#never before has a ship gripped me this hard and slapped me across the face

[xhollowfaerie]

silverv drabbles #5

a/n: oof, this might be my favorite one so far. after witnessing a particularly bad memory, Johnny offers to teach V how to play guitar. also yes my V is kinda seeing Judy too but idk I also ship her so hard with Johnny so interpret that however you will, I love her with either or both <3 also pre-game Samurai fan corpo V is my new roman empire

warnings: traumatic childhood, depiction of physical abuse, abusive "parenting", hopefully Johnny isn't too ooc

- Black Dog. V’s eyes watered at the sight of the electric guitar in her new apartment, bringing the back of her hand up to her mouth as she bit back a grin.

“Gettin’ all emotional on me? Sweet, but you know we’d never work” Johnny lit up a cigarette, resting against the windowsill.

“Shut up, Johnny” she laughed through her wavering emotions, kneeling down to admire the instrument. Her long nails ran over the glossy finish, hesitantly plucking a string to relish the sound. The rockerboy watched her in amusement. She looked just like a little kid getting their favorite toy on Christmas Eve.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never touched a guitar before” he said in between drags, eyes glued to her.

“No” V breathed, lowering her gaze. “Wasn’t somethin’ I was allowed to touch.”

Victoria Lovett’s slaps always stung for days after. Valerie gasped in horror as her mother snapped her vinyl in half before angrily bursting into tears.

“The fuck did you do that for?!” she roared, her rebellion earning her another painful slap across the face before feeling her hair being viciously tugged upwards. 

“Who do you think you’re speaking to, Valerie? Address me like that one more time and see what happens. This time, we’ll make sure you don’t get any medical attention.”

Valerie sobbed, attempting to free her mother’s hold of her hair to no avail. She helplessly stood face to face with the vitriol across her mother’s still-youthful features, the various implants and surgeries to keep her looking in her late twenties at most.

“Don’t try to play the victim with me. I’ve told you how many times? Stop wasting time on this drivel, it’s simply not my fault you won’t listen to your own mother. You need to focus on the Academy and the Academy only-” “I have top grades in every class! Every professor has praised me to you! What more do you want?! I’m not even allowed to listen to the music I like?! I’ve done everything, everything to appease you, it’s never enough! I’m never enough! ”

Victoria glared towards the broken Samurai record on the floor before returning her attention to her daughter. “This noise? You call this anarchistic low-class propaganda filth music? You are the heir to a royal bloodline, Valerie Lovett! There is no higher insult for us or for the future of our family for you to betray us - to disrespect The Company like this.”

Valerie’s dark makeup ran down her face in trails of black, shaking in fear in her mother’s grip. She squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered before she was abruptly dropped, falling to her knees. She tried to back away, but her mother grabbed onto her face so ferociously, she thought her fingers would crush her jaw to dust. Fear instructed her to bite down hard into her tongue, still her trembling and silence her cries. It always riled them up even worse when she couldn’t stop crying.

“Perhaps we’ve been too lenient with you - I should’ve listened to your father and scrapped you. He was right, your genetics were flawed. I was soft because I’d always wanted a daughter.”

Her unloving hands moved down to Valerie’s throat; she lowered herself onto the floor under the weight, eyes wide in horror, feeling the oxygen cut off from her lungs with a wheeze.

“M-Mom, it- hurts-”“You will address me as Mother, Valerie, and you will watch your tongue with me from this day on, unless you truly want me to go ahead and remove it. Better yet, your father suggested a faceplate; you know your facial features are… less than desirable.”

Valerie couldn’t help the tears pouring down the sides of her face, lips trembling. This was it, she thought. This time, Victoria would really go through with it and kill her, like she always said she would. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure up the smallest spark of courage inside her, to accept her death with dignity. She’d been contemplating choosing her own way out over whatever nightmare of a future her parents had planned for her for a while now, anyway. Lyrics played in her head, offering her the tiniest hope of solace as she tried - to no avail - to block her mother's words out.

“I better not see this slut makeup or clothing on you again. I’ve told you time and time again; a woman must be elegant. You’ve tarnished our reputation enough. I do not need the whole corporate world seeing my daughter parade around like a harlot.”

“Black dog in my head, guiding me into the end…” Valerie found herself humming, sitting down on the couch as she gingerly cradled the guitar in her arms. Johnny blinked in confusion for a moment before realizing they were back in the present, rubbing his temples.

“Fuck, kid. I’m- I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

V gave him a sympathetic half-smile. “...thanks. Sorry you had to see that.” She didn’t correct him on her age this time. She was barely a few years younger than him when he died, but she’d almost gotten attached to the stupid nickname.

He felt the clutches of wrath crawling up throughout his whole body. That familiar feeling. Anger, helplessness. Or maybe that was V. Maybe both.

“I know nothin I say’ll make it any better. But I’d kill ‘em for you, in a heartbeat,” Johnny tried to steady his voice from wavering with anger, taking a few steps towards the couch before lowering down onto the floor. She nodded, wiping the dampness off her face with her sleeve. “I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment; her fingers explored the ins and outs of the guitar, getting used to its weight atop her frame, humming still.

“That your favourite one? Black Dog.”

V let out a small sigh. She wrapped her arms around it, snuggling it to her chest like a teddy bear, but carefully enough to not damage it in any way, bringing her knees up.

“One of.” Johnny shook his head. “Never told me you were into Samurai.” “I did, though. Remember? Oh my gosh!!! I can’t believe it! It’s The REAL Johnny Silverhand?! I’m gonna pass out! Can I get a backstage pass? Please, I’m your biggest fan! I’ll let you see my backstage…!  Please, Daddy, I promise I’m 18! Can I at least get your autograph on my tits? Swear I’ll never wash it off!”

He let out a loud groan and quickly pushed himself up to the couch, placing one arm on either side of her to tower above.

“Christ, shut up” he barked, drinking in her joyous giggle as she playfully tried to push him away. Their eyes caught onto each other and they both stilled for a moment, brown staring into blue with a feverish intensity that made her heart pause its rhythm. Fine, maybe she'd had the most miniscule crush on him when she was a teenager, a lifetime ago.

Her hands, forgotten atop his chest, idly ran over the silver chain of his dog tags. He successfully suppressed displaying the tingle that rushed down his spine.

“I could teach ya. If you want” he spoke in a low voice, motioning towards the guitar in her arms. She widened her eyes with excitement, heart hammering rapidly inside her ribcage.

“No kiddin’?” “No kiddin’. Might even get a jump start, assumin’ your fingers inherited my muscle memory.”

The tone in his voice was very suggestive - her face flushed at his statement, reaching one of her hands up to clasp his face and shove him off her. “Ew! Do you always have to be a fuckin’ weirdo? I’m tellin’ the media that Johnny Silverhand was a degenerate sicko!” He chuckled as he moved away, reaching to wrap his fingers around her wrist and pull it off from his face with a sly grin. “Think you’re about a half a century late on that one, choomba.”

She rolled her eyes, feeling a sense of loss as his touch departed from her hand, grazing the guitar with a loving gaze perhaps meant for something, someone else.

“I’d love that” she whispered in reply to his suggestion, prompting Johnny to walk around the corner and grab his own guitar. How did that even work? Ah, whatever, she didn’t fucking care anymore.

“First off; you gotta shorten those vixen claws. I’m sure Judy will live just fine without them shreddin’ her back.”

She flung a throw pillow off the couch at him with a gasp. “Ugh! Don’t tell me you watched?!” “Nah, got better things to do, but you’re definitely a scratcher. Maybe Judy’s onto somethin’” he smirked, adding “...woman after my own heart” in a hushed voice before the unexpected pillow hit him right in the face. “You little!-” 

V let out a squeal as he threw the pillow back at her, dodging in time for it to only hit her side. “Slow reflexes, old m-ahh!” 

He pulled her to his chest with one swift motion, her guitar separating them from being flushed up too closely against each other. She gave him the faintest glare, trying to withhold the blush from returning to her cheeks. “What?”

Johnny’s eyes bore into hers. V shivered, gulping. Wow. The rockerboy smoulder really worked, huh.

As if he’d heard her thoughts (shit, he definitely did), he burst into a chuckle, shaking his head before turning them around, standing behind her and tilting his head by the side of hers. He tentatively hovered his hands above her arms, asking for permission. She gave him a small nod, freezing when his fingers made contact with her skin; oh, as if it wasn’t embarrassing enough, she was sure he could feel her heart rate climbing higher.

“Relax” his gravelly voice brushed against her ear, making her eyes widen - yeah, not helping! - the distance between them shrinking as he wrapped his arms around hers, placing his hands atop V’s. “You’re holdin’ it wrong. Here.”

Without any smartass reply, V followed his lead, letting him adjust her hold of the guitar and position her fingers atop the strings. “You ever play anythin’ ‘fore?” She was thankful for his idle chitchat, helping her relax into his instructions. “Yeah, piano.” “Hm. Suits you. Know the basics, then?” “Wouldn’t mind a refresher…” Truthfully, having him so close still unnerved her, and music theory was the last thing on her mind. “Alright. You’re gonna need a pick.”

-

The Kabuki apartment was filled with laughter and the sweet strumming of guitar strings as they passed the night away in their little corner of Night City. He was right - she did get the gist surprisingly quickly, learning the riff for Black Dog before it got high time to hit the hay. He watched her tired figure on the couch, sweetly curled around the guitar. 

He softly ruffled her hair with a chuckle. “Startin’ to look like you might just be cut out to be my prodigy. I'll admit - I'm impressed!”

“Mmm… Johnny?”

“The man, the myth, the legend. At your service.”

“Promise me somethin'?”

“Man, why do chicks always say this to me? Is it my devilishly good looks? Wasn't exactly tryin’ to inspire husband material…”

“Promise… you'll stay?”

His smile faltered, eyes idly following the curve of her thighs, all the way to the peaceful expression on her face. 

‘Course I'll stay.

“Don't got much of a choice.”

She let out a small noise, making herself comfortable as her speech slurred, breathing softly.

“‘m scared… t’… sleep alone. Been so good… know you're there. Means… they can't… hurt me.”

“No. They can't. We'll flatline ‘em before they even think it.”

She scooted closer to him on the couch, allowing her head to rest on the side of his leg. He tensed for a moment before his muscles eased into her touch, ghosting the tips of his fingers over her arm with uncharacteristic tenderness before letting out a quiet chuckle, the corner of his lips tugging upward as he looked down at her.

“‘night night, V.”

I’ll stay until I fix this. ‘Til you can be free of me.

[lothcatthree]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

thank you for tagging me @forloveofcodywan (i've been wanting to do this one for a while)

under the cut so i don't plague your dash

1.) How many works do you have on ao3?

16 (i used to have >30 but i orphaned half of them bc i wrote them when i was 14 and nobody needs to see that)

2.) What’s your ao3 word count?

162,724

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

star wars all day babey. i dabbled in steve x bucky from 2017-2018 ish, but star wars has had my brain in a vice grip since 2015 (i was another victim to the sequels causing a sw renaissance).

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

the right feeling - from my finnpoe days :') this is part 1 of a soulmate au series. this one has 4.7k words.

i think i was blind before i met you - steve x bucky (damn we're going way back, this is 7 years old) modern au with barista steve and college student disaster bucky. 15k words.

please stay for awhile now - finnpoe, again for the win. this is part 2 of the soulmate au series. 5.6k words.

we should just kiss like real people do - finnpoe. this is the fourth and final part of the soulmate au series. hurt/comfort, recovery, all the good stuff. 8.2k words. (i suppose we all needed the soulmate finnpoe fluff in 2016, judging by these stats).

but through it all, i will need you anyways - current codywan WIP!! fix-it fic with just an insane amount of disgustingly tooth-rotting fluff. no clone death, just good feelings. this has been ENTIRELY self-indulgent and i started it when i got initial codywan brain rot. 64k words and counting!

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

oh my god yes, i love comments and it puts the biggest smile on my face knowing that people took time out of their day to write something nice for my little ramblings :')

6.) What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

jesus, literally none of them. i have to do happy endings, i'm too fragile. closest would be i hate you, fuck you, please never stop looking at me which is wolfwren PWP, except they still kinda hate each other at the end. (this barely counts because i am writing a follow-up that explores more of their feelings for each other and has a happy ending)

7.) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

ALL OF THEM. idk what to tell you. probably the cheesiest ending is the dinluke modern soulmate au i just wrote - how did i ever live without you?

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

no, thank god. i keep things pretty vanilla and i tag very thoroughly to do my best to avoid any hurt feelings. (also i've just simply been lucky to never experience that)

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

oh fuck yeah. 2/3 of my fics are explicit. mostly m/m, one f/f and two m/m/m. we have fun over here.

10.) Do you write cross overs? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

no, this would break my brain. next question.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no, unless it has been and they're very good about hiding it (doubt it, tho. i'd be a weird choice to steal from)

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

no, but i would love it!

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

no, but i have been thinking more and more that i would love to do this!!

14.) What’s your all time favourite ship?

this is so hard. . i think codywan has been the one ship that has just slapped my across the face and gave me stockholm syndrome. I think about them.... All the Time. second closest would be finnpoe, judging on how many stories i wrote about them. and they just fit so well together and i adore their characters and they had so much chemistry and. (i'll stop now)

15.) What’s a WIP you’d like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

my brain will simply not allow me to leave a WIP uncompleted. by god, it's going to happen even if i am chaining myself to my laptop and typing through tears.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

i have received many compliments about my dialogue and smut scenes flowing very naturally :) i try to make them play like a movie and have it immersive enough that a character doesn't do/say something unnatural to make the reader stop and say wait what?

16.) What are your writing weaknesses?

oh god, PLOT and ANGST. can't do it for the life of me. i work best in oneshots so i can brain vomit and move on. i have a hard time planning out fics and i deeply envy writers that can create beautiful long fics in a timely fashion. i deeply lack the patience for something like that.

as for angst, yes i can technically do it, but it pains every cell in my body. just let the sad old gay men be happy.

17.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

closest i have ever gotten is mando'a, but it's been very fun to learn!

18.) First fandom you wrote for?

oh boy. one direction (the aforementioned orphaned works).

19.) Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

i am cursed with "i immediately hate everything i write as soon as i release it" syndrome. recently, though, i was particularly proud of safe. warm. mine. because it was very outside of my comfort zone due to the involvement of three people and it was the first a/b/o i have written!

no pressure tags for @veelawings @apricusapollo @shy-wookiee. these are all the mutuals that write (that i know of) and haven't already been tagged (i think)! but please, anyone who i missed or who sees this and wants to chime in and tag me, please do!!!

[a-bang-for-your-bucky]

Kóngurinn Minn

Well! I have ventured away from the OICU for a minute and jumped head first into Vikings territory. I am almost done with the series and with the lovely encouragement of my twisted sister @mylifeisactuallyamess I wrote this one shot to process my emotions. SPOILERS AHEAD Turn back now if you have not seen Season 6 Episode 6, 7, and 8. SPOILERS AHEAD.

Pairing: Björn Ironside x F!reader

Summary: Björn returns home to Kattegat after losing the election for King of all Norway, to find that his mother, Lagertha has been murdered. As Queen and his wife, you do your best to console him through this trying time.

Warnings: SMUT, P in V sex, unprotected sex (its the Viking era), explicit language, murder, major character death, alcohol mention,

Six long months you had been waiting for your husband to return. He was a good man with a kind heart, wanting to do right by his small kingdom of Kattegat. He had set off to help King Harald Finehair regain Vestfold from King Olaf.

You waited day in and day out at the docks of Kattegat, hoping, praying to the gods for his safe return. Unfortunately you weren't able to do that on this day. Today you had the unbearable duty of giving Lagertha, the famous shield-maiden and Björn’s mother, a funeral fit for a goddess. With the help of Torvi and Ubbe, she was ready to enter Valhalla. You each said your goodbyes to a woman that had helped shape you into the queen that you were.

Waiting on the shore of the frozen fjord, you watched as archers set loose flaming arrows to release the burning ship into the icy waters. Murmurs broke through the respectful silence and you turned when you heard someone say “King Björn”.

Rushing to his side, you were met with sad eyes. “I know, ástin mín. I already know.” Björn staggered, exhausted from his battle and long travels, toward his mother’s burning body. You waited, letting him say his final goodbyes to her. When the time felt right, you went to him, kneeling in the snow. “I can avenge her murder. I can punish her murderer. Who was it?” He turned to you, tears and rage masking the blue of his irises.

You felt your own despair fill your chest, making it hard to breathe. “Björn,” You glanced at Ubbe, who nodded for you to continue, like he knew what was asked. You sniffled, a tear streaming down your face. “It was Hvitserk. Björn, It was Hvitserk.”

In all the years you had known Björn, you had never been afraid of him. You have seen him Slaughter countless Christian soldiers without batting an eye. You had assisted him and his brothers getting revenge on King Ælla, watching with love in your eyes as Björn executed a perfect Blood Eagle. No, you have never been scared of him, but the look on his face terrified you.

Björn sat on his throne in the Great Hall. His hands were gripping at the arms as he prepared himself to face his brother for the first time. Townspeople pushed through the small crowd gathered in front of him. The sound of rattling chains made your teeth clench.

Björn straightened up in his seat as Hvitserk was thrown forward to him, stumbling to get his footing. His lip curled as he snarled, "I wonder if you even know brother, why you have been brought here?" The chained man mumbled a response that none could hear. "Louder. I can't hear you."

Hvitserk stood there, not daring to lift his head. “I know why. I killed Lagertha.” He admitted softly. Björn leaned forward, placing his elbow on his knee, cupping his ear with his hand. Hvitserk lifted his head, looking up at his big brother. “I killed your mother, Björn.” The confession made Björn get out of his seat and stalk toward him. Roughly, Björn gripped Hvitserk’s face in his hand.

“Why?” Björn growled in his face. Hvitserk looked at him with blood shot eyes.

“I thought she was Ivar. I thought that she—” Hvitserk faltered before Björn slapped him across the face. “I thought that Ivar was coming to kill me.” Another, harder, slap. You already felt the needy heat blossoming in your stomach, but watching Björn, seeing this new side of him, brought it on tenfold.

The townspeople whispered, as Björn roared, “I don’t care what you thought! Being drunk is no excuse for anything!” His booming voice caused you to flinch. He turned away from his accused brother. “You murdered my mother. You murdered the most famous shield-maiden in the world!” Björn continued to show his rage toward Hvitserk. “You were not fit to kiss her feet.” He stopped to grab his face again, “And you are not fit to be called a son of Ragnar.” Slap. Slap.

Your heart broke; For your husband, for the loss of his mother, and now for the loss of his brother. Björn grabbed Hvitserk by the roots of his hair. “And when you killed my mother,” his voice was low and raspy, “You killed a part of me, too.” They were nose to nose, “And you have to understand, I can never forgive you.” Björn whispered in his ear. Hvitserk didn’t plead for his life. He agreed with everything his brother said. You watched on as your husband condemned his brother.

Björn returned to his seat next to you. You hoped he missed how your thighs squeezed together as he drew closer. It did not go unnoticed. "I will decide his fate tomorrow. Get this murderer out of my sight." He dismissed Hvitserk. The same men who dragged him in, drug him back out. "Be sure to throw cold water on him periodically, so he doesn't have time to sleep."

You let your gaze travel from his tattooed eye, to his heaving chest, all the way down to his cock, which was straining against the fabric of his breeches. Your breath hitched. The sight of it, even in confines, always took your breath away.

For a moment, you wondered if your impure thoughts were inappropriate given the current events. All doubts were wiped from your mind when Björn addressed the folks that were still littering the Great Hall. "I am going to fuck my wife on my throne, so I suggest you all leave. Unless you want to watch, I don't think the queen would mind." Björn cast a look at Ubbe, whose eyes widened before leaving the Hall.

The thought only furthered your arousal. "Come," Björn ordered, patting his lap. You complied, bunching up your skirts to straddle him. Björn looked at you, all signs of anger gone. He had sad eyes again, that pleaded with you. "Help me forget. Just for a little while." Tears were threatening to spill down his face as he begged, "please."

With deft fingers, you untied the strings of his pants as he ripped off his tunic. He lifted his ass, allowing you to wiggle them down enough to free his aching cock. You knew you were ready. You were always ready for him. He ran the head through your soaking folds before lining up with your entrance.

The burn as you sank down on him was pleasurable with just the right amount of pain. Björn groaned, already losing himself in the feeling of your cunt. His large hands gripped your ass, helping you lower you until he was fully seated inside. You hissed at the stretch.

He kept a hold on your hips, leaning forward to lay his forehead on yours. In that moment, the two of you were one. At that moment, Björn felt whole. "Are you ready?" He asked breathlessly. You nodded, lifting your lips to his. You kissed him passionately as you slowly started to roll your hips.

You made love slowly, your hands keeping purchase on his tattooed chest. Björn's eyes were screwed shut, his grip on you never loosening. He whispered in your ear in between guttural moans.

"You feel amazing."

"Please, don't leave me."

"I love you, takre."

He sped up your movements, not giving you a choice. "Björn, please." You mewled, begging for release, begging for his release. "Let go for me, my King."

The noises the two of you made were raw, animalistic as you chased your highs. Björn slammed you down onto him, shattering the wall holding back your orgasms. Groans of your name and I love you poured from his lips.

You moved your right hand down to your belly keeping your left over his heart. "May the gods bless us with our first child." You prayed before connecting your lips with his once more. "I love you, Kóngurinn Minn."

[l4verq]

boats🎣 | b.b

bucky barnes x reader

in which you’re supposed to be helping repair sam’s old boat but your boyfriend keeps distracting you :(

tags : 18+ minors pls DNI , bucky’s a horn dog and so is reader, sam doesn’t know bucky has his hand right on reader’s 🐱 and reader is TRYING to keep it that way lol, no plot, just a little porn 😼

fic : one shot

stern - the back part of a ship |

gangway - a flat board or metal structure that can be put in place between a ship and land to let people get off or on the ship |

cabin - a private room on a ship for a passenger or one of the people working on the ship |

masterlist

you know he’s not doing it intentionally.

the slight grunts as his vibranium arm effortlessly rips off rusty, rotting pieces of wood hastily hammered over cracks and gaps.

you’re scratching off stringy residue of duct tape slapped on holes in the stern, standing a few feet away from him, taking in the view.

not the one overlooking the wide stretch of blue water.

but the one where your boyfriend’s wiping the sheen of sweat off his face with his shirt and it’s not just any shirt, it’s the light grey one that’s one size too small but fits so right on his sculpted body.

he lets it drop, panting as his eyes trail over to you and smirks.

ok, so maybe he does know what he’s doing.

you go back to vigorously scraping off the grimy, faded string- how does duct tape turn to these stubborn, ugly strings that just refuses to come off?

and to top it all off, sam’s parents - god rest their souls - used the tapes in places you’re having to bend over, stretch your arms down as much as you can and hopefully are actually scraping the residue off.

“i got it.”

you jump a little, startled by his voice.

that sweet, sweet voice that brings you to your knees [literally] everytime.

he’s right behind you - you’ll never get used to his super soldier thing where he can sneak up on literally anyone - his crotch pressed right onto your ass as he bends down as well, arm sneaking down yours.

oh, he definitely knows what he’s doing.

his hand grabs the handle of the metal scraper in your hand, taking it from you.

the boat sways a little, just a little.

shouldn’t make him thrust right on your denim shorts clad ass, making miss kitty down there all flustered.

bucky’s a lot of things and being an insatiably annoying tease is just one of them.

he gets back up, vibranium around your waist pulling you up too, “sarah said she needs help with the pipes.”

you could use some help with piping too, you think.

“oh, okay.” you say breezily before getting out of his way.

getting out of his way as in sliding your ass across his crotch, a small groan leaving his mouth right into your ear.

he’s played this game with you way too many times and always won.

it was time for a new victor.

and so the rest of the day is just relentless teasing, lingering touches, strokes and a lot of “oh silly me, i dropped something. let me just pick it up.” and slowly raising your ass up his legs, feeling his jeans constrict just as you lift it away.

at one point, he’d pressed you against the wall, pinned your wrists above your head, i know what you’re doing.

cue innocent batting of your eyes, with a what?

you were the clear winner, until now.

until now when you’re in the cockpit, on your tippy toes, straining to hold up the glass pane.

“i don’t know how to break it to you that you’re not tall.” sam yells from the other side of the glass, voice all muffled.

you roll your eyes, practically unsticking your sweaty front from the majestic helm that’s been poking your belly for five minutes now. to say your tank top is just drenched in sweat is not an exaggeration.

totally not the hot girl summer aesthetic you were hoping for this year.

“need a hand?” bucky pokes his head in from the door, eyebrow quirked.

how does he get to look that good all sweaty and grubby?

“yeah, sam’s screaming at me cause i’m short.” you pull your lip, turning to face him.

he chuckles, lowering his head at the doorway and enters the cabin which suddenly looks even smaller because of his towering presence.

“i’ll lift you up, c’mon.” he extends his arms, the slightest smirk tugging at his lips, a playful glint in his eyes.

you turn around warily as he hops around the heap of boxes, screws, wrenches, crocks cluttered around the floor and he’s right behind you, hands tinkering around your waist.

but he slides his right palm right between your legs, other hand on your.... fuck, does it matter?

the only thing on your mind right now is him hiking you up, palm basically cupping your denim clad pussy.

you shakily hold up the glass while sam begins applying window sealant from the other side, completely oblivious to your boyfriend groping you.

his cool, metal arm rests under your thigh, a stark contrast to the burning ache between your legs.

