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eepy-pleepy · 3 years ago

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It’s Not Everest (No Vacancy)

The neon “NO” is hidden behind an overgrown shrub, so Dean pulls the Impala into the motel parking lot before they can see that it is, in fact, lit.

“Awesome.” Dean says in a tone that clearly doesn’t think so, and whips the car around to pull back onto the dark road. They immediately hit a pothole and Sam’s head bumps the ceiling.

“Ow, wait, Dean, we didn't go check with the office, maybe they just left the sign lit because they can’t freaking see it–”

“No, Sam, every goddamn motel in this godless town is full up and I don’t particularly feel like walking into another musty fucking office just to have them tell me I need to learn how to read. It’s too damn late, I’m too damn tired, I’m just gonna find a pull-off where the cops won’t feel the need to be our 5AM wake-up call and we’re sleeping in Baby. Fuck it.” He emphasizes the last sentence by throwing the car into park, all seventeen feet of shiny black metal successfully hidden behind a bank of tall, scraggly shrubs off the shoulder of the road. Dean kills the engine and the early summer evening rises to fill the silence with the musical stylings of several hundred crickets.

“Dean.”

“We’ve done it before, Sam.”

“I know we have. What about Cas?”

Dean looks over at the passenger’s side. Sitting shotgun, Cas looks back at him, his eyes just a dark glint in the moonlight.

“I can just... keep watch outside.” He says.

“Bad fucking idea.” Dean snaps. “I wake up in the middle of the night and see you out there lurking, I might shoot you between the eyes. You’re staying in the damn car.”

“Dean, there’s not enough roo–”

“Look, Sammy, passing out is passing out, sitting or lying down. This is a molehill, not Everest. I just need my four hours, damn.”

Dean crams up against the driver’s side door, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his bent knees against the back of the seat between himself and Cas. He’ll worry about bootprints on the leather upholstery when he isn’t so fucking exhausted.

“Jerk.” Sam mutters from the backseat, almost inaudible.

“Goodnight, bitch.”

“Goodnight, Dean. Sam.” Cas murmurs.

“Don’t make it weird, Cas.”

"Goodnight, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam."

Dean gives a little huff through his nose. Cas folds his hands in his lap and turns his head forward to watch the fireflies.

Dean doesn’t like it when Cas watches him sleep. Cas knows this.

But if he doesn't want eyes on him, he shouldn’t be drawing so much attention to himself. This is the fourth time inside of an hour that he’s shifted around, clearly uncomfortable with his sleeping arrangement, six feet of full-grown man trying to figure out how to make three feet work for him.

It's clearly not working out.

Dean's head has fallen against Castiel’s arm. He’s snoring gently, Cas can feel his breath warm through the sleeve of his trench coat.

He shuts his eyes. Pulls his focus down to just this, the upper lefthand side of his body. Feels the weight of Dean's head, the unyielding shape of his skull, the softness of his cheek. Cas turns his head towards him, just to better assess the situation. Not at all to feel the soft tickle of Dean’s hair against his nose and lips. That’s just an... accidental consequence.

Cas feels too big for his own skin. It’s something a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent should be entirely familiar with, but this isn't the feeling of cramming a Chrysler building into a 5-foot-11-inch frame.

This is bigger than that.

The slump of Dean’s body across the seat means that his head is the only thing supported, and it has his neck at a bad angle. If Dean's an angry sleeper, he's even worse with a crick in his neck and Cas doesn't love the idea of being stuck in a car with that tomorrow. He can't pull Dean more flush against his side without the risk of waking him and sending him into a conniption of bruised heterosexuality, so instead, he carefully lifts his arm. It works perfectly: Dean slides forward, falling to lying down with his head in Cas' lap.

The effect is immediate. The uncomfortable pinch between Dean's brows smooths away and he takes a deep, slow breath, settling against his new pillow and sinking into an easier sleep.

Cas hasn't realized he's smiling, yet. It's a tiny, soft thing, the one he gets when he's looking at something precious.

He is.

The moonlight catches the sweep of Dean's eyelashes, the top of his cheek, the shell of his ear, gilding them silver. His lips are parted, plush and dark in the contrast of the pale light. He's slightly curled up on the bench seat and Cas knows it's to fit the small space but that doesn't mean it's not the most fucking endearing thing he's ever seen.

The short hair over Dean's ear is mussed from the way he was slumped like a grumpy turtle past the collars of his shirt and jacket. Delicate, Cas brushes it right again.

Dean shifts, pressing up into his ghost of a touch. Cas draws back, afraid he's been caught doing something definitely not on Dean's approved list of Things Just Friends Do, but Dean doesn't wake. Cas' hand hovers.

He shouldn't. He should return to looking out of the front windshield and prepare the diffusion for when Dean wakes up to find himself sleeping in Cas' lap. That's what he should do.

The trouble is, nothing short of a fucking catastrophe could pull his eyes away from this. Dean is so beautiful, so calm and easy in his slumber, and he's right here, safe and close and warm. Literally right in his lap.

Cas pets Dean's hair, feeling that dangerous constriction again, something so huge and profound it might very well burst him. Dean sleeps on.

"You should tell him."

Sam's voice from the backseat is so quiet it's barely a whisper, but it startles Cas like a gunshot. He turns his head a margin to find Sam watching him, head and shoulders against the back driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest.

"Did you say something?" Cas tries, matching Sam's barely-there whisper.

"You heard me."

"Tell him what?"

"You love him."

Cas turns his head further so he's not just looking at Sam out of his periphery. There's nothing accusatory in Sam's tone, quiet as it is, or in his posture, cramped as it may be. He looks back at Cas with nothing but the same easy camaraderie he's always shown him, like they're discussing a good book or the lovely weather, not a complete paradigm shift.

In his lap, Dean tucks one hand under Cas' thigh and nuzzles his face deeper against the fabric of his pants. Cas looks down at him again and feels ready to explode into several new galaxies.

"I can't." He breathes.

"Why not?"

"You know your brother, Sam.” Cas says, unable to stop himself from stroking light fingers through Dean’s hair again. “And I’m happy. I refuse to risk losing him in pursuit of something I don’t need from him.”

“You’re right, I do know my brother. Probably better than he’d like to believe.” Sam says. “And I think he might surprise you, given the chance.”

Cas looks back at Sam like he wants to argue, but then just closes his mouth, his jaw bunching. Sam gives a little shrug and sits forward, reaching behind himself for the door handle.

“Just some, uh… food for thought.” He says. “I’m gonna hit the head. I’ll take my time. No particular reason.”

“Sam.”

But Sam’s already unfolding out into the night air, the car rocking as his weight shifts. The crickets are suddenly much louder, invading their little bubble of quiet. In Cas’ lap, Dean twitches.

Sam shuts the car door and Dean sits bolt upright. His gun, dropped in the footwell before he fell asleep, is in his grasp in a blink.

“Sam's just gone to relieve his bladder.” Cas says next to him. Dean squints at him and sniffs, wiping at his groggy eyes, then flicks the safety back on. The gun hits the footwell again with a dull thunk.

"God. Like a damn cashew. You'd think with all that height there'd be more... storage."

Cas is carefully looking forward, and not at the red mark on Dean’s cheek that’s the same shape as the warm spot rapidly cooling on his thigh. Dean rubs at that side of his face.

“Was I…?” He clears his throat. “Uh.”

“Asleep? Yes. I thought that was the idea.”

“Lying on you.”

“You needed to stretch out.”

Dean gives a frustrated sigh. “No, Cas, man, that’s your personal space. You should have shoved me off.”

“It was easier on your neck.” Cas says, still looking straight ahead. “You weren’t bothering me.”

“That’s not the point. You gotta have boundaries.”

“What’s mine is yours, Dean. I have no qualms sharing everything I have with you.”

Dean scoffs, leaning forward over the steering wheel and tilting to pop his spine. “Jesus. You ol’ romantic.”

Cas turns his head to look at Dean. The slightly uncomfortable smirk slowly slips off of Dean’s face. His eyes drop to Cas' lips before he catches himself, and he makes a weak attempt to laugh the charge out of the air between them.

“Man, you gotta figure out your levels. Last person who looked at me like that had me thinking marriage."

“Dean, why do you say things like that?”

Dean’s shoulders shove up under his ears. “You turn eyes like that on some innocent girl she’s gonna up and devote her entire life to you, Cas, I’m just letting you know you gotta tone it down!”

“Why would I turn eyes like this on some innocent girl?”

“Because you’re doin’ it to me like you think it’s a normal thing to do!”

“Dean, maybe you need to figure out how to receive a signal without assuming the other person isn't aware of what they're broadcasting." Cas snaps, then subsides as something like fear flickers across his face.

Dean’s jaw hangs uselessly for a stunned moment.

"Cas. You–"

Cas watches him in the manner of a gazelle waiting for a sudden deadly movement. Dean's gaze flits to Cas’ lips again.

"You. Uh." He says eloquently, and his tongue darts out in a nervous motion. This makes his lips impossible to ignore, shiny and wet in the moonlight.

“It's not Everest." Cas whispers.

"It kinda fuckin' is." Dean says, hoarse.

“Forget it. You should go back to sleep.” Cas says, reaching towards Dean with two fingers. It’s his fighter’s instinct that makes Dean grab them before they can touch his forehead, but it’s something else entirely that bunches his other hand in the front of Cas’ coat and yanks him forward. Cas tumbles gracelessly on top of Dean, and Dean doesn’t give either of them time to think.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips, Cas melts. A tiny sound escapes him, not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, and he’s grasping Dean’s shoulder like it’s the only thing preventing him from falling into the footwell. Their mouths part with a soft, wet noise and Cas meets Dean’s eyes, almost too close to focus on.

His arm is pressed across Dean’s chest from his fall. He can feel Dean’s heartbeat, galloping like an outlaw with the sheriff on his tail, and he understands the feeling.

“Dean.” He croaks.

“Yeah.”

“Do that again.”

Dean nuzzles their noses together, nudges Cas’ mouth in a barely-there brush of lips. Cas touches Dean’s face, dizzy with it, feeling stubble rough on the skin of Dean's jaw. He presses forward, holding Dean’s face like the beloved thing it is, and kisses him reverently. Dean sinks against the door until he’s lying across the seats and shoves his arms up under Cas’ suit jacket, encircling his back.

The crickets play them a love song. It’s entirely lost on them.

When Sam returns, approaching the Impala with caution, he finds his brother asleep with his angel hugged against him like a large, man-shaped teddy bear. Cas glances up, clocking the motion of Sam leaning over to peer through the driver’s window, and there’s a smile on his face that Sam’s never seen on him before.

If happy was what he had been, then this? This is pure, unfiltered bliss.

Sam slides carefully into the back seat and shuts the door as gently as he can.

“I’ll save my I Told You So, but only because you look so cute.” He whispers.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

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junisfics · 4 years ago

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teacher's pet* — eren jaeger

eren jaeger x puppy! reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: smut / nsfw 18 + (mirrors, slight pet play, corruption kink, humiliation, mentions of f! masturbation)

notes: i was going to write a full length hard core pet play fic but i ended up running out of time so here's a little blurb :)

eren had your back to his chest as you both sat on the floor. your legs were spread out and up and over his thighs so you couldn't even close them if you tried.

you were squirming against his chest and the hard on pressing into your back, eyes squeezing shut because in front of you was a giant, full body mirror.

with only a skimpy tank top on, eren had you blushing and writhing in front of this mirror without even laying a finger on you. you felt so exposed, so vunerable.

you had walked to his dorm, just down the hall from yours, pushed open his door real quietly and tip toed into his room all sheepishly.

"eren," you had said, with your voice all tiny and submissive, "can you help me?"

and without even asking you what you needed help with, eren had said yes. you're his sweet little girlfriend; so dependent on him, so needy for him... of course he'd help you.

but he wasn't expecting you to tell him, with your eyes to the floor and fiddling with your fingers, "can't get off"

now, eren knew you were a virgin... you told him. and it was quite obvious. the way you trembled and moaned at the gentlest brushes of his fingers or lips, the way your hips stuttered when you got a good feel of his hard on. he thought it was the cutest thing.

but what he didn't know, is that you've never gotten yourself off before.

you've played with yourself, teased yourself, stuffed your little fingers inside your cunt until you were a shaky mess. but you could never bring yourself to an orgasm.

and tonight was all the same.

you were in your dorm, your own one at that, laid out onto your bed with your little hand shoved down your panties, two fingers curling inside you while you bit down on your other hand to muffle your moans.

and you were sure you were gonna do it this time, you were so sure of it!

but as quickly as your high climbed, your poor hand got tired just as fast. and you were a hot and bothered, frustrated mess when you explained to him what happened.

you told him that you've never came before, that you've never gotten to the best part.

and it made erens cock throb in his pants.

so, when he grabbed ahold of your hips and sat you down in front of the mirror, peeling your panties down your legs, he was determined to make you cum. he needed to feel you cream around his fingers for your very first time.

"look at you. so pretty for me, hm?" he mumbles, head tilted down so he can speak against your ear.

you had turned your head away from the reflective glass, vision narrowed as you buried the side of your head into his chest. every so often your eyes flit to the side to catch a glance of you all spread out for him, but they returned just as fast.

"c'mon, be a good girl 'n look for me." one of the hands around your waist slid up your chest to grab ahold of your chin, turning it gently to bring your eyes to the mirror.

his other hand tickles at the skin below your navel, sending waves of goosebumps over your exposed flesh.

"'s embarassing." you whine, eyes darting to the plush grey carpet on the floor beside you.

eren presses a gentle kiss to your hair, "no it's not, puppy. it's to help teach you."

"you gonna be a good girl 'n watch for me? watch me finger your cunt nice and good so you can learn how to do it yourself?" the hand against your stomach slides a little lower, teasing just above your clit, "'m not always gonna be here to do it for you."

you know that. you know that, physically, eren won't always be around to take care of you the way you really need it. so, you let your eyes skim over the carpet and inch up the glass of the mirror

"that's my girl," he says, voice low and velvety and dripping with sensuality, "if you take your eyes off yourself... i'll stop."

both of you were aching with anticipation. you just wanted him to treat you, finger you how you need it until you're cumming around his digits. you need that release, you need it from him.

and eren was desperate to have you writhing in his grasp, choking out moans for him as you gush for the very first time, and all over his fingers.

his fingers brush over your clit real soft, circling it slowly. he can hear your breath hitch, your little hands coming to the forearm that still has a hold on your chin. you were so sensitive, all fidgety in front of him and your body growing even hotter at his touch.

“eren —“ you speak no louder than a whisper, just enough for him to hear you.

he lets his hand fall from your chin to the bottom hem of your shirt, dipping up and under it and teasing the soft skin under your right breast. you jerked a little at the sensation.

“this alright?” he mumbles. you can feel his lips turn into a smirk against your ear.

you nod, quickly and desperately, taking your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle another whine. you realize then, that your gaze has shifted away from the mirror. your head had fallen forward once he released your head and you were watching his fingers tease at you.

“head up,” he says, like he could read your thoughts.

you bring your head up, your cheek brushing against his jaw as you rest back onto his shoulder. in the mirror, you see his fingers begin to slide lower, sliding through the slick arousal that’s gathered against your hot skin.

“you this wet for me?” he chuckles, sliding the tips of his fingers through your heat.

his comment makes your face and neck grow warm, crinkling your nose, legs attempting to close. but his own are in the way and preventing you from doing so.

“eren, this is humiliating,” you mutter, backing farther up into his chest like you were trying to escape. but you knew you weren’t. you were too riled up, to desperate for him to fill you.

“take a lick, puppy.” he teases, bringing his hand away from your cunt and up to your face.

you turn your head into his neck, eyes only flitting to his fingers for brief seconds to look at the creamy slick that’s gathered on his fingertips. you look up to him, eyes wide.

“be a good girl ‘n get my fingers nice and wet for you.” he smiles, looking down at you.

hesitantly, and eager to please, you turn back to his hand. you take his wrist in both of your much smaller hands and bring his hand forth towards your mouth. sticking your tongue out, you slide two of his glistening fingers inside your mouth.

you taste yourself on his skin, slightly bitter and tarte, and let his fingers press against the soft of your tongue to coat them in your saliva. he tells you to open your mouth as he pulls them out, to avoid your lips, and they leave your tongue with a slimey string of saliva in their wake.

the spit drips off his fingers and down your stomach before his hand reaches your center again. they’re warm, and wet from your tongue when they tease your entrance. eren can feel your cunt flutter against his fingertips.

“fuck baby —” he mutters, beginning to tease his middle finger inside, “oh god.”

your hands return to his forearm, the one that has a hand now palming at your breast, and etch your blunt nails into the sinew there.

“please, please,” your breath catches in your throat again, voice getting all shaky as he slides in just a little more and a little more until he’s two knuckles deep.

you’re so tight around him, squeezing his single digit so well. every shift of his hand has your cunt pulsing around his knuckles.

“jesus fuck, ‘can feel you.”

when his finger is to it’s hilt, he has it stay there for a little. he only moves it to curl it against your gummy walls and press against your sweet spot real gently. it has you keening.

“eren,” you whimper, your legs beginning to tremble over his own.

it was pathetic. he was only a finger deep inside you and you were falling apart, crumbling into a stupid mess before him.

his hand on your breast shifts upwards, his fingers grazing over your raised nipple and sending your head falling back against his collarbone. your back was arching into his dualty touches, your ass grinding against his hard cock.

“need more, please.” you beg with a breathy moan

you’ve lost all care towards memorizing his actions for later. because never, never ever, would you be able to possibly come close to replicating the pleasure he’s making you feel right now.

he slides his finger out of you, relishing the cries that leave your lips as he does so. then, he slips it back in real easily. you’re sucking him back in, clenching around him and begging for more.

he starts with languid pumps of that one finger, pairing it with dirty praises against your ear as you tremble and shake in his arms. your stomach was twisting so deliciously in pleasure; at an intensity you’ve never felt before.

he was skilled with his actions, you don’t even care if he’s done them a million times before, because the way his was making you feel right now had you so on edge. you thought you’d explode.

and then, as he pulls back out once more, he returns with another finger.

“oh my god.” your legs clamp around his own.

eren can feel your stomach tense up as he fills you even more. he can feel your breathing grow ragged and the volume of your cries become careless.

“fuck, you’re close aren’t you, puppy?” he asks. his tongue slips past his lips to lick at the skin of your neck, covered in a sheen of sweat.

“eren! i — i’m —“ your mouth falls open, legs thrashing around.

“fuck yeah, cum for me.” he mumbles, hand on your breast sliding farther up your shirt to grab your chin again, turning your head to him and taking your lips in his with a sloppy kiss.

it was messy, you gushed all over his fingers and hand and fuzzy carpet. you moaned into his mouth, his hot tongue licking against your own and the roof of you mouth. your body was spasming in his arms, ass grinding up against him as he rode through his own orgasm.

just from watching you, from watching your pretty little cunt squeeze his fingers and leak all over him, he came in thick hot spurts and all in his pants.

#tw: corruption #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x reader smut #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x reader smut #eren yeager smut #eren smut #eren x reader #eren x reader smut #1k

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beels-burger-babe · 4 years ago

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The Day Out

GN!MC Summary: MC and Solomon spend the day out enjoying the wonders of the Devildom. The problem with this? They never told the seven Lords of Hell that they’d be gone for the day. TW: Torture (Not to the MC or the bros tho), Injuries, Murder (Again, just an unimportant Background Character) When the Wise King Solomon asks you out of nowhere if you would like to spend a day exploring the Devildom with him, some hesitancy is to be expected. We’re talking about an ancient wizard who is notoriously sketchy in every way and who seems to always have some kind of personal agenda that he uses for everything. But the fact in the matter was that you had just survived and grueling two weeks of exams at RAD, and the stress of always being passed around between the demon brothers to partake in their various schemes and problems was really starting to wear on you. So a day out, relaxing, and finally getting to explore Devildom in its entirety, regardless of the company, actually sounded pretty good. Solomon had asked you to meet him outside of the House of Lamentation just before dawn. He stood there now, looking as collected and secretive as ever, with a satchel strapped over his shoulder. “Ready to go and enjoy the company of another human?” “More than ever! What’s with the bag?” The wizard shrugged held out his arm to you. “I thought I might collect a few potion ingredients if I happen to spot any. The Devildom is home to a number of special rarities after all, and it would be horrible not to take advantage of my time down here to collect some of them.” That was fair. You took Solomon’s arm and allowed him to pull you close to his side before the two of you took off onto a trail in the woods.

