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mandalorewhore · 4 years ago

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Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man.

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake.

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again.

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off as a droid.

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment.

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason. Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

“I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness.

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond.

“Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

“Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

“O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

“Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine.

“Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops.

He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.”

There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.”

A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?”

“That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

“Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you.

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

“16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous.

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind.

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer.

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions.

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?”

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?”

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze.

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet.

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness.

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away.

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling.

“You can carry it from now on.”

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit?

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire.

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry.

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

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

You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you.

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on.

You wish they would fear you like that.

Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

“Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

“I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

“Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

“It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

“Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector.

Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

“She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you.

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip.

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job.

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology.

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome.

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time.

“I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger.

“Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted.

“My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose.

After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.”

You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

“I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

“Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

“On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this.

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.”

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously.

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it.

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants. He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.”

He waves back. “You as well, girl.”

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

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

It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere.

As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about.

Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path.

It’s almost funny how quickly things go south.

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated.

“I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison.

The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement.

The blast misses by a few inches.

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here.

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof.

He saved your ass. Again.

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there.

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about.

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is.

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it.

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?”

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street.

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

The walk back to the Crest is short.

You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall?

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you.

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp.

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot.

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it.

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot.

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that.

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?”

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles.

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again.

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him.

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan.

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now.

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire.

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach.

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead.

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal.

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian.

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.”

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that.

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath.

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit.

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game.

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-”

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life.

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-”

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt.

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims.

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement.

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours.

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing.

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.”

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator.

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.”

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks.

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness.

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

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

It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this.

“Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly.

And so you do.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #fanfic #smut fic #mando x you #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian fanfic #smut #din djarin #star wars #star wars fic #fanfiction

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tenderlyrenjun · 4 years ago

Text

[1010 A.D.]

“Do you believe in soul mates?” you ask, lackadaisically, dreamily, while readjusting the ceramic pillow beneath a new fabric cover that your loved one retrieved from his latest bureaucratic outing. It is nice to have him back (and the new gifts, too, adorn your villa delightfully, even the ones hidden here in your bedroom, from wandering eyes). Outside your personal chambers, the scholars gather with you, compelled against their will, to indulge your curiosities, and particular student, who you seized from a recently constructed university, revived The Red String of Fate folklore under a new alias: soul mates. You want to hear Renjun’s thoughts on the term, if has has even heard it in passing.

“What are ‘soul mates’?”

Renjun rolls over in the bed, just as you lift the sheet to join him. Honestly, thank Heaven that your immortal self only requires one night of sleep a month. Leaving your estate unguarded for 8-12 hours of the day is dangerous. Although, months ago, the battlefields healed from the successive, rapid kingdoms popping up every couple of decades. Welcomed peace spreads alongside the rise of education, which is why you and Renjun returned to his home country. Physically seeing a Golden Era circulate the continent gave you two more confidence to re-establish your roots. With your entire coven massacred from rebellions caused by overly ambition vampires and their newborn parasites, the Huang lineage has to counterbalance for the lost political ties and social standing. Fortunately, Renjun’s good looks and charm (and compulsion ability) persuade even the most corrupt aristocrats - which is why he, rather than you, leaves the land every few weeks to reinforce those alliances.

Plus, he does it better: the dirty work.

You prefer to look at the pretty daggers he brings home and to drink red, warm elixirs poured into pretty bronze jia. Still, you admire his insignia ring on your finger during his extended business hours, counting down the seconds until you have him again. The staff are not as nearly interesting as your lover, especially considering how they gossip with you around the corner. Some call you too bold to manage the house; others say you simply lack manners, faulting Renjun for choosing a mate who was not born of noble status (a mere rumor that you take care of, anytime it emerges). Perhaps, that is why you take solace amongst the scholars, practicing calligraphy and expanding your vocabulary, instead of Confucian traditions. At least it gives you something to talk about with your equal, before you two begin recruiting members again - a lone vampire, in possession of a shielding ability, seems promising (and beneficial, in case of another war). So you slide into bed too, pulling his arm under your neck and extendings your similarly, to support his head while you curl into his side, answering his question:

“The sages call them destined.”

Renjun laughs, throwing his head back onto the comforter. He strokes your shoulder with his thumb, bringing the silk material off your skin, and turns to you with a smile that makes his presence natural and bright. Vampire nature is ectothermic and the beds are uncomfortable (how fleshlings survive them daily, you will never understand, not entirely able to recall your own mortality from centuries ago), but Renjun lives up to his name, enveloping you in a sense of reassurance, especially with how his voice melodizes. His opposite arm comes around, caging in you toward his chest so he can remove the strand of hair covering your eyes.

“I thought they were called ‘Soul Mates’,” Renjun counters. After giving you his signature tender smile, he nuzzles his face in your neck, pressing down a soft kiss. The way he lingers makes you roll your face to the window on the ceiling, North Star glowing a little weaker through the glass, now that he is home, holding you.

You sigh, contently, hearing it returned, ghosting over your collarbone. “They are, but Soul Mates are supposed to be people who are ideally matched together.” You glance at Renjun, hoping to scan his face for another reaction, but his eyes are closed, lips relaxed, cheek losing control to stay upright: he is falling asleep. And you almost let him, knowing how exhausted he probably is, from all the politics, the new studies, the art and literature. He is participating in so much that he will likely sleep for more than 12-hours this month. Unfortunately, you want him to answer this one question, and over the centuries, since his biggest promise, he always swears to give you whatever your heart desires. So, you prod his beautiful face, physically asking for an response.

“Mmm,” he whines, the hypnosis faltering enough for him to give you one, though his tired state answers your question with a question - you barely hear him, as he mumbles without opening his mouth too widely. He licks his lips, adding another brief love bite to your collar’s collection, before repeating himself louder, enunciating. “Are you asking if I believe that we are soul mates?” You think that he will indulge your new philosophies, using his statement as a thesis question, but he rolls his cheek further on your chest, tiger hugging your upper body. “Maybe,” he says. It should send worry through your body, were you a new couple, like Doyoung, the now-rather ruthless law enforcer of the Kim family. But you and Renjun have been together for half a millennia at this point, none of the passion ever slowing down. “I don’t believe in soul mates,” he confesses, slugging his words, “but we are naturally perfect together.”

The answer is good enough for you, so you brush back his bangs and kiss the crown of his head. He sighs again, squeezing you into the bed frame. This is how you allow yourself to fall asleep with him: no threats to your country, no threats to your safety, no threats to your relationship.

But ten hours later, you wake up to an empty bed, your lover making quiet noises in the next room over.

So, you go meet him, thinking that he has started brewing an early morning pot of tea, meticulously straining blood in a way that you do not understand. It is nice to just watch him cut lemons, slice ginger, arrange bits of flesh with almonds for garnish. And on the rare occasions, when birds are still writing songs on the rays of sunlight, you try to meet him in the tea room, almost falling asleep on his back all over again because the ambience is so soothing.

Except, you find Renjun hovering over jewellery in your shared walk-in closet, muttering decisions here and there about packing. An odd decision, truly, considering that you have staff rotating hourly. He only does this during surprises. And you sometimes enjoy his spontaneity. So you quietly relax against the door frame, arms crossed and an amused smile on your lips. In the mornings, each time, after he gets back, even without doing anything that might shame the Moon and Stars (before you disappoint Her counterpart, the Sun and Skies), you feel drunk in love, despite having an empty stomach.

“Where are you going?” you whisper, voice yawning the verbs.

Unexpectedly, Renjun jolts, visibly surprised and shifty, then he turns around. And your expression changes with him. Your eyes dart across his face, scanning through his forehead lines to eyes. You hesitate, always glancing back to his eyes, as a precaution in case he might say something reassuring, but he remains frozen, guarded in front of a backpack that you cannot miss.

To reiterate, you sometimes love his spontaneity.

“I’ll be gone for a few years,” he says, slowly returning to the bag, tossing in extra pieces. He contemplates adding a beautiful necklace on display - the one he had handmade for you during the Jade Era, but he shakes his head. No, he has to leave that for you. This break, his packing, does not equate to all the times when he leaves his insignia for you to wear. Renjun looks at his ring, having taken it back the moment he arrived, when you slipped it onto his hand, like a proposal of your own, even kissing his knuckles tenderly. He sighs; the necklace was a promise, and he will come back to you, after he does what he needs to do. And he really needs to do this. Renjun shakes his head, to correct himself, “A couple decades.”

You frown and your eye twitches. “What?” Realization hits you like a moving carriage, horses trampling over your regenerative rib cage. Renjun walks up to you, one hand balled into a fist and the other carrying his bag. You glance at his hands, unable to truly believe his face, and he passes off his insignia. “Tell me where you’re going.” Your voice cracks. “Please.” You can join him - now or in a few days, if he needs space. Although he was gone for a couple months, you can give him more, give him anything, as long as it doesn’t mean what you think it means. “Because we just talked about Soul Mates last night.”

Renjun slouches, opening his arms to give you a goodbye. “Love -”

“Don’t,” you hiss, sustaining red revived eyes at him - a particularly onyx color surges the veins, something Renjun has never seen in a vampire. “Don’t call me that while you are abandoning me.” His timeframe leaps out at you, the expectancy of a human, and you bite again, anxiety manifesting defensively into frustration. “For a mortal, abandoning our promises.” You point an accusatory finger at him, causing him to step back. “We stood before the Heavens and Skies and gave ourselves to each other by side of the Moon and Stars.” Every enunciated syllable pushes him further into your house, until he drops the bag, a shattering sound aiding the action. “You belong to me. I belong to you.”

You find the valor to look at him, eyes shining a vibrant red, and you think, just for a second, that he might give in, but when you try to deescalate the situation, thinking that this is just a lapse in his judgement, that you have a chance to make him stay, he speeds out of your arms. That is so unlike last night. And as you relive the memory, you realize that it might have been a goodbye. He had the opportunity to leave and not return, then chose to come back.

Renjun gingerly steps forward, tucking a hair behind your ear sympathetically, pityingly. “No one belongs to someone else.” It is why you pay your servants, generously. “People are free agents.” He glances at your eyes for the last time, picking up his backpack. “I’m sorry.”

And thirty years later, a decade extra than he intended, Renjun reiterates that plea, in a different context, after his medicinal elixir expired.

“I’m sorry,” he pleas, imploring you with tears pricking his ducts. He can barely see you seated, alone, on a throne, now that the last remaining valet has been dismissed. Renjun drops his bag, walking toward you with intention, pulling your quiescent face into a series of kisses. When you start moving your arms, he thinks that you concede and slows his lips to give you more dominance. You curl your fingers around his palm, a familiar gesture he has missed - mortals no longer give these types of sweet touches. Renjun comes back down to his heels, having edged to the tip toes in excitement, waiting for your embrace.

But you throw his hand off your cheek.

“Get out.”

“What?”

You know that he picked up your request easily, with his super hearing. Yet he asks you to repeat it anyways. Being amongst humans for so long mush have diminished his powers. You so desperately want to ask how he has been. How he has been excusing his eternal youth? Why has no one heard from him, not even Sicheng? Has he been drinking? You lost sleep over all the questions, for years. Vampires may only need half a day per month, debunking the coffin myth, but you have not fully rested in years. So, you repeat yourself, not bothering to glance at him as you walk away to the throne, back turned to him. “Get out of my manor.” You pick up a dagger, soaking it deeply in a jar full of your special poison. “I will not repeat myself again. If you are not gone by my next meeting -” An execution. “- you will be my next meeting.”

“Please,” Renjun begs. He has lost too much today.

The antechamber opens, your newest guard, Xiaojun, signalling your attention. So many vampires live in Renjun’s home, his former home. He knows that power naturally follows the ruthless, in this era, with covens and loners trying to gain ties after seeing displays of authority - either to have your killing machine skills used in their favors or to stay in your favor, avoid being slaughtered. And as you leave with Xiaojun, another two vampire guards drag a muzzled traitor to the throne room. Muffled prayers escalate his headache and he nearly exterminates the vermin himself, but you reenter the room and your prisoner shuts up, the end near.

You throw a dagger beside Renjun’s thigh. The poison you laced it with seeping into the floor, like a tea. While you have yet to singularly perfect the warm beverage, your venom has been shown incurable - a result you feel most proud in. And you burn the bodies before other covens get the chance to examine your work. No one but your shield needs to know that the poison is brewed from the blood of mortals with incurable illnesses: carcinogenesis, dystrophy, haemophilia, etc. Renjun has heard about your cruelty in the last few years, accumulating your dossier before returned home. Rumors circulate the taverns he worked in, spilling story after story about the monster on Oma Mountain between two warring kingdoms where people kept going missing. The immortal community says that you expect loyalty but want none of it, letting vampires reside in your villa lawlessly. Renjun starts to see the origin, especiallly after you rip out your prisoner’s vocal chords, burning it on steel wool and a high molar acid, before it can reattach and function again. He never truly saw you torture anyone, always ending their executions quickly and quietly. This is his fault. Now, you sadistically entertain their pleas for mercy, waiting for them to beg with everything you leave.

Renjun lets the choking garble for a few seconds more, then severs the head - all while staring at you. You glare at him, daring him to leave one more time.

“Do you want me to rip out your vocal chords too?”

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thorinthehottotty · 5 years ago

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Ambush - Thorin

A/N: I spent a quarter of my phone battery writing this. Almost went a different direction with it. I have some Kíli Ktuesday smut lined up for later today too.

Summary: Your husband's lovemaking is sweet and generous but he seems to think he should be the only one doing the pleasing. You plan on showing him what he's missing.

Warnings: Pure SMUT. COMPLETELY NSFW. Chains.

Anxiously, you bounce your leg. Well, be fair it was more like a twitching of your foot with the lounging you were doing in your bed. You would be up and pacing if it weren't for the fact that you wanted to be laying here when your new husband entered.

Ah, that was still foreign to you. Thorin, king Under the Mountain, was your husband. When you first arrived in Middle Earth, he was arrogant and broodish and mean. Sexy, maybe, but he was an ass in your mind. But thst was just his exterior. As the months and adventures swept by you found yourself intranced by him. Not the king, but the blacksmith who suffered abuse of men and the young prince who lead his people in their darkest times.

You never thought the love that developed would be requited. You kept your mouth shut and did what he asked of you. You showed your affections in other ways, by forcing him to take part in the group shananigans. (He never fully participated in some of them but you were proud when he would finally take up for a drink with the others or contribute a story, even if it was a dark one.) He would isolate himself and you did your damndest to show him he was not alone.

While he recovered, you'd spend hours with him, especially when he was unconcious. You'd read to him for hours while you were waiting for him to wake that first time. It took him an entire week! You later found out he would often pretend to sleep in order to listen to you read to him.

How many times had you fallen asleep in the enormous cushioned chair you'd dragged next to his bed? Oín only smiled knowingly at you everytime he caught you.

'Maybe you'll be able to wake him with a kiss.' He teased one day.

'I've no idea what your talking about!" You'd automatically snapped back. But he'd walked in to find you brushing hair from Thorin's face and dabbing a cool rag on it. A simple gesture that Thorin seemed to find comfort in you doing.

The day you returned to find Thorin cleared for going about his daily tasks with the least amount of strain, you were a bit disappointed. There was little excuse for you to bring him your company. He was probably sick of you, after all. And you begrudgingly made your way to leave when he called you to you. Requesting you bring a specific title with you later that evening to him. You gaped, mortified about being caught, but found yourself following that order as well.

And it began that you would spend many nights in his chambers, reading softly while he looked over documents of the day or sunk down on another chair with a stiff drink in front of the fire.

It was one of those nights, just a few months prior to now, that he sighed, snatched the book from your hands, and tossed it! You felt a bolt of fear that he'd grown tired of your presence. But he leaned over your lap, a look of great strain on his face.

'What is it, Thorin?'

'I have grown tired of this. As lovely as your voice is, I figured my intentions would be clear by now. I'm going to kiss you.' And boy, did he. He practically crawled right into your lap to do so and proposed on the spot. Not that you minded, though it did come as a bit of a shock to his nephews and sister.

The wedding came so quickly it made you dizzy, but he was not keen on waiting, barely doing more than kissing you and holding you while you read. Sometimes he would take over and that was like liquid gold. It was a bit frustrating at times, but completely worth it. The wedding went off without a hitch and you'd made for the bed as soon as you could. And he made love to you.

It was expected for dwarrow to treat their wives with tenderness and was concidered a privilege to be able to please them, and boy did he. It was a nice change of pace, concidering.

However, you were growing increasing frustrated. He was insistant on be sweet and gentle and loving to you, so much so he didn't seem to want to take any more pleasure from you. You wanted more. You craved him being rough with you, leaving fingerprint bruises on your hips, beard burn on your inner thighs from him devouring you like a last meal.

So you were waiting to ambush him in an sexy piece Dís assured you he would love. Gold lace, delicately woven true gold. It indented the softer flesh gently and exposed much of your thighs and shoulders.

You wanted him to want you so desperately he was rough. You know he's got the capability, but you want something else from him.

So you froze when the door to you chambers clicked open and rolled to you side, propped up by a hand. Your husband entered, eyes searching the room and quickly finding you. Your stomach twisted excitedly when he entered, then more so when he gave you a look of liquid fire.

The door shut hard and he lifted his hand to lock it, not glancing away as he lowered the bar across the door.

"Incredibly rude of me to keep my wanting wife waiting." He offered. He was later than usual, but that was fine. He shrugged out his robes, stripping slowly which was quite the sight. He was like a candy shop of muscle and hair and scars and tattos and just enough chub. Something that always made your mouth water. You sit up in the bed as he kicks his boots off.

"It's okay. I want to try something different." You murmur. He arches an eyebrow in interest.

"How would you like to be pleased tonight?" He leans in, pressing his lips to yours fully as he tries to lean over you and push you back onto the bed.

That would ruin everything! You'd just have to get him to lay on the bed, head by the pillows. With a grin, you scoot quickly out of reach on the bed. There's an excited flash in his eyes at this, despite the circles under his eyes.

"Husband," you call softly, tilting your chin up and hooding your eyes tautingly. "I want something from you."

One of his knees presses into the bed to push him onto it. He's gazing you over excitedly, already tugging at the ties on his trousers. It would have been a sight, the both of you kneeling on either edge of the bed, nearly naked.

"I would give you anything," he promises with a proud smile. Because he could. Anything you could want. You gulp as you gesture him closer.

"Anything?"

"Aye. Anything." He slides closer and once he's half way there, you shove him towards the pillows. He allows you to, falling onto his side and then rolling on his back. Grinning, you mount your husband.

The reason you were so hesitant about it before is he had denied you pleasuring him with your mouth. Explained that it was his job to please you. It had happened a few times and before you could argue, made you lose yourself. It bothered you.