“such a tight spot here.” he comments, palm squeezing slightly and it takes everything in you to stifle a moan.

he was crammed up against the helm, legs bumping into empty jars and canisters. you can only hope sam thought he meant that.

and it’s just torture, the next three minutes perched under his palm, desperate for some friction, to just rub it out all the while maintaining a poker face right at sam in front of you.

not helping that he’s having a casual conversation with sam, knowing full well that you’re absolutely just falling apart under his touch right now.

and the waves, the stupid waves that rock the boat so now bucky has to ‘adjust’ you, bouncing you up on his palm, squeezing your thigh with his other hand.

“sam!” a distant voice calls out.

you silently thank the lord for answering to your prayer.

“i’m working!” sam yells back, eyebrows furrowed, applying a line of translucent paste on the lower frame.

“SAM!”

sam huffs, screwing the cap on the tube of sealant back on, “i’ll be back. you can let go now.”

your sore arms cry out in pain as you retract them back, shaky legs because of a certain blue eyed 106 year old whose hand is shoved between them.

“i got you.”

bucky easily bounces you around, gripping your waist, your legs wrapping around his torso.

“you good?”

his right hand rests on your lower back to support you, eyes raking over your arms.

bucky’s a lot of things and being a caring, doting absolute annoyance of a boyfriend might just be the best one.

you just wait for the familiar creak and slight tilt of the boat confirming sam’s waddled across the gangway before crashing your lips into bucky’s, nearly tipping him over.

it’s almost animalistic, his lips part, letting your tongue slip in and delve in his taste that’s just so.. bucky.

it’s sweet, minty, tangy and you’d figure out the rest if only you both didn’t have to pull away, gasping for air.

“you’re so annoying.” you breathe out, panting right into his mouth.

jars tip over like dominoes as he backs you to the wall, shielded from the many windows but if someone so much as just craned their neck a little to look in, they’d have a front row seat to your snog fest.

“you know what these shorts do to me.”

his vibranium arm snakes around your waist, locking in, making that mechanical sound that’s just so sexy to you for some reason.

the evening sun is a little more merciful than the blistering beams of the morning but crammed up in that tiny area, sweaty bodies clinging to each other, you might just have a heatstroke.

if you didn’t pass out from the throbbing down there first.

“i need you to keep that pretty mouth shut, can you do that for me?” he cooes, forehead resting on yours, fingers reaching down to rub back and forth between your shorts.

you nod feverishly, unable to form words, hands grasping at the wall behind, his biceps, his back, everywhere, the long awaited friction sending sparks up your body.

“can’t let nobody hear us, now can we?” his lips trail to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, a dull pain overpowered by pleasure coursing through out.

your hand tugs at his hair, soliciting a low moan from him.

“teasing me with your ass all out in these shorts,” he drawls, “such a bad girl.”

you’re hyperaware of the wide open cabin door and how someone could just walk right in, those two kids are always running around ever- fuck, the kids.

god, you’d never be able to face sam’s family ever again.

but it’s somehow the least of your worries when he lifts his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them with soft groans.

and he shoves them in the front of your shorts, “so tight,” he growls, hand barely fitting in.

you gasp as his finger finally make contact, run up and down your sopping slits.

“hmm, always so wet for me.” he groans, sloppy kisses down your neck, along your collarbone.

you whimper as he teases two fingers at the entrance, making you jolt when his thumb starts circling your swollen nub, the bundle of nerves coming undone.

his name’s a strangled, wanton noise deep from your chest but he gets the message.

that you need him to put a baby in you... y’know something along the lines of that.

but like aforementioned, he’s a tease.

so his fingers slowly push in, only the tips greeted by your walls.

“just as tight as i remember.”

back arching when he finally slips them all the way in, palm slightly tapping against your clit and you’re certain you see stars.

and he does the thing where his fingers hook, curl, twist, your legs squirming, his name falling out of your mouth like a chant.

your legs buckle, his fingers moving at an ungodly pace and the only thing holding you up right now is his iron grip round your waist as you shakily find your footing on the floor.

“fuck, you’re clenching so hard, baby.” he rasps, your head lulling into his neck, legs jerking against your own control.

you’re almost there. the familiar tightening of the twisted spring in your lower abdomen, toes curling against the rough surface of your slippers, almost..

creak.

-

a/n : 🤔🤨😳💤🏃🏻‍♀️💨 dk how i feel about this one bestie💭

[justtopostmyfic-blog]

parker, his boat trauma, and knight

@parknights Mew! I have a headcanon imagine for why parker is so traumatized on boats, and maybe why he and Viv divorced is tied up in that reason. Poor parker vomits from seasickness in this, heavy whump but no description of the puke.

Jess notices that parker has been subdued/down/ depressed? the last few days at work and in their personal time. She asks him what's up a few times, but he just tries to act normal for the rest of that day and brushes it off. Typical.

So jess plans a weekend date. Walking along the riverfront, then a ferry across to the natural history museum (this prob doesn't exist in DC). It was unseasonably warm for early October, and the leaves had just started changing. Everything was going so well at first, they ate and shared and fed each other nachos, a hot dog, and a sweet treat.

Parker was in a relaxed and carefree mood. He's never excessive on PDA, but he hugged her and held her in his arms as they watched the audacious seagulls. She loves his lean, solid body and being wrapped in his long ropey arms. Pity he never shows his bare arms at work like he does in his t-shirt now, unlike *coughcough* Torres.

Then they take a seat on the ferry. Sign said it was a 15 minute ride. Parker is quiet but she doesn't think much of it, just holds his hand and enjoys the sea salted breeze.

Parker's pov: he remembered telling the (his) team during the helicopter ride to the wretched Stargazer ship that it's not the motion, it's the memories that make him feel sick. But he didn't realize the motion would lead to the memories. Like the particular rocking conditions of the ferry now.

He starts to feel worse and worse until he can't take it and he has to tell her. "Jess, I'm seasick. Real bad." He lets go of her hand and stumbles to the back of the ferry where there's some open air space (ofc parker would have observed that beforehand). And ofc jess follows him out.

She stands beside him as he leans against the side of the boat panting anxiously. He is the one who grabs her hand. The mood has completely flipped compared to when they were happily on the riverfront before.

"Try looking far out at the horizon, Park. That could help," she tells him as her thumb strokes his hand.

"It's too late for that," he groans thickly. Parker spits his involuntary drool into the churning Potomac river. He can only look at her for a second or two, but his expression seems to say so much: I'm sorry / This is gross, I know / guilt that she has to see him like this / abject misery / and then like he's asking for her permission for something he can't control that's only seconds away.

And then he has to break eye contact with her and stare back down at the dirty river, dirtied by him.

He is shaking so hard, clammy, weak and she has to guide them to take their seats again for the last few minutes.

They disembark, he still needs to lean on her for support, without prompting she guides them to the nearest bench she can find. He keeps apologizing that he's not up for exploring the museum. She stops counting after the first three times she tells him not to worry about it.

As they sit together, he's clutching at the bench seat with a white knuckle grip.

"Jess I should tell you. I was on a cruise ship with Viv... In '04. And I lost our -"

"Wait Parker, please don't feel you have to tell me now. And please try not to think about that," Jess cannot believe she's saying these two things to Parker, she's always trying to get him to open up to her.

And then she continues, "we need to focus on getting back to the other side when you're up for it." She sees his face, drinking in her every word, blanch and grow paler. "Later. And we will get back safely."

She holds him in her arms to ground him as they wait out his nausea, and for poor Parker to brace himself for the return ferry ride. Jess tells him funny stories from her gal time with Kasie, like how they slapped each other with tortillas while holding water and laughter in their mouths last week. Parker looks up at her in queasy, puzzled concern (tiktok challenges are unheard of to him), then he chuckles when he gets it. It's a weak, watery chuckle, but Jess loves the sound of that. Especially now.

Parker tells her when he's ready for the next scheduled ferry. She doesn't ask him if he's sure. Jess trusts Parker's judgement in the field, in bed, and everywhere else they are together. She can see he's steeling himself.

On the ferry, he holds on to her hand tightly and he's pressed close against her. That's odd. She thought he would like a bit more space and some fresh air with how seasick he's feeling. Knowing Parker, and dating Parker, is full of surprises.

The nice older lady sitting across from them asks, "Is your dad... Is he okay?"

Parker is too out of it to notice. Small favors? Jess thinks. His face is in his hand as he still holds on to Jess beside him.

"Uh, he suddenly got motion sickness," Jess flusters and smiles awkwardly. She's not exactly lying.

The nice lady gives Jess a plastic bag and a half-open pack of wet wipes from her purse, which Jess thanks her gratefully for but really hopes Parker wouldn't end up needing.

They make it back to land on the other side, just barely.

(omg this is too long and dialog writing isn't my bag, so here's my headcanon finally)

- parker seems insistent to tell her now. Like word vomit, Jess thinks sympathetically

- in 2004 (one year before he and Vivian divorced), Parker and Viv and their 7yo son went on a cruise vacation. It was parker's turn to look after their son, he didn't pay attention for a few minutes, and their son went missing.

- (s19 finale said they were married from 1997-2005)

- Parker and Vivian searched the ship high and low, Parker even used his FBI training to crawl through vents (in the "All Hands" episode, parker told knight and torres he has crawled through ships' vents before)

- parker is sure their son was kidnapped, but the FBI doesn't investigate crimes on ships bc it happens on international waters, so after a shoddy investigation the son was presumed dead.

- their son's "death" was what pulled their happy marriage apart. Parker told knight that he has his share of cumulative grief in "Starting Over".

- the month of October is difficult for him, bc that's the anniversary of the cruise disappearance. But last year he didn't have much time to dwell on it bc he was chasing Gibbs to Alaska then starting at ncis.

- i'm quite pleased with myself on this hc lool! Gibbs= dead little girl due to bad guy, poor Parker = kidnapped little boy due to bad guy. A bad guy must be involved bc this is a crime show and they are agents.

(last bit, back to story mode)

Jess realizes that Parker clutched on to her hand the whole time on the ferry ever since he felt seasick, even when he had to vomit, because he was afraid that she would disappear if he couldn't pay attention to her on the boat. It is heartbreaking to hear and feel his trauma in his past life. (She doesn't mind that he needed to hold on to her when he threw up. Jess has stayed by Parker's side before when he got sick from dizziness after the Norfolk base home explosion too.)

Jess has been holding Parker's elbow supportively as they sit while he tells her all of this. She strokes his hair now as she asks, "What was... is your son's name, Alden?"

"Aldrich," he says as he looks at her, the smallest wry smile on his face. "We called him Richie. My dad... He likes these sorts of names. Viv went along with it for our first." And our only. Parker never says that last part, but Jess hears those unspoken words too loudly.

(i'm newly inspired to write an extra bit on my ao3. Parker, Jess and his dad Roman are playing Risk together on the trauma anniversary date, when Roman notices his son really not feeling good and having an anxiety attack. Roman can be loving and caring to his son, even if he usually doesn't show parker that side of himself)

[fourmarkdove]

Upstate.

Title: Upstate. | Masterlist

Summary: When the Captain learns you’ve kept a secret all these years, he’s more furious than he’s ever been.

Pairing: Syverson x Reader

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+ Smut. Angst, breeding kink, daddy kink, size kink, rough sex, dirty talk. Infertility/PCOS. 

A/N: Had this in my drafts forever and sort of forgot I wrote it. Comments are welcome! Thanks for reading!

~

It wasn’t supposed to take this long to get pregnant.

It just wasn’t.

You went on the pill shortly after you met, which wasn’t the most glamorous story, but that one drunken pounding against the ladies bathroom wall just days before he was set to ship out set the tone for your relationship. At least in the beginning.

He did two more tours after that. The first time he was on leave, he dropped to a knee, all suntanned and scruffy, after dinner at your favorite little fish shop on the pier.

“We haven’t known each other so long, but your sweet voice on those phone calls, babydoll. They keep me goin’ when I feel like there’s not much reason to.”

That last time he promised, “We’re gonna settle down for good. You an’ me an’ our brood. Daddy just has some unfinished ass to kick, but don’t you worry, sweetness. Nothin’ but picket fences and backyard barbecues soon as I get back.”

You said of course you’d marry your coarse, burly soldier and there never was a happier man who swept up his girl on that pier in a yellow sundress.

You never thought you’d see the day when your hardline, take no bullshit, don’t give em’ an inch Captain would shed a tear - let alone in public - but he did just that the moment he turned his shoulder and saw you in the just barely off-white dress.

He swept his woman off your feet, saying he wanted to be a gentleman and treat you right. But you knew by the intensity of his gaze and how he barely glanced at the pretty white lingerie before he started tearing it off your body that he was going to have trouble being gentle. Not that you minded. You had no regrets when it came to this swollen beast of a man filling every hole, manipulating your body in unnatural positions because you were smaller and he was strong as a horse and built like a brick wall. He’d pin your wrists to the bed above your head and gorge on your heaving tits, or grip behind your knees and have your feet bouncing behind his thick neck, until you were a sweat slick, foul mouthed whore begging for more of his meaty shaft pounding you into a moaning, senseless mess. You thought growing up there’d be something magical and pure about being a new bride dressed in white giving yourself over, blushing and shy, to the man you promised to love forever.

The reality was so much more visceral. All you wanted for days on end was his thick body forcing your thighs open, his hands gripping your flesh, fingers leaving bruises on your hips, crushing kisses that nearly made you faint, the salty taste of his sweat and cum dripping from your lips and cunt, rolling down your thighs, smeared onto the teeth marks he left around your nipples and on your ass like a soothing balm. The only soundtrack in the house was the grunting feral sounds over you as if he willed his very being into yours through the force of each veiny thrust. And the lewd slapping of flesh against flesh, sometimes muted just a bit by the rough hair trailing down his torso leading to his monster cock. The sound of his thighs clapping against your ass and thighs as he fisted your hair and drove himself into your cervix never ever got tiresome.

When he’d get too close, he’d devour your cunt, biceps and forearms flexing and lifting you to his face, swallowing every drop of your slick mixed with his, swirling his thick tongue over your sensitive clit, feeding the mixed liquids back inside your slit. He’d drop to a knee and spread you over his shoulders if you didn’t make it to bed, or in bed, he’d trail down your body, nipping and biting, picking up your skin between his teeth, flashing those blue eyes up at you. He loved going down on his woman maybe even more than burying his throbbing cock, so he’d always glance up to see your lashes flutter, eyes roll back, lips part and scream silently as he gorged on your sex. His beard scratched between your thighs and made you that much more sensitive but fuck you loved it and he loved marking you. He’d sink his sharp canines into the crease of your thigh and bite down just hard enough to make you cry out and arch for him.

By the time you were begging to come and whimpering his name like a prayer, he’d force his heavy, uncut cock all the way inside and start grinding, flexing every muscle in his core powering the grunting snaps of his hips into yours, seeking both of your release. And his mouth would get so filthy pressed to your ear.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up with all this cum. Not gonna be able to walk straight for weeks. That’s right spread wider for me. Fuckin’ give me that cunt. You’re gonna take it all like a good girl aren't ya? Get you all round - knocked up with my seed over and over. All that thick cream in these balls is just for you. That’s right. You want it? Milk it, babe.”

He growled and groaned, slapping his balls against your ass, all of the things that made you gasp and close down on him. You’d come first. Always. pulling the head of his cock right up against your cervix. He’d keep thrusting through your orgasm and his followed quickly after.

His big body could crush you under his weight but you loved it, practically demanded it, so he’d half roll off, resting mostly on his side and forearm and hip, while he panted into your hair on the pillow. But you wanted him all over your skin. The musky scent of his, still rolling down his hot skin, sweaty and thick with pheromones and sex, from working so hard to get both of you off over and over, you had no way to explain how you loved it - except by licking up the side of his neck and suckle kissing behind his ear while he panted into the pillow, his bicep and forearm heavy across your chest or around your hip, still holding you possessively.

He’d chuckle, still panting and turn his head on the pillow. Voice still rough from the beating his vocal cords took while he growled, huffed, groaned and barked instructions to you, he’d whisper in those quieter moments.

“Insatiable, kitten. Gimme a minute. Daddy knows what you need.”

You’d turn over in his weighty, tree bough arms and nuzzle into his hairy chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat hard and steady under your fingers. Tree trunk legs could pull all of you into him, and he’d fold you into his center, so not a single inch of you would have to touch sticky bed sheets when he rolled over onto his back. Thick fingers spread across your back, soothing over your roughed up skin, lifting your hair off of your sweaty neck, until the cool air in the room and his perpetually hot skin balanced to the perfect temperature somewhere in the middle.

It went on like that for three, six, nine months once he was home for good. Only two things changed as the months went on. His chocolate curls grew and spilled onto his forehead - which you loved to run your hands through - and you conceded the beard stays if the curls do too.

You came off the pill immediately, from that first night he came home, and never went back to it.

“Sweetness, don’t stress about it,” he’d coo gently, finding you curled up in bed or in the bathroom, sitting alone in the empty back bedroom in the new house. He’d try to squeeze the sadness out of your body every single month with his huge bear arms.

“It’s fun to try again, ain’t it?” he’d wiggle his eyebrows, and make you giggle through the tears. The more playful he was about it, the harder he leaned into trying everything he could to make it easier on you, so that meant a lot of research on websites. He never in a million years thought he’d be reading up on ‘luteal phases’.

He never had to be told twice that you might be ovulating. You’d whisper it to him sometimes he’d sense it. In bed, he’d smell that wet heat before you even backed your ass up against him, wiggling your aching core against the base of his raging erection. Slipping his big hand down your tummy and into your panties, he’d slide a long couple fingers through your slick heat, spreading your pussy lips achingly wide before withdrawing his hand and wrapping his other arm around the front of your shoulders.

“Mmph looks like you’re ready,” he’d groan, checking the viscosity of your juices. Spreading your slick between his fingers, he’d lick at it, gripping you tighter as you’d smirk and work your hips mercilessly on his dick.

That one taste would be enough to work him into a rutting frenzy though. “Got damnit, I need a taste,” he’d growl, climbing down and burying his face between your thighs. His mouth and beard would come up glistening with your juices and he’d look positively lust drunk on the stuff. Spreading his knees, he’d hoist your thighs up onto his, spreading your knees over his hips, so he’d be able to have a perfect look at your swollen cunt.

Pupils dilated and breathing hard, he’d pinch the hood of your clit and stroke it between his finger and thumb, making you squeal and writhe, pulling your own hair. He was in awe of your pussy every time he actually looked at that tiny, suckling hole - how in the world did you manage to stretch and accept his girthy cock? It had to hurt, right? It HAD to. Gripping your hips, he pulled you up to himself, one forearm supporting under your ass, and the other around your back. Touching foreheads, he nuzzled you lovingly.

You kissed him hungrily, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip before letting go. Hair mussed and giving him the darkest look, rolling your hips in his lap, you purred deep. Much to your confusion, he was the one to slow things down, smiling in his gorgeous blue eyes, kissing over your forehead, temples, eyelashes, nose, each lip.

“I wanna give you everything, babydoll,” he sighed, dropping his head to kiss over your shoulder.

Arching your back, you had him grip onto your hands and ease you, still spread over his hairy thighs, back onto the bed.

“Put a baby in me,” you demanded. He huffed out a sharp breath, puffing out his cheeks, before plunging two thick fingers into your cunt, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out. You shrieked and moaned in pleasure, arching deeply.

He could have been gentle but those five little words; that demand of yours. You were his new CO and when he received orders, he ploughed through at a punishing pace.

“Gotta prime these walls,” he grunted, thrusting his fingers in and out, turning his hand so he could rub sloppy juices spilling out of your cunt. Leaning over, he pressed his palm against the mattress next to your head and did something near a one handed push up, coming nose to nose with you.

“Why we gotta prime walls, baby?”

You whined as he flexed and slipped a third thrusting finger into your slurping cunt, begging for something larger to grip onto.

“We prime…” you panted, clawing across the tense muscles in his chest, “because you’re gonna… paint my walls… with your seed.”

Giving you his tongue, he withdrew his fingers and smeared his fingers over his precum-leaking meaty member. Just pushing it down to the right angle and you arched, digging your toes into his tree trunk thighs as you accepted his cock into your aching insides. You cried out, tossing your head back, but that just made him latch onto your throat and thrust into your cervix like a battering ram.

You screamed his name two, maybe three times, and he bared his teeth, growling and swearing, struggling to hold on, planking on his forearms desperate not cum yet while your smaller slippery body, squirmed and writhed under him. One second you were hissing and gasping, sinking your teeth and nails into his shoulders or biceps. The next you’d sob and dig your feet in, because you were so stretched and so sensitive. If he could just hold on that second longer, you’d grab at his ass, let your thighs open up and release your massaging death grip on his cock still buried as deep as he last thrust before you clamped down on him to begin with. Then he slowed just a bit to kiss your panting mouth as the orgasmic shockwaves relaxed. Your deep purr indicated you were ready for more, so he’d catch under your knees and fold you in half, pounding your body at a different angle.

When it was time, he bore his teeth and groaned, burying his face in your neck, getting sloppy with his thrusts until the last two that were exceptionally deliberate, seeding white hot cum directly to the source, his slit ground mercilessly against your cervix, for a direct shot at emptying himself into your womb.

When all was said and done, you’d toss him a pillow and he’d kneel between your legs, pushing the pillow under you to keep your hips elevated. Hooking his arms under your thighs, he kissed all around your sensitive mound. Kissing inside your thighs, he could thumb your swollen lips apart and see how completely full he’d filled you, to the point of leaking, but neither of you minded. If it wasn’t too tender, he’d clean you up with his tongue before lying down with you again, closing your legs, and drawing both your knees up over his hip.

You assured him every time that the pain was hardly anything as you shuddered and clung onto his imposing frame. It was only the last couple of months that instead of giggling and demanding ice cream in bed after what you both agreed was the best sex anyone on the planet was having, you just wanted to be held.

“Shhh, shhh... I got you, sweetness,” he’d soothe, drawing up blankets, rubbing you all over. He’d tuck you into his chest, and you’d curl up even smaller, your soft little body trembling against his twitching muscle always felt amazing before. But not when it came with tears. You hid your face away when he asked what was wrong, but he felt the little puffs of held breath and silent tears falling into his chest hair.

Finally, finally, one night spent cradling you in his arms and kissing your tears away, he convinced you. And you didn’t just break your silence.

You shattered.

“Doc told me years ago... it isn’t... I’ll never have…babies of my own. My hormones are all wrong for it. She said shots, maybe IVF but… even conceiving… even if possible, it’d be…”

The worried lines around his eyes and across his forehead smoothed out as he stared at the blinking red light on the smoke detector above the bed. He stayed quiet, putting an arm behind his head.

“I hoped I would have found a better way to tell you all this before now.”

“You knew before we met?” His voice was uncomfortably calm. “Five years ago.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean to—“

“Ya kept it from me. No indication whatsoever there were problems on the home front, though.”

“I hoped I wouldn’t ever have to say anything because we’d somehow be pregnant by now and—“

“Ya let me think everything was fine. Told me, “Come on home, soldier. Let’s try workin’ on that family again.’ And I did. Every tour. I came crawlin’ home to you.”

Sitting up against the headboard, he flicked on the bedside lamp and scratched his beard, eventually dropping his upturned hands on his thighs, displaying his defeat.

Even though you wore his shirt from the night before and he was naked, barely covered by the bedsheet, you felt entirely exposed. You wanted to dissolve into liquid and melt into the floor or shed your skin and slink into a nook and never come out again.

His wide eyes plead with you: ‘give me something substantial to grasp onto. Toss a rope and a damn good reason for all of the lies to a drowning man.’

There was only one reason, but you couldn’t bear saying it out loud. You couldn’t the entire time you knew him.

Slipping his hand behind your neck, he thumbed your chin up to look at him. “You thought I wouldn’t want ya if I knew, huh.”

Your bottom lip quivered but he didn’t let you collapse into yourself. Looking over your tense, teary, flushed features thoughtfully, he stayed silent. He had a way of looking still as a sheet of ice while a raging current boiled just underneath. That kind of stillness gave those under his command confidence because even amidst chaos, he made solid decisions. Ones that saved their lives, kept them out of harm's way.

In that moment, you felt no confidence. Sitting on your knees expectantly, you trembled all over. He moved his thumb down from your chin as he inhaled audibly, and furrowed his brow exhaling forcefully, wrapping his massive hand around your throat.

The moments waiting made your ears hot and the blood rush to your face. Tightness crept across your chest. You broke the silence first or you’d have lost your mind.

“You’re angry.”

He chuckled ruefully and went placid in an instant. “Angry. Mmm... Yes, that is one way to describe it, darlin’. Never more so, as a point of fact.”

Swallowing down tears, if he wouldn’t let you drop your head, at least you could close your eyes.

“No.” His calloused thumb stroked up and down the side of your neck. “No—no, you don’t get to do that. Not with me.”

“Please, Sy!” You burst, holding onto his wrist with both hands. “Please say something! I can’t take it!”

