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maybege · 2 months

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Fuck me up, Florida!

Summary: Boba fucks you to sleep.

Pairing: ex-footballer!Boba Fett x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 1.3k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, older man/younger woman, age gap, dom!Boba, sub!Reader, Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, mentions of consensual somnophilia, unprotected sex, dirty talk, little bit of humiliation

This is a slightly extended and edited version of the blurb that I had previously only posted on tumblr. It is set in the same universe as (American) footballer!Paz and Boba is basically a retired football player who now acts as head coach for Paz’s team. Technically, I have some more ideas for this but for now, I just want to enjoy the absolute filth this character brings out in me. Happy weekend!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“Daddy, I can’t take it anymore,” you whined, your legs wriggling as you tried to escape his grasp. But the sensation did not let up. You had lost count of how many times you had come. You had lost count of how many times he had come. Then again, you had no idea what time it was. It had been dark when you had slipped into his room and it was dark outside still.

It was also winter and the days were short so who was to say, really.

“What was that?” Boba asked, his thumb continuing to brush over your clit again and again.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. You must have looked like a mess.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked you, his hand on the back of your neck. His eyes looked at you, dark and intense, and you were thankful for the dim light of the lamp on the bedside table. Because his eyes were what had drawn you in the first time and they were what tethered you to reality now.

You nodded, another gasp escaping you as one finger pushed inside your pussy. The way was eased by the several loads of come he had left there during the night.

“Can you repeat it for me, princess?” he asked gently, his forehead resting against yours, “Can you say our safe word?”

“Football,” you whispered your voice from when you had screamed your orgasms into the pillow.

His movements slowed. “Do you want me to stop? Do you want to use the safe word?”

You remained silent, looking up at the older man above you. You were both sweaty, bodies running hot from the way you had spent the last few hours.

He raised a brow expectantly, shifting and you could feel his cock stirring against your hip. You whimpered, your pussy clenching at the prospect of feeling him inside you again.

“You asked me to push you to your limits, little one,” he reminded you, his fingers dipping inside your folds, “You asked a man old enough to be your father to fuck you so hard you can finally sleep. You can use your safe word anytime you want. But Daddy is not stopping until he hears you say it.”

And with that, he climbed on top of you again.

“Daddy, please,” you whimpered, unsure you what it was that you needed.

“What is it, little one?” he teased you, planting a hot kiss on your neck as his fingers pinched your nipple. Your back arched off the bed and into his touch.

“’m tired,” you finally brought out, your words slurring, “I am tired, Boba.”

His dark chuckle sent shivers down your spine. His weight left you and for a moment, you were scared that that was it. That he would leave you alone. “Turn around then,” he instructed you, his hand landing a slap on your ass you followed his order.

You squeaked, turning you laid down on your belly. “Get nice and comfortable,” he rumbled, helping you fold your arms and cuddle a cold pillow to your face, “You comfortable, princess?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, your hand reaching behind you to try and touch him, “Daddy, please, I need …”

“I know what you need,” he reassured you. You felt the bed dip behind you and soon, his warm hands spread your legs apart. Your eyes slipped shut, relishing in his soft touches and the knowledge of what was to follow.

The tip of him swiped through your folds and you clenched. “C’mon, princess,” he coaxed you, one big hand squeezing your hip, “Relax. You know you want another load.”

The truth in his words made your cheeks heat up and you spread your legs further. Boba Fett was a large man and even though this was not the first time he had fucked you, your lungs still lost all breath when he pushed inside you.

“Fuck, you’re tight, princess,” he groaned, slowly continuing his advance. You could feel the come and the thought made you clench. You never thought you liked being messy. Turns out you loved being filthy.

At least for him.

It took only a moment until he was fully seated inside you and the feeling of completeness that filled you made you smile. “Look at you,” he whispered, leaning forward until his chest was plastered against your back, “Pretty princess really cannot get enough. No, she always wants another load in her pretty little pussy, hm?”

“Daddy,” you whined, resting your face on your cheek so he could kiss the one that was facing him, “I want your come. I was a good girl.”

A large hand landed next to your face and your eyes drifted over the swirling tattoos on his arm. Maybe one day you would ask him about them instead of staring at them and salivating when you watched him train.

“You are the best girl,” he agreed, “Best little slut that ever took my cock. You can fall asleep too, little one, that is why we’re doing this, isn’t it?” he mocked you, “Needed a big cock to fuck you to sleep.”

He continued moving, slow and steady, the movement making your clit throb.

“Yes,” you sighed, your words jumble in your mouth as you drifted off, “That is exactly what I needed.”

“What’s happening?“

You did not quite know what had awakened you because when you peeled your eyes open, the light on the nightstand was off. When had that happened? And why could you still make out the distinctly male figure of Boba in the room?

It took you a few too many seconds to realise that the sun had risen.

Boba was standing next to the bed. He didn’t look anything like last night. For one, he was dressed. Partially, at least. You blinked, your head feeling like melted icecream on the hot summer asphalt. He was pants but no shirt and you snuck your hand out of the warm cocoon of the blanket to reach out and touch him.

“Shh,” he murmured, leaning over you. His hand on your cheek was pure bliss and you forced your eyes to remain open even though it was so hard and you just wanted to sleep.

His mouth planted a soft kiss on your lips and you smiled, distantly noticing that he smelled fresh and showered. Was he leaving?

“Got a meeting this morning,” he whispered the answer to your mental questions, “Pre-training session, too.”

You hummed, frowning as you tried to get your brain to work. It had been so long since you had gotten a proper night of sleep, that you genuinely felt like you could use another 12-13 hours just to feel human again.

But maybe that was not what he wanted?

“Should I – “ you swallowed, “Do, uh, do you want me to leave?”

Boba’s answer was immediate.

“Hell no,” he murmured by your ear before pressing a kiss to your jaw. You loved him for keeping his voice low, his touches soft and if you had felt any braver, you would have asked him to stay.

“You finally got your sleep, princess, I'm not about to rob you of your well-deserved rest.”

“Well deserved, hm?” you smiled with your eyes closed, the

“Well-deserved indeed,” he chuckled, “My good girl deserves her rest.”

My good girl. That title should not make you feel as warm as it did, right?

You smiled, already drifting off again so you only faintly heard the door closing behind him before sleep took over again.

But the next time you woke up, several hours later judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it was to the sight of a hotel staff member arranging the biggest breakfast collection on the balcony.

Your phone lit up.

Bon appétit, princess.

#maybege writes #boba fett x reader #boba fett x fem!reader #smut

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faghubby · 7 months

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Pretty husband

"What are you doing?" My wife Jen screamed. I jumped up I had not heard her come home. I was laying on the bed wearing the lingerie I had bought for her last Valentine's day. Jen had worn it only once. I had worn it many times since. The red corset with matching sheer thong. I had ruined the matching stockings but still loved wearing them. I tried to cover myself as I noticed Jen taking pics with her phone.

"Jen I can explain" I wimpered.

"I am sure you can try but this seems self explanatory" Jen told me. She turned and stormed out of the house. Although I was terrified of what she would do. My dick was harder then I could ever remember I quickly masterbated then got changed back to my normal clothes. I tried to call and text Jen but got no response of any kind. I finally fell asleep with no word from Jen.

Jen returned at 10am the next morning. She marched right past me to the bedroom. I jumped up and rushed after her. She was getting undressed when I walked in.

"Beth helped me find your online persona" Jen informed me. I panicked as she continued

"female led marriage "? She smiled as she removed her panties she was now naked as she laid on the bed. She spread her legs.

"Well get to it" she said plainly. I crawled between her legs. I saw dried cum mashed into her hair. I lifted my head and went to say something

"Don't! You know you want it" Jen told me. "Or should I just send everyone the pics of you all dressed up with your little pee pee all excited. I just swallowed hard and licked her pussy. I could taste the salty load of some man as it started to leak form her.

"I learned alot about what you want" Jen said. "Cuckolding can be crossed off your list. Don't worry it won't be the last time " she held my head down as I licked her used pussy. I didn't stop until she came on my tounge.

"Paul things are going to change around here" Jen told me as she laid on the bed naked.

"I can't talk to you like this. Strip" she ordered.

"Jen we can talk, I can explain" I begged.

"PAUL GET NAKED!" Jen said with a raised voice. I quickly stripped.

"No panties" Jen sounded disappointed.

"now since i am revoking your rights in this marriage" Jen stated.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Do not interrupt me" Jen said annoyed. As she got up and put on a robe. I fell silent

"Now I am taking full control of this marriage. You may give your opinion if I ask for it. But I will decide alone what actions we will take.

"In addition since you like acting all girlie, you will start today. No more sneaking around touching my things. You will wear your pretty things all the time. And shave those legs so you don't look ridiculous" Jen told me."

"Jen I can't" I started she walked over and smacked me across the face.

"Don't deny this is what you truly want. I have scene your Tumblr. Pinintrest and even your Femlife dating app" Jen told me. "This will also stop. You will not post things or look at inappropriate things online without my approval" Jen informed me.

"You won't have to worry about not satisfying me sexually any more either. As I said before I will cuckold you. Find real men to please me." Jen stood behind me her hand slid across my ass. "But I don't want you touching yourself without my promission either"

"Now, I want you completely free of body hair. The mustache goes as well. Only hair better be one the top of your head" Jen told me. She smacked my ass.

"Get to it" she commanded. I went to the bathroom and filled the tub. I wasn't sure where to start so I started with my face. Then attempted my legs. My penis was hard the whole time. This task was alot harder then I thought it would be. I had been at it for over an hour when Jen walked in.

"Jen I can't reach" I started. Jen went under her sink and pulled out a bottle of nair and a long handled applicator she used for lotion. And handed it to me.

"You will put this on when you finish" she told me touching a pile of clothes. Then leaving me alone again. I read the instructions and used it also to touch up any areas I had missed with the razor. As I waited I looked thru the clothes Jen had left. There was a babu blue thong with a dark blue lace sports bra looking thing. The slacks and shirt seemed to be mine. She also had left a pair of her pink socks. I rinsed off watching the last of my bodybhair gather around the drain. Then got dressed. The bra was easily seen thru the white thin shirt. I came out of the bathroom.

"Do you feel pretty?" Jen asked.

"Yes" I mumbled unable to look at her. The thong unable to hold my erection.

"Good that way you will always remember your place" she told me.

"I expect you to do the womanly duties around here from now on" Jen told me. I was a bit confused by what she meant we had never been a couple that dealt in such roles.

"You will behave as if you are a 1940s wife. All household duties are yours to forfil" Jen informed me. "Don't worry about things that are to manly. I will find someone to help you with them. She walked away. Without another word. I thought about what she had said and seeing dishes in the sink. I went to clean them.

"It's late I will order up some lunch" Jen announced she didn't ask what I would like. About half an hour later the doorbell rang.

"Paulie answer the door" Jen called out. I went to answer aware my bra was on display as well as my pink socks. I hesitated by the door bell rang again. I could see Jen was getting annoyed. I answered the door the young man looked confused but didn't say anything. Jen had paid all i had to do was sign.

She had gotten me a salad and flavored water. So I could watch my girlie figure.

"I have ordered you all new panties. So you don't have to wear mine" Jen told me as we sat and ate. I watched as she ate a burger from my favorite restaurant while I ate my salad.

"A good house wife spends most of their time making sure the house is clean and orderly. I expect you to learn and self motivated yourself to do just that. You will have to pay close attention on laundry. Separate things handwash and such" Jen told me. I worked and with Jen permission I used the internet to learn how to do housework. I worked till about 9pm. Rarely seeing Jen although she was home.

"Bedtime" Jen informed me "now go get ready."

As I brushed my teeth. Jen came in. "You will have to learn a night time routine. Face care, hair, lotion you do want to be soft don't you?" Jen informed me.

"I understand" I said softly. She gave me about a half hour then called me to the bedroom. She handed me a satin nightgown. I changed leaving the my panties. Jen still fully dressed tucked me in.

"Your clitty is still hard, you been excited all day" Jen teased.

"Yes" was all I could manage as her hand slid under the covers. She pulled them back her hands ran down my smooth stomach and hips. She spread my legs but was careful not to touch my erection.

"Roll on your side" she told me she positioned me with my ass towards her my one leg bent her hand slid over my ass crack.

"Have you ever played with your sissy hole?" She asked

"A finger" I mumbled as I answered she applied lube to my hole then worked her finger in.

"My pretty husband likes when I play with you, don't you?" Jen asked.

"Rub yourself, don't jerk just rub" Jen told me as she fingered my ass. Pushing a second finger up my ass.

"Chuck fucked me last night, did you like eating your friends cum out of my dirty cumt?" Jen told me. Chuck was one of my closest friends.

"I showed him the pics of my pretty husband and begged him to fuck me. Since I needed a real man. He has a lovely cock, did you know?" Jen continued. I came in my nightie. Jen removed her fingers and tucked me back into bed.

"Goodnight baby" she said kissing me on the forehead and turning out the light. I layed in bed sticky my mind wondering what else Jen would make me do. Sleep didn't come quickly but I didn't dare to turn on the light or change my clothes. I finally fell asleep before Jen came to bed.

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cactuswaterscactusfields · 2 years

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Never About Us - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Designated Traitor

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.0k

For anyone who has trouble imagining a sith din, here’s a link to a Tumblr post with something I made on mandocreator.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Violence, Suspense, graphic depictions of violence, injury, IVs, compound fractures, and mentions of death. Choking. Loneliness. Loads of anxiety. This one has a pretty graphic description of injuries and blood, so if that kind of thing bothers you, please don’t read this chapter. A teensy amount of desperation. Lots of pain and suffering.

Translation guide: Beroya (mando’a): “Bounty Hunter”

Osi’yaim (mando’a): “Shithouse”, a very cowardly person. Very very heavy insult.

Thank you to Geo and Wren for beta-reading this! I appreciate you each and every day!

Your POV

The first thing you notice is the quiet. Your whole life, you’ve been surrounded by noise, always surrounded by unescapable sound that is always in the background, that you have to focus on, have to find, but it’s always, always there. Whether it’s the noise of ships taking off and landing, your boss talking to a potential client over a holo, the creaking of machinery, the rumble of a hyperdrive, or the gentle rumble of your neighbor’s sonic. There is always something going on, something to entertain your ears, but no, not here.

You’re surrounded by nothing but silence. You sit up, and the gentle orange glow of a nightlight greets your eyes. The silence begins to throb, as your heartbeat thuds loudly enough to be heard.

You’re in a bed. A warm, soft, squishy bed with blankets that keep you at the perfect temperature, surrounded by metal walls and an unforgiving metal ceiling. You know this bed. You know it very well, it’s the bed the Mandalorian Inquisitor put you in after your little run-in with the Trandoshan on Hoth. Anger. Rage. Bloodcurdling fury. It comes back to you. He had said those magical words, and then your vision went dark.

“I need to leave.”

It echoes in your mind as if it’s the only song you’ve ever heard. That, coupled with the deafening silence, causes you to get up out of bed. You need to do something. You need to hear something. You need something. Your ears are pounding as the blood rushes away from your head when you stand, and your vision goes spotty. You feel yourself lose your balance, and you fall into a wall, your shoulder letting out a throb of protest.

Your vision finally returns, and your hearing soon follows, and…you realize there is a distinct lack of Mandalorian Presence on the ship. You take a step, and your ankle begins to ache again, but you continue on your path. It’s not the worst thing you’ve felt, and you can deal with it. Right?

You hope so. You open the door, and a quiet hull greets you, a soft beeping sounding out occasionally from the water recycling unit, showing that it’s operating. After a moment, you realize it’s still processing your shower, meaning you haven’t been out for long. You stretch and make your way to the hatch. No sound means you’re not in hyperspace, and the fact that the ship isn’t running means you’re not moving. The oxygen recycler isn’t running, which means you’re on a habitable planet.

The only question…which one did The Mandalorian abandon your sorry ass on?

You reach up to press the hatch opening, and the hull creaks for a moment before the hatch slowly opens.

Green. So, so, so much green. Your eyes and mind take a moment to adjust to the sheer life around you, and you’re greeted by a pleasant sight. Green trees, green moss on rocks, green grass on the ground. The wind gently blows past your face, and you smell it. Moisture. Your father told you of this smell, of its name. Petrichor. The smell of rain after it’s fallen. You can feel all the lifeforms around you in your blood, in your bones, and in your mind like a massive web spreading over the entire planet. You reach your hand out, and a droplet lands on it from a tree somewhere above the ship. It’s cold, fresh, and you gently shake it off before you take your first tentative step into your new surroundings. Your feet gently squish on the mossy dirt, and it sticks to your feet slightly, leaving the smallest flecks of green on them. You take another step, and a cold rock greets your foot. You see something fly through the trees, and then it’s followed by something else. Your senses tell you it’s a form of some kind of flying lizard or bird, something endemic to wherever the hell you are.

It’s beautiful.

You turn back to the inside, and after wiping your feet, you find the clothes you had been wearing before you got hurt on Hoth. You pull them on in the ‘fresher, before zipping up your boots. Time to investigate. You look back one last time at the ship as you creep down the ramp, and your eyes widen.

A modified Razor Crest.

Where the hell did he get one of these? Not one, but two Razor Crests in what, a week? These pre-imperial fortresses are rarer than spice, and yet you’ve flown in two.

It at least explains the familiarity you felt earlier.

You take a deep breath in, and the crisp air is heavenly to your sand-blasted sinuses and recycled-air-acclimated lungs. Now, the question is…

Where in the kriffing hell did The Mandalorian Inquisitor leave you?

–

Din POV

His footsteps tap softly on the metal floors. He looks out at the lava lakes in the distance, and even through his modulator and air filters, he can smell the burning rocks and sulfur of this once-lush planet. The atmosphere here keeps the planet so, so, dark, and the burning lava flows from ever-spewing mountains keep anyone who would want to attack the fortress very much dead. He grew up in this place. It’s a miracle he doesn’t have lung issues, with the thick, choking ash threatening to ruin his very life.

Mustafar. Home of the Fortress Inquisitorius. The place where he learned that his destiny was to hunt Jedi, force sensitives, and quash any rebellions that may happen under the Empire’s watchful eye. But does he believe that is the case? He stops mid-step, and he remembers the things he saw in your mind.

Suffering. Agony. Pain beyond anything he’s ever experienced. Deaths of innocents and guilty alike, a black saber falling into hands gloved in rich leather from a bantha hide, black sleeves, and those eyes. Those eyes inside that shadowed face that he can’t help but remember. Not force sensitive, no. Those eyes are cruel.

And he sees you. A child, a little girl, young, holding onto a man he assumes to be your father. He can sense the force from the man. He’s powerful. His alignment is not light, not dark, but somewhere in the middle. Din has heard of these people before. Gray Jedi, the Grand Inquisitor called them. Sinners, staying in a forbidden middle. “Do not be like them,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “You cannot choose two opposites. It is either death or salvation.”

Din shivers at the memory. Even though he is an Inquisitor, and his hands have been marred with thousands of bloodstains, the Grand Inquisitor and those above him are not to be trifled with.

He continues walking, and finally, his destination is in sight. The Library of the Fortress.

This Library has Sith and Jedi holocrons, data, information like nothing anyone outside of this building could ever imagine. This is the place that Inquisitors turn to when they have questions about a target, although, in most cases, it’s how to kill their victim, rather than, in Din’s case, save your life.

