V = Volume

Eijiro is definitely a grunter and a whimper-er. He get so lost in your gummy wet cunt he completely loses himself to where he doesn't even care anymore what sounds slip through his lips. At first, he tried to suppress them, but soon realized that these noises only made you even more wet and needy and he never held back again.

W = Wild Card

I wouldn’t say its wild, but when it comes to sex, Eijiro is always a yes man for you. He wants nothing more than to please you and make all your fantasies come true. He’ll happily fulfill any requests or desires you have, no matter how kinky or unconventional they may be. As long as it makes you happy, he’s all for it.

X = X-Ray

This man possesses a beast of a hog, there's no doubt about it. It's not just exceptionally long, but also impressively thick. You couldn't even attempt to wrap your fingers around it; there would be no chance of them touching. And when he's aroused, you can see a visible swirl of veins, and it stands straight up, hard as rock, and a nice heavy set of breeder balls.

Y = Yearning

When he was younger, his sex drive was through the roof, but as he aged, it became more controlled. Despite that, his testosterone levels are still high, and he could easily go multiple times a day. However, he's never one to pressure or push you, and is content with whatever level of intimacy you're comfortable with. As mentioned before, he has a little "friend" to satisfy his needs when feeling tense.

Z = ZZZ

As I mentioned earlier, he has a lot of energy at the start, which he channels into taking care of you and making sure you are comfortable and ready for bed. However, once that burst of energy wears off, he will want to cuddle with you before crashing hard and fast.

#bnha eijiro kirishima #mha eijirou #eijiro kirishima #kirishima smut #kirishima headcanon #eijiro headcanons #aged up characters #my hero academia

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pompettepink · 1 year ago

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Type of men NOT to date

Dating in the 2020's is so rough! It feels like so many people are just looking for hookups and too many women are getting forced into "situationships" in the hopes that "more" will come out of it, but "more" never happens. Ladies, save yourselves the heartache and leave these type of low level men ALONE

A man who asks "what you bring to the table"

He is thinking transactionally. He wants to know beforehand what act of service he can expect from you in the future. Whatever comes out of your mouth will be his checklist in the relationship and he WILL bring it up when you "fail to meet expectations".

A man who disrupts your peace

A man who is prone to fits of rage and refuses to seek help will take you down with him. He will actively work to destroy your self worth and possessions. Any man coming into your life MUST be giving you peace that is BETTER than the peace you find within yourself.

A man with low quality friends

There's a very high chance that if a man is in his mid to late 20s and is still friends with his highschool buddies they are actively holding him back. There needs to be far more substance in a male friendship than bonding over a band one time in a 10th grade science class. Having old time friends is amazing, but everyone in the friend group should be maturing at the same pace and having adult conversations and not just sharing their girlfriends nudes with the homies in the groupchat

A man who listens to Bro Podcasters

Self explanatory. There should be NO reason that a man sees value in anything a violent misogynist has to say. It is NOT NORMAL for a man to take lifestyle advice from broken men who are NOT living the lifestyle they're advocating for (monogamous long term relationship with the intention of marriage and providing for their wife and kids). Unless he is compiling information to loudly denounce those views and see those podcasters as an enemy of men, you have no business dating someone like that

A man who idolizes 50/50 relationships

Expecting your partner to go 50/50 with everything and anything is insecure and immature. In reality you can't ALWAYS split the bills. Sometimes things come up. Like card only payments, cash only payments, misplaced wallet, dead phone, payment deadline, accidents etc etc. If he expects every instance involving money to be split into two equal bills he WILL be resentful towards you if you fail to deliver. He should also be more than happy to spoil you when he can and pay in full

A man who struggles building relationships with women

You aren't going to be any different just because he's fucking you. And this isn't about a struggle that results from trauma (abusive mom). This is about ANY woman in his life. If he can't connect with his sisters and can't "really" explain "why", or if he's never had a female friend, that's a red flag. It's most likely that he can't build relationships with women who he isn't sexually attracted to, making him more likely to misconstrued any interaction with a pretty woman as grounds to cheat

An unkempt man

He doesn't need to be the world's best dresser, but he MUST care about his appearance. You two will be seen together constantly and in social settings others will view you as a single unit. You are doing a disservice to yourself by being with a man who has a hands-off attitude with the way he presents himself and always choices to go out with wrinkled stained clothes, dirty hair, a smelly outfit, and a wardrobe full of holes and filth

A man who moves too fast

Why is this man trying to get you into bed yet he doesn't even know your last name? Casual flings are totally fine and super appropriate for any adult to be a part of. But if you're looking to seriously date you HAVE to be picky. Even if your connection is magnetic off the bat restraint should be shown until the commitment is there. If you tell him you only want to have sex with a committed man and he gets mad, pressures you, or asks you to be official on the spot and then have sex afterwards, he just wants to orgasm, nothing more

A man who's all talk and no action

If a man talks about how close he feels to you, but doesn't try to commit, he's keeping you away from love. If a man romantically messages you everyday, but doesn't take you on a date, he's a pen pal. If he's always talking about going for a big promotion, but doesn't put in the work the position requires, he's just a job holder. Actions speak louder than words and if he wanted to, he would

A man who struggles with handling you

Far too many men couple up with talented, sexy, smart, extrovert women, then try to change them when they become official because they can't keep up with her. If she was a sexy dresser BEFORE you started dating, you should expect the same WHILE you're dating. If she was always having deeply intellectual conversations BEFORE you started dating, you should expect the same WHILE you're dating. If she had a large group of friends that she loved hanging out with BEFORE you started dating, you should expect the same WHILE you're dating. If he can't keep up with you then he shouldn't take up space in your circle

A man who is incompetent with chores

Need I say more? Chores aren't rocket science. If he can't cook a meal from start to finish you'll be forced to be his personal chef. If he can't do a load of laundry you'll be forced to be his laundromat. If he doesn't know how to sweep, mop, or vacuum you'll be forced to be his maid. Never choose to be a servant when well rounded men exist in the dating pool

A man who doesn't boast about you

He should be proud to have you as his partner. Everyone in his life should know that you two are dating. He should want to walk behind you and open doors for you so that everyone can see you before they see him. He should always want to hold your hand and feel disgusted when other people hit on him. If he says he "lives a private life" and doesn't want to post you on his social media or be seen kissing you in public it's because he doesn't want his wife and other girlfriend to catch him cheating