So you'd lock away those dangerous hands and pin him for now so he couldn't use his mouth on you. Not only was he King Under the Mountain, but he was apparently King of Teasing You so Damn Bad You Would Scream and Cry During Your Intense Orgasms.

Leaning down, you kiss him like you were starving for him, letting him groan contently into your mouth. You missed his taste, even if you had seen him and snuck a few between the meetings that day.

"Don't keep me in suspense, Y/N."

"Patience is a virture, Thorin." You smirk down at him. With his wrists pressed down into the pillows, you grin. He quirks an eyebrow, a little on edge with that face. And fast as lightning, you clamp the cuffs dangling over the headboard to his wrist.

Shock fills his face and he tests the strength. "Y/N, I'm not sure what this is about, but you have my full attention." You giggle at him, palming his chest.

"You are a fantastic lover, my love. But I want to give you your pleasure too!" You tell him, teasingly pinching a nipple. He shivers and then gives you a disapproving look.

"I have my pleasure, pleasing you." His voice is as stern as his face.

"I want to taste you, my king, and then I want you to be rough with me. Bite me, bruise me, make it so I won't be able to walk for days." His eyes widen at that statement and his cheeks turn pink. He shakes his head at you.

"I won't hurt my one." You smile tenderly at him and scratch down over his ribs gently. Despite his horrified expression, he can't stop the shivering his body makes, nor the twitching you feel underneith your perch.

"I will let you know if it is too much, Thorin. We don't have to be full blown tonight, we can work our way up to it. I'll show you how to spank me."

You were a bit scared you might give him a heart attack with some of these options.

"Spank you?" He repeats. "Like a child?" It makes you burst into giggles.

"Not quite. You cup your hand like this, and just swat on the rear. Right at where it meets the thigh." Thorin blinks in shock. You smile sweetly down at him. "Tonight, however, I will be pleasuring my darling husband."

Thorin gives a groan and tries the chains you'd hidden with your flashy lingerie. "It's my job to pleasure you." His protest falls on deaf ears as you lift a thigh over his leg and slip between them. He squirms underneith you nervously.

"You promised me anything, Thorin. Let me pleasure you. Please, my love. It's all I could think about today." You sweeten the pot by pressing gentle kisses to his hips, just above his losened trousers. You peer up at his distressed face, feeling a but guilty. His eyes flutter at the sensation and he breathes.

"Do you truely want to?" He asks softly.

"So badly."

You lick a long lap up over his side and he gives a deep groan. It makes you smile and trail kisses up to his nipple. His face is fluttering. Your hands stroke his sides as he pants above you. His warm skin is delcious. Your lips brush over his scars lovingly and he sighs against you.

He gazes down at you, a softened look on his face. Without arguing further, you allow him to think on your words. Instead, you kiss at his chest and slide a hand lower. You could never keep your hands from touching him. He gave a gasp when you slipped a hand into his trousers and grip him gently. Two pumps have him groaning loudly and letting his head fall into the sheets.

"I will pleasure my husband tonight." The chains were loose enough he could stop you. He could slide away from you. "Lift your hips." He reluctantly agrees, allowing you to drag his pants down his glorius thighs. "Mmm. Thank you." He shivers when you press a kiss to his thigh.

As much as you'd love to tease him, tonight you're hungry. Leaning in you lick the underside of his cock, base to tip, and then slide your mouth over as much of him as you could. He released the most delicious gasp and moan, helpless you. He was large, but not so large you can't comfortably fit most of him in your mouth. Girthy.

He shivers under your mouth, gasping helplessly. You won't tease him. Not tonight as he's jerking against the lapping of him inside your mouth. With every draw back, you circle his tip with your tongue. He's straining and groaning at the chains and you pause to wait.

His eyes that were squeezed shut, dart open to meet yours in shock. "Why'd you stop?" He demands, breathless. His hair a mess from him throwing it againdy the pillows.

"Just making sure you are okay, baby." You stroke his thighs gently and dip your head back down. He groans when you begin to hollow your cheeks on the draws.

He curses, and the chains rattle. You let the drool that had built up dribble down him as you draw back to wetly lick him. His jaw is dropped open, awed by the scene before him. You feel the spit on your face. Now you tease him a bit, wanting to give him a sample of everything, fully expecting him to cum quickly with his first experience. When you draw back up him with a flattened tongue and he whimpers, eyes rolling into his skull. Pride fills you at this.

"I'm going to make you cum now," you tell him. Shock has him snapping to look at you.

"I'm not clo-Oh!" His whole body tense and curls toward you. You scoop up his balls in your hand, massaging gently as you taking?him in your mouth and use the other hand to stroke the base as you suck and lick all at once. You don't relent and within a few seconds your husband has the chains nearly wrenched from the wall, gritting his teeth. He tries to warn you but you don't listen, letting him fill your mouth eagerly. He's snarling out curses, unable to stop watching as you drink every last drop.

He's spent for a moment, looking disoriented. You giggle at him, proud of your work. "Are you okay, Thorin?" You asking, crawling up to nuzzle his cheek. In his panting, he gives you a slightly annoyed look. It was more playful than actually annoyed.

"Fuck," he groans as he pants. You grin at him. You suspect he had never even entertained the thought of that happening and probably found it incredibly erotic. You were glad you gave him such a display.

"Next time I'll take my time for you," You promise and twist to grab the key off the end table. He reaches for you, guiding you to lay with him when he's freed. His lips capture yours eagerly, groaning into your mouth.

"You're not chaining me to the bed next time."

"No, I promise." You giggle against his mouth. His hands rub down your body tenderly, warming your skin. He's kicking his trousers off completely. One of his hands slides over the curve of your ass a dips between your legs. You slide a thigh over his to give him easier access.

He grunts, pleasantly surprised when he dips his fingers benieth the gold lace. He leans back to gaze at you. "You enjoyed yourself," he marvels, making you grin.

"I told you, it's all I could think about today. Wouldn't mind you being rough with me either," you offer. Your husband grins at you, kissing you deeply, drawing a breath through his nose in the process.

"Get on your stomach, amrâlimê." With an excited thrill, you roll. He pushes the lace up, over your rear and lets one of his hands sweetly rub a cheek. Then he rolls to his knees behind you. He jerks you back so your ass is up in the air and you gasp in delight. "Tell me if it's too much." You nod with excitedly.

All at once he drags you back onto his cock and your lungs drag in an involuntary gasp. He lets you bask in that for a moment. He always does, and then he's holding your hips and snapping his hips into yours delightfully. You don't even attempt to stop the moans, pushing your own hips back into him. "Harder," you beg when you can't quite get the momentum you need for it.

He gives a grunt of awknowledgment and snaps his hips into yours with the bruising force you craved. "Yes! Yes!" You call when he continues to take you roughly from behind. The delightful friction you needed burning between your legs. You could only clutch at the sheets and try to brace for the impact of his hips.

Your moaning grows louder when you feel the familiar twisting of your stomach. Your husbands gentle lovemaking never had you orgasming without the helping of his talented hands. It took you by a bit of a surprise that you had an approaching orgasm but welcomed it.

When it had you trembling and cumming, your husband groaned at the clenching around him, crying out his name. It had him folding over you as you milked a second orgasm from him. The both of you gasp for breath as you feel him spilling inside you.

He wraps his arms around you and drag you down to the bed. Pillows aren't necessary as he slips from you. The both of you just tremble and let the sweat stick you to each other, curled together. "Thank you," you hum, eagerly rolling into him. You'd be very sore tomorrow. Thorin chuckles.

"Are there more things you are wanting to try?" You give him a breathless chuckle.

"Of course, my love."

"I won't mind more of your ambushes." He playfully nips your ear in punishment and you laugh against him. That was a good term for it.

"Maybe you'll have to chain me up," you offer. He growls eagerly in your ear.

"I'll need smaller cuffs for that."

"Your side table. Top drawer." Thorin pauses, surprise. You smirk at him over your shoulder.

"Mmm. I have an insatiable wife." He kisses your cheek and nuzzles behind your skull.

"Just you wait. I'll show you things."

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hergan416 · 3 years ago

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First Line Meme, Second Edition

SO. Someone (maybe a bot? but their blog actually looked pretty normal) liked this really old post of mine where I did a "first line meme". You put the first line (or paragraph) of your last 15 stories and then see if you can find patterns. Anyway... I had found some interesting patterns in my writing last time I did it.. and I have written nine more stories since then... so I think I'm going to do it again, but change the number to 9.

I'm (obviously) not tagged by anyone this time, and I'm going to leave this open to anyone who wants to do it. If you think it will be helpful or sounds fun or literally anything, please steal this from me.

Patterns: First on the pattern I noticed last time... it seems that some of my works have stronger starts now. Especially Lex Talionis and Food Fight start short and sweet and to the point. I still use introspection to set up scenes more often than not though, and after reading through some of the older fics from the last meme (Seek and Ye Shall Find), I wonder if I could achieve a similar effect better if I simply removed the first paragraph and started on the second. I may have to attempt to try this method more often in editing. Second, I noticed that I write differently (a bit) depending on what character I'm trying to channel. I don't know if I always like it. For instance... the beginning of Sanji's Respite speaks with Sanji's voice but with my introspection. It's not thought through as much as I could have. And considering my methodologies for editing and posting fics ....I'm not honestly surprised.

The First Lines

Just like last time, all my pseuds are together. This includes my omorashi kink pseud, yugiomo. If you are over 18 and don't know what omorashi is, here's a definition from urban dictionary.

Unlike last time.. the first lines are not all safe for tumblr, so I'm going to add a read more.

If you click "read more" you are verifying you are over 18 and that you have read this warning that there is explicit omorashi content below the cut.

And without further ado--

9. Gone Wrong (Fandom: Yugioh, Relationship Tags: blindshipping/puzzleshipping Yugi/Atem, Rating: E(xplicit), Pseud: yugiomo) Yugi wasn’t used to this. The Pharaoh’s slave and Chamber Pot, he was used to a lot: namely taking piss in his ass and holding it for a given period of time, often while the Pharaoh attempted to get him to fail. Licking up the spilled piss when he did. Sometimes being used by the Pharaoh as a sex toy when the Pharaoh was particularly lonely at night. These were all things Yugi was used to.

8. Neoptera (Fandom: Yugioh, Relationship Tags: revengeshipping Alister/Kaiba, Rating: E(xplicit), Pseud: hergan416) Five years had passed since Alister had last seen Dartz, the seal of Orichalcos, or any other hint that DOMA had even happened. Five, blissful years. He was still haunted by the omnipresent force of Kaiba Corporation, and Seto Kaiba’s stupid stupid face being plastered everywhere for each new tournament, mistake, and project that he announced. But Alister’s life had drastically improved.

7. Lex Talionis (Fandom: One Piece, Relationship Tags: katamar Katakrui/Marco, Rating: E(xplicit), Pseud: hergan416) “Sphinx Island,” Blackbeard stated, as he passed the eternal pose to the sniper. “He might not be alone,” he warned, snickering loudly, as though laughing at a crude joke.

6. First Day at the River City Journal (Fandom: Magical Kitties Save the Day RPG, Relationship Tags n/a, Rating: T(een), Pseud: Victoria Treasure) Hi! My name is Victoria and that's my human Bailey. Bailey calls me "Treasure," but that's because humans can't be trusted to keep a True Name secret. You will though, right?

5. Sanji's Respite (Fandom: One Piece, Relationship Tags: Sanji & Trafalgar Law, Rating: T(een), Pseud: hergan416) Shortly after the coup de burst away from the massive hailstorm that the amazing Nami-swan had avoided, the crew managed to go back to normal. Of course, Usopp, Chopper, and Nami-swan were all concerned about their ability to fight Kaido, but Sanji knew nothing would change their stubborn captain’s mind. For instance, despite everything that had just occurred, Luffy was already passed out on the figurehead of the boat, rubber arms wrapped around the lion’s face like nothing was wrong.

4. Law's Introspection (Fandom: One Piece, Relationship Tags: Sanji & Trafalgar Law, Rating: T(een), Pseud: hergan416) Even as he moved from bumming one cigarette a week, to one every four or five days, to two a week, Law couldn’t bring himself to purchase his own cigarettes. He could pass a few berri each time to Sanji, helping cut the cost of his ever increasing usage, but planning out the purchase would be like admitting defeat. Cora-san had never wanted Law to be a smoker, but here he was chasing Cora’s memory in the tendrils of smoke anyway.

3. Food Fight (Fandom: Yugioh, Relationship Tags: Prideshipping Atem/Seto Kaiba, Rating G(eneral), Pseud: hergan416) “Pass me the flour,” Kaiba asked Yugi, gesturing at the cake flour on the counter behind the shorter man.

2. Doctor's Orders (Fandom: One Piece, Relationship Tags: Trafalgar Law x Reader, Rating E(xplicit) Pseud: yugiomo) It was after hours. The clinic had opened easily to his keycard, as promised, and he dragged you inside by the hand, guiding you through the staff hallways lit only by emergency lighting. Your eyes barely glanced at the tattoos covering the back of his hand in favor of following closely behind him, ensuring you would not be left behind. Excitement bubbles in your chest, the transgressive feeling you’ve come to associate with trespassing enough to distract you from the heaviness of your bladder, and you follow confidently behind him without squirming.

1. Remuneration (Fandom: Yugioh, Relationship Tags: Prideshipping Atem &/ Seto Kaiba, Rating T(een), Pseud: hergan416) Exodia’s forceful devastation knocked Kaiba out quickly. Despite the poetic justice, Kaiba did not think about how his obsession and vengeance had created the conditions in which he was now losing consciousness. The punch’s inertia pushed past his physical body, shattering even his mind.

#my writing #first line meme #writing meme #read more #omorashi

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sapphire-fanfics · 4 years ago

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Tony Stark x Harry Potter Fan

@potterhead2207: could you do a tony stark x reader where tony’s never watched harry potter before and the reader’s a hp stan so they watch it together and it’s really fluffy and tony tries to do a british accent and it’s really cute ❤️

Word count: 964

Tony was only a little- scratch that, very annoyed with you. You weren’t paying any, ANY attention to him, and you were just reading some book he had never head of. What the hell was “Harry Potter” anyways? Were you reading about a hairy pot? And what was the “Chamber of Secrets?” Was it... was it a bathroom?

“Y/n?” He poked you in the side, frowning when you merely glanced at him. What was so interesting about that book? “Y/n-”

“Tony, can’t you see I’m trying to read?’

“Well, of course-”

“Then shut up and do something else.”

You were the only person that could successfully interrupt the stubborn man and leave him speechless.

“What’s so interesting about... Harry Potter? Y/n, are you reading about a hairy pot?”

“Tony what the hell are you talking about?!” Everyone in the kitchen looked up as you began to yell. “Everyone here knows who Harry Potter is-”

“Ma’am?” You looked over at Steve and rolled your eyes.

“Steve, we all know you haven’t, shut up-”

“And neither have I miss, what about you Loki?” Thor looked over at his half brother while you groaned. Why did Steve and Thor have to act honest when you were trying to put your point across?

Loki sipped his coffee and scoffed. “Of course I do you idiot, it’s very popular on Midgard.”

“See Tony, even Loki knows it!”

“Reindeer games stays in the library all day like a dork.”

Loki grumbled under his breath when everyone began chuckling, except for you. Why was everyone in the Stark Tower so difficult?

You shut the book and shoved it into Tony’s hands, hoping that maybe he’d get the message to shut up and read the book. He immediately recoiled, shoving it back towards you with a disgusted look.

“You know I hate it when things get handed to me-”

“Want me to throw it at you instead?”

The other Avengers watched the two of you continue arguing with a sigh. This was a daily occurrence with the two of you. You always seemed to find something to argue about, and especially in the mornings. If any of the team members had a headache in the morning, they knew to get their breakfast and get out.

Eventually Natasha was getting tired of your bickering, and she slammed her mug on the counter. Everyone quieted down as she sighed. “We can just buy the movies, you idiots!”

Your eyes lit up and you grinned. “Oh yeah! The movies! I forgot about those!”

“Wait, you mean people are watching movies about a hairy pot-”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT A HAIRY POT, TONY!”

Eventually, after Natasha threatened to tie the both of you to a chair and leave you dangling from the roof, she was able to buy the movies in peace. You excitedly sat on the couch with Tony, who was grumbling under his breath. You just ignored his antics and cuddled up next to him. He couldn’t act angry at you for too long, no matter how much you had argued that day. The two of you had always acted like a married couple, even before you were dating.

He placed his arm around your shoulders and kissed your cheek as the movie started. You grinned and nuzzled into his touch, while Loki gagged on the other side of the couch. You two were disgusting sometimes.

The movie was not what Tony thought it was. It was not about a hairy pot, like he had thought, but about some scrawny kid with glasses that could do magic. At least it was better than he had imagined. He was amused to see you quoting the dialogue and sometimes even doing the hand motions for the spells. He did, admittedly, not pay attention to some of the scenes, as he was entranced in the way your eyes sparkled and how your beautiful smile-

You saw him look away as soon as you glanced over at him. He really tried to act so slick around you when in reality he was just a big dork.

Eventually, you finished the first, second, and third movie. Around that time, the rest of the Avengers began leaving the living room to either work or train. Tony ordered takeout on his phone, feeling relieved that nobody else was there to watch him. The others always made fun of him on missions for acting like a big softie around you.

Once takeout arrived, you set the fourth movie and began to eat. Without the other’s there, you were free to make comments about what was happening. Usually Tony would get aggravated hearing people talk during movies, but just hearing your voice sent a smile to his face.

“Y’know,” you munched on a fry, “I used to have a crush on ___.”

“Wait, seriously? You’ve actually crushed on them?”

“What’s so bad about that? You’ve had a crush on someone in a book, or movie, right?”

“Well, no, and I don’t see the point now that I have you.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a sap, Tony!”

He laughed and nuzzled his head onto your neck while you smiled contently. You’d watch movies with him everyday if this was the treatment you’d receive. Tony poked you in the side and you glanced over at him.

“Hey, how accurate does this sound?.. Bloody hell!”

You thought for a moment before grinning. “Pretty accurate, but I bet I could do better.

“Oh? How so?”

You slowly breathed in before muttering, “Bloody hell!”

Tony burst out in laughter as you snuggled into his side, pressing light kisses to his cheek. He didn’t hate this “Harry Potter” thing anymore, if he was being honest. He would read all of the books and everything just to see your enchanting smile.

#mcu fanfiction #tony stark x reader #tony stark x reader fluff #fluff #mcu fluff #marvel fluff #x reader fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel #mcu #harry potter

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spirit-of-the-void · 5 years ago

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Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 40

Author’s notes: Howdy. So this is the ending of Ebony and Ivory, and to be honest I spent a long time working on it. Things have been a bit wild and confusing, especially with how divided people seem on the story ending. But...writing this long ass fanfic for you guys has been a privilege, even through depression and health issues.