He almost feels bad for leaving you on Sorgan, but he’ll be back soon enough. He found you a Razor Crest with a bedroom, and though he almost killed his resources trying to do it, he got one. You seem to like Razor Crests. He’s not sure why, but he likes them too. Sleek, hard-to-trace, pre-imperial gunships with an arsenal that would make a bounty hunter cry. He then went to Hoth..and his mind trails back to Sorgan. The planet has very few people on it, little technology, and it’s a good outer-rim hideout for those trying to escape from the Empire. It’s not perfect, but it will have to do until he can come and get you. Come and get you. That phrase sinks into his mind for a moment. Is he actually about to do this? Is he about to rescue you, to take you away from those claws of the empire that have haunted you your whole life?

He walks into the library and..stops. He closes his eyes, lifts his arms, and the information found inside the library begins to slowly flow through his mind. The Purge. The rebellions leading up to it, the slavery. So he has–

An echo of mechanical breathing.

Kriff.

He snaps out of his meditation and his hand slowly lands near his saber.

“You are walking along a thin line, Inquisitor. Be careful not to fall.”

Din turns around.

Black durasteel helmet, mouth-ventilator grill, two black and red-tinted eyes, a cape that touches the floor, two leather gloves, a box of mechanical lights on his chest, and a red saber gleaming slightly off the floor. Metal shoulder plating, a waist cape, and two black boots that are absolutely silent. A small woosh-woosh sounds out from his helmet every so often, the only indicator of his presence beyond the total darkness that swirls from his presence. It’s all-consuming, a signature men have feared, a signature that has taken the lives of those so innocent, and done it unflinchingly. It covers Din’s mind, and it’s hard to separate his thoughts from the darkness of this cyborg in front of him.

Lord Vader.

“You lied to me.”

Din tries so hard to make his voice not shake, and he can see his helmet gleaming off the eye plates of Vader’s.

“You should have followed orders, Mandalorian.” He utters Din’s title like it’s a slur, and his helmet tilts slightly.

And then the tightness starts. Din’s free hand lands on his throat, and he clears his voice, trying to get some air back into his already-starving lungs. His vision begins to flicker with little starry lights, and the edges of his sight dim slightly. He thinks of you, thinks of the joy you felt upon coming out of the shower, your laugh as he broke something in the ship on accident. He hasn’t known you for more than a few days, and already..how have you wormed your way into his beskar heart?

He waves his hand, and finally breaks the choke by force-pushing the sith lord back. He gasps, and his throat and lungs burn as air rushes back into them, vision returning. He steps back and quickly pulls his saber off his hip.

“You know what this means, don’t you, Din Djarin?” He knows Din’s name. Din watches the durasteel-clad man, and Vader steps toward him and raises the crimson blade that has been so many’s last sights before an inevitable and agonizing death. Din raises his saber to block the strike, and their blades clash with a shower of red sparks.

Din has always been a capable fighter. Since he was young and taken in by the Empire, he has excelled at blaster fighting, saber usage, and even the force, but here..he’s a fish out of water. Vader has been around for so, so long, he’s a master at the force, his signature is the strongest Din’s ever seen, and he’s gone toe-to-toe with masters far more advanced than Din. And Din gets to fight him. Kriff.

But, Din needs to. Vader lied to him. Vader lied about the purge, about what happened to his people, about why there are so few left–Din’s vision begins to go red. Red, red like blood staining the white armor of the troopers who executed the children, red like the fire from the carpet bombing of Mandalore’s surface, red like the blade in his hand. He looks up at Vader, and Vader tilts his head. Din rears back, stepping aside from the downward arc of Vader’s would-have-been-fatal blow, and swings at the sith lord’s mechanical core. But Din is getting sloppy. Vader flicks his hand, and Din’s launched back. The crunching of metal and stone walls sounds out as Din’s beskar smashes into the wall behind him, and Din’s unarmored side screams in pain. He hisses in pain, before standing up, and a soft plip, plip sounds out from nearby. Din looks down slowly, and sees red beginning to drip down from his side and onto the floor.

Kriff.

He takes a step, side continuing to choke his reasoning in the back of his mind, and Din swings again at Vader.

Vader blocks Din’s strike, and then twists his hand.

And Din’s throat tightens, crushing like a vice around his windpipe. Din slowly lifts into the air, and your face comes to his mind again. Like a sun, your face, smiling as you eat the first real meal you’ve had in veritable years, looking occasionally up at him, trying to hide the joy that’s wafting off you like a perfume, staining your signature with positivity, shining at him as his vision becomes tunneled. Your face is all he can see, the flickering lights dancing around your face like an artificial halo, and his hands slowly lift, almost as if to touch the face that isn’t there, to hold the light that died with the night of a thousand tears.

And then the lightning starts.

Like a storm from his fingertips, it arc toward the black-durasteel-clad man, and Din hits the ground. Blue trails of pure force electricity enter the cyborg’s system and Vader steps back, smoke beginning to rise from the electronics on his chest. Din looks down for a moment, the crackling still jumping from one fingertip to another like lightning rods. He feels powerful. The man who lied to him his whole life about what happened to Din’s people, the man who orchestrated the attack on Din’s home, the man who is the reason Din is the orphan of a massacre culture, is currently debilitated, if only for a moment, by Din’s doing. The red hot rage begins to cool down, and begins to solidify in his heart as a dull ache. Din’s always hated being angry. It makes him so, so, so very powerful, and yet he hurts so deeply afterwards, as if the two halves of him are tearing eachother apart. He is an inquisitor, he is supposed to be strong, and yet..he is a mandalorian. His secrecy is supposed to be his survival. His clan is supposed to be his survival, and..they’re gone. Everyone is gone.

Except you.

He reaches his hand out, and the lightsaber he dropped during the choke lands in his waiting grasp. You. Your face, in his mind. Your eyes, piercing like firestorms through an inky black expanse. The pain in his heart, for the moment, subsides, as he thinks of you. He needs to get back to you.

And so, he begins to run. Like thunder smashing down on clouds of suffering, his footsteps pound on the metal-and-stone flooring of the Library, and then the hallway, and then he sees his ship, approaching so quickly like a blur, whizzing toward him, his muscles are burning like fire, his lungs heaving, his breathing uneven and shallow, and–

He’s thrown to the ground in front of his ship, in front of the escape from the only life he’s ever known.

And then the breathing begins. That horrific siren’s song, the melody made of a simple percussive whoosh-woosh, that death sentence and execution in one, simple sound.

“Be careful not to fall, inquisitor. Your feet may not be able to carry you again.”

Crack.

Din’s left leg, already burning from the unexpected exertion, cries out in agony as his femur fractures. Kriff.

Din lets out a growl, and looks up at Vader slowly. His vision begins to tunnel again, the pain deafening any residual logical thought, any sort of strategy that could get him out of this mess, and for a moment, he understands the pain that Vader must have gone through to get him to this point. It kriffing hurts, like someone stabbed him in the leg, twisted the knife, and left some kind of nerve poison behind. Din’s been hurt before, it’s part of his life and training, but his bone fracturing is not something he has ever wanted or planned to experience.

“Osi’yaim..” Din curses, looking down at his leg for a moment. He immediately regrets that decision, as a small shard of white sticks out through the flight suit. Blood begins to stain the surrounding fabric, leaving his exposed bone and skin stinging from the air. Compound Fracture. Din has seen people die, seen injuries worse than this before, but his own body? His vision begins to swim. His eyes are watering, stinging more, and it’s hard to think about anything but the agony. But he needs to get up. He needs to get up, for you. For you. To come to get you. To come to save your life, to take you away from Sorgan to somewhere this cyborg in front of him will never find you, will never hurt you again. He slowly pushes himself up and leans against the ship behind him, and mutters a string of curses under his breath. Vader’s helmet slowly tilts down to look at Din’s leg, before the breathing ceases for a moment, almost as if Vader is laughing under his breath.

And then he turns, and leaves, with a single refrain as his departing call.

“Djarin-008, Designated Traitor.”

–

Din finally makes it into the cockpit of his ship, groaning in pain, and he’s getting lightheaded. He knows what bloodloss will do to the body, and couple that with the fact that he got choked twice by a Sith Lord, got thrown into the wall, stabbed in the side with maker-knows-what wall material, and his leg definitely has a compound fracture, it’s a miracle he’s awake and coherent enough to be thinking at all.

He presses buttons like it’s his lifeline, muscle memory acting as his savior, and he feels the ship lift into the air and then jump into hyperspace, leaving behind the only life he’s ever known. Did he just betray the emperor by attacking the second-in-command, Sith Lord Darth Vader, for lying about an event that happened years ago? Did he just paint a bloodred target on his back for two words? For a girl he’s barely met, barely spoken to, and only cared about because he had a gut feeling? His sith-brain is calling him a million different things, telling him how that was so stupid, that was such a terrible idea, and yet…he feels like he did the right thing.

As he leans back and looks down at his wounded leg again, his hand lands on a nearby med kit. He slowly reaches in, and his hand closes around a bacta-filled syringe, the mint-green material a stark contrast against the slowly fading vision of Din’s mind. He has to set the bone, he has to get back to you, he has to save you…

And everything goes dark.

–

You see the ship land, and the signature onboard tells you one thing and one thing only.

The Mandalorian is in trouble.

He feels different. Lighter, lighter like taking off a coat, or unshackling oneself. His signature feels significantly lighter, almost as though he’s shedding the inquisitorial chains that have held him. But that’d be stupid, wouldn’t it? He’s one of the strongest members of the most powerful organization in the galaxy, with power beyond your wildest dreams. He can kill a man by tilting his head and end a planet just by saying the word. And yet, he feels different.

You creep toward it, blade drawn, and as the sun sets in that great blue sky, the forest around you darkens ominously. Your hindbrain is in full throttle, every single rustle of a leaf or brush making you jerk your head one way or another. Your shadow begins to disappear into the darkness of the forest floor, and the once-comforting green life around you suddenly doesn’t feel so safe.

You know of predators. Before you had even walked, your father had told you stories of the great Mythosaur that used to walk among the sands of Mandalore, of the first Mandalorians that killed it and took it as their insignia to eventually define your entire culture. You’ve heard of the krait dragons that haunt Tattooine’s dunes, the sand people that mercilessly take the travelers, hunters, and tradesmen that dare to cross their territory.

But you’ve never had to face a predator before. You’ve faced inquisitors, you’ve faced stormtroopers, but those weren’t predators. Those were men you could sense, you could read, could predict and dodge and escape from. Not predators. Predators are monsters that haunt your nightmares, smell your traces, and find the blood and sweat and tears you leave behind, creeping toward you as you catch your breath in front of a tree and–

You jerk your head around, a branch snapping off in the distance. Your adrenaline spikes, and you begin to run toward the ship. When it comes to monsters, you have a blade that can cut through almost anything, but that doesn’t mean you know how to use it. Your father hoped that you would never have to draw your blade, and as such taught you how to fight without it, but not with it. Unfortunately, having a blade in this day and age is a death sentence, so it’s for the best that you’ve lacked teaching.

That doesn’t mean, however, that you don’t hope to the maker that you can learn really quickly. You’re not safe, and it’s as though every shadow off in the distance is watching you, a glint you see out of the corner of your eye before disappearing under your searching gaze. You finally reach the metal apparatus in front of you, and its hull door opens quietly. It’s a small starfighter, much thinner, and sleeker, with more aerodynamics than your Razor Crest. You still can feel his signature inside, which means he’s alive.

That doesn’t tell you whether he’s okay or not. You finally enter the ship, feet clanking quietly on the ramp, and you see it.

Blood. Painting the walls, the floor, the black pleather seat in front of you. You take a step, and you see his hand. Dropped, hanging off the side of the seat, stained with blood and whatever else. You quickly stride to it, and what greets you is not a pretty sight.

His leg is wrecked. His femur is broken in two, sticking up through his skin and flightsuit, marrow leaking blood along the jagged edge, as the smallest amount of blood gurgles up through the torn muscle and soaks into the already saturated flightsuit. His helmet is lulled to the side, and you see a bacta syringe in his hand, still full, having apparently passed out before he could use it. First things first, he needs help. Badly. You have some medical expertise, but not enough to set back a bone. You can suture, so maybe you could help there, but he may not survive this leg being ruined. He needs help.

You slowly lift him from the seat, trying to get your hands under his knees and back without further damaging his leg, and you turn toward the open entrance of the ship. If you use the bacta now, his leg will be permanently ruined, and he’ll be lucky to keep it.

So, you hope.

As you run through the woods, leaving a dribbling blood trail in your wake, feet pounding on the soft, moist grass and moss, you finally see the Crest in the distance. You flick your hand, and the hatch thankfully immediately opens. You leap up the ladder and place him on the copilot’s seat, before muscle memory takes over and you slowly raise the ship into the air, the engines roaring. You look around, and you see smoke rising into the air in the distance.

People.

You jet off toward them, and a small village greets your eyes. A few ships lie in the shipyards, and upon closer inspection, this little town feels perfect for two fugitives to hide. You land quickly in an open spot, before lifting him up again. His helmet stirs as you leap down the ladder, landing hard on your feet, pain screaming into your ankle, and you sprint off the ship towards the nearest building with a red cross on it. People quickly clear out of your way, and as you finally enter the building, you’re flooded with people trying to take him from you.

He slurs for a moment, voice rough and scratchy, and he looks at you, before whispering a few simple words in mando’a.

“Don’t let them take my helmet.”

You nod, and then..it’s quiet.

He’s taken back for surgery, you’ve relayed his request to them, and they’re taking care of him. Your hands are stained red. His blood, his pain, on your hands. Why did you just help a man who tried to kill you naught but a few days ago? Why did you just save his life? You sit down slowly in a chair, comers and goers leaving a wide berth between you and their own paths. You sit there for hours. You can sense him, he’s in pain, and here you are. Quiet. In a hospital room, on some backwater planet somewhere in the galaxy far, far away from your now-cursed home planet, without anyone to tell you where to go or what to do with your life. And so, you wait. And wait. And wait.

Eventually, after a while of sitting quietly, occasionally getting up to look around and find something to read, without anything striking your fancy, a woman in white comes out. Her eyes meet yours, and she walks over.

“Are you the one who dropped off the Mandalorian?” You nod.

“He’s awake.”

You stand up quickly, and you both walk back through a set of wooden double doors marked “DO NOT ENTER” in Aurabesh, and for once you are glad you can read. She stops in the doorway of a room, and as you slowly arrive behind her, you see him. He’s thrashing against the restraints of two nurses’ arms and leather straps holding his arms and chest down, and he snarls before his visor lands on you. And he calms. The nurses slowly release him, and you step toward him. Your eyes trail down toward his leg, and it’s wrapped in a thick casing of bandages and cast material, with an IV bag of bacta connected, the tube disappearing somewhere deep into the bandaging. Light filters in through the windows, a stark contrast to the darkness of his helmet and the reflective black plasteel of his t-panel. But the key is..he’s alive. It looks like they cut the bottom half of his flightsuit off, and left the upper half, but took his armor off. They placed it in a corner of the bedroom, and he seems almost…naked without it. Sure, he has the skintight flightsuit on, but that hides no details, tracing along the curvature of his muscular arms, his thick neck, and the pecs that could kill a man. He watches you, and you slowly sit down in a chair next to the bed that a nurse placed.

“You’re alive.” Your voice is shaking slightly. Your eyes sting slightly, could it be you were worried about him? You look down at the blood still caked onto your hands, staining your sleeves, marring your once clean nails. His hand gently takes yours, and he studies it.

“Thank you.” He tilts his visor, and his helmet leans back against the pillow, hitting the wall behind him with a dull thunk.

“Where are we? What happened?” Your voice seems hollow.

“Sorgan. It’s in the Outer Rim. I went to the Fortress Inquisitorius and encountered Lord Vader.” The name makes your spine shudder and your blood run ice cold. Vader. Second in command of the entire Empire. A former Jedi, your father has told you. Someone very powerful, someone who killed hundreds of innocent children because he was commanded to, someone who has killed mercilessly and without hesitation. You can still remember the day you learned of him, your father showed you a picture, and you had to sleep in his bed that night because the nightmares of the black durasteel helmet haunted you.

“What happened next?” Your voice is definitely shaking. “I was declared a traitor to the empire.” What?

“I am a fugitive.”

His visor studies your reaction, trying to gauge what you will do, you can tell. Will you run? Will you join him, will you turn him in exchange for a hollow promise of freedom? If you were to turn him in, there’s no guarantee the empire would keep its promise, no guarantee you’d even make it off-world before the emperor shoots your ship out of the sky and leaves you burning to death in a crater of your own creation. But you won’t. He saved your life, you saved his. Your blood has been on his hands, his on yours, and you two are in a tidally locked position of two force-sensitive Mandalorians trying to escape the claws of a selfish emperor. You can’t just leave him. “That makes two of us.” You look down at your shoes, trying to avoid his gaze. His grip tightens slightly.

An idea comes to your mind. You signed up, before you left, with Greef Karga. You went to Nevarro, took the bounty, and though it wasn’t quite successful, with someone watching your back, you could become a better bounty hunter, and maybe even find your father. The only question…does he want to join you? You two should be enemies. He tried to kill you on Geonosis. He hunted you down on Hoth. He should have shot you. He should have killed you. He should have ended your life. And yet…he didn’t. For some unknown reason, or due to pure insanity, he decided to save your life, to kill the trandoshan trying to take you as a prize, and left the inquisitors for you. For you. So…perhaps it’s for the best that he stays. Just for a moment, just until you can find your father, get back to Mandalore, and find somewhere that the emperor won’t find you. Until then, it's for the best. Maybe.

“Do you want to stay with me?”

–

Thank you so much for reading! I’m sorry that this chapter took so long to write, I was in the midst of finals season. That’s all over now, though, and we should be back to our regularly scheduled programming in the next couple of weeks. I hope you enjoyed it!

~Cactus

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #star wars #angst #the mandalorian #fanfiction #mandalorian x female reader #mando x female reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader

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jaeyunverse · 1 year

Note

hi !! i hope ur doing okay :) i heard ab the plagiarism thing and im so sorry u had to go through that :/

i js had a quick question if it's okay w u ??

im not rlly like. new to tumblr or anything 😅 but i recently decided to start posting fics & its rlly discouraging to see 0 interaction w anything i post :( i know that the likes to rbs ratio is on whack recently but no one even bothers to like my posts and its kinda.. demotivating tbvh :(( i've checked and i know all my fics r showing up in the tags so i rlly dont know what the issue is !!

do u have any tips on how to get more traction for ur fics ?

tysm in advance for answering this and i hope u hv a great day !! 💖

hello hello!! i’m doing as well as i can be with the horrible academic load sitting on my shoulders LMAOAOAO :’) yeahh it was very unfortunate but i’m just glad they took the post down 🥲

nooo i’m so sorry to hear that omfg :( i think the enhablr community in general has a problem with feedback. smaus and headcanons/reactions do very well whereas longer written works don’t get as much traction 😕 honestly, though, recently i’m seeing smaus flopping too and i think it’s bc there’s just SO MANY popping up every single day and often it’s the same ideas being recycled over and over again 😭 i’m on both nctblr and enhablr and the feedback is definitely more on the former 🤧 it’s disheartening to see the motivation go down on this side of the kpop community especially since there r so many talented people here ☹️

aaaa i’m not entirely sure how to help u since u said ur fics r showing up in the tags but still not getting traction 💔 have u joined any networks? u’ll get ur fics reblogged that way and even make more friends who’ll hype u up!! getting noticed also depends on luck to an extent. try checking ur blog’s activity to see when ur followers r most active and post at those times so that maximum people see ur content on the dash without having to scroll much!! also self reblog for those who are in a different timezone from urs so they don’t miss out on ur fics 💗 make sure to use the tags with the most following first too!! i’ve heard people say first five tags don’t matter but what’s the harm in believing that they do LOL i p sure the most followed tags are enhypen imagines and enhypen scenarios (along with enhypen smut bc ppl r horny but idk if ur a minor or not 👁️👄👁️) OH AND LAST THING!! maybe try posting teasers for longer works (or even smaus) so that word spreads and you get a bigger audience when you release the actual content!

idk if any of these tips might actually help you but this is what i have picked up during the past two years i’ve been on tumblr 💗 i would like to reiterate that traction depends on luck as well so not all ur fics will do well but please don’t be disheartened! it takes time to be discovered and if u keep creating consistently and heartily, i’m sure u’ll get everything u deserve and more :D

#inbox #anon #SORRY I RAMBLED 💔

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lqtraintracks · 2 years

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! 💖

Heyyyyy, awesome anon! I love this! And do you know what that means?? It's time for...