He sniffed and took his hand back, rubbing them together instead of touching you any longer. His broad shoulders lifted and dropped. “Not quite sure what to say.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t look at you, not entirely, so he arched a brow and gave a sideways glance. His voice was rough and deep with more emotion than either of you anticipated. “I was uh… unapproachable?”

Lifting your head from your hands, it made your heart shred into a pulp seeing the lifted brows and pained expression tensing his features. “What?”

“Unapproachable,” he graveled, cursing the emotion that made him choke up. “Fuck. I know I can be direct. I been tryin’ real hard to be gentle with you. Did I give the impression you couldn’t, ya know, tell me things?”

“No, of course not, Sy. I tell you everything.”

His smoldering ember pile only needed a breath of fresh air before it came roaring to life, consuming these new logs you’d placed on top.

“Gotdamn it. You knew this was important to me. The way you carried on, let me believe we had a life together. A future. With our family. Do I even know you?”

Smoke from the fire burning inside him made your eyes sting and water.

“Please, stop it, Sy,” you pleaded, pulling away from his grasp. “Please!”

The flames of anger - or was it hate - turned his pupils dark and made him somehow appear even larger with each deep breath.

“How do I know where the lies stop and you begin?”

Embers of his rage floated in the air and easily took to you like the driest kindling. You exploded unlike you never had before. Fists balled and panting, you squared your shoulders up and shifted your weight.

“You know what? Fine. Here’s the truth: I was barely 18 when the doctor looked at me and said, ‘consider adoption’. I wasn’t even thinking about kids then, only why I had cramps every month but no period.

“We’ve tried correcting hormones for years with so little success I’ve felt like a goddamn science project while my friends moved on, grew up, got married, raised families. Do you know how devastating it is to slog through one of those baby showers? Everyone is so warm and happy, celebrating new life and how their bodies produce something amazing.

“Meanwhile, all I can think about is how if I were to conceive by some fucking miracle, the chances of miscarriage are so high, it’d make more sense to plan some kind of memorial for a child I’ll never meet instead of a cute little fucking baby shower.

“And it’s the one thing you asked of me! What kind of a woman am I that I can’t give you the one thing you wanted?! A broken one. With a broken womb. So yeah, be upset with me. Hate me, Sy. But I promise you’re never gonna catch up. I’ve got years’ worth of a head start hating myself.”

Eyes bleary and completely heartbroken now that he knew your secret, your head dropped and you held it in pain from the headache that exploded from the tension.

You didn’t wait even thirty seconds before he nudged your head back up again with his knuckle. Your chest ached so badly from barely containing the sobbing. The moment you saw his arms were already open waiting for you to fall into, you gasped and let the tears come.

You leaned in an inch and he scooped you up the rest of the way. Helping you settle into his lap, thighs spread over his, he cradled you tenderly to his bare chest, wrapping you up in his entire upper body. Burying your face into his neck, you mewled his name softly when his lips pressed behind your ear.

“Sy, I—“

“Shh shh shh…” his baritone was so deep, you could feel and hear it as he dropped his head low to speak close like it was your own secret space to be alone together. “I’m sorry, sweetness. I know, babygirl, I know. Shh shh…”

Rubbing circles over your back, he gave you time to release through deep sobs some of that suffering you’d been dragging with you.

“I’m disappointed, shh—disappointed we can’t have our own, ‘course. But I think I’m more disappointed that you been upset this whole time over somethin’ we coulda sorted out together. Years ago. Babydoll, it breaks my heart to think of you bein’ this sad. Makes it a hundred times worse if you were upset ‘bout lettin’ me down. And you usin’ that ‘hate’ word in the same breath to describe the love of my life… Geez babygirl, that tears my heart right out my chest.”

Tears streaked down your cheeks. You pressed your palms against his hard as rock chest while he encircled you in his long reach. Tears rimmed his blue eyes as you wordlessly attempted to work out if he planned to let go or hold onto you. Eventually, you collapsed into him, exhausted.

“Look at me, Sweetheart. It’s important. What? Louder. Deep breath and one more time? Oh. No, I know it’s gonna make you cry more but imma make it better, I promise. Lemme see my girl. There she is.”

You sniffled and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. Your lips and eyes felt swollen from crying, and your hair was a mess, but he smiled in his soft blue eyes and stroked it back.

“Kids, no kids, doesn’t matter. I wanted you. Ask Parker or any other CO I work with. That very first night I saw you I said, “Imma marry that girl,” and here we are. But since we are married, I wanna know the things goin’ on inside ya. Not just ‘how ya feelin’, are ya hungry, are ya horny’ type stuff.”

You scoffed, kissing his cheek softly. He squeezed your hips tightly, lifting you closer, up higher on his pelvis, angling slightly back onto the pillows. He didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, but your heat, wiggling in his lap, and that you were starting to let go of some things inexplicably made the blood rush to his groin. You’d feel it in a second if he didn’t adjust your seating situation and lie back with you a bit.

“You’re not ‘broken’, sweets. And I don’t ever want to hear ya talkin’ ‘bout my girl like ‘at. You’re all woman, an’ the only one for me. You locked that right down in that pretty blue dress down on the pier years ago. Was it yellow? Nah. Really? With the little red… Huh. Color blind or not, this heart ain’t even mine no more so best be lookin’ after it. Yeah, you can cry now. Come here, babygirl. Daddy’s got you.”

When most of the tears were shed, he thumbed the dimples right above your panty line, just under the back of his lifted shirt you wore. Soothed very nearly to sleep, your fingers wound their way through his hair. He sighed letting his head fall back into your hands; he always loved when you scritched him like a puppy. Wrapping both hands behind your thighs, he held you in place, pressed to him and straightened up his neck when he really enjoyed what you were doing to him.

“Right there?” you cooed softly, raking your nails through his hair, down to the nape of his neck.

“Mmph,” he grunted affirmatively, tipping his chin down. He found one button on the shirt you wore straining against the fabric, exposing your bare skin right in front of his face. So he nuzzled into it. The unexpected tickle of his beard when he kissed inside made you gasp and arch back.

“Hey!” you squeaked and a mischievous smirk flashed across his face. He looped a finger inside his red flannel, releasing the fabric right below your belly button.

His eyes flashed up at you again as he pressed his mouth to your belly, swirling his thumbs in circles over your hips when he slid them inside the oversized flannel draped loosely on your body.

You closed your eyes, curling your fingers in his hair, and listened to the sound of the deliberate, wet kisses he placed from one hip to the other.

Hugging just under the curve of your behind, he ran his scratchy beard against your sensitive skin, but you still cradled the back of his head to you just the same. Finally kissing down to the apex of your sex, using his tongue to moisten the spot first, he placed a slow, suckling kiss that made your clit pulse and hips jerk involuntary.

“Sorry,” you mewled, pawing his hair. His jaw tensed and head lifted just slightly when your body responded so abruptly.

He nuzzled your skin and arched a brow up at you. “Don't be sorry, babygirl. Are you gonna let Daddy make ya feel good?”

A darkness fell across your features hearing that particular pet name for him. You tugged the shirt together.

“I don’t think I can do this, Sy. It’d be the first time not trying for... I can’t think about the… the emptiness. Feels like I’m giving something away too soon.”

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, collecting your hand from his shoulder. “Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”

“Time… I guess. And you. Fuck, Sy. I must sound crazy. The way I’m talking, it’s like somebody died.

Here I am going on when you’ve actually witnessed people die.

I don’t want to diminish what you’ve been through with my nonsense.

Of course we need to do this.

We need to do this.

I want this.

I need you.

I need us.

I need this.

Fuck me, Captain.

Fuck me senseless.”

You made quick work shrugging out of his shirt and wrapped both arms around his thick neck. Fisting the mattress, he shouldered your ribs so quickly, it knocked you right off balance and onto his arm. Gripping under one of your thighs, he used that massive upper body strength of his to lie you back gently onto the mattress, holding your whole body up with just one arm.

As he eased you down onto your back, you went quiet and he leaned on his elbow to look down over you.

You stared up at the red blinking light on the smoke detector a long time while he pressed his large forearm down against your chest, between your breasts, and spread his palm over your sternum, attempting to give you an anchor point. Your arms laid limp, one above your head, one at your side, almost like you were having a nightmare except wide awake.

He’d seen that vacant look in the eyes of fresh infantry grunts after their first real battle and brush with death. But he never thought he expected to see it stateside, in the eyes of his wife.

Doing what felt natural to do, after all he was trained for it, he dropped his voice and redirected your attention.

“Eyes on me, darlin’. I know you’re feelin’ pretty rough inside. Grief is grief however it comes. Yeah, it’ll take time. But that’s why you’ve got your Unit to fall back on. Unit of two, you an’ me. Makes us a pretty elite team. I’ll do some of the heavy lifting for ya now that I know what we’re working with. I need ya to stay with me though, yeah?”

“Unit of two. I like it. Will you ever… Oh Sy, will you ever touch me like that again?”

He frowned, wrinkles lining his forehead. “Sweets, hell nor high water gonna keep me from lovin’ on you.”

*

Three months later, you returned home from a walk with the new puppy to find Sy standing in the front lawn, one hand on his hip and the other waving at the delivery truck to keep backing up.

“More wood?” you called from across the street over the roar of the diesel truck lift dropping green treated lumber along the side of the house. While your husband signed off on the delivery, you crossed to meet him in the grass with the puppy under your arm.

Looping a sweaty arm around you, he pulled you in by the hip and kissed the crown of your head.

“Thank ya, sir. See ya’ next Saturday,” Sy smiled behind his reflective sunglasses, shaking the driver’s hand.

“Next Saturday?” you repeated, glancing over your shoulder at the new pile of lumber that had been dwindling as he completed projects. Or at least it was. “I thought the treehouse was done, my love.”

“Oh, it is. Come have a look see.” He dwarfed your hand in his, taking you to the sprawling backyard. His truck was parked at an angle on the lawn with his tools laid out in the back and sketches drawn all over sheets on the hood.

Leaning in with his hip, he showed you his drawings, motioning with his hands as to where they should be or already were in the yard.

“Swing set? Done. Slides over there? Done. High and low bars - also done. Rope bridge, climbing apparatus, bouncer thing, treehouse, done.”

Tilting your face, you bumped your head against his chest appreciatively and he smirked. “I want to build out chairs that flip down on the deck. Not sure on the height is all. I don’t suppose you have any input?”

“All the social worker has said is to plan on three siblings from upstate. Two boys and a girl, between the ages of 5 and 10. Sorry I don’t have any help as far as height goes. I think we are more than ready for the little ones next week, Sy. Why don’t you come inside and cool down with me?”

Scratching the back of his neck, he glanced over his shoulder at the freshly installed fence blocking the neighbors’ view. “Better idea, babygirl. How ‘bout we give those swings a try first. Should hold both our weight, I reckon.”

Arching a brow, you folded your arms across your chest, pretending to be annoyed. “Oh, you ‘reckon,’ hm?” you repeated, patting his sweaty chest through his tank top. “Bear, we already have a sex swing upstairs.”

“Yeahhhhh...” he drawled, giving you his most sly smirk, “but this one is outdoors.”

“Captain! I can’t believe you!” you gasped, touching your imaginary pearls before pushing off the wall of muscle your husband provided when he folded his arms across his chest, launching yourself into a dead sprint across the grass toward the swing set. “Ladies first!!”

He chuckled, and jogged behind. “’Course, babygirl.”

~

Masterlist

[mrpenguinpants]

Childe/Tartaglia: Fiancé HCs

Aww, I give major points to anyone that actually reads my tags because it’s a whole lot of word vomit and brainworms. THIS IS MY FINAL OFFERING TO CHILDE SO BUDDY  👏 COME 👏 HOME 👏 This will probably be my last fic this week since I’m going to be busy with term tests and 1.1. Can you tell how slow I am with these asks?

I need to stop tagging so much because tumblr keeps making me repost...

This isn’t necessarily a part 2 from my other Childe fic [ “Enemies” to “Lovers” ] but you can go ahead and read it that way. Not sure if this counts for tags but it doesn’t hurt. To be honest, I was planning for this to be the direct part 2 but then his character story dropped and I got slapped in the face with inspiration.

 [taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@youaskedfurret​ @diaxfeliz​ @wintergreen-aix​ @dandelily​ @thegayrubberducky​ @lovelykittycatmeow​ @yuunoagivesmelife​  @dokidokisama @hanniejji​  @mikeysbike​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @twistedsunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​

---

Childe/Tartaglia: Fiancé HCs

Your relationship with Tartaglia is unorthodox to say the least. Usually, the average length of an engagement is 13 to 18 months but you didn’t need a calendar to tell you it’s been far longer than that. You probably spent more time with your fiancé’s sister than with the man himself but that was okay with you. Tonia was a really sweet girl and you knew what you were getting into when you accepted and returned his feelings when you two first started going out.

Before he became a Harbinger you were friend’s with him and Tonia. Almost everyone in Snezhnaya was part of the Fatui, working in factories, or a devote follower of Tsaritsa. So it was a breath of fresh air to meet two people that didn’t align themselves to that mindset or become a slave to work. You slowly became closer to the two siblings until the day a stuttering and pink Tartaglia confessed his feelings to you. You think back on that moment fondly since that was probably the first and last time you’ve seen him act in such a shy manner.

The day he proposed to you was the night right before he became a Harbinger. It wasn’t anything grand and you were pretty sure he hadn’t even told Tonia he was planning on proposing that very night. He said that he was waiting for the right moment and somehow felt the right moment was when you were in-between consciousness. When you couldn’t even give him a proper answer since he popped the question right as you fell asleep, but for all intensive purposes, that was probably on purpose. You had to chase him down in freezing cold weather, coat not even properly tied, as you yelled he was a piece of shit and that if he never came back you would hunt him down and kill him yourself.

He just grinned innocently and waved back to you as the ship departed. When asked by a curious merchant who wasn’t native to Snezhnaya asked if he had some...family issues he simply waved it off and said you were his beloved fiancé. The merchant was left very confused on Snezhnaya’s customs and traditions on marriage.

You both made an agreement that only he would write to you. He said that it was because trying to get in contact with him would be impossible, considering how often he moves, plus the different names he goes under. But in actuality, it’s because he want’s to keep the people closest to him as private as possible. The Fatui know of his sister already and most likely know of your existence but as long as he remains a Harbinger they can’t do anything. He won’t let them. But the Fatui have many enemies and while he hates denying your existence, if it’s to make sure you live a peaceful life with his sister, he’ll continue to pretend he’s never heard of your name before.

While he writes to his sister that he’s taking care of trivial matters when he’s on his assignment, he writes a bit more honestly and detailed in his hidden letters to you. You make sure to keep them in a box hidden away from Tonia so she never discovers them but you have an inkling she knows what her brother is up to. She watches the way your face pinches, that your fingers clutch the paper a little tighter, and how you seem to tap the page two times in sequence.

Despite the raging winter storms that swirl around Snezhnaya, you are always warm. He thinks you’re secretly a pyro vision user waiting for the right moment to make good on your word and burn him alive. Whenever his travel’s run late into the night and he arrives home tired and cold, he seeks Tonia’s room to make sure she’s sleeping peacefully. Then to you to do the same. Sometimes when you’re lucky and you wake up early, you’re greeted to Tartaglia clinging onto you refusing to move because you’re warm. Even going through daily routine’s he always has an arm around you or some part of his body against yours. You feel that his habits is rubbing off on his sister because slow morning’s like these see’s you as the human heater. With Tonia hugging you from the front, arms wrapped around your waist, while Tartaglia support’s from behind, arms around the both of you. Your hands laced with his as you both act as a shield for little Tonia.  

Tartaglia’s hands are always numb. He could be in Natlan where it never snows or facing the harsh winters of Snezhnaya, they are always numb. As if the skin of his fingertips were scalded off. Touching anything gives him an uncomfortable sensation so he wears gloves all the time except for two occasions. When he need’s to replace his gloves with a new pair or to lace your hand into his. He can vaguely feel the heat from your hand, see that you don’t have the same callouses that he has from wielding weapons, and can feel the same tingling sensation that would usually have him wrenching his bare hand away if it had been anything or anyone else, besides his sister of course. Instead he holds on as if you’re his last lifeline in the middle of the ocean, commits to memory the feeling of your hand in his, and the pins and needles that prick his fingertips fade away.

He grows restless when life is ordinary and boring so he’s always off fighting or doing something completely dangerous. He was the same before he became a Harbinger which leads to some fights between the two of you. You both handle fight’s pretty badly due to the upbringing of Snezhnaya and it makes Tonia sad when she sees her family argue. So instead you convey your inner worries through taps. One is for annoyance. Two is for worry. Three is for anger.  Likewise, Tartaglia has his own system.

On one rare occasion, Zhongli managed to catch the sight of a flicker of light on Tartaglia’s clothing. It confuses him since aren’t ring’s meant to be worn on the hand? The only response he get’s from Childe when he asks why is a vague answer filled with mirth. He say’s that he’s holding onto it for someone. Zhongli doesn’t quite understand since wouldn’t it be better to keep the ring in a box if it were meant for someone else? Childe wears a ring on his pinky already but it might be a Snezhnaya tradition to wear one ring on the hand, while the other is close to the heart.

He keeps his cheerful attitude on even when it feels as if the world is crushing him. That might be why he names himself Childe. But when it’s just the two of you he takes the mask off, the armor slips off, and let’s himself relax. Time’s like this he just wants to hold you and as he puts it, recharge.

For all his confident nature in fighting he knows that a committed relationship with him is hard. That if you ever want to walk away and find someone new he won’t stop you, but that you never contact him or his family. He won’t open his heart for another person for a long while or ever. He would still give you your ring and whatever you choose to do with it is up to you.

Tartaglia’s goals won’t change. He still has his family to take care of and even if you decide to leave, that doesn’t change the fact he still sees you as apart of his family.

You don’t mind if his goal takes him away from Snezhnaya for years and years. Or if the letter’s he writes become fewer and fewer.  As long as he comes home you don’t mind waiting.

It’s the middle of the night and he’s still awake. He just returned from his last assignment and Tsaritsa is already sending him across Teyvat for “business��� related reasons. He just finished checking up on Tonia to see her sleeping soundly. She’s growing up really fast, he smiles slightly at the thought. She can already sleep on her own. He gently opens the door to your room, well really it’s both of yours but he hasn’t been doing a lot of sleeping there, and cringes slightly at the creek the doors give.

He takes a small minute to lean on the doorway and relaxes. He won’t have enough time to bask in your presence if he’s too make it on time. The winter storm continues outside, as if Tsaritsa herself is yelling at him to start moving. He doesn’t think there’s ever been an instance when they’ve been silent.

“I care about three things in this world. My sister, you, and my home,” Tartalia says softly as he walks over and kneels down beside your laying form, resting his hand beside yours as he places a soft kiss on temple. “When those three things are safe I can rest.”

You tap him two times. Your hand has laced around his in a loose grip to which he tightens. You both sit in silence as he wait’s for the pins and needles to stop spreading across his arm before speaking again.

“I know I already proposed but let’s elope somewhere. My next assignment is taking me to Liyue. I heard it’s quite a beautiful place. I’m thinking a spring wedding perhaps?”

One more tap but he’s learned to take your annoyance as you jesting or being flustered.

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” you ask.

“I can try but I can’t guarantee everyone else will be,” he laughs.  

You tap him three times. If you weren’t half asleep you would have probably thrown your pillow at him. He gives one last chuckle as his finger’s rubs patterns into your hand.

“I promise,” he swears.

He hears you hum happily as you begin to relax back into slumber. Slowly letting the feeling of his heartbeat lull you to sleep until your grip loosens around his wrist. Even as the winter winds howl outside you can sleep so peacefully. Unlike him where in the back of his mind are restless thoughts. Tsaritsa is asking something huge of him, another test of his loyalty and strength. He silently stands up as to not wake you again, gives you one last squeeze of the hand, one last fond look, before he leaves. Closing the door as quietly as he can, he steels himself to go back out into the cold.

[whenimaunicorn]

“Fight Me” - Ragnar the Younger x Eivor Wolf-Kissed (female)

Content Warnings: Explicit smut, fighting as foreplay, to the point where it resembles consensual noncon roleplay. Face slapping/striking, rough sex, exhibitionism, negotiating on the fly. Don’t like, don’t read, and I’m not interested in hearing if you think Eivor is OOC to your headcanons. These are mine.

Notes: I am maybe halfway through my playthrough of Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla, and I haven’t found anyone I want to ship my female Eivor with yet. So, I did a thing with my favorite Last Kingdom hunk. You can easily imagine that one of her missions was to get involved with the Danes’ gathering in Young Ragnar’s stronghold (season 3) since the setting and time period is exactly the same in both game and show! I suppose Brida doesn’t exist in this fic; I didn’t find a useful way to write her in or out of this scene (although I’m sure Eivor would love to take her to bed too!)

Ragnar the Younger finishes a long pull of ale and sets his cup down with a flourish. Then he eyes the woman beside him. “Fight me.”

Eivor merely cocks a brow, regarding him over the rim of her own mug. “You have offered me no insult, Earl Ragnar. Why would I fight you?”

The big blonde leans in, his eyes swimming with mischief even as they seem to cut through to the core of her. “You are restless, Eivor Wolf-Kissed. I see a need in you, to feel your blood sing.” His charming gaze lingers on her an extra moment before he continues to speak. “You grow frustrated with the delay, how long I want to wait before marching on the Saxons.”

Her lip twists. “It is too late to talk strategy tonight. Let’s not ruin the merriment.” The talks had lasted for days; to Eivor they had seemed endless. But tonight the ale had been just as endless, and most of the Danes are now passed out around Ragnar’s hall. Or retreated in pairs to the darker corners, for more private diversions.

“No more talk,” Ragnar agrees. “Let me give you a bit of what you are craving.” He stands, wide and imposing. “Fight me. Just a friendly brawl.”

Eivor grins and kicks her chair back as she rises.

Only a few of Ragnar’s warriors, as well as a handful of others from the gathered forces of Northmen, show any interest, though they do clear a space for them. Although they are famous warriors, the two combatants are not exactly the center of attention in the hall; it’s late enough that most of the revelers are too far gone to notice what is happening.

Ragnar lifts the axe from its place at his belt and tosses it on the table. Eivor follows suit, although it takes her considerably longer to unstrap the blade at her wrist and the other sharp edges she keeps at the ready, hidden all around her person. Ragnar’s brows climb as he watches her produce them all, and she thinks he might be impressed.

She’s only recently met the young Earl, but Eivor has the impression of a good-hearted man who will be an absolute bear in a fight. Perhaps too good-hearted to lead a bloodthirsty people, given his reluctance to turn on his Saxon neighbors, but there is steel within his bones. Eivor admits that she would love to test it.

They enter their makeshift square, and contrary to her expectation Ragnar is upon her immediately. He grasps her at shoulder and waist, hooking her leg for a takedown which she is only barely able to twist away from. Straight to grappling, then. She doesn’t really mind. Eivor has never been afraid to take a punch, but Ragnar the Younger is a whole head taller than her with the muscle mass to match, and if they started this bout by trading blows she’d likely have been black and blue all over in the morning.

While she evades his attempt to trip her, she can’t quite dislodge herself from his arms, and so she’s down to twisting and turning inside his grip, trying to gain the advantage. Her muscles heat, jaw clenching into a ferocious smile as she thrills in the effort and the challenge. Ragnar was right; this was exactly what she has been craving.

And it’s not just about the combat, although she lives to best those warriors that dare to underestimate her. She shifts her hips, letting her center of balance slip just enough to lead Ragnar to believe that he’s gaining the upper hand. When he pushes her into a takedown she turns his leverage against him and rides him to the floor.

Cheers and jeers of the drunks watching them with varying levels of interest ring in her ears as Eivor clenches her thighs around Ragnar’s broad waist. He’s a handsome one, and she likes them big and not too stupid. But it’s hard for Eivor to find someone she truly wants to take to bed. She is a consummate warrior, skilled enough to best just about any challenger, and yet she only feels aroused by a man that she cannot beat.

Will Ragnar turn out to be that man? He’s grinning up at her from the floor, looking as ferocious as she feels, and when she loses grip on one of his hands he cuffs her across the face.

She reels from it, more than she should. It’s not that he hit her so hard—it’s the way her body reacts. Heat of an entirely different sort burns between her thighs, ignited by the adrenaline, and the coiled power of his arm. The disorientation of her animal reaction gives him the opening he needs to drive himself up and force her to the ground beneath him.

She doesn’t go without a fight, of course, but the heat of the struggle is only feeding her awakened lust now. That she-beast within her does not want to make it easy for him, but she’s craving his victory too, wants to feel her strength repelled and her thighs forced apart by his knees.

She arches her back beneath him. She considers hiding her feelings, given that at least some of the men are still watching, and it burns her pride to think that anyone would know that Earl Ragnar had won her in this way. But even that potential humiliation twists her insides with some undeniable appeal of its own. She won’t stop herself on account of the watchers.

She knows the heat has entered her eyes by the way that Ragnar’s darken, as he looms above her and holds her arms down at either side of her head. “Is there, perhaps, another craving I can satisfy for you tonight, Eivor?” he croons.

She lets a wolf-smile grace her lips. “I am considering it.”