The only thing I’m unsure of is if I should write the Vergil ending--because I want to reserve all my vergil energy for the Echo Chamber fic. I’ll let you guys decide--let me know if you still want the alternate ending, cause if so I’ll do my best. Either way, I’ll still be writing Echo Chamber.

Chapter 40

Epilogue

(Several Months later)

You never wanted to get up from your bed.

This was bliss in its truest form, was it not? Waking to warmth, face tucked against the neck of your lover and limbs tangled with the bed sheets. It was another beautiful, sunny day in Fortuna as usual, the sound of waves rolling against the shore and V’s slow breathing the only melody for your ears. Warm, so warm. This had to be heaven--there was doubt that anything else could feel so perfect. You let out a gentle sigh, mind feeling foggy with sleep and body delightedly comfortable as you stretched out along your poet’s form, toes pressing against his bare calves. It was so strange, you had gotten used to V feeling cool and frail for the entire time you traveled to the Qliphoth tree; feeling his warmth and solidity was a gift you would never take for granted again, not after witnessing him crumble his way up to becoming Vergil again.

V was doing better than he ever had, you and Kyrie made sure of that. The motherly woman had been worried upon seeing V’s ribs and rail-thin form, and seemingly made it her sworn duty to get the poet healthy. He learned pretty quick that arguing with her was not the best idea, not once she got rolling. No skipping meals, taking vitamins, listening to you both hounding him and not uttering so much as a peep of complaint. You both only backed off after his bones stopped showing through his skin, letting him decide on his diet after that. Not much had changed--V preferred eating light over big meals, which was understandable with such a new body. Months later and he was looking more lean and healthy, still a lanky man but less frail and with a bit more muscle. That cane was less as a tool to walk with, and more of a conductor's baton he used in battle.

Well-fed and well-rested. As he should be.

You had spoken of what happened in the Qliphoth tree, and to be honest you had forgiven him for everything that transpired before words of apology had left those lovely lips. Understanding could be found--there was desperation, a need to return to who he was before. All that was gone now, V finally his own person with a full soul on top of it all. The only way to go was up, which you were more than doing. The new time together only strengthened how much you loved him, deepening that bond of trust and acceptance again after the lies and mistakes fractured it. Piece by piece, bit by bit...things were becoming as perfect as they could be, and in the end that was all you wanted.

The things you once took for granted were now so precious, weren’t they? The feeling of V kissing your fingers, the way his hair felt under your hands. Those jade eyes, his sly smile...having them back felt like a dream, one you never wanted to wake from. It was the little moments of simple, domestic life that seemed so enchanting after he came back, moments you thought would never be had with him. Sharing a cup of coffee on the beach while the sun was still rising, watching him read poetry to the children, helping teach him how to cook with the aid of Kyrie and Nico. He was pretty hopeless in front of a stove before those teachings, but learned very quickly. If you weren’t mistaken, he found a joy for it too--he would sneak peeks at cooking novels and shows on several occasions, and offered to help with dinner often.

Something about it was...very cute.

As for Vergil, he returned back to Devil May Cry with Dante and the women. You were shocked, the spiky-haired male put up no fuss when his brother instructed him to do so, and had apparently put in a lot of effort to make it a functioning business. Not only that, but he had been making a determined effort to be a part of Nero’s life now that everything was said and done. His father and uncle now visited once a week, keeping the kids entertained and staying for dinner to talk and socialize. Kyrie loved it, Nero was undecided, and Nico still hated Vergil’s guts. Dinners were filled with hostile stares from the mechanic, which Vergil easily ignored. Hearing him ask Nero questions about his life, seeing them spar on the beach and Vergil actually trying to teach him things? Odd. But...maybe those trials left their mark, so the Outsider must have done something right.

Speaking of the God, you were back to talking with him. A shrine now rested in an alcove on a nearby cliff, glowing at night with the purple light of lanterns and humming with the Void’s energy. Corvo, as always, managed to talk sense into your father figure--He was there when you spoke last, promising the keep the God behaving while you got your life together. The Outsider wasn’t going to argue it, that much was sure. You thanked him for bringing V back, and managed to repair some of the trust that was lost, bit by bit as you did with V. The shrine was now visited once a week, offers left on its alter and gone the next morning. Food, books, sometimes things you crafted yourself. The Outsider seemed to enjoy food the most--you doubted he got to eat much of anything in a place like that.

Regardless.

The kids warmed up to V well, easily sensing his uncertainty and all around awkwardness when it came to living normally. They liked being able to teach him things--like how to clean pots properly, how to make s’mores when a bonfire was lit in the backyard. Little things that V didn’t seem to think about or know, either because Vergil didn’t know them or because some things were lost when the two were separated. Being reborn had to be hard, you were always patient with him when a new problem rose up. V didn’t seem to mind either, it made the kids feel super important, like they could sense the poet’s vulnerability. Plus what could be better than having another person in the house to talk and play with? Julio in particular seemed to like the poetry, and asked the goth about it a lot.

Speaking of the kids, you knew that they would be going into town with Kyrie in the morning to practice for their performance in the spring festival. It was starting to get warmer outside bit by bit after winter came and went, but the day would be comfortably warm for the kids as they made props at Madame Elenor’s shop. You could hear them downstairs already, chattering excitedly about the prospect of seeing the other kids in Fortuna, practicing their lines and getting to paint trees and scenery to be moved into the theater at the square.

Now that you thought about it...almost a year had passed, hadn’t it? Since you were brought to this world.

So much has happened.

So many terrible, wonderful things.

Only this time around, everything is perfect.

You let out a contented sigh, snuggling closer against V’s wiry form and feeling him shift and mumble lightly in his sleep. It was April now, and you planned to go through May and June in peace and delight. Just having these past few months has been so wild, celebrating Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New year’s Eve...all the things you were once certain V would never have, but got to have in kind. It was shaping up to be an amazing year, and you were ready for each and every one after that to come.

That was the thought you drifted in and out of sleep on, knowing full well that you didn’t have to meet up with Kyrie and the others until noon. Nero would be out discussing the next mission with Nico, Dante, and Vergil as well until returning to go out with the rest of you. A day out to lunch was in order, his uncle and father declining the invitation despite how insistently Nero had offered it. Something about working some family things out had been their excuse--you were fairly certain they intended to visit their mother’s grave. Some things were far more important, you could easily understand that. Besides, being around Vergil felt...weird sometimes. Like staring at a painting that once held color, and seeing only black and white.

You tried to shake the thought, realizing for the first time in months you and V had the house to yourselves, peace and quiet reigning supreme once the kids were heading down the street. You loved your new family, you really did, but most mornings were rife with Nico’s invention shenanigans, or the kids finding their energy after breakfast and play-fighting with Nero. To finally be able to lie in bed with V, only the warm breeze drifting through the windows and the sun on your body...it was so nice, and needed. Maybe that was why Kyrie decided she would take the kids there herself, insisting you sleep in after “working so hard with Nero and the others”. Sweet woman, you adored her for that.

Especially when you felt V finally begin to stir, his muscles stretching and a soft groan leaving those beautiful lips. You decided to keep your eyes closed, wanting to savor the moments of relaxation for a little while longer and act like sleep kept you in its gentle grasp. You weren’t disappointed--V’s fingers stroked through your hair, nails tracing feather-light patterns on your scalp before trailing down your neck. If you were a cat, you would have purred at a feeling like that. As it was, you shivered softly in delight as you shifted even closer, one hand gracing his bare chest and over the faded tattoos that rested there.

After everything was said and done, you both shared a connection with the familiars. They generally spent most of their time in V considering he had been lacking in power for those first few months. But being born from the Void had left him with some byproducts, and he was learning how to use them at his own pace and tolerance level. The poet had been astounded at how much it burned to use the abilities of the Void, learning pretty early on that you dealt with it all the time--he didn’t like that, but reluctantly didn’t push things on it further.

The tattoos only extended over his arms and chest now, like sleeves that drifted over his collarbones. It was there that you traced your fingers, feeling his chest rise with a slow breath as your fingers danced a line from there to his stomach, resting there to feel the muscles bunch and relax. He was so sensitive, ticklish--a delightful thing, one learned pretty quickly after shenanigans had broken out on a particular evening. Cute. There were so many things about him now that were absolutely charming.

He let out a low hum, grasping your fingers lightly between his own and lifting them to his face. Those soft lips brushed your knuckles, tender and loving as you kept your eyes closed in an attempt to feign off waking a bit more.

“The sun descending in the west, the evening star does shine,” V murmured against your skin, his other arm wrapping around your waist to tug you closer as he continued, “The birds are silent in their nest, and I must seek for mine.”

You couldn’t help it--a smile broke over your lips, eyelids fluttering open to stare at his face in amusement. He always took your breath away, a vision of beauty and perfection. His hair was black again with Nightmare’s presence, and the tattoos were dark on one side from housing...was that Griffon this time? You paused, feeling Shadow rouse briefly in your thoughts before plunging back again, giving you both the privacy you so craved. The demons weren’t oblivious, they knew you’d have the house to yourselves come morning.

Regardless, you let out a contented sigh, resting your chin on his chest and staring up at him with adoring eyes as you mumbled sleepily, “Do you intent to wake me every morning to William Blake?”

He grinned at that, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as he replied, “Perhaps. Does it displease you, my little Sparrow?” He kissed the top of your hair, voice rumbling over you as he added, “Would you prefer I wake you to…. other delights?”

Judging by his low, husky tone you knew exactly what these other delights could be. The man was insatiable now that he had this new body and freewill--not that you were complaining.

“A beast has awakened in my tender poet,” You mumbled, feigning an exaggerated swoon and tucking your face against his neck again, “One that intends to eat me alive, always hungering for my supple flesh….!”

That earned you a low chuckle, V turning and nipping lightly at the skin behind your ear as he growled, “And you call me the dramatic one--you could put writers to shame when you speak in such ways,” Both of his arms wrapped around your waist, breath brushing your ear and making you shiver as he breathed, “Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.”

Leave it to him to find a poetry quote for everything. But he was right in an odd way--there was no restraining a desire like the one shared between you and the poet. It was a charged energy in the air, one that sent a bolt of arousal right to your core and left you aching in the best way. A soft sound of want left you as he pressed up against your back, his hardness very apparent through the thin fabric of your panties and body deliciously warm as it cradled yours. Feeling a bit bold, you wiggled against him, smiling when he sucked in a sharp breath and put a very firm hand on your hips to still the movement. There was definitely no room for restraint when you were playing games like that.

He flipped you over in the next instant, your back pressed to the bed and both hands pinned by his as he stared down at you with heady, jade eyes. Your heart picked up its pace immediately at the sight of him, feeling almost dizzy at his beauty. Hair tousled from sleep, eyes hooded and staring at you with the most delicious hunger...Christ, he was so achingly lovely, wasn’t he? Especially with the sun making patterns on him like that, the curtains drifting lightly overhead and stroking his bare shoulders like a lover’s caress. Your face flushed despite how many times you had seen this same view, flustered all over again as he brushed a thumb over those parted lips and released one of your arms.

Oh dear. You could come undone at this rate.

“How I enjoy seeing that,” V whispered softly, shivering when you nipped at his fingers in their exploration, “The way you gaze at me, sparrow...it makes me ache in the best way.”

You smiled, wiggling lightly underneath him and enjoying how desire grew in his expression in response, “I can’t help it...I feel like you get prettier and prettier every day.”

It wasn’t an understatement, either. Each time you awoke to his loving arms it was like seeing him all over again, overtaken by his lovely face and soft lips. Could you possibly love the man more? You had thought not, but each morning was proving you otherwise.

V clicked his tongue at your response, seeming doubtful as he kissed a line from your neck down to your chest. He plucked at the straps on the camisole covering the parts of you he desired, pulling them down agonizingly slow until your breasts were bare to the glowing sunlight. You let out a slow exhale, feeling him slide those loving hands up from your stomach to the pert mounds aching for his touch and shivering when he gave each one attention in kind. The idle swirl of his thumb over a nipple, his eyes staring at you with the most unbelievable fascination and desire as he dipped his head to taste as well…

Christ, you could have come just at that--his tongue was so warm, swirling over the pink tip of your breast and sucking gently until a light mewl of want left your lips. You buried your hands in his silken, ebony locks, eyes closing and head tilting back as you savored the tantalizing sensation of his mouth on your sensitive flesh. He was such a good lover, always loving, always willing to learn and try new things. The past few months had allowed him to come into his desires and sexual preferences bit by bit whenever you both could find the privacy, and that was always enjoyable. He was discovering a preference for being a bit more dominant in bed, which earned zero complaints from your end as well. The idea of V pinning you down and fucking you senseless was definitely an appealing one.

But moments like these, filled with gentle touches and soft exploration...they reminded you so much of that first time, but better. More familiar, more charged than ever before.

Especially when he finally leaned back, hooking his fingers over the lace of your panties and slowly tugging them down and off. You obediently lifted your legs for him, eyes opening to watch as he tossed the scrap of fabric unceremoniously to a corner of the room. The action almost made you giggle, a smile tugging at your lips at the way he dramatically flung them away. He returned his attention back a moment lady, eyes drinking in the sight of your bare legs and dripping desire waiting for the pleasure you knew would come.

“Pretty and pink,” He murmured, stroking his hands up your thighs and squeezing as he coaxed them apart, “Just for me.”

You let out a low hum in response, shivering when he bent your knees and pressed both thighs back a bit more. Fully exposed to his eyes, glistening in the drifting sunlight and just as he described. The anticipation was killing you--this slow pace was delicious torture, and every second was like heaven and hell in one. But if the past few months had taught you anything, it was that good things came to those who waited.

“What do you have planned for me, slick?” You whispered, biting your lip as he pressed a kiss from your knee then down to your inner thigh. Part of you knew, and the need growing inside was making your toes curl in excitement.

V smirked, raising his eyes from your body as a playful look slipped across his face. He slid one finger idly down your wet folds, smirk growing as your breath hitched and you actively strained to keep your hips pressed against the mattress. Infuriating man, he knew exactly what effect he had over you, and exploited it in kind.

“I’m simply playing my part, Sparrow,” He replied in a husky tone, swirling a finger over your sensitive clit and down to your entrance in one tantalizing movement, “Hungering for your supple flesh...a beast with the intentions of eating you alive. Who will save this fairest of damsels from me? Surely no one is around to hear your screams for help.”

You giggled at V’s low, ominous growl, squeaking when he pressed his fingers against that sensitive spot and jolting you in place. Very sensitive, very needy.

“Bold of you to assume I’ll scream for help…” You breathed, voice trailing off in a soft whimper as he continued those slow rotations of his fingers. Each touch made you ache, throbbing and wanting to reach that peak only he could bring. But V was purposely drawing it out, finding amusement in your response and pausing for a moment in his actions.

The dark-haired male grinned, eyes meeting yours like a predator ready to devour his prey as he let out a low purr of, “Oh, you’ll be screaming alright.”

Please--My heart will stop if you keeps saying things like that.

But you didn’t get to say that out loud. V dipped his head down in the next moment, spreading your glistening folds with his fingers as he stroked a tongue over your aching flesh. Your hips jolted on their own, a soft whimper leaving you as he started devouring you just as promised. Slowly, carefully, taking his sweet time and savoring at his own pace. It took every ounce of control to keep your thighs in place, trembling lightly with the strain of not moving. Restraint? What was that again? Your thighs were strong, you didn’t want to accidentally crush him between them with how fantastic he was making you feel. Stroke after stroke of his tongue, warm and wet as he teased your clit and swirled over your aching entrance.

Too much, not enough. You arched into his touch, soft moans leaving your lips and fingers gripping the bed sheets. What a wicked man you were in love with, bringing you slowly to the edge of pleasure with his tongue and not swayed by your soft pleas for more, for faster movements and more pressure. So close, fuck I’m already so close. He knew it too, a pleased hum leaving his throat and sending delicious vibrations over your clit as he sucked it between his lips.

“V...V…” You whimpered, fingers slipping into his silken locks to tug lightly as he continued to pleasure you right on the edge of that peak, “I need…please…”

The poet’s eyes practically rolled back in his head when you pulled his hair, knowing full well how much he loved it. That encouragement was just what V needed, his jade eyes meeting yours briefly before he tugged you closer, fingers gripping your thighs hard as he stroked his tongue over your clit, swirling and sucking with enough pressure to wring a cry from your lips. You were prone and gasping as he had his wicked way, hands grasping the poet’s head and thighs shaking as that peak grew and grew with his actions. Unrelenting, you were coming undone again. It was a good thing no one was home, because you couldn’t be quiet no matter how hard you tried. At least an attempt was made, but that wasn’t what V wanted. The ruthless man loved nothing more than to hear you wail with satisfaction, body writhing as he made you come on his tongue and fingers.

Which is exactly what he did.

Your head tilted back as you finally crested, something close to a sob of relief and pleasure bursting from your lungs and thighs shaking as he held them in place, “V…!” It felt good, so good your toes curled and hips arched into his touch. He was doing a number on your heart, that was for sure--it was pounding in your chest, especially when V continued to tease and stroke his tongue over your flesh, not having his fill until you were whimpering and writhing from too much stimulation. Only then did he pull back, jade eyes staring at your spent form with satisfaction and amusement. He licked his glistening lips, wiping them with those elegant fingers and staring at the traces of your arousal left behind. That expression almost looked smug.

The poet’s gaze traveled over your form, taking in your chest as it rose and fell with each breath, face flushed as you slung an arm over your eyes. What a way to start your morning, listening to the waves crash onto the sand outside and feeling the most unbelievable pleasure from the man you loved...what a gift, one you would cherish every day until the end of time. To have him here after months of feeling like you wouldn’t, reminded again and again that this was reality...it made the bad times seem so far away, like a dream long forgotten in the realm of waking.

V seemed to understand, even when you didn’t say it. He leaned over your body in the next moment, pulling your arm away so his lips could find purchase. You sighed in delight, kissing back and wrapping both arms around his neck as you shared a moment of peace and tenderness.

“Still with me, love?” V murmured, a grunt leaving him when you wrapped both legs around his waist, thighs squeezing lightly, “Ah...gentle now, darling...I’m not done with you yet.”

He must certainly wasn’t. You kissed a line from his cheek to that sharp jawline, biting down lightly where neck met shoulders. V shuddered at your touch, gasping when you stroked a leg over his hard length, fully erect after taking so much time eating you out. Someone was certainly eager, weren’t they? You doubted he wanted to wait any longer, especially not with you grinding on him like that.

“I’m all yours,” You murmured, stroking a hand through his hair and giving it a light tug. He groaned immediately, head resting on your shoulders and breath coming faster, “Do you like that?”

V gripped your hip with one hand, bracing his weight on the other as he murmured, “I do...quite a bit.”