*** Later that morning Mammon frowned as he approached his human’s room. You hadn’t been at breakfast, and he hadn’t heard from you all morning. This was weird. More than weird, it was worrying. It seemed like ever since you had arrived in the Devildom, the second born had a hard time getting you to leave his side, and sure it was annoying at first, but he had come to appreciate the warm presence that you exuded and found himself feeling strangely cold without you there. He knocked on the door. “MC! Ya gonna missed breakfast! Wake up, ya lazy bones. Just because it’s the weekend, doesn't mean ya get to hold up in ya room all day like Levi!” He smirked at his own insult and waited for your inevitable retort. Instead, he was met with silence. Mammon’s frown made a quick reappearance. “Oi! Don’t go ignoring the Great Mammon! Beel’s gonna eat you’re share and I don’t wanna hear ya complainin’ that you’re hungry all day. Now wake up!” Again, silence. He growled quietly to himself in frustration as a knot of concern began to tighten in his stomach. “MC, open the door and get over here or I’m comin’ myself! This ain’t funny, human!” When he was once again met with no response, the demon cursed under his breath and went to open the door; to his surprise, it was unlocked. He threw the door open and glared inside the room. “That’s it human! Up and at it! I’ll drag ya down to the dining room mysel-” He cut himself off as he noticed the room was empty. “MC?” Mammon looked around, noting your unmade bed and window being propped slightly open. He chuckled worriedly and began to look around a little more frantically. “Ha. Ha. Very funny. What? Ya plannin’ to jump and scare me? Ain’t gonna work, so ya might as well come out now. Seriously, MC. This ain’t funny.” The knot pulled tighter as he realized he was talking to himself. He began to search every nook and cranny of the room, hoping to Diavolo that maybe you were just really dedicated to this prank and was still hiding, but paled as he realized you were nowhere to be found. “Shit!” He cursed aloud and sprinted to the dining room where the rest of the brothers still sat. “MC is missing!” *** You gasped and ran ahead of Solomon as the two of you walked through the forest. You crouched down and looked at a patch of glowing blue mushrooms, eyes wide with awe. “It’s so beautiful,” you gasped and glanced over your shoulder. “I can’t believe I’ve been in the Devildom for nearly a year and never came out here.” Solomon chuckled at your child-like wonder. “The forest can be quite dangerous to those who don’t know what to look out for. For example, those beautiful glowing mushrooms?” he gestured to the fungus in front you, “Those are called the Ardentes Mushrooms. They explode on contact and create a poisonus gas.” You’re eyes widened as you quickly scrambled back from it. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me that before I got close?” The wizard shrugged and put a hand on your waist to pull you close to his side, as he handed you a cloth. “Like you said, you’ve been here for nearly a year and haven’t seen much because those demons have gotten quite protective of you. I thought you might enjoy observing and learning about the wilds of the Devildom. Put the cloth over your mouth and nose, and watch.” You did as instructed. Solomon smirked before putting a cloth mask over his own face. With one hand holding you close to him, a safe distance from the mushrooms, Solomon picked up a long stick and gently poked one of the fungus. With a small poof it quickly became engulfed in azure flames aned small glowing flecks danced and sparkled in the air around you. You held back a gasp from behind the cloth as you watched in amazement, and Solomon simply stood there holding and watching you. *** The Seven Avatars of Sin stood in the lounge anxiously. They had searched the entire House of Lamentation inch by inch and there was no sign of the human that had been entrusted under their protection. Lucifer sighed and leaned against the table. “If they’re not in the manor, we have to consider other possibilities. Has anyone had any luck reaching them?” He looked over at Levi, “Could you potentially trace their D.D.D. if we aren’t able to reach them?” Levi solemnly shook his head and placed the mentioned device on the table. “Found it in their room,” he ran a hand over his face in frustration. “They know better than to go out without their phone! This isn’t like them!” “Maybe they didn’t go willingly.” All attention snapped over to Satan, who was looking at the D.D.D thoughtfully with a hand on his chin. Mammon paled as his hands gripped tightly onto the chair in front of him. “Y-Ya mean ya think someone took them?” The aura in the room darkened as Satan nodded. “Levi’s right. They know better than to leave without one of us and even if they had to, they would at the very least take their D.D.D. They may be reckless sometimes, but they’ve been more careful about their safety ever since-” he paused and glanced at Belphegore before clearing his throat. “But that’s besides the point. Their window was unlocked and open as well. A demon could’ve very easily gotten in through there and took them while we were all asleep.” Asmo let out a dramatic gasp and threw himself onto Beelzebub’s arm. “Oh the poor dear! They must’ve been so frightened being taken advantage of like that!” Beel looked down at Asmodeus both disturbed by his brother’s antics, but also distraught by his words. Belphie rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “But there wasn’t any signs of foul play in the room. No signs of struggle.” Satan hummed in thought. “MC is a human with no particular means of defense. They’re weak enough awake,” a spark of wrath flared behind Satan’s eyes as he clenched his jaw. “I imagine that asleep, they wouldn’t even have the chance to become fully conscious before a demon, even a lesser demon, could knock them out.” Lucifer growled lowly. “We’ll find whoever did this, get MC back, and make the perpetrators responsible for this regret their very existence.” In that moment, the brothers had never appeared more frightening or demonic, as the room filled with eyes glowing with the promise of death, snarls of anger at the knowledge that someone dared to touch what belonged to them. In that moment, they truly were the Lords of the Devildom. Satan grinned a wide, murderous grin, “It seems, for once, we agree, Big Brother.” *** You peacefully continued to gather the flowers and mushrooms that Solomon had pointed out to you and verified were “safe for human contact” as the mid day sun beamed lazily through the tree branches of the forest. You quietly hummed to yourself and glanced occasionally over at Solomon who was collecting some of the more dangerous samples to observe later on. You smiled at the wizard. It wasn’t often you got to see him so relaxed. It seemed like every time you saw him, he was prepared for at least ten different scenarios and was weaving the strings of manipulation before his victim could even blink. But out here, where there were no prying eyes and no other tasks to follow, Solomon looked open and the most human that you’ve ever seen him. “You really like it out here, huh?” He glanced back at you with a raised eyebrow, and made quick work of putting his current sample into a storage bottle. “And how did you come to that conclusion?” You rolled your eyes and went back to picking mushrooms as you spoke. “I just mean that you seem so calm and...loose out here. Like you’ve finally dropped that act that you always put on and are finally allowed to be yourself.” Solomon was silent as he looked at you with a strange glint in his eyes. As after a moment or two, he smirked and chuckled softly as he looked away. “For a human with no magical talents, I have to applaud your skills of observation. I think I can understand how it was you, and only you, that was able to see through the brothers as you have.” You shrugged and attempted to hide the blush dusting over your cheeks. “It’s nothing. I just want to-” You cut yourself off as a low growl fills the air not far from you. You slowly look up to see what appears to be a mix of a bear, a rat, and a skeleton, standing only a few meters from you. It’s beady red eyes were glaring directly at you. Your breath caught in your throat as you froze, “S-Solomon?” “MC, listen very carefully. What’s in front of you is an Iacis Rat. They are extremely hostile, and considering their hibernation period has just ended, I imagine they are very hungry. I need you to back up very slowly and carefully. Avert your eyes, and hunch low to seem unthreatening. Keep it in your peripheral vision,” his voice was low and calm but firm with a sense of urgency. You took a shaky breath and slowly began to do as Solomon instructed. You got five steps in before you heard something snap beneath your foot. The giant rat let out a horrendous roar that you could feel vibrate in your bones as it suddenly swiped at you. Your cry of pain pierced the air as it sliced open your arm and threw you back several feet. Another snap; only this time it was the fragile bones in your other arm breaking, not a stick. You could hear Solomon shouting a series of spells, before he quickly scooped you up and began to run. You whimpered as he picked you up and jostled your arm. “We’ll get that taken care of in a minute MC, for now, we need to run.” You glance over his shoulder and see the rat surrounded by a series of warding walls and swatting at a few crackling balls of arcane energy that prodded at it and flew around its head. The two of you managed to get away. You found yourself sitting on near a cliff, panting heavily as you looked out on a view of all the Devildom, with the sun just beginning to set. It would’ve been beautiful if you weren’t bleeding and in pain. Solomon crouched beside you and inspected the gash on your arm and your broken bones the moment he had deemed that you were both safe once more. After a few silent moments of observation, he had set up a small fire and began to brew some kind of potion. You watched closely as he worked, and within an few, agony filled minutes the wizard was holding out a small cup to you. “I am so sorry you got injured. In all honesty, I had forgotten about the Icais Rats post-hibernation season, and foolishly believed that we would be safe today,” He sighed and shook his head. “Regardless, this potion should heal all the injuries on your person. Though I should warn you, this will hurt...quite a lot actually. You can hold my hand during the process if you’d like.” You took a shaky breath and took his hand into yours. The wizard smiled softly at you and pressed a kiss to your fingers before handing you the potion. “Whenever you’re ready.” You eyed the red liquid in the cup before bringing it to your lips. Before you could change your mind you quickly downed the potion and squeezed tightly onto Solomon’s hand. You tensed waiting for the pain to kick in... but nothing happened. You frowned and looked over at Solomon. “I don’t feel any worse than I did before. Are you sure this thing-” You were cut off as a fiery hot pain suddenly shot down both your arms and your head began to throb. Your loud piercing scream could be heard all throughout the forest as the pain began to overwhelm you. Solomon pulled you into his lap, and held you tightly with one hand as the other ran his fingers through your hair. “I know,” he whispered softly through your screams. “It’ll be over soon. Just a couple minutes. You can do this MC. It’ll be alright.” You sobbed as waves of pain hit you over and over again, until a sudden cool, sweet, numbness began to trickle over you. A gasp escaped from you as you stilled in Solomon’s arms. The wizard chuckled, “Growing back your bones isn’t very fun. I’m sorry you had to go through that. You should be feeling better now.” You looked down at your arms, and sure enough, the gash on your arm was gone with no sign of it having ever existed and the bones in your other arm had mended. You sniffed and wiped away the tears that had begun to appear in your eyes and looked over to Solomon. “Can you take me back to the House now? I think I’d like to take a nap.” He smiled sadly at you. “Of course.” *** A loud agonized scream rang off the walls of the House of Lamentation, causing Belphegore and Satan to grin. Their victim hung by their hands, chained to a wall while they slowly carved into its flesh. “You know neither of us are exactly known for a patience...” Belphie drawled as he slowly brought a claw down across the lower demon’s chest. “So this is your last chance; Tell us where MC is.” The demon sobbed openly as it shook it’s head. “I’m telling you! I don’t know where they are! I swear! Please, let me go! Please, I don’t know anything!” Satan tsked as he polished a knife and approached the demon. “Really? Because I know for a fact that you have been following them around and watching them at RAD lately,” he points the knife against the demon’s throat. “You wanted them, didn’t you? You were figuring out their routine so that you could take them for yourself. Admit it!” The poor demon sobbed even louder as it’s body trembled. “No! I admit, I-I was following them around! But not because I wanted to- to- kidnap them or anything! I swear! I-” the demon’s face turned red, “I find them attractive and I-I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to them! That’s all!” It made eye contact with Satan, it’s expression pained and desperate. “Surely you guys understand that! I-I mean all of you brothers like them, right? That’s why you’re always following them-” The demon didn’t get a chance to finish before Belphegore growled and snapped the demon’s neck. Satan rose an eyebrow at his younger brother, causing Belphie to shrug in response. “He didn’t have anything we needed, and was just babbling. It was annoying.” Satan rolled his eyes and looked back at Lucifer, who stood in the back of the room, going over stacks of papers, maps, and occasionally checking his D.D.D. “Another dead end.” The eldest brother scowled and crossed something out on a piece of paper. “Right. That’s it for possibilities at RAD then. We should start with the list of possible suspects from The Fall and the people Mammon’s indebted to then. They’ll be harder to get a hold of, but some of them would definitely have a strong motive.” Just as he finished, the House doors swung open and Mammon and Levi came marching in with the angels in tow. “We got them,” Mammon stated the obvious as he unnecessarily pushed the two in front of him. “They’d just gotten back from RAD. We haven’t told them anything yet.” Simeon gasped at the sight of the tortured demon still hanging dead on the wall in front of them, and quickly drew Luke against him, hiding the younger angel from the sight. He glared over at Lucifer. “What is the meaning of all of this?” Lucifer ignored the question and frowned when he noticed there was only two out of the three exchange students. “Where’s Solomon?” “Chihuahua says that he’s been gone all day gathering ingredients for some potion. Based off of the stuff missing from his room, and the feed from the security cameras, it checks out,” Levi explained. “Luke is not a chihuahua!” Simeon loudly defended, surprising all the demons in the room, as the little angel hugged himself closer to Simeon. The elder celestial scowled at everyone. “Now will someone please explain to us exactly what is going on and why you all are acting like a bunch of mindless, feral, demons, when we all know you are more intelligent and civilized than that!” Lucifer gave him a flat look as he crossed his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut of by a hiss of pain as a sharp, agonizing, burn suddenly swiped over his upper right arm. Not too long after, an even stronger twinge filled his entire left arm. A quick look around the room told him that his brothers were feeling the same thing; meaning this could only be one thing: MC was hurt. Mammon snarled as he grabbed the front of Simeon’s robes. “Look, we ain’t got time to mess around. MC’s been taken, and is currently being hurt. That’s all ya need to know. What we need to know is if you got any ideas in that feathery, “holier-than-thou”, brain of yours who might’a took them or where they are! If ya can’t help us, than ya useless, and you can just get the hell outta our way while we actually do something about it!” Simeon’s eyes widened as he felt Luke stiffen against him. The elder angel glanced over Mammon to Lucifer, “MC is missing? For how long?” The second-born growled and harshly shoved the angel away from him. “Did ya not hear anything I just said?! We ain’t got time for stupid questions! Now do ya know where they are or not?!” The angel opened his mouth to speak, when Lucifer’s ring tone suddenly cut him off. The demon quickly snatched it up and put the call on speaker. “Asmo, report. Any sign?” “Beel and I didn’t have any luck downtown, so we were headed back to House. We were passing the woods, when Beel... Beel thinks he’s picked up the scent of MC’s blood. We’re following it now.” Simeon shivered as he felt the demonic power in the room quadruple in strength and could practically feel it’s energy crackling in the air around them. Mammon’s face paled, as the second-born cursed and rushed towards the door. Satan, Leviathan, and Belphegore weren’t far behind him; all four brothers were already shifted into their demon forms. Lucifer’s expression became absolutely murderous as he swung his cloak over his shoulders and moved past the angels to follow his brothers. “Keep track of the scent, and describe to me where you are. We’re all coming to-” Suddenly, all the brothers cried out in shock and pain, some of the younger ones even stumbling from it, as their bodies felt as though they had been filled with white-hot needles. Even more painful, however, was the distant, familiar, scream that could be heard on the other side of the phone call. “Th-that’s MC,” Beel grunted out through the pain. As suddenly as it came, the pain vanished as was replaced with a chilling, numbness that filled the demon’s with dread as the screams also ended. Levi froze and looked around at his brothers. “D-Does that mean...Are they?” Satan swallowed thickly and shook his head, but there was a hint of uncertainty and fear in his eyes. “No. If they were dead, we’d feel the pacts break. We’d know. R-Right, Lucifer?” The first born merely scowled and charged forward, leading the group towards the woods. “Let’s go find Beel and Asmo. We’re getting our human back now.” *** Solomon kept an arm wrapped around you as the two of you slowly made yourr way back down the trail to get home. He watched you carefully, keeping an eye out for any unexpected side-effects of the potion. “You’re sure you’re alright then?” You smiled weakly at him and nodded. “Yeah. Only side effect I’ve noticed is it’s made me quite tired. Other than that, I’m all better now, thanks to you.” You looked out at the trail ahead of you, “I’m sorry our day had to end on such a bad note.” The wizard waved a hand in dismissal. “Non-sense. It wasn’t something neither of us could control. Though perhaps I should’ve been more cautious before taking you out here,” he chuckled in thought. “Imagine what the brothers would say if I returned you beaten and broken from a giant rat attack.” You laughed and shook your head. “I doubt Lucifer would let me leave the House again! If I got hurt, it would be damaging to the program after all.” Solomon frowned at your words. “Do you truly think that is the only reason why he, or any of the others for that matter, would care if you get injured?” You shrugged and notably avoided the wizard’s gaze. “What other reason would they have for caring for me? Their the Demon Lords of the Devildom. I’m just MC. A defenseless human with no magical powers and nothing that makes them special.” Solomon stopped walking and grabbed you by the shoulders. He looked down at you with his stern silver eyes as though he was attempting to see straight into your soul. “You are MC. A descendent of the Angel Lilith, Master of all seven of the Avatars of Sin, and one of the kindest most observant individuals I have ever had the great fortune of knowing. You are not just some defenseless human, MC. You are special; and I know the brothers see that too.” You’re heart fluttered in your chest at his words, as a light warmth filled your chest. You opened your mouth to respond, when suddenly the calm forest air was filled with the sound of the Icais Rat’s roar and several battle cries. The two of you frowned and glanced at each other before cautiously making your way towards the commotion. There, in the middle of the same field you had been attacked in earlier, was all seven of the demon brothers, decked out in their demon forms, as they viciously brutalized the wild beast, that looked as though it had been killed within the first hit. Your eyes widened at the sight as you took several panicked steps closer to them. “Woah! Guys! Stop! What are you doing?!” You flinched back as you were suddenly being looked at by seven sets of manic eyes gleaming with danger. Solomon came up behind you and placed a hand on your shoulder, he began to quietly whisper the beginning of a protection incantation. You gulped and held up your hands defensively. “Easy boys. It’s just me. It’s MC.” Asmodeus was the first one to fall out of whatever daze the brothers all seemed to be under. His demon form instantly dropped as tears lined his eyes. “MC!!!” He sprinted over to you and was about to pounce, but found himself smacking into an invisible wall as Solomon threw his hand up. The demon rubbed his nose and gaped over at the wizard in shock and betrayal. “Solomon?! You’re the one that took MC?!” The vicious hue that surrounded the brothers while they were attacking quickly returned as they set their sights on the wizard. Lucifer growled, his eyes remaining fixed on the hand that the wizard kept on your shoulder. “I knew we couldn’t trust him. Solomon, we demand that you let MC go, now.” Your eyes widened as the demons began to surround you in a notably offensive position. You could feel Solomon’s hand tighten on your shoulder as he glared at them. “Not until you all calm down enough, that I feel that I can lower these protective walls without MC being maimed to death.” Levi squawked in offense. “Us hurt them?! You’re the one that kidnapped and tortured them!!!” “Wait what?!” You and Solomon exclaimed in sync. You shoved Solomon’s hand off your shoulder and stood between the wizard and the demons. “Alright, everyone calm down for a minute. I think there’s been a big misunderstanding. Why do you think that Solomon kidnapped and tortured me? That’s insane!” Satan eyed you analytically. “He’s probably given them a potion to manipulate their memories to make them think they’ve come willingly and have them be more submissive,” a few growls filled the air from the statement. Mammon moved as close to you as he could with the invisible wall still up, and looked at you desperately. “MC, you’ve been drugged. But we’re gonna get ya home! Solomon broke in through your window this mornin’ and took ya from us. We know that he’s hurt ya, but we’re not gonna let him hurt ya any more,” his eyes hardened as they shifted to Solomon. “That’s a promise.” Solomon sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t do any of that! Earlier this week, I invited MC to accompany me today as I gathered ingredients to give them a chance to see more of the Devildom. They agreed and came with me this morning.” You nodded and held up a bag of mushrooms as proof. “Exactly. We’ve just been out here exploring the woods all day. That’s all.” Belphegore raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Then how come you didn’t tell us, or leave a note? Why was your window open and your phone left behind?” You’re eyes widened as you felt your stomach drop in realization. “Oh, boys, I am so sorry. I completely forgot! We left so early that I was a bit out of it, and I must have forgotten to make a note. I figured there wouldn’t be any reception in the woods, and I had Solomon there with me for protection, so I didn’t take my phone. I promise this really is just a misunderstanding.” Belphie’s eyes narrowed, clearly still not fully buying the story. “And the window?” You chuckled and scratched the back of your neck. “It was hot last night. I opened it too cool off. I must have forgotten to close it too,” you could feel guilt course through your heart as the brothers all glanced at each other with caution and uncertainty. “I’m really sorry guys. I promise I’m okay. Really!” Beel growled lowly as he moved closer to you. “Then what about the blood that we found in the woods? What about the pain we felt you go through? I know that was real! You were hurt MC! Solomon hurt you!” his voice dropped dangerously low on the last line as his eyes began to glow once more and he punched the invisible wall; trying to break it down by sheer force to get to you. You flinched back, as you realized just how bad this must have seemed to all of them. “We weren’t careful, and we were surprised by that Iacis Rat that you found. It scratched my arm and threw me causing me to break my other arm. Once we got away, Solomon gave me a healing potion, that unfortunately has a pretty painful process,” you looked at Beel sympathetically. “I’m alright, see?” you moved your arms around, and took off your coat to show the undamaged skin on your arms. “No injuries. Just a plain, old, healthy, MC.” You sighed and looked over at the others. “I am so so sorry for worrying you all. I swear I didn’t mean to. If I get Solomon to lower the wall so that I can hug you, do you promise not to attack him?” There was a notable hesitance in their response as they eyed the two of you and seemed to exchange a silent conversation between one another, before one by one, they all dropped their demon forms. Taking that as confirmation, Solomon dropped the warding walls, and within moments you were engulfed by the arms of six of the brothers. “Stupid human” Mammon grumbled and he held you tightly to his chest, “What were ya thinkin’?” “Don’t ever pull that normie crap again, okay?” Levi nuzzled his face into your hair, blushing deeply. “I-I missed a raid because of you!” “You’re not allowed to do stuff like that. You had Beel all upset. You know I don’t like it when Beel’s upset.” Belphie muttered, causing Beel to wrap his arms around the group of you tighter. “You really had us all worried MC,” the gentle giant whispered. “We...We thought you had gotten killed or something. Thought that we lost you.” “Urgh! All this stress has been terrible for my skin!” Asmodeus complained as he pulled away from the group hug. “You owe me a full spa day, darling. I don’t wait want to hear any arguing about it either, because it’s happening. It’s the least you can do after everything you put us through.” Satan pulled away in front of you and frowned as he flicked your nose, like an owner would to a misbehaving dog. “Your actions today were reckless. You know the dangers of the Devildom. You should’ve told us where you were going and took your D.D.D with you. Do I need to remind you of just how wrong today could’ve gone even with Solomon by your side?” Lucifer, standing away from you looked down at you with a carefully drafted gaze of indifference. “We’ll need to make sure that what happened today does not happen again, and ensure that you don’t ‘forget’ basic Devildom safety once more. There will be consequences that we will discuss once we get home. Am I clear?” Strong waves of guilt, shame, and regret washed over you as each of the brothers spoke. You shivered at Lucifer’s words, and his tone which promised that these consequences would not be pleasant, and nodded in response. “Good. Let’s get you back home then, shall we?” As you were to be lead back down the forest path in Levi, Mammon, and Beel’s arms, you glanced over your shoulder and waved at a notably concerned Solomon. “Bye Solomon! Thanks for taking me out today. Next time, we’ll both make the proper preparations and have an even better day, yeah?” Solomon smiled softly at you and nodded. “That’d be lovely MC. It was great being able to spend the day with just the two of us.” The moment you weren’t looking, the brothers all snapped their glares back at Solomon, causing the wizard to flinch back. The message was clear: he would not be taking you for a day out ever again. ***This was meant to be just a funny little drabble, but I accidentally went a teeny bit serious with it...woops. Oh well, hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for reading! Love, B 🐝***

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warmblanketwhump · 3 years ago

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safe enough to fall

a little university-themed thing I wrote using @sicktember prompts: comfort item, sneaky temperature check, medicine, unlikely caregiver, and lightly inspired by these prompts

the grip of the winter’s cold was their constant, unrelenting companion - but sometimes, B just wished it would be a little less faithful.