He releases her hands, leaning in to kiss her, perhaps, but this isn’t how Eivor wants it to happen and so she uses the opening to push him off her and regain the upper hand. She strikes him and Ragnar’s eyes burn and she can see now how much he wants her too. “What will sway your decision?” he asks, breathless with their struggle.

Eivor leans down, and purrs into his ear: “Whether you can take it from me.”

They struggle like their very lives depend on it, after that. Ragnar crushes his weight against her but now he’s trying to achieve something much more difficult than a simple pin. He has to get one of his hands free to loosen her clothing, or his own, and every time he gets both her arms pinned at once he can’t keep her there for more than a few seconds. He growls his frustration, and she bites his neck in some primal combination of denial and encouragement.

With his shoulder pressed into her chest, grinding her to the floor below his considerable weight, he manages to get one hand shoved inside her pants. The greedy press of his seeking fingers should be uncomfortable in such a sensitive place, but he finds her so wet that he slides easily there, until two of his fingers are buried inside her.

She cries out between clenched teeth and arcs her body to the angle that makes those fingers feel most satisfying. But as soon as he shifts to an angle that’s not completely holding her down, she slips away.

Pulse pounding, she stares at him, eyes wild as she catches her breath. Her entire core is burning for him, but she won’t give up this game.

Ragnar’s gaze thickens with satisfaction. “I won’t do this to you in front of my men,” he says, “but I will finish this, exactly how you want it, if you come to my bedchamber, Eivor.”

“Better catch me,” she snarls with glee, and springs to her feet to sprint in that direction.

He overtakes her at the door. She gets only the vague impression of a big bed covered in furs before his body hits her from behind and she’s thrown on top of it. He holds her down with her face in a bearskin as he tears at her waistband, pulling it down over the curve of her ass.

There’s not much struggling she can do from this position; he doesn’t have to control her arms at all if he can keep her chest pinned down tight. He does so first with his arm, then with his chest as she feels him struggling with his own belt. She throws her hips up savagely, not to win anymore, but simply to feel herself fighting in the face of the inevitable. Her entire body is burning for this, to be bested, to be fucked only by the fittest and the strongest of warriors.

His grunting changes, and she knows he’s gotten his cock loose. She wonders what the shape of it is, if she’ll spend time exploring it with hand and tongue some time after this. She’s not opposed to gentler lovemaking after a partner has proven himself, like Ragnar is doing now.

She writhes beneath him, ready for him to get on with it. She feels the cool air on her ass and she’s aching for him. His fingers swipe her roughly, leaving a trail of spit to make sure he’ll go in easy. She’s about to growl a protest; she’s not fragile, and she likes the pain, but then the blunt head of him is pressing against her entrance and she knows why he’s in that habit.

His cock is wide. The pressure is intense as he centers his weight and pushes his way inside. Eivor keens at the perfect mix of pleasure and pain she feels as he makes his claim. Inch by inch, he stretches her, taking what he wants just as she bid him, and when he bottoms out he groans low in her ear.

“Are you still going to fight me?” he challenges, and in response she throws her hips back up against him. He hits her cervix and she squeals between her teeth but she does it again, then Ragnar is roaring and driving himself into her as hard as he wants. He stops crushing her against the bed in favor of gripping her hips with both hands, and Eivor rises up for better leverage to meet his savage thrusts.

He’s impossibly deep. They sweat and grunt together and Ragnar is relentless, hollowing her out with the massive force of his need. She feels her body clench and shimmer around him, and Eivor’s eyes widen. No man has ever brought her to the brink like this so fast . . . but rarely has a man met her passion with such confidence, and endurance, either. She drops her face to the furs, overwhelmed by the rushing pleasure flooding her core, the steady stroking of his cock spurring her on to a shuddering, bellowing release that she tries to muffle in the bedding.

He slows down when she stops screaming. Although his cock has stretched her, she feels more loss than relief when he pulls himself out and releases his grip. She’s panting, balanced on her knees and elbows, and turns as she hears Ragnar pulling off the rest of his clothes behind her. Aside from breeches pushed down to her knees, Eivor herself is still fully clothed.

Her eyes land on the gorgeous cock sticking proudly up into the air, a massive, glistening thing weeping with a thicker milkiness at the tip. “You didn’t—” she asks dumbly.

Ragnar smiles, a thick, arrogant thing. “Wouldn’t want this to be over too quickly.” He strokes a big hand idly over himself. “Thought I’d give you a moment to catch your breath. And I’m hoping that took some of the fight out of you. I want my woman to fall to pieces more than once before I take my pleasure, and I need you to hold still for the next few things I want to do.”

TLK taglist: @ceridwenofwales​ @oddsnendsfanfics​@laketaj24​ @thewildbeauty @geekandbooknerd​ @therealcalicali​ @tiyetiye​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​@goldentailedmermaids​ @sifshoney​ @titty-teetee​  @savismith​ @ariellostatci​ @perfectus-in-morte​ @axiseeu12 @kingofshadowalkers @glitta-killa​ @just-random-obsessions​ @volvaaslaug​

Specific thirst list: @fearlessindigo​ @artemiseamoon​ @naps4bats​ @evelyn-shelby​ @autumn--the--season​​

[asciendo]

Secret Mission

Zuko leaves on a mission with Sokka without telling. 

He expects to be. welcomed with open arms when he returns, but you have other plans for him.

I think I read a fic in the past that inspired me for this one!

It’s been two weeks since Sokka and Zuko left on their secret mission. It wasn’t really a secret on what they were doing but the fact that they left without telling anyone was what made it a secret.

Azula’s ships were spotted two mountains down from the campsite and Zuko knew she was carrying heavy explosives for the war. Him and Sokka were adamant on tracking her ships and destroying the explosives, but they all knew that her ships were heavily guarded.

“Look, we don’t even know if the explosives are actually on the ship!” Katara argued. “No, I do know! I was there when they were planning the transaction!” Zuko paced around the camp.

“I agree with Zuko, it could make a huge difference for the war!” Sokka joined Zuko standing up as well. “Knowing Azula she probably changed her plans since you betrayed her.” You stated as you sat near the campfire because you were cold. “But what if she didn’t because she knew she’d be heavily guarded?!”

“That’s exactly my point! It’s too risky for the just a possibility that the explosives are on those ships!” Katara rolled her eyes at her brother. “THEY ARE ON THOSE SHIPS!” Zuko yelled back.

“Katara’s right. It was such a close call last time...I say we should wait it out.” Aang stated as he fumbled with air between his hands. Two weeks ago, Katara and Aang were trying to infiltrate one of Ozai’s camps to get information on their war plans, but Ozai hired extra mercenaries to protect the camp, which almost got them caught.

“That settles it. We’re not going.” Katara stated and headed back to her tent. The rest did too except you and Zuko. You sighed watching him slump on the floor in defeat. Zuko’s been struggling on his place in the group. He still feels like he has to prove he’s on their side and that he was useful. He never told you that, but you could tell it eats him up inside.

It’s been four months since you both were “officially” together after your failed friends with benefits run.

It was great being out in the open, you didn’t have to hide your affection towards each other, and you had more clarity on your relationship. You were honest and knew each other to the deepest core of who you both were. Although, neither of you could never rest when one was out on a mission while the other was back at camp, worrying on what could happen.

The time you and Katara went to steal food from a fire nation camp, Zuko stayed up all night until both of you returned. You remember seeing his shoulders slump in relief as you walked towards him, you simply winked carrying a crate of food, which he then took from you to carry, then placed a long kiss on your forehead. When him and Aang went to search for the fire bending masters you couldn’t sleep till he returned and jumped at him when he entered your now shared tent.

“Zuko.” You sighed as you sat next to him and leaned your head on his shoulder. He didn’t respond but continued staring at the fire. “Zuko, it’s too dangerous...and knowing Azula, she probably changed her plans with the explosives.”

“I know they’re there. I just know it.” he said through gritted teeth.

“Come on, it’s late. We should get some sleep.”

“You go ahead, I just need to think about some stuff.” You stared at him with a worried expression, but he immediately kissed you on the lips as a form of reassurance. You smiled then left. That was the last you saw him before he and Sokka took off on Appa.

2 weeks later, they still hadn’t shown up and the gang was getting nervous. Aang tried to hide it but he spent his mornings pacing around. Katara would stare at sky hoping for signs of Appa, so did Sukki, Toph would throw boulders while at first you wanted to try to find them, but had no idea where they were, would spend your days around the forest hunting and gathering food to distract yourself.

You were all laid out on the floor when suddenly Suki sat up. “Guys, I hear something.”

“So?” Toph scoffed, “No, it’s coming from above!” Suki jumped on her feet. “Yeah right.” You rolled your eyes, there were so many close calls thinking Sokka and Zuko were flying home that you didn’t want any false sense of hope that you’d see him again.

“NO SHE’S RIGHT IT’S APPA!” Aang ran towards you then fell in excitement. Your heart stopped, could it really be them? You sat up and stared at the sky. It was Appa. And you saw two figures on his back, Sokka and Zuko.

“YIPEEEE!” Aang danced around on an air ball. As soon as Appa landed Katara ran to Sokka and hugged him, so did Suki. Aang was next and squished both Sokka and Zuko in a huge hug and Toph high fived them both. Zuko laughed at all the attention then looked at you with a huge grin expecting you to run up to him as well, which automatically dropped when he saw your angry face.

“GUYS I’M SO HAPPY!” Aang continued to dance around the two. “Me too, but that was SO stupid!” Katara placed her hands on her hips. “Well...guess who destroyed two of Azula’s ships including all the explosives?” Sokka gloated as he strutted around the fire.

“NO WAY! I should have gone!” Toph stomped her foot on the ground which made the earth shake. “So there were explosives on the ships...” Katara blushed in embarrassment. “Told you.” Zuko said, but he was still looking at you with worry in his eyes.

“What took two weeks though?” Suki asked as she plopped herself on Sokka’s lap. “Okay, so good news, all the explosives were gone, bad news was we were captured after.”

“WHAT?!” the rest of you shouted in unison.

“BUT! We escaped and torched the Fire Nation camp that captured us.” Sokka winked.

“Sokka! That is so DANGEROUS! You two could have gotten killed!” Katara was yelling in Sokka’s face. “But we DIDN’T! And now we have a higher chance of winning the war.” Sokka smirked.

Katara and Sokka continued to argue while you and Zuko just stared at each other, both not knowing what to do. Obviously, you were happy he was back and safe but so angry he left and didn’t tell you. A few moments passed and you decided you needed some space.

“Well, I’m glad you both are safe.” You stated and walked into the woods. The gang became quiet and Zuko looked like he saw a ghost. “Uhm, I’m sorry man, but...you’re smoked.” Sokka shrugged and Katara hit him. “OW!”

You needed to be alone for a bit so you were taking your usual walk in the forest, forgetting for a bit that the trail was the same one you and Zuko took every night.

“Y/N!” you heard footsteps running behind from you, but you kept walking. “Hey, come on.” He placed his arm on your shoulder, so you turned around.

You looked at him with painful eyes and he softened his grip on you. “What’s wrong?” he placed his arms on your shoulders.

Both of you stood there for a bit, him waiting for you to say something, trying to read you. Suddenly, your soft expression turned into a hard one and you slapped Zuko right across the face.

He stumbled back grabbing his cheek that was now slightly pink. “WH-WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!”

“DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!” You yelled and continued walking. “DO WHAT?” Zuko followed you but now he was mad as well. “LEAVE!”

“I had to leave! Those explosives could have hurt hundreds of people, and we destroyed a fire nation camp as well.” He tried to explain himself but you kept walking away from him.

“I was right, wasn’t I? The explosives were on those ships!”

“That’s not the point Zuko!” you raised your arms in exasperation. “We destroyed the explosives that would be used against us! How could you be mad about that?!”

“That’s not why I’m mad!” you rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “Then why don’t you tell me instead of us wandering around here like idiots!”

“Y/N, will you please stop walking!” Zuko groaned in annoyance.

“No.”

“You’re impossible.” Zuko growled but still continued to follow you. “Then go back to camp!”

“No, I’m not leaving till we fix this.” You could hear a bit of desperation in his voice.

“Then too bad.”

“Y/N, we did what had to be done! It’s not like we left for no reason!”

“You really don’t get it, do you Zuko?” You stopped walking then looked at him, clearly he was clueless. “No, because you won’t tell me!” you sighed then gave up.

“You could have told me you were leaving!” You pleaded for him to understand but you could tell he wasn’t getting what you were trying to say. “It was my choice and you would have told me not go.” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yes but I would have known where you were.”

“What difference would that make? I still would have gone.” There was a pang in your heart because Zuko still had no idea what it was like wondering if he was alive every single day.

“Zuko...do you know what it was like waking up and you were gone. Not knowing if you were alright, if you were captured or or—“ tears started to trickle down your face. Zuko’s eyes widened and his hard expression quickly turned to softness and worry. The only time Zuko’s ever seen you cry was when you received news that your childhood home was burned down in the Fire Nation as they considered your father a traitor. The truth was, he was like Zuko, he knew what they were doing was wrong and left.

“You just left...without telling me...and I wondered everyday, every night, if you were okay and just hoped that I’d see you sleeping next to me somehow and that this was all just a bad dream.”

“Y/N I—“

“What if you died, Zuko?!”

“I didn’t—“

“But you could have and I’d be here...not knowing what even happened to you!”

“Y/N, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His eyes were pleading and you could see the remorse in his face.

“Do I mean that little to you?” Zuko’s face dropped and he instantly walked towards you and grabbed your face.

“Y/N...you mean everything to me.” He whispered as he caressed your face. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-I thought it would be better...because you wouldn’t know what we were doing, so you wouldn’t feel guilty if anything happened...” he looked down, realizing how wrong he was. Zuko suddenly remembered all the times you went on a mission without him and how helpless he felt that he wasn’t there to protect you. He’d spend days with no sleep, pacing around the camp while looking for any sign of you returning. “It wasn’t better! Even if I didn’t like what you were doing but at least have the compassion to tell me!” you tried to pull away from his grasp, but he held on tighter.

“I know... I wasn’t thinking. I was just so sure I was right and I knew it would make a huge difference and I just wanted to—“

“You just wanted to prove you deserve to be on Aang’s side.” You finished and Zuko nodded slowly. Zuko was always skeptical if the team really trusted him, especially due to the fact that he used to chase them around trying to capture Aang.

“Zuko, it’s been months. Everyone trusts you and respects you, remember we’re on the same boat here, I’m from the Fire Nation too, you know.”

“I do...it’s just, I did horrible things to them. I always feel like I have to make up for it.” he turned away from you. “Zuko, you don’t have to make up for anything, I’m so proud of you for all that you’ve done, and how much you’ve changed. I just thought I had a bigger place in your life for you to tell me.”

“You are the biggest part of my life, Y/N. Don’t ever doubt that.” he cupped your face with his hands once more. “I’m so sorry I ever made you feel that way, it was selfish and—“

“And I’m so proud of how brave you are...it just scares me sometimes that you could just be gone...”

“Don’t you think I feel the same way when you’re out on missions?”

“At least you know where I’m going.” You smirked and he sighed but laughed after.

“I’m sorry, I should have been more considerate.” You smiled lightly. “But don’t ever think you mean little to me. You’re the only good thing in my life.” He kissed you on your forehead and you melted into his arms.

[kanerallels]

OKAY OKAY ROUND TWO OF THIS! Kanera fix it or Kanera and waffles! Whichever works <3

*has no self control* *writes my first fix it* This was hecking fun! I hope you enjoyed it!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Word Count: 2,455

Tags/Warning: rated T (for time travel! *insert Hulk gif here*) and also near death

This wasn’t how Kanan wanted things to end.

He'd wanted more time. He'd wanted to explain things to Hera, to tell her how much she meant to him.

But things had moved too fast for him. Kanan was too late.

He felt the heat of the fire from the fuel pod singing the tips of his fingers, and concentrated on pushing it back with all his strength, his hands shaking slightly and his face twisting with the effort. The fire billowed high above him, but Kanan wasn’t afraid. Just full of regrets.

Behind him, he heard Hera scream his name, her voice full of raw desperation and fear. Kanan knew, without even needing to look, that she would run towards him and she did, her steps barely audible above the roar of the flames.

Turning without looking, Kanan diverted part of his concentration and caught her in her steps, holding her back with the Force. He felt her struggle against the grip, panic and fear pulsing through her.

Slowly, on some instinct he didn’t understand, he turned to face Hera. Maybe it was because of how much he ached to see her. Maybe it was to give her one last glimpse of him. Kanan sensed her desperation, her fear, how much she wanted to reach him.

But he couldn’t let her. There was too much at stake. So with a quick thrust, he sent her flying back to where Ezra was waiting, ready. His apprentice caught hold of her, holding her back. Kanan felt a flicker of gratitude-- he could always count on Ezra.

An odd tingling sensation swept across his eyes, and for a moment he thought he was crying. But crying had been impossible ever since Malachor. Since he’d been blinded.

Even as he thought the word, it was like a cloud was swept away from his eyes, and he could see. Kanan had no idea how, but he accepted it calmly, as he’d accepted his fate.

His gaze locked onto Hera first-- Hera, clad in an orange prisoner’s jumpsuit, a look of complete horror and fear in her eyes, with the slightest hint of surprise and awe as she looked at him. Kanan took her in, drinking in the very sight of her. She was older than she had been when they’d first met, and had only grown more beautiful. And Kanan had only grown more in love with her.

Behind her, holding her back, was Ezra-- Force, Ezra. He was so tall, so grown-up looking. Kanan was well aware he’d only ever pictured the little boy from Lothal, and he felt pride stirring in his heart. Stay safe, kid, he thought. You know what to do. I love you both.

And so he released his hold on the flames and used all his power and strength to send the ship that held Ezra, Sabine, and Hera flying away from the fuel depot. It would be enough. It had to be enough.

They would be safe. And they would keep fighting. Hera always did.

That was Kanan’s last thought before the flames swallowed him.

But it wasn’t his last thought.

Even as the fire swirled around him, he heard a strange whoosh, and the sound of boots impacting on metal, and suddenly the fire was gone. And Kanan was somewhere else entirely.

“Did it work?”

A young male voice came from behind Kanan, stunned but excited.

“Of course it worked, idiot, he’s not dead and we still exist,” said a dry female voice that sounded… bizarrely familiar. Almost like--

Kanan turned towards the sound and someone tackled him to the ground, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Sorry, sorry-- eyes closed,” the young man ordered. “If you look, I’ll tell Hera.”

“What does that even mean?” Kanan demanded-- although it was a fairly compelling argument. Trying to shove the young man off of him, he said “Who are you? What are you doing?”

“Saving you, you dumb--”

The young man cleared his throat loudly, cutting off the woman. “We were sent here to save your life.”

“What?” Kanan’s jaw dropped, surprise flashing through him. “Wha-- no, I was supposed to die. It had to happen, to save Hera and Ezra and Sabine--”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, the woman said, “They’re FINE, trust me. Well, other than the fact they think you’re dead.”

The young man groaned. “Okay, you should probably stop talking now. I’ll handle this.”

“You’re not much more diplomatic than me!”

“Everyone’s more diplomatic than you, Depa.”

“Depa?” Kanan asked, a frown knitting his forehead.

He heard his two rescuers freeze, and a muttered curse. “Yeah,” the young man said cautiously. “That’s her name.”

“That was my master’s name,” Kanan said, his mind racing. There was no way that could be a coincidence. Sure, there were probably other people in the galaxy named Depa, but--

“You can probably stop sitting on him-- he’ll behave,” Depa said dryly. “Right, Jarrus? That means keep your eyes close, and NO PEEKING or I’ll punch you out.”

“You can’t punch him out,” the young man said with a sigh.

“Why, because he’s an old geezer? I’m not afraid to hit an old man.”

Kanan sensed the young man rolling his eyes. “He’s not even that old right now! Okay, I’m gonna let you up-- please keep your eyes closed.”

The young man scrambled off of him, and Kanan slowly rose to his feet, wincing. He’d been burned, he could feel that much-- his hands, the back of his neck and his face especially. But somehow, impossibly, he was alive.

“I-- thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how or why you saved me, but thank you.”

“Someone had to,” Depa said, her voice surprisingly sincere. “And Force knows you needed help.”

“True,” the young man agreed. “But we don’t have all day here-- we need to get you back.”

“Back?” Kanan asked.

“Back to Hera and everyone else,” the young man elaborated. “If you follow us, we can get you out of here and back to them. They should be expecting you. Hopefully. We’re pretty sure Ezra warned them.”

“Reassuring,” Kanan said, keeping his eyes shut. “Which way are we going? And where are we, exactly?”

“This way,” Depa said, giving his shoulder a slight nudge in the right direction. As Kanan started walking, she added, “And we’re in some dumb alternate dimension.”

“It’s a world between worlds,” the young man corrected from ahead of them. “And it was really hard to get here. You wouldn’t believe all the stuff we had to do to get here. But it led us to where you were, which makes it worth it.”

“Why?” Kanan asked, releasing the question he’d been turning over in his mind. “Why did you come to save me? Why you in particular?”

He heard the young man’s footsteps stutter, like he’d paused in his steps. “Oh. Um…”

“Subtle, Jacen,” Depa said sarcastically.

“Jacen?” Kanan felt a grin cross his face. “So that’s your name.”

Jacen let out a sigh. “Nice one, Depa. Look, D-- Kanan. You’re… really important. To a lot of people. And they couldn’t just lose you if there was something that could be done.”

“So we did it,” Depa said matter of factly. “As you do. Oh, we’re here! This is your stop.”

They came to a halt, and Kanan sensed… something. Like a light at the end of a hallway, beckoning him forward. “And this is where I’m supposed to go?” he said warily. “It’s safe?”

“Trust me,” Jacen said. “She’s on the other side. Hera is. Your family is waiting for you.”

Kanan nodded slowly, his mind spinning. Despite the obvious strangeness of this whole thing, the way it had caught him off guard, there were a few things that he had a strange feeling about. Like he was two steps away from putting something together, something incredibly important. “Wait-- before I go through there. Will I be able to see?”

“I-- oh. No,” Depa said, her voice soft, almost shaken. “You never could after Lothal. That was the last time.”

“Then I at least want to see the faces of the pair that saved my life,” Kanan said. “If you’re alright with it.”

“I’m not sure--” Jacen began.

“Oh, shut up and let him,” Depa said, her voice exasperated. “What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, I-- I want him to.”

There was a short pause, then Jacen sighed. “I know. Me, too. Okay, go ahead.”

Kanan’s eyes flicked open. He was in what looked like outer space-- pure black, only broken up by strange white lines outlining paths. And, every now and then, circular doorways. “Huh,” Kanan murmured, his gaze sweeping across the place. And then it landed on the duo standing in front of him, and his eyes widened in surprise.

They were both a couple years younger than him. Jacen was a tall young man, tan-skinned except where it was green, especially along his pointed ears. His long hair, tied back in a ponytail, and scruffy goatee were a deep shade of green, and his eyes were almost an almost disturbingly familiar shade of turquoise.

Depa was a young Twi’lek woman with green skin, pink patches here and there. Her eyes were brown, and widened slightly with shock as they met his. “He really does have your eyes,” she said, her voice stunned.

“Wow,” Kanan breathed, any doubt in his mind swept away. “Are-- are you two-- Wow. Words fail me.”

Depa let out a snort. “Same here. But about that haircut. Mom was right, it really is awful. Worse than the one Jacen gave himself when he was eleven. It was really bad, be glad you didn’t see it.”

Kanan chuckled, then glanced at Jacen. “I-- and you two came here to save me?”

Jacen shrugged. “We wouldn’t exist if we didn’t. Well, I would, but Depa wouldn’t, and that’s a downside. Kinda.”

Depa punched him in the arm, and Jacen let out a yelp, darting away from her as she took another swing at him, and Kanan could only shake his head because of what he was watching. “This is unbelievable.”

“I mean. Not that unbelievable,” Jacen pointed out, a smile crossing his face that Kanan had seen a thousand times in the seat next to his own.

“Wow. You look… just like your mom. Both of you.”

Jacen’s eyes went wide. “R-really? Um. Everyone says I look like… you.”

“That is Hera Syndulla’s smile right there,” Kanan said, and he knew it to his core. “Looks just like hers. But yeah, I can see our resemblance. Well. For now.”

The smile faded off of Jacen’s face, and he said in a low voice, “We can’t stay.”

Nodding, Kanan said, “I know. I should probably get going, too. Just--” he paused, looking at his children for the last time. “I’m proud of you two already.”

“That is so typical of you,” Depa said, rolling her eyes in a completely Hera movement. “Do you have any idea how many kids you’re gonna adopt? Hint-- it’s a lot.”

“No spoilers,” Jacen ordered. “We should go. But before we do--” he turned to Kanan. “When the time comes, tell Ezra that he doesn’t have to be you. He has to be him, and no one else.”

“Oh, and don’t worry,” Depa said breezily. “You’ll find him eventually.”

“Wait, what? What does that mean?” Kanan demanded.

“You’re about to find out,” Depa said with a wink, and that, Kanan knew, she’d gotten from him.

Leaning forward, Jacen said, “She’s your most infuriating child. Yes, more so than the Mandalorian.”

Kanan shook his head, grinning. “I can’t wait for you two to come along. I really can’t.”