Randomized Recs!

Sometimes it's stressful to rec yourself. I get that. So take a load off, load up that random number generator website, and let the fics rec themselves! Here we go, folks! My five this time:

206. Unsanitary Ha, okay, let's do this!

Hermione/Pansy/Ron | Explicit | 500 words of double-teaming Pansy in a public restroom. \o/

Summary: Hermione finds a way to spice up date night and enjoy a lovely evening with her husband.

I like this one! Hermione's voice is very cheeky. It's just a fun, dirty romp.

285. Anything to Hide

Wow, generator, okay. Just throwing my oldest fic on here.

Harry & Teddy or Harry/Teddy UST if you like | Teen | 1,100 words in eleven 100 word drabbles

Summary: Harry struggles to be a good godfather on the 9 3/4.

I like this one fine. It's just old, so my voice in it is different. But I like Harry's angst and wistfulness, and the hint of Teddy's desire, just the flash of it, which Harry doesn't know how to interpret.

104. Traffic

Ginny/Millicent | Mature | 365 words

Summary: Ginny and Millicent are late to the party. They may be late going home too.

*whispers* They're late because they were having sex! Some nice mentions of sexy times in there, plus a sweet little line about Drarry because I can never help myself.

18. Dicking Draco Down

Now we're cooking. This has actually been my most popular story this year, if you go by just stats, both hits and kudos. Harry's got a big dick, what can I say? Stories always, always do well when there's a Big Dick tag. Not saying it's not also well-written, but... People love a hung Harry. *shrug emoji*

Harry/Draco | Explicit | 1,300 words

Summary: It’s not a tease. It’s all prep. It’s necessary. Harry is, to be unsubtle about it, hung.

It's also total PWP. Gotta love it. :D And I'm quite pleased with that title too.

2. No Ordinary Love

Bill/Charlie | Explicit | cw: sibling incest | 2,200 words

Summary: Bill and Charlie just can’t stay away from one another over the years.

Wrote this very recently for Firewhiskey Fic. Includes alternating POVs and tenses, scenes between 1988 (when Charlie is 16, so mind that as well as the other warnings, yes?) and 2002. A wee bit of angst but a happy ending for this one! And two (yes two [2]) fisting scenes. I was just really feelin' it. :D

Okay! That was fun and, I think, informative. :DDD

Who else would like to play? You can do your own randomized recs or pick your five current faves. I'll try to tag some people, if Tumblr will let me:

@writcraft @the-starryknight @pennygalleon @phoebe-delia @softlystarstruck @curlyy-hair-dont-care @geesenoises and @ohdrarry

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classifiedinterests · 3 years

Text

making the supernatural fandom more accessible

hey fellow spn fans!! what if we all teamed up to make the spn tumblr experience more accessible?

it sucks that some of the best posts this fandom churns out are completely unreadable to bloggers who use screen readers (or heck, even to people whose wifi sucks so that images never load).

take the amazing scripts that we’re currently so pumped about -- imagine you use a screen reader (if you don’t), and you hear fellow fans going completely feral over content you can’t access. you want to be in on the hype! but you have zero clue why everyone’s screaming about windmills or whatever, because the scripts getting shared are un-captioned screenshots.

...and then there are posts that are just. walls of text! which is really difficult for certain neurodivergent folks to read, such as those with adhd. being aware of that when making original posts (or comments) and adding more paragraph breaks -- and possibly even spicing up the text by bolding important parts, etc. -- is an easy fix for that!

so. here’s my proposal: each one of us commits to whatever level of effort is possible for us (given each person’s unique time, energy, abilities, etc.) in the joint effort to improve accessibility.

Level 1: the ID hunter.

when you go to reblog any spn post that includes images (whether that’s gifs, screenshots, fanart, etc.), check in the notes to see if someone else has added an image description already!

if they have, reblog from them so that the image description spreads further.

"BUT what if someone added the image description before certain commentary was added to the post, and i wanna reblog the post with those extra comments?”

Well, i can’t speak for everyone who creates image descriptions, but i for one don’t care if someone copies & pastes my ID so that they can add it to their own reblog. i don’t care that my blog’s no longer connected to the image description i wrote -- so long as the ID is spread, i’m happy!

Level 2: the copy-paste monster.

when you love another fan’s tags enough to add them to the post -- do so by copy & pasting them, not by screenshotting them!

for your own posts or comments: if you’re sharing, say, a quote from an article or a fanfic or a tweet, do so by copy & pasting the quote instead of taking a screenshot.

if someone else has already shared a screenshot from an article, fanfic, or tweet, and you have a link to the original, do the extra legwork to go to the source, copy and paste, and make an ID.

Level 3: the fandom angel.

If you have the ability, time, and energy to type out image descriptions for spn posts that don’t yet have one, please do it!

If even just a few of us commit to creating even just one ID per day each, that will add up!

And, of course, if you’re making your own post, give it an ID right there in the original posting, if you’re able! I understand that not everyone has the spoons (/time/energy/ability) to do this, and that’s okay. But those who can, please do!

Tumblr now allows you to put alt text on images, so you can do it that way or the old-fashioned way of just including your image description in the text of the post.

Not sure how to write an image description? This post offers some truly comprehensive advice on how to write IDs for various types of content, from photos to fanart to charts to screenshots of text.

By the way, I’ve seen folks ask that you don’t put the ID under a readmore. Keep it easy to access!

Nervous that you’re not gonna write an ID right? First off, practice makes perfect -- you’ll improve with time. I’m pretty sure that an imperfect or incomplete ID is better than no ID at all -- hopefully someone else will come along to reblog with any necessary corrections to whatever ID you write!

Level 4: the man of letters (gn).

You’re going above and beyond what this post advises -- you’re also out there coming up with and implementing other ways to improve accessibility!

Maybe you’re a blogger who uses a screen reader yourself, with more you want to add to this post from your own experience.

Maybe you’ll choose to seek out bloggers who use screen readers themselves -- or who have other accessibility needs -- so you can learn straight from them what their needs are.

Maybe it’s something else! I don’t know, but I do know this post is incomplete -- so please, share your ideas for other ways we can all work together to improve our fandom.

None of us has to do everything, but most of us can do something. If enough of us take even just small steps, we can create a more accessible fandom. Who’s with me?

If you’re in, please reblog this post so word can spread!

(I’m closing this by tagging some bloggers whom i’m hoping might be interested in helping me spread this around, because i am Not A Big Name in this fandom and can’t do it by myself! Let me know if you want me to un-tag you.)

@sunforgrace @castiellesbian @plantdadcas @jenderstudies @youchangedmedean @meadowdean @winchestersingerautorepair @phoebenatural @steveyockey @bedlund @seraphcastiel @marcusantonius @marynatural @redwing @t4tdeanwinchester @spn-brainrot @lobotomycas @samdyke @deanwinchesterforbatman2k21 @themanwhowouldbefruit @4x01 @thatisahotsoup

#spn #supernatural #desticule #spn fandom

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ghoulangerlee · 3 years

Note

kisses on the forehead or kisses from behind for Malex😊

so it takes me a while to write oops, but I didn't quite have inspiration but then 3x08 happened and well... y'know. I GUESS this could be considered a 3x08 coda because it takes place after The Kiss sorta. I haven't watched 3x09 yet so.

So, this is just. sweet and syrupy smut; there's both forehead kisses and kisses from behind ;;

Really though, sometimes you just wanna see Michael fucking Alex and like, write what you wanna see and all that hahaha.

Posted on tumblr bc I'm in denial that I'm writing for this fandom oop. (Side note: If you wanna support a writer I do have a ko-fi :). Please be gentle this is the first time I've written smut since like, before April this year.)

it's all under the read more because it immediately starts as smut, sorry adlkfjd.

------

Michael drops a tender kiss to the back of Alex’s neck as he settles on his knees between Alex’s spread legs, one hand curled around his thigh, shifting it outward until he’s spread just so.

Alex sighs out Michael’s name, turning his head to the side so he can watch the man from the corner of his eye—the early morning light is just now coming through the slats of the blinds, peeking through the curtains and it bathes Michael in a warm glow that almost makes everything feel like a dream.

It’s not though, a dream, finally after so much time apart, he—they can have this again, but slower now, less of a crash landing and more like coming home.

“This comfortable?” Michael’s voice is barely above a whisper, his words spoke into the soft skin behind Alex’s ear as he settles his weight down onto Alex.

A hum forces it’s way out of Alex’s throat, soft and pleased as he bends his other knee a little, using the leverage to push back against Michael, feeling where the other man is hard and ready, “S’good,” he finally manages, the words thick in his mouth, syrupy.

A soft hiss falls from Michael’s lips, the rush of cool air against Alex’s skin making him shudder, already so over sensitive from the soft, careful touches that Michael had woken him up with that morning. “I think we can make it better than just good,” he whispers, pressing another kiss behind Alex’s ear, “You up for it?”

Alex snorts softly, reaching back to halfheartedly swat at Michael’s side, the early morning must be getting to him, the new vulnerability of the two of them being together make Alex a little sentimental, a little honest, and before he can stop himself—“I’d been hoping for something like this for longer than I’d been willing to admit to myself.” He admits, voice quiet but clear, “I couldn’t dare to hope and now…”

Though he trails off, Michael seems to understand the implication as he shifts to the side, just enough to make the next kiss land somewhere near Alex’s lips, and when Alex turns his head just right, he catches Michael’s mouth in a kiss so sweet and slow that Michael’s weight presses him down more into the bed as a warm hand curls around his jaw, taking some of the strain off, holding him there for several long moments.

Distantly, Alex realizes that it’s Michael’s left hand, something that was once a reminder that what they had couldn’t be anything beyond a secret somewhere in the desert, but now—there’s no bandana wrapped around his hand anymore, there hasn’t been last night when Michael kissed him at the Pony, either, and something releases in his chest, something warm and happy—love.

“Michael,” Alex murmurs when they finally break apart, “Michael, I need—”

Michael’s lips press against Alex’s temple, “I’ve got you,” he whispers, dropping another kiss to his hairline before he pulls back, grabbing for the lube he’d tucked under his shin earlier, trying to warm it.

He smooths a hand down Alex’s back, shushing him softly when he makes a noise of discontent, “I’m not going nowhere,” he promises, voice low and full of intent, “Finally got you where I want you and I plan to take advantage of it.”

As he speaks, he’s squeezing lube onto his fingers, spreading it slowly as he closes the cap and drops it back down to bed, “Easy now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Alex’s shoulder blade as he presses a finger into him slowly.

“Michael,” Alex breathes out then, at the careful, gentle touch, slow and easy like they’ve got all the time in the—

Oh. He realizes as Michael’s finger slides in deeper, they do have time now, they can afford themselves this luxury of taking things slow, of exploring each other and relearning everything that drives the other crazy.

“Michael,” he says again, clenching his fingers in the sheets, pressing his forehead against his wrist as he squeezes his eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of emotion that seizes him.

It’s new and he thinks, briefly that he might be moving way too fast in the grand scheme of things but this is what love feels like. This is what loving Michael Guerin is supposed to be.

Michael presses a kiss to Alex’s shoulder, “You still with me?” he murmurs, curling his finger in a way that has Alex gasping and shifting under him. “Seems like you’re thinking too hard for what’s going on right now.” He whispers the words into Alex’s skin, and Alex can feel the curl of his lips as he says it, playful and teasing.

“Thinking about you,” Alex manages, the words muffled into the skin of his wrist, “Always thinking about you.”

Michael hums at that, and Alex hears the click of the lube cap again before another finger presses inside him, the suddenness causing him to gasp, “I’m right here, baby,” he says, voice filled with soft amusement, “Don’t have to think that hard about me.”

When Alex groans this time, it’s mostly out of exasperation, “Michael,” he says, “Don’t be a dick.”

Michael laughs then, leaning over to press a kiss to Alex’s temple, “Darlin’,” he coos, “I’m just teasing you, helping you relax a little,” he murmurs, “Tryin’ not to blow my load while I finger you, baby. Thinkin’ about how after all this time, it finally feels like I’ve come home.”

“Jesus,” Alex groans, “I’m not going to last if you keep talking like that,” he says, with the slightest hint of desperation in his voice.

Michael hums, pressing another kiss to Alex’s temple, “Think you can handle another?”

“Could probably take you now,” Alex murmurs, shifting under Michael again, a little in impatience, a little to get friction against his dick, “Didn’t want to come across as too easy or too much so soon, but—”

Michael shushes him again, “I’ve always liked how easy you get for me,” he whispers into Alex’s ear, “How much you wanted to be with me back then. Always eager to get your hands on me, always wanting mine on you…” he smiles when he feels Alex shiver, “It’s okay to want things, and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you get them.”

Alex makes a punched out sort of noise, “I want to feel you,” he admits quietly, shifting under Michael again, “Next time, we can go slower, you can draw it out for hours if you want, I just…”

“I’m going to hold you to that offer for next time,” Michael murmurs with a smile, “I’d love to get you all desperate and eager for me, keep you like this for however long I want,” he presses a kiss to Alex’s temple, then cheek, then jaw, “But this time, we’ve both wanted this for so long, I’d be a fool to draw it out for much longer.”

Alex makes some sort of noise in agreement and within the next few minutes, Michael is carefully sliding his fingers out of Alex, pressing a lingering kiss to the center of his back before the weight disappears—

Before he can think too much, before his lust addled mind can protest, Michael’s back, and suddenly, Alex’s need to see Michael kicks his hard in the ribs, “Michael, Michael,” he says, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears, “Michael, I want to see you, please.”

Michael’s weight disappears for a moment, and then his hands, warm and only the slightest bit sticky from lube are on his sides, helping him roll over until he’s spread out almost in the center of the bed, staring up at Michael with flushed cheeks and half lidded eyes.

“There you are,” Michael says with a warm smile, settling between Alex’s spread legs, his palms resting against Alex’s inner thighs now, pushing outward just enough for Alex to feel the stretch of it, “Like this?”

Alex nods, pushing himself up with one hand so he can curl his other arm around Michael’s shoulders, pulling him down until their chests are pressed together, tilting his head up so he can meet Michael’s lips in a kiss—he throws every single feeling he can’t put into words into that kiss, curling his fingers into the back of Michael’s hair, tugging him closer.

Michael goes easily, one hand gently cupping Alex’s jaw to kiss him back just as sweetly.

“I love you,” Alex whispers when they part, breathing heavily, lips parted and red, tempting and Michael kisses him again, harder this time, a little more desperate.

Michael pulls away moments later, resting their foreheads together, “I love you too,” he whispers into the space between their lips.

Alex smiles up at him, his cheeks flushed, eyes bright and happy and Michael makes a soft noise, “Jesus, Manes, you’re going to kill me.”

“Only in good ways, I hope,” Alex says, running his fingers through Michael’s hair, “Now,” he murmurs, nudging Michael’s side with his knee, “I believe we were in the middle of something?”

Michael huffs softly, fondly, shaking his head at Alex before leaning down for another quick kiss, “You’ve got me all distracted again,” he mumbles, leaning back as Alex drops back down onto the bed, laughing softly to himself and looking so happy that Michael almost wishes he could take a picture of this moment and keep it somewhere he can look at it whenever he feels the self-doubt sink in.

“Let me distract you in other ways, then,” Alex says with a grin, finding the lube, half wedged under his thigh now, “I think you know what to do from here, right?” he asks, tilting his head in question.

Michael shakes his head, laughs and takes the lube from Alex, shifting closer as he squeezes some lube into his palm, “You’re the one who kept distracting me,” he says, hissing softly as he takes himself in hand.

Alex bites his lower lip as he watches Michael touch himself, “Uh huh, just giving you a chance to get yourself under control so it’s not over in two minutes,” he teases, raising an eyebrow at Michael when he looks up, “Now come on,” he says, somewhat impatiently. “I need you, Michael.”

Michael huffs softly, uses the hand already around his dick to steady it as he pulls Alex’s hips further into his lap, pressing the head teasingly against where Alex wants him the most—he waits, listens to the hitch in Alex’s breath before he pushes inside, slow.

It’s incredible, like coming home all over again and something that now Michael’s sure he could never live without.

Alex’s hands grab for Michael’s biceps, head pushing back against the bed as he moans, half Michael’s name, half gibberish, curling one leg around Michael’s lower back, trying to pull him closer.

“I’ve got you,” Michael whispers, breathless, leaning close to press kisses along the curve of Alex’s jaw, “I’ve got you baby,” he repeats, feeling one of Alex’s hands come up to cup the back of his neck, holding him close, “Fuck, you feel amazing, so good for me, Alex.”

Alex makes a soft noise, shifting his hips further into Michael’s lap, “I missed this,” he admits with a sigh, sliding his palm up Michael’s arm, across his shoulder, “Missed us being together like this, feeling you like this.” He tilts his head, catching Michael’s lips in a sweet kiss. “You can move,” he murmurs into it. “I’m ready.”

The first several thrusts are slow, a little shaky, as if Michael can’t seem to believe he’s actually allowed to have this again, that this isn’t a dream, that Alex is here and real under him, whispering soft words of pleasure against his mouth.

Michael rests his forehead against Alex’s shoulder and Alex’s arms come around him, holding onto him as each near breathless affirmation grows in volume, Alex’s hands petting along his upper back, nails scratching against skin so gentle that Michael almost wants to cry—

“Faster,” Alex murmurs into Michael’s ear, palms spreading out against Michael’s skin as he digs his heel into Michael’s lower back, “Wanna feel it, Michael,” he whispers, “Wanna feel you all day, wanna remember this when I’m alone,” he drags his nails lightly up the center of Michael’s back, feeling him shudder under his touch, feels his hips quicken, feels the way Michael grabs him with both hands, hitching him higher into his lap, “That’s it—”

Michael makes a noise, something low and guttural as he pulls back from Alex’s shoulder, his lips finding Alex’s in a desperate kiss; deepening it almost immediately in a way that has Alex groaning into it, digging his nails harshly into Michael’s back.

“Gonna make you come first,” Michael mumbles as he pulls away, “Touch yourself for me, show me how good I’m making you feel, baby.” He brushes his nose gently against Alex’s before he’s glancing between them, watching Alex wrap a hand around himself, trying desperately to keep up with the quick pace Michael’s set.

It doesn’t take long after that, never takes long when they really get into it, Alex realizes somewhere distantly, they’d always been compatible sexually, everything about it explosive and mind blowing no matter the situation—but now, with Michael pressing kiss after kiss to every inch of exposed skin he can reach, with Michael whispering soft words against his shoulder, his chest, fucking into him just right, Alex can’t help himself—he gasps Michael’s name, long and low as he arches, feels Michael’s hand cover his as he comes, and together they stroke him through it until he’s sensitive and gasping, nudging their hands away with a shudder of almost too much.

Alex pulls him into another kiss, mostly gasping against Michael’s mouth, quietly urging Michael to keep moving, to keep going; half words of love and praise fall from his lips as Michael breaks away from the kiss, resting his forehead against Alex’s shoulder again, holding his hips tight enough to leave behind bruises and—fuck what a thought that is, and if Alex could get hard again, he probably would, at the thought of Michael marking him in a way that no one could see but the both of them would know.