Never let anyone convince you that it's impossible to find a man of quality because "your standards are too high". You're the prize and for your sake you should never expect the bare minimum for love

#coquette #pompettepink #soft girl #lover girl #dollette #lifestyle #lovecore #dating #dating advice #lux

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kokoch4n3l · 7 months ago

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˗ˏˋ ve kamleya ࿐ྂ "if you want to do something, go fall in love. fulfill your stubborn wish for once"

summary: in which during a deal with overseas businessmen, bonten finds out about your shitty ex from high school

pairing(s): slight bonten x desi!oc, implied mikey x desi!oc

notes: oc is punjabi cuz I said so and this is also kind of a self-insert so... title from my fav hindi song ve kamleya, the video has eng subs btw. dividers by cafekitsune

warnings: dark content 18+, canon typical violence, drug-related business(opium), drug trafficking, slight misogyny, implied/referenced ptsd, past abusive relationship, mean!manjiro, slight insensitivity, blood and gore, implied torture, implied murder, suggestive themes

word count: 3770

The smoky haze of the dimly lit room hung heavy, casting shadows that danced across the faces of the assembled men. Sano Manjiro, the imposing leader of the Bonten gang, sat at the head of the table, his steely gaze surveying the room with a mixture of authority and calm. Around him sat his trusted lieutenants, each one a force to be reckoned with in their own right. The only woman among them, commanded the attention of the room as she rose to address their guests once again after hours of debate. After all, Sano Manjiro trusted no one else to get this deal done. “I understand the… demand, for opium up in the north of India but you should also know we aren’t lowering our price either” She says in English, tone gentle yet somehow firm at the same time

Her words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the strength of their position in the negotiations. The guests shifted uncomfortably, keenly aware of the delicate balance of power at play. "We are prepared to meet your needs," she continued in the same language, her gaze steady. "But it must be on terms that are mutually beneficial."

One man clears his throat and speaks up finally. “You must understand Miss, we have no deficiency of suppliers, especially for opium,” The man says in English with a slight accent behind it as he casually adjusts his gold rings “The stuff from Japan is a lot higher in quality which is why we’re here doing this deal anyway. But we—”

“Because it is a lot higher in quality we cannot lower our price” She interjects with a calm smile “You know, labour costs and all”

The man's expression tightened, his gaze flickering between her and Sano Manjiro as if weighing his options. Behind him, his companions exchanged cautious glances, sensing the tension in the air. "We understand your position," the man replied finally, his tone conceding to the reality of the situation. "But surely there's room for negotiation."

Her smile remained fixed, though her eyes betrayed no hint of compromise. "Of course, negotiations are always possible," she conceded her voice like velvet over steel. "But we must be clear on one thing: our price reflects not just the quality of our product, but the risks we undertake to supply it."

Akashi Takeomi, silent until now, leaned forward slightly. "Our operations are not without their challenges," he added, his voice low back in the same language, his accent a lot thicker than hers "But for the right partners, we are willing to mitigate those risks."

The men turn to each other and start conversing in another language and at the same time, she quietly translates to Takeomi exactly what they’re saying back in Japanese. She eyes Manjiro who’s standing in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the meeting room. It looked like he was zoned out, staring at the skyline of Tokyo but she and the rest of Bonten knew better than to think that. He was listening alright, even when it didn’t look like he was. The rest were just leaning back in their chairs, bored from the constant debate. “Say, Miss…” One of the men, probably the youngest, says in English with a prominent American accent “I hear you’re from India too. What state?”

She raises her brow at the question but responds anyway. “Punjab”

The other men seem to get excited at her answer. Of course, they would. After all, what language were they speaking this entire time to each other? “Really? I knew I recognized that nose from somewhere” One man switches to Punjabi when addressing her “Women from the north are known for being beautiful. I should have known you were from there”

His change of tone catches Manjiro’s attention and he finally, since the beginning of this meeting, turns to look at the businessmen. He obviously didn’t understand what they said but his instincts were something even the executives were afraid of so she won’t doubt that he had gotten the gist of what had been said. She shifts in her seat, Takeomi and the rest of Bonten looking at her curiously. “As much as I appreciate the flattery, we still aren’t lowering our price” She replies calmly in English, knowing replying back in Punjabi would no doubt make Manjiro aggravated as he liked to know what she was saying at all times

The businessmen exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Behind them, Sano Manjiro remained silent, his gaze now fixed on her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She knew that he was listening, that every word spoken in his presence was carefully scrutinized for any hint of deception or weakness. The youngest of the group seemed unfazed by her response, pressing on with his attempts at charm. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, an American accent thick even when speaking in Punjabi, with arrogance. "Surely we can come to some sort of arrangement."

Her smile tightened, a glimmer of steel beneath her gentle facade. "I'm afraid not," she replied in English, her tone cool and final. "Our price is non-negotiable."

The tension in the room was palpable, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken threats. It’s just then the door of the meeting room opens revealing a new face. “Sorry I’m late, traffic in Tokyo is—”

Manjiro waves the newcomer off. He was obviously with the other businessmen. The other executives are annoyed as hell with the lateness, after all the meeting had been going on for hours already, but don’t mention it as they’re tired. But that’s when Manjiro notices his only female executive has gone still. She’s frozen which is extremely uncharacteristic of her and it worries him. So he does the first thing that comes to mind. “How about we take a break.” He says, voice low and everyone knows it’s not an offer but a command

Manjiro headed for the door of the meeting room and his executives followed behind, Takeomi having to literally drag her to stand at one point. They’re in the elevator. Manjiro eyes her as she removes her red-bottomed heels from her feet, sighing in relief. The elevator is going up to the top floor. “Any weaknesses so far?” Kakucho asks, his voice breaking the silence

“Punctuality apparently” Ran mutters in annoyance

They all look toward her, wondering what she had to say but instead, she’s silent, holding her heels in one hand, leaning against the elevator wall looking very out of breath. Rindo snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Dude” he says

“Hm?” she looks up at him, uncharacteristically dazed

Usually, she would have snapped at him, kicked Rindo in the shin or threatened to stab him with her heels but no, she didn’t. It was… concerning. Her uncharacteristic behaviour caught everyone’s attention. She isn’t usually like this— quiet, dazed and unconfident. No one is sure what to say, not even Kakucho who was Bonten’s collective impulse control and unlicenced and unpaid therapist. The elevator reaches the top floor and they file out of the elevator, into the private lounge. They watch in silence as she sits on the long circular-shaped couch, her heels dropped carelessly to the floor as she puts her hair up, revealing the hanafuda full moon tattoo on the back of her neck— on the same location as Manjiro has his. Manjiro takes a seat next to her and the rest sit on the couch too, staring. She looks at them, narrowing her eyes a bit. “What?”