Shrugging, Depa said, “You might not have to wait that long. Now get out of here, we’ve all got places to be.”

“Right.” Kanan turned towards the doorway, which was a blank white, and glanced back at his kids one more time. “May the Force be with you,” he told them.

“You always say that,” Jacen said with a slight grin. “See you soon, Dad.”

Kanan nodded, then stepped through the doorway.

Everything was dark as he stumbled out into what was some kind of clearing, or something. But he felt the sunlight on his face, and knew why it was. His eyesight was gone again, and he was okay with that.

A shriek cut through his thoughts, and he jerked his head up as someone shouted his name. “Kanan!”

It was Hera, her voice holding shock and joy and love, and Kanan heard her run towards him. But this time, he was running, too, and felt her slam into him. “You’re here,” she choked out, a sob shaking her body. “Ezra was right. I didn’t think--”

Kanan cut her off with a kiss, pulling her closer as she kissed him back. Breaking away from the kiss, he whispered, “I love you, too.”

Hera let out a shaky laugh. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear those words, love.”

“I-- wait.” Kanan froze. “How long was I gone? How long since the fuel depot?” Panic raced through him.

“Only three months,” Hera assured him, clearly catching his fear. “You’ve missed a lot. There’s some things we should talk about.”

“I bet,” Kanan muttered. “Okay, let’s go talk.”

Hera stepped away from him, but caught hold of his hand so she could lead him. “Right this way, dear.”

Kanan relished the sound of her voice as he walked with her, willing to wait through whatever they had to talk about next.

Well. Almost willing. “There’s… one thing that I have to ask you,” he said. “There was this weird thing that happened while I was gone-- it’s a long story. But something that happened made me think-- it might be stupid, but I just need to ask--”

Cutting him off, Hera said, “Just ask, love.”

“Right.” Taking a quick breath, Kanan asked, “Are you… pregnant?”

He felt her stop in her tracks, shock radiating through her. “I--” Hera paused, then let out a sigh. “I was planning on telling you myself, you know. Not sure I should be thanking your Jedi instincts on this one. But… yes. I’m pregnant.”

Holy. Kriff. “I’m gonna be a dad,” Kanan whispered, the words surreal but beautiful. They were real. I actually saw my kids. Which means-- Jacen.

A smile slipping across his face, he bent down and kissed Hera again. He knew things had to have changed, and he had a lot to catch up on. But he was with the woman he loved, and he had a lifetime to look forward to. They could handle it together.

[jollyrancher87]

Punch Drunk

🐸Mando x Fem! Reader🐸

Because we need some serotonin Right NOW!! Please excuse any misspellings I rushed editied this.

Summary: Mando has had a little TOO much fun after capturing a very lucrative bounty.

Rating: soft M, just to be safe, it gets a lil saucy. 18+

Warnings: Fem! Reader, drunk Mando, mentions of saucy intentions, sweet talk, Soft! Mando, a little bit of an emotional drunken Mando, slight breeding kink maybe?

🐸🐸🐸

It had taken you hours, but you had finally gotten the Child settled into bed. He'd been an absolute terror today. Refuseing to eat his meals, he always preferred when Din fed him. He threw a fit when you tried to give him a bath, wailing and climbing up you when you tried to set him into the warm water, Din always knew how to get him in the tub with no problem. Tucking him into bed, forget it. He kept sneaking out whenever you turned your back. You knew why he was so fussy, Din had been gone for two days from the Crest. A bounty was offered to him by Greef Karga, far too lucrative to ignore, he said he'd be back as soon as possible. You knew better than to worry, but still, a twist always formed in your gut when you looked out the hatch and didn't see him makeing his way home on his speeder.

You settled down into the cot, the lights dimmed, a night of restless sleep ahead of you. Nothing but the soft breath of The Child, and the hum of the Crest to keep you company. You almost drifted off to sleep, but the hiss of the hatch opening startled you awake. Your heart jumped to your throat as you reached for the blaster you kept under the cot, ready to face the intruder despite how much you were shaking. The booted footsteps of two people echoed through the hull, men you could only assume, you were ready to scramble over to a hiding spot until you heard the distinct laugh of Karga.

Your shoulders dropped, you felt dizzy as your adrenaline fell, but the relief you felt out weighed any discomfort. You sank onto your knees on the cot, putting the blaster back under the cot.As they made their way into the hull, you suddenly remembered you had stripped down to your thin silken underdress. You wrapped your blanket around yourself to hide the sheer fabric from your guests eyes.

You let out a gasp as they rounded the corner. Greef was struggling to walk as he bared the beskar covered weight of Din. Greef had one of Dins arms braced across his shoulders while he held onto Dins waist. Din's helmet covered head lolling from side to side, his feet practically dragging, his body leaning to the side like he was about to fall over, incoherent mumbling coming through his modulater. Karga laughed and patted his back.

"You've arrived my friend." He noticed you in the bed,"oh, please excuse us, we didn't mean to wake you."

You scrambled from the cot, not careing about how sheer you shift was. You rushed to Din, your hands settling on his helmet, trying to keep his head up.

"Maker! What happened? Is he hurt?" You asked Karga frantically,"Din? Mando? Are you alright?"

"He's fine, he's fine." Karga assured, as he slowy helped Din stand on his own," we were just celebrating! The biggest bounty he's ever acquired, in the shortest time too!" He pat Dins shoulder, the sudden impact makeing Din lean into you. You let out a squeak of suprise from how heavy he was. Karga swore and apologized again as he helped Din stand up right.

"So...he's-"

"Drunk!" Karga laughed,"and he deserves it, that bounty can buy you both a new ship. Hell it could buy you a palace. He'd never have to work again if he wanted. Course we know that won't happen."

"How did he get drunk?" You asked,"He can't drink anything with his helmet on."

"Thats where you're wrong," Mando said, his voice slurred and slow, his head lolling to the side,"I can.....jus need a really....really...really long straw."

"Oh Din." You sigh.

Din suddenly gripped Kargas jacket pulling him up to him.

"L-look at her..." Din slurred through the modulator as he gazed at you," She's so...pretty." he says,"have you ever seen anyone so pretty?" Karga just laughed but was cut off when Din shook him, "Well HAVE YOU?" he snapped.

"No, can't say I have Din." Karga reassured, patting his hand,"You're a very lucky man."

You felt your face grow warm at the complement. You dipped your head and made your way to help take off Dins jetpack.

"I am lucky," he mummered," prettiest girl on the whole galaxy...on my ship...caring for my son." You heard a faint sniffle from him as you set the heavy pack on the ground.

"Its ok,Din." You say softly, placing your hand on his chest plate. He rested his leather clad hand over yours as he looked down at you."Thank you for bringing him back to me in one piece," you said to Karga,"I can take it from here."

Karag nodded and said his good bye, slapping Din on the back before leaving, the hatch shutting with a loud thud.

You looked up to Din, his gaze burning through his visor down to you as he slightly wobbled. Suddenly he lunged forward, his helmet smacked against your face, making it sting. His hands gripping your ass , kneeding it harshly.

"Ow! Din!," you cried, he rubbed his helmet against your face as you gripped his armored shoulders,"what are you doing?" You half laughed.

"Kissing you." He mumbled,"I just wanna kiss you."

You laughed,"Din-"

"Im gonn buy you all the jewels-"

"You know I dont need those-"

"Furs-"

"Din," you coo, carressing his helmet.

"A home."

"That I'd love," you sigh wrapping your arms around his neck as he rests his helmet against your shoulder,"you and me and the Child, in a cozy little home-"

"Gonna fill it with warriors," he mumbled,"a new one..... every year."

You laughed,"thats a lot of babies, Din."

"And I wanna give them to you."

"Alright, you need to sleep." You grin as you try to nudge him off you.

He takes a deep breath and stands up straight.

"I'm going to kiss you." He declared as he wobbled.

"Oh? Where?" You tease as you tried to pull him towards the cot.

"Right here, right now!" He said as if it were a threat.

"No, where do you want to kiss me, Din?"

He raised his hand and tapped his gloves finger against your forehead.

"Here..." he gently gave your cheek a tap,"Here..." he ran his thumb over your lips, "Here." He nearly growled, his chest risieng and falling as his breath got heavier.

He ran his finger over your chin, down your neck,"Here," he sighed, continuing down your chest, makeing his way between your breasts,"Here. Def...definitely here." He shuddered, "I want to kiss you here so bad." He groaned, and ran his large hand smoothly down your stomach,"here." his voice a near shudder as he reached down to your core,"but this...I want to kiss this. I'll take off all my armor, and forsake the Creed, just for the chance to kiss you here."

You took his hand from between your thighs and placed it onto your chest.

"You would?" You smile.

"What?" He snapped,"dont believe me?" He challenged.

You only smiled wider as he ripped his hand away from you.

"I'll do it!"he threatened, you crossed your arms over your chest, brow raised in a challenge. He grabbed his helmet and lifted it off, spiking it onto the soft cot."See! I did it!"

His hair was as unkempt as ever, his deep brown eyes wide and bloodshot as he looked down at you. You stepped forward, and carresed his stubble and scared covered cheeks, and kissed him. Your lips gentle against his as you softly peppered his lips and cheeks with kisses. He was frozen against you, his arms limp at his sides.

"Oh Maker, I just broke the Creed-" he whispered.

You nuzzled against his cheek, running your finger down the bridge of his sharp nose.

"Din...we made our Riduurok four months ago."you whispered. He stumbled back his eyes wide, as he swallowed hard.

"You, you mean...you're my...my..."

"Wow, Din, you are drunk. You need to get into bed." You ordered as you nudged him to the cot making him sit. His mouth hung open as you took off his armor and weapons, genlty setting them to the side.

"You married me?" He nearly wimpered, you placed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Yes Din." You said gently as you took his armor, various weapons and helmet and placed it on a nearby table.

"Really?" He sniffed, you looked back and saw him on the verge of tears.

"Oh, Din," you sigh as you stand between his spread legs, pulling his head to your stomach as you ran your hand through his unkempt hair"yes, really."

"You married me?" He asked as he buried his face into you, his voice muffled,"you're my Riddur?"

You laugh softly," yes, kar'ta."

He sniffed loudly before looking up at you, his eyes brimming with tears. "Really? Like, really really?"

You leaned down and nuzzled his face,"your the only man I'd ever marry my brave, handsome, fiercesome, warrior." You kissed him again.

He stood suddenly, and wiped away a stray tear that slid down his face before a stern look came over him. He cleared his throat.

"I need to give you warriors."

"Cyar-"

He ripped off one of his gloves and tried to undo his flight suit while moving to kneel on the bed,"right now!"

"Baby-"

"Jus- jus lay down, I'll do all the work,"He pulled you down on to the bed as you laughed at his clumsy attempt to disrobe,one arm and half his torso out of his suit.

"Gotta do my duty, fill your belly, with...with my..."he grumbled as he struggled to undo his belt,"seed, DAMN THIS THING!"

You grabbed his hands to stop him, "Din, you've already filled my belly with a warrior, remember, we made our baby after we said the vows."

He slumped down, and blinked, as he sat stunned. You took advantage of his state and nudged him till he layed flat on his back. His eyes staring up at you. He reached up and carresed you're cheek.

"I love you, Mesh'la." He said.

"I know." You sighed,"I love you too my feirce warrior."

"I hope our baby looks like you." He says as you try to roll him onto his side.

"I hope our baby is as brave as you."

"No. You're the brave one," he mumbled into his pillow,"the pretty one, the strong one, with an ass that brings me to ruin."

You had to cover your mouth to keep from busting out laughing. "Go to sleep darling."

"But I wanna look at you." His voice muffled from the pillow.

"You can look at me all you want tomorrow."

"But I wanna look at you now!" He whined.

You sighed and rolled him over to his other side until you were met with his drunk grinning face.

"You're so pretty." He slurred, his still gloved hands grabbing your hip,"c'mere." He urged you down.

You nestled down next to him, his eyes slowly shutting, his hand rubbing your side.

"Look at you," he slurred,"so sweet, so soft...so...so beautiful." His brows furrowd suddenly,"wait..I can't see you! Why can't I see you!?"

"Din open your eyes."

His eyes snapped open, a slap happy grin spreading across his face, "Oh Maker, you're so clever," His hand left your side and landed on your cheek a little harsher than he intended,"how did I find you?"

"I was a bounty remember?"

He was quiet for a moment,"oh yeah....I'm so glad you're a criminal."

"Can you go to sleep for me Din?"

"Can I use your tits as a pillow?"

Before you could respond he was already pushing you onto your back, his face buried into your chest. You sighed and were about to push him off of you but the sound of him snoring stopped you. He was asleep, you were ready to try to drift off into uncomfortable sleep when you heard a coo by your side.

Looking down you were met with the wide sleepy eyes of The Child standing by the bed, his ears perked up with a tiny smile on his face. He climbed up onto the bed and over you, nestling in the small space between you and Din, his little face nuzlleing into your belly.

You groaned, it was going to be a long night.

Thank you for reading xoxo

[aizawaorkuroo]

Can I get sum jealous Enji Todoroki smut? I require the fire manz

wicked

Ship: Todoroki Enji x reader

Rated: Explicit [18+]

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Enji gets jealous easily, and when you push him, the rewards outweigh the risk.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Spanking, Size Kink, Thigh Riding,

AN: no beta we die like men tgersfw but Mr. Endeavor is a large man and that is my weakness 😔😔 and this features a pre-established relationship lmao, but i’ll be tagging endeavor things as “endeavor content”

_________________

Enji Todoroki is not the same man he was before. He’s trying to change, trying to atone. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness, and he’s trying to change. But that does not mean he is soft. You cause him to slip up, making him violent and possessive in his affections. He never acts on it, demonstrating an iron will. But right now...it’s not his fault.

Hawks had always been a menace. Enji has known that since the first day he meant him. But right now? Seeing Hawks blatantly flirt while you’re trying to work? It makes him boil. His blood bubbles and a storm brews in his chest. His eyes narrow at your back, and he crosses his arms, watching you.

And you’re not stupid. You know Hawks is flirting with you, leaving you stuttering and tripping over your words as you try to get the paperwork sorted. It means nothing, but the sheer force of his attention leaves you reeling. Something burns into the back of your neck, making your spine shiver. You turn away from Hawks, eyes locking onto Endeavour. His face is impassable, a solid wall that refuses to lower.

He blinks down at the two of you, before turning around sharply, walking around the corner. You turn back to Hawks, trying to ignore the lazy, knowing grin sprawled out on his face.

“I’ll see you later,” he teases before wandering outside and soaring into the sky. You mutter a pointless goodbye before turning to where Endeavour just stalked off too. Rising on shaking legs, you smooth your skirt trying to prepare yourself for what lies ahead.

When you turn around the corner, you run right into a solid surface. Your hands shoot upward and brace yourself on Endeavour's chest. Large, warm hands wrap around your waist, keeping you from stumbling. You glance up, stomach flipping as he blankly stares down at you. His heart beats steadily underneath your fingertips, a constant reminder of the fire within him.

“Y/N. My office. Now.” His voice is strong and even, leaving no room for discussion. You swallow past the lump in your throat, nodding at his words. Endeavor pulls away from you rapidly and walks away without giving you another glance. You exhale a shaky breath and trail after the tall hero, trying not to let your nerves get the best of you.

Endeavor holds his office door open for you, his large frame taking up most of the space. You squeeze by him, trying to ignore the heat radiating off of his body. The door slams shut, making you flinch. Warm, orange light streams through the windows, lighting up his eyes as he sits down at his desk. You squirm uncomfortably under his clouded gaze.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he rumbles. Biting the inside of your cheek, you shake your head. One of his brows shoots upward.

“Try again.” His eyes are bright as his gaze trails over your face.

“No, sir.” A predatory smirk pulls at his lips, making you shiver.

“You are here because of your shameless flirting.” Your eyes widen, sputtering as you attempt to argue your innocence. He holds his hand up, stopping your rambling. He rises to his feet, traversing the distance between you in seconds. He’s close now, the warmth from his body invading your senses.

Your head tilts down, trying to avoid his gaze. Butterflies erratically dance around your stomach at the thought of what’s going to happen next.

“You’re an office manager,” he sneers. “You’re my office manager.” A large hand grasps your chin, tilting your face back, forcing you to meet his gaze. Your thighs squeeze together, and Endeavour’s predatory grin deepens. Oh. So this is the game. He releases your chin, letting his large hands trail down the sides of your body before landing your hips. His grip tightens, and he pulls you forward, pressing his body against yours.

Endeavor’s hips grind into you, and your eyelids flutter when you feel his hard erection against you. His hands reach around to squeeze your ass, prompting a small moan to leave you. His eyes darken before he ducks down, his mouth molding to your own. You weave your fingers into his hair, trying to pull him closer to you. His hips buck into you, and you moan against him.

A large, warm hand slips under your skirt, and he cups your clothed pussy. A sharp grin forms against you as Enji feels how damp your underwear is. He pulls away from your lips, humming in satisfaction.

“Who got you this wet?” he mutters into your ear. Your hips cant against his hand, and your stomach flips.

“Hawks,” you moan out, watching as Enji’s face grows red, his eyes gleaming in anger. He rips his hand away from you, lip curling in disgust. A large hand grabs your wrist, and he drags you to his chair, forcing you across his knees as he sits. He flips your skirt up again, exposing your ass. You wiggle against him excitedly, making a note of his hard cock poking into you.

“I was gonna fuck you nicely, but you need to punished.” You shiver at his words, excitement and lust bubbling in your stomach.

A sharp smack resounds in the air as he brings his hand down against your ass. You whine at the pain, letting your head dip down.

“How long did you talk to him?” he asks coolly. You bite your bottom lip, squirming as he pulls down your underwear.

His hand strikes your ass again, and you moan, feeling your pussy clench.

“Maybe three minutes,” you mumble. He makes an appreciative noise as your answer. His hand rubs your ass soothingly, and you sigh at the small amount of relief you feel.

“Then a spank for each minute. So one more. Sound fair?” you nod against his leg, bracing yourself. His large hand slaps your skin one last time, making you yelp. He only spanked you three times, but his hands are large, and warm, burning just as hot as the rest of him.

His fingers trail down your slit from behind, making you moan. They swipe at the wetness that’s beginning to pool between you, making your hips jolt. He hums appreciatively, before reaching to swipe at your clit.

“Enji,” you moan. He chuckles, the vibrations shaking your body.

“I’m going to ask you again, who got you this wet?” You twist to face him, a cruel smile growing on your lips.

“Hawks!”

His brows dip in anger, and he snarls, yanking you upright against him. Your legs slot around his large, muscular thigh. Enji’s hands clutch your waist, and his lips meet yours in a bruising kiss. When he pulls away, there’s something dark and deep in his eyes, and it makes your pussy flutter.

“I was gonna make you cum, but now you have to work for it.” He flexes his thigh, jostling it under you. You whine, hips rocking forward against him. His hands squeeze your waist before punching your skirt up around your waist, giving him a better view of you grinding against him.

He tugs at your shirt next, forcing it off of your body. He yanks your bra to the side, and his hands grope at your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples.

You moan wantonly against him, letting your hips rut faster against him. He laughs loudly at your pathetic whines and pants.

“So fucking desperate to cum, huh?” His voice drops down, something sinister lying in wait for its prey. You nod, mewling against him, trying to urge your hips to rock faster. “Look at that huh? Making a mess on my thigh.” Your cunt clenches, and your nails claw at his skin through his costume.

His thigh flexes again, and he bounces it up into you, making you squirm. Enji’s hands slip back down to your hips, prompting you to move faster.

He’s hot under you, burning fast and bright. You whine and tug at his costume, craving the feeling of his skin. A humorless laugh crawls through his chest, and he shakes his head.

“Not yet. Now, tell me who got you this wet?” You smirk, and you’re about to push him further, but his hands force you to stop moving, leaving your mind frustrated and blank.

“And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Don’t lie to me this time, or else this will stop altogether.” You widen your eyes, mouth forming a surprised ‘o.’ He smirks down at you, making you flush. You brace your hands on his chest, leaning forward to rest your head on him.

“I’m going to ask you one last time, who got you this wet?”

“You, Enji,” you whimper against him. His thick arms circle your waist, and he bends down to nuzzle your hair. He hums in approval, gently rocking his thigh again.

“Was that so hard?” he murmurs into your hair. You shake your head, enjoying the warmth that surrounds you and the tightening coil in your core. He abruptly stands up, pushing you off his lap and onto his desk. You furrow your brows, frustrated at the loss of friction. He tuts lightly at you as he tugs his costume off.

“Don’t be upset. I want you to cum around my cock.” You flush at his words, letting your head flop onto the desk. You shut your eyes, trying to regain control of your breathing.

Something burning nudges at your slit, and you gasp. You prop yourself up, watching as Enji rubs his cock along the lips of your pussy.

“I’ve got you dripping,” he muses. You shift your hips, trying to get closer. His hands grip your hips, stilling your pathetic squirming. Your head twists to the side, eyes closing as his cock head bumps against your clit. His hands tighten as he slides against you.

“Quit messing around,” you murmur before biting your lip in frustration.

“I won’t fuck you until you look at me,” he growls. Forcing your eyes open, your face screws up in focus as you turn to face him. He smiles cruelly at you, letting his cock rut against your clit.

“You ready?” His eyes are focused on your leaking pussy, licking his lips as you nod eagerly. His cock slowly pushes in, spreading you wide.

Enji’s a large man, larger than most, thick with rippling muscle and hulking mass. It’s times like these when you’re reminded of it, when his cock is pushing into you, splitting your pussy. He groans loudly bending down, letting his body rub against yours. You preen at the skin to skin contact, wrapping your arms around his burning skin as he starts to thrust into you.

Enji peppers the side of your neck with hot kisses, and you moan loudly, your cunt clenching tightly around his large cock. His hands trail up and down the sides of your body, squeezing the flesh he finds.

Your fingers dig into his shoulder blades before you claw down his back. Your hips buck up in an attempt to meet his deep thrusts. Enji sucks possessive marks into your neck, a loud proclamation of your relationship. You’re his. The thoughts loops in his mind, mine, mine mine.

His hand forces its way in between your thighs, and his large thumb brushes against your clit, making your pussy convulse. He groans at the sudden tightening and moves his thumb in faster, concrete circles. Your fingers dig harshly into him, and cry crawls out of your throat. He chuckles, and it resounds throughout your body.

The ghosts of an orgasm solidify into something stronger, something definite. It’s white-hot and heavy within you, burning you as it grows into something unyielding. Your cunt clenches again, and you wrap your thighs around his waist, trying to draw him closer. Enji maintains the pace of his thrusts but increases the force on your clit. He’s too warm, too hot, too close, encompassing you in pleasure.

“I’m gonna cum, Enji,” you wail. He smirks at you, pressing a sloppy, searing kiss to your lips. You moan against his mouth, hips bucking up against him.

“Cum around my cock,” he murmurs into your mouth. Your eyes screw shut in pleasure, and a loud, embarrassing moan tears through your throat. You writhe against his body, hips thrashing uncontrollably. Your orgasm tears through you, burning and unrelenting.

Enji’s pace grows sloppy as you ride out your orgasm, and he thrusts deeply into your convulsing pussy, letting out hot spurts of cum paint the inside of your stretched out cunt. He slows against you, pressing soothing kisses along the curve of your jaw and your face.

“You good?” he murmurs. You smile weakly and nod, sleepy contentment overcoming your exhausted body. You release Enji from your grasp, stretching your arms out above you. A smirk sprawls across your face, and his eyes narrow.

“That was really good, Enji. Gonna have to get you riled up more often.” He rolls his eyes, pulling away from your sweaty body, and you wince as he pulls his cock out. A deep, satisfied noise tumbled through his chest as his sticky cum trickles out of your cunt. His thumb swipes at it, before trailing over your slit. A shudder racks through your body, and he grins cruelly.

“You are wicked.”

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

What if...? Part 7

So, vote came in with an overwhelming landslide for two parts instead of a giant part 7. Too bad you’re getting a giant part 7 and a part 8 and... I’ve given up. Whatever the final number pf parts this ends up on, it’ll end up on. You lovely LOVELY enablers are just adding fuel to the fire. Your comments and reblogs are such an inspiration, thank you! <3 <3 

-

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Part 7

“I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with this.” Davarax drawls after Dulsissia had dropped off Corin for training and Barthor has to be called over twice by Paz before he’ll stop talking to her.

Dulsissia gives Davarax her sweetest smile. “I’m just being a good influence on him.”

Davarax hums, crosses his arms and turns to watch Paz drill the others through the warm-up before the training can begin.

Fighting back a laugh, Dulsissia turns her focus to the children as well and she tilts her head slightly when she sees Paz correct Corin’s posture and awarding him for getting it right with a nod and a pat on the head before moving on to Din, who seems a little jumpy today and Paz wraps his arm around him while saying something that has Din nodding and his shoulders relaxing a little. “Davarax?”

“Mmh?”

“Has Paz always been so protective of them?” Dulsissia has observed him with other kids in the Covert and usually Paz radiates hostility and tends to behave like he’s superior to them all. She’s seen him be downright rude. Very different from how he is with the rest of Davarax’ children.

“Towards Raga, yeah,” Davarax replies, “but Din is what knocked him into a complete parental tip-yip towards anyone he deems a member of his group.”