It doesn’t ease in the morning, when B wakes up coughing with a cold nose and stiff limbs. It stays as B shivers through the lukewarm shower and the hurried layering of clothes over damp, goosebumped skin. It sticks to them like cling wrap on the bus, in the lecture hall, the windy walk to their next class, makes them tense their rattling jaw, and leaves them hunched over and huddled up, desperate to conserve any scrap of heat.

This was a fact of their university existence - that after the pleasant crispness of fall, their poor, scholarship-funded body was plunged into four months of frozen hell. They didn’t like to complain - after all, they were getting a free education. But no one told them how brutal their university’s winters would be, nor that dorm heating was little more than a few puffs of warm air every hour, or that regardless of how many layers they pulled on, they’d be chilled to the bone until late March.

Their final class of the week is in a drafty science lab, and they hold back a groan. The cold's not the only source of their dread - it was the thought of spending 90 minutes with their perky, overly friendly lab partner, A.

A, whose parents were well-off, well-known benefactors of their university. A, who lived in a nice house with proper heating and had the money for a warm winter coat. A, who obliviously chattered on about anything and everything. Besides that, they were just so...happy. All the time.

The can afford to be, B thought miserably. There was no way all that sunshine could be real.

B really tried to tamp down their bitterness, but it was hard to listen to someone gush on about their amazing weekend their family spent on some tropical island when B spent the same weekend wrapped up in blankets, trying to stay warm enough to study their nomenclature notes.

Two minutes before class, A bounds into the lab like a freed golden retriever and begins their usual volley of caffeinated questions, which B responds to in short, clipped answers. Suddenly, the questions stop and A’s brows furrow.

“You look cold. Are you okay?”

B shifts on their stool and tucks their fingers into the sleeves of their worn secondhand coat, pulling it tighter with a shudder. “I am cold. It’s winter.” They cough weakly into their elbow - the nagging cough has gripped them for weeks now.

“Are you sick?”

Direct, then. That was new. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t have a fever or anything.” In truth, they had been feeling a little lower than usual the past couple of days, the chill a little deeper, the aches more pronounced, the cough a bit more painful. But in their book, that was hardly enough call themselves sick. B sniffles and A opens their mouth to comment further, but the professor calls the class to attention, and the moment is gone.

90 minutes later, they’ve got their work cut out for them - a ten-page lab report that’s going to count for nearly a quarter of their final grade. And as luck would have it, it was a partner project, which meant B got to spend more time with the equivalent of human rocket fuel.

“So...do you want to just knock this out tonight?” A's eyes dart around nervously.

B frowns - it’s almost the weekend, and they figured A would have plans with friends this evening. But B sure doesn’t have anything going on., so they don’t protest. “No… I s’pose we should get as much done as possible while it’s still fresh. Want to go to the library?”

“Ugh." A cringes. "Do we have to? That place is like a tomb.”

B huffs indignantly. “It's not that bad," they mumble in a weak defense of their favorite study spot. A shoots them a glare, and B rolls their eyes. "Do you have somewhere better? It's Friday, so most places are closing up.”

“Well, my parents decided to go on some last-minute ski trip to the Alps again, so my place is free," A says as they step out into the biting wind. "Plus, I have a ton of food and it's actually warm in there, unlike these buildings.”

The promise of decent heating and food that wasn't from the dining hall was enough for B. "Fine. Your place." The pair trudge through the bitter wind as the sun begins to set, and soon they arrive at A's parents’ home - a beautiful, winding estate just a couple minutes away from campus. B has to bite their lip to keep their jaw off the ground - in the blustering snow, this place looks straight out of a Christmas card. Another reminder of how they don’t fit in this world.

Will you stop? B chastises themselves. A having money isn't a personal attack on you. Just enjoy the free food, finish the assignment and get over it.

Despite the towering exterior, B's house was quite cozy, colored in warm neutrals and filled with soft, comfortable furniture. Just past the mudroom, they spot a big living room filled with with an enormous overstuffed couch, squashy-looking pillows, and soft throw blankets. Everything about this place screams warm. A rubs their arms, suddenly aware of how cold they are. The heat nearly makes them dizzy, and they can feel the temperature difference as it seeps into their cold skin.

"Want some cocoa?" A tosses their bag into the corner and heads for an electric kettle in the kitchen, and B follows. "It always helps me warm up." B nods. A couple minutes later, A pushes over a steaming mug with the top entirely covered in marshmallows.

B wraps their chilled fingers around the mug and takes a sip, and the warm, rich liquid feels like heaven to their cold body. "That's amazing."

A smiles. "It's the good stuff." They sip in a surprising silence for a few moments, before A sighs in resignation. "As much as I wish this was just a social call, this report isn't gonna write itself." They grab a bag of popcorn and nod their head toward the living room, and B follows dutifully. A flicks on the gas fireplace and tosses B a throw blanket, and the pair gets to work.

------------------------------

After a couple hours of studying, three instances of indignantly thrown popcorn, and a dramatic reading of the periodic table, B realized that they may have misjudged A. Deep down, under the bubbly exterior, A was a genuinely kind, sweet person. It wasn't an act - they just were human sunshine. And the longer they spent time with them, the more B realized they didn't mind their company at all.

"Alright." A drops their pencil and rubs their eyes. "If I have to balance one more equation, my brain's gonna explode. Study break time." A flips on the TV and puts the volume on low.

B leans their head back on the couch and pulls their throw blanket to their chin, trying to ward off the shivery feeling in their core. Despite the heat of the fire, the mug of hot chocolate, and the thick blanket, they just can’t seem to get warm.

Their face feels hot, but their blood feels chilled and heavy, the weight of it making them ache deep down in their bones. B wraps their arms around their knees, trying to rub away the throbbing pain and get some warmth into their skin. They glance out the picture window at the now-blowing snow. It's gonna be a miserable walk home.

"B, you're shivering." A's turning to look at them now.

B startles. "It's-It's nothing. Just a chill." The concern in A's voice triggers their flight response. "I....I should probably get back to the dorms. It’s late–" They're cut off with a hacking cough that leaves them breathless and they wince at the ache in their chest.

"B, it's snowing, and you haven't even had dinner-"

"Where's my jacket?" They push themselves up and toss the throw blanket off, instantly regretting it as the air invades their pocket of hard fought warmth. They’re trembling and dizzy and desperately freezing, but they cannot stay here. Then, the world tilts and they fall back on to the couch. For a moment, they're just laying in an icy, spinning world, trying to catch their breath, when warmth suddenly envelops them.

A's tucking the same thick grey blanket around their shivering form. As they pull away, their hand lightly brushes over B's neck, then freezes. B twists away from the gentle touch, but it’s too late. Realization floods over A's face. Caught. "You lied. You are sick."

B groans, even as their fingers weave into the chunky knit and pull the warm layer closer. "A, please. Just let me go home. I'm probably contagious. You don't want me here."

"B, you look like death warmed over. I'm not sending you out in a blizzard when you're feverish like this. I won't do it." There's a spark in their eyes and a set to A's jaw that dares B to challenge them.

B leans back, defeated. Even though they want nothing more than to run out of this room, they're too weak to stand and too cold to move. So here they'll stay.

It's okay. Someone's here. You can give in now.

No. I can't. I can't let them see me like this.

What choice do you have? You already look awful. Let them help you.

A covers them with another blanket and places a gentle hand on their back, rubbing slowly. The firelight flickers, casting light and shadow across their solemn face. “B. Tell me what you're feeling, and I'll get you what you need.”

B swallows down the rising panic, the helpless vulnerability they feel, and takes a shallow, shaky breath. “I…I guess I just feel….not right. I’m always cold...but it's...worse.” They sniffle weakly, trying to still and order their swirling thoughts. “Chills, fever, cough, sore throat, kinda stuffed up. And it just hurts everywhere.”

A nods slowly, then leaves the room. They return in a few minutes with a few small bottles, carefully scanning the labels and holding them up for B to see.

“Can you take this? Any problems with this one?” B had to take a moment and match the brand names with their usual knockoff brands, but soon they had a couple over the counter medicines picked out, along with something for their cough.

A glances at the medicine labels once more. "This one says to take with food. I've got some leftover chicken and dumpling soup I can heat up - does that sound okay?"

B nods almost imperceptibly. "Sounds wonderful." A gets up to heat the soup, and B feels the anxiety rising in their stomach when they're not in the room with them. A returns with a mug and manages to gently spoon a few sips of broth into B's mouth before B starts falling asleep, clutching the grey blanket even tighter to their shoulders.

A smiles sadly. “That blanket's my favorite whenever I'm not feeling good. It's the best thing you could have to fight off what you’ve got. Trust me.”

B curls into the soft fabric. It was as if the warm environment of the apartment and the comfort of the blanket had been a signal that it was safe to leave survival mode, rest for a moment, open the floodgates that had been holding back whatever had been ailing them for weeks.

After B takes their medicine, A’s eyes shift awkwardly around the room. “So….when you’re sick, do you like having someone with you? Or do you want to be by yourself?”

A sudden rush of emotion crashes over B. They’d so rarely had the choice. It takes all they’ve got not to throw themselves around A and beg them not to leave. “Stay, please,” they ask in a small, trembling voice. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

A smiles halfway and gently pats B’s leg. “Seeing as how I live here, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” They take their spot at the end of the couch and pull B’s legs over their own, flicking the TV to a familiar movie. B tries to keep up with the plot, but they keep falling in and out of a fitful, restless sleep, tossing, turning, unable to get comfortable enough.

When B’s about ready to cry from exhaustion, A’s there, covering them up with another blanket, bringing them a glass of water, gently stroking the damp hair off their forehead before laying a cold cloth over it. They flinch at first, but the cool dampness eases the fire of their fever, even for just a moment. The last thing B remembers before falling unconscious is a gentle hand squeezing theirs.

It could be minutes or hours later when they jolt awake from a fever dream in a cold sweat, choking and coughing. They’ve kicked off their blankets and the cloth is nowhere to be found, but the chills are back in full force. A appears in B’s blurred vision, hand held to B’s forehead. “Poor thing. Your fever’s worse,” they murmur.

B’s still gasping for breath, curled up in the fetal position, body wracked by the shakes as they try force the words through their chattering teeth. “A...It's so cold. I’m so scared.”

If B was more lucid, they’d see something in A’s eyes crack wide open at their weak, fearful cries. A pulls the trusted grey blanket from the floor and wraps it back around B, rubbing their arms to try and make them feel warmer. There's something in the tenderness of the gesture, and B’s panicked gasps turn into soft, quiet sobs. They try and cover their face with one hand, but A’s hand is there, catching their wrist and wiping the tears away with their thumb.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay. We just gotta get through tonight, alright?” A’s voice matches their usual cheery demeanor, but B can see the fear in their own eyes. They don’t know what they’re doing either.

“Why are you helping me?” B whispers in a tear-roughened voice.

A shrugs. "You're sick. You need help. Is it that so surprising?"

B's eyes flash a delirious spark. "You don't get it. I'm a broke scholarship student. I'm nothing like you. I'm not fun, or bubbly, or rich, or any of those things you are, and I don't fit in here. So why?"

B can't stop the words now, every single insecurity laid bare. "Why do you try to talk to me when I'm nothing but rude to you? Why'd you invite me here? Am I just a project to you? Why are you helping me? I'm not worth it!" The words spill out before B can stop them, and the raw hurt in A's eyes nearly rips B's heart out of their chest.

B claps their hand over their mouth, tears flooding their eyes. Now they've done it. They've laid it all out there. A's gonna kick them to the curb. And B won't blame them one bit.

But instead, A just looks at them, and pulls B into a hug. Their voice wavers only a bit as they whisper in B's ear: "You're not a project. You are completely worth being cared for. And you’re not the only one who knows what it feels like to not fit somewhere. Trust me.”

Alone. In a big, empty house. Studying on a Friday night. No plans of their own.

A, are you lonely, too?

Their words are so simple.

And yet they're everything B didn't know they needed to hear. A's got one arm around their shoulders, and one hand threaded through their sweaty, fever-damp hair, and they're cradling B so tightly it’s like they're the one who needs to be held.

B can't find the words to apologize or comfort them back. They're too tired for that. But they wrap their other arm around A and let their head rest on their shoulder. They stay like that for ages until their head begins to drop, and A shifts so they’re both laying down, B curled against A, A’s arm wrapped around their shoulders as they tuck a blanket around them both.

And finally, finally, B lets go. It's safe to fall, this time around. Because for the first time, there's someone there to catch them.

#sickfic #whump #sickfic prompt #whump prompt #cold whump #lol i rewrote this four times #can i just be chill about whump #no #no i cannot #also it’s cooler today #fall means whump weather #I don’t make the rules

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miyaagis · 4 years ago

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lake shore drive

there's a road i'd like to tell you about, lives in my home town. lake shore drive the road is called and it'll take you up or down. from rats on up to riches fifteen minutes you can fly. pretty blue lights along the way, help you right on by. and the blue lights shining with a heavenly grace, help you right on by

+ pairing. bokuto k. / fem reader / kuroo t.

+ word c. 1k

+ warnings. dubcon, use of drugs (lsd) and alcohol, manipulation, exhibitionism/public sex, college au, implied voyeurism and bad tripping

+ author's n. hii, this is my piece for the intoxicated collab !! dont forget to check the other authors ♡ this isn't a song fic btw i just used it as inspo...and title...and summary (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

you knew it was a bad idea as soon as you accepted, it screamed nothing but bad news when bokuto asked you —of all girls on campus— out on a date. red flags flashing before your eyes when he told you you were going to meet his friends by the lake instead of eating at the restaurant he had promised you.

three men, kuroo, konoha, and lev were their names; waited for you as they stood by their car on an empty road.

but it had been even a worse idea to accept the little paper square with a happy face printed on it.

one hour later and you were by the outskirts of the city, the scenery greener with dense trees and mountains replacing the urban setting. with the windows rolled down, the cool wind blew harshly against your hair and it helped soothe the heat in your face, a dopey smile sitting on your lips as you watched the blue lights dance across the sky while they illuminated your eyes.

“c’mere,” kuroo’s raspy voice spoke in your ear, his nose nuzzling against your face, “having fun?”

“did you see the lights? they look so so pretty!”

the awe in your voice was clear, wonder shining in your blown-out pupils as you swore the stars talked to you. with their enchanting colours and the scent of white and blue clouding your sense of smell, the sound of the universe calling your name flowing in front of you and, at the same time, the earth pulling you into its depths.

you were soaring, absorbed in the momentary bliss.

bokuto’s hand sat on your thigh, his mouth busy kissing your shoulder, “not as pretty as you.”

you were suddenly hyper-aware of the two men sandwiching you between their weight, bokuto rubbing slow circles on your thigh as kuroo placed light kisses on your neck. their breaths were loud, overshadowing the music playing on the radio and your own rapid heartbeat.

“w-wha–”

“shh, relax or you’ll end up having a bad trip.” kuroo murmured, lips moving down to your shoulder.

his hand snaked down your body, two fingers slipping past your waistband and going straight to your folds. after collecting a bit of wetness, he moved them back up and began to draw small circles on your clit.

a needy whine left your mouth, “they’re gonna… see.”

but when you looked at the front of the car, konoha and lev seemed so far away, so out of reach. they surely wouldn’t notice, right?

“let them.”

and so you did.

meanwhile, bokuto’s hand wrapped around your wrist, placing your palm on top of his erection, “baby, you got me so hard,” he whined against your neck, “help me?”

seeing him so needy made your core throb, lust making your brain go haywire, especially with kuroo’s fingers buried in your panties.

as soon as bokuto saw you nod, he pulled his zipper down and freed his cock from his boxers. the head was already leaking pre-cum causing your mouth to water.

after licking the palm of your hand, your fingers wrapped around his length, the both of you groaning at the same time but for different reasons.

kuroo had slipped a finger into your hole, pushing it between your tight walls and massaging them with the pad of his finger.

“so wet,” he said, voice heavy with arousal, “can’t wait to have your sweet pussy on my face.”

you clenched at his words, your hand unconsciously going faster.

“s-slow down,” bokuto breathed out, his flushed cheeks matching the colour of the tip of his cock. once he felt your pace decelerate, he allowed his head to rest on your shoulder, “mhm, that’s better. fuck, you’re so good at this.”

the time passed—hours or minutes, you weren’t sure; and at some point bokuto moved a hand up to your breast, massaging and pinching your nipple through your clothes while kuroo attached his lips onto yours. it was as if your tongue melted with his, moving together just as he slipped a second finger in, the coil in your belly tightening slowly.

“feels so good,” you moaned against his lips, biting your bottom lip when his thumb moved to your clit, “mm fuck– f-faster.”

“you’re gonna cum, sweetheart? don’t fight it,” he encouraged you, “let me see how pretty you look cumming for me.”

once the pace of his thumb on your clit increased, the coil snapped and morphed into raw bliss. your senses drowned under the euphoria, your pussy drooling all over kuroo’s fingers as he made you reach another form of high.

“shit, baby. i’m gonna– fuck, gonna c-cum.”

you observed bokuto’s cock twitch in your hand, thick cum spurting out of it and falling on his lap as he continued cursing and squirming in his seat. it was mesmerizing how you could hear his cock pulsate, the white liquid luring you in and, after a quick lick at your hand, its taste exploding in your mouth once it hit your tongue.

but then it got quiet, way too quiet that you were able to hear the distinctive click of the seatbelts from the front seats. panic began to bubble in your chest when you realized you weren’t moving, the car parked on the side of the road with nothing but darkness and eerie silence accompanying you.

twisted shadows surrounded you, the two men beside you too immersed in their own highs to notice. with a glance at the front of the car, you suddenly remembered you weren’t alone.

but it was the sight of the other two pair of eyes, already looking at you through the rear mirror, what made your blood run cold.

taglist. @cyb3rbab3 @tsumue @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @lets-go-datehoe @newfriendjen @oneholetickler @kageyamakock @idiotgu

#the intoxicated collab #tw.dubcon #tw.drugs #tw.manipulation #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere bokuto #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere bokuto x reader #haikyuu smut #bokuto.xo #kuroo.xo

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

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Borrowed Apples | Bucky Barnes

Hi my lovelies I hope you're all having a lovely weekend so far! This one was super fun to write-- very easy and airy-- just what I needed right now. It's pretty fluffy I would say and I hope you all enjoy some soft James "Bucky" Barnes!

Appetizers (Tags): Fluff

Entres (Pairing): Bucky Barnes x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 16: “Can you believe they call us criminals when he’s assaulting us with that haircut?”

Notes: Requested by @thatweirdoleigh (I hope you enjoy Leigh <3 !!)

Word Count: 1k

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

If someone had told her a year ago that one day she would be walking down the streets of Bucharest, hand in hand with the most wanted criminal on the face of the planet— Well, she wouldn’t have laughed that’s for sure. Maybe she would have cried. Her jaw would have definitely dropped. Then, maybe, she would have laughed. Maybe. Because not even she is stupid enough to fall for the Winter Solider.

Right?

“Eat—” An apple is pressed into her hand, metal fingers closing around her own— “while you can. Don’t know when we’re gonna’ have another chance like this.”

She peers up at him, past the brim of his old hat. He had put it on her before they left, pulling the hood of her— his— sweater up right after. He worries too much about her. She isn’t the one they’re after— not really. They would only take her to get to him.

She quirks a brow at him, her lips tilting. “Did we pay for this apple?”

Bucky gives her a deadpan stare in return, hand pushing the apple closer to her. “We borrowed it. Eat.”

She rolls her eyes but complies, bringing the ruby red fruit to her lips and biting into it with a hearty crunch. Sweetness explodes over her tongue and she lolls her head onto his arm, closing her eyes and savouring it. She can’t remember the last time she ate something so fresh. It’s like being renewed— when she cracks her eyes back open everything is a little bit brighter.

She swallows, tugging on his arm, holding the fruit up. He shakes his head at her. “No, doll. You eat it. You need it more.”

“Not true, you haven’t eaten since yesterday.” His blue eyes crease, his head dipping down, and she presses her hand to his chest because there’s no way he’s going to kiss his way out of this one. “At least try it, Buck?”

“Alright, alright— I’ll try it.” He relents, pushing against her hand to close the gap between them again.

Her shoulders drop, smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you Bu—”

The rest of her sentence is cut off, swallowed by the soft lips of the world’s most wanted criminal. His tongue darts out, licking the seam of her lips— oh yeah, he’s definitely dangerous alright. The FBI is doing the world justice by trying to track this crazed individual down. Fuck the bureau. He tugs her bottom lip between his teeth and it’s all she can do to hold the apple to her chest and try not to crush it in her tight grip.

He pulls away, nose bumping against hers. “There— I tried it.”

She lightly smacks his chest, rolling her eyes before taking another bite. “You’re impossible, you know that Barnes?”

She waits for a retort— his usual smartass, endearing comment— but it doesn’t come. He’s no longer looking at her, his eyes scanning their surroundings. She swallows but this time it tastes a little less sweet. The colors are waning again. She didn’t expect it would last forever but maybe a few more minutes in the warm air and his arms would have been warranted. Oh well.

His hand wraps around her arm, bringing her closer to his cinnamon chest and pulling her into a steady walk beside him. “We gotta’ keep moving, doll— there are some guys over there who keep looking at us. Think our cover’s blown.”

She peeks around his arm and sure enough there are two guys, both of them tall and bulky, dressed in casual clothes but sticking out like sore thumbs. What, with their hands shoved in their pockets and their beady eyes and their— Wait a minute, what the fuck is on their heads?

She can’t help it— she knows she’s a wanted fugitive and that the man beside her is even more so one— but she has to laugh. There’s no way she can hold it back. She digs her fingers into Bucky’s jacket, holding on for dear life as she bursts into a fit of giggles. It isn’t easy, jogging while your gut is constricting so violently. Maybe the terrible wigs were their game plan all along.