“Come, Michael,” Alex whispers, tangling his fingers in Michael’s hair, giving it a light tug, turning his head to press a wet kiss to his temple, “Come for me, baby, let me feel you,” he murmurs, wrapping his free arm around Michael’s shoulders, holding onto him tight even as the shocks of overstimulation become just on the side of too much—he gasps when Michael’s teeth close over his skin, right on the curve of his shoulder and with one more good tug of his hair, Michael’s swearing softly into his skin, hips moving in quick, short thrusts as if he can’t help it.

Alex feels the warmth, the way Michael’s thrusts taper off until he’s pressed as close to Alex as he can, buried deep inside him, gasping wetly against his shoulder as he comes down from his high, Alex’s hands gentle now, one petting over his sweaty back, the other gently scratching Michael’s scalp.

“Fuck,” Michael eventually mutters, pulling back so he can look down at Alex, “We’ve still got it, huh?” he asks, face adorably flushed, looking completely fucked out as Alex feels and Alex laughs, gently pulling Michael down into another kiss.

Michael goes to pull back, to separate them, to clean up, but Alex just makes an impatient noise against his mouth, tugging him deeper into the kiss, into his embrace, until Michael’s weight is resting fully on Alex, pressing him down into the bed.

When they finally do separate, Alex laughs a little, brushing Michael’s hair back from his face, “I know we should clean up, maybe get breakfast, but I kind of want you right here for a little bit longer.” He admits softly, framing Michael’s face with his hands. “We have a lot to do still and I’m not ready for this to end just yet.”

“The afterglow?” Michael asks, leaning into Alex’s touch, eyes fluttering closed, smiling when Alex hums in reply. “I think we can stay like this a little bit longer, don’t think the world’s gonna end just yet.

Alex glances over at the window, where the curtain’s parted just enough to let in the early morning light—and Michael huffs a little, waves his hand as the curtains close on their own, the room suddenly a little darker than before.

“Michael,” Alex says, snatching his phone out of the air from where it’s floating just beside them, “What—”

“Set an alarm, give us an hour, and then, we’ll get ready and go save the world,” Michael says, “I think we can afford that, don’t you?”

Alex looks between his phone, at the time across the screen—it’s not even nine yet, and then he looks down at Michael who’s staring up at him with such a look of love that Alex’s heart seizes in his chest, “Okay,” he finally says, “Okay, yeah,” he blindly fumbles his way through setting an alarm, tossing his phone down onto the bed when he’s done, “An hour. Breakfast then? We can go to the Crashdown, together,” he says, extra emphasis on the word together.

Michael’s smile is bright, and he leans down, presses a kiss to Alex’s mouth, “I knew I could convince you,” he says, shifting enough to rest his head on Alex’s chest, “An hour for us and then we’ll face the world together.”

#malex #rnm #my writing #i find that posting this on tumblr vs ao3 just makes me feel better #bc i dont feel like i should write for this fandom??? IDK #i might crosspost to ao3 eventually bc i do like this fic

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darkisrising · 3 years

Text

BobaDinLuke bdsm fic, by DarkIsRising

Can’t decide if this is something to continue or if this is as far as it goes. So, I’m just gonna dub it a Tumblr fic for now. If it picks up steam then I’ll add to it, edit it, and throw it onto ao3. CW: Very very spicy, bdsm, a host of other stuff probably but rest assured everything here is consensual.

They meet at a sex party, which in hindsight shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s just about the only time Luke can be talked out of leaving the house these days.

He shows up in a hood that hides his features save for somber brown eyes and the plush spread of his lips; the black latex so shiny that Luke can just about see his own reflection in it. He wears leather like a second skin and even without being able to make out a single feature on his face, save those eyes and lips, or a single detail of his body, save his exposed cock, he is the most beautiful man Luke’s ever seen.

Luke, of course, is naked. His knees are hitched up to his chest, held there by his own arms that he knows better than to lower, and the words Load Count are scrawled in extra wide Sharpie from one nipple to the other. He’s already gone two rounds and there’s two lines beneath the words to show for it. Boba’s turn came first, of course. It was his privilege as Luke’s dom and he'd taken it with one finger hooked around the collar that marked Luke as his. And then after Boba there had been a guy that Luke hadn’t recognized with a nice enough cock and a regrettable tribal tattoo across his shoulder.

There’s something about this third man that gives Luke pause. Something in the way he takes his place at Luke’s ass— something so hesitant and careful and precise and apologetic as he pulls himself hard enough to sink into Luke’s body— that is awfully endearing. Luke wishes he could tell him it’s okay. That he’s here because he likes doing this sort of thing. That his dom is somewhere nearby, watching from the shadowed corners of the room, to make sure that despite all the calls to wreck that twink’s ass and fuck him up! and do it so hard he won’t be able to walk no one actually does anything that Luke isn’t into.

He can’t, of course, because his mouth is where Boba’s left the Sharpie, a neat solution since the last time they’d played this game the Sharpie had been lost to the dungeon’s dark and sticky floor within the first five minutes. Instead he tries to show it with a widening of his eyes and an encouraging grunt for every tiny thrust he gives as he fucks inside of Luke, the wet from lube and release slicking his way. When he’s all the way in he rests for a moment and it feels like the kind of moment that Luke could live a lifetime in for the way he meets Luke’s eyes, the way his gloved thumb reaches down to rest against Luke’s chin, the way he stretches Luke’s ass with just the right amount of cock to set the base of his spine sparking, but not so much that Luke’s worried he’ll be split in two.

“Ready?” he asks and his voice is so low it very nearly gets lost to all the moans and groans and demands for more that writhe like eels through the air. His eyes gleam dark in the dim dungeon and Luke can’t look away. He nods, entranced, and for the first time that night Luke’s not thinking about all the men that are going to follow, he’s only thinking about the one that’s inside of him.

I want to kiss him. The thought hits him— blinding as a bolt of sunlight that’s been hidden behind a cloud— and it’s the most that Luke’s wanted something so chaste in so long he doesn’t know what to do with it. Not that he has many options in this position with a Sharpie clenched between his teeth. All he can do is stare at this man’s lips and yearn with an intensity that carves into his chest as this man’s cock carves into his ass and Luke can’t say of the two sensations which is more intimate.

“You’re so tight,” the man rasps out and Luke can’t stop himself from clenching down, his hips jerking at the compliment. It’s something he’s heard a million times from countless, faceless other men, but oh the way this man says it makes him flush all over.

It’s over before Luke’s really ready, but one glance over the man’s shoulder and Luke can see a line is forming. Usually it would make him hard in anticipation, to see so many that want to use him and fill him until he’s leaking. This time he wishes he could have more time with just this one.

The man takes the marker out from between Luke’s teeth and Luke wishes he’d replace it with two of his leather-covered fingers. He doesn’t, though, only marks a line on Luke’s chest and then in the same soft, sincere way he’d told Luke he was tight says “Thank you,” and in that moment Luke is pretty sure he’d do just about anything for this man.

Which is a terrifying, thrilling thought. And a dangerous one, seeing as his rash, unchecked impulsiveness is why he needs a guy like Boba to keep him in line to begin with.

Before the man can cap the Sharpie again, Luke darts to snatch it out of his hand. The weighted shape of Boba coming out from the shadows, called forward by this change of script.

Luke ignores him. He ignores the line of waiting men stroking themselves hard as they watch Luke with interest as he grabs this man’s hand.

“May I?” Luke asks in as submissive a voice he can muster, and Boba would be so surprised to hear it come out so easily, but Luke can behave when he wants to. Most of the time. “Please, sir,” he adds when the man says nothing.

A slight incline of his head is all the answer he gives, and Luke wastes no time in peeling away his brown leather glove. He writes out his cell number as clearly as he can with a marker that’s a little too thick for it and then, when he’s done, he holds that brown gaze as he bends down to blow the ink dry.

“Thank you, sir,” Luke husks, heart beating wildly. The man doesn’t say anything back, he only takes his glove and works it back down over his hand and then he’s gone, swallowed by the dark.

“Is there a problem?” a voice growls near Luke’s ear. Tugging on the collar around his neck brings Luke’s attention to Boba’s familiar, scarred frown.

“No, sir,” Luke says, turning his face into Boba’s neck, nuzzling in, but Boba steps away, keeping him at arm’s length.

“That’s only for good boys that finish what they start. Are you going to finish what you started, little one?” It’s a warning as clear as the shake of a rattlesnake’s tail: dangerous and low.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Two hands take Luke by the shoulders and lay him back down. The marker is plucked from his hands and recapped with a snap. “How many loads have you had tonight?”

“Three, sir.”

“And how many did we agree you’d take?” Boba asks, catching Luke beneath his knees, hoisting them back up against his chest and into position.

Luke shivers, as the humid air meets the wet of his hole, breathing cold, while the hot, hungry gazes of the waiting men meet among the slick. “Eight, sir.”

“Then get to it.” The Sharpie is slid back between his teeth and then Boba’s hands are winding through his hair, pulling just enough to bring a jolt of pain. Luke’s breath catches in his throat. “No distractions this time.”

Soon enough another guy is penetrating Luke, brought forward by Boba’s commanding nod. He’s rocking into Luke, fucking him with an intensity that makes a dull thwack every time their bodies meet. The next guy is huge, so big that Luke has to bite down on the plastic hull of the marker in his mouth to keep from screaming. Tears squeeze from Luke’s eyes, wrested out with every incredible thrust in. Luke loses track after that. The pain becoming pleasure, the pleasure never quite becoming enough to spill over into satisfaction, only transforming into something else. Something intense and terrible and blessed and more. The men change, the girths and lengths that hold him open and fuck him apart change, and Luke takes them all.

Through it all Boba stays where he is, supervising with an unforgiving hand in Luke’s hair, the pain a constant that Luke can depend on, focus on, until it becomes awash with a dull, glowing haze. This is what he’s here for— this feeling— this euphoria where he’s horribly small and he’s unfathomably large, together. He’s an object to be used and discarded. He’s more precious, more vital, more necessary than he can comprehend.

A kiss on his forehead cuts through the fog, and Luke realizes he’s not being fucked anymore for all that he can still feel a phantom grinding between his cheeks. His fingers are made to unclench from where they’ve dug like claws onto his flesh and his legs are lowered. The wet mess that’s been left to leak out of him is a turn-on but even that is a distant thing. There’s no immediacy to it, no driving need to slack his lust, just a thrum of appreciation for this proof that every man that’s had him tonight has left behind.

Drawing him in, Boba cups the back of his head until Luke’s pressed into the cradle of Boba’s neck. He was denied this privilege earlier. Now it’s being freely given. The difference sets him shaking, or maybe that’s just the come-down.

“That was good.” Boba’s voice is a rumble that Luke can feel through the places they are pressed together. The steady jump of Boba’s pulse is calming against the bow of his lips and Luke closes his eyes to savor it.

Time gets away from him again, and somehow he’s been cleaned enough to stuff his legs into pants and a warm sweatshirt is pulled over his head. The black hood comes up, as good as blinders on a horse, and then he’s led out to where there are sofas and water and people speaking soft as a passing brook.

The lip of a water bottle is pressed to his mouth and Luke obediently drinks from it without thinking. Boba sits in a plush armchair and though he’s shorter than Luke, there’s so much of him that Luke can curl into his lap and disappear behind the safe, steel beams of his muscular arms.

“Your boy did good out there,” Fennec says, dropping into a nearby seat and Boba’s agreement is another rumble for Luke to savor with his eyes closed. “I haven’t seen you two in months, I was surprised to see you came out for this.”

There’s a question in her words, a careful line to walk between curiosity and concern, that normally sends Luke into a tailspin in the outside world. Here, though, he isn’t Luke Skywalker: wounded veteran and broken hero. He’s a pet— Boba’s pet— and he lets his dom navigate the social interaction while he sinks deeper into his embrace.

To Boba’s credit, he makes no mention of the malaise that’s grabbed hold of Luke lately, pinning him to the bed and keeping him there for days. Instead he huffs a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well. Maybe if Fortuna hadn’t turned this place into such a shithole we’d be over more.”

“Can’t argue with that. Say what you like about Jabba, but at least things weren’t always breaking on his watch. Did you hear about the ceiling that collapsed a month ago? When someone was in the sling, too.”

“Oh, shit.” Boba says and then they are off, trading gossip and wry quips. Luke is content to close his eyes and listen, secure that the only thing he needs to do is exactly what he’s doing right now. Every now and then Boba strokes his back through the thick cotton of his hoodie or turns to nuzzle at Luke’s temple, and every time Luke’s contentment spreads thick like molasses.

He surfs this subspace all the way back home where he lets Boba get him clean and dressed in pajama pants and poured into bed. The last thing he does is release the buckle on Luke’s collar and then, with one final squeeze to the scruff of Luke’s neck, the scene is over.

“How are you doing? Want me to grab the ibuprofen?”

“Nah, it’s not that bad,” Luke answers, shifting so that the ache in his ass becomes a little more noticable. “Been awhile since I did anything like that.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Was proud of you, though.” There’s a chair by the bed and Boba sits there, staying close but careful to give Luke his space now that they’re done for the night. “That’s two more than the last time you took on a train.”

“Mmm,” Luke agrees lazily. The writing on his chest hadn’t totally come off in the bath, and he pushes his blanket down enough to trace the lines on his chest, lingering on the third one.

“Wanna tell me what that was all about with number three?”

Number three. He of the shiny latex mask and the deep brown eyes and the lips that Luke can almost feel against his own for how much he’d wanted them to be. It’s enough that he almost asks Boba to bring him his phone so that he can wait around like a lovelorn teen for a call or a text, but he’s still coasting enough on endorphins from earlier that he doesn’t want to completely tank his chance at sleep by keeping vigil over the glow of a phone screen all night.

“Not really,” Luke admits at last. “Wasn’t anything bad,” and Boba accepts that with a nod.

“Fine. Keep your secrets. Let me know if it becomes anything I need to worry about.”

“Always.”

Boba stands to leave, a lumbering swing to the motion that Luke knows means his prosthetic is giving him problems, but he knows better than to mention it. “Don’t worry about making breakfast tomorrow. Sleep in. I’m in meetings all morning, anyway.”

“Yeah, okay.”

When Luke closes his eyes, the ache from his over-used, well-fucked body is finally enough to quiet his demons. For once, sleep is swift as death, and just as inescapable.

#bobadinluke #spicy #darkisrising fic

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aliciazamfroma2z · 3 years

Text

Sharing a few of my poems to jump start my tumblr participation;)

The Power of a demisexual

Appearing prudish, she manifests into a wildfire burning at a festival.

Love is her addiction, describes herself as a demisexual.

When she gets her manicured claws into you,

Your appetite for her spreads faster than the 24-hour flu.

What can we expect a defenseless man to do!

She ignores you until you prove to her that you're a worthy delicacy.

Bringing out emotions w/words that haven't been discovered even through entelechies.

Once the fasting ends, she offers the unquenchable feast of feasts.

What drives you mad is how this little woman has you doing backflips.

No one has had that power over your heart cuz you've held such a firm grip.

Hold on tight and enjoy the ride.

At this point, you will hand over a paper bag filled with your pride.

Things in the rearview mirror may be further than u dream or closer than u dare

The closer I get to home, the further away i feel.

The more money they have, the less they pay for-You know the deal.

The puppy is so ugly, that he's cute.

He's so impatient that it's no longer worth the commute.

His mistress is too dirty for a Golden Shower.

He's too clean to tell her off with profanity.fucking coward.

Baby it feels so wrong that it must be right.

Either way I'm gonna keep it tight and write it out til two wrongs make us right.

My directional skills are bad so if I say go right, you should go left

And you'll be surprised to know that left is right all along. R u deaf?

I study you so much that I don’t need to cheat.

If I'm with u,don't insult me by assuming I'm capable of deceit.

Your silent treatment is giving me a headache.

But silence is better than the alternative if it's going to be fake.

Why do you need to hate me to love me?

Is this your version of fight or flee?

Are you afraid that you will love me so much that I’ll hate you?

You want me so bad,I think I'll just rape you.

SO tired that I can’t sleep.

Yet, 8 hours in bed awake with you, I feel Ive aged beyond 70.

I’m smart enough to know when they think I'm stupid.

So don't treat me like I'm a new kid.

In fact, by letting them think they are smarter

I'm in the position of power.

They think I'm so sweet that they are unprepared for sour.

Pity Sex?

Is this the new way to get sex

from "your complicated ex"?

Or is this the guilt u put on the naive girl that's next?

"I haven't had sex in months, I'm going to explode!

The girls aren't giving out,

maybe it's the corona virus over load.

Or am I so ugly that they overlook the depth in my soul?"

"No, you're cute until you open your mouth.

With your lack of chivalry, you'd be shot if you tried that down south.

I have been celibate for years and I'm proud.

It'll be a true gentleman to get inside of me.

Reserved for someone who's kind, stimulates my mind,

connecting spiritually.

I keep it real, you call me a tease.

I'm blunt after I roll one, u say I'm mean.

If you want the truth,

in all honesty,

Don't mistake it for the third degree...

I politely suggest that you keep your shenanigans where they ought to be.

I don't do small talk since you can't acknowledge that I'm out of your league..

My advice is priceless but I'll give it to you on sale, for a small fee.

5 minutes for just $100 plus tip please.

Most importantly,

After im done,ill be quick to leave.

No copyright or you will be bargaining more than just a plea.

Peace, love and hopefully a new residency

in a town far, far away from me. "

Sincerely, your barking up the wrong tree. 🌴

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mlm-writer · 4 years

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GOT Loads (Jackson Wang / GOT7 x Male!Reader)

Pairing: Jackson Wang/GOT7 x Cis!Male!Reader Rating: Explicit Words: 2016 Summary: Your boyfriend Jackson is a good lad and shares you with his fellow members.... it’s a GOT7 gangbang. Note: Forgive me father fore I have sinned. Also this is 100% based on the headcanons I found on Tumblr, because I don’t actually know these guys, aside from that they make good music. This was a request and I aim to please. Tags: Gangbang, breeding, multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, facefucking, praise, cum eating, edging, degradation, rough sex, voyeurism, fingering, oral, god this is filthy, no beta we die like men

EDIT: There is now also a sequel

Three fingers grazed your insides, stretching your ass open for all the cock it would have to take later. You were on the bed, supported by pillows with a sight that some people would kill for. Wherever you looked, hard cocks were stroked right before your eyes, making your mouth water and your ass feel very empty. You let out a whine when your boyfriend removed his slick fingers, making your ass gape.

“You’re ready, baby?” Jackson cooed as he rubbed the head of his cock over your open and exposed hole. You nodded, muttering pleads to be filled with your boyfriend’s cock while his co-members stroked theirs in front of you, waiting their turn. You did not know how he got them all to do this, but you didn’t care. Being stuffed full of cum had always been a fantasy of yours and tonight it was going to happen.

Jackson eased you into it, cock slick and pumping as fast as it could with the resistance it met. Even after being stretched to three fingers, you still had a tight grip on Jackson’s dick, the girth sending you to a plane of pleasure. “That’s my good boy,” Jackson mused as he thrusted steadily into you, “remember you can cum whenever you want, but we will not stop until we all have cum into this pretty ass.” Jackson squeezed your bottom, his thrusts becoming more forceful, after he added more lube and found the glide to be easier.

He worked you up to a fast pace, the sound of skin slapping joining the pants and slight moans of the men around you. You cried a little from the mixture of pain and pleasure, whining as he fucked you just right. “Please slow down, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, but he did not slow down. You came on the pillows, before he even finished. Jackson pistoned his hips into yours through your orgasm, bringing you more tears and more pleasure. He finished inside you, as promised.