Feeling another soft rush of emotion, Dulsissia glances over at the Mandalorian next to her. “Truth be told, considering how his father behaves,” Dez Vizla had not impressed her with his manners during Paz’ birthday and revealed where the boy has his occasional arrogance from, “I’m amazed he knows how to be this sweet. I haven’t met his mother yet, is that who he takes after?”

Davarax doesn’t answer right away. He shifts his weight uneasily and uncrosses his arms to cross them again with a different arm on top. “Paz’ mother walked out on him and his father two days before Paz turned five years old. She left the Tribe to be with some guy who owned some shipping company. It’s not something we talk about out loud, so… don’t.”

Stunned, Dulsssia cannot believe what she’s hearing. “She left her son behind?”

“She wanted a fresh start and leave the Mandalorian life behind.” Davarax replies, uncomfortable.

Realizing she’s standing there with her mouth open, Dulsissia shuts it and turns back to stare at the children. The idea of leaving Corin behind when she planned to escape from Macero had never once entered her mind. Dez Vizla does not appear to be as cruel as Macero, but still…

This time Dulsissia stays in the room when they train, curled up comfortably in a corner and dividing her attention between the Mando’a dictionary and the children. She’s feeling lazy today and just wants to be near her son and the ones who has become so very dear to her.

Despite the fact that Davarax is teaching them to fight, the mood is so light and the air is so filled with comfortable belonging that Dulsissia finds herself relaxed and time just flies by.

She’s almost a little sad when Davarax calls for the end of the session.

Getting up on her feet, stretching a little, Dulsissia adores the sight of Corin huddled up with the other children and talking with nothing but excitement and happiness in his eyes. She is a little surprised when he comes running over to her, usually she has to drag him out of the room, but he quickly reveals why.

“Mom, Barthor is going to show us this machine he made in his room. Can I go? Can I?”

“I’ll walk Corin back.” Paz promises.

“Me too.” Din pipes up.

“Me too!” Raga shouts.

Laughing, Dulsissia looks down at her big-eyed boy and tries to put on a strict face. “Food in one hour.”

Nodding so eagerly it has to hurt, Corin darts over to the other children at superspeed, before she has the chance to change her mind. “Let’s go!”

-

The group trample out of the room like a herd of wild tauntauns and she saunters over to the man left behind. “Looking at the stuff you have them doing, I feel like giving up. I’ll never be that good,” Dulsissia confesses with a smile.

Davarax bends down to pick up up a towel from the floor. “You will. Just give it time. And do the work.” He makes a displeased grunt when he straightens back up and rolls his right shoulder in an irritated manner.

“What’s wrong?” Dulsissia asks, instantly worried. It’s not a sound she’s heard from him before.

“Nothing.” Davarax sighs and rolls his shoulder again. “Just my shoulder acting up. I pushed things a little too hard during Fighting Corps training yesterday.”

Dulsissia knows there is not much she can do for this far too capable man who saved her and her son and keeps showing them so much kindness, but maybe she can ease his pain a little? “Sit.”

Davarax looks over at her, confused. “What?”

“Sit.” Dulsissia repeats, pointing at the floor to underline her order.

He hesitates, but then slowly sinks down to sit on the floor. “Why…?”

“This,” Dulsissia taps a finger to the armor on his shoulder, “pauldron, is it? Off.”

Still visibly confused, Davarax reaches up and detaches the pauldron. “Dulcy, what are you-”

“I’m no expect, but… I do know how to ease tense muscles a bit.” Dulsissia refuses to think about why she knows how to rub out muscles tense after hours of a rigid posture in uniform. Another stupid thing she’d thought might bring them closer together back then. “Let me know if it hurts too much.”

“I think I can take it.” Davarax replies without trying to hide his amusement.

“I know you can, that’s not why should tell me.” Dulsissia gets on her knees behind him so she reach his shoulder and starts feeling around to get the correct grip before she starts massaging. “I want you to tell me because I don’t want to hurt you. And suffering through the hurt in this case wouldn’t achieve anything. It’s just silly. You don’t become a better fighter by putting yourself through pointless pain, my good Sir. It’s just-”

“Silly.” Davarax says, still horribly amused.

“Yes. Exactly.” Dulsissia pushes a little harder and finds where she can feel a tight tendon. All the layers of his underarmor makes it a bit difficult, but she starts to work on it. “I don’t know why some thinks it is cool to pointlessly ignore pain. I get why you might have to in a fight, but this? It’s so-”

“Silly.” Davarax concludes, half-laughing.

“Yes!” Dulsissia declares, giving his shoulder a light slap.

In a flash, Davarax twists, gets his right arm around her waist and hoists her forward and around to land across his lap, her back cradled by his left arm. “Hitting people in the shoulder causes pain, you know?”

Initially startled by the abrupt change of her position, Dulsissia relaxes in his grip and gives him a sweet smile. “You can take it.”

“Hmm.” Davarax hums. “I’m not sure. I’m a delicate soul.”

She giggles. Dulsissia can’t believe she giggles yet again, but being around him… It’s like forgetting all the bad stuff in her life and just being hopeful again. “In that case, how can I make it up to you?”

“I have a couple of ideas.” Davarax replies, his low voice a sweet caress.

Curious and a little giddy, Dulsissia lowers her eyelashes in a coy move she hasn’t used since… ages ago. “I’m listening…”

“One, spend a couple of hours with me tomorrow. Just you and me. No kids. No interruptions.”

Dulsissia feels heat rising in her face. She can’t think of a better way to spend a couple of hours. And considering that Corin spends most of his time with Din or the other kids these days, he probably won’t mind it much if his mother is too busy to hover. “Okay. We can do that. A-and what’s the second idea?”

“My second idea…” Davarax’  right hand moves up to slide behind her neck and he bends down so his t-visor hover right in front of her face. “A kiss to make it better?”

Her heart flutters like crazy. Dulsissia is fairly certain her face is approaching a rather unflattering shade of red by now. “We can do that too…”

“Yeah?” Davarax’ hand caresses her neck.

Dulsissia swallows, already a little breathless. “Yeah.”

She feels his left arm tightening behind her back, lifting her a little up and against him, at the same time as Davarax’ right hand moves up to cup the back of her head. A couple of months ago, she might not have seen the point of a simple forehead touch, but now? Now that she slides her own arms around his neck and meets him halfway, the two of them holding on and curling up together like one, feeling them breathe together, betting even their hearts are beating in synch, she can only pity her old self.

-

Lifting her feet, Dulsissia tries to make her way from the kitchen area over to the refresher without stepping on a child. All of Davarax’ children are currently present in her and Corin’s quarters and they lying on their bellies on the floor, entirely focused on a boardgame Paz had brought. Dulsissia glances down at the boardgame as she manoeuvrers her way through the minefield of children. It appears as if Din is giving Barthor a run for his credits. No wonder he looks so grouchy.

Well, there is one child not lying on the floor and that is Raga, who has clearly lost interest in the game and is merely sitting on Paz’ lower back while braiding some cloth into yet another hair tie to her growing collection.

Dulsissia almost makes it to the refresher, knowing she’s going to need the time to do her hair and try to make herself look good, when there is a knock on the door.

Sighing, seeing how none of the children are going to open the door, even her sweet Corin is too busy cozying up with Din to notice, Dulsissia enters the minefield yet again and struggles her way over to the door.

Huffing, she pushes the hair out of her face just as she presses the button and the door slides open to reveal Davarax.

“Oh.” She blinks surprised. He’s not supposed to be here for another hour. “I thought…”

Davarax sighs and looks down. “Listen, there’s been a change of plans.”

Dulsissia can tell from the tone of his voice that it isn’t good news. She absently crosses her arms and braces herself. “What’s happened?”

He doesn’t lift his visor. “Nevarro is not our only Covert. We have several. And we keep creating new ones, to have room for more people and in case of emergencies.”

This makes sense to Dulsissia, so why does his words make her body tense up?

“She’s sending me and someone else to a new location to eliminate a threat and set up a new Covert.” Davarax finishes.

So, he’s going away again. Dulsissia feels a heavy weight of disappointment drop into her stomach but she forces herself to keep a brave face on. “It’s for the good of the Covert. I understand.” She clears her throat. “How long… do you think it will take?” Two weeks? Three? More?

“Six months.” Davarax replies, lifting his t-visor to look at her at last. “If everything goes according to plan.” But the tone of his voice also says he has no faith in that happening. He sounds… tired.

“That’s…“ Dulsissia has to clear her throat again. “Okay. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. We’re starting preparations now.” Davarax shakes his head. “That’s not the worst.”

Now she feels a jolt of actual fear. “There’s something worse?”

“She’s sending Dez Vizla too.” Davarax says. “And he’s insisting on bringing Paz along.”

“What?” Dulsissia exclaims and Davarax grabs her arm, so she lowers her voice after a quick glance back at the children now watching them with curious looks. “He’s twelve.” She hisses. “It’s not safe out there for him.”

Davarax merely shakes his head again. “I know. I voted against it, but they think I’m too soft on ‘my kids’.” He lets her go and takes a moment to simply lean against the door frame, as if he hasn’t the strength to stand upright by his own power, then he straightens and looks into the room. “I have to tell him. Send him out to me?”

For half a second, Dulsissia wants to say no. She wants to shut the door and refuse to open it for him or that horrible Vizla man, but then her brain kicks in and she gives a faint nod. This isn’t something Davarax agrees with or even wants to do, but he is helpless to prevent it and it is best Paz hears it from him.

Leaning against the wall of her room, looking out into the hallway through the open door, she watches as Davarax talks to Paz over by the door to his room. She can tell the moment Paz realizes what Davarax is explaining to him by the frantic shake of Paz’ head and when he knows there is no way to escape his father’s command by the defeated slump that follows Davarax’ comforting hand on his shoulder.

-

It’s in the middle of the night, but Dulsissia can’t sleep. It’s hours since Corin cried himself to sleep and she can tell by the sound of his even breathing that he’s finally found peace, but not her.

She keeps staring up at the ceiling. Everything inside her is a churning turmoil.

Davarax is leaving. Paz’ father is dragging him into danger. And the other children are miserable.

She is miserable.

Why now? There weren’t that many new souls in the Covert. And why Davarax? The leader could have sent anyone. Was it because of Dulsissia? Was this her revenge for Dulsissia not heeding her warning and staying away from him if she didn’t take the Creed?

What if she will never see Davarax again? What if something happens and he never comes back home? That is one thought she cannot stand.

Dulsissia takes care to make as little noise as possible as she sneaks out of bed and tiptoes on bare feet over to the door. Never before has a door made as loud a whoosh as the one her door now makes. Cringing, she looks over at Corin, but he’s still asleep. Good.

The hallway is cold, she’s just wearing her simple nightgown, but she can’t risk getting dressed in case it would wake Corin up. The door whooshes loudly again as it closes behind her, she waits but doesn’t hear any sign of Corin waking up so she walks over to knock on Davarax’ door.

He’s probably asleep. He should be asleep She hopes he’s asleep. He needs sleep to be rested for tomorrow.

The door slides open, revealing a fully dressed and armored Davarax, who seems as puzzled to see her as she is to find him awake. “Dulcy? What’s wrong?”

“Why aren’t you asleep?” She hears how it sounds like an accusation.

Davarax’ helmet pulls back a little. “I don’t know. I…. Thinking too much, I guess.”

Dulsissia deflates. “Can I come in?”

That seems to puzzle him even more and he hesitates before taking a step aside and gesturing her to come in. “Sure.”

Dulsissia walks inside. It’s strange, now that she thinks about it. She’s had him in her room countless times by now, but she’s never been in his.

It’s a nice room. Small, but tidy. He has a neat row of vibro-blades on the wall. Two blasters hanging there as well. She suspects what those things on the shelves up above the bed are not decorations, but some kind of explosive devices. Clothes are neatly folded and stacked on a chair in the corner or the room with a bag on the floor next to it. The only hint of luxury is the large bed at the very end of the room, with bright white sheets and a thick fur cover.

Then she sees the most beautiful holo-picture of Paz, Raga, Barthor and Din standing on a writing desk. It hurts her heart and makes her at peace with her decision to be here.

“Dulcy?” Davarax asks, sounding a little worried. “Talk to me.”

“It’s going to be a lot longer than six months, isn’t it?” She says.

Dulsissia hears him sigh somewhere behind her. “Probably.” He takes a step towards her. “Listen, you will still be safe here. You and Corin. You can still make a life here. A-and maybe even meet someone else…”

“I don’t want someone else.” Dulsissia states. “I want you.”

She hears him step closer. She feels his gloved fingers slide down the back of her bare upper arm, as if he’s afraid to touch her but wants the contact too much to be able to stop himself. “Dulcy…”

Dulsissia turns her head a little in his direction and Davarax instantly backs up a couple of steps.

“Sorry…” He sounds a little shaky. “Sorry. That was crossing the line. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“When Din broke his nose, you took off your gloves to help him.” Dulsissia says. “So you can take off your gloves.”

“Yes.”

“Not including your helmet, can you take the rest off?”

A moment’s pause. “Yes.”

Dulsissia turns to face him, still strangely calm. “Do you want to? Now?”

Davarax stands frozen, but he can’t hide the hitch in his breath. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” She replies. “Now please answer my question; do you want to take them off?”

Another moment of hesitation and this time Dulsissia can tell his eyes are moving over her. She knows if she was to see her own reflection, she’d see a woman without any make up, in a shapeless and sleeveless white nightgown that barely reaches her ankles, sporting unkempt and wild hair. She wonders what he sees. Because she notices how Davarax’ hands clench into fists, like he has to stop himself from reaching out for her.

Finally he gives her his answer in a quiet, almost shameful whisper. “Yes.”

Nodding, pleased they want the same thing, Dulsissia reaches up and slides the nightgown off her shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. “Then take them off.”

The sight of her seems to knock the air out of his lungs for a second, then his hands move to start removing his armor, his clothes, and not once does he take his eyes off her.

Dulsissia watches as more and more of him is revealed and realizes she had been right; he really is lovely all over. Beautiful. With his golden skin, finely tuned muscles and battle scars.

Once his body is as bare as hers, he waits for her to decide what happens next and she walks over to him. Placing her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating as fast as hers, Dulsissia savours the heat of his skin and wants to place her lips to every scar. So much pain is written on his skin. “I’m guessing you Mandalorians have some secrets when it comes to this as well?”

“Some.” Davarax replies in a hoarse whisper, strained with the effort of keeping still.

She looks up at him. “Will you show me?”

He does.

And for a while, all she can think about it how good it feels, how good he feels, the heat of him, the weight of him, all of him. Her whimpers mixed with his half-choked groans. Her fingers digging into his back and his hand gripping her hip. And she will never ever forget the feeling of him shaking apart in her embrace, allowing himself to crumble, trusting her to put him back together again.

After, she holds him to her chest so he won’t see the tears in her eyes as she thinks about how that they might not ever have this again.

Dulsissia stays as long as she dares, but eventually she sits up and scouts for where she’d dropped her nightgown. She has to get back before Corin wakes up.

Davarax’ bare fingers trail down her back. “Marry me.”

Blinking surprised, she looks back at him. “What?”

On his back, sprawling carelessly, barely covered by sheets, Davarax moves his hand to cup her face. “Marry me.”

Now it is her turn to huff a laugh and Dulsissia lifts a hand to cover his. “You definitely need sleep.”

Davarax sits up and leans forward to place his forehead to hers in a sweet kov’nyn. “Marry me.”

Dulsissia swallows hard, memorizes the feeling for a little while, then she gently pulls free and gets out of bed. “I’ll wait for you.” She walks over to where she can pick up her nightgown and puts it on. “I won’t be with anyone else. You have my heart.” Dulsissia looks over at him. “But I can’t marry you. I’m never getting married again. I’m sorry.”

Davarax sighs, looks down and then back up again. He nods. “I understand.”

Dulsissia tries to smile but fails. She draws a deep breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Davarax nods and he merely watches as she leaves.

-

They are standing by the door leading into Nevarro city and Dulsissia is doing her very best to be strong for the children. She, Corin, Din, Raga and Barthor are lined up to say their goodbyes to Paz.

Poor Paz, all dressed up in travel gear meant for a grown man and looking utterly miserable.

Corin is hiding halfway behind Dulsissia’s leg, he hasn’t done that in months, while Din is the first to step forward toward Paz.

“You promised…” Din whispers, pale and scared. “What if they come while you’re gone?”

“They won’t.” Paz replies in a shaky voice, placing a hand on Din’s shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. He tries to will conviction into his voice. “Okay? They won’t.”

Before Din can say much of anything, Raga rushes forward to throw her arms around Paz’ torso and sobs out loud as she buries her face in his chest. Not letting go of Din, Paz closes his eyes and bends down to place a kiss on Raga’s hair before resting his cheek against the curls and wraps his other arm around her.

Dulsissia has to look away and blink away tears of her own.

“Don’t go.” Raga barely manages to say through the heaving sobs.

“He has to.” Barthor says quietly and with no small amount of sadness himself. He reaches out and runs a gentle hand up and down Raga's back.

Paz lifts his arm from Raga’s back and holds it out so Barthor can move in and then he hugs them both before pulling Din close with his other am. A second after getting the three in place, Paz lifts his head and opens the arm he has around Din again, wiggling his fingers for Corin to join them.

Corin doesn’t hesitate. He darts over and squeezes in tight next to Din, letting Paz lock them with his arm as he does with Barthor and Raga.

Dulsissia discretely wipes at her eyes and looks down just as Paz lifts his gaze to her. He can’t really fit all four in his embrace, but he’s trying his very best. “You…” Paz swallows hard and tries again. “You have to look after them for me while I’m gone. Understand?”

Raga sobs even louder. Din’s fingers are digging into Paz’ jacket.

“I promise.” Dulsissia replies, even as everything in her rebels at the fact that this little boy, Paz is just a child himself, should feel such a responsibility. He’s too young for such a weight.

The sound of heavy footsteps makes her look over and soon Dez Vizla enters the hallway, followed by Davarax, and the leader of the Vizla clan doesn’t even pause as he walks by his son. “Paz. Let’s go.”

Raga wails even louder. Barthor backs away, so does Corin, and eventually a reluctant Din, but Paz has to pry Raga off himself and he more or less shoves her at Dulsissia before he runs after his father, failing entirely to hide his own tears.

Dulsissia restrains Raga, desperately trying to run after Paz, and looks over at Davarax standing there. “You keep him safe, Davarax. Whatever it takes. You hear me? You keep him safe and you make sure the both of you come back to us.”

Davarax nods. He looks at each child in turn, then sighs and crouches down. “You hear that? I’ll keep Paz safe. I promise. And we’ll be back before you know it. Then we will all be together again.”

Barthor cautiously approaches him. “Don’t forget us?”

Davarax reaches out and gives his hair a light ruffle. “Never. Not as long as I live.” He then looks over at Din. “I will be back, Din. Trust me.”

Din merely stares down at the floor.

Corin is next to approach him. “I will look after mommy until you get back.”

Davarax does his little trademark huff-laugh and taps Corin lightly under the chin with a finger. “I appreciate that, Corin. Thank you.” He then reaches out a hand and puts his palm gently to Raga’s back as the little girl is clinging to Dulsissia’s leg and crying so hard her small body is shaking. He has no words that will take away her pain, so in the end Davarax straightens back up, hesitates, looks at each of then in turn once more, then he walks away.

The door closes behind him and he’s gone.

Feeling a deep hollowness spreading inside, Dulsissia absently bends down to pick up Raga. “Let’s go.” And she carries the heartbroken soul, while the other three morose children walk behind her.

-

Davarax made sure to get one of his friends from the Fighting Corps to step in to train the children, if only twice a week. And Decco takes over Dulsissia’s training, which makes it a lot less fun and brings a lot more tough work instead.

“You’re as bad as he was.” Decco grumbles, crouching next to where Dulsissia is squirming on the floor after she got sent flying there by the other woman.

“As bad as who?” Dulsissia asks, wondering whether she can be bothered to get up or not.

“As Davarax.” Decco straights up and shoves at Dulsissia with her boot. “He complained when I trained him too. Now get up.”

Dulsissia remains where she is and frowns thoughtfully. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to be your mother so don’t make me put you over my knee.” Decco threatens. “Get up.”

Dulsissia scrambles to her feet.

It doesn’t take more than two days before Davarax’ absence takes its toll, though. Dulsissia is surprised to find Din’s mother on her door one morning, asking her with resigned worry if her son was there. He’d disappeared some time during the night and no one knows where he is.

“He’s not here. Sorry.” Dulsissia says and the Mandalorian wanders off to ask the next person.

Considering her options for a moment, Dulsissia looks back at where Corin is sitting on his bed, reading. “I need to go check something, sweetie. Can you be a good boy and stay here?”

Corin shrugs. He’s clearly not heard what the question was about, otherwise he’d be running around looking for Din too. Good.

“Okay then. Stay here. I’ll be back soon.” Dulsissia slips out and closes the door behind her before heading down to the storage room Davarax had revealed to be Din’s hiding spot.

At first she can’t see him and Dulsissia is a bit relieved she hadn’t told his mother she knew where Din was, but then she takes a step further into the cluttered room and a blanket across an old pilot seat moves.

“Din?” Dulsissia steps closer and she chokes on a startled sound when the blanket goes flying, revealing Din curled up on the seat and holding a sharp piece of metal out in a defensive move.

Once the shock is over, Dulsissia cautiously approaches the boy. “Din, it’s me. It’s just me. Dulcy.”

Blinking, as if in a trance, Din finally seems to actually see her and he slowly lowers the weapon.

“Are you okay?” Dulsissia asks, daring to crouch down next to him, seeing how he’s still acting rather dazed. “What are you doing down here?”

“I thought…” Din mumbles, looking around, frowning confused. “I thought they were here?”

“Who, Din?” Dulsissia reaches out and cautiously eases the weapon out of his hands. He lets her take it, looking increasingly distressed and confused.

“Them!” The boy gulps for air. “The droids. They’re going to kill us all. Like they killed my mom and dad.”

“There are no droids here, Din.” Dulsissia puts the weapon away and then gently brushes the hair away from his sweaty brow. “No droids. You’re safe.”

Din shakes his head and his eyes brim with tears. “No. I’m not! He said he’d keep them away and they stayed away, but now he’s gone away! Him and Davarax both! And now the droids are going to come and kill us all!”

“No…” Dulsissia inches up to sit next to him, wrapping an arm around the shivering boy and hugs him close when she hears the first quiet sobs he’s trying to hide. “No, baby, no. You’re safe here in the Covert. We all are. The droids won’t come for you or any of us. It’s going to be okay.”

She sits with him until the tears dry up and Din is able to function somewhat normally again. He’s tired, exhausted and cold, so she ends up carrying him back to his parents.

Forget about the fight training, Dulsissia suspects the muscles she might get is from carrying these children around.

Din makes a miserable sound when she hands him over to his father, but doesn’t fight it. Dulsissia wonders if maybe she should have just brought him back to her room instead, suspecting Corin might have had a calming influence on him, but it wouldn’t be fair to Din’s parents.

“Thank you.” Din’s mother says, sounding both relieved and as exhausted as the son.

“Listen,” Dulsissia decides to risk it, “Din and my son have gotten very close. They are very fond of each other. If you need help with-”

“I appreciate you bringing me my son, but the day when I need help from an outsider is the day you can take my helmet.” The woman snaps and the door slides shut in front of Dulsissia’s face.

Huh. Rude!

-

It takes about two weeks before there is a knock on Dulsissia’s door and she opens it to find the teacher with the stinky room standing there with a firm grip on Raga’s arm.

The little girl is staring defiantly down at the floor and the man is taking short, angry breaths.

“You think she’s innocent and manageable? You manage her!” The man yanks Raga forward so she stumbles inside the room, “Enjoy!” and stomps away.

Shocked, Dulsissia slowly turns away from staring at his back to looking at the miserable looking child standing in the middle of the room. Raga is rubbing her arm where the man’s hand had been grabbing her and her lips are trembling.

Corin is sitting on his bed, wide-eyed and scared to move.

“Oh, baby…” Dulsissia sighs and closes the door. She walks over to Raga. “Are you okay?”

She nods, but keeps staring at the floor.

Dulsissia crouches down and wraps her arms around her. It takes a little while, but eventually Raga relaxes and leans against her.

Bribing her son and Raga with treats and a new story on the datapad, Dulsissia uses the opportunity to sneak off and talk to Raga’s parents. 

Raga’s father doesn’t say much, but Raga’s mother points inside their room, over at where three other children are wrestling on the floor, screaming and pummelling each other. “I hear what you’re saying, Dulcy, but I got my hands full here. I don’t have the time or energy to deal with Raga’s antics right now. My boys are about to take the Creed and I have at least five other assignments I have to finish. Just… send her home. I’ll keep her here until Davarax comes back.”

One of the boys cries out in real pain and Raga’s father turns his t-visor towards them. “HEY! Calm down! The first one who breaks something on someone gets their ass kicked by me!”

Blinking, Dulsissia has to gather herself for a moment before blurting out an idea she comes up with on the spot. “How about I look after her for those hours of school? I can teach her some stuff? I mean, that would be better than her just staying at home?”

Both of Raga’s parents look at her for a second, then the mother says, with no small amount of dry disbelief; “You’d do that…?”