“We should be asking you that” Mochi says as he lights himself a cigarette

Her gaze lingered on each member of Bonten in turn, her expression inscrutable, as if weighing her words carefully before speaking. The tension in the room tightened like a taut wire, anticipation thrumming through the air. "I'm fine," she finally replied, her tone clipped, though the strain in her voice was evident to those who knew her well. "Too many languages just making my head hurt"

The response did little to ease the unease that had settled over the group like a heavy fog. They had seen her weather countless storms with unyielding resolve, her strength a pillar upon which they had come to rely. But now, faced with her uncharacteristic vulnerability, they found themselves at a loss for how to proceed. Manjiro studied her carefully, his keen eyes searching for any sign of deception or weakness. He knew her better than anyone and understood the walls she erected to shield herself from the world. But beneath the facade of stoicism, he sensed a flicker of genuine concern, a vulnerability she had never shown before. “Nah uh,” Sanzu says rolling his eyes “You started being all weird when the motherfucker who doesn’t know how to be on time showed up”

She shifts uncomfortably. It seems Sanzu’s observation was a hit. Her discomfort was palpable, her usual confidence shaken by the blunt observation. She shifted in her seat, a flicker of uncertainty betraying her stoic facade. The others watched her closely, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity, unsure of how to proceed. Sanzu's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the tension that had simmered beneath the surface since the newcomer's arrival. She felt the weight of their expectations bearing down on her, the pressure to maintain her composure in the face of mounting scrutiny. "I..." She began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the right words.

She couldn’t find an excuse. But even as she stayed silent, she could feel the disapproving stares of her companions, their silent judgment weighing heavily upon her. Manjiro, ever the astute leader, sensed her distress and moved to intervene. "Enough," he declared, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "This conversation is over."

His authoritative tone brooked no argument, and the others fell silent, their eyes darting between her and their leader. “Go back to the meeting the rest of you”

Rest of you meaning, everyone leave and Manjiro and her stay. Without a word, the others rose from their seats, casting one last glance at her before filing out of the room. As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence descended, leaving only Manjiro and her alone in the private lounge. Manjiro looks at her, black eyes a bottomless pit of nothing. “What’s wrong?” He asks

There was no room for reflecting on his question. Manjiro was direct and needed answers as to why his best negotiator had suddenly frozen up in the midst of a deal. “You know him” It wasn’t a question this time but an observation

Manjiro understood the intricacies of their world better than anyone, and he knew the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of even the most seemingly innocuous interactions. The newcomer's presence had disrupted the delicate balance of power, setting off alarm bells in her mind that she couldn't ignore. “I um… I…” She isn’t able to get her words out

He gives her a look. “Tell me” It’s a command

She shifts uncomfortably. She fiddles with her white gold rings, they glimmer under the artificial lighting. “That’s my ex…”

Manjiro raises a brow. Her admission hung heavy in the air, the weight of her revelation settling like a leaden cloak upon them both. Manjiro's expression remained unreadable, though a flicker of concern danced in the depths of his obsidian eyes. "Your ex…" he repeated, his voice betraying no emotion.

She nodded, her throat constricting with the weight of unspoken memories and unresolved emotions. She had hoped to keep her past firmly buried in the depths of her mind, but now, confronted with Manjiro's unwavering gaze, she found herself unable to hide the truth any longer. "He... he wasn't supposed to be here," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought I could handle it, but..."

Her words trailed off, lost in the suffocating silence that enveloped them. She could feel the weight of Manjiro's scrutiny bearing down upon her, his gaze penetrating as he searched for some semblance of understanding in her haunted eyes. “And what did he do for my best negotiator to react like a psychiatric patient just at the sight of him?”

She shifts again but this time he holds her thigh to stop her from moving. There was no getting out of this conversation. Manjiro always got what he wanted and right now he wanted answers. “I… I dated him in high school”

It’s been years. She knows Manjiro is gonna belittle her for being this way over something that ended years ago but… She spills. She tries her best to tell him vaguely what happened— trying to be as vague as possible but Manjiro just keeps asking for more details. He wanted to know everything and once he was satisfied he pulled out his phone and typed something then threw it carelessly on the table. “Is that why you don’t date or sleep around like the others do?” He asks bluntly “Because of what he did?”

Manjiro looked angry. It was odd seeing an actual emotion in his eyes for once even if it was anger. She gulps. Oh man did she hate her stupid ex right now. It had been years since they broke up or well, since she forced the break up because he refused to let her leave. That stupid asshole traumatized her so badly that now even though she was an executive for Japan’s most ruthless and dangerous gang, he made her want to throw up from fear. “I’m sorry—”

“Shut up” Manjiro says lowly but she keeps going

“No, it was extremely unprofessional and I shouldn’t let my personal feelings come in the middle of work—”

He cuts her off again, grabbing her face and squeezing her cheeks together. Her lips jut out a bit from the action. The tips of Manjiro’s fingers dig into her cheeks and her skin warms under his touch, turning the most endearing shade of pink he’s ever seen. “And what exactly are you apologizing for?” Manjiro mutters looking annoyed

She thinks he might just shoot her, empty his Glock out in her head and get Sanzu or Koko to call the cleaners to get rid of her body and turn her into fishbait. “F-For fucking up the deal…” She tries saying as he squeezes her face tighter with the tips of his fingers

Manjiro chuckles and it has to be one of the scariest things she’s heard in her life. “Wrong. Apologize for dating such an ugly little bitch”

“... huh?”