Such a far cry from the bashful way he admitted it the first time around--now honest with desire and wants, needy as he leaned into each and every touch. You had learned so much about what he liked, what parts of that lovely body were the most sensitive. His fingers, shoulders, neck, hair, spine...all the best spots to kiss and touch, scraping your nails over the shoulder blades of his back and sucking the skin on his neck. That was going to leave a hickey, there was no doubt. But it would be yours to see, a secret.

“S...sparrow...Y/N…” V groaned, grinding his length over your slick heat and making you both pause at the sensation of it, “Are you...can I…?”

“Please.”

It was all the affirmation he required, V rising from you to position his hips right where he needed them to be. You eagerly tilted your legs back again, spread and wanting for his cock. An invitation, one he would never ignore. What did you look like in his eyes, right at that moment? Hair still messed up from sleep, breasts bare and body in a position that was clearly meant for him and him alone. All yours, always. The poet almost looked ...entranced by the sight, bowing his head over you as the tip of his hard length pressed to your entrance, slick with the arousal left from your previous orgasm and finding no resistance. A breath passed between you both as he slipped inside, groan breaking past his lips while you took him inch by inch. Wet enough that it was an easy slide, body trembling eagerly as he filled you up in the best way.

This felt so right, like it always did. Two puzzle pieces meeting together, like your souls were meant for each other.

A low groan escaped his parted lips, body pausing for a moment to feel your wet heat. You stared at his face in a mixture of desire and wonderment, loving how pleasure influenced his expression and made his hand grip your wrist ever so tighter. Even after all these months, your poet was so careful with you--waiting so there was time to adjust, your body relaxing around his cock and aching to feel him pound into you like before. You squeezed your legs around his waist for a moment, hips rising off the bed to grind encouragingly against his length. Such actions only elicited a gasp from you both, V’s head tilting back to show the smooth expanse of his throat and the slight bob of his adam’s apple upon swallowing. Such a pretty boy, struggling for control. You liked seeming him unrestrained every once in a while, but when he was trying to stay on his best behavior…

“So bashful,” You murmured, biting your lip when he tilted his jade eyes down to meet yours, “What happened to not restraining desire? Prove me wrong, Shakespeare.”

V let out a low, breathless chuckle at your challenge, leaning do so his nose lightly brushed yours. Breaths mingling in the air between, both bodies trembling with the need to seek pleasure in one another. His hips pressing on yours freed a whimper in your chest, resisting the urge to grind your clit against his skin.

“Ask me nicely, Sparrow,” He breathed, nipping softly at your lips while he continued to rub his body lightly against yours. Just enough friction to not be enough. Your breath was hitching in response, toes pressing into his lower back to urge on what you knew he wanted to, but purposely denied, “And I’ll indulge us both. Honesty would do us both good, wouldn’t you agree?”

You flushed at his coy, strained smile, those jade eyes firm and far more unyielding as you whimpered, “You are the worst, you know that right--ahhh...”

Your words slipped into a soft moan when he retreated a bit, thrusting in once more before pausing his hips. Damn it. You knew what he wanted--V always loved making you say things that made you blush. He grinned, as if sensing your thoughts and enjoying them in kind. Mischief played a part in the desire now--this was payback for every time you cock-teased him in the past few months, there was no doubt about that.

“Mmmm…” V hummed, lifting one of your hands and nibbling on each finger in order as he replied softly, “Perhaps I am, but acknowledging that isn’t getting you any closer to having me...is it?”

So smug, so cocky.

Your resolve was far weaker than his patience, tempered by neediness and desire. Especially when he was grinding on you like that, pausing right when pleasure started to build and leaving you aching. His elegant fingers decided to fondle your breasts, teasing the stiff peaks until you were practically squirming. Right how he wanted you.

Face flushed, one hand raised to cover his jade eyes as he chuckled lightly in victory, your lips parted to utter softly and desperately, “Pl...please...fuck me...V...Please…?”

He let out a pleased purr, pulling your hand off to see just how flustered you were and grinning in delight. A kiss to your warm cheek followed, V cupping your jaw with gentle fingers as he whispered, “So precious...you can take me making love to you every night yet cannot utter those simple words without embarrassment?”

Something about it felt a lot different than acting on instinct--begging always made you feel bashful, especially when he wanted it.

“Hush,” You muttered, pressing both hands to V’s cheeks like it would somehow convey your growing sense of need, “No more teasing, just--”

Your words were cut off in a sharp gasp when V finally yielded to your demands, hip snapping back before plunging in with one fluid movement. Blessedly--you could have sobbed in relief when the motion continued. Right there, just like that. He seemed to be done with the shenanigans too, drawing your arms around his neck with one hand and bracing with the other. Unrelenting now, lips capturing yours in a frenzied kiss while his cock plunged in and out of your aching sheath. It was definitely good that you both were home alone, because the lewd sounds you were making would definitely be heard by others. As it stood, anyone who walked down the beach could run the chance of hearing, but you didn’t care.

You bit down on V’s shoulder, kissing the mark a moment later and trailing those same kisses up to his neck. Something about V awash in pleasure and lust was poetic in its own right. Gorgeous, breathtaking. He was releasing sounds of pleasure, gasps and groans that vibrated deliciously against your eardrums. No longer bashful like that first time, noises released without hiding and face pressing to your shoulder. His cock throbbed inside, growing closer and closer to filling you with his cum with each frenzied grind of V’s hips. You wanted it, needed it, craved it. Ever part of you now strained for that second release, wanting to make him feel good too.

“Y/N…” V rasped, a heady moan leaving his lips as both hands entered his hair for a firm yank, “Just like that...I’m so close, dearest Sparrow…”

You let out a soft whimper, squeezing tighter around him and keeping that firm hold on his silken locks, “Come for me...Give me all of it, sweetheart.”

Your own orgasm was fast approaching, cresting when V tilted your hips a bit further back in his thrusts and stroked those beautiful fingers over your clit. Fuck--A sharp cry left your lips, hands gripping the poet’s hair hard as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. After the first orgasm, this one made your legs quake with the level of stimulation and muscles clench inside. Almost too much, right on the cusp of how much rapture you could stand. It spiraled V into his own pleasure, slender hips stuttering and a breathy groan brushing by your ear as his hot load spilled in spurts. Your eyes practically rolled back in your head, body arching up to take all he had to offer and chest rising and falling in gasps.

A gentle breeze drifted through the window as V slumped over, careful not to put all his weight on your resting body. It seemed so serene for a moment, your eyes drifting open to see the white curtains still swaying over you both, V’s shoulders rising and falling with his slowing breaths. Peaceful...tender, just as it should have been. Everything felt so unbelievably perfect, your body wonderfully spent and enjoying the fading throb of pleasure as you stroked a hand through V’s silken hair. He was your everything, every hope and desire and happiness wrapped into one bundle of a man. In that heartbeat of time, you felt so incredibly blessed, like a thousand years of lost happiness were nothing compared to what you got to share with him. All the loss, all the pain...they were a flickering, dying candle compared to the flame he kindled within.

Happy...you were so happy tears threatened to spring to your eyes.

You released a contented sigh, holding V in a tender embrace as you both caught your breath. Hours could have passed without caring, but...it took only a few minutes to gather everything back. There were still things that needed to be done, after all. Your poet was the first to raise his head, jade eyes meeting your gaze with an expression that took your breath away--One of absolute love and adoration, V staring at you like the entire world rested in your vision. A pleased rumbled left his chest, black hair swaying slightly as he leaned down to kiss your lips like you were air after years of suffocating. Such a kiss said a lot, more than any words could.

“Thank you,” He murmured against your mouth, peppering kisses from there to your jaw as he continued softly, “For loving me despite...everything.”

You hummed lightly at that, pressing both hands to his cheeks so he could meet an adoring gaze of your own. He was always saying things of such a nature, as if he had something to prove or loving him was somehow difficult.

“You make it easy,” Another kiss to his lips, this one short and quick, “I would love you no matter what, V. You know that right?”

Even if you betrayed me again.

Even if things fall to pieces.

You are the reason I breathe.

V wrapped both arms around you, pressing his forehead to yours as the words hung in the air for a few seconds. What was that expression he wore on his face? Something between thankfulness and...regret. Was he thinking of what happened in the Qliphoth tree again, about the moments he lied to you and became Vergil again? It had never clicked before, but...if V had been awake and present, he saw every reaction you had, every tear and heartache. It would explain why he couldn’t let go of his guilt, or why he felt the need to thank you every day for staying with him.it was so hard to move past all of that, but...you did have four months to work things out with friends and family while Vergil spent it all in hell.

Regardless...you knew these things could be worked on with time, and V was more than worth the effort.

So you smiled, pressing a light kiss to V’s nose before pulling back and reaching for the phone resting on your window sill. V took the hint pretty easily, letting out a quiet yawn as he pulled away and stretched his long arms over his head. You tried not to stare, really you did--but christ, he was so lovely. His muscles bunching and relaxing, skin of his shoulders marked with your kisses and bites... We have things to do today, no staying in bed. The movement slipped his length from your body, causing a light shiver and sigh in response while you say up as well. Making love in the morning was nice, but you would both need a shower after throwing the sheets in the washer. A small price to pay, one that you were willing to deal with.

V took up the task of cleaning you up at the very least, leaving the bed briefly to get a washcloth from the bathroom cabinet. It gave ample opportunity to stare at his cute little butt as he departed, which was an absolute delight. He smirked at you on the way down, not oblivious to your wandering eyes in the slightest. Some forethought made him grab sweatpants from the banister before heading toward the door, which was probably for the best--on the off chance someone came home early, seeing him naked would not be ideal.

Upon a brief glance at your phone, you saw it was ten thirty in the morning, giving plenty of time to shower and get ready for lunch at noon. There would be no viable excuse for being late, and it would be rude to the children on top of all of that. You never wanted to upset or disappoint them after all the terrible things that happened all those months ago, so it was the bare minimum you could do. A yawn left your own lips, flopping back on the bed and counting each peaceful second as it passed. Some time out in the city would be lovely, wouldn’t it? The smiling faces of your friends, delicious meal at a local cafe or restaurant...perfect. Everything felt like heaven.

It was on that thought that V returned, cleaning you up and helping gather the sheets to throw in the washer. You smiled when your gazes met, gathering clothes to wear out and heading for the stairs.

“I’m going to shower,” You announced to him, feeling his eyes on your ass as well while pulling on a light robe for modesty, “We should hurry up and get ready to meet Kyrie.”

V let out a low hum of agreement, footfalls following close behind as you entered the hallway, “Maybe we should bathe together, my sparrow?” He leaned over your shoulder, pressing a light kiss to your ear as he whispered, “I believe it will be beneficial to us both.”

Of course he would think that. You giggled lightly, turning around to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Depends on how quickly you get those clothes in the washer, slim,” You breathed, pinching his cheek with gentle fingers, “And only if you promise to be on your best behavior.”

V’s returning smirk was downright evil, jade eyes meeting yours as he stroked his fingers over you chin.

“Oh darling...you and I both know I am a gentleman before anything else.”

(Nero POV)

Nero had never been so glad to get out of a meeting early.

He and Nico were already driving back through the streets of Fortuna, heading for Madame Elenor’s considering they were able to head home earlier than expected. Honestly, why had they bothered coming by in the first place? The maps could have been sent via photo or email, but Dante and Vergil didn’t seem to have a god damn brain cell between them. His uncle in particular had a cell phone and an ancient computer, but only used the phone to play a really shitty version of tetris. As for his father...well. Spending so long in hell and other places had left him a bit out of tune with technology.

Regardless, they had gotten the needed information on the coming mission and swung back to catch the earliest ferry home. Dante and Vergil had been arguing about flowers of all things as Nero left, which Nico had agreed was incredibly strange. Neither of the two had any idea why the older men had flaked on what would be a friendly lunch in Fortuna, but whatever it was had them in...a bit of a mood. Nero wanted no part of it, and had practically dragged Nico out the door once the bare minimum amount of information had been met. Location? Check. Client? Check. Demon types they would be facing? You bet your ass that was another check on the list. And from there he would leave the planning to Dante and Vergil before they actually set out.

For now, he would stop by the shop and see how the kids were doing in their crafting efforts. Then the whole group could walk to whatever restaurant they decided on, maybe settle the day off with some time swimming on the beach or a bonfire. After the past week of work and demon hunting, some relaxation wouldn’t hurt anybody--hell, even Nico seemed excited at the prospect of having some free time to sunbathe, claiming she needed to work on her tan and rest her weary fingers. Nero wanted nothing more than to have some time with his wife, seeing her beautiful hair glow in the sun and a bathing suit…

He flustered himself a bit. She was so lovely it made him crazy.

“Jeez, it’s so obvious when you’re thinking about Kyrie,” Nico’s loud complaint made him jolt, looking over from the passenger side of the van to see her shutting off the engine and smirking mischievously, “You always get the goofiest, dopey smile on your face.”

He tried to scoff and play it off as nonchalantly as possible, but it was hard when his cheeks and ears were still tinged pink. Plus he doubted there was getting past Nico’s eagle eyes no matter how hard he tried.

“Lay off, Nico,” He huffed, scratching the back of his head and ignoring her chortles as he hopped out of the van, “So I love my wife--sue me.”

“You sure fuckin’ do, psycho,” Nico snickered, whapping him a little too hard on the back. Meanwhile, her other hand pocketed the keys to her van in those usual shorts she wore, “Just make sure to put on sunscreen today--Kyrie ain’t gonna fuck a tomato and I can’t see your sorry ass blush when you’re burnt like a marshmallow.”

She was certainly relentless in the insults today. Nero tried not to get more flustered, instead rolling his eyes in response to her taunts and pulling open the door to the Madame’s shop. The front windows were lined with costumes and small set pieces, a little bell jingling above them to sound of their arrival. It would seem Eleanor closed her shop early to make time for the kids, a “closed” sign hanging in plain view. But the door had been left unlocked for them, so Nero and Nico started making their way past the lines of costumes to the back area where they knew the kids would be hard at work.

“Madame…! How does it look?”

“Kyrie, I can’t find the pink paint!”

“I have the paint, sweetie--you’re painting trees right now, you need green.”

The children’s excited voices clamored within earshot, making Nero smile and press through the doorway. They were met with a medium sized room with sewing materials, an open archway leading to an open courtyard lined with cut out prop pieces being painted by the group of eager kids. The ones from their orphanage were here, mingling with some kids Nero only vaguely recognized from seeing them occasionally around the city. It was nice--seeing the young ones they cared about spending some time with others their age was a nice change of pace. Nero was also surprised to see you and V here earlier than them--this was one of the few days no one would be home all morning without interruption, so the fact that you were already present was unexpected. You were cross-legged on the floor, helping Emma with her brushstrokes and smiling cheerfully.

Even more surprising was V, hoisting a child up on his shoulders so they could reach the very top of a tree with green paint. He wore an apron over his black button up shirt and grey slacks, but it didn’t save his face from being smeared with some color. The poet didn’t seem to mind, nodding along to whatever the boy was saying and calmly replying to his questions with a small smile. As for Kyrie, she was on her knees beside Julio and Carlo, tracing a template for them to paint on and showing them the proper way to mix colors for what they needed. And boy if Nero wasn’t so smitten, seeing her hair pulled into a messy bun, hands stained with the colors of a rainbow and eyes filled with love and adoration for the kids.

God damn he was so lucky.

Nico rolled her eyes at the dopey look on his face, brushing past him just as Madame Elenor stood from her corner with the other kids, walking over with a limp in her step and wiping paint on the apron she also wore. The children from the orphanage waved and yelled in excitement when they saw Nero and the mechanic, but were so focused on their tasks that they didn’t get up. Which was for the best--they were covered in paint all over their little hands, and he would rather not clean purple and green out of his good clothes. Instead, the white haired boy smiled at his wife, turning away from her gaze to greet the woman helping the kids with this project.

“Nero, so glad you could join us,” The Elderly woman greeted him with a warm smile, wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth as she grasped his hands, “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

The Madame had always been an incredibly kind woman. Getting up there in years, old age starting to slow her down a bit but not stopping the creativity and hard work. Nero could respect that.

He smiled lightly in response, wincing a bit at the sight of paint now on his fingers once she pulled away. Figures, “Thanks for helpin’ out with the kiddos, they’re having a good time,” Laughter punctuated his words, making the two look up and see Julio and Carlo giggling as they smeared paint on their faces. Kyrie chasing after with a handkerchief, of course, “The play too. Can’t remember the last time the theater set up anything worth doing.”

The elderly woman snorted, rolling her eyes as she settled on a nearby workbench to rest her weary legs, “Certainly. Making costumes for period dramas grew very tiresome--it’s a lot more energetic to work with the younglings.”

That was definitely an understatement. The devil hunter doubted the old woman had this much excitement in a while. But she seemed pleased about all of the activities going on, pale blue eyes tired but happy as she watched the kids make quick work of another prop, setting it up to dry in the wind and sun. Kyrie helped steady a little girl’s brushstrokes, the light making her hair glow a beautiful shade of auburn as she asked you a question. And that was a nice change of pace too--seeing you in such high spirits, smile no longer tampered by grief or pain and glowing bright as well. You seemed to be in your element among the kids, patient and kind enough to answer all their questions and help when needed. Very similar to his wife in a lot of ways--she had been a very good teacher, after all.

Nero let out a low sigh, leaning against the doorway and folding his arms as he watched the peaceful scene continue. Madame Elenor followed his stare, an amused grin tilting her lips as he kept a watchful gaze on his wife and family. The adoration and devotion was very apparent.

“I’m glad to see you’re finally settling down,” The woman commented, drawing Nero’s attention away briefly and meeting his gaze, “You were such a rebellious teenager--Kyrie is very good for you, such a kind and peaceful woman...her mother was the same way.”

She was one of the few people that didn’t tell Nero that Kyrie was too good for him, something he appreciated. As for her mother...he remembered her kindness too, and it was not lost on him.

So he let out a slow breath, smiling ruefully and scratching the back of his head, “I’m a lucky guy, there’s no mistake there...I don’t know what I would do without her.” She really was something special, carrying so much love and kindness in her body he sometimes wondered if there was any room for hate or animosity. Even when things upset her, she bounced back so fast he often wondered if she hid things away as to not burden others. But there was always communication, always talking with him and explaining how she felt about certain things.

There was always trust, and he needed that more than anything.

Elenor let out a pleased hum at his response, nodding a few times and pushing her glasses up a bit. Those pale blue eyes scanned the courtyard, watching as you and V started helping pull a tarp over one of the dried prop pieces, kids standing all around to aid. Nero wasn’t watching her expression then, more focused on making sure none of the kids were doing anything to hurt themselves or spilling any paint on their clothes. The children from the orphanage still had to go out to lunch after this, but the other kids would be picked up by parents and family members. So focused as he was, he didn’t notice the curious look on the Madame’s face, the searching one as she kept her eyes on you. Observing as you laughed, picking up one of the kids and pressing a kiss to their cheek.