Raga’s father follows it up with; “Why?”

But then there is a thump and something shatters on the floor and the man stalks off inside the room. “Right. That’s it! Who did that? Get back here!”

“No killing!” Raga’s mother shouts after him before turning back to Dulsissia. “I can’t pay you.”

Dulsissia nods. “That’s fine.”

Sighing, Raga’s mother shrugs. “Sure. Fine. Go ahead.” Then there is the sound of some kind of ruckus and she mumbles that she has to go. “I said no killing! I will kick the ass of anyone who dares to die today, I am NOT cleaning that up!”

That is how Dulsissia ends up having Raga around almost as much as Din and her own son and why why she ends up approaching the last of Davarax’ children; “I need your help.”

Barthor looks up from his datapad. He’s sitting in the corner of the common room. Alone. As usual.

“With Davarax and Paz gone, I’ve promised to look after Din and Raga in addition to my own boy and I have no idea how to entertain them or what to teach them or… I need someone who knows stuff to help me set up some sort of activities so they won’t kill each other.” Dulsissia says.

Barthor lowers his datapad and smirks. “You just don’t want me to feel left out when you guys have fun.”

“That too.” Dulsissia admits. “But mostly I really do need your help. All the stuff I used to do as a kid means we have to go outside.”

Barthor considers it, then nods. “I’ll help you.”

-

Davarax and Paz have been gone for three months when a messenger appears on Dulsissia’s door and hands her a small box with her and the children’s names on it. It’s from Davarax.

The children all get a large lump each of what looks to be a mix of sugar and something even more sweet, to their utter delight as none of them had tried this particular kind before, and Dulsissia finds a cylinder-shaped container within the box with her name written on the lid.

Opening it, Dulsissia gingerly eases out its content into her hand and her eyes instantly well up with tears at the sight of the beautiful wildflower. She places her free hand over her mouth to muffle a faint cry of how much she misses him.

“Mom?” Corin asks, sounding anxious. “Did Davarax do something wrong?”

“No, baby.” Dulsissia whispers, placing a soft kiss on the flower’s delicate petals. “He did something perfectly right.”

After that, she gets an idea. It takes no small amount of courage, but Dulsissia scrounges together the ingredients she needs, slips her blade into her pocket, her blaster into the lining of her pants, and then she goes back up into Nevarro to sell her cookies again.

It takes her several weeks to save up the credits and another one to manage to purchase it, but finally she can gather the children in her room and tell them they are going to record a holo-message to Davarax and Paz.

The children eagerly ramble their words, simple everyday things that has happened to them, and Dulsissia wraps it up by telling Davarax and Paz that they are both sorely missed, to be careful and come back home soon. She knows Davarax will see the flower in her hair.

She packs the small holo-projector with the message into a box along with some cookies and then hands it over to the Mandalorian in charge of communication.

A couple of months later, another small box is delivered to her room and Dulsissia feels a jolt of excitement when she sees the holo-projector inside.

Dulsissia gathers the children and they all huddle together in the room to see the message.

The holo-image sputters slightly as it lights up but then stabilizes and the image of Davarax from the chest up comes into view.

“Greetings from the new Covert.” His voice declares and Dulsissia doesn’t realize she squirms with delight along with the children at the sound of him. “Thank you for the message and the cookies. It really brightened our days.” Davarax turns his visor and gestures someone over. When Paz steps into view, Raga makes a tiny sound. He looks tired, but unharmed.

“Hey.” Paz says, a little awkward, and goes silent until Davarax nudges him. “I, uh, hope you liked the sweets. They got plenty of that here. So that’s good. Uhm. Wish you guys were here.”

With that, the final words a rushed and emotional thing, Paz steps out of frame and Davarax turns back to focus on them again.

“Barthor, I’m expecting your project to be done when I get back and to see it operational. Din, I know this is tough for you, but I’m proud of you that you’re doing so well. Raga, I’ll talk to your teacher when I get back, don’t worry about it. I got your back, remember? Corin, good job, you keep looking after your mom.” Davarax then leans back a little and his voice changes tone from gentle to a far more mischievous one. “Okay, Dulcy, this is when you pause the message and usher the kids out. The rest of this message is just for you.”

Dulsissia’s hand flies out and she presses the pause button while her face flares up red.

The children all whine in disappointment, but Dulsissia shows no mercy. All she can think about is what Davarax will say. “Out. Now. Go play. Food in thirty minutes.”

“But can’t we please stay?” Corin pleads. “We won’t tell him we heard.”

Raga tilts her head, raises her eyebrows, not convinced that this isn’t something she’d like to hear.

Corin frowns while Barthor drags Raga up on her feet as well. “But… Mom doesn’t do grown-up kissy stuff.”

“Oh, sweet angel, she definitely does.” Dulsissia corrects him, gesturing for them to hurry up.

She’d feel guilty if not for the comical look of disbelief on Corin’s face as the others drag him out and how curious she is to hear what Davarax has to say.

The door has barely closed before she activates the message again.

Davarax waits a couple of seconds then he tilts his head. “They gone? Yeah? Okay.” He leans forward again. “I miss you, Dulcy. I miss you like crazy. Dez punched me twice in the head yesterday because I couldn’t focus. It’s been too long. I can’t stop thinking about you. Things haven’t gone smoothly here, like I suspected, and I fear I may shoot the next one who causes trouble and keeps me away from home. From you.” He exhales a laugh, leans back and shakes his head a little, as if he can’t believe his own words, before he focuses on her again and sits back up. “I’m running out of time on the holo, but there is one final thing I wanted to say; Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” His voice is so wonderfully soft at that, before the smile returns to his voice. “I know you don’t speak Mando’a, but now you have a dictionary. You’re a clever girl, Dulcy. Look it up.”

The image flickers as he leans forward and reaches out and then he’s gone.

Heart racing, so emotional she can barely breathe, Dulsissia wants to hug the holo-projector close and cry her eyes out at the same time. She needs him back. She misses him like crazy too!

But no time to cry, she has a message to decipher.

-

It’s not easy juggling four children, training with Decco, sneaking up into Nevarro to sell her cookies and deal with everyday challenges as well, but it keeps her busy and prevents her from sliding into self-pity.

Plus, the challenge of Davarax’  message is a delightful distraction.

Dulsissia could just play the line for Decco, but that wouldn’t be right. His words was for Dulsissia and Dulsissia alone, so she decides to try to write down the words as she hears them and go from there.

It takes a bit of work and a bit of time, but the reward? Oh, Dulsissia can hardly believe it.

He loves her. He just told her he loves her. He will carry her in his heart forever.

The abrupt marriage proposal had seemed like a spontaneous thing, born out of residual oxytocins and the distress of having to leave, but even after telling him that can never happen; he still loves her.

Dulsissia is not proud of it, but she spends the next ten minutes just crying. She’s feeling too much and it’s the only way she knows how to deal with it. Once that is done, when she feels calmer, that’s when Dulsissia has to find some discrete way of letting him know she feels the same.

If she was a Mandalorian, she would have sent him a weapon, right? But she’s not. And he’d said he preferred her cookies anyway. So…

Dulsissia records a message with the kids, adds her own after like he’d done to her, telling him just how much she misses him too, that he has to be careful and adds the word she’d learned and rehearsed saying just for this moment; ner cyare.

And in the box, she adds a small bag with a cookie meant for Davarax alone. A cookie shaped like a blaster.

It becomes something to look forward to, something that makes the wait a little less torturous, those packages with these short messages from Davarax and Paz. Visible evidence that they’re alive and sweet, reassuring words that the connection between them all are still there.

Then comes the day when it’s been a year since Davarax and Paz left. A whole year! How is that possible? And it’s been three months since she heard from them. Decco reassures her that the two are fine, otherwise the Covert would have been buzzing with news, but still… she doesn’t like it.

The explanation comes three weeks later, when Corin and Din come running into the room and startles Dulsissia in the middle of wrapping up her wrist, still swollen and stiff after yesterday’s training accident.

“They’re back!” Corin blurts out.

“The ship just landed!” Din adds, equally excited.

“Who? What are you two talking about?” Dulsissia asks, fastening the bandage with a frown.

“Paz and Davarax, of course!” Corin shouts, as if he can’t believe he has to spell it out.

Dulsissia jolts as if someone just punched her in the stomach. She can’t breathe. They’re back?!

“We have to go meet them.” Corin says. “Right, mom?”

She automatically looks over at the mirror she can barely see in the refresher room, thinking she should pretty herself up before Davarax sees her, but Dulsissia realizes that she can’t wait. She looks back at the boys. “Get Barthor. I’ll get Raga.”

It’s not long after that that they are gathered up by the door to Nevarro, where they had said their goodbyes. The children are eerily quiet, just stares at the door, but Dulsissia can’t blame them. She is failing to find a single word of reassurance.

They wait. Seconds tick by. Minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen.

The door opens. Dez Vizla steps inside, barely deigns to send a glance their way as he walks on, and then; there he is.

Davarax appears, stepping inside and is just… there. He’s there. Real, alive, breathing, there.

The children rush forward. Dulsissia can’t move. She can’t anything. She’s frozen in place.

Crouching down, Davarax greets the children with a delighted laugh and accepts everything from hugs to semi-angry shoves for staying away so long, and only once they have started to calm down does he cautiously glance up at her.

Dulsissia tries to smile, but her stupid eyes well up with tears again.

Davarax straightens back up and walks over to her. He barely has time to open his arms before Dulsissia rushes forward and throws her arms around his neck, hugging the man with a touch of desperation. She bites her lower lip hard to hold back the sobs, just holds on tight. Dulsissia loves how his arms goes around her waist to pull her impossibly close while his helmet burrows against her neck.

For a little while, they are allowed to hold each other and linger in the realness of each other, before Dulsissia makes herself lean back a little. Her hands slide over to cup his helmet to hold him still so she can lean her forehead to his.

Davarax shivers at the contact. His arms are still not letting her back away a single inch.

They might have remained like that for ages if not for Dulsissia being distracted by Raga rushing forward with a happy sound and she looks over just in time to see the girl throw her arms around Paz and be hugged tightly in return.

Placing a hand against Davarax’ chest, Dulsissia eases herself away from him and watches the boy with no small amount of unexpected sadness.

It’s Paz, there is no doubt about that, she’d recognize him while being blindfolded, and he more than confirms it with the arms eagerly reaching out for Din and Corin and Barthor to join as well, but Dulsissia can’t help mourn the fact that she’ll never see his sweet face again.

Paz is wearing the trademark blue Vizla helmet.

That brings a lot of mixed feelings to Dulsissia, but right now she decides to focus on the fact that her two boys are finally back with them. They are alive, unharmed and back where they belong. She pushes the thoughts away and smiles at Davarax. “Welcome home.”

[seacottons]

pan — ; hongjoong x reader

pairing: k.hj x reader

wc: 1.6k

notes: pixie!reader. peterpan!hj. lostboys!99line. captainhook!hwa. smee!jongho. fluff. brief make-out session. suggestive dialogue. this is a really dumb, embarrassing, self-indulgent thing i wrote on a whim just to experiment with the whole fairy!au. also, reader is human sized as opposed to tinkerbell's size in the movies.

synopsis: not even pixie dust sparkles like the way hongjoong's eyes do when he looks at you.

Hongjoong's eyes trained onto the residue pixie dust dappling the underside of leaves and moss covered tree trunks. With a small smirk finding its way onto his face, he trudged further into the mouth of the forest, footsteps as light and airy as the puffs of clouds above. With the arrival of autumn, reds and browns paint the forest floor with crispy foliage. Fruit and flowering trees, shrubs, and vines coalesce into a vast, beautiful forest sacred to the fae.

Beams of sunlight penetrate the porous canopy of leaves and trees, and the chirping of crickets could be heard in the distance. His face instantly brightened as he took in your form from behind a large tree. For a fleeting moment, he watched as you reached up to gather the flowering buds off the tree above you, admiring the way the streams of sunlight illuminate your wings.

"How's the prettiest pixie in all of Wonderland doing today?"

You startled at the voice behind you, wings stiffening upright as you swiveled around to be met with nothing but rustling flowering trees and the verdant tapestry that swathes the entire forest. Turning back around, you gasped and stumbled back, nearly dropping the basket of blossoms as Hongjoong hung upside down to face you. You pursed your lips in annoyance as he let out a mischievous snicker, "I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that!"

"I'm sorry, love. You're just fun to tease is all," he mused gently, gracefully flipping down to settle onto a low hanging branch. With a huff, you turn your back to him, iridescent wings fluttering rapidly, and send a plume of pixie dust onto his face in retaliation. He yelps and jerks away to the side, hands in the air as he stumbles out an apology. You take a glimpse of his face and nearly laugh at the sight of golden, metallic dust clinging onto his hair, eyelashes, and nose, "I deserved that."

His frame suddenly floats from the pixie dust settling onto his frame, and he hums in satisfaction while reaching up to grab hold of a mulberry branch, eyeing the berries in contemplation.

"That you did," you smile as you reach down into one of the pouches on the floor, "So, what have you- Ah! Wait! Joong! You forgot your hat again."

"I did? And here I gave Wooyoung the earful of his lifetime for thinking he stole it again."

You regarded him silently, head shaking in amusement at his words. Pulling the green piece of fabric from the bag, you reached over to adjust it onto the top of his head, his mischievous eyes never leaving your face. You caught his gaze, narrowing your eyes as his smirk broadened, "So, whatchya gathering today, cutie?"

"Apple blossoms, mulberries, and mushrooms for the autumn festival," you answered quickly, wings fluttering as you took off into the air to gather the higher flowers, "Don't distract me, Joong. If I don't have these collected by tonight, the council will flip. Everything must be done and ready by today."

"Distract you?" he looked up from the berry-filled basket and feigned a hurt expression before settling on a branch and leaning down to rest his hands behind his head, "I didn't say or do anything. Ignore me, you won't even realize I'm here."

"Don't you have other things to do?" you asked as you dumped a basket full of blossoms into a cotton bag, "Like.. I don't know, train the Lost Boys how to fly with pixie dust? Or raid Captain Seonghwa's ship?"

"I left Yunho in charge of them, don't worry. They're in good, big hands. Also, we need a new supply of pixie dus-"

"What? But I gave you your supply just two days ago!" You give him an incredulous look, arms crossing over you chest.

"Mingi accidentally spilled it all in the river," he rushed to explain, hand reaching up to brush a hand through his red hair, "Besides, I haven't seen Captain what's his face ever since he lost his hand."

"He didn't lose it," you jabbed, "You cut it off."

"But that's what I said," he chuckled as you sent a roll of your eyes in his direction, "Come on, baby. Take a break and sit with me for a few minutes."

You attempt to ignore his whining, pushing past him without making eye contact, before fluttering above his head and rummaging through the interlacing branches to gather more flowers, "No distractions, Joong."

A sudden grip onto your ankle has you yelping, and you quickly find yourself plopping down onto his lap. He flashes you a sheepish grin and a shrug of his shoulders before wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in closer to his chest, "Five minutes, I promise. I just missed you so much."

"But you saw me last night," you scoff playfully, arms reaching up to rest onto his shoulders, your wings sagging down in relaxation as he leaned it to brush the tip of his nose against your own. The colorful cosmos on the forest floor swayed with the gentle breeze, and you huddled closer to him for more warmth.

"I know but," he pressed fleeting kisses down your face before settling onto your lips, his grip hard and unyielding, "I can never get enough of you," he smiles against your mouth, hands reaching down to brush the pads of his fingertips across your thighs, before caressing your flesh. His eyes burned with the familiar sight of desire.

You wanted to pull away, knowing fully well that Hongjoong will definitely will lose himself in the moment, but the warmth that ebbed from his frame was too irresistible, especially when autumn's freezing gusts whipped past the gaps of the trees. A retort was ready on the tip of your tongue, but the way his mouth seized your lips has your mind reeling, and you can only faintly decipher the sweet flavor of mulberries as he prods the seam of your lips with his tongue. His hands tug on your rear, urging your closer so that your hips are flush with his. Answering his unspoken request, you part your lips and sigh in content as he ravishes your mouth with his tongue.

"I told you he came here to get his dick wet again!" a familiar voice suddenly ricocheted throughout the dense forest.

You broke the kiss with a sharp intake of breath, wings instantly going rigid and upright at the unanticipated noise, and you attempted to fly off of Hongjoong's lap, embarrassment filling your lungs at being caught.

Several other voices followed suit after, shushing and scolding the loud-mouthed one.

Hongjoong sent a displeased look over your shoulder at the rustling bushes, and clung onto your frame to keep you from moving, all the while ignoring your pleading looks and flushed face. Leaning in to your ear, he whispers lowly and nods his head at the direction of the five heads peeking discreetly from a few meters away.

It took everything he had to convince you, and with a hesitant nod of agreement, your shimmering wings flutter slightly as your frame ascends off of his lap. You feel a slap land on your rear as you turn to face the five boys, and you jerk your head to the side to throw a glare his way, before flying hastily to where the five boys squabbled behind a few bushes, leaving behind a trail of golden dust in your path.

"Oh, look. I think y/n heard us," Yunho mumbled sheepishly as he slid down against the base of one tree, causing a few moths to flee to higher branches.

With a few harsh flaps of your wings, you sent plumes of pixie dust down onto the unsuspecting boys, blinding them with the sparkling glitter. You watched in amusement as realization suddenly dawned on their features. They yelped as their frames ascended off the ground, hands desperately trying to reach for any branch to cling onto before they float up and out of the forest.

"But Hongjoong never taught us how to fly!" San cried, arms latching onto Yeosang's leg for anchor. The latter suddenly lost his grip on the thick ferns with the sudden weight, and Hongjoong merely snickered as the two floated away. Mingi gripped the back of Yunho's collar, eyes blown out with fear. Several twigs and leaves stuck out from his locks.

"I'm sorry Hongjoong! I promise this was all Wooyoung's idea!"

An indignant squawk leaves the black-haired male, hands reaching out to grip the taller's shoulders, "I didn't force you to come!"

"Yeah, but I had no choice! You know I don't like being left alone!" The two squabbled mid-air, limbs tangling and trapping Yunho in the mess as the three drifted up and away.

You turn to the snickering Hongjoong, and once you meet his gaze, he beckons you with a finger, "Now that that's taken care of, where were we?"

"That's enough distractions for the day," you huffed, reaching over to swipe at his nose.

"Just five minutes," he pleads hopefully.

"I would have covered you in pixie dust too," you smile at the sight of his contagious grin as you settle back onto his lap, "But I just had to make the mistake of teaching you how to fly."

"You sweep me off my feet even without pixie dust," he replies before pulling you by your scarf for a soul searing kiss.

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #11: A Little Restraint: Eijirou Kirishima

Kirishima buys you a new toy. Then he asks you to use it on him. 

Characters: Eijirou Kirishima x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), bondage, aged up characters, oral sex (m and f-receiving), vaginal sex, dom!reader and soft sub!Kirishima, aftercare

Notes: I’m running out of title ideas. Did I say that yesterday? Doubly so today. But I haven’t posted anything with Kirishima since day one!! This dude is one of my favourite comfort characters, honestly. We stan a hero who drinks his respect-women-juice 💖 

Today’s prompt was “restraints,” and I honestly thought about Kirishima tying you up, but... this way sounded so much more fun. 

Kinktober Masterlist 

Sex with Kirishima never gets boring.

When you first started dating, you couldn’t keep your hands off one another. You were fucking at least twice a day; desperate to make up for all the time you hadn’t known one another. Now, six months later, you’re starting to think that desire might never fade.

Granted, real life has gotten in the way of your twice-daily boning sessions, but the want is still there. Proven every time you stumble in the door in a tangle of limbs. Every time you creep through the quiet morning, picking up the trail of clothes you left behind the night before.

Tonight, he’s handsier than usual. It’s giving you ideas.

“Got somethin’ for ya, babe,” he’d said to you one night, appearing in the living room with a shipping box in his hands. You’d made it pretty clear in the past that you didn’t need him to earn your favour with gifts, but he’d looked so excited to show this one to you- you couldn’t help your curiosity.

You’d flipped open the cardboard flaps, only to be faced with a pair of thick leather handcuffs in the bottom of the box.

“You planning on arresting me anytime soon?” You’d teased, though you remember the way your cheeks instantly heated, too. You weren’t stupid. Those were no standard-issue cuffs.

“Naw, I thought…” His cheeks were red, too, as he waved you off. But he’s brave and he trusts you, so he kept going. “I thought we could use ‘em in the bedroom.”

“On me? Sure, I-I’ve never really done that before, but…”

“No.” When you looked up at him again you caught a swell of intent in his gaze. “On me.”

Oh. Oh.  

Kiri’s usually the one to take control when the two of you get into bed. He likes setting the pace of things, worshipping you from head to toe. Taking his time. But, as it turned out, he’d been thinking about this for a while. He loves it when you get on top. And he has to exercise such control in his day-to-day life… he wants to give it up every once in a while, to somebody he trusts.

When he’d first put it like that, there was no way you could refuse. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have some switch tendencies, anyway.

That’s why tonight, as he’s laying you down on the bed, you grab his wrists. Hard. He stops, looking down at you in a moment of flustered confusion.

“Why don’t we keep your hands off tonight?” You growl. You see the realization take over his expression, and he swoops down and catches your lips with a fleeting but very loving kiss.

“I love you,” he growls, tucking his face into your neck and kissing you there.

“Love you, too,” you mumble back, curling your fingers in the front of his shirt. You give his chest a little push, forcing him back. “Now undress.”

The blush is creeping decadently down the back of his neck as he steps away from the edge of the bed, tugging off his shirt and letting it flutter to the ground. Before it even touches the floorboards, he’s fumbling with his belt, tugging it open and shoving his pants to the ground. When he comes back to you in just a pair of crimson boxer-briefs, it’s with the promising swell of his growing erection tucked against one thigh.

He climbs onto the bed, falling onto his back. He looks up at you with the light of adoration in his gaze. Christ, you’re so lucky to have him.

You climb off the bed, stripping down as you cross to the dresser. The cuffs are tucked into the bottom drawer, and by the time you turn back with them stretched between your fingers, you’re clad only in your bra and thong.

From across the room you can hear the growl ripping from his chest. He props himself up on one elbow, watching you take your time as you come back to him.

“Damn,” he chuckles, reaching for you. You slap his hands away and take a step back.

“Are we gonna have a problem?” You hold the cuffs out in front of you. He swallows hard and lays back against the pillows.

“Wait… no,” you sigh. “Roll over. On your belly.”

You can tell he’s losing sight of where you’re taking this, but he rolls over anyway. He trusts you so fully it’s almost heartbreaking. You promise yourself not to misuse that.

As you kneel beside him, he turns to rest his cheek on the pillow. He continues to stare- you can feel his eyes flicking over your body, even as you reach over and carefully buckle one of his wrists into the cuff.

“Tight enough?” You ask, and he gives a low hum. A quick nod.

“Too tight?” He shakes his head, eyes falling shut. You smile. You love it when he gets soft like this. If only you’d known that he was trying to bring out that side of himself again.

You slowly draw his hand into the small of his back and swing a leg over his thighs, straddling them. He lets out a little grunt, his hips pushing into the mattress. You let him stay that way, figuring he’s only going to get himself more excited. You wrap your fingers around his other wrist and tug it to meet the other one.

“This okay?” You press.

“God, yes,” he grunts. The sound comes right from the barrel of his chest- you can feel it vibrate along his spine. This is going to be good.

You buckle his other wrist into the cuffs, running a finger between the padded leather and his skin. You prompt him with the same gentle questions as before, keeping him talking. Making sure he’s still with you.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you climb off of him. “Get up to your knees, now.”

He struggles a little to get his knees underneath his torso, but he’s all hard muscle and raw power and gets upright with little effort. The powerful muscles of his core work visibly as he sits up and you’re practically drooling by the time he comes to rest in front of you- legs spread, erection jutting down one leg of his undershorts, chest heaving ever so slightly.

“Fuck,” you catch yourself gasping as you watch his shoulders work to acknowledge the restraints. Biting your lip, you indulge, reaching in and palming the swell of his erection. He lets out a little grunt and shoots you a crooked grin.

“Somethin’ tells me I’m gonna regret this,” he purrs. You crawl between his thighs and kiss his lips, long and slow and sweet.

“Baby,” you growl, “you’re not gonna regret a thing.”

You make him eat you out first, spreading out on the pillows while he wiggles himself back onto his belly between your thighs. Normally his hands would be roaming all over your body while he tongues your pussy- he’d slide his fingers across your thighs, pinch your nipples, palm your breasts. You can see the disappointment lining his gaze as his arms strain, but he licks you diligently, and it’s not long before your thighs are clamping down around his face as you cum.

You wipe his mouth for him, making him sit up again. In the meantime, you rid him of his shorts, and as he settles onto the sheets his erection bobs between his legs, drooling a thin stream of fluid and framed by a trimmed patch of dark hair.

You lick your lips. You can’t help it. He’s delectable like this. A blank canvas, ready for you to play.

You stroke him first, painstakingly slow. Your fingers are curled loose around him, but every time he tries to thrust his hips into your grip, you squeeze tightly and stop dead. He’s whimpering your name by now, chewing hard on his lower lip as he peers up at you.