“Youngjae, come on, before it starts to drip out of him.” You had your eyes still closed as you felt your boyfriend pull out. You clenched around nothing to keep him cum in, but relaxed when you felt another man’s cock press against the ring of muscle. He was slick with lube and slipped right in, fucking you almost as hard as Jackson had not even a minute ago. You were overstimulated, moaning pathetically while feeling like you were being used and you loved that idea.

“You’re gonna be a good cumdump for us, aren’t you?” You heard Youngjae speak into your ear. You hummed, not really able to form words. He lifted your head by pulling your hair. Jackson was right in front of you, cock semi-hard and smirking at you. “You’re such a good slut, agreeing on being used by your boyfriend’s friends while he watches. I’m impressed.”

Youngjae had slowed down enough for you to become painfully aware of what you must look like and what you agreed to. You had Jackson’s, your boyfriend’s, seed inside you, being fucked deeper inside by one of his friends, your friends. They all could hear you moan at whichever cock entered you, see you being turned on by being used and filled. Your cock jerked against the pillows, nothing coming out, but wanting to cum again.

Youngjae filled you before you even realised he was close, your mind too occupied by the situation you were in. You only realised the switch when he pulled out and you desperately clenched your ass to keep all the cum inside. Whoever was next removed the pillows, easily slipped inside you and held your upper body up by your hair. His cock was a little smaller than the ones you had before, but fucked you a lot faster as well. “You don’t get to hide your face or your cock anymore,” BamBam hissed in your ear. You whined, feeling exposed. Your cock was still hard, twitching as it tried to cum again, without any stimulus. Not touching yourself had been a rule. If you wanted your cock to be touched, you needed to ask someone else to do it.

Your sweaty body was on display, cock bouncing with each rough trust. “He’s drooling for cock in his mouth,” BamBam teasingly proclaimed as the hand in your hair found your chin, holding you there for leverage.

“I can help with that.” You placed your hands on the bed when you were pulled down by your hair, Jaebum’s cock pressing against your lips. You opened your mouth, letting him in. The two men bounced your between them, one roughly fucking your ass, while you other forced his length further and further down your throat. You choked, but Jaebum didn’t seem to care, spreading the saliva over your face with his cock, before attempting to thrust deeper.

“Look at yourself, both holes filled with dick. I think this is the best use of you, don’t you agree?” You tried to nod in response to BamBam, but Jaebum held your head in place, fucking your mouth in a similar way BamBam was fucking your ass.

“Remember the rule is to cum in his ass,” your boyfriend oh-so helpfully reminded the man facefucking you. Jaebum reassured him that he would hold back until he could shoot his load into your ass. Your mouth watered at the promise, your face covered in your own saliva. BamBam granted you the third load of that night and was almost immediately shoved aside by Jaebum, who was incredibly close from throatfucking you and reached orgasm with just a few thrusts into your ass, filling it with both semen and your own saliva. Jaebum was the first to be unrestrainedly vocal about his orgasm.

“Wish it could’ve been your throat, but maybe we make that the rule next time,” he chuckled as he slowly slipped out of you. You tilted your hips, clenching your ass to keep the seed inside until the next cock was circling your hole. You were too focused on keeping everything inside, that you forgot to unclench when you felt the pressure of another dick.

A loud slap echoed through the room, leaving a sting on your ass. “Come on, let me in, pretty boy,” Jinyoung whispered in your ear. You took a deep breath, relaxing your muscles on the exhale. Jinyoung was gentle, very aware of the beating your hole had endured all night. His fingers dug into your ass, leaving bruises as he slowly dragged his length in and out of your heat. The sensual roll of his hips drove you crazy, but he kept you on your toes with the occasional spank.

“That’s right, pretty, relax,” he whispered, his breath growing heavier as your ass got redder. You were always a fan of rougher sex, but somehow the slow pace brought you close to your second orgasm. You whined, tears falling from your eyes as your hard dick humped air. You were almost there, when Jinyoung came before you did and pulled out to the head. You begged for release, while he lazily milked his cock inside you. “You still got two more to go,” he cooed, before giving you one last hard slap on your cheeks, “so I would hold it in if I were you.”

You begged to be touched, ass clenching automatically when Jinyoung pulled out. Your requests remained unanswered as you were flipped onto your sore and stinging ass, a slick cock entering you. Your eyes went wide at the sudden intrusion, locking with those of Yugyeom. “Aww are you a little sore?” He teased, setting a medium pace that felt like being hammered already, but you knew he was building up to it and you weren’t sure if you could handle it.

You shook your head in reply. “No, very,” you groaned, your ass painful, but your insides feeling full and pleasured. He chuckled and took a hold of your cock. You cried out. It felt good; so, so good and you begged him to stroke you. He just held your hard dick in his grasp, hips rolling against yours and going faster. “Please, please, I just wanna cum,” you cried out, vision getting distorted from pleasure, your body jerking.

“You will… eventually.” He smirked in your face, thrusting roughly into you, but not going too fast. The force of this thrusts moved his hand a little over your cock, but it wasn’t enough. You let your head fall, looking at your boyfriend, upside down with pleading eyes.

“Aww he’s been such a good boy. Let him. It feels good when he comes and you’re inside him,” Jackson mused as he swatted Yugyeom’s hand away and took a hold of your cock. You moaned at the relief, thanking him through gritted teeth and loud moans. Jackson leaned down, giving your ear a lick. “Come on, baby, cum for me,” he spoke into your ear, voice a little raspy and oh so sexy. You screamed as you followed his command, staining your own chest and his hand.

You could hear Yugyeom moan, but you weren’t focused on him, but the fingers Jackson pushed into your mouth. He fed you your own cum, praising you as your sore cock pushed out a little more. When you finally had swallowed all of your own cum, you realised it was no longer Yugyeom fucking you. When your eyes left your boyfriend’s handsome face, you locked eyes with Mark. He looked red in the face and was sweating a little. “You’ve done well, just one more,” he whispered for only you to hear. You were grateful for his slow pace, but by judging his face it was for himself as well. “I know you’re sore, but you can take it, right?” You nodded, relaxing in his embrace as he slow-fucked into you. His cock felt like it was on fire inside you, but it was no longer the stretch that caused the burning sensation. In fact, you were pretty certain that your ass was so open, Jackson and his massive cock would meet no resistance.

“Please cum in me, Mark,” you whispered back, needing his load as much as you needed it to be over. You loved this, but you came twice and your ass was sore. Mark was gentle, praising you for how well you were holding up and how good you had been all night. Your head was swimming, you mouth opening on instinct when you felt another cock against it. You opened your eyes, moaning when you saw Jackson. He fucked your mouth, shallowly, the head of his cock pushing against your cheek. You tried to suck on it as much as you could, but it was hard to focus with the slow drag of Mark’s cock against your insides.

Jackson pulled out, rubbing his cock right over your face. “The… rule…” You muttered, hoping he would get it. The wolfish grin on his face told you he did. He told Mark to speed it up, but as soon as he did, he came inside you. He stayed like that for a little, coming down from finally having an orgasm after edging himself all night. Jackson pushed the head of his cock in after Mark pulled out, giving you one last load for that night.

While Jackson was taking some pictures of your ass for you to enjoy later, Mark put your head in his lap, stroking your hair. “Well done,” you sighed as you smiled at him, whimpering when Youngjae and Jinyeong spread your ass apart, so Jackson could record their cum dripping out of you. You pushed, putting your last strength into putting on a show for the camera. You could hear the liquid leave your ass, the pressure inside dissipating.

The boys helped getting you and the bed all cleaned up. Being bathed and dressed went by in a blur and your eyes finally closed when you were back in bed, clean and resting in the arms of the man you loved.

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permanentcrossfics · 4 years

Text

Intentional // h.s.

Gently, you hooked your fingers into the thin gold chains dangling around his neck. They were dim under the shadow of his chin and his eyes flickered down briefly as you slowly pulled the crosses out from underneath his t-shirt. You ran your fingers back and forth, moving the pendants along the chains as if they were on a zipline.

“Still looking, love?” he asked, voice slightly more strained. You nodded, extending your index finger to play with the chest hairs peeking out from his neckline.

Then, you stopped. Almost in tandem with your fist closing around the chains, Harry tipped his cap back before ducking down to kiss you. You swayed, senses overwhelmed -- his skin was under your nose, his mouth was over yours, his groan was in your ears, and his hands were slinking behind you, shielding your back as he pressed you into the shelving. Right then, he was the world. Everything and everyone outside of this aisle was muted and shunned into total darkness. Tentatively, you wrapped your hand tighter in his necklaces and tugged, and all but immediately he dug his fingers into your back without so much as taking a breath. You whimpered and, hand still tangled, you slid it up his neck. You’d just gotten your forearm around his neck when he pulled away.

“I--” He cleared his throat, eyes closed, and pulled his cap down by the brim before pushing it back up again. “Don’t think they really have what m’lookin’ for today,” he said.

Your heart sank, blood still pounding through your veins and head dizzy.

“I think-- f’we can maybe-- d’you wanna go home? Maybe?”

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Transitions were… tricky.

Before you and Harry had joined hands and taken the leap, you were convinced there was nothing worse than the agonizing tickle of did he or didn’t he, would you or wouldn’t you. There was nothing worse than your racing heart when he let his hand linger in more than friendly ways -- in the dip of your lower back, across your shoulder, anywhere he could get that wasn’t copping a feel. Nothing worse than resting your face in the crook of his neck, nose brushing his skin, and listening to him talk through his chest, voice somehow deeper that way. Nothing worse than watching his face fall when you said no, you couldn’t get dinner with him. Why? You had a dinner date with someone else.

Even now you remembered the pang of his confusion and how his easy smile had slipped from his face.

Not long after that he’d cornered you in his visibly nervous resolve. It ended with you perched on top of your kitchen counter, legs spread and him between them as you made out in sweet relief.

How’d you not known? How’d you not have any idea? You’d teased that you were blinded by your pining, but it was bad for him, too, he’d insisted. Awful wondering how to go about it without fucking up a friendship if friendship was all you wanted. All those times of trying to initiate a shift -- first with a slow drawl of, “Is this ok?” while dragging his thumb across the backs of your knuckles in more than the quick passes he’d done in the past. Then, the “All right?” he’d rumbled in your ear when he’d kept you in a hug longer than either of you usually did had you arching into him at the time. To his credit, he hadn’t laughed. If anything, he’d pulled you closer so all of you was stretched across all of him and he’d held on tight. He never let go if he could help it.

That was weeks ago -- three by now, give or take. Three weeks and the bliss of not dancing around suspicions or purposefully sidestepping signs was like a weight had been lifted from both your shoulders. Three weeks of staying in and coffees out and walking through the park after dark and in the rain because that was how privacy could be next to guaranteed. Three weeks, but no date.

“What’ve we been doing?” you’d asked when he’d made the observation over curry takeaway.

“Hanging out.” He shrugged. “Y’know? We haven’t--” sighing, shoulders slumping, he said, “I haven’t taken you anywhere, or….”

So, a date. A real date -- a first, devoid of the jitters and uncertainties that came with meeting someone new, but full of different ones. A date set with the intent of being a real date, not like anything else you’d do.

Just Harry. Just your friend, just your buddy, just someone who was no longer just anyone anymore. Harry, but your fingers shook and nearly spilled the contents of your purse when he rapped on your door.

“Coming!” you called, voice strained. Two twists of your lock later and your door was open. “Hey,” you said. Those off-white loafers he’d more than worn in, grey trousers, the cap stuffed over his hair, and the scooped neck of his tank top underneath his long wool coat assured you that you’d made the right choice with your outfit. His onceover of you was almost imperceptible -- another habit he’d sworn to you he was sure you’d noticed more than once despite himself, and one he’d thought secured him in your mind.

“Ready?” he asked and you nodded, stepping out and pulling the door closed behind you.

“Where--?”

Could you ask that? As friends you’d have badgered him, but as friends he’d have told you beforehand instead of omitting the plan.

He grinned, key fob in hand. “Thought we’d go somewhere we both like….”

“Which is?”

His eyes slid to you and his cheek dimpled deeper. “Maybe go listen to some music.”

***

The record shop was an institution. For all intents and purposes, it was a hole in the wall -- decades of cigarette smoke permeated the walls by at least three inches, and the thick floorboards were warped and creaked with even the slightest step. What the aisles lacked in width they made up for in height, with row after row of albums loaded onto shelving units that nearly touched the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Some were wrapped in cellophane, but most were opened with handwritten pricemarks affixed to the front of them, colors distorted and worn from fingers and care throughout the years.

“This isn’t ‘hanging out’?” you asked quietly, scanning the shelves as you moved along them slowly.

“No,” came his answer from several steps behind you. “It’s something we like doing together.”

“Friends look at records,” you said. “Can you hand me that one?” you asked, pointing at a shelf that was just out of reach.

“Hmm?” Harry looked up from the back of a sleeve he was examining. “Oh, sure.”

“Thanks.” You took it from him and flipped it over. “Do you have this one?”

“I do,” he said. “It’s nice.”

“Why haven’t I ever heard you play it?”

Harry shrugged and you huffed. “You have everything, don’t you?” you said, putting it back. He smirked, but otherwise didn’t react, and you bit your lip, deflating, and averted your eyes. When he’d parked the car out front, you had felt a certain level of ease with the familiarity. Now, though, you felt like… Jesus, you hated admitting it because it made you sound needy, but you felt like you had to vye for his attention. You were his date, but music was his wife, his children, his wife’s children from her first marriage, and more wrapped up into one. At least before, you would sometimes catch each other’s eye in a way that felt forbidden or you’d trade stories and ideas -- anything to have an excuse to talk or get close.

You’d never had this problem as friends.

Your shoes thudded along the floor as you walked through the narrow aisles, the rounding corners and twisting through crates that were stacked one on top of the other -- rescued vinyls, CDs, 8-tracks, and cassette tapes that would’ve met some other end if they hadn’t been sheltered here. It was like stepping through the wardrobe into a musical Narnia where time was lost and you could move seamlessly across it -- decade to decade, month to month, day to day. Twisting your purse so it was behind you and out of your way, you started thumbing through albums, stopping suddenly and pulling one out when it caught your eye.

“What’ve y’got there?”

You jumped, throat closing, and nearly dropped the album on your foot. “Oh my God, Harry!” you whispered. He grinned widely, obnoxiously and obviously pleased he’d startled you, and if it wouldn’t break, you’d hit him with the record. “You absolute--”

“Dunno how you didn’t hear me,” he said. “Floors are--” He leaned back and forth, the squeaking almost musical.

“Stop that,” you said, turning away from him. You were reading the back when he slipped his hand around your waist, palm splayed over your hip.

“What’s that?” he repeated his previous question close to your ear. Wordlessly, you flipped it around and he hummed. “That’s a good one. Don’t have that, actually.”

“No?”

He shook his head and the ends of his hair brushed your ear. Your pulse quickened. Having him this close and letting him so casually step into your bubble of personal space and linger was still so new and unfamiliar. Even now, questions about whether it meant anything cropped up, tickling your brain -- surely this had to be an accident, not anything intentional. Surely he had to not even realize what he was doing. Surely none of this could mean anything.

Surely.

“D’you think you’re gonna get it?”

You inhaled quickly and cleared your throat, slipping it back onto the shelf. “I-- don’t know.” Your mouth was dry and you coughed delicately, but when you made to spin to slip by him, he got his hand on your other hip and held you in place.

“Where’re you going?”

Straightening up, something pulled behind your navel. Electric -- the word made you roll your eyes, but it was the only one you could describe the intensity of the charge you felt. Almost nose to nose, you could see every detail on his face. You’d seen them countless times before without a thought, but they were somehow more now. Every crease of his eyelids, every slight variation in the shade of his eyes, the patches of his facial hair that were thicker and darker than others, the freckle on his lip and the other on his chin and the way his throat bobbed, and--

“Just looking,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” Harry asked. “M’lookin’, too.”

The bell above the door clanged at the front of the shop. It was muted, distant, and voices were muffled. Next to no one ever came back here -- that’s why he liked this place. It was so deep, no one would ever find him. He could duck in, disappear, find a gem or three, and quietly leave without anyone being the wiser.

It was Narnia. Safe, surrounded by mentors of times gone by, with no one to interrupt.

“Still looking, love?” he asked, voice slightly more strained. You nodded, extending your index finger to play with the chest hairs peeking out from his neckline.

“I--” He cleared his throat, eyes closed, and pulled his cap down by the brim before pushing it back up again. “Don’t think they really have what m’lookin’ for today,” he said.

Your heart sank, blood still pounding through your veins and head dizzy.

“I think-- f’we can maybe-- d’you wanna go home? Maybe?”

Already? You’d only just gotten there, and you thought maybe for all his talk of a date, he’d….

Harry tilted his head, green eyes unblinking and imploring you to understand something. His cheeks were pink and he opened his mouth before closing it quickly with a mumble of, “M’mean… we don’t have to-- if you’re not, then I don’t….”

Oh.

“Sure,” you gasped. “Yeah.”

You’d no sooner gotten the words out than he’d unwound your hand from around his necklace to hold it in his and pull you with him back from Narnia to the front of the shop and into the real world.

***

The car ride was hell. Whatever tension had settled and relaxed on the way over had grown tenfold on the way back. You were pretty sure he broke at least three rules on the way that included saying, “No one ever comes down this road, anyway,” under his breath and flooring the gas in a way that had you gripping the door and seriously debating your answer when he asked if you were ok. But the click of his turn signal before he rolled into his driveway was like a ticking time bomb.

You were home. Your friend who was a bit more than friendly had invited you home with the clear and unmistakeable intention to have sex.

With him.

That was a little more different.

Harry turned the car off and twin pops of seatbelts unfastening followed in quick succession. Abandoning chivalry, he left you to your door in favor of racing to his front one to open it up and usher you both inside out of the light drizzle that’d started halfway there.

You were walking into his house to have sex with him.

It was warm and cozy inside. Decorated in all its eccentric ways, his home felt like it was still getting used to having him home more often. Your shoes scuffed and squeaked the hardwood and his loafers padded with purpose as he went around flicking lights on to brighten the rooms. His cap was gone, having carelessly tossed it somewhere on his way in, and he was shaking his coat off when you fumbled with your bag before dropping it on the sofa and kicking off your shoes.

Ready.

Set….

“I’m--”

Gonna go upstairs.

The rest of it, though, was lost when Harry spun you by the waist and you only just caught sight of his curls — disheveled from the hat he’d stuffed them under — before he reeled you in with a smashing kiss. Unrestrained, unrelenting, and unforgiving, he was off, and it was all you could do to cling to his shoulders for dear life as he backed you up in the practiced way someone who lived there and knew every quirk and oddity of his own house might. He was free to touch, and you were, too, and you did. You touched his back, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, the zipper on his trousers, and his thighs with greedy hands that were learning as fast as they could. As in the shop, again he pulled away and grabbed your hand to lead you up the steps, and your knees quaked so badly you nearly fell down more than once on the way up.

You felt naughty. The same frantic energy of two teenagers trying to beat the clock after school before Mum came home to make dinner pricked you, and judging by the permanent smile pulling his mouth and carving smile lines deeper, he felt it, too. Hurry up, quick, before anyone caught on that you were going to have sex with your friend Harry.

“Everyone probably thinks we’ve already--”

His barking laugh cut you off -- a little wheezy, but it was deep from his belly, and infectious -- and you followed him, giggling, into his bedroom.