She thinks she’s hearing things. “You heard me,” Manjiro says nonchalantly “apologize”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to comprehend the meaning behind his words. Was this some twisted form of punishment? Or was there something else, something more insidious, at play here? With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, She realized that she was treading dangerous waters, her every move scrutinized by the man before her. And as she searched his eyes for some semblance of understanding, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his demand than met the eye. Sanzu and Rindo often joked that she got away with a lot of things and Manjiro was the most lenient with her. Was Manjiro finally giving her the punishment she deserved for all the other times she fucked up? Oh man, no way she was going to die because of her stupid bitch ass ex. “Hey” He says snapping her out of her thoughts

She looks at him. “The deal is off. I don’t want it to go through anyway”

Her eyes widen at his words. “Wait w-what—”

But Manjiro's expression remained impassive, his gaze unwavering as he met her eyes. There was a hardness in his stare, a determination that sent a shiver down her spine. "I said the deal is off," he repeated, his tone firm.

Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of Manjiro's decision. Was this punishment for her perceived failure? Or was there something else at play, something she couldn't quite grasp? As she searched his eyes for some clue, some hint of understanding, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Manjiro's actions than met the eye. Manjiro's gaze held a steely resolve as she struggled to comprehend his abrupt decision. The implications of the deal falling through reverberated through the room, casting a shadow over their carefully laid plans. But beneath the surface, she sensed a tension, a hidden undercurrent that hinted at something deeper. "Why?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion and a hint of desperation. "Why cancel the deal?"

Manjiro's expression softened ever so slightly, a flicker of something akin to regret in his eyes. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, one that sent a jolt of uncertainty coursing through her veins. "Because some things are more important than business," Manjiro replied, his voice low and measured.

Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of his cryptic words. What could be more important than securing Bonten's position in the underworld? What could possibly justify throwing away the opportunity they had worked so hard to achieve? But before she can speak, he lets go of her face and his hand slides to the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers now digging into her— his— tattoo. Almost as if he could read her mind he asks, “Are you questioning my authority?”

She doesn’t dare move away from him or shake her no to answer him. Manjiro didn’t like being answered with gestures, he preferred words. “N-No…”

“Good” he says

Manjiro's hand lingered on the back of her neck, his touch was both possessive and unsettling. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. His nails slightly dig into the knobs of her spine, right on the tattoo. It doesn’t hurt but it feels hot. One thing Manjiro often reminded her of is that Bonten was his. That included the executives and that especially included her. Her life belonged to him and he clearly wasn’t taking her being afraid of someone that wasn’t him very nicely. “You’re really gonna let a guy like that stop you from ever falling in love again?”

The question almost stopped her heart because it was not what she expected him to ask. She had never expected Manjiro to broach such a sensitive topic, let alone express concern for her romantic endeavours. But beneath the surprise, a flicker of something else stirred within her—a yearning for something more, something beyond the confines of Bonten's ruthless world. "I..." she faltered, her voice barely above a whisper.

How could she explain the depths of her fear, the scars that her past had left upon her soul? How could she make him understand the tangled web of emotions that had kept her trapped in the shadow of her own memories? But before she could formulate a response, Manjiro's hand tightened on the back of her neck, his grip possessive yet strangely comforting. "You don't have to answer now," he said, his voice softer than before but it quickly went back to being harsh “I am disappointed though”

His hand holding her thigh comes up to hold her cheek now. She’s frozen, unsure of what to do. "How could my executive let a little bitch like that do that to her and not move on for years?" Manjiro's voice was low, his words cutting through the silence like a knife.

Her mind raced as she struggled to find the right words to say. How could she explain the depths of her pain, the scars that her past had left upon her soul? How could she make him understand the tangled web of emotions that had kept her trapped in the shadow of her own memories? But before she could formulate a response, Manjiro's thumb brushed against her cheekbone, his touch both intimate and unsettling. She felt a surge of vulnerability wash over her, a raw honesty that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed walls she had built around her heart. "I... I don't know," She finally whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I'm sorry..."

Manjiro's grip on her cheek tightened, his touch both gentle and commanding. He held her gaze with an intensity that made her feel as though he could see straight through to her soul. "Sorry doesn't change the past," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

She felt a knot form in her stomach at his words, a familiar sense of guilt and inadequacy washing over her. She had spent years trying to bury the pain of her past, to escape the memories that haunted her every waking moment. But now, confronted with Manjiro's unwavering gaze, she couldn't help but feel as though she had failed him in some fundamental way. "I know…" she replied softly, her voice barely audible above the sound of her own heartbeat.

Manjiro's thumb traced a slow, soothing pattern against her cheekbone, his touch a silent reassurance amidst the storm of emotions raging within her. Finally, after a long moment of silence, he speaks up “Fall in love again…”

His words are unexpected but she also makes no move to pull back from him. “Is that an order, Mr. Sano?”

Finally, Manjiro smiles. It’s genuine. Or at least it seems genuine. “Yes. Yes it is”

“Did you call the clean-up crew?” Ran asks Koko who’s cleaning the blood of his shoes

Koko nods wordlessly, a look of annoyance on his face as he had just bought these damn shoes yesterday. “Let’s go back up” Takeomi says as he lights a cigarette, stepping over a dead body of one of the businessmen

“Maybe not” Kakucho interjects as his eyes are on his phone, cheeks a little flushed

He shoves it into his pocket and shakes his head at his fellow colleagues. For a moment they’re silent until— “fuckin’ hell” Mochi grumbles as he transfers 10 thousand into Ran’s account

“See I fuckin’ told you he’d fuck her” Ran says with a shrug, eyes lighting up at the notification on his phone signalling the transfer had been made and completed

Their conversation is cut out with a loud scream as Sanzu stabs his katana through her ex’s chest. They look towards him and the pink-haired male simply shrugs.

#tokyo revengers #mikey sano #sano mikey manjiro #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers fandom #sano manjiro #bonten mikey #bonten future timeline #manjiro sano #tokyo manji gang #bonten #bonten!mikey

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ndcgalitzine · 6 months ago

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NICHOLAS GALITZINE & TAYLOR ZAKHAR PEREZ | - at the RED WHITE AND ROYAL BLUE PrimeFYC event

low quality gifs of high quality men 😍

#Nicholas Galitzine #Taylor Zakhar Perez #ngalitzineedit #tzpedit #TAYNICK #Red White and Royal Blue #rwrbedit #*

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beloved-calypso · 2 years ago

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・゜ ʚɞ ゜゜𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖉𝖔 𝖕𝖊𝖔𝖕𝖑𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖈𝖊?♡ ・゜ ʚɞ ゜゜‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

♡“𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓇𝑔𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁.” ~ 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝓇𝓎 𝒲𝒶𝒹𝓈𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽 𝐿𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒻𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌♡

All pictures and gifs are not mine but belong to their original artists. ♡

I. -> II. -> III. -> IIII.

ɪꜰ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ꜰᴏʀ a ᴘɪᴄᴋ-ᴀ-ᴄᴀʀᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴘᴜᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ! ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ɪ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴢᴇ ɪɴ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀʀ ᴏʀ ᴘᴜɴᴄᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ. ᴇɴɢʟɪꜱʜ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ. ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜱᴜᴄᴋ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛ.