“Please,” he mumbles. “More.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” you coo. You slide onto your stomach between his thighs and don’t waste any time. You swallow him down.

He howls, throwing his head back as his thighs draw tight. His hips are trembling, and you can tell he’s trying his best not to thrust right to the back of your throat. Good, you think. He’s already learning.

You plant your hands on his thighs and start to suck. You keep the same painstakingly slow pace as before, planning to draw his pleasure out as slowly as possible, before letting him expel it all at once.

You can feel the tightness catch in his body when he finds a wave of pleasure. You let him ride it for a few more strokes but pull away sloppy and harsh before he can get too far. And he looks up at you with such betrayal in his eyes you seriously think about stopping.

“You with me?” You breathe, sliding your hands up and down his thighs. He’s flushed and broken for you, but he nods with a tightness squaring his jaw.

“Keep going,” he insists.

He’s been holding on long enough.

“Time for your reward,” you mumble. You lean in and pepper kisses down his collarbone. He rises his shoulder into your touch, but he doesn’t perk up just yet.

“C’mere,” you hum, sliding a hand to his shoulder blades. “On your knees again. Nice and tall. Just like that.”

You crawl around in front of him, dropping onto all fours. As soon as you spread your legs he’s gasping and pushing forward, wanting the wet, maddening heat you’re offering to him. You slide a hand between your legs and wrap it around his thick shaft, lining him up with your entrance.

“Slowly,” you urge, and he’s trembling but he complies, easing himself forward into you. You’re soaking and sloppy from before, still sensitive and tight as ha fist around his cock. He bottoms out diligently, slowly, and holds himself there.

“Please,” he gasps, voice breaking. You make him stay there for another few heartbeats. Then you smirk.

“Fuck me.”

He complies with renewed vigor, rearing back and slamming his hips into yours. His thrusts are erratic and sharp, but you meet him beat-for-beat, sliding your hips back as he pushes forward. Your ass slaps tantalizingly against his hips and you know he wants to touch it. Fuck, you should have done this sooner. You can picture him already, straining against those cuffs and aching to palm you.

The sharp cry of your name rouses you. His thrusts are getting shaky, and you realize he’s already getting ready to cum.

“Not… gonna last,” he whimpers. “Please, lemme…”

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Cum for me, Kiri. I wanna feel all of you.”

His peak hits as if on command, and he lets out a feral shout as it rips through him. He fucks himself madly into your body, humping you through his desperate desire. He keeps pumping into you through the spurts of his orgasm, covering his cock and pulling drips of fluid from your body.

When it’s over you slump forward, panting and breathless, but he’s still drawn tight behind you.

“Kiri?” You hum, pushing yourself upright and sliding off his softening cock. He’s still got the desperate flush of desire covering his cheeks, and for a second, you’re worried.

“Let me…” he pleads, “let me touch you.”

“Jesus- here.” You race forward, reaching behind him and freeing him from the cuffs as fast as you can. You don’t even get the chance to drop them off the side of the bed before he flattens you to the bed. His hands glide all over your body, sliding down to your hips and over your breasts. He cards his fingers through your hair and pulls softly, making up for all the contact he couldn’t have before.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, but he’s already slipping a hand between your legs. He pushes one finger into your messy slit, drawing handfuls of cum out as he adds a second and curls his fingers.

He pulls a third orgasm from you before he’s finally satisfied, collapsing beside you and letting you wrap him up in your arms. You stay there for a long while, rubbing his back, letting him continue to slide his hands over all your bare skin.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you mumble after a long moment of silence. He frowns, lifting his head to meet your eyes.

“For what?”

“That was too much. I should’ve…” You don’t get to finish your sentence, because he’s silencing you with a kiss.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” he chuckles against your lips. “Hands down. If you don’t do that to me again soon, I’m gonna be the one punishing you.”

He pulls a smile from you, and you pull him in a little tighter.

“I wouldn’t mind that so much.”

[star-killer-md]

Actus Reus, Mens Rea

@contesa-lui-alucard asked:

Hey hey happy sleepover my friend!! If it’s alright with you, I have two prompts from the Smut list that I’d love to see you combine for... mob Kylo and lawyer reader! Oh snap!! 15 & 37, if you please. If not, no worries, I still hope you have an awesome sleepover 😁 (“Make it hurt, baby.” + “Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch.”)

Anon asked:

hello, may i request clingy/possessive kylo,, thank you

Thank you lovlies for your requests and sorry from the bottom of my depressed ass heart that it took me so fucking long. Anyway here ya go, hope you enjoy some mobster Kylo deliciousness. I’m so excited you liked him Contesa, and I hope you’re into it as well too nonny! Sorry it got long, I truly have no control over that. 

And thank you so much to @sacklersdoll for reading over this for me!

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Angst (its me), Smut (its me), mentions of predator/prey dynamic (mostly as metaphor), possessive Kylo Ren, semi-public sex, no pronouns for the reader by they are afab, dominant Kylo Ren, some brat vibes, Kylo Ren is not nice, allusions to guns, some sorta stalking behavior

Ship: Mob Boss!Kylo Ren x Lawyer!Reader

Summary: You’ve started to take on some pro bono clients as a favor to a friend and Kylo Ren is Not A Fan™ of all the attention this guy has been paying you. After a few months of consulting on the side, you’re beginning to wonder if life working for a mob boss is something you’re really cut out for. Though you quickly learn that you very well may have passed the point of no return when Kylo shows up at your office to remind you just who exactly you work for. 

“I really can’t thank you enough.”

You shook the woman’s hands and returned her smile. Her son stayed quiet, looking at the ground, but mumbled his thanks as well. He was a good kid. Just pissed off the wrong neighbor. One of those ‘get off my lawn,’ ‘good ole American dream’ types who thought welfare was a sign of the devil, and had it out for everyone in the lower tax brackets. 

“Really, it’s no problem,” you walked them to the door, leaving her your business card. “I’ll see you both at the courthouse on Monday.” 

Evan was waiting in your office when you returned. His patent leather shoes rested precariously on the corner of your desk and you knocked them off with a huff. 

“See you’ve made yourself at home,” you said, crossing your arms and staring down at him in your chair. 

He shrugged and stood under your scrutiny, moving around to take the seat across from you. Evan Goodman was an old friend from undergrad. You often got the impression he was still that same cocky frat boy in the head. Still flashed the ‘my daddy has more money than you’ smile on occasion when he really wanted to get under your skin. With his slicked back hair, unnervingly straight teeth, and his annoying prosperity despite never putting in much effort it was somewhat shocking the two still spoke. He was simply not the type of person who had ever needed to try. Success came naturally to him, and much to your dismay.

“What can I say? You’re a very gracious host,” he mused and leaned forward on the desk. “So, how did it go?”

You sighed, “They’ll be alright, might get saddled with a fine but the charges aren’t that serious.” 

“Good, Rosa’s an old friend. I would have helped her out myself, but not really my deal ya know?”

“Yeah, Mr. Tax Attorney, I get it.” 

Evan was kind of a dick, but he was also the kind of friend who would sit on the bathroom floor with you, hold your hair back and sing horrendous parody versions of ABBA no matter who heard. So you couldn’t hate him entirely. That also meant that when he came to you with cases like this, a favor for a friend or whatever the situation may be, you had a hard time refusing. 

It was also a convenient front for you not-so-legal legal work you’d been invested in for the past few months.

“Seriously, I know I’ve been asking a lot of you recently,” he flashed you that god awful grin and kicked his feet up again. “You can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.” 

He had been coming to you for pro bono work with increasing frequency, especially over the past month or so, but again, you didn’t wholly mind it. You went into this kind of work for a reason. Though, you were starting to get the feeling that a certain, brooding, less than lawfully abiding businessman did not feel the same. 

Kylo Ren dealt frequently with the shady, black market underbelly of capitalist society, but you were less accustomed to his world and not completely ready to throw yourself to the hounds just yet.

You had already missed more than a few meetings and canceled on dinner tonight to meet with Rosa. To be fair, it wasn’t as if he’d made any indication this ill-defined whatever-it-was going on between the two of you was anything serious. And you were only his consultant, for now, so this took precedent anyway. At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself of. Definitely not a way to avoid thinking about fucking your boss who also happened to be in with the mob. 

Definitely not.  

“I wouldn’t have agreed to help if I couldn’t manage it,” you yawned softly and stood to collect your things. 

It was late and you were beginning to fantasize about how soft and warm your sheets would be. If you got back in time you could pop them in the dryer and get in an episode or two before bed. 

“Hey, let me at least buy you dinner or something since I kept you out so late,” Evan parked his skinny frame in your path to the doorway. 

“You’re going to apologize for keeping me out late, by keeping me out even later?”

“Do you want free food or not?”

Pursing your lips, you stared at him for a few moments. He really did know all your weaknesses. You had skipped out on meeting with Mr. Ren—or Kylo or sir or whatever the hell you were supposed to call him now—already tonight, however, Evan was sure to take you somewhere nice and it wouldn’t be so morally repugnant if it was just as a ‘thank you….’

“Okay, fine,” you conceded and let him lead you out to the parking garage, locking the office up behind you. 

***

The next morning you stumbled past reception in a haze. Both from lack of sleep, and the bitingly cold winds battering your building despite the neighboring high rises blocking the brunt of the gale. The young woman at the desk informed you tersely that a Mr. Goodman was already waiting for you in your office and that you should really get here on time if you were expecting clients this early. 

You agreed that, yes you probably should but, you know, “trains and all that mess,” and tried not to judge her too harshly. After all, she was the barrier between you and the hundreds of calls this place received daily. 

Before slipping through the door with your name plate, you hung your coat on the rack and switched your phone on. It’d died on you last night amidst the allure of fancy, late night dinner and your sleep deprivation riddled brain had not cared enough to plug it in before bed. Fuck Amazon, but thank god for its speedy delivery of portable charges. 

You chewed your lip as the lock screen came to life. One missed call and a text. Both, of course from the most anxiety inducing sender, Kylo Ren. Because why would it be anyone else? His name menacing even typed out in standard black font. 

The text read:

Meet me at 8am.

It was very much like him—a command with punctuation and absolutely no details. The message receipt showed it was sent two hours ago, and it was already half past eight. Shit. Your fingers shook as you pulled up his contact and called. Every interaction left you coursing with adrenaline. Even now, miles away listening to the dial tone was nerve-wracking. Your heart pounded, hands slick in their grip on your phone. Maybe it was because you were never sure where you stood with him. Maybe it was because he was handsome and he knew it. Strong and he knew it. Intimidating and mysterious and closer in some ways to a Greek god than a man. He was all encompassing, and filled every available space in any room he occupied. 

Sometimes you thought you might choke on his presence. 

It rang once, twice, three times before cutting out completely. You stared down at the blank screen, biting your lip and shooting off a quick text. You were sorry, something important had come up, you would meet him the second it was convenient. 

Evan slapped you heartily on the back when you came into the room. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, evergreen with small white blossoms. 

“So, how many hours did you manage last night?” he asked, smiling his shit eating smile and seemingly unaffected despite the fact that he had to be running on just as little sleep as you.  

“I’m not even sure at this point,” you groaned as you tossed your bags down behind the little metal desk. “Time ceases to exist when you take trains past midnight.”

“Fair enough. Hey look,” Evan waved the greenery in your face, “courtesy of Rosa’s shop. She insisted I bring you something as thanks. I figured you could put them out in the front or something to brighten things up.” 

“They’re lovely. Please tell me you’re only here as a glorified delivery boy.”

His shoulders slumped at your lack of amusement, but before he could quip back the landline in your office rang. You answered, holding a finger towards Evan and leaning against the edge of the desk. It was the receptionist, Jess was her name? Maybe? You could never remember, someone else always addressed the holiday gift cards anyway. 

“There’s someone here to see you at the front desk,” she clipped, almost more exasperated than before. 

You told her you’d be right there and hung up. Evan grabbed his coat as you headed out, holding the door for you and following into the hall. 

“I’ll leave you to it if you’re busy, but give me a call after Monday and tell me how it goes,” he continued rambling as you came out into the front.

You had a smart comeback prepared, something about how simple the case was, he should have more faith in you, he was the reason you were busy in the first place, etc…but every word turned to ashes on your tongue when you saw him. 

Kylo Ren, standing right there at the desk and glaring at your receptionist. His suit was dark blue and ironed to perfection. Each leg was creased perfectly down the front and the jacket sat flawlessly on his wide set shoulders. He was a wall of unimaginably expensive fabric and what looked concerning like barely contained rage. You could see it in the twitch of his eye, the set of his jaw, and in the way his gaze landed on you the second you walked in. 

The way a predator immediately hones in on its prey. 

You froze just feet from him in the lobby, floundering like a fish on a hook. 

Evan, for his part, seemed not to notice the tension at all and continued to say his long winded goodbyes, placing the flowers in your hands and completely unaware of the slow, measured tightening of Kylo’s massive hands into fists at his side. 

“I’m free on Monday evening so we should—” 

“She’ll be busy.” 

Evan frowned, turning to face the man standing before him, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Kylo’s voice was a dark thing, low and rumbling, “She will be otherwise occupied.” 

His words were punctuated by a step towards you, one paw of a hand easily gripping your entire jaw. Lucky he did too, otherwise it would have dropped straight to the floor when he shot one last cobra strike glare in Evan’s direction, and pressed his mouth to yours. Right there. In the lobby. For everyone to see.  

The absolute bastard.

His lips were pillow plump and softer than the silk lining of his suit—and even through the surge of shock and embarrassment and more than a touch of anger—you felt your heart throb at the way he licked into your mouth. 

The flowers tumbled from your hands onto the floor as everything in you went limp under his touch. This was nowhere near the first time you’d tasted him, but it was like this every time. Like drinking ambrosia. An otherworldly experience. 

But that didn’t stop the sharp pain of his crushing grip on your arm, the way he nearly lifted your feet off the floor when he pulled away to drag along behind him. You could hear Evan spluttering in the hall behind you, the receptionist going back to clacking at her keyboard as if nothing had happened. 

When Kylo opened your office door he just about threw you inside. You tripped as he tipped you in, stumbling and catching yourself on the edge of your desk. The power behind his hand alone was undeniable. You shuddered at the thought of the array of purple fingerprints he would leave behind. It made your mouth dry and your heart sink. Confusing and delicious. 

And left you seething nonetheless. 

“What the fuck was that?!” you were not calm, so you didn’t attempt any semblance of it. 

“You didn’t answer me,” he said, level as he always was. 

The quiet before the storm and all that. 

“About the meeting? I tried to call, my phone died—”

“Because you were out catching trains at all hours of the night, I’m aware.” 

You paused, glaring at the wall of muscle between you and the door, “How did you know that?”

“So you’re not denying it?”

Kylo stalked towards you like a beast in his tailored suit and polished leather shoes like talons. You could hear your heartbeat, hear the blood rushing in your ears. Just like a rabbit in the sightline of a hawk, you were clearly being hunted. 

“Why would I deny something I’m not trying to hide?” your voice came out horse as he caged you between the desk and his chest, arms on either side to block any route of escape. 

“No you are certainly not adept at subtlety,” he said and you couldn’t take your eyes off the way his tongue moved behind his teeth. “This is the fifth time that idiot in the hall has distracted you from work.”

“That’s not an answer,” you tried to spit the words but his eyes were boring into you. The honey of them spilled down your spine and made you shiver. “How did you know? You are not entitled to any information pertaining to my personal life, regardless.” 

“Watch your mouth,” he growled. “Entitlement has no part in this.”

You were entering dangerous territory, though stopping curiously did not occur to you.

“I don’t think you have the right to be throwing out commands right now, not after that display.”

“Have you forgotten who you work for?” Kylo hissed at you, hands wrapped around the metal of your desk so hard you thought it might warp under his fingers. 

“Of course not,” you desperately tried to keep your voice down lest anyone get even more a spectacle. 

“Then what is this?” one hand left the desk and pulled a phone from inside his jacket. 

The screen lit up, and you looked in horror at pictures of yourself. Pictures of yourself from last night. Pictures of yourself from last night at dinner with Evan, interspersed with shots of you crossing the street, waiting on the train platform, and stumbling back into your apartment. Each was clearer than you’d expected, presumably from some insanely expensive surveillance equipment. You had been out for hours, and you had been watched the whole time. 

You narrowed your eyes, flicking back and forth between Kylo’s face—the graceful bridge of his nose pointed down at you—and gaped. 

“You had me followed…” you breathed the words into the slowly shrinking space between your bodies. 

He simply nodded, as if, somehow, you were foolish for not having considered this before. Perhaps you were. Perhaps you had no idea what you had gotten yourself into. Perhaps you had signed on for much more than a paycheck when you agreed to work for Kylo Ren. 

“I can’t have my employees getting distracted.”

Kylo slowly drifted ever closer, shoulders bent so he was eye level with you. He pressed further into the desk, pinning you between his body and the hard surface that bit into your ass. Something long and thick and hard nudged your thigh. 

“I don’t know why you though having me followed was necessary—” 

“You’re an arrogant little slut who needs to be reminded of your priorities,” his hand snatched your leg and wrenched it open so he could stand between them, “ I am not something you do on the side.” 

You could hear the way his teeth grit out the words, the way they formed as a growl deep in his beast’s throat. The hand still settled on the desk, skimmed up your hip and chest, his fingers 

biting into your jaw. 

“Do you understand me?”

Your lips were shut tight in a thin line, eyes wide and staring up like the prey you were. The silence only provoked him more. Snarling, two thick fingers wrenched your mouth open, pressing hard on your tongue and making you gag around them. 

“Answer.” 

Kylo Ren almost always spoke in commands. Having power did that to people, and rarely did it ever compel you, but his words sunk deep into your bones. Dredged up some dark, instinctual need to obey. To submit to this show of control. 

“Yes,” you mumbled around his fingers in your mouth, drool slipping past your lips when they moved. 

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

You watched him suck his teeth, grabbing your face tighter and dragging you close so he could spit directly into your open mouth. He slammed your jaw shut, nearly taking off the tip of your tongue and hissed into your ear. 

“Swallow.” 

Again, you did without a thought. And it was disgusting, but invigorating, sent off some spark in your stomach with how easily he bent your body to his will. There was no man like him, you decided. And maybe this was simply because Kylo Ren was not a man. That term alone would never do him justice. 

In one shockingly smooth motion, you found yourself flat on your back, ass hanging off the edge of the desk with his hands on your hips. He ground himself against you, the throbbing of his cock evident even through the layers of clothing. That feeling on its own had you soaked through, thighs sticking with liquid excitement. 

“Remember who you work for,” he growled into your neck, licking a long stripe up your throat and sucking at the exposed skin. 

But it was very clear to you what he really meant. 

Remember who you belong to. 

You slapped a hand over your mouth as he bit down on the skin just above your shoulder, laving his tongue over the stinging flesh. Kylo pulled back, frowning down at you and yanking the hand away from your face. One held both your wrists in a vice lock while the other ripped your panties straight down your legs and left the dripping fabric discarded on the carpet. 

“No, they’re going to hear you,” he grunted, and pulled one of your hands down, pressing it to your slit and running your fingers through your slick. “Go on, touch your fucking pussy and let them know what a little whore you are for me.” 

It was something about his voice. Something in the way it left him, its timbre, its wonder, unquestioning. You could never refuse him. 

So, with a small nod you parted your folds, head resting on a stack of files as you drew slow circles around your clit with a shaky hand. His eyes never left your cunt, tracing the movement of your finger and the trail of wetness that seeped from you to the desktop. Softly, you gasped as the familiar placement of your fingers made you clench and arch up. Kylo’s rubbed small circles into your inner thighs with his thumbs, kneading the flesh there. 

When the spark was there, the lovely pulsing in your nerves alight, you dipped down, teasing and slipping inside, grinding down as best you could on your hand. It wasn’t enough, but nothing ever was since you’d been ripped open on Kylo’s cock. 

Evidently he did not find your work sufficient either. 

Another finger joined yours, stroking your lips and circling your entrance. His touch made you whine, the promise of hands that were not your own never ceasing to illicit a new gush of pleasure. 

“I said,” he murmured, his touch so terribly feather light. “Let them hear you.” 

He was like a gunshot, sudden and forceful and almost instantly had you screaming. Kylo slammed his fingers into you, so full and so deep, curling hard against that lovely spot inside. 

“Kylo, god, please—” you moaned long and low, your face burning with the knowledge that the walls were barely thick enough to keep your phone calls private, much less the shameful noises he pulled from you. 

“What was that?” he panted, adding another finger and pumping them deep into your cunt. “You can do better.” 

Your teeth dug so hard into your lip you thought it might bleed, but you couldn’t take much more. The ledge was approaching—Kylo Ren knew it—and he was determined to push you straight into the fire. 

You choked when his deliciously thick fingers were ripped from you, walls fluttering around the awful emptiness. Your head lolled back as you listened to him work the buckle of his belt and slacks open, and when you did glance down your mouth watered at the sight. Kylo—impossibly long cock throbbing in his hand—stood between your legs, stroking himself from root to tip. You watched little pearls of precum bead at the head while his thumb swiped across to smear them along his length. 

“You are insane,” you hissed through gritted teeth. 

Did you need to keep this position? No, technically you would be more than well off on the salary Mr. Ren so graciously provided. However, you could not mentally deal with being terminated for getting dicked in your office during work hours. 

Kylo smirked, the edge of his perfect cupid’s bow cocked back and aimed straight at your chest. Without warning, he sunk into you, straight to the hilt and threw his head back as you sobbed with the sharp sting of being split in two on his cock. 

“This is what you do,” he growled into your ear, hands on either side of your head as he worked his length back out only to pound into you again. “You work for me and you take my cock and don’t ever fucking forget that.”  

Your legs were wound so tightly around his waist that had he been any other man, his ribs would have cracked under the pressure. His hair, falling in black, satin waves, was gorgeous even in the sterile office lighting. You threaded your fingers into it at the roots and held him while your body rocked against the desk. It’s metal surface pinched at your sink and made your back ache, though that was nothing compared to the burn of Kylo’s thrusts, sliding against your walls. You felt him in your throat. You always did. That was simply the way things were with him. He filled you painfully, thoroughly, took over all of your senses until it was just him. 

And, strangely, it was the most alive you’d ever felt. 

He was unlike anyone you’d ever known.

You couldn’t scream for him, but you could still let him taste the desperation, the willingness in your body to mold against him. So you kissed him, dragged him by the hair to meet your lips and licked past his teeth, gasping and moaning on his tongue as you sucked it hard and cried into his mouth. 

And he drank you down, picking up a punishing rhythm and breaking blood vessels where his hands gripped your hips. One drifted lower, thumb pressing down hard on your clit as your cunt clenched around his length. The desk was lifting off the ground with every thrust, the room filled with the wet sounds of your bodies and you were quickly melting under him. 

Warmth was spreading, growing, building out from your pussy, igniting in your veins. He was right. This is what you did. This is what he did to you. This toe curling, lip biting, bone shattering kind of pleasure. 

Oh you were so royally fucked. 

“I—oh shit—Kylo I’m,” you pulled back just enough to pant out a warning before the wave took you. 

So hot, it washed over your skin and made your legs shake and your hands leave his hair to dig your nails into his chest through the crisp white button down he wore. 

“Feel that?” he grunted as you convulsed and shuddered under him, “Feel how this pussy was made for me.” 

You nodded, buried your face in his neck and held on as he worked you through your climax and straight into his own. Once, twice he ground his cock deep in you, feeling how tight you were around him until he was spent and spilling hot, thick ropes of cum that coated your walls and dripped out around his length. 

He panted, lazily rolling his hips, fucking you slowly until finally, he came to a halt with his softening cock still sheathed inside you. Seconds past, or maybe hours, you couldn’t tell. Kylo tended to have that effect on you. Time slipped away so easily in his presence, like there was never enough of it. 

When he did pull away, you stayed with your back firmly planted amidst the mess of scattered paperwork and manila envelopes. He rose to his full, towering height and tucked himself away, straightening the wrinkles in his suit and eyeing you only once from the side. You admired his profile, you never understood until now what the meaning of the word “regal” truly was. 

Under the dictionary definition, his picture surely would be there, staring at you down the bridge of his marble carved nose. 

You sat up on your elbows as he stalked towards the door. 

“Was that all you came for?”

Kylo paused, broad back still facing you and leaving the room feeling irrevocably empty with just the intention of his absence. 

“We’ll reschedule for five tonight,” he said, filling the door frame completely. ���Don’t be late.” 

The door clicked shut behind him and the sound of it made you collapse back onto the desktop. You laid there for a moment, leaking your combined spend and aching. The throb of him settled in your muscles and festered. But the worst part was the other ache, the pain of being without. And maybe you had been a bit avoidant. Maybe this work really was so you didn’t have to see him. Because if you saw him you’d end up fucking him—which was fine, which was good, which was great actually—but then he would leave. And you couldn’t decide which wanting was worse. The wanting before or the wanting after. 

Maybe it didn’t matter. 

You had more important things to think about anyway. Like securing the receptionist an incredibly large holiday bonus, assuming you still had a job here at the end of the day. 

Maybe that didn’t matter either. 

It might be high time you made a commitment to whatever the hell kind of mess you’d stumbled into. Kylo Ren was an enigma in the best kind of way. Maybe you should stop running from it.