It smelled like him. It was the whiff you got when you hugged him, or, more recently, kissed him, but even more, and it was so concentrated it made you woozy. The bed was made, if haphazardly -- like he’d decided on it while getting dressed because he thought he should, but he hadn’t wanted to spend the time on doing it right -- and clothes were visible through half-open drawers and draped onto the stuffed armchair in the corner of his room.

“Did you clean?” you teased. He exhaled sharply and shook his head, but his mouth quirked at the corners and his cheeks were pink. Biting your lip, you squeezed his hand and he stepped closer.

“Is this ok?” he asked. Nodding, you tilted your head up slightly to meet his mouth. Less hurried and violent than the one downstairs, this kiss reached deep, stirring up nerves and butterflies. Each time he broke it, you chased him for more, and he smiled into it, pressing his warm hand on your cheek. “Gonna take your clothes off now,” he mumbled between several smacking kisses.

“Ok….”

Your clothes and his were gradually removed -- button by button, snap after snap, and zippers, too, slowly and with careful intent despite the rush you were both in. Discovering him and having him discover you was nothing short of exhilarating. Harry drew his hand over your bare shoulder with almost curious possessiveness before ducking down and sponging kisses up and down it that had your eyes fluttering shut and your head rolling back. He groaned in the back of his throat and his teeth scraped your skin when he bit you gently, pulling a gasp from you and you yourself back to consciousness.

Dazed and lips parted with each gulping breath, you stared at him. His hair was dark and twisted, pulled this way and that by your hands and his, and his chest rose and fell rapidly, the same crosses you’d tugged earlier glinting in the streaks of soft grey light peeking through his curtains. Even the most faded ink on his torso and arms seemed to pop bright and black on his skin, and without thinking, you pressed your palms to it, absorbing the warmth as you skated over him before doing as he had and leaning in to press a kiss to his shoulder.

How many times had you suppressed thoughts of kissing his skin? How many times more had you indulged in them feeling guilty and unsure, because he was your friend and things weren’t like that for either of you? How many times had you wondered when you’d get to do this since things had shifted? You kissed and pulled at the skin along his shoulders, chest, and arms, relishing his stuttered breaths, and you only paused when, glancing up, you caught the look on his face. With hooded eyes and a parted, bright red mouth, he looked like a man -- not a man who was your friend, but a man you wanted to rip into and who you wanted to rip into you. A man who could, and was perfectly capable of it, and who would without even having to be asked if you only said yes, please. It was feral, it was instinctual, and you clapped your hand behind his neck before smashing your mouth to his with a desperate whimper.

Harry turned you smoothly onto his bed and you squeaked when your back hit the mattress with a bounce and he went with you. You were covered by him from head to toe, and you ran your foot up his calf, hooking it around the back of his knee. “Ha--” muffled against his mouth, he groaned immediately.

“I know,” he said. “I know, I know….”

One bra strap and then the other snapped when he slipped them down your arms, but the sting barely made an impression when he let out a slow, hot breath against your chest and peppered kisses over the tops of your breast. Nose pressed to your skin, he took a deep breath, and the anxiety that had wound itself into tight little balls in you of unchecked energy gradually loosened and dissolved. He was nervous -- not enough to inhibit him, but enough to roll off him and onto you. You almost laughed. You’d been so focused on your own perspective, you’d lost sight of the fact that this was different for him, too.

His best friend was in his bed, nearly naked, and he was about to have sex with them.

“Is this ok?” you whispered over his head. Harry stopped and looked up at you.

“Is…?” He grinned, laughing, and shook his head. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s great.”

Simple and silly, that one word sent you soaring. Great -- you were great. This was great. Pushing his chest, you sat up when he rolled off you as you wordlessly reached behind to unhook your bra. You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped automatically when you shimmied it down your arms, and you smirked in a way you hoped was half as coy as you’d tried to make it.

“Go,” you murmured, pushing his chest again.

“Ah,” Harry said, doing as you asked and falling back onto his elbows. “They like to be in charge, then?”

Heat crept up through you when you straddled his thighs. “Sometimes.” You slipped your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, noticing very briefly how soft his skin was against your knuckles before you pulled the elastic firmly. Harry lifted his hips so you could get them down, and just as his had, your eyes dropped despite yourself. Mostly hard, he rested against the crease of his thigh. Any number of adjectives ran through your head, and you only realized you were still looking, lost in thought, when you caught the cocky twist of his mouth.

“Go on, then,” he said quietly. Snorting, you rolled your eyes and fell forward, chest-to-chest with him, and he drew you up into a kiss. Smashed together, you stayed just like that, hands stroking, dipping, and exploring bare skin. You shivered when he slipped his hand into your underwear to knead your ass, and your wriggling made him grunt in a tortured way. “Condom’s in the drawer,” he mumbled. “Gonna… have to… wait… wait here.”

Harry gently eased you away by the waist before rolling across his bed and stood to open his bedside table. You dropped your head onto his pillow and watched him with a small smile. “Were you planning this?”

He tore a condom off the strip. “No. I mean….” Harry shrugged. “Had hope that… maybe eventually… y’know…” he said sheepishly. He looked at you as if gauging your reaction. “Is that…?”

Your smile widened and you held your arm out, inviting him back, and he let out a deep breath, taking it.

“Know how t’keep me on my toes,” he mumbled.

“Good,” you said just before kissing him, arm tight around his neck. He inhaled deeply and sheets rustled as you rolled in them, turning him onto his back and sending you with him. With your weight settled on top of him, you lay there comfortably, languidly kissing through soft, breathless moans. He, for his part, seemed content to let his hands wander the sides of your breasts, your back, your hips, over your ass, the crease along your thighs, and finally….

You stilled with a gasp when he slid the pads of his fingers over you -- up and down, up and down -- before he carefully parted you with just the tips. Gulping, you broke from his mouth and rested your forehead on his shoulder with a rattling breath, gripping his bicep and shifting to bring one of your knees up. Harry grunted and adjusted himself beneath you before pressing a kiss to your ear and sliding his fingers deeper. He curled them and your mouth fell open. Beneath you, he chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he pumped them in and out of you, each wet, slick stroke somehow louder than the last. God, could he hear that? Of course he could.

“Come on,” he whispered, gradually slowing his fingers. He pulled them out and drew them up your skin, leaving a sticky trail behind. “Come….” The wrapper crinkled when you tore into it, and he pinched the top while you smoothed the condom down to his base. Hands braced on his chest, you held your breath as you settled over him.

“Breathe,” he warned, jaw tight and eyes flickering between your face and where you were above him. “Breathe, yeah? Just--”

“I’m ok,” you assured him, drawing his head between your legs, sliding it until you found your entrance. “I’m….” You trailed off into a sigh when you opened around his head, and, swallowing hard, you eased down, down, down onto him until you were nearly seated on his thighs. “Oh my God,” you moaned under your breath.

“Breathe,” Harry said again. Eyes closed, you did as he said, taking slow, deep breaths in and out. He was… this was a stretch. Not painfully so, but one regardless. You pulsed, grimacing immediately, before rocking on top of him. There -- that wasn’t so bad. Not at all, even, that was good. Hands still on his chest, you braced yourself and pushed back and forth, slowly at first and then with more certainty. Beneath you, Harry grunted and clapped his hands over your hips as if caught off guard. “Shit,” he breathed.

Eyes stamped shut, he tilted his head back, drilling it into his pillow, and you marveled at the long column of his neck. You watched his throat bob several times and you followed the path up to his sharp jawline, his tight mouth, to where his nose was flaring harshly. He laughed breathlessly and opened his eyes, but there was an unfocused gleam to them. “Y-y’killin’... killin’ me,” he stuttered. “You….”

He trailed off when you hooked your fingertips into his chains again and tugged. His chin doubled when he lifted his head and when he locked eyes with you, you grinned impishly before easing down onto him. Clapping a firm hold on your ass, he brought you down hard and you groaned abruptly. That was deep -- that was in your belly -- and your face screwed up when he did it again and again, thrusting his hips sharply against yours.

“Oh my-- Harry-- fuck!”

The bands of his rings, warm from his body heat, pinched your skin when he tightened his hold. He practically shook beneath you with the effort he was using, every breath labored, but suddenly, he stopped. Before you could so much as whisper, the world spun around you and you were on your back, empty.

“Shit!” Harry spluttered, pushing his fingers through his now damp hair. It fell right back in front of his forehead and you let out a wheezy stream of giggles. “That-- that was not supposed to be that….”

You laughed louder and he kissed your jaw, grinning against it while kneading one of your breasts, thumb rolling back and forth over your nipple. Eyes closing, you sighed breathily when he ducked down and sucked with a low, reverent groan and incomprehensible mumbles. When he stretched out above you again to push in, you wrapped both your arms around his back as yours arched with a quiet moan.

“God, this feels good,” you said, candid and unprompted, sinking into the feeling as he sank into you.

“Feels amazing,” he said. “Feels so fucking….” Grunting, he shuddered and dropped nearly all his weight on top of you. “Bring your legs up,” he said. “Bring your legs--” You complied, locking your ankles just above his ass, thighs spread wide. “Good, good girl.”

“You like to… to be the boss?” you teased, echoing his earlier jab.

He thrust sharply, punching a shout from you.

“Yes.”

Again and again he drove into you, and it was all you could do to grab onto him. He’d been holding back! He’d been holding way back! You hiccuped a breath and pressed your mouth to his shoulder, face twisted as you grappled his back with shaking fingers. This was good sex -- this was the type of sex that elevated you and made your toes shake and curl while you gasped for breath. The type of sex where you were going and going until you lost your breath right on the edge and you had to pause and feel the tickles of an orgasm slip away because it was that or pass out cold. This was sex you kissed and bit your way through and would leave you sore from your scalp down through the balls of your feet. It was roll over, lift like this, deeper, there? There sex. This sex was….

You weren’t sure at first because it felt fast, but it was confirmed with the first contraction deep in your abdomen. “Oh my God,” you moaned in disbelief. One of your hands slipped against his back and he hissed, faltering for just a moment as you uttered a pitchy, “Sorry… sorry!” while finding your hold both in his firm upper back and the softer muscle close to his hips.

“Close?” he ground out, voice muffled, and you nodded against his shoulder, turning your face into his sweaty neck. The smell of cologne and sweat was strong, almost dizzyingly so, and each new contraction brought on by his pelvis grinding against yours made it worse.

Swallowing, mouth dry, you whispered, “I’m think I’m gonna cum,” in an almost confessional tone. “I think--”

“Ok!” he said under his breath. “Ok-- oh, shit….” He moaned, a long, loud, drawn out sound and his hips faltered. ‘Wait! Wait, fuck!” Breathless and keening he thrust roughly, like he was trying to beat a clock only he could hear, breathing raggedly under your ear. Panting, you locked your arms and legs around him. You’d never been particularly loud -- years of necessity had built a habit -- but you could hear yourself now, calling out things that didn’t even make sense, writhing underneath him like you were out of your mind. It was almost pornographic, and you almost laughed, but it got caught in your throat when your cunt pulsed and your whole body tightened.

“Oh, Harry, oh, God!”

Harry smashed a stubbly kiss to the corner of your mouth, and his chin hit yours so hard it hurt. Your eye watered, whether from pain or the intensity of him still grinding, but seconds later through sputtered pleases and increasingly frantic thrust, he groaned so deeply you felt it in you. You went entirely still as he trembled, cock throbbing, and in the next minute he’d collapsed full weight on top of you. You sucked soft, wheezy breaths in as best you could, but your lungs were crushed in your chest with the pressure he was putting on them. Just as you were about to ask him to… maybe… please, Harry… move… he pushed up and off you to the side just enough to relieve you.

“Shit!” he rasped, face planted against your shoulder. “Shit.”

Yeah. Shit. Did you say it out loud? You couldn’t tell -- you couldn’t tell much of anything anymore. Everything was somehow pleasantly hot and numb at the same time, and you were thirsty. Your head was ringing, too, and you couldn’t remember the last time sex had left you this finished. Totally and thoroughly finished.

You’d done it. You’d had sex with him, with intent, and it was incredible.

Harry slipped his hand around your bicep and squeezed, pressing kisses to your skin in silence. Your lips quirked, but any quip was half-formed, and each one died on your tongue. Gradually, your breathing settled and the roaring silence did, too. Outside, the clouds had passed, and raindrops clinging to the window panes were slowly drying up in the sun that’d deemed it safe enough to peek again. It was still early -- after the nerves, the jitters, the trip to the shop, dancing around each other, and flooring it back to his place, and the sex, there was still most of a day ahead of you.

With a final squeeze, Harry kissed the top of your breast before rolling away, bed creaking beneath him. Shaking his head, he stood, and picked his trousers off the floor before patting them down and taking out his phone.

“S’get summat t’eat,” he mumbled, voice thick, as he passed it over to you. “Lemme buy.” He gestured to himself vaguely. “Gonna go… and maybe pick up that record you didn’t know I had.”

He stumbled, waving you off when you giggled. Just the same as before -- lunch in the afternoon with albums spinning until you couldn’t stand to get up to change them again -- but with a few crucial differences that made it so much better.

#harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry imagine #harry fanfic #harry oneshot #harry one shot #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #permanentcross #intentional #original writing

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celestial-heartbeat · 3 years

Note

What do you think about @thesubroom post on instagram where she talked about how solar subs promote toxic positivity,victim blaming she called solar subs disgusting and invalidating for people with “slow subliminal results” she said that people with slow subliminal results exist and it is not because of belief it is because it is what it is I really want to see your take on this

whaaat ok i just looked at a few of her posts and umm what the hellll?? first of all solar subs is AMAZING i love her with all my heart literally all her subliminals work so so well. solar was also a huge influence on the sub community and basically made law of assumption and neville mainstream in that community. also everything that solar says on youtube and instagram abt the law of assumption is pretty much the same as we say on tumblr. so solar isn't doing or saying anything extreme or controversial, and it's literally the truth.

and another thing..one post of thesubroom the bothered me a lot was the one where she says that affirmations that contain the word "3D" is mentally harmful. that is a LOAD of bullshit like please who came UP with that limiting belief 😭😭 basically she did a poll of people who had mental illness and if the 3D affirmations made their symptoms “worse“ after listing to them. and apparently a lot of people claimed that their symptoms got worse after listening. now of course i’m not invalidating anyone who experiences mental illness, but to connect 3D affirmations to mental illness is a HUGE and dangerous claim. see our minds are easily influenced and we tend to assume things more easily if we see visible “proof," (such as the poll results). so now people are going to be seeing this post and then they‘ll think “oh NO i listened to solar’s 3D sub so now my symptoms are gonna be worse!” and then they start assuming that all 3D affirmations are harmful, which will then start to play out in their reality. it’s a viscous cycle that keeps on spreading to whoever else assumes that these affirmations harmful. the affirmations are not inherently harmful, but at the end of the day if you assume that these affirmations are harmful to you then they will be. see your mind is way more powerful than any subliminal. you can influence what kind of results you get from subliminals. remember the law of assumption is always working for EVERYTHING, whether positive or negative. this is an example of a negative assumption playing out.

anyways RANT OVER this was a mess sorry, but yeah i’d honestly stay away from their page and instagram in general tbh. solar subs is awesome in my opinion, her teachings and subs line up so well with neville and the law and her subliminals work really good!!

#asks

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Longing

Chapter 1

Description: Chris Evans becomes obsessed with you when he realises he can't have you. Eager to be with you in some form or the other, he starts writing fanfiction, where both of you are passionately in love with each other. But what happens when his imagination starts to merge with his reality in his subconsciousness?

Warnings: This entire mini-series will contain smut, bad language and angst. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

This first chapter is inspired by the GIF below from @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18 's ShamelessHoesForChris writing challenge. Click here to know more

A/N: I do not know Chris Evans personally. This fic is a work of imagination and should only be used as such. It doesn't comment on Chris or anybody else personally. It is also not meant to destroy his reputation or paint him in a bad light. I admire the guy and he really seems like a genuinely nice person. Again, I repeat, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION SO TREAT IT AS SUCH!

A/N 2: I did search quite a lot on the internet and didn't come across a fic like this. Which makes me nervous and also kind of excited that I get to do something unique? Please please give me your criticism and feedback on this! Would love to hear your thoughts.

A/N 3: I have used a few big words throughout the series because this fic is from Chris' POV and we all know that he's a bit of a wordsmith 😅 I had never even heard these words before in my life. So please let me know if I have used them in an incorrect manner.

My Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

The best thing about shooting Defending Jacob? Chris got to stay in his house in Boston. The worst part about working on the set? He was currently stuck in a room engulfed in hot, angry flames of fire. The fire had abruptly started due to a short circuit and spread across the set in the blink of an eye. Coughing, Chris doubled down on the floor, his breathing becoming more laboured with each second.

The smoke stung his eyes as he looked around for a fire extinguisher. He tried calling for help, but only small grunts managed to escape his lips. Just as he was on the verge of losing consciousness, he heard a voice. Your voice.

"Is anyone here?" you called out, your voice faint in his ears. "Hello?"

Chris tried to shout again, but only sank further towards the floor.

Luckily, you opened the door of his room and found his almost crumpled body on the ground. Using the fire extinguisher, you managed to douse as many flames as you could, while also covering Chris with a thick blanket. As the room was still filled with smoke, you pressed a wet towel on his face, asking him to breathe through his nose.

Slowly, you managed to drag him out of the room and into the corridor, the fire reduced to embers in most places thanks to your fire extinguisher. Chris being a heavy man, you tried your best to support his weight as much as you could, your body almost stooping to form a right angle.

Just as you thought you might be in the clear, you heard a crack from above. Looking up, you realised that the ceiling was about to cave in and so, on impulse, you pushed Chris out of the way, as portions of the false ceiling fell on you, knocking you unconscious.

Chris, in his state, vaguely realised what happened, before he lost his balance and fell to the ground a few feet away from you, his left arm stretched towards your limp body, as if reaching out.

Sirens of the firetruck and the ambulance filled the heavy air. A deep groan escaped his lips as he attempted to crawl towards you, a failed effort. Where did it all go so wrong? he thought. I was supposed to be the one to save you angel! You should be falling in love with me!! And break-up with your good for nothing fiancé!

Overwhelmed with emotions, Chris started drifting off to sleep, your name leaving his lips in the form of a desperate whisper.

🔥

8 MONTHS AGO

Chris met you for the first time at the table read for Defending Jacob. You didn't strike him as anyone special. Being the Junior Assistant Scriptwriter for the series, you were just in the room as a formality. It was your job to jot down the minutes of the meeting, and have the parts of the script marked which were supposed to be changed slightly.

You managed to stay invisible for more such meetings. An introvert by nature, you kept to yourself even when the shooting started.

It was in the Week 4 of the shooting when Chris actually started to notice you. He realised you were always absent from his house parties, never stayed around on the set for after-work shenanigans and, you never hung out with any of your crew-mates for a drink.

What really drove his attention towards you were your random acts of kindness. He once saw you feeding a homeless man in the alley behind the set. Unknown to you, it was where Chris often hid from his cast and crew to smoke.

Then there was the bit with setting up of a mobile blood donation camp on the set, which was completely your idea. He had also seen you distribute fliers for animal adoption centres and NGOs who fought for climate preservation.

You always made sure everyone on the set ate before you did, and the ones who couldn't due to work, you were sure to help them and share their load so they could have lunch.

But one particular incident made him see that you were no ordinary woman.

It was a particularly tough day on the set. They were shooting the 35-second sex scene between him and Michelle. While these scenes looked easy on the screen, they always made Chris feel uneasy about himself. "What if my body is not upto the mark?" , "I don't want to hurt Michelle in any way" , "God I hope I don't touch her inappropriately by mistake" and more such troubling thoughts clawed at his mind. After the scene finally ended, he felt the lustful eyes of the crew feasting on him, admiring his body on display.