~ XOXO 💋🎀

౿૮꒰ྀི pile 1 ๑◞꒱ა

KNIGHT OF SWORDS (RX), 3 OF SWORDS, THE TOWER (RX)

Pile 1, ya'll are slow and thoughtful speakers. You are very mindful about what you say, and you are very aware of the power words can carry, hence why you speak with caution. Your voice may be thin and reedy by how many swords cards are here. It could also be high-pitched but more mature sounding. By the way you talk, people perceive you as an intellectual. Do you like poetry? You have a big, almost poetic vernacular. Your words sound almost melancholic. You speak with a lot of emotion and are very forthcoming with what you feel. You may vent a lot or express your emotions through writing. I feel like you're a great storyteller. You know just how much inflection and drama to put into your voice to draw attention and establish an atmosphere. I also think you use your words to heal. People find your voice very soothing and your words important. They trust that you would speak the truth. You may play therapists with a lot of people. People like to vent to you and sometimes seek your counsel because its likely you've felt what they have at one point.

⊰᯽⊱┈───── ✧

౿૮꒰ྀི pile 2 ๑◞꒱ა

2 OF WANDS (RX), THE EMPEROR, 4 OF CUPS (RX)

Prominent fire energy here Pile 2. The emperor sticks out most to me. Your voice may be deeper than most, almost carrying masculine qualities (nothing wrong with that, I loooovvvee deep voices. Ya'll are natural seductresses). It could also be that there are a few men in this pile. Your voice is perceived as commanding and powerful. You mean what you say, and you don't usually speak if you have nothing substantial to say. People are likely more to do what you say or take your advice. Unlike pile 1, it's almost hard to read the tone of your voice. It may sometimes be perceived as flat and bored, only because you don't like to be forthcoming with your emotions. People want to confide in you because they find you to be a wise and honest speaker. I think you can easily hurt people if you don't watch your words, and that may contribute to witholding your advice sometimes. You dont sugarcoat, which is a good thing. People think you keep a lot to yourself, but your words are rich in wisdom and meaning.

⊰᯽⊱┈───── ✧

౿૮꒰ྀི pile 3 ๑◞꒱ა

THE EMPRESS, 4 OF CUPS, THE WORLD

Pile 3 I think people perceive your voice as being very soft and feminine. You have a good way of speaking to people. People think you speak with eloquence and proper etiquette. Your voice may be high-pitched, but not childlike. You may be apathetic to other people's attention because you're so focused on what you got going on. It's like people would love to hear you speak and hear what you have to say, but you prefer to keep to yourself. People may daydream about starting a conversation with you. People may assume that you come from an affluent family and you've received a well-rounded education that's made your vocabulary and way with words so prim and proper. You're a good public speaker and sound quite charming. People feel you have a lot of knowledge to share. I think your voice could be especially helpful in your career.

⊰᯽⊱┈───── ✧

౿૮꒰ྀི pile 4 ๑◞꒱ა

5 OF CUPS REVERSED (RX), 2 OF PENTACLES, 6 OF SWORDS, KNIGHT OF WANDS

I think your voice can vary in your mood. It can go from low pitch to high pitch, and people can tell what you're feeling when you speak. I see you going through a personal transition and wanting to change peoples perceptions of you. I think you may have sounded quiet in the past. Maybe you were going through a hard time and were withdrawing from most people, but you want to come back louder and stronger as ever. You're releasing things from the past that may have stifled you and your voice. You'll be saying whats on your mind and saying them with confidence and energy. You want to be more social and outgoing, and I see you succeeding! You're trying to find more balance in your life and going on new adventures. Possibly, you'll be traveling soon. Your voice now sounds young and brims with passion. I think your voice revitalizes people, gives them high energy, and is infectious when you laugh or sing.

⊱┈───── ✧

ᴀɴʏ ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄɪꜱᴍꜱ ᴏʀ ꜰᴇᴇᴅʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅ. ɪ'ᴍ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙʟᴏɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴍ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴘɪɴɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ɪᴍᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ ɪᴛ. ♡

ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀs

© lolita-bonita — Please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other social media platforms without my permission. This is the only platform that I post this type of content. If you see my work being posted anywhere else, please kindly report them to me.♡

⊱┈───── ✧

✨️ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Tarot is not an exact science, nor can it produce information that is factually true. All things posted are alleged and for entertainment purposes only. The future is fluid, and what may happen is based on your choices and actions, not what I and a deck of cards say. You are still the creator of your future. ✨️

#tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #tarot reader #tarot reading #divination #tarot cards #tarot blr #tarot blog #lolitabonita's

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604to647 · 11 months ago

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Safest with You - Ch. 6 (The Courtship, Din's POV)

4.3K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din continues his courting ways.

Warnings: 18+ content (MDNI please), even though it's mostly Fluff, pet names (the usual: Pretty bird, sweetheart, etc.), a little bit of angst (Din struggles with his FEELINGS), mentions of parental loss, a wee bit of dirty talk.

A/N: I didn't switch to a second person narration for Din, but I still consider this to be his POV because we "follow" him this week. We get a little backstory on Din's past with the Fett Family, and come to understand Din and Paz's relationship a bit as well. Greef is mentioned! Thank you for reading!

Series Masterlist

The next morning, Din picks you up and takes you and the dog to a big farmer’s market just outside the city. You walk hand in hand, weaving through the different stalls, lazily sampling baked goods and seasonal produce. Al receives his share of pets and samples as well, and the three of you look the epitome of contentment. After a light lunch, Din loads your purchases into the truck; in addition to some fruits and veggies for your own pantry, you got everything you needed to make a spaghetti sauce from scratch, having offered to cook dinner for Din before your movie date tonight.