So that’s why it surprised him when the elderly woman spoke again, her voice low and thoughtful as she murmured, “Your other friend is like her mother too.”

That certainly made Nero blink. He turned, staring at the Madame in confusion and seeing a faraway look in her eyes, one of remembrance and wistfulness. What the hell was she talking about? There was no way she could have known your mother, right?

“What do you mean…?” Nero asked slowly, brow furrowed as the Madame turned to meet his perplexed gaze.

She pursed her lips, head tilted in your direction as another prop was covered slowly and carefully, “I never forget a face, you know that,” The elder locked her eyes on you again, frowning now as she watched the children interact and clamor in excitement, “Even one I’ve seen a long time ago--I can remember the faces of Kyrie’s parents perfectly, and I remember another face too. A woman used to come into my shop years ago, a year before you were even at the orphanage I think...she looked just like Y/N, spitting image.”

...What?

Nero stared in blank shock, brain not sure what to do with the information and halting like the screeching of tires. Someone who was the spitting image of you in this city, before he was even born? But...how was that possible? Surely not, there was no way you would have a parent in Fortuna, that was very clear after all the information they learned about your past. Even while not knowing anything about your family, you were firm in the fact that it was a different dimension entirely. Wisps of memories, small feelings and Foresight told the truth in your statements--not to mention the fact that the Outsider changed your appearance after your first death to distance you from the life you lead. A fresh start, an entirely new you--even your name had been picked by him. From what you could gather, your parents lived in a small town anyway, not a city. So...how?

How could someone be here that looked just like you? Maybe the elder had finally gone senile, maybe it was just a simple mistake? But...practically everyone in Fortuna knew of her memory. Hell, the old woman could recall days from his childhood that blurred even for Kyrie and himself. Faces, names, events...Old age never soured her mind, not for a second. Conviction was in her tone, eyes firm and certain as she stared at you, like seeing a memory from long...long ago.

But...that couldn’t be right.

This didn’t make sense.

You said you’d never been to Fortuna before, this dimension before.

So...why?

Nero’s tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, heartbeat starting to pick up while his head tried to piece things together, bit by bit. You were prone to having your memory erased, right? So...maybe you had been to this place before, without even realizing it? It was possible, especially with how unpredictable the Outsider was. But...didn’t the God only erase your memories with trauma? And what could he have sent you to do in Fortuna at the time? The Order of the Sword hadn’t been affected, and no big events had gone on until they were taken down. Not unless there was an event you did manage to prevent, one he didn’t know about.

The devil hunter couldn’t find it in himself to reply, even as the Madame continued on wistfully in her story. And as the words continued to flow, his trepidation grew in spades, like icy fingers tapping their way along his spine.

“Timid little thing, she came in a few times to help me with odd jobs in return for coin and food,” The Madame sighed, closing her tired eyes and pausing briefly as she remembered the past, “She started coming by less and less, spending time with a tall, cloaked sword-wielding man walking the streets. An outsider like herself, I think. And then...well, I stopped seeing her at all. I got worried for a little while that something had happened to her after rumors circled the town but…”

The Madame shrugged, smile returning as she watched you hug Kyrie around the waist and giggle about whatever joke was said, “Her daughter is alive and well, a very kind person. If she turned out this way, I have no doubt that her mother ended up safe as well--I imagine the cloaked man she was with must have got her off the island before the Order fell...I just wished she would stop by and say hello before then.”

A...cloaked man?

Rumors?

The woman slowly rose to her feet, wincing when her bones creaked and ached in protest, “I’ll have to ask your friend about her parents another day, when things aren’t quite so busy. It’s strange...she shares the same name as her mother too, which is a bit...odd. But she’s far too young to be the same woman.”

She didn’t notice Nero’s frozen expression, especially not when a couple kids ran up to her and loudly asked for help with a prop. Walking away before any more questions could be asked, things seeming to pass in slow motion for a brief second. He wasn’t able to move, watching numbly as she was pulled away by tiny hands, chuckling lightly at their enthusiasm. Things seemed so normal in comparison to the new truth laid at his feet--the kids didn’t notice Nero leaning against the doorway, a hand on his mouth and posture frozen in place. Nor did you, V, or Kyrie. All so focused on the task at hand, while he was left wondering just what the fuck was going on.

The elderly woman’s words had...struck a heavy chord of unease, one that gripped him in its tight vise and refused to let go no matter how hard Nero tried.

His mind was working overtime, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on with so little information in front of him. Same name, same face...that had to be you, right? What the hell happened to you in Fortuna all those years ago, if he was to believe what Elenor claimed to be true? If you could travel from dimension to dimension, what was stopping the chance of going to a certain place twice? It was completely probable that Fortuna could have been one of your mission places, but...maybe you had failed? Something traumatic must have happened, and you had each memory erased. The Order of the Sword could have been a big target, but…

But.

The timing of it...was far too uncomfortable for Nero’s liking.

A lot of these things were.

Nero’s brain was connecting things he absolutely should not be trying to connect--but it wouldn’t stop, it refused to. Not with this new information, not with things he had felt on the edge of his consciousness for a long...long time.

He had heard rumors too...hadn’t he? When trying to figure out the identity of his parents as a teenager, asking anyone who would listen if they could remember anyone dropping a baby off at the orphanage. Claims ranging from it maybe being a teenage mother who made a mistake, him being a cursed twin left by a frightened family. Ect, ect. But...those all came up empty. And besides, he had demonic blood in his veins, so anything stating he came from normal humans was implausible anyway. No, he only took to heart things that could actually depict something other than human.

And a couple tales came to mind. Not ones he heard while searching out his parents, but rather things heard in passing. Demon attacks were a common thing in the city until the Order fell, but people who actually held their own against the creatures outside of said Order were...rare. Nero remembered tales of an inhuman man in a cloak who once traveled the city streets for a short time, witnesses seeing him take out demons with speed and precision no mere mortal could have. As a teenager, it had all seemed so silly--why should he think that this man had to be his father, especially with nothing to go on? This apparent stranger came and went in a matter of a couple months, leaving no trace behind.

In retrospect...that did sound like Vergil, a lot like Vergil. Tall, cloaked, deadly and precise. Wielding a sword, obviously. But...Nero hadn’t put much thought into the stranger’s companion this late in his life, not when he was still trying to grasp the fact that he had a father in the first fucking place.

Less was known about her--a lady in red, according to a few passing voices that could barely recall the tales. After all, why did such things matter years later? Those people were gone, but some fleeting memories remained. Coming and going from Fortuna was incredibly rare, outsiders stuck out like a sore thumb and were generally met with wariness and fear back then. Some rumors claimed she was human, but a few more...a few more mentioned powers too, didn’t they? He had waved those away--he was mostly human, right? Mostly human meant only partial demon, the woman had to be human.

Had to be.

Right?

But…

The timeline...the timeline. It fit, didn’t it? This woman who looked like you was in Fortuna before he was in the Orphanage, a year before. Around the time Vergil was in Fortuna, a tall, cloaked man with a sword. There was no fucking way that could be anyone else, right? You already stated your age was a question mark after traveling for the Outsider for so long, and visiting to the same dimension twice without remembering it was...plausible. If something trauma based had happened to you in Fortuna...it would explain why you disappeared without warning, especially when he considered the fact that you had not been with his father when all the conflict between him and Dante had occurred. At least...that’s what he assumed.

Vergil would have remembered your face, though, wouldn’t he? But...his father claimed to have lost memories after a particularly bad run in with Mundus, avoiding the topic like the plague and growing agitated whenever Nero brought it up. So the younger Sparda learned to stop asking about it, not wanting to fuck things up when the once-surly male was clearly trying his best. Although that was what he claimed, Nero had always felt there might have been more knowldge to find, especially with the mentioned trials.

Thinking back on it...Nero’s foreboding grew in spades, leaps, and bounds.

You had eventually spoken of what happened in the Void, Vergil forced to go through three trials in punishment for his actions. The first was reliving the trauma of his mother’s death, the second seeing what happened with Mundus and becoming Nelo Angelo. And the third...well, your memory went blank at the third, fairly certain that the Outsider took your memory of it, but not knowing why. It was of little consequence at the time--you were just happy to have V back, and didn’t put any thought into it.

Nero had asked his father in passing about it, and V too since they seemed to share memories. Both clammed up at the third trial, Vergil stating curtly that it was a part of his past he’d rather not repeat aloud or bring into light, and V...well, V replied that Vergil’s memories weren’t his to share, nor were his traumas or mistakes. And it ended with that, Nero shrugging it off just as easily now that things had seemingly grown so calm.

But now...less calm. There was a reason your memory of the third trial had been removed, especially if that reason was…

That’s not possible.

Nero turned, stalking back into the shop before anyone could notice the growing look of panic and confusion on his face. Both hands ran through his hair, heart pounding in his ears as he walked out to the van and leaned against its metal form, trying to talk out of his own reasoning and just carrying the disbelief and fear in circles. Not many people were on this street so early in the day, more than likely on the square or on the beach so there would be no one to see him trying to collect himself.

Vergil wasn’t the type to screw around with multiple women, that was obvious. But he was the type to reluctantly start traveling with one, maybe get too close. If something bad happened, if you had died...there would be no memory, no trace, no knowing him. Maybe no knowledge of having a...

There is no fucking way.

Nero felt his blood run cold, brain scrambling with this knowledge and sending off several warning bells that made him feel sick to his stomach. There was no way, right? This was stupid, foolish, idiotic--his head was just doing things it shouldn’t connecting dots that weren’t there.

As hard as he tried to tell himself that...the seed of doubt had been planted, and it was flourishing. He couldn’t even form the proper words or coherent thoughts, unable to even comprehend it. His friend, his best friend...the same one he had laughed with at home, messing up your hair, calling each other “jackass” at any given moment, flinging food at the dinner table. The one who he watched fall apart in the Qliphoth, who he had carried home and helped build back up for so long. There was no way that you could be his...no. That wasn’t possible, and as much as he wanted to ask…

He couldn’t, could he?

Memories of trauma were taken for a reason. According to you, the Outsider only took things that were too overwhelming for you to handle. Things that could break you, weights to heavy to bare. If he asked you about it, made you remember something on accident…That wasn’t a risk that could be taken. But there were other ways to find out, right? Maybe that would be best, a simple DNA test without your knowledge could easily show him that this theory was foolish and contrived, take the burden off his shoulders and allow things to continue in peace as they were.

But...what if it only proved the truth? Would he be able to keep treating you like a friend as before, would he even be able to look at you the same way?

He couldn’t live with this ignorance...somehow, not knowing seemed worse.

I need to know. I need to be sure.

Even if it changes things...I spent so long not knowing.

Now that the thought is there...I need to do something or else it’ll get worse.

And even if he did find out it was true, what did he have to change? His mind was starting to calm, looking for reason and stability anywhere he could find it. You were his best friend, incredibly kind and caring to everyone around--even in the Qliphoth, making sure people were eating, encouraging him when it seemed like no one else would. If the truth came to light that after all this time, after all the wondering, hate, and resentment that maybe he wasn’t an unwanted child...It was startling, it went against everything he taught himself. If you had died, if you didn’t remember anything...it was very possible that he had been loved, right? You definitely weren’t the type to just throw away your flesh and blood, there was so much love in your heart, like Kyrie. But...it made sense if things happened outside of your control, a tragedy.

If he found out that...you were his mother, after all this time...then wouldn’t that be a relief? To know his mother was just a timid, lost girl under the guidance of a distrustful God, one who went through something terrible and wasn’t able to keep him--compared to all the ideas of him being abandoned for being partially demon, of his mother not wanting him, this was a blessing in comparison. And he could hold his tongue, bottle it all in even if he knew the truth. Because at the end of the day, you had always been family, his friend...All he wanted was the truth, and if he could get it then that would be enough.

I was wrapped in a cloth when Kyrie’s mother found me on the doorstep, dry despite the rain. The cloth was stained in blood, like whoever gave birth had me and dropped me off not long after.

Nero made up his mind, resolve snapping in place like steel chords inside and binding every decision in place. By the time Kyrie emerged with the kids an hour later, he had a casual smile on his face again, all the traces of panic and confusion tampered down even when you emerged with an arm locked around V. Smiling, happy, greeting him with a nudge of your elbow and a teasing comment about Vergil and Dante giving him a hard time. No one would notice anything was amiss with him, at least...that’s what he hoped.

“...Nero?”

The white-haired boy paused, lagging behind the group a bit as they started walking toward the square. You and Nico holding the kids hands, Kyrie pulling Nero’s arm with her gentle fingers and staring at him in worry.

But all he could muster was a small smile, leaning down to kiss the top of her head while pulling her along toward the others.

“Later, I promise.”

Kyrie’s eyes missed nothing, but this wasn’t something he could talk with her about, not yet at least. He needed to be certain, things needed to be proven and solid first. If the white-haired boy discovered that his theories were wrong and just his brain foolishly searching for what wasn’t there...well, he would tell his wife and have a little laugh, and maybe wonder about what happened to you in Fortuna all those years ago. She only nodded at his words, still seeming concerned but lacing her fingers with his as they caught up to the group just as they were deciding on the restaurant. You briefly looked at him, as if sensing his off mood yourself, but...knew not to say anything.

If it was the truth...Nero would tell Kyrie, warn her not to bring it up to you. And then he would ask Vergil about it, proof in hand and get the story from his mouth. Because there was no doubt that he and V both knew something that they weren’t telling.

Nero would be able to keep his cool through lunch, through everything. Arguing with Nico, talking with the kids, watching you laugh with Kyrie and the others while one hand grasped V’s tightly. There was truth to be had, but at the end of the day you would always be his family and friend above all other things. And that came first, your well-being always came first.

Some things were more important.

If he discovered you were this woman in red, his mother...then he would get the story from Vergil and be done with it. Just being able to know both parents was something Nero thought he’d never have, and to know his mother was someone kind and sweet in comparison to Vergil? Well...he could live with that, could go on being your friend without changing a damn thing if it meant saving you from trauma. Life would go on as always, but he would just have one less mystery hanging over his head.

There was definitely a truth to be had. But at the end of the day...family was family. And he was willing to do whatever it would take to defend it.

“Hey Nero?”

The boy looked up as he walked alongside his wife and the children, seeing you looking at him with mischief in your expression. The afternoon light making your hair glow, one arm locked with V’s as he chuckled at whatever you had cooking up.

Nero swallowed down the hesitation and uncertainty, replying easily enough, “Yeah?”

You grinned, jabbing him in the side once with a hint of challenge in your tone, one he easily caught onto, “When we get back, we should spar on the beach. You, me, and some good old-fashioned water guns.”

What was that in your expression? A hint of concern, worry for him that you were trying to mask with playfulness. She’s worried, and trying to cheer me up--Nero clicked that in place right away, knowing damn well that sparring was one of his ways to blow off steam. Of course you caught onto his unease as well, just as observant as Kyrie. He felt his wife squeeze his hand too, punctuating the offer with support of her own.

And it was in that moment, Nero realizing how very blessed he was. To have people who cared and loved him that much, to have a chance of discovering his mother was something like you, someone already close to him. It made him smirk a bit, picking up Carlo from where he walked with the other kids and letting the boy hug him around the neck.

“You’re on,” He replied with a low smirk, eyeing V at your side and adding cockily, “Bet I could take you and Shakespeare on at once.”

V rose a simple brow at that, lips quirking up in a smile as he replied with a low chuckle, “You can certainly try.”

The kids all chattered in excitement, wanting in on the battle and eager at the prospect of playing with super soakers. Nico seemed to want in on it too, pinching one of Nero’s cheeks and claiming she would ally herself with him in this so called “battle”. Nero was willing to bet there would be treachery afoot, but Kyrie would always be there to back him up in the long run.

They all would. And when the truth eventually came...that would always remain the same.

~The End~

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obviously-best-potions-master · 6 years ago

Text

Swapping Bodies

Chapter 19

Word count: 1837

A/N: I find the idea really interesting, but whether I managed to implement it properly, you decide ;)

You helped Professor in the lab as usual. You've made a whole pot of polyjuice potion for the next week practice. Snape brought an empty jar to pour the contents from the cauldron. You held the jar while he was pouring. Suddenly the potion exploded, forming a huge cloud of violet smoke around you. You coughed and got lost in space.

"Damn it! These dunderheads failed to clean the jars properly! Something caused the reaction..." Snape swore at the 1st course, who had detention today.

After the smoke cleared, you discovered that something was wrong. Everything was wrong.

"Professor?" Panicked a tall man, palpating his body and touching his head.

"Holy shit!" The young lady made a deep breath and leaned over the table with both hands, looking on the floor and trying to control herself.

You swapped bodies in this violet cloud.

The material embodiment of Professor Snape ran up to the polished cauldron and started examining its reflection.

"Oh, Merlin! What shall we do now?!"

The body, which was supposed to be yours, came up from behind with an impassive look and also glanced at the reflection.

"It will last a day, no less." It snapped. "The concentration was too high, it would be naive and stupid to count on the usual for this potion one-hour effect."

"I will be you for a whole day?" You exclaimed in horror, looking at the black suit with lots of buttons, you were wearing.

"Don't worry, if it haven't escaped your notice, I also have something changed in my appearance." He quipped, showing you his long skirt.

You looked at him in dismay.

"Remove that expression from my face!" He grimaced and approached you. "We'll handle this." He tried to reassure you. "Right?"

You looked at yourself with Snape's the black eyes, but the look, turned to you, wasn't yours, it was his look. The only thing that made it clear that now you were him, that is to say, he was you. What a mix-up!

Professor, in whose body you were captured, had unusual for him confused and frightened look.

"Well..." Continued Snape with your voice. "Fortunately, tomorrow I have 2nd, 3rd and your course. You'll hold classes for me."

You rounded Professor's eyes, and with hope offered to take a day off for tomorrow.

"No way, out of question!" He strictly refused. "I'll let you refresh the material, and explain your new theme today, so that tomorrow you will repeat it to your dumb peers. You can do it." He softened and took you by the shoulders.

It looked like a brave student was trying to comfort the most severe Professor at Hogwarts.

"It's so weird talking to myself!" Said Snape and twisted your face.

“I feel the same.” You stretched Professor's lips in a smile. "Fine, I'll hold your classes, and you'll attend mine."

Snape rolled your beautiful eyes.

"That's what I needed!" He exclamed sarcastically.

You made a pleading expression on Professor's face. "I have a test in Transfiguration tomorrow, you'll have to write it for me."

Your body collapsed exhaustedly on a chair and leaned with elbows on your knees. "It's gonna be a tough day, I suppose." It sighed fated.

Professor's legs brought you to the chair standing nearby, and you sat next to each other. You were silent.

You looked at Snape's hands, which were now yours.

"Just one day, it could've been worse..." You thought, putting up with the upcoming adventure. "Well, that's even exciting!"