“Doll, now really isn’t the time for this—” She can hear the slight edge in his voice, the way he swallows his own laugh at the end of his sentence, and it only makes her laugh harder.

“I know, I know, but Buck c’mon look at them—” she spares another glance at the men who have moved a few stalls in their direction, clearly following them, and almost drops her apple from how hard her shoulders shake— “what the hell is with those wigs?”

This time Bucky laughs, hiking her closer to his body and urging her to move a little quicker as he maneuvers them around the side of a building, pressing her up against an alcove. She’s still laughing as he ducks his head, shielding her body from the street. She has no doubt that the busy crowd will conceal their presence— they just have to wait like always.

She presses her face against his chest, muffling her giggles. She feels him heave under her cheek, his hand slipping up and into her hair. She takes a few breaths, finally forcing herself to calm down. She really needed the laugh— it’s not easy being on guard at all hours of the day. She thinks she’s done now, though, her breathing becoming even and heart rate slowing. She takes a bite of the apple, now warm and browning but still just as sweet.

“Can you believe they call us criminals when they’re assaulting us with those haircuts?”

She almost chokes, letting her head thunk against him playfully. “Really Buck?”

“You know I’m right.”

If someone had told her that she would be sharing an apple, laughing her ass off, while on the run with the world’s most wanted criminal she would have rolled her eyes— kind of like how she rolls her eyes now, nuzzling her cheek against his arm and sighing.

“Yeah, I know.”

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky #Bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #Dinner at Dizzy's

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nastybuckybarnes · 4 years ago

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In a Heartbeat - Seven

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Injuries, Fluff, Fluff, FLUFF

Word Count: 4.1K

A/n: Here she is! Part seven! I’m gonna write a little epilogue but the fic can very well end here! I love this series with my whole heart and soul omg

Series Masterlist

~*~

He’s numb.

So damn numb.

Nothing even matters. His ears are ringing, the bright lights bouncing off the linoleum floors are fucking with his eyes but he doesn’t care because you’ve been in the operating room for hours and all he wants is to see you, to make sure you’re okay.

No one’s said a single thing to him about whether or not you’re okay, and it’s taking all of his self-control not to break down that door and see for himself.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, jolting him from his thoughts and bringing him back to the loud sounds of the waiting room.

He furrows his brows at Steve, confused out of his mind until he sees Tommy in his other arm, head resting against his father's shoulder and a casted arm hanging limply at his side.

“Hey Tommy, how you feeling?” The brunet asks, his voice rough and hoarse with lack of use.

The six-year-old only whimpers softly in response, burrowing further into his father’s neck.

“He’s okay. Doctor’s got him on some painkillers. Said it was a clean break from pounding on that window.” Bucky stands up, rubbing his nephew on the back. “You’re a hero, buddy. Just like your daddy.” Tommy sniffles and nods, the sight breaking the man’s heart.

“You should head home for the night, Buck. Shower, rest, then come back in the morning.” He clenches his jaw and swallows hard, shaking his head.

“I-I can’t, Steve. What if... what if she comes out and I’m not here? Or what if...” He trails off, not even wanting to entertain the idea of the other option.

“I saw Nat on her way down here. Ask her for an update and then go home. You’ve had a long day. And when she’s out of surgery she's gonna be upset to see that you’ve exhausted yourself out here in the waiting room.” Steve has a point. Both men are still in their fire gear, having rushed to the hospital directly from the fire.

It’s after midnight now.

“I’m taking Tommy home. Take care of yourself tonight, Buck. If not for you, then for her.” He nods, eyes on the floor as the blond leaves, his son curled up against his side.

“Barnes? You’re still here?” He looks up at the sound of Natasha’s voice, desperation evident on his face as she walks over to him.

“I’ve got no update other than she’s unstable and that they’re doing everything they can. It’ll be another few hours before she’s out of surgery and even then, she’s going straight to the ICU and won’t be awake for at least a day or so.” He lets out a terribly shaky breath but nods, rubbing his eyes then pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Y-you’ll call if there are any updates, right? I’m just gonna pop home and shower and sleep for a few hours but I'll be back first thing in the morning.” She nods, taking his hand and squeezing tightly.

“I’m off for the rest of the night, so I’ll be sticking around bugging the nurses for updates whenever I can. Might even bribe an intern with good coffee, not this hospital shit.” Bucky chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Okay.” He takes a step towards the exit then hesitates, looking back at the redhead for a. moment. “Do you think she’s gonna make it?” He asks, his voice soft and broken and nearly lost among the sea of people.

Natasha swallows hard and avoids his eyes, taking a deep breath before answering.

“The doctors are doing everything they can.” A rehearsed answer. An answer she gives to relatives to let them know that they shouldn’t expect much.

He says nothing, only gives her a firm nod, then turns and leaves the hospital.

Hot droplets of water rain down on him, washing away the stench of smoke and the physical reminder of the events of the day. But no heat and no water pressure will wash away the sorrow in his soul. The absolute unadulterated fear that grips his bones and seeps into his bloodstream. That is something that won’t be washed away by any amount of water and suds.

His movements are mechanical, scrub, rinse, dry, dress.

The sleep that finds him is restless and fitful, filled with nightmares that will haunt him for nights to come. Every thought, both waking and otherwise, are occupied by you. Your face, your smile, your laugh, and the thought that he may never experience any of them again.

He's back at the hospital at six-thirty, coffee in his metal hand because his flesh one is shaking too much.

Just as he’s walking to the reception desk, he sees Natasha walking towards the waiting room. Her face is unreadable when she sees him, but he notices her take a deep breath.

“What is it?” He asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

“She’s out of surgery. She’s still unstable, hasn’t woken up yet, but she’s been out for about three hours. She probably won’t wake up until this evening.” He takes a few deep breaths then nods, a bubble of relief hugging him tenderly.

“Where is she?” Nat sighs and turns on her heel, leading him towards your room.

“James, I’m not going to sugar coat this for you. She’s not doing well. There’s still a fair chance that she won’t wake up.” She stops, looking up at him with vulnerability in her eyes, tears brimming.

“What is it?” He’s nervous, his heart feels like it’s going to explode.

“They’re saying she needs a transplant. That her heart won’t last for much longer and if she wants any hope of surviving more than a couple years, she’ll need a new heart.”

The air leaves his lungs in a whoosh, almost as if someone punched him in the gut. He stumbles back a step, coffee dropped and hands coming to the tops of his thighs as he hunches over, trying to catch his breath.

“That’s a best-case scenario. Worst case is she... well... we should’ve said our goodbyes. But she’s strong. She’ll pull through. She has to pull through.” That last part is whispered so softly that the brunet almost misses it.

“Nat,” his voice breaks, it cracks and splinters and shatters in pieces on the linoleum that he doesn’t have the energy to pick up. He can’t pick himself back up. Not if you might not wake up. He just can’t.

“Sit down, c’mon.” She helps him lean back against the wall, sliding down until he’s seated, arms draped over his knees and his head hanging heavily between them.

He can’t breathe.

A sick voice in his head screams that this is what you must’ve been feeling, this terrible tightness in your chest, this inability to draw in a single damn breath. It’s unbearable and for just a moment he realizes he wouldn’t blame you if you gave up, if you just let it take you. But he shakes that thought from his head and instead focuses on you fighting. You need to fight. If you can pull through, then they can find you a new heart and you’ll be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You have to be okay.

~*~

Everything feels still. Dry. Bland.

If you could pin it to a colour, that colour would be beige.

Everything feels beige.

You’ve been awake for a little while now, gathering your bearings and trying to remember what happened. The last thing you remember is the fire bell... Wanda telling you not to go... and then running back into the building to find Tommy.

Tommy.

Your heart picks up in speed, pain flaring through your chest at the action, and an alarm starts beeping rapidly.

It takes only seconds for the door to open, nurses and doctors flooding into the room and checking the various machines around you while you grab at the front of your hospital gown uselessly, trying to alleviate the pain.

“(Y/n), I need you to take a big breath with me, okay?” A doctor says, her brown eyes focused on yours. You nod, inhaling with her for a moment then exhaling. You do this a few times and the machine gradually stops, your heart slowing as whatever they injected into your bloodstream takes effect.

Nurses slowly trickle out, leaving just you and the doctor.

“Well, you sure know how to make an entrance,” she says with a smile, looking over your chart.

“What can I say, Doc? I’ve got a flair for the dramatic.” Your voice is weak, far weaker than it should be, and that alone scares you.

She chuckles softly, smiling at your words before tucking the chart under her arm and looking at you straight on.

“You being alive right now is an absolute miracle,” she says softly, taking a step towards the bed then motioning to the chair beside it, asking wordlessly if she can take a seat.

You nod, taking a few deep breaths as you prepare to hear whatever news she has for you.

“Your heart stopped twice on the way to the hospital, and the second time we almost couldn’t get it going again. Your heart is weak, and what you endured nearly ruptured your left atrium and you had severe lacerations of your ventricles. It is most comparable to a very severe heart attack, and you’re lucky to have survived.”

She doesn’t look like she’s delivering good news. No, she should be happy if you’re lucky to have survived. That fact alone puts you on edge.

“What is it? What... what’s wrong with my heart now?” You know it can’t be good judging only by the look on her face. It’s a look you’ve seen far too many times.

“With the rate you’re going, your heart will give out completely in three or four years. And it won’t be a pleasant process. You’ll be in pain, bedridden and hospitalized because you won’t be able to move. The only alternative is a transplant.” The world around you shifts from beige to grey, the clouds dark and the room sorrowful.

Your ears start ringing, loud and painfully and it takes everything in you not to rip them right off.

“S-so that’s it then? I’m gonna die in three years if I’m lucky? I’ve only got three years left?” She sighs and looks down at her hands, “the only other option would be to put you on a waiting list for a new heart, but we cannot guarantee that you’ll get it in time, but it’s worth a shot.” You shake your head, tears falling from your eyes and splattering on the ugly blue hospital blanket.

“I don’t want a new heart! I don’t want to go through a process and get my hopes up over something that I won’t get in time.” You sniffle and shove your face in your hands, the steady beeping of the machine next to you making you want to cry even harder.

“I’ll give you some time, (Y/n).” The doctor gets up and leaves, a sad look on her face as she turns to the pair waiting anxiously outside your door.

Natasha pushes herself to her feet, her eyes wide with curiosity and desperation.

“I recommend you give her space. She’s... processing everything,” Doctor Palmer says softly, giving Natasha a sad smile before walking away to handle her other patients.

Nat exchanges looks with Bucky then slowly walks to the door.

“Just give me a minute to see how she’s doing, okay? I’ll tell her you’re out here waiting, I just wanna see if she needs anything.” He takes a deep breath but nods, understanding that Natasha would be able to tell, if only from a medical standpoint, what you need.

You keep your face in your hands, tears wetting your palms, as the door opens again.

“Beans?” Nat’s voice makes you stiffen, sniffling and wiping your eyes before peeking up at her.

Her heart shatters in her chest at the sight of you.

Skin dull, eyes heavy and sunken. She’s seen a lot of sick people before but never would she have put you in the same category as them. Now though? Now, you look the part.

“I uh... I heard the news. Bugged the nurses for updates and they finally caved.”

Your bottom lip wobbles and then a sob bubbles out of your chest.

Nat’s face falls and she slides onto the bed beside you, pulling you into a tight embrace while you sob.

“Oh beans,” she whispers, smoothing your hair away from your face.

“I don’t want a new heart!” You cry, tears soaking her shirt. She hugs you, holds you tightly while you cry out your frustrations, your sorrows.

It’s agony.

She has so many questions, so much she wants to say, but she knows better.

She holds her tongue, wanting you to be in a better headspace before she talks to you about your options. It’s too soon. The wound is too fresh.

Bucky sits impatiently outside of the room the whole time, leg bouncing and flesh fingers trembling.

Natasha comes out of your room a short while later, sniffling and wiping at her cheeks.

“What’s happening? Is she okay?” The redhead nods, taking a few deep breaths.

“I’ve seen a lot of sick people, Barnes. A lot of them. But seeing her... seeing my friend so weak and tiny...” She shakes her head, looking up at him with glossy eyes.

“I’m scared, Buck.” Bucky pulls her into a hug, his own breaths shaking.

“It's okay. It’s gonna be okay.” She sniffles again then speaks, “she’s asleep again. She should be good to see you the next time she wakes up though. I’m sure she misses you.” He squeezes his eyes shut but nods, trying to mentally prepare himself to see you in such a fragile state.

~*~

Bucky doesn’t know how to feel.

He doesn’t even want to feel.

Helpless.

That’s the word that sums it up the best.

Seeing you on that hospital bed, tubes attached to your face, arms, and chest, he feels absolutely helpless.

“Hey,” he murmurs, smiling gently when you look up from your book.

“Bucky... Hi.” Your voice is raspy and hoarse, and he has to take a few shaky breaths to stop from crying.

“You mind if I sit?” You shake your head, motioning to the chair beside your bed.

He takes a seat and looks at you closely, his eyes welling up with tears.

“How ya feelin, pretty girl?” You huff a breath out through your nose then shrug, trying your hardest to stay strong in front of him.

“I uh... I’ve been better, I gotta say.” He chuckles weakly then nods, sniffling and dropping his gaze for a moment.

“Nat uh... Nat told me what the doctors said. About your heart and stuff. That’s... intense.” It’s not the best word but it’s the only one he can find.

You blow a breath out through your mouth and nod.

“It’s scary,” you whisper, not looking up from your hands even when he takes them in his.

“I’m scared. I don’t want to be put on a waiting list only to not get one in time. And there are people who need a new heart more than I do. People who want one more than I do.” He furrows his brows and cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“What do you mean, you don’t want a new heart? Why wouldn’t you want one?”

You sigh heavily, “because, James. This is my heart. It’s the heart that I’ve lived with for my whole life. I don’t want a new one because this one is mine. This is the one that’s dealt with heartbreaks and betrayals. This is the one that’s gotten me through the bad days and the good. And this is the one that chose you. I don’t want a different one. I wanna keep this one. And don’t you dare tell me that my days are numbered if I keep this one because my days are numbered regardless.”

You finally look up at him, fire in your eyes as you express everything that’s been going on in your mind.

“We’re all gonna die someday, and it may not be the way we expect or the way we want, and we won’t ever be fully ready for it. But it’s gonna happen. I’d much rather know that I spent my life doing what I wanted on my terms. If my days are numbered, I'd rather enjoy them than spend them waiting for a heart I may never get. My heart’s still got a few years left in it. Careful years, yeah, but years no less.”

Tears stain his cheeks and he nods, sniffling twice then pressing a kiss to your hands.

“I’m not going to try and change your mind, Doll. The choice is completely yours and no matter what you decide to do, I’ll stay by your side through all of it, I promise. You’re my girl, my best girl, my only girl, and I want you to do what’s best for you.” You squeeze your eyes shut, having mentally prepared yourself for him to put up a fight, not for him to be so supportive of your decision.

“I love you, (Y/n). And I’m gonna cherish every fucking moment that you let me spend with you because I love you. I thought,” he pauses, pulling a hand back to scrub the tears off of his cheeks only for more to fall.

“I thought I’d lose you before getting a chance to truly tell you. But I’m not gonna waste any more time because life is a precious gift. I love you, (Y/n). So much. To the fucking ends of the Earth. I love you and I don't want a day to go by where you don’t know just how much I love you.”

You whimper, his confession making warmth spread through your body and tears rain down your cheeks.

“I-I love you too, James. With every ounce of my heart, I love you. And I don't want to let you down and I never want to hurt you.” He closes his eyes, content to bask in the weight of your words for a moment longer, a private, intimate moment.

He eventually settles his head on the bed next to your hip, and your fingers find their way into his luscious brown locks, twirling the thick strands around mindlessly.

“When are you getting discharged?” He asks, his voice muffled by the bed.

“I’m not sure yet. Doctor Palmer said she wants to keep me here for at least another week or so to monitor my heart and take me off the medication, and then maybe some more time after that depending on how weak I am.” He nods, nuzzling against you some more.

“I’m not going back to work ‘till you’re out,” he says matter-of-factly.

You only giggle, shaking your head.

“James, that’s not even plausible. You’ve got bills to pay. Besides, you’ll get tired of being here. I’m gonna spend most of my time sleeping or bugging the nurses for some real food.” He lifts his head, eyes full of vulnerability.

“I just don't wanna leave you and then...” He trails off but you understand his concern.

“I’m gonna be okay. Doctor Palmer says I’m doing okay. I’m sure Nat will continue bugging her for updates and she’ll let you know if there’s anything concerning happening. But I’m gonna be fine, I swear.” He watches you for a moment longer before nodding and pressing his head against your thigh.

A thought bubbles into your mind and you tug gently on his hair to get his attention.

“What happened to Tommy?” You ask, voice tight and filled with apprehension.

Bucky only smiles gently.

“Lil guy’s a hero. He busted that window open, that’s how we found you two. Broke his arm but he’s okay. Says he looks like me so he likes it.” A smile finds its way onto your face at the idea of Tommy looking up to his uncle so much.

“He’s already gotten everyone at the firehouse to sign it, and I’m sure when he’s back to school he’ll get everyone there to sign it too. But the lil guy’s a hero. Gonna make a good firefighter.” You nod, mind flashing back to those last few moments in the school.

“I was so scared, James. I-I couldn’t protect him and I didn’t know what to do.” He reaches up and strokes your cheek gently, shushing you softly.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. It’s okay. Everyone’s okay.” You take a few deep breaths and nod, trying to calm down before your heart rate picks up too much.

“You need to worry about yourself, and not everyone else. Focus on getting better, okay? And then, when you’re ready, I’m gonna take you out on a date and show you just how much you can enjoy life, okay?”

You nod, smiling at him.

“Okay.”

~*~

“Miss (Y/l/n)!” Tommy runs at you full speed, nearly knocking you over when he barrels into your legs.

Bucky’s quick to steady you, opening his mouth to reprimand his nephew but you stop him, raising a hand to cut him off.

“Hey, Tommy! How’s my little superhero feeling?” He pulls back and smiles up at you.

“I got another cast so now my arm looks just like uncle Bucky’s!” You glance at the new blue cast and smile brightly.

“Look at that! And you’re a hero just like him too, huh?” He nods excitedly then digs around in his pocket for a moment.

“Here!” He hands you a sharpie then points to a blank space on his cast.

“I made sure to leave room for you to sign it!” Your face softens and you crouch down in front of him, signing your name and drawing a small picture.

“Thank you, Tommy.” He nods, glancing over his shoulder as his dad calls his name.

“C’mon Tommy! You gonna help us move or are you gonna help miss (Y/l/n) get organized?” He looks between you and his dad then runs over to the moving truck, excitedly grabbing whatever his little arms can carry then bringing them into the house.

Bucky wraps an arm around your waist and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“You ready?” You look up at your new house, then over at him, nodding without hesitation.

“Absolutely.”

The moving process is long and tedious, and after seven hours of lifting, unboxing, cleaning, and organizing, you’re about ready to call it a day.

“Pizza’s on its way, and Nat ran out to grab some beers,” Bucky says, coming up into the master bedroom. Concern immediately colours his features as he sees the way you’re sitting. You’re on the bed, hunched over with one hand on your mouth and the other on your lower abdomen.

“(Y/n)?” He asks, coming to a crouch in front of you and trying to get a look at your face.

You take a few deep breaths then nod, opening your eyes and offering him a weak smile.

“You okay?” You nod again but he seems unconvinced.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You take a deep breath and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I uh.. not really. I wanted to tell you in a better way but I guess this is as good as it’s going to get.” His heart is in his throat, absolutely terrified of what you’re going to tell him.

You’ve been going to the doctor a lot more frequently, and your energy levels have plummeted.

He knew you didn’t have time left but it hasn’t even been six months since the fire.

You pull his hand to your stomach and rest it there gently, eyes finding his as you wait for it to click.

He stares at his hand in confusion, that confusion melting away as he realizes what you’re telling him.

“Wait, are you...?” His eyes are wide, eyebrows raised and heart pounding.

You only nod, tears welling up in your eyes as he launches up and wraps his arms around your frame.

“Oh my god. Oh my god! I’m gonna be a dad!” You giggle wetly, tears of joy falling and getting soaked up by his shirt.

“We’re gonna have a baby.” He pulls back, hands on your small baby bump.

“How far along are you?” He asks, cradling the bump delicately between his hands.

“About three months. And the doctor said that they’ve already got a birth plan ready, and different pills for me to take to calm my heart.” His glossy eyes look up at you, so full of love and adoration.

“I can’t believe it. I...” he stops, leaning in the gently kiss your lips then pulls you into another tight embrace.

“Thank you, (Y/n). Thank you.”

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batfamtv · 3 years ago

Text

me after writing smut: is this who i am? is this who i represent? lmao i've never written smut until trese, i guess the thirst was too much, let me know how y'all like it! thank you so much for all your support, ily <3

(ﾉ´ з `)ノ

kambal x reader; established relationship

gif by @rasputinaillyanna (see their original gifsets here!)

sfw

the three idiots

seriously, alexandra feels like she keeps aging 20+ years whenever you three are together and goofing around

this is one of the reasons why you’re not allowed on the field with them, they’d get absolutely nothing done

that, and the twins simply wont put you in danger under any circumstances

alexandra also treats you like a sister (in law) and wants you safe, but can only do so much to keep you out of their lives since you still find ways to help them out

absolutely rowdy when you’re with basilio, you and him practically have a lot of inside jokes and a secret language

people would give you both weird looks when you’re out in public, just because you’re both so damn loud

with crispin you’re more mature (but not a lot), he does these grand gestures like taking you out on expensive dates, takes instagram/pinterest style pics of you

basilio also takes pics of you, but those are some of the most unflattering ones that he sends to your groupchat as memes

the ppl who arent familiar with your relationship with the twins are almost often confused when they see you with just the one twin: they’d think “huh i saw this couple a week ago, but i could have sworn the boyfriend had much shorter hair, it couldn’t have grown that long in a week, right?”

when you do go out with the twins, they flank you and you almost get squished in between them, so sometimes you have to push them both to the sides so that you would have space to move around

the three of you like to just chill at the mall sometimes, go window shopping and then eat samgyup/mang inasal later on

other times when you manage to drag alexandra with you, people would assume that you guys are on a double date, and alexandra has the ugliest/most disgusted look on her face as she corrects them “these are my brothers” “im gay”

in your groupchat (just you and the twins) crispin is the sweet, doting one who would text you “have you eaten?” “want us to pick something up for you on the way home?” while basilio sends you memes and selfies of the twins

they send you videos and pics of pets they meet “today we met brownie and blackie”

with regards to living arrangements, the twins have separate rooms (basilio’s is the messy one, smells weird)

when you moved in, alexandra offered you your own room, and most of the time that’s where the boys stay anyway

the bed is much larger than theirs because it needs to accommodate all three of you

you three try to cook meals for ate alexandra, but it almost always turns out disastrous - mostly when basilio insists on helping

so you always make him run errands (“can you go pick up some more garlic and magic sarap”) while you and crispin man the stoves

you braid basilio’s hair while crispin tunes his guitar!!

and you spend a couple of hours listening to crispin play the guitar, basilio’s head now resting on your lap

crispin’s movie taste are like *film* and *poetic cinema* while basilio might enjoy movies that are so bad they’re good, but you three are all suckers for superhero ensemble movies and horror movies

the boys become really annoying when watching filipino horror movies because they like to point out mistakes in the film “aswangs dont do that” “why would you go there all alone are you stupid???”