Although the original plan was for you to do the cooking at your place with Din meeting you there after work, Din finds himself no longer wanting to part from you, even if only for the afternoon. He volunteers his own kitchen for cooking; with his apartment residing on the top floor of the gym’s building, he reasons that he can help you while easily popping downstairs periodically for work.

Putting one hand on your hip, you tilt your head and tease, “You know, this is sending mixed signals.”

“Hmm?” Din’s eyes widen in innocence.

“We agree to take things slow, and now you’re luring me back to your place?”

Din knows you’re only teasing, but looking down at your playful expression, he also knows that you don’t know the real reason he’s been hesitant to take the next step with you. Din’s insistence that you take things slow has nothing to do with any type of antiquated feelings about sex or so-called propriety, and everything to do with a deeply rooted concern that he doesn’t deserve you. Since he met you at the coffeeshop, you’ve been his own personal ray of sunshine; brightening his world with your sweet nature and calming presence. But what is he bringing to your life? He knows that you think of him as caring and considerate, traits that he loves about you and it fills him with pride that you see those qualities in him as well.

Does he deserve to be held in your high esteem?

Would you still be unafraid of him if you knew the brutality he’s capable of inflicting, inside and outside in the ring? Would you still feel safe around him if you knew how many men he’s sent to the hospital? Din’s proud of the man he is, and he wakes up every day doing his best to be a good person. You deserve someone who’s good, and he wants to be good enough for you. He would like to have earned your affections, his place next to you, so that you never look at him differently than the way you do now. This time he’s spending courting you, it’s for you to get to know this him. Not the fighter, not the enforcer, but a man who is kind, loyal, compassionate and gentle. He wants you to know this man and to choose him.

Although you can’t read his thoughts, you soften, “Hey, I’m just messing with you, Din. You’re being so sweet, and it makes me happy. Honestly.” You bring your hand up to Din’s cheek and he immediately leans into it before turning into your palm and giving it a gentle kiss. His own palms now flat against the car, caging you in and causing your back to press up against the door, Din says in a low voice only you can hear, “You won’t think I’m so sweet when I finally take you to bed and take you apart, pretty bird.”

His voice is so intoxicating you nearly whimper, “That’s a heavy promise, Djarin.”

“I plan on delivering,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you long and slow against the car, leaving you breathless when he goes to open your door for you.

---

When you arrive back at the gym, Din shows you an entrance on the very right-hand side of the building that you hadn’t noticed before. The door unlocks to a long flight of stairs that you and Al climb, with Din bringing up the rear and all your farmer’s market bags. On a small landing a little past half way, there is a door on your left with a small window; you peek through and see that it leads to the second floor loft of the gym where Din’s office is located. He wasn’t kidding when he said he could easily pop downstairs for work, you realize, amused.

Reaching the top floor, you step aside for Din to pass and unlock his front door. He holds it open for you to go in first; you walk in, barely concealing your curiosity. The space is huge, which is no surprise considering the apartment takes up the entire floor; you step into an open living area, homey and lived in with a big comfy couch and several arm chairs, all pointed at large television. Both walls flanking this space are lined with bookshelves reaching from floor to ceiling, running the length of the large room. The shelves are filled with books, boxing trophies, knickknacks, and various mementos, including several framed photos of people with smiling faces. Walking towards where you can see the kitchen behind a partition wall, you grin as you recognize photos of Din at various ages with an older man that must have been his father. Just left of the dining nook that rests below a cut-out window that looks into the kitchen, there are some closed doors and the start of a hallway that must run back down the length of the apartment; you figure out that the bedrooms must be at the front of the apartment, overlooking the street. You imagine Din growing up in this space, and remembering what Din has told you about his childhood, you're satisfied that this must have been a good home to the Djarin men.

Din watches you take in your surroundings; this place holds many memories for him, of his childhood and his father. Moving back in when dad got sick had been an adjustment, but Din is glad he did it – while the last few years together may have been difficult, Din would not have traded them for the world. The bond between father and son had never been stronger than in those last years, and because of it, those years had been joyous in their own way. You’re the first new person to enter this space in a long time, and he wonders what you see, no longer trusting his own eyes.

You turn to Din, “I love it,” you say, beaming, and Din knows that you mean that you love more than just the physical space or layout. He sweeps you in his arms and kisses you warmly, silently conveying: thank you.

Cooking together is more fun that Din could have imagined. You’re a bundle of energy in the kitchen, putting your methodical mind to good use and assigning him tasks to help with the recipe you’ve memorized, all while chattering away and learning the lay of his kitchen. You poke around mischievously looking for everything and Din grins as he watches you putter around; he has a feeling you’re opening more drawers and cabinets than necessary, more to satisfy your own natural curiosity than actually searching for tools and ingredients. Smartly, he feels, he gives you free rein of the space and also choice over what music to play over the kitchen speakers. He doesn’t know all the songs you put on, but the way you’re enjoying yourself, bopping around him and moving your body to the beat, has him winding his arms around your waist and swaying along even to the ones he doesn’t know. The carrots are chopped, the onions are diced, the wine is reduced, all while you and Din kiss and dance. Sometimes Al will join in for a particularly upbeat number, but mainly concerns himself with nosing for food offerings. Din’s kitchen is coming alive in a way that he had nearly forgotten it could, and he feels invigorated.

He leaves you looking through his spices with a concentrated look on your face to go downstairs to the gym. Greef will be coming in a few hours to take over the floor, and until then, Din has a bit of paper work to finish off; he does so from a bench seat he takes on the main floor, overseeing the usual Saturday crowd. Paz comes by while Din’s finishing up some forms, hair wet from the showers after his workout.

Embracing as is their customary greeting, Paz checks in, “Hey brother. Glad I caught you. Something I might need your help with next week. You got some time to chat now?”

Here goes nothing, Din thinks, “Can’t, Paz. I’m actually… on a date right now. She’s upstairs cooking.”

Paz raises his eyebrows in surprise. He knows how private of a person Din is, and especially how protective he is of the memories of his late father in their space; for Din to let you in and leave you alone in the apartment… you must be special, “New girl? Huh. No wonder Brian and the guys have been saying you’ve been less of a grump lately.”