Professor's body jumped up from the chair joyfully, and his lips said:

"Well, since it happened, we need to make another cauldron of the potion. Miss Y/L/N," you jokingly addressed Professor with a stern look, "are you going to help me, or will you remain sitting like this?"

Snape couldn't resist, and a smile appeared on your face.

"You quickly got in my character!"

You spent the rest of the day in the lab, making that unfortunate polyjuice potion again, Snape explained you the new material, you had to teach your classmates, and made clear what you were going to explain the 2nd and 3rd courses. You, in return, reminded Professor what tasks he would face on the test, and how to answer them.

When it was time for dinner, you decided to wait until the majority of students dispersed in their dorms, and only then you went to the Great Hall. You sat in the farthest corner and could finally eat.

If someone, who still remained in the Hall, looked at you, he could see Professor Snape pulling a huge piece of honey pie out of his student's hands, while he was slowly eating a fruit salad. In fact, you were worried about your figure, which Snape was going to spoil by eating sweet overnight. He himself slipped you a fried chicken leg, so that you wouldn't ruin his reputation with girly salads.

"I'm not sleeping in your dorm!" He said resolutely.

"They would better find Professor in my bed?" You pointed out your appearance.

"You sleep in my chambers." Snape stated. "I’ll take the couch."

"Yes," you agreed, "it seems to be a good idea to have a view on each other."

At that moment, Professor Flitwick approached the table.

"Severus, decided to have dinner with the students?" He friendly greeted you.

The real Snape was about to respond, and your body coughed. You remembered that it was you who looked like Severus, and hectically thought what to answer.

"Yes... Miss Y/L/N asked to explain her some potions formulas, and since I didn’t have time today, I decided, why not doing it here." You cracked a smile on Snape’s face.

Professor Flitwick smiled to "you".

"Miss Y/L/N, you should sometimes take a break from studying."

"I will, Professor." Said Snape, squeezing a smile with your lips.

"Stop smiling! I look like an idiot!" Snape made a remark when Flitwick passed by.

"And I like it when you smile." You looked at yourself and smiled again with his lips. "In that case, Professor, do not frown my forehead, I can already see a wrinkle appear on it."

The rest of the day brought no more suprises. After dinner you immediately headed for Snape's chambers. The furnishing was just as you expected. Lots of shelves full of books, a table with a cauldron (why does he need a cauldron here?), curtained windows, with only a narrow slit for the sunlight. You found it cozy.

Snape took you to his room, where you could also see many bookshelves, a soft carpet on the floor, and a pair of table lamps on the sides of the bed.

Playful mood returned to you again.

"Professor, wouldn't it be selfish? After all, your body will sleep on the bed, and mine will suffer on the couch!" You looked at him seriously and broke into laughter.

"True." He agreed. "I'm staying. The bed is big, and there is enough place for us both. "

At first you thought he was joking, but he threw off your shoes and layed down. You did the same, expecting him to stand up and leave. But he didn't. You layed in the dark and looked at the ceiling.

"I’m glad it happened with you..." Snape said quietly.

You were surprised and cautiously asked:

"Why?"

"Just because..." He paused. "You are the only person at Hogwarts whom I could trust my body." He turned your head to you and smiled. You smiled too. You were pleased to hear that.

"I also wouldn't like to entrust my body to anyone but you."

Fatigue overpowered you and you fell asleep, each on your own side. Even despite you slept so close, both of you couldn't even think of intimacy, because it was all too weird and ridiculous.

In the morning you decided not to show up in the Great Hall and only had tea with cookies right in Snape's chambers.

You've agreed to meet after classes in Professor's office. You were very nervous, and Snape tried to comfort you giving you more instructions.

"Do not dare to smile! No jokes, no laughter! You understand?"

"And you don't be rude, and do nothing if they start teasing you... I mean, me... Just ignore them, ok?"

You agreed with each other's requests and went your own way.

You took Professor's part fairly quickly, because you saw him almost every day and have perfectly studied his manners and gestures. And when your own course's turn came, you were already unstoppable.

"Take your seats! Now!" You snapped with Snape's low voice. You even started enjoying it.

Suddenly you noticed yourself in the crowd. Your embodiment looked at you with a smile and admiration. When you saw Professor, you felt a little embarrassed, but decided to play the role till the end.

Snape took your place at the desk and watched you. You slowly walked back and forth between the desks, repeating his gestures.

You explained the new material, slowly, in Professor's leisurely manner, making pauses between words and giving contemptuous glances to some of your peers who made your life hell.

Snape was amazed at how accurately you stick to his manner.

As expected, questions followed after the explanation. You answered them the way he would've done it. But suddenly you heard a question which you didn't expect, and you were not sure how to answer it. You were not confused though.

"Enough of dumb questions for today!" You said sternly.

Suddenly Snape raised your hand from your place.

"Professor, may I answer?" He asked softly, the way you would have done.

You barely restrained yourself, not to expose all Professor's teeth in a smile.

"Miss Y/L/N?" You let him speak.

Snape answered the question in detail and thus saved you (and obviously himself).

After the class, you quickly retired to the supply room so that no one else would approach you with questions or anything else.

The door suddenly opened.

"Professor, will you allow me to enter?" Asked Snape and laughed.

You laughed with him.

"We did it?" You couldn't believe.

"I can’t believe it either!" He answered, still chuckling.

You were sitting, exchanging impressions of the day and waiting for everything to return to its places.

Suddenly, it darkened in your eyes, you felt a complete loss in space again, and as soon as you came to your senses, you found yourself in your body.

"Finally!" You sighed with relief.

"Oh yes!" Snape agreed.

He came up to you and took you by the shoulders.

"Well done, you did an excellent job!" He gave you a tender look, full of admiration. "It was so difficult to talk to you, looking at that gloomy man."

You laughed.

"I found it also difficult to realize that this downtrodden girl was my powerful Professor!"

"Let's have a bite, I'm hungry as hell." He suggested.

You also felt hungry and gladly agreed.

You sat down at the same place as the day before. But now you yourself were at the right places.

#snape #severus snape #severus snape imagine #snape fanfiction #snape imagine #snape imagines #snape x reader #severus snape fanfiction #severus snape x reader #snape fic #snape fandom #snape community #pro snape

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monstersandmaw · 6 years ago

Text

Male drider x male naga (nsfw)

This is a commission for someone who asked me to hold off posting it til today because it’s their birthday. So, happy birthday! I hope you like this. I really enjoyed working with these two characters of yours, and I’m totally in love with Ambrose...

Contents: one naga with some colourful language, one shy and arachnophobic drider boy, some thievery, some fluff, and some smut. Length: 4847 words

___________________________

Aiden cursed as he ducked and wove through the dense pine trees as evening pressed on relentlessly into night and the baying of the hounds and shouting of guards faded behind him.

It had all been going so well until the duchess had returned early to her chambers and caught him red-handed with his sharp, taloned claws in her safe. She’d shrieked half the castle down, screaming about thieving snakes, leaving the naga no choice but to hurl himself out of the window and take a long dive into the freezing, filthy moat surrounding her castle. At least he still had her jewels in his satchel. He grinned wickedly to himself, canines flashing in the dying light of the day.

Honestly, he was exhausted.

His python-like lower half was built for stealth rather than for prolonged speed, and his muscles were screaming at him to stop. The warmth had faded from the day, and the cold-blooded naga was starting to feel the chill as his muscles tightened and began to burn. His underside bore scratches and scrapes from his long flight, first through the remote castle’s extensive grounds, and then out into the wilder woods beyond. Sharp rocks had scored along his thick, red-scaled hide, leaving him bruised and a bit bloody, and he ached all over.

Thirsty, weak, and with nowhere left to go, he eventually slowed his pace, breathing hard, and came to a halt in a quiet glade amid tall, silent pine trees. The wind hissed in the needled canopy above, but down here between the sentinel trunks, nothing moved. The baying of the duke’s hounds had long since faded into nothing, and as he swept his spiky, dark red hair back out of his eyes, he went utterly still, straining to hear any sounds at all. His head swam and his vision went double for a moment. He’d not eaten in days and while that wasn’t normally an issue for a naga, it was going to be problem for him soon after expending so much energy on escaping.

Lightheaded, weak, and shaky, he swayed on the spot.

Something darker than the surrounding shadows moved in the trees up ahead, and he swore softly, trying to get his eyes to focus.

He ground his teeth and drew his body up tall, hoping to look menacing, but the extra effort sapped the last vestiges of strength from him and before he knew what was happening, he had pitched forwards and was lying face down in the carpet of old pine needles. Woozy, on the edge of consciousness, he watched as the dusk-dark body of a drider emerged hesitantly from the trees. He couldn't see enough to make out any features, but the blue-black of the delicate limbs that speared down silently into the forest floor was enough to tell him it was a drider.

“Shit,” he hissed and his eyes rolled shut as he finally succumbed to his exhaustion.

When he next stirred, he was chilled and sluggish, and lying in the dark somewhere. Warmth; he needed to get warm. And where the hell was he? The last thing he recalled was the approach of a drider. He realised with a jolt of fear that he should be wrapped up in webbing, stored for some future meal, if even half of what was said about driders was true. But he was free, if sluggish and sore.

He blinked and tried to push himself upright on shaking arms, his cold muscles reluctant to obey him, and as he shifted, something squeaked at the back of whatever dank cave he was in. A rat?

Still fighting the lingering grogginess, he lifted his head and saw a drider shoot backwards, stumbling over its tangle of spindly limbs, only to sit down heavily and stare at him with wide, panicked, dark eyes. The drider looked young, but into his adult years, and his dark, messy, almost violet-purple hair fell into his eyes as he panted, clearly terrified, and stared at the naga. The skin of his human half was bear and almost pure white, in stark contrast to his dark spider’s body, and his torso was rather scrawny, skinny, and a little pathetic, but flawless as carved marble.

“Hello,” the drider croaked awkwardly. “You’re awake. You startled me.”

“No shit,” Aiden grunted. “Where the hell am I? And who are you?”

“My… My name is Ambrose,” he faltered, following it up with a frankly adorable smile, and Aiden was pleasantly surprised by the little dimples that formed in his cheeks at the gesture. “You’re… You’re in my -” he broke off with a screech and shot sideways, limbs scrabbling on the stony floor as he stared at the floor beside him.

“What the fuck?” Aiden muttered as he watched the drider panic at apparently nothing. “What is wrong with you?”

“Spider,” the drider whimpered pathetically, pointing a slender finger at the spot where he’d been sitting in a mess of dark limbs only a moment before.

Aiden found laughter bubbling up inside him and he roared with amusement, the whole cave echoing with the sound of it. “You’re shitting me!” he wheezed. “Oh that’s fucking precious! A drider that’s afraid of spiders!” He laughed until his sides hurt and his eyes watered, but when he eventually got himself together, he wiped the tears from his eyes and crooned in a patronising baby-voice, “You want me to put it outside for you?”

“Yes please…” the drider mumbled miserably, not meeting Aiden’s gaze.

Aiden snorted, still chuckling to himself, and scooped the tiny black spider up and chucked it out into the forest, feeling the drag of his cold tail and the ache of his muscles. He grunted and winced, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around the cave. “So, this dump is your home then?”

Ambrose’s cheeks flushed scarlet, and he nodded. “Yes. It’s… It’s not much. And thank you for putting the spider outside,” he said. “Normally I just wait over here until they’ve gone away…”

“You have to be the worst spider boy ever,” he snickered, ignoring the way Ambrose’s face crumpled dejectedly.

The drider levered himself up off the ground, arranging his stick-like legs underneath him and, to Aiden’s surprise, the naga realised he was really quite tall. His legs were thin and fragile looking, and his pendulous, midnight black body was covered in silky-soft hair. The tactile naga was almost overwhelmed by the desire to touch it, and drew himself back before he could give in to the unexpected urge.

“Well,” Aiden said, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a fire pit in this hovel, have you? I’m fucking frozen, and I stink from my impromptu swim in that foul bitch’s moat. I need a bath, and I need to warm the fuck up.”

Ambrose looked frankly horrified at the naga’s crass language, and Aiden reminded himself to rein it in a bit. No need to offend the person who’d been kind enough to pick him up and bring him here. He mused on that for a while and then asked, “Hang on a second… How the fuck did you get me in here? You look like one stiff breeze would send you spinning away like a tumbleweed!” He laughed at the image of the poor little drider cartwheeling away on the wind, only to find Ambrose looking hurt and embarrassed. “Ah, shit,” the naga added. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Ambrose mumbled. “I’m stronger than I look though. I dragged you here. I made a litter out of web and pulled it like a sled. You’re heavy, but I managed alright.” He tucked a stray strand of his inky hair behind his delicate ear and added, “There’s a stream just a few hundred yards that way, if you wanted to wash. I’ll start a fire for you.”

Something about the quiet sadness in his voice made Aiden pause. He looked at the miserable looking drider and asked, “You live out here alone?”

He nodded mutely and turned away.

With a sigh, Aiden slithered painfully out of the cave and found the stream. It was freezing, but it washed off the muck from the moat, and with every icy wave that bit into his skin, he promised himself he’d be warming up beside a toasty fire before too long.

Aiden hauled himself back up the steep bank, panting and groaning, his head aching and his vision blurred from exhaustion and lack of food. He let out a string of vile curses when he had to force himself to stop and take a breather. “Damned, fucking cold-blooded snake,” he swore, cranking his tail up the last bit of the incline and beginning his slow drag back to the cave.

When he got there, he found that Ambrose was heating a pot of something over a now-roaring fire, and it smelled amazing. “What’s cooking?” he asked, nearly adding ‘good looking’ for good measure afterwards, but he decided against it.

“Rabbit stew,” he said. “I made it this morning. It’s good to be reheated once more though. Is that alright?”

“Fuck yeah,” he grinned, and Ambrose gave him a very shy little smile in return. Something about it made Aiden’s stomach flip over and he crushed the sensation immediately. It wouldn’t do to go falling for some cute little spider boy when he was out in the middle of nowhere and still had to turn his thieved goods into his guild’s boss.

The two shared their meal in relative silence, but Aiden couldn’t help noticing the way Ambrose always made sure he had enough, and how the drider watched him eat and then glanced away whenever he caught him staring.

“You really don’t get out much, do you?” he asked boldly when it happened for the third or fourth time. “How many other people have you seen lately?”

Tears formed suddenly in Ambrose’s eyes and he looked away. Guilt lanced through Aiden, and he lowered his empty bowl, setting it down on the ground.

“Hey, come on, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to be…” He broke off and turned away. “I know I can be a real dick sometimes. Maybe it comes from having two of them…” he interjected, and then cursed himself for saying something so crude. “Anyway, look, I just meant… you seem nice. You don’t deserve to be shut away up here in the mountains, living alone in a cave full of spiders that you’re absolutely terrified of.” He couldn't help the little giggle at the memory of Ambrose tripping over himself in his terror at the little spider, but his mirth was short-lived.

“I have nowhere else to go,” Ambrose said in a tiny voice.

The way he said it made something in Aiden’s chest crack. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I’m scared to go out alone. So many people hate my kind. I’m scary to them, but really… I’m… I’m the one who’s afraid.”

“Come with me,” Aiden said before he’d even thought about what he was going to say. The sudden statement shocked him; Aiden was not known for random acts of kindness.

“Where? Where will you go? I saw what was in that bag,” he said, pointing to the satchel with the stolen diamond tiara and necklaces. “You’re a thief and a criminal. What kind of life are you trying to offer me?”

Aiden hissed out a sigh. “You’re right. But I mean… spider silk is really good for healing, and you could maybe work at a healers nearby if… you know… ah shit, what am I saying? I don’t know.” He scratched his head, feeling the rake of his sharp claws over his scalp. “You don’t even know me.” He sighed. “Forget I said anything.”

Ambrose looked at him steadily across the dancing flames of the fire pit. The light reflected in his big, dark eyes, and Aiden felt that strange coiling in his gut again that had nothing to do with the excellent food that the drider had prepared for him. He was strangely beautiful, in his skinny, slightly creepy looking way, but it was easy to see how some folk might be unnerved by the sight of him.

The warmth from the fire began to make his head nod and a drowsiness washed over him as he coiled himself up tightly beside the fire pit a few minutes later.

“You should rest,” Ambrose murmured quietly, coming over and stooping gracefully to pick up the wooden bowl that Aiden had abandoned beside him.

“Thankssssssss…” he hissed, forgetting not to lisp as his body tipped towards sleep before he could stop it. He must have been more exhausted than he’d realised as he slurred, “That wassssss reallygood.”

“I’m glad,” Ambrose said in a soft voice. “Do you want a blanket?”

“Mmm,” was all Aiden could get out before he slipped into sleep.

Inhaling deeply, he stirred and felt the warm weight of a huge woollen blanket over him, and he looked up to see Ambrose on the other side of the cave, curled with his legs stowed neatly beneath him on a wide hammock of web. The thought struck Aiden that he looked oddly sweet like that, and he smiled.

The gentle vibrations caused by the naga waking and stretching must have reached the slumbering drider because he twitched awake with a yelp of distress and scuttled back into the deepest corner of the cave, eyes wide and fearful and unfocused.

“Hey, it’s just me, dumbass,” Aiden chortled. “Remember, the criminal snake you adopted yesterday?”

Ambrose surprised him by beaming a wide smile at him that stopped his slow-beating heart for a few seconds and stalled his brain. Gods above; he was beautiful.

“What?” the drider asked. “Do I have drool on my face? Have I leaked webbing or something?”

“Is that like pissing yourself?” he snorted, shattering whatever moment had hung pendulously between them.

“No,” Ambrose replied, blushing prettily. “It’s still embarrassing though.”

When he looked around and saw that in fact everything was as it should be, with no drool or webbing out of place, he sighed and stretched. Aiden tried not to watch too closely as his torso flexed, but he found that he had to turn away all the same.

Ambrose went lax with a grunt and looked over at Aiden with his big dark eyes gleaming softly. “How are you feeling today?”

“Stiff, tired, achy…” Aiden complained. “But mostly alright, I guess.”

Ambrose’s previously relaxed posture tightened and he looked suddenly as though he were staving off tears.

Aiden moved closer, his smooth, hard scales barely whispering on the cold rock of Ambrose’ dank little home. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, trying to hide his emotions behind a wavering little smile. “Nothing…”

Aiden cocked an eyebrow, and Ambrose caved.

“Fine,” the drider sniffed, turning away, legs moving like a clockwork automaton.

Not having legs himself, Aiden would have been lying if he had said that he didn't also find Ambrose’ eight, slender legs fascinating. Forcing himself to concentrate, he shifted a little closer to the drider, who paused when he sensed him getting near, and drew in another long breath before speaking.