“please boys i just wanna watch the movie”

a huge cuddle pile

both boys run hot, so during cold nights (that never happen, bc you live in the philippines) you’re all warm and toasty between them

both light sleepers! they were pretty heavy sleepers when they were kids/teenagers, but the occupational hazard of their jobs require them to be ready at a moment’s notice

they still, however, snore quite loudly

crispin doesn’t ever tend to move positions when sleeping, he wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in

basilio rotates around the bed like hands of a clock

most often falls off the bed, but clumsily climbs back up and cuddles you

really really simpy when it comes to you, though most of the time it’s just you three sharing one brain cell (it’s with you, mostly), they can be quite romantic and cheesy if they want to

crispin probably has his brother as just “Basilio” on his phone, and “Y/N ❤️" for you

basilio has “my love ❤️😍😘💘 ” for you and crispin’s number isn’t even registered lol

nsfw under the cut

nsfw

threesome? threesome

boys barely do anything separately and usually just have a Single Thought in both their heads, so if one is horny, the other one is 69% (lol) horny as well

you realize that crispin doesn’t like to be teased at work, but basilio enjoys it so much

you find this out when you’re alone and horny, so you send a pic of you touching yourself to the boys in your groupchat

crispin sees it first, but doesn’t say anything?? he honest to god just left you on read

meanwhile basilio also sees your pic not too long after and you quickly get a “what the fuck” as a reply from him

like 10 mins later he sends you a pic of him in what looks like a washroom and his cock is straining in his pants

he texts you “had to find a washroom so fucking fast so that ate alex and the police captain doesn’t see me so fucking hard in my pants” and “wanna eat you pussy babe”

crispin does text you when the three are on their way home, not mentioning the picture you sent “we’re on our way home”

and at first you thought he is mad at you bc he didn’t bring the nude up?? does he not want you anymore :(

but the moment they arrive crispin all but sprints to your shared bedroom and sees you there, in your underwear

holds your cheeks in one hand, “what the fuck was that baby, hmm? what did you send us?”

you try to ask if he’s mad bc you sent him a nude, ask him if there’s anything wrong, but he just lets your face go as he takes his suit off, basilio finds his way to your room, locks it, and gives you a kiss

basilio whispers “missed you baby” against your mouth before moving away to undress

crispin, now fully naked in front of you, makes you suck his cock, which is hard and twitching, its tip leaking with precum, he makes you place both his hands on your head, “do you know how surprised i was when i saw a text from you and it’s a picture of you touching your cunt? hmm?” he sighs as he sees you looking up at him, eyes watering as you struggle to take all of his cock down your throat “i had to stop myself from getting hard in front of everyone, baby, basilio couldn’t even do that”

basilio huffs but the boys reposition you so you’re in bed and on your back, crispin kneeling to your side, his cock still throbbing in your mouth, basilio positions himself between your thighs, moaning when he sees how wet you are

basilio removes your panties before rushing to sniff your cunt, groaning in delight--you’re sure his eyes roll to the back of his head before he dives into your cunt

you moan into crispin’s cock and he grunts, shoving more of his cock into your mouth, now moving faster, “i really wanna cum down your throat baby, would you let me?”

you nod and he pushes his cock all the way into your mouth, your nose practically touching his groin and pubes

you gag, for a moment panicked as you try to breathe in, while crispin just eyes you, his cock growing ever harder when he looks at your face wet with tears and drool, he grabs your hair, softly at first, to make sure you’re okay, and when you nod crispin groans as he sets up his pace, groaning as he feels his orgasm building

basilio, meanwhile, is licking and sucking your clit with three fingers knuckles deep in your cunt, and when he starts to feel you spasming, a telltale sign that your orgasm is approaching, he pulls his mouth and fingers out and quickly replacing them with his fat cock

immediately, you and basilio both groan, your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel yourself so full of cock

basilio curses under his breath before taking your legs and resting them against his shoulders “fuck, y/n, im sorry i’m not gonna last long” “your pussy got me so fucking hard you tasted so good baby, you know how much i love your little pussy, right?”

crispin groans at this before he pulls his cock out of your mouth, leaning down to kiss you, he then moves down your neck and your tits, making sure he marks your chest

basilio whimpers and thrusts three more times before releasing a long groan, his cum exploding deep in your pussy “fuck baby you feel so good” he manages to pull out and you see his cock wet with his cum and your juices before settling beside you, panting harshly

you barely had the type to recuperate before crispin flips you on your stomach, making sure your face is resting on the pillows before he thrusts into you with a grunt

“fuck, still a tight little pussy after basilio rammed your cunt, huh?”

your eyes rolling, you couldnt do much other than hold onto the sheets and basilio’s hand, moaning loudly when you feel crispin’s fingers on your clit

“can you take one more, y/n? can your pussy take one more load?”

speechless, you nod, trying to grind your ass against crispin’s hips, but his hands on your hips hold you firm

he grunts approvingly, “good baby, take it deep in your pussy okay? and cum on my cock, baby, i wanna feel it”

you cum on his cock, almost violently, and twins groan at the sound of your moaning, and the sight of you spasming and shaking on crispin’s cock

a couple of deep thrusts later, crispin also cums deep into your pussy, his cum now mixed with basilio’s

crispin moves to get a washcloth to clean the three of you up, before all three of you collapse in bed, huddled together, basilio with his arms wrapped from behind--already falling asleep, you rest your head against crispin’s arm

“so, no more nudes when you’re at work?”

crispin laughs softly before pressing a kiss on your forehead, “unless your cunt is ready to take two cocks at once, no nudes when we’re at work”

#trese #trese the kambal #trese imagine #crispin #crispin x reader #basilio #basilio x reader #bftvtrese

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jean-kayak · 4 years ago

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|9:38 PM|~Matsukawa I.

Warnings: fingering, spanking, unprotected sex, stop light safeword system

a/n: this came from thinking about mattsun and rings LMFAO, enjoy, and this is longer than a timestamp should be, but I didn't know what to call it 🤷🏽‍♀️

You had been watching his hands all day ever since he got those stupid rings. Your eyes can't help but stare at his thick fingers adorned with the silver circles, saying he wanted to "try something," whatever the hell that meant, but you didn't expect to be so drawn to them.

You spent the entire day just fantasizing about having his hands around your neck, in your cunt, the thoughts were endless, having you squeezing your thighs together at every scenario. Right now is no different. He's playing some game that you don't even bother remembering, and you're sitting on his lap, always telling you that he likes the weight of you on him, and your eyes are only trained on his fingers dancing across the controller.

You squeeze your legs again as the thoughts flood your mind, and he groans when he's killed before he brings a hand to rub over your back and down to your ass. "Something on your mind, pretty girl?" he asks, and you can see that smirk on his face without even looking at him.

"If you guys are about to fuck, please mute yourself," you can hear Makki say through the headset, and Mattsun chuckles softly before doing what he asks, much to your relief, and he slides the headphones off, setting them on his desk.

"Hm?" he prompts softly, and you bite your lip when he rubs your thigh, the cold metal making you shiver slightly.

Now, you're nervous to admit it, and you move to put your head under his chin. "I like the rings," you say softly, your words a little muffled, but you know he understands you when you feel his throat vibrate with a chuckle.

"Oh, that's what it is," he starts, his hand running further up your thigh, close to the hem of your skirt. "You been thinking about my rings?"

You nod, your legs opening to give him more room, and you gasp when his hand travels under the material, his finger lightly teasing your folds, and he smirks when he sees that you're not wearing anything underneath. "If you wanted to live out those fantasies, you should've said something sooner."

Your arms tighten around his shoulders when he circles a finger at your hole and he scoffs. "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you? That's why you're so wet?"

"Yes," you whimper softly, and he shifts you so that you're straddling his lap, his hands running over your ass, under your skirt, feeling himself getting hard when your slick starts to dampen his sweats.

"My pretty baby likes my rings, huh?" he teases as he lifts your skirt up until your ass is exposed, and your nod is cut off when you feel a sting on your ass, the noise echoing in the quiet room. You feel a wave of wetness flow out of you, coating his sweats as you moan softly.

"You like that?" he asks, not waiting for an answer as he does it again, the rings added another level--type of pain, but it also feels so good, and you whimper as your arms wrap around his neck.

He gives a hard smack to the other one, making you put your face in his neck. "Such a dirty girl," he whispers before making the same cheek again, and you feel tears starting to brim your eyes from the overwhelming, combined feeling of the pain and the pleasure.

"You want me to keep going?" he asks, and he nudges your head up to when you nod, making you look at him as he smacks your ass again, his dick straining even more in his sweats at your reaction. "I gotta hear you say it," he says softly, and the contrast of the softness of his voice to what his hands are doing to you makes your head dizzy with lust.

"Please keep going, Daddy," you breathe, and he gives you a crooked smile, planting a soft kiss on your nose.

"What's the color?"

"Green," you answer quickly, your head falling back down, and you don't know how many slaps he gives you, just feeling your ass burning, already feeling small welts from the rings forming on your ass, and you can't ignore how your cunt seems to be aching painfully at being neglected.

You squirm as he rubs over the battered flesh of your backside, and he nudges your head up again, seeing your face stained with tears. "What's up now, baby?" he asks, and you play with the curly strands at the base of his neck as you sniffle.

"Want you to touch me, Daddy," you beg softly, and he keeps one hand softly massaging your ass as he moves the other towards your pulsing core, and you instantly grind against his fingers.

"Such a needy girl," he murmurs, feeling lightheaded due to having so much blood rushing down to his dick, and it's getting harder to ignore it when he feels it jump at how soaked you are.

Your head falls back when he slides two fingers in, no resistances whatsoever, and immediately curls them inside of you, your orgasm already on the brink of being released. He thrusts his fingers in and out of you quickly, and the metal wrapped around them feels different, but oh so good as you start to bounce on his fingers when he slides a third one in.

He has to hold himself back from cumming in his pants as your movements rub against him. You don't even warn him that you're cumming, that knot snapping, hitting you out of nowhere, moaning loudly as you fuck yourself through your high, slowing down as you catch your breath.

"Feel better?" You give him a hazy smile as he removes his fingers from you, and you watch as he brings the digits up to his mouth, sliding his index finger into his mouth. He moans softly as his eyes close, cleaning off any trace of your juices before sliding it back out.

"You taste so good," he groans as he moves his other fingers to your mouth, which opens instantly. You lick up every bit of you, the taste exploding on your tongue, making sure to get under and around the rings.

He pulls them out, strings of saliva connecting his shiny fingers to your mouth. He wraps his hand around your neck, pulling your face closer to his. "You want Daddy's dick, pretty girl?" he asks, his voice dark, making you even wetter and you nod quickly.

You quickly lift up, pulling his sweats down just enough for his length to spring out, hitting his clothed abdomen, and your mouth waters at the sight beet red tip glistening with pre-cum. You take no more time to lift up and sink down on him, the stretch from his fingers doing nothing to prepare you for the feeling of his dick splitting you open.

"Take your time, baby, that's it," he praises, rubbing soft circles on your hip. He's already kissing your cervix when you bottom out, your mouth dropping open at how full you feel.

You take a few deep breaths, and they're cut off when he grips your neck tighter. "Fuck yourself on my dick, pretty girl," he orders, and you brace yourself on his shoulders as you lift yourself up and slamming back down, having trouble stopping the loud moan that falls from your mouth.

White hot pleasure flashes through your body every time you bounce back down, your body still sensitive from your orgasm, knowing you're not going to last much longer, but Issei isn't either, your tight walls pulsing around him bringing him faster to his climax.

"M gonna cum," you whine, your nails digging into his shoulders as you feel that wave starting to crash over you.

You gasp when he starts thrusting up into you, his brows scrunched in concentration before he looks up at you. "Let go, baby, cream all over my dick," he sighs, and he barely finishes his sentence before that wave crashes down, your back arching as you scream his name, and he's not too far behind, cumming after you with a couple more thrusts, swearing as he paints your walls.

Your head falls onto his neck as his hands come back to rub over your still heated ass, both of you breathless as he kisses your temple. "I'm glad you like the rings, baby."

Tags: @iwascrybaby, @her-majesty-kiara, @mxhriii

#issei matsukawa #matsukawa issei #matsukawa smut #mattsun smut #matsukawa x fem!reader #matsukawa x reader #issei matsukawa x reader #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq!! smut #🛶.hoarny

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nostalgiabones · 3 years ago

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Focus on Me // C.H

This is a completely self indulgent blurb that I wrote at 3am after a rough night of anxiety. This is what I felt I wanted at the time, so I thought I’d share it in the hopes of it bringing comfort to someone else feeling this way. So this features themes of anxiety, and comfort from Calum.

Word count: 1,332

“Hey, look at me.”

Calum’s fingertips gently but firmly tap your chin, tilting your face to encourage you to look at him. When you’re feeling like this, you’re sure no one understands — that no one in the world could possibly ease the weight on your chest. Calum knows better, though — throughout your relationship he’s picked up on what you need, and how to get through to you.

“Up here,” He murmurs, loud enough so you hear him, but quiet enough that the moment is just for the two of you — even though no one else is around. “I’m right here, my love. Focus on me.”

Calum has noticed little signs that you weren’t feeling your best all day — from the lack of keeping up a conversation to your fingertips tapping against the table as you ate dinner, he knew. He noticed how you showered before bed, and spent at least fifteen minutes trying to find something to wear for bed — each t-shirt you pulled out not sitting right — but you didn’t quite know why. He silently observes, you think he doesn’t notice — but he always does.

“Just breathe for a minute,” He says it like it’s so simple, and for anyone else, it would be. Yet you feel as though as soon as you release your breath, everything comes crashing down with it — somehow it’s easier to tense up and let your eyes focus on a random spot on the wall. His tone is smooth and reassuring — he makes a conscious effort to keep his voice soft, as he knows anything more will make you feel worse. He throws a leg over yours, almost pressing you against the soft mattress of the bed — he knows the weight helps you to feel grounded.

He’ll never forget the first time you had an anxious day when he was around; your eyes wouldn’t quite meet his and your hands trembled when he tried to hold them. He hadn’t been sure of what to do, how to make you feel better or whether he could. He’ll also never forget the way you pulled him on top of you, letting him lay almost flat against you on the sofa, finally seeing some relief in your expression at the release of the anxiety that had consumed you that day. As soon as he got home, he had ordered a weighted blanket — hoping the sensation would provide similar comfort to what he does, when he can’t be around. He still uses it now, when he is here — when he wants to hold you but you still need the weight of something against you. It’s tucked under the bed, and it’s been a while since you needed it — but he feels as though it could make an appearance tonight.

“You’re okay,” He reassures you, calloused thumbs brushing over your temples, trying to convince you to relax your face. He can feel your tensed jaw, knowing you’re clenching your teeth — but he knows he can only focus on alleviating one thing at a time. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are. I’m staying right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. We’re gonna ride this out together.”

The unshed tears lining your eyes don’t go unnoticed, and it makes Calum’s heart ache that what he sees as so little is a big deal to you. He doesn’t have to think twice about trying to help, trying to convince your anxious brain that you’re not in danger. Yet he knows previously you’ve had no choice but to deal with it yourself, and now, having Calum around is a blessing.

He reaches over for the TV remote and turns down the volume as well as the brightness, not wanting you to be overstimulated by the surroundings — another thing he’s made note of is how restless you get when there’s too much going on. He doesn’t turn it off completely though — although he has no idea what show is on, he doesn’t care; it’s background noise to distract you from whatever thoughts are swirling around your mind.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” You murmur, your voice so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear you. You fear making it louder will disturb the lump in your throat. Calum shakes his head, his face so close to yours that his nose nudges yours when he moves. The words are true; although there’s only so much he can do, having him around makes everything feel brighter, easier — you wake up looking forward to what the day with him holds, rather than the emptiness you once felt every morning.

“You deserve the whole world and more, baby. I wish I could give it to you.” Calum admits, lips brushing yours as he speaks, ending the sentence with a soft kiss. He’s told himself time and time again that he can’t take your anxiety away, and you’ve told him that you don’t expect him to — yet he so desperately wishes he could. He wishes he never has to see you cry, or hold your hair in the bathroom of a social event you don’t want to be at. “You deserve to be happy, and to enjoy yourself. I wish you believed that too.”

Somehow, with Calum around, you’re starting to.

The more you fall for him, the more you trust him and his words — he truly wants you to be happy, wants the best for you, and it makes you want it for yourself, too. He doesn’t rush you though. He doesn’t expect you to be happy every day — he isn’t himself. You’re human and you have bad days, but he wants to be around to make sure they’re just that — bad days, not weeks, or years.

Calum’s gentle whispers against your forehead work wonders in getting your mind to settle down, he’s something to focus on — finally able to release your jaw, your tongue dropping from the roof of your mouth. He feels your shoulders relax for the first time in hours and he’s relieved too — it makes him feel better. His hand is warm as he smoothes it across the top of your back, a gentle pressure that grounds you and reminds you that he’s there. He feels your hands that were brushing through the soft curls at the back of his neck come to a stop, your grip loosening as you allow yourself to relax.

He’s sure he’ll never forget the feeling of you falling asleep on him — it kicks in an instinct he’s never felt before, like he’ll do anything in his power to keep you comfortable and protect you. He feels it deep in his chest, like he could explode with the love he feels for the person sleeping in his arms. It’s like the world stands still, so content that you’re comfortable enough to rest with him, to let both your mind and body sleep, knowing that he’s got you. He loves how normal it feels; that he can just sit scrolling through his phone or watching the TV whilst you sleep, and you know he won’t go anywhere. You’re a comforting weight to him, and he’s starting to understand why it helps when you’re feeling anxious. He finds himself keeping up the soothing gestures, even when you’re already passed out, convincing himself that you still feel it, in your sleep.

Calum takes the hand that’s clinging to his hoodie with a firm grip and laces his fingers between yours, gently squeezing, his lips pressed to your knuckles in a loving gesture. He doesn’t say anything but a smile graces his lips when you ever so softly squeeze back, and he can’t remember a time where he’s ever felt so loved.

He has no intention of moving, not until he absolutely has to; there’s nowhere else he would rather be.

“Goodnight, my love.”

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no-droids · 5 years ago

Text

Brown Eyes

Part Nine of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.1K dont. just dont

Warnings: Smut, AS ALWAYS. Canon typical violence, verbal references masochism/pain kink (NOT ACTUALLY EXPLORED IN THIS CHAPTER MY DUDES, JUST HINTED AT/DISCUSSED), slight degradation, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, a bit of ass play (!!!), FLUUUUFFFFFF

***

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s the hold up?”

“I’m just…” The helmet looks you up and down, considering. You scrunch your nose at him and rock back and forth on your feet impatiently as he sighs. “It’s going to be like teaching a foundling to read. I’m just trying to figure out where to even begin.”

“Because it’s so fucking pretty here, I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that,” you say pointedly, looking around at the vast field of flowing grass surrounding the two of you and breathing in the warm, fresh air into your lungs. “Your vibe is clashing, Din.”

“Because I don’t really know what that means, I’m also going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he returns, and the child’s giggles float up alongside the breeze as he chases after another, slightly smaller green reptile that you also currently have no name for. He tilts the beskar thoughtfully at you, and you squint against the way the sun catches the visor directly in your eyes from this angle. “What do you want to learn first?”

“I want to shoot a gun,” you blurt without thinking.

“Okay, hand-to-hand it is,” he nods firmly, and then pats his unarmored chest with one bare hand. “Hit me.”

You blink down at the dark fabric stretched across his left pectoral, and then back up at the metallic visor staring back at you.

“Hit me,” he says again in response to your silence. “Hard as you can. Right here.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, lifting your gaze up to him once more with a twist of your mouth, already out of your comfort zone. “What if I hurt you?”

“Are you fucking kidding?” He actually sounds… pissed off. “Hit me.”

You immediately shove your hand up against his chest in response to the sharp order, and your palm makes a quiet slapping sound as it collides with what feels like solid rock concealed underneath black fabric.

Din says absolutely nothing. Almost a… forced silence. Like what he wants to say will very likely be vaguely mean and dismissive of your feelings, so he’s keeping his mouth firmly shut under the helmet. He just pats his chest again, each one purposeful and distinct, easily making twice the amount of noise hitting himself as you did hitting him.

You ball your fist up this time and whack him with it, considerably harder this time and even making a solid thud against his pectoral, though he doesn’t even move a fraction under the blow.

“I am…” he tries to choose his words carefully after another moment of purposeful silence. “…insulted.”

You grit your teeth and raise your arm up and back, swinging it out at him as hard as you physically can, but then the curve of his broad shoulder suddenly jerks back just before you can touch him and your fist is caught from the side with a gentle grip.