He hurried towards his van, avoiding to look at anyone, until his eyes met yours for a total of 5 seconds. He expected to see the same smirk to be reflected in your eyes as everyone else's. Instead, he saw a completely different emotion. He saw sadness, sympathy, and most importantly, recognition of his discomfort etched on your face.

After that, Chris started to keep a close eye on you. You always wore comfortable clothes, with loads of pockets. Yet somehow, they always fit you well. He also noticed that you always got your own lunch, refusing to eat the food available on the set.

A few days after filming the sex scene, he decided to try to speak with you. Palms sweaty, he headed towards you and gently said your name.

"Hi," he said, and stopped.

"Hello Mr Evans," you greeted him back, a little surprised that he knew your name.

He continued to look at you, bright cerulean eyes bearing into yours, apparently lost. You blinked twice, unfazed, and a little uncomfortable, "Can I help you sir?"

Chris shook his head slightly. He was so used to women fawning all over him, that your utter lack of excitement on seeing him deterred him a bit.

He cleared his throat, a little flustered, *Ahem yeah… I wanted to ask… something… karaoke!" he managed to mumble, "It's karaoke night at my house. Tomorrow. Will you come? At night?"

"Umm… No Mr Evans. I am sorry I will not be able to make it," you politely declined while taking a small step back.

"Oh. Uhh… well we can have it any other night if you want," he cleared his throat again, sweat starting to gather on his forehead as he noticed your movement, "You never visit any of my house-parties."

You smiled a bit, "I like to go home early. I want to spend as much time as I can with my fiancé and my cat."

Chris raised his eyebrows at that revelation, "Fiancé? I… I don't see a ring."

"That's because there isn't one," your smile widened as you pulled the chain around your neck and revealed a locket. It was an intricately carved sunflower locket, with small, delicate curls nestled inside the petals.

Chris glanced at it with disdain. It looked hand-made, cheap, "Is that… is it made from clay?"

"Yes Mr Evans," you beamed at the locket, admiring it with love and pride, "My fiancé is a potter and he made this himself. It took him over 6 hours just to carve all the petals. But he still made it because he knows how much I love sunflowers."

"So he's too poor to give you an appropriate ring?" Chris snapped at you.

Offended, you looked at him in shock and anger as he continued. "You deserve someone who can afford to give you an expensive engagement ring. Not some cheap craft project."

You grit your teeth at his comment, "Unlike some people, I don't look at the price of the gifts, I look at their value. While this," you held the locket in front of his eyes, "is worthless for you, it is priceless for me."

You placed the locket back inside your shirt and walked away. Chris stood rooted at the spot, biting his cheek hollow. He hadn't meant to drive you away. He had just wanted you to see him as a prospective partner.

As he turned towards his trailer, an idea popped into his head.

🔥

Next Friday saw you and your fiancé walk into the bowling alley. The production house had organised a "Bring Your Partner to Work Day" and you both were excited to step out of your routine lives.

A few people on the set recognised your fiancé Aiden from his YouTube channel. Kenneth, an Assistant Set Designer, drooled over him, "Maaahhnnn! I love your pottery videos! They are so calming dude. How do you make them so relaxing?"

The ever shy and soft-spoken Aiden gushed at the compliment, turning a shade of red which you always found adorable. Aiden was almost the same height as you, with a lean figure and a kind, freckled face. Your friends always told you that Aiden's looks were nothing to brag about, but you disagreed. Because for you, this man was the most handsomest, cutest and sexiest person in the world.

And you knew he felt the same way about you. That's why, even after being together for almost 5 years now, you two still looked at each other with heart eyes.

As the party progressed, you made sure to avoid Chris, and so far, you were successful. That was until he softly said your name.

With dread in your stomach, you and Aiden turned around to face the man. Aiden knew of your previous encounter with Chris, and tried to square his shoulders as much as possible, but Chris' towering physique and personality literally made it impossible for Aiden to appear tough.

You gave Chris a curt nod and received a sweet smile in response.

"I believe I owe you an apology," he confessed, "I am sorry. My behavior that day was inexcusable." He paused for reaction, but looking at your hesitant faces, he continued, "It was quite a hectic day on the set and I guess I took it all out on you," he looked towards you, "You know I am capricious by nature. It takes me some time to become gregarious. But," he raised his hands in the air, "I repeat, the way I acted was inexcusable. I am sorry."

He extended his arm towards Aiden, "You are a porter I believe."

"Potter, sir," Aiden corrected while shaking his hand and introducing himself.

You bit your tongue, knowing that Chris was mocking you with his false apology.

He invited Megan to join the conversation, "Megan loves handmade ceramics. Maybe she would be interested in your work."

Introductions were made again, and as the conversation pursued, it arrived at the topic of your marriage.

"Have you guys decided on a date yet?" asked Megan as Chris looked at you.

"We are planning to get married as soon as the shooting ends for DJ," you smiled.

"Oh really? Wow that's… unusual," Megan tried her best to hide her surprise.

"We don't know exactly when will the shooting end," Chris said with a frown on his face.

"That's not an issue Mr Evans. We are actually planning to get married at the courthouse," revealed Aiden.

"You know if money is an issue then we would be more than happy to help you guys out," Chris offered in a sincere tone.

"Oh no no Mr Evans. Money isn't an issue," you clarified, "We have decided to donate the money we had intended to spend on the wedding."

"But thank you so much for the generous offer, we really appreciate it," Aiden added with a sincere smile.

"You know a lot of couples are doing that nowadays. It's a trend I believe," Megan commented, "Where are you going to make the donation?"

"The local orphanage where I grew up. We both love kids and, it just seemed to be the perfect choice," Aiden beamed at you.

You mirrored his expression while Chris scowled. "I think everybody should get the wedding of their dreams, and you" he stated, pointing towards you, "deserve much more than a courthouse wedding. Don't you want to get married in a beautiful church? Walk down the aisle in a gorgeous white gown? And get married to a man who can actually fulfill your wishes and desires?"

Squaring your shoulders, you looked at Chris dead in the eye, "I am marrying the man of my dreams Mr Evans. The wedding ceremony doesn't matter to me. What does matter is the beautiful life we will begin together. Now if you will excuse us," you linked your arm with Aiden's, "we need to leave."

Chris watched you leave as Megan tried to distract him with something else. Tonight did not go the way he had anticipated.

He left the party shortly after you, directly heading for his home. Standing under the cold shower, he tried to reason with himself. He was acting out of character. There was no reason for his behavior. You had made it ample clear that you loved your fiancé and that nobody in the world could sway you.

Then why was he so hell-bent on claiming you as his?

Because she's perfect for you, a voice answered him.

Yeah, but she belongs to someone else, he argued.

So what?, the voice urged, Fight for her. You saw her wimp of a fiancé. You can break him into two pieces without breaking a sweat. She is made for you. Just you, and nobody else.

"I… Just… No," Chris stammered loudly as he shook his head, trying to get rid of the voice in his mind.

He tried to meditate, but it didn't work. Dodger too, was unable to distract him. Even his books on self-help and mental health were of no use.

As a last resort, he opened his laptop, but his fingers halted at the search bar, the cursor blinking back at him.

He was too tempted to search for you again. The last time he had Googled you, he had been satisfied with the results. You often volunteered with a few NGOs, coordinated multiple donation drives, visited orphanages and taught underprivileged children. His heart had melted at a particular photograph- you were holding an 8-month-old girl in your arms, while looking over a painting drawn by a 4-year-old boy as the child looked up at you with a toothy smile.

It reminded him of everything he wanted to have, but still couldn't.

He closed his eyes and started kneading his forehead with his palms. Everybody he knew always only had the best things about him. Right from Scarlett to Mark to Olivia to every fucking person he had ever worked with, everybody said he deserved to have a loving wife, a stable family.

And yet, here he was, on a Friday night, home alone with a beer bottle, on the verge of anxiety.

Was it just anxiety though?

Who the fuck is Aiden and why does he deserve to be with her? the voice in his head was back.

They love each other, they want to get married, Chris reasoned.

He doesn't hold a candle next to you, the voice persisted, People love money more than they love others. She will come to you. But you need to let her know you are available. You need to take her to-

"No," Chris interrupted the voice loudly, "No. This is unhealthy. No."

Reaching for his phone, he searched for his therapist's number, when the voice chuckled, You really think a shrink is going to help you with this? Eh? They are only going to ask you to fuck another pussy, or read more books. And I will be damned before you touch another book about trees.

Chris shook his head again, but in vain. Unable to find the number in his contacts, he turned to Google for the second time that night and started searching for therapists in his area. The voice tut-ted, Yeah, as if the psycho doctor is going to shut their trap about Chris Evans crying over a girl.

Chris almost crushed his bottle in frustration. He couldn't let the voice take over. Not now. Not after working his ass off to get where wanted in his career. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the screen again and came across the headline- "Why Do People Write Fanfiction?" The word fanfiction seemed vaguely familiar to him. He was going to ignore the article and scroll downwards, but the brief underneath the headline made him stop- …mostly, people write fanfiction to stay in touch with the characters they love," says leading Psychologist Andrea Williams.

Intrigued, he opened the article and started reading. Then he opened another, and another and by the time he was done, he had read 6-7 articles on the concept of fanfiction and what it entailed.

Sighing, he opened a new word document. He was reluctant to type a letter, let alone a whole fictional story. He had tried everything and yet, you chose to occupy a rent-free space in his mind.

Now all he needed was a reference.

He minimised the document, and opened a new tab on his browser. His hesitant fingers typed the words - Chris Evans Fanfiction - into the search bar, and he instantly winced.

Millions of search results were displayed before him, and as he read the descriptions of each one of them, he realised that 99% of these stories were porn. There was no sugar-coating it. On the 5th page of the search results, he luckily found a story sans the erotica. It was a cute one-shot about him going on a first date with the reader. He read it with squinted eyes, afraid that a sex scene might jump out of the blue, but luckily, nothing of the sort happened.

Chris liked reading it. It was an innocent story filled with romance.

But the only problem? It was written from the reader's point of view. He checked a few others, and realised they were all written from the women's perspective, not his.

He sat back in his chair, turning his head such that he was looking at the ceiling, contemplating his options.

You want her, the voice whispered.

Reluctantly, he typed the first word that came to his mind. Your name.

Chris rested his chin on his palm, wondering where to start. If this were fiction, would tonight have gone different? Would you have visited his house for karaoke that night?

Tapping his fingers on the desk, he bit his tongue in thought. Thinking it was better to start at the beginning, he started typing from his POV-

The first time I saw her I thought she was pretty. I saw her during meetings and the shooting. Then one day I saw her giving food to a homeless man-

Deleting his words, Chris shook his head. This was insane! Right? You were a real human being and it was unethical of him to write this! He needed to learn to handle his feelings.

If you don't have the balls to fight for her, then be with her in the stories you write. Grow a spine Evans, whispered the insulting voice.

Hesitating, he tried to write another paragraph, which ended up getting deleted.

Try again, the voice coaxed him. Pour your heart into this. Write better.

Taking a sip of the beer, Chris started typing again-

It was lunchtime when I saw her arranging some equipment on the table. Her back was facing me as I carefully approached her, afraid to startle her. I breathed in her scent, light, floral and fresh, before whispering her name.

She turned around, a bit surprised to see me, but she smiled nevertheless. Oh gosh her smile. I had seen her smile a few times on the set, but in person, it took my breath away.

"Hi," I managed to greet her shyly. She matched my response.

"I was wondering if you would like to sing karaoke with me? There's a karaoke party tonight at my house if you would like to come," I asked her hopefully.

Her expression turned remorseful as she apologised, "I cannot come Mr Evans. My fiancé won't let me."

Imagine my surprise when I found out about her fiancé. "I didn't know about your fiancé. Why won't he let you come?" I asked her, concerned as she started sniffing a bit.

"He's… he's very strict Mr Evans. He doesn't like it when I go out with my fri-friends or co-workers," she shared between her light sobs.

My heart broke into pieces on hearing her confession. I had often noticed her taciturn behaviour on the set, but I had no idea about the reason behind it.

I raised my hands to cup her face. I was itching to wipe her tears with my lips, but instead, I used my thumbs.

"I want to help you. Please let me," I requested.

"Nobody can help me Mr Evans. I am stuck with a monster." She pulled a chain from underneath her shirt and I got a glimpse at the marks on her neck. "Aiden gave me this chain and locket instead of an engagement ring. He said it will be better than a ring. And now he-" she started sobbing harder. I pulled her into my chest, running my right hand through her hair as my left hand soothed her back.

"And now he uses it as a leash," my angel whispered, horrified, "he says I do not deserve a ring."

I hugged her tighter and thankfully, she buried her face in my chest, "You are no longer stuck with him. Are you listening to me?" I bent my face to bring my lips near her ears, "I will make sure that you are free of him."

She shook her head, reluctantly pulling away from me, "No Mr Evans. I cannot-"

"Yes you can," I interrupted her. "You are going to come to my house for karaoke tonight. Message Aiden right now, and tell him that I will be dropping you home. Okay?"

After some coaxing, she agreed. I held her close as she typed out the message, her hands shaking around her mobile phone. Finally she clicked on the SEND button.

I brushed a kiss on her forehead, "Wait for me in the back alley after the shoot, okay? I will pick you up from there."

She nodded gratefully in response.

I couldn't wait for the shoot to be over that day. In my eagerness, I even messed up a few takes, mumbling over my lines like an idiot. But eventually, I got through the day.

I was excited when I picked her up after the shoot. I could see she was nervous and maybe a little bit scared, but she still entered my car anyway. So I made small talk with her and tried to put her mind at ease.

Finally, when we reached my house, she was in awe.

"This is the most beautiful house I have ever seen Mr Evans," she gasped as I led her inside, "I don't think I have ever seen anything like it before!"

I chuckled, "I am happy you like it. It… it just feels empty sometimes, you know? I find loneliness ubiquitous in this house."

You looked at her puzzled expression and smiled. "Ubi-what was that word Mr Evans?"

"Ubiquitous," I replied, "it means something that is present and is found everywhere."

"Ahh okay," she nodded, "thank you for teaching me."

"I will accept your gratitude only on one condition."

She tilted her head ever so slightly, "And what would that be Mr Evans?"

I smiled as I slightly bent down and held her hand, "You need to start calling me Christopher."

Visibly flustered, my angel looked down at her feet. "I-I can't Mr Evans," she said in a low voice.

"Why can't you?"

"I respect you too much sir," she confessed.

"Hey," I gently nudged her forehead with mine, "I want you to say my name. Please?"

I stared into her eyes as she met mine. God.

There was something about her eyes that was absolutely riveting. The depth of her eyes pulled me in towards her as I read the plethora of emotions hidden within them. Her gaze searched my face for malice, deceit, but only found love and trust in return.

I slowly cupped her face as her breath hitched in her chest. I could feel my own heart race. Bringing my face as close as I could to hers, I whispered, the distance between our lips fast closing, "Please."

She parted her lips ever so slightly. I felt her warm breath on mine as she obliged, "Christopher."

I closed my eyes as I heard the most melodious symphony, my name draped in her sweet voice.

I dipped my head to kiss her, feel the shape of her lips, but she stepped back.

"I-I am st-still engaged Chris-Christopher," she stammered.

I straightened myself, my hands no longer cupping her face, "I understand. I am sorry. Would you like-"

Before I could finish, a car honked outside. While I was curious at the intrusion, her eyes widened with fear.

"That's him," she gasped, "Aiden is here. He found me."

"How is that possible?"

"He has a location app installed on my phone through which he tracks my location," she revealed, visibly shaking at the thought of greeting her fiancé.

"Stay here. You will be safe inside. Let me handle him," I said, squeezing her shoulders.

I walked out of the house and towards the car. The vehicle didn't look in good shape, it's owner even more so.

Aiden manually rolled down his window and spat on the ground. Fumes of cheep alcohol and stale cigarette smoke escaped through the window. "Where is she?" he hollered.

"That's not your concern anymore. She's breaking up with you," I crossed my arms and stood facing him. "If you know what's good for you, you will leave her alone and stay out of her life."

Aiden exited the car at that threat, the door of the vehicle rattled as he opened it. "She said that?" he scoffed, "Color me surprised, I thought the little mouse had no fight left in her. Bring her out here. I want to hear," he wriggled a finger at me, "whatever the fuck you are saying from her own fucking mouth."

"Not going to happen Aiden. You followed her here against her own wishes. Now scoot off before I call the cops," I warned.

"You think I will be scared of some Hollywood prick who shits diamonds?" he sneered.

"No. But you should be scared of the law. You are currently harassing the owner of this private property, not to mention you have clearly abused your girlfriend mentally, emotionally and physically. So be sensible," I took a step towards him, "and fuck off."

"STOP," she shouted as she trusted towards us. She stood in front of me, as if to guard me from her monster of a fiancé, "Please don't hurt him. I will come with you. Just let him be," she pleaded with him as he smirked.

Before he could react, I pulled her behind me, making sure my body was shielding her from Aiden.

"She's a gold-digging bitch. You stay away from her," he pointed at me as he tried to reach her.

I pushed him away once and kept my hand on his weak, thin torso. Turning my head, I asked her for the last time, "Are you sure you want to go with him? I can save you. I will protect you, provide for you and keep you happy!" I urged her.

She looked at me with hope and helplessness. Slowly, she glanced at Aiden who looked like he was ready to commit murder. Sobbing uncontrollably, she removed the chain with the sunflower locket and threw it at his feet.

"Leave me alone," she managed to mumble at him.

Furious, Aiden growled and tried to pounce at her. Fortunately, I intervened on time and punched his sorry excuse of a face into the ground.

She gasped as Aiden fell with a thud. Embarrassed, he slowly got up and dusted himself, muttering under his breath as he sat inside his wreck of a car.

"Don't bother coming back to gather your stuff! I am burning it all tonight you cock-sucking bitch!" and with that outburst, Aiden was finally gone.

She was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably at what had just transpired. I wrapped her in my arms to let her know she was safe. Within moments, I felt her ease into my body.

I closed my eyes and smiled, my nose buried into her hair. My angel was safe. My angel was mine.

Chris blinked his eyes as he re-read his story. He already felt a whole lot lighter, his anxiety at ease, and mind exhausted. Clicking on SAVE, he finished the last of his beer and went to sleep, hoping that this was the end to his problems. Little did he know about the horrors that awaited him, behind the door he had just opened by writing that fictional story.

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

Country Girl

Muggle!Reader X Draco

London Boy

Summary: Draco has your heart and you have his, a muggle and a wizard, but what happens when you take him home... to America, to your very muggle parents, and your very muggle small town?

A/n: As promised here is some ridiculous fluff and shenanigans between these two dorks. Also, this gets very southern very quickly, so as a disclaimer: none of this is meant to offend anyone at all, it’s just simple writing fun. I know a lot of you come to Tumblr to destress from the news, so this is free from current events and can even be seen written around circa 2010 if you want. I love you all and let me know what you think because I love being validated your comments and reblogs

“Um, do you maybe want to come with me back home?” The question was timid as it left my lips.

“To America?” He raised an eyebrow looking up from his workstation where he was currently brewing Amorentia—not that he used it, but it brought comfort to me and worked surpassingly well in a diffuser.

“To put it broadly, yes.” I smiled, knowing he had no idea how expansive America really was. “I’m off for the summer and my parents have been nagging me nonstop to meet you, and well it’s home,” Shrugging I hopped up on his desk and he eyed me warily, moving some things out of my way.

“How long?”

“Well I suppose you could apparate back any time you like, but...”

“How long?” He pressed again.

“A week?” I was almost afraid of his reaction.