“I suppose… I mean… it’s kind of lonely up here in the forest…”

“But this cave is full of spiders to keep you company,” Aiden jested, and Ambrose suppressed a shudder. “Ok, seriously though, if you hate it so much, why do you live here? There’s a town not fifty miles away, and for someone with legs like yours, that wouldn’t be a taxing journey… I don’t get the whole hermit act… Give people a chance… Trust me, there are way scarier looking beasties out there than you. You’re positively angelic in comparison to some of the folk in my guild, let me tell you…”

Ambrose looked over his slender shoulder at Aiden and gave a sad little smile. “You’re the first person who’s ever seen me and not run screaming.”

Aiden’s heart cracked at that. “What?” he breathed. “You’re shitting me! But… But you’re -” he cut off quickly before he embarrassed himself.

“I’m a drider, that’s what!” Ambrose said hotly, drawing himself up tall, and for the first time, Aiden saw him as perhaps others did: more than a little ‘otherworldly’, with his big dark eyes and ghostly pale skin, his long limbs and his rounded, downy arachnid body. “People hate driders. They think we’re creepy or scary, or that we eat their children, or wrap them up in web for later and suck them dry…”

“You don’t?” Aiden snorted. “Damn, I quite liked the idea of being able to say I’d survived a few nights with a monster…”

The hurt on Ambrose’ face cut Aiden to the quick once again.

“Ah, shit,” he said. “I’m sorry. I always run my mouth when I get uncomfortable.”

“See? I make even you uncomfortable!” he said, huge, crystal tears rolling down his pale cheeks. “And you’re a criminal and a thief!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he huffed defensively. “Just because I nick stuff for a living, doesn’t mean I hang around with creeps… Ok, maybe I do, but they’re alright. My crew is alright. We don’t steal from people who don’t deserve it, you know?”

He darted back to where his satchel still lay on the rock and scooped it up, drawing out the sparkling gems.

“The bitch who owned these has a whole vault beneath the castle. She just kept these ones in her room because they were her favourite. She also keeps a tiefling on a leash as some kind of sick pet, and she’s got a centaur whose coat she dyes baby pink and has her paraded around for her amusement. Trust me, I’ve seen monsters, and you, my friend, are not one.”

Ambrose was still crying silently, but he lowered his dark spider’s body close to the floor, legs moving seamlessly like the dwarven and goblin lifting mechanisms at the docks. “I guess I don’t want you to go yet,” he said in a small voice.

“Who said I was going anywhere?” he grinned, wondering what he was getting himself into. This wasn’t like him. Had Ambrose been anyone else, he’d have left him in the dust a long time ago, but there was something about his curious innocence, and the way he had instinctively helped the weakened naga, despite his obvious wariness of others…

Ambrose perked up visibly at that. “You… You mean you want to stay?”

“Maybe for a few more days,” he shrugged, putting the jewellery back in the sack. “Just until I feel myself again, you know?”

“This isn’t you at your best?” Ambrose joked, and he was met with an answering grin from Aiden.

“Ho boy,” Aiden beamed at him, sharp canines showing. “I’m unstoppable when I’m on top form. Just you wait.”

The exchange seemed to have cheered Ambrose up, but when Aiden asked the drider if he fancied showing him around the surrounding forest, Ambrose shrank away again, shaking his head. “I can’t,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I… I don’t go out much.”

Well, that much was actually obvious to the naga, but still… “Just a few yards from the cave?” he said. “I’m cold and I could use some sunshine on my scales, you know?” he said, flicking his red hair playfully. It was enough to draw a little smile from Ambrose, and he agreed to accompany Aiden to the mouth of the cave, and then just a bit further.

Aiden found himself drawing the drider out more and more, both literally, and metaphorically as they laughed together over meals, or, more accurately, as Aiden scandalised him with tales of his thieving crew’s antics and escapades. However, after another four days, Aiden was certain of two things. The first was that he had stayed too long and his crew would be wondering if he’d just run off with the profits of the heist, and the second was that he was falling for this sweet, intelligent, shy, under-socialised drider faster and harder than he ever would have thought possible.

“Come with me,” he murmured, on the evening when he had decided to announce that he absolutely had to return the next day.

The two were lying beside the fire, Ambrose with all his legs tucked up adorably beneath him so that he looked like a little black cat with its paws scrunched in close to its body. He was also leaning his upper body against Aiden’s, who was coiled around Ambrose’ entire form. He was just long enough to be able to encircle him completely, the very tip of his tail just coming to rest in front of Ambrose’ spider body. Occasionally, the dark tip of his tail would twitch involuntarily, and Ambrose’ eyes would always dart down to look at it, and he would twitch his pretty lips into a little smile every time. Naturally, Aiden did it deliberately sometimes, just to watch his new friend’s reaction.

“I can’t,” Ambrose whispered hoarsely.

“Do you want to?” Aiden asked. “I mean, don’t you want to see the world? Do you really want to live out your whole life in this one cave full of spiders which you’re terrified of? How long do driders even live anyway…?”

His face crumpled. “We can live a long time,” he mumbled. “And no. Of course I don’t want to stay here alone forever.”

Aiden reached his hand out and ran the back of his fingers up the smooth, slightly fuzzy surface of the leg nearest to him. Ambrose shuddered violently and let out a gasp of shock, eyes rolling closed. When Aiden repeated the gesture, a moan spilled from Ambrose’ lips, and it was the most seductive and delicious sound that Aiden had ever heard anyone make.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Ambrose, you… the sound you just made…”

“I’m sorry,” he panted, pink flushing his skin from collarbones all the way up to his ears. “That… That felt so good.”

“Has anyone ever touched you?”

Ambrose shook his head, his messy hair tumbling into his heavily lidded eyes.

The naga went very still and removed his fingers from the incredibly soft velvet at the ‘hip’ of Ambrose’ spider leg, where it joined his spider body. “Would you let me?” Aiden asked. “Would you let me make you feel good?”

Ambrose licked his lips and opened his glittering eyes. His pupils were huge in the dark, and he nodded slowly. “Please…”

“You want me to make you feel good?” Aiden asked again. “How far do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” he said. His pulse beat rapidly at his throat, but he looked determined. “Will you stop if I ask you to?”

“Of course,” he said, and he couldn’t resist adding, “I know I’ve got two of them, but I’m not that much of a dick…”

Ambrose snorted, his lips hitching up on one side. “I barely have one, so…”

It was Aiden’s turn to be confused, and Ambrose’s turn to laugh.

Ambrose blushed and giggled his way through a rapid-fire lesson in drider anatomy, and Aiden was suddenly very interested. “Male driders don’t really have a… you know… I mean we do, but it only really comes all the way out when it’s mating season. Mostly it just stays inside. Even if… you know…”

“So wait, you’ve got a slit, or what?” he asked. “I mean, some male naga have both, so I’m cool with whatever you’ve got going on down there… but that’s… that’s kinda hot, you know?”

Ambrose’s answering blush was so pretty that Aiden felt his cocks stirring already, and the heat must have shown in his gaze because Ambrose’ blush only deepened when he realised. “You think…? I mean… You’re… You’re turned on by me?”

“Yes,” he hissed. “Very much so.”

“And it’s not just curiosity?”

He shook his head. “Part of it is - I do like the idea of something new - but mostly it’s just you. You’re sweet and bashful, and you deserve to be praised and told how beautiful you are. I want to give that to you.”

A single tear rolled down Ambrose’s cheek. “Alright,” he said. “How… How do you want to do this?”

A little while later, Ambrose was on his back, and Aiden was trailing his claws down his incredibly soft and wildly sensitive underbelly. Ambrose jerked and twitched and bucked, crying out and biting the back of his hand as Aiden worked him all over, just getting him used to the sensation of being touched and, quite honestly, worshipped. Aiden noticed almost immediately that Ambrose was getting wet in a very particular place on his lower body, and when he ran his fingertips over it, he discovered a slit that was slick and warm and wet.

“Can I use my mouth on you?” he asked huskily.

Ambrose whimpered and nodded his assent. “Wait,” he gasped, and the naga halted. “Are you poisonous?” His words were slurred and weak, but he cracked one dark eye open and tried unsuccessfully to focus on Aiden through the pleasure of the touches he was still receiving from Aiden’s fingertips.

The naga snorted, amused. “ ‘Venomous’ is the term you’re looking for, and no. No juice in these,” he said, flashing his canines. “Some of us are, but I’m not. Don’t worry.”

And with that, Aiden leaned his weight against the curve of Ambrose’ body and cautiously lowered his mouth to taste him. Aiden’s long tongue lapped at him, finding him slightly sweet and a little salty, and he soon discovered Ambrose’s cock seated deep inside him. As he worked his tongue repeatedly along the length of it, sometimes managing to curl the long muscle almost all the way around Ambrose’s hidden cock, he felt the walls of the slit pulse almost rhythmically, and he knew that it would feel incredible to be inside him.

When Aiden paused and voiced this aloud, Ambrose, who was quickly becoming a whining, mewling mess of limbs and heaving body, groaned, “Yes! Please…”

Aiden looked down the length of his own, scarlet red body, and bit his lip. Not only was the larger of his two cocks fully erect and weeping profusely, but the second, which usually only became fully erect during the naga’s heats, was also hard and slick. “Well, well,” he said. “Look what the sight of you like this has done to me,” he chuckled.

Ambrose managed to open his eyes with a flutter of long, dark lashes, and he smiled. “Beautiful,” he rasped. “I want you…”

Aiden shifted, coiling himself up so that he could slide easily into the slick heat of Ambrose’ sheath. The moment their cocks touched, he felt a jolt run right through him, and he gasped, clinging to Ambrose’ body. “Fuck,” he snarled. “Fuck, you’re perfect…”

Ambrose was beyond words at the sensations coursing through him.

“I’ve never felt so full,” he managed to gasp a few minutes later after Aiden had begun to rock back and forth inside him. “I… I don’t think I’m… I’m going to…” he panted, his body convulsing and shaking with over stimulation beneath Aiden. “I -” and with a rush of heat beneath Aiden, the drider came.

Spurts of thick, hot come pulsed around Aiden’s two cocks, and the naga lost his rhythm and his control, coming with a gasp a second after Ambrose.

Ambrose’ uninhibited yell of pleasure echoed off the walls of his home as he came, his body twitching and rocking with pleasure, while Aiden rammed his eyes shut, cocks buried inside him, and ground his teeth, gasping at the intensity of it. He had never come like this.

It took a while for both of them to come back to their senses, and when they did, Aiden laughed nervously and slid free of Ambrose. “You alright?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Ambrose nodded and tightened his skinny torso, abs clenching as he looked down his body to where his lower half was frankly a mess. “I think I might need to bathe tonight,” he said. Then, with a wicked glint in his eyes that Aiden would never have suspected from him, he added, “Unless you want to go again?”

“What have I unleashed?” he laughed.

In fact, they did go again, twice more, before the dawn.

As they were both tired and spent, washing clean in the freezing stream, Ambrose said quietly, “I think I will come with you.”

“What, you only want me for the sex now?” Aiden joked.

Ambrose remained serious as he said, “No. I was thinking about it before. If you promise that you will help me… I’d like to come with you. I’d like to see something of the world.”

Aiden was not expecting his heart to react in the way it did, but he flashed Ambrose a wide grin. “Great,” he said. “I promise. You’re going to love it. I just know it.”

___________________________

#mlm #exophilia #naga #drider #arachnid #spider monster #monster x monster #male monster #writing commission

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bee-kathony · 6 years ago

Photo

An Evening Joined by Annalise De Marillac | Ch. 6 “Dans Le Bain”

a/n: thank you to everyone who has read and indulged me in this fic! thank you also @julesbeauchamp for this moodboard! Very nsfw ;)

Previous Chapters

With a fuzzy head, I opened my eyes slowly. I felt two things. Drowsy and completely liquified. My limbs felt like limp noodles and as I rolled my head over to the side, I smiled as I saw Annalise peacefully asleep next to me. Jamie was on my other side, a small smile on his own lips.

I didn’t want to wake them, but I needed to use the privy and so carefully, I rose from an entanglement of arms and legs. Slipping on my robe that lay on the chaise, I pulled it tight around me and pulled out the chamber pot.

It was times like this that I really missed indoor plumbing. Not only toilets, but a hot bath with bubbles and oils. What I wouldn’t give for running water and a tub. The closest thing we had to a bath was a large basin that took several buckets of boiled water to fill.

Peering over my shoulder, I noticed that Jamie and Annalise were still sound asleep so I slipped out to find Suzette.

The house was quiet, as it was still early in the morning. My pregnancy had me waking every few hours and usually once I was awake, there was no going back to sleep. I had grown accustomed to walking the halls of our Parisian home late at night or early in the morning.

Usually Jamie would wake when I did, but I always persuaded him to go back to sleep — he needed rest so badly. His body was still healing from the effects of what Black Jack had done to him and so every moment of peace that Jamie could find, I urged him to catch.

Of course, sometimes when I woke in the middle of the night, he came to me, sliding between my legs, his mouth on mine in a tender, heated exchange. This was all very recent, however. For months Jamie and I hadn’t made love because his mind was too scarred from Wentworth. But now… now he had come back to me.

I found Suzette in the kitchen, sitting in a rocking chair with her legs propped up on the counter, eyes closed with a cup of tea in her hands. Making a soft coughing noise so not to startle her, I stepped into the room.

“Bonjour, Madame Fraser,” Suzette smiled and jumped to her feet, setting her tea down on the counter. “Would you like some tea milady?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” I smiled and took a seat at the small table, resting my hand on my stomach. My cheeks were still flushed from the memories of last night and I couldn’t help a small laugh that left my lips.

“What is it?” Suzette asked slyly as she set down my cup of tea in front of me.

Thanking her for the tea, I took a sip, letting it warm my insides. “Oh it’s nothing… just, oh it’s nothing.”

“I do not think it is nothing milady if it has you giggling at such an early hour,” she smiled knowingly. Of course as the housekeeper of our estate, she would be prone to know what went on inside these walls. By her smirk and slight wink, I think she knew perfectly well what Annalise had been doing in our room last night.

“Is it so terrible?”

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, no doubt surprised I would even bring it up with her.

“What happens between you and your husband is of no consequence to me Madame Claire,” she smiled and took another sip of her tea.

“And the Madame Annalise,” I grinned.

“Ah oui, of course.”

“I just never thought I would be doing something like this…” my brow furrowed. “And well — and bloody enjoy it so much!”

Suzette laughed and reached for my hand, bringing it in her own warm ones. She had rough skin, probably from the amount of work she did on a daily basis and I had the mind to lend her some of my lavender lotion.

“The pleasure of the body and mind is important to you, no?”

My cheeks blushed furiously red, “Yes.”

“Then if you enjoy it and it is agreeable with your husband and this lady…” she gave my hand a soft pat, “Then I see nothing wrong with it. But you are in France milady, things are quite different here already.”

Laughing, I nodded. Things were quite different here. I doubted that back in Scotland and especially not in England, we would not have been offered such a proposition. Of course there was no way of knowing that to be true and I highly doubted we would ever do such a thing as this again.

We finished our tea in companionable silence, enjoying the peace of the still early morning.

“Would you be able to boil some water for a bath?”

“Oui, Madame,” She smiled and bowed slightly as I stood to leave the room. “I will have it brought up to you when it is ready.”

“Thank you Suzette,” I smiled, “For everything.”

Returning to my room, I noticed that Jamie was not in bed, but now standing near the fireplace, his injured hand against his chest as he so often held it these days.

“Hello my love,” I whispered.

“Ah, Sassenach,” Jamie kissed me as I wrapped my arms around his middle. “I wondered where ye went.”

“I asked Suzette to boil some water for a bath, my body is aching.”

He chuckled and I gave his stomach a pat, “That’ll be your doing.”

“Aye, mo cridhe, and hers,” Jamie glanced over his shoulder at Annalise. “I fear she will have us both too exhausted to move one of these days.”

“I’m sure she will,” I laughed with him and then leaned my head against his chest.

I knew also that one of these days we would return to Scotland — at least I hoped we would. We both missed Lallybroch immensely as well as Jenny and Ian and all our other friends. Paris had become a sort of sanctuary, but it wasn’t our home and I longed for the day we would set sail from this place, with our baby in my arms.

“I didn’t expect her to come again last night,” I said quietly.

“I didna either, Sassenach,” Jamie slid his fingers loosely into my hair, rubbing at the base of my skull to ease the tension he knew I held there. “But it was a welcome surprise, no?”

“It was,” I agreed. “Very welcome.”

We stood there for some time, simply holding each other and to be near the warmth of the fire he had lit. A knock came from the door and Jamie opened it to find Magnus and another of Jared’s servants carrying a large cauldron of steaming water. Guiding them quickly to the basin in the corner of the room, Jamie helped them tip over its contents.

The steam filled the cool air and I felt my skin become clammy with the anticipation of the warm water.

“A wee bath for ye,” Jamie smiled and helped to take my robe off before helping me step into the water.

“Jamie, can you go and get my bar of soap from the nightstand?”

He nodded and rose to fetch the soap. When I looked over at the bed, I saw Annalise finally stir, her legs twitching as she came back to life.

“Good morning, Annalise,” I smiled from the bath. Her eyes met mine as she sat up in the bed. I couldn’t help but let my eyes trail along her body — her perfect breasts and slim waist.

“Bonjour,” she said sleepily and as Jamie came back with the soap in hand, he offered her his arm to help bring her over to me in the bath. It was of course too small for more than one person, but that didn’t stop her from letting her hand cascade over the side and into the warm water.

“How did ye sleep, Annalise?” Jamie handed me the soap and I took it, rubbing it between my hands and bringing it to a lather.

“Quite well,” she smiled and her fingers traced lazily along my arm. A shiver went down my spine and I felt goosebumps rise on my flesh.

“Thank you for deciding to come last night, Annalise.”

She leaned in then, her lips hovering close to mine, “Thank you… for coming my dear.” Annalise winked and sealed her lips with mine. I lingered in the kiss for a moment before remembering Jamie was there.

My lips felt plump and a familiar ache was building in the pit of my stomach. Annalise leaned over the basin, her breasts dangling close to the water and pulled Jamie to her. His cheeks were as bright as his hair and I saw his lip twitch before he kissed her. I should have felt jealous at the sight. I should have felt rage for seeing him kiss another woman, but I felt those same lips on mine and I felt nothing but arousal.

Jamie dipped his hand into the water as well and it laid gentle on my belly that stuck out in the water. As the kissed over me, I couldn’t help but press my thighs together. Hearing the sound of the water moving, the both pulled back and glanced down at me.

I was in heaven as Jamie slid his hand over my growing belly and up to cup my breasts. He reached for the soap in my hand and lathered his own hand before returning it to my chest. Annalise had taken the soap and down the same but now her hand rested on my knee and was sliding along my thigh.

“Christ,” I muttered, leaning my head back against the basin.

“Relax ma cherie,” Annalise smiled and then my hips bucked as I felt her fingers teasing my entrance. I was more than ready of course, but I still felt sensitive from the night before. Jamie leaned in and captured my lips between his own and I moaned, tasting his tongue on mine.