“Wha-“ Din is cut off from looking around the room for the young boxer when Paz jokingly punches him in the shoulder.

“So… when do I get to meet her?” Paz asks, expectantly.

“I’m thinking of bringing her to the fight next Saturday.”

“Perfect. Can’t wait to introduce myself to her… ‘bout time she meets a real Mando,” Paz laughs.

“Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself, Vizsla. She uses big words,” quips Din, easily dodging Paz’s cross-cut. The two friends play box for another minute before Paz claps Din on the back, “Happy for you, brother.”

Din knows he is. The two make plans to meet up for an early lunch tomorrow to go over what Paz needs. When Paz is gone, Din looks up to the ceiling, as if looking through to where you are in the apartment above, and thinks about you meeting his friends. Meet “a real Mando” Paz had said – Din grins at the childhood “club name” that had been given to their group of friends, naming the tightknit group of kids after the gym where they all hung out. Of course, after getting older, most of group had gone to work for Boba Fett as muscle, security, some times both; it was in that capacity, as a unit, the Mandos had carved out a reputation for being an effective and elite strike team. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew that messing with the Mandos or having the Mandos sent after you was a fate most preferably avoided.

Was he proud of this moniker and his association with it? The truth was, yes – Boba and Din’s dad had grown up together, friends until the end; Boba’s family was Din’s family, and vice versa. There is nothing Din wouldn’t do for the Fetts, and anything he had ever done, however morally grey, he had done with conviction and would do again in a heartbeat if it meant helping his family. Din’s commitment and loyalty to his friends and family were his creed, steadfast and unwavering. His thoughts drift back to you: Would you understand?

He remembers the hurt you tried to hide from him yesterday when you very honestly confessed that you thought he might not be wanting you. Without a doubt he does, but once again, Din wrestles with needing to feel he deserves you; that he deserves the way you want him. Din is not ashamed of who he is or what he’s done, but he can’t quite reconcile how that man is upstanding enough to deserve someone like you. And he would like to be deserving of you. You don’t deserve anything less.

As Din climbs the stairs to his apartment, he realizes how hard he’s fallen for you in such a short amount of time; just being away from you for a little over an hour has him missing you terribly, and he’s glad that he suggested the change of plans and invited you into his little home.

What he is not prepared for is the scene laid out before him as he enters the apartment; you, so beautiful and relaxed, the picture of comfort curled up on his couch with the dog, reading a book you had pulled off his shelf. This picture of domesticity make his pulse quicken and ache for you in an entirely different way than the pure lust he has felt for you every night this past week. You look up with a sweet smile, “The sauce needs to simmer.”

Din comes over and you make room for him on the couch, curling up close when he sits. You discuss the books you found on his shelf, and later you joke that you were either going to rifle through the bookshelves or his medicine cabinet. As the two of you talk, even in this close proximity, Din can’t help but make the point to always be touching you. Your hair, your hands, your face, your entire being is soft and delicate, though not breakable, and so, so precious and enticing to him. Quiet conversation coupled with looks of longing and gentle touches lead to lazy and languid kisses that seem to stretch out the afternoon. There’s nothing urgent about today. Din feels your body relax in his arms, soothed; looking at you, he can tell your eyes are closed not just from pleasure, but that you’re genuinely tired, “Pretty bird, do you want to take a nap?”

“I can’t take a nap in the middle of a date. It’s rude,” you reply, eyes still closed.

“You’ve had an exhausting week. You need sleep.” Din isn’t wrong, and you hardly need any more convincing, already half asleep.

You feel Din getting up from his seat and place your hand on his wrist so he’ll look at you, “Please set an alarm for an hour on my phone? Need to check on the sauce.”

Stroking your hair gently, Din reassures you, “Okay. I’ll go back to work and let you nap. I’ll lock the door, okay? You’re safe here, pretty bird. I’ll be just downstairs if you need anything.”

Din covers you with a blanket, and after pulling a separate blanket over the dog, gets ready to head to the gym. He leans over you, pressing his lips to yours lightly, “You know, it’s also pretty rude to leave your date to go to work.”

“We’re both so rude,” you yawn.

“Yup. The worst,” Din kisses you softly, “Perfect for each other.”

“Mmmhmmm,” you hum before drifting off into a deep sleep.

---

You wake, not to your alarm, but to a delicious and aromatic smell filling the apartment. You sit up and stretch, looking around. Some time during the nap, Al has rolled over onto his back, exposing his stomach and shooting all four legs straight up in the air – really making himself at home on Din’s couch; you’re scratching Al’s stomach when you see Din stirring the sauce and call softly to him. He comes over and leans over the back of the couch; brushing your hair out of your face, he kisses you gently.

“You let me sleep?”

“I did. Couldn’t bear to wake you, you looked so peaceful. Your snores are very cute, you know?”

You bury your face in your hands, “Oh noooooo… I snore?”

“Like an adorable kitten.”

It’s been a while since any one has been in a position to let you know, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Doesn’t bother me. I don’t plan on getting much sleep around you, in any case,” he winks, as he walks back to the kitchen.

Din hasn’t just stirred the sauce, he’s made the rest of dinner already; you’re impressed and grateful and you make sure to let him know. After you help set the table, the two of you enjoy a wonderful early dinner together. A quick clean-up later, you drop Al off at home to have his own dinner, then you and Din head out to the movie.

Din doesn’t even remember what the movie is about, but he remembers the way you put up the middle partition and curl up in your seat and into his side, making it easy for him to comfortably drape his arm around you. A little more than an hour through the movie, when the male and female leads are barreling towards a misunderstanding, Din looks down to see you watching him instead of the screen and he leans down to kiss you, somehow not stopping until the lights turn on in the theatre.

---

After the dog has been properly walked, and more long, soft kisses dispensed, you tell Din, “That was my favourite of our dates.”

“We’ve only had two.”

“I know, and this one is my favourite one so far.” And you mean it.

Tonight’s kisses mirror those of the afternoon; lazy, slow, sweet. Din sends you upstairs with the promise that the dates are only going to get better from here on out.

Sunday morning, Din receives a video call from your brunch: a cheerful, and somewhat chaotic video of you and your friends who apparently want to thank him for the books he bought them. The one named Katie, utters an innuendo that has you blushing a deep shade of crimson before quickly ending the call. You and your friends are adorable peas in a pod, Din thinks.