“Better. You wound up that time, that gives you momentum. But never come at someone like this,” he tells you, lifting your arm back up to the way it was before and then slowly hinging it down again against his chest. “This is how you were going to hit. See how your pinkie is taking the brunt of the punch when you come down at it from an angle like this?” He pushes your fist against his chest a few times to demonstrate your pinkie squishing against the solid plane of muscle. “No matter how hard you hit me, your hand is going to take that much force, too. That attempt had about half the power you want, but you might’ve broken your finger if I let you make contact like that.”

“Half the power?” You narrow your eyebrows at him. “You’ll break my whole hand.”

Din angles your wrist straight and pushes your closed fist against his chest again, this time head-on instead of at a downward angle. “Always try to use these first two knuckles to reinforce against the impact, they’re the strongest and best aligned with the bones in your wrist. You should also physically brace yourself for it. Flex your arm—create as much rigidity around your joints as you can, keep your fist clenched tight to maintain integrity of the soft tissues in your hand, and your body should protect itself against the blowback as long as you land right. Try again.”

You diligently wind your fist up again and then go to snap your arm straight forward this time, but he steps up and catches your elbow before you can even move. “Wait. Look at this—see this chicken wing?” He flaps your elbow back and forth while his other hand holds your fist in place next to your head. “This is no good, this is where you’re losing half your power. And having your arm up like this is making you open to rib and kidney shots.”

You squirm to the side when he taps the bend of his knuckle against your kidney, and the vulnerable spot is tender even though he barely uses any force. “I’m winding up,” you inform him with a huff.

“You are,” Din acknowledges. “But your movement is limited like this. See where your elbow is compared to your center of gravity?” He flaps it again, and your shoulder pulls uncomfortably when he pushes it back just a bit too far. “You’re restricting yourself, look. Your shoulder is in the way, this is as far as your body will let you go. You’re also using up too much energy trying to swing your whole arm around just to make contact; it’s sloppy technique, it slows you down, and it’ll tire you out. But, if you wind up like this—” Din lowers your elbow until it rests flat against your side, and then hinges it backwards instead of up near your head, “—see how much further away your elbow is from your body now? Instead of swinging outwards, think of a slingshot forwards. Use explosive, forward momentum that you generate from your shoulder—you’re aiming for a sharp, streamlined jab. This way you conserve energy, produce twice as much power, and your arm now covers up all this important stuff under here,” he explains, trying to tap his knuckle against your side once more but being blocked by your forearm. “Good? Now go again.”

He lets you go and steps back, and this time you instinctually plant your foot behind you to give you a solid base foundation that’ll allow you more room to twist, your physics brain lighting up as soon as he said slingshot. His helmet quickly drops to your stance and then immediately lifts back up to your face again.

You do exactly as he said—you wind back, keeping your arm tucked tight to your side, and then explode forward with a sharp spin of your shoulder and snap of your elbow, colliding your clenched fist into his chest as hard as you possibly can.

He grunts and takes two steps back.

You howl.

“FUUUUUCK!” It gets lost in the giant field of grass as you clutch your fist, torn between cradling it to your chest like a baby and shaking it out violently at your side like… something distinctly not a baby. You settle for just bending over and holding it tightly to your stomach, eyes clamped shut and screeching with such fervor that the back of your throat stings sharp with it. “WHAT THE FUCKING—FUCKFUCKFUCK—!?”

“Good!” Din encourages over your wailing. “That was good! How’d that feel? Holy shit—that felt good.”

“What’s the point of hitting you when it hurts me and makes you feel good!?” You cry out over your shoulder, somewhere between genuine hatred and agony.

“That was perfect,” he tells you immediately, almost sounding vaguely… out of breath behind you? “Don’t change a thing—that’s how you punch every single time from now on, okay? That’s how hard you hit. Fuck, that felt fucking good.”

The… something in his voice is enough to take your mind off your throbbing hand for just a second, quickly snapping upright and whirling around to face him with your eyebrows very, very narrowed. He stands there in front of you and you continue to eye him with as much silent skepticism as you can express, until the both of you speak at the same time.

“What was that?”

“Let’s go again.”

Neither of you move, and you feel like your face is scrunched up as tiny as possible at him right now with dubiousness.

“Let’s go again,” Din suddenly grunts out, hooking an arm around your elbow and tugging you to face forward once more.

“Did that turn you on?” You ask him bluntly, your battle wound completely forgotten by your side.

“I swear if you don’t—”

“You get hard when you get hurt?” You ask dumbly, all sorts of lightbulbs suddenly illuminating in dusty, cobwebbed corners of your mind. Maker, that would explain so much. “Is that why you wanted a handjob immediately after I burned a knife wound shut on your back?”

“You wanna learn how to punch today or you wanna learn how to block?” Comes through the helmet, thoroughly unamused at your antics, but you just break into a mischievous little grin in response and push just one more button of his, knowing he’s only mostly joking.

“I’ll punch you,” you purr. “Hold your arms up, show me your ribs.”

There’s a split second of silence before he quickly snaps his fist to his chest once again, oh, but it’s enough. Your shoulders do a little victory shimmy and have to bite your lip to keep from beaming at him, so unbelievably proud of yourself for being able to read him this well without seeing his face.

But—for the very same reason, you also plant your foot behind you and wind your arm back once more, knowing you were already treading on thin ice.

“Am I gonna have to start calling you chicken wing?” Din suddenly barks out, a split second into your forward launch. You almost stumble into him with all the generated momentum and catch yourself just in time, eventually stepping back and resetting with a frustrated huff. Purposefully tucking your arm tight into your side, you pull back once more.

He mmphs when you make equally hard contact in the very same spot but he doesn’t move this time, and you somehow forgot how horribly painful it is to slam your clenched fist directly against a solid object with all your strength—much less, the second time around. You attempt to deaden your response as well, but he has the luxury of the helmet to shield his face. Silencing your scream just makes yours contort unattractively in front of him while your eyes clamp shut and you clutch your wrist, trying to bite back the crippling pain.

“Other hand—use the other hand instead,” he tells you quickly. “You have two of them.”

“I used to!” You snarl through the way you can’t even flex it anymore, how your muscles aren’t working through the angry sparks of acute sensation jumping down your fingers. “Your stupid fucking pecs just broke my good one!”

“Want me to kiss it?” Din asks—quickly, almost like he can’t help himself, and the snarky tone of it through the modulator coupled with the throbbing pain makes you grit your teeth.

“I used to love your body,” you lift your head and growl up at him while you cradle your swollen claw. “Why did you take that from me?”

“Give me your hand,” he says calmly, holding his palm out for you.

“No,” you spit, the pain making you stubborn and resistant to anything you don’t immediately offer yourself, but he’s not impressed. Din easily catches your elbow and brings it up, his other hand gently lacing through your fingers even as you try in vain to pull it away. “Stop it—”

He completely ignores you and looks back over his shoulder at the kid, dwarfed by the tall grass and continuing to hop around behind what will likely be his lunch, before the helmet turns back to you. “Eyes closed.”

“This isn’t fucking funn—”

“Close your eyes,” he tells you once more. “Don’t open them.”

You take a deep breath and grind your teeth, not wanting to be treated like a baby. It irks you that he’s dedicating so much time and effort into just infantilizing you and your very real pain. Though, the pain is so real that it makes it almost impossible to express the sentiment—it comes out sounding childishly short and bratty. “It hurts.”

“I know,” is all he says, soft and lilting and quite possibly as gentle as you’ve ever heard him. “Close your eyes, sweet girl.”

His tone of voice is the only thing that compels you to listen. You finally do as he says and flutter your eyes shut, overly aware of the hard grimace on your face now that you can’t see anything. One of his hands releases you while keeping your numb fingers laced between his, and then a few seconds pass, before you suddenly feel soft lips pressing against your knuckle.

You hiss and tighten up on instinct, more in fear of the pain than the pain itself, but he holds your hand steady as he carefully trails gentle presses of his lips against your knuckles. After a moment, you breathe out shakily, your eyebrows lifting just slightly at the sensation—before his mouth opens and his warm tongue glides delicately across your sensitive skin.

You gasp and your fingers twitch in between his, suddenly able to move again. They knock against cool metal as his tongue slowly drags down the valleys between your knuckles—but then Din abruptly drops your hand at the sudden sound of sunshine giggles coming from afar. Your eyes pop open just as his helmet is yanked down over his jaw once more.

“Let’s…” He clears his throat through the modulator, taking a small step back. “Let’s go again.”

***

You collapse down into a pitiful little pile on the grass, trying to catch your breath. This is ridiculous. You somehow have tender bruises all over your body and yet you’re the only one who’s done any sort of hitting whatsoever.

“That’s fine, we can take a break,” Din says gruffly from above you, but you’re too tired to even comment on the sarcasm. You just groan, flopping down flat on your back while he sits in the grass next to you and silently waits for you to start breathing normally again.

“I hate this,” you pant, resting your numb hands against your forehead and squinting against the late afternoon sun. “I don’t like this. My body hurts and I barely did anything.”

“You’re good at it,” Din is quick to respond, and the blunt sincerity in his voice takes you aback, making you glance over at him in shock. “I know,” he nods once the beskar turns and he sees the look on your face, “I didn’t expect it either.”

His tendency to compliment you while simultaneously insulting you doesn’t go unnoticed, but if anything, you decide to take it as a testament to his honesty and comfort in your presence. Clearly he’d have no issue telling you if you were terrible at this.

Instead of responding, you lace your fingers behind your head and continue to just lay there, closing your eyes against the warm sunshine. It’s gorgeous here, you get why this planet is renown throughout the galaxy. Perfect weather, stunningly green rolling hills for miles, the gentle breeze dancing through the tall grass, brilliant white clouds suspended against a beautiful blue backdrop. The only thing that’s missing is—

“When can we go see the ocean?” You blurt up at the sky, unable to stop the words before they’re out of your mouth.

“What ocean?” Comes tiredly through the modulator, monotone and filtered as he shuffles into a more comfortable position.

“Any of them,” you immediately respond, shrugging your shoulders against the grass. “The closest one. I’m not picky.”

“…Naboo doesn’t have any oceans,” Din tells you blankly.

You startle slightly, jerking your head over at him. “What? But—but I saw it through the transparisteel when we dropped. This whole planet is practically covered in water.”

“It is,” he agrees with a tilt of his helmet, following you with the visor as you finally scramble to sit yourself upright. “But it’s all one big… body of water. Locals call it the Abyss, it stretches across the entire planet through a system of underground caves and tunnels. It only surfaces as rivers and lakes and swamplands, though. No ocean. Not really.”

“Oh.” It’s blank, but it’s… lacking. The sun glinting against metal gives you an excuse to subtly turn your head away from him, and you hold back your sigh of disappointment.

“What’s the matter?” He grunts after a moment, somehow succeeding in sounding mildly disinterested while still bothering to ask. He props his knee upright to rest his elbow on it, apparently able to read you better than ever as well.

“Nothing,” you say on instinct and shake your head, already knowing it’s dumb. You’re being dumb, there’ll be other planets with oceans—you just haven’t had the opportunity to go to one yet.

Din doesn’t say anything after that, but he also keeps the helmet subtly turned towards you, like he’s just… waiting. The quiet almost doesn’t sound quiet anymore, not when there’s such a loud unspoken question still lingering in it.

“It’s just,” you say after a moment, trying to smile, but it doesn’t feel real. It’s nothing more than a movement your mouth makes and it feels at odds with the mild disappointment you’re trying to hide. “I used to be a moisture farmer. Back on Arvala-7, where we first met.”

His continued silence tells you nothing. You don’t know whether he’s confused and you should elaborate, whether he understands and doesn’t need an explanation, whether he’s interested or disinterested. Nothing. So after another few more seconds of nothing, you decide to keep going.

“There's something about water that just… hits different when you spend your entire life on a planet without any,” you say quietly, picking at a few blades of grass by your knees instead of looking at him. “When I was a little girl, I used to think it was as rare in the rest of the galaxy as it was where I was born. A limited resource you had to farm from the atmosphere to drink, because it didn’t occur naturally in liquid form. It was… valuable. Delicate. Crystal clear—never saw more than a few dozen gallons of it at a time. Something to be cherished. Something you’d never want to waste even just dipping your hand into, because the dirt on your skin would contaminate it.”

You smile once more, but this time it feels a little bit better. “You know… the first shower I took on the Crest the day I left that Maker-forsaken planet was the first time I ever felt my hair get wet. We only ever had sonic showers on Arvala-7.” And stars, the memory of it makes you want to shudder. Ultrasonic waves vibrating the dirt and sweat off your body sounds a lot more thorough than it actually is. You never felt truly clean until you were soaking wet on the Crest with shampoo in your hair, giggling like a child in the fresher while you made yourself a soapy little beard.

It springboards into another memory—the moment you first reached for a towel after showering, catching a glimpse of your hands and startling at the sight of your wrinkled, pruny fingertips. You’d never heard of such a phenomena before that point. You thought you’d asked Kuiil about everything, but to be entirely fair, he might not have even realized it happened, not from the leathery texture of his xenospecies’ skin. The questions he did answer for you were plenty though, and you suddenly remember something he said to you years ago that was so jarring and unexpected that it’s stuck with you to this day.

“Kuiil told me once that water was loud,” you suddenly hear yourself say, and though your soft laugh is nostalgic and sincere, you don’t know why, but you instantly tear up as soon as the words leave your mouth. “Loud. How could—could water be loud? What… what noise would it make?”

You sniff and continue to pick at the grass, a bit more vigorously this time, purposefully keeping your eyes down and blinking quickly. “He said… he said streams and brooks… b-bubble. They bubble. And rain… rain is like static—like white noise, but… natural. Not generated by a machine. He said the ocean is the loudest, though. It roars. It’s powerful.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat and glancing up, you try to distract yourself from the memory of your close friend by looking out at the wavy grass, trying to see if you can spot the kid being dwarfed by it. You can’t, not from this low angle, but you can still hear him playing happily in the distance.

“I’ve seen all the others now, thanks to you,” you confess quietly. “Rain, rivers, lakes—but I always wanted to see an ocean. A big, scary one, where the sound would just be… deafening. Water, tons of it, crashing up against rocks and filling the air with mist. Used to dream about them. Wanted to see something I used to think was rare fill my entire field of view. Wanted to see something I always thought was precious turn into something formidable.”

Din continues staring silently at you through your peripheral while you keep picking at the grass absently.

“I just—I don’t know.” You finally look over at him and sigh, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “I just always dreamed of a place where I could go, a place where I could open my eyes and all I’d be able to see—all I could hear—was water.”

You stop talking after that, having run out of things to say and realizing you probably shared a little too much without ever being prompted. The sunlight is gentle and easy, however, and it encourages you to close your eyes and just breathe, letting silent, eternal gratitude to the man next to you fill you. You’d never know any sun that isn’t harsh, you’d never know the greenness of the tall grass in this sprawling field had he not found you, given you a chance to tag along the galaxy with him and his carnivorous little sidekick.

The sun begins making you sleepy the more you sit here in the middle of paradise, eyes closed and tasting the gorgeous air in your lungs. But eventually, Din stands up and steps in front of you, opening both of his bare palms towards the setting sky and bouncing them up and down a few times. “Up. Come on. I’ll teach you how to throw an uppercut before nightfall.”

You groan but lift your hands in his direction all the same, trying not to wince while you make grabby fingers at him, your knuckles slightly bruised and red. He sighs and wraps his hands purposefully around your elbows, urging you up as he takes a few steps backwards.

It’s awkward. You’re still feeling lazy and droopy-eyed, and the cool shadow he casts makes you even more sleepy. You think he’s going to help more than you have to pull yourself up, and he clearly thinks he’s there to be your platform instead of your forklift. What results is just you being dragged uselessly by your arms in front of him, until your torso and legs are stretched in an uncomfortable J-shape on the ground and your forehead bumps into his lower tummy.

He stops and holds you there, before grunting out, “Use your feet.”

“Just let me fall,” you tell him, your lips brushing against the dark fabric while your shoulders and spine pull tight at this angle. “Just leave me here like this.”

The sigh he makes above you feels like he puts his whole entire being into it. Din leaves you propped up against him for a second while he grumbles and readjusts his hold further up near your shoulders, before he maneuvers you until you’re gently settling down on your knees in the grass.

You think (hope) he’s going to release you and let you take a nap, but then you gasp when he shifts and the toe of his boot suddenly wedges itself between your closed thighs. He lifts up on your arms just slightly, enough to take the weight off your knees so he can swipe his foot out and kick one of them open, before plopping you back down again and letting you go.

Up until that point, you’d been good. You were content with being boneless for him and seeing how he’d deal, but then he gracefully crouches down in front of you and wraps one powerful arm around your back, hugging you tight to his chest. Din’s open thighs frame your kneeling figure and you can feel his cock pressed against your tummy from this angle, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

For some reason, he decides to take this next part slow. Maybe it’s because he can probably feel the way your heart is starting to kick up against his unarmored chest right now, but he drags it out. Broad shoulder dropping and his helmet finding a home in the crook of your neck, Din braces you to his chest with one arm while the other slithers down the curve of your ass and then under—his forearm pressing firmly between your cheeks and then his open palm flattening tight along the length of your pussy from behind.

You moan softly next to the helmet while he works the thick muscles in his thighs to gradually lift you both from the ground. Maker, the tips of his fingers are curved hard against your slit through your pants while he rises, pulling you up until gravity causes your thighs to slowly meet around his hand and your legs to dangle.

The feat of strength turns you on just as much as his choice of positioning does. Fuck, you know you’re not the lightest person in the galaxy, but Din carefully sets you down on your feet without even so much as a grunt of effort, his hand staying tucked tight between your legs for longer than necessary. Biting your lip and pressing your face into his shoulder does nothing to stop the quiet whimper you make when he decides to grind his strong fingers up into you just a bit.

“Din,” you whisper, wanting to melt into him, but then he’s instantly ripping his hand away and taking a step back.

You nearly fall over at the sudden lack of support after relying solely on him for it for so long, but you don’t even have enough time to open your mouth in upset. There’s just a split second before a green blur bursts through the tall grass with a squeal and trips over the baggy potato sack around his body.

It’s like it happens in slow motion. You both watch as he flies forward, skidding more than once on the ground and then landing face-down on your shoe, the little thump on your foot feeling so adorably anticlimactic after all the buildup.

Nobody moves for a second, except for the way your eyes flicker up at the visor currently tilted towards the ground. You can tell Din is just holding his breath, just waiting to see if—

A hiccup. You see broad shoulders tighten under the dark fabric, and then a sudden piercing wail is released against your shoe.

“Shit,” Din curses, already scooping the little thing up and bouncing him slightly to pacify him. You bite your lip against the way his ears flop from the movement and he screams even louder. “Hey hey hey, stop. Stop it. Stop crying.”

“Uh oh! Where’d your little friend go?” You ask while Din immediately turns the kid around to face you, your voice pitched soft and high in your register as you step closer. “Did you eat him already?”

He just shudders out a cry, probably an affirmative, his mouth dropping and his little teeth peeking through while he sobs and his giant eyes well with tears.

“Shit,” Din curses again, this time in defeat, but you won’t give up that easy.

“Hey—hey goose, wanna see me beat your daddy up?” You ask, lightly booping the little bump of his nose. “Huh? Wanna see me fight?” You pull your top lip up into a ridiculous little snarl and flex your arms threateningly, and the sobs suddenly stutter to a stop within a few breaths. “Op, yep. See—he knows I’ll kick your ass, Din, he just got scared.”

“Please,” the modulator pfftts quietly, but the kid just blinks at you while you keep growling.

“I’ll hurt him real bad,” you promise him, putting your fists up in front of you and bouncing your weight back and forth like a prized boxing champ. “I’ll, uh…” your list of trash talk repertoire is admittedly rather short, and both of them wait in silence for you to figure it out, the bigger one a lot less entertained than his miniature counterpart. “I’ll punch him just. So hard. So hard that… it’ll bruise. Yeah—I’ll make him bleed underneath his skin.”

“No, this is good, keep going,” Din encourages after a moment of awkward silence. “Maybe you’ll be able to find your way there at some point.”

You ignore him, bobbing and ducking and then popping him one good in the shoulder with an accompanying vocal sound effect—except you quickly jerk your hand away and shake your wrist out, staring up at the helmet like he deeply offended you and mouthing, “Ow.”

A smile. The smallest ghost of one, but you see it on the kid’s teeny green mouth when you flick your eyes down to him.

So, Din spends the rest of the lingering daylight teaching you the proper uppercut technique while he cradles an adorable little bug-eyed baby in one arm. You keep making faces at him while throwing your fist up against his dad’s extended, downturned palm, until he finally starts giggling again.

***

Whelp, turns out you’re a fucking idiot. Or maybe just a selfish bitch, either way. Not a good look.

You thought, from the way the lovely afternoon went, that you were getting better at reading Din. Knowing when to joke around, when to keep pushing, and when to stop talking, all from just his body posture and tone of voice alone. But you’re also an idiot, as you’ve already established.

As you three headed back to the Crest through the dusky twilight evening, you remember telling Din that if there weren’t any oceans on Naboo, then you’ll at least be able to sleep in a bed on this planet. A real one, one with a—oh stars, an actual mattress. The word alone sent shivers down your spine, and the baby cooed while blinking his eyes slowly, well on his way to being tuckered out from the long day outside.

You don’t remember Din directly responding, but then again, that isn’t really all that rare in the grand scheme. Granted, he was arguably more talkative today than ever before, and he did get a little bit quieter after that, but still, you couldn’t have known. Only an incredibly hyper-observant person would’ve noticed in the moment—you’re lucky you can even recall this much in hindsight.

Though, this next part should’ve been more of a direct giveaway. Once you were in the Crest, he put his armor back on.

You still didn’t think. It’s such a normal thing, the beskar fitting tight to magnetic plates around his shoulders, thighs, and chest. It’s normal, he wears it all the time. Having him walking around in broad daylight sans armor and gloves today was odd, that was the outlier.

He flew the vessel to the nearest town, a quaint little village on the edge of a gorgeously full forest. The ride was as gentle as possible—you were feeling soft and decided to hold the baby as he drifted off instead of placing him in the quiet darkness of his cradle. The ears tend to make things a bit awkward, but after months of practice with it, you’re now a pro at rocking the little guy to sleep in your arms.