As lovely as Annalise was, there was nothing like feeling the familiarity of Jamie. He loomed over me and as he kissed me, his fingers twisted my nipples, sliding quickly over my smooth skin with the soap.

“Oh God!” I cried out when she slid one finger inside of me, my foot hitting the end of the small basin.

“I’ve got ye, Sassenach,” Jamie breathed sharply against my mouth and then I hooked one arm around his neck and held him close, also so that I could press my hips down on Annalise’s finger as she moved it inside of me.

“So beautiful, Claire,” Annalise said softly and I felt a kiss on my knee before she slid another finger in. As her hand pumped inside of me, I felt my release building and I gripped onto Jamie’s neck.

“Fuck,” I sighed and then nearly bit my tongue when I felt Jamie’s tongue on my nipples. I heard him spit in the water and opened my eyes to see him pouring water over my breasts. He had tasted the soap he had smeared earlier and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Doesn’t taste too good?” I slid my hand into his hair and he smirked before latching his mouth back to my breasts.

“Jesus.”

Annalise continued to slide her fingers inside of my slit and I parted my legs the best I could, allowing her access. I cradled Jamie’s head to my chest as I rode the wave of my orgasm — splashing only a minimal amount of water on the both of them.

My body was twisted in the bath and I felt my leg begin to cramp.

“Up,” I begged and Jamie lifted me effortlessly out of the basin and carried me to the bed.

I laid there, still spinning from my climax as Annalise began to dry me off with a thin cloth. Her hands were warm on my skin which was now cooling in the cold air of the room. My nipples stood at attention and she noticed.

I cried out as I felt her mouth on them, her tongue flicking back and forth. It was a welcome assault and I held her head to my chest.

“Sassenach,” I looked over her head to see Jamie standing at the end of the bed, his night shirt off now and his cock fisted in his hand.

“I need you, Jamie,” I panted, my back arching off the bed. He came to me then, eagerly and held my legs open.

I watched as he placed his cock at my entrance and then felt Annalise tighten her mouth on my nipple. Jamie had slipped a finger inside of her and she was now rocking back on it.

“Come to me,” I said to both of them and Jamie slid home, a gentle thrust at first.

Annalise moved her body in time with Jamie’s thrust and I nearly came at the wet sound of his fingers inside of her. My nipples began to feel swollen and slightly abused by all the attention and so I pulled Annalise up to my mouth.

Her tongue parted my lips and I panted, breathing heavily as Jamie rolled his hips again and again.

“Let go, mo ghraidh,” He said above me and I looked into his eyes, smiling as I then kissed Annalise and felt her body buck against mine and on Jamie’s fingers.

With a moan into her lips, I came and then felt Jamie spill himself inside of me. A moment later, he had pulled out of me, as well as his fingers in her and leaned over me, placing a kiss to my cheek. Annalise reluctantly pulled back and laid her head against my chest. I lay there, holding them against my body and wondering what I did to deserve such attention.

#an evening joined by annalise de marillac #mclairefras #jamie x claire x annalise #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #claire x annalise

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highqueenofprydain · 6 years ago

Text

New Fic Sneak Peek

The first chapter of that Angharad/Geraint Prydain prequel I’m working on. I’m nearly halfway through, but not going to start posting in earnest until I get it finished. I don’t even have a title yet. Consider this a teaser.

“I have sea foam in my veins; I understand the language of the waves.”

~Jean Cocteau

“There’s been another slide.”

The words were delivered through pale lips that set themselves in a flat, thin line when they were done. The messenger who brought them kept his eyes averted, downturned, as though unwilling to witness the reaction to them.

He need not have feared it. Angharad, darting a quick, perceptive glance toward her mother, saw the queen’s chest rise and fall once, heavily, but Regat’s carved-marble face remained impassive, her dark eyes unreadable. When she spoke, her voice did not waver. “Where?”

The man’s gaze flickered a little up and vaguely toward the left, still carefully avoiding that of his monarch. “The eastern coast, at the village of Llamorset.” He swallowed. “It happened in the night. Half a dozen cottages were lost; six families, along with their livestock, while they slept. Twenty-three in all. They recovered two bodies on the beach this morning; children.”

Angharad sucked in her breath, but Regat still made no indication of distress. “Did the seawall afford no protection?”

“The wall was taken, your Majesty, from its north end, two-thirds along. You know that Llamorset had built right up to it.” He shut his mouth suddenly and took half a step backwards, as though he had said more than he meant. “It...the entire slope crumbled from below. They are evacuating the remaining houses at the edge.”

“Thank you.” Queen Regat waved him away. “We shall see to the rebuilding of the wall, and to the relief of those misplaced. I shall send an emissary to assess the needs tomorrow. You may go.”

The man looked taken aback, and wavered a moment. He glanced in Angharad’s direction; she chewed at the insides of her cheeks, and gave him a curt nod. Not until he had bowed himself out and the heavy oak door had shut on his heels did she speak, turning to the queen indignantly.

“Mother. To send him away with no other message?”

“What would you have me tell him?” Regat, bending over the herbs in whose processing they had been interrupted, picked up mortar and pestle as though their weight had doubled. Now that the interloper was gone, weariness and grief were evident in her face and bearing, but her voice was hard. “When the people persist, against all advisement, on building up to the very cliff edges, there will be loss.”

“They’re blaming us for it,” Angharad countered, “for not outright forbidding the building at the edge. For not opening up the interior for settling when they asked, two years ago. You know they are. He almost said it.”

“It is well for him that he did not,” Regat murmured, darkly.

Angharad fell silent, warned by the tone, and attended to the bunches of dried lavender in her hands, snipping the ties and shaking the pale gray-purple buds into the parchment spread on the table. She scooped them into a pile, breathed in the scent to calm herself, steadying her will before she spoke again. “You could have at least assured him that we are seeking the cause.”

She could hear the frown in her mother’s voice. “That would only serve to confirm the fears. Better the people believe the disasters are natural.”

“No one believes that, even when they are natural,” Angharad muttered, throwing the empty stems to the side and drumming the tabletop with her fingertips. “They come up with rubbish about angry gods and bad omens and witchcraft.”

“Who is to say?” A note of humor crept into the queen’s severe tone. “Even the most outrageous legends spring from seeds of truth. It is hardly just, daughter, for you to sit in this chamber, doing what we do, and find fault in anyone for believing in witchcraft.” She tapped the pestle resolutely on the edge of the mortar, as though shaking off public opinion. “Still, until we know the truth of the matter, it is best to make no statement at all, for I will not speak comforting lies. Let them believe what they will, for now.”

She selected a container from the array of clay pots, glass vials, and parchment packets displayed on a nearby shelf, scraped the contents from the mortar into it, and settled it carefully in its place. “We need sweet grass. And ormer - good Llyr!” The queen held up an empty basket in disgust. “How have we run so low on ormer?”

“I think Oren has been taking it to make jewelry for that new initiate,” Angharad answered, biting back a chuckle. “And you stopped sending him and Manawydd to the south shore, remember?”

Regat sniffed at mention of her nephews. “They were always coming back with fish heads and broken scallops; nothing the least bit useful. Never send an acolyte to do an enchantress’s job, remember that.” Her own mouth twitched. “New initiate, is it? She’d be better off learning her rituals than flirting with Oren. Why is he even allowed into the grove? Arianrhod makes too many allowances for him. I knew it would be trouble when she bore sons instead of daughters. I shall speak to them both.”

Angharad smothered a smile. “May you have more luck than I did. I already told him he should look elsewhere for his amusement.” She hesitated. “Let me go to the beach for supplies. I’ve not been out in ages. Not for the last two months.”

Regat looked at her levelly, heard all she did not say. “Yes, you have been as confined as our guest, in your way. I never heard anyone make more fuss about a perfectly ordinary pregnancy. But Teleria has always been difficult.”

Angharad winced. “It’s not Teleria’s fault,” she said wearily, feeling mildly defensive on her cousin’s behalf. “I mean, yes, she can be rather…but she was so uncomfortable, you know, at the end, I couldn’t blame her. She’s far more agreeable now she’s got the baby to distract her, and Branwen says they’re both doing so well they can travel back to Mona in a week or two. But…yes, I’ve felt rather…confined.”

She rolled the lavender under her fingertips absently, staring out the nearby casement. The view from the tower spread beneath. Her island: green, verdant, streaked in purple heather over rolling hills broken by crags and cliffs of dark stone, it spread to the dark line of water that surrounded it on all sides, the ever-shifting sea whose thundering breath was, even from this distance, dimly audible. Low-hanging clouds quilted the sky in soft grey. A stone's throw away, a pair of gulls floated upon the breeze, crying to each other in their lonely tongue.

Abruptly Angharad folded the parchment around the herb and slid the packet into an empty space on the shelf. “All this…ill news. Reports of one thing after another, all coming here, all expecting us to do something.” Trying to hide it from everyone, she added silently to herself, wondering what her opinionated cousin would say if she knew she’d given birth in an atmosphere of so much trouble. Teleria, thank goodness, was less observant than she was outspoken. “Sometimes I think word of one more disaster will make the whole castle…crumble. Like the cliffs.” She grimaced. “I am restless. I want to get out.” The thought of the coastline - waves rushing upon the sand and black rock, the gulls crying overhead - pulled suddenly at her throat, tightening it. “I can go and be back by this evening.”

Regat stepped into the shaft of light from the open window and gazed silently upon her daughter for a moment, sadness playing over her face, softening its hard lines. “I remember what it was to be your age, and in your position. I wish I could tell you that restlessness would cease, that one day you will suddenly awaken joyful at your lot. But I cannot. It is the burden we bear.” She stopped herself, and turned away.

Angharad, stunned at such unwonted empathy from her mother, stood motionless for a moment, watching as Regat, in her turn, gazed out the window, surveying the land that she ruled. The queen’s fingers tightened upon the casement sill before one hand let go, waving dismissively toward her daughter without looking at her. “Angharad. Go. Enjoy what freedom you have, while it remains to you.”

The princess hesitated, then curtsied, and hurried from the chamber.

She wasted no time. Regat rarely exercised such lenience and she meant to take full advantage. She waylaid a page on the way to her chambers, sending him to the stables with orders to have her horse prepared, and cantered down a long hallway, distracted by anticipatory thoughts of the seaside.

Her lady-in-waiting, a slim, pretty girl close to her own age, was sitting quietly with an embroidery basket at her feet when Angharad arrived in her rooms, ordering breathlessly, “Elen, quick. Help me change. I’m going out for the day.”

“Out!” Elen rose, laying down her handwork, and hopped over the basket lightly. “It’s about time. Killing yourself moping about inside, that’s what you’ve been. Where to?” Her skilled fingers worked quickly at the laces at her lady’s back, adept with long practice.

“South shore,” the princess murmured, jerking at her long sleeves, eager and impatient.

“Stop that,” Elen ordered. “I’m not done; you’ll rip the seams. How’d you manage to get out of the council this afternoon?”

“I don’t know,” Angharad admitted. “Mother’s not let me miss one in ages - especially now with all that’s been happening.”

“All the quakes?”

“Mm. And the rumors from inland. Strange beasts sighted. Screaming in the night. Sheep slaughtered.”

“Nursery tales,” Elen scoffed.

“Some of it, maybe. But sheep are being mauled. Deformed fish in the harbor. Red tide. Even that storm a fortnight ago. We lost a ship.” Angharad turned to the silver-backed glass that hung by the door, and frowned at her reflection.

“Your face will freeze like that if the wind changes,” Elen quipped saucily, quoting their old governess while her reflection grinned at Angharad’s over her shoulder. “There’ve always been storms, even bad ones. People have short memories when they’re afraid. The sea gives and he takes away; such it’s always been. There, pull that off.”

Angharad wriggled out of her long gown and stood in her shift while Elen folded it carefully, and then dug in her trunk for apparel more suitable for the outdoors. “I hope you’re not wanting me to come,” Elen remarked dubiously.

“No. I know how you hate riding.” Angharad poked her head through the top of a long, loose linen tunic and grinned. “I want to be alone, anyhow.”

“Take a cloak,” Elen ordered. “It’s me the queen will blame if you fall ill, going out with your arms bare like that. You’re going swimming, aren’t you?” She raised a suspicious, accusatory eyebrow.

“What do you think?” Angharad pulled another face. “It’s a hot day. But I’ll take a cloak to appease you.” She belted her tunic and pulled on her boots, tucking a small dagger into a pocket at her calf.

“I suppose it’s useless to tell you to be careful,” Elen said. She brandished a shell-toothed comb. “You’re not still for a blessed minute. Sit down so I can braid.”

“Oh, don’t bother.” Angharad waved her off. “I’ll do it on the way. I want to get on.”

“You will not. You’re going to go out all streaming like that. It’ll be impossible when you come back,” the girl moaned. “Wild and full of salt.”

“I’ll wash it, just for you, and without complaining - that should please you, shouldn’t it?”

“Any port in a storm,” Elen muttered darkly, then added, “Are you going in to see Teleria before you go?”

Angharad groaned. “I suppose I should. She’ll be offended if I don’t visit every day. How many times can you pretend to admire a baby who doesn’t do anything yet?”

“At least you have a reason to make it short.” Elen smirked, her grey eyes dancing. “Don’t let her start talking about the labor again or you’ll never get away.”

“Branwen says birth stories are a rite of passage.” Angharad threw on a woolen cloak, buckled a leather pouch by its long strap over her shoulder, and took up a small golden ball from her bedside table, tucking it into a pocket of her tunic. “But if I ever tell one as much as Teleria does, you have my permission to stuff a stocking in my mouth. There, I’m off. I’ll be back before dark.”

“Enjoy yourself.” Elen straightened her cloak and pulled her in to kiss her cheek. Angharad returned her embrace distractedly, and turned down the hall once more, heading to the east wing.

The nursery doors were open and she could hear, a full fifty paces before she reached it, the lusty cries of a healthy newborn and the authoritative voice of the head midwife. Good. With Branwen there it would be easier to get away quickly.

“But he just ate,” Teleria was saying, as Angharad paused in the doorway. The young mother was sitting up on a couch near an open window, propped upon cushions and wrapped in blankets, and submitting, despite her protests, to the midwife’s wrestling of a squalling, red-faced bundle into the proper position for nursing. Two ladies’ maids hovered anxiously in the background.

“He’s growing. He can’t have too much.” Branwen took no nonsense from anyone, noble or not, especially fractious infants. Her capable hands turned the child’s head toward his mother’s breast, popping it into place when he took another breath to scream. Instantly there was silence, broken only by a sigh of relief from Teleria. “If you’d done that when he first started in to whimper,” Branwen admonished, “he’d have latched much easier.”

Angharad coughed and both looked up. Teleria beamed. “Oh, Angharad! It’s good to see you. I wondered if - oh, do cover that window, Gwynneth, there’s a draft - you’d come today.”

“Not for too long, though, I take it.” Branwen looked the princess over shrewdly. “What’s this getup, milady? Where are you gadding off to?”

“I’m for the shore,” Angharad crossed to the couch, pausing to embrace the midwife. Branwen’s massive, middle-aged figure combined strength with softness; arms that had caught and cradled hundreds of babies enveloped her affectionately. She smelled of raspberry leaves and fenugreek and milk; like safety and warmth. “We need supplies for the full moon, and I want some fresh air.”

Branwen glanced sideways at Teleria and knowingly back to Angharad, her lined face creasing in a faint, sardonic smile. “So I imagine. Bring me back vervain if you find any.”

“How lovely to get out for a bit,” Teleria sighed, looking wistful. Her plump face was rosy and healthy, but there were weary circles under her eyes, and her pale braids were tousled as though her hair had not been brushed in days. “Perhaps once I get a night’s sleep again…”

“Don’t expect that for some time yet,” Branwen interrupted, handing her a steaming cup.

Angharad sat carefully at the edge of the couch. “How’s wee Rhun today?”she asked, reaching for the baby’s tiny hand which, having escaped his swaddling, waved about aimlessly in the air. The little pink digits closed around her forefinger and clutched it.

Teleria radiated pride. “Look how clever!” she cooed. “Already holding things! He’s a strong boy. Just like his father.”

Angharad bit back the comment that all babies did this, and lit upon the topic presented. “Have you heard from Rhuddlum yet?” Word had been sent of the birth immediately, of course, to the royal family on Mona, but the child had been born just before the storm a fortnight ago, and there was a chance the messenger had been lost in it.

“Oh, yes. Just yesterday!” exclaimed Teleria. “The courier arrived after the tempest; blown off course, you know, and had to travel back once they - ouch! don’t scratch so, child, dear me, what claws - came to the mainland. He’s transcendent, of course. So thrilled to have a son. The whole family crowing about the next heir to the crown. You know how the men are over there.” She laughed tolerantly at the patrilineal excitement of her homeland kin. Branwen grunted faint disapproval.

“I’m glad he’s doing well,” Angharad said, prying her finger loose from the baby’s grip. The child had nursed himself to sleep; his bald round head eased itself back until his mouth relaxed and gaped open, dribbling milk into the folds of his neck. Teleria giggled fondly and dabbed at it with a handful of her shift, and his pale blue eyes opened slightly and rolled back into his head before the lids closed again.

“Yes,” Teleria sighed. “Very well. Of course he was so big and healthy, it’s to be expected. But I declare, I never thought he’d come. Those last few days I thought I’d burst - oh, I’ve spilt my tea, hand me the towel, would you dear - no, not that! That’s a wet nappy - but I knew, somehow, that morning, that it would be the day. But you’re not leaving yet?”

“I must, I think.” Angharad rose, feigning reluctance. “I need enough time to find what we need. I only popped in to let you know why I couldn’t visit long today.” She bent and kissed Teleria, and then the baby’s velvety head. The warm, acrid newborn scent tingled through her senses, strange and compelling. Branwen always said the smell of a baby’s head was as potent a drug as anything in the herbals.

“Well, do be careful,” Teleria clucked anxiously. “It isn’t natural, a girl alone, going out all by yourself, traipsing the countryside. They’d never allow it at home.”

“This is my home,” Angharad said, rather shortly. “I’ve nothing to fear from it. Take care. Get your rest.”

She embraced Branwen again and escaped before Teleria could say anything else.

Tan, her chestnut mare, was saddled, bridled and waiting at the stable; the grooms, eyes averted, saluted her as she mounted, crossing their wrists over their hearts in the gesture of respect due her rank. She barely saw them; barely saw the guards who did the same as they rolled open the castle gates for her; her eyes were on the sky and the dark wedge of blue nestled in the green arms of the horizon. Gulls screamed overhead like heralds. Angharad laid her heels in the horse’s flanks, clamped her knees to its sides. The salt air filled her streaming hair as the turf melted away beneath flying hooves.

#prydain #fanfiction #prequel #welsh names ftw #daughter of the sea #welsh landscape #daughter of llyr #matriarchy #worldbuilding

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