Not that I was afraid of him, but I knew him well. He liked order. He like routine. Everything had a place and he preferred it if it stayed in that place. Which included him, in London.

“I understand if you don’t want to. I know it’s a lot. Muggle parents, Muggle girlfriend, America...” I trailed off looking down. “Just thought I’d offer.”

“Love,” he tilted my chin up. “If you want me to go with you to meet your parents, I suppose I can manage a week,” he smiled.

Happiness fluttered in my chest as I threw my arms around him.

“Careful dear,” he scolded, easily pulling me into his arms, carrying me. “This stuff takes forever to wear off and I’d rather not have you drugged for the next few hours.”

“Could be fun,” I giggled, nuzzling into his neck.

“You say that now,” he chided, a smile evident on his face.

_____________________________

“Now, they don’t know that you’re a wiz,” You reminded him. “And I’d rather not have to obliviate my parents, so if you could— “

“You act like I’m a teenager Y/n, I’m not stupid,” Draco rolled his eyes.

You raised an eyebrow at him. A challenge.

“And, a very fair warning: I am very...posh compared to my parents,”

Draco laughed; the word so unfamiliar to your lips and your American accent. Nor could he imagine in any way that someone would regard you as posh. He loved you, of course, but a lady was something you were not—not that he didn’t treat you like one, but that was beside the point.

But nothing you said could ever prepare him for what waited at your doorstep. Not the hours on a flight. Not the ride back in another muggle car. Not the songs on the radio. Not the conversations he had with Hermione and Harry unbeknownst to you.

“Pumpkin!” An older man in a buttoned-up flannel pulled you into his arms. His drawl was thick, making yours sound almost normal. “You are too pale darlin’ ain’t enough sun over there in England,” he chided, a huge smile on his face.

“Oh nonsense,” your mother replied, her drawl having more of a twang. “She’s just fine. Our little Georgia peach,” You face went a little pink as you blushed.

“Momma, Daddy, this is Draco,” he heard more of a drawl slip into your words and Merlin was he in trouble.

“The Brit,” your father scrutinized him for a moment before the smile returned. “Pleasure to meet you son,” he held out his hand.

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” Draco almost purred, shaking your father’s hand.

“Oh Lord, hear that accent,” your mother fawned. “No wonder you fell for him, Y/n,”

“Mom,” you whined, turning a shade of red.

“Well come in you two, you must be exhausted from the flight.”

Draco should have taken your warnings more seriously. Maybe you should have eased him into more. Because a very Muggle farmhouse in the middle of the country with your very American parents was something he was not prepared for.

The floorboards creaked under his socks—shoes left by the front door—as pictures hung on the wall, a lot of them of you in various childhood phases: fishing, in trees, driving your beloved Jeep, posing next to a dead stag—that one made Draco snort, if only Harry knew. There were also tiny little ‘t’s all over the wall that Draco just didn’t understand the meaning of. Were they to ward something off? Was it a collection? Did they stand for some name he wasn’t aware of?

“Y/n, you go on with your mom and fix up dinner,” Your father nodded you two off to the kitchen.

“Dad,” You warned, a familiar look in your eyes.

“You worry too much.” Your dad shook his head. “Now, go on,”

You paused a moment, your stubborn streak flaring before you disappeared into the house, leaving Draco alone with your father, feeling quite anxious.

“Come on in, boy, sit on down and tell me about yourself,” Your father beckoned him to sit on a well-worn leather sofa, a knitted afghan thrown over the back.

Draco knew how to keep light conversation—a perk of being a Malfoy—but this? This he had no idea how to do. Your father seemed to pick up on that as he chuckled.

“So, you like my daughter, do you now?” He asked, his eyes holding the same shade as yours.

“Yes sir,” Draco nodded. “Very much,”

“Yeah, we think she's something else,” Your father shook his head, chuckling. “Her daddy's girl... mama's world.” His face became hardened, serious, “She deserves respect and that's what she'll get ain't it, son?”

“Y-yes, of course,” Draco stammered. “Always.”

The smile came back to your father’s face and Draco felt like he just passed some sort of test.

“Well, y'all, run along and have some fun while you’re here. Just keep her safe. She’s got a knack for trouble,”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Draco chuckled.

“Dinner!” Two voices called from somewhere else in the house.

“Comin’ darlin’,” Your father called back, standing. “Shall we?” He gestured for Draco to go first.

........................................

“Was that so bad?” You asked later that night as you got ready for bed. It was different, seeing you flit around the room with memorized paths and actions.

“One of the most bizarre things I have ever experienced,” he confessed. “But I have to admit, your mother is a brilliant cook,”

You laughed.

“Oh, tell her that tomorrow, she will love you to pieces,”

Your drawl was coming in thicker the longer you lingered home and Draco began to understand the fascination with his accent, because your drawl did something else to him. The small room you were in was yours. A true work of art that was merely shadowed by your room in London. The soft blue tone room was calming as fairy lights were strung and antique furniture filled the room. Dried flowers and various paintings and posters filled the room matching the quilt spread underneath him.

You came over to his sitting position on the bed, nestling between his legs. His hands slipped up the backs of your thighs and you swatted him.

“Behave,” you hissed. “You have no idea how long it took me to convince Daddy to let us stay in a room together. I’d like to not lose that battle on the first night.”

“You has to ask your dad for permission to sleep with your boyfriend, in your room, as an adult?” He raised an eyebrow. “And I thought my parents were strict.”

“Oh, you don’t know the meaning of the word, pretty boy,” you smiled and draped your arms around his neck.

“I think I quite like this side of you,” Draco grinned.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,”

“For the love of my sanity please use proper English,” Draco dismayed to your amusement.

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” You dropped your drawl easily.

“You know what? Never mind,” Draco grinned, causing you to laugh harmoniously.

Never once had Draco ever seen you be a morning person, except now. The sun filtered in through the flowing curtains and your eyes fluttered open, landing on his.

“Mornin’,” You greeted.

“Good morning,”

“You ready?” There was a mischievous look in your eyes.

“For?”

“Well, I don’t think you’re quite ready to meet my friends, so I thought today we could go fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“Well, it’s not deer season so... we can’t exactly hunt. But it is fishing season.”

“There are seasons for you to kill wildlife?” He asked, watching you get ready.

“Yeah?” You paused, looking over at him. “Helps keep the animals from being over hunted while still keeping up the sport and population down. Daddy and I do it more for the population, not the sport,” Your smile was soft. “And venison is to die for when momma cooks,”

After a breakfast that Draco would be craving for the rest of his life, you loaded up the Chevy pick-up truck (you had informed him) with bait and poles and against his better judgement, he got in.

_____________________________

“I’m gonna seriously have to thank Hermione for takin’ you shoppin’ beforehand,” You grinned, eyeing Draco in a short-sleeved Henley and khaki shorts. “Knowin’ you, you only own suits and dress pants.”

“I own t-shirts,” Draco refuted, clinging to the door handle for dear life as I meandered the backroads towards the lake.

I rolled my eyes and turned onto the trail that would take us to the docks.

“This isn’t even a road!” Draco dismayed. “It’s barely dirt!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what four-wheel drive is for,” I grinned. “And honey, I fear the day someone takes you muddin’.”

“Mudding?” He asked skeptically.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” I smiled, chuckling darkly, imagining the pristine Draco Malfoy anywhere near a four wheeler or ATV.

Hopping into the boat, Draco eyed me, hesitant on the dock.

“You can drive this too?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

“It’s barely anything to drive,” I rolled my eyes, throwing my hair up. “Now come on, city boy. A little country ain’t gonna kill you,”

“No,” Draco agreed, settling in the boat beside me. “But a country girl just might,” The purr of his voice had me blushing and fumbling to kill the engine and grab a fishing pole.

Draco absolutely refused to touch the live crawfish. His face scrunched up in disgust as he watched me cast my line in.

“Oh, like it’s any different than you and your potion’s ingredients,” I pointed out.

“That’s different,” He pouted.

Smiling at his theatrics, the day consisted of Draco dismaying at just about everything. Including but not limited to: sunscreen, mosquitoes, not being able to hold my reeling hand, the heat, the sun, Oakley sunglasses—of which he looked absolutely stunning in and it wasn’t fair—baseball caps, live bass, me handling said bass, me handling a knife, the live crawfish again, the heat... again.

“Oh my God, Draco,” I huffed, not nearly as annoyed as I sounded.

“I’m sorry,” He drawled. “But this is absolutely absurd,”

I might have shoved him into the lake.

When he resurfaced, utter shock was on his face, as well as anger as he scolded my name.

“Yes?” I answered innocently. “Not so hot anymore is it?” I bated my eyelashes.

“You little—”

“Oh, and watch out for gators,” I grinned mischievously as his eyes went wide with fear. “Kidding!” I laughed, slipping off my crocs. “Probably,”

He was hanging onto the side of the small boat when I leapt off the side and into the icy water.

“What in the world are you doing?” Draco swam over to me.

“Swimming? Since someone thinks that fishing is absurd,” I mocked his accent.

“I don’t sound like that,” He grumbled.

“Yes, you do,” I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Stop being so uptight, Dray. Whatever you’re holding onto... reputation or whatever voice that’s in your head...” His face fell.

I knew that he had been raised to hate everything around him. The innocence and simplicity of it. Sure, it had taken some time and I had made a home in his heart, those prejudices fading, but he still fought hard sometimes. And maybe I wish he didn’t. And maybe I was selfish to think that.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered softly. “I just... Your world is so incredible, Draco. Filled with things that are beyond my wildest dreams, and maybe I wanted to show you into mine,”

His arms snaked around my waist as he held me close, resting his forehead to mine.

“I’m sorry too,” He murmured softly. “Of course, I want to be a part of your world as well, but— ”

“Maybe fishing was a bit over ambitious?” I mused.

“Maybe slightly,” He chuckled, pressing his lips to mine sweetly.

“At least we have dinner tonight,”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not,”

I wasn’t.

__________________________________

The next day wasn’t as ambitious as fishing with you, but it was still quite new to him. Dressed in a sundress, you took his hand and lead him down the main street of your small town, the small shops reminding him of a fairytale. He was surprised at how many people recognized you and said hello. A kindness that he wasn’t accustomed to in the Wizarding world. Especially when the café owner had a long conversation with you and then said that your lunch was ‘on the house.’

“Not too bad?” You asked softly, after finishing lunch.

“Not bad at all,” He smiled.

After bringing in the groceries from a quaint muggle shop, into your warm little yellow kitchen, you took Draco’s hand and led him into the backyard. The sun was setting just beyond the horizon, painting the sky in crimson colors.

“Mr. Fancypants alright with climbing a few trees?” There was a smirk on your face.

“What are we? Five?” Draco chuckled, following you into the tree line.

“Well, I guess that is when daddy and I built this,” You gestured to a certain tree, where an emasculate treehouse resided.

Despite the wooden construction’s age, it still held well. Draco was half expecting it to be bigger on the inside, a commonality in the Wizarding World, but no, what he saw on the outside was what was reflected on the inside. This treehouse held no secrets. Draco smiled as he watched you climb the tree with no shoes on—a commonality he had noticed. You went barefoot whenever you could.

You helped him up and his eyes darted around, taking in the little house with it’s rope banisters, many windows and various trinkets and knickknacks that Draco had no hope in naming or identifying. When his eyes found you again, there was a blanket folded into your arms.

“When I was little, I used to come out here and stargaze... I don’t know how many times Daddy would have to come up here and carry me home ‘cause I fell asleep,” A smile touched your lips.

Draco looked up to the wooden roof and raised an eyebrow skeptically. You caught his question and nodded to a rope to his left. His fingers grasped the course fibers and tugged it experimentally. A mechanism went off and the roof parted at the gable, letting him see the first stars that had come out to play.

There was something different about looking up at these stars with you. He had spent years studying them in class and couldn’t remember half of what he had learned, but with you, they held a different meaning. You knew all of the stories it seemed. The ones that he learned as a child and some he didn’t. It was jarring, hearing the familiar stories fall from your lips. After all this time, maybe your muggle world wasn’t so far off from his magical one.

True to your word, you did end up sleeping softly in his arms as he looked up at the stars, then down at your peaceful face. Knowing that you wouldn’t want to spend the night outside—and neither would he for that matter—he carefully scooped you into his arms, and instead of risking dropping you, he simply apparated to the soft grass below and headed up towards the house.

Your father was waiting on the porch, the light still on despite the late hour, nursing a can, a soft smile on his face.

“Good to see that some things don’t change with her,” Your father opened the door for him. “Sometimes I think I lose her to her fancy schools, halfway around the world,” There was an air of melancholy to his words.

“I can assure you that you’ll never lose her,” Draco smiled down at you. “She adores and loves you more than you’ll ever know. The way she lights up when she talks about home...”

“You’ve made an old man very happy tonight Draco,” Your dad smiled. “Now go on up, I’m gonna close the house up for the night,”

.................................

“I’d like to apologize in advance for just about everythin’ that’s about to happen,” You took his hand smiling.

“How bad can they be?” Draco mused. “You’ve met my friends, and that went well,”

“Uhuh,” You laughed. “Sure. I’ll take that vote of confidence.” You easily backed your truck up into the circle of other vehicles surrounding a rather large bonfire that gave Draco a bit of anxiety.

“Look at what the tide washed in!” Someone called from the back of a pickup truck.

“No way!” Another gasped.

“Since when did you get home!?”

A girl rushed up and pulled you into a hug, dislodging your hand from his as he watched you spin with the girl, both of you laughing. A few others came up and hugs were passed out, hellos exchanged.

“Son of a bitch, you never said he was hot, Y/n,” The first friend who greeted—Rebecca— raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes, because that’s all I look for in a guy,” You rolled your eyes, offering him a beer and taking a seat on the tailgate of your pickup.

“I’m just glad to see that you haven’t gone full brit on us,” Another—Megan smiled from the arms of a guy that Draco would have stereo typed to be on your arm instead. “Still think you can outshoot me?” She grinned.

“With my eyes closed,” You drawled, taking a sip of your own hard iced tea. “Seriously, y’all think I was just gonna forget everythin’?”

“We didn’t think you’d come back after find Mr. London over here,” Rebecca grinned.

“Yeah, you’ve been awful quiet over there Union Jack,” Megan narrowed her eyes at him, and he felt the same sort of anxiety he had around your parents. “What are your intentions with our Y/n?”

“Y’all really? What are we? High schoolers? And he has a name ya know.” You rolled your eyes, leaning against him, intertwining your finger with his. That eased his anxiety a bit as his eyes stayed trained on the dancing fire.

“Well, any guy worthy of catching your eye must be something special,” Tyler—the guy sitting next to Rebecca—shrugged.

“Oh, come on Tyler, we were freshman,” You scoffed, taking another swig from your can.

Draco’s interest was piqued at this new information. Was there something between you and Tyler that he wasn’t aware of? Was it something he had to worry about? His grip tightened around you and he caught the sly smile on your face at the action.

He learned a lot about you that night. You never were one to brag but stars did your friends like to embarrass you. You weren’t the top of your class, but you were pretty damn close. You always got yourself out of any kind of trouble and had about every boy at your heels in school and didn’t give them an air of interest—Tyler lamented quite obnoxiously. You could be out late Saturday night at a party, but every morning you were up early, in the choir at church—which shocked Draco, you had always been hesitant to sing around him, and he wasn’t exactly sure what ‘church’ was but... it was a question for another time.

The conversation lulled as food was brought out. You offered him a bit of mangled stretched out wire and a hot dog and shot him a dazzling smile before showing him how to roast it over the fire. It was messy and uncivilized, and Merlin, Draco loved it. Sitting cross-legged beside you, a paper plate in his lap filled with such rich food and sweet fruit, he truly caught a glimpse into your world again.

The buzz of insects and glow of others, the heat and warmth of the fire, the smell of grass and dirt, the sound of some country song blasting from a nearby truck, the sway of your body as you hummed along, the smile that rested on your face, the buzz of alcohol in his system, and the taste of it on your lips, Draco never felt more... free. The Dark Mark could be nothing more than a tattoo. His scars could mimic Alex’s dirt biking scars. His school career could be scoffed at like yours was. His parents could just be strict and rich. He could be free.

_____________________________

My thumb absentmindedly stroked the back of Draco’s hand as the night wound down. I had switched to sweet tea a while ago, knowing I’d had to drive home. There was something oddly comforting in seeing Draco in the midst of my small-town world. His careful blue eyes, stark blond hair, and pale creamy skin seemed to rebel at the mere thought, but the smile on his lips overrode it all, claiming he belonged.

In bed that night, my fingers traced over the scars that littered his chest. It was hard to imagine that the Harry I knew caused them. It seemed like worlds away. Even in Draco’s arms, London and magic and wizards sounded like a fairytale, some far-fetched dream.

“Your friends are... nice,” Draco murmured, drawing a chuckle from me.

“That’s one way to put it,” I propped up on my elbow. “Nothing too absurd I hope?” There was a slight teasing tone to my words.

He smiled lazily at me.

“It’s... different here,” Draco decided.

“Good different? Or bad different?”

“Free different.” He mused. “Like... it—my past... doesn’t exist at all. No one here knows, or judges me...”

“Well,” I whispered softly, running my hand through his hair. “It is a different world. Somethin’ you have to love about a small town,” A smile grew on my face. “And it’s not about your past, not anymore. It’s your future that’s important,”

“As long as you’re there,” Draco pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“For as long as you’ll have me,”

“Forever,”

I spent the next day teaching Draco how to bake. He was a decent cook after spending some time with my grandmother and I in London, but backing was a bit different, as Draco found out. With classic rock on the radio and mom and dad out for the day, Draco and I had a blast. A few times I saw him cheat and use wandless magic. It earned him some flour in his face—which he also magicked away. When I protested, he pressed a kiss to my lips and maybe I forgot why I was upset in the first place.

With the pie in the oven, Draco and I lounged across the couch. His hands were fiddling with my hair absentmindedly, as we watched The Breakfast Club. Hermione and Harry had done an alright job introducing Draco to muggle movies and shows. But as much as I loved Doctor Who—we were all convinced that the Doctor was a wizard secretly—or Sherlock, some American normalcy was appreciated.

That night I couldn’t help but laugh as Draco was very confused about football. It was like translating something through three languages—Wizard, to British, to American. After a while I think he gave up on the notion and just nursed his beer. The game held my interest for the second half while my father was very adamant about coaching from his armchair.

“You should have seen him at her little league games,” My mother muttered, causing Draco and I to chuckle and my dad to simmer some.

“Softball,” I filled Draco in. “Like baseball... but for girls I guess.” He nodded.

Before I knew it, the week ended, and Draco and I were packing to return back home, well to London anyway. I traded in my sundresses for jeans and sighed as I unzipped my suitcase, starting to unpack.

“It’s not like we’ll never go back,” Draco wrapped me up in his arms.

“We?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Did you not want me to go back?” A playful smile graced his lips.

“No, I do! I just... well, I know you Dray,” I draped my arms around his neck. “You like things a certain way in a certain order, and well, that,” I gestured vaguely. “was anything but,”

“Maybe it’s time I leave this behind me,” He murmured softly. “Stuffy offices and grey skies...”

My eyes widened in surprise and joy.

“Not completely,” He amended. “I do still have to work, they need me as Head Healer, and you have uni, and then there’s Teddy to think about, but... maybe a summer home there wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,”

I drew him into a tight hug, tears stinging my eyes. It wasn’t even that he wanted to go back, it was that he wanted me with him when he did. He talked about a home like I’d be there beside him.

And when he was down on one knee, surrounded by my London family, with a simple ring, I knew that he did want me there beside him, and always would.

I gave him an escape from his past and he promised me a future.

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