He’s still chuckling as he sits down to his own meal with Paz. Meeting at their usual table in a restaurant frequented by Fett family members, Din looks across to Paz who is perusing the menu, pretending he isn’t going to order the same thing he’s ordered every time since they started eating here when they were teenagers. Friends since childhood and both embraced by the Fett family, Din and Paz Vizsla have been running around the streets, starting and then later stopping trouble since they had training wheels on their bikes. Both had gotten into youth boxing at Mando’s gym, but while Din boxed all the way through college, Paz had gone straight to work for Boba after junior high. Of the two men, Din had always had the more strategic mind, rising faster in the Fett organization than others, and eventually becoming Boba’s lead enforcer; but Din was ever cognizant that his success and how tightly he ran the Fett family security could not have been possible without his friend and right hand man, Paz. When Din had stepped back from the organization, Paz was the natural choice to be Din’s replacement. The two men remained close as ever; there was no one with whom Din trusted his life more than Paz, and the feeling was returned, ten-fold.

As he had already explained to you, once in a while, Paz would ask for Din’s help with Fett family business, be it strategizing and brainstorming a mission plan, reviewing proposed tactics, or occasionally, coming out into the field with the team again. There were simply times where Paz just ultimately felt better if Din was involved, and Din could not and would never deny his brother assistance. Looks like this upcoming week would be one of those times. Paz’s strength and authority has always come from his formidable presence and his capacity for brute force, but Boba currently needs some intel on a target that would come easier via surveillance rather than intimidation. Over lunch, Din and Paz map out a plan and team assignments, including a few shifts that make the most sense if Din is on site. By the end of the planning session, Din knows that this week, he will be the one having long work hours; between his surveillance work with Paz and his responsibilities at the gym, your third date would have to wait.

He lets you in on his disappointment that night during the dog walk, which has now been cemented as part of your daily routine. As expected, you’re understanding and reasonably curious, but easily placated with Din’s promise to still come by every night to walk Al with you.

Monday through Thursday have Din burning the candle at both ends. He finds himself being infinitely appreciative for having an excellent head boxing trainer in Greef Karga who competently doubles as a floor manager. Several of the gym staff and boxers also work for Paz and Boba, so Din is not the only one pulling double duty this week – everyone knows what it means to do their part. Most nights, Din leaves Paz and the team late in the evening and comes straight to see you.

He's tired on these nights, but you’re always a sight for his exhausted eyes; you take to bringing him a little sweet treat each night, aware that he needs an extra pick me up these days. Regardless of what he sees or has to deal with during the day, Din is content when he ends the night in the softness of your embrace; with you in his arms, your lips on his.

By Friday, everything has wrapped up on the security end, but Din ends up having to work late at the gym to catch up on some accounting admin he had pushed back; happy to turn the tables on him, you bring him dinner when it’s obvious he might forget to eat.

When you see him hunched over, squinting at a spreadsheet for 5 minutes straight, you offer to take a look, helping yourself to a makeshift seat in his lap. Within 10 minutes you’ve whipped him up a new template that rolls over month-to-month, and calculates the information needed with less than a third of the monthly inputs Din was typing in before. With your encouragement, he finishes his reports speedily, while you go back to eating dinner. Coming over to the mini couch in his office that you’ve been lounging on, Din flops down and pulls you close so your legs lay over his, “Are you a wizard?”

You laugh, “I like spreadsheets.”

“I don’t. I don’t think I really like any technology. Can’t trust it,” grimaces Din.

“I figured, old man. Is that why you don’t have any socials?”

“Any what?” Din gives you a confused look.

Confession time. “Social Media. The girls and I tried to find you online that night after I ran into you at the bookstore! Nothing.”

“I might have an old Facebook? Don’t remember the login,” Din muses, face scrunching up as if the idea of inadvertently having an online presence gives him a headache.

You roll your eyes and climb over Din’s lap, straddling him, “Good thing you’re so pretty.”

Din raises his brow, “Oh yeah? I’m the pretty one?”

“Oh yes. These brown eyes are so pretty. And these crinkles around your pretty eyes when you smile are so, so pretty. Beard is so pretty, too. This is my favourite part, this little spot right here that looks like a little heart, it’s the prettiest.” You press a deep kiss to his jaw in the middle of the patchy spot on his left side and breath in deeply, humming contently before resting your head on Din’s shoulder.

“Didn’t realize you think so much about me, sweet girl.”

You face Din again, closing your eyes and leaning in to find his mouth already waiting for yours and murmur low, between kisses, “Mmmmhmmmm. Think about you all the time, Din. When I wake up, in the shower, at work, at home in bed. Especially when I’m in bed. I think about you a lot in bed.”

Din’s hands start to wander, creeping under your shirt and gripping your bare waist, fingers dipping into the waistband of your leggings, “What you do you think about, when you think about me in bed, sweetheart?”

The kisses are getting a little sloppier as you grind down gently, rhythmically; you answer in shallow, gasping breaths, “I think about you on top of me, baby. I think about you getting a little rough with me and positioning me any way you want. I think about your hands and how they would feel touching every inch of me, pulling my hair, squeezing around my nec-“

“Pretty bird, I think I should take you home now or I’m not going to be able to control myself.” Din cuts you off abruptly, a dark look in his eyes.

Shy under his intense gaze, you nod and agree.

---

Having had the car ride to your place and the dog walk to calm down, you now rest comfortably in Din’s arms, playing with his hair while looking deep into his eyes between sweet, lingering kisses. Din opens his mouth to yours, again and again, lazily chasing your tongue with his own, “I’m looking forward to our date tomorrow, pretty bird.”

You sigh, “Me too! I don’t know what to wear though. I’ve never been to a boxing match before.”

“I’m sure you’ll look perfect.” Din leans down and whispers, “Wear something I can take off easily.”

You can’t help the small whine that escapes your lips when you take in his words. Din chuckles, “You tease me all the time, pretty bird. You think I can’t tease you back?” Finding his boyish grin irresistible, you pull him in for a string of hungry and passionate kisses that leave the both you panting and you warm with arousal. You aren’t even being cheeky when you whisper to Din, “I’m going to go to bed to think about you now,” before turning to head in, leaving Din looking and feeling completely transfixed.

#din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #modern au #no y/n #modern!din djarin #din djarin fluff

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