Din’s continued silence didn’t bother you—or really even register, considering you were trying to be quiet as well. He slung your go-bag around his shoulder and pressed a few buttons on his vambrace to set the kid’s sphere protocols to follow behind him, before pressing a gloved palm to your lower back and leading you down the ramp, the sleepy baby tucked tight into your arms.

There were people in the village mingling while you three walked down the cobblestone path to the nearest inn, giving your ragtag group double-takes as you passed. The innkeeper, however, was blind. Not only did you not receive the same terrified courtesy the barkeep on Canto Bight had afforded you before, but he was clearly used to spotting and swindling newcomers, sightless or not.

“Only room left’s a suite,” he drawled, the cloudy whites of his pupils hovering just between your left shoulder and Mando’s right pauldron. “Five hundred credits a night.”

The color drained from your face, your heart doing a giant flip in your chest and completely fucking up the landing. You turned to Mando to reassure him that absolutely nothing about this was necessary, but he was already dropping the ridiculous amount of credits on the desk without a single word.

That should’ve been the nail in the coffin, to be honest. His immediate willingness to hand over that many credits without the slightest protest, grumble, or sigh was the kicker—that’s how you should’ve known something wasn’t right. He didn’t even allow you to split the cost when you offered to reimburse him on the way to the room.

But again. You’re an idiot, so.

At least the suite is gorgeous. Slightly old-fashioned and moonlit enough to skip even flicking the lights on, illuminated by large open windows with views of the village streets and sprawling mountains and forest beyond. Everything inside is either cream or white, so clean and soft, and being able to feel the breeze billowing through the gauzy curtains is just. After months of traveling in that enclosed ship, it’s restorative. Almost nothing in here is made of metal.

So it’s not until right now—almost immediately after you settled the kid down into the incredibly large guest bed and walked into the master bedroom to find Mando sitting perfectly still on the edge of the mattress—now something feels off. He looks so out of place as you quietly snap the door shut behind you. The enormous floor to ceiling window decorating the far side of the room bathes him in pale light, highlights the blaster marks and bits of dirt clinging to the beskar as he sits on the bed.

“You’re going to get the sheets all dirty,” you, an idiot, tell him, your voice barely above a murmur. “Take off your—”

“I can’t,” he rushes, though he jumps up from the mattress all the same. You snap your mouth shut and freeze. “It’s safe here but it’s… it’s still not a good idea, not if I want to sleep. Not with people around, and all these… windows.”

The words send you reeling. You had no idea, you thought… “Oh. I’m sorry, that—”

You immediately go silent, feeling absolutely fucking awful. You didn’t think. All you could think about was that bed underneath you, and you maybe… blindfolded in some way? And then of course, him, in it—completely naked, helmet off, and laying next to you.

“You’re okay,” Mando tells you with a shrug, not sounding like… anything. He looks like he’s about to say something else—his chestplate lifts with an inhale as he turns to you, but then seems to stop right as he’s about to speak.

“Shit—please sit on the bed, I don’t care if you’re dirty,” you quickly say, just as he blurts out, “You can still take your clothes off though.”

You blink at him for a second, not sure you heard him right. “…What did y—”

“You can, uh.” His voice is soft. “I can… lay down. On top of the sheets. In my armor, just like this, and then you can take your clothes off and just. Rub up on me a little bit. If you want.”

A shudder quite suddenly rockets down your spine at the tone of his voice, the quiet, slightly hesitant murmur through the modulator. The gulp you take is audible through the room, the only other sound being the closest trees rustling in the breeze outside. The spread curtains dance with it, but they’re too sheer and light to make a noise. “O-Okay.”

“Yeah?” He asks lowly, and you quickly nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your body beginning to tingle, “sit—sit back down.”

He goes to move but then abruptly stops, and you hold your breath while you watch the visor jerk just a fraction to pin you in place. Something instantly feels… different about him, a silent shift taking place within just a singular moment. Like he all of a sudden realized that he didn’t actually like that very much.

Instead of acquiescing, Mando slowly steps in front of you, straightening up to his full height and absolutely dwarfing you with it, and your palms start to sweat. Maker, when he speaks, it sends shivers down your body and the last thing you hear in his voice is hesitation.

“Take off your clothes,” he tells you, a dangerous edge to his soft tone. The quiet dominance in it feels like the floor beneath you rumbles from it.

On instinct, your eyes flick over his shoulder to the open window and the village outside. It’s barely been a few hours since sundown—townspeople are strolling down winding streets in the distance, ghostly moonlight mixes with the warm glow from large oil lamps lining the pubs and street corners.

You look back at him barely a split second later as he stands there in front of you, waiting.

You startle and immediately move to grab at the hem of your shirt, and your fingers unintentionally tremble as they start to pull it up.

“Stop.”

His voice breaks through the silence, the modulated order halting your movements immediately. You blink up at him, letting your shirt drop back down again, and Mando takes a second to look back at you, studying you from under the beskar.

“Go stand by the window,” he suddenly says, lazily tilting the helmet to gesture at it.

Your blood pounds in your ears during the still moments following, the thrill of it making you nearly go deaf for a second. After you recover from the visceral heatwave that rockets through you, you slowly walk over to the window and then turn your back on the ballooning curtains to look at him. The beskar is still pinned to you over his shoulder, though the rest of his body hasn’t moved.

“Turn around,” he tells you, and you shakily do as he says, rotating to face the open window. You’re close enough to make out people’s expressions from here—friends mingling as they stroll down the sidewalk, their mouths moving but their voices and laughter muted at this distance. An outdoor restaurant serving local cuisine to patrons and out-of-towners, a violinist and cellist performing a silent duet on the street corner.

There’s shuffling behind you. The creak of the bedframe as he lowers himself on it and moves around, before eventually coming to a rest in what you assume is a comfortable position.

“You can keep going,” eventually comes his filtered voice from the bed.

Your eyelashes dip and flutter as more hot sparks of arousal kindle deep in your floor muscles. Lifting your shirt up over your head has never felt like such high stakes before, but even as the fabric falls to the ground, your gaze continuously searches for anyone outside who may catch a glimpse. Though, you’re not sure if it’s in dread or some kind of sick excitement.

The breeze hardens your nipples while you work at your pants, and the hair on your arms stands up when you remember who’s behind you, silently watching you get turned on by this. Along with your underwear, your pants are pushed down your thighs, but instead of moving back from the pool around your ankles, you take a purposeful step forward towards the open window.

“Fuck—you dirty little thing,” you hear him breathe out, and a shiver rolls through you. “Tell me how many people you can see right now, count them.”

You try your best, but give up halfway through and provide a rough estimate. “F-Fifteen.”

“Scanner says seventeen from here,” Mando challenges lowly. “Seventeen pairs of eyes that can look up any second and see your naked body. Stripped bare, shaking, vulnerable. Your gorgeous fucking tits.”

As hard as your teeth dig into your bottom lip at the rasp through the modulator, your nails dig into your palms even harder. Still, you don’t move, and the open drapes flick and brush against your thighs as you hold there, the gentle wind doing absolutely nothing to cool your flushed skin down.

And oh, he waits. He’s good about that, especially when he can probably read your infrared signature through the helmet right now. You’re surprised you haven’t outright blinded him by how white-hot your body feels. But after what feels like a small eternity, he eventually murmurs, “Come over here.”

Once you turn around and see the way he’s just laying back on the bed, relaxing and enchanted with the show, it’s a miracle you don’t trip on anything with how quickly you hurry towards him. You’re already standing next to the edge of the mattress by the time you even register his body is subtly tilted so that his boots are hanging purposefully off the side of it.

Regardless of the hard dominance he’s exhibiting, the symbolic gesture somehow feels like it flips a switch inside you and lights up pure, aching adoration for him. But against every instinct screaming at you to just scramble on top of him and show him how much you appreciate his thoughtfulness, you wait. You wait for him to tell you what to do.

His glove lifts, comes up to gently touch the side of your face and cradle your jaw, and you have to clamp your hands together to stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Are you wet?” Mando murmurs, sounding like his lips barely even brush against each other when they move under the beskar. You don’t trust yourself to say anything without it turning into a desperate plea, so you just close your eyes and jerk your head in a nod, feeling your cheek graze against the leather on his palm with the movement. It’s hard to swallow when your mouth feels so dry, and he lets you just suffer there and tremble for him a little while longer, letting out a quiet hum through the modulator as his thumb carefully rides the line of your cheekbone.

Maker, where does all this fucking patience come from? Under normal circumstances, Mando is probably one of the most impatient people you’ve ever met, and yet. It’s like he stores it all up. Hoards it and refuses to dip into it most of the time—perfectly content to have a quick temper in most interactions, if only so that he can keep it handy for moments like this. If only so he can have a seemingly endless supply of patience to sustain him while your average-sized stockpile is gradually and inevitably being depleted.

“You want to get up here with me?” He asks quietly, and stars, that’s still not a directive, no matter how much it could casually imply one. The ridiculous thing is—he never even told you this was expected of you. Not once did he tell you to follow his words like they're gospel, not once did he say there was something wrong with speaking directly to him without prompting, or acting without explicit instruction. He never even implied anything like that at all, but you still hold your body completely rigid as you jerk a nod against his palm once more.

Stars, it just isn’t fair. He doesn’t look any different from how he looks every single day—there’s no patch of golden skin to tease you, beskar is covering him head to toe, but you’re hotter for him than you think you’ve ever been. He’s stretched out long on the bed, a portion of him darkened by your silhouette but the rest bathed in gorgeous moonlight, breathing slow as he takes you in. You stare silently at the visor, and for some reason, you—you’re quite suddenly struck with how gorgeous he could secretly be under there and you’ll just… you’ll never know. You know his hair is thick and dark, you know the softness of his mouth, the sunkissed color of his skin, the prominent nose and straight teeth on the rare but blissful occasions he’d let you kiss him. His eyes, though. They could be any color. Your credits have been on brown for a while, but the thought of you not knowing for sure… the thought of you actually having to ask him something like that is just—it makes you ache to touch him even more. To give him something tangible at least, when you know the only way to ever have a true visual connection with him is with a dark visor between you.

You try to let the sentiment transfer through your needy expression, hoping he can read it from there. His cock is hard—you can see it in your peripheral, pressing up against the dark fabric of his pants, but it’s like you’re the only one who notices. He’s still admiring your face, or fuck, maybe he’s looking at your body—you can never tell for sure, but regardless, you stare purposefully at wherever you think his eyes ought to be, silently pleading with him and starting to get desperate.

Finally—fucking finally, the helmet rocks to the side just slightly, just the smallest tilt of his head towards his body, but the nonverbal invitation is enough. Air you didn’t realize was even in your lungs suddenly whooshes out of you as you all but launch forwards onto the mattress to try and climb on top of him.

—Except, then his hand quickly drops from your face to press firm against your thighs, blocking the way your far leg tries to lift to swing over him in a straddle. Disappointment crashes through you with an audible whimper and you start to panic a little bit as you shakily plant both knees back on the bed, wondering what you possibly did wrong. Was it because he didn’t specifically say it was okay? Was he just testing your obedience?

The beskar vambrace feels cool against your burning skin, and you try not to let the trembling of your body manifest itself in your breathing as Mando lazily drags his glove along your thighs. Neither one of you says anything as he eventually trails his hand back and around, leather fingers coming to a rest between your legs while his thumb rides high, just under the curve of your ass.

And then he slowly starts pulling, before he gradually leads the leg closest to him up and over his body instead, until you’re settling into a straddle on top of his hips. Backwards.

Everything in you shudders violently as both gloves gently trail up the length of your naked back, letting you brace your hands on the beskar strapped to his thighs and settle on top of him.

“Look at that,” he hums, letting his hands fall back down to the meat of your ass, grabbing handfuls of it and squeezing hard enough to make you bite back a gasp. “Fucking pretty. Pretty girl. Stars, I fucking love looking at you, know that?”

The praise makes you mewl quietly and spread your knees even further, dropping your hips down until the underside of his cock presses up tight into your aching pussy. You arch your back and walk your hands forward just a bit, just until you’re holding onto his knees and you have the right angle to start slowly rocking your body back and forth.

“Maker,” you whisper, your head tipping back while you drag your pussy against his pulsing erection, and his hands keep massaging your ass while the words start falling out of you now that you released the floodgate. “Maker, I love your body. So big, and—and strong. Fucking hard, thick cock. Fuck, I love your cock. I love how fucking hard you get—”

“Bend over,” Mando breathes out behind you, his hands suddenly releasing fistfuls of your ass to grab around your hips and bring you to a stop. “Fuck, keep talking like that, but show me your—just let me… let me look at it.”

Your heart slams against your sternum, your clit pulsing against the hard ridge of his cock, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. Slowly, you bend your upper body over until your tummy lays flat along the cool beskar shielding his thighs and your tits are pressed against his kneecaps. Your arms are long enough to rest your hands on his ankles like this, and your thighs are spread wide to keep your cunt pushed up against his cock. But stars, you know he has a perfect view right now. The slick lips of your pussy smearing against his dark pants, both holes on full display for him in the moonlight.

“Keep—Keep talking,” Mando reminds you after a moment, sounding painfully turned on while his cock jumps against your clit. “Keep going. Use it, get yourself off. Let me watch.”

“Fuck, I love your cock,” you hear yourself repeat, breathless and needy as your hips start grinding down against him once more, the words coming from you without giving them any thought whatsoever. He grunts and pushes it up for you, letting you get at it easier. “I think about it all the time. Think about the first time I felt it, how you were already rock fucking hard for me when I touched you. You came so quick, right in my hand, in your pants—it was so fucking hot.”

“I’d had—” he grits out in his defense, “—shit, I’d had a… a rough day, and your hands were. Fuck, s-soft, and—”

“Maybe,” you concede, biting your lip and closing your eyes against the swirling pleasure spreading hot through your body, the heat that burns you alive hearing the familiar warble through the modulator when he’s starting to lose himself in pleasure. “Or maybe it was because you were half-conscious with a brand new scar on your back.”

His filtered groan rolls down your spine and his cock pulses hard against your cunt through the fabric of his pants, making you spasm in delight. Fuck, your head drops down completely, just dragging yourself back and forth on top of him as you chase your orgasm like this. Shameless—your ass flexing in front of him with every roll of your hips, your lower muscles fluttering with every drag against his cock.

“Fuck—fuck, let me touch your asshole,” Mando whispers suddenly, lifting himself up on one elbow and dragging the other hand up the curve of your cheek. “Just—just a little bit, I won’t pu—”

“Oh stars above, fucking please,” you gasp against one of his legs, nearly jerking back against his hand as your pussy fucking leaks through his pants with it. “I’ll let you do anything you want, you can—can put your thumb inside it—”

His other hand leaves you for a split second, and you think he’s taking his glove off, except then it swings down to crack hard against your ass, making you gasp and instantly go still for him on his lap.

The smooth leather covering the pad of his thumb carefully glides down your crevice, and you hold your breath until it finally brushes over the tight ring of muscle flexing for him.

“That all you’ll let me put in here?” Mando asks quietly, and you let out a complete mess of a whimper, trying your best not to move under the bold touches.

You get another firm smack on the ass for being rendered mute for too long. “Tell me,” he growls, rubbing his thumb against the vulnerable entrance while his cock throbs against your cunt.

“I’ll—I’ll let you do anything you want,” you moan once more, and stars, you can’t help it. Your hips start to grind down against him even harder than before, and Mando curses as he slowly rides your movements with his hand.

“Dirty,” he grits out. “Dirty girl. You ever take it back here before?” And stars, the way his cock drags against your pussy starts to make you lightheaded, how casually he’s talking about this while starting to circle his thumb around it and press firm against it. Not hard enough to push inside, but enough to feel the natural resistance give just a bit.

“No,” you breathe, starting to pant while you work against him. “Boys have tried. But I’d let you.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, suddenly rocking his hips up against yours. You nearly choke and your legs start to lock up, making your movements stunted. “Fuck. I bet you’d let me do it right fucking now, wouldn’t you? Right here in front of this f-fucking window, where everyone can see? Let me flip you over and stretch you out, and then fuck your tight little—virgi—”

“Maker, get your cock out,” you gasp, heat burning at your center and beginning to spread outwards. It tingles hot through your lower abdomen and you start to get frantic, knowing you don’t have much time before your orgasm hits. “Please, just let me ride it, let me cum on it—”

“No,” Mando immediately grunts, and you make a small sound of distress that quickly turns into a high-pitched mewl against his leg when the very tip of his thumb just barely breaches the haloed entrance.

“But—but I’m so wet,” you whisper, “oh stars, can’t you see it? I’m dripping. You could just slide it right in right now, I’d take it so fucking easy—”

He rips his hand away just long enough to smack your ass once again, hard enough to ring through the room and make you gasp. “Quit. You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given and you’ll endure,” he snaps. “Not here, not tonight.”

You bite back desperate protests. He’d fuck you in a dark alleyway on Canto Bight but not here? As if you haven’t already done so multiple times this evening, you immediately lament your stupid mouth and the thoughtless mattress comment. You wish you could take it all back—you don’t care how nice this bed is, you want to sleep in anything he’ll fuck you in. Nonetheless, your orgasm gallops forward and leaves your body struggling to keep up behind it—but Maker, you want so badly to feel him inside you when it finally hits. You want to sink down on him and feel him break you open just as you start to cum.

“Oh fuck, please give me it,” you whine, sounding on the edge of delirium, the words pressed high and unintentional as your hands clutch at his legs. “Oh Maker, please, please fuck me—fuck me in a real bed, please, just—fuck me right now and I swear I’ll sleep on fucking rocks for you every single night for the rest of m—”

A snarl rips through the modulator and he shoves your hips forward just enough, just enough to rip his waistband down—

You gasp in blinding relief and flip your head over your shoulder to watch, but then subtle movement catches in your peripheral. You glance up just in time to see the doorknob slowly turning.

Thank your lucky stars you react on instinct alone, squealing and jumping off him before quickly shuffling under the covers.

“What the fu—” comes an enraged, filtered growl, metal clanking with how quickly he flips over to reach for you, but then he cuts off and the helmet whips to the door as it unlatches and slowly creaks open.

The blankets are pulled tight under your chin as you shuffle down as far as possible, and though you can’t see the intruder from this angle, Mando is instantly reaching back to rip the pillow out from under the helmet and press it tight over his crotch, huffing out a sigh.

Soon, you’re able to spot one pointy little ear pop up, followed by the rest of the little gremlin scaling the treacherously tall comforter, pulling himself over the edge of the mattress with a determined three-finger hold and then doing a completely unnecessary little barrel roll once he’s on the level springtop. The fact that it’s so fucking adorable just serves to irk you even more, and both of you silently watch the kid push himself up on two feet and then waddle slowly in between you two.

He finds a pillow he likes—one that happens to be placed directly in between you and his dad, before he settles himself down on it like a small bed on top of a much larger one. The little stinker then flutters his abnormally giant eyes closed and seems to instantly fall back asleep.

There’s a few minutes where you just blink across from Mando, flicking your gaze between the chrome visor and the baby’s peaceful face. Is this… is he serious right now?

“Were we being too loud?” You eventually whisper, barely above a breath. “Or is he just being purposefully annoying?”

He doesn’t answer you. And, well, you suppose he has a point. Regardless of why, it appears he's here now.

You let out a slow breath and just try and relax, try and think beyond the flare of annoyance at the interruption, how close you were to feeling him fuck you into this mattress. He’d still have the armor and helmet on, of course, but it would be just domestic enough to ruin you.

But then again—you suppose this, if anything, is even more domestic. Doing your best to calm your racing thoughts so you can eventually fall asleep directly across from him with his mildly aggravating, heartstealing little adopted kid snoring quietly between you.

Quite a while passes before you feel your eyelids growing heavy. You spend almost the entire time studying every single inch of Mando while he faces you on the mattress. The sharp angles and smooth curves of his helmet, concave in places but convex in others. How fitting, you think. To cover a man with a helmet just like him—sharp, smooth, contrasting, and deflective enough about what lies underneath to be reflective.

Then you find yourself thinking about what he’s hiding under it. Once more. You try to picture him, but it’s… it’s difficult. You’re not used to translating things you’ve only touched into visual representations, it’s just not a skill you’ve ever needed to have handy. And what about all the things you can’t, or haven’t been able to feel? Freckles, or birthmarks? Dimples? Are his lashes long or short? Do they stick out in a fringe when he clamps his eyes shut? Does his nose scrunch up when he laughs? Do his ears stick out? Does he have wrinkles on his forehead, or around his eyes?

Maker, what color are they?

You continue to stare at the metal faceplate, blinking droopily at it but forcing yourself to stay awake just a bit longer. Enjoy the feeling of the soft mattress underneath you while you still can, relaxing into the cool sheets and delaying your inevitable descent into dreams. Savoring his extended presence here with you for as long as possible.

“Do you have brown eyes?” You hear yourself murmur to him through the quiet darkness, lips barely touching and the words slurred from exhaustion. You want to know. You want to be able to color in the last paint-by-number of his face before you begin your work on the finer details.

Again, he doesn’t answer, and you figure he’s probably asleep.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #no-droids

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hermannsthumb · 3 years ago

Note

Town council Hermann vs Alien Conspiracy Newt please!!!

THIS WAS FUN!!! inspired both by this tweet and conversations abt a newt/herm AU of that tweet with @k-sci-janitor (who also thought of the funniest sign newt made in this fic, aka the cheekbones one, and what his tats should look like). this is long sorry :/ gets a little spicy towards the end but nothing worse than a high pg13/light M

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The evening of the weekly town council meeting, it pours like nothing else. Which Hermann figures is really quite appropriate. Loathe as he is to soak his trouser legs, trudge through the mud that used to be his front walk, and hold his umbrella for so long his arm aches (for the community center is a mere half-mile walk away that Hermann can't justify substituting with a bus), he can't imagine council meetings happening in any other sort of weather. In fact, they rarely tend to; their dreariness seems to be a necessity, part of the preparation, as if to put everyone in as miserable a mood as possible.

Hermann hates council meetings. He supposes he'd be more sympathetic towards the plights of his constituents—if one can call one's neighbors constituents—if he'd wanted the damned job in the first place. As it is, he feels a bit like he was conned into it. Hermann had been a lowly physics professor at the local community college, passionate about public education and funding for public education and all those proper sorts of things an educator ought to be concerned about, when he suddenly found himself seized with the idea of making a difference. So he ran for a head position on the council. And he won it. Only no one told him that the council deals a lot less with public education and a lot more with noise complaints, cul-de-sac bake sales, and raccoons in dustbins, which makes why he ran completely unopposed all the more obvious.

A fat raindrop explodes against the edge of Hermann's umbrella and splashes his glasses. Hermann grits his teeth and wipes them dry with the cuff of his sweater. Bloody meeting; bloody rain; Hermann just wants to go back home, and fix up a nice pot of herbal tea, and set a blanket in the dryer for ten minutes, and...

"Dr. Gottlieb! Hey, Dr. Gottlieb, wait—!"

A blur in an oversized yellow raincoat hurdles itself at Hermann from the stairs of the community center. Hermann considers pretending he is a different Dr. Gottlieb, one who certainly has no reason to know maniacs in raincoats, or maybe high-tailing it in the other direction. This is the other reason why Hermann loathes council meetings: Newton Geiszler.

The unfortunate thing is that Newton Geiszler was, at one point, a respectable academic type, and in fact one of Hermann's own colleagues at the community college. (Hermann only found this out after the fact—he does not make a habit of intermingling much with the biology department.) And Hermann does mean was. Around a year ago, Geiszler was asked to temporarily step down from his position after he suddenly and unexpectedly went off the deep end. He has not been asked to come back yet. And not without reason. "Dr. Geiszler," Hermann sighs. "I've asked you not to lurk about here like that. It's...unsettling."

"Sorry, man, sorry," Geiszler shouts. He stomps over and makes himself at home under Hermann's umbrella. Hermann's not sure how he's been managing to see anything, let alone Hermann approaching down the sidewalk: his glasses are completely fogged-up and rain-splattered. "Do you mind if—thanks, dude."

Geiszler flips his hood down. He’s short, only coming up to Hermann's nose, with stubble nearly overgrown to a full beard and a mess of wet brown hair. He shakes that hair now, like a dog, soaking Hermann in the process. Hermann growls. "I beg your pardon,” he says.

"Oops,” Geiszler says. “Sorry. Anyway, Dr. Gottlieb, I'm really glad I caught you, there are—there are some things I wanted to tell you about. Before the meeting. They're—hold on." He rummages around in the deep pockets of his raincoat and produces a damp notebook, which he begins to flip through frantically. "It's about—"

"I know what it's about," Hermann says. Geiszler fumbles to push his glasses back up his nose. "In fact, there are some things I need to speak with you about as well."

"You've seen them?" Geiszler says in a hushed tone.

Hermann scowls. "I certainly have.”

They first started cropping up in the forest around the little cabin Geiszler calls home. Then, like dandelions or bamboo, they spread fast and far—to the town commons, in the front lawn of the coffee shop Hermann frequents, in front of his house. Whenever Hermann dashes one down with his cane or hauls one off to a rubbish bin, two more only crop up in its place. It's annoying, frankly. As if Hermann doesn't have to deal with enough already.

3 ALIEN ABDUCTIONS IN ONE WEEK - WHEN IS THE COUNCIL GOING TO DO SOMETHING?, the new one sitting in front of the community center says.

It's better than last week's sign, Hermann supposes. THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE - AND HERMANN GOTTLIEB IS BLIND TO IT.

"You know you need a permit for those, Dr. Geiszler," Hermann says. "Or, at the very least, the council's permission. They're a public nuisance."

"My signs are a public nuisance?" Geiszler shouts. Hermann flinches back. Geiszler may be compact, but if he doesn't have the shrillest voice on the whole damned planet. "Open your eyes, dude! A dozen people went missing last month! The only public nuisance is whatever's coming from—" He bites his lip and jabs his finger at the sky, as if saying anything remotely akin to outer space would suddenly send fleets of UFOs pouring down from above. "And you're just letting them walk right fucking in."

“I thought they were flying in?" Hermann says. He raps Geiszler’s shin with the end of his cane. "Do get out of my way, Dr. Geiszler. The meeting starts in ten minutes, and you're welcome to air all of your grievances then."

Geiszler is silent as Hermann ducks around him and ascends the community center ramp. For a moment, Hermann thinks he may have won this small victory, and then he hears the wet slaps of Geiszler's rain boots against the pavement behind him. "Really funny," Newton says. "Real fucking funny, dude. I bet it'll be just as funny when they come for you next!"

Hermann unlocks the door. Geiszler waves a stack of black-and-white polaroids beneath his nose. "I took these last week," Geiszler says, and begins flipping through them as frantically as he had his notepad. Each one is blurry and indistinct, like Geiszler snapped them through a gauzy curtain with shaking hands. Hermann's not sure what he's meant to be looking at. "The day that waitress went missing from the bus stop. And two nights after that—your neighbor, the one who went outside to let his cat in and never came b—"

"Enough," Hermann says. He pushes the polaroids away, knocking two to the ground, and Geiszler scrambles to pick them up before they're ruined. "Dr. Geiszler, it is undoubtedly tragic that these people have—er—vanished, as they have, but continuously insisting extraterrestrials had something to do with it, and furthermore—" Geiszler opens his mouth as if to argue, but Hermann raises his voice and pushes on. "—furthermore, that I'm meant to do something about it, is completely—well, it's unhinged, frankly. I'm not law enforcement. Or the mayor. Or bloody—NASA. What do you want from me?"

Geiszler stares at him for a long time. He pockets his photographs. "They're gonna come for you," he says, ominously. "Just like they did for me."

The meeting goes off as expected, which is to say, badly. Hermann gets shouted at by nearly everyone in town, many of whom blame Hermann and his presumed negligence for the disappearances over the past year as well (blessedly, they don't also blame aliens), though many more of them blame him for more trivial things such as the broken water fountain in the commons or the library's slow wireless internet. Hermann can't decide which is worse.

As it is, when the clock strikes eight, he's more than ready to go home. "Right," he announces, standing up and making a show of tidying his meeting notes. They're already tidy: Hermann's notes are always meticulous. He continues—rather quickly, in case someone gets bold and attempts to interrupt him, "Thank you all very much for such a, er, productive meeting. I'll make sure to pass along everything you've said to the appropriate people. If there's nothing else..."

Geiszler jumps to his feet. A few people groan; Hermann has a feeling they're just about as sick of him as Hermann is. "Um, yeah, actually, I want to add something."

"No," Hermann says. “Dr. Geiszler, please, we can talk—”

"When we were outside," Geiszler continues anyway, raising his voice, "you asked me what I wanted you to do. Well, I just want you to listen to me! That's all! I have so much proof—so much I can show you—and you won't even—!"

"Proof?" Hermann says. "Your rubbish photographs?”

"It's not just the photographs! It's other stuff, too! Like—" Geiszler lets out a long, angry huff of air, and actually balls his fists up at his sides. Hermann has never seen him so incensed, not even when he accused Hermann of being an alien himself during a council meeting last summer. "Look, just come to my house and I'll fuckin' show you. Or are you that afraid of being—I don’t know, proven wrong?"

Part of Hermann is convinced that if he follows Geiszler out to his isolated cabin in the middle of the woods, it'll be the last thing he ever does. At the very least, he certainly has no desire to spend more time with Geiszler than he's already forced to. Yet—on the other hand—Hermann does not appreciate the challenge, nor does he appreciate being made to look like a fool by the man who chairs the local paranormal society. "Fine," he snaps, and Geiszler startles in obvious surprise. "Fine, you wretched little man. I’ll let you show me whatever proof you think you may have, so long as you take every single one of those signs down."

"Um," Geiszler squeaks. He clears his throat. "D—deal?"

Hermann seizes his cane and thrusts his chair back under his table roughly. "Well?" he says to the rest of the hall, none of whom have budged since Geiszler began shouting his head off. He scowls at the lot of them. "The meeting is over. You can leave."

It's Hermann's job to shut down the building each week, so he waits for the very last stragglers to toss out their paper water cups, shrug on their raincoats, and file outside before switching off the lights and locking up. He finds Geiszler lurking by a rather worse-for-wear green VW Beetle at the curb, the hood of his raincoat flipped back up over his hair. Hermann desperately hopes that the car isn't Geiszler’s. He is Hermann’s ride home tonight, after all. "I took the signs down," Geiszler says in a rush. "All of the ones around here, anyway. I'll have to do the rest tomorrow." He jerks his thumb at the backseat of the Beetle, where Hermann sees a haphazard pile of some of the 3 ALIEN ABDUCTIONS signs. His heart sinks. The X-Files bumper stickers should've been a dead giveaway, really.

"Thank you," Hermann sighs. "Well, let's get this over with."

"The heat is busted, so you might wanna leave your coat on," Geiszler says apologetically when Hermann manages to squish himself into the passenger's seat. The floor is a sea of empty Dunkin' Donuts cups, stacks of pulp science (or, if Hermann were to be less kind, pseudoscientific) magazines spanning back at least half a decade, and a pin-littered linen tote bag filled to the brim with boxed Annie's macaroni and cheese.

"Uh, sorry," Geiszler says. "I had to run some errands earlier. You can just—toss that in the back. Yeah."

The ride is short but bumpy, and though the removal of Geiszler's shopping bag offers Hermann more leg room, there is nothing that can make up for his tragically awful driving and his tragically awful CD collection. Hermann almost bolts from the car when they finally pull up at Geiszler's ivy-shrouded cabin, so relieved to have made it there in one piece that he's all but forgotten that he must now spend the rest of the evening with Geiszler, too. He remembers soon enough: another duo of aggressive signs have been pounded into Geiszler's mossy front path, TURN BACK NOW - ALIEN ABDUCTION ZONE, and a rather good sketch of Hermann beneath WHAT ARE THOSE CHEEKBONES HIDING? "That one's from the summer," Geiszler says sheepishly, kicking down the latter with the toe of his boot. "I keep forgetting to take it down. I don't still think you're an alien, by the way."

"Er, thank you," Hermann says. "I suppose?"

"They wouldn't be that obvious," Geiszler says, emphasizing the they with a meaningful glance up at the night sky.

"Of course not," Hermann says.

He's not quite sure what he expected Geiszler's house to look like. Some sort of—conspiracy nutter's den, perhaps, with aluminum foil hats and deconstructed radios and elaborate photoboards full of thumbtacks and red string. Or the interior of his car on a larger scale, with empty takeout containers and crumpled up papers on every surface. He's...sort of right. There's a noticeable lack of tinhats, but there are plenty of (modestly-sized) corkboards on the walls and multiple coffee cups peeking out of a recycling bin. The rest is merely precisely what Hermann would expect from an academic in his 30s: books, and mis-matching furniture, and a sink of dishes begging to be washed. It's...a bit disappointing, frankly. Though Hermann is rather impressed with the sleek telescope angled in front of the back slider door. Impressed, and envious. It's a very nice model.

"Make yourself at home," Geiszler says, unzipping his voluminous raincoat and tossing it, along with Hermann's, over the back of a worn armchair. He's wearing a pair of torn skinny jeans and a band t-shirt that reveals his heavily tattooed, and deceptively shapely, arms. Hermann tears his eyes away and forces himself to sit down at one end of Geiszler's couch. "I'm gonna make us some coffee. Do you want any sugar or non-dairy creamer?"

"No, thank you," Hermann says. "I don't drink coffee this late. It'll keep me up all night."

"Well, I hope so, that's kinda the plan,” Geiszler says. He rolls his eyes. “The aliens never come before at least midnight. Soy milk or almond milk?"

Hermann thinks, briefly and longingly, of his nice warm bed, the blanket he intended to toss in the dryer, and the herbal tea he won't be having after all. "Almond milk?" he hazards.

Geiszler stares at him in evident disgust. "Dude, I was kidding. You know how bad that shit is for the environment? It takes, like, a fuckin' thousand gallons of water or something like that for one carton of almond milk. It's insane. I mean, I guess it's still less water than what dairy needs, but there are plenty of better options."

"Oh," Hermann says. Hermann drinks skim milk. "I'm sorry. Er. Soy milk?"

As Geiszler fixes them mugs, Hermann begins to poke around some papers scattered across the coffee table. One is a list of names and dates, seemingly random, Hermann thinks, until he recognizes (scrawled in purple ink at the very bottom of the page) that of the gentleman who disappeared from his back porch just down Hermann's street. When he recognizes another—a teenager who worked as a barista at Hermann’s favorite coffee shop—he realizes it must be everyone who's vanished from town in the past year. Another paper has the same dates repeated, though not alongside any names—rather, bizarre little phrases like circling lights and that sound again. "You found my notes," Geiszler says cryptically, and then thrusts a mug out to Hermann.

Hermann takes the mug. A logo on the side tells Hermann it was from some academic conference in California ten years ago. "What are they supposed to mean?" he says.

Geiszler snorts. "Uh, I thought it was kind of obvious. Look—" He sits next to Hermann, far too close, and points at the column of numbers on the first page. "These are the dates when people have been reported missing," he says, and then scans his finger over to the second page, "and these are the dates when I've observed extraterrestrial—or at least, unexplainable—activity overhead. See how they match up almost perfectly?

"Mm," Hermann says. He does not. "So—if I am to understand you correctly—you believe that a, ah," he takes the page back from Geiszler, "a 'weird swoopy sound' from overhead had something to do with that poor young woman disappearing from a bus stop last week?”

"It wasn't just a weird noise!" Geiszler exclaims. "I showed you the pictures. I ran outside when I heard it, and thank fuck I had my camera, because I caught those lights just as they were leaving. And then what do I find out the next morning? There was another abduction, at almost the exact same time I saw the lights!"

"Ten miles from here," Hermann reminds him. "It would've had to have been a bloody fast ship."

"Yeah, no shit, Hermann," Geiszler says. "They're, like, fucking—mega-advanced lifeforms. They probably have the tech to vaporize the entire Earth if they wanted. Of course it was a fast ship.”

Geiszler is still sitting awfully close to Hermann. He runs very warm, unlike Hermann, warm enough to make Hermann warm too—like a scruffy, tattooed, freckled furnace. Yes, freckled, for Geiszler has the lightest dusting of freckles across his round chipmunk-like cheeks that Hermann finds inexplicably charming. He wonders if Geiszler would notice him loosen his collar a bit, perhaps take off his sweater. He really is getting quite warm. "So, I was saying," Geiszler continues, and though he speaks almost directly into Hermann's ear, he sounds as if he's a mile away from him. "Waitress at bus stop—weird lights over my cabin—waitress gone from bus stop. The proof is, like, undeniable!"

"Indeed," Hermann says.

He undoes the top button of his collar. He hasn't touched his coffee yet—he wonders if Geiszler even cares. The tattoo on Geiszler’s bicep, some sort of space tentacle monster, stares back at Hermann. "I'm telling you, man," Geiszler says, "this is no joke. They're taking people, maybe even for good."

They're gonna come for you, just like they did for me. When Geiszler began spouting nonsense about aliens last year, he was not booted from the biology department right away. Mostly everyone at the college, Hermann knows, tolerated his eccentricities on account of his admittedly brilliant mind and popularity among the students. The final straw came when Geiszler's extraterrestrial delusions (for what else could they be?) reached a new level: he showed up to campus in his pajamas one morning, raving that the aliens were not only zooming about over his house, but had actually abducted him the previous evening. "You seemed to fare alright, though, didn't you?" Hermann says. "When you were—ah—taken? They even dropped you back off in time for work. Quite courteous, I should think."

"That's—" Geiszler begins to shake his leg up and down, nervous energy radiating up his body and through Hermann's. He spills some of his coffee on the carpet. "That was—that was dumb. I got lucky. I think I was one of the first ones, you know? Because the disappearances didn't really get bad until, like, a month after that? I was in bed—and, and it wasn't like how it is in movies, I wasn't sucked up in a giant beam of light or anything like that, one minute I was there and then the next I wasn't, I was somewhere...else. And—uh. I don't really remember what they looked like. I tried to—sketch them out, but it was like trying to remember a dream, all the specific details about them just faded once it was over. But, um." He rubs the back of his neck, and Hermann is surprised to see him blushing. "Well, if I'm being honest, I think I kinda freaked them out."

Hermann can't help but snort. "You what?"

"I'm serious!" Geiszler shrieks. "I freaked them out. I was just really excited about it all. Like, dude, come on, I was abducted by aliens. How fucking cool is that? I just kept asking a bunch of questions, like, are you gonna probe me? are you gonna take me back to Mars or Jupiter or, like, I don't know, fucking Gallifrey? do you even understand what I'm saying, how do you communicate? and then the next thing I knew, I was landing on my ass in the school parking lot. They must've been observing me like I was observing them, like, they maybe knew I worked there? Anyway—" He shakes his head. "I tell you what, I'm real glad I decided to not just wear boxers like usual to bed that night. That would've been really embarrassing."

Bombarded with the sudden mental image of what Geiszler usually looks like in bed, Hermann (feeling rather warm again) tugs at his collar and clears his throat. He has certainly seen more than enough for the night, and if his mind is straying to something as prosaic as what does Dr. Geiszler look like half-naked?, it likely means it’s time for bed. "Er, right. Dr. Geiszler—"

"Just call me Newt, man," Geiszler says.

"Newton," Hermann concedes. It gives him a private little thrill. No one calls Newton Newton; it’s always either Newt or Dr. Geiszler. "Newton,” he says again, “this has been a very—illuminating—evening, but it's getting rather late, and I think you ought to drive me home before—"

And then Newton begins to take off his shirt.

Yes, a small part of Hermann's brain whispers traitorously, yes, yes, yes, even as Hermann recoils and stammers out, "Newton, what—?!"

"Oh, calm down, I'm not coming onto you," Newton says. He drops his t-shirt on the floor and jabs a thumb at his chest. His bare chest. "See, look. Proof."

Hermann's not sure what he's meant to be looking at. The giant Godzilla tattooed over Newton's pectorals? The flying saucer tattooed above Newton’s belly button? Newton’s nipple piercings? Hermann thinks he understands what an overheating computer feels like, an influx of too much information with processors unequipped to handle it. "I," he says. Newton’s belly button is not pierced. Hermann’s not sure why he thought it would be.

"Look at my chest, dude!" Newton says, tapping his skin insistently.

It takes Hermann a great deal of effort to pull his eyes away from the nipple piercings. In the dead center of Newton's chest, spaced perfectly between his pectorals and right over the nostrils of Godzilla, is a strange, almost luminescent glyph of a language Hermann can't begin to recognize. It's raised from Newton's skin, more like a brand than a tattoo. And...well, when Hermann says luminescent, he really means it. The squiggle seems to glow blue. "This was on me the next morning," Newton says. "I think they marked me. Like you'd tag a lab rat?”

Hermann can't help himself: he reaches out and touches the mark. "Strange," he murmurs. Compared to the heat of Newton’s body, the glyph is quite cool. Frigid, in fact, like metal, and yet as soft as the rest of his skin.

He's close enough to Newton to hear the hitch in his breath when they make contact, and as he traces his fingertips over the glyph, he can feel Newton's heart pounding beneath them. Strange, indeed; Newton has been such a thorn in his side for so many months, and yet all Hermann wants to do now is touch even more of him. He trails his hand lower, down to the flying saucer on Newton's soft abdomen. Newton inhales sharply. "Um," he says. "Should—should I put my shirt back on?"

"Do you want to?" Hermann says.

"Not really," Newton says.

He stares at Hermann, eyebrows knit together behind his glasses, like he can't seem to make sense of him. His confusion is very much warranted; Hermann can’t seem to make sense of himself right now, either. Then, to Hermann's supreme annoyance, the pieces seem to click into place in Newton's mind, and he grins. "Oh, duh," he says. "No wonder. You wanna fuck me, don't you? That’s why you’re so obsessed with me.”

That would certainly explain the strange warm feeling that comes over Hermann sometimes when he thinks about Newton in the dead of night that he has, up until this very moment, attributed to bouts of temporary insanity and/or a latent murderous desire. Nothing so dramatic as all that, then—just regular human biology. Urgh. How disgusting. And for Newton, of all people. “Obsessed with you?” Hermann sniffs, desperate to retain some element of propriety even while he begins to tug at Newton’s button fly. “Newton, you have spent thousands of dollars on yard signs just to invite me over for a coffee.”

“Uh, yeah, and it worked,” Newton says.

He curls his fingers in the front of Hermann's sweater, thumbing over one of the buttons.

“Even when I thought you were an alien,” Newton says, “I still kiiiiinda wanted to fuck you.”

Delusional or not, Newton looks terrifically good with a beard.

"Wait," Hermann gasps some time later. "Newton, stop a moment—"

Newton pulls away from him, frowning. He pushes his glasses back up on his nose. "What is it?" he says. "Did I hurt—?"

But Hermann pats at his shoulder frantically, pointing beyond him at the back slider and the dark of the forest beyond that. Newton cranes his neck around. "Only I'm sure I saw something. Lights, or…” Hermann feels a small twinge of embarrassment. The night is dead silent, and dead still. “Well, now I'm not sure."

“You probably imagined it," Newton says. He slips back down to press a kiss at Hermann's jaw. “It’s too early to be them.”

Not even ten yet. Newton kisses behind Hermann’s ear. It feels very nice. "Yes," Hermann agrees slowly, his eyelids flickering shut. He smooths his hand up and down Newton’s back. "Yes, I suppose you're right." Newton’s stories must have left him on edge. Which is of course ridiculous, because they’re all a load of rubbish—there may be extraterrestrials somewhere out there in the great wide universe, but they’re certainly not swooping down and plucking up hapless test subjects from Earth, let alone their small town, every other day. Hermann has much more important things to concern himself with right now, like how it feels when he threads his fingers in the soft strands of Newton’s hair, or the sound Newton makes when Hermann digs his nails into his skin, or how wonderful kissing Newton is...

And, unobserved by both of them, the three lights hovering above Newton's cabin blink away as quickly as they'd come.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag

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